THE HISTORICAL JESUS
THE HISTORICAL JESUS Critical Concepts in Religious Studies
Edited by Craig A. Evans
Volume I
The History of the Quest: Classical Studies and Critical Questions
~~ ~~~:~:~f!~p LONDON AND NEW YORK
First published 2004 by Routledge 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 29 W~t 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 Rout/edge isjan imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group
Editorial matter *nd selection© 2004 Craig A. Evans; individual dwners,retain copyright in their own material Typeset in ;:{mes by Wearset Ltd, Boldon, Tyne and Wear Printed and bound in Great Britain by MPG Books Ltd, Bodmin, Cornwall All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested.
ISBN 0-415-32750-4 (Set) ISBN 0-415-32751-2 (Volume I)
Publisher's Note References within each chapter are as they appear in the original complete work.
CONTENTS
VOLUME I
THE HISTORY OF THE QUEST: CLASSIC STUDIES AND CRITICAL QUESTIONS
Acknowledgements Chronological table
XV
xix
General introduction
1
Introduction to volume I
5
PART I Classic Studies
11
1 The real intention of the Aposdes
13
HERMANN S. REIMARUS
2 Concluding dissertation: the dogmatic import of the life of Jesus
32
DAVID F. STRAUSS
3 The essential nature of the work of Jesus
72
ERNEST RENAN
4 Against the life·of·Jesus movement
80
MARTIN KAHLER
5 Introduction
99
JAMES M. ROBINSON
V
CONTENTS
6 Introduction: view-point and method and The historical background for the ministry of Jesus
121
RUDOLF BULTMANN
7 The problem of the historical Jesus
133
ERNST KASEMANN
159
8 The quest of the historical Jesus ERNST FUCHS
9 The problem of the historical Jesus
176
JOACHIM JEREMIAS
191
10 The possibility of a new quest JAMES M. ROBINSON
11 The primitive Christian kerygma and the historical Jesus
211
RUDOLF BULTMANN
PART2
Critical Questions: Miracle and Myth
233
12 Introduction: development of the mythical point of view in relation to the Gospel histories
235
DAVID F. STRAUSS
13 Non-historical theories
306
MAURICE GOGUEL
14 New Testament and mythology: the mythological element in the message of the New Testament and the problem of its re-interpretation
323
RUDOLF BULTMANN
15 Mythology and the New Testament a review of Kerygma 359
und Mythos AMOS N. WILDER
16 Myth and Gospel: a discussion of the problem of demythologizing the New Testament message GONTHER BORNKAMM
VI
371
CONTENTS
PARTJ
Critical Questions: Presuppositions and Criteria of Authenticity
391
17 The authenticity of Jesus' sayings
393
FREDERICK C. GRANT
18 The quest for the historical Jesus: a discussion of methodology
400
WILLIAM 0. WALKER
418
19 Christology and methodology M. D. HOOKER
20 An examination of the criteria for distinguishing the authentic words of Jesus
427
D. G. A. CALVERT
439
21 On using the wrong tool M. D. HOOKER
22 Literary criteria in life of Jesus research: an evaluation and proposal
451
RICHARD N. LONGENECKER
VOLUME 11
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
Acknowledgements
vii
Introduction to volume 11
1
PART I
Parables and Kingdom of God
5
23 The nature and purpose of the Gospel parables
7
C. H. DODO
24 Parables: their meaning and nature and The Kingdom of Heaven
20
ETA LINNEMANN
25 The setting
45
JOACHIM JEREMIAS
vii
CONTENTS
26 Similitudes, parables, illustrations, allegories
61
W. 0. E. OESTERLEY
27 If we do not cut the parables out of their frames
93
BIRGER GERHARDSSON
28 Introduction and Extracts from Jesus' Proclamation of the Kingdom of God
107
JOHANNES WEISS
29 The imminent future of the Kingdom of God
120
WERNER G. K0MMEL
30 The Kingdom of God expels the Kingdom of Satan
147
RUDOLF OTTO
31 The Kingdom of God in the proclamation of Jesus
156
REGINALD H. FULLER
32 On understanding the Kingdom of God
180
ERICH GRASSER
33 Jesus and the language of the kingdom
199
NORMAN PERRIN
34 Regnum Dei Dens Est
213
BRUCE D. CHILTON
35 Jesus as inaugurator of the Kingdom of God
221
MARINUS DE JONGE
PART2
Ethics and Piety
243
36 The ethical teaching of Jesus JOSEPH KLAUSNER
37 The original teaching of Jesus and the ethics ofthe early Church
262
T. W. MANSON
38 The teacher
272
C. H. DODO
viii
CONTENTS
39 God as father in the proclamation and in the prayer of Jesus
289
DIETER ZELLER
40 Jesus and the quest for holiness: the alternative paradigm
301
MARCUS J. BORG
41 Alms, debt and divorce: Jesus' ethics in their Mediterranean context
320
JOHN S. KLOPPENBORG
339
42 Jesus and ethics PHEME PERKINS
VOLUME Ill
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
Acknowledgements
ix
Introduction to volume Ill
1
PARTl
Mission and Self-Understanding
5
43 Purpose, aim and motive in Jesus
7
H. J. CADBURY
44 Die Frage nach dem messianischen Bewu8tsein Jesu
24
OTTO BETZ
45 How much did Jesus know? - A survey of the Biblical evidence
50
RAYMOND E. BROWN
46 The son of Man in contemporary debate
83
I. HOWA RD MA RSHALL
47 The sonsbip of the historical Jesus in Christology
104
RICHARD BA UCKHAM
48 Did Jesus know he was God?
118
RA YMOND E. BROWN
ix
CONTENTS
49 Why did Jesus have to die?
129
P. STUHLMACHER
50 Messianic ideas and their inftuence on the Jesus of history
144
J. D. G. DUNN
51 Jesus' ministry and self-understanding
161
BEN F. MEYER
52 Jesus' self-understanding
176
C. M. TUCKETT
PART2
The Death of Jesus
197
53 The bearing of the Rabbinical criminal code on the Jewish trial narratives in the Gospels
199
H. DANBY
54 The trial of Christ in the Synoptic Gospels
224
A. N. SHERWIN-WHITE
55 The burial of Jesus (Mark 15:42--47)
241
RA YMOND E. BROWN
56
"Where no one had yet been laid": the shame of Jesus' burial
253
BYRON R. McCANE
57
"Are you the Messiah?" Is the crux of Mark 14:61-62 resolvable?
272
JAMES D. G. DUNN
PART3
The Resurrection of Jesus
291
58 The appearances of the risen Christ: an essay in form-criticism of the Gospels
293
C. H. DODD
59 Is the resurrection an 'historical' event? GERALD O'COLLINS
X
317
CONTENTS
324
60 Was the tomb really empty? ROBERT H. STEIN
61 Resurrection: fact or illusion?
332
EDUARD SCHWEIZER
62 Luminous appearances of the risen Christ
352
GERALD O'COLLINS
63 The essential physicality of Jesus' resurrection according to the New Testament
360
ROBERT H. GUNDRY
64 The resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth
377
PHEME PERKINS
395
65 The resurrection of Jesus Christ C. E. B. CRANFIELD
VOLUME IV
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
Acknowledgements
ix
Introduction to volume IV
1
PARTl
Lives of .Jesus
3
66 Chapters VIII-XII from The Life of Jesus
5
ERNEST RENAN
67 The public life of Christ to the time of his arrest
31
F. E. D. SCHLEIERMACHER
68 A great day in the life of Jesus
57
F. W. FARRAR
69 The healing of the woman - Christ's personal appearance the raising of Jairus' daughter ALFRED EDERSHEIM
xi
67
CONTENTS
70 Jesus and the Messiahship
85
WILHELM BOUSSET
71 The crisis in Galilee
90
MAURICE GOGUEL
72 The recognition of Jesus by men
Ul
WILLIAM BARCLA Y
130
73 Discipleship and the Kingdom E. W. SAUNDERS
149
74 The upper room EVERETT F. HARRISON
PART2
.Jesus Outside the Bible
161
Jesus in the Agrapha and Extracanonical Gospels
161
75 'Unwritten' sayings and Apocryphal Gospels
163
F. F. BRUCE
76 Extracanonical parables and the historical Jesus
186
WILLIAM D. STROKER
77 Jesus in the agrapha and apocryphal gospels
210
JAMES H. CHARLESWORTH AND CRAIG A. EVANS
Gospel of Peter
263
78 The Gospel of Peter and canonical Gospel priority
265
RA YMOND E. BROWN
Gospel of Thomas 79 The Gospel of Thomas: a secondary Gospel
289
KLYNE R. SNODGRASS
Papyrus Egerton 2
309
80 Papyrus Egerton 2 (the Unknown Gospel) - part of the Gospel of Peter?
311
DAVID F. WRIGHT
xii
CONTENTS
Secret Gospel of Mark
331
81 The relation of "The Secret Gospel of Mark" to the Fourth Gospel
333
RAYMOND E. BROWN
Jesus in non-Christian Sources
353
82 Research on the historical Jesus today: Jesus and the Pseudepigrapha, the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Nag Hammadi Codices, Josephus, and archaeology
355
JAMES H. CHARLESWORTH
83 Jesus in non-Christian sources
375
CRAIG A. EVANS
409
Index
xiii
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Volume I
The publishers would like to thank the following for permission to reprint their material: SCM Press for permission to reprint Hermann S. Reimarus, "The real intention of the Apostles", in C. H. Talbert (ed.), Reimarus: Fragments, translated by Ralph S. Fraser (London: SCM Press, 1970), pp. 240-269. David F. Strauss, "Concluding dissertation: the dogmatic import of the life of Jesus", reprinted from The Life of Jesus, Critically Examined, translated by George Eliot (London: Chapman, 1846), pp. 757-784. Copyright © J972 Fortress Press (www.fortresspress.com). Used by permission of Augsberg Fortress. Random House for permission to reprint Ernest Renan, "The essential nature of the work of Jesus" in The Life of Jesus (New York: Random, 1955), pp. 277-289. Martin Kahler, "Against the life-of-Jesus movement", reprinted from Car! E. Braaten (ed.), The So-Called Historical Jesus and the Historic, Biblical Christ, translated by Carl E. Braaten (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1964), pp. 46-71. Copyright© 1964, 1988 Fortress Press (www.fortresspress.com). Used by permission of Augsberg Fortress. Palgrave Macmillan for permission to reprint James M. Robinson, "Introduction", in Albert Schweitzer, The Quest of the Historical Jesus: A Critical Study of its Progress from Reimarus to Wrede, translated by W. Montgomery (New York: Macmillan, 1968), pp. 1-12. SCM Press for permission to reprint Ernst Kasemann, "The problem of the historical Jesus", in Essays on New Testament Themes, translated by W. J. Montague (Studies in Biblical Theology 41; London: SCM Press, 1964), pp. 15-47. SCM Press for permission to reprint Emst Fuchs, "The quest of the historical Jesus", in Studies of the Historical Jesus, translated by Andrew Scobie (Studies in Biblical Theology 42; London: SCM Press, 1964), pp. 11-31. XV
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Reprinted from Joachim Jeremias, The Problem of the Historical Jesus (Facet Books: Biblical Series 13; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1964), pp. 1-21. Copyright© 1964 Fortress Press (www.fortresspress.com). Used by permission of Augsburg Fortress. SCM Press for permission to reprint James M. Robinson, "The possibility of a new quest", in A New Quest of the Historical Jesus (Studies in Biblical Theology 25; London: SCM Press, 1959), pp. 48-72. The Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge for permission to reprint Rudolf Bultmann, "New Testament and mythology: the mythological element in the message of the New Testament and the problem of its reinterpretation", in Hans-Werner Bartsch (ed.), Kerygma and Myth: A Theological Debate, translated by Reginald H. Fuller (London: SPCK, 1953), pp. 1-44. The Society of Biblical Literature for permission to reprint Amos N. Wilder, "Mythology and the New Testament: a review of Kerygma und Mythos",Journal of Biblical Literature, 69, 1950, pp. 113-127. Waiter de Gruyter for permission to reprint Frederick C. Grant, "The authenticity of Jesus' sayings", in W. Eltester (ed.), Neutestamentliche Studien ftlr Rudolf Bultmann (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift fur die neutestament/iche Wissenschaft, 21; Berlin: Topelmann, 1954), pp. 137-143. Seabury for permission to reprint William 0. Walker, "The quest for the historical Jesus: a discussion of methodology", Anglican Theological Review, 51, 1969, pp. 38-56. M. D. Hooker, "Christology and methodology", New Testament Studies, 17, 1970-1971, pp. 480-487. Copyright © Cambridge University Press, reprinted with permission.
D. G. A. Calvert, "An examination of the criteria for distinguishing the authentic words of Jesus", New Testament Studies, 18, 1972, pp. 209-219. Copyright© Cambridge University Press, reprinted with permission. The Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge for permission to reprint M. D. Hooker, "On using the wrong tool", Theology, 75, 1972, pp. 570-581. Richard N. Longenecker, "Literary criteria in life of Jesus research: an evaluation and proposal", in G. F. Hawthorne (ed.), Current Issues in Biblical and Patristic Interpretation. Copyright © 1975 Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., Grand Rapids, MI, USA. Used by permission.
xvi
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Disclaimer The publishers have made every effort to contact authors/copyright holders of works reprinted in The Historical Jesus: Critical Concepts in Religious Studies. This has not been possible in every case, however, and we would welcome correspondence from those individuals/companies who we have been unable to trace.
xvii
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE OF REPRINTED CHAPTERS AND ARTICLES -Date
Author
Chapter/article
Source
1846
David F. Strauss
Concluding dissertation: the dogmatic import of the life of Jesus
1846
David F. Strauss
Introduction: development of the mythical point of view in relation to the Gospel histories
The Life of Jesus, Critically Examined, translated I by George Eliot (London: Chapman, 1846), pp. 757-784. (Originally published as Das Leben Jesu kritisch bearbeitet, Ttibingen: C. F. Osiander, 1835-1836.) The Life of Jesus, Critically Examined, translated I by George Eliot (London: Chapman, 1846), pp. 39-92. (Originally published as Das Leben Jesu kritisch bearbeitet, Tubingen: C. F. Osiander, 1835-1836.) IV Life of Christ (New York: Dutton, 1874), pp. 227-243. IV The Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah (New York: Randolph; London: Longmans, 1883), pp. 616-634.
1874
F. W. Farrar
A great day in the life of Jesus
1883
A. Edersheim
The healing of the woman -Christ's personal appearance- the raising of Jairus' daughter (St. Matt. ix. 18-26; St. Mark v. 21-43; St. Luke viii. 40--56) Jesus and the Messiahship
;><
;;;:·
1906
W. Bousset
1920
H. Danby
1925
J. Klausner
The bearing of the Rabbinical criminal code on the Jewish trial narratives in the Gospels The ethical teaching of Jesus
Vol. Chap. 2
12
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68 69
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IV Jesus, translated by Janet Penrose Trevelyan (Crown Theological Library 14; New York: Putnam; London: Williams and Norgate, 1906), pp. 166-180. (Originally published in Jesus, Hatle: Gebauer-Schwetschke, 1904.) Journal of Theological Studies, 21, 1920, pp. 51-76. III
70
Jesus of Nazareth: His Life, Times and Teaching (London: George Alien & Unwin, 1925), pp. 381-397.
36
II
53
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Date
Author
1926
M. Goguel
1933 1934, 1958
1935 >< ><
1936 1937 1943
1950
Chapter!anicle
Source
Vol. Chap.
Jesus the Nazarene: Myth or History?, translated I by Frederick Stephens (New York: Appleton, 1926), pp. 11-31. (Originally published as Jesus de Nazarfth, Mythe ou Histoire?, Paris: Payot, 1925.) M. Goguel The crisis in Galilee The Life of Jesus, translated by Olive Wyon (New IV York: Macmillan, 1933), pp. 359-385. (Originally published as La Vie de Jesus, Paris: Payot, 1925.) Rudolf Bultmann Introduction: View-point and method Jesus and the Word, translated by Louise Pettibone I and The historical background for Smith and Erminie Huntress Lantero (New York: the ministry of Jesus Scribner's, 1934, 1958) pp. 3-26. (Originally published as Jesus, Berlin: Deutsche Bibliothek, 1926.) The nature and purpose of the The Parables of the Kingdom (London: Nisbet, 11 C. H. Dodd Gospel parables 1935), pp. 11-33. The Gospel Parables in the Light of Their Jewish 11 W. 0. E. Oesterley Parables: their meaning and nature and The Kingdom of Heaven Background (New York: Macmillan, 1936), pp. 3-36. The Peril of Modernizing Jesus (New York: Ill H. J. Cadbury Purpose, aim and motive in Jesus Macmillan, 1937), pp. 120-153. The Kingdom of God expels the The Kingdom of God and the Son of Man: A 11 Rudolf Otto Study in the History of Religion, translated by Kingdom of Satan Floyd V. Filson and Bertram Lee Woolf (rev. edn, Lutterworth Library 9~ London: Lutterworth, 1943), pp. 97-107. (Originally published as Reich Gones und Menschensohn: ein religionsgeschichtlicher Versuch, Mtinchen: C. H. Beck, c.l934). Mythology and the New Testament: Journal of Biblical Literature, 69, 1950, I Am os N. Wilder a review of Kerygma und Mythos pp. 113-127. Non-historical theories
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1953
1954
1954 1955 ><
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1955 1955 1957
1959
R. Bultmann
Hans-Werner Bartsch (ed.), Kerygma and Myth: I A Theological Debate, translated by Reginald H. Fuller (London: SPCK, 1953), pp. 1-44. (Originally published as 'Neues Testament und Mythologie', in Offenbarung und Heilsgeschehen, Beitrage zur evangelischen Theologie 7; Munich: Kaiser, 1941.) Frederick C. Grant The authenticity of Jesus' sayings W. Eltester (ed.), Neutestamentliche Studien fUr I Rudolf Bultmann (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift fUr die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 21; Berlin: Topelmann, 1954), pp. 137-143. Reginald H. Fuller The Kingdom of God in the The Mission and Achievement of Jesus (Studies in 11 proclamation of Jesus Biblical Theology 12; London: SCM Press, 1954), pp. 20-49. C. H. Dodd The appearances of the risen Christ: D. E. Nineham (ed.), Studies in the Gospels: Essays Ill an essay in form-criticism of the in Memory of R. H. Lightfoot (Oxford: Blackwell, Gospels 1955), pp. 9-35. Emest Renan Chapters VIII-XII from The Life The Life of Jesus (New York: Random, 1955), IV of Jesus pp. 84-130. (Originally published as La Vie de Jesus, Paris: Michel Levy Freres, 1863.) Emest Renan The essential nature of the work of The Life of Jesus (New York: Random, 1955), I Jesus pp. 277-289. (Originally published as La Vie de Jesus, Paris: Michel Levy Freres, 1863.) Wemer G. KUmmel The imminent future of the Kingdom Promise and Fulfilment, translated by D. M. Barton 11 of God (Studies in Biblical Theology 23; London: SCM Press, 1957), pp. 19--48. (Originally published as Verheissung und Erfiillung: Untersuchungen zur eschatologischen Verkiindigung Jesu, Base): Majer, 1945.) James M. Robinson The possibility of a new quest A New Quest of the Historical Jesus (Studies in I Biblical Theology 25; London: SCM Press, 1959), pp. 4S-72. New testament and mythology: the mythological element in the message of the New Testament and the problem of its re-interpretation
14
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1960
W. Barclay
1960
T. W.Manson
1962
The recognition of Jesus by men
The original teaching of Jesus and the ethics of the early Church Gtinther Bomkamm Myth and Gospel: a discussion of the problem of demythologizing the New Testament message
~
~: 1963
0. Betz
1963
J. Jeremias
Die Frage nach dem messianischen BewuBtsein Jesu The setting
1963
A. N. SherwinWhite
The trial of Christ in the Synoptic Gospels
1964
Rudolf Bultmann
The primitive Christian kerygma and the historical Jesus
The Mind of Jesus (London: SCM Press, 1960), pp. 167-176. Ethics and the Gospel (London: SCM Press, 1960), pp. 87-103. C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville (eds), Kerygma and History: A Symposium on the Theology of Rudolf Bultmann, translated by C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville (Nashville: Abingdon, 1962), pp. 172-196. (Originally published as 'Mythos und Evangelium. Zur Diskussion des Problemes der Entmythologisierung der neutestamentlichen Verktindigung', in G. Bomkamm and W. Klaas (eds), Mythos and Evange/ium. Zum Programm R. Bultmanns, Theologische Existenz heute 26; Munich: Kaiser, 1951.) Novum Testamentum, 6,1963, pp. 20--48.
IV
72
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The Parables of Jesus, translated by S. H. Hooke 11 (London: SCM Press, 1963), pp. 9~114. (Originally published as Die Gleichnisse Jesu, Zurich: Zwingli, 1947.) Roman Society and Roman Law in the New Ill Testament (The Sarum Lectures 1960-1961; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1963), pp. 24--47. C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville (eds), The I Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ, translated by C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville (Nashville: Abingdon, 1964), pp. 15-42. (Originally published as Das Verhiiltnis der urchrist/ichen Christusbotschaft zum historischen Jesus, Heidelberg: Winter, 1960.)
25
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1964
Ernst Fuchs
The quest of the historical Jesus
1964
Joachim Jeremias
The problem of the historical Jesus
1964
Martin Kahler
Against the Iife-of-Jesus movement
1964
1966
1967 1967 1967
Ernst Kasemann
E. Linnemann
The problem of the historical Jesus
Similitudes, parables, illustrations, allegories
Raymond E. Brown How much did Jesus know? -A survey of the Biblical evidence G. G. O'Collins Is the resurrection an 'historical' event? E. W. Saunders Discipleship and the Kingdom
Swdies of the Historical !ems, translated by Andrew Scobie (Studies in Biblical Theology 42; London: SCM Press, 1964), pp. 11-31. (Originally published as 'Die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus', Zeitschrift fUr Theologie und Kirche, 53, 1956, pp. 210-229.) The Problem of the Historical Jesus (Facet Books: Biblical Series 13; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1964), pp. 1-21. Cad E. Braaten (ed.), The So-Called Historical Jesus and the Historic, Biblical Christ, translated by Carl E. Braaten (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1964), pp. 46-71. (Originally published as Der sogenannte historische Jesus und der geschichtliche, biblische Christus, Leipzig: A. Deichert, 1892.) Essays on New Testament Themes, translated by W. J. Montague (Studies in Biblical Theology 41; London: SCM Press, 1964), pp. 15-47. (Originally published as 'Das Problem des historischen Jesus', Zeitschrift fUr Theologie und Kirche, 51, 1954, pp. 125-153.) Parables of Jesus: Introduction and Exposition, translated by John Sturdy (London: SPCK, 1966), pp. 3-33. (Originally published as Gleichnisse Jesu: Einfiihrung und Auslegung, Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1961.) Catholic Biblical Quarterly, 29, 1967, pp. 315-345.
I
8
I
9
I
4
Ill
45
Heythrop Journal, 8, 1967, pp. 381-387.
Ill
59
Jesus in the Gospels (Englewood Cliffs: PrenticeHall, 1967), pp. 184-204.
IV
73
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1968
Everett F. Harrison The upper room
1968
James M. Robinson Introduction
1969
William 0. Walker The quest for the historical Jesus: a discussion of methodology The real intention of the Apostles Herrnann S. Reimarus
1970
~
~
<' 19701971 1971
M. D. Hooker
Christology and methodology
C.H.Dodd
The teacher
1971
Johannes Weiss
Introduction and Extracts from Jesus' Proclamation of the Kingdom of God
1972
D. G. A. Calvert
An examination of the criteria for distinguishing the authentic words of Jesus
A Shon Life of Christ (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, IV 1968), pp. 176-188. I Albert Schweitzer, The Quest of the Historical Jesus: A Critical Study of its Progress from Reimarus to Wrede, translated by W. Montgomery (New York: Macmillan, 1968), pp. 1-12. Anglican Theological Review, 51, 1969, pp. 38-56. I
74
C. H. Talbert (ed.), Reimarus: Fragments, I translated by Ralph S. Fraser (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1970), pp. 240-269. (Originally published as V on dem Zwecke Jesu und seiner Jiinger: Noch ein Fragment des Wolfenbiittelschen Ungenannten, Fragment 7; G. E. Lessing {ed.), Braunschweig: [n.p.], 1778.) New Testament Studies, 17, 1970-1971, I pp. 480-487. The Founder of Christianity (London: Collins, 11 1971), pp. 53-79. Richard Hyde Hiers and David Larrimore Holland 11 (eds),Jesus' Proclamation of the Kingdom of God, translated by Richard Hyde fliers and David Larrimore Holland {Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971), pp. 57-74. (Originally published as Die Predigt Jesu vom Reiche Gottes, Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1892.) I New Testament Studies, 18, 1972, pp. 209-219.
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1972 1974 1974 1975
1975
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1977 1978 1978 1980 1981
1984
M. D. Hooker On using the wrong tool Raymond E. Brown The relation of "The Secret Gospel of Mark" to the Fourth Gospel 'Unwritten' sayings and Apocryphal F. F. Bruce Gospels
Theology, 75, 1972, pp. 570-581. Catholic Biblical Quarterly, 36, 1974, pp. 466--485.
Jesus and Christian Origins Outside the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974), pp. 82-109. Richard N. Literary criteria in life of Jesus G. F. Hawthome (ed.), Current Issues in Biblical Longenecker research: an evaluation and proposal and Patristic Interpretation (M. C. Tenney Festschrift; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1975), pp. 217-229. F. E. D. The public life of Christ to the time J. C. Verheyden (ed.), The Life of Jesus, translated Schleiermacher of his arrest by S. Maclean Gilmour (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975), pp. 156--188. (Originally published in K. A. Rutenik (ed.), Das Leben Jesu, Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1864.) Robert H. Stein Was the tomb really empty? Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society, 20, 1977, pp. 23-29. Richard Bauckham The son ship of the historical Jesus in Scottish Journal of Theology, 31, 1978, Christology pp. 245-260. Scottish Journal of Theology, 31,1978, Regnum Dei Deus Est Bruce D. Chilton pp. 261-270. Eduard Schweizer Resurrection: fact or illusion? Horizons in Biblical Theology, 1, 1980, pp. 137-159. Dieter Zeller God as father in the proclamation A. Finkel (ed.), Standing Before God: Studies on and in the prayer of Jesus Prayer in Scripture and in Tradition (J. M. Oesterreicher Festschrift; New York: Ktav, 1981 ), pp. 117-129. Erich Grasser On understanding the Kingdom B. D. Chilton (ed.), The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus (Issues in Religion and Theology of God 5; London: SPCK; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), pp. 52-71. (Originally published as 'Zum Verstandnis der Gottesherrschaft', Zeitschrift fUr die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 65, 1974, pp. 3-26.)
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Luminous appearances of the risen Christ Jesus and the language of the Kingdom
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B. D. Chilton (ed.), The Kingdom of God in the 11 Teaching of Jesus (Issues in Religion and Theology 5; London: SPCK; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), pp. 92-106. Biblical Theology Bulletin, 15, 1985, pp. 74-79. Ill Princeton Seminary Bulletin, 6, 1985, pp. 98-115. IV
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Klyne R. Snodgrass The Gospel of Thomas: a secondary Gospel John S. Alms, debt and divorce: Jesus' ethics Toronto Journal of Theology, 6, 1990, pp. 182-200. Kloppenborg in their Mediterranean context I. Howard Marshall The Son of Man in contemporary Jesus the Saviour: Studies in New Testament debate Theology (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press/London: SPCK, 1990), pp. 100-120. New Testament Studies, 37, 1991, pp. 321-335. Birger Gerhardsson If we do not cut the parables out of their frames
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Jesus as inaugurator of the Kingdom Jesus, The Servant-Messiah (Shaffer Lectures; New II Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1991), of God pp. 55-75. J. D. G. Dunn Messianic ideas and their influence J. H. Charlesworth (ed.), The Messiah: Ill on the Jesus of history Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), pp. 365-381. P. Stuhlmacher Why did Jesus have to die? Jesus of Nazareth- Christ of Faith, translated by Ill Siegfried Schatzmann (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1993), pp. 39-57. (Originally in German as a guest lecture given in Lund on September 27, 1984, supplemented for publication.) James H. Jesus in the agrapha and Apocryphal B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Studying the IV Historical Jesus: Evaluations of th~ State of Current Charlesworth Gospels and Craig A. Evans Research (New Testament Tools and Studies 19; Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 479-533. Craig A. Evans Jesus in non-Christian sources B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Studying the IV Historical Jesus: Evaluations of the State of Current Research (New Testament Tools and Studies 19; Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 443--478. Robert H. Gundry The essential physicality of Jesus' J. B. Green and M. Turner (eds),Jesus of Nazareth: Ill resurrection according to the New Lord and Christ: Essays on the Historical Jesus Testament and New Testament Christology (Carlisle: Paternoster; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), pp. 204-219. Ben F. Meyer Jesus' ministry and selfB. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Studying the Ill understanding Historical Jesus: Evaluations of the State of Current Research (New Testament Tools and Studies 19; Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 337-352. Pheme Perkins The resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Studying the Ill Historical Jesus: Evaluations of the State of Current Research (New Testament Tools and Studies 19; Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 423--442.
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"Where no one had yet been laid": the shame of Jesus' burial
Theology Today, 52, 1995, pp. 49-65. Conflict, Holiness, and Politics in the Teachings of Jesus (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1998), pp. 135-155. On Romans and Other New Testament Essays (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1998), pp. 137-150. B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Authenticating the Activities of Jesus (New Testament Tools and Studies 28; Leiden: Brill, 1999), pp. 431-452. D. G. Horrell and C. M. Tuckett (eds), Chnstology, Controversy and Community: New Testament Essays in Honour of David R. Catchpole (Novum Testamentum, Supplements 99; Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 1-22. Christology and the New Testament: Jesus and His Earliest Followers (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001), pp. 202-226.
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GENERAL INTRODUCTION
The Historical Jesus constitutes a selection of seminal essays in Routledge's Critical Concepts in Religious Studies series. Ten topics are covered in four volumes. These topics are judged to be representative of the essential components that make up this interesting field of research, a field that opened up more than two centuries ago. This field of inquiry is often called the "quest of (or for) the historical Jesus," implying that the goal of research is to discover the Jesus of history, the Jesus who really lived- what he said, did, accomplished, and what he was really like. This quest got under way during the so-called period of Enlightenment, itself a child of the Reformation, when longstanding cultural, institutional, and intellectual givens were subjected to critical evaluation. This critical review included ecclesiastical dogmas and the principal source of Christian teaching itself - the Bible. No longer could it be assumed that the Jesus of the New Testament Gospels was the Jesus of history. The designation of "quest" came about from the English translation of Albert Schweitzer's Von Reimarus zu Wrede ("From Reimarus to Wrede"): The Quest of the Historical Jesus (see below, pp. 99-120). The designation gained even greater currency when James Robinson's assessment of the 1950s' debate among Rudolf Bultmann's students was published under the title A New Quest of the Historical Jesus. Since then scholars have spoken of an "old quest" and a "new quest." Today scholars speak of "life of Jesus research," or simply "Jesus research"- not a "quest" (though the current work is sometimes called the "third quest"). Scholars are reluctant to refer to their work as a "quest" in part to avoid association with the older quests, which were for the most part guided by heavy-handed apologetics and theological agendas (often emanating from Germany). In essence, most of the contributors to the older quests were in search of a Jesus relevant to their faith, to their church, to society, or whatever. Trying to find a Jesus compatible with one's world view seems often to have been the driving force. It has been remarked that most of the work of the older quests was not historical at
THE HISTORY OF THE QUEST
all, that it was not the historical Jesus that was being sought, but the relevant Jesus. In contrast to the older work, the newer research is more ecumenical and multi-disciplined. The object of this research is to gain a clearer, more nuanced, contextualized portrait of the Jesus of history. Instead of minimizing the Jewishness of Jesus and his earliest following (which is often the case in the older quests), or trying to show how he was unique or superior to his predecessors and contemporaries, scholars now take seriously in what ways Jesus was part of his world. Judaism in all its diversity, including the economic, political, and social realities of first-century Palestine, archaeology, and a host of related disciplines and literatures are taken into account. Protestants and Catholics, both liberal and conservative, are engaged in aspects of this study. Jewish scholars have also entered the discussion, making many valuable contributions. Accordingly, Jesus research today is dynamic and progressive. Nevertheless, many of the older studies laid the groundwork on which current research is based. Important aspects of the problems that attend this field of study were identified long ago. Even in cases where thinking has significantly evolved, we understand much better where we are today and how we got here by having appreciation for important contributions to the older discussion. That is the purpose of the present collection of studies. They are intended to give readers a sense of how study of the historical Jesus took shape, how it has evolved, and where we are today. The ten topics that make up the contents of the four volumes in this reader include the history of the discussion, presuppositions, the development of methods, several specific topics, and a variety of sketches of the life of Jesus. The first three topics are treated in Volume I: (1) classic studies, that is, those studies widely regarded as pivotal, shaping the discussion and setting the agenda; (2) critical questions surrounding the issues of miracle and myth, issues that have posed the most difficult questions to historians; and (3) critical questions surrounding presuppositions and appropriate criteria for determining what is authentic and what is not. This volume wiii give readers a sense of how the discussion got under way and took the shape it did. Readers will be introduced to many of the major players and the critical questions with which they grappled. In Volume 11 the teachings of Jesus are treated under two broad topics: (1) parables of Jesus and his proclamation of the kingdom of God; and (2) the ethics and piety of Jesus. Readers will be exposed to the debate surrounding questions of definition and authenticity of the parables, and the role of the Jewish law in Jesus' ethical teachings. Volume Ill covers three topics: (1) Jesus' mission and self-understanding; (2) the death of Jesus; and (3) the resurrection of Jesus. All three of these topics lie at the heart of Christology, that is, who Jesus was (or thought himself to be), what he conceived his mission to be, why he was executed, and in what 2
GENERAL INTRODUCTION
sense he was resurrected and what it meant to his followers. In Volume IV two final topics are treated: (1) lives of Jesus and (2) Jesus in sources outside the Bible. In "Lives of Jesus," readers are treated to excerpts taken from well-known attempts at producing biographies of Jesus, while in the last topic readers are exposed to critical discussion of the many sources outside the Bible that purport to tell us things about Jesus that in some cases find no parallel in the New Testament Gospels and other writings. It must be remembered that the selections reprinted in these four volumes represent only a small sampling of what is a vast literature, a literature especially well represented in English and German, but also represented to a significant degree in many other languages. One will also observe that most of the older works are by German scholars (which here are reprinted almost always in English translation), while most of the newer materials comes from English-speaking scholars (mostly from the USA, Britain, and the Commonwealth). Some may object that the works chosen for these volumes almost exclusively reflect the West. This is true, but the obsession with a critically understood Jesus of history has been largely a Western one. That in itself is part of the story, a part that calls for critical reflection in its own right.
3
INTRODUCTION TO VOLUME I The history of the quest: classic studies and critical questions
Part 1: Classic studies The beginning of life of Jesus research is traced back to the posthumous publication of seven fragments of an otherwise unpublished manuscript by Hermann Samuel Reimarus. It was particularly fragment 7, entitled Von dem Zwecke Jesu und seiner Junger ["On the Aim of Jesus and His Disciples"], published in 1778 (see Chapter 1), that provoked reaction. Reimarus believed that Jesus had not anticipated his death, but had hoped to become Israel's earthly Messiah. After the crucifixion, his disciples reformulated Jesus' teachings and proclaimed his resurrection and return as Israel's king. This critical assessment of the Gospel story of Jesus inaugurated the scholarly quest of the historical Jesus. The nineteenth-century "old quest" of the historical Jesus represents the first major phase of this scholarly quest. In his Das Leben Jesu kritisch bearbeitet ["The Life of Jesus Critically Examined"] (1835---6, see Chapter 2) David Friedrich Strauss argued that the Gospels do not present us with history, whether embellished with supernatural elements (following the liberals), or not (following the conservatives), but present us with myth. Liberal and conservative scholars alike opposed this radical skepticism, and searched for what was then regarded as "historical" material. For a short time, the Gospel of John was viewed as the best source, since it lacked some of the miraculous features of the Synoptics (e.g., virgin birth, demon exorcisms), which many scholars viewed as mythological. But Ferdinand Christian Baur's Kritische Untersuchungen uber die kanonischen Evangelien ["Critical Studies on the Canonical Gospels"] (Ttibingen: L. F. Fues, 1847), which concluded that John was written late in the second century, brought an end to this thinking. It was then concluded that the historical Jesus would have to be found in the Synoptic Gospels after all. In his Die synoptischen Evangelien: Ihr Ursprung und geschichtlicher Charakter ["The Synoptic Gospels: Their Origin and Historical Character"] (Leipzig: Engelmann, 1863) Heinrich Julius Holtzmann showed that Mark was written first, and that Matthew and Luke used it and another 5
THE HISTORY OF THE QUEST
source of sayings (eventually called "Q" for the German word Quelle, "source"). Mark and Q became the sources from which a historical Jesus might be reconstructed. Most scholars assumed that these sources were relatively free from mythological embellishment. That same year French romanticist and philosopher Ernst Renan published his La Vie de Jesus ["The Life of Jesus"] (see Chapter 3). Chapter 28 of this work is reprinted in this volume, in which the author presents in almost poetic form his assessment of the person and impact of the historical Jesus. His portrait of a divine Jesus who shares his divinity with humanity depicts in French tones the popular conception in the latter part of the nineteenth century. With the appearance of certain publications at the turn of the century, it became evident that the old quest had not been successful. Martin Kahler's Der sogenannte historische Jesus und der geschichtliche, biblische Christus ["The So-Called Historical Jesus and the Historic, Biblical Christ"] (1892, see Chapter 4) argued that the historical Jesus of the nineteenth-century quest bore little resemblance to, or had little significance for, the Christ of faith. That same year Johannes Weiss published Die Predigt Jesu vom Reiche Gottes ["The Preaching of Jesus Concerning the Kingdom of God"] (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1892; rev. edn, 1900), in which he argued that Jesus was not a social reformer, but an apocalyptic prophet who summoned people to repent because judgment was near. In 1901 William Wrede published Das Messiasgeheimnis in den Evangelien ["The Messianic Secret in the Gospels"] (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht; ET: Cambridge and London: James Clarke, 1971), in which he argued that far from being a simple historical account, Mark's Gospel was a theologically oriented document comparable to John's Gospel. Finally, the appearance of Albert Schweitzer's Von Reimarus zu Wrede ["From Reimarus to Wrede"] (1906, see Chapter 5), in which he concluded that Jesus had died a deluded apocalyptic fanatic, led many scholars and theologians to believe that the quest of the historical Jesus was impossible (as argued the form critics) and perhaps even illegitimate (as argued many neo-orthodox theologians). Speaking as a form critic, Rudolf Bultmann once stated that "we can now know almost nothing concerning the life and personality of Jesus" (Jesus and the Word, 1926, p. 8; see Chapter 6). The popular neo-orthodox theologian Emil Brunner claimed that "the Christian faith does not arise out of the picture of the historical Jesus" and that "the Jesus of history is not the same as the Christ of faith" (The Mediator [London: Lutterworth, 1934; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1957J p. 159). Moreover, the recognition, thanks largely to Schweitzer, that the lives of Jesus of the old quest reflected the issues and emphases of each generation of scholars (the major error of the old quest) led many to suppose that the objectivity necessary for a truly fair portrait of Jesus simply could not be had. Therefore, in many circles the scholarly quest was abandoned. 6
INTRODUCTION
When in 1953 Ernst Kasemann read his paper, "Das Problem des historischen Jesus" ["The Problem of the Historical Jesus"] (published in 1954; see Chapter 7), a new quest of the historical Jesus was inaugurated among Bultmannian scholars. Kasemann argued that a new approach, one that was careful to avoid the errors of the old quest, was historically possible and theologically necessary. A link between the Christ of faith and the Jesus of history was necessary, if Christianity were to avoid lapsing into a form of docetic Gnosticism. While Kasemann emphasized the recovery of certain authentic sayings of Jesus, Ernst Fuchs (1956; see Chapter 8) argued for the presence of certain authentic actions or attitudes. Other Bultmannians who participated in the new quest included Hans Conzelmann, Erich Dinkler, Herbert Braun, Gerhard Ebeling, and James M. Robinson (see Chapter 10; for Bultmann's response, see Chapter 11 ). The new quest is part of what is sometimes referred to as the "post-Bultmannian" movement. In the 1960s and 1970s Jesus research continued, but often the emphasis was placed on Jesus as a social or political figure, rather than as one relevant for faith (as the emphasis had been during the new quest). For example, Jesus became the champion of the poor and the oppressed and as such is sometimes the inspiration for liberation theologies. Although the legitimacy of some of this work cannot be denied, one cannot help but wonder if the basic error of the old quest was recurring. Some of the studies that appeared in the 1970s and 1980s, however, seem to represent a return to a quest not governed by theological or political agendas. The emphasis now is on seeing Jesus against the background of first-century Palestinian Judaism. Unlike the "new quest," which had emphasized discontinuity between Jesus and his contemporaries, the more recent studies tend to emphasize continuity and context. This phase of the quest has been marked by real progress thanks to archaeological discoveries and the recent publication of many writings from late antiquity. Prominent among these are the Dead Sea Scrolls and the writings that make up the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. As we move into the twenty-first century, there seems to be no let up in academic and lay interest in the historical Jesus. Journal articles, chapters, and full book-length monographs continue to appear. Progress in archaeology, especially in Galilee, has clarified aspects of language, commerce, social structures, and culture. The evidence suggests that the Jewish population of Galilee in Jesus' day was strongly Torah-observant, resistant toward but not entirely free of Greco-Roman influences. The evidence has also done away with the romantic and uncritical notion of a place-bound Jesus, who grew up in a pastoral setting, unacquainted with urban life and the mix that is part of a cosmopolitan world. The evidence has also called into question the recent and faddish portrait of Jesus as a Cynic philosopher, who cared little for Israel's scriptures and the fulfillment of 7
THE HISTORY OF THE QUEST
prophecy. The Jesus that continues to emerge in critical scholarship that takes into account archaeological, literary, and linguistic data, that is conversant with expressions of Jewish faith and practice in late antiquity, and that is guided by a cautious approach to the primary sources, is a Jesus that called for Israel to repent and embrace the rule of God.
Part 2: Critical questions: miracle and myth One of the major factors that launched the old quest of the historical Jesus was the growing doubts, fostered by skepticism and deism in eighteenthcentury England and Germany, in the miraculous reports found in the Bible. If miracles are part of the mythology of an ancient past, and if the New Testament Gospels narrate several miracles, then perhaps we have no solid reasons for accepting these narratives as historical. Of course, if the Gospels are not historical, then perhaps we really do not know what Jesus said and did. It was this sort of thinking that led Reimarus to write his lengthy manuscript, portions of which, as mentioned above, were published after his death in 1768. Skepticism with regard to the New Testament Gospels, primarily due to the presence of miracles, was the driving force behind much of the old and new quests. Indeed, it was this preoccupation with miracle and myth that defined some 200 years of scholarship (i.e., from the 1770s to the 1970s; for a study of this dimension, see C. A. Evans, "Life-of-Jesus Research and the Eclipse of Mythology," Theological Studies 54 [1993] 3-36). In recent years this attitude has changed. Again, it is because historiography has asserted itself above philosophy, theology, and metaphysics. Not bogged down by debate over the definition of miracle, recent researchers have asked how Jesus was perceived by his contemporaries. Does the evidence suggest that he was viewed as a healer and exorcist? And if so, then in what light did it place Jesus and his message? The selections that follow testify to the struggle that took place over the question of miracle and myth in the Gospels. David Strauss (1835-6; see Chapter 12) assumed that the Gospels were highly mythological and therefore could tell us very little about the historical Jesus. Strauss' approach was taken to extremes by his successors - men like Bruno Bauer (midnineteenth century) and Artur Drews (early twentieth century) - who actually argued that the person of Jesus himself, not just his biographies, was a myth. It is to this question that Maurice Goguel in 1925 (see Chapter 13) and Rudolf Bultmann in 1941 (see Chapter 14) reply. Goguel challenges this radical skepticism, arguing not only that Jesus existed in history but that the Gospels are largely reliable sources. Bultmann, however, acknowledges the presence of myth in the Gospels, but he wishes to interpret, not eliminate, it. He attempts to find in the mythology that served well humankind long ago, but cannot serve modern humanity, its true exis8
INTRODUCTION
tential meaning. To do this, Bultmann instructs us, we must "demythologize" the message of the Bible. The final selections in this section are in response to Bultmann's novel and daring suggestion. Amos Wilder (1950; see Chapter 15) provides a succinct statement and evaluation of Bultmann's hermeneutical approach, while Giinther Bomkamm (1951; see Chapter 16), himself a pupil of Bultmann, looks at the other side of the issue, arguing that the Gospels - as Gospels - constitute a rejection of myth, even if they are not entirely free of it. Today's readers who are only acquainted with recently published works on the historical Jesus will observe that the mythology debate has dropped out of the discussion. This has happened because of a change in world view and understanding of science, as well as in a new understanding of what role historiography can and should play. Nevertheless, the myth debate should not be passed over in a survey of the history of Jesus research, for it played an important part in the development of the discussion and helps us appreciate how much the intellectual landscape has changed in the last quarter of a century.
Part 3: Critical questions: presuppositions and criteria of authenticity One of the byproducts of the quests of the historical Jesus has been the development of criteria for identifying material that probably goes back to the historical Jesus, in contrast to material that probably does not, but derives from the early Church. It is not surprising that an important part of this discussion is taken up with issues surrounding presuppositions and the burden of proof. Depending on how one divides and subdivides the various criteria that have been proposed, one may have as few as four or five criteria thought to be valid, or as many as a dozen. The three principal criteria, widely accepted and employed, are (1) multiple attestation, (2) embarrassment, and (3) dissimilarity. The second and third are logically related, but there are important points of distinction. Let us briefly review these three criteria. The studies that are reprinted in Part 3 will review them and others in greater length and detail. Multiple attestation. This criterion argues (or assumes) that material that appears in two or more independent sources has a stronger claim to authenticity than does material found in only one independent source. The assumption here is that multiply attested material is less likely to be the result of post-Jesus fabrication. Thus, if material is found in Mark and in Q, the sayings source on which Matthew and Luke drew, then it is reasonable to assume that it is early and widespread and therefore probably derives from Jesus himself. This criterion, of course, presupposes the 9
THE HISTORY OF THE QUEST
two-source theory for understanding the literary relationship of the Synoptic Gospels; that is, that Mark and Q were independent sources that Matthew and Luke utilized in the composition of their respective Gospels. Some three dozen sayings have been identified as multiply attested. Some scholars have expanded the inventory of multiply attested materials by arguing for the independence of other sources, such as the Gospel of Thomas, the Gospel of Peter, and other extra-canonical writings. But this position remains controversial and problematic. Embarrassment. This criterion argues that material that causes awkwardness or embarrassment for the early Church is best explained as deriving from the historical Jesus and not from a later tradent. If from a later source and if embarrassing, then why not expurgate the material from the tradition? Examples include Jesus' baptism at the hands of John, who preached a baptism "for the forgiveness of sins." Because early Christians believed that Jesus was sinless, it is hard to account for the creation of the tradition of Jesus' baptism. One can observe Matthew, Luke, and John, in their respective ways, attempting to mitigate the embarrassment of this tradition. The Markan evangelist may also have mitigated the embarrassment of the tradition, in his own way, by linking the baptism to the vision of the opened heaven, the descent of the dove, and the affirming heavenly voice, "You are my Son." Dissimilarity. This criterion is perhaps the most debated. In its classic form it argues that material that is dissimilar to tendencies and traditions in Judaism and emphases in the early Church may safely be assigned to the historical Jesus. The problem with the application of this criterion is that it cannot help but eliminate material that is probably authentic, simply on the grounds that it parallels something another Jew may have said or something that the early Church clung to, held dear, and taught. The negative application of this criterion has been sharply criticized in recent years. The tendency now is to make positive appeal to it. That is, if material cannot easily be explained as originating in conventional Jewish teaching and does not advance specifically Christian ideas, then its presence in the Jesus tradition is probably best explained as deriving from Jesus himself. Ongoing research, which takes more fully into account the Judaic context of Jesus and his movement, has lent an important measure of nuance to these three criteria. Multiply attested sayings of the rabbis have shed light on the implications of multiply attested (and somewhat different forms of) sayings of Jesus, while the Jewishness of Jesus' setting has tempered our understanding of what may have been unique, awkward, embarrassing, or even dissimilar in his time and place.
10
Part 1 CLASSIC STUDIES
1
THE REAL INTENTION OF THE APOSTLES H ermann S. Reimarus Source: C. H. Talbert (ed.), Reimarus: Fragments, translated by Ralph S. Fraser (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1970), pp. 240-269. (Originally published as Von dem Zwecke Jesu und seiner Junger: Noch ein Fragment des Wolfenbuttelschen Ungenannten, Fragment 7; G. E. Lessing (ed.), Braunschweig: [n.p.], 1778.)
§53 The apostles were chiefly men of the lower class and of small means, who gained their livelihood by fishing and other trades. They probably knew little or nothing beyond their occupation, although it is possible that they may have been men who combined study with business, and only resorted to the latter in the case of need, as was often the case with Jews such as Paul, who, though so learned, supported himself occasionally by making tents. Now when they resolved upon following Jesus, they entirely forsook their trade and all connected with it, hearkened to his teaching, and went about everywhere with him, or from time to time were sent by him to the towns of Israel to announce that the kingdom of heaven was near at hand, and twelve of them were accordingly chosen to become these messengers of joy. Here we do not require deductions or inferences as to what may have induced the apostles to forsake all and follow Jesus, because the evangelists distinctly inform us that they entertained hopes that the Messiah would establish a kingdom, or become king of Israel, and seat himself upon the throne of David. At the same time Jesus himself gave them his promise that they also should sit upon twelve thrones and judge the twelve tribes of Israel. Indeed, they already sat upon them so firmly in imagination, that they began to dispute, rather prematurely, among themselves as to who should have the first place and the greatest power next to Jesus. One of them wanted to sit at his right, the other at his left. Meantime, they did not forget to remind Jesus of their claims in having forsaken all and followed him, nor to ask him what they should receive for having done so. And when Jesus comforts them by saying that those who have left fields, houses, etc., for his sake shall receive back a hundredfold, they are 13
THE HISTORY OF THE QUEST
content, and only wait anxiously for the time and the hour when his kingdom should really begin. But this weary waiting only lasted until the execution of Jesus, which at once dashed all their idle hopes to the ground, and then they complain, "But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel!" [Luke 24:21]. It is clear, by their own account, and therefore requires no further proof, that the apostles and all the disciples were induced by ambitious motives, by hopes of future wealth and power, lands and worldly goods, to follow Jesus as their Messiah and king. 1 It is also clear that they never abandoned these hopes and aims as long as Jesus was alive, and even gave vent to them after his death. So far, all this must be acknowledged by everyone. No one can, without the greatest impudence, deny it. But now the doctrine of the apostles of Jesus hurriedly undergoes a change! Do the aims of the apostles change likewise? No, they build up a new doctrine indeed, but only because their hopes have been frustrated a doctrine of which immediately upon the death of Jesus they had not even begun to think, and which has every appearance of fictitious invention; therefore, we cannot believe otherwise than that the apostles of Jesus retained their previous aims and purposes, and sought to bring about their fulfillment as best they could, although in a different manner. Had we not already investigated this new doctrine to discover whether it were true or false, had we only been aware of the previous state of mind and desires of the apostles, namely, that they had hitherto been constantly looking forward to worldly grandeur and advantages in the kingdom of Jesus, which were put to an end by his death, and that upon this failure they brought out a new creed of Jesus as a spiritual, suffering Savior, which until some time afterwards had never entered their heads, and that they then set themselves up as messengers and preachers of this gospel, we should still have justly and strongly suspected them to have been actuated by the old ambitious aim in their altered creed. Because it is much more probable that men should continue to act from exactly the same motives by which they have undeniably and invariably been actuated before, than that they should abandon them and take up others. But we have pursued a straighter course; we have, a short time ago, examined the foundation of this new structure thoroughly and by itself, and we have found it sham and fictitious throughout. And thus we see how impossible it is that the apostles could have had any other object in promulgating a new doctrine than their old one, namely, that of ultimately obtaining power and worldly advantages. For an intentional, deliberate fabrication of a false occurrence can only spring from a preconceived resolve and from an object or motive harbored in the mind. He who diligently fabricates an untruth must have conceived a motive for so doing before he can concoct anything that will further his object; and the more bold and important this fabrication is, the deeper must the intention have been previously rooted in his mind, and of the more vital consequence must it have been to him. As, then, the new 14
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doctrine of the apostles was an undoubted fabrication, they must have invented it with a preconceived motive in their mind and will. Now as the former motives of the apostles, invariably and up to the time of the fabrication, had been aimed at worldly wealth and power, it follows with all moral certainty that the possession of worldly wealth and power was also the object of the apostles in the fabrication of their new doctrine. Nor can we doubt that all the circumstances attending their conduct will verify this conclusion.
§54 After the death of Jesus, great anxiety and fear prevailed among the disciples lest they should be pursued and punished, because they had followed a man who wanted to set himself up as a king, and had incited the people to rebellion. And although they pretended to be so brave, and to wish to share danger and death with Jesus, yes, even to be ready to fight with swords for him, they became cowards from the moment they saw that he was taken and likely to be condemned in earnest. "Then all the disciples forsook him and fled" [Matt. 26:56); and Peter who had summoned up courage enough to look on from a distance to see what the end of the disturbance might be, denied his master three times, and declared with an oath that he knew him not and knew nothing about him, because, you see, matters were running quite contrary to the desired object. Their twelve seats upon which they meant to sit and judge in the kingdom of Jesus were all at once overturned, and they no longer desired to sit at his right and at his left! The alarm of the apostles lasted for some time after the death of Jesus. They left it to Joseph and Nicodemus and the women to attend to his burial, and kept away even from their last duties. They assembled in secret places, locking the doors for fear of the Jews, for their common wants and interests made it advisable that they should hold together and keep of the same mind. By and by, one after another ventures abroad. They find that no further judicial inquiry is being made concerning them. They observe that the magistrates and rulers, after the execution of Jesus as the principal offender, consider his followers of little importance, and trouble themselves no more about them; perhaps also could not take further steps before Pilate. So they soon pluck up their courage, and begin to think of dangers overcome and future prospects of happiness. What was to be done? If they returned to their original occupations and trades, nothing but poverty and disgrace awaited them. Poverty, because they had forsaken all, particularly their nets, ships, and other implements; and, besides, they had grown out of the habit of working. And disgrace, because they had experienced such a tremendous downfall from their high and mighty expectations, and by their adherence to Jesus had become so familiar to all 15
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eyes, that everybody would have jeered and pointed at the pretended judges of Israel and intimate friends and ministers of the Messiah, who now had again become poor fishermen and perhaps even beggars. Both of these (poverty and disgrace) being exactly the opposite of their constant and long-cherished hopes were highly irritating and repugnant. On the other hand, they had imbibed, while with their master, a little foretaste of the importance to be gained by preaching, and had likewise ascertained that it was not an unremunerative occupation. Jesus himself had nothing. The oldest accounts of him state that he maintained himself by some trade up to the time of his ministry. However, in the thirtieth year of his life, he lays his trade aside and begins to teach. This would by no means necessitate want or starvation, although it did not promise a comfortable income, which, indeed, was not customary with the Jews, who would be all the more prodigal of charitable gifts. When he sojourned at Jerusalem a friend was sure to invite him to be his guest. From this also the saying arose that he was "a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners" (Matt. 11:19J. It is remarkable, too, that there were many Marthas who put themselves to a vast deal of trouble and pains to prepare delectable dishes for him. When he traveled, he was accompanied by such benevolent women as Mary Magdalene, Joanna, the wife of Chusa, Herod's steward, Susanna, and several others who ministered unto him of their substance, as we are told by Luke [8:1-3]. He was, therefore, provided not only with food, but also with money; and Judas, who carried the purse, was the cashier who bought and paid for everything requisite on the journey, and rendered an account of the outlay. Whenever Jesus had his meals, the disciples did eat with him. Whenever Jesus traveled, their expenses were paid out of the common purse, so that the kind gifts which were bestowed upon Jesus during his ministry were sufficient for the maintenance of at least thirteen people. And once, as if to ascertain whether want could be felt in such a course of life, some of the disciples were sent abroad through all the towns of Judea to announce the kingdom of God, without purse or script, and when on their return they were asked whether they had on any occasion suffered from hunger or want, they answered that they had never experienced either. The apostles then were very well aware that preaching, and particularly announcing the Messiah, would not do them any harm, and would not reduce them to beggary. It was the same with the honor and glory. They had seen that crowds of people ran after Jesus to listen to his teaching. They themselves had also been to some extent honored and looked up to by the multitude, because as they were the confidential disciples and allowed to know more than others, their master had drawn a line between them and the people. They had also had a little foretaste of honor and glory when they went about as ambassadors and messengers of the Messiah, announcing the kingdom of heaven. Above all, they knew how much influence a teacher 16
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could gain among the Jews, because the Pharisees, who were the most important and influential of the teachers, had substituted many of their own laws and sayings for those of the prophets, and had accustomed the people to accept them blindly. Such influence and importance might rise considerably if at a time when prophecies and miracles had ceased, someone were to come forward and pretend to receive divine revelations and perform miracles, and the highest flight of all could be taken by one who turned to account the universal expectation of a Messiah, whose speedy return he would teach the people to look for, and make them believe that he carried the keys of the kingdom of heaven. Such is human nature! He who can persuade people and lead them to believe that he can show them the way to everlasting bliss, a way that others do not know, or from which all others are shut out, but also a way that he can close as well as open, becomes thereby master over all else that man holds dear; over his thoughts, his freedom, his honor, and his fortune, for everything sinks into insignificance compared with this great and darling hope! If we may be allowed to take a premonitory glance at the after-conduct of the apostles, the sequel shows that they really did tread in the paths leading to influence and aggrandizement, and gleaned from them as much power over the minds of ignorant people as they possibly could. They write to them jointly, as well as in their council, dictating to all in the name of the Holy Spirit not only what they are to believe, but also what they are to do and what they are to avoid, and what they are to eat and drink. They compel, they threaten, they give people over to Satan; they appoint bishops, presidents, and elders; they force people to sell all their property and lay the proceeds at their feet, so that those to whom the lands belonged must henceforth be dependent on their charity; to say nothing of others who had no possessions of the kind, and looked entirely to the beneficent hands of the apostles for support. 2 Where they could not manage to introduce this commonwealth, they knew how to urge the collection of alms with so much religious zeal, that it was considered a small thing for anyone to divide his worldly wealth with those through whom he had become a participator in heavenly and spiritual wealth. 3
§55 The apostles, then, had learned by the little foretaste aforementioned, that by preaching and announcement of the kingdom of the Messiah, not only a sufficient maintenance, but also power, honor, and glory were attainable. They also possessed enough sense (as their future behavior shows) to turn all these things to the very best advantage. No wonder then that their courage did not entirely leave them upon the first failure of their hopes of worldly wealth and power in the Messiah's kingdom, and that by a bold stroke they succeeded in paving a new way to them.
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§56 We have already remarked that at that time some of the Jews, though very few, believed in a twofold coming of the Messiah, who was first to appear suffering and in misery, and again in power and glory. This belief exactly suited the purpose of the apostles. They saw that the game was not yet lost. The expectation of a future Messiah was still universally cherished, and although the Jews had been deceived in such persons as Theudas and Judas Galileus, yet they never ceased to look for a Messiah in others and after a different fashion, as is shown by the later history of the Jews. The apostles could also feel sure that a great many of those who looked upon Jesus as a prophet, mighty in words and deeds, would henceforth catch at this doctrine, and would consider his suffering to have been part of his ministry, and the consequence of his first coming; and would, therefore, believe and expect his glorious second coming from heaven to be all the nearer at hand. Neither could they doubt that many of the former adherents of Jesus, from the same fear of poverty and disgrace which had influenced themselves, would embark in the same boat with them, and would gladly believe whatever the apostles wished, so they could only convince them that they had not been mistaken and deceived. Behind locked doors, and so long as they were unanimous as to their common anxiety, they had good opportunities for deliberating and consulting one with another as to the best method of utilizing their idea to their own advantage. Above all things, it was necessary to get rid of the body of Jesus as speedily as possible, in order that they might say he had arisen and ascended into heaven, and would promptly return from thence with great power and glory. This design of disposing of the body of Jesus was easy to carry out. It lay entombed in a rock situated in Joseph's garden. Both the master and the gardener allowed the apostles to visit the grave by day or by night. They betray themselves by owning that anyone might have secretly removed the body. They bore the accusation made by the rulers and magistrates of having actually done it themselves by night, and nowhere did they dare to contradict the common report. In short, all circumstances combine to show that they really did carry out their undertaking, and added it later on to the foundation stone of their new doctrine. It appears in the sequel, also, that they were not very long about it, for they made away with the corpse in little more than twenty-four hours, before corruption had well set in; and when it became known that the body of Jesus was gone, they pretended to be full of astonishment, and ignorant of any resurrection, and proceeded with others to the spot in order to survey the empty tomb. As yet, it was too soon to make their assertion. They wait a full fifty days before they attempt it, so that by and by the time might be past for an examination of the body, and for requiring them to produce openly the Jesus who had arisen. They wait fifty days that they may be able the more
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confidently to insist that they have seen him here and there, that he had been with them, had spoken to them, had eaten with them, and, lastly, had parted from them, and had ascended into heaven that he might soon return in glory. 4
§57 What chance of success could they promise themselves by such an undertaking? Decidedly a good one. No one could now accuse them manifestly of fraud or falsehood. The corpus delicti was not to be found, and even if anyone should come and point out that it was somewhere to be found, more than fifty days had passed over since the death of Jesus, and decay must have done its work. Who would be able to recognize him now, and say, "This is the body of Jesus"? The lapse of time secured them from detection, and made investigation useless. It also helped them to tell crowds of people how often and in what manifold ways he had appeared to them in the meanwhile, and what he had said to them; so that they could teach and arrange whatever seemed most desirable, as though they were doing it according to the sayings and commands of Jesus; and if anyone after the fifty days should happen to ask, "Where is this Jesus who has arisen? Show him to me," the answer was all ready, "He has now ascended into heaven." All depended on showing a bold front, and in affirming confidently that they had seen Jesus, had spoken with him, felt him, eaten and walked with him; and in these declarations they were all unanimous. Such evidence could not easily be rejected, because truth, according to law, consisted in the evidence of two or three witnesses, and here there were eleven who stated one and the same thing. The resurrection in itself was not incredible to the greater mass, that is to say, to the Pharisees; and the people, who believed that others had been raised from death by the prophets, consequently were forced to allow the possibility of the resurrection of Jesus in accordance with their own doctrine. The apostles, or rather Paul, as the cleverest of them, knew how to turn this to account for his defense and acquittal in a masterly style, when he stood upon his trial before the council. In order to set the Pharisees and Sadducees (who both sat in judgment) at each other's throats and thereby to escape, he pretended at the time not to lay any particular stress upon the resurrection of Jesus, but he distorted the accusation brought against him, making it appear as though it referred to a common dogma. When he stood before the judges at Jerusalem and "Paul perceived that one part were Sadducees and the other Pharisees, he cried out in the council, 'Brethren, I am a Pharisee, a son of Pharisees; with respect to the hope and the resurrection of the dead I am on trial.' And when he had said this, a dissension arose between the Pharisees and the Sadducees; and the assembly was divided 19
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... Then a great clamor arose; and some of the scribes of the Pharisees' party stood up and contended, 'We find nothing wrong in this man. What if a spirit or an angel spoke to him?'" [Acts 23:6-7, 9]. Paul speaks afterwards in the same manner at Caesarea before the governor, "Let these men themselves say what wrongdoing they found when I stood before the council, except this one thing which I cried out while standing among them, 'With respect to the resurrection of the dead I am on trial before you this day'" [Acts 24:20-21]. He speaks again in the same way before King Agrippa, and rebukes the Jews in his presence, "Why is it thought incredible by any of you that God raises the dead?" [Acts 26:8]. What he meant was, "Why, it is your own confession of faith that there is a resurrection of the dead! There are examples of it in the Scriptures." Paul knew how to catch the Jews with their own dogmas; and when he comes upon the particular resurrection of Jesus, he has recourse to a bath qol, a voice which had called to him from heaven. Now for such a bath qol, at that time, all honor was felt, so they were perforce bound to show it due respect: "If a spirit or an angel has spoken to him, let us not fight against God" 5 [Acts 23:9]. In a similar way the apostles often have recourse to heavenly voices, the Holy Spirit, angels, visions, ecstasies as high up as the third heaven, whenever they want to give force to their pretenses. Those who still entertained regard and esteem for the person of Jesus, and who had heard of his many miracles, and of his having even reawakened people from death, were all the more ready to believe that he had himself arisen from the dead. The apostles had besides learned from their master how to perform miracles, or rather how to give the semblance of them to spectators, and I have shown elsewhere that it requires no skill whatever to relate miracles, or even to perform them, so there be plenty of confederates to assist by dexterity of speech and hand, especially where one deals with a people accustomed from youth up to believe in miracles. The apostles took pains to strengthen this readiness to believe, by recommending and urging the faith as an advantageous and a saving one, and denouncing unbelief by damnation. And when there was a question of proof, they had Moses and all the prophets to back them; for having acquired all the tricks of allegorical adaptation, it was not difficult for them to find passages applicable to Jesus as Messiah, to his birth, to his flight into Egypt, his sojourn at Nazareth, his deeds, his miracles, his crucifixion, burial, resurrection, ascension, second coming, and, in short, to anything else they wanted. This pharisaical art of reasoning was, in those days, looked upon as displaying the greatest cleverness, the deepest science, and, in short, as irresistible; where conviction was lacking, the apostles inclined people's minds to faith by the promise of rich rewards on the speedy return of Jesus to his glorious kingdom. For this kingdom, according to the opinion of the Jews 20
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and early Christians, was not to be merely an invisible kingdom of spiritual wealth in heaven, which probably would have made less impression, but it was to be a visible kingdom lasting a thousand years upon earth, in which people were to eat and drink and live as before, only everything was to be in profusion, pleasure and happiness were to be boundless, and all enemies conquered and kept in subjection. Such promises could not fail to touch the senses. Such bright representations dazzle the desires (and thereby the mind) to such a degree that people utterly neglect and despise all investigation, all searching after truth, and even present interests in the lively hope of a future abundance of wealth and happiness. In this way the apostles found opportunities of persuading many to give up their money and property to the common use for the sake of the immense reward awaiting them hereafter. This was a savings bank in which everyone with whatever little fortune he possessed strove to buy shares in the speedily expected kingdom of heaven; and the division of these properties into alms enabled the apostles not only to exchange their poverty for affluence, but to allure to them thousands of poor people by relieving their immediate wants and promising them future plenty.
§58 As the result shows that the apostles really did make use of these means, and that the same were successful in furthering their purposes, and as we have seen from whence the apostles obtained supplies to carry them out, there can be no doubt whatever that they had foreseen, lovingly talked over, and approved of these means in the days when they were all so united and friendly together. Did they think that no difficulties would fall in the way and hinder the execution of their plans? We may reasonably suppose that they did expect difficulties to arise, but anyone who is acquainted with the then existing condition of the Jewish people will understand that such difficulties could not have appeared so insurmountable but that they might be vanquished by firmness and courage. They began, then, by merely announcing the resurrection of Jesus from the dead; a thing which to the Romans appeared simply ridiculous, and had no influence upon their government of the Jews. To the pharisaical Jews, however, it could not appear so incredible, and at all events could not now be rejected, because the contrary could not possibly be manifestly shown after the body had been made away with for fifty days, and also because the fact had been confirmed in a more than legitimate manner, that is to say, by more than three witnesses. The apostles knew that they need have no fear of any regular and circumstantial judicial examination at which the evidence of each witness is taken upon oath, written down, and afterwards compared, to find whether a contradiction can be detected in one or more of the evidences, or in any of the alleged connecting circumstances. No,
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everything at that time in Roman law courts, not to mention those of the Jews, was carried on in a very tumultuous and superficial manner. How to encounter deceit and error in alleged facts by rational examination, was, as yet, not understood. The history of the New Testament and that of the apostles shows well enough that such was the case when anyone stood before the council. If the apostles had let fall anything about the glorious second coming of Jesus to his kingdom in the clouds of heaven, it would likewise have been contemptuously regarded by the Romans and many Jews as a vain dream and a worthless pretense, the falsity of which time would expose. But should matters come to the worst, what had the apostles to fear from the Jewish rulers? The Jewish criminal court no longer existed. The rulers dared not put anyone to death; that was the affair of the Roman governor. The punishment of flagellation might possibly be awarded to the apostles, or they might be driven from the synagogue and placed under the ban. That was all. They, however, made up their minds to run this risk, and their master having been forced to undergo the most humiliating of deaths by crucifixion, they determined to regard the lesser disgrace as an honor, and also prompted those who adopted the Christian faith with this spirit of martyrdom. However, as before said, the Jewish rulers could not punish them very severely, for their authority was quite brought down and public discipline was in the greatest confusion; and this indeed is very evident from two occurrences related in the Acts of the Apostles. When Paul was placed before the high council and began to argue, the high priest Ananias commanded that he should be struck on the mouth, probably because he had spoken without leave, which was considered unseemly in the accused, and also because he would not remain silent after having been previously forbidden to speak. Paul, however, has the impudence to rebuke and curse the high priest. He says, "God shall strike you, you whitewashed wall! Are you sitting to judge me according to the law, and yet contrary to the law you order me to be struck?" [Acts 23:3]. What could be more audacious than this behavior toward the most influential judge in the high council? And yet, although he was called to account for it, he was left unpunished. His apology, "I did not know, brethren, that he was the high priest; for it is written, 'You shall not speak evil of a ruler of your people'" [Acts 23:5], would not have saved him. The excuse was a lame one, for the high priest could not have been so unknown to him, and if he did not recognize him as such, he must have known that he was a judge, who, belonging to the high council, must necessarily be a person of distinction, and, therefore, also his ruler, and here his judge. Was he then to be allowed, with the exception of the high priest, to curse any other members of the high council? He says himself, "It is written, 'You shall not speak evil of a ruler of your people' " [Acts 23:5]. Was not then every judge and member of that council a ruler of the Jewish people? Does not Paul smite himself with his own words? But as I 22
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said before, it was not his apology that obtained his freedom, but the weakness of the Jewish Sanhedrin, and the small influence of all the magistracy, who, during the Roman dominion, dared not take a few abusive words too precisely. Paul was as well aware of this weakness as he was of their private disagreements and quarrels, for the council was composed of Pharisees and Sadducees, and in consequence the judges often differed in opinion and split into opposite parties, the end of which was that they let the accused go free. As then Paul knew that the Sadducees denied the resurrection of the dead, and that the Pharisees upheld it, he played the "divide." He took the side of the Pharisees, "Brethren, I am a Pharisee, a son of Pharisees; with respect to the hope and the resurrection of the dead I am on trial" [Acts 23:6]. An uproar and a quarreling immediately ensues among the judges themselves, the Pharisees take his part, they pronounce him innocent, and Paul's impeachment falls to the ground. So Paul laughs in his sleeve at the impotent Jewish council, and feels pretty confident that it can do him no great harm. Even when these religious dissensions were brought before the Roman council, verdict was always given in favor of the accused, for the Romans either looked upon them as senseless brawls, and neither could nor would judge their private sects and heretics; or, as on many accounts one must conclude, they encouraged these divisions and bickerings among the Jews, seeking thereby to bring the power and influence of their magistracy lower and lower down, in order to give themselves a better opportunity of ultimately bringing the people entirely under their yoke, which, indeed, they soon afterwards succeeded in accomplishing.
§59 Civil discipline was also at that time in a very bad state among the Jews. People could do almost what they liked without fear of punishment. I do not, however, mean to imply that the apostles escaped censure in introducing this community of property, for such a state of things must necessarily be disadvantageous to the prosperity of a nation. Those citizens who are in easy circumstances, and who sell all their goods and chattels, lands and houses, to place the money they realize into a common bank, are thereby withdrawn from the state. They become poor, and cannot in any way help to support the universal burdens, or assist in furthering the growth of the state by business and trade. Private persons become lords and masters of all the wealth in which the treasury and universal affairs have a just participation and claim, and these people are thus enabled to draw toward them thousands of other citizens, who henceforth become dependent upon them and are obliged to follow the beck and call of their leaders and benefactors; also, by being deprived of dominion and obedience to the magistracy and rulers, they are even placed in opposition to the latter. However, 23
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I will not demand from the Jewish polity the prevention of such injury to the public good. The apostles felt themselves at liberty to utilize this carelessness and confusion, and in the midst of one state began to erect another state, in which religion and opinion, possessions and their appropriation, and consequently the behavior of their adherents no longer depended upon the injunction or prohibition of the laws, but upon the beck and call of the apostles, and by them was used against the injunction or prohibition of the laws, under the pretext that one must obey the law of God before the law of man. It certainly is most astonishing that at the very commencement of this apostolic institution, two persons lost their lives one after the other in the chamber of the apostles, from whence they were carried out dead, and that no judicial inquiry or examination ensued as to why and by what means these two persons met with their death, for such an event must of necessity have aroused suspicion. In Acts 5:1 ff., Ananias and Sapphira agree to take shares in the apostolic bank. They resolve with the foreknowledge of the apostles to follow the example of others and sell their possessions. This of itself was a thing contrary to the law of Moses, and by which the apostles had upset the entire constitution of the Jewish polity, for, according to the command of Moses, each person was to retain in his possession the inheritance of his fathers. These two persons must have observed that when once others had been deprived of their property, means of subsistence were rather sparingly forthcoming. For this reason they persuade themselves not to give up the whole of their paternal inheritance, but to reserve a portion of it in case of need. The Holy Spirit was not wanted here to tell Peter how much they had received for their lands, for he knew the value and price of them. He asks how much money, counts up the sum Ananias has brought, and as he perceives that part of it is missing, he is dissatisfied, he must have it alL He calls Ananias to account, assumes an air of great importance, as though it were one and the same thing to lie to him as to lie to the Holy Spirit. In short, the man falls down, God knows how, dead upon the ground. People are called in who lift him up, receive orders to carry him out and bury him immediately, and in three hours the whole business is accomplished. Meanwhile, the wife Sapphira appears before the apostles, and is likewise asked whether the lands have not produced more, and when she denies having received a larger sum, the same fate awaits her. She falls down dead, is carried out and buried with her husband. I will not inquire what became of the money laid at the apostles' feet, for although it was not the whole fortune of Ananias and Sapphira, it is very apparent that the apostles did not restore it to the heirs, but considered it a good prize and kept it. How is it possible in a town or state possessing any sort of law or order that two well-known persons, a man and his wife, should die in a room in broad daylight, be put out of the way, and buried in two or three hours without any inquiry being made as to the manner by which they lost their
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lives? Could this happen without presentiment, without collusion, without painful examination on the part of those present? In so disorganized a state of affairs, what might not the apostles venture to undertake and to do?
§60 It is evident from the above that the apostles had no cause to fear that any great difficulties would present themselves in their way. We will see how they really went to work. After all had been unanimously prearranged by those most influential among them, they assembled about a hundred and twenty of the remaining disciples [Acts 1:15], some of whom probably honestly imagined that Jesus really had arisen from the dead, and had been seen by the others. In the place of Judas another apostle was ordained, and eventually, on the fiftieth day after Easter, the first outbreak of their intention took place with a miracle in which four other miracles are remarkable: (1) a sound as of a rushing mighty wind, which filled all the house; (2) the appearance on the apostles of cloven tongues like as of fire; (3) that it (the wind, I suppose) "rested on each one of them" [Acts 2:3]; (4) that they began to speak with other tongues so that Parthians, Medes, Elamites, Mesopotamians, Jews, Cappadocians, Pontians, Asiatics, Phrygians, Pamphylians, Egyptians, Lybians, Cyrenians, Romans, strange Jews, Cretes, and Arabians - all these heard the apostles speak and praise God in their own language. Upon which "all were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, 'What does this mean?' But others mocking said, 'They are filled with new wine'" [Acts 2:12-13]. So it goes on until Peter gets up and produces evidence from Joel, showing that this miracle should come to pass in the last days, and further evidence from the Psalms showing that Jesus must have arisen because David said, "For thou wilt not ... let thy Holy One see corruption" [Acts 2:27]. And after this, "Those who received his word were baptized, and there were added that day about three thousand souls" [Acts 2:41]. Now if the object of God was to make the resurrection clear and credible to man, why should he have shown Jesus after his resurrection to no other men than the apostles, and afterwards, when he was no longer extant, announce the resurrection by a miracle? Would not the resurrection have been believed quite naturally and with universal approbation without any miracle, if God had, after the crucifixion and burial, allowed Jesus to be seen and touched alive in the temple before the Sanhedrin, and before the eyes of all the people? To reject an easy, natural, and powerful method for an unnatural, incomprehensible, and round-about method, is not consistent with the wisdom of God. Miracles shown forth in such a manner are extremely suspicious. Men who would establish by miracles a thing which, if clear and true, they could and ought manifestly and visibly to prove, invariably seek 25
THE HISTORY OF THE QUEST
to work upon the credulity of ignorant or weak-minded people, who are most easily caught by what is most incomprehensible to them. We will now look a little closer into this great miracle. I do not know whether Luke, who relates it, was himself present on the occasion, but whether he was or not, it is to be regretted that he has not detailed in a more intelligible manner how such impossible things came to pass. We need not waste time over the "sound ... like the rush of a mighty wind" [Acts 2:2], because a noise of that kind is so very easily produced; but who can comprehend what Luke means by saying that the tongues seen among the apostles were cloven like the flames of fire? The word tongue cannot here, as it does elsewhere, mean language, because we cannot see language; besides, it would not correspond with the description of these cloven tongues like forked flames of fire in the shape of tongues. Could they have been the tongues of the apostles themselves? They might possibly have shot them forth from their throats with such force and speed as to resemble the cloven tongue of a serpent, and during the protrusion might also have had a fiery appearance; or could they have been strange tongues, the shape and color of which were seen upon the apostles? And whereabouts were they seen? Over their heads, as they are commonly represented in pictures, or shooting forth like flames from their mouths, as is more likely to have been the case? And who and what placed the tongues upon each of the apostles? Was it the wind? For nothing else is mentioned as having done so. The whole description, unlike that of a true history, is more that of a prophetic vision intended to represent the prompting of foreign languages by the Holy Spirit. The mighty wind represents the Holy Spirit blowing into the apostles and kindling a blazing fire which shoots forth in forked flames from their mouths, signifying the gift of various foreign languages. It is a good picture of the imaginary vision of a prophetic writer, but we cannot by any possible means make it rhyme with a true history. And why should some of those present have mocked at the apostles, and supposed them to be drunken with wine if these miraculous tongues were indeed visible to the spectators? The thing contradicts itself. Let the mockery of men go as far as it will, such a visible supernatural event could not have failed to produce universal dismay, amazement, and terror. It certainly would not have given rise to any mockery. Mockery soon stops if one sees clearly a marvelous thing which cannot be mistaken for delusion or imposition. The first miracle then would appear to have been concocted for the purpose by Luke with little imagination and less forethought; and this very mockery, coming from the hearers and spectators, shows us sufficiently that whatever they really did see and hear, must have had every appearance of juggling and deception. Otherwise, why should they have mocked and said that the apostles were full of new wine? If the apostles had spoken one after another rationally, distinctly, and decently, like reasonable, well-conducted, sober men, this mockery could not have taken place. 26
THE REAL INTENTION OF THE APOSTLES
We must, therefore, conclude that to all outward appearance they did behave like intoxicated men. That is to say, that they spoke and shouted confusedly one amid the others, as drunkards are apt to do, and at the same time made extravagant gestures such as drunkards are apt to make. It is easy to see that the apostles put on a prophetic enthusiasm in which people feign to rave and be mad, for in the hithpa'el of naba' "to prophesy" and "to be mad" are expressed by the same word. Further, it is easy to see that in their feigned enthusiasm they all shouted at the same time in a loud voice and in confusion certain strange syllables and words, so that any credulous person in the tumult and in the babel of sounds might easily fancy he recognized his own or any other language. This perfectly accounts for the mockery upon which Paul also throws much light in an epistle to the Corinthians [1 Cor. 14] when he has not the courage utterly to forbid the speaking with tongues, as such a command would have been equivalent to accusing the apostles - with all their miraculous Corinthian gifts - of juggling and imposition, but, nevertheless, he gives them to understand that he deems it advisable to refrain from speaking in unknown tongues which no man understands, and which, unless they be interpreted, are not edifying to the church. For it appears that some members of the church had endeavored to make themselves conspicuous by this miraculous gift of tongues, and in a fit of inspiration had given vent to meaningless and extraordinary sounds, by which the ignorant might imagine them to be speaking in foreign languages. It is also possible that their imagination became so excited, that in a sort of ecstasy they gave utterance to these strange sounds, for of such ecstasies there are numerous examples. At all events, we may be sure that they (the sounds) did not proceed from God, or from the Spirit of God, who would certainly not waste his knowledge of tongues where it would not be edifying, and where Paul saw reason to find fault with it. Let us, however, imagine what (on account of the feigned inspiration and the mockery it occasioned) I cannot believe, namely, that the apostles did in an intelligible, orderly manner, one after another, utter divers sentences in foreign tongues. Would it not have been perfectly possible that some of them, in their intercourse with so many people of different nations, had become familiar with such sentences, or had taken pains to acquire such sentences or words to help them in carrying out their intentions? Where is the great miracle in this? And how bad the argument: Certain persons have spoken in foreign tongues; therefore Jesus has arisen from the dead. "That is all very well," we shall be answered, "but such tongues, tongues so numerous and so little known! These Parthians, Medes, Elamites, Cretes, Arabians, Cappadocians, Asiatics, and so forth, all understood the apostles, and heard them praise God each in his own language, and thereupon three thousand souls were baptized and added to the Christian church. Certainly there could have been no deception in this! A strong impression must have been 27
THE HISTORY OF THE QUEST
produced upon all by such an immense conversion, except upon the mockers who did not understand it." But Luke here forgets that he has represented the apostles sitting in a room. He says at the beginning of his recital, "And suddenly a sound came from heaven like the rush of a mighty wind, and it filled all the house6 where they were sitting" [Acts 2:2]. It was the custom of the apostles to assemble in the upper chamber of the house iv rep vnepij)q>, immediately under the flat roof. My gracious! How could upwards of three thousand people have found room there? For these three thousand do not constitute all the persons present. The three thousand were those who "received his word [and] were baptized" [Acts 2:41], so there must have been others who did not accept the word of Peter, and besides these the assembled company numbered a hundred and twenty [Acts 1:15]. So we may reckon that there were altogether about four thousand people. Such a number would require a large church. How does Luke contrive to cram them all into this one chamber of the apostles? I would willingly help him out of the difficulty by suggesting that perhaps the greater number of people might have been outside in the street or in the courtyard. But my suggestion would remove all cause for the conversion. How could people who stood in the street or in the courtyard, looking up at the room, see, hear, and know what miraculous things were going on up there, what languages were being spoken, or what the meaning of the speeches was? Yet Luke introduces them as saying, "Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us in his own native language?" [Acts 2: 7-8]. No, I cannot help Luke. He has forgotten what he has written, and to make the conversion appear as important as possible, he states the number of converted to have been over three thousand, and it never occurs to him that he has seated his apostles in a chamber. It is immaterial to him how these three or four thousand people are to find standing-room! And how will he convince us that three to four thousand people could congregate immediately upon a mighty wind? For even if the wind had made itself heard with a mighty rushing sound through the whole town, there was no reason why the inhabitants should be very much surprised at it, or why they should run off to one particular house in the town. If, on the other hand, this mighty wind only sounded in this one particular house, how could so many thousand people, some of them at the uttermost ends of the town, - Parthians, Medes, Elamites, Cretes, Arabians, Phrygians, Cappadocians - have known that it sounded? This is past all comprehension. Besides, the assembled congregation is supposed to consist of devout men, Jews and comrades of Jews. Why is it that on the first day of Pentecost instead of hastening, as devout men would, to the temple or the synagogue, they hurry, out of sheer curiosity, from the most distant quarters of the town to a house in or over which a mighty wind has been heard to sound? There is no rhyme in this.
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THE REAL INTENTION OF THE APOSTLES
Events follow with such marvelous speed one upon the other throughout Luke's history, that it would seem as though everything were influenced by the wind. "And at this sound the multitude came together" [Acts 2:6]. It is also remarkable that this multitude of people in Jerusalem are not native Jews; on the contrary, they are strange Jews of every nation under heaven, fifteen of which are mentioned; just as if these had previously and expressly been summoned to become aural witnesses of the new "polyglotta," and just as if the native Jews had not been invited. But as, in this instance, the news came to the people's ears accidentally, and as out of about one thousand Jews who came from Palestine to the feast of Pentecost at Jerusalem, none could justly be called strange Jews, there could not at most have been more than three or four strangers among a number of three or four thousand casually congregated people. How is it then here that to one native Jew there are fourteen strange Jews, in the enumerating of whom Luke is obliged to exhaust all his geography? This is hard to believe. It behooves a writer who relates a miraculous event before all things to explain clearly the possibility of a thing which in itself appears incredible, but here one not only sees that the several occurrences recorded could not have taken place, but one also sees clearly and distinctly by all the circumstances combined that the story is self-refuting. Thus it is with all these miracles. Nothing is easier for the writer than to imagine them. It is no more trouble to him to put down three thousand than three hundred, his pen governs and orders all nature, he makes the wind to sound when and where he lists, he confounds languages, and in the space of a moment assembles a multitude of every nation under the sun. But here and there the confusion of his imagination will peep out, entangling itself hopelessly in contradictions. Such tales can only be believed blindfold by a sanctimonious simplicity. To a healthy mind they are a mockery and a laughingstock. And although Luke imagined thirty years afterwards, when the age allotted to man was well nigh spent, that he could with impunity write miracles and unscrupulously circulate them in the world, there were then, as there are now, some sensible people who could perceive imposition and falsehood in all their nooks and crannies, and who readily knew how to distinguish them from the truth. I shall pass over the rest of the miracles as unworthy of notice; it is probably sufficient for my readers, as it is for myself, to have found that such is the case by our investigation of this first miracle. We now know how much truth it contains. Doubtless a good many may be deducted from the three thousand who so speedily adapted themselves to the baptism and belief in Jesus; and the motive which swayed the remainder was not the miracle, but the sweet prospect of enjoying the common wealth which was being so liberally distributed to all, that they ate and drank together, and wanted for nothing, as we see by the following: "And they devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the
29
THE HISTORY OF THE QUEST
prayers ... And all who believed were together and had all things in common; and they sold their possessions and goods and distributed them to all, as any had need ... There was not a needy person among them, for as many as were possessors of lands or houses sold them, and brought the proceeds of what was sold and laid it at the apostles' feet; and distribution was made to each as any had need" [Acts 2:42, 44--45; 4:34-35]. Behold the real reason of the conflux - a reason which operates and has operated at all times so naturally, that we need no miracle to make everything comprehensible and clear. This is the real mighty wind that so quickly wafted all the people together. This is the true original language that performs the miracles.
Notes 1 An economic motive in the spread of early Christianity is here made explicit by Reimarus. It dominates much of the remainder of Reimarus's description of Christian origins. Taken together with the disciples' desire for status, it furnishes a perfectly natural explanation for the spread of Christianity after Jesus' death. No supernatural interventions are required. At the same time, this reconstruction leaves out of account any religious motivation - i.e., it is not prepared to grant any real place to the disciples' faith in the development of the Christian interpretation of Jesus. At precisely this point, the work of D. F. Strauss shows its superiority to that of Reimarus, even though Strauss is as skeptical regarding miracles and historical facts as is Reimarus. Strauss, however, refuses to deal in the bad faith of the disciples. 2 Reimarus here alludes to the report of Acts 2:43-47; 4:32-37; 5:1-11; 6:1-6, which he interprets as evidence for the self-aggrandizement of the disciples. He discusses these texts below. 3 Reimarus may be alluding to the Pauline collection of alms (see Gal. 2:10; 2 Cor. 8, 9), but he overlooks the tradition in Acts 11:27-30, according to which alms were gathered because of famine. The problems connected with Paul's collected funds have been discussed recently not only in view of their possible relation to Qumran's communal life but also in view of Paul's own missionary career and ecclesiology. Dieter Georgi, Die Geschichte der Kollekte des Paulus fiir Jerusalem, Theologische Forschung, 38 (Hamburg: H. Reich, 1965); K. F. Nickle, The Collection, Studies in Biblical Theology, 38 (Naperville, Ill.: Allenson, 1966); L. E. Keck, "The Poor Among the Saints in the New Testament," Zeitschrift fiir neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 56 (1965): 100-129, and "The Poor Among the Saints in Qumran and Jewish Christianity," ibid. 57 (1966): 54-78. 4 Reimarus alludes to the report of Acts, according to which the apostles did not begin their public proclamation of Jesus' resurrection until Pentecost. 5 Reimarus is paraphrasing; also perhaps echoing the speech attributed to Gamaliel in Acts 5:38-39. 6 Contrary to Reimarus's contention, rov of~eov can refer to the temple as well as to a private house. Cf. Acts 7:47; Isa. 6:4 and frequently in the LXX.
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THE REAL INTENTION OF THE APOSTLES
References Primary sources Reimarus, Hermann Samuel. Die vornehmsten Wahrheiten der naturlichen Religion, 1754. 4th ed. hamburg: Johann Carl Bohn, 1772. Voysey, Charles, ed. Fragments From Reimarus. London: Williams & Norgate, 1879; reprinted, Lexington, Ky.: American Theological Library Association Committee on Reprinting, 1962.
Secondary sources Strauss, David Friedrich. Hermann Samuel Reimarus und seine Schutzschrift jar die vernunftigen Verehrer Gottes, 1862. 2nd ed. Bonn: Emil Strauss, 1877. (This material may also be found in D. F. Strauss, Gesammelte Schriften, ed. E. Zeller [Bonn: Emil Strauss, 1877], 5: 229-409.)
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2
CONCLUDING DISSERTATION The dogmatic import of the life of Jesus David F. Strauss Source: The Life of Jesus, Critically Examined, translated by George Eliot (London: Chapman, 1846), pp. 757-784. (Originally published as Das Leben Jesu kritisch bearbeitet, Tiibingen: C. F. Osiander, 1835-1836.)
§ 144. Necessary transition from criticism to dogma1 The results of the inquiry which we have now brought to a close, have apparently annihilated the greatest and most valuable part of that which the Christian has been wont to believe concerning his Saviour Jesus, have uprooted all the animating motives which he has gathered from his faith, and withered all his consolations. The boundless store of truth and life which for eighteen centuries has been the aliment of humanity, seems irretrievably dissipated; the most sublime levelled with the dust, God divested of his grace, man of his dignity, and the tie between heaven and earth broken. Piety turns away with horror from so fearful an act of desecration, and strong in the impregnable self-evidence of its faith, pronounces that, let an audacious criticism attempt what it will, all which the Scriptures declare, and the Church believes of Christ, will still subsist as eternal truth, nor needs one iota of it to be renounced. Thus at the conclusion of the criticism of the history of Jesus, there presents itself this problem: to reestablish dogmatically that which has been destroyed critically. At the first glance, this problem appears to exist merely as a challenge addressed by the believer to the critic, not as a result of the moral requirements of either. The believer would appear to need no re-establishment of the faith, since for him it cannot be subverted by criticism. The critic seems to require no such re-establishment, since he is able to endure the annihilation resulting from his own labours. Hence it might be supposed that the critic, when he seeks to rescue the dogma from the flames which his criticism has kindled, acts falsely in relation to his own point of view, since, to satisfy the believer, he treats what is valueless for himself as if he esteemed it to be a jewel; while in relation to the believer, he is undertaking a 32
THE DOGMATIC IMPORT OF THE LIFE OF JESUS
superfluous task, in labouring to defend that which the latter considers in no way endangered. But on a nearer view the case appears otherwise. To all belief, not built on demonstration,2 doubt is inherent, though it may not be developed; the most firmly believing Christian has within him the elements of criticism as a latent deposit of unbelief, or rather as a negative germ of knowledge, and only by its constant repression can he maintain the predominance of his faith, which is thus essentially a re-established faith. And just as the believer is intrinsically a sceptic or critic, so, on the other hand, the critic is intrinsically a believer. In proportion as he is distinguished from the naturalistic theologian, and the free-thinker,-in proportion as his criticism is conceived in the spirit of the nineteenth century,-he is filled with veneration for every religion, and especially for the substance of the sublimest of all religions, the Christian, which he perceives to be identical with the deepest philosophical truth; and hence, after having in the course of his criticism exhibited only the differences between his conviction and the historical belief of the Christian, he will feel urged to place that identity in a just light. Further, our criticism, though in its progress it treats of details, yet on becoming part of our internal conviction, resolves itself into the simple element of doubt, which the believer neutralizes by an equally simple veto, and then spreads anew in undiminished luxuriance all the fulness of his creed. But hereby the decisions of criticism are only dismissed, not vanquished, and that which is believed is supported by no intermediate proof, but rests absolutely on its own evidence. Criticism cannot but direct itself against this absence of intermediate proof, and thus the controversy which seemed ended is renewed, and we are thrown back to the beginning of our inquiry; yet with a difference which constitutes a step forward in the discussion. Hitherto our criticism had for its object the data of Christianity, as historically presented in the evangelical records; now, these data having been ca1led in question in their historical form, assume that of a mental product, and find a refuge in the soul of the believer; where they exist, not as a simple history, but as a reflected history, that is, a confession of faith, a received dogma. Against this dogma, presenting itself totally unsupported by evidence, criticism must indeed awake, as it does against all deficiency of proof, in the character of a negativing power, and a contender for intermediate proof: it will, however, no longer be occupied with history, but with doctrines. Thus our historical criticism is followed up by dogmatical criticism, and it is only after the faith has passed through both these trials, that it is thoroughly tested and constituted science. This second process through which the faith has to pass, ought, like the first, to be made the subject of a distinct work: I shall here merely give a sketch of its most important features, that I may not terminate an historical criticism without pointing out its ultimate object, which can only be arrived at by dogmatical criticism as a sequel? 33
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§ 145. The Christology of the orthodox system The dogmatic import of the life of Jesus implicitly received, and developed on this basis, constitutes the orthodox doctrine of the Christ. 4 Its fundamental principles are found in the New Testament. The root of faith in Jesus was the conviction of his resurrection. He who had been put to death, however great during his life, could not, it was thought, be the Messiah: his miraculous restoration to life proved so much the more strongly that he was the Messiah. Freed by his resurrection from the kingdom of shades, and at the same time elevated above the sphere of earthly humanity, he was now translated to the heavenly regions, and had taken his place at the right hand of God (Acts ii. 32 ff., iii. 15 ff., v. 30 ff.; and elsewhere). Now, his death appeared to be the chief article in his messianic destination; according to Isa. liii., he had suffered for the sins of his people and of mankind (Acts viii. 32 ff.; comp. Matt. xx. 28; John i. 29, 36; 1 John ii. 2); his blood poured out on the cross, operated like that which on the great day of atonement the high priest sprinkled on the mercy-seat (Rom. iii. 25); he was the pure lamb by whose blood the believing are redeemed (1 Pet. i. 18 f.); the eternal, sinless high priest, who by the offering of his own body, at once effected that, which the Jewish high priests were unable to effect, by their perpetually repeated sacrifices of animals (Heb. x. 10 ff., etc.). But, thenceforth, the Messiah who was exalted to the right hand of God, could not have been a common man: not only was he anointed with the divine spirit in a greater measure than any prophet (Acts iv. 27, x. 38); not only did he prove himself to be a divine messenger by miracles and signs (Acts ii. 22); but also, according as the one idea or the other was most readily formed, either he was supernaturally engendered by the Holy Spirit (Matt. and Luke i.), or he had descended as the Word and Wisdom of God into an earthly body (John i.). As, before his appearance on the earth, he was in the bosom of the Father, in divine majesty (John xvii. 5): so his descent into the world of mortals, and still more his submission to an ignominious death, was a voluntary humiliation, to which he was moved by his love to mankind (Phil. ii. 5 ff.). The risen and ascended Jesus will one day return to wake the dead and judge the world (Acts i. 11, xvii. 31); he even now takes charge of his church (Rom. viii. 34; 1 John ii. 1), participating in the government of the world, as he originally did in its creation (Matt. xxviii. 18; John i. 3, 10; Col. i. 16 f.). In addition to all this, every trait in the image of the Messiah as sketched by the popular expectation, was attributed with necessary or gratuitous modifications to Jesus; nay, the imagination, once stimulated, invented new characteristics. How richly fraught with blessing and elevation, with encouragement and consolation, were the thoughts which the early Church derived from this view of the Christ! By the mission of the Son of God into the world, 34
THE DOGMATIC IMPORT OF THE LIFE OF JESUS
by his delivery of himself to death for the sake of the world, heaven and earth are reconciled (2 Cor. v. 18 ff.; Eph. i. 10; Col. i. 20); by this most stupendous sacrifice, the love of God is securely guaranteed to man (Rom. v. 8 ff., viii. 31 ff.; 1 John iv. 9), and the brightest hopes are revealed to him. Did the Son of God become man? Then are men his brethren, and as such the children of God, and heirs with Christ to the treasure of divine bliss (Rom. viii. 16 f., 29). The servile relation of man to God, as it existed under the law, has ceased; love has taken the place of the fear of the punishment threatened by the law (Rom. viii. 15; Gal. iv. 1 ff.). Believers are redeemed from the curse of the law by Christ's sacrifice of himself, inasmuch as he suffered a death on which the law had laid a curse (Gal. iii. 13). Now, there is no longer imposed on us the impossible task of satisfying all the demands of the law (Gal. iii. 10 f.)-a task which, as experience shows, no man fulfils (Rom. i. 18-iii. 20), which, by reason of his sinful nature, no man can fulfil (Rom. v. 12 ff.), and which only involves him who strives to fulfil it, more and more deeply in the most miserable conflict with himself (Rom. vii. 7 ff. ): whereas he who believes in Christ, and confides in the atoning efficacy of his death, possesses the favour of God; not by works and qualifications of his own, but by the free mercy of God, is the man who throws himself on that mercy just before God, by which all selfexaltation is excluded (Rom. iii. 31 ff.). As the Mosaic law is no longer binding on the believer, he being dead to it with Christ (Rom. vii. 1 ff.); as, moreover, by the eternal and all-sufficient sacrifice of Christ, the Jewish sacrificial and priestly service is abolished (Heb.); therefore the partition wall which separated the Jews and Gentiles is broken down: the latter, who before were aliens and strangers to the theocracy, without God and without hope in the world, are now invited to participate in the new covenant, and free access is opened to them to the paternal God; so that the two portions of mankind, formerly separated by hostile opinions, are now at peace with each other, members in common of the body of Christ-stones in the spiritual building of his Church (Eph. ii. 11 ff.). But to have justifying faith in the death of Christ, is, virtually, to die with him spiritually-that is, to die to sin; and as Christ arose from the dead to a new and immortal life, so must the believer in him arise from the death of sin to a new life of righteousness and holiness, put off the old man and put on the new (Rom. vi. 1 ff.). In this, Christ himself aids him by his Spirit, who fills those whom he inspires with spiritual strivings, and makes them ever more and more free from the slavery of sin (Rom. viii. 1 ff.). Nor alone spiritually, will the Spirit of Christ animate those in whom he dwells, but corporeally also, for at the end of their earthly course, God, through Christ, will resuscitate their bodies, as he did the body of Christ (Rom. viii. 11 ). Christ, whom the bonds of death and the nether world could not hold, has vanquished both for us, and has delivered the believer from the fear of these dread powers which rule over mortality (Rom. viii. 38 f.; 1 Cor. xv. 35
THE HISTORY OF THE QUEST
55 ff.; Heb. ii. 14 f.). His resurrection not only confers atoning efficacy on his death (Rom. iv. 25), but at the same time is the pledge of our own future resurrection, of our share in Christ in a future life, in his messianic kingdom, to the blessedness of which he will, at his second advent, lead all his people. Meanwhile, we may console ourselves that we have in him an Intercessor, who from his own experience of the weakness and frailty of our nature, which he himself assumed, and in which he was in all points tempted as we are, but without sin, knows how much indulgence and aid we need (Heb. ii. 17 f., iv. 15 f.). The expediency of describing in compendious forms the riches of their faith in Christ, was early felt by his followers. They celebrated him as Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us, Xptcrto~ 6 {moeavrov, J..uiA.A.ov o€ Kat £yeped~, 0~ Kat Ecr'tt V EV OE~t<~. 'tOU eeou, 0~ Kat EV't'UYXUVEt imep iJ116'>v (Rom. viii. 34); or with more particularity as Jesus Christ our Lord,
who was made of the seed of David according to the flesh, and declared to be the Son of God with power, according to the Spirit of holiness, by the resurrection from the dead, 'I. X. 6 Kupto~, YEVOI!EVO~ El( cr7tEPila'tO~ 1'1a~\.o l(a'ta crap"Ka, 6ptcr8d~ uio~ eeou £v OUVUI!Et "Ka'ta 1tVEU11a aytrocrUVTJ~, £~ avacrtacrero~ VEKpti'>v (Rom. i. 3 f.); and as confessedly the great mystery of godliness, 611oA.oyou11E:vro~ 11E:ya tf\~ eucre~da~ I!Dcrtf]ptov, the following propositions were presented: God was manifest in the flesh, justified in the Spirit, seen of angels, preached unto the Gentiles, believed on in the world, received up into glory, eeo~ £cj>avepro8Tj EV crap"Kt, E0t"Katro8Tj £v 1tVEUila'tt, rocj>8Tj ayyE:A.ot~, £qpuxeTJ EV £evecrtv, E7ttcrtE"6eTJ EV l(Ocrl!(!l, avEA.Tjcj>8Tj EV M~n
(1 Tim. iii. 16). The baptismal formula (Matt. xxviii. 19), by its allocation of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, presented a sort of framework in which to arrange the materials of the new faith. On this basis was constructed in the first centuries what was called the rule of faith, regula fidei, which in divers forms, some more concise, others more diffuse, some more popular, others more subtle, is found in the different fathers. 5 The more popular form at length settled into what is called the creed of the apostles. This symbol, in that edition of it which is received in the evangelical church, has in its second and most elaborate article on the Son, the following points of belief: et (credo) in Jesum Christum, filium ejus (Dei patris) unicum, Dominum nostrum; qui conceptus est de Spiritu Sancta, natus ex Maria virgine; passus sub Pontio Pilato, crucijixus, mortuus et sepultus, descendit ad inferna; tertia die resurrexit a mortuis, ascendit ad ctelos, sedet ad dextram Dei patris omnipotentis; inde venturus est, judicare vivos et mortuos. Together with this popular form of the confession of faith in relation to Christ, there was also framed a more rigorous and minute theological digest, occasioned by the differences and controversies which early arose 36
THE DOGMATIC IMPORT OF THE LIFE OF JESUS
on certain points. The fundamental thesis of the Christian faith, that the Word was made flesh, 6 A6yoc, crap~ eyeveto, or, God was manifested in the flesh, 8eOC, e<jlavepm8T) ev crapKt, was endangered on all sides, one questioning the Godhead, another the manhood, and a third the veritable union of the two natures. It is true that those who, like the Ebionites, denied the Godhead, or like that sect of the Gnostics called Docetre, the manhood of Christ, separated themselves too decidedly from the Christian community, which on her part maintained that it was necessary that the mediator of God and man should unite both in friendship and harmony by means of a proper relationship to each, and that while he represented man to God, he should reveal God to man, EOEt 'tOV J.leO"t'tT)V 8eou 'te Kat av8pmm:ov Ota io\.ac, npoc, £Kat£pouc, oiKetO'tT)toc, eic, <jltA.I.av Kat OJ.16vmav touc, UJJ.<jlot£pouc, cruvayaye'lv, Kat Se(\) J.!Ev n;apacrtfjcrat 'tOV av8pronov, av8pmnotc, o£ yvropl.crat 'tOV 8e6v.6 But when it was merely the plenitude of the one nature or the other, which was contested,-as when Arius maintained that the being who became man in Christ was indeed divine, but created, and subordinate to the supreme God; when, while ascribing to Christ a human body, he held that the place of the soul was occupied by that superior being; when Apollinaris maintained that not only the body of Jesus was truly human, but his soul also, and that the divine being only served in the stead of the third principle in man, the vouc, (understanding);-these were opinions to which it was easier to give a Christian guise. Nevertheless the Church rejected the Arian idea of a subordinate God become man in Jesus, for this reason among others less essential, that on this theory the image of the Godhead would not have been manifested in Christ;7 and she condemned the idea of Arius and Apollinaris, that the human nature of Christ had not the human \lfUXTJ (soul), or the human vouc; (understanding), for this reason chiefly, that only by the union of the divine, with an entire human nature, could the human race be redeemed. 8 Not only might the one or the other aspect of the nature of Christ be defaced or put out of sight, but in relation also to the union of the two, there might be error, and again in two opposite directions. The devout enthusiasm of many led them to believe, that they could not draw too closely the newly-entwined bond between heaven and earth; hence they no longer wished to distinguish between the Godhead and manhood in Christ, and since he had appeared in one person, they acknowledged in him only one nature, that of the Son of God made flesh. Others, more scrupulous, could not reconcile themselves to such a confusion of the divine and the human: it seemed to them blasphemous to say that a human mother had given birth to God: hence they maintained that she had only borne the man whom the Son of God selected as his temple; and that in Christ there were two natures, united indeed so far as the adoration of his followers was concerned, but distinct as regarded their essence. To the 37
THE HISTORY OF THE QUEST
Church, both these views appeared to encroach on the mystery of the incarnation: if the two natures were held to be permanently distinct, then was the union of the divine and human, the vital point of Christianity, destroyed; if a mixture of the two were admitted, then neither nature in its individual quality was capable of a union with the other, and thus again no true unity would be attained. Hence both these opinions were condemned, the latter in the person of Eutyches, the former, not with equal justice, in that of Nestorius; and as the Nicene creed established the true Godhead of Christ, so that of Chalcedon established his true and perfect manhood, and the union of the two natures in one undivided personY When subsequently there arose a controversy concerning the will of Christ, analogous to that concerning his nature, the Church, in accordance with its previous decisions, pronounced that in Christ, as the God-man, there were two wills, distinct but not discordant, the human will being subordinate to the divine. 10 In comparison with the controversies on the being and essence of Christ, the other branch of the faith, the doctrine of his work, was developed in tranquillity. The most comprehensive view of it was this: the Son of God, by assuming the human nature, gave it a holy and divine character11-above all he endowed it with immortality; 12 while in a moral view, the mission of the Son of God into the world being the highest proof of the love of God, was the most efficacious means of awakening a return of love in the human breast. 13 To this one great effect of the appearance of Christ, were annexed collateral benefits: his salutary teaching, his sublime example, were held up to view, 14 but especial importance was attached to the violent death which he suffered. The idea of substitution, already given in the New Testament, was more fully developed: the death of Jesus was regarded, now as a ransom paid by him to the devil for the liberation of mankind, who had fallen into the power of the evil one through sin; now as a means devised by God for removing guilt, and enabling him to remit the punishment threatened to the sins of man, without detriment to his truthfulness, Christ having taken that punishment on himself. 15 The latter idea was worked up Anselm, in his book entitled Cur Deus homo, into the well known theory of satisfaction, by which the doctrine of Christ's work of redemption is placed in the closest connexion with that of his person. Man owes to God perfect obedience; but the sinner-and such are all menwithholds from God the service and honour which are His due. Now God, by reason of his justice, cannot suffer an offence against his honour: therefore, either man must voluntarily restore to God that which is God's, nay, must, for complete satisfaction, render to him more than he has hitherto withheld; or, God must as a punishment take from man that which is man's, namely, the happiness for which he was originally created. Man is not able to do the former; for as he owes to God all the duties that he can pedorm, in order not to fall into sin, he can have no overplus of merit, 38
THE DOGMATIC IMPORT OF THE LIFE OF JESUS
wherewith to cover past sins. On the other hand, that God should obtain satisfaction by the infliction of eternal punishment, is opposed to his unchangeable goodness, which moves him actually to lead man to that bliss for which he was originally destined. This, however, cannot happen consistently with divine justice, unless satisfaction be made for man, and according to the measure of that which has been taken from God, something be rendered to him, greater than all else except God. But this can be none other than God himself; and as, on the other hand, man alone can satisfy for man: it must therefore be a God-man who gives satisfaction. Moreover this cannot consist in active obedience, in a sinless life, because every reasonable being owes this to God on his own behalf; but to suffer death, the wages of sin, a sinless being is not bound, and thus the satisfaction for the sins of man consists in the death of the God-man, whose reward, since he himself, as one with God, cannot be rewarded, is put to the account of man. This doctrinal system of the ancient church concerning the person and work of Christ, passed also into the confessions of the Lutheran churches, and was still more elaborately developed by their theologians. 16 With regard to the person of Christ, they adhered to the union of the divine and human natures in one person: according to them, in the act of this union, unitio personalis, which was simultaneous with the conception, it was the divine nature of the Son of God which adopted the human into the unity of its personality; the state of union, the unio personalis, was neither essential, nor yet merely accidental, neither mystical nor moral, still less merely verbal, but a real and supernatural union, and eternal in its duration. From this union with the divine nature, there result to the human nature in Christ certain pre-eminent advantages: namely, what at first appears a deficiency, that of being in itself impersonal, and of having personality only by its union with the divine nature; further, impeccability, and the possibility of not dying. Besides these special advantages, the human nature of Christ obtains others also from its union with the divine. The relation of the two natures is not a dead, external one, but a reciprocal penetration, a 1t£PtXOOPll
THE HISTORY OF THE QUEST
entire person (genus idiomaticum), or in which acts of the entire person are referred to one or the other nature (genus apotelesmaticum), or lastly, in which attributes of the one nature are transferred to the other, which however is only possible from the divine to the human, not from the human to the divine (genus auchematicum). In passing through the successive stages of the work of redemption, Christ with his person endowed with two natures, experienced, according to the expression of the dogmatical theologians, founded on Phil. ii. 6 ff., two states, statum exinanitionis, and statum exaltationis. His human nature in its union with the divine, participated from the moment of conception in divine properties: but as during his earthly life Jesus made no continuous use of them, that life to the time of his death and burial, is regarded as a state of humiliation: whereas, with the resurrection, or even with the descent into hell, commenced the state of exaltation which was consummated by the sessio ad dextram patris. As to the work of Christ, the doctrine of our Church attributes to him a triple office. As prophet, he has revealed to man the highest truth, the divine decree of redemption, confirming his testimony by miracles; and he still unceasingly controls the announcement of this truth. As high priest, he has, on the one hand, by his irreproachable life, fulfilled the law in our stead (obedientia activa); on the other, he has borne, in his sufferings and death, the punishment which impended over us (obedientia passiva), and now perpetually intercedes for us with the Father. Lastly, as king, he governs the world, and more particularly the Church, which he will lead from the conflicts of earth to the glory of heaven, completing its destiny by the general resurrection and the last judgment.
§ 146. Objections to the Christology of the Church The Reformed Church did not go thus far with the Lutherans in their doctrine of the person of Christ, for they did not admit the last and boldest consequence drawn by the latter from the union of the manhood and Godhead-the communicatio idiomatum, or communication of properties. The Lutherans themselves did not hold that the properties of the human nature were communicated to the divine, nor that all the properties of the divine nature, eternity for example, could be communicated to the human; 17 and this gave occasion on the part of the Reformed Church, to the following objection: the communication of properties must be reciprocal and complete, or it is none at all; moreover, by the communication of the properties of an infinite nature to a finite one, the latter is not less annihilated as to its essence than an infinite nature would be, were it to receive the properties of a finite one. 18 When the Lutherans sought shelter in the position, that the properties of the one nature were only so far shared by the other, as according to its character is possible, uti per suam 40
THE DOGMATIC IMPORT OF THE LIFE OF JESUS
indolem potest, 19 they in fact did away altogether with the communicatio idiomatum; and indeed this doctrine has been explicitly given up even by orthodox theologians since Reinhard. But the simple root of this complicated exchange of properties, the union of the divine and human natures in one person, has also met with contradiction. The Socinians denied it on the ground that two natures, each of which alone constitutes a person, cannot be united to form a single person, especially when they possess properties so opposite, as where the one is immortal, the other mortal, the one uncreated, the other created;20 and the Rationalists agree with them, insisting more particularly that the formulre of the Church, in which the above union is defined, are almost entirely negative, thus presenting no conception to the mind, and that in a Christ, who by the aid of a divine nature dwelling within him, withstood evil and kept himself from sin, the man who is destitute of such aid can have no true example. 21 The essential and tenable points of the rationalistic objections to this doctrine, have been the most acutely perceived and arranged by Schleiermacher, who, on this subject as on many others, has brought the negative criticism of the dogmas of the Church to completeness. 22 Before all else he finds it a difficulty, that by the expression, divine nature and human nature, divinity and humanity are placed under one category, and what is more, under the category of nature, which essentially denotes only a limited being, conceived by means of its opposite. Further, while ordinarily one nature is common to many individuals or persons, here one person is supposed to partake of two different natures. Now if by person be meant the permanent conscious unity of a living being, and by nature, the sum of the laws which govern the conditions of life in that being: it is not to be conceived, how two opposite systems of conditions can have but one centre. The absurdity of this doctrine becomes, according to Schleiermacher, especially evident in the supposition of two wills in Christ, since, for consistency, two wills must be associated with two understandings, and as the understanding and will constitute the personality, Christ would on this supposition be inevitably divided into two persons. It is true that the two wills are supposed always to will in unison: but, on the one hand, there results from this only a moral, not a personal unity; on the other hand, this unison of wills is not possible in relation to the divine and the human will, since the latter, which from its very essence can only exercise itself on particulars as they present themselves in succession, can as little will the same with the former, whose object is the whole in its development, as the human understanding, which acts by reasoning, can think the same with the divine understanding, which acts intuitively. Hence it evidently follows also that a communication of properties between the two natures is not to be admitted. 41
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The doctrine of the work of Christ did not escape a similar criticism. Passing over what has been objected in point of form to the division of this work into three offices, the ideas of revelation and miracles, under the head of the prophetic office, were chiefly called in question. It was argued that these ideas agreed neither objectively with just conceptions of God and the world in their reciprocal relation, nor subjectively with the laws of the human intellect; that the perfect God could not have created a world which from time to time needed the extraordinary interposition of the Creator, nor more particularly a human nature which was incapable of attaining its destination by the development of its innate faculties; that the immutable Being could not operate on the world first in this manner, then in that, at one time mediately, at another immediately, but that he must always have operated on it in the same manner, namely, in himself and on the whole immediately, but for us and on individuals mediately; that to admit an interruption of the order of nature, and of the development of humanity, would be to renounce all rational thought, while, in the particular case in question, a revelation or miracle is not confidently to be recognized as such, since, in order to be sure that certain results have not proceeded from the powers of nature and the faculties of the human mind, a perfect knowledge of the resources of both would be requisite, and of such a knowledge man is not possessedY But the main difficulty lay in the office of high priest, attributed to Jesus-in the doctrine of the atonement. That which especially drew forth objections was the human aspect which in Anselm's system was given to the relation of God to the Son of man. As it well becomes man to forgive offences without exacting vengeance, so, thought Socinus, might God forgive the offences committed against him by men, without satisfaction. 24 To meet this objection Hugo Grotius argued, that not as in consequence of personal injuries, but to maintain the order of the moral world inviolable, or in virtue of his justitia rectoria, God cannot forgive sins without satisfaction.25 Nevertheless, granting the necessity for satisfaction, it did not appear to be met by the death of Jesus. While Anselm, and still more decidedly Thomas Aquinas, 26 spoke of a satisfactio superabundans, Socinus denied that Christ had even borne as much punishment as men have deserved; for every individual man having deserved eternal death, consequently, as many substitutes as sinners ought to have suffered eternal death; whereas in this case, the single Christ has suffered merely temporal death, and that as an introduction to the highest glory; nor did this death attach to his divine nature, so that it might be said to have infinite value, but only to his human nature. On the other hand, Duns Scotus,27 in opposition to Thomas, and subsequently Grotius and the Arminians (equidistant from orthodoxy and Socinianism), adopted the expedient of maintaining, that the merit of Christ was indeed in itself finite like its subject, his human nature, and hence was inadequate as a satisfaction for the sins of the 42
THE DOGMATIC IMPORT OF THE LIFE OF JESUS
world; but that God accepted it as adequate out of his free grace. But from the admission that God can content himself with an inadequate satisfaction, and thus can forgive a part of the guilt without satisfaction, it follows necessarily, that he must also be able thus to forgive the whole. Besides these more precise definitions, however, the fundamental idea of the whole fabric, namely, that one individual can take upon himself the punishment due to the sins of another, has been attacked as an ignorant transference of the conditions of a lower order of relation to a higher. Moral transgressions, it has been said, are not transmissible obligations; it is not with them as with debts of money, which it is immaterial to the creditor who pays, provided they are paid; rather it is essential to the punishment of sin, that it should fall on the guilty only. 28 If, according to this, the socalled passive obedience of Christ cannot have been vicarious, still less can his active obedience have been so, since as man he was bound to render this on his own behalf. 29 In relation to the kingly office of Christ, the hope of his second advent to judge the world lost ground in the sentiment of the Church, in proportion as the opinion obtained, that every individual enters on a state of complete retribution immediately after death, for this opinion made the general judgment appear superftuous. 30 § 147. The Christology of rationalism The Rationalists, rejecting the doctrine of the Church concerning Christ, his person, and his work, as self-contradictory, useless, nay, even hurtful to the true morality of the religious sentiment, propounded in its stead a system which, while it avoided all contradictions, yet in a certain sense retained for Jesus the character of a divine manifestation, which even, rightly considered, placed him far higher, and moreover embodied the strongest motives to practical piety. 31 According to them, Jesus was still a divine messenger, a special favourite and charge of the Deity, inasmuch as, furnished by the disposition of Providence with an extraordinary measure of spiritual endowment, he was born in an age and nation, and guided in a career, the most favourable to his development into that for which he was destined; and, especially, inasmuch as he was subjected to a species of death that rendered possible his apparent resurrection, on which depended the success of his entire work, and was encompassed by a series of circumstances which actually brought that resurrection to pass. The Rationalists hold that their idea of the Christ is not essentially below the orthodox one, as regards his natural endowments and his external destiny, for in their view also he is the greatest man that ever trod the earth-a hero, in whose fate Providence is in the highest degree glorified: while, as regards the internal development and free agency of Jesus, they believe their doctrine
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essentially to surpass that of the Church. The Christ of the Church, they contend, is a mere automaton, whose manhood lies under the control of his Godhead like a lifeless instrument, which acts with moral perfection because it has no power to sin, and for this reason can neither have moral merit, nor be the object of affection and reverence: according to the rationalistic view, on the contrary, Jesus had implanted in him by God the natural conditions only of that which he was ultimately to become, and his realization of this destiny was the result of his own spontaneity. His admirable wisdom he acquired by the judicious application of his intellectual powers, and the conscientious use of all the aids within his reach; his moral greatness, by the zealous culture of his moral dispositions, the restraint of his sensual inclinations and passions, and a scrupulous obedience to the voice of his conscience: and on these alone rested all that was exalted in his personality, all that was encouraging in his example. As regards the work of Jesus, the rationalistic view is, that he has endeared himself to mankind by this above all else, that he has taught them a religion to which for its purity and excellence is justly ascribed a certain divine power and dignity; and that he has illustrated and enforced this religion by the brilliant example of his own life. This prophetic office of Christ is with Socinians and Rationalists the essence of his work, and to this they refer all the rest, especially what the doctrine of the Church comprehends under the office of high priest. With them the so-called active obedience has value solely as an example; and the death of Jesus conduces to the forgiveness of sins, solely by furthering the reformation of the sinner in one of these two ways: either, as a confirmation of his doctrine, and a type of the devoted fulfilment of duty, it serves to kindle a zeal for virtue; or, as a proof of the love of God to man, of his inclination to pardon the converted sinner, it invigorates moral courage. 32 If Christ was no more, and did no more, than this rationalistic doctrine supposes, it is not easy to see how piety has come to make him her special object, or dogmatism to lay down special propositions concerning him. Consistent Rationalists have in fact admitted, that what the orthodox dogma calls Christology, forms no integral part of the rationalistic system, since this system consists indeed of a religion which Christ taught, but not of a religion of which he is the object; that, viewing Christology as the doctrine of the Messiah, it is merely an accommodation to the Jewish mind,that even taken in a more noble sense, as the doctrine of the life, the actions, and the fate of Jesus as a divine messenger, it does not belong to a system of faith, for the universal truths of religion are as little connected with our ideas concerning the person of him who first enunciated them, as are the philosophical propositions in the systems of Leibnitz and Wolf, of Kant, Fichte, and Schelling, with the opinions we may happen to form of the persons of their authors; that what relates to the person and work of Jesus belongs, not to religion itself, but to the history of religion, and must 44
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either be prefixed to a system of religious doctrine as an historical introduction, or appended to it as an elucidatory sequel. 33 Accordingly Henke, in his Lineaments, has removed Christology from its wonted position as an integral part of systematic theology, and has placed it as a subdivision under the head of anthropology. Thus, however, Rationalism enters into open war with the Christian faith, for it seeks to thrust into the background, nay, to banish from the province of theology, that which is its essential point, and corner-stone. But this very opposition is decisive of the insufficiency of the rationalistic system, proving that it does not perform what is demanded from every system of religious doctrine: 34 namely, first, to give adequate expression to the faith which is the object of the doctrine; and secondly, to place this expression in a relation, whether positive or negative, to science. Now the Rationalists, in the effort to bring the faith into harmony with science, restrict its expression; for a Christ who is only a distinguished man, creates indeed no difficulty to the understanding, but is not the Christ in whom the Church believes. § 148. The eclectic Christology of Schleiermacher It is the effort of this theologian to avoid both these ungrateful results, and
without prejudice to the faith, to form such a conception of the doctrine of the Christ as may be proof against the attacks of science.35 On the one hand, he has adopted in its fullest extent the negative criticism directed by Rationalism against the doctrine of the Church, nay, he has rendered it even more searching; on the other hand, he has sought to retain what Rationalism had lost, the essential part of positive Christianity: and thus he has saved many in these days from the narrowness of Supranaturalism, and the emptiness of Rationalism. This simplification of the faith Schleiermacher effects in the following manner: he does not set out, with the Protestant, from the doctrine of Scripture, nor with the Catholic from the decision of the Church, for in both these ways he would have to deal with a precise, developed system, which, having originated in remote centuries, must come into collision with the science of the present day; but he sets out from the consciousness of the Christian, from that internal experience resulting to the individual from his connexion with the Christian community, and he thus obtains a material which, as its basis is feeling, is more flexible, and to which it is easier to give dialectically a form that satisfies science. As a member of the Christian Church-this is the point of departure in the Christology of Schleiermacher36-I am conscious of the removal of my sinfulness, and the impartation of absolute perfection: in other words, in communion with the Church, I feel operating upon me the influence of a sinless and perfect principle. This influence cannot proceed from the 45
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Christian community as an effect of the reciprocal action of its members on each other; for to every one of these sin and imperfection are inherent, and the cooperation of impure beings can never produce anything pure as its result. It must be the influence of one who possessed that sinlessness and perfection as personal qualities, and who moreover stands in such a relation to the Christian community, that he can impart these qualities to its members: that is, since the Christian Church could not exist prior to this impartation, it must be the influence of its founder. As Christians, we find something operated within us; hence, as from every effect we argue to its cause, we infer the influence of Christ, and from this again, the nature of his person, which must have had the powers necessary to the exertion of this influence. To speak more closely, that which we experience as members of the Christian Church, is a strengthening of our consciousness of God, in its relation to our sensuous existence; that is, it is rendered easier to us to deprive the senses of their ascendancy within us, to make all our impressions the servants of the religious sentiment, and all our actions its offspring. According to what has been stated above, this is the effect wrought in us by Christ, who imparts to us the strength of his consciousness of God, frees us from the bondage of sensuality and sin, and is thus the Redeemer. In the feeling of the strengthened consciousness of God which the Christian possesses by his communion with the Redeemer, the obstructions of his natural and social life are not felt as obstructions to his consciousness of God; they do not interrupt the blessedness which he enjoys in his inmost religious life; what has been called evil, and divine chastisement, is not such for him: and as it is Christ who by receiving him into the communion of his blessedness, frees him therefrom, the office of expiation is united to that of redemption. In this sense alone is the doctrine of the Church concerning the threefold office of Christ to be interpreted. He is a prophet, in that by the word-by the setting forth of himself, and not otherwise,-he could draw mankind towards himself, and therefore the chief object of his doctrine was his own person; he is at once a high priest and a sacrifice, in that he, the sinless one, from whose existence, therefore, no evil could be evolved, entered into communion with the life of sinful humanity, and endured the evils which adhere to it, that he might take us into communion with his sinless and blessed life: in other words, deliver us from the power and consequences of sin and evil, and present us pure before God; lastly, he is a king, in that he brings these blessings to mankind in the form of an organized society, of which he is the head. From this which Christ effects, we gather what he is. If we owe to him the continual strengthening of the consciousness of God within us, this consciousness must have existed in him in absolute strength, so that it, or God in the form of the consciousness, was the only operative force within
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him, and this is the sense of the expression of the Church-God became man in Christ. If, further, Christ works in us a more and more complete conquest over sensuality, in himself there must have been an absolute conquest over it; in no moment of his life can the sensual consciousness have disputed the victory with his consciousness of God; never can a vacillation or struggle have had place within him: in other words, the human nature in him was sinless, and in the stricter sense, that, in virtue of the essential predominance within him of the higher powers over the lower, it was impossible for him to sin. By this peculiarity of his nature he is the Archetype, the actualization of the ideal of humanity, which his Church can only approach, never surpass; yet must he,-for otherwise there could be no true fellowship between him and us,-have been developed under the ordinary conditions of human life: the ideal must in him have been perfectly historical, each phasis of his actual life must have borne the impress of the ideal; and this is the proper sense of the Church formula, that the divine and human nature were in him united into one person. Only thus far can the doctrine of the Christ be deduced from the experience of the Christian, and thus far, according to Schleiermacher, it is not opposed to science: whatever in the dogma of the Church goes beyond this,- as, for example, the supernatural conception of Jesus, and his miracles, also the facts of the resurrection and ascension, and the prophecies of his second coming to judge the world,-ought not to be brought forward as integral parts of the doctrine of the Christ. For he from whose influence upon us comes all the strengthening of our consciousness of God, may have been the Christ, though he should not have risen bodily from the dead, and ascended into heaven, etc.: so that we believe these facts, not because they are involved in our internal experience, but only because they are stated in Scripture; not so much, therefore, in a religious and dogmatical, as in an historical manner. This Christology is undeniably a beautiful effort of thought, and as we shall presently see, does the utmost towards rendering the union of the divine and the human in Christ conceivable; but if its author supposed that he kept the faith unmutilated and science unoffended, we are compelled to pronounce that he was in both points deceived. 37 Science opens its attack on the proposition, that the ideal man was historically manifested in the person of Christ. It did not escape Schleiermacher himself that this was a dangerous point. No sooner has he put forth the above proposition, than he reflects on the difficulty of supposing that the ideal should be realized in one historical individual; since, in other cases, we never find the ideal realized in a single appearance, but only in an entire cycle of appearances, which reciprocally complete each other.38 It is true that this theologian does not hold the character of Christ, as the ideal man, to extend to the manifold relations of human life, so as to be the archetype for all the science, art, and policy, that are developed in
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human society; he confines it to the domain of the consciousness of God. But, as Schmid has justly observed, this does not alter the case, for the consciousness of God also, being, in its development and manifestation, subject to the conditions of finiteness and imperfection; the supposition that even in this department exclusively, the ideal was manifested in a single historical individual, involves a violation of the laws of nature by a miracle. This, however, is far from alarming Schleiermacher; on the contrary, he maintains that this is the place, and the only place, in which the Christian doctrine must necessarily admit a miracle, since the originating of the person of Christ can only be conceived as the result of a special divine act of creation. It is true, he limits the miraculous to the first introduction of Christ into the series of existences, and allows the whole of his further development to have been subject to all the conditions of finite existence: but this concession cannot repair the breach, which the supposition only of one miracle makes in the scientific theory of the world. Still less can any help be derived from vague analogies like the following: as it is still possible that matter should begin to agglomerate and thence to revolve in infinite space; so science must admit, that there may be in the domain of spiritual life an appearance, which in like manner we can only explain as the commencement, the first point, in a higher process of development.39 This comparison suggests the observation made by Braniss, namely, that it would be contrary to the laws of all development to regard the initial member of a series as the greatest-to suppose that in Christ, the founder of that community, the object of which is the strengthening of the consciousness of God, the strength of this consciousness was absolute, a perfection which is rather the infinitely distant goal of the progressive development of the community founded by him. Schleiermacher does indeed attribute to Christianity perfectibility in a certain sense: not as a capability of surpassing Christ in his nature, but solely in the conditions of its manifestation. His view is this: the limitation, the imperfection of the relations of Christ, the language in which he expressed himself, the nationality within which he was placed, modified his thoughts and actions, but in their form alone; their essence remained nevertheless the perfect ideal. Now if Christianity in its progressive advancement in doctrine and practice, rejects more and more of those temporal and national limitations by which the actions and teaching of Jesus were circumscribed; this is not to surpass Christ, it is rather to give a more perfect expression of his inner life. But, as Schmid has satisfactorily shown, an historical individual is that which appears of him, and no more; his internal nature is known by his words and actions, the condition of his age and nation are a part of his individuality, and what lies beneath this phenomenal existence as the essence, is not the nature of this individual, but the human nature in general, which in particular beings operates only under the limitations of 48
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their individuality, of time, and of circumstances. Thus to surpass the historical appearance of Christ, is to rise nearer, not to his nature, but to the idea of humanity in general; and if we are to suppose that it is still Christ whose nature is more truly expressed, when with the rejection of the temporal and national, the essential elements of his doctrine and life are further developed: it would not be difficult, by a similar abstraction, to represent Socrates, as the one who in this manner cannot be surpassed. As neither an individual in general, nor, in particular, the commencing point in an historical series, can present the perfect ideal: so, if Christ be regarded decidedly as man, the archetypal nature and development which Schleiermacher ascribes to him, cannot be brought to accord with the laws of human existence. Impeccability, in the sense of the impossibility of sinning, as it is supposed to exist in Christ, is a quality totally incompatible with the human nature; for to man, in consequence of his agency being liable to guidance by the motives of the senses as well as of the reason, the possibility of sinning is essential. And if Christ was entirely free from inward conflict, from all vacillation of the spiritual life between good and evil, he could not be a man of like nature with us; for the action and reaction between the spiritual nature in general and the external world, and, in particular, between the superior religious and moral powers, and the operations of the mind in subordination to the senses, necessarily manifests itself as a conflict.40 If, on the one side, the Christology in question is far from satisfying science, it is equally far, on the other side, from satisfying the faith. We will not enter into those points in which, instead of the decisions of the Church, it at least offers acceptable substitutes (concerning which, however, it may be doubted whether they are a full compensation).41 Its disagreement with the faith is the most conspicuous in the position, that the facts of the resurrection and ascension do not form essential parts of the Christian faith. For the belief in the resurrection of Christ is the foundation stone, without which the Christian Church could not have been built; nor could the cycle of Christian festivals, which are the external representation of the Christian faith, now suffer a more fatal mutilation than by the removal of the festival of Easter: the Christ who died could not be what he is in the belief of the Church, if he were not also the Christ who rose again. Thus the doctrine of Schleiermacher concerning the person and conditions of Christ, betrays a twofold inadequacy, not meeting the requirements either of the faith of the Church, or of science. It is clear, however, from his doctrine of the work of Christ, that in order to satisfy the former so far as is here done, such a contradiction of the latter was quite unnecessary, and an easier course might have been pursued. For resting merely on a backward inference from the inward experience of the Christian as the effect, to the person of Christ as the cause, the Christology 49
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of Schleiermacher has but a frail support, since it cannot be proved that that inward experience is not to be explained without the actual existence of such a Christ. Schleiermacher himself did not overlook the probable objection that the Church, induced merely by the relative excellence of Jesus, conceived an ideal of absolute perfection, and transferred this to the historical Christ, from which combination she continually strengthens and vivifies her consciousness of God: but he held this objection to be precluded by the observation, that sinful humanity, by reason of the mutual dependence of the will and the understanding, is incapable of conceiving an immaculate ideal. But, as it has been aptly remarked, if Schleiermacher claims a miracle for the origination of his real Christ, we have an equal right to claim one for the origination of the ideal of a Christ in the human soul. 42 Meanwhile, it is not true that sinful human nature is incapable of conceiving a sinless ideal. If by this ideal be understood merely a general conception, then the conception of the perfect and the sinless is as necessarily co-existent with the consciousness of imperfection and sinfulness as the conception of infinity with that of finiteness; since the two ideas conditionate one another, and the one is not possible without the other. If, on the other hand, by this ideal be meant a concrete image, the conception of a character in which all the individual features are portrayed, it may be admitted that a sinful individual or age cannot depict such an image without blemish; but of this inability the age or individual itself is not conscious, not having any superior standard, and if the image be but slightly drawn, if it leave room for the modifications of increased enlightenment, it may continue to be regarded as immaculate even by a later and more clear-sighted age, so long as this age is inclined to view it under the most favourable light. We may now estimate the truth of the reproach, which made Schleiermacher so indignant, namely, that his was not an historical, but an ideal Christ. It is unjust in relation to the opinion of Schleiermacher, for he firmly believed that the Christ, as construed by him, really lived; but it is just in relation to the historical state of the facts, because such a Christ never existed but in idea; and in this sense, indeed, the reproach has even a stronger bearing on the system of the Church, because the Christ therein presented can still less have existed. Lastly, it is just in relation to the consequence of Schleiermacher's system, since to effect what Schleiermacher makes him effect, no other Christ is necessary, and, according to the principles of Schleiermacher respecting the relation of God to the world, of the supernatural to the natural, no other Christ is possible, than an ideal one:-and in this sense the reproach attaches specifically to Schleiermacher's doctrine, for according to the premises of the orthodox doctrine, an historical Christ is both possible and necessary.
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§ 149. Christology interpreted symbolically. Kant. De Wette The attempt to retain in combination the ideal in Christ with the historical, having failed, these two elements separate themselves: the latter falls as a natural residuum to the ground, and the former rises as a pure sublimate into the ethereal world of ideas. Historically, Jesus can have been nothing more than a person, highly distinguished indeed, but subject to the limitations inevitable to all that is mortal: by means of his exalted character, however, he exerted so powerful an influence over the religious sentiment, that it constituted him the ideal of piety; in accordance with the general rule, that an historical fact or person cannot become the basis of a positive religion until it is elevated into the sphere of the ideal. 43 Spinoza made this distinction when maintaining, that to know the historical Christ is not necessary to felicity, but only to know the ideal Christ, namely the eternal wisdom of God, which is manifested in all things, in the human mind particularly, and in a pre-eminent degree in Jesus Christ-that wisdom which alone teaches man what is true and false, good and bad. 44 According to Kant, also, it ought not to be made a condition of salvation to believe, that there was once a man who by his holiness and merit gave satisfaction for himself and for all others; for of this the reason tells us nothing; but it is the duty of men universally to elevate themselves to the ideal of moral perfection deposited in the reason, and to obtain moral strength by the contemplation of this ideal. Such moral faith alone man is bound to exercise, and not historical faith. 45 Taking his stand on this principle, Kant proceeds to interpret the doctrines of the Bible and the Church as symbols of the ideal. It is humanity, or the rational part of this system of things, in its entire moral perfection, that could alone make a world the object of divine Providence, and the end of creation. This idea of a humanity well-pleasing to God, has existed in God from all eternity; it proceeds from his essence, and is therefore no created thing, but his eternal Son, the Word, through whom, that is, for whose sake, all things were created, and in whom God loved the world. As this idea of moral perfection has not man for its author, as it has been introduced into him even without his being able to conceive how his nature can have been susceptible of such an idea, it may be said to have come down to us from heaven, and to have assumed the human nature, and this union with us may be regarded as an abasement of the Son of God. This ideal of moral perfection, so far as it is compatible with the condition of a being dependent on necessities and inclinations, can only be conceived by us under the form of a man. Now just as we can obtain no idea of the amount of a force, but by calculating the degree of resistance which it can overcome, so we can form no estimate of the strength of the 51
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moral disposition, but by imagining hard conflicts in which it can triumph: hence the man who embodies the perfect ideal must be one who would voluntarily undertake, not only to perform every duty of man on his own behalf, and by precept and example to disseminate the good and the true around him as extensively as possible; but also, though tempted by the strongest allurements, to submit to all sufferings, even to the most ignominious death, for the welfare of mankind. In a practical relation this idea has its reality completely within itself, and it needed no exemplification in experience in order to become a model binding on us, since it is enshrined as such in our reason. Nay, this ideal remains essentially confined to the reason, because it cannot be adequately represented by any example in outward experience, since such an example would not fully disclose the inward disposition, but would only admit of our forming dubious inferences thereon. Nevertheless, as all men ought to be conformed to this ideal, and consequently must be capable of such conformity, it is always possible in experience that a man may appear, who in his teaching, course of life, and sufferings, may present an example of a man well-pleasing to God: but even in this manifestation of the Godman, it would not properly be that which is obvious to the senses, or can be known by experience, which would be the object of saving faith; but the ideal lying in the reason, which we should attribute to this manifestation of the God-man, because he appeared to us to be conformed to it-that is, indeed, so far only as this can be concluded from outward experience. Inasmuch as all of us, though naturally generated men, feel bound, and consequently able, ourselves to present such an example, we have no reason to regard that exemplification of the ideal man as supernaturally generated, nor does he need the attestation of miracles; for besides the moral faith in the idea, nothing further is requisite than the historical conviction that his life was conformed to that idea, in order to accredit him as its personification. He who is conscious of such a moral disposition, as to have a wellfounded confidence, that under temptations and sufferings similar to those which are attributed to the ideal man, as a touchstone of his moral disposition, he would adhere unalterably to this exemplar, and faithfully follow his steps, such a man alone is entitled to consider himself an object of the divine complacency. To elevate himself to such a state of mind, man must depart from evil, cast off the old man, crucify the flesh; a change which is essentially connected with a series of sorrows and sufferings. These the former man has deserved as a punishment, but they fall on the new: for the regenerated man, who takes them on himself, though physically and in his empirical character, as a being determined by the senses, he remains the former man; is morally, as an intellectual being, with his changed disposition, become a new man. Having by this change taken upon him the disposition of the Son of God, that which is strictly a substitution of the new
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man for the old, may be represented, by a personification of the idea, as a substitution of the Son of God, and it may be said, that the latter himself, as a substitute, bears for man, for all who practically believe in him, the guilt of sin; as a redeemer, satisfies supreme justice by suffering and death; and as an intercessor, imparts the hope of appearing justified before the judge: the suffering which the new man, in dying to the old, must perpetually incur through life, being conceived in the representative of mankind, as a death suffered once for all.46 Kant, like Schleiermacher (whose Christology in many respects recalls that of Kant),47 carries his appropriation of the Christology of the Church no further than the death of Christ: of his resurrection and ascension, he says, that they cannot be available to religion within the limits of pure reason, because they would involve the materiality of all existences. Still, in another light, he employs these facts as symbols of the ideas of the reason; as images of the entrance into the abode of blessedness, that is, into communion with all the good: while Tieftrunk has yet more decidedly given it as his opinion, that without the resurrection, the history of Jesus would terminate in a revolting catastrophe; that the eye would turn away with melancholy and dissatisfaction from an event, in which the pattern of humanity fell a victim to impious rage, and in which the scene closed with a death as unmerited as sorrowful; that the history requires to be crowned with the fulfilment of the expectation towards which the moral contemplations of every one are irresistibly drawn-with the passage into a compensating immortality.48 In the same manner, De Wette ascribed to the evangelical history, as to every history, and particularly to the history of religion, a symbolical, ideal character, in virtue of which it is the expression and image of the human mind and its various operations. The history of the miraculous conception of Jesus represents the divine origin of religion; the narratives of his miracles, the independent force of the human mind, and the sublime doctrine of spiritual self-reliance; his resurrection is the image of the victory of truth, a fore-shadowing of the future triumph of good over evil; his ascension, the symbol of the eternal majesty of religion. The fundamental religious ideas which Jesus enunciated in his teaching, are expressed with equal clearness in his history. This history is an expression of devoted enthusiasm, in the courageous ministry of Jesus, and in the victorious power of his appearance; of resignation, in his contest with the wickedness of men, in the melancholy of his premonitory discourses, and above all in his death. Christ on the cross is the image of humanity purified by self-sacrifice; we ought all to crucify ourselves with him, that we may rise with him to new life. Lastly, the idea of devotion was the key-note in the history of Jesus, every moment of his life being dedicated to the thought of his heavenly Father. 49 At an earlier period, Horst presented this symbolical view of the history of Jesus with singular clearness. Whether, he says, all that is narrated of
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Christ happened precisely so, historically, is a question indifferent to us, nor can it now be settled. Nay, if we would be candid with ourselves, that which was once sacred history for the Christian believer, is, for the enlightened portion of our contemporaries, only fable: the narratives of the supernatural birth of Christ, of his miracles, of his resurrection and ascension, must be rejected by us as at variance with the inductions of our intellect. Let them however only be no longer interpreted merely by the understanding as history, but by the feelings and imagination, as poetry; and it will be found that in these narratives nothing is invented arbitrarily, but all springs from the depths and divine impulses of the human mind. Considered from this point of view, we may annex to the history of Christ all that is important to religious trust, animating to the pure dispositions, attractive to the tender feelings. That history is a beautiful, sacred poem of the human race-a poem in which are embodied all the wants of our religious instinct; and this is the highest honour of Christianity, and the strongest proof of its universal applicability. The history of the gospel is in fact the history of human nature conceived ideally, and exhibits to us in the life of an individual, what man ought to be, and, united with him by following his doctrine and example, can actually become. It is not denied that what to us can appear only sacred poetry, was to Paul, John, Matthew and Luke, fact and certain history. But it was the very same internal cause which made the narratives of the gospel sacred fact and history to them, which makes those narratives to us a sacred mythus and poetry. The points of view only are different: human nature, and in it the religious impulse, remains ever the same. Those first Christians needed in their world, for the animating of the religious and moral dispositions in the men of their time, history and fact, of which, however, the inmost kernel consisted of ideas: to us, the facts are become superannuated and doubtful, and only for the sake of the fundamental ideas, are the narratives of those facts an object of reverence. 5° This view was met immediately on the part of the Church by the reproach, that instead of the riches of divine reality which faith discovers in the history of Christ, it palmed upon us a collection of empty ideas and ideals; instead of a consolatory work effected, an overwhelming obligation. For the certainty, that God once actually united himself with human nature, the admonition that man ought to obtain divine dispositions, offers a poor compensation; for the peace which the redemption completed by Christ brings to the believer, it is no equivalent to put before him the duty of freeing himself from sin. By this system, man is thrust out of the reconciled world in which Christianity places him, into an unreconciled world, out of a world of happiness into a world of misery; for where reconciliation has yet to be effected, where happiness has yet to be attained, there is at present enmity and unhappiness. And, in truth, the hope of entire deliverance from these conditions, is, according to the principles of this system, 54
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which only admits an infinite approximation towards the idea, a deceptive one; for that which is only to be reached in an endless progression, is in fact unattainable. But not the faith alone, science also in its newest development, has found this system unsatisfactory. Science has perceived that to convert ideas simply into an obligatory possibility, to which no reality corresponds, is in fact to annihilate them; just as it would be to render the infinite finite, to represent it as that which lies beyond the finite. 51 Science has conceived that the infinite has its existence in the alternate production and extinction of the finite; that the idea is realized only in the entire series of its manifestations; that nothing can come into existence which does not already essentially exist; and, therefore, that it is not to be required of man, that he should reconcile himself with God, and assimilate his sentiments to the divine, unless this reconciliation and this assimilation are already virtually effected. § 150. The speculative Christology Kant had already said that the good principle did not descend from heaven merely at a particular time, but had descended on mankind invisibly from the commencement of the human race; and Schelling laid down the proposition: the incarnation of God is an incarnation from eternity. 52 But while the former understood under that expression only the moral instinct, which, with its ideal of good, and its sense of duty, has been from the beginning implanted in man; the latter understood under the incarnate Son of God the finite itself, in the form of the human consciousness, which in its contradistinction to the infinite, wherewith it is nevertheless one, appears as a suffering God, subjected to the conditions of time. In the most recent philosophy this idea has been further developed in the following manner. 53 When it is said of God that he is a Spirit, and of man that he also is a Spirit, it follows that the two are not essentially distinct. To speak more particularly, it is the essential property of a spirit, in the distribution of itself into distinct personalities, to remain identical with itself, to possess itself in another than itself. Hence the recognition of God as a spirit implies, that God does not remain as a fixed and immutable Infinite encompassing the Finite, but enters into it, produces the Finite, Nature, and the human mind, merely as a limited manifestation of himself, from which he eternally returns into unity. As man, considered as a finite spirit, limited to his finite nature, has not truth; so God, considered exclusively as an infinite spirit, shut up in his infinitude, has not reality. The infinite spirit is real only when it discloses itself in finite spirits; as the finite spirit is true only when it merges itself in the infinite. The true and real existence of spirit, therefore, is neither in God by himself, nor in man by himself, but in the God-man; neither in the infinite alone, nor in the finite
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alone, but in the interchange of impartation and withdrawal between the two, which on the part of God is revelation, on the part of man religion. If God and man are in themselves one, and if religion is the human side of this unity: then must this unity be made evident to man in religion, and become in him consciousness and reality. Certainly, so long as man knows not that he is a spirit, he cannot know that God is man: while he is under the guidance of nature only, he will deify nature; when he has learned to submit himself to law, and thus to regulate his natural tendencies by external means, he will set God before him as a lawgiver. But when, in the vicissitudes of the world's history, the natural state discloses its corruptions, the legal its misery; the former will experience the need of a God who elevates it above itself, the latter, of a God who descends to its level. Man being once mature enough to receive as his religion the truth that God is man, and man of a divine race; it necessarily follows, since religion is the form in which the truth presents itself to the popular mind, that this truth must appear, in a guise intelligible to all, as a fact obvious to the senses: in other words, there must appear a human individual who is recognized as the visible God. This God-man uniting in a single being the divine essence and the human personality, it may be said of him that he had the Divine Spirit for a father and a woman for his mother. His personality reflecting itself not in himself, but in the absolute substance, having the will to exist only for God, and not at all for itself, he is sinless and perfect. As a man of Divine essence, he is the power that subdues nature, a worker of miracles; but as God in a human manifestation, he is dependent on nature, subject to its necessities and sufferings-is in a state of abasement. Must he even pay the last tribute to nature? Does not the fact that the human nature is subject to death preclude the idea that that nature is one with the divine? No: the God-man dies, and thus proves that the incarnation of God is real, that the infinite spirit does not scorn to descend into the lowest depths of the finite, because he knows how to find a way of return into himself, because in the most entire alienation of himself, he can retain his identity. Further, the God-man, in so far as he is a spirit reflected in his infinity, stands contrasted with men, in so far as they are limited to their finiteness: hence opposition and contest result, and the death of the God-man becomes a violent one, inflicted by the hands of sinners; so that to physical degradation is added the moral degradation of ignominy and accusation of crime. If God then finds a passage from heaven to the grave, so must a way be discoverable for man from the grave to heaven: the death of the prince of life is the life of mortals. By his entrance into the world as God-man, God showed himself reconciled to man; by his dying, in which act he cast off the limitations of mortality, he showed moreover the way in which he perpetually effects that reconciliation: namely, by remaining, throughout his manifestation of himself under the limitations of a natural existence, and his suppression of that existence, identical with himself. Inasmuch as 56
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the death of the God-man is merely the cessation of his state of alienation from the infinite, it is in fact an exaltation and return to God, and thus the death is necessarily followed by the resurrection and ascension. The God-man, who during his life stood before his contemporaries as an individual distinct from themselves, and perceptible by the senses, is by death taken out of their sight; he enters into their imagination and memory: the unity of the divine and human in him, becomes a part of the general consciousness; and the Church must repeat spiritually, in the souls of its members, those events of his life which he experienced externally. The believer, finding himself environed with the conditions of nature, must, like Christ, die to nature-but only inwardly, as Christ did outwardly,-must spiritually crucify himself and be buried with Christ, that by the virtual suppression of his own sensible existence, he may become, in so far as he is a spirit, identical with himself, and participate in the bliss and glory of Christ. § 151. Last dilemma
Thus by a higher mode of argumentation, from the idea of God and man in their reciprocal relation, the truth of the conception which the Church forms of Christ appears to be confirmed, and we seem to be reconducted to the orthodox point of view, though by an inverted path: for while there, the truth of the conceptions of the Church concerning Christ is deduced from the correctness of the evangelical history; here, the veracity of the history is deduced from the truth of those conceptions. That which is rational is also real; the idea is not merely the moral imperative of Kant, but also an actuality. Proved to be an idea of the reason, the unity of the divine and human nature must also have an historical existence. The unity of God with man, says Marheineke,54 was really and visibly manifested in the person of Jesus Christ; in him, according to Rosenkranz,55 the divine power over nature was concentrated, he could not act otherwise than miraculously, and the working of miracles, which surprises us, was to him natural. His resurrection, says Conradi,56 is the necessary sequel of the completion of his personality, and so little ought it to surprise us, that, on the contrary, we must rather have been surprised if it had not happened. But do these deductions remove the contradictions which have exhibited themselves in the doctrine of the Church, concerning the person and work of Christ? We need only to compare the structures, which Rosenkranz in his Review has passed on Schleiermacher's criticism of the Christology of the Church, with what the same author proposes as a substitute in his Encyclopcedia, in order to perceive, that the general propositions on the unity of the divine and human natures, do not in the least serve to explain the appearance of a person, in whom this unity existed individually, in an exclusive manner. Though I may conceive that the 57
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divine spirit in a state of renunciation and abasement becomes the human, and that the human nature in its return into and above itself becomes the divine; this does not help me to conceive more easily, how the divine and human natures can have constituted the distinct and yet united portions of an historical person. Though I may see the human mind in its unity with the divine, in the course of the world's history, more and more completely establish itself as the power which subdues nature; this is quite another thing, than to conceive a single man endowed with such power, for individual, voluntary acts. Lastly, from the truth, that the suppression of the natural existence is the resurrection of the spirit, can never be deduced the bodily resurrection of an individual. We should thus have fallen back again to Kant's point of view, which we have ourselves found unsatisfactory: for if the idea have no corresponding reality, it is an empty obligation and ideal. But do we then deprive the idea of all reality? By no means: we reject only that which does not follow from the prernisesY If reality is ascribed to the idea of the unity of the divine and human natures, is this equivalent to the admission that this unity must actually have been once manifested, as it never had been, and never more will be, in one individual? This is indeed not the mode in which Idea realizes itself; it is not wont to lavish all its fulness on one exemplar, and be niggardly towards all others58-to express itself perfectly in that one individual, and imperfectly in all the rest: it rather loves to distribute its riches among a multiplicity of exemplars which reciprocally complete each other-in the alternate appearance and suppression of a series of individuals. And is this no true realization of the idea? Is not the idea of the unity of the divine and human natures a real one in a far higher sense, when I regard the whole race of mankind as its realization, than when I single out one man as such a realization? Is not an incarnation of God from eternity, a truer one than an incarnation limited to a particular point of time. This is the key to the whole of Christology, that, as subject of the predicate which the Church assigns to Christ, we place, instead of an individual, an idea; but an idea which has an existence in reality, not in the mind only; like that of Kant. In an individual, a God-man, the properties and functions which the Church ascribes to Christ contradict themselves; in the idea of the race, they perfectly agree. Humanity is the union of the two natures-God become man, the infinite manifesting itself in the finite, and the finite spirit remembering its infinitude; it is the child of the visible Mother and the invisible Father, Nature and Spirit; it is the worker of miracles, in so far as in the course of human history the spirit more and more completely subjugates nature, both within and around man, until it lies before him as the inert matter on which he exercises his active power;59 it is the sinless existence, for the course of its development is a blameless one, pollution cleaves to the individual only, and does not touch the race 58
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or its history. It is Humanity that dies, rises, and ascends to heaven, for from the negation of its phenomenal life there ever proceeds a higher spirituallife; from the suppression of its mortality as a personal, national, and terrestrial spirit, arises its union with the infinite spirit of the heavens. By faith in this Christ, especially in his death and resurrection, man is justified before God; that is, by the kindling within him of the idea of Humanity, the individual man participates in the divinely human life of the species. Now the main element of that idea is, that the negation of the merely natural and sensual life, which is itself the negation of the spirit (the negation of negation, therefore), is the sole way to true spirituallife.60 This alone is the absolute sense of Christology: that it is annexed to the person and history of one individual, is a necessary result of the historical form which Christology has taken. 61 Schleiermacher was quite right when he foreboded, that the speculative view would not leave much more of the historical person of the Saviour than was retained by the Ebionites. The phenomenal history of the individual, says Hegel, is only a starting point for the mind. Faith, in her early stages, is governed by the senses, and therefore contemplates a temporal history; what she holds to be true is the external, ordinary event, the evidence for which is of the historical, forensic kind-a fact to be proved by the testimony of the senses, and the moral confidence inspired by the witnesses. But mind having once taken occasion by this external fact, to bring under its consciousness the idea of humanity as one with God, sees in the history only the presentation of that idea; the object of faith is completely changed; instead of a sensible, empirical fact, it has become a spiritual and divine idea, which has its confirmation no longer in history but in philosophy. When the mind has thus gone beyond the sensible history, and entered into the domain of the absolute, the former ceases to be essential; it takes a subordinate place, above which the spiritual truths suggested by the history stand self-supported; it becomes as the faint image of a dream which belongs only to the past, and does not, like the idea, share the permanence of the spirit which is absolutely present to itsel£. 62 Even Luther subordinated the physical miracles to the spiritual, as the truly great miracles. And shall we interest ourselves more in the cure of some sick people in Galilee, than in the miracles of intellectual and moral life belonging to the history of the world-in the increasing, the almost incredible dominion of man over nature-in the irresistible force of ideas, to which no unintelligent matter, whatever its magnitude, can oppose any enduring resistance? Shall isolated incidents, in themselves trivial, be more to us than the universal order of events, simply because in the latter we presuppose, if we do not perceive, a natural cause, in the former the contrary? This would be a direct contravention of the more enlightened sentiments of our own day, justly and conclusively expressed by Schleiermacher. The interests of pity, says this theologian, can no longer require us so to conceive a fact, that by its dependence on God it is 59
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divested of the conditions which would belong to it as a link in the chain of nature; for we have outgrown the notion, that the divine omnipotence is more completely manifested in the interruption of the order of nature, than in its preservation. 63 Thus if we know the incarnation, death and resurrection, the duplex negatio affirmat, as the eternal circulation, the infinitely repeated pulsation of the divine life; what special importance can attach to a single fact, which is but a mere sensible image of this unending process? Our age demands to be led in Christology to the idea in the fact, to the race in the individual: a theology which, in its doctrines on the Christ, stops short at him as an individual, is not properly a theology, but a homily. In what relation, then, must the pulpit stand to theology,-nay, how is the continuance of a ministry in the Church possible when theology has reached this stage? This is the difficult question which presents itself to us in conclusion.64
§ 152.65 Relation of the critical and speculative theology to the Church Schleiermacher has said, that when he reflected on the approaching crisis in theology, and imagined himself obliged to choose one of two alternatives, either to surrender the Christian history, like every common history, as a spoil to criticism, or to hold his faith in fee to the speculative system; his decision was, that for himself, considered singly, he would embrace the latter, but that, regarding himself as a member of the Church, and especially as one of its teachers, he should be induced rather to take the opposite course. For the idea of God and of man on which, according to the speculative system, the truth of the Christian faith rests, is indeed a precious jewel, but it can be possessed only by a few, and he would not wish to be that privileged individual in the Church, who alone among thousands held the faith on its true grounds. As a member of the Church, he could have no satisfaction but in perfect equality, in the consciousness that all receive alike, both in kind and manner, from the same source. And as a teacher and spokesman to the Church, he could not possibly attempt the task of elevating old and young, without distinction, to the idea of God and of man: he must rather attack their faith as a groundless one, or else endeavour to strengthen and confirm it while knowing it to be groundless. As thus in the matter of religion an impassable gulf would be fixed between two parties in the Church, the speculative theology threatens us with the distinction of an esoteric and exoteric doctrine, which ill accords with the declaration of Christ, that all shall be taught of God. The scientific alone have the foundation of the faith: the unscientific have only the faith, and receive it only by means of tradition. If the Ebionitish view, on the contrary, leave but little of Christ, yet this little is equally attainable by
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all, and we are thereby secured from the hierarchy of speculation, which ever tends to merge itself in the hierarchy of Rome. 66 Here we see presented, under the form of thought belonging to a cultivated mind, the same opinion which is now expressed by many in a less cultivated fashion: namely, that the theologian who is at once critical and speculative, must in relation to the Church be a hypocrite. The real state of the case is this. The Church refers her Christology to an individual who existed historically at a certain period: the speculative theologian to an idea which only attains existence in the totality of individuals; by the Church the evangelical narratives are received as history: by the critical theologian, they are regarded for the most part as mere mythi. If he would continue to impart instruction to the Church, four ways are open to him: 67 First, the attempt already excluded by the above observations of Schleiermacher, namely, to elevate the Church to his own point of view, and for it, also, to resolve the historical into the ideal:-an attempt which must necessarily fail, because to the Church all those premises are wanting on which the theologian rests his speculative conclusions; and upon which, therefore, only an enthusiast for interpretation would venture. The second and opposite measure would be, to transport himself to the point of view of the Church, and for the sake of imparting edification ecclesiastically, to descend from the sphere of the ideal into the region of the popular conception. This expedient is commonly understood and judged too narrowly. The difference between the theologian and the Church is regarded as a total one; it is thought, that in answer to the question, whether he believes in the history of Christ, he ought to say exactly, no; whereas he says, yes: and this is a falsehood. It is true, that if in the discourses and instructions of the spiritual teacher, the main interest were an historical one, this would be a correct representation of the case: but, in fact, the interest is a religious one,-it is essential religion which is here communicated under the form of a history; hence he who does not believe in the history as such, may yet appreciate the religious truths therein contained, equally with one who does also receive the history as such: the distinction is one of form merely, and does not affect the substance. Hence it is an evidence of an uncultivated mind, to denounce as a hypocrite a theologian who preaches, for example, on the resurrection of Christ, since, though he may not believe in the reality of that event as a single sensible fact, he may, nevertheless, hold to be true the representation of the process of spiritual life, which the resurrection of Christ affords. Strictly considered, however, this identity of the substantial truth, exists only in the apprehension of him who knows how to distinguish the substance from the form of religion, i.e., of the theologian, not of the Church, to whom he speaks. The latter can conceive no faith in the dogmatical truth of the resurrection of Christ, for example, apart from a conviction of its historical reality: and if it come to discover that the theologian has not this 61
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conviction, and yet preaches on the resurrection, he must appear in the eyes of the Church a hypocrite, and thus the entire relation between the theologian and the Church would be virtually cancelled. In this case, the theologian, though in himself no hypocrite, would appear such to the Church, and would be conscious of this misconstruction. If notwithstanding this, he should continue to instruct the Church under the form of its own conceptions, he would ultimately appear a hypocrite to himself also, and would be driven to the third, desperate course, of forsaking the ministerial office. It avails nothing to say, he has only to descend from the pulpit, and mount the professor's chair, where he will not be under the necessity of withholding his scientific opinions from such as are destined to science; for if he, whom the course of his own intellectual culture has obliged to renounce the ministerial office, should by his instructions lead many to the same point, and thus render them also incapable of that office, the original evil would only be multiplied. On the other hand, it could not be held good for the Church, that all those who pursue criticism and speculation to the results above presented, should depart from their position as teachers. For no clergyman would any longer meddle with such inquiries, if he thus ran the risk of being led to results which would oblige him to abandon the ministerial office; criticism and philosophy would fall into the hands of those who are not professed theologians, and to the theologian nothing would remain but the faith, which then could not possibly long resist the attacks of the critical and speculative laity. But where truth is concerned, the possible consequences have no weight; hence the above remark ought not to be made. Thus much, however, may be maintained in relation to the real question: he whom his theological studies have led to an intellectual position, respecting which he must believe, that he has attained the truth, that he has penetrated into the deepest mysteries of theology, cannot feel either inclined or bound just at this point in his career to abandon theology: on the contrary, such a step would be unnatural, nay, impossible.68 He will therefore seek another expedient; and as such there presents itself a fourth, which is not, like the two first, one-sided, nor like the third, merely negative, but which offers a positive mode of reconciling the two extremes-the consciousness of the theologian, and that of the Church. In his discourses to the Church, he will indeed adhere to the forms of the popular conception, but on every opportunity he will exhibit their spiritual significance, which to him constitutes their sole truth, and thus preparethough such a result is only to be thought of as an unending progress-the resolution of those forms into their original ideas in the consciousness of the Church also. Thus, to abide by the example already chosen, at the festival of Easter, he will indeed set out from the sensible fact of the resurrection of Christ, but he will dwell chiefly on the being buried and rising again with Christ, which the Apostle himself has strenuously inculcated. This
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very course every preacher, even the most orthodox, strictly takes, as often as he draws a moral from the evangelical text on which he preaches: for this is nothing else than the transition from the externally historical to the inward and spiritual. It is true, we must not overlook the distinction, that the orthodox preacher builds his moral on the text in such a way, that the latter remains as an historical foundation; whereas, with the speculative preacher, the transition from the biblical history or the Church doctrine, to the truth which he thence derives, has the negative effect of annihilating the former. Viewed more closely, however, the transition of the orthodox preacher from the evangelical text to the moral application, is not free from this negative tendency; in proceeding from the history to the doctrine he implies at least thus much: the history is not enough, it is not the whole truth, it must be transmuted from a past fact into a present one, from an event external to you, it must become your own intimate experience: so that with this transition, the case is the same as with the proof of the existence of God, in which the cosmical existence, which is the point of departure, apparently remains as a foundation, but is in fact negatived as a true existence, and merged in the absolute. Nevertheless, there remains a marked distinction between these two propositions: since, and in so far as, this has happens, so and so is your duty and your consolation-and: this is indeed related as having happened once, but the truth is, that it always so happened, and both in and by you ought to happen. At least, the community will not receive both as identical; and thus, here again, in every excess or diminution which the more or less spontaneous relation of the teacher to critical theology, together with the variety in the degrees of culture of the community, introduces,-the danger is incurred that the community may discover this difference, and the preacher appear to it, and consequently to himself, a hypocrite. In this difficulty, the theologian may find himself driven either directly to state his opinions, and attempt to elevate the people to his ideas: or, since this attempt must necessarily fail, carefully to adapt himself to the conception of the community; or, lastly, since, even on this plan, he may easily betray himself, in the end to leave the ministerial profession. We have thus admitted the difficulty with which the critical and speculative views are burthened, with reference to the relation of the clergyman to the Church; we have exhibited the collision into which the theologian falls, when it is asked, what course remains for him in so far as he has adopted such views? And we have shown that our age has not arrived at a certain decision on this subject. But this collision is not the effect of the curiosity of an individual; it is necessarily introduced by the progress of time and the development of Christian theology; it surprises and masters the individual, without his being able to guard himself from it. Or rather he can do this with slight labour, if he abstain from study and thought, or, if not from these, from freedom of speech and writing. Of such there are 63
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already enough in our day, and there was no need to make continual additions to their number through the calumniation of those who have expressed themselves in the spirit of advanced science. But there are also a few, who, notwithstanding such attacks, freely declare what can no longer be concealed-and time will show whether by the one party or the other, the Church, Mankind, and Truth are best served.
Notes 1 The translation of the section head should read: "Necessary Transition of Criticism to Dogma" (Nothwendiger Ubergang der Kritik in das Dogma). George Eliot misconstrued the meaning of the heading, and indeed of the section as a whole. She was aware of the obscurity in meaning as she interpreted it, and consequently tried to read Dogma as Dogmatik. (Haight, Letters, 1:208-9.) But Strauss's intention in the Concluding Dissertation is not to make a transition from criticism to dogmatics, but rather to transfer the critical operation to dogma. The transition is from the criticism of history to the criticism of dogma. "Dogma" here means Christian faith as it has been formulated in doctrines, creeds, dogmatic systems, "theology." Criticism must be brought to bear upon the doctrinal as well as historical forms of Christian faith (i.e., upon the history of doctrine as well as upon the Gospels)-both of which remain at the level of Vorstellung-in order to raise faith to the level of knowledge (Wissen) or Begrift. In this process, the identity in content of Christian faith and philosophical truth will be disclosed. Strauss takes up the second phase of this critical task in his next book, The Christian Faith, Its Doctrinal Development and Conflict with Modern Science (1840-41). In this work he subjects the history of Christian doctrine to the same destructive criticism as that brought to bear upon the Gospel stories in The Life of Jesus, thus completing the project he had envisioned since 1831, although the promised speculative reconstruction of the truth of Christian faith is lacking, and the work ends on a thoroughly negative note. Strauss gives a brief sketch of dogmatic criticism as it applies to the doctrine of Christ in §§ 145-50 of the Concluding Dissertation of the present work, treating first the orthodox doctrine of Christ and its criticism by Socinianism and rationalism, then the Christologies of rationalism, Schleiermacher, Kant, de Wette, Hegel, and the Hegelians-each of which discloses the weaknesses of its predecessors. The Eliot translation of § 144 is faulty or imprecise at several points. Dr. Brabant had prepared an English rendering of the Concluding Dissertation, but when Eliot tried to utilize it she found it consisted only of unfinished notes. (Haight, Letters, 1:194.) Possibly she adopted some of Dr. Brabant's readings or paraphrasings in this section. The translation gives evidence of an attempt at interpretation, which only renders matters more obscure. 2 A better translation: "To all belief that is not yet knowledge" (in jedem Glauben, der noch nicht Wissen ist). 3 The last two paragraphs of the translation are flawed by efforts at interpretation that only render the meaning more obscure. Circumlocutions are sought for vermitteln ("mediate"), Unmittelbarkeit ("immediacy"), Wissen ("knowledge"), and other terms. The passage is very difficult, but a careful reading of it will provide hints at what Strauss intended, but did not precisely execute, in his dogmatic criticism. A revised translation is provided here:
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Furthermore, our [historical] criticism, though in its progress it treats of details, yet on becoming part of consciousness resolves itself once again into the simplicity of undeveloped doubt, which the believing consciousness neutralizes by an equally simple veto; and after the rejection of such doubt what is believed again spreads out in undiminished fulness. But hereby criticism is only set aside, not overcome, and therefore what is believed is not truly mediated, but remains in its immediacy. Criticism cannot but direct itself against this immediacy, and thus the apparently completed process is repeated, and we are thrown back to the beginning of the investigation; yet with a difference which constitutes a step forward in the matter. Hitherto the object of criticism was the Christian content as it lies before us in the Gospel reports as the history of Jesus. Now this content, called into question by doubt, reflects upon itself and seeks a refuge in the interiority of the believer, where however it exists not as mere history but as self-reflected history, i.e., as confession and dogma. Against this dogma appearing in its immediacy, as against every form of immediacy, criticism must indeed awaken in the form of negativity and a striving for mediation. So this is no longer, as before, historical criticism but dogmatic criticism, and it is only after faith has passed through both these tests that it is truly mediated or has becoming knowledge. This second process through which faith has to pass ought, like the first, to be made the subject of a distinct work. I shall here merely give a sketch of its most important features, that I may not terminate the historical criticism without pointing to its ultimate goal, which only lies beyond dogmatic criticism.
4 5 6 7 8 9
"Mediation" refers to the process by which the content of faith is subjected to the critical categories of consciousness, and the distinction between objective religious belief (Vorstellung) and subjective truth (Begriff) is dialectically transcended. A more precise translation of this sentence: "The dogmatic import of the life of Jesus, adhered to in its immediacy [in seiner Unmittelbarkeit festgehalten] and developed on this basis, constitutes the orthodox doctrine of Christ." lren adv. hrer. i. 10. Tertull. de prreser. hrer. xiii. adv. Prax. ii. de veland. virg. i. Orig. de principp. prooem. iv. lren. adv. hrer. iii. xviii. 7. Athanas. contra Arianos, orat. 2, 33. Gregor. Naz. Or. 51, p. 740, B.: 'to yap imp6<;AT)1ttov Mepanevr.wv. 5 be ilvrotat 'tl'? El£1'?, 'tOU'tO Kat croot;E'tat. -eva Kat tov ai>tov OIJ.DAoyEtV uiov tov Kupwv 1i11&v '1. X. crulltov £v av9pro1tO'tT)'tt, 9EOV aA T)Elffi<; Kat &vaprorrov cXAT)El&<; 'tO V ai>tov EK wuxfl<; A.oytKfj<; Kat crooJlato<;. OIJ.ooucrwv ttov 1iJltV Kata 'tTJV av9pro1tO'tT)'ta, Ka'ta navta OIJ.DtOV TJJltV xropt<; cXIJ.aptia<;· rrpoaioovrov IJ.Ev EK to\i rratpo<; revvT)EJ£vta Kata ti]v ae6tT)ta, £n' £crxatrov BE 't&v iJIJ.ep&v tbv avtbv bl. iJ11fr<; Kat bta ti]v TJIJ.E'tEpav crrotT)piav £K: Mapia<; 'tfj<; rrapaevou tfj<; ElED'tOKOU Kata 'tTJV av9pro1tO'tT)'ta, eva Kat 'tOV ai>tov Xptcrtov, uiov, KUptOv, IJ.OVDyEvfj, EK Buo <jlucrerov acrurxutroc;, atpE1ttro<;. aBtatpEtroc;, axropicrtroc; yvroptt;OIJ.EVOV· o"i>Ba!J.OU tfjc; 't&v <jlucrErov Bta<jlopac; avnPTliJ.EVT)c; Bta 'tTJV evrocrtv, crrot;OIJ.EVT)<; bE IJ.frAADV 'tfj<; l.lh6tT)'tD<; EKat£pac; QJUO"Eroc;, Kat He; Ev rrp6crrorrov Kat 11\.av urr6cr'tacrtv crUV'tPEXDUO"T)<;" oi>K Etc; Buo rrp6crrorra IJ.Eptt; IJ.Evov
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, lhatpDUJlEVOV, a'J..:J...' £va K
virgine est-ut homo factus ex virgine naturam in se carnis acciperet perque hujus admixtionis societatem sanctificatum in eo universi generis humani corpus existeret. For other expressions of the kind, see Miinscher, Dogmengesch., 12 13 14 15 16
17 18 19
20
herausg. von Colln, 1, § 97, Anm. 10. Miinscher, § 96, Anm. 5, s. 423 f. Augustin, de Catechiz, rudib. 7. Vid. Miinscher, § 96. Ibid. § 97. Comp. Form. Concord., Epit. und Sol. decl. VIII. p. 605 ff. and 761 ff. ed. Hase. Chemniz, de duabus naturis in Christo libellus, and loci theol., loc. 2, de filio; Gerhard. 11. th. 1, p. 640 ff. ( ed. 1615); Quenstedt, theol. didact. polem. P. 3, c. 3. Comp. De Wette, bib!. Dogm. § 64 ff. See the Oratio appended to the locus de pers. et offic. Chr. Gerhard, ut sup. p. 719 ff. Vid. Gerhard, II. th. 1, p. 685 ff.; Marheineke, Instit. symb. § 71 f. Reinhard, Vorles. iiber die Dogm. s. 354, conformably to the proposition urged by the Reformed against the Lutherans: Nulla natura in se ipsam recipit contradictoria, Planck, Gesch. des protest. Lehrbegriffs, Bd. 6, s. 782. Fausti Socini de Christi natura disputatio. Opp. Bib!. Fr. Pol. 1, p. 784; Catech. Racov. Q. 96 ff. Comp. Marheineke, Instit. symb. § 96. Spinoza, also, ep. 21, ad Oldenburg, Opp. ed. Gfrorer, p. 556, says; Quod quredam ecclesire his adduut,
quod Deus naturam humanam assumpserit, monui expresse, me, quid dicant, nescire; imo, ut verum fatear, non minus absurde mihi loqui videntur, quam si quis mihi diceret, quod circulus naturam quadrati induerit. 21 (Rohr) Briefe iiber den Rationalismus, s. 378 ff. ; Wegscheider Inst. theol. § 128; Bretschneider, Handb. der Dogm. 2, § 137 ff.; also Kant, Relig. innerhalb der Granzen der blossen Vernunft. 2tes St. 2ter Absch. b. 22 Glaubenslehre, 2, §§ 96--98. 23 Spinoza, tract. theol. polit. c. vi. p. 133. ed. Gfrorer, and ep. 23, ad Oldenburg, p. 558 f. Briefe iiber den Rat., 4ter, 5ter, 6ter, 12ter. Wegscheider, §§ 11, 12. Schleiermacher, §§ 14, 47. 24 Pnelect, theol. c. xv. 25 In the work: defensio fidei cath. de satisfactione Chr. adv. F. Socinum. 26 Summa, P. 3, Q. 48, A 2. 27 Comm. in Sentt. L. 3. Dist. 19. 28 See, besides Socinus, Kant, Relig. innerhalb der Grenzen der blossen Vernunft, 2tes Stuck, lter Abschn., c. 29 Tollner, Der thatige Gehorsam Christi untersucht. 1768. 30 Wegscheider, § 199. 31 Compare with what follows especially the Briefe iiber den Rationalismus, s. 372 ff.; Wegscheider, §§ 128, 133, 140.
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32 For the different views, see Bretschneider, Dogm. 2, s. 353, systematische Entwicklung, § 107. 33 Rohr, Briefe, s. 36,405 ff. 34 The term is Glaubenslehre and should be translated "doctrine of faith" instead of "system of religious doctrine." The distinction is important because in the preceding paragraph Strauss uses the other term, Religionslehre, and the point is that, whereas what the rationalists do is appropriate in a Religionslehre, it is not adequate for a Glaubenslehre, which is supposed to provide an exposition of Christian faith. 35 Schleiermacher, on his Glaubenslehre, to Dr. LUcke, 2tes Sendschreiben, Studien, 2, 3, s. 481 ff. 36 Glaubenslehre, 2, §§ 92-105. 37 This opinion has been already put forth in the most noted reviews of Schleiermacher's system; camp. Braniss, Uber Schleiermacher's Glaubenslehre; H. Schmid, Uber Schl. Glaubensl. s. 263 ff.; Baur, die christl. Gnosis, s. 626 ff., and the Review of Rosenkranz, Jahrb. fiir wiss. Kritik, 1831. 38 The translation omits vollstiindig ("completely") before "realized" in the first part of the sentence. The qualification is important for Schleiermacher. 39 2ter Sendschreiben. 40 Schmid, ut sup. 41 Camp. Rosenkranz, ut sup. s. 935 ff. 42 Baur, ut sup. s. 653. 43 Thus Schmid, ut sup. s. 267. 44 Ep. 21, ad Oldenburg. Opp. ed. Gfrorer, p. 556:-dico, ad salutem non esse omnino necesse, Christum secundum carnem noscere; sed ed aterno illo filio Dei, h. e. Dei aterna sapientia, qur£ sese in omnibus rebus, et maxime in mente humana, et omnium maxime in Christo Jesu manifestavit, longe aliter sentiendum. Nam nemo absque hac ad statum beatitudinis potest pervenire, utpote qur£ sola docet, quid verum et falsum, bonum et malum sit. 45 Religion innerhalb der Granzen der blossen Vernunft, drittes Stiick, lte Abthl. vii. 46 Ut sup. 2tes StUck, lter Abschn. 3tes StUck, lte Abthlg. 47 This is shown by Baur, christl. Gnosis, s. 660 ff. 48 Censur des christl. protestantischen Lehrbegriffs, 3, s. 180. 49 Religion und Theologie, 2ter Abschnitt, Kap. 3; camp. bibl. Dogmatik, § 255; kirchliche, § 64 ff. 50 Ideen iiber Mythologie u. s. w. in Henke's neuer Magazin, b. s. 454 ff. Camp. Henke's Museum, 3, s. 455. 51 A more literal translation of this sentence: "Science has perceived that to convert ideas into a mere ought [Sollen], to which no being [Sein] corresponds, is in fact to annihilate them, just as it would be to finitize the infinite to represent it as permanently beyond the finite [als bleibendes Jenseits des Endlichen]." The point is that if the infinite is conceived undialectically, as permanently beyond the finite, not engaged in the alternate positing and annulment (Setzen und Wiederaufheben) of the finite, it is in effect finitized, for finitude alone is devoid of dialectical process. These concluding sentences represent, of course, the Hegelian critique of Kant. 52 Vorlesungen Uber die Methode des akademischen Studiums, s. 192. 53 Hegel's Phanomenologie des Geistes, s. 561 ff.; Vorlesungen Uber die Philos. der Relig. 2, s. 234 ff. Marheineke, Grundlehren der christl. Dogmatik, s. 174 ff. Rosenkranz, Encyklopadie der theol. Wissenschaften, s. 38ft.; 148 ff.; comp. my Streitschriften, 3tes Heft, s. 76 ff. 67
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55 Encyklopadie, s. 160. 56 Selbstbewusstsein und Offenbarung, s. 295 f. Comp. Bauer, Recens. des L. J., Jahrbiicher f. wiss. Kritik, 1836, Mai, s. 699 ff. 57 Compare with this my Streitschriften, 3 Heft, s. 68 ff. 125. 58 With this should be compared the explanation in the Streitschriften, ut sup. s.
119. 59 Of this also there is an explanation in the Streitschriften, 3, s. 166 f. 60 Herein lies the answer to the objection which Schaller (der historische Christus und die Philosophie, s. 64 ff.) has made to the above view; namely, that it teaches only a substantial, not a personal unity of man with God. That unity which exists in the determination of the race has already been present in individuals separately, according to the different measure of their religious development, and thus the substantial unity has become, in different degrees, a personal unity. 61 In place of this sentence the first and second editions have a full paragraph in which it is argued that the annexing of the content of Christology to the person and history of one individual is purely fortuitous: Jesus was at best an accidental occasion for the emergence of the idea of humanity, given the subjective needs of the time and the pathos of his suffering and death. The relation to Jesus as an individual is no longer necessary for a scientifically reconstructed Christology. This paragraph was omitted in the third and fourth editions. Its omission in the third edition is easy to understand. Prior to this paragraph, Strauss had argued only that the idea cannot be exclusively identified with a single individual but with the human race as a whole. But this in itself would not deny Jesus a peculiar and essential role in the coming to consciousness of this idea, even it he was not in an archetypal sense the God-man. The omitted paragraph makes just this denial-a denial contradicted by the new concluding section of the third edition (ed.n. 781 t ). By omitting this paragraph and adding a mediating Christology at the end of the work, the context of the concluding paragraph of this section (heginning at p. 780/12b, "Schleiermacher was quite right ... "), found in all four editions, is altered in the third edition. The paragraph now represents a position that Strauss intends to refute or quality in the third edition. It is not the case, after all, that "when the mind ... has gone beyond the sensible history, and entered into the domain of the absolute, the former ceases to be essential"; rather, Jesus continues to have permanent significance as the founder and chief exemplar of Christian religious consciousness (see the concluding section of the third edition). In the first, second, and fourth editions, the concluding paragraph of this section represents Strauss's own view. It is a puzzle, therefore, why he did not restore the omitted paragraph in the fourth edition. In the two versions of his argument, Strauss represents the two possibilities inherent in Hegel's Christology: that Jesus had only a fortuitous relation to the idea of the Christ, which first arose in the faith of the community and would later free itself of him completely (the first, second, and fourth editions); or that Jesus, while not the God-man in the orthodox sense, nevertheless by the force of his personality, God-consciousness, teaching, and death is the essential agent by whom the idea of God-manhood was and continues to be mediated to humanity as a whole (the third edition). Strauss was the first, in the Streitschriften, No. 3, pp. 55-126, to call attention to the systematic ambiguities in Hegel's Christology. 62 Vorlesungen iiber die Philosophie der Religion, 2, s. 263 ff. Compare the col-
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63 64 65 66 67
68
Iection of the several propositions of Hegel on the person of Christ and the evangelical history, in my Streitschriften, 3 Heft, s. 76. Glaubenslehre, 1, s. 47. This paragraph is omitted in the third edition. Instead of this section, the third edition has its own concluding section, "Attempts at Mediation. Conclusion," which is completely different. It is translated in full on pp. 798-802. In connection with this change, see ed.n. 780*. In the 2ten Sendschreiben on his Glaubenslehre. These four ways are envisioned as early as 1830 in a letter to Christian Marktin. They are enumerated in somewhat different form: first, to force oneself back to faith, which is impossible; second, to prune the faith rationalistically in its mediation to the people, which would be shameful and contrary to duty; third, to leave the ministry, which is the way of the student radicals; finally, to find every opportunity to transfigure the forms of religious imagery (Vorstellungen) into those of speculative-theological concepts (Begriffe), while continuing to use the religious images when necessary. Strauss to Marklin, 26 December 1830 (Ausgewahlte Briefe, pp. 4-6). In this last sentence, Strauss undoubtedly expresses his own personal dilemma. He believed himself to be a theologian and could not bring himself to abandon the career of theology. Yet, since both the ministerial office and the professor's chair were denied him, this third alternative was forced upon him.
Bibliographies Modem authors cited by Strauss Bauer, Georg Lorenz. Handbuch der Geschichte der hebriiischen Nation. 2 parts. Nuremberg, 1800-1804. - - . Hebriiische Mythologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments, mit Parallelen aus der Mythologie anderer Volker, vornehmlich der Griechen und Romer. 2 vols. Leipzig, 1835. Bretschneider, Car! Gottlieb. Handbuch der Dogmatik der evangelisch-lutherischen Kirche. 3rd ed. Leipzig, 1828. - - . Probabilia de Evangelii et Epistolarum Joannis, Apostoli, indole et origine. Leipzig, 1820. Conradi, Kasim. Selbstbewusstseyn und Offenbarung, oder Entwickelung des religiOsen Bewusstseyns. Mainz, 1831. Gfrorer, August Friedrich. Kritische Geschichte des Urchristenthums. Vol. I; part 2: Philo und die alexandrinische Theosophie. Stuttgart, 1831. Hase, Carl August von. Das Leben Jesu. 2nd ed. Leipzig, 1835. Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich. Grundlinien der Philosophic des Rechts. Berlin, 1821. --.Die Phiinomenologie des Geistes. Bamberg & WUrzberg, 1807. - - . Vorlesungen iiber der Philosophie der Religion. Edited by Philipp Marheinecke. 2 vols. Berlin, 1832. Henke, Heinrich Philipp Conrad. Johannes Apostolus nounullorum Jesu apophthegmatum. Sylloge Commentationum theologicarum, edited by D. J. Pott and G. A. Ruperti. Helmstadt, 1800-1807.
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- - . Lineamenta institutionum Fidei Christianae historico-criticarum. Helmstadt, 1795. Kant, Imanuel. Die Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der blossen Vemunft. Konigsberg, 1794. Marheinecke, Philipp Conrad. Die Grundlehren der christlichen Dogmatik als Wissenschaft. 2nd ed. Berlin, 1827. - - . Institutiones Symbolicae, Doctrinarum Catholicorum, Protestantium. Berlin, 1830. Mtinscher, Wilhelm. Handbuch der christlichen Dogmengeschichte. 3rd ed. 4 vols. Marburg, 1817-18. Planck, Gottlieb Jacob. Geschichte des Christenthums in der Periode seiner Einfilhrung in die Welt durch Jesum und die Apostel. 2 vols. Gottingen, 1818. - - . Geschichte der Entstehung der Veriinderungen und der Bildung unsers protestantischen Lehrbegriffs vom Anjang der Reformation bis zu der Einfohrung der Concordienformel. 6 vols. Leipzig, 1791-1800. Reinhard, Franz Volkmar. Versuch ilber den Plan, welchen der Stifter der christlichen Religion ... entwarf. 5th ed. Wittenberg, 1830. - - . Vorlesungen ilber die Dogmatik. Sulzbach, 1811. Rohr, Johann Friedrich. Briefe iiber den Rationalismus. Zur Berichtigung der schwankenden und zweideutigen Urtheile, die in neuesten dogmatischen Consequenz-Streitigkeiten ilber denselben gefiillt warden sind. Aachen, 1813. (Published anonymously.) Rosenkranz, Johann Karl Friedrich. Encyclopiidie der theologischen Wissenschaften. Halle, 1831. Schaller, Julius. Der historische Christus und die Philosophie. Kritik der Grundidee des Werks das Leben Jesu von D. F. Strauss. Leipzig, 1838. Schleiermacher, Friedrich Daniel Ernst. Der christliche Glaube nach den Grundsiitzen der evangelischen Kirche. 2 vols. Berlin, 1821-22. 2nd ed., 1830. - - . Ueber die Schriften des Lukas. Ein kritischer Versuch. 1st Part. Berlin, 1817. - - . Sammlung zerstreuter, theologischer Aufsiitze des Friedrich Schleiermacher. Reutlingen, 1830. (Includes the two Sendschreiben to Liicke published in Theologische Studien und Kritiken, 1829.) --.Die Weihnachtsfeier. Ein Gespriich. 2nd ed. Berlin, 1827. Schmid, Heinrich. Ueber Schleiermacher's Glaubenslehre mit Beziehung auf die Reden ilber die Religion. Leipzig, 1835. Spinoza, Benedict. Corpus philosophorum optimae notae, qui ab restauratione litterarum ad Kantium usque floruerunt. Edited by August Friedrich Gfrorer. Stuttgart, 1830. - - . Tractatus Theologica-Politicus. Amsterdam, 1670. Tollner, Johann Gottlieb. Untersuchung der thiitige Gehorsams Jesu Christi. Breslau, 1768. Wegscheider, Julius August Ludwig. Institutiones theologiae Christianae dogmaticae. 7th ed. Halle, 1833. - - . Versuch einer vollstiindigen Einleitung in das Evangelium des Johannes. Gottingen, 1806. Weisse, Christian Hermann. Die evangelische Geschichte kritisch und philosophisch bearbeitet. 2 vols. Leipzig, 1838. 70
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Wettstein, Johann Jacob. 'H 1CatY11 8ta81'/IC1'/. Novum testamentum Graecum ... cum lectionibus variantibus ... nee non commentario pleniore. Amsterdam, 1751. Wilke, Christian Gottlob. Tradition und Mythe. Ein Beitrag zur historischen Kritik der kanonischen Evangelien iiberhaupt, wie besondere zur Wurdigung des mythischen Idealismus im Leben Jesu von Strauss. Leipzig, 1837. Winer, Georg Benedict. Biblisches Realworterbuch zum Handgebrauch filr Studierende, Kandidaten, Gymnasiallehre und Prediger. 2nd ed. 2 vols. Leipzig, 1833-35. - - . Grammatik des neutestamentlichen Sprachidioms als sichere Grundlage der neutestamentlichen Exegese bearbeitet. 3rd ed. Leipzig, 1830. - - . De onkeloso ejusque paraphrasi Chaldaica. Leipzig, 1820. Woolston, Thomas. A Discourse on the Miracles of Our Savior. 6 parts. London, 1727-29. Wurm, Johann Friedrich. De Ponderum, nummorum, mensurarum ac de anni ordinandi rationibus, apud Romanos et Graecos. Stuttgart, 1821.
Works by and about Strauss Streitschriften zur Vertheidigung meiner Schrift uber das Leben Jesu und zur Charakteristik der gegenwiirtigen Theologie. 3 numbers. Ttibingen, 1837.
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3 THE ESSENTIAL NATURE OF THE WORK OF JESUS Ernest Renan Source: The Life of Jesus (New York: Random, 1955), pp. 277-22,9. (Originally published as La Vie de Jesus, Paris: Micbel Levy Freres, 1863.)
Jesus, we have seen, never emerged in action from Jewish circles. Although his sympathy for those despised by orthodoxy led him to admit pagans into the kingdom of God,-although he may have resided more than once in a pagan country, and once or twice may be seen in kindly relations with unbelievers,-it can be said that his life was entirely passed in the small and compact world into which he was born. In Greek or Roman countries he was never heard of; his name appears only in profane authors living a hundred years later, and even then indirectly in relation to seditious movements provoked by his doctrine, or persecutions suffered by his disciples. Even on Judaism itself Jesus made no durable impression. Philo, who died about the year 50, had not the slightest knowledge of him. Josephus, born in the year 37, and writing at the end of the century, mentions his execution in a few lines, as an event of secondary importance; and in his enumeration of the sects of his time he omits the Christians altogether. Nor in the Mishnah is there any trace of the new school; the passages in the two Gemaras in which the founder of Christianity is mentioned, do not date farther back than the fourth or fifth century. The essential work of Jesus was to create around him a circle of disciples, whom he inspired with limitless affection, and in the hearts of whom he laid the germ of his doctrine. To have made himself beloved, "to the degree that after his death they ceased not to love him," was the great work of Jesus, and that which impressed his contemporaries most." 1 His doctrine was so little dogmatic, that he never dreamed of writing it or of causing it to be written. Men became his disciples, not by believing this thing or that thing, but by being attached to his person and by loving him. A few sayings gathered together from memory, and, above all, the type of character he set forth, with the impression it had left, were what remained of him. Jesus was not a founder of dogmas, or a maker of creeds; he was 72
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one that infused a new spirit into the world. The least Christian men were, on the one hand, the doctors of the Greek Church, who, from the fourth century, began to drag Christianity into a path of puerile metaphysical discussions, and, on the other, the scholastics of the Latin Middle Ages, who wished to draw from the Gospel a colossal system with thousands of articles. To follow Jesus in expectation of the kingdom of God was all that being a Christian originally meant. It will be thus understood how, by an exceptional destiny, pure Christianity, after eighteen centuries, still presents the character of a universal and eternal religion. It is really because the religion of Jesus is in some respects the final religion. The product of a perfectly spontaneous spiritual movement, freed at its birth from all dogmatic restraint, having struggled three hundred years for liberty of conscience, Christianity, despite its failures, still reaps the fruits of its glorious origin. To renew itself, it has but to return to the Gospel. The kingdom of God, as we conceive it, differs widely from the supernatural vision which the early Christians hoped to see shine forth in the clouds. But the feelings brought into the world by Jesus are indeed ours. His perfect idealism is the highest rule of the unspotted and virtuous life. He has created the heaven of pure souls, where is found that for which we ask in vain upon earth-the perfect nobility of the children of God, absolute sanctity, the total removal of worldly soilure, in short, freedom, banished by society as an impossibility, and existent in all its amplitude in the domain of thought alone. The great Master of those who take refuge in this ideal paradise is still Jesus. He was the first to proclaim the kingship of the spirit; the first to say, at least by his actions, "My kingdom is not of this world." The foundation of true religion was indeed his work: after him, all that remains is to develop it and make it fruitful. "Christianity" has thus become almost a synonym of "religion." All that is done outside the great and good Christian tradition is destined to be barren. Jesus founded the religion, as Socrates founded the philosophy, and Aristotle the science, of humanity. There was philosophy before Socrates, science before Aristotle. Since Socrates and since Aristotle, philosophy and science have made immense progress; but all has been built on the foundation which they laid. In the same way, religious thought had, before Jesus, traversed many revolutions; since Jesus, it has made great conquests; but nevertheless men have not improved, and will not improve, upon the essential idea which Jesus created; once and for all he decided the real meaning of pure worship. The religion of Jesus is limitless. The Church has had its epochs and its phases; it has imprisoned itself in creeds which have only been or will only be temporal: Jesus founded the absolute religion, excluding nothing, and determining nothing unless it be the spirit. His creeds are not rigid dogmas, but images susceptible of endless interpretations. One might seek in vain for a theological proposition in the Gospel. All confessions of faith travesty the idea of Jesus, just 73
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as medireval scholasticism by proclaiming Aristotle the sole master of a science finally achieved, perverted Aristotle's own ideas. Aristotle, had he been present at the scholastic debates, would have repudiated such a narrow doctrine; he would have been of the party of progressive science against that of routine which shielded itself beneath his authority; he would have applauded those who contradicted his teaching. In the same way, were Jesus to return amongst us, he would recognise as his disciples, not those who imagine they can compress him into a few catechismal phrases, but those who labour to carry on his work. Of all degrees of grandeur the eternal glory consists in having laid the first stone. It may be that in the physics and meteorology of modern times we may not discover a word of the treatises by Aristotle which bear these names; but, none the less, Aristotle remains the founder of natural science. Through whatever transformations dogma may pass, Jesus will still be in religion the creator of pure feeling, the Sermon on the Mount will never be superseded. No revolution will prevent us from attaching ourselves in religion to the great intellectual and moral ancestry at the head of which shines the name of Jesus. In this sense we are Christians, even when we separate ourselves on almost every point from the Christian tradition which has preceded us. And this great foundation was indeed the personal work of Jesus. To make himself adored to this degree, he must have been adorable. Love comes not into being save through an object worthy to enkindle it, and we should know nothing of Jesus were it not for the passion inspired by him in those about him, which compels us still to affirm that he was great and pure. The faith, the enthusiasm, the constancy of the first Christian generation are only to be explained by supposing a man of colossal greatness to have been at the source of the whole movement. At sight of the marvellous creations of the ages of faith, two impressions, equally fatal to sound historical criticism, arise in the mind. On the one hand we are led to suppose these creations too impersonal; to a collective action we attribute that which has often been the work of one powerful will and of one lofty mind. On the other hand, we decline to see men like ourselves in the authors of those extraordinary movements which have decided the destiny of humanity. Let us conceive a wider idea of the powers concealed by nature in her bosom. Our civilisations, governed by minute restrictions, can give us no idea of the power of man at periods in which the originality of the individual had a freer field for its development. Let us imagine a recluse near our capitals, dwelling in the mountains, emerging thence from time to time to present himself at the palaces of monarchs, compelling the sentinels to stand aside, and in imperious tones announcing to the kings the approach of revolutions in which he has been the moving spirit. The very idea provokes a smile. Such, however, was Elias; but Elias the Tishbite in our days would not pass the gate of the Tuileries. The preaching of Jesus and his free activity in Galilee do not deviate less completely from
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the social conditions to which we are accustomed. Free from our polished conventionalities, exempt from the uniform education which refines us, but greatly stunts out individuality, these intense souls carried a surprising energy into action. They loom on our sight as the giants of an heroic age, which cannot have been real. Profound error! Those men were our brothers; they were of our stature, they felt and thought as we. But the breath of God was free within them; in us, it is fettered by the iron bonds of social pettiness, and condemned to irremediable mediocrity. Let us place then the personality of Jesus on the highest summit of human greatness. Let us not be misled by exaggerated doubts in the presence of a legend which forever imprisons us in a superhuman world. The life of Francis of Assisi is also but a tissue of miracles. And yet has the existence of Francis of Assisi, and of the part he played, ever been held in doubt? Let us say no longer that the glory of the foundation of Christianity belongs to the multitude of the early Christians, and not to him whom legend has deified. The inequality of men is much more marked in the East than amongst us. There it is no uncommon thing to see arise, in the midst of a general atmosphere of wickedness, characters whose greatness causes us wonderment. Far from Jesus having been created by his disciples, he shows himself in all things superior to his disciples. The latter, with the exception of St. Paul and perhaps of St. John, were men lacking both invention and genius. St. Paul himself bears no comparison with Jesus, and as to St. John, he has only shown in his Apocalypse how much the poetry of Jesus inspired him. Hence the great superiority of the Gospels amidst the writings of the New Testament. Hence the painful fall we experience in passing from the history of Jesus to that of the apostles. Even the evangelists themselves, who have bequeathed the image of Jesus to us, are so far beneath him of whom they speak that they constantly misrepresent him, from their inability to attain to his height. Their writings are full of errors and misconceptions. At every line we feel that a discourse of divine beauty has been transcribed by narrators who do not understand it, and substitute their own ideas for those which they only half comprehend. On the whole, the character of Jesus, far from having been embellished by his biographers, has been lowered by them. Criticism, to find what he really was, must discard a series of misconceptions resulting from his disciples' inferiority. These painted him as they conceived of him, and frequently, while thinking to raise him, have in reality degraded him. I know that our modern ideas are more than once offended in this legend, conceived by another race, under another sky, and in the midst of other social needs. There are virtues which, in some respects, conform better with our taste. The good and mild Marcus Aurelius, the humble and gentle Spinoza, since they had no belief in their power to perform miracles, were free from some errors in which Jesus shared. Spinoza, in his profound obscurity, had an advantage which Jesus did not seek. By our
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extreme discretion in the employment of means of conviction, by our absolute sincerity, and by our disinterested love of the pure idea, we have founded-all we who have devoted our lives to science-a new ethical ideal. But the judgments of general history should not be restricted to considerations of personal merit. Marcus Aurelius and his noble teachers have had no permanent influence on the world. Marcus Aurelius left behind him beautiful books, an execrable son, and a decaying nation. Jesus remains for mankind an inexhaustible principle of moral regeneration. Philosophy does not suffice for the multitude. They must have sanctity. An Apollonius of Tyana, with his miraculous legend, is of necessity more successful than a Socrates with his cold reason. "Socrates," it was said, "leaves men on the earth, Apollonius takes them to heaven; Socrates is but a sage, Apollonius is a god." Religion, thus far, has never existed without an element of asceticism, of piety, and of marvel. When, after the Antonines, it was desired to make a religion of philosophy, it was requisite to transform the philosophers into saints, to write the "edifying life" of Pythagoras or Plotinus, to attribute to them a legend, virtues of abstinence, meditation, and supernatural powers, without which neither credence nor authority were in that age to be found. Let us abstain then from mutilating history in order to satisfy our petty susceptibilities. Which of us, pigmies as we are, could do what the extravagant Francis of Assisi, or the hysterical saint Theresa has done? Let medicine have names to express these great eccentricities of human nature; let it maintain that genius is a disease of the brain; let it see, in a certain moral sensitiveness, the commencement of consumption; let it class enthusiasm and love as nervous symptoms-it matters little. "Healthy" and "diseased" are entirely relative terms. Who would not rather be diseased like Pascal than healthy like the common herd? The narrow ideas about madness which are prevalent in our time very seriously mislead our historical judgments in questions of this order. A state in which a man says things of which he is not conscious, in which thought is produced without the summons and control of the will, now makes him liable to be confined as a lunatic. Formerly all this was called prophecy and inspiration. The finest things in the world have resulted from a state of fever; every great creation involves a rupture of equilibrium; by a law of nature child-birth is a violent state. We acknowledge indeed that Christianity is a creation too complex to have been the work of a single man. In one sense, all mankind have cooperated therein. There are no people so circumscribed as not to receive some breath of influence from without. History is full of strange coincidences, which cause very remote portions of the human species, without communication with each other, to arrive simultaneously at almost identical ideas and imaginations. In the thirteenth century, the Latins, the Greeks, the Syrians, the Jews, and the Mussulmans created scholasticism,
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and very nearly the same scholasticism from York to Samarcand; in the fourteenth century every one in Italy, in Persia, and in India yielded to a taste for mystical allegory; in the sixteenth, art was developed in a very similar manner in Italy, and at the court of the Great Moguls, without St. Thomas, Barhebraeus, the Rabbis of Narbonne, or the Motecallemfn of Bagdad, having known each other, without Dante and Petrarch having seen any Sufi, without any pupil of the schools of Perouse or of Florence having visited Delhi. One might say that there are great moral influences running through the world like epidemics, without distinction of frontiers or race. The interchange of ideas in the human species does not operate solely by books or direct instruction. Jesus was ignorant of the very name of Buddha, of Zoroaster, of Plato; he had read no Greek book, no Buddhist Sudra, yet notwithstanding there was in him more than one element, which, without his suspecting it, emanated from Buddhism, Parseeism, or the Greek wisdom. All this came through secret channels and by that kind of sympathy which exists between the different parts of mankind. The great man, on the one hand, receives all from his age; on the other, he governs his age. To show that the religion founded by Jesus was the natural consequence of what had preceded it, is in no way to diminish its excellence, but only to prove that it had a reason for its existence, and that it was legitimate-in other words, that it was in conformity with the instincts and needs of the heart in a given period. Is it more just to say that Jesus owes all to Judaism, and that his greatness is only that of the Jewish people? No one is more disposed than myself to accord a high place to this unique people, whose particular gift seems to have been to contain in its midst the extremes of good and evil. No doubt Jesus came from Judaism; but he came from it as Socrates came from the schools of the sophists, as Luther came from the Middle Ages, as Lamennais from Catholicism, as Rousseau from the eighteenth century. A man is of his age and of his race even when he reacts against his age and his race. Far from Jesus having carried Judaism forward, he represents the rupture with the Jewish spirit. Even supposing that, in this respect, his thought may lend itself to some ambiguity, the general direction of Christianity after him permits no misconception. The tendency of Christianity has been to move farther and farther from Judaism. It will become perfect by returning to Jesus, but certainly not by returning to Judaism. The great originality of the founder remains then undiminished; his glory admits none to share it legitimately. Undoubtedly circumstances greatly aided the success of this extraordinary revolution; but circumstances only support that which is just and true. Every branch of human development has its privileged epoch, in which it attains perfection without effort by a kind of spontaneous instinct. No labour of reflection could succeed in afterwards producing the masterpieces which nature creates at such moments by inspired geniuses. What 77
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the golden age of Greece was for secular art and literature, the age of Jesus was for religion. Jewish society exhibited the most extraordinary moral and intellectual state which the human species has ever passed through. It was indeed one of those divine hours in which great things come to pass by the co-operation of a thousand hidden forces, in which great souls find a flood of admiration and sympathy to sustain them. The world, delivered from the extremely narrow tyranny of small municipal republics, enjoyed great liberty. Roman despotism did not make itself felt disastrously until much later; and it was moreover always less oppressive in distant provinces than in the centre of the Empire. Our petty preventive interferences (far more destructive than death to things spiritual) did not exist. Jesus, during three years, was able to lead a life which, in our societies, would have brought him twenty times before the magistrates. The laws now in force regarding the illegal exercise of medicine would alone have sufficed to cut short his career. The sceptical dynasty of the Herods, on the other hand, paid little attention to religious movements; under the Asmoneans, Jesus would probably have been arrested at the outset. In such a state of society a reformer risked only death; and death is a gain to those who labour for the future. Imagine Jesus condemned to bear the burden of his divinity until his sixtieth or seventieth year, losing his heavenly fire, wearing himself out little by little under the necessities of an unparalleled mission! Everything favours those who are marked for special destiny; they go on to glory by a kind of invincible impulse and command of fate. This sublime being, who, day by day, still presides over the destiny of the world, we may call divine, not in the sense that Jesus has absorbed all divinity, or has been identical with it, but in the sense that Jesus is he who has caused his fellow-men to make the greatest step towards the divine. Mankind in its totality offers to view an assemblage of low and egoistic beings only superior to the animal in that their selfishness is more reflective. But from the midst of this uniform vulgarity there are columns rising towards heaven and bearing witness to a nobler destiny. Jesus is the highest of these columns which show to man whence he comes and whither he must go. In him was concentrated all that is good, all that is lofty in our nature. He was not sinless; he conquered these same passions that we fight against, no angel of God comforted him save his own good conscience; no Satan tempted him save that which every man bears in his heart. Just as many of his great qualities have been lost to us through the intellectual failings of his disciples, so it is probable that many of his faults have been concealed. But never has any man so much as he made the interests of humanity predominate in his life over the pettiness of self-love. Unreservedly bound to his mission, he subordinated all things to that mission so entirely that, towards the end of his life, the universe no longer existed for him. It was by this intensity of heroic will that he conquered
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heaven. There never was a man, Sakyamunni perhaps excepted, who has to this degree trampled under foot, family, the joys of the world, and all temporal cares. Jesus lived only for his Father and for the divine mission which he believed himself fated to fulfil. As for us, eternal children, fated to be powerless as we are, we who labour without reaping, we who will never see the fruit of that which we have sown, let us bow down before these demi-gods. They were able to do that which we cannot do: to create, to affirm, to act. Will great originality be born again, or will the world be content henceforth to follow the paths opened by the bold creators of distant ages? We know not. But whatever the unexpected phenomena of the future, Jesus will never be surpassed. His worship will constantly renew its youth, the legend of his life will bring ceaseless tears, his sufferings will soften the best hearts; all the ages will proclaim that, amongst the sons of men, none has been born who is greater than Jesus.
Note 1 Jos., Ant. XVIII. iii. 3.
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4 AGAINST THE LIFE-OF-JESUS MOVEMENT Martin Kiihler Source: Car! E. Braaten (ed.), The So-Called Historical Jesus and the Historic, Biblical Christ, translated by Car! E. Braaten (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1964), pp. 46-71. (Originally published as Der sogenannte historische Jesus und der geschichtliche, biblische Christus, Leipzig: A. Deichert, 1892.)
The impossibility of a biography of Jesus I regard the entire Life-of-Jesus movement as a blind alley. A blind alley usually has something alluring about it, or no one would enter it in the first place. It usually appears to be a section of the right road, or no one would hit upon it at all. In other words, we cannot reject this movement without understanding what is legitimate in it. The Life-of-Jesus movement is completely in the right insofar as it sets the Bible against an abstract dogmatism. It becomes illegitimate as soon as it begins to rend and dissect the Bible without having acquired a clear understanding of the special nature of the problem and the peculiar significance of Scripture for such understanding. In other cases the problem is simply historical; here that is not so. The justification for the movement can be expressed in Luther's statement that we can never draw God's Son deep enough into our flesh, into our humanity. 1 Every truly evangelical movement shares this point of view in reflecting upon our Savior--ever since John 1 and I John 1:1 ff. were written. But Luther's statement makes sense only if Christ is more than a mere man. It has no meaning at all for those who wish to maintain and demonstrate that he is of no more importance to us than any other significant figure of the past. This was not Luther's view, nor can it be ours, so long as we agree with the apostle that "if you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord, you will be saved" (Rom. 10:9). If we believe with Christian dogmatics in the Christ who is more than a mere man in his essence, his mission, and his present function-i.e., if we believe in the supra-historicaF Savior-then the historical Jesus acquires for us that incomparable worth that moves us to confess before the biblical picture3 of Jesus,
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My soul it shall refresh, my ear Can apprehend no tale more dear. 4 Every detail that we can learn about him becomes precious and meaningful for us. The tradition about him cannot be studied diligently and faithfully enough. Hence a person may immerse himself in Jesus' actions, trying to understand them and to trace them to their presuppositions. So he plumbs the depths of Jesus' consciousness and development before his public ministry; he accompanies the boy Jesus through ravines and fields, from his mother's bosom to his father's workshop and into the synagogue-and then he is most certainly heading up a blind alley! For the cardinal virtue of genuine historical research is modesty. Modesty is born of knowledge, 5 and he who knows the historical facts and sources acquires modesty in knowledge as well as in understanding. But such modesty is unpopular with many because their imaginations, sick of the field of speculation, have now projected themselves onto another field, onto the green pastures of alleged reality and into the business of historiography by conjecture or of so-called positive criticism. On this field people are running wild; they paint images with as much lust for novelty and as much self-confidence as was ever exhibited in the a priori metaphysics of the philosophers or the speculations of the theosophists, confident (with Richard Rothe) 6 that pious thinking can dissect God as the anatomist can dissect a frog. As far as the efforts of positive criticism are concerned, I can very often recognize no difference between the "positive" and the "negative" theologians, to use the common labels. To substantiate such a negative verdict some scientific assertions must now be made which at first sight may seem startling: we do not possess any sources for a "Life of Jesus" which a historian can accept as reliable and adequate. I repeat: we have no sources for a biography of Jesus of Nazareth which measure up to the standards of contemporary historical science. A trustworthy picture of the Savior for believers is a very different thing, and of this more will be said later. Our sources, that is, the Gospels, exist in such isolation that without them we would know nothing at all about Jesus, although the time and setting of his life are otherwise entirely clear to historians. He could be taken for a product of the church's fantasy around the year A.D. 100. Furthermore, these sources cannot be traced with certainty to eyewitnesses. In addition to this, they tell us only about the shortest and last period of his life. And finally, these sources appear in two basic forms whose variations must-in view of the proximity of the alleged or probable time of origin of these forms-awaken serious doubts about the faithfulness of the recollections. 7 Consequently the "unbiased" critic finds himself confronted by a vast field strewn with the fragments of various traditions. 8 From these fragments he is called upon to conjure up a new shape if his task is to compose, according to modern requirements, a 81
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biography of this figure who looms up out of the mist. Even the task of establishing the external course of his life is fraught with serious difficulties-leaving us often with mere probabilities. 9 The biographers, however, set themselves even more difficult tasks. Not all of them refrain from discussing certain questions which titillate one's curiosity but the answers to which still remain irrelevant to the main issue. To cite some examples, there are discussions about how handsome or homely Jesus was, or about his early life at home and at his work. Inquiries into his temperament or his individuality I would put into the same category. We could go on to mention others. The biographers may refrain from such dubious inquiries, however. The more recent ones, for example, are strong on psychological analysis. They seek to show the variety and sequence of causes that would account for the life and ministry of Jesus. Does the true humanity of Jesus not demand that we understand how he grew, his gradual development as a religious genius, the breakthrough of his moral independence, the dawning and illumination of his messianic consciousness? The sources, however, contain nothing of all that, absolutely nothing! At best only the short story of the twelve-year-old Jesus can pass muster as a historical report; from the standpoint of literary criticism, however, it is sheer caprice to sever it from the infancy narrative of Luke's Gospel. And is there any section of this whole literature that has been treated with more suspicion than precisely this one? 10 To be able to say anything more about Jesus requires recourse to a posteriori conclusions, and to make them cogent calls for extreme caution in one's approach, thoroughly reliable evidence, and a careful appraisal of the significance of one's findings. If we follow this reliable procedure, we shall scarcely achieve lavish results. That this is especially true of the Gospel materials I shall now show through a critique of the current methods used in writing the biographies. The New Testament presentations were not written for the purpose of describing how Jesus developed. They show him manifesting himself and playing an active role, but not making confessions about his inner life, certainly not unpremeditated ones, except perhaps for a few sighs and ejaculations (e.g., Mark 9:19; John 12:27; Mark 14:36; 15:34)Y An unprejudiced reader or scholar will hardly deny this. Therefore, the Gospels do not invite the drawing of a posteriori conclusions concerning the exact nature of Jesus' earlier development. It is, of course, undeniable that the Old Testament and Hebrew thought-forms have conditioned Jesus' outlook on things. 12 Yet such obvious remarks gain us almost nothing. To assert anything more one must, in view of the silence of the sources, use as a means of research the principle of analogy with other human events-thus contradicting the whole tenor of the Gospel portrayals of Jesus.
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First, there is the attempt to use psychology for the purpose of analyzing or supplementing data. Is such an attempt justified in this area? We will admit the validity of psychology only insofar as it rests demonstrably upon experience. A certain trustworthiness may be claimed for it where it deals with the forms of our inner experience, and undoubtedly they were the same for Jesus as for the rest of us. But here this is a matter of complete indifference. The dubious studies I have in mind always deal with the content of the inner life that developed and manifested itself in Jesus, and with the roots, the development, and the ramifications of his moral and religious consciousness (to use the going terms). Modern scientific psychology, however, no longer busies itself with the content of the inner life. That falls more in the province of other sciences. The poet, too, is accustomed to observe and depict that content. Where does the poet get his information? It is well known that in his poetry Goethe was describing mainly himself and his own experiences. He is such a great man because his observations "penetrated into the depths of human existence." Likewise, sensitive observers are generally impressive painters. Jeremias Gotthelf was as shunned in the region of Berne as Wildermuth was in Swabia-people were afraid of seeing an image of the haunted house in print. 13 Here, too, the person who employs the principle of analogy will have to seek his materials in the manifoldness of reality. Therefore I ask once again, is this method justified in writing about Jesus? Will anyone who has had the impression of being encountered by that unique sinless person, that unique Son of Adam endowed with a vigorous consciousness of God, still venture to use the principle of analogy here once he has thoroughly assessed the situation? We must not think that we can solve the problem with a pantograph, reproducing the general outlines of our own nature but with larger dimensions. The distinction between Jesus Christ and ourselves is not one of degree but of kind. We all know that poets create unreal and impossible figures insofar as they idealize them and cease to portray them with mixed qualities. Such idealization usually means simply the elimination of all the displeasing traits. We cannot, however, deal with Jesus merely by removing the blemishes from our own nature-that would merely leave us with a blank tablet. Sinlessness is not merely a negative concept. The inner development of a sinless person is as inconceivable to us as life on the Sandwich Islands is to a Laplander. 14 In the depths of our being we are different from him, so different in fact that we could become like him only through a new birth, a new creation. How then can we hope to analyze and explain Jesus' development, its stages and changes, in analogy with the common experience of humanity? Indeed, if we look deeper we encounter the objection, how could he have been sinless in the midst of a world, a family, and a people so full of offense? How could the boy Jesus develop in a pure and positive way when in his years of infancy, filial dependence, and immaturity he was 83
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surrounded by bad influences, and when his whole education, however well meant, must have been on the whole distorted? All this is a miracle which cannot be explained merely in terms of an innocent disposition. It is conceivable only because this infant entered upon his earthly existence with a prior endowment quite different from our own, because in all the forms and stages of his inner life an absolutely independent will was expressing itself, because God's grace and truth became incarnate in him. In view of this fact we would all do well to refrain from depicting his inner life by the principle of analogy. There remains the historical analogy. Here one goes back to the conditions and the thought world of Jesus' environment and to the historical records and Jewish literature which still survive from that period. Perhaps an examination of the history of such attempts will place them in proper perspective. Long before Baur, Semler had discovered the Judaistic tendencies15 of the early Christian writers. Yet Semler's school exempted Jesus from any such attachment to Judaism. Was this mere prejudice or was it the result of observation, of a correct insight? David Strauss found Hellenistic influences in Jesus, or in any case something totally unrelated to late Judaism. If we compare the Jesus of our Gospels with Saul of Tarsus, we do in fact see a great difference between the disciple of the Pharisees and the Master. On the one hand we see the true Jew, so profoundly and indelibly influenced by the cultural forces of his people and epoch; on the other hand we see the Son of Man, whose person and work convey the impression of one who lived, as it were, in the timeless age of the patriarchs. Thus a return to the first century does not appear to be very promising. Obviously we would not deny that historical research can help to explain and clarify particular features of Jesus' actions and attitudes as well as many aspects of his teaching. Nor will I exaggerate the issue by casting doubt on the historian's capacity to trace the broad outlines of the historical institutions and forces which influenced the human development of our Lord. But it is common knowledge that all this is wholly insufficient for a biographical work in the modern sense. Such a work is never content with a modest retrospective analysis, for in reconstructing an obscure event in the past it also wishes to convince us that its a posteriori conclusions are accurate. The biographical method likes to treat that period in Jesus' life for which we have no sources 16 and in particular seeks to explain the course of his spiritual development during his public ministry. To accomplish that something other than cautious analysis is required. Some outside force must rework the fragments of the tradition. This force is nothing other than the theologian's imagination-an imagination that has been shaped and nourished by the analogy of his own life and of human life in general. If, in other areas, the historian's muse often paints pictures which lack every breath of the past and its distinctive characteristics, what S4
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will it make of this unique material? The Gospels confront each of us with an Either/Or. The question is whether the historian will humble himself before the unique sinless Person-the only proper attitude in the presence of the norm of all morality. What a difference it must make in a person's interpretation whether he confesses the sinlessness of the Redeemer whom he is portraying or whether he charges Jesus with a catalog of sins, whether, with Jesus, he reckons every sinner as lost or whether he regards the boundaries as so fluid that moral errors are viewed as exaggerated virtues! 17 It is plainly evident that the imagination which thus orders and shapes the Gospel materials is being guided by still another force, namely, by a preconceived view of religious and ethical matters. In other words, the biographer who portrays Jesus is always something of a dogmatician in the derogatory18 sense of the word. At best he shares the point of view of the dogmatics of the Bible; most modern biographers, however, do so only to a very limited degree. Indeed, quite a few place themselves in conscious opposition to the "primitive world-view of the New Testament." With this observation, however, we have made a very important discovery. There is no more effective method for securing the gradual triumph of a political party than to write a history of one's country like that of Macaulay. 19 Stripped of its historical dress, the bare thesis of the "historian" would arouse too many suspicions. Disguised as history, the historian's theory passes imperceptibly into our thought and convictions as an authentic piece of reality, as a law emanating therefrom. Thus Rotteck's "history" of the world was in reality a party pamphlet, which, through its wide distribution, shaped the political thinking of large numbers of the German middle class. 20 The same is true of dogmatics. Today everyone is on his guard when a dogma is frankly presented as such. But when Christology appears in the form of a "Life of Jesus," there are not many who will perceive the stage manager behind the scenes, manipulating, according to his own dogmatic script, the fascinating spectacle of a colorful biography. Yet no one can detect the hidden dogmatician so well as a person who is himself a dogmatician, whose job it is to pursue consciously and intentionally the implications of basic ideas in all their specific nuances. Therefore, the dogmatician has the right to set up a warning sign before the allegedly presuppositionless historical research that ceases to do real research and turns instead to a fanciful reshaping of the data. We all enjoy it when a gifted writer interprets a significant figure or event of the past in a play or novel. By freeing his portrayal from the requirements of historical accuracy and by giving his imagination freer rein, he can sometimes better reveal the true character of the event or figure. In biblically oriented circles, however, epics about the Messiah and dramas about Christ have always been viewed with some uneasiness; and, for the most part, we certainly share these reservations and these qualms_ 85
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How many authors of the "Lives" blithely compose epics and dramas without being aware that this is what they are doing! And because this is done in prose, perhaps even from the pulpit, people think that this is merely a presentation of the historic, biblical picture of Christ. Far from it! What is usually happening is that the image of Jesus is being refracted through the spirit of these gentlemen themselves. This makes considerably more difference here than in any other field. For here we are dealing with the source from which the outpouring of the purifying Spirit is to proceed now as it has in the past. How can the Spirit perform his purifying work if he is not permitted to reach our ears and hearts without obstruction?
The real Christ of faith and history Let us take a good look at this matter. What is the Life-of-Jesus research really searching for? In going behind Jesus Christ as he is portrayed in the church's tradition-and this means also behind the New Testament picture of Christ-it wants to get at the real Jesus, as he actually existed in all those respects that all, or some, might consider important or indispensable, or often only desirable or titillating ("How interesting!")Y Although the attempt to answer concerns such as these encounters the various kinds of difficulties we have pointed out, it is important that we capitalize on the opportunity they offer to seek out the legitimate element in such selfimposed quests. We shall find the answer when we succeed in isolating the real and ultimate reason behind the attempt-legitimate and indeed unavoidable as it is-to present the historic figure of Jesus, in its full reality, to our inner perception. This brings us to the crux of the matter: Why do we seek to know the figure of Jesus? I rather think it is because we believe him when he says, "He who has seen me has seen the Father" (John 14:9), because we see in him the revelation of the invisible God. Now if the Word became flesh in Jesus, which is the revelation, the flesh or the Word? 22 Which is the more important for us, that wherein Jesus is like us, or that wherein he was and is totally different from us? Is it not the latter, namely, that which he offers us, not from our own hearts, but from the heart of the living God? I do not want to be misunderstood. That he was like us is, of course, incomparably significant for us and is treasured by us; Scripture always emphasizes it, too, but hardly ever without adding expressions like "without sin," "by grace," "in humility and perfect obedience," etc. (Heb. 4:15; 7:26, 27; 11 Cor. 8:9; Phil. 2:6 f.). How he was like us is self-evident. It is also fairly obvious why the evidence of his likeness to us is to be found on every page of the Gospels. And yet how we have to search to muster such a biblical proof from statements which deliberately emphasize that likeness. Does this not explain why we recognize the emphasis on Jesus' moral achievement [die sittliche Arbeit] as a distinguishing peculiarity of the Epistle to
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the Hebrews? (Cf. 2:17, 18; 4:15; 5:7 f., perhaps also 12:2, 3). 23 If a person really asks himself what he is looking for when he reads the Gospels, he will admit to himself, "I am not seeking someone like myself, but rather my opposite, my fulfillment, my Savior." When a person reflects on what he finds when reading the Gospels, he will say, "No man has ever spoken or acted thus; never has such a man existed." He will not say that no one has ever said the same things Jesus said. For Jesus repeated many things which religious thinkers had written and said prior to him-things which become different, however, when he says them.Z4 Nor will a reader of the Gospels maintain that everything Jesus did was unique, for he stands surrounded by a cloud of witnesses. And yet, there is something unique in the way he did things, for there has never been a man like him. 25 Why, in the final analysis, do we commune with the Jesus of our Gospels? What does he offer us? "In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses" 26 (Eph. 1:7). Do I really need to know more of him than what Paul "delivered to [the Corinthians] as of first importance, what [he] also received, that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures, and that he appeared" (I Cor. 15:3 f.)? This is the good news brought in the name of God (I Cor. 15:12 f.; Rom. 1:1 f.; 11 Cor. 5: 18 f.; Gal. 1:6 f.). This is the witness and confession of faith which has overcome the world (I John 5:4). If I have all this I do not need additional information on the precise details of Jesus' life and death. Then why the Gospels? Why do we need that kind of preaching the content of which is, so often, what Jesus did and taught? We have redemption through him. 27 "Who is to condemn? Is it Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised from the dead, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us?" (Rom. 8:34). "We have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous" (I John 2:1). "For we have not a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sinning" (Heb. 4:15). We need, we have, and we believe in the living Christ. We believe in him because we know him; we have him as we know him; we know him because he dwelt among us, full of grace and truth, and chose for himself witnesses through whose word we are to believe in him (John 1:13, 14; cf. I John 1:1 f.; John 15:27; 17:20). Therefore, the reason we commune with the Jesus of our Gospels is because it is through them that we learn to know that same Jesus whom, with the eyes of faith and in our prayers, we meet at the right hand of God, because we know, with Luther, that God cannot be found except in his beloved Son,28 because he is God's revelation to us, or, more accurately and specifically, because he who once walked on earth and now is exalted is the incarnate Word of God, the image of the invisible God-because he is for us God revealed. 87
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That is what the believer seeks. That is what the church celebrates. How important, therefore, the least little feature becomes! How indispensable the removal of every optical illusion created by the prism of tradition, the removal of every obscurity in the interpretation of his first witnesses! How inexpressibly important the reality of Jesus, down to the minutest detail! It would be serious if this were really the case. Just suppose that the art of modern historiography were able to carry out a spectral analysis on the Sun of our salvation. Suppose that we today were able to remove those obscurities in the tradition. What would that imply with respect to our fellow Christians in the early period? If their contemplation and worship of the Jesus of the Gospels were distorted and deflected by those obscurities which the critic professes to find in their writings and feels bound to remove, then indeed they would not have known their Savior. And the same would be true of all subsequent Christians, including ourselves. Yes, gentlemen and brethren, what about ourselves? What would our situation be? Where do we come to know this Jesus? Only a very few can carry on the work of historical science, and only a few are sufficiently trained to evaluate such work. To be sure, such work would relieve us of the authority of the Bible, but it would in turn subject us to the authority, not of an empirical science, but of the alleged results produced by this science. Meanwhile there is no one who can answer our question, where is that fifth evangelist29 capable of providing us with the picture of the exalted Christ, the picture of God revealed? 30 Which of the biographers can do this? We have our choice in a series from Hess and Ziindel, through David Strauss, right up to Renan and Noack, to say nothing of the Social-Democratic pamphlets. 31 If someone should object at this point, "Our situation with respect to dogmatics is the same as that with respect to historical science, for in relation to dogmatics we are dependent upon theologians," the comparison would be erroneous. Dogmatics is a matter of judging data that are accessible to every Christian, so long as it does not deal with detailed theological propositions that are not really essential in understanding the Christian faith. Historical research, on the other hand, requires the mastery of a sophisticated technique and a massive erudition. In this field no lay judgment is possible, except perhaps the kind made by inflated dilettantes. Therefore, either we must do without the revealed God, or the reality of Christ as our Savior must be something quite different from the scarcely accessible, or even inaccessible, reality of those clear and transparent details of his personal life and development which are generally deemed essential in the writing of a modern biography. There must be another way to reach the historic Christ than that of scientific reconstructions which employ source criticism and historical analogy. Consider for a moment. What is a truly "historic figure," that is, a person who has been influential in molding posterity, as measured by his 88
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contribution to history? Is it not the person who originates and bequeaths a permanent influence? He is one of those dynamic individuals who intervene in the course of events. What they are in themselves produces effects, and through these effects their influence persists. In the case of thousands of people whose traces in the history of their contemporaries and of posterity are obliterated slowly or not at all, their earlier development remains for scholarship just so many roots hidden underground, and the particulars of their activity are forever forgotten. The person whom history remembers lives on through his work, to which, in unforgettable words and personal characteristics, a direct impression of his dynamic essence often attaches itself. And the effect left by that impression is necessarily conditioned by the material on which it leaves its mark and by the environment upon which it had to and was able to work. 32 Thus, from a purely historical point of view the truly historic element in any great figure is the discernible personal influence which he exercises upon later generations. But what is the decisive influence that Jesus had upon posterity? According to the Bible and church history it consisted in nothing else but the faith of his disciples, their conviction that in Jesus they had found the conqueror of guilt, sin, temptation, and death. From this one influence all others emanate; it is the criterion by which all the others stand or fall. This conviction of the disciples is summed up in the single affirmation, "Christ is Lord." Contemporary history contributed nothing to this affirmation, and Jewish theology still less. The contemporary historical accounts in Josephus mention John, the son of Zechariah, but not a word about Jesus of Nazareth. Indeed, contemporary history counted him among the dead. After he died as a sacrifice for the sake of the nation (John 11:49 f.), the Jews went raving and racing to their political destruction, without taking any notice of him. The small band of Nazarenes was of no importance to them. The rest of the world would have ignored him, had not Saul of Tarsus gathered a community in his name, the giant tree growing out of the mustard seed, under whose leaves the birds of the heaven build their nests. So much for contemporary history. But what about Jewish theology and eschatology? We surely know how vigorously the unpretentious Rabbi had to contend with the terrestrial hopes for a splendiferous Son of David who was to lay the kingdoms of this world, in all their glory, at the feet of his people. Those images and metaphors from Jewish eschatology which Christians drew upon in painting their vivid pictures of the Christian hope still constitute the stumbling block which is apt to betray the hope of faith into denial of itself. "Christ is Lord"-this certainty neither flesh nor blood can attain, sustain, or impart. Jesus himself said as much to Peter after his confession (Matt. 16:17), and he said it also in reproach of the unbelieving Jews (John 6:43 f.); it was confirmed by Peter's denial in the outer court of the High
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Priest and later by Paul, who could say it to his congregations in full expectation of their assent (I Cor. 12:3). Yet, wherever this certainty has arisen and exerted an influence, it has been bound up demonstrably with another conviction-that Jesus is the crucified, risen, and living Lord. And when we ask at what point in their discussions the historians deal with this certainty, we find that they begin not with the much disputed and disconnected final narratives of the evangelists but with the experience of Paul. They ascertain the unwavering faith of the early church as far as they can determine the testimonies and the traces left by those early witnesses. The risen Lord is not the historical Jesus behind the Gospels, but the Christ of the apostolic preaching, of the whole New Testament. To designate this Lord as "Christ" (Messiah) is to confess his historical mission, or as we say today, his vocation, or as our forefathers said, meaning essentially the same thing, his "threefold office." That is to say, to confess him as Christ is to confess his unique, supra-historical significance for the whole of humanity. Christians became certain that Jesus was the Messiah, the Christ, in total opposition to public opinion, not only with regard to the idea of the Messiah (that is, the way one conceived of the Messiah and what one expected of him), but also with regard to the person of this Jesus of Nazareth. This was as true then as it is today. When Christians tried to make the Messiahship of Jesus credible in their sermons and then in epistles and gospels, they always made use of two kinds of evidence: personal testimony to his resurrection, based on experience, and the witness of the Scriptures. As the living Lord he was for them the Messiah of the Old Covenant. Therefore we, too, speak of the historic Christ of the Bible. It is clear that the historical Jesus, as we see him in his earthly ministry, did not win from his disciples a faith with power to witness to him, but only a very shaky loyalty susceptible to panic and betrayaJ.33 It is clear that they were all reborn, with Peter, unto a living hope only through the resurrection of Jesus from the dead (I Pet. 1:3) and that they needed the gift of the Spirit to "bring to their remembrance" what Jesus had said, before they were able to understand what he had already given them and to grasp what they had been unable to bear (John 14:26; 16:12, 13). It is clear that they did not later go forth into the world to make Jesus the head of a "school" by propagating his teachings, but to witness to his person and his imperishable significance for every man. If all this is clear and certain, it is equally certain that Jesus' followers were capable of understanding his person and mission, his deeds and his word as the offer of God's grace and faithfulness only after he appeared to them in his state of fulfillment-in which he was himself the fruit and the eternal bearer of his own work of universal and lasting significance, a work (to be exact) whose most difficult and decisive part was the end of the historical Jesus. Even though we once knew the Messiah according to the flesh, now we regard him thus no longer (11 Cor. 5:16). 90
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This is the first characteristic of Christ's enduring influence, that he evoked faith from his disciples. And the second is that this faith was confessed. His promise depends upon such confession (Rom. 10:9-10), as does also the history of Christianity and our own decision of faith. The real Christ, that is, the Christ who has exercised an influence in history, with whom millions have communed in childlike faith, and with whom the great witnesses of faith have been in communion-while striving, apprehending, triumphing, and proclaiming-this real Christ is the Christ who is preached. The Christ who is preached, however, is precisely the Christ of faith. He is the Jesus whom the eyes of faith behold at every step he takes and through every syllable he utters-the Jesus whose image we impress upon our minds because we both would and do commune with him, our risen, living Lord. The person of our living Savior, the person of the Word incarnate, of God revealed, gazes upon us from the features of that image which has deeply impressed itself on the memory of his followers-here in bold outlines, there in single strokes-and which was finally disclosed and perfected through the illumination of his Spirit. This is no reassuring sermon. It is the result of a painstaking consideration of the data at hand. It is the result achieved by a dogmatics 34 which sorts and sifts the evidence and states the conclusions in biblical language only because they happen to agree with the word of Scripture. Ought such a conformity to Scripture really provide a reason for looking with suspicion on this kind of dogmatics, especially among those who base their criticisms on Reformation(!) theology? In popular usage the word "dogmatics" has come to connote arbitrary assertions, whereas "historical study" of a subject is regarded as always laying hold of reality. The latter is unfortunately not always the case, since historical science does not always observe its limitations or fulfill its obligations, nor is it always in a position to do so. It is equally true that the popular assumption about dogmatics is basically unfounded, though understandable in view of the dogmaticians' aberrations. Dogmatics also has a "given" with which it works, although this is not merely a past reality. Dogmatics is in a very real sense the mediator between past and present; it puts what is genuine and indispensable in the past at the service of the present. This task of mediation, then, belongs to dogmatics, after it has made a thorough and serious study of what historical study can accomplish and has learned from history what is important enough to warrant consideration by dogmatics. The task of dogmatics is to provide an inventory of our assets. The "data at hand" to which we referred above are not the individual events reported in the Gospels about the life of Jesus. In this whole discussion we are trying to explain how inadvisable and indeed impossible it is to reach a Christian understanding of Jesus when one deviates from the total biblical proclamation about him-his life as well as its significance. The 91
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factual data which have led me to this judgment have to do with the nature of the tradition at our disposal. I have in mind especially two far-reaching facts: first, the impossibility of extracting from the sources a "genesis" of Jesus the Messiah and, second, the knowledge of what Christ has always meant to his church and still means to every believer today. These facts are, of course, a distillation of a series of other facts, as I have tried to indicate and as I intend to elaborate more fully. As far as the second is concerned, it is quite unwarranted to demand that the significance of Christ for Christianity be measured by what he means to those whose devotion to Christ has all but ceased. We must remind ourselves again and again that in trying to arrive at an understanding of man we must of course take into account the stages of his development, his existence as a fetus and as an adolescent, as well as his possible degeneration to the level of a cripple or an imbecile; nevertheless our conception of man will, in the last analysis, have to rest on a mature and healthy specimen of noble attributes. We may, if we wish, keep our christological formulae to the barest possible minimum; yet for Christians Christ must always be the object of faith in the "strictly religious sense of the word," to use an expression in vogue today. Otherwise we fall outside the bounds of his church. For this reason Christian language about Christ must always take the form of a confession or a dogma. Those are the limits of the circle within which I would expect the validity of these arguments to be acknowledged or at least to receive sympathetic consideration. I can appreciate fully how a person will necessarily reach a totally different position if he denies or depreciates what we have called the second fact. If revelation is only an erroneous name for religious consciousness in its historically conditioned development, and if Jesus is merely a religious genius surpassing the rest of us only in degree, then doubtless the New Testament confession of faith, which also inspired the evangelists in their portrayal of Jesus, can only result in an obscuring of the facts. Then we must look with suspicion on everything, or almost everything, in that portrayal. Then we can only resort to the attempt to explain, at all costs, the mystery of this man in terms of the thought and life of his day, a man who not only wanted to be called the Messiah, but also was confessed and proclaimed as such by an astonishing number of people. Given these presuppositions, I do not look for widespread support of the affirmative side of my criticism. On the other hand, I expect the negative side of my criticism to be generally conceded, so far as it concerns the evaluation of the sources. At any rate, my arguments deal only with those theologians who wish to write a "Life of Jesus" in the service of the confession of Christ, and who think (at least some of them) that their work can do more to strengthen this confession than can dogmatics. I am concerned with a correct evaluation of what the constructive historical method can
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accomplish, particularly what it can contribute toward the right attitude to Christ within the church, the bearer of the gospel. The rest of this essay will emphasize why we have the right to be sensitive to, and on guard against, all later embellishments of the biblical picture of Christ. Such imaginative reconstructions cannot stand without criticism, not even as specialized theological research. I think I can explain its popularity and influence in wide circles, especially in the younger generation. Often we do not sufficiently appreciate to what extent the moods regarding the criterion and aim of knowledge change with the times. I say "moods" advisedly. I believe I can observe such a mood at the present time. Historical detail is very much in vogue today, despite widespread skepticism. Historical novels have contributed much to the blurring of the boundaries. Even Christian readers have been spoiled. Instead of approaching the early witnesses sympathetically, searching for the truth in their writings, they prefer to be stimulated and excited by the curiosity of one who was a contemporary, of one who was enftamed into passionate involvement, of one who delighted in the victory of the controversial orator. Although the psychological novel presented in the form of letters may have declined in popularity, we have in its place biographies consisting almost wholly of diaries and fragments of letters. People like to view the remote past in a modern refraction. Homo sum-man in every time and place is one and the same, today as always, as is illustrated by the sensation which a short story can create. In spite of these objections one might be able to put up with such attempts in the area of theology if they held themselves in check and heeded admonition. To accommodate a current mood one might conceal his displeasure at such bold manipulations of the noble elements of Jesus' picture. However, it is another matter when-pardon my bluntness-the Christnovels ascend to the pulpit. Lengthy discourses about first century history, seemingly profound insights into Jesus' inner life (supported by observations on the differences in outlook between then and now), poetic descriptions of the countryside-all this keeps the listener preoccupied with things which, after all, are merely the vehicles of the events in the Gospels and keeps him from the real thing, or better, from the Person who alone is worthy of our attention, from the one Person in his incomparable uniqueness. Certainly no age should be prevented from speaking its own language and from remaining true to its own character. However, the restraint and sobriety of the first witnesses should remain the criterion for the message which the evangelical preacher has to deliver. We should attempt to do only one thing in our pulpits, namely, to present to our hearers these old, often heard, "outdated" stories-just as they stand, yet freshly and as if heard for the first time. Each listener should receive an indelible impression of what these accounts mean for him. If we immerse ourselves in our Gospels and consider them from every angle without a 93
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slavish and lazy adherence to the appointed lessons of the church year, there will be no danger of monotony-unless by monotony one means the repetition of the one keynote, which indeed is unavoidable. This, after all, is the obligation and final aim of every evangelical preacher (Phil. 1:18). It is a mistaken notion to think that it is enough simply to draw the attention of people to Jesus. The "interest" that is aroused here might easily become an obstacle to genuine attentiveness. That is to say, an interest in antiquity or in a modern psychological interpretation of some wellknown event may become an obstacle to a true estimate of Christ's worth for our day. It is as noxious for outsiders as it is for "Christian" circles when Christ and the gospel become mere topics of conversation. A preacher must always be scrutinizing his sermons to see whether he is entertaining his congregation instead of witnessing to the gospel, whether he is engaging their intellect and judgment instead of reinforcing (with appropriate means) their inner stirrings in the direction of radical decision and providing their spiritual life with lasting nourishment. Even under the pretence of promoting biblical knowledge it is possible to do nothing more than "beat the air."
Notes 1 Cited in I. A. Dorner, Entwicklungsgeschichte der Lehre von der Person Christi (2nd ed.; Berlin: Gustav Schlawitz, 1853), Part 11, p. 544. [Trans. W. D. Simon, History of the Development of the Doctrine of the Person of Christ (Edinburgh: T. and T. Clark, 1862).] 2 This is a term coined to designate what, to be sure, would not even exist apart from history but whose significance is not exhausted in the historical effects of a particular link in the chain of history or in the beginnings of a new historical movement, because in the supra-historical what is universally valid is joined to the historical to become an effective presence. Cf. my Die Wissenschaft der christlichen Lehre (2nd rev. ed.; Leipzig: A. Deichert, 1893), par. 13. Cf. also pars. 8 f., 365, 397, 404 f. 3 [The German word Bild has been translated as "picture" or "biblical picture," or, occasionally, as "image" or "portrait."] 4 [From the first stanza of the hymn by Christian Renatus Graf von Zinzendorf (1727-52), Marter Gottes, Wer kann dein vergessen.] 5 [Kahler is punning here on Bescheidenheit (modesty) and Bescheid wissen (to know).] 6 [Richard Rothe (1799-1867) developed a speculative theological system uniting faith and knowledge, Christianity and culture. Klihler began his theological studies under Rothe's guidance and was first stirred to an interest in the question of the historicity of revelation by his teacher's lectures on the life of Jesus. Kahler's assessment of Rothe is given on pages 103-18 of the recently published edition of Kahler's classroom lectures on Protestant theology in the nineteenth century, Geschichte der protestantischen Dogmatik im 19. Jahrhundert, ed. Ernst Kahler (Munich: Christian Kaiser Verlag, 1962).] 7 This summary will scarcely meet with any serious objection. [In the 1896 edition Kahler added that he was mistaken in this belief-"we are not inclined
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to draw the final consequences from a view that turns out to be unfavorable to us and to our purposes." He refers the reader to the third essay in the 1896 edition in which he replies to the charges of "morbid skepticism" that had been leveled at him.] The exclusiveness with which we are referred to Christian sources must certainly arouse suspicion outside the Christian circle of vision. The way that the Gospel materials would be handled if we possessed some other sources can be indicated, for example, by the fate of the canonical Acts of the Apostles at the hands of current writers of "histories of New Testament times." In their preoccupation with F. C. Baur and with Strauss's revised edition of his life of Jesus (Das Leben Jesu far das deutsche Volk, 1864), people have almost forgotten the earlier edition of Strauss's work, with its interpretation of Jesus' life in terms of myth. But already Strauss's idea is emerging again-very understandably. The uniqueness of the sources must be evaluated, of course, in accordance with one's view of their general nature. Above all, the relation between the Fourth Gospel and the Synoptics is important for the question of the reliability of the records. I must call attention especially to P. Ewald's work, Das Hauptproblem der Evangelienfrage (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1890). His reference to the unmistakable one-sidedness of the Synoptic reports (p. 5, cf. pp. 50 ff.) is completely justified. The enigma cannot be solved by passing over the difficulty in silence. In any case, this insight prevents one from pursuing the convenient method of making a bias in favor of the Synoptics into a principle of historical research, and of arbitrarily inserting either a few or many details from the Fourth Gospel into the framework of the Synoptic narrative, or even of borrowing the framework of the Fourth Gospel and then continuing from there as if the presentation of the Synoptics were normative and adequate. Obviously, this essay cannot furnish the specific proofs for these assertions. However, this seems to me unnecessary, for the facts are clearly known and beyond doubt to anyone who has had some kind of theological training. Differences exist only with respect to the evaluation and utilization of these facts. 8 On the discourses of Jesus cf., e.g., E. Haupt, Die eschatologischen Aussagen Jesu in den synoptischen Evangelien (Berlin: Reuther und Reichard, 1895), pp. 5 f. 9 We have in mind, for example, the question of the day of the month on which the crucifixion occurred. But even apart from such secondary matters, how meager the prospects of harmonizing just the passion narratives, even when one puts the Fourth Gospel to one side. Of course, if a person assumes the impartiality and objectivity of the records in general, then the questions are not so painful. The materials agree on the whole. It is only the details that we can no longer know. There are many times when historians must accept such restrictions. However, here there is something special to bear in mind that should make one especially cautious. The last week of Jesus' life is the period reported in greatest detail; yet, its actual course impressed itself upon the memory of the eyewitnesses so indefinitely that the later narrators took pains again and again to harmonize the various events and reports-but in vain-and almost each one did it differently from his predecessor. This hardly encourages us to assume such a reliability of the given materials that further conclusions can be drawn with confidence about matters which are not even recorded in the Gospels. 10 I am, of course, not unaware that it is common for historians to demonstrate from the Gospels the development of Jesus' messianic consciousness during his public ministry. Yet it will surely be generally conceded that such a development is outside the purview of the sources themselves, or of those who
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11
12 13
14 15 16 17
18 19
20
reported in them. Therefore, here too the reconstructions are based on what the scholars profess to discover behind the sources. I cannot escape the notion, however, that historical research must adhere strictly to the sources. As soon as one disregards the task of evaluating the sources themselves and begins to appraise the materials without paying any attention to their origins and the question of their historicity, one moves merely in the realm of uncertain conjecture. Negative judgments bearing some degree of certainty may be possible; but regarding the actual course of events, one cannot be sure of anything. Otherwise the flawless fiction of a novel would constitute a proof of the reality of its contents. It seems to me that in the work of the critics great unclarity reigns regarding the distinction between psychological (i.e., poetic) truth and the proper reproduction of reality in its often incomprehensible paradoxicality. Whereas present-day artists [Kunstler] are trying to refrain from purely imaginative effort and pride themselves on faithful reproductions of reality, historians [die "historische Kunst"] are pouring their energies into conjuring up before us a past reality from some "psychological law" that seems to be valid for the moment. Matt. 11:25 f., with its solemn cadence, does not bear the marks of a confession forced out half unwillingly. To me it seems to be a public prayer, like John 17, with conscious reference to the disciples (cf. John 11:41, 42). The other view is supported neither by what follows (verse 28 f.) nor by the context (Luke 10:17-23). Cf. my essay, Jesus und das Alte Testament (2nd ed.; Leipzig: A. Deichert, 1896). [Under the pseudonym of Jeremias Gotthelf, the Swiss pastor Albert Bizius (1797-1854) penned numerous novels set in the Canton of Berne. Ottilie Wildermuth (1817-77) is known for her narratives of life in Swabia. Both writers' use of clearly recognizable characters and settings in their writings did not endear them to their friends and acquaintances.] With good reason Dorner preferred the expression "sinless perfection," although he too did not think of Jesus as fully developed right from the beginning. [Das "Judenzen," the term Semler used; see M. Kahler, Geschichte der protestantischen Dogmatik im 19. Jahrhundert, op. cit., p. 34.] Bernard Weiss, however, does not do this. Thus Theodor Keim, Geschichte Jesu (3rd ed.; 1873) [Zurich: Ftissli, 1875], p. 372 [p. 368]. Keim perceives a lack of harmony in the moral development of Jesus at several points. He noticed in Jesus the "scars" of a person refined through conflict, which David Strauss was not able to discover, although Strauss maintained that it was necessary and therefore self-evident to assume "individual perturbations and defects" in Jesus' development. Those who know the literature will recall the disgusting tirades of Renan, for example, in connection with the Gethsemane episode. Naturally those who think of themselves simply as historians and claim to be completely without bias will view the dogmatician in this way. [Thomas Babington Macaulay (1800-59), whose History of England from the Accession of lames 11 was a best-seller in its day, was politically a Whig and has often been accused of partiality in his treatment of the rise of the Whig party and in his writing of history generally.] [Karl W. R. von Rotteck (1775-1840) was a leading member of the liberal party and a writer of history. Kahler is here referring to his Allgemeine Weltgeschichte, a four-volume world history.]
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21 Even a serious theologian has been known to go astray by speculating on Mary's relation to Jesus on such a matter as his laundry! In the case of Schiller, students try to conclude from his financial state of affairs at a given point in his life-as ascertained from his notebooks-his incentives for public activity or his state of mind. If a theologian lacks a comparable basis for such imaginative additions to the tradition about Jesus, then these embellishments are merely a piece of phantasy, which is the exact counterpart, on another level, to the Moravians' playful intimacy with the Savior. This shows lack of taste even from the aesthetic point of view. For even the keenest aesthetic sensitivity can show a lack of delicacy in treating sacred subjects. 22 The person well versed in Scripture will not answer that it is the flesh which reveals and the Word which is revealed, for precisely the Word itself is the revelation. Cf. the quotation from Luther, cited by Herrmann [p. 240 in Der Verkehr des Christen mit Gott (4th ed.; Stuttgart and Berlin: J. G. Cotta'sche Buchhandlung Nachfolger, 1903), p. 220 in the translation of the 2nd rev. ed. (1892) by J. Sandys Stanyon, The Communion of the Christian with God (London: Williams and Norgate, 1895)]: "We must let the humanity of Christ be a way, a sign, a work of God, through which we come to God" (Er/anger Ausgabe, 7, 73) [Church Pastil, Sermon on Romans 15:4-13 (Second Sunday in Advent); Lenker Edition, VII, 54; Weimar Ausgabe, 101•2, p. 84, lines 26-27]. 23 These are passages that emphasize how important his moral achievement is for us, but also that it is important only because it appears striking in the light of his total person. 24 One might compare, for example, the Lord's Prayer with the Jewish prayers which in fact bear a resemblance to it. (See August Tholuck, Die Bergrede Christi [5th rev. ed.; Gotha: F. A. Perthes, 1872].) One also ought to note Jesus' use of Scripture. Cf. also the writing by Haupt cited earlier. 25 On pp. 53 f. we indicated in part what we mean by the "uniqueness" of Jesus. More will be said about this subject toward the end of our discussion. 26 I adduce this quotation of course only to summarize the answer, not as an adequate proof. That is hardly necessary; the New Testament and the catechisms are clear enough in this respect. 27 I place this emphasis on these words from Eph. 1:17 [7] and Col. 1:14 in order to bring out the contemporary significance of Christ's person for all generations instead of only asserting Christ's work in the past. (Cf. my Wissenschaft der christlichen Lehre, op. cit., pp. 397, 411 f., 432 f.) We are speaking here-as will surely be recognized-not of conversion to Christianity but of the ongoing life of the Christian. 28 Theodosius Harnack, Luthers Theologie (Erlangen, 1862-86), II, 81 f.; cf. also ibid., I, 111 f.; Gottfried Thomasius, Christi Person, 11 (2 ed.; Erlangen, 1857), 210 f.; Julius Kostlin, Luthers Theologie (Stuttgart, 1863), II, 155,300 f., 383. 29 Assuming, that is, that one cannot be satisfied with Renan's fifth gospel, namely, with a geography and ethnography of modern Palestine. [Cf. the introduction to Renan's Life of Jesus.] 30 [At this point Kahler inserted a long footnote replying to the charge by his colleague at Halle, Willibald Beyschlag, that Kahler expected from the biographers of Jesus something they had never claimed to do: "to paint 'a picture of the exalted Christ,' insofar as such a picture is distinct from that of the earthly Jesus" (Beyschlag, Das Leben Jesu; 3rd ed., Halle: Strien, 1893; I, xix). "Just the opposite is the heart of my argument," says Kahler. "Otherwise why would I concern myself at all with the biographers? The discussion that follows concerning the preached Christ surely makes that clear.... For me, the connection 97
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31
32
33
34
between the earthly and the exalted Christ is expressed in the term 'suprahistorical' (see above, p. 47) .... "] [For a description of the place of these biographers in the Life-of-Jesus movement, see Albert Schweitzer, The Quest of the Historical Jesus. Some of the pamphlets of the German Social Democratic party in the nineteenth century pitted the socialist teachings of a "proletarian" Jesus against the "bourgeois" Jesus of ecclesiastical Christianity.) The solitary figures who left only a written legacy, but left no mark on their contemporary world, are not historic figures. Jesus, however, the ministering friend of men, is as different as is conceivable from this sort of "eyeing" of posterity that reckons on being counted among "the class of people that are still to come." Jesus' statement in Matthew 16:15 f. does not mean that his person and ministry have produced this confession. Rather, he ascribes this confession to God's revelation. He is not speaking about faith at all; hence, faith is not the "rock." The faith in question had so little power to endure of itself that it needed an explicit prayer to God, whose revelation evoked the confession in the first place (Luke 22:32). The biblical Jesus expected that the disciples' witness to him would be with power only after the Spirit had been sent (Luke 24:48 f.; John 15:26; Acts 1:4, 8). It is surely plain that I am here contrasting dogmatics with preaching, and scientific statement with untested interpretations. In the context the farthest thing from my mind is the arrogant assertion of the superiority of dogmatics to historical study, or a "tutelage" of historical study by dogmatics. Nevertheless this is the way Dr. Beyschlag interprets my sentence (see his Leben Jesu, p. xx); and by putting a colon before the words "This is," rather than indicating that they begin a new paragraph, he leaves readers with the impression that such an assertion was made by me. He also omits everything which makes clear that I am here referring to the portrayal of Jesus in the Gospels, interpreted of course from the viewpoint of the faith one encounters there as well as in the rest of the New Testament.
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5 INTRODUCTION lames M. Robinson Source; Albert Schweitzer, The Quest of the Historical Jesus: A Critical Study of its Progress from Reimarus to Wrede, translated by W. Montgomery (New York: Macmillan, 1968), pp. 1-12.
The nature of Schweitzer's achievement The search for the Jesus of history-as an activity distinct from faith in Jesus Christ-is a phenomenon of modern times. It began with the Enlightenment, toward the end of the eighteenth century, and dominated critical theology throughout the nineteenth century. The debate about the historical Jesus in the twentieth century is a debate with that mainstream of nineteenth-century theology. Yet few have read the massive and inaccessible tomes from that period. Hence it is fortunate indeed that one of the truly great human beings of our century has provided us with a classic that brilliantly analyzes this period of research. A study of it is prerequisite to a relevant participation in the current debate about the new quest of the historical Jesus. Hence this Introduction is a critical analysis of Schweitzer's masterpiece, designed to bring into focus the issues he identified as they bear upon the discussion today. Schweitzer's book was entitled in German From Reimarus to Wrede: A History of Research on the Life of Jesus. 1 As this title indicates, the book is a scholarly report on research into a particular problem over a specified period. The reading encountered in this genre of literature can be rather laborious. Hence one is hardly prepared for the superb piece of creative writing achieved by Schweitzer. Perhaps one could cite Karl Barth's Protestant Thought: From Rousseau to RitschZZ as an equally successful piece of writing in this category. Another less famous but nonetheless impressive example of this genre of literature characterized its scope as follows: "In conformity with its objective of presenting the history of a problem, it concentrates on just those phenomena in the history of theology that actualize most decisively one after the other the possibilities given in the structure of the problem."3 Schweitzer, who was himself deeply involved in research about the
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historical Jesus, was the first to grasp the structure of the problem that had emerged in the course of research into it. He summarized this structure in terms of three either-or decisions that had confronted research in the course of its history: "Strauss posed the first: Either purely historical or purely supernatural. The Ttibingen School and Holtzmann worked out the second: Either Synoptic or Johannine. Now we have the third: Either eschatological or uneschatological! " 4 There were, to be sure, minor inaccuracies and omissions in Schweitzer's book,5 and there are more recent reports on research in this area that supplement it.6 But when one has read them all, one is the more amazed at the undistracted persistence with which Schweitzer worked out a brilliant thesis as he worked his way through enormous masses of literature. Some of the works he treats extend to thousands of pages. Yet he worked with such concentration that he emerged with a thesis that brought to the surface all that had transpired of real relevance to the core of the problem. Rarely have the basic decisions responsible for major advances in research been more clearly disentangled from the mass of literature as it flounders onward, often without discernible direction. Schweitzer grasped the three creative epochs in the quest of the historical Jesus-the Thirties, Sixties, and Nineties of the last century-each at its decisive point. Thus he lets us participate in the decisions that are the inner life of the history of that research. It is his achievement that this history still confronts us today, not just as interesting (or boring) background material, but as laying an intellectual claim upon us as we for our part confront the problem of the historical Jesus.
The either-or decisions of nineteenth-century research To be sure, the first either-or is oddly formulated: "Either purely historical or purely supernatural." In his presentation of Strauss, Schweitzer emphasized the fact that Strauss overcame this antithesis, which was dominant at that time, and replaced it with something new: "The supernatural explanation of the events of Jesus' life had been followed by the rational explanation. It was as presumptuous as had been its predecessor, which interpreted everything supernaturally, in that it now presumed to make everything intelligible as natural occurrence. Both have said everything they had to say. Out of their struggle was born the new solution, the mythical interpretation." 7 But the emergence of the new from this struggle is hardly made clear by posing the issue as that of a choice between the old alternatives. Nor is the structure of the problem clarified by referring to it as a creative "dialectic" rather than an either-or. In fact Schweitzer replaces his basic concept of an either-or with the Hegelian pattern of a synthesis: "It [the mythical interpretation] is, according to Hegelian method, the synthesis of the thesis, represented by the supernatural 100
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explanation, with the antithesis, represented by the rationalistic interpretation."8 In any case, the issue posed by Strauss could not itself be resolved by Hegelian philosophy. Rather, as Schweitzer quotes Strauss, "the decision can be confidently entrusted to historical criticism."9 Yet Schweitzer understood Strauss only as a Hegelian, as indeed he has usually been understood-and all the more readily dismissed. It was the research survey of 1952 alluded to above (see footnote 3), The Origin of the Concept of Myth in Modern Biblical Research, that first brought to light the background of Strauss' real point of departure, namely the "Mythical School." The Oxford scholar and Anglican bishop of the eighteenth century, Robert Lowth, had understood myth as stilus parabolicus, which the Gottingen classicist C. G. Heyne interpreted as sermo mythicus. It was this understanding of the mythical that the "Mythical School" applied to biblical studies: J. G. Eichhorn and J. P. Gabler 10 toward the end of the eighteenth century were the first biblical scholars to make use of the category of the mythical, understanding it as a form of expression historically necessary during the infancy of the human race (aetas mythica); W. M. L. de Wette-and, following him, Strauss-used it as a philosophy-of-religion category in the sense of a form of expression necessary for religious feeling in all periods of history. It is in this context that we are to understand the "historical criticism" Strauss applied to the life of Jesus. For it is only in these terms that the direction and the result of his criticism become intelligible. "The supernatural interpretation, as that which at least respects the wording of the text, comes off much better than does the rational interpretation, whose underhanded dealing is mercilessly exposed on all sides." 11 Schweitzer adds: "Thus the terrain was prepared on which research today operates." Presumably he had in mind his own solution, which declares the supernatural (understood not as miraculous, but as unpragmatic, fanatical) to be historical. Such a position could indeed seem to result from Strauss, if the latter's position is regarded as the synthesis within a dialectic movement rather than as an either-or choice. Yet the synthesis in Strauss' case would be between rationalism's rejection of the historicity of the supernatural and supernaturalism's affirmation that the text has the supernatural in mind, the result of which is a mythical reading of the text-whereas the synthesis in Schweitzer's solution would be between rationalism's insistence upon the historicity of the narrative and supernaturalism's insistence upon the impossibility of explaining the text in terms of normal human pragmatism and psychology, the result of which is the eschatological explanation of Jesus' odd history. Thus when one analyzes the nature of the apparent continuity between Strauss and Schweitzer, one sees that they fall on opposite sides of the debate when it is correctly understood, i.e. when it is cast in the either-or terms for which Schweitzer's basic schematism calls, and when the alternatives are recast 101
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in the new dimension created by Strauss' work. Schweitzer does use such a formulation: "Myth or history." 12 When the question is thus put in eitheror terms, Schweitzer is obliged to reinterpret the decision that fell in favor of the supernatural, or, more exactly, in favor of the mythical: "Strauss' Life of Jesus is for modern theology something different from what it was for his contemporaries. For them it was the work that cleared away historical faith in miracles and vindicated the mythical interpretation. But we discover in it also what is historically positive, in that the historical personality that towers above the myth was a Jewish Messianic pretender who lived in a purely eschatological world of thought. Strauss is not only a destroyer of untenable solutions, but also the prophet of a scholarship to come." 13 In spite of the element of truth in this statement, it should not be ignored that the direct inference from this first once-for-all decision in the quest of the historical Jesus is not the position of Schweitzer himself, but rather that of his opponent William Wrede. The "offense that the term myth aroused, in that the recollection of pagan mythology shrouded it in ambiguity," was not only a "major difficulty" in Strauss' time/4 but in Schweitzer's time as well. This becomes quite clear in the second German edition of Schweitzer's work from the chapters entitled "The Most Recent Contestation of the Historicity of Jesus" and "The Discussion of the Historicity of Jesus." Myth implied skepticism as to the historicity of the supernatural. In this combination Schweitzer himself could not accept Strauss' solution of the first either-or. Hence he split the two ingredients in the term "myth," affirmed one half of Strauss' position in terms of supernaturalism, and then added a fourth either-or in which he rejected the other ingredient in Strauss' mythical solution, namely historical skepticism. The second either-or was: "Either Synoptic or Johannine." Of course, the question of the sources was already implicit in the first either-or, even though it had not been clearly grasped in the debate with Strauss. "The only person who understood what was at stake was [the fundamentalist] Hengstenberg. He alone saw what it implied that scholarly theology, which had first acknowledged the mythical to be in the Old Testament, and then in the infancy and resurrection stories of the Synoptics (for which reason it felt obliged to surrender the first three Gospels and retain only the fourth Gospel), was now besieged by Strauss in its last stronghold." 15 The answer to the question of the sources was the so-called Two Document Hypothesis, which said that the traditions shared by Matthew and Luke were derived from two sources they both used: the Gospel of Mark and a collection of sayings called Q. This theory was generally regarded as a liberation from Strauss, in that it seemed to provide a reliable basis for a life of Jesus derived from the Synoptics (without, to be sure, the infancy and resurrection stories, 16 where the traditions in Matthew and Luke diverge from one another). This outcome was all the more welcome in view of the fact that 102
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the Ttibingen School had drawn attention to the gnostic background of the Gospel of John, with the result that this Gospel was by and large eliminated as a historical source. In research since that time the Fourth Gospel has hardly played an important role in the quest of the historical Jesus. This is true in spite of the fact that Rudolf Bultmann vindicated it theologically against Schweitzer's theological depreciation of it and was able to overcome excesses in Johannine research of the nineteenth century by means of his early dating of gnosis and his assumption of a Miracles Source lying behind the Fourth GospelP In spite of such corrections, the scholarly reconstruction of the message of the historical Jesus continues to depend on the Synoptics and thus on the Two Document Hypothesis. The durability of this solution to the Synoptic problem is confirmed by the inadequacy of the attacks upon it that appear from time to time. 18 Nor is the validity of this solution in terms of literary criticism diminished by the invalidity of historical inferences initially drawn from it. The oft-cited historical nearness and the plastic detail of the Marcan presentation were rightly shown by Wrede and Schweitzer to be only a modern reading of the Marcan text. The literary solution as such was not affected by their discovery that a dogmatic construction was the formative element in the Gospel of Mark. Similarly, this literary solution was not shaken by Karl Ludwig Schmidt's recognition that the sequence of events in Mark, previously held to be reliable, is in fact unhistoricaP 9-nor by study of the literary genre of Q, 20 which has tended to invalidate the earlier assumption that Q was free of theological tendency. 21 Such corrections do in part make relative the distinction between the Synoptics and John, but they also define that distinction more exactly and thus solidify it. It is precisely in this context that Schweitzer's second either-or choice is confirmed as a decision made once for all. Schweitzer, however, did not quite know how to make use of the Two Document Hypothesis for his own solution. The decision for the priority of Mark had been connected with a modern theological interest he did not share: to produce a psychologically understandable life of Jesus. This could be attained only by spiritualizing away Jesus' eschatological world of thought. Schweitzer saw quite correctly that it had been the advocates of this connection who carried on "the dull and dogged struggle against eschatology down to the end of the Century," with the result that "the Marcan hypothesis impeded the quest of the historical Jesus to an almost unbelievable extent. "22 And he concedes: "The small amount of sayings material in Mark does not provide much resistance" to "the possibility of a literary elimination of eschatology. " 23 In the Introduction to the sixth edition this recognition is formulated positively: "The key to understanding is provided by Matthew in the material he supplies beyond what is found in Mark." 24 103
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When one inquires why Schweitzer did not here appeal to the secondsource Q, two reasons emerge. The sayings on the imminence of the end that were decisive for Schweitzer occur in the material found only in Matthew; since they are not in Luke, they can hardly be attributed to Q. Furthermore, Schweitzer's argumentation is based on the "connection of the events of Jesus' life.'' Q does not provide this, since it is largely an unconnected series of individual sayings. If the historical connection seemed better preserved in Matthew than in Mark, the Gospel of Matthew should not be explained as a secondary composition based on working the unconnected eschatological sayings into the Marcan framework. Hence Schweitzer prefers to speak simply of "the two oldest Synoptics." The Introduction of 1951 to the German sixth edition makes it clear that Schweitzer was not able to use the Two Document Hypothesis for his own solution, in spite of that theory's having been successfully established by his teacher Heinrich J ulius Holtzmann as a valid basis for deciding the second either-or. 25 For this reason Schweitzer's solution marks a step backward in terms of the question of the sources. It is no doubt in part for this reason that it was not accepted by critical scholarship in the form Schweitzer gave it. Schweitzer's English adviser,26 F. C. Burkitt, observed in the Preface to the English edition of 1910: "He has his own solution of the problems, and it is not to be expected that English students will endorse the whole of his view of the Gospel History, any more than his German fellow-workers have done." The third either-or was: "Either eschatological or uneschatological." This issue was Schweitzer's major criterion as he presented the history of research from Reimarus to Wrede. This is the onesidedness of the book as well as its most important achievement. The quest of the historical Jesus had "spiritualized" Jewish eschatology, that is to say, assimilated it to our modern religious ideals. The result was that "this supposedly historical Jesus is not a purely historical figure, but rather a construction artificially planted into history.'m The period of research made intelligible by Schweitzer's book falls within the limits marked by the following quotations, related to each other as a programmatic statement is to a retrospective affirmation that the program has been carried out. In 1798 Immanuel Kant proposed a higher kind of exegetical method as follows: What may be required of the art of biblical interpretation (hermeneutica sacra), since it may not be left to the laity (for it concerns a scientific system), is, in view of that which in religion is statutory, that the interpreter make clear to himself whether his statement should be understood as authentic or doctrinal. In the first case the interpretation must be literally (philologically) appropriate to the meaning of the author; in the second case, 104
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however, the writer has the freedom to write into the text (philosophically) that meaning which it has in exegesis, from a moral, practical point of view (for the edification of the pupil); for faith in a mere historical sentence dies with the sentence itself. Although the first method may be important enough for the biblical scholar and indirectly also for the people from some practical point of view, yet the real objective of religious doctrine, to produce morally better men, can not only be missed thereby, but even hindered .... Therefore only the doctrinal interpretation, which does not need to know (empirically) what kind of meaning the holy author may have connected with his words, but rather what kind of doctrine the reason (a priori), in the interest of morals, can at the instigation of a saying read into the text of the Bible, only such a doctrinal interpretation is the sole evangelical, biblical method of teaching the people in true, inner, and universal religion .... With regard to the religion of a people which has learned to reverence a holy Scripture, the doctrinal interpretation of it, which is related to the people's moral interest-edification, moral improvement, and thus blessedness-is at the same time the authentic interpretation: i.e. it is in this way that God wishes to have his will, revealed in the Bible, understood. 28 At the beginning of the twentieth century Hans Windisch confided: The typical Jesus of modern criticism, according to the training I went through, is a man who shared many errors of his time, even with regard to religious questions; who was deeply saturated in eschatological ideas (his preaching of repentance and salvation is very intimately bound up with his expectation of the near end of the world); who, however, is able to lay hold also of modern hearts because of the strength of his divine seizure and because of the clarity and sharpness of his teaching .... I claim for myself the privilege, as do Bousset and Weinel, of modernizing the assumedly historical Jesus for practical use, i.e. to work out a figure which is similar to the Jesus of Herrmann's theology. I am fully aware that I am reading subjective interpretations into what is historically provable and filling out gaps of scholarly research according to practical needs. Only in this procedure I have no inclination to draw near to the ecclesiastical dogma of Christ; rather I accentuate my difference. 29 Without recourse to such admissions on the part of the quest of the historical Jesus, Schweitzer recognized and exposed this situation on the basis of the published works themselves. The impossibility of such a policy 105
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cannot be contested today. Whereas Johannes Weiss in 1900 carried through a certain "weakening of the eschatological point of view" 30 in the second edition of his epochal work Jesus Preaching about the Kingdom of God (1892), a weakening that could easily have misled theology into dismissing the eschatological issue as only a bad dream, Schweitzer in 1906 posed this question once for all in inescapable fashion. To this extent twentieth-century theology has in him rather than in Weiss its point of departure. Schweitzer posed still a fourth either-or, which pervaded his brilliant research report just as much as did the other three: "One must either be quite sceptical, as was Bruno Bauer, and contest equally all reported facts and connections in Mark; or, if one proposes to build a historical Life of Jesus on Mark, one must recognize the Gospel as a whole as historical, in view of its connections running through the whole material. In the latter case one must then explain why individual reports, such as the feeding of the multitude and the transfiguration, are bathed in supernatural light, and what is the historical basis that underlies them. A separation between the natural and the unnatural in Mark is arbitrary, since for him the supernatural belongs to history." 31 Here Schweitzer is actually debating less with Bruno Bauer than with William Wrede, whose The Messianic Secret in the Gospels, 32 which said that according to Mark's unhistorical schematism Jesus regarded himself as Messiah but kept his Messiahship secret, was the live alternative to Schweitzer's own sketch of Jesus' life, The Mystery of the Kingdom of God: The Secret of Jesus' Messiahship and Passion. 33 Of course, in this debate Schweitzer could hardly build upon Matthew, as he had in the eschatological issue. For Wrede had convincingly shown that "the view of the Messianic secret no longer had the significance for Matthew that it had for Mark." 34 Hence if the secret is to be regarded as historical, then the Marcan presentation must be historical. What view does one take on this debate today? In the essay "On the Question of the Messianic Secret in Mark" Eduard Schweizer summarized the present state of the question: "Already in 1901 Wrede demonstrated that the Messianic secret is an editorial construction by Mark and belongs to the history of dogma, not to Jesus' life. One cannot go back behind that decision." 35 For indeed the "unconnectedness" in the Gospel of Markthe absence of a sensible causal and psychological nexus binding the individual stories into an intelligible biography-discovered simultaneously by Wrede and Schweitzer cannot be derived simply from Jesus' eschatological consciousness, as Schweitzer proposed; furthermore, his refutation of Wrede's explanation based on Mark's editorial tendency is simply not convincing.36 In another context Schweitzer conceded that with regard to the thesis "that the two oldest Synoptics transmit real history," he himself "goes to the extreme limit and is not even willing to consider such passages as inauthentic that are rejected by the main stream of theology." 37 For this reason one runs across instances again and again in Schweitzer's 106
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solution38 in which things are taken as historical that not even conservative criticism so regards today. It is of course true that Schweitzer wrote at a time when the assumption of inauthenticity served as a convenient way of avoiding matters difficult to handle theologically. "But what survives as historical in the Gospels for the main stream of theology, if it considers itself obliged to sacrifice hand and foot and eye because of the offense of pure eschatology?" 39 It is not surprising that Schweitzer expected the final acceptance of the eschatological nature of Jesus' message to strengthen confidence in the historicity of the Gospels. "One can in general say that the progressive recognition of the eschatological nature of Jesus' teaching and action carries with it a progressive justification of the Gospel tradition. A series of sections and speeches that had been endangered because they seemed meaningless from the viewpoint of modern theology, taken as the norm of the tradition, have now been saved. "40 It is true that Wrede had not quite reached the eschatological understanding of Jesus' message, and to this extent Schweitzer was indeed ahead of him. But Schweitzer lacked the perspective of today to see that in substance Wrede did not derive the Messianic secret in Mark from his outdated view of Jesus; Wrede's revolutionary editorial explanation is not the last word of the nineteenth century, but rather the first of the twentieth century. Schweitzer uncritically identified the either-or with regard to the historicity of the Messianic secret in Mark with the either-or about eschatology. "There is either the eschatological solution, which then at one stroke elevates the unsoftened, disconnected and contradictory Marcan presentation as such to the status of history; or there is the literary solution, which regards the dogmatic and foreign element as the earliest evangelist's interpolation into the tradition about Jesus and thus eliminates from the historical life of Jesus his Messianic claim as well. Tertium non datur." 41 The third position whose existence Schweitzer denied has subsequently become visible. It is derived from the fact that the two problems, which are of course interrelated, do not condition each other as directly as Schweitzer assumed. Hence his identification of the two has been replaced by their more careful differentiation. It is only by recognizing this that one can understand the apparent paradox in the history of the problem: Wrede was correct on the issue of literary criticism, in deriving the Messianic secret from Marcan theology; Schweitzer was correct on the issue of historical criticism, in affirming the eschatological nature of Jesus' ministry.
The school of thoroughgoing eschatology Schweitzer distinguished between the "Eschatological School" represented by "Johannes Weiss and his followers" on the one hand and his own "thoroughgoing eschatology" on the other. "They related eschatology only
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to Jesus' preaching ... rather than clarifying, in terms of the newly won insight, the whole public ministry, the events' connections and lack of connections .... It is quite inexplicable that the Eschatological School, given its insight into the eschatology of Jesus' preaching of the reign of God, did not hit upon the thought of the 'dogmatic' element in Jesus' history as well." 42 This was for Schweitzer a decisive omission. "The decision does not lie [in Jesus' teaching], but rather in the investigation of the whole course of Jesus' life." 43 The explanation of what seemed inexplicable in Weiss' procedure, however, lies in what Schweitzer himself had recognized to be the basic distinction between Weiss and earlier eschatologists: "Weiss expresses it in a scientifically unassailable way." 44 What Schweitzer felt obliged to add to Weiss on the basis of the assumed historical sequence in "the two oldest Synoptics" is what the New Testament scholarship of the twentieth century, under the influence of Wrede, has been obliged to remove again. In our time there has been only one serious effort to argue that the sequence of individual stories in Mark is older than Mark's composition and hence might correspond to the sequence in which they occurred. But this attempt, by C. H. Dodd, 45 was soon shown by D. E. Nineham to be untenable. 46 Nonetheless "Thoroughgoing Eschatology" became a School, for its discoverer and his work were indeed impressive. And the book not only carried through its working hypothesis brilliantly, but it also suggested a series of derivative theses that Schweitzer himself did not work out in detail. For example: "It is high time that, instead of merely asserting Pauline influences in Mark, some proof of the assertion should be given. How would Mark look if it had really come from the hands of a Paulinist?"47 Hence a young Privatdozent at the University of Bern, Martin Werner, aroused by Arthur Drews' book The Gospel of Mark as a Witness against the Historicity of Jesus, 48 published in 1923 his study The Influence of Pauline Theology in the Gospel of Mark, 49 "dedicated to Albert Schweitzer in genuine admiration and gratitude," and seeking to confirm in detail Schweitzer's hypothesis of the non-Pauline character of Mark. A further outgrowth of Schweitzer's thesis is the recent discussion of the problem of the delay of the parousia. Schweitzer himself had noted: "The whole history of 'Christianity' down to the present day, its real inner history, is based on the 'delay of the parousia,' i.e. the fact that it did not take place, hence the abandonment of eschatology, and the resultant progressive de-eschatologizing of religion." 50 This relevance of The Quest of the Historical Jesus in providing a critical norm for evaluating modern theology was picked up by Werner in his book of 1924, The Ideological Problem in Karl Earth and Albert Schweitzer. 51 Werner's pupil Fritz Buri followed this up in 1935 with The Significance of New Testament Eschatology for Recent Protestant Theology: An Attempt to Clarify the Problem of Eschatology and to Achieve a New Understanding of Its Real Concern. 52 In
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the Preface Buri gives as his point of departure: "Nevertheless theology has kept strangely quiet-I could almost say weirdly quiet-about the thesis proposed for discussion years ago by Albert Schweitzer concerning the delay of the parousia and the de-eschatologizing that necessarily results from it." Theology did not stay quiet for long. For during World War II, when German-language theology was largely limited to Switzerland, there was a sharp debate on this issue between Bern and Basel, between the "freethinking" and the "positive" parties of Swiss Church politics, between "thoroughgoing eschatology" and "salvation history." 53 And the School of Thoroughgoing Eschatology has continued to be active down to the present time, although in terms of ongoing New Testament scholarship their position becomes increasingly quaint. For their critical stance toward the present state of the quest of the historical Jesus, one should consult Werner's essay of 1960: "What Does the Historical Personality of Jesus Signify for Us?" 54
The broader impact of Schweitzer's work An observation by Karl Barth about Schleiermacher fits Albert Schweitzer as well: His significance is less that of founding a School than that of creating an age. 55 When The Quest of the Historical Jesus was written, the eschatological orientation of Jesus' and primitive Christianity's message could only bewilder contemporary theology. But for theology after World War I, which no longer understood itself in terms of cultural optimism, but more nearly apocalyptically (The Decline of the West), Schweitzer's discovery provided an orientation for the new understanding of existence. In his essay "Between the Times" Friedrich Gogarten characterized this mood of post-war theology as follows: It is the fate of our generation that we stand between the times. We never belonged to the time that is today reaching its end. Will we ever belong to the time that will come? And even if we for our part could belong to it, will it come so soon? ... Space became free for asking about God. Finally! The times fell apart and now time stands still. ... It is here that the decision must first be made. Until then we can do nothing with all our heart. Until then we stand between the times. This is a terrible human plight. For all that is human collapses and is ruined, all that was and all that is to be. But for that reason we can-if only we grasp the plight in its depths-ask about God. 56 Even though from the Alpine security of the Canton of Bern such talk might seem only a less-than-candid evasion of the problem of the delay of 109
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the parousia, Karl Barth for his part was able to find in it a recognition of his understanding of man's situation before God. In the second edition of his Romans this eschatological formulation of that understanding received its classic expression: "Christianity that is not wholly and without exception eschatology has wholly and without exception nothing to do with Christ. " 57 This did not solve the hermeneutical problem of making sense out of eschatology, however, but only made that problem inescapable. It was again Barth who carried through the distinction pointing the way for the future: As parables of "last things" such distant and yet familiar final possibilities could no doubt be quite instructive and edifying, especially if we are unfortunately too callous to sense the prior parables of "last things" that surround us in the past and present without need of migrations of the soul, ice ages, and falling stars. Yet such final possibilities, no matter how real and plainly visible they may be, are not "last things" in the sense of 1 Cor. 15 and the New Testament as a whole. Not even if we conceive of them as preliminaries to physical-metaphysical, cosmic-metacosmic transformations and revolutions of a still more incredible kind. Not even if the picture of these obscure final stories is constructed wholly out of material derived from the Bible and perhaps from 1 Cor. 15 itself. All that is transitory is only a parable. The fact that the objects of the biblical world of thought belong to what is transitory, that they serve and do not rule, signify rather than proposing to be the reality itself-on this point at least the Bible itself leaves us in no doubt. Final things are as such not final things, no matter how great and important they may be. He who would speak of last things would speak of the end of all things, of their end understood so absolutely, so basically, of a reality so radically superior to all things, that the existence of all things would be wholly grounded in it, in it alone. I.e. he would speak of their end that is really nothing other than their beginning. And only he would speak of the history of the end, end-time, who would speak of the end of history, the end of time. But again of their end understood so basically, so absolutely, of a reality so radically superior to all occurrence and all temporality, that in speaking of the finitude of history, the finitude of time, he would at the same time speak of that which grounds all time and all that happens in time. History of the end would have to be for him synonymous with history of the beginning; the limit of time of which he speaks would have to be the limit of any and every time, and thus necessarily the origin of time. 58 110
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Rudolf Bultmann made Earth's insight exegetically more precise: It seems to me just as certain that in 1 Cor. 15 Paul is talking of
such a history of final things, as that he cannot and does not really wish to speak of such a history. That is to say, one cannot get by in 1 Cor. 15 without thoroughgoing content criticism (not only occasionally, as Barth does in verse 29 in spite of himself). For however little Paul proclaims such a thing as an "ideology," he, like anyone else, is under the necessity of saying what he says in the terminology of his ideology. And it is not permissible simply to regard the ideological (in this case mythological) elements as "parable" or to eliminate them by twisting their meaning. What Barth concedes for later Christian eschatologists-that they construct out of the biblical material a history of final things that is really not at all ultimately historic, i.e. is not history seen from its end-this is true for Paul as well, who derives his material from Jewish or Jewish-gnostic apocalypticism.59 Here Dialectic Theology acknowledges Thoroughgoing Eschatology's insistence upon the apocalyptic nature of primitive Christianity. Equally clear is the acknowledgement of the problem of the delay of the parousia in primitive Christianity; indeed, it is only now that the basic monographs on this topic are being produced. 60 The Bultmannian School, though rejected by the School of Thoroughgoing Eschatology, has in effect carried the valid aspects of Schweitzer's exegetical work into the mainstream of current scholarship. Yet the most important advance in carrying through valid though undeveloped insights of Schweitzer has been at the hermeneutical level. The problem that had plagued the study of the mythological was the fallacy that Hans Jonas aptly characterized as taking the substitute as ultimate; now it has been exposed as such.61 The result is that mythological language is understood hermeneutically, as the Mythical School had intended from its very beginning.62 Schweitzer himself in his final chapter to the second edition had already proposed such a procedure, although he did not carry it out in detail: "Actually it cannot be a matter of separating between the transitory and the permanent, but only of translating the basic thought of that ideology into our concepts."63 De-eschatologizing had often functioned as a vestige of the method that eliminated the subject matter along with the temporally limited and offensive forms of expression that nonetheless had preserved that subject matter; 64 now it was brought by demythologizing to its real goal. For de-mythologizing, as existentialistic interpretation, attempts to comprehend, translate, and thus make accessible to us the understanding of existence coming to expression in the mythological form. 65 In recent years, now that theological research has achieved at least some impression of the eminent significance of eschatology, a new
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question is being posed: Does not eschatology, and indeed apocalypticism, involve more concern for the future history of the world than had been assumed when it was interpreted existentially? Ernst Kasemann took the initiative in contesting that "the earliest theology" can be adequately grasped "in terms of the theme of existence."66 For him, however, apocalypticism is not to be found in Jesus, but only in the Church since Easter. "The question of authenticity [i.e. the question whether Jesus actually spoke the apocalyptic sayings put on his tongue by the evangelists] is of course not irrelevant for the historian, who would like to grasp the center and extension of Jesus' message as exactly as possible. And it should not be a matter of indifference to the theologian either, who, at least since Albert Schweitzer, has had thrown up to him the problem of apocalypticism, its necessity, significance and limits. Albert Schweitzer and his pupils themselves got in the way of the task they recognized, first by making the whole question into a problem of the quest of the historical Jesus, and then by seeking to explain the earliest history of dogma in terms of the delay of the parousia. Both times they ended in a dead end street."67 It is true that Kasemann has not yet fully succeeded in delimiting Jesus' message from apocalypticism 68 and in formulating theologically what he would like to assert as the substance of apocalypticism not adequately recognized by Bultmann.69 Yet at the same time systematic theology is undertaking the attempt, in analogy to the philosophy of history and to Ernst Bloch's work The Principle of Hope,70 to interpret apocalypticism as the basis of historical revelation and of hope for the future. 71 In view of the importance generally accorded to Schweitzer's masterpiece, and the role he has played in the world in our century, it is a bit surprising to note how little his own specific theological solution of the problem of the historical Jesus has been followed. The positivistic historiography of his first edition, which replaced the assumed contemporaneity of Jesus with a purely antiquarian role for him, fitted well into Schweitzer's own Christ mysticism. For he set in antithesis to each other the "historical Jesus" and the "eternal Jesus.'m Jesus "passed by our time and returned into his own .... Jesus means something to our world because a mighty spiritual force streams forth from him and flowed over our world too. This fact is neither shaken nor solidified by historical knowledge.'m Thus in debate over the historicity of Jesus in the second German edition (chaps. XXII-XXIII) Schweitzer comes to the conclusion that "religion by its very nature is independent of all history." 74 It is in the context of this theological repudiation of historical research that we are to understand Schweitzer's allusions to "Jesus' spirit," his advocacy of "Jesus mysticism," 75 his solution to the Pauline problem in terms of The Mysticism of Paul the Apostle,16 and the breakthrough in his own meditation to "reverence for life." Thus in Schweitzer's mystical way he left behind him his original point of departure in historical research upon the quest of the 112
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historical Jesus-just as he replaced his academic position with that of the doctor of Lambarene. Now, there were trends early in our century congenial to Schweitzer's mysticism and to his rejection of historical research, and it was this broader context that provided the cultural cause for the suspension of the quest of the historical Jesus. Yet the precise form this took after World War I was not that which one would have anticipated on the basis of the situation just prior to that war. Steps toward neo-idealism matured asexistentialism. The Form Critical School, which interpreted the stories about Jesus in terms of the worship experience of the church rather than in terms of Jesus' biography, might well have seemed initially to be carrying through the implications of Schweitzer's mysticism. To be sure, the Form Critical School was rejected by the School of Thoroughgoing Eschatology, for the form critic shared Wrede's scepticism about the historicity of the narrative as opposed to Schweitzer's vindication of its historicity. But Dialectic Theology thought in terms of the historicness of existence, and not only understood Paul eschatologically rather than mystically, but also acknowledged in Jesus' historicity a significance denied it by the School of Thoroughgoing Eschatology. 77 Thus there has grown out of Dialectic Theology a new quest of the historical Jesus, though quite differently from the way Schweitzer would have envisaged it. Schweitzer's emphasis upon the chronological sequence of the Synoptic Gospels is as emphatically denied in the new quest of the historical Jesus as it had been in the Form Critical Period. And the context of this new research is neither positivistic historicism nor mysticism, but existentialistic interpretation and the new hermeneutic that has grown out of it. Yet it is indicative of the penetration of Schweitzer's thought that this development not only transcends the historicism of Schweitzer's original position, to which opponents of the new quest appeal with questionable validity in their criticism of the current trend.78 It also carries out Schweitzer's own second thoughts about historicism. For in the "concluding reflection" of the second edition of his work Schweitzer himself transcended historicism in a non-mystical way by pointing to the "living relationship" present in all understanding and thus pointing to the necessity of a new hermeneutic. It may come as a surprise to those unfamiliar with the second German edition that Schweitzer attributed the end of the quest not to the modernizations in the liberal lives of Christ, but rather to the shallowness of disinterested research, whose inability to encounter history profoundly, issued in an inability to understand historically. 79 Our time and our religion ... found in themselves no equivalents to Jesus' thoughts. For this reason they were not able to translate his ideology out of the thought patterns of Late Judaism into their own insights. They simply lacked resonance. Hence the historical 113
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Jesus of necessity remained in large measure foreign to them, not only with regard to the raw material of his conceptualizations, but also in his essence. His ethical radicalism and the directness and power of his way of thinking remained unattainable for them, since they did not think or experience anything comparable.... Hence it was the lack of inner congeniality in willing, hoping and longing that rendered a real knowledge of the historical Jesus and a comprehensive religious relationship to him an impossibility.80 To whatever extent such basic deficiencies can be overcome by methodological progress, it is not in terms of claims to "objectivity" surpassing the "subjectivism" of "existentialism," but rather in the hermeneutical reflection initiated precisely by existentialistic interpretation. Schweitzer was optimistic. "If the signs do not deceive, we are moving toward such a time." 81 In his discussion of the reception that the first edition of his work received, he said: "Thoroughgoing Eschatology can patiently wait for its time to come. . . . Sooner or later the hour will strike .... " 82 These formulations call to mind the Preface to Karl Barth's Romans: "If I do not deceive myself, this book can do now its own specifically limited service .... But should I deceive myself in the happy prospect of a general new seeking and searching after the biblical message, this book has time to wait. Romans itself is also waiting." 83 It was Barth's promise that was first fulfilled. Schweitzer's Introduction to the sixth edition shows that he was hardly able to see in subsequent developments the fulfillment of his hopes. Yet everyone who reads Schweitzer's book from the present state of research as a participant in the discussion will not fail to sense the affinity between Schweitzer's book and subsequent research, rooted in the depth with which Schweitzer laid hold of the central issues and the breadth of vision found only in the truly great men of an age.
Notes 1 The first edition appeared in 1906 under the title Von Reimarcus zu Wrede: Eine Geschichte der Leben-Jesu-Forschung. The second edition of 1913 was enlarged and entitled Geschichte der Leben-Jesu-Forschung. It was reprinted unaltered; the sixth edition, 1951 (the edition cited here, unless otherwise noted), included a new Introduction by Schweitzer. The most recent edition, the seventh, was printed in two-volume paperback format in 1966. The English translation of the first German edition, by W. Montgomery, was entitled The Quest of the Historical Jesus: A Critical Study of Its Progress from Reimarus to Wrede. It appeared in 1910, and has been subsequently reprinted, supplemented (only in the third British edition, 1954) by Schweitzer's Introduction to the sixth German edition. The revisions and new chapters added in the second German edition are not available in English; they tend to be laborious and today outdated, in distinction from the first edition, which presents in classical
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2 3 4
5
6
7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17
form the permanently relevant material. Quotations in this Introduction are my own translation, but are accompanied by page references to the present edition. English translation, 1959, of Die protestantische Theologie im 19. Jahrhundert: lhre Vorgeschichte und ihre Geschichte, 1947, based upon lecture courses at the University of Bonn in 1932-1933. Christian Hartlich and Waiter Sachs, Der Urspung des Mythosbegriffes in der modernen Bibelwissenschaft (Vol. 2 of Schriften der Studiengemeinschaft der Evangelischen Akademien), 1952, p. 1. Geschichte, p. 232; Quest, p. 238. The confusion of Wilhelm Ferdinand Wilke with Christian Gottlob Wilke was noted by Wellhausen and corrected in the second edition. Cf. Geschichte, p. 114, n. 4; Quest, p. 112, n. 1, should use the initials W. F. and should omit the second paragraph about Christian Gottlob Wilke. The omission of Englishlanguage material was largely rectified with the help of Burkitt in the second German edition. Cf. Geschichte, p. xxi. Schweitzer has also been reproached for omitting mention of Martin Kahler's work of 1892, Der sogenannte historische Jesus und der geschichtliche, biblische Christus (English translation: The So-Called Historical Jesus and the Historic Biblical Christ, 1964 ). Yet this is a work that first came into prominence in terms of dialectic theology (cf. the reprints of 1928, 1953, 1961). Its omission by Schweitzer was at that time not surprising, and was not a material defect, in that reference to it would simply have been further documentation for the path from David Friedrich Strauss to William Wrede, a path Schweitzer presented with full clarity. Cf. his comments on the materially parallel position of Georg Wobbermin in the second German edition, p. 521. To be sure, one difference is that with Kahler the kerygmatic nature of the Gospels had a conservative rather than a radical twist. E.g. the first chapter of Maurice Goguel's Vie de Jesus, 1932 (English translation: The Life of Jesus, 1933), second French edition entitled Jesus, 1950; C. C. McCown, The Search for the Real Jesus: A Century of Historical Study, 1940. Pedantic treatments of the French- and English-language literature are found in C. H. Hoffmann, Les vies de Jesus et le Jesus de l'histoire, 1947, and Otto A. Piper, "Das Problem des Le bens Jesu seit Schweitzer," in Verbum Dei manet in aeternum (Otto Schmitz Festschrift), 1953, pp. 73-93. Geschichte, pp. 81f.; Quest, p. 80. Geschichte, p. 82; Quest, p. 80. The English translation adds an explanatory sentence not in the German, but correctly explicating Schweitzer's argument: "This Hegelian dialectic determines the method of the work." Geschichte, p. 117; Quest, p. 115. Mentioned Geschichte, p. 79; Quest, p. 78. Geschichte, p. 85; Quest, p. 84. Geschichte, p. 115; Quest, p. 113. Geschichte, p. 97; Quest, p. 95. Geschichte, p. 80; Quest, pp. 78f. Geschichte, p. 117; Quest, p. 115. Geschichte, p. 338, Quest, p. 308. Cf. Rudolf Bultmann, "Die Bedeutung der neuerschlossenen mandaischen und manichaischen Quellen fiir das Verstandnis des Johannesevangeliums," Zeitschrift filr die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft (ZNW), XXIV (1925), 100-146, esp. 144: "To formulate the problem as sharply as possible, one could say that we must reckon with the possibility that Johannine Christianity represents an older type than does Synoptic Christianity. Of course this is not said
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18 19 20
21
22 23 24 25
26 27 28 29
30 31 32 33 34 35
from the point of view of one defending traditionalism. For there can be no doubt but that the Gospel of John as we have it is later than the Synoptics. It presupposes both the literary type of the Gospel created by Mark and shows the influence of specifically Hellenistic ideas. Yet this is to say that the emergence and message of Jesus perhaps stood much more closely in connection with the gnostic baptismal movement, in terms of which the Gospel of John is to be understood, than the Synoptic tradition reveals." It has been especially C. H. Dodd who has attempted to vindicate the historical in the Gospel of John. Cf. his Historical Tradition in the Fourth Gospel, 1963. Yet both scholars worked out their understandings of Jesus' message on the basis of Synoptic sayings, even though their interpretations were each in its way Johannine. Cf. most recently William R. Farmer, The Synoptic Problem: A Critical Analysis, 1964, and the devastating review by F. W. Beare, Journal of Biblical Literature, LXIV (1965), 292-297. Der Rahmen der Geschichte Jesu, 1919, second edition, 1963. Cf. my essay "Logoi Sophon: Zur Gattung der Spruchquelle Q," in Zeit und Geschichte (Bultmann Festschrift), 1964, pp. 77-96, and Helmut Koester, "Gnomai Diaphoroi: The Origin and Nature of Diversification in the History of Early Christianity," Harvard Theological Review, LVIII (1965), 279-318, esp. 298-303. Adolf von Harnack, Beitriige zur Einleitung in das Neue Testament, Vol. 11: Spruche und Reden Jesu: Die zweite Quelle des Matthiius und Lukas, 1907, pp. 163, 171, etc.; English translation: New Testament Studies, Vol. 11: The Sayings of Jesus: The Second Source of St Matthew and St. Luke, 1908, pp. 167f., 193ff., 234f., etc. Geschichte, p. 138; Quest, p. 134. Geschichte, p. 225, cf. also pp. 407, 597; Quest, p. 226, cf. also p. 359; the third reference is not in the English translation. Geschichte, p. xii; Quest, third British edition, p. xi. Geschichte, p. xii; Quest, third British edition, p. xi. Cf. already in the first German edition, Geschichte, p. 441 (of sixth German edition); Quest, p. 395. Also cf. second German edition (not in the English translation), pp. 553f. In the second German edition, pp. 605ff., Schweitzer seeks to interpret Q in his favor, using as his point of departure a remark by Harna~k: "traces of a temporal order." See Geschichte, pp. xxi and 592 (neither reference is in the English translation). Geschichte, p. 339; Quest, p. 309. Werke, Vol. VII: Der Streit der Falcultiiten, 1907, pp. 66f. From his correspondence with H. Jordan: "Ein Briefwechsel i.iber die Jesusfrage der Gegenwart," Die Christliche Welt (ChrW), XXV (1911), 988, quoted (inexactly) by Erik Beijer, "Hans Windisch und seine Bedeutung fi.ir die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft," ZNW, XLVIII (1957), 46f. Geschichte, p. 332; Quest, p. 302. Geschichte, p. 338; Quest, pp. 307f. Das Messiasgeheimnis in den Evangelien: Zugleich ein Beitrag zum Verstiindnis des Markusevangeliums, 1901, third edition, 1963. English translation, 1950, of Das Messianitiits- und Leidensgeheimnis: Eine Skizze des Lebens Jesu, 1901. Cf. Geschichte, Chaps. XIXf.; Quest, Chap. XIX: "Thoroughgoing Scepticism and Thoroughgoing Eschatology." Messiasgeheimnis, p. 153. Cf. also Geschichte, p. 407; Quest, p. 359. "Zur Frage des Messiasgeheimnisses bei Markus," ZNW, LVI (1965), 1-8; the quotation is from the opening of the essay.
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36 Geschichte, p. 391 and Chap. XX; Quest, p. 349 and the criticism of Wrede, pp. 338-348. 37 Geschichte, p. 490 (not in the English translation). 38 Geschichte, Chap. XXI; Quest, pp. 351ff. 39 Geschichte, p. 256; Quest, p. 265. a. also Geschichte, p. 597 (not in the English translation). 40 Geschichte, p. 275; Quest, p. 286. 41 Geschichte, p. 375; Quest, p. 337. 42 Geschichte, pp. 390f.; Quest, p. 351. Cf. also Geschichte, p. 555 (not in the English translation). 43 Geschichte, p. 249; Quest, p. 257. 44 Geschichte. p. 235; Quest, p. 241. 45 "The Framework of the Gospel Narrative," The Expository Times, XLIII (1932), 396-400, reprinted in his volume of collected essays, New Testament Studies, 1953, pp. 1-11. 46 "The Order of Events in St. Mark's Gospel: An Examination of Dr. Dodd's Hypothesis," in Studies in the Gospels (R. H. Lightfoot Festschrift), 1955, pp. 223-239. 47 Geschichte, p. 336; Quest, p. 306. Cf. also Geschichte, pp. 371 (Quest, p. 333), 417, 550, 607 (all three absent from the English translation). 48 Das Markusevangelium als Zeugnis gegen die Geschichtlichkeit Jesu, 1921. 49 Der Einfluss paulinischer Theologie im Markusevangelium: Eine Studie zur neutestamentlichen Theologie (Beiheft 1 to Zeitschrift fUr die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft [BZNW 1]). To be sure, Werner's method of proof consists in showing that the "Pauline" elements in Mark are actually common early Christian traits, which in no way puts in question the derivation of Marcan theology from the kerygma or the Marcan community's theology rather than from the historical Jesus. Willi Marxsen, Der Evangelist Markus: Studien zur Redaktionsgeschichte des Evangeliums (Vol. 67 of Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des A/ten und Neuen Testaments [FRLANT 67]), 1956, second edition, 1959, pp. 83-92, has at one point narrowed the effect of Wemer's monograph, in that Marxsen indicated that the Marcan concept "gospel" may be influenced by Pauline theology. Eduard Schweizer, "Die theologische Leistung des Markus," Evangelische Theologie (EvTh), XXIV (1964), 337-355, esp. 346, has also shown that the Pauline and Marcan identification of the gospel with Jesus Christ is to be understood in Mark in the Deutero-Pauline sense of the gospel as a mystery-an insight that leads us back toward Wrede rather than Schweitzer. 50 Geschichte, p. 407; Quest, p. 360. 51 Das Weltanschauungsproblem bei Karl Earth und Albert Schweitzer. 52 Die Bedeutung der neutestamentlichen Eschatologie fur die neuere protestantische Theologie: Ein Versuch zur Kliirung des Problems der Eschatologie und zu einem neuen Verstiindnis ihres eigentlichen Anliegens. More recent interpretations of contemporary theology from the viewpoint of thoroughgoing eschatology are Ulrich Neuenschwander, Protestantische Dogmatik der Gegenwart und das Problem der biblischen Mythologie, 1949; Die neue liberale Theologie: Eine Standortbestimmung, 1953; and Martin Werner, Der protestantische Weg des Glaubens, Vol. 1: Der Protestantismus als geschichtliches Problem, 1955; Vol. II: Systematische Darstellung, 1962. 53 The debate was instigated by Werner's book, again carrying out a desideratum of Schweitzer, Die Entstehung des christlichen Dogmas, 1941 (English translation, of an abridged text: The Formation of Christian Dogma: An Historical
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54 55
56
57 58 59 60
Study of Its Problem, 1957). This led to an exchange with the Basel theologian Oscar Cullmann on the theme "The Church's Hope in the Return of Christ" ("Die Hoffnung der Kirche auf die Wiederkunft Christi"), published in Verhandlungen des schweizerisch-reformierten Pfarrvereins, LXXXIII (1942), 34ff. Buri entered the discussion with his essay "Das Problem der ausgebliebenen Parusie," Schweizerische Theologische Umschau, XVI (1946), 97ff. Cullmann replied with an essay "Das wahre durch die ausgebliebene Parusie gestellte neutestamentliche Problem," Theologische Zeitschrift, Ill (1947), 177-191, promptly followed by Buri's "Replik: Zur Diskussion des Problems der ausgebliebenen Parusie," 422-428, to which Cullmann had the last word, 428-432. In the symposium edited by H. Ristow and K. Matthiae, Der historische Jesus und der kerygmatische Christus: Beitriige zum Christusverstiindnis in Forschung und Verkilndigung, 1960, pp. 614-646. Die protestantische Theologie im 19. Jahrhundert, p. 379; English translation: Protestant Thought: From Rousseau to Ritschl, 1959, p. 306. Schleiermacher had himself coined this expression, with reference to Frederick the Great, in an address at the Berlin Academy of Sciences, "0ber den Begriff des grossen Mannes." ChrW, XXXIV (1920), 374-378, reprinted in Anfiinge der dialektischen Theologie, ed. Jilrgen Moltmann (Vol. 17 of Theologische Bucherei, Neudrucke und Berichte aus dem 20. Jahrhundert, ed. Ernst Wolf), Vol. II, 1963, pp. 95-101, esp. 95 and 100. Der Romerbrief, 1919, second edition, 1922, p. 298; English translation: The Epistle to the Romans, 1933, p. 314. Die Auferstehung der Toten: Eine akademische Vorlesung ilber 1 Kor. 15, 1924, pp. 57f.; English translation: The Resurrection of the Dead, tr. by H. J. Stenning, 1933, pp. 103f. From Bultmann's review, "Karl Barth, Die Auferstehung der Toten," Theologische Bliitter, V (1926), 1-14, reprinted in Glauben und Verstehen, I (1933), 38-64. Especially Lucan theology has been made intelligible in these terms by Hans Conzelmann, Die Mitte der Zeit: Studien zur Theologie des Lukas (Vol. 17 of Beitriige zur historischen Theologie), 1954, fifth edition, 1964 (English translation: The Theology of St. Luke, 1960). This approach was carried through the Synoptics and Acts by Erich Grasser, Das Problem der Parusieverzogerung in den synoptischen Evangelien und in der Apostelgeschichte (BZNW 22), 1957, second edition, 1960. Cf. for 2 Peter, Ernst Kasemann, "Eine Apologie der urchristlichen Eschatologie," Zeitschrift fur Theologie und Kirche (ZThK), XLIX (1952), 272-296, reprinted in Exegetische Versuche und Besinnungen (EVB), I (1960), 135-157; English translation: "An Apologia for Primitive Christian Eschatology," in Essays on New Testament Themes (Vol. 41 of Studies in Biblical Theology), 1964, pp. 169-195. Such research is all the more valid due to the fact that it does not claim too much. Typical of this precision is Conzelmann in his article "Jesus Christus," in Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, third edition, 1959, Vol. Ill, col. 633: "Jesus did not project a system of doctrine. To the contrary, it is striking that the doctrine of God and eschatology, eschatology and ethics, seem at first glance to stand relatively unrelated side by side." Cf. his essay "Zur Methode der Leben-JesuForschung," in Die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus (Beiheft 1 to ZThK, LVI [1959]), p. 10; English translation: "The Method of the Life-of-Jesus Research," in The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ, ed. Carl E. Braaten and Roy Harrisville, 1964, p. 65.
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61 "All this derives from an unavoidable fundamental structure of the spirit as such. That it interprets itself in objective formulae and symbols, that it is 'symbolistic,' is the innermost natlll'e of the spirit-and at the same time most dangerous! In order to come to itself, it necessarily takes this detour via the symbol, in whose enticing jungle of problems it tends to lose itself, far from the origin preserved symbolically in it, taking the substitute as ultimate. Only in a long procedure of working back, after an exhausting completion of that detour, is a demythologized (entmythologisiert) consciousness able terminologically to approach directly the original phenomena hidden in this camouflage (cf. the long path of the dogma of original sin up to Kierkegaard!)." Augustin und das paulinische Freiheitsproblem: Eine philosophische Studie zum pelagianischen Streit (FRLANT 44), 1930, second edition, 1965, p. 82. 62 The hermeneutical scope of the Mythical School is not limited to such works as G. L. Bauer's Entwurf einer Hermeneutik des A/ten und Neuen Testaments of 1799, but rather dominated the whole movement, as Hartlich and Sachs, Der Mythosbegriff in der modernen Bibelwissenschaft (seen. 3 above), emphasize again and again (cf. "Hermeneutik" in their index, p. 182). 63 Geschichte, second edition, p. 645. Note the advance beyond the first German edition as translated in Quest, p. 401: "It is not given to history to disengage that which is abiding and eternal in the being of Jesus from the historical forms in which it worked itself out, and to introduce it into our world as a living influence. It has toiled in vain at this undertaking." 64 Cf. the fluctuating position of Fritz Buri, Die Bedeutung der neutestamentlichen Eschatologie fUr die neuere protestantische Theologie, 1935, who in Chap. 8 interprets "de-eschatologizing" as the elimination of the imminent expectation of the end of the world, which belongs "to the essence of New Testament eschatology," whereas in Chap. 16 he interprets the "will to life fulfillment" as the "essential content of eschatology." 65 For this distinction between elimination and interpretation cf. Rudolf Bultmann, "Neues Testament und Mythologie: Das Problem der Entmythologisierung der neutestamentlichen Verki.indigung," which first appeared in 1941 in Offenbarung und Heilsgeschehen (Beiheft 7 to EvTh), pp. 27--f>9 and was reprinted in Kerygma und Mythos (Vol. 1 of Theologische Forschung), Vol. I, 1948, pp. 15-53, esp. 25; English translation: "New Testament and Mythology,'' in Kerygma and Myth: A Theological Debate, 1953, reprinted 1961, pp. 1-44, esp. 12. 66 "Zum Thema der urchristlichen Apokalyptik,'' ZThK, LIX (1962), 257-284, esp. 265f., reprinted EVB, 11 (1964), 105-131, esp. 113. 67 "Die Anfange christlicher Theologie," ZThK, LVII (1960), 162-185, esp. 179, reprinted EVB, 11 (1964), 82-104, esp. 99. 68 Ibid., ZThK, pp.179f., EVB, p. 100. 69 For a discussion of Kasemann cf. Gerhard Ebeling, "Der Grund christlicher Theologie," ZThK, LVIII (1961), 227-244; Ernst Fuchs, "Ober die Aufgabe einer christlichen Theologie," ZThK, LVIII (1961), 245-267; Rudolf Bultmann, "lst die Apokalyptik die Mutter der christlichen Theologie? Eine Auseinandersetzung mit Ernst Kasemann," in Apophoreta (Haenchen Festschrift, BZNW 30), 1964, pp. 64-69. 70 Das Prinzip Hoffnung, 1954. 71 Wolfhart Pannenberg (ed.), Offenbarung als Geschichte (Beiheft 1 to Kerygma und Dogma), 1961; Pannenberg, Grundziige der Christologie, 1964; Ji.irgen Moltmann, Theologie der Hoffnung: Untersuchungen zur Begriindung und zu den Konsequenzen einer christlichen Eschatologie (Beiheft 38 to EvTH), 1964,
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72 73 74 75 76 77 78
79
80 81 82 83
fifth edition, 1965 (English translation: The Theology of Hope: On the Ground and the Implications of a Christian Eschatology, 1967); Gerhard Sauter, Zukunft und Verheissung: Das Problem der Zukunft in der gegenwiirtigen theologischen und philosophischen Diskussion, 1965. Geschichte, p. 352; Quest, pp. 321f. Geschichte, p. 632; Quest, p. 399. Geschichte, p. 519 (not in the English translation). Geschichte, p. 641 (not in the English translation). English translation, 1931, of Die Mystik des Apostels Paulus, 1930. Cf. Fritz Buri, "Entmythologisierung oder Entkerygmatisierung der Theologie," in Kerygma und Mythos, Vol. 11, 1952, pp. 85-101. Cf. Oscar Cullmann, "Unzeitgemasse Bemerkungen zum 'historischen Jesus' der Bultmannschule," in the symposium edited by Ristow and Matthiae (see n. 54 above), pp. 266-280, esp. 267; English translation: "Out of Season Remarks on the 'Historical Jesus' of the Bultmann School," Union Seminary Quarterly Review, XVI (1961), 131-148, esp. 132. Schweitzer wrote at a time when hermeneutic had reached its lowest ebb in theological scholarship. One may note Ernst von Dobschiitz' appeal in his Rectoral Address of 1922: "What one calls hermeneutic, once the discipline carried on most actively, then criminally neglected for two generations, must be awakened to new life." Vom Auslegen insonderheit des Neuen Testaments (Vol. 18 of Hallesche Universitiitsreden), reprinted in his book Vom Auslegen des Neuen Testaments, 1927, p. 5. Cf. the history of hermeneutic in this period in my essay "Hermeneutic since Barth," in The New Hermeneutic (Vol. 2 of New Frontiers in Theology), 1964, pp. 1-77. Geschichte, pp. 636f. (not in the English translation). Geschichte, p. 637 (not in the English translation). Geschichte, p. 597 (not in the English translation). Preface to the first edition of Romerbrief, 1919, p. vi; English translation of the second edition, p. 2.
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6
INTRODUCTION View-point and method and
THE HISTORICAL BACKGROUND FOR THE MINISTRY OF JESUS Rudolf Bultmann Source: Jesus and the Word, translated by Louise Pettibone Smith and Erminie Huntress Lantero (New York: Scribner's, 1934, 1958). (Originally published as Jesus, Berlin: Deutsche Bibliothek, 1926.)
In strict accuracy, I should not write "view-point"; for a fundamental presupposition of this book is that the essence of history cannot be grasped by "viewing" it, as we view our natural environment in order to orient ourselves in it. Our relationship to history is wholly different from our relationship to nature. Man, if he rightly understands himself, differentiates himself from nature. When he observes nature, he perceives there something objective which is not himself. When he turns his attention to history, however, he must admit himself to be a part of history; he is considering a living complex of events in which he is essentially involved. He cannot observe this complex objectively as he can observe natural phenomena; for in every word which he says about history he is saying at the same time something about himself. Hence there cannot be impersonal observation of history in the same sense that there can be impersonal observation of nature. Therefore, if this book is to be anything more than information on interesting occurrences in the past, more than a walk through a museum of antiquities, if it is really to lead to our seeing Jesus as a part of the history in which we have our being, or in which by critical conflict we achieve being, then this book must be in the nature of a continuous dialogue with history.
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Further, it should be understood that the dialogue does not come as a conclusion, as a kind of evaluation of history after one has first learned the objective facts. On the contrary, the actual encounter with history takes place only in the dialogue. We do not stand outside historical forces as neutral observers; we are ourselves moved by them; and only when we are ready to listen to the demand which history makes on us do we understand at all what history is about. This dialogue is no clever exercise of subjectivity on the observer's part, but a real interrogating of history, in the course of which the historian puts this subjectivity of his in question, and is ready to listen to history as an authority. Further, such an interrogation of history does not end in complete relativism, as if history were a spectacle wholly dependent on the individual standpoint of the observer. Precisely the contrary is true; whatever is relative to the observer-namely all the presuppositions which he brings with him out of his own epoch and training and his individual position within them-must be given up, that history may actually speak. History, however, does not speak when a man stops his ears, that is, when he assumes neutrality, but speaks only when he comes seeking answers to the questions which agitate him. Only by this attitude can we discover whether an objective element is really present in history and whether history has something to say to us. There is an approach to history which seeks by its method to achieve objectivity; that is, it sees history only in a perspective determined by the particular epoch or school to which the student belongs. It succeeds indeed, at its best, in escaping the subjectivity of the individual investigator, but still remains completely bound by the subjectivity of the method and is thus highly relative. Such an approach is extremely successful in dealing with that part of history which can be grasped by objective method, for example in determining the correct chronological sequence of events, and in so far forth is always indispensable. But an approach so limited misses the true significance of history. It must always question history solely on the basis of particular presuppositions, of its own method, and thus quantitatively it collects many new facts out of history, but learns nothing genuinely new about history and man. It sees in history only as little or as much of man and of humanity as it already explicitly or implicitly knows; the correctness or incorrectness of vision is always dependent on this previous knowledge. An example may make this clear. A historian sets himself the aim of making a historical phenomenon or personality "psychologically comprehensible." Now this expression implies that such a writer has at his disposal complete knowledge of the psychological possibilities of life. He is therefore concerned with reducing every component of the event or of the personality to such possibilities. For that is what making anything "comprehensible" means: the reduction of it to what our previous knowledge includes. All individual facts are understood as specific cases of 122
VIEW-POINT AND METHOD
general laws, and these laws are assumed to be already known. On this assumption the criticism of the tradition is based, so that everything which cannot be understood on that basis is eliminated as unhistorical. So far as purely psychological facts of the past are the objects of investigation, such a method is (for the psychological expert) quite correct. There remains, however, the question whether such a method reveals the essential of history, really brings us face to face with history. Whoever is of the belief that only through history can he find enlightenment on the contingencies of his own existence, will necessarily reject the psychological approach, however justified that method is in its own sphere. He must reject it if he is in earnest in his attempt to understand history. In such a belief this book is written. Hence no attempt is here made to render Jesus as a historical phenomenon psychologically explicable, and nothing really biographical, apart from a brief introductory section, is included. Thus I would lead the reader not to any "view" of history, but to a highly personal encounter with history. But because the book cannot in itself be for the reader his encounter with history, but only information about my encounter with history, it does of course as a whole appear to him as a view, and I must define for him the point of observation. Whether he afterward remains a mere spectator is his affair. If the following presentation cannot in the ordinary sense claim objectivity, in another sense it is all the more objective; for it refrains from pronouncing value judgments. The "objective" historians are often very lavish with such pronouncements, and they thus introduce a subjective element which seems to me unjustified. Purely formal evaluations of the meaning of an event or a person in the immediate historical sequence are of course necessary; but a judgment of value depends upon a point of view which the writer imports into the history and by which he measures the historical phenomena. Obviously the criticisms which many historians deliver, favourable or unfavourable, are given from a standpoint beyond history. As against this I have especially aimed to avoid everything beyond history and to find a position for myself within history. Therefore evaluations which depend on the distinction between the historical and the superhistorical find no place here. Indeed, if one understands by the historical process only phenomena and incidents determinable in time-"what happened"-then he has occasion to look for something beyond the historical fact which can motivate the interest in history. But then the suspicion becomes most insistent that the essential of history has been missed; for the essential of history is in reality nothing super-historical, but is event in time. Accordingly this book lacks all the phraseology which speaks of Jesus as great man, genius, or hero; he appears neither as inspired nor as inspiring/ his sayings are not called profound, nor his faith mighty, nor his nature child-like. There is also no consideration of the eternal value of his message, of his discovery
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of the infinite depths of the human soul, or the like. Attention is entirely limited to what he purposed, and hence to what in his purpose as a part of history makes a present demand on us. For the same reason, interest in the personality of Jesus is excludedand not merely because, in the absence of information, I am making a virtue of necessity. I do indeed think that we can now know almost nothing concerning the life and personality of Jesus, since the early Christian sources show no interest in either, are moreover fragmentary and often legendary; and other sources about Jesus do not exist. Except for the purely critical research, what has been written in the last hundred and fifty years on the life of Jesus, his personality and the development of his inner life, is fantastic and romantic. Whoever reads Albert Schweitzer's brilliantly written Quest of the Historical Jesus 2 must vividly realize this. The same impression is made by a survey of the differing contemporary judgments on the question of the Messianic consciousness of Jesus, the varying opinions as to whether Jesus believed himself to be the Messiah or not, and if so, in what sense, and at what point in his life. Considering that it was really no trifle to believe oneself Messiah, that, further, whoever so believed must have regulated his whole life in accordance with this belief, we must admit that if this point is obscure we can, strictly speaking, know nothing of the personality of Jesus. I am personally of the opinion that Jesus did not believe himself to be the Messiah, but I do not imagine that this opinion gives me a clearer picture of his personality. I have in this book not dealt with the question at all-not so much because nothing can be said about it with certainty as because I consider it of secondary importance. However good the reasons for being interested in the personalities of significant historical figures, Plato or Jesus, Dante or Luther, Napoleon or Goethe, it still remains true that this interest does not touch that which such men had at heart; for their interest was not in their personality but in their work. And their work was to them not the expression of their personality, nor something through which their personality achieved its "form," but the cause to which they surrendered their lives. Moreover, their work does not mean the sum of the historical effects of their acts; for to this their view could not be directed. Rather, the "work" from their standpoint is the end they really sought, and it is in connection with their purpose that they are the proper objects of historical investigation. This is certainly true if the examination of history is no neutral orientation about objectively determined past events, but is motivated by the question how we ourselves, standing in the current of history, can succeed in comprehending our own existence, can gain clear insight into the contingencies and necessities of our own life purpose. In the case of those who like Jesus have worked through the medium of word, what they purposed can be reproduced only as a group of sayings, of 124
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ideas-as teaching. Whoever tries, according to the modern fashion, to penetrate behind the teaching to the psychology or to the personality of Jesus, inevitably, for the reasons already given, misses what Jesus purposed. For his purpose can be comprehended only as teaching. But in studying the teaching there is again danger of misunderstanding, of supposing such teaching to be a system of general truths, a system of propositions which have validity apart from the concrete life situation of the speaker. In that case it would follow that the truth of such statements would necessarily be measured by an ideal universal system of truths, of eternally valid propositions. In so far as the thought of Jesus agreed with this ideal system, one could speak of the super-historical element in his message. But here it would again become clear that one has missed the essential of history, has not met with anything really new in history. For this ideal system would not be learned from history, it implies rather a standard beyond history by which the particular historical phenomena are measured. The study of history would then at best consist in bringing this pre-existent ideal system to clearer recognition through the observation of concrete "cases." Historical research would be a work of "recollection" in the Platonic sense, a clarifying of knowledge which man already possesses. Such a view would be essentially rationalistic; history as event in time would be excluded. Therefore, when I speak of the teaching or thought of Jesus, I base the discussion on no underlying conception of a universally valid system of thought which through this study can be made enlightening to all. Rather the ideas are understood in the light of the concrete situation of a man living in time; as his interpretation of his own existence in the midst of change, uncertainty, decision; as the expression of a possibility of comprehending this life; as the effort to gain clear insight into the contingencies and necessities of his own existence. When we encounter the words of Jesus in history, we do not judge them by a philosophical system with reference to their rational validity; they meet us with the question of how we are to interpret our own existence. That we be ourselves deeply disturbed by the problem of our own life is therefore the indispensable condition of our inquiry. Then the examination of history will lead not to the enrichment of timeless wisdom, but to an encounter with history which itself is an event in time. This is dialogue with history. There is little more to say in introduction. The subject of this book is, as I have said, not the life or the personality of Jesus, but only his teaching, his message. Little as we know of his life and personality, we know enough of his message to make for ourselves a consistent picture. Here, too, great caution is demanded by the nature of our sources. What the sources offer us is first of all the message of the early Christian community, which for the most part the church freely attributed to Jesus. This naturally gives no proof that all the words which are put into his mouth were actually spoken 125
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by him. As can be easily proved, many sayings orginated in the church itself; others were modified by the church. Critical investigation shows that the whole tradition about Jesus which appears in the three synoptic gospels is composed of a series of layers which can on the whole be clearly distinguished, although the separation at some points is difficult and doubtful. (The Gospel of John cannot be taken into account at all as a source for the teaching of Jesus, and it is not referred to in this book.) The separating of these layers in the synoptic gospels depends on the knowledge that these gospels were composed in Greek within the Hellenistic Christian community, while Jesus and the oldest Christian group lived in Palestine and spoke Aramaic. Hence everything in the synoptics which for reasons of language or content can have originated only in Hellenistic Christianity must be excluded as a source for the teaching of Jesus. The critical analysis shows, however, that the essential content of these three gospels was taken over from the Aramaic tradition of the oldest Palestinian community. Within this Palestinian material again different layers can be distiguished, in which whatever betrays the specific interests of the church or reveals characteristics of later development must be rejected as secondary. By means of this critical analysis an oldest layer is determined, though it can be marked off with only relative exactness. Naturally we have no absolute assurance that the exact words of this oldest layer were really spoken by Jesus. There is a possibility that the contents of this oldest layer are also the result of a complicated historical process which we can no longer trace. Of course the doubt as to whether Jesus really existed is unfounded and not worth refutation. No sane person can doubt that Jesus stands as founder behind the historical movement whose first distinct stage is represented by the oldest Palestinian community. But how far that community preserved an objectively true picture of him and his message is another question. For those whose interest is in the personality of Jesus, this situation is depressing or destructive; for our purpose it has no particular significance. It is precisely this complex of ideas in the oldest layer of the synoptic tradition which is the object of our consideration. It meets us as a fragment of tradition coming to us from the past, and in the examination of it we seek the encounter with history. By the tradition Jesus is named as bearer of the message; according to overwhelming probability he really was. Should it prove otherwise, that does not change in any way what is said in the record. I see then no objection to naming Jesus throughout as the speaker. Whoever prefers to put the name of "Jesus" always in quotation marks and let it stand as an abbreviation for the historical phenomenon with which we are concerned, is free to do so. Further I need say only that I have in what follows seldom given the critical considerations; they can be found in their context in my book Die Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition 3 in connection with my own critical analysis.
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After a historical introduction, this presentation of the message of Jesus is developed in three concentric circles of thought. In each circle we are concerned with the same question; but this common centre can first be clearly recognized only in the smallest circle. The smallest circle is, however, comprehensible only when one has passed through the two outer circles. Finally I wish to say that this book does not deal with especially complicated or difficult matters, but with extremely simple ones, so far as theoretical understanding is concerned. Of course the understanding of simple things can be difficult, but such difficulty is due not to the nature of the things but to the fact that we have forgotten how to see directly, being too much burdened with presuppositions. This is so characteristic of our contemporary situation that the following discussion may appear difficult simply because it is trying to gain for the author as well as for the reader the right method of seeing. If I am wrong in anticipating difficulty, so much the better; but the reader should realize that no end is gained by making the matter seem easier than it really is, in relation to the intellectual attitude of the present day. The essential difficulty in this book, however, lies not in the theoretical understanding nor in the acceptance of it as a "point of view," but in the actual encounter with reality which it demands. Now for a great end one must be ready to pay the price, and I would rather frighten a reader away than attract one who wants something for nothing.
The historical background for the ministry of Jesus 1. The Jewish religion A unique picture is presented by the Jewish nation as it existed at the beginning of our era, with its centre in Jerusalem, the holy city. This nation, through a varied history, rich in external and internal experience, had become far removed from the primitive life of immediate dependence on nature, in which neighbouring Oriental peoples still more or less lingered. It was a nation whose political life had been finally destroyed by the Roman rule, and whose economic situation involved no problems the solution of which could affect historical development. A people, furthermore, which had no intellectual or spiritual life in the sense of cultural achievements such as science, art, or jurisprudence, developed for their own sake. A people endowed with great vitality, strong natural instincts, the highest moral energy, and the keenest intellectual capacity, yet whose life consisted not in all the things which fill the life of the other peoples of the earth. Law and promise determine the life of this people, obedience and hope define its meaning. Law-not a Jaw arising from the concrete relationships 127
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of life, based upon rational thinking and logically articulated; on the contrary, a law which had grown out of social conditions and cultic motives no longer alive and often no longer understood, artificially preserved and casuistical!y elaborated and interpreted. A law not lacking a strong infusion of ethical ideas, yet not to be characterized as a "moral code." A law which does not rest upon the ethical conception of man and humanity, but which is characterized by a combination of ethical and legalistic viewpoints. A law which properly has only this meaning: to release man from the world, to separate him from any interest in an independent cultural development, and to humble him in obedience to the transcendent power of God-of a God, whose image is not in any sense determined by the conception that man has of his own highest spiritual life. A God who at first glance is comparable to the picture of the Oriental ruler, who governs his people with complete arbitrariness, bound by no rational law; but a God who is conceived as wholly different from an Oriental ruler, since all physical traits are lacking, all tyrannical desires alien; a God who desires justice and righteousness and punishes sin, a God who loves His people as a father his first-born son, a God to whom the religious man calls as to his father, and in whose help he trusts in all situations of life. This law and the unconditional obedience of the religious man to it make the Jewish nation a chosen people. The primary sense of this titleirrespective of what arrogant or na'ively material claims may be combined with it-is that this people is a holy people; it is lifted out of the world, out of the world's interests and ideals, and has its centre of gravity in the beyond. Exactly the same meaning underlies also promise and hope. For the hope has as its content not some kind of programme for a political, judicial, or economic ideal. Israel hoped not for an ideal world order (if the word "ideal" be used in its strict sense), but for the end of earthly things and for the glory of God and His people. And although na'ive imagination could represent this glory only in pictures which betray pleasure in material splendour and sensuous enjoyments, still this is not the essential element. In reality such descriptions have only the negative significance that in the promised day all the misery of life, its poverty and sickness, will end; the foreign rule of the heathen will be over. But of what then will positively be, there is no definite picture. There is only the assurance that the holy God will dwell in the midst of His holy people. Such hope rests on the promise of the prophets, whose relation to earlier concrete historical situations is ignored. The prophets themselves were already saturated with Oriental mythology; and the later hope of Judaism was also deeply influenced by the mythology of Oriental eschatologies, of Persian or Babylonian origin. The result was a new and peculiar literary form, apocalyptic, which sought to unravel the secrets of the divine plan for the world, to recognize the signs of the end, to calculate the time of its arrival, and to invent fantastic elaborations of the heavenly glory. 128
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Hope is peculiarly bound up with obedience; they support each other. In rabbinical Judaism after the beginning of the Christian era the hope retreats more and more into the background, not indeed as a fundamental conception but as a practical attitude. Rabbinical Judaism finally rejected apocalyptic, leaving it to Christianity, and concentrated entirely on the Law. How far this movement had gone among the rabbis in the time of Jesus, it is difficult to say. At any rate the Jewish people at just that time were most strongly stirred by Messianic hopes. These hopes were depicted in a great variety of colours, depending on whether the traditional picture of the old Davidic kingdom or fantastic Oriental cosmology and mythology made the greater contribution; on whether political ideals determined their thoughts, or a purely religious hope predominated. Because of the close connection between obedience and hope, one particular expectation especially filled many minds: the hope that God would destroy the rule of the heathen, that He would again make of Palestine a completely holy land in which only the law of their fathers would prevail. It is true that the official class of the Jewish people welcomed the Roman rule, which gave peace to the land and, in the very act of depriving the race of its national existence, allowed the religious man to work in peace and live faithful to the Law. In the temple at Jerusalem, too, sacrifices and prayers were offered regularly for the Cresar, and Jewish leaders were satisfied so long as the Romans showed a certain consideration for the holiness of Jerusalem. But among the people themselves, and especially in the strictly legalistic group, the Pharisees, there grew out of the Messianic hope a flaming activism, which itself undertook to end the rule of the heathen. From the time of Herod the Great the Messianic movements did not cease, until they finally culminated in the destruction of Jerusalem and the annihilation of the Jewish state-in so far as it could be called a state.
2. The Messianic movements Herod had already had to use force to suppress a conspiracy which had begun when he had aroused religious antagonism by setting up trophies in the theatre at Jerusalem. As he lay on his deathbed, Jewish youths tore down and destroyed the golden eagle which he had brought into the temple. At the beginning of the reign of Archelaus, to avenge the execution of these offenders, there was a revolt at the feast of the Passover; it was put down by violence. Similarly after the death of Herod an insurrection broke out in Galilee under a certain Judas; it was merely the continuation of earlier disturbances with which Herod had had to deal. In Perea a certain Simon proclaimed himself "king." In Judea a brawny shepherd assumed a crown and began war against the Romans and Herodians. The Jewish historian Josephus calls the rebels "bandits"; the context 129
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shows however that without exception these were Messianic movements. When in A.D. 6 the Syrian legate Quirinius took a census in Palestine, there was a revolt in Galilee, and the Judas before mentioned together with the Pharisee Zadok founded the party of the Zealots; religiously the Zealots belonged with the Pharisees, but they made their Messianic hope into a political programme. They considered it shameful to pay tribute to the Romans, and to endure mortal men as lords instead of God, the only Lord and King. As they accepted willingly for themselves any kind of death, so also was the murder of relatives and friends a matter of indifference to them, if only they need not call any man their lord. Until the fall of Jerusalem these Zealots continued to defy the Romans, and with them were the like-minded Sicarii, who did not shrink even from the murder of the high priest. Pilate had to suppress in Judea two smaller uprisings, called forth by the offending of Jewish religious feeling; in Samaria he was forced to resort to bloodshed in order to put down a Messianic revolt. After 40 A.D. such movements multiplied. The old unrest continued. Here and there in Jerusalem and in the country insurrections occurred. Here and there Messianic prophets and even "kings" appeared; under Cuspius Fadus, the "prophet" Theudas; under Ventidius Cumanus, the "bandit" Eleaser; under Felix, a "prophet" who came out of Egypt, who led the crowd of his adherents to the Mount of Olives and attempted to enter Jerusalem with them, expecting the walls to fall at his command; under Festus, a "prophet" who promised "salvation" and deliverance from all suffering. In fact, there was a whole succession of prophets who, according to the account of Josephus, "behaving as if they were chosen by God, caused disturbances and revolutions and drove the people insane with their oratory, and enticed them into the desert, as if God might there announce to them the miracle of their deliverance." All these Messianic insurrections the Romans suppressed and crucified their instigators or executed them in other ways whenever they could get their hands on them. Here it must be emphasized that some of these movements had no political character. The crowds stirred with Messianic hopes often used no violence, but expected the end of the Roman rule and the coming of the Kingdom of God to be achieved purely by a miracle of God's working. The Romans did not distinguish, and indeed they could not; for them, all these movements were suspected as hostile to the Roman authority.
3. John the Baptist and Jesus At this time a prophet appeared by the Jordan, John the Baptist. His coming, too, belongs in the series of Messianic movements. It had of course no political character, but it was inspired by the certainty that the time of the end was now come. On the ground of this conviction he preached repentance.
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"You brood of vipers! Who has taught you to flee from the wrath to come? Bring forth then fit fruits of repentance, and think not to say within yourselves: We have Abraham for our father. For I tell you, God can raise up from these stones children to Abraham. Already the axe is laid at the root of the trees, and every tree which does not bear fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire!" (Matt. 3:7-10) He came as an ascetic, and fasting was characteristic of his sect (Mark 2:18, Matt. 11:18). In addition he practised baptism. Judaism, like the other religions of the east, had long practised the washings which were intended to preserve cultic and ritual purity. At the time of the rise of Christianity, however, there had appeared in that part of the world a whole group of baptismal sects, to which for example the so-called Essenes belong. There was a special significance ascribed to baptism, which was obviously connected with eschatological speculations. Hence the baptism which John proclaimed must be understood as an eschatological sacrament. Whoever submitted himself to it, and to the obligation of repentance bound up with it, purified himself for the coming Kingdom of God, and belonged to the company of those who would escape the day of wrath and judgment. Clearly ancient eastern, non-J ewish conceptions influenced this Baptist movement; old mythology of Persia or Babylon perhaps also influenced the Baptist's preaching of the coming Judge. But we know little about it from the earliest sources-the gospel and Josephus. Possibly the Mandrean Gnostic sect which emerged later is a development of this old Baptist sect, and perhaps many of the Mandrean conceptions go back to the beginning of the movement. It is worth noting that the Mandreans called themselves "Nazarenes"; and that Jesus is often so called in the early Christian tradition. Since this epithet cannot be derived from the name of his own village Nazareth, and since the early Christian tradition has preserved the recollection that Jesus was baptized by John, it might be concluded that Jesus originally belonged to the sect of the Baptist, and that the Jesus-sect was an offshoot of the John-sect. To this conclusion other traces in the gospel tradition point, sayings which stress now the agreement between Jesus and the Baptist, now the superiority of Jesus over John; sayings which show now the solidarity of the two sects as against orthodox Judaism, now the rivalry between them. But this matter must not be further discussed here. The important point is that among the many Messianic movements of the time, in close relation to the sect of the Baptizer, that movement also grew up which Jesus initiated by his preaching. His followers saw in Jesus the Messiah, whose return after his execution they expected. (We know of something similar in the case of a Samaritan sect.) Both movements, that of John and that of Jesus, were Messianic. Their connection with each other and also with
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other Messianic movements is recognizable in the fact that disciples of the Baptist came over to Jesus, and that there was even a Zealot among Jesus' followers. Outsiders certainly could not recognize the essentially unpolitical character of the leadership of both John and Jesus, especially as both aroused considerable popular excitement. Both movements were therefore suppressed quickly by the execution of their leaders. John the Baptist was beheaded by Herod Antipas. Mark 6:17-29 gives us an entirely legendary account of his death, while Josephus states that Herod, in view of the crowds which flocked to the Baptist, was afraid that John would incite the people to rebellion, and prevented this by executing him. Jesus was crucified by the Roman procurator Pontius Pilate. What role the Jewish authorities, on whom the Christian tradition put the chief blame, actually played is no longer clearly discernible. It is probable that they, as in other cases, worked hand in hand with the Romans in the interest of political tranquillity. At least there can be no doubt that Jesus like other agitators died on the cross as a Messianic prophet.
Notes 1 Literally, "neither as d.emonic nor as fascinating." 2 Translated by W. Montgomery. London, 1910. 3 Gottingen, Vanderhoeck and Ruprecht, 2d ed., 1931.
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THE PROBLEM OF THE HISTORICAL JESUS 1 Ernst Kiisemann Source: Essays on New Testament Themes, translated by W. J. Montague (Studies in Biblical Theology 41; London: SCM Press, 1964), pp. 15-47. (Originally published as 'Das Problem des historischen Jesus', Zeitschrift fUr Theologie und Kirche, 51, 1954, pp. 125-153.)
1. The present position It is one of the marks of the upheaval in German work on the New Testament in this last generation that the old question about the Jesus of history has receded rather noticeably into the background. And yet, for about two hundred years before that, the advance of our discipline had been set in motion, impelled on its way and determined in its very essence by this same question. Basically, two factors were responsible when, after the First World War, the problem, if not completely solved, seemed at least to have come to a kind of full-stop. The break made with Liberalism by the Dialectical Theology and the parallel renewal of interest in the message of the Reformation combined to reveal the impoverishment and distortion of the Gospel which takes place wherever the question of the Jesus of history is treated as decisive for theology and preaching. At the same time, the work of the Form Critics was designed to show that the message of Jesus as given to us by the Synoptists is, for the most part, not authentic but was minted by the faith of the primitive Christian community in its various stages. Thus, from the fact that the genuine tradition about Jesus has only been transmitted to us embedded in the preaching of primitive Christianity and overlaid by it, the conclusion was drawn that the true bearer and moulder of the Gospel had been the Easter faith. For Bultmann, this judgment involved radical consequences. As early as his book Jesus 2 he was no longer relying exclusively on the material the authenticity of which his History of the Synoptic Tradition 3 had left unimpeached. He was simply concerned to uncover the earliest stratum of primitive Christian proclamation, in which the preaching of Jesus himself and its reflection in the kerygma of the community had in historical fact been interwoven; no doubt his own failure to draw a clear line between them was conscious and
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deliberate. Then, in his Primitive Christianity in its Contemporary Setting4 , he included his portrayal of Jesus within his account of late Judaism and, correspondingly, sketched New Testament Theology as a development of the primitive Christian message, thus making the preaching of Jesus appear the mere precondition of the latter. But this in turn means that Christian faith is here being understood as faith in the exalted Lord for which the Jesus of history as such is no longer considered of decisive importance. There has not yet been any final and definite parting of the ways on this point. That this is so is in no small measure connected with the fact that any criticism would have to reckon with M. Kahler's book Der sogenannte historische Jesus und der geschichtliche, biblische Christus, 5 which still, after sixty years, is hardly dated and, in spite of many attacks and many possible reservations, has never really been refuted. In essence, Bultmann has merely, in his own way, underpinned and rendered more precise the thesis of this book. But the unmistakable embarrassment of apologetics, exposed to criticism both from the side of exegesis and from the side of systematic theology, has had a paralysing effect throughout a whole generation. This state of affairs is obviously approaching its end today. The old conflict is flaring up again and will probably result in the formation of distinct fronts such as we have hardly known since the War, in spite of all the tensions and differences of opinion which have existed among German New Testament scholars. Knowledge proceeds by antitheses and Bultmann's radicalism is provoking a reaction. But over and above this, we are all without exception concerned at present with the question of a proper understanding of history and historicity which is bound to find concrete, necessary and, indeed, archetypal expression for the theologian in the problem of the historical Jesus and of his significance for faith. Developing this in more detail, we find that present-day criticism hinges on three points. First, efforts are being made to show that the Synoptists contain much more authentic tradition than the other side is prepared to allow. Secondly, a case is being made out with particular vigour for the reliability, if not of the whole of the Passion and Easter tradition of the Gospels, at least of the most primitive elements in it. In both cases, the concern is to counteract any drastic separation, or even antithesis, of kerygma and tradition. Those who take this line are, fundamentally, trying to maintain that the kerygma includes the recital of facts as mediated by the tradition. And thus they arrive, thirdly, at the systematic conception of a 'salvation history' running parallel to universal history, embedded in it but yet separable from it, having its own laws and continuity and finding its vehicle in the history of faith and of the Church as the new divine creation. The characteristic feature of our situation, then, is that the classic liberal question about the Jesus of history is increasingly regaining its 134
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theological importance; and that, paradoxically, this is happening at a time when liberalism is discredited over wide areas of Church life, and happening as a counter-blast to an historical and theological criticism which itself sprang from the soil of liberalism. This change of fronts is certainly among the most fascinating and fruitful phenomena in recent theological history. For two hundred years, critical research has been trying to free the Jesus of history from the fetters of the Church's dogma, only to find at the end that such an attempt was predestined to failure, and that we can learn nothing at all about the historical Jesus except through the medium of primitive Christian preaching and of the Church's dogma which is bound up with it; we can no longer detach him neatly and satisfactorily from the Christ of preaching and of faith. But at precisely the same moment, the very people who have hitherto been the opponents of the liberal quest of the historical Jesus are obviously going in fear and trembling lest the doors should for the first time be really opened to radical scepticism and lest, with the abandoning of any direct attack on the historical question, the historical reality of revelation itself should be endangered. This reality they themselves seek to defend by showing that the tradition is historically trustworthy. They are thus following in the footsteps of critics whose original intention in taking up the theme of history was precisely the reverse-to set it in opposition to dogma. It would certainly not be a good thing to accept the stark fact of the surprising change of fronts so readily that we failed at least to inquire into this development, to see whether it might not perhaps have an inner necessity of its own. It might well be that each of the protagonists in this struggle was concerned, on his part, to pursue some interest which in fact ought not to be surrendered, and to this extent the two might be more than mere opponents; they might be partners in a genuine theological conversation. Such an assumption does not prejudge the issue as to the right and wrong in detail of the position we have provisionally adopted; it simply postulates the dialectic of two distinct standpoints. An over-emphasis on the one aspect is then met by a like over-emphasis on the other, and the change of posture by the first partner leads, provided that the conversation is conducted on a reasonable basis, to a corresponding change on the part of the other. Whether such an hypothesis is tenable can only be discovered from an examination of the underlying facts. We shall therefore next attempt to evaluate the significance of observable historical fact within the framework of the history which lies before us.
2. The problem of the historical element in our Gospels Even the history which is recounted in the pages of the New Testament has become to us, who live nearly two thousand years later, mere history. 135
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In other words, we have no longer any immediate access to it, even if we take the most accurate and circumstantial conspectus of it which is possible. Over against those who were contemporary with it, we speak in another language, we think in other categories, we face other situations and decisions. In relation to it, we experience with peculiar force the sense that all history is conditioned by the fact of dying, and, as generation succeeds to generation, this sense emerges as discontinuity. Thus, if we desire to obtain knowledge of past history, we have to fall back on what has been narrated. History is only accessible to us through tradition and only comprehensible to us through interpretation. To be acquainted merely with what actually happened is of little use to us by itself. Both Rationalism and Supernaturalism have certainly striven hard on all sides to establish, in part or in sum, the credibility of the facts reported in the New Testament. But what has been the result of all these efforts, if the truth be told? Did not the Jesus of the Gospels become, under the hand of the Rationalists, a figure just like ourselves, thus showing how the wealth of portraits of Jesus assembled by A. Schweitzer corresponds to the multitude of possible viewpoints and beholders? And has not Supernaturalism succeeded only in depicting the miraculous aura of the 9€lo~ avflp, who can be accepted only by means of the sacrificium intellectus, which enthusiasts in their self-induced delusions and transports so readily offer? In neither case is there any gain for faith. For if, on the one hand, it was established that certain happenings did take place which could be fitted into the same category as the long succession of similar happenings elsewhere, on the other hand prodigies were brought to light which may still arouse curiosity but which can give no certainty of revelation. We have at this stage no need whatever to labour either the point that the whole history of religion abounds in miracles and prodigies, or the point that historical criticism is bound to call in question a great deal of what is alleged to have happened or, finally, the point that the passion for objective facts can be shown to have led time and again to unrestrained and highly subjective flights of fancy. It ought also to be clear to us that the Gospel history has not come any nearer to us when we have resolved it into bare facts. To fail to grasp this is the peculiar self-deception of all those who want to extract a salvation history in an objectively convincing form from universal history and who can yet rest their case at best on an abundance of remarkable occurrences. No one has ever been compelled (in the true sense) to make his decision between faith and unbelief, simply because someone else has succeeded in representing Jesus convincingly as a worker of miracles. And nothing is settled about the significance of the Resurrection tidings for me personally, simply because the evidence for the empty tomb has been shown to be reliable. The handing on of relatively probable facts does not as such provide any basis for genuinely historical communication and continuity. 136
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It is obvious that primitive Christianity was well aware of this. We cannot otherwise explain why its Gospels were not written primarily as reportage and why its own kerygma actually overlays and conceals the figure of the historical Jesus, thus facing us as historians with incalculable difficulties and very often making any reconstruction quite impossible. The community did not inadvertently and senselessly amalgamate its own message with that of its Lord, much less did it merely repeat the latter. If it was indeed concerned not with the reproduction of a notable happening, but with that decision between faith and unbelief which was demanded of it, then it had no alternative but to act as it did. By the very fact of acting thus, it shows that this concern cannot be preserved and defended historically, that is, by the enumeration of bare facts within a causal nexus. By acting as it did the community bore (and still bears) witness to history as being living and contemporary. It interprets out of its own experience what for it has already become mere history and employs for this purpose the medium of its preaching. It is precisely by this method that the community rescues the facts of the past from being regarded only as prodigies and wonders. And in so doing it demonstrates that in its eyes Jesus is no mere miracle-worker, but the Kyrios, from whom it knows itself to receive both grace and obligation. To state the paradox as sharply as possible: the community takes so much trouble to maintain historical continuity with him who once trod this earth that it allows the historical events of this earthly life to pass for the most part into oblivion and replaces them by its own message. It is not only at this point in its history that the community does this. The same process is always being repeated in the course of Church history. Time and again, continuity with the past is preserved by shattering the received terminology, the received imagery, the received theology-in short, by shattering the tradition. We can early see this happening in the differing forms of the Palestinian and Hellenistic kerygmas. The variation in the New Testament message, which finds its strongest and most problematic form of expression in the transition from the preaching of Jesus to the preaching about Jesus, is anything but accidental and arbitrary. It plunges us into great difficulties. For not only does it compel us to raise the question of the significance of individuality for Christian preaching, but at the same time it is also the outward sign of radical historical changes and of new developments. There is an everpresent temptation, into which many have fallen, to infer from this variation the complete discontinuity of Christian history. The truth is that it is this variation which makes continuity possible at all. For mere history becomes significant history not through tradition as such but through interpretation, not through the simple establishment of facts but through the understanding of the events of the past which have become objectified and frozen into facts. The variation in the New Testament kerygma demonstrates that primitive Christendom held fast the profession of its
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faith throughout all changes of time and place, although these changes forced upon it the modification of received tradition. Mere history, the existence of which can only be prolonged with difficulty by its presence to human consciousness has, as such, no genuine historical significance, even if it is full of curiosities and wonders. At any rate, it has no more historical significance than a lunar landscape which itself is not without curiosities and wonders. Mere history only takes on genuine historical significance in so far as it can address both a question and an answer to our contemporary situation; in other words, by finding interpreters who hear and utter this question and answer. For this purpose primitive Christianity allows mere history no vehicle of expression other than the kerygma. This truth must be seen to be of fundamental significance for the whole New Testament message. But it must, further, not be overlooked that the relationship of the individual writings to the life history of Jesus varies very considerably. Above all, we cannot help being struck by the fact that the Gospels alone present the tidings of the Christ within the framework of the story of the earthly life of Jesus. It is true that the other writings indicate from time to time that they are not wholly without information about this life. But basically it is only the event of Cross and Resurrection which has any real importance for them. For this reason the historical element in the story of Jesus has, in these other writings, shrunk almost to vanishing point. We might even say that it is present only as a shadow. For Cross and Resurrection are no longer regarded from the standpoint of the historian, but are expounded in their saving significance. Seen from this angle it will appear strange that we encounter in the New Testament any writings like the Gospels, which concern themselves with the earthly life of Jesus. Yet even the Gospels themselves are far from displaying agreement in the way in which they relate themselves to the historical life of Jesus. It can hardly be doubted that the Synoptists intended in all good faith to give their readers authentic tradition about Jesus. But it is impossible to ascribe the same intention to the fourth Evangelist, at least in the same sense. The real violence done by John to the narrative material, his striking neglect of the Synoptic tradition, the quite different arrangement of the whole and, above all, the peculiar way in which he has constructed the discourses; all these compel us to suppose that such a reflective writer could not have been simply deceiving himself about the discrepancy between his mode of presentation and that of all other existing Church tradition, but that he willed and intended it. For this reason, it is now widely acknowledged that for him the merely historical only has interest and value to the extent to which it mirrors symbolically the recurring experiences of Christian faith. It provides him with the opportunity and the framework of writing for his own day the history of the Christus praesens. Mark, on the other hand, in Dibelius' excellent phrase, wrote the book of the secret epiphanies of 138
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Jesus. The words and deeds of the Christ, as W. Wrede has already established, appear here as an earnest of the glory of the Risen Lord, so that the life history of Jesus becomes almost the subject of a mystery play; the Son of God, who has come down to earth, lifts his incognito from time to time, until at Easter he allows it to drop away altogether. This earthly life is the battle which precedes the victory and can only be understood in the light of this victory. But if this is the case, then the historical life of Jesus is no longer the focus of Mark's attention. It merely provides the stage on which the God-man enters the lists against his enemies. The history of Jesus has become mythicized. Thus, when we inquire where in our Gospels a stronger emphasis is laid on the historical element, we are really left only with Matthew and Luke. What the situation in their case is, we shall have to discuss presently. But let us halt at this point to plot our series of findings. We have been endeavouring to discover an answer to the problem of the position of the historical element in our Gospels. We owe the recognition of the existence of the problem to that radical criticism which, in the logic of its long and painful journey towards the ultimate datum of the Gospel tradition, arrived not, as it had hoped, at the historical Jesus but at the primitive Christian kerygma. In order to solve this problem, this criticism was finally compelled to give up the attempt to construct a life of Jesus out of the Synoptic Gospels. It did not take this step in order to throw itself anew into the arms of the Christological metaphysic of orthodoxy; but, by recognizing the necessity of re-formulating its original question, remained true to the impulse which gave it birth, and the historical method thus engendered. It does not deny the existence of the historical Jesus. But it recognizes that we can only gain access to this Jesus through the medium of the primitive Christian gospel and the primary effect of this gospel is not to open up the way for us but to bar it. The historical Jesus meets us in the New Testament, our only real and original documentation of him, not as he was in himself, not as an isolated individual, but as the Lord of the community which believes in him. Only in so far as, from the very outset, he was potentially and actually this Lord, does the story of his earthly life play any part in our Gospels. Anything else there was to him is completely overshadowed, so that we are no longer in a position to delineate with even approximate accuracy and completeness his portrait, his development, the actual course of his life: we are for the most part groping in absolute darkness so far as these are concerned. The significance of this Jesus for faith was so profound, that even in the very earliest days it almost entirely swallowed up his earthly history. The living experience of him which later generations enjoyed made the facts of his earthly life simply irrelevant, except in so far as they might serve to reflect the permanent experience. In such circumstances we must question whether the formula 'the historical Jesus' can be called at all appropriate or 139
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legitimate, because it is almost bound to awaken and nourish the illusion of a possible and satisfying reproduction of his 'life story'. The road of Liberalism had to be abandoned, because the hope of uncovering this 'life story' and of being able to correct the Church's dogma in the light of it proved a vain one. Anyone who tries to upset this verdict is seeking to rob us of the fruit and the meaning of all our research of the last two centuries and to conjure up once again the painful story of historical criticism, which would then have to be repeated in an even more drastic form. He is also failing to understand that the discovery of historical facts and their causal nexus is not necessarily of help to us in our own historical situation but that these must be interpreted before their relevance and their challenge can be made plain. Mere history is petrified history, whose historical significance cannot be brought to light simply by verifying the facts and handing them on. On the contrary, the passing on of the bruta facta can, as such, directly obstruct a proper understanding of it. Only that man is in genuine continuity with past history who allows it to place him in a new condition of responsibility; this is not yet true of the man who is concerned with its causality and teleology or who simply struggles on under the burden of tradition. In theological terms, this means that only in the decision between faith and unbelief can petrified history even of the life of Jesus become once again living history. This is why we only make contact with this life history of Jesus through the kerygma of the community. The community neither could nor would separate this life history from its own history. Therefore it neither could nor would abstract from its Easter faith and distinguish between the earthly and the exalted Lord. By maintaining the identity of the two, it demonstrated that any questioning directed only towards the historical Jesus seemed to it to be pure abstraction.
3. The problem of historification (Historisierung) in our Gospels What has hitherto been said has a converse, which must on no account be left out of our reckoning. For the decision taken by primitive Christianity obviously does not permit us to choke off the question about the Jesus of history, in spite of its dubious status when raised in isolation and in spite of the difficulty of finding an answer to it. No one may arbitrarily and with impunity exempt himself from tackling the problems which have come down to him from his fathers. The exponents of Liberal theology are, over a wide area, no longer acknowledged as fathers today; but this does not in any way alter the fact that they nevertheless do stand in that relationship to us. Secular historical science will also continue to confront us with this kind of question in some form or other; and every New Testament scholar has in fact dealt with it in his own particular way. But, most important of all, the New Testament itself justifies us to this extent in asking the 140
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question, inasmuch as it is to the earthly Jesus that the Gospels ascribe their kerygma, wherever it actually originated, and thus they invest him unmistakably with pre-eminent authority. However strongly their conceptions of the history of Jesus may differ, however much the real life history of Jesus may be buried under their own proclamation, it is interest in this history which we have to thank, both for their genesis and for their form, which stands out in such peculiar relief against both the rest of the New Testament and the other literature of the time. In no case may we allow the exaggeration of insights which may be correct in themselves to exempt us from the dialectic obtaining here or to drive us to one-sided solutions. That would equally happen if we were to absolutize the irrefragable proposition that the Christian message is founded on the Easter faith. Such a proposition has its proper place and validity primarily in antithesis to the Liberal Leben-Jesu-Forschung. But it ought not to conceal a defeatist attitude which has already given up any attempt to penetrate the human individuality of Jesus, nor to appear to contest what the Evangelists would undoubtedly have maintained-namely, that the life history of Jesus has its relevance for faith. For if primitive Christianity identifies the humiliated with the exalted Lord, in so doing it is confessing that, in its presentation of his story, it is incapable of abstracting from its faith. At the same time, however, it is also making it clear that it is not minded to allow myth to take the place of history nor a heavenly being to take the place of the Man of Nazareth. In fact, the fight is already on against the docetism of the 'enthusiasts' and the kenosis doctrine of the historicizers. Primitive Christianity is obviously of the opinion that the earthly Jesus cannot be understood otherwise than from the far side of Easter, that is, in his majesty as Lord of the community and that, conversely, the event of Easter cannot be adequately comprehended if it is looked at apart from the earthly Jesus. The Gospel is always involved in a war on two fronts. Certainly we must now determine exactly what the reasons were which lay behind this attitude. They will be most easily discovered by taking for our new point of departure some part of the tradition which must necessarily be regarded as unauthentic. For there a procedure has been adopted which we may call the 'historification' of the unhistorical. The dominating interest, whatever it may be, will be found to determine the form in which the historical element is presented. Matthew's infancy narrative seems to me particularly instructive. Two motifs stand out clearly here. On the one side, constant allusion is made to the fulfilment of the Scriptures in what is being narrated; on the other, a parallel with the Moses haggadah is being drawn, the sense of which is: as with the first Deliverer, so with the second. In both cases the birth of the child produces unrest on the part of the rulers, followed by consultation with wise men and the murder of children; in both cases there follows a wonderful deliverance in which Egypt becomes the land of refuge. From the study of the 141
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formation of tradition it can be established that the Moses legends have provided the tradition about Jesus with its characteristic features, while the comparative study of religion enables us to add that such a transfer of motifs is a frequent phenomenon and that we have before us a typical example of legendary overpainting and of mythologizing. However correct this analysis may be, we do not come up against the specifically theological problem until we ask ourselves what interest is being served by the combination of the already existing and originally mythical material with the story of Jesus. Here we can gain some help from the parallel of the proofs from prophecy in the very passages we have cited. Just as the Scriptures find their fulfilment in the events which are being portrayed, so the mythical scheme, taken up by Matthew, of the threat to the child and his miraculous deliverance marks him out as the future Saviour of the people of God-in concrete terms, the second and last Moses. Conversely, because Jesus is the future Saviour, the traditional and given scheme can be transferred to him and the events surrounding his birth and infancy must correspond to the stories already in existence concerning Moses. In this way an 'historification' of mythical material is arrived at. Its progress is rapid, in so far as Matthew has no longer any doubt that he is recapitulating genuine history. The process we have outlined takes on significance for us in that here we acknowledge unequivocally that the tradition concerning Jesus presupposes primitive Christian eschatology and has been shaped by it. It is not only here that this eschatology has conditioned the life story of Jesus as we have it in our Gospels. Matthew himself demonstrates this in a particularly impressive way, as some further examples may illustrate. The recital of the miracles takes place in his Gospel under the device of the compassion of God, which is revealing itself in the Last Days and at the same time visiting Israel in mercy. Matt. 9-10 offer us in more or less systematic fashion examples of what, in the answer to the Baptist's question in 11.5, are described as signs of the age of salvation. Our Evangelist is thus interested in the miracles of Jesus from the standpoint of his own particular eschatology. It emerges from the Sermon on the Mount that Matthew sees in Jesus the bringer of the Messianic Torah. We are to understand from this that Jesus is being consistently portrayed here as a rabbi and as founder of an eschatologically-orienated community life. This is by no means as self-evident a proposition as it may appear to us. Apart from the fact that an extraordinarily large number of logia cannot be regarded as authentic and that any portrait of Jesus based on them is thus rendered problematical, it is also a question how this picture of the rabbi can be reconciled with the knowledge of Jesus' divine Sonship. The answer is, that the bringer of the Messianic Torah is not just any rabbi, nor is his righteousness that of the scribes and Pharisees. Once again the Evangelist's eschatology has determined the shape he has given to the life story of Jesus. At this point we may mention the different twist which Matthew 142
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gives to the theory of 'hardening' put forward in Mark 4.12. Like Mark, he emphasizes that the parables are so slanted as to veil the truth. Like Mark, he sees in this veiling a judgment of God on those who shut their ears to the voice of the divine emissary. But Matthew now applies this quite concretely to the Jews. For while the disciples are portrayed throughout as those who understand (and thus not as in Mark), the Jesus of Matthew, from eh. 13 until his last clash with his adversaries in Jerusalem, is consistently executing judgment on Jewry by the very fact of speaking to them in veiled language, i.e. in parables. The eschatological trend of the proof from prophecy in the Passion story is obvious; that of the Easter narratives is still more obvious. We may sum up thus: the whole life history of Jesus as Matthew presents it is not only seen from the standpoint of eschatology, but basically shaped by it. It is precisely here that the story of Jesus has been interwoven with traditional material which can only be described as being in itself unhistorical, legendary and mythical. But once we are clear about this, we can easily see that the position is the same in the Second and Fourth Gospels. Even Mark is not concerned in the last resort to depict Jesus as a miracle-worker, however much some of his details may give this impression. Rather, he sees in the earthly life of Jesus the glory of the risen Son of God bursting victoriously into the demon-controlled world and revealing equally to the earth and to the principalities and powers their eternal Lord. Because in Mark-and this is characteristic of the Gentile Christian outlook-the overcoming of the demonic forces forms the core of the eschatological event, the history of Jesus as outlined by him looks quite different from that given us by Matthew: and this accounts also for the pronounced shrinkage in the discourse material. In exactly the same way, there is a correspondence between the peculiarly Johannine eschatology, with its thoroughgoing elimination of the apocalyptic element, and the Johannine portrayal of the history of Jesus as the history of the praesentia of the Logos on earth; on this subject, I would at this point simply refer you to Bultmann's commentary on John. The case of the Lucan corpus is more complicated. To begin with, we have the unusually significant and equally problematical situation that the story of Jesus is given a kind of extension in that of the Apostles. Such an undertaking could only be possible and meaningful for a writer at a time in which apocalyptic eschatology no longer controlled the whole of life, as it had done in primitive Christianity. You do not write the history of the Church, if you are expecting the end of the world to come any day. Acts thus shows clearly that, while the apocalyptic hope may still belong to the stock-in-trade of Christian doctrine, yet for Luke himself it no longer possesses any pivotal interest. If his Gospel creates at many points a quite different impression, this is to be placed to the account of the tradition which Luke has embraced and preserved. Primitive Christian eschatology is 143
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replaced by salvation history, which is characterized by an historically verifiable continuity and by a process of ever-extending development, as H. Conzelmann has demonstrated to particularly good effect in his The Theology of St Luke.6 The preparation for this development is God's consistent action throughout the Old Testament and its culmination in the history of Jesus; the history of the Church is its unfolding and the Last Day is its final conclusion. The same conception is reflected in the way in which the various steps of Jesus' journey, and of the journey of the Church, are distinctly marked and directly control the divisions of the whole Lucan corpus. The outline of a chronological and geographical sequence determines this whole and gives it clarity of arrangement. But, in this careful ordering of what is immediately visible, we come to see the inward order created by the divine plan of salvation. It is not an accident that the Areopagus discourse speaks of God as the great Orderer of the cosmos and of the ages. Because Luke saw things in this light, he could and did become the first Christian historian to try to sketch out the great stages of the plan of salvation and to work consistently on that basis. His Gospel is indeed the first 'life of Jesus'. In it, consideration is given to the points of view of causality and teleology; and psychological insight, the composition of the historian and the particular slant of the writer who aims at edification are all equally discernible. It is true that the price Luke pays for all this is by no means small. His Jesus is the founder of the Christian religion; the Cross is a misunderstanding on the part of the Jews, who have not properly understood Old Testament prophecy, and the Resurrection is the necessary correction of this human error by the Great Disposer. The teaching of Jesus brings us a loftier ethic, the miracles are heavenly power bursting into the world, wonders which provide evidence of divine majesty. The story of Jesus becomes something absolutely in the past, namely, initium Christianismi-mere history indeed. As such, therefore, it can properly be tied to the history of the Apostles. To its own time-the era of the beginnings of early Catholicism-it appears as the sacred past, the epoch of great miracles, of right faith and of first love, a model of all that Church life should be and might be. This is the result of replacing primitive Christian eschatology by salvation history. Therefore even Luke confirms for us in his own way-that is, e contrario-that the mode in which the life history of Jesus is presented depends on the eschatology prevailing at the time. To put this in the form of an epigram (but an epigram which expresses the essential truth): if, in the other Gospels, the problem of history is a special form of the problem of eschatology, in Luke eschatology has become a special form of the problem of history.
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4. The significance of the historical element in our Gospels We have to ask at this point how this finding helps us to answer our particular questions. First, we have now come to see that our Gospels, with the necessary exception of Luke, are not in the least interested in the composition of a comprehensive biography of Jesus nor in investigating what has been reported about him to see how far it is reliable and how far it corresponds to historical reality. The story of his life is, for the Gospels, only a point where the eschatological events intersect and is only worthy of consideration as such; it receives its own peculiar life from these events and not from itself in isolation. This is supremely true of Jesus himself, in so far as he is the eschatological event. His historical existence is naturally presupposed and it enters the realm of the phenomenal to this extent, that his life on earth takes a human course. But as soon as he is portrayed as speaking and acting, this human course becomes an unbroken series of divine revelations and mighty acts, which has no common basis of comparison with any other human life and thus can no longer be comprehended within the category of the historical. All this finds its clearest expression in the fact that, while this human life runs, like any other, from birth to death, birth and death do not, however, appear as its beginning and its end; they do not appear as happenings within the ordinary course of nature but as events of salvation history. Because Luke has nevertheless attempted to contain this life within the category of historicity, he has ended up by making Jesus into a miracle-worker and the bringer of a new morality, the Cross into a misunderstanding on the part of the Jews and the Resurrection into the marvellous reanimation of a dead man. But what meaning then has it for the other Evangelists, this life history which stands so deep within the shadow of the eschatological event, now almost swallowed up by it, now brought out again in strong relief; this life history which, in the first instance, prompted the very writing of the Gospels? It seems to me that it is not by accident that the New Testament's own answer is given in an eschatological key phrase, the €!1)' a1ta~ of which the two meanings-'once' and 'once for all'-merge in such a remarkable fashion. But this needs further explanation. A primary concern of the Gospels is unmistakably the particularity with which the eschatological event is bound to this man from Nazareth, to the arena of Palestine and to a concrete time with its special circumstances. For this eschatological event is not a new idea, nor is it the culminating point of a process of development, the significance of which can be explained by its causal connections and effects. Revelation ceases to be God's revelation once it has been brought within a causal nexus. It is what it is only when it is seen as an unconditioned happening. And it does not convey to me an idea or even a programme; it is an act which lays hold of me. In revelation, 145
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I do not primarily experience some thing or other, but my ultimate Lord, his word to me and his claim upon me. Because this is so, we can even reject revelation, while we may overlook facts but cannot meaningfully reject them. In the same way there is, in respect of revelation, a 'too late' of guilty procrastination which is not really the case in respect of an idea. Briefly, that particularity of revelation which is manifested in its unbreakable link with a concrete life history reflects the freedom of the God who acts and is the ground of our having a possibility of decision. In other words, revelation creates kairos which is a situation of grace or guilt, as the case may be. Because primitive Christianity experienced the earthly history of Jesus in this way as kairos, it wrote Gospels and did not after Easter simply let the life story of Jesus go by the board. Easter did not render this experience superfluous; on the contrary, it confirmed it. So far as it is desirable or possible to speak of a variation in faith before and after Easter, we can only say that out of the 'once' came the 'once for all' and out of the isolated encounter with Jesus, limited as it had been by death, came the presence of the exalted Lord, as described in the Fourth Gospel. But this brings us to a second motive for keeping faith firmly tied to the life history of Jesus. It is more than strange that the Gospel of John treats of the abiding presence of the exalted Lord precisely within the framework of a history of the earthly Jesus. Admittedly, the Synoptists also describe the life of Jesus from the standpoint of the post-Easter community and its faith. They portray their Lord from the beginning as the Son of God, whereas this insight was only given to the Church after Easter. Thus, even in the Synoptists, the story as presented by them is not 'once for all' in the sense that it excludes the experiences of those who come after. On the contrary, these people are expressly told that they can have the same experiences of Jesus. But this is not done with the same boldness which marks the procedure of the Fourth Evangelist. Indeed the Johannine symbolism, so often worked over, robs-there is no other word for it-what happened once upon a time of all intrinsic significance and only allows it any importance as a reflection of present experience. Even the events of Good Friday, Easter and Ascension Day are no longer clearly distinguished. We must admit that nowhere in the New Testament is the life story of Jesus so emptied of all real content as it already is here, where it seems to be almost a projection of the present back into the past. It is all the more astonishing that the Fourth Gospel can yet describe the story of the exalted Lord as one and the same with that of the earthly Lord. The explanation of this may well be summed up in the one key word 'condescension'. It is precisely the Fourth Gospel, originating in the age of the antidocetic conflicts, which neither can nor will renounce the truth that revelation takes place on earth and in the flesh. Here it parts from Enthusiasm to which otherwise it approaches so suspiciously close. Whatever violence it may have done to biographical history, it found it neither
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possible nor desirable to abandon history altogether, because with history stands or falls not only the divine condescension of revelation but also earthly corporeality as the sphere of revelation. Revelation invades human history and takes its course within it. Thus it is possible for revelation to be overlooked, misunderstood, spurned, to be a cause of offence and tumult. The ambiguity of this particular history is preserved by the fact that it can and does become mere history, unless the Christus praesens is constantly re-entering the arena. But this ambiguity is the obverse of the divine condescension. The Evangelist expresses this last truth by writing the story of the exalted Lord and that of the humiliated Lord as one and the same story. No concessions to John's kind of symbolism are as yet to be found in the Synoptists. They certainly bring out the relation of the Gospel story to the present experience of their readers, but see to it that what they narrate displays equally unmistakably the character of 'the past'. The contrast with the Fourth Gospel emerges most strongly with regard to the portrayal of the Passion and Resurrection. We must at least raise the question as to whether this is to be explained solely on the grounds of weaker powers of theological reflection. Rather, as it seems to me, a proper concern of faith is manifesting itself here also. For the more certainly history is determined by the possibilities and decisions of a given time, the less it can be resolved into a logical sequence of situations. Our possibilities and decisions are in historical reality always predestinated, and this through the events of the past, which bar certain possibilities and decisions to us, while opening up others. We are always finding ourselves in a kairos which overlaps the individual moment of decision. If the Synoptists differ from John in allowing considerable intrinsic importance to the past and are specially concerned to incapsulate the death and resurrection of Jesus within this past, this is surely because they want to draw attention to the kairos which began with Jesus, is determined by him and predestinates every subsequent situation and decision. They want, if I may so express it, to show that the extra nos of salvation is 'given' to faith. To cleave firmly to history is one way of giving expression to the extra nos of salvation. Yet Luke proves how dangerous this method is, by making the kairos into a mere epoch, predestination into the initial impulse of a development and the givenness of salvation to our faith into the accessibility of verifiable facts to our knowledge; and by making grace (which is our destiny, compelling every one of us to make the decision between faith and unbelief) into the validation of the Church as the organization of the religio christiana. If these observations are in any way accurate, we conclude from them once again that it was in fact eschatological interests which led irresistibly to the setting out of the earthly history of Jesus in the Gospels. We conclude further that primitive Christianity was in any event not primarily interested in the bruta facta of the past as such, but was engaged in 147
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eliciting from the past the essence both of its faith and of its own history. And thirdly, it emerges that, as a result of this exercise, those concerned did not arrive at any monochrome outlook, but only at various partly interlocking, partly contradictory answers. They were agreed only in one judgment: namely, that the life history of Jesus was constitutive for faith, because the earthly and the exalted Lord are identical. The Easter faith was the foundation of the Christian kerygma but was not the first or only source of its content. Rather, it was the Easter faith which took cognizance of the fact that God acted before we became believers, and which testified to this fact by incapsulating the earthly history of Jesus in its proclamation. How far are we obliged, or even able, to appropriate to ourselves the decision which was then taken? The immediate answer to this question is that we also cannot do away with the identity between the exalted and the earthly Lord without falling into docetism and depriving ourselves of the possibility of drawing a line between the Easter faith of the community and myth. Conversely, neither our sources nor the insights we have gained from what has gone before permit us to substitute the historical Jesus for the exalted Lord. Thus we are faced afresh with the problem which our Gospels grasped and solved in their own fashion. And the fact that they did not arrive at a unanimous viewpoint makes this a radical problem for us and shows that the clash over the historical Jesus has as its object a genuine theological problem.
5. The embarrassment of historical criticism in the face of our problem It will be useful to reflect for a brief moment on the extent to which this problem has become a radical one for us. For our Gospels believed, in all good faith, that they possessed a tradition about the earthly Lord, which was reliable over wide stretches of its content. Historical criticism has shattered this good faith as far as we ourselves are concerned. We can no longer assume the general reliability of the Synoptic tradition about Jesus. Worse still, we cannot improve the situation merely by making corrections in the tradition in the light of historical criticism. With the work of the Form-Critics as a basis, our questioning has sharpened and widened until the obligation now laid upon us is to investigate and make credible not the possible unauthenticity of the individual unit of material but, on the contrary, its genuineness. The issue today is not whether criticism is right, but where it is to stop. If we usually prefer to discuss the former question, then this means that we are really closing our eyes to the fact that the Gospels offer us primarily the primitive Christian kerygma, and individual words and deeds of Jesus only as they are embedded in it; and also to the fact that this kind of criticism can only help us to arrive at corrections and modifications in the kerygma but never at a word or action of the earthly 148
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Jesus himself. The inevitable consequence is a bewildering confusion of allegedly trustworthy portraits of Jesus: now he appears as a rabbi, now as a teacher of wisdom, now as a prophet; or again, as the man who thought of himself as the Son of Man or the Suffering Servant, who stood for an apocalyptic or a realized eschatology: or finally, as some sort of a mixture of all these. As far as the narratives of the miracles, of the Passion and of the Resurrection are concerned, every conceivable possibility is open to us, from complete scepticism through a cautious, milk-and-water kind of criticism to the greatest possible confidence. In practice, all these are defensible, once you are prepared to give credence to the tradition, because they are all actually contained in the tradition. Only, it is very difficult to arrive by this method at anything better than a judgment which may satisfy you personally but will still leave chaos all around. Only radical criticism can therefore do justice to the situation with which we are faced whether we like it or not, to the questions of principle which it raises and to the tasks which it sets us. By 'radical' in this context I naturally do not mean an uncontrolled passion for any and every extreme position, but a single-minded openness to the problems posed by the facts. But even this kind of criticism finds itself in very great methodological difficulties because, apart from the parables, we possess absolutely no kind of formal criteria by which we can identify the authentic Jesus material. We do have such criteria for Palestinian and Hellenistic tradition, for the saying from Wisdom literature, for the prophetic utterance, for rabbinic doctrine, for prescriptions concerning the life of a community, for apocalyptic predictions and for anything else we like to name. Indeed, it is Form Criticism which has rendered us the best service here. But even Form Criticism leaves us in the lurch when we come to ask what are the formal characteristics of the authentic Jesus material. It cannot be otherwise, for Form Criticism is concerned with the Sitz-im-Leben of narrative forms and not with what we may call historical individuality. The only help it can give us here is that it can eliminate as unauthentic anything which must be ruled out of court because of its Sitz-im-Leben. The case is not markedly different if we take as criteria the primitive Christian chronology or the actual content of what is set forth. True, we can reach some more or less satisfying position concerning the supplanting of the post-Easter enthusiasm by a Christian rabbinate and so on through the subsequent development up to and including early Catholicism, however obscure some of the details may remain. But it is just the earliest phase of all, upon the comparison of which with the Jesus tradition everything might well depend, which remains absolutely opaque to us, particularly as regards its soteriology and ecclesiology. From this there springs a never-ending conflict over such questions as whether or not Jesus founded a Church and instituted sacraments. The situation is made even more difficult by the fact that we cannot draw an exact line between Palestinian and 149
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Hellenistic Jewish Christianity, nor, conversely, can we simply identify the two. Correspondingly, we may adopt a highly sceptical attitude to Lohmeyer's attempted differentiation of Jerusalem and Galilee without, however, regarding the question it raises as being already settled. For the polity of the community will in fact have had a different look in the capital and in the province. This state of affairs brings us up against a multitude of enigmas. How long had the rivalry between Hellenists and Palestinians (Acts 6) been going on? What part did Peter really play? How did he come to be supplanted by James? What is the significance of these things for the course of primitive Christian missionary history? As long as these problems are not even half solved, there is little prospect of arriving at a greater understanding of the principle on which the earliest sections of the Synoptic material were divided up and arranged; as might be illustrated from an analysis of Matt. 23, from the tradition about Peter, from the saying about the ransom, from the prayer at the end of Matt. 11, to say nothing of the Passion and Easter narrative. But I cannot go into too much detail, as we should then never finish. We can only sketch in a few bold strokes the embarrassment of critical research. It lies in this: while the historical credibility of the Synoptic tradition has become doubtful all along the line, yet at the same time we are still short of one essential requisite for the identification of the authentic Jesus material, namely, a conspectus of the very earliest stage of primitive Christian history; and also there is an almost complete lack of satisfactory and water-tight criteria for this material. In only one case do we have more or less safe ground under our feet; when there are no grounds either for deriving a tradition from Judaism or for ascribing it to primitive Christianity, and especially when Jewish Christianity has mitigated or modified the received tradition, as having found it too bold for its taste. We shall conclude by examining some material of this kind, although only in summary fashion. But in so doing we must realize beforehand that we shall not, from this angle of vision, gain any clear view of the connecting link between Jesus, his Palestinian environment and his later community. The frontiers here lie wide open to the most diverse hypotheses. However, it is even more important for us to gain some insight into what separated him from friends and foes alike.
6. The distinctive element in the mission of Jesus In what follows I must renounce any attempt at completeness or at a detailed statement of my reasons for disagreeing with opinions that differ from my own. I shall content myself with setting out in the dogmatic form of a thesis what seems to me essential. All exegesis is agreed that the authenticity of the first, second and fourth antitheses in the Sermon on the Mount cannot be doubted. In fact, these words are among the most 150
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astonishing to be found anywhere in the Gospels. In their form, they elaborate the wording of the Torah as a rabbi interpreting the sense of the Scripture might have done. The determining factor however, is that the words f::yro oe A.£:yro embody a claim to an authority which rivals and challenges that of Moses. But anyone who claims an authority rivalling and challenging Moses has ipso facto set himself above Moses; he has ceased to be a rabbi, for a rabbi's authority only comes to him as derived from Moses. Rabbis may oppose each other in debate by the use of the formula 'But I say'; but this is only a formal parallel, because, in the case we are discussing, it is not another rabbi but the Scriptures and Moses himself who constitute the other party. To this there are no Jewish parallels, nor indeed can there be. For the Jew who does what is done here has cut himself off from the community of Judaism-or else he brings the Messianic Torah and is therefore the Messiah. Even the prophet does not stand alongside Moses but under him. The unheard-of implication of the saying testifies to its genuineness. It proves, secondly, that while Jesus may have made his appearance in the first place in the character of a rabbi or a prophet, nevertheless his claim far surpasses that of any rabbi or prophet; and thirdly, that he cannot be integrated into the background of the Jewish piety of his time. Certainly he was a Jew and made the assumptions of Jewish piety, but at the same time he shatters this framework with his claim. The only category which does justice to his claim (quite independently of whether he used it himself and required it of others) is that in which his disciples themselves placed him-namely, that of the Messiah. This passage is not an isolated one so far as the Synoptists are concerned. The same dialectical relationship to the law, seeking the will of God and, in pursuit of it, shattering the letter of the law, is reflected in the attitude to the Sabbath commandment and the prescriptions for ceremonial purity. We can hardly say here that Jesus has left the law as such untouched and merely made its demands more radical. This is certainly Matthew's understanding of what happened. But the history of the Gospel is always at the same time a history of misunderstandings, as the Synoptists themselves frequently show us. And the majesty of Jesus is most plainly revealed when we see his first disciples already feeling that they must soften or correct his words, because otherwise they could not endure him. Most interesting in this connection is the pericope concerning the rubbing of the ears of corn in Mark 2.23 ff. Only Mark has the sentence: 'The sabbath was made for man, not man for the sabbath'. All the Synoptists then go on to say that the Son of Man is Lord also of the sabbath. It is obvious that these two sayings clash, and equally obvious that it is only the first which really fits into the pattern of the exchanges, which have so far not been christologically orientated. Perhaps we ought to take note here that it is very questionable whether Jesus in his lifetime claimed for himself the title of 'Son of Man'. On this point Bultmann has made the 151
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admittedly very speculative suggestion that the predicate 'Son of Man' should be regarded as a mistaken translation from the Aramaic. He maintains that the original had 'child of man', that is, 'man', without qualification. He, too, considers that it is the former of the two sentences that has the correct bearing. We can clinch the argument by pointing out that the second saying-that about the freedom of the Son of Man-represents a distinct limitation and weakening of the first. But by now we have come very close to the hypothesis that the community embarked on this process of watering-down the saying because, while it might credit its Lord with the freedom he had assumed, it was not prepared to allow it to all men. Its members felt themselves more tightly bound by the law than he had been and, as the subsequent pericope about the healing on the sabbath shows, they exercised their freedom only in exceptional cases and not as a matter of principle; and certainly not in that spirit of unforced responsibility to God, which was Jesus' legacy to them. The greatness of his gift caused the community to take fright. The same process may also be observed in the conflict over the law of purification. Again, Matthew obviously thought that Jesus was only attacking the rabbinate and Pharisaism with their heightening of the demands of the Torah. But the man who denies that impurity from external sources can penetrate into man's essential being is striking at the presuppositions and the plain verbal sense of the Torah and at the authority of Moses himself. Over and above that, he is striking at the presuppositions of the whole classical conception of cultus with its sacrificial and expiatory system. To put this in another way, he is removing the distinction (which is fundamental to the whole of ancient thought) between the temenos, the realm of the sacred, and the secular, and it is for this reason that he is able to consort with sinners. For Jesus, it is the heart of man which lets impurity loose upon the world. That the heart of man should become pure and free, this is the salvation of the world and the beginning of that sacrifice which is well-pleasing to God, the beginning of true worship, as the Pauline paraenesis in particular will expound. Finally, by this saying, Jesus destroys the basis of classical demonology which rests on the conception that man is threatened by the powers of the universe and thus at bottom fails to recognize the threat which is offered to the universe by man himself. It is true that throughout the Gospels there are reports of the healing of demoniacs by Jesus; and in the saying in Mark 3.27 (= Matt. 12.28), the authenticity of which can hardly be questioned, he claims for himself this kind of authority. It all depends in what sense he did this; whether as a magician, believing that the world is literally bedevilled (thus subscribing to a metaphysical dualism), or as one who knew the evil of the human heart and its demonic power and took possession of this heart for God. It is certain that Jesus did not put forward any metaphysical dualism-if he had done, how could he ever have been portrayed as a teacher of wisdom?-and was conscious of 152
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being sent, not to fight the devil but to minister to man. But the foregoing must suffice for the formulation of our first finding: Jesus felt himself in a position to override, with an unparalleled and sovereign freedom, the words of the Torah and the authority of Moses. This sovereign freedom not merely shakes the very foundations of Judaism and causes his death, but, further, it cuts the ground from under the feet of the ancient worldview with its antithesis of sacred and profane and its demonology. In establishing this, it is impossible not to contract lively doubts about the widely current picture of the pious Jew, perhaps from the circle of the Anavim, studying the Scriptures day and night and finding described in them the pattern of his way as the Servant of God or the suffering Messiah. We have no reason to doubt that Jesus had the same familiarity with the Old Testament which we should assume in every pious Jews. But it is quite another question whether we should make this the decisive factor in his actions. There is much to be said on the other side. If this was so, then what was the cause of the highly credible break with his family and what drove him to be baptized by John (for this element in the tradition is undoubtedly reliable)? In any event, his relationship to the Torah and to Moses hardly seems to support this view. We have already established that Matthew and the tradition he inherited had their own reasons for depicting Jesus as a rabbi. But apart from the fact that it was not all that easy to become a rabbi and that, in any case, the rabbinate would have nothing to do with the Baptist's movement, there was never a rabbi who did not derive his authority from that of Moses. Also, most of the quotations from Scripture in the Gospels are undoubtedly outcrops of the theology of the community. Finally, it is striking that the Jesus of the Synoptists is noticeably different in at least two respects both from the image of the rabbi and from that of the model Jewish devotee. There is, first, the remarkable importance which the writers attach to representing him as a teacher of wisdom. It must be admitted from the outset that the authenticity of the material we have in mind here is particularly difficult to maintain, because in so much of it we are concerned with popular images and with proverbs. Nevertheless some of the sayings involved are so paradoxically formulated or juxtaposed that this very fact could be an argument for the genuineness. To name two examples: the logion Matt. 10.26f. and parallel, with its demand that what is heard in secret should be shouted from the housetops, is traced back by Bultmann to a proverb which enjoins caution because secrets can so seldom be kept secret. If that is correct, the problem then arises as to why the warning has here been converted into a demand. Now if the sense of the saying were perhaps this, that in the Last Times caution must be thrown overboard, then that would square very well with the saying about not being anxious in Matt. 6.25ff. Here also the tradition of the Jewish belief in Providence is modified in a very odd fashion. Because we are now being called to thirst for the reign 153
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of God, we can, may, and must live without anxiety and be assured of God's loving care. They who, according to Matt. 10, exist as dying men in the aeon which is passing away, may and must be the ones who trust in God. To leave all is the obverse of receiving all. However this may be, the portrayal of the teacher of wisdom accords but ill with that of the rabbi, because the former lives by immediacy of contemplation, such as is familiar to us from the parables of Jesus, while the latter's existence is determined by meditation and by the bond which keeps him tied to Scripture. We may concede that the full significance of this observation only becomes visible in the light of a second one. According to the saying in Matt. 12.28, which we have already cited, Jesus ascribes his conquest of the demons to the Spirit of God which fills him. We need not try to decide here whether this saying in its present form comes from Jesus himself. But what is certain is that he regarded himself as being inspired. This we can gather above all from the remarkable use of the word 'Amen' at the beginning of important logia, which has been so faithfully preserved by the Evangelists. 'Amen' is, of course, primarily a response. Even if we do not feel able to go as far as Schlatter, who, in the light of this, interpreted the words of Jesus as the repetition of what the divine Voice was saying to him, this prefix expresses an assurance which is much akin to the confirmation of an oath; and it signifies an extreme and immediate certainty, such as is conveyed by inspiration. Out of this certainty the antitheses of the Sermon on the Mount are pronounced, the Sabbath commandment and the law of purification are assailed; out of it, that dialectical relationship to the Scriptures originates, which is ready to pass by their literal meaning in order to seek in them the will of God; and out of it, the demand for intelligent love is set up and placed in opposition to the demand of the rabbinate for blind obedience. It is by this immediate assurance of knowing and proclaiming the will of God, which in him is combined with the direct and unsophisticated outlook of the teacher of wisdom and perhaps lies behind it, that Jesus is distinguished from the rabbis. It does not matter whether he used the actual words or not; he must have regarded himself as the instrument of that living Spirit of God, which Judaism expected to be the gift of the End. It is thus very tempting to call him a prophet. But this will not do at all. No prophet could remove himself from the jurisdiction of Moses without thereby becoming a false prophet. Above all, no prophet could be credited with the eschatological significance which Jesus obviously ascribed to his own actions. A most enlightening passage in this connection seems to me to be the much puzzled over logion in Matt. 11.25f., according to which the kingdom of God suffers violence from the days of the Baptist until now and is hindered by men of violence. (This is, in my opinion, the only interpretation which makes sense.) Such a conception is strange enough. For in what sense can it be said that this happens to the kingdom of God? Luke 154
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had already asked himself this question and, being unable to answer it, had altered the sense. With his eye on the mission to the world, he makes Jesus proclaim that each man will be brought into the kingdom by force. Neither is Matthew really able to make anything of the saying. This is why he puts the sentence 'The law and the prophets are in force until John' (which Luke has in its original position before our logion) as a connecting link with the excursus on the Baptist's role as Elijah redivivus. The history of the saying shows that we are dealing with very primitive tradition, already unintelligible by the time of the Evangelists. Yet the content suggests quite unambiguously that the logion is authentic. For in it the Old Testament epoch of salvation history concludes with the Baptist, who himself already belongs to the new epoch and is not to be counted among the prophets. The situation in this epoch is that the kingdom of God has already dawned, but is still being obstructed. The Baptist has introduced it, and thus ushered in the turning-point of the aeons. Yet even he still stands in the shadow of him who now speaks and utters his 'until today'. Who but Jesus himself can look back in this way over the completed Old Testament epoch of salvation, not degrading the Baptist to the position of a mere forerunner as the whole Christian community and the whole New Testament were to do, but drawing him to his side and-an enormity to later Christian ears-presenting him as the initiator of the new aeon? But who then is this, who thus does justice to the Baptist and yet claims for himself a mission higher than that entrusted to John? Evidently, he who brings with his Gospel the kingdom itself; a kingdom which can yet be obstructed and snatched away, for the very reason that it appears in the defenceless form of the Gospel. It was the belief of Jesus that, in his word, the basileia was coming to his hearers. Does this mean that he understood himself to be the Messiah? The only way of dealing briefly with this question is simply to express at this point one's own personal opinion. I personally am convinced that there can be no possible grounds for answering this question in the affirmative. I consider all passages in which any kind of Messianic prediction occurs to be kerygma shaped by the community. I do not feel able to admit as genuine even the saying in Mark 8.38, that the Son of Man will in the future be ashamed of the man who here and now is ashamed of him and his words. For this saying has preserved the peculiar character of the speech of the Palestinian Christian prophets, which utters maxims of holy law for the guidance of the community and attaches heavenly promise or divine curse in the eschatological future to the fulfilment or non-fulfilment here on earth of certain conditions. This means, then, that Jesus was not reckoning on the coming of a Son of Man other than himself, as Bultmann assumes. Indeed what would be the position of such a figure if the Baptist has already ushered in the turn of the aeons and yet, for his part, still stands in the shadow of Jesus? The predication 'Son of Man' must have 155
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reflected the Christology and the apocalyptic of post-Easter Christianity and from there must have found its way into the Jesus tradition which today includes so many pronouncements of Christian prophecy, originally uttered as the voice of the exalted Lord. But if this really was the case and Jesus never expressly laid claim to the Messiahship, it would be extraordinarily characteristic of him. He would have differentiated himself equally from late Jewish expectation and from the proclamation of his own community. He would not have produced a picture of the future but done what needed doing in the present; he would have placed not his person but his work in the forefront of his preaching. But his community would have shown that they understood the distinctive nature of his mission precisely by responding to his proclamation with their own acknowledgment of him as Messiah and Son of God. Our investigation has led us to the conclusion that we must look for the distinctive element in the earthly Jesus in his preaching and interpret both his other activities and his destiny in the light of this preaching. Here we can do no more than touch lightly on the difficult problem of how far the preaching itself was determined by apocalyptic expectation. This problem is doubly difficult because it is unsafe to predicate authenticity of any passage where there is agreement with contemporary Judaism and/or the post-Easter community. However, we shall have to concede, against the exaggerations of Dodd and his advocacy of realized eschatology, that Jesus did speak of the kingdom of God as future; the only question is, in what sense? But this follows from the manner of the kingdom's manifestation: the basileia breaks through on earth in the word of Jesus, setting men in its presence and facing them with the decision between obedience and disobedience. Its power drives away the demons and any sacrifice is worthwhile in order to establish its dominion. Its badge is the love of those who can forgive because God forgives his enemies and who indeed must forgive if forgiveness is to be their own portion. Jesus did not preach realized eschatology, but, to use E. Haenchen's terminology, inaugurated eschatology. Confirmation of this is to be found above all in the parables, the clarity and self-containedness of which stand out sharply from the rabbinic parallels and reach a standard from which the compositions of the later community represent a declension. We can, however, only use them in support of our case if we are prepared to criticize in one respect the indispensable work of Jiilicher on the subject, to which we are all so indebted; we must not isolate, as he does, the parables from the rest of Jesus' preaching in such a way as to make their interpretation depend on the tertium comparationis and nothing else. Otherwise we cannot really escape the moralization so frequently castigated in Ji.ilicher; and ignorance of the situation to which they were directed will cause us very great embarrassment. But although we may be for the most part ignorant of the original circumstances in which the individual parables were spoken, we 156
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do know him who uttered them well enough to be aware of the eschatological orientation of his message and to realize that we may not abstract from it. For Jesus did not come to proclaim general religious or moral truths, but to tell of the basileia that had dawned and of how God was come near to man in grace and demand. He brought, and lived out, the liberty of the children of God, who only remain the Father's children and only remain free so long as they find in this Father their Lord.
7. Conclusion What then is the general sense of this very superficial outline, the filling-in of which in any detailed or even approximately complete manner would far exceed the limits of a single lecture? Have I not arrived back on the road, the problematical nature of which I originally set myself to show? Have not some central points emerged, around which we might, if with the utmost caution and reserve, reconstruct something like a life of Jesus? I should reject such a view as being a misunderstanding. In writing a life of Jesus, we could not dispense with some account of his exterior and interior development. But we know nothing at all about the latter and next to nothing about the former, save only the way which led from Galilee to Jerusalem, from the preaching of the God who is near to us to the hatred of official Judaism and execution by the Romans. Only an uncontrolled imagination could have the self-confidence to weave out of these pitiful threads the fabric of a history in which cause and effect could be determined in detail. But conversely, neither am I prepared to concede that, in the face of these facts, defeatism and scepticism must have the last word and lead us on to a complete disengagement of interest from the earthly Jesus. If this were to happen, we should either be failing to grasp the nature of the primitive Christian concern with the identity between the exalted and the humiliated Lord; or else we should be emptying that concern of any real content, as did the docetists. We should also be overlooking the fact that there are still pieces of the Synoptic tradition which the historian has to acknowledge as authentic if he wishes to remain an historian at all. My own concern is to show that, out of the obscurity of the life story of Jesus, certain characteristic traits in his preaching stand out in relatively sharp relief, and that primitive Christianity united its own message with these. The heart of our problem lies here: the exalted Lord has almost entirely swallowed up the image of the earthly Lord and yet the community maintains the identity of the exalted Lord with the earthly. The solution of this problem cannot, however, if our findings are right, be approached with any hope of success along the line of supposed historical bruta facta but only along the line of the connection and tension between the preaching of Jesus and that of his community. The question of the historical Jesus is, in 157
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its legitimate form, the question of the continuity of the Gospel within the discontinuity of the times and within the variation of the kerygma. We have to put this question to ourselves and to see within it the element of rightness in the liberal Leben-Jesu-Forschung, the presuppositions of whose questioning we no longer share. The preaching of the Church may be carried on anonymously; the important thing is not the person, but the message. But the Gospel itself cannot be anonymous, otherwise it leads to moralism and mysticism. The Gospel is tied to him, who, both before and after Easter, revealed himself to his own as the Lord, by setting them before the God who is near to them and thus translating them into the freedom and responsibility of faith. This he did once without any demonstrable credentials, even without claiming to be the Messiah, and yet he did it as having the authority of him whom the Fourth Gospel calls the only-begotten Son. He cannot be classified according to the categories either of psychology or of the comparative study of religion or, finally, of general history. If he can be placed at all, it must be in terms of historical particularity. To this extent the problem of the historical Jesus is not our invention, but the riddle which he himself sets us. The historian may establish the existence of this riddle, but he is unable to solve it. It is only solved by those who since the Cross and the Resurrection confess him as that which, in the days of his flesh, he never claimed to be and yet was-their Lord, and the bringer of the liberty of the children of God, which is the correlate of the kingdom of God. For to his particularity there corresponds the particularity of faith, for which the real history of Jesus is always happening afresh; it is now the history of the exalted Lord, but it does not cease to be the earthly history it once was, in which the call and the claim of the Gospel are encountered.
Notes 1 A lecture given at the reunion of Marburg old students on 20 October 1953, in Jugenheim. First published in ZTK 51, 1954, pp. 125-53. 2 Berlin, 1926; ET,Jesus and the Word, London, 1935. 3 ET of 3rd ed., Oxford, 1963. Originally in FRLANT 29, 1st ed., 1921; 2nd ed., 1931; 3rd ed., 1957 with 1958 supplement. 4 London, 1956; ET of Das Urchristentum im Rahmen der antiken Religionen, Zurich, 1949. 5 Leipzig, 1896; new ed. by E. Wolf, Munich, 1956. 6 Die Mitte der Zeit, Ti.ibingen, 1954; ET, London, 1960.
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THE QUEST OF THE HISTORICAL JESUS 1 Ernst Fuchs Source: Studies of the Historical Jesus, translated by Andrew Scobie (Studies in Biblical Theology 42; London: SCM Press, 1964), pp. 11-31. (Originally published as 'Die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus', Zeitschrift fur Theologie und Kirche, 53, 1956, pp. 210-229.)
The quest of the historical Jesus has existed ever since New Testament scholarship became aware of its task-in the eighteenth century the complete revolution of the Church stemming from the Reformation began to affect theology also. Even as a result of its concern for the correct form of the text, and especially through the quest of the historical Jesus, the new philological study of the Bible had been compelled to criticize dogmatic theology for pronouncements which overstepped its limits. The new method was obliged to protest against the supremacy of metaphysics in theology which, in spite of Luther, had hitherto remained unshaken. Many people thought it possible to set off on new paths hand in hand with dogmatics. But even so a tension remained between the philological tradition of biblical scholarship and the metaphysical tradition of dogmatic theology. As a result of this tension, for example, the discipline of Church history, closely related to the philological exegesis of the Bible, developed into an independent science. It became apparent in our time that even the historical consciousness is metaphysically conditioned. Perhaps new opportunities of discussion between the various disciplines and philosophical stimuli have brought us a little further. In any case, for methodological considerations regarding the nature of the sources, and for reasons of friendship, I am beginning at the point where New Testament scholarship is still in close contact with dogmatic theology, namely with the early Christian faith in Jesus. Then in a second part I shall raise the question of Jesus himself, having prepared the ground for this by discussing faith in Jesus.
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1. Faith in Jesus (a) A Christian of the period beginning with the Apostle Paul believes in Jesus as his Lord. He confesses that Jesus is Lord over all lords or cosmic powers (cf. Eph. 3.8---12; Rev. 17.14; 19.16; I Cor. 8.6 et al.). Confession of Jesus belongs to faith in Jesus-confession as it was made immediately before baptism in the presence of witnesses in those communities which had come under Pauline influence. Thus Paul writes to the Romans (10.9f), clearly alluding to a baptismal confession with which they also were familiar, and in a liturgical style: (v. 9)
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(Because) if you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For man believes with his heart and so is and he confesses (publicly) with his lips and so is saved.
justified,
The first verse combines the confession with a verse quoted from Deut. 30.14 in the previous verse. The fact that Paul, influenced by Deut. 30.14, gives first priority to confession with the mouth at this central point of the letter to the Romans, does not militate against the previously asserted sequence of faith and confession. In the very next verse (10), which I have quoted, Paul indicates the sequence which he prefers; the of. is not adversative, but cumulative. Faith is iustitia passiva, pure obedience, a life-long obedience, a full acceptance of God's action (Rom. 4.13). Confession is none other than the public beginning of such obedience (or a beginning which has to be carried through in public), in which the baptized, like a soldier, pledges himself with a military oath to the name of his captain. We note the incidental thought that a confession with the mouth without the faith of the heart is in any case valueless for the confessor himself. God wants to enter into the heart. That the heart should believe, and what the heart believes, are the decisive things. Paul stresses with liturgical emphasis the article of faith: 'that God has raised him (Jesus) from the dead'. This implies, first, that faith is substantially faith in the dramatic news that God has raised Jesus from the dead and, secondly, that this faith is not the mere repetition of a fact, which can also apparently be 'reported' without faith, but that, in fact, only the heart 160
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can grasp the message that God has already raised this Jesus from the dead. Faith is not the opposite of doubt, but the consequence of a new beginning. We must at once emphasize that faith affirms something new. The third point is that faith affirms that this Jesus who has been raised from the dead has become Lord. Both points are to be stressed: that he has become Lord, and that he has become Lord. Whoever believes in Jesus has found the one whom henceforth all are to call upon as Lord (Rom. 10.11-13). Thus the confession expresses the new thing which faith both has and gives, if faith is truly a faith of the heart. Jesus must first be made known to me as Lord. But the decision takes place in faith. In the Shorter Catechism Luther stresses, indeed correctly: 'Be my Lord.' But Paul affirms more precisely: 'He is by faith already my Lord.' Jesus is Lord either already or not at all (cf. I Thess. 5.5). If the preaching has 'reached' me, and Jesus is already my Lord, then I can also name him as Lord at all times, and this means that, as at baptism, I can confess him and declare to my fellow men that at the last day this Lord must and shall be Lord of all men and Lord of all things. Furthermore, in the famous chapter on the resurrection of the dead (I Cor. 15) Paul assumes along with the confession the personal relationship of the witnesses to the Lord. A heated discussion about the logical aspect of early Christian apocalyptic introduces a captious note into the argument, from which Paul extricates himself with difficulty. But in our passage (Rom. 10.9f) the Pauline concept of faith dominates the context from the outset. Here every man must himself be the witness to his own faith (cf. also Rom. 14). It will be agreed that Paul comes nearer to us in this way. lf the news of the new Lord is reduced to the statement that Jesus is risen from the dead, we are, of course, immediately involved in doubt. 2 But really there is no question of discussion between faith and unbelief. Paul, and the early Church as it embarks on the Gentile mission, both agree that the resurrection of Jesus must be presented in connexion with faith and confession. The question of the source of the declaration of the resurrection must not be separated from its kerygmatic context. Hence there is no point in meaning to say anything significant about the resurrection of Jesus apart from faith in Jesus (cf. 11 Cor. 4.13). We have just seen that Paul speaks of faith in Jesus as a matter of the heart. Hence the most that criticism can do is to enquire how Paul came to the point of believing in the resurrection of Jesus. (b) Here we are certainly confronted with a real historical problem. It is concerned in the first place with Paul's personal faith, and not immediately with Jesus himself. The historian's first question is concerned with his source, and only thereafter with the subject for which his source provides the evidence. We do this also. In our case Jesus is the subject. All affirmations, such as that Jesus is Lord, or that he is risen from the dead, certainly relate to their subject, Jesus. The first consideration of a careful analysis will be to avoid a hasty classification of Jesus under any of the affirmations 161
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or titles of honour which have been assigned to him. Our primary source is the literary legacy of the Apostle Paul. It may occasion surprise that my immediate appeal is not to the Gospels, since all of them in their last chapter (John 21 is a later addition) appear to give a direct account of the resurrection of Jesus. But this would be wrong, from the point of view of method. There is general agreement that Paul is the earlier source, since, taking all the Gospels together, they are at least twenty years later than Paul, and were probably written still later. This means there is the passage of about half a century between them and the earthly life of Jesus. It will do no harm to keep this fact clearly in mind. It may be that the Gospels are often using very early traditions; but those who transmitted these traditions remain anonymous. 3 On the other hand, we have in Paul a witness who is responsible for his own assertions. How did Paul reach his faith in the resurrection of Jesus from the dead? It is well known that Paul was at a disadvantage as against the disciples of Jesus, inasmuch as they, generally speaking, were engaged in apostolic missionary activity. If we use rather more guarded terms, we may say that, in relation to the limited circle of the apostles, Paul's activities were those of a late-comer, if not the opposite of an apostle (I Cor. 15.8; 11 Cor. 11.5, 13 or 12.11 belongs to another context). Paul had certainly never known Jesus (cf. I Cor. 2.2 with 11 Cor. 5.16). As a zealous Pharisee he was hostile to the missionary proclamation of the new faith (Phi!. 3.4ff), and even persecuted its adherents (I Cor. 15.9; Gal. 1.13); but on the occasion of one such persecution in the neighbourhood of Damascus he himself came to faith. For Paul his conversion meant a complete reversal, since he now accepted what he had previously passionately rejected. What he accepted was faith in the raising up or exaltation of the crucified Jesus, the very faith which he had previously rejected (cf. Gal. 1.23). In Acts there are three accounts of the conversion of Paul (cc. 9; 22; 26); incidentally, they are not wholly consistent with each other, and are to some extent legendary. But Paul himself writes about it on one occasion-a single sentence, which is therefore of special significance for us. In I Cor. 9.1, defending himself against certain attacks on his claim to be an apostle, he writes, in the form of a rhetorical question: ouXt 'l'Jl
That it was generally accepted at that time that Paul had, in fact, experienced a vision or appearance of Jesus; That it was not absolutely necessary for an apostle to have previously known Jesus personally (cf. also 11 Cor. 5.16); That such experiences were probably the mark of each of the apostles, for the circle of those who had such experiences was considerably greater than the circle of those apostles who were at that time not 162
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4
included with the twelve (I Cor. 9.1, 5; cf. with 15.5-8). The appearances of the Lord were evidently spread over a long period of time, to entirely different persons and circles, and were in no way limited to a single place. We have in I Cor. 9.1 a confirmation of the statement in Rom. 10.9 that at that time only the resurrected Christ was regarded as Lord. In the same way we also find in Acts 2.36 in an early saying, 'God has made him, that is the crucified Jesus, both Lord and Christ.' God has done this; we find the same statement in the pre-Pauline 'Christ hymn' in Phi!. 2.9. As with the designation Lord, so also we learn from Acts 2.36 that the designation of Jesus as Christ was regarded at first, and to some extent still consciously in the New Testament, not as a name, but in good Jewish fashion as a title of honour, and indeed also as that of the resurrected Jesus. The same holds good of the title Son of God, which is similarly applied to Jesus rather later, a title derived from oriental royal ceremonial (Rom. 1.3f; cf. Mark 1.11 et al.). Briefly, the affirmation that God has raised Jesus from the dead implies that after the death of Jesus, God has installed and revealed him as Lord and Christ, and consequently as the representative of God and heir of the rule of God (cf. also Heb. 1.2).
This designation of Jesus as king in the early community is earlier than the theology of Paul. Paul therefore came to faith since he too had experienced Jesus as Lord, and hence had learned to yield obedience to the selfsame Lord whose followers he had previously persecuted. His conversion was evidently just the initial impulse for all else that followed from it (Gal. 1.12-24). The decisive point was that for all time Paul surrendered himself in utter obedience to this Lord as his l>ouA.o£ (Rom. 1.1; Gal. 1.10; Phil. 1.1). This is illustrated by other sayings in his letters; e.g. the well-known passage in Rom. 14.7-9: (v. 7) (v. 8)
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None of us lives for himself alone, and none dies for himself alone; for if we live, we live for the Lord, and if we die, we die for the Lord. Hence, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord. For Christ died for this reason and rose again (for this reason), that he might be Lord over dead and living (together). 163
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Paul never demanded of his hearers that they like him must have a vision of Christ. It was enough that each should learn to accept Jesus as Lord (cf. Rom. 8.4ff). Hence, without being obliged to depend on Rom. 7, we are fully justified in speaking, as Bultmann does, of a new selfunderstanding in Paul. The object of Paul's missionary activity was to enable his hearers to participate in the same self-understanding that had been disclosed to him when he confessed Jesus as Lord. 4 (c) But what actually happens when someone learns to accept Jesus as Lord? Hitherto we have omitted mention of one word which was specially stressed in that passage in Rom. 10.9f from which we began. It says there: 'If you confess and (thus) believe from the heart crm81]on, then you shall be saved' (jussive). This salvation means salvation from God's judgment. If we compare the traditional conception with what was in Paul's mind, it is again clear that here also Paul is thinking of something very personal. According to the Jewish apocalyptic tradition current in Paul's time, the primary meaning of judgment is the judgment of the world and the wrath of God (cf. I Thess, 1.10; 5.3; I Cor. 15.50). Then it will be decided if a man is to be assigned to eternal life or to eternal death (cf. Rom. 2.7-10). But in view of the fact that Christ now sits upon the throne of God (II Cor. 5.10), Paul draws this conception right into our daily living and dying, as Rom. 14.7-9 has already shown. For him life really means the joy which can unite an individual with God (cf. also Rom. 14.17), and death means the anxiety that must separate a man from God (cf. Rom. 7.24; 8.15, et al.). He who believes in Jesus as Lord is free for such joy, and free from such anxiety, as the letter (or letters) to the Philippians show in particular. This agrees with our previous observation that for Paul faith is a faith of the heart. For it is now quite clear: according to the experience of Paul, he who accepts Jesus as Lord has thereby himself become lord over anxiety, and indeed over that terrible anxiety in face of God, from which nothing can give security, least of all works (cf. also I Cor. 3.21-23). But when Paul says that such faith saves, he assumes that he who is without Christ has every cause to suffer from this hopeless anxiety in face of God. It is necessary to emphasize both the anxiety in face of God, and also the freedom from such anxiety. It would be interesting to examine this paradoxical statement in detail in the light of Phil. 2.12. For at this point our very selves are summoned, even though in many of us the phenomenon of anxiety lies concealed beneath the quest for greater personal security and a more brilliant career. Every man of conscience knows quite well what a degree of fear and trembling can be involved in responsibility as a radical responsibility in face of God; and that there is more to conscience than just assent or dissent for what we do or have not done. Hence we can all very well understand what hopeless anxiety in face of God must be like; our restless age cannot fail to appreciate that desperate attempt at flight from God, which Ps. 139 so 164
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vividly rejects, the attempt at escape from the sole Judge, before whom every conscience is self-condemned. But he who believes does not take flight (cf. Is a. 28.16 in the Hebrew). According to Paul, faith in Jesus manifestly leads to the paradoxical truth that in the very God from whom man once fled or had to flee he has found a refuge which he now loves. Paul's conversion implies no change of direction, in the sense of turning from a God of wrath to seek a merciful God. The only kind of change that conversion can imply would be the attempt to flee from God in the wrong direction. But it is the merciful God who himself desires to be found in the God of wrath, who wills that life should be found in the place of death, joy in the desert of anxiety. It was with this in mind that Paul appealed to the crucified Jesus as the risen Lord. Paul preached in the name of this Lord that for every man the time for such faith had come with the utmost urgency, the time for faith in the merciful Judge (Gal. 4.4ff; 11 Cor. 6.2). Whoever has understood this message knows that there must be no delay in obeying it. The Lord could, in fact, pass by. But what has all this to do with the historical Jesus? Paul never even once met Jesus before he was crucified. May it not be quite within the bounds of possibility that Paul substituted for Jesus a totally different person, or even the creation of his own faith? There is a popular tendency today to claim that what must be preserved is the identity of the crucified Jesus with the risen Lord. This demand is not unconditionally implied by the freedom from anxiety in face of God of which we have already spoken, or a well-founded understanding of Paul's faith. It remains to be seen whether an enquiry into the problem of the historical Jesus will enable us to develop further from the position so far reached.
2. The historical Jesus ~a) Before we embark on this question, it is again necessary to say something about the sources. For the question of the historical Jesus our first wurce can only be the Synoptic Gospels. New Testament scholarship today is generally agreed that these Gospels owe their form to kerygmatic ~onsiderations, and that their matter subserves this form. The evangelists .vere not mere compilers of their material, but had what may be described 1s a theological plan. For example the author of the Gospel of Mark did 1ot simply collect all the available material, but undoubtedly selected what 1is plan demanded (cf. Mark 4.33). 5 It is possible to separate the material 'rom its framework. This framework, especially in Mark's Gospel, has a ·esemblance to the Pauline theology. There are also features, both in the Jospel of Matthew and in that of Luke, which correspond to the Marcan ·ramework. But, apart from the fact that John, too, includes a passion 1arrative, his Gospel, viewed in terms of its framework, is quite independent 1s regards composition. Hence, in spite of certain historically interesting
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details, we place John's Gospel in a class by itself, and therefore reject the view that all the Gospels were from the first expanded passion-narratives. Let us then, for the moment, substitute the Pauline theology for the synoptic framework, and by the Pauline theology we mean essentially what has already been said about faith in Jesus. The synoptic material will have to show if this is possible. (b) If we continue our enquiry along the lines of the kind of faith which Paul understood as faith in a merciful God, we can in the first place disregard all the traditional statements in the Synoptic Gospels about Jesus and his fate, and simply establish what Jesus himself said (not only about his own, but) about our relation to God. As our first example we choose a parable which is, in any case, significant for Jesus' proclamation; for reasons both of method and of content it is legitimate to refer to it here, even if it was attributed to Jesus later. It is the parable of the prodigal sons, Luke 15.11-32.6 The story is well known. The younger son demands his inheritance, receives it, and squanders it in the foreign country. The elder son stays at home and works hard. When the father joyfully welcomes back the younger son, after he has repented and returned home with an open confession of his guilt in order at least to receive his due at home, the elder son is furious at the father's extraordinary behaviour. The father, however, points out to the enraged son that he also has cause for rejoicing, because the family is together again. A servant is actually the first to tell him very simply the motive for his father's behaviour. So much for the content of the parable. The usual interpretation tends to argue somewhat too hastily from the father's conduct to God's. Closer examination shows that Jesus is defending his own conduct. He does this because he rejected no sinner, and he bases his conduct on the will of God. It is true, he implies, that God must be severe, but he will nevertheless be merciful if a sinner ftees for refuge to that God from whose judgment he had previously to flee in fear. Jesus therefore implies that God, despite his severity, mercifully receives the returning sinner, as he himself does. Hence it is not the prime purpose of the parable to explain the conduct of Jesus, although Jesus does vindicate himself in it; on the contrary, Jesus' conduct explains the will of God, by means of a parable drawn from that very conduct. For it is not usual for fathers to act in the manner of the father in the parable, and such conduct was hardly to be expected of the God of wrath. Moreover, other passages in the proclamation of Jesus, as, for instance, in the Sermon on the Mount, contain warnings of judgment, and even direct threats, such as the calls of woe. With regard to the parable of the prodigal sons, which, of course, also contains a warning, we find here essentially the same attitude which we have come to recognize in the Apostle Paul. But if Paul, as we now see, after all coincides with Jesus, then, speaking undogmatically, we are cer-
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tainly confronted by a very daring line of conduct on the part of Jesus: he dares to affirm the will of God as though he himself stood in God's place. Jesus validates the will of God in exactly the same way as a man must do if he were in God's place. Certainly no man can judge another in God's place, since no man is omniscient. But when pardon is sought, man can undoubtedly forgive like God. True forgiveness never judges, but helps, as, for example, is shown in the parable of the unmerciful servant (Matt. 18.23-35). We can be like God, not in wrath but certainly in love. This is the only way it can be meaningful to speak of God in faith. Nevertheless, Jesus' conduct remains audacious-so audacious that he was put to death before the gates of the by no means godless city of Jerusalem, because men disputed his right, as a man of no official standing, to place himself in God's stead; they could not tolerate his claim to assert through his own conduct that God's will was a gracious will. That we are justified in saying this can be seen from pericopes like Mark 11.27-33, or from sayings like Luke 12.8f; 7.23. The circumstances of the arrest and execution of Jesus are shrouded in such obscurity that it is difficult to be certain what forces were at work; but it is at least clear that the decisive factor was this claim implied in Jesus' conduct (cf. also Matt. 5.48). (c) From this it follows that Jesus' conduct was itself the real framework of his proclamation. We need not appeal to the miracle narratives, although these narratives in the Gospels do, as a rule, give expression to the same claim. Similarly, it is unnecessary to adduce the ascriptions of lordship in the Gospels, whose occurrence there is due to dogmatic considerations; nor is it necessary to speak of such titles as Son of God, or Son of Man regarded as the future or present wielder of divine power. All this, taken by itself, reveals to us not more but less than Jesus' own conduct. If our surmise is correct, it is only to be expected that the words of Jesus rather than the titles provide an historical record of Jesus' conduct. We are by no means directed to paradoxically formulated sayings. It will suffice if we find agreement between Jesus' words and his actions. This must be clearly understood, since the study of early Christian forms of language involves the search for traces of the concepts and doctrines of the time in the proclamation of Jesus, and thus may easily lead to our being entangled in the broader problems of the comparative study of religions. But all these concepts and doctrines, such as the recently rather hackneyed idea of the 'messianic' Torah, of which there are barely a couple of rabbinic examples, and which, moreover, represent not stricter but more lenient prescriptions (Gal. 6.2 is quite a different matter)-all these belong to the inessential elements of the tradition rather than to the actual content of the words of Jesus. Strictly speaking it is impossible to speak of a 'sermon' of Jesus. Apart from parables or similitudes we have only isolated sayings. They are most consonant with Jesus' conduct. This conduct is neither that of a prophet nor of a teacher of wisdom, but that of a man who dares to act in God's stead, and 167
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who, it must always be remembered, draws to himself sinners who, but for him, would have to flee from God. It is a mistake to draw conclusions about the sociological type of speaker from the style of his sayings, unless, with a view to material of widely varying style, the intention were to emphasize a 'neither-nor'. It must, however, be admitted that the style of the sayings, which in Jesus' case also was determined by tradition, has facilitated their collection and preservation in the oral tradition. On the other hand, the situations reflected in the community debates and discussions preserved in the Gospels might well cast doubt on the genuineness of a particular saying; but they might equally cast light on Jesus' conduct. For actions are more likely to stimulate imitation than words. (d) It is, of course, tempting to draw attention to certain sayings which express a consciousness of eschatological forces at work; e.g. Matt. 12.28 par. Luke 11.20, 'If it is by the finger of God that I cast out demons, then the rule of God has come upon you', or the obscure saying about taking by storm in Matt. 11.12 par. Luke 16.16, 'Everyone enters the rule of God by force'. But, in regard to this first saying, we would be forced to describe Jesus' relation to the coming rule of God so paradoxically that his conduct would become unintelligible. With regard to the second saying, the one about the use of violence, we would by contrast have to lay so much stress on Jesus' conduct that the question would arise of why he taught anything at all. It is safer to begin from the point that what Jesus, in fact, demands of his hearers is a decision. This is the object of the searching criticism implied in his interpretation of the law, with its insistence on the indivisible nature of the divine will. The same appears in the well-known, perhaps already traditional, precept which places love for one's neighbour on the same level as love for God. It is expressed in the so-called 'conflictsayings', such as Mark 7.15, 'the things which come out of a man are what defile him', or Mark 3.4, 'is it not lawful to do good on the sabbath?' It is seen in the searching antithesis in Matt. 5.27f, where the heart is shown to be the seat of adultery; and it is found above all in some of the Woes directed against the pious practices developed especially by the Pharisees (Matt. 23.13ff par.). These are amplified by the Woes already mentioned, or warnings such as Luke 12.54-56, asking why those who can foretell the weather cannot read the signs of the times; or Matt. 8.11f, declaring that those who are citizens of the rule of God by birthright will be cast out of it, for many are called but few chosen (Matt. 22.14 ). All these sayings fit in well with the parables which likewise call for decision, such as the similitude of the treasure in the field and that of the pearl of great price (Matt. 13.44, 45f). Thus the central theme of the sayings of Jesus is the decision which they demand. But this demand is simply the echo of Jesus' own decision. We have to understand his conduct as likewise determined by a decision, and we can infer what he did from what he demanded. At any rate this is the next step. 168
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If the starting-point for the question of Jesus' own decision is taken as moral piety, which was no less common in Jesus' time than it is in ours, we are faced by a difficulty, since we are not warranted in supposing that Jesus experienced anything resembling a conversion from evil to good. But Jesus himself did of necessity face a problem similar to the one his disciples faced after his death. Jesus had lived through the experience of the violent death of the Baptist. But if at the time of his own baptism Jesus without doubt recognized the gravity of eschatological judgment implied in the Baptist's message, then after the Baptist's death he would have to decide what this death meant for him. The tradition underlying Matt. 11 (John 3 can be disregarded) makes it clear that, in fact, Jesus not only furthered the work of the Baptist, but that he even made it more radical. But so far as the preaching of judgment was concerned this was hardly possible, because it was so radical already (cf. Matt. 11.11a par. Luke 7.28a). All that Jesus could do was to grasp the time of the rule of God in a new way; i.e. he could attempt to make the time of the rule of God his own. That Jesus did not offer a political programme is apparent from the sternness of his proclamation with its almost impossible demands; although the political element which was always certainly inherent in the idea of the rule of God induced men to interpret him in this way. But Jesus did go up to Jerusalem. The sight of his followers could, in fact, make this appearance look like an insurrection. Indeed, the attitude of the authorities suggests that they did regard the whole business as an uprising. Scenes like the cleansing of the temple could hardly be called anything else. Jesus was thus dependent on the degree to which he was understood. The partial defection of some of those who had understood him was bound to happen. For the politically minded do not take into account the transformation of an unknown heavenly figure, unless this figure were thereby to become calculable. But this possibility was excluded. It is inconceivable that Jesus could come to terms with the authorities of a religiously organized state. He certainly did not share the definitely political aims of the Zealots, but on the other hand he did not avoid a clash with the Temple authorities. (e) Jesus revealed his own decision by his action in gathering together the unorganized group of the eschatological community in the midst of a perverse generation (cf. Matt. 11.16f). This community cannot yet appear under the guise of faith in Jesus. The malicious description of him given by his opponents in Matt. 11.19 par. Luke 7.34 establishes the fact, in spite of Mark 14.25, that Jesus celebrated eschatological feasts with those whom he had called to the rule of God. Sayings such as Mark 2.19a (the bridegroom celebrates with his companions) are an echo of this. We may ask what similitudes or parables are fitting as table-sayings. Jesus is consistent. He does not look back (Luke 9.62). He knows that his conduct is dangerous: the dead must be left to bury their own dead (Luke 9.60 par. Matt. 8.22). Whoever would save his life will lose it (Mark 8.35a par.). The
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episode of the rich young man (Mark 10.17-22; cf. Mark 2.14) shows that those who would follow him must either follow completely or not at all. In my opinion the community disputes about sabbath-breaking, fasting, and such like, can be traced back to the situation of Jesus. This alone explains the continued persecution of the early community and the admission of Hellenists; and also how it happened that Paul the Pharisee was at first a passionate persecutor of their cause, and that in the name of the Torah he made common cause against them with their opponents in Jerusalem. All this, however, is only the consequence of Jesus' decision, not the real heart of the matter. The example in Luke 15.11-32 shows that this is to be interpreted in a purely religious sense, and that it concerns his relationship with God. Once again a reference to Paul will make the situation clearer. Paul, too, stressed the wrath and judgment of God, but he also contrasts them with his mercy, as we have seen. Conscious as he is of being an innovator, he nevertheless holds fast to God's faithfulness to Israel, and never abandons the promise to the fathers, above all to Abraham. The new faith and the baptism of the Gentiles were manifested to Paul in the well-known collection for the poor in Jerusalem, and this was clear evidence of the revelation that God had fulfilled the promise in Jesus Christ and was now fulfilling it. The only objection that could be made was that Paul had made faith too easy for the Gentiles. But this Judaistic objection is countered by the fact, recognized by others as well as Paul, that faith in Christ involves suffering. The Mosaic law was thus transformed into a law of suffering. It was now made clear that the way of salvation for everyone was not by the works of the law but by suffering for the faith. God comes to meet man on the very way on which, as a rule, man has to expect God's judgment, and Paul, too, could say that whoever loses his life will gain it. Love is the fruit and, from another point of view, the paradigm of this situation. We leave aside the structural problem here, since we have already found the framework of interpretation in the conduct of Jesus. It is certainly possible to raise the objection against Paul that his way of salvation through suffering is a secret and hence more fateful relapse into justification by works. The objection might hold good were it not that the issue was directly that of the relationship to God and not a securing of this relationship. (f) We can now speak of Jesus' own suffering. But we do not use just psychological methods, nor do we depend on the passion-narratives. 7 From the outset Jesus' relationship to God presupposes suffering. We should not be misled by the note of completeness of the parables. In them the result is only parabolically presupposed or anticipated, as in the parable of the prodigal sons. The same holds good of the parable of the labourers in the vineyard (Matt. 20.1-16) and also of the parable of the sower (Mark 4.3-9 par.). The end is only seen by the one who comes last; the first-corners do not see it. In the parables this way of regarding the 170
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situation is on occasion interchanged aesthetically, but not materially. In spite of the eschatological meals, the secret turning-point of truth is really still death (cf. Mark 8.35). But the revelation is not limited to those who follow afterwards, who perhaps are in a position to assess in what light their predecessors died. God's faithfulness ensures that the revelation shall include the predecessors, too. God loses no one. Hence resurrection takes the place of death. Apart from resurrection the suffering of faith would be pointless (cf. also I Cor. 15). On the other hand, resurrection would be no real goal, were it not preceded by suffering; for resurrection is both grace and faithfulness (cf. also Matt. 6.1-18). Therefore, when Jesus directs the sinner beyond death to the God of grace he knows he must suffer. Precisely because Jesus himself assumes the standpoint of God's grace, he assumes also for himself the standpoint of suffering. His threats and calls of woe, and also the severity of his demand, all stem from his stringent will to suffer. For in all this Jesus opposed his adversaries, even though he was fully aware of the violent death of the Baptist. In support of this thesis I am not now reverting to the theory that the Gospels are passion-narratives with extended introductions, although I could now accept this theory with the modification that nothing needs to be extended. However, the Gospels are, in fact, not just narratives of suffering; they are, from the very beginning, proclamation of the resurrection. They explain Jesus' relationship to God by turning it round, as the introductory narratives in particular show. The subject of resurrection requires further elaboration, in order to round off what has already been said. Therefore I add a concluding section to what has already been explained.
3. The proclamation of the resurrection (a) Jesus' prophecies of suffering in the Synoptic Gospels, which stem stylistically from the kerygma of the community, cannot be imagined without the announcement of the resurrection. Nor is it possible to conceive that the Gospels would have been written without Easter chapters. Research is thereby involved in a hermeneutical problem which is by no means easy to master in practice. The problem would be easier to deal with if it were possible to prove exactly that the Gospel pericopes were from the outset meant to subserve preaching. But why is the situation different in the case of John's Gospel? The problem that I have in mind consists of the fact that the proclamation character of the gospel has been obliterated by the appearance of the literary Gospels. It is impossible to place a complete ban on the attempt to isolate as 'salvation facts' the dramatic passages of the revelation in these Gospels, especially as Luke, in spite of his more refined project, has already done this. Thus everything finally becomes so massive that we are no longer able to gain a direct view of Jesus' own conduct and decision, unmolested by dogmatic interests. But since the 171
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advent of the historical-critical analysis of the New Testament, the problem has never come to rest. It should not be said that what can be read in the Gospels is sufficient for the simple church member. This is not correct. The simple member has special need of the means of access to the gospel, which the spoken word of preaching provides. Whoever fails to see this shows that he has no knowledge of Jesus' own concern. (b) Without doubt Paul regarded Jesus' resurrection as a firm fact. But Paul did not isolate this fact. He always viewed it in connexion with Jesus' crucifixion and the future of the world, even in I Cor. 15. Paul was not alone in this view; he was in agreement with all the apostles, and also with James the brother of the Lord. Thus Jesus had not died in vain. His death signified more than just a personal event for Jesus himself, which might not concern us at all. In the same way, it would be both too much and too little to say that the disciples' inevitable shock was overcome by Jesus' resurrection. Nor is it sufficient to refer to the early formula that Jesus died for our sins. Jesus was instead addressed as our representative in the extremity of death itself, and as a result there was an awareness of being bound to him in suffering for the faith. However, this was only one aspect of the statement. The same Jesus was recognized as the risen Lord and therefore as God's representative. For those who believed in him as God's representative, his execution necessarily remained an offence which had constantly to be overcome anew (Gal. 5.11). This offence was by no means finally removed by the Easter experiences of the first generation. For there was no renunciation of the need for every believer to face the experiences of suffering. The suffering of the Christian believer was by no means alleviated. Faith remained obedience in face of a message, and the message continued to be a claim to this obedience, which was founded solely on God. In spite of confessional refinements, we can say that faith itself remained a decision and risk. The believer would certainly find help in the community of the faithful. But even this aid remained (cf. I Thess. 4.13-5.11) at the decisive point a reminder of baptism and of Jesus' death (I Cor. 11.23ff). The representation ideas-Jesus being both God's representative and also ours-were not yet fully worked out. Jesus could certainly only be our representative if faith in him as God's representative already existed. Faith for its part had to accept full responsibility for the decision about his being God's representative-a decision that was manifest only 'before God' (cf. also Rom. 6.8). This is why the message of Jesus' resurrection still remained basically a statement of faith, which was to be believed either 'from the heart' or not at all. This means that the Easter experiences had only personal significance for those concerned. They were an aid from God and hence a working of the Holy Spirit. Just as the action of the Spirit thereupon proved to be a much more comprehensive aid, so the early Christian faith itself gained all the more the marks of decision, and
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became a parallel to Jesus' own conduct (cf. Phil. 2.6-8; Rom. 15.3). The familiar triad of faith, hope and love is based on this feature of the revelatory event which aims at decision. (c) We must then say that just as Jesus was the representative of faith, so faith became the representative of Jesus. To have faith in Jesus now means essentially to repeat Jesus' decision. This is why faith cannot be separated from suffering (Mark 8.34-38). The repetition of Jesus' decision was certainly something new, inasmuch as the adoption of an attitude to Jesus was automatically involved. Jesus' opponents had already taken care of this. However, it remained the old decision, because its task was to make its own claim to God's will and God's name. Jesus' person now indeed became the content of faith. This happened entirely in God's name; for God had acted towards Jesus and in Jesus, and as the confessional formulations, their Pauline exposition, and later the Gospels all show, he would act along with Jesus all the more in the future. All this always has the implication that God has acknowledged Jesus and will acknowledge the believers who have faith in this. Thus there is always something open in the original conception of faith. It follows that Heb. 11.1 can, in fact, be applied as the classical definition of faith: it is the conviction of things not yet seen. (d) Faith therefore seeks to be pure faith. The result is certainly a new concept of faith which could hardly have existed previously, in spite of the traditional-sounding formulation even in Heb. 11.1. However, this does not mean that we have to be content with faith's characteristic as a risk. Faith certainly has a content, but one which must always be transformed back into its original form. This is why faith ever and again needs preaching. For the most dangerous enemies of faith are now those experiences which were a help to the believers. As a rule they do not take these experiences into consideration for the proper transmission of faith, for they are not the experiences of those who are to attain to faith after them. For this same reason a final word must be added about Jesus' suffering: Jesus himself must not be an obstacle to the faith of those who followed him. Just as he faced up to his opponents, so he had to prepare his own for the struggle which lay ahead of them, too (whether he was successful is another question). His proclamation had therefore to anticipate their temptation, and it had to be able to do without Jesus' own certainty. This feature constitutes the special secret of what he said. John's Gospel treats the same theme in a different way (John 16.7). (e) As far as the resurrection is concerned, this means that it is possible for a person to venture on faith in Jesus' resurrection only when he ventures along with Jesus to claim God's grace as God's true will, and to persist in this right up to death. The venture both is and remains a risk. There are only two possibilities, either to make the venture or not totertium non datur. There are, of course, external impulses. As the Easter 173
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events once did, so today the clarity and boldness of a preacher can contribute towards a person resolving on the risk of faith. But the real aid to faith is in faith itself. For pure faith is response. It responds to the question, which originally Jesus could decide only for himself, and which today we must each decide for ourselves, even though in community with Jesus we may still receive marvellous clarity and certainty. The question is this: Is it God's will that we should summon up freedom in face of him to appeal directly to him, despite our well-founded fear of his judgment, which we have all long since recognized in secret? The decision of the historical Jesus affirms just this. This is why he called sinners to follow him (Mark 2.14), and gave them preference to the just. For the person who hears and follows, Jesus is indeed already the Lord. The early Christian proclamation is distinguished from Jesus' proclamation by the fact that it knows about this 'already' in Jesus, and has sought to integrate the experiences of faith into its knowledge of Jesus. 8 Is this not then a return to knowledge about Jesus in place of pure faith? The proclamation loses its character when it anticipates confession. There is certainly an extensive network of cognitive statements running through the whole New Testament. These not only obscure Jesus' own decision, but also, for example, repeatedly suppress Paul's concept of faith. Nevertheless it remains the case that Jesus' lordship, in just the same way as the purity of faith, must repeatedly be newly ventured upon as one and the same thing. If faith is response, proclamation is a question-that question which asks what God wants of us. God's will for us is that our being (Dasein) should hinge on God. Our being (Dasein) should retain the Godward direction, so that we learn that we are 'of God'. If faith, because of its decision, is termed the representative of Jesus, preaching is now revealed as the new representative of God. God comes to us in his question to us, as in Jesus so through the preaching about Jesus. Far from putting an end to this question, the proclamation of Jesus' resurrection repeats it. The repetition of this question does not mean that we are diverted from the answer of faith; in the proclamation the entirety of the relationship to God revealed in Jesus demands our decision all the more. Then faith knows that in the proclamation of the resurrection the historical Jesus himself has come to us. The so-called Christ of faith is none other than the historical Jesus. But what is much more important is the statement that God himself wants to be encountered by us in the historical Jesus. The quest of the historical Jesus is now essentially transformed into the quest of the reality of the encounter with God in preaching. It is evident that the quest of the historical Jesus leads to theology, rather than diverting from it. The dogmatic continuation of exegetical analysis would have to be a doctrine of the word of God which keeps its sights firmly trained on the historical Jesus. 9
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Notes 1 Guest lecture at the University of Zurich, on 25 May, 1956; published in ZTK 53, 1956, pp. 210-29. As contributions to the discussion, cf. E. Kasemann, 'Das Problem des historischen Jesus', ZTK 51, 1954, pp. 125-53 (ET in his Essays on New Testament Themes, SBT 41, 1964, pp. 15-47); and N. A. Dahl, 'Der historische Jesus als geschichtswissenschaftliches und theologisches Problem', Kerygma und Dogma l, 1955, pp. 104-32; also the works of R. Bultmann, J. Jeremias and W. G. Ktimmel. 2 Doubt may then quantitatively augment the first statement by further statements, so that we get whole collections of 'confessional declarations'. But the negative beginning of such a series of declarations is betrayed by the fact that new declarations are repeatedly produced for the simple reason that none can suffice of itself. The true confession of faith rests in its object, whereas doubt proliferates in a restless way. 3 Cf. my book Hermeneutik, 1954, cited from the 2nd ed. of 1958, pp. 177ff. 4 This self-understanding can be discussed ontologically only as an understanding of being. In Bultmann, therefore, the concept of the self-understanding leads into the ontological, as soon as it is used formally. It is nevertheless true that the sinner really has no self-understanding-Ram. 7.24 is interpretation. 5 For Luke cf. H. Conzelmann, Die Mitte der Zeit, Studien zur Theologie des Lukas, 1954 (ET, The Theology of St Luke, 1960). For Matthew cf. my study 'Jesu Selbstzeugnis nach Matthaus 5', ZTK 51, 1954, 14-34; also the collected volume by G. Bornkamm. G. Barth and H. J. Held, Oberlieferung und Auslegung im Miitthaus-Evangelium, 1960 (ET, Tradition and Interpretation in Matthew, 1963). 6 The German words Gleichnis and Parabel can both be translated 'parable', but where it seemed valuable to preserve the distinction Gleichnis has been rendered as 'similitude' and Parabel as 'parable'. See Bultmann, Die Gesclziclzte der synoptischen Tradition, 3rd ed., 1957, pp. 188f (ET, The History of the Synoptic Tradition, 1963, p. 174). 7 To speak of suffering psychologically would mean to speak of the spiritual course of suffering. The analysis which is carried out here has nothing at all to do with this form of consideration. 8 G. W. lttel's study 'Der Einftuss der Philosophie M. Heideggers auf die Theologie R. Bultmanns', Kerygma und Dogma 2, 1956, 90-108, diminishes the theme of this 'already', both in Bultmann and in Heidegger. 9 The close relation of exegetical and dogmatic theology must be maintained in particular in regard to John's Gospel. At this point Bultmann's collaboration with Gogarten is incontrovertibly correct and significant. Cf. also my contribution on 'Das christologisch begrtindete Existenzverstandnis', Hermeneutik, pp. 239-48; and my paper given on the occasion of Gogarten's becoming Emeritus Professor at Gottingen, Begegnung mit dem Wart, Bad Cannstatt, 1955.
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THE PROBLEM OF THE HISTORICAL JESUS Joachim Jeremias Source: The Problem of the Historical Jesus (Facet Books: Biblical Series 13; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1964), pp. 1-21.
To anyone who is not aware of the controversy/ the question whether the historical Jesus and his message have any significance for the Christian faith must sound absurd. No one in the ancient church, no one in the church of the Reformation period and of the two succeeding centuries thought of asking such a question. How is it possible that today this question is being asked in all seriousness, that it even occupies a central place in New Testament debate, and that in many quarters it is being answered with a decisive negative? For a widely held theological position maintains that the historical Jesus and his message have no, or at least no decisive, significance for the Christian faith. We ask: ( 1) Why is such a point of view possible? How has it arisen? What is its basis? (2) What can be said by way of criticism of this view? and (3) What is the relation between the good tidings of Jesus and the proclamation of the church?
1. The theology of the kerygma In order to understand the "theology of the kerygma," 2 as represented by Rudolf Bultmann and his school, it is necessary to retrace the route by which this position has been reached. We shall here attempt to sketch that route in broad outline. Hermann Samuel Reimarus
The problem of the historical Jesus is of recent origin; the date of its birth can be precisely fixed at 1778. That date tells us that the problem of the historical Jesus is a child of the Enlightenment. Previous centuries held fast to the position that the gospels give us absolutely reliable information about Jesus; they saw no problem here. New Testament study of the 176
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gospels in the two centuries before the Enlightenment essentially confined itself to the task of paraphrasing and harmonizing the four gospels. In practice New Testament exegesis was a handmaid to the study of dogmatics. It was at the end of the eighteenth century that it was first recognized that the historical Jesus and the Christ proclaimed in the gospels and by the church are not the same. The man who announced this with brutal candor was Hermann Samuel Reimarus. Born in Hamburg in 1694, he was a professor of oriental languages, i.e., he was not a theologian. He died in 1768 in his native city. At his death he left a manuscript which came into the hands of Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, who, between 1774 and 1778, published seven excerpts from it. The seventh piece bore the title V on dem Zwecke Jesu und seiner Jiinger: Noch ein Fragment des Wolfenbiittelschen Ungenannten. 3 We must, says Reimarus, distinguish between the "aim" of Jesus, that is, the purpose which he set before himself, and the "aim" of his disciples. Jesus' purpose must be understood in the light of the cry from the cross, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"-words which proclaimed the failure of his purpose. That is to say: Jesus was a Jewish political Messiah, who sought to set up an earthly kingdom and to deliver the Jews from a foreign yoke. His cry from the cross shows that his "aim" had not been achieved. The "aim" of his disciples was totally different. Confronted by the collapse of their dreams, what were they to do? They had no wish to return to their trade. But how were they to live? They contrived to steal the corpse of Jesus and, by inventing the message of his resurrection and return, gathered adherents. Hence it was the disciples who created the figure of Christ. Great agitation followed upon the publication of this hate-filled pamphlet, and it rightly met with general rejection. Hate is no guide to historical truth. Nevertheless, Reimarus, the outsider, had been the first to perceive clearly a fact which had hitherto been overlooked. He had seen that the Jesus of history and the Christ preached by the church are not the same. History and dogma are two different things. The problem of the historical Jesus starts with Reimarus. Albert Schweitzer rightly entitled the first edition of his history of the study of the life of Jesus V on Reimarus zu Wrede. 4 Reimarus to Kiihler
Reimarus' portrayal of the historical Jesus was clearly absurd and amateurish. Jesus was no political revolutionary. Our sources bear unambiguous and trustworthy testimony to the fact that he was sharply opposed to the nationalistic Zealot tendencies in the world of his day. Still, in his contention that the historical Jesus was different from the Christ as depicted in the gospels, notably in John, Reimarus had raised a question which could not be evaded, namely, who really was Jesus of Nazareth?
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The study of the life of Jesus in which the Enlightenment now engaged sought to answer precisely this question. This study was inspired by a liberal theology and, indeed, represented a revolt against ecclesiastical dogma. This whole scholarly activity, centered on the historical Jesus, represented an attempt to break loose from dogma. The battle cry was, "Back to Jesus, the man from Nazareth!" Not christological dogma, but the personality and religion of Jesus were the decisive factors. Under the aegis of this watchword a multitude of lives of Jesus came into being, and we smile as we read them today. These lives vary greatly. The rationalists pictured Jesus as a preacher of morality, the idealists as the ideal Man; the aesthetes extolled him as the master of words and the socialists as the friend of the poor and as the social reformer, while the innumerable pseudo-scholars made of him a fictional character.5 Jesus was modernized. These lives of Jesus are mere products of wishful thinking. The final outcome was that every epoch and every theology found in the personality of Jesus the reflection of its own ideals, and every author the reflection of his own views. What had gone wrong? It was that, unconsciously, dogma had been replaced by psychology and fantasy. For all these lives of Jesus have one thing in common: their delineation of the personality of Jesus had been achieved by means of these two things, psychology and fantasy. The main share of the responsibility rests, not with the sources alone, but with the modern writers' uncontrolled psychologizing. It was a real tragedy that Albert Schweitzer, who throughout his whole book had exposed with ruthless insight the true nature of this wishful thinking, should himself have been ensnared by the fallacy of psychological reconstruction when he interpreted Matthew 10:23 to mean that Jesus' disappointment concerning his expectations of the imminent parousia brought the great turning point in his life, leading him to embark upon the way of the cross as the means to force the coming of God's kingdom. At first the so-called positive theology6 wisely confined itself essentially to warding off these attempts at reconstruction, and hence to an apologetic stance. Not until1892 did positive theology pass over to the attack with a programmatic book by Martin Kahler, a book in advance of its time and embodying a specific thesis: Der sogenannte historische Jesus und der geschichtliche, biblische Christus. 7 The title of this work must be carefully examined if we wish to understand Kahler's thesis. Kahler distinguishes, on the one hand, between "Jesus" and "Christ," and, on the other hand, between historisch ("historical") and geschichtlich ("historic"). "Jesus" denoted for Kahler the man of Nazareth, as the lives of Jesus had described and were describing him, while "Christ" denoted the Savior proclaimed by the church. The term historisch meant for him the bare facts of the past, while geschichtlich meant that which possesses abiding significance. That is, he placed over against one another the so-called "historical Jesus," as the writers of the lives of Jesus had sought to reconstruct him, 178
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and the "historic, biblical Christ," as the apostles had proclaimed him. His thesis runs: only the biblical Christ can be apprehended by us, and he alone is of abiding significance for faith. Only as the gospels portray him for us, and not as the self-styled scientific reconstructions present him, does "the undeniable impression of the fullest reality" make its impact upon us. 8 It should be noted-because it is often overlooked-that Kahler was convinced of the "reliability" of the "vivid and coherent image of a Man, an image we never fail to recognize," that confronts us in the New Testament records. 9 At first, however, Kahler's challenge went unheard; only in our time, when Rudolf Bultmann took it up and reformulated it, has it come into its own. Modern critical theology Inaugurated by Rudolf Bultmann and under his influence a truly fascinating development has taken place in recent decades. After a hundred and fifty years of preoccupation with the historical Jesus, critical theology came to recognize that it had undertaken an impossible task; it had the courage to acknowledge this fact openly, and with banners flying went over into the enemy camp. It turned its back on its history, it endorsed Kahler's views, at least in their negative aspects, it declared its preoccupation with the historical Jesus to have been an insoluble and fruitless undertaking, and it withdrew into the invulnerable bastion of the kerygma, the proclamation about Christ. Critical theology has based its renunciation of the historical Jesus and return to the apostolic preaching about Christ upon two considerations. (1) It points to the peculiar character of our sources. We have no writings from the hand of Jesus, such as we possess from the hand of the apostle Paul. On the contrary, we know Jesus only from the gospels, which are not biographies but testimonies of faith. The gospels contain a great deal of material which has been extensively edited in the course of transmission, and many legends (one need refer only to the miracle stories). All four gospels picture Jesus as he is apprehended by the faith of the evangelists: Mark depicts the hidden Son of God; Matthew, the secret King of Israel; Luke, the Lord of the future church; John, the self-revealing Son of God. From this material, as a hundred unavailing attempts have shown, it is not possible to construct a life of Jesus. We must free ourselves from the subjectivity of the so-called "historical Jesus research." We must draw the full consequences of the fact that we can know Jesus only as clad in the garb of myth. We must acknowledge that we cannot go behind the kerygma; if we attempt to do so nonetheless, we shall find ourselves on shaky ground. (2) Now it is not as if the sources left us entirely in the lurch, says critical theology. The time is past when an unscientific skepticism could doubt 179
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whether Jesus had ever lived at all. On the contrary, we can gain considerable information about Jesus himself and also about his proclamation. But what we arrive at when we analyze the sources with the tools of historical research, says critical theology, yields nothing that would be of significance for faith. For this Jesus of Nazareth was a Jewish prophet. To be sure, he was a prophet who, since he demanded absolute obedience, saw mankind as totally sinful, and proclaimed divine forgiveness to men, had apprehended "the Jewish conception of God in its purity and consistency." 10 He was indeed a prophet who claimed that a man's attitude toward His word determined his attitude toward God. But, for all that, he remained within the framework of Judaism. What he preached was a more radicalized form of Old Testament, Jewish faith in God.u For Bultmann, the history of Jesus is part of the history of Judaism, not of Christianity. To be sure, this Jewish prophet is of historical interest for New Testament theology, but he neither has, nor can have, significance for Christian faith, since (and here we have an astonishing thesis) Christianity first began at Easter. Here a decisive point has been reached. Who would ever think of saying that Islam began after Mohammed's death, or Buddhism after the death of Buddha? If we accept the thesis that Christianity began at Easter with the proclamation about the risen Christ, then indeed the logical inference is that, since Jesus was only a Jewish prophet, he does not belong to Christianity. "The message of Jesus," so runs the opening sentence of Bultmann's Theology of the New Testament, "belongs to the presuppositions of the theology of the New Testament and is not a part of that theology itself." 12 Here the plural, "presuppositions," must be especially noted. It implies that the message of Jesus is one presupposition of New Testament theology among many others, and perhaps not even the decisive one. Other factors are just as important: the Easter experiences of the disciples, the messianic expectations of Judaism, and the mythology of the pagan world which provided the garment with which Jesus of Nazareth was to be clothed. The study of Jesus and his message may be very interesting and instructive for the historical understanding of the rise of Christianity, but it has no significance for faith. These, then, are the two bases upon which modern critical theology rests its rejection of the historical Jesus. (1) We cannot write a life of Jesus because the requisite sources are lacking, and (2) what we can regard as historical is a Jewish prophet and his message, neither of which has any significance for faith. Hence it follows that our task today is not to pursue the phantom of the historical Jesus, but to interpret the kerygma, that is, the message of the apostle Paul about the justification of sinners. Admittedly, the Christianity of the Pauline and Johannine communities is a specimen of the syncretism of the Hellenistic period, and as such reflects the religious climate of that day. 13 But this is not an insuperable difficulty. We must demythologize the message and translate it into modern terms, with, let us say, the help of existentialist philosophy. 180
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Gerhard Ebeling states these ideas very bluntly when he says that revelation is not "a historical datum" (ein historisches Faktum), 14 nor is it "a historic event" (ein geschichtliches Geschehen)Y Revelations was not accomplished and completed during the years 1-30. Rather, it continues to take place whenever the kerygma is preached; it takes place in the act of faith. 16 In surveying this position we have outlined, we must first point out its positive aspects. Today critical research is very different from what it was in the previous century. It is bent on taking the entire kerygma into account and giving it its full due. The positive significance of this new stance of critical theology is of course immense. Nevertheless, I can see very grave dangers in this position. They are these: we are in danger of surrendering the affirmation "the Word became flesh" and of dissolving "salvation history," God's activity in the man Jesus of Nazareth and in his message; we are in danger of Docetism, 17 where Christ becomes an idea; we are in danger of putting the proclamation of the apostle Paul in the place of the good tidings of Jesus.
2. The crucial significance of the historical Jesus What can be said by way of criticism of the position which we have outlined? The necessity of historical study (1) Without a doubt it is true to say that the dream of ever writing a biography of Jesus is over. It would be disastrous if we were unwilling to heed critical scholarship's salutary caution regarding uncritical use of the gospels. Nevertheless we must go back to the historical Jesus and his message. We cannot bypass him. Quite apart from all theological considerations, there are two circumstances which compel us to make the attempt to ascertain the character of the gospel as Jesus proclaimed it. First of all, it is the sources which forbid us to confine ourselves to the kerygma of the primitive church and which force us ever and again to raise the question of the historical Jesus and his message. Every verse of the gospels tells us that the origin of Christianity lies not in the kerygma, not in the resurrection experiences of the disciples, not in a "Christ-idea." Every verse tells us, rather, that the origin of Christianity lies in the appearance of the man who was crucified under Pontius Pilate, Jesus of Nazareth, and in his message. I must emphasize the last words-and his message. The gospel that Jesus proclaimed antedates the kerygma of the primitive community. And as uncertain as many a detail of Jesus' life may be, his message can be clearly ascertained. To be sure, the accounts of Jesus and his message were recounted by the early church as testimonies to its faith, and the gospels 181
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are, to be sure, not biographies in the sense of the Greek biographies (that much we have learned). Nevertheless there has been gross exaggeration here. It is not as though everything in the gospels is colored and shaped by the faith of the church and the evangelists. Paul wrote earlier than all four evangelists, and he was the great theologian in the Gentile Christian church before the composition of the gospels. But Pauline terminology is discernible only here and there in the gospels. Jesus cannot be relegated to the rank and file of an anonymous primitive community. Over and over again we come across words which unmistakably imply a situation prior to Easter. Only occasionally do we meet with traces here and there of christological overlay; and even if everything were overlaid with Christology, the study of the historical Jesus would still remain an imperative task, since the absence of primary sources should not constitute a reason for abandoning historical research. (2) But it is not only the sources which compel us to keep on raising the problem of the historical Jesus and his message; the kerygma, too, the preaching about Christ by the early church, leads us back from itself at every turn. For the kerygma refers to a historical event. It proclaims: God was in Christ and reconciled the world to himself. God revealed himself in an event in history. The very heart of the kerygma, that "Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures" (I Corinthians 15:3), represents an interpretation of a historical event: this death happened for us. But this raises the question whether this interpretation of the crucifixion of Jesus has been arbitrarily impressed upon the events, or whether there was some circumstance in the events which caused this interpretation to be attached to it. In other words, we must ask: Did Jesus himself speak of his impending death, and what significance did he attach to it? The same consideration holds good for the proclamation of the resurrection; it always refers back from itself. The risen and exalted Christ, whom the apostles preached and to whom the Christian community prayed, has features-lineaments and traits of personality-with which the disciples were familiar, the lineaments and traits of their earthly lord. The same is true of Paul and all the rest of the preaching of the early church: they also constantly point back behind themselves. Paul fought the self-righteousness of Jewish legalism, the self-complacency of the pious and their self-glorification, against which he set the message that we are saved by faith alone, that God offers salvation, not to the righteous, but to the sinner who trusts alone in His forgiveness. But just that, although couched in other terms, is the very message of Jesus. It is clear that we cannot understand the message of Paul unless we know the message of Jesus. Whatever statements of the kerygma we may care to examine, their origins are always to be found in the message of Jesus. That the primitive church was clearly aware of this is shown by the fact that it supplemented the kerygma (the missionary preaching) with the didache (instruction for the community), 18 which is reflected not only in
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the epistles and the book of Revelation but also in the gospels. At no time was there a kerygma in the primitive church without didache. This, then, is the first consideration: we must continually return to the historical Jesus and his message. The sources demand it; the kerygma, which refers us back from itself, also demands it. To put it in theological terms, the Incarnation implies that the story of Jesus is not only a possible subject for historical research, study, and criticism, but demands all of these. We need to know who the Jesus of history was, and what was the content of his message. We may not avoid the offense of the Incarnation. And if it is objected that we fail to apprehend the essential nature of faith if we make historical knowledge the object of faith, and that faith is in this way offered up to such dubious, subjective, and hypothetical study, we can only reply that God has offered up himself. The Incarnation is the selfoffering of God, and to that we can only bow in assent. Indeed, it is precisely at this point that the latest theological developments push on beyond Bultmann's theology of the kerygma. It is now generally acknowledged that the problem of the historical Jesus must be taken seriously, and thus the situation in present-day New Testament studies is not so heterogeneous as it might seem at first sight. Bulwarks against the modernizing of Jesus We must venture forth on the road to the historical Jesus and his message, no matter where it may lead us. But, and this is the second consideration, we can venture on it with confidence, nor need we fear that we are engaging in a perilous, fruitless adventure. The question arises, however, whether we may not be in danger of ending up once again with a subjective, modernized life of Jesus. Is there not a risk that we too, like the whole of the nineteenth century, unconsciously and unintentionally, may project our own theology back into Jesus of Nazareth? With regard to this risk, it must be said that it is certainly never wholly possible for the historian to divest himself of his own personality. We shall never be entirely able to exclude this source of danger. Nevertheless we need not give up in despair, for our position is entirely different from that of the previous century. We are in fact better equipped. Our aims have become more modest, because the mistakes of the "classical" quest of the historical Jesus serve as warnings to us not to want to know more than we can know; that is already a point of inestimable worth. The decisive point, however, is that we today possess, if I may use a metaphor, bulwarks which will protect us from arbitrary modernizations of Jesus, that is, which will protect us from ourselves. Here I may content myself with suggestions and briefly indicate five aspects of the case. (1) The critical scholarship of the previous century has thrown up the first bulwark for us in the shape of the remarkable literary criticism which 183
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it developed and increasingly refined. We have been taught to distinguish sources or, more correctly (since we are becoming more and more skeptical about the assumption of written sources), strands of tradition: a Marcan tradition, a Logia tradition, 19 the special traditions of Luke, Matthew, and John. Having established this, literary criticism leads us back to the stage of oral tradition antedating our gospels. We have, moreover, been taught to recognize the style of composition of the evangelists, and hence to distinguish between tradition and redaction. We have been thus enabled to trace the tradition back into its pre-literary stage. (2) Form criticism has led us a step further back by attempting to determine the laws which governed the shaping of the material; it has thus thrown light from another side upon the creation and growth of the tradition. It is a fact not sufficiently known or heeded that the essential significance of form criticism is that it has enabled us to remove a Hellenistic layer which had overlaid an earlier Palestinian tradition. (3) We have been carried an important step further on the way back to Jesus himself by studies about the world of his day which have disclosed to us his environment, informing us of the religious climate and of Palestinian customs in his day. I am referring to the study of rabbinical literature and of Late Jewish apocalyptic. As one who was privileged to live in Palestine for some years, I can testify from my own experience how much new light has been thrown in this way upon the gospels. The importance of the study of both ancient and modern Palestine does not lie primarily in the fact that it has revealed to us how Jesus belonged to his own time; its main significance lies rather in the way in which it has helped us to realize afresh the sharpness of Jesus' opposition to the religiosity of his time. And this is the chief significance of the Dead Sea Scrolls for New Testament studies. The Essenism which they disclose to us enables us to realize from their own testimony to what an extent the whole of Late Judaism was imbued with a passion to establish God's holy community. We can now assess more clearly than heretofore the significance of the emphatic denial with which Jesus met all these attempts. (4) A further result of the study of the environment of Jesus has been to force upon us the necessity of studying his mother tongue. It was some seventy years ago that Dalman proved conclusively, in my estimation, that Jesus spoke Galilean Aramaic. 20 Since then the study of this dialect has been pursued but is still only in an early stage. We still lack critical editions of the texts and a vocabulary of Galilean Aramaic. But the studies made so far have already demonstrated how rewarding such meticulous philological research can be. It is only necessary to recall in how many cases one and the same saying of Jesus has been transmitted to us in different Greek forms. 21 In most of these cases we are dealing with translation variants, which constitute a reliable aid in reconstructing the Aramaic form of the saying underlying the various versions. For example, the 184
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Lord's Prayer, the Greek renderings of which in Matthew and Luke show many divergences, can by this means be retranslated into Jesus' mother tongue with a high degree of probability. 22 Anyone who has ever had anything to do with translations is aware that they can never take the place of the original, and will be able to assess how important it is that we should be able to get back with a high degree of probability to the original Aramaic underlying the Greek tradition. It must of course be remembered that the earliest Christian community spoke Aramaic too; so not every Aramaism is evidence of authenticity. At any rate, however, we are drawing nearer to Jesus himself when we succeed in rediscovering the preHellenistic form of the tradition. In this connection it is of special importance to note that this kind of study reveals peculiarities in the utterances of Jesus which are without contemporary parallels. As a form of address to God the word abba is without parallel in the whole of Late Jewish devotionalliterature.23 Similarly there is no contemporary analogy to Jesus' use of "Amen" as an introduction to his own utterances. 24 It may be maintained that these two characteristic features of the ipsissima vox of Jesus 25 contain in a nutshell his message and his consciousness of his authority. (5) Of special significance as a bulwark against a psychological modernizing of Jesus is the rediscovery of the eschatological character of his message. It is not only that we have learned to recognize how extensively Jesus shared the conceptions of contemporary apocalyptic and made use of its language; the decisive importance of this discovery lies elsewhere. We have seen how the whole message of Jesus flowed from an awareness that God was about to break into history, an awareness of the approaching crisis, the coming judgment; and we have seen the significance of the fact that it was against this background that he proclaimed the present inbreaking in his own ministry of the kingdom of God. 26 It is clear, then, that Jesus was no Jewish rabbi, no teacher of wisdom, no prophet, but that his proclamation of a God who was at the present moment offering a share in salvation to the despised, the oppressed, and the despairing ran counter to all the religiosity of his time, and was in truth the end of Judaism. At the end of his book The Quest of the Historical Jesus, Albert Schweitzer has summed up graphically the outcome of the attempts to write a life of Jesus: "The study of the Life of Jesus has had a curious history. It set out in quest of the historical Jesus, believing that when it had found Him it could bring Him straight into our time as a Teacher and Saviour. It loosed the bands by which He had been riveted for centuries to the stony rocks of ecclesiastical doctrine, and rejoiced to see life and movement coming into the figure once more, and the historical Jesus advancing, as it seemed, to meet it. But He does not stay; He passes by our time and returns to His own.'m Such was in fact the remarkable outcome of the study of the life of Jesus begun in 1778. It had freed Jesus from 185
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fetters; he became a living figure, belonging to the present; he became a man of our own time. Yet he did not stay, but passed by our time and returned to his own. It became clear that he was not a man of our time, but the prophet of Nazareth, who spoke the language of the prophets of the old covenant and proclaimed the God of the old covenant. But we must now extend Schweitzer's metaphor. Jesus did not stay in his own time, but he also passed beyond his own time. He did not remain the rabbi of Nazareth, the prophet of Late Judaism. He receded into the distance, entered into the dim light of Easter morning, and became, as Schweitzer says in the closing sentence of his book, the One unknown, without a name, who speaks the word, "Follow thou me!" 28 Historical study and Jesus' claim If we travel the road thus indicated, threading our way amid the five pro-
tecting walls which guard us from modernizing Jesus and fashioning him in our own likeness, we are then confronted by a unique claim to authority which breaks through the bounds of the Old Testament and of Judaism. Everywhere we are confronted in the message of Jesus by this ultimate claim, that is to say, we are confronted by the same claim to faith as that with which the kerygma presents us. We must at this point reiterate one of the simplest and most obvious facts, since it is no longer obvious to all. Every sentence of the sources bears witness of this fact to us, every verse of our gospels hammers it into us: something has happened, something unique, something which had never happened before. The study of the history of religions has amassed countless parallels and analogies to the message of Jesus. As far as our knowledge of Pharisaic and rabbinical theology is concerned, for instance, the monumental work of Paul Billerbeck29 is unsurpassed and will long remain so. Yet the more analogies we amass, the clearer it becomes that there are no analogies to the message of Jesus. There is no parallel to his message that God is concerned with sinners and not with the righteous, and that he grants them, here and now, a share in his kingdom. There is no parallel to Jesus' sitting down in tablefellowship with publicans and sinners. There is no parallel to the authority with which he dares to address God as abba. Anyone who admits merely the fact-and I cannot see how it can be gainsaid-that the word abba is an authentic utterance of Jesus, is, if he understands the word correctly, without watering down its meaning, thereby confronted with Jesus' claim to authority. Anyone who reads the parable of the Prodigal Son, which belongs to the bedrock of the tradition, and observes how in this parable, which describes the unimaginable goodness of divine forgiveness, Jesus justifies his table-fellowship with publicans and sinners, is again confronted with the claim of Jesus to be regarded as God's representative, acting with his authority. 30 One example after another could be cited, but the result 186
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would always be the same. If with utmost discipline and conscientiousness we apply the critical resources at our disposal to the study of the historical Jesus, the final result is always the same: we find ourselves confronted with God himself. That is the fact to which the sources bear witness: a man appeared, and those who received his message were certain that they had heard the word of God. It is not as if faith were made superfluous or belittled, when exegesis shows us that behind every word and every deed of Jesus lies his claim to authority. (How could faith ever become superfluous?) Indeed, the truth of the matter is that through the words and acts of Jesus at every turn the challenge to faith is presented. When we read the gospels, even when we read them critically, we cannot evade this challenge. This claim to divine authority is the origin of Christianity, and hence study of the historical Jesus and his message is no peripheral task of New Testament scholarship, a study of one particular historical problem among many others. It is the central task of New Testament scholarship.
Notes 1 Among the more pertinent books and articles in the extensive literature on the subject are the following: Martin Kahler, Der sogenannte historische Jesus und der geschichtliche, biblische Christus (Leipzig: A. Deichertsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1892; 21896; new ed., ed. E. Wolf ["Theologische Bticherei," 2; Munich: Kaiser, 1953]); Eng. trans. by Carl E. Braaten, The So-called Historical Jesus and the Historic, Biblical Christ (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1964). Albert Schweitzer, Geschichte der Leben-Jesu-Forschung (Ttibingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1906; 21913; 6 1951); Eng. trans. by W. Montgomery, The Quest of the Historical Jesus: A Critical Study of its Progress from Reimarus to Wrede (London: A. & C. Black, 1910; 21911). Rudolf Bultmann, Theologie des Neuen Testaments (Ttibingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1948--53; 51965); Eng. trans. by Kendrick Grobel, Theology of the New Testament (2 vols.; New York: Scribner's, 1951-55). Ernst Kasemann, "Das Problem des historischen Jesus," Zeitschrift filr Theologie und Kirche, 51 (1954), 125-53; Eng. trans. by W. J. Montague, Essays on New Testament Themes ("Studies in Biblical Theology," No. 41; London: SCM, 1964), pp. 15-47. Nils A. Dahl, "Der historische Jesus als geschichtswissenschaftliches und theologisches Problem," Kerygma und Dogma, 1 (1955), 104-32; Eng. trans., "The Problem of the Historical Jesus," in Kerygma and History: A Symposium on the Theology of Rudolf Bultmann, ed. Carl E. Braaten and Roy A. Harrisville (New York: Abingdon, 1962), pp. 138-71. T. W. Manson, "The life of Jesus: some tendencies in present-day research," in The Background of the New Testament and its Eschatology (in honour of Charles Harold Dodd), ed. W. D. Davies and D. Daube (Cambridge University Press, 1956), pp. 211-21. Ernst Heitsch, "Die Aporie des historischen Jesus als Problem theologischer Hermeneutik," Zeitschrift filr Theologie und Kirche, 53 (1956), 192-210. Ernst Fuchs, "Die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus," Zeitschr~ft filr Theologie und Kirche, 53, (1956), 210-29; Eng. trans. by A. Scobie, "The Quest of the Historical Jesus," in Studies of the Historical Jesus ("Studies in Biblical Theology," 42; London: SCM, 1964), pp. 11-31. Joachim Jeremias, Die Gleichnisse Jesu (Zurich: Zwingli-Verlag, 1947; Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 7 1965); Eng. trans. by S. H. Hooke, The 187
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2
3
4 5 6
Parables of Jesus (London: SCM, and New York: Scribner's, 1954; rev. ed., 1963). Beda Rigaux, "Jesus-Christ devant l'histoire et la dialectique," Revue Generale Beige, 94 (1958-59), pp. 1-16. Paul Althaus, Das sogenannte Kerygma und der historische Jesus: Zur Kritik der heutigen Kerygma- Theologie ("Beitrage zur Forderung christlicher Theologie," 48; Gtitersloh: Bertelsmann, 1958); Eng. trans. by David Cairns, The So-Called Kerygma and the Historical Jesus (Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd, 1959); in its U.S. edition, Fact and Faith in the Kerygma of Today (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg, 1960). James M. Robinson, A New Quest of the Historical Jesus ("Studies in Biblical Theology," 25; London: SCM, and Naperville: Allenson, 1959); German trans., Kerygma und historischer Jesus (Zurich: Zwingli-Verlag, 1960). Rudolff Schnackenburg, "Jesusforschung und Christusglaube," Catholica, 13 (1959), 1-17. Die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus, Zeitschrift fiir Theologie und Kirche, 56 (1959), Beiheft, 1, with contributions from Hans Conzelmann, Gerhard Ebeling, and Ernst Fuchs; Eng. trans. of Conzelmann's paper, "The Method of the Life-ofJesus Research," in The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ: Essays on the New Quest of the Historical Jesus, ed. Carl E. Braaten and Roy A. Harrisville (New York: Abingdon, 1964), pp. 54-68; Eng. trans. by J. W. Leitch of Ebeling's paper, "The Question of the Historical Jesus and the Problem of Christology," in Word and Faith (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1963), pp. 288-304. Rudolf Bultmann, Das Verhiiltnis der urchristlichen Christusbotschaft zum historischen Jesus (Sitzungsberichte der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften, philosoph.-hist. Klasse, 1960:3; third ed., Heidelberg: Carl Winter Universitatsverlag, 1962); Eng. trans. in The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ, op. cit., pp. 15-42; much of what has been written in the controversy in the last decade (mostly in German) may be gathered from this essay and its notes. The American reader may especially consult James M. Robinson, A New Quest, op. eft., and Reginald H. Fuller, The New Testament in Current Study (New York: Scribner's, 1962); both authors are, on the whole, favorable to the Bultmannian outlook but try to reach a position of their own beyond him. ["Kerygma" represents a Greek term meaning "proclamation," found eight times in the New Testament. It is used to denote the early Christian proclamation that Jesus Christ is lord, and refers both to the content of that proclamation and to the action of preaching it; cf. I Cor. 1:21; Rom. 16:25; or Titus 1:3, for examples. The primacy of the kerygma in New Testament studies and its centrality for all theology have been stressed especially by Bultmann and his pupils.-EDITOR.] ["Concerning the Aim of Jesus and his Disciples: Another Fragment by the Anonymous Author from Wolfenblittel"], Braunschweig, 1778. [For a partial translation, cf. Fragments from Reimarus consisting of Brief Critical Remarks on the Object of Jesus and his Disciples ... , edited by Charles Voysey (London: Williams and Norgate, 1879; reprinted, Lexington, Kentucky: American Theological Seminary Library Association, 1962).-EDITOR.] Tlibingen, 1906; for Eng. trans., see note 1. Cf. J. Leipoldt, Vom Jesusbilde der Gegenwart (Leipzig: Dorffling & Franke, 1913; 21925). [As employed in nineteenth-century biblical studies in Germany, "positive theology" designated the position of those who, while wishing, in varying degrees, to employ the tools of historical scholarship, rejected the "negative" and often theologically liberal conclusions of many of the critical scholars. In life-of-Jesus research it opposed a "life" like that by Ernest Renan.-EDITOR.]
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7 [The So-called Historical Jesus and the Historic, Biblical Christ, op. cit. To make a distinction in English between historisch and geschichtlich is the despair of most translators. Reginald Fuller, followed by many others, has adopted "historical" or "past-historical" for the former, and ·'historic" for the latter, in his rendering of essays in Kerygma and Myth, Vol. 1, ed. H. W. Bartsch (London: SPCK, and Greenwich: Seabury, 1953), pp. xi-xii. Some challenge the distinction made even in German and feel that it is quite arbitrary in English. Cf., however, Webster's Third New International Dictionary (Springfield, Mass.: G. & C. Merriam, 1961 ), p. 1073; "historical" is defined as " ... having the character of history," and "historic" as "having ... significance, or consequence." Professor Jeremias' explanation clarifies well what Kahler meant-EDITOR.) 8 Kahler, The So-called Historical Jesus, p. 78. 9 Ibid., pp. 89, 95. 10 R. Bultmann, Jesus ("Die Unsterblichen," 1; Berlin: Deutsche Bibliothek, 1926), p. 143. Eng. trans. by Louise Pettibone Smith and Erminie Huntress, Jesus and The Word (New York: Scribner's, 1934), p. 155. 11 R. Bultmann, Theologie des Neuen Testaments, op. cit., p. 12; in the Eng. trans., op. cit., cf. Vol. 1, pp. 3 ff., especially 4, 12, 16-17, and 22-26. 12 Op. cit. [In the Eng. trans., see Vol. 1, p. 3, where the rendering, "The message of Jesus is a presupposition ... ," does not quite bring out the full sense of " ... gehort zu den Voraussetzungen ... "or make quite the point to which Professor Jeremias refers above.-EDITOR.] 13 R. Bultmann, Das Urchristentum im Rahmen der antiken Religionen (Zurich: Artemis-Verlag, 1949; 21954); Eng. trans. by R. H. Fuller, Primitive Christianity in its Contemporary Setting ("Living Age Books"; New York: Meridian, 1956). 14 Die Geschichtlichkeit der Kirche und ihre Verkiindigung als theologisches Problem (Ti.ibingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1954), p. 59; Eng. trans. by Grover Foley, The Problem of Historicity in the Church and its Proclamation (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1967), p. 72. 15 Ibid., pp. 59 ff; Eng. trans., p. 73. 16 Ibid., p. 63; Eng. trans., p. 77. 17 ["Docetism," from the Greek dokein, to "appear" or "seem,'' refers to those types of Christian teaching where God is held to have become not really incarnate but only to have "appeared" to become man. It thus undervalues the reality of the life of Jesus.-EDITOR.] 18 ["Didache," a Greek term transliterated into English, means literally "teaching." It has been employed by C. H. Dodd and many others to refer to the teaching activity, especially ethical in its content, which followed after the kerygma among converts in the early church. While many scholars tend to limit the didache to ethical instruction alone, Professor Jeremias views it as reiterating and expanding the kerygma about Jesus' death and as covering all areas of Christian instruction, not just morals: cf. J. Jeremias, The Sermon on the Mount (trans. Norman Perrin; "Facet Books, Biblical Series," 2; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1963), pp. 19-21, or R. H. Mounce, The Essential Nature of New Testament Preaching (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1960), pp. 40-43, 133,-EDITOR.] 19 ["Logia," the Greek term for "sayings," is applied to the collection of sayings commonly called "Q" which Matthew and Luke used as a source in addition to their Marcan source. While "Q" is often thought to have been a written book, Professor Jeremias prefers to think of it as an oral stratum of tradition.EorroR.] 189
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20 [Gustav Dalman, Die Worte Jesu mit Beriicksichtigung des nachkanonischen jiidischen Schrifttums und der aramiiischen Sprache erortert (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs'sche Buchhandlung, 1898; 21930); Eng. trans. by D. M. Kay, The Words of Jesus considered in the light of post-Biblical Jewish writings and the Aramaic language (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1902).-EDITOR.] 21 [On "translation variants," cf. J. Jeremias, The Sermon on the Mount, op. cit., pp. 15-16.-EDITOR.] 22 [Cf. J. Jeremias, The Lord's Prayer ("Facet Books, Biblical Series," 8; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1964), p. 15.-EDITOR.] 23 [Ibid., p. 19; cf. also his Central Message of the New Testament, pp. 9.30.EDITOR.] 24 [H. Schlier, "amen," in Theologisches Worterbuch zum Neuen Testament (ed. G. Kittel), Vol. 1 (Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1933), pp. 339-42, especially 341-42; Eng. trans. by G. W. Bromiley, Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, Vol. 1 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964), pp. 335-38. While Schlier speaks of Jesus' use of "Amen" as containing "the whole of Christology in nuce," he does not stress the uniqueness of Jesus' usage or draw out the implications as sharply as Professor Jeremias has.-EDITOR.] 25 [Ipsissima vox, Jesus' own original way of speaking. Cf. J. Jeremias, "Characteristics of the ipsissima vox Jesu," in The Prayers of Jesus ("Studies in Biblical Theology, second series," 6; London: SCM, 1967).-EDITOR.] 26 [Cf. J. Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, op. cit.-EDITOR.] 27 Op. cit., Eng. trans., p. 397. 28 Ibid., p. 401. 29 [H. Strack and P. Billerbeck, Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrasch (6 vols.; Munich: C. H. Beck, 1922-61). The four volumes of commentary from Jewish sources were published between 1922 and 1928 and are exclusively the work of Paul Billerbeck. Volume 4 actually consists of two parts, containing detached notes on various important topics. Vols. 5 and 6 add valuable indices prepared under Professor Jerernias' direction.-EDITOR.] 30 Cf. E. Fuchs, "Die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus," op. cit., p. 219 (Eng. trans., pp. 20-21). [Cf. also J. Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, op. cit., pp. 128-32 in the rev. ed.-EDITOR.]
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THE POSSIBILITY OF A NEW QUEST James M. Robinson Source: A New Quest of the Historical Jesus (Studies in Biblical Theology 25; London: SCM Press, 1959), pp. 48---72.
If the rise of the kerygma meant that we cannot and ought not continue
the quest of the historical Jesus, any reappraisal of the problem must concentrate upon these two aspects. Therefore we first inquire as to whether we can renew the quest of the historical Jesus.
A. The 'historical section' of the kerygma? The more one catches sight of the decisive role the kerygma played in bringing the quest to an end, the more one recognizes the relevance of C. H. Dodd's attempt to show that the kerygma contained something corresponding to a life of Jesus, namely a sketch of the public ministry.' However his competent presentation only served to show the difficulties inherent in such an avenue toward reconciling the kerygma and the quest of the historical Jesus. First of all, he neglected the fact that the kerygma receives its tremendous authority in theology today not simply from its position in the history of ideas, i.e. not simply as precedent, but rather from its existential function as a call to faith, in which God calls upon me to accept his judgement upon me in Jesus' death, and to live from his grace in Jesus' resurrection. Even if the kerygma as historical precedent contained details of Jesus' biography, just as it contained at times mythological motifs from Hellenistic syncretism, the kerygma as eschatological event does not impose upon me the thought patterns with which it originally operated. For Dodd's approach to succeed, it would be necessary to show that the inclusion of details from Jesus' life is not part of the adiaphora, i.e. not just one means among others of emphasizing the incarnation, but rather that it is indispensable for conveying the existential meaning of the kerygma, i.e. is constitutive of the kerygma as eschatological event. This is difficult in view of the fact that apart from Acts the kerygma is almost totally lacking in 191
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biographical facts, and that in Acts the facts listed vary from sermon to sermon. 2 The way in which Dodd attempts to reconcile the kerygma and the quest is in the second place misleading, since it interprets the 'historical section of the kerygma' (47) 3 in terms of a positivistic view of history, rather than in terms of the theological approach to history which actually characterized primitive Christianity. For Dodd characterizes this 'historical section' as presenting the 'historical facts of the life of Jesus' (31), a 'comprehensive summary of the facts of the ministry of Jesus' (28), so that the average reader would be misled into the assumption that the kerygma was concerned with the objectively verifiable 'data' (29) of the historian. To begin with, this language suggests considerably more 'data' than are actually to be found in the rather meagre factual detail of the sermons in Acts, not to speak of the almost complete absence of such detail in kerygmatic texts outside Acts. But even more important, the direction in which this 'historical section' is interpreted is in terms of the Sitz im Leben of the historian, rather than in terms of the Sitz im Leben of the primitive Christian. It may be that kerygmatic allusions to Jesus' humility, meekness, gentleness, love, forgiveness and obedience derive from historical memory of Jesus; 4 but the 'historical value' which such material may have is far from its kerygmatic meaning, which is more accurately stated by Bultmann, in language actually intended to state the significance of the preexistence in the kerygma: 'That Jesus, the historical person, did this service for us, and that he did it not out of personal sympathy and loveableness, but rather by God acting in him, in that God established his love for us through Jesus dying for us sinners (Rom. 5.6-8).' 5 One need only read the kerygmatic hymn in Phil. 2.6-11 to see the role this 'historical section of the kerygma' originally played: I
6 Who being in the form of God Did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped 7 But emptied himself, Taking the form of a servant. Il Being born in the likeness of man And being found in human form 8 He humbled himself Becoming obedient unto death (i.e. the death of the cross). Ill 9 Therefore God has highly exalted him And bestowed on him the name which is above every name,
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10 That at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, (in heaven and on earth and under the earth) 11 And every tongue confess: JESUS CHRIST IS LORD (to the glory of God the Father). 6 Although no facts from Jesus' life are reported, his humiliation is emphasized as the indispensable presupposition of his exaltation. It is this meaning of humiliation which keeps the 'historical section of the kerygma' from attempting to legitimize the kerygma with objectively demonstrable 'signs'. For not only did Jesus reject such an insistence upon legitimizing signs, but Paul explicitly recognized the rejection of such signs as inherent in the existential meaning of the kerygma (I Cor. 1.17-25).7 Consequently when details do on occasion come to be introduced into the 'historical section of the kerygma', the normative significance of their introduction should not be seen in terms of positivistic historiography. Rather is it necessary to seek to trace the original kerygmatic meaning at work in this procedure, in order to reach a valid kerygmatic approach to the Gospels and a normative basis for a modem quest of the historical Jesus. The central strophe in the hymn of Phil. 2.6-11 presents Jesus' earthly life in the lowest possible terms, 8 precisely because the first strophe about the Pre-existent9 and the third strophe about the Exalted 10 point to the meaningfulness of his (and therefore our) very ambiguous historical existence. Although pre-existence and exaltation are, so to speak, chronologically separate from the life, they reveal the life's whence and whither, and are thus a way of expressing its meaning. This method is quite common in kerygmatic texts of the briefer 'humiliation-exaltation' type (Rom. 1.3-4; I Tim. 3.16; I Peter 3.18b ), as well as in kerygmatic texts with much the same 'pre-existence-humiliation-exaltation' pattern as Phil. 2.6-11 (e.g. Col. 1.15-20; Heb. 1.2 ff.; II Cor. 8.9; Rom. 10.6-9; I Cor. 8.6). Even though the 'historical section' or humiliation seems even to disappear from some of these kerygmatic texts, their original intention was to emphasize the meaningfulness of Jesus' historicity or humiliation, and only with gnosticism was this original meaning lost. Consequently the introduction of details into the 'historical section of the kerygma' is valid only11 as an impressive way of witnessing to this kerygmatic message, that in suffering lies glory, in death resides life, in judgement is to be found grace. Whereas the kerygma customarily describes this 'exaltation to be found in humiliation' by stating the exaltation outside the 'historical section', sometimes the kerygma superimposes the exaltation upon the humiliation, so that life becomes visible in death, glory in suffering, grace in judgement, the exaltation in the humiliation, the resurrection glory in the 'historical section'. The statements about Jesus 'in the flesh', originally intended to designate only the humiliation half of the paradox, come to express both sides of it. 'Put to death in the 193
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flesh' (I Peter 3.18) becomes 'Revealed in the flesh' (I Tim. 3.16)_12 And the statement of Jesus' this-worldly origin 'according to the flesh' is not only followed by a statement about his other-worldly origin 'according to the Spirit', but also includes within the this-worldly side an allusion to themessianic lineage (Rom. 1.3; 9.5; Ignatius, Smyrn. 1.1 ), so that both sides of the paradox are present within the 'historical section'. 13 Another expression for Jesus' this-worldly origin is 'born of a woman' (Gal. 4.4), and this too comes to express both sides of the paradox, in the expression 'born of a virgin' (Ignatius, Smyrn. 1.1; Justin, Dial. 85.2; Apol. 31.7; 32.14). 14 Now this trend within the kerygmatic tradition is the movement which logically leads to the writing of Gospels. 15 This is most apparent in the case of the Gospel of John. For this Gospel, more self-consciously and explicitly than the others, speaks of Jesus in terms of the kerygma. Therefore we should not be surprised to see the Gospel of John consciously superimposing the glory of pre-existence and exaltation upon the 'historical section'. The pre-existent glory 'still' shines in the earthly life: 'The word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we beheld his glory' (1.14). And the glory of exaltation is 'already' in the earthly life: The cross is 'already' Jesus' 'glorification' (7.39; 12.16; 13.31; 17.1, 5) and 'exaltation' (3.14; 8.28; 12.32-34). Similarly the synoptic tradition embedded the exaltation within the humiliation, most clearly in the transfiguration scene, but also in Jesus' miracles, brilliant teachings, and victorious debates. And here too, just as in the case of the sermons in Acts (2.22; 10.38), the use of various Jewish and Hellenistic styles of narrating the divine in historyl 6 should not mislead us as to the normative kerygmatic significance which is to be maintained throughout this transition from 'kerygma' to 'narrative'. In the narrative, just as in the kerygma, we are confronted with paradox: exaltation in humiliation, life in death, the kingdom of God in the present evil aeon, the eschatological in history. This kerygmatic meaning of the 'historical section' is constitutive of the Gospel as a literary form. This is apparent in Mark's 'messianic secret' 17 and finds expression in the modern definition of the Gospels as 'passion narratives with long introductions' .18 The paradox inherent in the kerygma and the Gospels is beyond objective verification by the historian. Neither the kerygma, nor the kerygmatic Gospels, can legitimately be used to lead us into a positivistic approach to the quest of the historical Jesus. When the emphasis laid by the kerygma upon the historicity or humiliation of Jesus has been misunderstood in terms of nineteenth-century historiography, it is almost inevitable that one would search in the kerygma for the implementation of that kind of historiography. Dodd is only carrying out this logical consequence when he seeks to find a chronology of the public ministry in the kerygma; and the failure of this attempt should confirm the thesis that the basic meaning of Jesus' historicity for the kerygma has been misunderstood. Outside Acts, the kerygmatic texts 194
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contain no factual details from the public ministry. In the sermons of Acts, the few details from the public ministry provide no chronological information. We can infer from Acts 10.37; 13.24 f. that the public ministry's beginning at John the Baptist preceded its end on the cross; but since one knows a priori that the beginning precedes the end, this element reflects no more chronological information or interests than does the hymn of Phil. 2.6-11, where we can infer that the incarnation preceded the death. In two sermons of Acts various elements of the public ministry are mentioned, but without chronological order: the 'mighty works and wonders and signs' of 2.22 are not different facts occurring in that order in the public ministry; the only 'order' one might sense is a certain parallel to the order in the immediately preceding prophecy from Joel 2.28-32. Acts 10.38 says that Jesus 'went about doing good and healing all that were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him'. This Lucan formulation includes no chronological sequence; or should we assume that 'doing good' refers to one phase of the public ministry, which was then followed by another, in which 'doing good' was superseded by exorcisms? If so, one would then arrive at the reverse of the Marcan order! The complete absence from the kerygma of a chronology for the public ministry should have been sufficient evidence to indicate that the kind of historicity in which the kerygma was interested differed basically from that with which Dodd was occupied. But it is indicative of Dodd's intellectual stature that he nonetheless carried through the logic of his position, and does actually present us with a kerygmatic chronology of the public ministry. This is worked out in an essay on 'The Framework of the Gospel Narrative',19 which is one of the rare serious attempts to refute Karl Ludwig Schmidt's argument that the Marcan order is not chronological. Schmidt and others had called attention to the generalizing summaries ('Sammelberichte') introduced into the Gospel by Mark to hold the narrative together. Dodd now unites all these 'Sammelberichte' into a continuous text, and defines this as a kerygmatic chronology of the public ministry. Now ingenious though this solution is, it fails, by being a pure conjecture composed of a series of less likely alternatives. One must first assume that the various 'Sammelberichte' belonged together as a continuous outline, in the order in which they occur in Mark. But no evidence for this 'original' form in which they circulated is given, and one of the 'Sammelberichte' is omitted by Dodd himself as unfit for this construction. One must then assume that the order of the reconstructed unit is chronological. But for this assumption one has neither the support of any other kerygmatic text, nor the support of the Gospels. For Dodd is attempting to refute the dominant view since Schmidt of the nonchronological order of the Gospels, and it would clearly be an argument in a circle to assume the chronological order of the Gospels in the argument. Dodd must next maintain that the 'Sammelberichte' are not, as has been 195
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generally supposed, 20 Marcan creations, but rather comprise a pre-Marcan kerygmatic tradition. Dodd's argument here is to the effect that Mark does not actually follow this reconstructed outline; it is assumed that he attempted to do so, and consequently that his failure indicates that the outline was not his own, but came to him from the tradition. However the case for the existence of the conjectured 'outline' really requires for its proof some such objective indication of its existence as would be provided by Mark following it in his narrative. The fact that Mark does not follow the order of the hypothetical outline certainly points to a more obvious inference than the pre-Marcan origin of the hypothetical document: namely, its non-existence. Mark did not follow the outline of the collected 'Sammelberichte' simply because he was unaware of them as assembled into a chronological outline by Dodd, but knew of them only as he himself presents them: a series of independent generalizing summaries, probably, like the kerygma and the Gospels, primarily topical in nature. Dodd's whole thesis with regard to a kerygmatic chronology fails for lack of the confirming evidence required to establish a position which would reverse the course of scholarship, and thus must move against the stream of current views as to the probabilities in the case.21
B. 'New sources'? The original quest had been brought to an end by the rise of the kerygma to the centre of twentieth-century theology. Credit for the centrality of the kerygma is largely due, at least in the English-speaking world, to C. H. Dodd. Yet the new spirit, once conjured up, was no longer at the service of the master, and failed to provide him with a new basis for the old quest. Perhaps sensing this situation, the most forthright German attempt to revive the positivistic kind of quest, 22 although carried through by a strong supporter of the kerygma, 23 has sought its basis elsewhere. This is the significance of the life of Jesus by Ethelbert Stauffer, which is due to appear in English within the year. 24 Initially impressed by the current consensus as to the kerygmatic nature of the Gospels (7), Stauffer bases the possibility of a positivistic quest upon the existence of new sources (8). These are of three kinds. First are 'indirect' sources: increased knowledge of Palestinian conditions. However this is not basically a new kind of source, but is actually what Ernst Renan a century ago entitled 'the fifth gospel'. And the bulk of this information was collected by Gustav Dalman and Joachim Jeremias toward the opening of the present century, before the modernization of Palestine obscured the tradition of the past. Thus we are not dealing with a new source which has arisen during the last generation, outdating the current position that the quest is impossible, but rather with an old source used by the original quest; and, although one may speak of a quantitative 196
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increase of accumulated research, the source itself is less intact now than when the quest came to an end. Nor is the way in which Stauffer uses this source basically new. He speaks (8) of 'synchronizing' this material with the Gospels to achieve a chronology. But the indirect sources have no chronology of Jesus' life to be synchronized with the Gospels; information about Palestine is merely used (16-18) to identify the season or year fitting Gospel allusions (e.g. harvest in the spring; 15th year of Tiberius as A.D. 28). Given the order of the Gospels as chronological, one's knowledge of Palestine could help to set up dates or seasons. 25 But what is here presupposed is precisely what today cannot be presupposed, that the Gospels are in chronological order. What is really synchronized is the Fourth Gospel with the synoptics, much as in the lives of Christ of the nineteenth century.26 One must conclude that the first 'new source' has not helped Stauffer to disprove the present consensus; instead the consensus has been ignored, and the traditional sources, i.e. the Gospels, used in a pre-Schmidt fashion. The second kind of 'new source' is found in the Jewish (i.e. Rabbinic) polemics against Jesus, which again can hardly be called a 'new source'. Since the Jewish sources have the reverse prejudice to that of the Christian sources, Stauffer assumes (9-10) that one has historical fact when the two agree. The Achilles' heel of this argument is the dependence of Rabbinic allusions to Jesus upon the Christian witness. Stauffer seeks to avoid this difficulty by arguing that if the Jews took over a Christian view, the view must be historically accurate. However this argument would be valid only if one assumed that the Jews were historical critics, rather than polemicists. Where the facts were damaging, they had to deny their historicity or hide them; but where they could easily be given an anti-Christian meaning (as in the case of the virgin birth), they could be left standing. Thus the omission or adoption of Christian views about Jesus in the Rabbinic tradition has no direct bearing upon their historicityY Stauffer's third 'new source' is the literature of Jewish apocalypticism (10 f.). However this too is no 'new source', but rather a source which played a major role in the last phase of the original quest, culminating in the work of Johannes Weiss and Albert Schweitzer. One might assume that Stauffer had in mind the newly discovered Qumran texts. However these have for him only a negative significance (11 ). The legalism of Qumran identifies Jesus' legalistic sayings as inauthentic, introduced into the tradition in the re-Judaizing process carried on by Baptist and Palestinian Christian forces. None of Stauffer's 'new sources' actually adds new information specifically about Jesus. They are merely used to argue for the historicity of the Christian sources. In this sense they are not so much new sources for the life of Jesus as new arguments; except that the arguments are not new. For the 'new sources' are not used to disprove the kerygmatic nature of the
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New Testament sources and their resultant partiality, which Stauffer began (7 f.) by fully conceding, and then as fully ignores. What is new in Stauffer is the programmatic revival of the positivistic understanding of history, in which the Verbum Dei incarnatum is a nudum factum, and the quaestio prima of all theological research is the reconstruction of the history of Jesus, which can solve among other things the problem of the absoluteness of Jesus. In his view of history, as well as in his view of the sources, Stauffer shares the outlook of nineteenth-century liberalism, except that he replaces the critical approach with the conservative principle: in dubio pro tradito. 28 His basic weakness is that he has ignored the intervening fifty years, whereas real progress in scholarship, precisely when progress means a shift in direction, comes by means of profound understanding of the valid reasons behind the current position, including the valid reasons it had for rejecting an older view to which we must now in some legitimate sense return. For a return must always be a transformation, accepting the valid arguments levelled against the original position, and accepting the valid achievements of the intervening period. Whereas Stauffer made much of 'new sources' which are hardly new, there is a source which he does not mention which is quite new. Among the Coptic gnostic manuscripts discovered in Egypt at Nag Hammadi in 1945 was a copy of the Gospel of Thomas. This apocryphal gospel is mentioned in patristic allusions, 29 and has been more 30 or less31 identified with a late and purely fanciful infancy narrative known for some time. However, according to preliminary reports, the Gospel of Thomas from Nag Hammadi32 actually contains a considerable body of sayings of Jesus, some of which are not purely of gnostic invention, but are of a type similar to those in the Synoptics. Thus an increase in the quantity of authentic sayings of Jesus may be reasonably anticipated. Yet the nature of the collection does not seem to be such as to alter basically the kind of history or biography of Jesus which is possible. For we apparently have to do with a collection of individual, unrelated sayings apart from their historical setting or chronological order, and reflecting the gnostic tendencies and outlook of the Jewish Christian Church venerating James. Thus the Gospel of Thomas only adds to the type of material already available from Oxyrhynchus Papyri 1 and 654.
C. A new view of the Gospels? Neither the kerygma nor new source material has provided the possibility of a return to the type of quest attempted by the nineteenth century. Nor does such a possibility reside in any general shift in scholarly evaluation of the Gospels. 33 If form criticism served to draw attention to the theology of the Church in the formative period of the oral tradition, scholarship today 198
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is concentrating upon the influence of the evangelists' theologies upon the Gospels. 34 And one of the outstanding conclusions of this recent research is that 'Luke the historian' is not a positivistic historian supplying us with the kind of objectively verified chronological, geographical, psychological, developmental information previously assumed, but rather is a theologian of history, presenting us with the construction of history which is meaningful to him. There has been a gradual trend toward recognizing historical aspects of the Fourth Gospel; yet this trend has not led to the conclusion that the Fourth Gospel provides a degree of historical objectivity not found in the Synoptics, but at most that it falls within the same general category of 'theology of history' as do the Synoptics. 35 It must also be recognized that we have to do with an inverse ratio: the increase in the degree of historicity attributed to specific points in John has been accompanied by a diminution in the degree of historicity which could be attributed to the divergent view of the Synoptics. We do find in current discussion various positive statements as to the historical reliability of factual material in the Gospels, not only on the part of writers from whom such might be anticipated, 36 but also from among the Bultmannian group itself. 37 Although this is a new emphasis, coinciding with the proposal that the quest be reopened, it is actually not a basic reassessment of the situation with regard to the sources. For even a generation ago, when the emphasis was upon the impossibility of the older kind of quest, the existence of some historical information about Jesus was conceded by Bultmann. 38 And on the other hand the modern Bultmannians reopening the quest have not rejected the Bultmannian view of the sources as primarily kerygmatic and only secondarily custodians of factual detail for historians of posterity.39 The mid-century has brought no basic revolution in our view of the sources, such as characterized the turn of the century. The cause for the reawakened interest in the quest of the historical Jesus lies elsewhere.
D. A new concept of history and the self If the possibility of resuming the quest lies neither in the kerygma, nor in new sources, nor in a new view of the Gospels, such a possibility has been latent in the radically different understanding of history and of human existence which distinguishes the present from the quest which ended in failure. 'Historicism' is gone as the ideological core of historigraphy, and with it is gone the centrality of the chronicle. 'Psychologism' is gone as the ideological core of biography, and with it is gone the centrality of the curriculum vitae. Consequently the kind of history and biography attempted unsuccessfully for Jesus by the nineteenth century is now seen to be based upon a false understanding of the nature of history and the self. As a result it has become a completely open question, as to whether a kind of history
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or biography of Jesus, consistent with the contemporary view of history and human existence, is possible. This open question has been obscured during the past generation by the necessary polemics against the impossible and misguided kind of quest. But these polemics have been successful enough for the urgent task of our day no longer to be their mechanical perpetuation, but rather the investigation of the possibility of writing the kind of history or biography of Jesus consistent with our modern understanding of history and human existence. Nineteenth-century historiography and biography were modelled after the natural sciences, e.g. in their effort to establish causal relationships and to classify the particular in terms of the general. Today it is widely recognized that this method placed a premium upon the admixture of nature in history and man, while largely bypassing the distinctively historical and human, where transcendence, if at all, is to be found. It was primarily Wilhelm Dilthey who introduced the modern period by posing for historiography the 'question about the scientific knowledge of individual persons, the great forms of singular human existence' .40 Today history is increasingly understood as essentially the unique and creative, whose reality would not be apart from the event in which it becomes, and whose truth could not be known by Platonic recollection or inference from a rational principle, but only through historical encounter. History is the act of intention, the commitment, the meaning for the participants, behind the external occurrence. In such intention and commitment the self of the participant actualizes itself, and in this act of self-actualization the self is revealed. Hence it is the task of modern historiography to grasp such acts of intention, such commitments, such meaning, such self-actualization; and it is the task of modern biography to lay hold of the selfhood which is therein revealed. This implication of the modern view of history for biography is only strengthened when one turns to the modern concept of selfhood, and its more direct implications for biography. The self is not simply one's personality, resultant upon (and to be explained by) the various influences and ingredients present in one's heritage and development. Rather selfhood is constituted by commitment to a context, from which commitment one's existence arises. One's empirical habitus is the inescapable medium through which the self expresses itself, but is not identical with the self, even when one seems to make it so. For even if one avoids commitment and merely drifts with life's tide, or even if the commitment is merely to hold to one's own past or absolutize one's personality, the resultant selfhood is decisively qualified by the mood of inauthenticity in the one case, or by one or the other form of doctrinaire self-assertion in the other. Consequently it would be a basic misunderstanding of selfhood, to describe the causal relationships and cultural ingredients composing the personality, and assume one had understood the self. Selfhood results from implicit or
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explicit commitment to a kind of existence, and is to be understood only in terms of that commitment, i.e. by laying hold of the understanding of existence in terms of which the self is constituted. To be sure, neither the modern view of history nor the modern view of existence involves necessarily a dimension of transcendence. To this extent the classical philologian Ernst Heitsch41 is correct in sensing that the historian's awareness 'tua res agitur' is 'nuanced in a particular way' by the New Testament scholar: 'It is a matter of thy blessedness, however one may understand this.' The secular historian does not have this particular and narrow concentration of interest, but thinks of 'tua res agitur' in the comprehensive sense that 'nothing human is foreign to thee'. Yet it is precisely because of this complete openness to all that is human, that the historian must open himself to encounter with humans who understand their existence as lived out of transcendence. The first effect of the modern view of history and human existence upon New Testament study was, as we have seen, to focus attention upon the kerygma as the New Testament statement of Jesus' history and selfhood. This involved also a positive appraisal of the kerygmatic nature of the Gospels, so that one came to recognize the legitimacy in their procedure of transforming the ipsissima verba and brute facts into kerygmatic meaning. Thus the modern approach to history and the self made it easy to emphasize the rarity of unaltered sayings and scenes. There is however another aspect which is equally true, and yet has not been equally emphasized. If the Church's kerygma reduced the quantity of unaltered material, it deserves credit for the quality of the unaltered material. The kind of material which the 'kerygmatizing' process would leave unaltered is the kind of material which fits best the needs of research based upon the modern view of history and the self. For the kerygmatic interest of the primitive Church would leave unaltered precisely those sayings and scenes in which Jesus made his intention and understanding of existence most apparent to them. Of course the very fact that the earliest Church could on occasion go on saying it in Jesus' way makes it difficult to be certain that any given saying originated with Jesus rather than in this earliest phase of the Church. And areas where Jesus differed from his first disciples would tend to have disappeared from the tradition. Yet in spite of such difficulties, the 'kerygmatic' quality of the material the primitive Church preserved unaltered means that this material is especially suitable for modern research concerned with encountering the meaning of history and the existential selfhood of persons. Now that the modern view of history and the self has become formally more analogous to the approach of the kerygma, we need no longer consider it disastrous that the chronology and causalities of the public ministry are gone. For we have, for example, in the parables, in the beatitudes and woes, and in the sayings on the kingdom, exorcism, John the Baptist and 201
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the law, sufficient insight into Jesus' intention to encounter his historical action, and enough insight into the understanding of existence presupposed in his intention to encounter his selfhood. 'If it is by the finger of God that I cast out demons, then the kingdom of God has come upon you' (Luke 11.20). 'From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and men of violence take it by force' (Matt. 11.12). Such authentic sayings, whose exact wording cannot well be reconstructed, whose translation is uncertain, whose out-of-date thought patterns are obvious, are none the less more important historical sources for encountering Jesus' history and person than would be the chronological and psychological material the original quest sought in vain. Consequently Jesus' history and selfhood are accessible to modern historiography and biography. And that is the crucial significance of Klisemann's remark: 'There are after all pieces in the synoptic tradition which the historian must simply acknowledge as authentic, if he wishes to remain a historian.' This kind of quest of the historical Jesus is possible. The positive relevance of the modern view of history and the self to the problem of Jesus has not gone completely undetected. As a matter of fact, Bultmann's Jesus and the Word of 1926 was prefaced with a classic statement of the modern view of history, and on this basis he states that his book reflects his own encounter with the historical Jesus, and may mediate an encounter with the historical Jesus on the part of the reader. And Klisemann's brief analysis of the authentic sayings of Jesus42 concludes that, in spite of the absence of messianic titles, Jesus' understanding of his existence can be deduced from his intentions revealed in his sayings. We have already noted how Fuchs derives his understanding of Jesus' work and person from his conduct and its interpretation in the parablesY Similarly Bornkamm44 recognizes that the possibility of his Jesus van Nazareth resides in a new view of history. 'If the Gospels do not speak of the history of Jesus in the sense of a reproducible curriculum vitae with its experiences and stages, its outward and inward development, yet they none the less speak of history as occurrence and event. Of such history the Gospels provide information which is more than abundant.' And his presentation of 'The messianic question' 45 is permeated by the new view of existence, when he explains that Jesus presented no independent doctrine of his person precisely because 'the "messianic" aspect of his being is enclosed in his word and act, and in the immediateness of his historical appearance'. It is consequently not surprising that Peter Biehl46 has introduced into the discussion of a new quest a thematic discussion of the interpretation of history in terms of the historicity of the self, as found in Martin Heidegger and R. G. Collingwood. It is apparent that a new quest of the historical Jesus cannot be built upon the effort to deny the impossibilities inherent in the original quest; rather a new quest must be built upon the fact that the sources do make
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possible a new kind of quest working in terms of the modern view of history and the self. Whether one wishes to designate this possible task of historical research a history or life of Jesus, or whether one prefers to reserve these terms for the kind of history or life envisaged by the nineteenth century, is not of crucial importance. The German ability to distinguish between Historie and Geschichte has made it possible, from Bultmann's Jesus and the Word on, to look upon oneself as presenting the history ( Geschichte) of Jesus. Such has not been the case with the terms 'life', 'biography', and 'bios', which continue to be avoided, 47 for the reason Kasemann gives: 48 'In a life of Jesus one simply cannot give up outer and inner development.' Since usage determines meaning, it may be that such a nineteenth-century definition of biography is still accurate. 49 But this should not obscure the crucial fact that Jesus' understanding of his existence, his selfhood, and thus in the higher sense his life, is a possible subject of historical research.
Notes 1 The relevance of his attempt is evident, e.g. from the following statement by Hermann Diem, Theologie 11, 78: 'The life and preaching of the historical Jesus are available for us only in the post-Easter kerygma, and are so covered over by it that it is impossible to reconstruct out of it again a history of Jesus. The Synoptics are of course of the opinion that they are giving historical factual reports, although measured by our modern meaning of history they operate in a naively uncritical way. But their reporting exclusively served the kergyma, which concentrated on cross and resurrection.' 2 Somewhat analogous is the widespread modern viewpoint that certain facts are essential to the kerygma, and an almost equally widespread dissensus as to which these essential facts are. This point has been made by William Baird (JBL LXXVI, 1957, 182), who points to this discrepancy within the agreement of A. Hunter, C. T. Craig, F. V. Filson, T. F. Glasson, and B. Gartner. E. L. Alien, 'The Lost Kerygma', New Testament Studies III, 1957, 349-53, has shown that the most impressive list of facts in the kerygma, the list of appearances in I Cor. 15.3 ff., seems to have been largely 'lost' prior to the writing of the resurrection narratives of the Gospels. 3 Numbers refer to pages of The Apostolic Preaching and its Development, 1936, 2nd ed. 1944. 4 So Dodd, History and the Gospel, 1938, Ch. 11. One should observe that this possibility is far from proven by Dodd, who contents himself with the demonstration that these motifs do not derive from OT prophecy. 5 GuVI, 213. 6 This strophic arrangement was proposed by Joachim Jeremias, 'Zur Gedankenfiihrung in den paulinischen Briefen', Studia Paulina, 1953, 152-4, and was accepted by Otto Michel, 'Zur Exegese von Phil. 2.5-11', Theologie als Glaubenswagnis, 1954, 79-95. It was arrived at independently by L. Cerfaux, 'L'hymne au Christ-Serviteur de Dieu', Miscellanea historica in honorem Alberti de Meyer, 1946, 117-30, although without any of Jeremias' deletions from the Pauline text. 7 An interesting parallel is to be found in the case of Paul's discussion of the
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8
9
10
11
12
'signs' legitimizing himself, in 11 Cor. 10-13. Here he begins by listing facts which positively demonstrate his superiority-but all under the admission 'I am speaking as a fool', i.e. such a method is contrary to the kerygma. Then he shifts to speaking paradoxically of his humiliation, as the only Christian way of speaking of one's own history. Kasemann, 'Kritische Analyse von Phil. 2.5-11', ZTK XLVII, 1950, 334 ff., rightly accentuates this aspect of the hymn. Cf. Bultmann, Gu V I, 213: 'That Jesus, the historical person, did this service for us (se. of renewing us to a new understanding of ourselves in obedience and love), and that he did it not out of personal sympathy and loveableness, but rather by God acting in him, in that God established his love for us through Jesus dying for us sinners (Rom. 5.6-8)-that is the meaning of language about the Preexistent.' Kerygma and Myth, 35: 'Our interest in the events of his life, and above all in the cross, is more than an academic concern with the history of the past. We can see meaning in them only when we ask what God is trying to say to each one of us through them. Again, the figure of Jesus cannot be understood simply from his context in human evolution or history. In mythological language, this means that he stems from eternity, his origin transcends both history and nature.' One may question whether, with Jeremias, the whole of strophe I in Phi!. 2.6-11 treats of the Pre-existent, or whether, with Kasemann (ZTK XLVII, 1950, 334 ff.), incarnation is not rather already involved in the last half of strophe I. Lohmeyer, Kyrios Jesus. Eine Untersuchung zu Phi/. 2.5-11, 1928, 56: 'The name Jesus seems to have been chosen in order to remain in the realm of the historical.' Kasemann (ZTK XLVII, 1950, 354) locates the same emphasis in the meaning of the whole hymn: 'The scope of the whole, according to the analysis here carried through, is: the obedient one is the Cosmocrator. As such he is criterion and Kpm1~ of all history. In the last judgement there stands only this theme for discussion, whether we were obedient or not. ... This distinguishes the Christian kerygma from myth, that the obedient one, and he alone, determines the cosmos and its history in this way. And what is meant here by obedience has become clear from the interpretation of vv. 7-8, namely this, that lowliness is laid hold of as the possibility of freedom. The myth, which was and is always interested in apotheosis, never proclaimed this. Here is its limit, and here it is demonstrated that the primitive Christian message is only making use for its own purposes of the myth's categories.' Cf. the Sachkritik advocated here by Bultmann (GuVI, 54; Kerygma and Myth, 112; Theology of the New Testament I, 295) with regard to I Cor. 15.5, and by Ernst Haenchen (Die Apostelgeschichte, 1956, 154) with regard to Acts 2.22. For a divergent exegesis of I Cor. 15.5 cf., in addition to Karl Barth, The Resurrection of the Dead, 1933, 131 ff.: Ernst Fuchs, Hermeneutik, 1954, 185, and ZTK LIII, 1956, 212. Cf. also Diem's attempt to mediate, Theologie 11, 112 f. Yet the lowly half of the paradox is still retained, in that the line presents a contrasting pair to the exaltation line: 'Justified in the Spirit'. For the antithetic structure of the whole cf. Eduard Schweizer, Erniedrigung und ErhOhung bei Jesus und seinen Nachfolgern, 1955, 63-66; TWNT VI, 414. The shift from 'put to death' to 'revealed' may be due to the influence of the kerygmatic type designated by N. A. Dahl ('Formgeschichtliche Beobachtungen zur Christusverktindigung in der Gemeindepredigt', Neutestamentliche Studien fiir Rudolf Bultmann, ZNTW, Beiheft 21, 1954, 4 f.) as 'revelation-pattern': 'present from eternity on-now revealed'. For a sub-form 'speaks of the mystery which was earlier hidden, but now has been revealed, I Cor. 2.6 ff.;
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Col. 1.26 f.; Eph. 3.4---7, 8-11; Rom. 16.25 f.' When one recalls (cf. Eduard Norden, Agnostos Theos, 1923, 255 f., nn. 5 and 6) the great similarity of I Tim. 3.16 to Rom. 16.25 f. and Col. 1.26 f., where 'revealed' also introduces the transition, the historical origin of this kerygmatic development beyond I Peter 3.18 is explained. Cf. also 11 Clem. 14.2 (An English translation of Erniedrigung und ErhOhung will shortly appear in the same series as the present work. Page references here are to the German edition.) 13 Eduard Schweizer, 'Ram. 1.3 f. und der Gegensatz vom Fleisch und Geist vor und bei Paulus', EvTh XIV, 1955, 563-71, and Erniedrigung und ErhOhung, 56, sees only the humiliation in the expression; cf. also TWNT VI, 414 f. Hans Conzelmann called my attention to the dialectic within the humiliation line itself, as a criticism of Schweizer's presentation. 14 The lowly half of the paradox is also retained in this expression. In Ignatius, Smyrn. 1.1 this is evident from the addition of 'truly', which is used in the brief chapter three times to stress the reality of Jesus' humanity over against docetism. Since the immediately preceding context is a contrasting pair, one may recognize in the immediately following allusion to Jesus' baptism the 'exaltation' (Spirit) line corresponding to the 'humiliation' of birth, so that the 'flesh-Spirit' pattern evident in the preceding context of David and God's son is repeated of birth by Mary and baptism by the Spirit; in view of I Peter 3.18; I Tim. 3.16, one may even sense the same 'flesh-Spirit' pattern in the following context treating of death and resurrection.-In the first passage from Justin (Dial. 85.2), the expression 'born of a virgin' falls within the humiliation half of an a b b a pattern: This son of God and firstborn of all creation, Both born through a virgin and become passible man, Both crucified under Pontius Pilate by your people and killed, Both raised from the dead and ascended into heaven. In the second passage (Apol. 31.7), 'begotten through a virgin and made man' (at the incarnation) stands in contrast to 'being and being called son of God' (at the ascension). In the third passage (Apol. 32.14), 'through a virgin of the seed of Jacob' stands over against 'through the power of God'.-A similar use of 'Mary' to suggest both humiliation and exaltation may be observed in Ignatius (Eph. 18.2): By Mary, according to the dispensation of God, Of the seed of David, and also of the Holy Spirit. Here the virginity is clearly recognized, but is listed (19.1) with the birth and death as the mystery which remained hidden until the ascension. In Eph. 7.2 'both of Mary and of God' is an antithetic pair corresponding to 'both flesh and spirit, both born and not born'. 'Mary' occurs in anti-docetic polemic to emphasize Jesus' humanity in Trail. 9.1. 15 Thus this discussion should serve as a contribution to the solution of a problem to which T. W. Manson called attention in his lecture on 'The Life of Jesus: A Study of the Available Materials' (Bulletin of the John Rylands Library XXVII, 1942-3, 337). He observes correctly that the kerygma makes only 'bare mention' of Jesus' ministry 'in the most general terms, without details'. Then he observes: 'Nevertheless, before the end of the first century we have gospels which offer a narrative of the Ministry. We have what Luke calls in his Preface 205
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16 17
18
19 20
21
a diegesis of the things that had happened, a detailed narrative that links the Ministry with the Passion. How was the transition from kerygma to diegesis made? There lies one of the most fascinating as it is one of the most vital of Gospel problems.' Cf. e.g. the discussion of motifs in the miracle stories borrowed from the common stock of the Hellenistic world for portraying the divine man, in Dibelius' From Tradition to Gospel, 1934, Ch. IV. This point has been most clearly made by Hans Conzelmann (ZTK LIV, 1957, 293-5), in his reversal of Wrede's explanation of the Marcan 'messianic secret': Mark's 'construction consisted not in forcing unmessianic units into the christological framework of faith, but rather in taking a mass of material already understood in a christological sense and composing it according to the kerygma (understood in terms of the secrecy christology). The idea of the secret does not derive from historical, pragmatic considerations. Rather it expresses a positive understanding of revelation, as is apparent e.g. in the passage Mark 4.10-12, composed by Mark himself. It is not the unmessianic character of the elements of the tradition, but rather their messianic character, which gives difficulty to the evangelist, in view of which he has trouble enough in carrying through his theological doctrine. This is apparent in the literary and even logical violence of such passages as 4.10 ff.; 8.31-33 (in view of the confession to Christ in his source!) .... The concept of secrecy is apparently supplied by the tradition as a theological conception, and in turn provides the possibility of conceiving the material, in form so divergent, under one unified point of view. The theory of secrecy is the hermeneutic presupposition of the form 'Gospel'. Ernst Fuchs (ZTK LIII, 1956, 225) has amplified in a twofold sense Martin Kahler's famous definition of the Gospels as passion narratives projected back upon the public ministry. On the one hand the passion does not need to be 'projected back', for it was already in the public ministry. And on the other hand: 'The Gospels are in reality not only passion narratives, but first of all the proclamation of the resurrection, and they are this from the very beginning.' This essay of 1932 is reprinted in the volume New Testament Studies, 1-11. The view of Henry J. Cadbury, 'The Summaries in Acts', The Beginnings of Christianity, V, 1933, 393, is typical: 'The summaries in the gospels, whether of teaching or healing or both, are not so primitive as the individual stories, and have been largely distilled out of them. They are an indication of an individual author. Their purpose is that of generalizing and of thus filling the lacuna which is felt when a continuous narrative is to be made out of detached scenes. They represent the latest part of Mark, and specially reveal his editorial motives. The later evangelists use these sections of Mark with great freedom. Desiring a still more connected story they show a tendency to repeat and multiply them.' This problem of using an evangelist's presentation of the kerygma to prove that his Gospel conforms to an earlier kerygmatic pattern is also being felt increasingly in the case of Luke and the sermons of Acts. When Dodd wrote on the sermons in Acts, de Zwaan had published (in The Beginnings of Christianity 11, 1922, 30-65) a critical study of Torrey's theory of an Aramaic origin of Acts (The Composition and Date of Acts, 1915) and had conceded the existence of Aramaic source material at least behind the speeches. It was upon this that Dodd built (The Apostolic Preaching, 20). But scholarly opinion with regard to the speeches of Acts has shifted sharply since the publication in 1949 of Dibelius' 'Die Reden der Apostelgeschichte und die antike Geschichtsschreibung' (Studies in the Acts of the Apostles, 1956, 138-85), which is really
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23 24 25
only a confirmation of Henry J. Cadbury's thesis. 'The Speeches of Acts', The Beginnings of Christianity V, 1933, 402-27. Their argument that the composition of the speeches is the work of Luke has gained wide support, and provides the basis for the most recent important commentary, by Ernst Haenchen (Die Apostelgeschichte, 1956, e.g. 152 f.; cf. also his essay 'Tradition und Komposition in der Apostelgeschichte,' ZTK LII, 1955, 205-25), as well as for the forthcoming commentary in the Handbuch zum Neuen Testament series by Hans Conzelmann. A somewhat extreme example of the new trend is found in C. F. Evans' article on 'The Kerygma' (JTS, n.s. VII, 1956, 25-41). Yet it is characteristic of the new period that J. A. T. Robinson, in his soberer answer to Evans ('The Most Primitive Christology of All?' ITS, n.s. VII, 1956, 177--89), assumes the burden of proof for his case that in some instances the sermons contain pre-Lucan tradition. The striking unity in the outlines in the sermons of Acts has led Eduard Schweizer (in conjunction with Hans Conzelmann) to the conclusion that the outline is Luke's contribution ('Zu den Reden der Apostelgeschichte', TZ XIII, 1957, 1-11), although he holds that Luke made use of older traditions, especially in the christological section of the sermons (cf. Erniedrigung und Erhohung bei Jesus und seinen Nachfolgern, 1955, sections 6a and 12k). Even when more conservative conclusions along the lines of Dodd are reached, e.g. by Bo Reicke ('A Synopsis of Early Christian Preaching', The Root of the Vine, ed. A. Fridrichsen, 1953, 138--41; Glaube und Leben der Urgemeinde, 1957, passim) and Etienne Trocme (Le 'Livre des Actes' et l'histoire, 1957, 207-14), it is upon the assumption of Lucan composition with use of a traditional form, rather than upon the assumption of early sources incorporated into Acts. Cf. Trocme, 16: 'Since about 1930 there has been an increasing tendency to abandon the idea of extended sources, and to prefer the hypothesis of the use by the author ad Theophilum of isolated accounts, often very brief, which he received either in writing or in oral form. The only source going beyond the range of popular narration in length and content remains the "diary" of the second part (of Acts). H. W. Beyer, 0. Bauernfeind, M. Dibelius, W. L. Knox, W. G. Kiimmel, W. Michaelis have defended these ideas, with various nuances.' An even sharper view of the shift in scholarly opinion is given by Haenchen, Die Apostelgeschichte, 30--41. Stauffer explicitly states (Jesus: Gestalt und Geschichte, 12) that he proposes to write a 'positivistic' history of Jesus, with facts, chronological sequence, and causal relationships, 'so wie es eigentlich gewesen ist' (ibid., 7; cf. also KuM, 11, 17). Cf. his New Testament Theology, esp. part three on 'The Creeds of the Primitive Church', and the appendices. This translation of Jesus: Gestalt und Geschichte (1957) is being published by SCM Press, London, and Alfred Knopf, New York. Page numbers in the present discussion refer to the German edition. The view of Philip Carrington (The Primitive Christian Calendar; A Study in the Making of the Marcan Gospel I, 1952), to the effect that the dates one would be setting up are those of the primitive Church's liturgical year, is completely ignored. It is generally agreed that Carrington has gone much too far in carrying through the liturgical implications of the kerygmatic nature of the Gospels. Cf. e.g. T. W. Manson's review, JTS, n.s. IV, 1953, 78; Vincent Taylor, The Life and Ministry of Jesus, 40--43; and my Problem of History in Mark, 1957, 12. Yet it is suprising that Stauffer, who begins by conceding their kerygmatic nature, never even considers this possibility, which could account for any correspondences between Palestinian seasons and Marcan sequence.
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26 Compare the review by John J. Vincent (TZ XIII, 1957, 366): 'Indeed, the reader is continually confronted with matters of a conjectural or debatable character, not always with justification. This applies particularly to the chronological scheme proposed, which is really the fitting of Synoptic elements into a basically Johannine framework.' 27 Perhaps recognizing this problem, Stauffer also tries to prove that the Jews had independent sources. Cf. the 'Exkurs', 147 f., and his article 'Messias oder Menschensohn', Novum Testamentum I, 1956, 81-103. He asserts that the Jewish polemic cited in the Gospels is obviously independent of Christian influence, since the Gospels had not yet been written. But Stauffer here ignores the pre-Gospel oral tradition, upon which such Jewish polemics could be based. We know that this Jewish polemic was in contact with the oral Christian tradition, for it survived as part of the oral Christian tradition incorporated in the Gospels. And it is antecedently improbable that a polemical tradition would arise apart from contact with those against whom the polemic was directed. Upon this crumbling base Stauffer then builds the thesis that the Jewish tradition up to A.D. 500 was independent of Christian influence, simply because it continues the same 'independent' arguments cited in the Gospels. This he bolsters by observing that some points in the Gospels are ignored in Jewish polemic of the second century (Jesus' claim to the specific title Messiah; the near end of the world; Judas; the trial before Pilate). Now various explanations for these omissions could probably be given (e.g. a Jewish conspiracy of silence-cf. TWNT Ill, 287; V, 696; the decline of eschatological tension in Judaism and Christianity during the second century; the dubious apologetic value of the Jewish traitor; unwillingness to allude to Roman jurisdiction over Palestine). But it is probably more relevant to recall how scanty the Christian citations from the Gospels are in the second century, so that the omission of a few elements by the Rabbinic sources should not be unusual. His argument from silence becomes absurd when one recalls the amount of source material upon which it is built. To quote T. W. Manson (Bulletin of the John Rylands Library XXVII, 1942-3, 327): 'One point is worth noting: it is that the farther we go back in the Jewish tradition the more scanty the references to Jesus become. The later Jewish romances are of some size; the Talmudic references are considerably less in extent; and, when we come to the Mishnah, there are no direct references at all. (There are a few possible veiled allusions but nothing that can be regarded as an absolutely certain reference to Jesus. The passages usually quoted in this connexion are Yebamoth, iv.13; Aboth, v.19; Sanhedrin, x.1 f.)' 28 KuM 11, 22, 27, 28. 29 Cf. M. R. James, The Apocryphal New Testament, 1924, 14-16. 30 Ibid., 49 ff. 31 Cf. Edgar Hennecke, Neutestamentliche Apokryphen, 2nd ed., 1924,93 ff. 32 To be published in part in Neutestamentliche Apokryphen,3 ed. W. Schneemelcher, and definitively by G. Quispel. Cf. the latter's preliminary report, 'Unknown Sayings of Jesus', Universitas (Quarterly Eng. lang. ed.) 11, 1958, 123-30. 33 This needs to be particularly emphasized in view of the ambiguous position of Harald Riesenfeld's pamphlet, The Gospel and its Beginnings; A Study in the Limits of 'Formgeschichte', 1957. The thesis of this work by Sweden's leading New Testament professor is quite clear: the Sitz im Leben of the synoptic material was a Christian rabbinate, going back to Jesus himself. Jesus limited his teaching in form and extent to what could be memorized, and had his disci-
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34
35 36
37
38
ples learn it by heart. Even the narratives of Jesus' deeds were largely formulated by Jesus, with the understandable exception of the passion narrative. Paul memorized this tradition during his fortnight in Jerusalem. Jesus also originated the Johannine meditations. Now this thesis not only matches in undocumented construction the excesses of the form criticism it is intended to disprove, but also does not reflect the actual status of New Testament research at the present time. Hence as the address inaugurating a Congress on 'The Four Gospels in 1957' (held at Oxford in September, 1957) it could lead to an inaccurate view of the current situation on the part of those not familiar with the literature in the field. Significant recent contributions are: Ernst Fuchs, 'Jesu Selbstzeugnis nach Matthaus 5', ZTK Ll, 1954, 14-34; Giinther Bornkamm, 'Kirche und Enderwartung im Matthaus-Evangelium', The Background of the New Testament and its Eschatology, Studies in honour of C. H. Dodd, 1956, 222-60; Willi Marxsen, Der Evangelist Markus; Studien zur Redaktionsgeschichte des Evangeliums, 1956; Hans Conzelmann, Die Mitte der Zeit; Studien zur Theologie des Lukas, 1954, 2nd ed. 1957. Cf. e.g. the appendix in C. H. Dodd's The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel, 1953: 'Some Considerations upon the Historical Aspect of the Fourth Gospel', 444-53. Cf. e.g. Vincent Taylor's list of six reasons why radical scepticism seems to him excessive, The Life and Ministry of Jesus, 36-37, and Joachim Jeremias' list of five ways in which the danger of modernization can be avoided, 'Der gegenwartige Stand der Debatte urn das Problem des historischen Jesus', 168 f. E.g. Kasemann, ZTK Ll, 1954, 152: 'There are after all pieces in the synoptic tradition which the historian must simply acknowledge as authentic, if he wishes to remain a historian.' Similarly Bornkamm, Jesus von Nazareth, 6, says he 'cannot share the degree of scepticism' of those who say that 'only a white spot can be indicated ... on the map of the real history of Jesus, which was formerly drawn so confidently'. Cf. e.g. his essay 'The New Approach to the Synoptic Problem', The Journal of Religion VI, 1926, 337-62, esp. 343: 'This conclusion (of form criticism), however, is not simply a negative one. It has also its positive significance, since critical analysis has brought out portions which can be regarded as original traditions.' Further (350): 'There is no reason to doubt that many genuine utterances attributed to Jesus in these (controversial) discourses rest back upon accurate historical recollection' (although not the scenes in which the sayings are placed). Further (357 f.): 'In these (prophetic and apocalyptic) utterances also it is possible to detect with some probability genuine words of Jesus, for there can be no doubt that Jesus appeared as prophet and announcer of the coming Kingdom of God.' Therefore Bultmann could write his Jesus and the Word in the same year without putting 'Jesus' in quotation marks, since, as he explains in his introduction, he holds that in the oldest layer of the tradition we encounter Jesus himself. One often reads a quotation from this same introduction (e.g. in Vincent Taylor, ExpT LIII, 1941-2, 60; Erik Sjoberg, Der verborgene Menschensohn in den Evangelien 1955, 214: 'I am of the opinion, that of the life and personality of Jesus we know next to nothing, since the Christian sources have no interest in these things and are overgrown by legend, and since other sources about Jesus do not exist.' But one rarely finds quoted the accompanying statement: 'Little as we know of his life and personality, we know enough of his proclamation to be able to make for ourselves a connected picture of it.' Nor do most readers of that quotation understand the technical sense in which Bultmann there uses the
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39
40
41 42 43
44 45 46 47
48 49
terms 'life' and 'personality'. By a 'life' he means a chronological, developmental biography. It is this in which the sources have no interest, and which we consequently cannot reconstruct. And by 'personality' Bultmann has in mind (cf. GuV I, 212 f.) a personality cult, a psychological study, a fascination with Jesus' charm, whereas, as he points out, no great personage in history wishes to be evaluated in such terms, 'for their interest was not their personality, but their work'. Thus the well-known quotation is far from a sweeping denial of our ability to know historically about Jesus, and is in harmony with the other positive statements made in the same year. Cf. e.g. Kasemann, 'Zum Thema der Nichtobjektivierbarkeit', EvTh XII, 1952-3, 465: 'Although in fact individual details may reach back to an earlier stage, in principle our Christian history begins with the Easter faith of the disciples. What lies behind, even and especially the historical Jesus, is available today only through reconstruction.' Similarly Bornkamm, Jesus von Nazareth, 5: 'To be sure the difficulties in arriving at tolerably assured historical knowledge in the area of the tradition about Jesus have become greater and greater. This has to do with the nature of the sources.' 'Die Entstehung der Hermeneutik' (1900), Ges. Schr. V, 317. Dilthey is becoming increasingly known in the English-speaking world through such works as H. A. Hodges, Wilhelm Dilthey; An Introduction, 1944; R. G. Collingwood, The Idea of History, 1946, 171-6; Rudolf Bultmann, History and Eschatology (Gifford Lectures, 1957), 123 ff. ZTK LIII, 1956, 193. ZTK Ll, 1954, 144--51. He also derives Jesus' selfhood from his call for decision (ZTK LIII, 1956, 221 f., 227): 'This requirement is simply the echo of that decision which Jesus himself had made. We must understand Jesus' conduct as equally determined by a decision, and consequently we can infer from what he required what he himself did.' 'Believing on Jesus means now in content repeating Jesus' decision ... Jesus' person now became the content of faith.' Cf. also his essay 'Jesus Christus in Person. Zum Problem der Geschichtlichkeit der Offenbarung', Festschrift Rudolf Bultmann, 1949,48-73. Jesus von Nazareth, 21-23, esp. 22. Ibid., Ch. VIII, esp. 163. TR, n.F. XXIV, 1956-7,69 ff. Cf. Kasemann, ZTK LI, 1954, 132; Bornkamm, Jesus von Nazareth, II; and even Stauffer, Jesus: Gestalt und Geschichte, 12. It is interesting that Maurice Goguel entitled the second edition of his Life of Jesus merely Jesus (1950). ZTK Ll, 1954, 151. Cf. Martin Kahler's definition (Der sogenannte historische Jesus und der geschichtliche, biblische Christus (1892, reprinted 1953), 23: 'More recent biography seeks its strength in psychological analysis, in demonstrating the quantity of causes and the causal chain out of which the appearance and performance of the person being portrayed has arisen.' The continuation of this definition in the modern period is evident, e.g. in the statement of D. W. Riddle ('Jesus in Modern Research', The Journal of Religion XVII, 1937, 177) that we know 'general features' of Jesus, but not such as to write a 'biography', or in the ambiguous statement of C. J. Cadoux ('Is it Possible to Write a Life of Christ?', ExpT LIII, 1941-2, 177): 'We do not possess for the life of Jesus anything approaching that knowledge of chronology which is usually deemed necessary for a "biography".... I do not concur in the modern view that it is impossible to write a life of Christ.'
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THE PRIMITIVE CHRISTIAN KERYGMA AND THE HISTORICAL JESUS Rudolf Bultmann* Source: C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville (eds), The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ, translated by C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville (Nashville; Abingdon, 1964), pp. 15-42. (Originally published as Das Verhiiltnis der urchristlichen Christusbotschaft zum historischen Jesus, Heidelberg: Winter, 1960.)
I The question concerning the relation of the primitive Christian message about Christ to the historical Jesus has become relevant today in a new way. In the period of the Life-of-Jesus research (or of the so-called liberal theology) the question had been controlled by the desire to free the picture of the historical Jesus from the dogmatic overlay which had concealed it in the primitive Christian message, in the "kerygma." For that reason the emphasis lay upon establishing the difference between Jesus and the kerygma. Today the situation is reversed. The emphasis lies on elaborating the unity of the historical Jesus and the Christ of the kerygma. 1 We shall not investigate or inquire into the degree to which this reversal is motivated by the immanent course of research or by dogmatic concerns. I will concentrate on the question from a purely historical point of view, according to which it appears as a twofold question. First, it is the question concerning the historical continuity between the activity of the historical Jesus, especially his preaching, and the Christ-kerygma of primitive Christianity. Second, it is the question concerning the material relationship between Jesus and the kerygma. In the contemporary discussion the two questions do not appear to me to be clearly distinguished, so that it often appears as if the question concerning the material relationship were given with the answer to the question concerning historical continuity. I will briefly and generally characterize the difference between the historical Jesus and the Christ-kerygma, which poses the problem for research. 2 211
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1. In the kerygma the mythical form of the Son of God has appeared in place of the historical person of Jesus (as the Synoptic Gospels present it to the critical eye). 2. While the preaching of Jesus is the eschatological message of the coming-more, of the breaking-in of the kingdom of God-in the kerygma Jesus Christ is proclaimed as the one who died vicariously on the cross for the sins of men and was miraculously raised by God for our salvation. In Pauline and Johannine theology the decisive eschatological event has thereby already occurred. 3. For Jesus the eschatological proclamation goes hand in hand with the proclamation of the will of God, with the call to radical obedience to God's demands culminating in the commandment of love. To be sure, ethical preaching is not abandoned in the Christ-kerygma, but when Paul and John connect ethical demands, and above all the commandment of love, with the Christ-kerygma they do not do so by resuming Jesus' exposition of the will of God as it appears in the Synoptic Gospels. The confessional formulations of the kerygma (the first Christian symbols) do not take up this exposition at all, and in the typical primitive Christian doctrinal and hortatory writings the ethical paraenesis takes second place. How then shall we determine the relationship between these two phenomena-the historical Jesus and the Christ-kerygma?
n In reality, the question concerning the material relationship precedes the question concerning historical continuity, since the latter's problematic becomes fully clear only when the question concerning the material relationship is clarified. Nevertheless, I will begin with the question concerning the historical continuity, though at this point I can only answer it in a preliminary way. The reason for this is that this is by far the most burning question in the contemporary discussion, and by treating it in a preliminary way I can quickly remove some misunderstandings against which I must defend myself, since they were occasioned by a few of my statements.3 My assertion that it is the Christ of the kerygma and not the person of the historical Jesus who is the object of faith, that the man whom the kerygma addresses may not inquire behind the kerygma for a legitimation offered by historical research, is often improperly interpreted to mean that I destroy continuity between the historical Jesus and the kerygma. It is further stated that this continuity is given in the fact that for the first disciples the risen Lord whom the kerygma proclaims as the Christ was identical with the earthly Jesus;4 that for them the Christ possessed the "features and traits" of the person of the earthly Jesus. 5 When I deny this identity, as is said, then I turn the Christ of the kerygma into a myth.6 212
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To this I can simply reply that from the discrepancy which I emphasize between the historical Jesus and the Christ of the kerygma it does not at all follow that I destroy continuity between the historical Jesus and the primitive Christian proclamation. I say expressly, between the historical Jesus and the primitive Christian proclamation, and not, between the historical Jesus and the Christ. The Christ of the kerygma is not a historical figure which could enjoy continuity with the historical Jesus. The kerygrna which proclaims him is a historical phenomenon, however. Therefore it is only the continuity between the kerygma and the historical Jesus which is involved. The kerygma maintains that God has made the historical Jesus the Christ, the Kyrios (Acts 2:36). Or, orientating myself about the formulations of Paul and John, the kerygma contains the paradoxical assertion that a historical event-the historical Jesus and his history-is the eschatological event (the end of the age and what it implies). It is therefore obvious that the kerygma presupposes the historical Jesus, however much it may have mythologized him. Without him there would be no kergyma. To this extent the continuity is obvious. I am further attacked because in my book Primitive Christianity I have not described Jesus' preaching in the chapter on "Primitive Christianity," but rather in the chapter on "Judaism," and hence have conceived of Jesus as a Jew. Similarly, the objection has been raised that in my Theology of the New Testament I have stated that Jesus' preaching belongs to the presuppositions of New Testament theology. 7 Over against the reproach that I conceive of Jesus as a Jew and assign him to the sphere of Judaism I must first of all simply ask: Was Jesus-the historical Jesus!-a Christian? Certainly not, if Christian faith is faith in him as the Christ. And even if he should have known that he was the Christ ("Messiah") and should actually have demanded faith in himself as the Christ, then he would still not have been a Christian and ought not to be described as the subject of Christian faith, though he is nevertheless its object. Lately it is denied-in an especially emphatic way by Kii.semann-that Jesus may be assigned to Judaism, since he decisively shattered the boundaries of the Jewish religion. The reply to this is that he could radically overcome Judaism only as a Jew. So it appears to me that whether or not we designate him as a Jew is a quibbling about words; at all events, we cannot call him a Christian. As a historical figure he stands within Judaism; and if within Judaism he is a unique figure as its conqueror, then not only his language and conceptuality are Jewish, but his eschatological proclamation as well as his ethical preaching are, by the very nature of the case, related to Jewish eschatology and legality, appropriate their problematic, and are not at all conceivable apart from them. It is characteristic that modern Jewish theologians claim Jesus for themselves. 8 Now the continuity appears questionable, or at least peculiarly limited if the historical Jesus really belongs within Judaism. Does what was said 213
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previously about continuity go beyond the incontestable fact that in the kerygma the historicity of Jesus is presupposed; that is, does it lead us beyond the "that" of his history? Does it include something about the continuity of the kerygma with the "what" and the "how" of his history?9 Now this is the great problem: How are the content of the activity of Jesus and the content of the kerygma related? Is the historical Jesus identical with the Christ of the kerygma? 10 Paul and John, each in his own way, indicate that we do not need to go beyond the "that.'' Paul proclaims the incarnate, crucified, and risen Lord; that is, his kerygma requires only the "that" of the life of Jesus and the fact of his crucifixion. He does not hold before his hearer's eyes a portrait of Jesus, the human person, apart from the cross (Gal. 3:1), and the cross is not regarded from a biographical standpoint but as saving event. The obedience and self-emptying of Christ of which he speaks (Phil. 2:6-9; Rom. 15:3; 11 Cor. 8:9) are attitudes of the pre-existent and not of the historical Jesus. The eschatological and ethical preaching of the historical Jesus plays no role in Paul. John gives all due emphasis to the humanity of Jesus, but presents none of the characteristics of Jesus' humanity which could be gleaned, for example, from the Synoptic Gospels. The decisive thing is simply the "that."
Ill There are two types of attempts at going beyond the "that" and at demonstrating the continuity between the historical Jesus and the kerygma as a material agreement.U The first is the attempt to show that the kerygma presupposes not only the "that" but also the "what" and the "how" of the historical Jesus, and that the kerygma requires them in order to be understood as well as believed. The second is the attempt to indicate that in Jesus' activity in word and deed the kerygma is already contained in nuce. The first attempt intends to show that the picture of Jesus' person and activity is implicit in the kerygma. For this an apparently justified appeal is made to the Synoptic Gospels, which, however-even though their content is not appropriated in the confessional formulations-also belong to the proclamation concerning Christ. Indeed, they do not intend to be read as historical reports, but as a portion of proclamation, which is true also of Luke, though he intends to give a historical report. In the Synoptic Gospels the description of the historical Jesus and of the Christ of the kerygma are combined in a unique way. Do they not therefore testify that the kerygma contains or presupposes a picture of the person and activity of Jesus? But do the Synoptic Gospels really offer a historical picture of the person and activity of Jesus? Certainly not directly. But Paul Althaus,IZ for example, thinks that historical-critical research, especially as represented by the so-called "Introduction to the New Testament," can extract from 214
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them such a picture. According to Althaus, this feat can be performed by the various branches of Introduction such as literary criticism, form criticism, research into historical backgrounds, and the history of comparative religions, in all of which the discoveries of the Dead Sea are regarded as having particular significance. 13 First of all, the question naturally arises whether historical-critical research can perform what Althaus claims for it. Do the Gospels, understood as sources for Jesus' person and history, really give the desired portrait of a person, the "features and traits" (Jeremias) of the historical Jesus? Do they give a history of his life and activity? All the scholars to be considered here admit that the former Life-of-Jesus research has failed, but they still attempt to rescue something from the fire, and it is an amusing spectacle to see how the roles have been exchanged-a phenomenon to which Kasemann, Diem, and Conzelmann have pointed. Today it is the theological right wing, "the erstwhile 'positives' who now in their own way resume that abortive attempt of the liberals in order to establish historically the dogmatic picture of Christ." 14 We can meet such attempts part way. Although the Synoptic Gospels do not suffice as sources for a reconstruction of the life of Jesus, and although they are not sufficient to give a portrait in the real sense, since they say nothing of Jesus' inner development, nevertheless they do indicate something of Jesus' activity from which a few of his personal characteristics may be inferred. We must be very cautious when comparing the picture of Jesus as the exorcist, once sketched by Rudolf Otto, with the portrait of Jesus as painted by Althaus, a portrait which Althaus maintains he has not fabricated, but which in reality is quite schematicY Hence, with a bit of caution we can say the following concerning Jesus' activity: Characteristic for him are exorcisms, the breech of the Sabbath commandment, the abandonment of ritual purifications, polemic against Jewish legalism, fellowship with outcasts such as publicans and harlots, sympathy for women and children; it can also be seen that Jesus was not an ascetic like John the Baptist, but gladly ate and drank a glass of wine. Perhaps we may add that he called disciples and assembled about himself a small company of followers-men and women. 16 In this connection, where we are dealing with the life and portrait of Jesus, we can only say of his preaching that he doubtless appeared in the consciousness of being commissioned by God to preach the eschatological message of the breaking-in of the kingdom of God and the demanding but also inviting will of God. We may thus ascribe to him a prophetic consciousness, indeed, a "consciousness of authority." We will speak of this in another connection; that is, with regard to the second attempt to assimilate the activity of Jesus to the kerygma. One more thing must be said here. The greatest embarrassment to the attempt to reconstruct a portrait of Jesus is the fact that we cannot know
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how Jesus understood his end, his deathY It is symptomatic that it is practically universally assumed that Jesus went consciously to his suffering and death and that he understood this as the organic or necessary conclusion to his activity. 18 But how do we know this, when prophecies of the passion must be understood by critical research as vaticinia ex eventu? 19 That Jesus, after learning of the Baptist's death, had to reckon with his own equally violent death20 is an improbable psychological construction, because Jesus clearly conceived his life in an entirely different fashion than did the Baptist from whom he distinguished himself (Matt. 11:16-19). Why was Jesus drawn to Jerusalem at the end of his career? If the assumption is correct that "first and foremost his journey to Jerusalem was undertaken in order to confront the people there, in the holy city, with the message of the kingdom of God, and to summon them at the eleventh hour to make their decision"; if it is correct that "only on the journey with his followers to Jerusalem and the temple did Jesus seek the final decision,'m then he scarcely reckoned on execution at the hands of the Romans, but only on the imminent appearing of the kingdom of God. But these are only assumptions. What is certain is merely that he was crucified by the Romans, and thus suffered the death of a political criminal. This death can scarcely be understood as an inherent and necessary consequence of his activity; rather it took place because his activity was misconstrued as a political activity. In that case it would have been -historically speaking-a meaningless fate. We cannot tell whether or how Jesus found meaning in it. We may not veil from ourselves the possibility that he suffered a collapse. However much we may glean from a historical-critical evaluation of the "features" of Jesus-and even if the traditional interpretation of his path to suffering and death should be correct-what is to be gained by it? Would the result really be a legitimation of the kerygma which proclaims the historical Jesus as the Christ who died for us? 22 A peculiar distortion has occurred here. The combination of historical report and kerygmatic christology in the Synoptic Gospels is not for the purpose of giving historical legitimacy to the Christ-kerygma, but quite the reverse, of giving legitimacy to the history of Jesus as messianic history, as it were, by viewing it in the light of the kerygmatic christology. 23 Critical-historical research removes this very illumination for the sake of outlining the "objective historicity" of the person and work of Jesus. The attempt to demonstrate the legitimacy of the kerygma by scientific research serves a modern interest, for it puts to the kerygma a question with which it is not at all concerned. The kerygma is not interested in the "objective historicity" beyond the "that," but requires faith in the crucified and risen Christ, and on this basis interprets the history of Jesus-in so far as the kerygma has any interest in that history at all, which of course is not the case in Paul and John, but only in the Synoptic Gospels. How little the 216
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Synoptists' connection of history with christology corresponds to modern attempts to demonstrate their unity on the basis of historical research is indicated by Althaus, for example, who comes to the remarkable conclusion that the Christian faith is a combination of historical knowledge (achieved by the science of Introduction) and the recognition of the saving significance of what can be known. But this does not make clear the origin of faith. Faith does not at all arise from the acceptance of historical facts. That would only lead to legitimizing, whereas the kerygma really calls for faith. And when, according to Althaus, the "kerygmatic content of preaching" (that is, "the confession of the saving significance of what has happened") touches the hearer's conscience and requires that he "relate what has happened to (his) existence,"24 of what use then is historical legitimation? Is its purpose, perhaps, to give the hearer a good conscience about believing the proclamation which encounters him? As will soon be indicated, there is some confusion here. It must be said first of all that the proficiency of the "discipline of Introduction," and hence the historical-critical analysis of the Synoptic Gospels which inquires into the objectively ascertainable history of Jesus, suffices only to corroborate the "that" which the kerygma maintains in the face of a possible skepticism regarding Jesus' historicity, and to illustrate it with a degree of probability. What it cannot do, however, is to produce evidence that the historical continuity between Jesus and the kerygma is a material agreement. The venture ends in a vain attempt to demonstrate the legitimacy of the kerygma. Actually, Althaus does not at all succeed in legitimizing the kerygma by the "discipline of Introduction" (that is, by historical-critical research) but rather-which is surprising in light of his previous statement-he demands of the historian an "intuition," a living "encounter" with history in addition to his empirical "inductive" method. 25 Although Althaus does not explain the relation between intuition and historical-critical research, there is no doubt that with his demand for intuition he is on the right track. He cannot fulfill this demand, however, as long as he remains imprisoned in psychological categories and polemicizes against Gogarten when the latter states that real history is not perceptible when it is inquired into in terms of the subject-object relation; that is, when the historian as subject stands over against history as his object. It appears to me that Althaus intends to overcome the subject-object schema, but the psychological category of intuition is incapable of serving that purpose. 26
IV If we must assess as a failure the first attempt to demonstrate the material agreement of the kerygma with Jesus' life and work by pointing to the fact that this life and work is shown to be contained or at least presupposed in
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the kerygma, then the question arises whether the second attempt can succeed; that is, the argument that in Jesus' word and deed the kerygma is already contained in nuce,27 that Jesus' preaching already has "kerygmatic" character. At this point two types of interpretation of Jesus' activity must be differentiated. The first is bound to the framework of traditional historicalcritical research which seeks to view the event in its objectivity. The second attempts to understand history in terms of an existential relation to it. The boundary, or better, the relation between the two types is not clearly seen by all the scholars. The existential interpretation presupposes the historical-critical in so far as it obviously presupposes a knowledge of historical facts. Now it is clear, first of all, that Jesus' preaching had "kerygmatic" character. He did not appear as a teacher or rabbi, but as a prophet with an eschatological message, though he may also have made use of the doctrine and forms of rabbinic teaching for an interpretation of the will of God, the proclamation of which is intimately connected with the eschatological message. But the question is still that of the relation between his kerygma and the Christ-kerygma of the community. Is the Christ-kerygma explicitly or at least implicitly contained in the kerygma of Jesus? In any event, the fact that the Christ-kerygma-at least in the earliest apostolic time-is an eschatological message does not prove this. The Christ-kerygma is a christological kerygma. Is Jesus' preaching also a christological proclamation? This would still not be implied, even if it were true that Jesus regarded himself as the Messiah and demanded faith in himself, as John's Gospel indeed describes it, but which is at least highly improbable from the standpoint of the synoptic tradition. Even then the faith demanded by the christological kerygma would be of a totally different kind. We can say, however, that Jesus' appearance and his preaching imply a christology in so far as he called for a decision over against his person as the bearer of the word of God, a decision determining salvation or destruction. 28 The community's confession as given in the kerygma would then have to be understood as the explication of the answer to the question of decision, of the obedience which recognizes God's revelation in Jesus. Put in another way, Jesus' eschatological preaching proclaimed the imminent breaking-in of the kingdom of God, and Jesus evidently understood his own appearance as a "sign" of it (Luke 12:54-56) and likewise conceived his exorcisms as the clues to its coming (Mark 3:22-27 and parallels; Matt. 12:28 or Luke 10:18). If we may regard Matt. 11:11-13 or Luke 16:16 as a genuine word of Jesus and may interpret it to mean that the Baptist is the end of the old aeon, then it would follow that in his appearance Jesus saw the breaking-in of the new aeon. 29 That may be open to 218
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question. But in any event we may say that he understood himself as an eschatological phenomenon, as it were, as the one the kerygma interprets him to be. So it is most understandable that the disciples who were faithful to him after the crucifixion, and after they had come to faith in his resurrection, gave expression to his "eschatological" character by regarding him as the Messiah himself, awaited him as the coming "Son of Man" and viewed and considered his earthly activity in light of this faith. It is also understandable that they solved the oppressive riddle of his death by interpreting this death as a messianic event. In so far as Jesus understood himself as an "eschatological" phenomenon we can say that his proclamation implied a christology. We can make this still clearer by pointing to the claim contained in his appearance, the claim which the scholars eagerly describe as "a claim to authority," 30 though it is to be differentiated from the risen Lord's claim to authority in Matt. 28:18 ("All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me") because it can only be applied to the activity of the historical Jesus, to his exorcisms (Mark 1:27) and his preaching (Matt. 7:29). We can also emphasize the "immediacy" of Jesus in his association with men, as Bornkamm has so impressively described it in his Jesus of Nazareth. 31 How far does all this take us? Actually, it makes intelligible the historical continuity between the activity of Jesus and the kerygma; it explains how the proclaimer became the one proclaimed. 32 Essentially, however, it does not take us beyond the first attempt to indicate the continuity by arguing that the kerygma presupposes not only the "that," but also the "what" and the "how" of Jesus' activity. The argument that the kerygma goes back to the claim of Jesus contained in his activity does not yet demonstrate the material unity between the activity and preaching of Jesus and the kerygma. The discussion still moves in the area of the traditional historical-critical inquiry and its categories. The argument that Jesus understood himself as an "eschatological" phenomenon and the reference to his "consciousness of authority" and "immediacy" point to historical phenomena. Does the kerygma intend to make us aware of such phenomena?33 Does Jesus' eschatological consciousness, for example, mediate an eschatological self-understanding to the one who perceives it as a historical phenomenon? This is precisely the intention of the kerygma, which as such claims to be an eschatological event (11 Cor. 5:18--20; John 5:24; et cetera) and which as a direct address promises death and life (II Cor. 2:15-16). Do the authoritative claims of Jesus, perceived as a historical phenomenon, extend beyond the time of his earthly activity? Does the claim and promise of the historical Jesus in his "immediacy" extend to later generations? This is precisely what occurs in the kerygma, in which it is not the historical Jesus, but rather the risen Lord who says, "All authority has been given to me." The Christ of the kerygma has, as it were, displaced the historical Jesus and authoritatively 219
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addresses the hearer-every hearer. So how can we speak of an identity of Jesus' activity with the kerygma in the sense that in Jesus' deed and word the kerygma is already contained in nuce?
V There seems to be a way to answer this question when the objectifying historical-critical consideration of Jesus' activity is replaced, or better, supplemented or carried further by an interpretation of history based on the historic (that is, on the existential) encounter with history. This interpretation seeks to grasp the self-understanding lying behind or present in the historical phenomena which are perceptible to an objectifying view.34 It rests upon encounter, in so far as it keeps itself open to the possibilities of self-understanding which history offers us as the possibilities of one's own self-understanding. For this interpretation history is address and consists, so to speak, of a hearing and not of a seeing from afar. In his programmatic writings James M. Robinson has resolutely taken this way. Actually, Herbert Braun also goes this way, though without Robinson's methodological reflections. There are also others who have taken this way. It appears that the ideas of Althaus and Diem move in this direction, though without sufficient clarity.35 Above all, the works of Ernst Fuchs, Gerhard Ebeling, Ernst Kasemann, and Hans Conzelmann must be mentioned here. Fuchs evidently does not intend to construe Christian faith as personal relationship to the historical Jesus, but rather as the relationship of faith to the Christ of the kerygma. His interpretation "actually does not apply to the historical Jesus, but to the Jesus of the Gospel." 36 "The whole christological interest of the New Testament is not attached to a relation of personal communion with the Lord, but to the fulfillment of Jesus as Christ." "It is necessary to exclude the historical individuality of Jesus." 37 Fuchs describes the continuity between Jesus' activity and the kerygma by characterizing the understanding of existence shared by Jesus and the kerygma, namely the "paradoxical truth that in the very God from whom a man otherwise flees or would have to flee, he has found a refuge which he now loves." "The gracious God himself is to be found precisely in the wrathful God, life in the place of death, joy in the desert of anxiety." 38 Does Fuchs carry out the existential interpretation in a consistent fashion, however? He may have surrendered it when he maintains that an interpretation of Jesus must keep in mind his attitude as the framework of his preaching. 39 He thus slips into the historical-psychological interpretation, for he describes Jesus' attitude as a phenomenon perceptible to the objectifying view. In the statements that the kerygma has retained the "self-understanding of Jesus,'' that the post-Easter faith has "repeated" Jesus' decision, the self-understanding and decision of Jesus are viewed as
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phenomena perceptible to the objectifying historian. 40 That makes absolutely clear the fact that Fuchs deduces the decision which Jesus himself made from the decision demanded by his message. The demand is "simply the echo of the decision which Jesus himself made." 41 That may be correct, but what purpose is served by this reflection, which can only originate in a biographical interest? It leads to such an absurd result that in the parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15: 11-32) Jesus did not want to teach the grace of God which is open to the sinner, but rather defends his own attitude. 42 However true that may be, it merely establishes a psychic motive and says nothing of the parable's intention or of the understanding of existence which underlies it. Instead of saying, for example, that the existential interpretation of the activity of Jesus in word and (so far as is recognizable) deed demands that man understand himself as called to faith, Fuchs reflects upon Jesus' own faith, and in addition, upon Jesus' prayer in which he allows his disciplesfor whom he "endures the struggle of faith"-to participate. 43 He speaks of Jesus as the lover who lives only for others, and thus sees the real reason for Jesus' crucifixion in his own intention. 44 Is this any different from the traditional picture of Jesus as it appears, for example, in Althaus? 45 But does not recourse to Jesus' own faith signify a relapse into the historical-psychological interpretation? When we inquire into the material continuity between Jesus and the kerygma, then we do not inquire into Jesus' personal faith, but at the most into whether the understanding of existence encountering men in Jesus' activity as possibility and demand includes faith in him. We may therefore ask: Is-or to what degree is-the understanding of the disciples prior to Easter to be described as faith in Jesus Christ, the crucified and risen Lord? A similar reply must be made to Ebeling, whose view is closely related to that of Fuchs. Indeed, he sees clearly the problem of the "transition from the preaching Jesus to the preached Christ," 46 and he sees the "discontinuity."47 But he still believes he can establish the continuity at a decisive point. He states that this continuity consists in the fact that the "witness of faith"-that is, Jesus-became "the basis of faith." 48 Hence, just as Fuchs, Ebeling has recourse to the historical Jesus whom he calls the "witness of faith. " 49 The Gospels do not speak of Jesus' own faith, nor does the kerygma make reference to it. 50 To be sure, Ebeling most appropriately describes the structure of faith as an existential stance. 51 When he says, however, that "it would be impossible to exempt Jesus himself from an act of faith in view of the way in which he speaks of it," 52 then like Fuchs he deduces the personal attitude of the historical Jesus from an understanding of existence present in his activity and becoming audible in his words. He thus confuses the existential encounter with an objectifying view. When he states that "a structural uniqueness of faith" lies in the fact "that the origin 221
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of faith is directed to an encounter with the witnesses of faith," then by "witnesses of faith" 53 he evidently means believers who witness to their faith, whereas the kerygma does not permit any inquiry into the personal faith of the preacher. It appears to me that the situation is similar in the case of Giinther Bornkamm. He sees indeed that the Jesus-tradition is not formed by a historical interest, but rather on the basis of the disciples' Easter faith. 54 He also sees that the community has an interest in Jesus' history, because faith "lives from past history." 55 But he does not inquire whether this interest proceeds beyond an interest in the "that." Moreover, his description is to a certain degree obscure, because he draws the picture of a history perceptible to an objectifying view, while at the same time putting all the emphasis on interpreting Jesus' preaching existentially; that is, on making clear the understanding of existence which it contains and demands. Thus, for example, he does not minimize the problem arising from the fact that Jesus expected the coming of the kingdom of God in the immediate future. But he sees that this problem has its solution in terms of the existential nature of Jesus' message: "Hence in Jesus' preaching, speaking of the present means speaking of the future, and vice versa." 56 Or he is at pains to indicate the unity of the Beatitudes and the demands of the Sermon on the Mount: "To live in the presence of God and in the expectation of his future is the blessing which Jesus' beatitudes promise, which is no less the blessing of his commandments."57 Finally, he sees that just as the Sermon on the Mount contains a hidden christology, it also contains a hidden eschatology: "the claims of Jesus carry in themselves 'the last things', without having to borrow validity and urgency from the blaze of the fire in apocalyptic scenes. They themselves lead to the boundaries of the world, but do not paint a picture of its end."58 Bornkamm is conscious that he is speaking here in language resulting from his own reflection, that is, he is inquiring into the understanding of existence contained in the words of Jesus. The intention of Ernst Kasemann moves in the same direction. He clearly sees that "history acquires its historic relevance not through tradition as such, but through interpretation, not through the mere establishment of facts but through the understanding of those events of the past which have been objectified and solidified in data." 59 Unfortunately, Kasemann uses this fundamental insight only to justify the kerygma's interpretation of Jesus' activity and does not proceed further to his own existential interpretation of the activity of Jesus or of the kerygma. For his remarks on the "uniqueness of the mission of Jesus" 60 arc not an existential interpretation, but rather describe Jesus' uniqueness as a historical phenomenon. It may be that Herbert Braun's intention to give an existential interpretation has been carried out most consistently. By reducing the content of
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the various kerygmatic forms (in Jesus himself, the primitive community, and Hellenistic Christianity) to man's self-understanding before God, he succeeds in overcoming the question of historical continuity and replaces it with the question of constancy. 61 In my opinion he correctly states that within the activity of Jesus his words are of decisive significance. These words teach the paradoxical unity of the radicalized Torah and radical grace,62 of the heightened demand and the unqualified acceptance of man as sinner, 63 the "counterpoint" of openness to the neighbor and man's total dependence on God. 64 Since Braun inquires into the intention lying behind the terminologyli5 he indicates that this theme is appropriated and varied in the primitive Palestinian community as well as in the Hellenistic community. So he actually succeeds in demonstrating the material unity of the Christ-kerygma with the proclamation of Jesus. The constant is the self-understanding of the believer; the christology is the variable.66 As we already stated, James M. Robinson programmatically calls for an existential interpretation. He sees in the interpretation of history inaugurated by Wilhelm Dilthey the replacement of the objectifying view of history in favor of an understanding of history rooted in a historic (existential) encounter with history. "For the objectivity of modern [se. existential] historiography consists precisely in one's openness for the encounter." 67 "Man's quest for meaningful existence is his highest stimulus to scholarly enquiry; consequently a serious quest of the historical Jesus must have meaning in terms of man's quest for meaningful existence."68 In this manner Robinson succeeds in indicating the identity of Jesus' activity with the kerygma. Viewed in a formal way, this identity consists in the fact that Jesus' activity in word and deed confronts man with a decision in a way identical to the Christ-kerygma. What we can know about Jesus on the basis of existential interpretation (naturally, on the basis of an existential encounter with the Jesus-tradition) is his understanding of existence which discloses a new possibility of existence which we may seize or reject, so that the interpreter is always confronted with a decision. 69 In the same way the existential interpretation of the kerygma "both as witness to past event and as experience of present event"70 puts one before a decision, with the result that it repeats the question of decision put by the activity of Jesus in the past. Now what is the content of this understanding of existence? The message of Jesus as well as the kerygma require a break with the old aeon and readiness for the new already appearing, a submitting to the judgment of God and the reception of his grace. "Thus the kerygma proclaims the death in which resides life (Mark 8:35), a kerygma incarnated in Jesus and therefore shifting terminologically from Jesus' own eschatological message into the church's christological kerygma: this death in which life resides is Jesus' death, and becomes available only in dying and rising with him.'m "In the narrative, just as in the kerygma, we are confronted with paradox: 223
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exaltation in humiliation, life in death, the kingdom of God in the present evil aeon, the eschatological in history.'>n
VI But now a curious problem arises. Again we ask: Why must the proclaimer become the one proclaimed? This time, however, we do not inquire into historical continuity, into the causality of the historical event, but rather into its inner necessity. If the proclamation (and activity) of Jesus places the hearer before a decision and offers him the possibility of a new existence, why cannot the apostolic preaching simply be limited to repeating the proclamation of Jesus, as other pupils repeat the teaching of their master? Why must it in addition, or rather, in the first place, demand faith in him as the coming Son of Man, a demand which the historical Jesus never made? Indeed, why could the message about Christ actually totally disregard any "repetition," as Paul and John indicate? And still more! If a genuine interpretation of history makes the "now" of yesterday the "now" of today, if for that reason the historian, on the basis of his existential encounter with Jesus' history, can lead his hearers (or readers) to a situation where they must decide for or against him, then has not the Christ-kerygma lost its meaning, has it not become superfluous?73 A few sentences from Robinson make this situation clear. "A new quest must be undertaken because the kerygma claims to mediate an existential encounter with a historical person, Jesus, who can also be encountered through the mediation of modern historiography." The new quest of the historical Jesus must concern itself with one central problem: "One seeks an encounter with the whole person [se. of Jesus] ... the whole person is reached through encounter with individual sayings and actions in which Jesus' intention and selfhood are latent.... " The Gospels offer kerygmatized narratives, "i.e. they reflect the Easter faith. But the question before us is whether this kerygmatic significance is also visible in an encounter with the total person mediated through modern historiography." 74 The problem is clearly seen by Reginald H. Fuller in his criticism of Robinson's A New Quest of the Historical Jesus: "The effort to demonstrate the continuity between Jesus and the kerygma may so blur the difference between them that in effect it will make the kerygma unnecessary." 75 In the same way, the problem is clearly recognized by Herbert Braun, when he inquires whether or not "the essence of Christianity, the constant in the New Testament" is "only an idea." His reply is that the self-understanding of faith in the New Testament sense is an event; it is preached as a present salvation and is "connected with the ever new occurrence of their [se. the truths of faith] being proclaimed." The 224
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self-understanding of faith is not historically mediated, but is "a continually recurring happening and event." 76 In the same vein Hans Conzelmann writes that if [the history of his influence] also belongs to the history of a personality and determines our relation to him . . . then in this respect Jesus is still fundamentally like other historical figures. Not even a unique influence can establish an absolute claim. And if Jesus himself raised such a claim, then its validity still cannot be established by historical proofs. . . . The theological question is then how a historical event can be the eschatological event and as such can encounter us today. The answer is to be given by referring to the proclamation-such an event can become contemporary in the preaching. This possibility is therefore to be fundamentally distinguished from the influence of a personality which is historically perceptible. 77 The solution to the problem lies in the fact that the kerygma has changed the "once" of the historical Jesus into the "once-for-all. " 78 In other words, the earliest community (with ever greater clarity) understood the history of Jesus as the decisive eschatological event which as such can never become mere past but remains present, and of course, in the preaching. This has been fully explained by Paul when he wrote that God through Christ has reconciled us to himself and has appointed the ministry of the word; that is, the preaching of reconciliation, so that the apostle lets his preaching resound in Christ's, more, in God's stead (II Cor. 5:18-20), and can describe the "now" of proclamation as the eschatological "now" (II Cor. 6:2). Practically the same idea appears in John, when he allows Jesus to say that the hearer who receives his word in faith has already passed from death to life (John 5:24-25). It is clear that John is not thinking of the word of the historical Jesus, but rather of the word which proclaims him. In the farewell speeches Jesus says that the Paraclete whom God will send in his name will teach the disciples all things and bring to their remembrance all that Jesus said (John 14:26). The Paraclete will bear witness to Jesus; the disciples will also bear witness (15:26)-naturally, the former through the latter. If the mere "repetition" of Jesus' preaching-whether it be through the tradition elaborated in the Synoptic Gospels or whether it be through modern historiography-makes the past present in such a way that it puts the hearers (or readers) before the decision for (or against) a possibility of self-understanding disclosed in the preaching of the historical Jesus, then the Christ-kerygma demands faith in the Jesus who is present in it and who not merely promised salvation, as the historical Jesus did, but actually brought it. 79 225
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All the attempts to indicate that the historical Jesus saw the appearance of the time of salvation in his activity cannot deceive us regarding the basic difference between his preaching and the Christ-kerygma, a difference which Paul and John have made clear. Moreover, it is clear that we cannot retroject the "if any one is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has passed away, behold, the new has come" (11 Cor. 5:17) into the preaching of the historical Jesus any more than we can retroject the Johannine "Now is the judgment of this world" (John 12:31; cf. 3:19, et cetera) into that preaching. And if in their existential interpretation Robinson and Braun can recapture the meaning of such statements in the word and deed of the historical Jesus they are still guided by the kerygma in which the paradox "in death life resides" first became explicit (cf. Il Cor. 4:7-12; 12:9-10; John 14:27; 16:33). If it is true that the kerygma proclaims Jesus as the Christ, as the eschatological event, if it claims that Christ is present in it, then it has put itself in the place of the historical Jesus; it represents him. Then there is no faith in Christ which would not also be faith in the church as the bearer of the kerygma; that is, using the terminology of dogmatics, faith in the Holy Ghost. But faith in the church is at the same time faith in Jesus Christ, a faith which the historical Jesus did not demand. 80 Only now is this faith present; only now can Jesus' death and resurrection be proclaimed as the saving events which inaugurate the new aeon. This then includes the possibility of "repetition," the type of kerygmatic narration we find in the Synoptic Gospels which is not a reproduction of a past history but rather a unique contemporizing of the past which is now seen anew in light of the Christ-kerygma. Because the "repetition" is above all the proclamation of the will of God, of his demand, there arises the problem of relationship between law and gospel which conditions the history of the church.81 If it is correct that in its kerygma the church represents the historical Jesus, if faith in Christ is at the same time faith in the church or faith in the Holy Ghost whom she received as a post-Easter gift (Acts 2, and especially John 20:22; cf. 14:16-17, 26; 16:7), then we can say that faith in the church as the bearer of the kerygma is the Easter faith which consists in the belief that Jesus Christ is present in the kerygma. 82 It is often said, most of the time in criticism, that according to my interpretation of the kerygma Jesus has risen in the kerygma. I accept this proposition. It is entirely correct, assuming that it is properly understood. It presupposes that the kerygma itself is an eschatological event, and it expresses the fact that Jesus is really present in the kerygma, that it is his word which involves the hearer in the kerygma. If that is the case, then all speculation concerning the modes of being of the risen Jesus, all the narratives of the empty tomb and all the Easter legends, whatever elements of historical fact they may contain, and as true as they may be in their symbolic form, are of no consequence. To believe in the Christ present in the kerygma is the meaning of the Easter faith. 226
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Notes
*
1
2
3
4
5 6 7 8
This lecture was delivered at the Heidelberg Academy of Sciences and presents Bultmann's response to scholars, especially to those in his own school, who have resumed the quest for the historical Jesus. Its German title is Das Verhiiltnis der urchristlichen Christusbotschaft zum historischen Jesus (3rd edition; Heidelberg: Car! Winter, UniversiUitsverlag, 1962). Cf. Hans Conzelmann's report in "Jesus Christus," Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, edited by Kurt Galling, 3. Auflage (Tiibingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1959), Ill, 621: "One has the impression that research has come full circle. In its essential features, the dogmatic picture of the Messiah seems to have its point of reference in Jesus himself." The problem is clearly formulated e.g., by Ernst Kasemann, "Das Problem des historischen Jesus," Zeitschrift fUr Theo/ogie und Kirche, 51. Jahrgang (1954), p. 129: "Primitive Christianity ... has actually covered and concealed the picture of the historical Jesus." Since the community witnesses to "past history as living and present, it maintains historical continuity with him who once walked the earth (in such a way) that it allows the historical events of this earthly life for the most part to fall into oblivion, in order to replace it with its message." See also pp. 131-38. In addition, cf. Giinther Bornkamm, Jesus of Nazareth, translated by Irene and Fraser McLuskey with James M. Robinson (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1960), pp. 13-26; Herbert Braun, "Der Sinn der neutestamentlichen Christologie," Zeitschrift fUr Theologie und Kirche, 54. Jahrgang (1957), pp. 341-77; Conzelmann, op. cit., pp. 629-33 in reference to the christological titles, p. 646 in reference to the passion story, and p. 650 in reference to the Easter faith as a critical principle of selection vis-a-vis the tradition. Cf. also Hermann Diem, Dogmatics, translated by Harold Knight (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1960), p. 84. Ebeling treats the problem of discontinuity and continuity in "Die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus und das Problem der Christologie," Zeitschrift fUr Theologie und Kirche, 56. Jahrgang (1959), Beiheft 1, pp. 24-30, and in The Nature of Faith, translated by Ronald Gregor Smith (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1961), pp. 58 ff. In the latter, Ebeling writes: "there can be no talk of a direct continuation (se. of Jesus' preaching]. Certainly there is a connection, but it is marked by abrupt discontinuity. And if nevertheless we can speak of a continuation, it can only be grasped as the act of God. The transition from the 'historical' Jesus to the Christ of faith is no more a matter of course than is the leap from death to life." (P. 58.) And on p. 59: "and in fact the direct passing on of what Jesus himself taught played only a secondary part in the message of early Christianity." This is given particular emphasis by Kasemann, "Probleme neutestamentlicher Arbeit in Deutschland," Beitriige zur Evangelischen Theologie, 15. Jahrgang (1952), pp. 135-52. Regarding continuity in this sense, cf. Conzelmann, op. cit., p.650. So also Joachim Jeremias, "The Present Position in the Controversy Concerning the Problem of the Historical Jesus," The Expository Times, Vol. 69 (October, 1957-September, 1958), p. 336. So also Nils Dahl, "The Problem of the Historical Jesus," Kergyma and History, translated and edited by Car! E. Braaten and Roy A. Harrisville (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1962), pp. 161 ff. Jeremias, op. cit., p. 335. On this question, cf. Gosta Lindeskog, Die Jesusfrage in neuzeitlichen 227
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9
10
11 12 13
14 15 16 17
18 19
20 21
22
23
Judentum; ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Leben-Jesu-Forschung (Leipzig: A Lorentz, 1938); Dahl, op. cit., pp. 145-46. Cf. Conzelmann, op. cit., p. 651: "If the object of faith as such is not visible within the area of the secular, then the relation of faith to the historical Jesus can only be an occasional-punctiliar relation. In reality, the only datum which can be fixed historically is the naked fact of Jesus' having existed." Ernst Heitsch plans to show that the continuity between Jesus' preaching and that of the community is a continuity of fact and interpretation, a false interpretation actually, since the community substituted Jesus' person for the fact with which he was concerned. Cf. Heitsch, "Die Aporie des historischen Jesus als Problem theologischer Hermeneutik," Zeitschrift fur Theologie und Kirche, 53. Jahrgang (1956), pp.196-210. This is Kasemann's concern. Cf. "Probleme neutestamentlicher Arbeit in Deutschland," p. 151, and "Neutestamentliche Fragen von heute," Zeitschrift fiir Theologie und Kirche, 54. Jahrgang (1957), p. 12. Kasemann, "Neutestamentliche Fragen von heute," pp. 30, 37. Jeremias, op. cit., p. 337. a. James M. Robinson's criticism of C. H. Dodd who believes he can demonstrate that the kerygma contains a sketch of Jesus' public ministry which might correspond with a "life of Jesus." James M. Robinson, A New Quest of the Historical Jesus (London: Student Christian Movement Press, 1959), pp. 48 ff. Hermann Diem, "The Earthly Jesus and the Christ of Faith," Kerygma and History, p. 200. Paul Althaus, Fact and Faith in the Kerygma of Today, translated by David Cairns (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1960), pp. 73-74. Cf. Conzelmann, op. cit., pp. 628-29. Ibid., p. 646: The passion narrative "takes its shape entirely from the perspective of the Easter faith. It is this faith which provides the key to the interpretation of Jesus' death." Robinson wants to avoid the problem by speaking of "Jesus' death as his own existential act of accepting his death." Cf. Robinson, op. cit., p. 89. This is Robinson's point of view. He states that "only Jesus' death as his own existential act of accepting his death and living out of transcendence is really a historical event in distinction from a natural occurrence." Cf. Robinson, toe. cit. Cf. Conzelmann, op. cit., p. 630: "Their [se. the prophecies of the passion] genuineness cannot be defended by stating that Jesus had to reckon on a future encounter with death and life. These prophecies do not offer a keen analysis of the situation, but rather express a divine necessity for suffering. That is, they already contain an interpretation of the passion from the Easter point of view." Thus Ernst Fuchs, "Die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus," Zeitschrift fiir Theologie und Kirche, 53. Jahrgang (1956), p. 222. Bornkamm, op. cit., p. 55. For Bornkamm, of course, this is not a conjecture but a certainty. Conzelmann also states: "In any event it is certain that Jesus journeyed to Jerusalem ... in order to confront his people at the center, at the site of the temple and the highest authorities, with the final decision." Op. cit., p. 647. Dahl correctly states that the historian cannot show that Jesus' death was on our behalf (as the kerygma claims). "Only the Easter faith of the disciples is accessible to the historian." Op. cit., p. 160. Cf. also Bornkamm, op. cit., pp. 178, 180. Concerning the "messianic mystery," cf. Conzelmann, "Gegenwart und Zukunft in der synoptischen Tradition," Zeitschrift fiir Theologie und Kirche,
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24 25 26
27 28
29 30
54. Jahrgang (1957), pp. 293-95. Robinson, of course, believes that "the evangelists undoubtedly insisted upon the relevance of history for faith." Indeed, but did they insist upon more than the "that"? Cf. Robinson, op. cit., pp. 77-78. Op. cit., p. 32. Ibid., p. 69. I assume that Diem has the same intention, though his statements on the "kerygmatic history" are not clear to me. This "kerygmatic history" is the "sole legitimate object of historical research into the New Testament." In it Geschichte (what has actually occurred) and Historie (the report of that occurrence, into which the occurrence enters but with which it is not identical) coincide and yet must be differentiated. The kerygmatic history encounters us in its Historie, and "we must inquire of this Historie concerning that event which actually occurred, of which it (what?) is the Historie." It is not clear how such an inquiry can be carried on other than by critical-historical research, and Diem gives no explanation. On the contrary! When he refers to an investigation of the Son of Man sayings in the Synoptic Gospels (H. E. TOdt, Der Menschensohn in der synoptischen Oberliefemng, Gtitersloh: Gtitersloher Verlagshaus, 1959), then he has recourse to critical-historical research. And nothing further results than the undeniable fact that the earthly Jesus is the "Initiator and Object" of the kerygmatic history. But Diem evidently intends to establish more than this, for he states that the earthly Jesus and the preaching about him must be differentiated but not separated, "because the same Jesus Christ is also the acting Subject in the second phase, the history of the proclamation about him," and to that degree the second phase, although new, is identical with the first phase, i.e., the activity and the preaching of the earthly Jesus himself. Diem obviously intends to achieve more than is yielded by that historical research to which he refers. For at the most, this research can only establish the historical phenomenon that Jesus was believed to be the Subject of the apostolic kerygma, and not that he actually is that Subject. For the historian, the acting subject in the second phase, the history of the preaching about Jesus, is the primitive Christian community. Diem, op. cit., pp. 202-4, 207-8,210-11. As Conzelmann formulates it, the argument "that the faith of the community in its substance, that is, in its conception of the person of Jesus, goes back to Jesus himself." Cf. "Jesus Christus," p. 621. Cf. my Theology of the New Testament, translated by Kendrick Grobel (London: Student Christian Movement Press, 1952), I, 43. Cf. also Fuchs, "Die vollkommene Gewissheit; zur Auslegung von Matthaus 5:48," Neutestamentliche Studien fiir Rudolf Bultmann, 2. Auflage (Berlin: Alfred Topelmann, 1957), p. 130, n. 2; Bornkamm, op. cit., pp. 176-77; Conzelmann, "Jesus Christus," pp. 631,633, n. 7. a. especially Conzelmann, "The Method of the Life-ofJesus Research," in this volume, pp. 66-67: "In the cosmology (the teaching of the providence of God) and in the eschatology (the teaching of the coming of God) as well as in the ethics (the teaching of the will of God) of Jesus we discover the fact of an indirect christology." Cf. also Ebeling, op. cit., p. 21. a. Bornkamm, op. cit., p. 67. In "Das Problem des historischen Jesus," pp. 138 ff., Kasemann states that early Christianity experienced Jesus' earthly history as the kairos. Cf. Fuchs, "Die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus," p. 219: "Jesus dares to advance God's will in such a way as though he himself stood in God's place." Accordingly, Fuchs speaks of "Jesus' authority to assemble a people for God under the sign of his rule." Cf. "Jesus und der Glaube," Zeitschrift fiir
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31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49
50 51 52 53 54 55 56
57 58 59 60 61
Theologie und Kirche, 55. Jahrgang (1958), p. 184. In the same vein Bornkamm, op. cit., pp. 58 ff., 67, 174; Ebeling, The Nature of Faith, pp. 55-56 and Jeremias, op. cit., p. 338, who speaks of Jesus' "claim to authority." Op. cit., pp. 57-58. Cf. ibid., p. 188. Cf. ibid., p. 16: "The interest of the Church and her tradition does not cling to the past, but to today .... " Self-understanding is thus to be distinguished from self-consciousness! a. supra, pp. 25-26. Fuchs, "Jesu Selbstzeugnis nach Matthaus 5," Zeitschrift filr Theologie und Kirche, 51 Jahrgang (1954), p. 31. Fuchs, "Jesus Christus in Person," Festschrift filr Rudolf Bultmann (Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer Verlag, 1949), pp. 58, 60. Fuchs, "Die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus," p. 217. Ibid., p. 220; cf. "Glaube und Geschichte im Blick auf die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus," Zeitschrift filr Theologie und Kirche, 54. Jahrgang (1957), pp.147-48. So at this point, self-understanding is confused with self-consciousness. Fuchs, "Die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus," pp. 221-22. Ibid., p. 219. Fuchs, "Jesus und der Glaube," pp. 181-84. Fuchs, "Jesu Selbstzeugnis nach Matthaus 5," p. 27. In addition, cf also supra, pp. 23-24. Op. cit., pp. 73-74. Ebeling, The Nature of Faith, p. 48. Ibid., pp. 58-59. Ibid., p. 62; cf. p. 71. Cf. "Die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus und das Problem der Christologie," pp. 21-22. Of course, Ebeling claims that his interpretation of Jesus' faith does not aim at a psychological description. But what else is it when the "scapus of interpretation" has as its object not only Jesus' teaching but "all throughout this person as such," and when "preoccupation with one thing" is described as Jesus' characteristic feature? In He b. 12:2, Jesus is described as the "pioneer and perfecter of our faith." But this is not a description of Jesus as a believer, as Ebeling would suppose, for he does not appear in the "cloud of witnesses" in He b. 11. "Jesus und Glaube," Zeitschrift filr Theologie und Kirche, 55. Jahrgang (1958), pp. 104-10. Ibid., p. 97. Ibid., p. 108. Op. cit., pp. 174-78. Ibid., p. 23. Ibid., p. 93. Note also how Bornkamm characterizes the paradoxical relation of present to future on p. 184: According to the primitive Christian view, Easter is "the intervention of God's new world ... the setting up and beginning of his kingdom. An event in this time and this world, and yet at the same time an event which puts an end and a limit to this time and this world." Ibid., p. 108. Ibid., p. 109. "Das Problem des historischen Jesus," p. 130. Ibid., pp. 144-51. Braun, "Der Sinn der neutestamentlichen Christologie," pp. 341 ff.
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62 Ibid., pp. 346-47. In similar fashion, Conzelmann writes of the unity of commandment and demand in Jesus' preaching. Cf. "Jesus Christus," pp. 633-34. 63 As formulated by Braun in Spatjiidisch-hliretischer und friih-christlicher Radikalismus, II (Ti.ibingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1957), pp.115-36 and passim. 64 Ibid., p. 114. 65 "Der Sinn der neutestamentlichen Christologie," p. 371. 66 Ibid., pp. 368, 370-71. 67 Robinson, op. cit., p. 76. Cf. pp. 28-31, 44-45, 66-70. Naturally, Robinson does not intend to surrender his interpretation to subjectivism, and he expressly refuses to choose between objective analysis and existential openness. The latter presupposes the former (e.g., in the inquiry into the genuineness of transmitted words of Jesus); the former serves the latter which is the authentic and ultimately objective interpretation (cf. pp. 95-100). 68 Ibid., p. 75. 69 Cf. the German edition of Robinson's work, Kerygma und historischer Jesus (Zi.irich: Zwingli Verlag, 1960), especially pp. 161 ff. 70 Robinson, A New Quest of the Historical Jesus, p. 43. On p. 52 Robinson writes: "Although pre-existence and exaltation are, so to speak, chronologically separate from the life, they reveal the life's whence and whither, and are thus a way of expressing its meaning." Cf. also pp. 87-88. 71 Ibid., p. 43. Cf. also pp. 52-53. 72 Ibid., p. 55. Robinson's attempt to extract from the formal pattern of Jesus' message the "existential dialectic" of the existence of faith (that is, the dialectical relation of present to future) is not at all convincing. In my opinion, a genuine existential dialectic is present only in Paul and John. (Cf. also pp. 121-25). 73 And Jeremias is faced with the same dilemma when he states that the gospel of Jesus and the kerygma of the primitive community are related together as call and response. "The call, not the response is the decisive thing." But then we ask: Why are we not content with the call, but take also the response into our preaching? 74 Robinson, A New Quest of the Historical Jesus, pp. 94-95. 75 Fuller, in a review of Bultmann's Jesus Christ and Mythology and Robinson's A New Quest of the Historical Jesus, The Anglican Theological Review, No. 41 (1959), p. 234. A similar criticism is made by two American theologians with whom I have become acquainted through correspondence: Edwin M. Good (letter of May 28, 1959) and Van A. Harvey (letter of July 14, 1960). 76 Braun, op. cit., pp. 371,372,373. 77 "Jesus Christus," p. 648; cf. p. 649, and especially pp. 650 and 651. 78 As stated by Klisemann, "Das Problem des historischen Jesus," p. 138. 79 If Althaus thinks that the kerygma becomes law when it is sundered from the concrete picture of the historical Jesus, then it is admittedly an error to speak of the demand for faith made by the kerygma. This demand, however, is basically different from the demand of the law which puts a man on his own. That faith which the kerygma demands is openness to the new possibility of existence. This openness is indeed the condition (se. for justification), since the demand for faith is also the offer of the gift of faith which, at base, is already the new existence. It is not that a man must, but rather that he may believe. Paul, for whom faith and obedience are synonymous, does not demand but rather pleads: "We beseech you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God" (II Cor. 5:20); he invites: "We entreat you not to accept the grace of God in vain" (II Cor. 6:1 ). In contrast to Althaus, Conzelmann states: "From the theological
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standpoint, every result of reconstruction is law, not Gospel." (Cf. "Jesus Christus," p. 649.) 80 It is obvious that in this context "church" is not viewed as an institution, but as an eschatological event. It is not the guarantor of faith but is itself the object of faith. It is just as much a scandal as the cross. 81 On the relevance which historical research is gaining in our time, cf. Conzelmann, "Jesus Christus," p. 648. 82 Cf. Bornkamm, op. cit., p. 188: "By the events of Easter and the certainty of the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, he who proclaimed the coming of the kingdom of God ... became the one proclaimed, the one who called to faith became the content of the faith." Reginald H. Fuller, op. cit., p. 234, wrote: "If ... Easter discloses the achievement of a further phase of God's eschatological action, viz. that the Cross has inaugurated a greater degree of the 'already,' then the Kerygma can mediate an encounter with the historical Jesus which the modern view of history cannot."
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Part2 CRITICAL QUESTIONS: MIRACLE AND MYTH
12 INTRODUCTION: DEVELOPMENT OF THE MYTHICAL POINT OF VIEW IN RELATION TO THE GOSPEL HISTORIES David F. Strauss Source: The Life of Jesus, Critically Examined, translated by George Eliot (London: Chapman, 1846), pp. 39-92. (Originally published as Das Leben Jesu kritisch bearbeitet, Tiibingen: C. F. Osiander, 1835-1836.)
§ 1. Inevitable rise of different modes of explaining sacred histories Wherever a religion, resting upon written records, prolongs and extends the sphere of its dominion, accompanying its votaries through the varied and progressive stages of mental cultivation, a discrepancy between the representations of those ancient records, referred to as sacred, and the notions of more advanced periods of mental development, will inevitably sooner or later arise. In the first instance this disagreement is felt in reference only to the unessential-the external form: the expressions and delineations are seen to be inappropriate; but by degrees it manifests itself also in regard to that which is essential: the fundamental ideas and opinions in these early writings fail to be commensurate with a more advanced civilization. As long as this discrepancy is either not in itself so considerable, or else is not so universally discerned and acknowledged, as to lead to a complete renunciation of these Scriptures as of sacred authority, so long will a system of reconciliation by means of interpretation be adopted and pursued by those who have a more or less distinct consciousness of the existing incongruity. A main element in all religious records is sacred history; a history of events in which the divine enters, without intermediation, into the human; the ideal thus assuming an immediate embodiment. But as the progress of mental cultivation mainly consists in the gradual recognition of a chain of 235
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causes and effects connecting natural phenomena with each other; so the mind in its development becomes ever increasingly conscious of those mediate links which are indispensable to the realization of the ideal; 1 and hence the discrepancy between the modern culture and the ancient records, with regard to their historical portion, becomes so apparent, that the immediate intervention of the divine in human affairs loses its probability. Besides, as the humanity of these records is the humanity of an early period, consequently of an age comparatively undeveloped and necessarily rude, a sense of repulsion is likewise excited. The incongruity may be thus expressed. The divine cannot so have happened (not immediately, not in forms so rude); or, that which has so happened cannot have been divine:and if a reconciliation be sought by means of interpretation, it will be attempted to prove, either that the divine did not manifest itself in the manner related,-which is to deny the historical validity of the ancient Scriptures; or, that the actual occurrences were not divine-which is to explain away the absolute contents of these books. In both cases the interpretation may be partial or impartial: partial, if undertaken with a determination to close the eyes to the secretly recognized fact of the disagreement between the modern culture and the ancient records, and to see only in such interpretation the original signification of these records; impartial, if it unequivocally acknowledges and openly avows that the matters narrated in these books must be viewed in a light altogether different from that in which they were regarded by the authors themselves. This latter method, however, by no means involves the entire rejection of the religious documents; on the contrary, the essential may be firmly retained, whilst the unessential is unreservedly abandoned.
§ 2. Different explanations of sacred legends among the Greeks Though the Hellenistic religion cannot be said to have rested upon written records, it became enshrined in the Greek poems, for example, in those of Homer and Hesiod; and these, no less than its orally transmitted legends, did not fail to receive continually varying interpretations, successively adapted to the progressive intellectual culture of the Greeks. At an early period the rigid philosophy of the Greeks, and under its influence even some of the Greek poets, recognized the impossibility of ascribing to Deity manifestations so grossly human, so immediate, and so barbarous, as those exhibited and represented as divine in the wild conflicts of Hesiod's Theogony, and in the domestic occupations and trivial pursuits of the Homeric deities. Hence arose the quarrel of Plato, and prior to him of Pindar, with Homer; 2 hence the cause which induced Anaxagoras, to whom the invention of the allegorical mode of interpretation is ascribed, to apply the Homeric delineations to virtue and to 236
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justice; 3 hence it was that the Stoics understood the Theogony of Hesiod as relating to the action of the elements, which, according to their notions, constituted, in their highest union, the divine nature. 4 Thus did these several thinkers, each according to his own peculiar mode of thought, succeed in discovering an absolute meaning in these representations: the one finding in them a physical, the other an ethical signification, whilst, at the same time, they gave up their external form, ceasing to regard them as strictly historical. On the other hand, the more popular and sophistical culture of another class of thinkers led them to opposite conclusions. Though, in their estimation, every semblance of the divine had evaporated from these histories; though they were convinced that the proceedings ascribed to the gods were not godlike, still they did not abandon the historical sense of these narratives. With Evemerus5 they transformed the subjects of these histories from gods to men, to heroes and sages of antiquity, kings and tyrants, who, through deeds of might and valour, had acquired divine honours. Some indeed went still further, and, with Polybius,6 considered the whole system of heathen theology as a fable, invented by the founders of states to awe the people into subjection. § 3. Allegorical interpretations among the Hebrews-
Philo Whilst, on the one hand, the isolation and stability of the Hebrews served to retard the development of similar manifestations amongst this people, on the other hand, when once actually developed, they were the more marked; because, in proportion to the high degree of authority ascribed to the sacred records, was the skill and caution required in their interpretation. Thus, even in Palestine, subsequent to the exile, and particularly after the time of the Maccabees, many ingenious attempts were made to interpret the Old Testament so as to remove offensive literalities, supply deficiencies, and introduce the notions of a later age. Examples of this system of interpretation occur in the writings of the Rabbins, and even in the New Testament;7 but it was at that place where the Jewish mind came into contact with Greek civilization, and under its influence was carried beyond the limits of its own national culture-namely at Alexandria-that the allegorical mode of interpretation was first consistently applied to the whole body of historical narrative in the Old Testament. Many had prepared the way, but it was Philo who first fully developed the doctrine of both a common and a deeper sense of the Holy Scriptures. He was by no means inclined to cast away the former, but generally placed the two together, side by side, and even declared himself opposed to those who, everywhere and without necessity, sacrificed the literal to the higher signification. In many cases, however, he absolutely discarded the verbal
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meaning and historical conception, and considered the narrative merely as the figurative representation of an idea. He did so, for example, whenever the sacred story appeared to him to present delineations unworthy of Deity, tending either to materialism or anthropomorphism, or otherwise to contain contradictions. 8 The fact that the Jews, whilst they adopted this mode of explaining the Old Testament (which, in order to save the purity of the intrinsic signification, often sacrificed the historical form), were never led into the opposite system of Evemerus (which preserved the historical form by divesting the history of the divine, and reducing it to a record of mere human events), is to be ascribed to the tenacity with which that people ever adhered to the supernatural point of view. The latter mode of interpretation was first brought to bear upon the Old Testament by the Christians. § 4. Allegorical interpretations among the Christians-
Origen To the early Christians who, antecedent to the fixing of the Christian canon, made especial use of the Old Testament as their principal sacred record, an allegorical interpretation was the more indispensable, inasmuch as they had made greater advances beyond the views of the Old Testament writers than even the most enlightened of the Jews. It was no wonder therefore that this mode of explanation, already in vogue among the Jews, was almost universally adopted by the primitive Christian churches. It was however again in Alexandria that it found the fullest application amongst the Christians, and that in connexion with the name of Origen. Origen attributes a threefold meaning to the Scriptures, corresponding with his distribution of the human being into three parts: the literal sense answering to the body; the moral, to the soul; and the mystical, to the spirit. 9 The rule with him was to retain all three meanings, though differing in worth; in some particular cases, however, he was of opinion that the literal interpretation either gave no sense at all, or else a perverted sense, in order the more directly to impel the reader to the discovery of its mystical signification. Origen's repeated observation that it is not the purpose of the biblical narratives to transmit old tales, but to instruct in the rules of life; 10 his assertion that the merely literal acceptation of many of the narratives would prove destructive of the Christian religion; 11 and his application of the passage "The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life," 12 to the relative worth of the allegorical and the literal modes of biblical interpretation, may be understood as indicating only the inferiority of the literal to the deeper signification. But the literal sense is decidedly given up when it is said, "Every passage of Scripture has a spiritual element, but not every one has a corporeal element;'' 13 "A spiritual truth often exists embodied in a corporeal falsehood"/ 4 "The Scriptures contain many things which never
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came to pass, interwoven with the history, and he must be dull indeed who does not of his own accord observe that much which the Scriptures represent as having happened never actually occurred." 15 Among the passages which Origen regarded as admitting no other than an allegorical interpretation, besides those which too sensibly humanized the Deity/ 6 he included those which attributed unworthy action to individuals who had held intimate communion with GodY It was not however from the Old Testament views alone that Origen had, in consequence of his Christian training, departed so widely that he felt himself compelled, if he would retain his reverence for the sacred records, to allegorize their contents, as a means of reconciling the contradiction which had arisen between them and his own mind. There was much likewise in the New Testament writings which so little accorded with his philosophical notions, that he found himself constrained to adopt a similar proceeding in reference to them. He reasoned thus:-the New Testament and the Old are the work of the same spirit, and this spirit would proceed in the same manner in the production of the one and of the other, interweaving fiction with reality, in order thereby to direct the mind to the spiritual signification. 18 In a remarkable passage of his work against Celsus, Origen classes together, and in no ambiguous language, the partially fabulous stories of profane history, and of heathen mythology, with the gospel narratives. 19 He expresses himself as follows: "In almost every history it is a difficult task, and not unfrequently an impossible one, to demonstrate the reality of the events recorded, however true they may in fact be. Let us suppose some individual to deny the reality of a Trojan war on account of the incredibilities mixed up with the history; as, for example, the birth of Achilles from a goddess of the sea. How could we substantiate the fact, encumbered as it is with the numerous and undeniable poetical fictions which have, in some unascertainable manner, become interwoven with the generally admitted account of the war between the Greeks and the Trojans? There is no alternative: he who would study history with understanding, and not suffer himself to be deluded, must weigh each separate detail, and consider what is worthy of credit and may be believed without further evidence; what, on the contrary, must be regarded as merely figurative; (1:iva o£ 1:po1toA.o'YiJm:t) always bearing in mind the aim of the narrator-and what must be wholly mistrusted as being written with intent to please certain individuals." In conclusion Origen says, "I was desirous of making these preliminary observations in relation to the entire history of Jesus given in the Gospels, not with the view of exacting from the enlightened a blind and baseless belief, but with design to show how indispensable to the study of this history are not only judgment and diligent examination, but, so to speak, the very penetrating into the mind of the author, in order to discover the particular aim with which each narrative may have been written."
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We here see Origen almost transcending the limits of his own customary point of view, and verging towards the more modern mythical view. But if his own prepossessions in favour of the supernatural, and his fear of giving offence to the orthodox church, combined to hinder him from making a wider application of the allegorical mode of interpretation to the Old Testament, the same causes operated still more powerfully in relation to the New Testament; so that when we further inquire of which of the gospel histories in particular did Origen reject the historical meaning, in order to hold fast a truth worthy of God the instances will prove to be meagre in the extreme. For when he says, in illustration of the abovementioned passage, that amongst other things, it is not to be understood literally that Satan showed to Jesus all the kingdoms of the earth from a mountain, because this is impossible to the bodily eye; he here gives not a strictly allegorical interpretation, but merely a different turn to the literal sense, which, according to him, relates not to an external fact, but to the internal fact of a vision. Again, even where the text offers a tempting opportunity of sacrificing the literal to the spiritual meaning, as, for example, the cursing of the fig-tree, 20 Origen does not speak out freely. He is most explicit when speaking of the expulsion of the buyers and sellers from the temple; he characterizes the conduct of Jesus, according to the literal interpretation, as assuming and seditious.21 He moreover expressly remarks that the Scriptures contain many more historical than merely scriptural truths. 22 § 5. Transition to more modern times-deists and
naturalists of the 17th and 18th centuries-the Wolfenbiittel Fragmentist Thus was developed one of those forms of interpretation to which the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures, in common with all other religious records, in relation to their historical contents, became necessarily subjected; that, namely, which recognizes in them the divine, but denies it to have actually manifested itself in so immediate a manner. The other principal mode of interpretation, which, to a certain extent, acknowledges the course of events to have been historically true, but assigns it to a human and not a divine origin, was developed amongst the enemies of Christianity by a Celsus, a Porphyry, and a Julian. They indeed rejected much of the history as altogether fabulous; but they admitted many of the incidents related of Moses, Jesus, and others, to be historical facts: these facts were however considered by them as originating from common motives; and they attributed their apparently supernatural character either to gross fraud or impious sorcery. It is worthy of observation that the circumstances attending the introduction of these several modes of interpretation into the heathen and
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Jewish religions, on the one hand, and into the Christian religion, on the other, were different. The religion and sacred literature of the Greeks and Hebrews had been gradually developed with the development of the nation, and it was not until the intellectual culture of the people had outgrown the religion of their fathers, and the latter was in consequence verging towards decay, that the discrepancy which is the source of these varying interpretations became apparent. Christianity, on the contrary, came into a world of already advanced civilization; which was, with the exception of that of Palestine, the Judaico-Hellenistic and the Greek. Consequently a disagreement manifested itself at the very beginning; it was not now, however, as in former times, between modern culture and an ancient religion, but between a new religion and ancient culture. The production of allegorical interpretations among the Pagans and the Hebrews, was a sign that their religion had lost its vitality; the allegories of Origen and the attacks of Celsus, in reference to Christianity, were evidences rather that the world had not as yet duly accommodated itself to the new religion. As however with the Christianizing of the Roman empire, and the overthrow of the chief heresies, the Christian principle gained an everincreasing supremacy; as the schools of heathen wisdom closed; and the uncivilized Germanic tribes lent themselves to the teaching of the church;-the world, during the tedious centuries of the Middle Ages, was satisfied with Christianity, both in form and in substance. Almost all traces of these modes of interpretation which presuppose a discrepancy between the culture of a nation, or of the world, and religion, in consequence disappeared. The reformation effected the first breach in the solid structure of the faith of the church. It was the first vital expression of a culture, which had now in the heart of Christendom itself, as formerly in relation to Paganism and Judaism, acquired strength and independence sufficient to create a reaction against the soil of its birth, the prevailing religion. This reaction, so long as it was directed against the dominant hierarchy, constituted the sublime, but quickly terminated, drama of the reformation. In its later direction against the Bible, it appeared again upon the stage in the barren revolutionary efforts of deism; and many and various have been the forms it has assumed in its progress down to the present time. The deists and naturalists of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries renewed the polemic attacks of the pagan adversaries of Christianity in the bosom of the Christian church; and gave to the public an irregular and confused mass of criticisms, impugning the authenticity and credibility of the Scriptures, and exposing to contempt the events recorded in the sacred volume. Toland, 23 Bolingbroke, 24 and others, pronounced the Bible to be a collection of unauthentic and fabulous books; whilst some spared no pains to despoil the biblical histories, and the heroes whose actions they celebrate, of every ray of divine light. Thus, according to Morgan, 25 the law of Moses is a miserable system of superstition, blindness, and slavery; the 241
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Jewish priests are deceivers; and the Jewish prophets the originators of the distractions and civil wars of the two kingdoms of Judah and Israel. According to Chubb, 26 the Jewish religion cannot be a revelation from God, because it debases the moral character of the Diety by attributing to him arbitrary conduct, partiality for a particular people, and above all, the cruel command to exterminate the Canaanitish nations. Assaults were likewise made by these and other deists upon the New Testament: the Apostles were suspected of being actuated by selfish and mercenary motives; 27 the character of Jesus himself was not spared,28 and the fact of his resurrection was denied. 29 The miracles of Jesus, wrought by an immediate exercise of divine power in human acts and concerns, were made the particular objects of attack by Woolston. 30 This writer is also worthy of notice on account of the peculiar position taken by him between the ancient allegorists and the modern naturalists. His whole reasoning turns upon the alternative; either to retain the historical reality of the miracles narrated in the Bible, and thus to sacrifice the divine character of the narratives, and reduce the miracles to mere artifices, miserable juggleries, or commonplace deceptions; or, in order to hold fast the divine character of these narratives, to reject them entirely as details of actual occurrences, and regard them as historical representations of certain spiritual truths. Woolston cites the authority of the most distinguished allegorists among the fathers in support of this view. He is wrong however in representing them as supplanting the literal by the figurative meaning. These ancient fathers, on the contrary, were disposed to retain both the literal and the allegorical meaning. (A few examples in Origen, it is true, are an exception to this rule.) It may be doubted, from the language of Woolston, which alternative was adopted by himself. If we reason from the fact, that before he appeared as the opponent of the commonly entertained views of Christianity, he occupied himself with allegorical interpretations of the Scriptures,31 we may be led to consider the latter alternative as expressing his real conviction. On the other hand, he enlarges with so evident a predilection on the absurdities of the miracles, when literally understood, and the manner in which he treats the whole subject is so tinged with levity, that we may suspect the Deist to put forward the allegorical interpretations merely as a screen, from behind which he might inveigh the more unreservedly against the literal signification. Similar deistical objections against the Bible, and the divine character of its history, were propagated in Germany chiefly by an anonymous author (Reimarus) whose manuscripts were discovered by Lessing in the Wolfenbtittel library. Some portions of these manuscripts, called the "Wolfenbtittel Fragments," were published by Lessing in 1774. They consist of Essays, one of which treats of the many arguments which may be urged against revealed religion in general; the others relate partly to the Old and partly to the New Testament. It is the opinion of the Fragmentist, 242
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in relation to the Old Testament, first, that the men, of whom the Scriptures narrate that they had immediate communications with God, were so unworthy, that such intercourse, admitting its reality, compromised the character of Deity; secondly, that the result of this intercourse,-the instructions and laws alleged to have been thus divinely communicated,were so barbarous and destructive, that to ascribe them to God is impossible; and thirdly, that the accompanying miracles were at once absurd and incredible. From the whole, it appears to him clear, that the divine communications were only pretended; and that the miracles were delusions, practised with the design of giving stability and efficiency to certain laws and institutions highly advantageous to the rulers and priests. The author finds much to condemn in the conduct of the patriarchs, and their simulations of divine communications; such as the command to Abraham to sacrifice his son. But it is chiefly Moses upon whom he seeks, in a long section, to cast all the obloquy of an impostor, who did not scruple to employ the most disgraceful means in order to make himself the despotic ruler of a free people; who, to effect his purpose, feigned divine apparitions, and pretended to have received the command of God to perpetrate acts which, but for this divine sanction, would have been stigmatized as fraudulent, as highway robbery, as inhuman barbarity. For instance, the spoiling of the Egyptians, and the extirpation of the inhabitants of Canaan; atrocities which, when introduced by the words "Jehovah hath said it," became instantly transformed into deeds worthy of God. The Fragmentist is as little disposed to admit the divinity of the New Testament histories. He considers the aim of Jesus to have been political; and his connexion with John the Baptist a preconcerted arrangement, by which the one party should recommend the other to the people. He views the death of Jesus as an event by no means foreseen by himself, but which frustrated all his plans; a catastrophe which his disciples knew not how else to repair than by the fraudulent pretence that Jesus was risen from the dead, and by an artful alteration of his doctrines. 32
§ 6. Natural mode of explanation adopted by the rationalists-Eichhorn-Paulus Whilst the reality of the biblical revelation, together with the divine origin and supernatural character of the Jewish and Christian histories, were tenaciously maintained in opposition to the English deists by numerous English apologists, and in opposition to the Wolfenbiittel Fragmentist by the great majority of German theologians, there arose a distinct class of theologians in Germany, who struck into a new path. The ancient pagan mythology, as understood by Evemerus, admitted of two modes of explanation, each of which was in fact adopted. The deities of the popular worship might, on the one hand, be regarded as good and benevolent men; 243
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as wise lawgivers, and just rulers, of early times, whom the gratitude of their contemporaries and posterity had encircled with divine glory; or they might, on the other hand, be viewed as artful impostors and cruel tyrants, who had veiled themselves in a nimbus of divinity, for the purpose of subjugating the people to their dominion. So, likewise, in the purely human explanation of the Bible histories, besides the method of the deists to regard the subjects of these narratives as wicked and deceitful men, there was yet another course open; to divest these individuals of their immediate divinity, but to accord to them an undegraded humanity; not indeed to look upon their deeds as miraculous;-as little on the other hand to decry them as impositions;-but to explain their proceedings as altogether natural, yet morally irreprehensible. If the Naturalist was led by his special enmity to the Christianity of the church to the former explanation, the Rationalist, anxious, on the contrary, to remain within the pale of the church, was attracted towards the latter. Eichhorn, in his critical examination of the Wolfenbtittel Fragments,33 directly opposes this rationalistic view to that maintained by the Naturalist. He agrees with the Fragmentist in refusing to recognize an immediate divine agency, at all events in the narratives of early date. The mythological researches of a Heyne had so far enlarged his circle of vision as to lead Eichhorn to perceive that divine interpositions must be alike admitted, or alike denied, in the primitive histories of all people. It was the practice of all nations, of the Grecians as well as the Orientals, to refer every unexpected or inexplicable occurrence immediately to the Deity. The sages of antiquity lived in continual communion with superior intelligences. Whilst these representations (such is Eichhorn's statement of the matter) are always, in reference to the Hebrew records, understood verbally and literally, it has hitherto been customary to explain similar representations in the pagan histories, by presupposing either deception and gross falsehood, or the misinterpretation and corruption of tradition. But Eichhorn thinks justice evidently requires that Hebrew and pagan history should be treated in the same way; so that intercourse with celestial beings during a state of infancy, must either be accorded to all nations, pagan and Hebrew, or equally denied to all. The mind hesitates to make so universal an admission: first, on account of the not unfrequent errors contained in religions claiming to have been divinely communicated; secondly, from a sense of the difficulty of explaining the transition of the human race from a state of divine tutelage to one of self-dependence: and lastly, because in proportion as intelligence increases, and the authenticity of the records may be more and more confidently relied upon, in the same proportion do these immediate divine influences invariably disappear. If, accordingly, the notion of supernatural interposition is to be rejected with regard to the Hebrews, as well as to all other people, the view generally taken of pagan antiquity presents itself, at first sight, as that most obviously applicable to
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the early Hebrews; namely, that their pretended revelations were based upon deceit and falsehood, or that their miraculous histories should be referred to the misrepresentations and corruptions of tradition. This is the view of the subject actually applied by the Fragmentist to the Old Testament; a representation, says Eichhorn, from which the mind on a nearer contemplation recoils. Is it conceivable that the greatest men of antiquity, whose influence operated so powerfully and so beneficially upon their age, should one and all have been impostors, and yet have escaped the detection of their contemporaries? According to Eichhorn, so perverted a view could arise only in a mind that refused to interpret the ancient records in the spirit of their age. Truly, had they been composed with all the philosophical accuracy of the writers of the present day, we should have been compelled to find in them either actual divine interpositions, or a fraudulent pretence. But they are the production of an infant and unscientific age; and treat, without reserve of divine interventions, in accordance with the conceptions and phraseology of that early period. So that, in point of fact, we have neither miracles to wonder at, on the one hand, nor deceptions to unmask on the other; but simply the language of a former age to translate into that of our own day. Eichhorn observes that before the human race had gained a knowledge of the true causes of things, all occurrences were referred to supernatural agencies, or to the interposition of superhuman beings. Lofty conceptions, noble resolves, useful inventions and regulations, but more especially vivid dreams, were the operations of that Deity under whose immediate influence they believed themselves placed. Manifestations of distinguished intelligence and skill, by which some individual excited the wonder of the people, were regarded as miraculous; as signs of supernatural endowments, and of a particular intercourse with higher beings. And this was the belief, not of the people only, but also of these eminent individuals, who entertained no doubt of the fact, and who exulted in the full conviction of being in mysterious connexion with the Deity. Eichhorn is of opinion that no objection can be urged against the attempt to resolve all the Mosaic narratives into natural occurrences, and thus far he concedes to the Fragmentist his primary position; but he rejects his inference that Moses was an impostor, pronouncing the conclusion to be over-hasty and unjust. Thus Eichhorn agreed with the Naturalists in divesting the biblical narratives of all their immediately divine contents, but he differed from them in this, that he explained the supernatural lustre which adorns these histories, not as a fictitious colouring imparted with design to deceive, but as a natural and as it were spontaneous illumination reflected from antiquity itself. In conformity with these principles Eichhorn sought to explain naturally the histories of Noah, Abraham, Moses, etc. Viewed in the light of that age, the appointment of Moses to be the leader of the Israelities was nothing more than the long cherished project of the patriot to emancipate 245
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his people, which when presented before his mind with more than usual vividness in his dreams, was believed by him to be a divine inspiration. The flame and smoke which ascended from Mount Sinai, at the giving of the law, was merely a fire which Moses kindled in order to make a deeper impression upon the imagination of the people, together with an accidental thunderstorm which arose at that particular moment. The shining of his countenance was the natural effect of being over-heated: but it was supposed to be a divine manifestation, not only by the people, but by Moses himself, he being ignorant of the true cause. Eichhorn was more reserved in his application of this mode of interpretation to the New Testament. Indeed, it was only to a few of the narratives in the Acts of the Apostles, such as the miracle of the day of Pentecost, the conversion of the Apostle Paul, and the many apparitions of angels, that he allowed himself to apply it. Here too, he refers the supernatural to the figurative language of the Bible; in which, for example, a happy accident is called-a protecting angel; a joyous thought-the salutation of an angel; and a peaceful state of mind-a comforting angel. It is however remarkable that Eichhorn was conscious of the inapplicability of the natural explanation to some parts of the gospel history, and with respect to many of the narratives took a more elevated view. Many writings in a similar spirit, which partially included the New Testament within the circle of their explanations, appeared; but it was Dr. Paulus who by his commentary on the Gospels 34 in 1800, first acquired the full reputation of a Christian Evemerus. In the introduction to this work he states it to be the primary requisite of the biblical critic to be able to distinguish between what is fact, and what is opinion. That which has been actually experienced, internally or externally, by the participants in an event, he calls fact. The interpretation of an event, the supposed causes to which it is referred either by the participants or by the narrators, he calls opinion. But, according to Dr. Paulus, these two elements become so easily blended and confounded in the minds both of the original sharers in an event, and of the subsequent relators and historians, that fact and opinion lose their distinction; so that the one and the other are believed and recorded with equal confidence in their historical truth. This intermixture is particularly apparent in the historical books of the New Testament; since at the time when Jesus lived, it was still the prevailing disposition to derive every striking occurrence from an invisible and superhuman cause. It is consequently the chief task of the historian who desires to deal with matters of fact, that is to say, in reference to the New Testament, to separate these two constituent elements so closely amalgamated, and yet in themselves so distinct; and to extricate the pure kernel of fact from the shell of opinion. In order to this, in the absence of any more genuine account which would serve as a correcting parallel, he must transplant himself in imagination upon the theatre of action, and strive to the utmost to contemplate the 246
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events by the light of the age in which they occurred. And from this point of view he must seek to supply the deficiencies of the narration, by filling in those explanatory collateral circumstances, which the relator himself is so often led by his predilection for the supernatural to leave unnoticed. It is well known in what manner Dr. Paulus applies these principles to the New Testament in his Commentary, and still more fully in his later production, "The Life of Jesus." He firmly maintains the historical truth of the gospel narratives, and he aims to weave them into one consecutive chronologically-arranged detail of facts; but he explains away every trace of immediate divine agency, and denies all supernatural intervention. Jesus is not to him the Son of God in the sense of the Church, but a wise and virtuous human being; and the effects he produced are not miracles, but acts sometimes of benevolence and friendship, sometimes of medical skill, sometimes also the results of accident and good fortune. This view proposed by Eichhorn, and more completely developed by Paulus, necessarily presupposes the Old and New Testament writings to contain a minute and faithful narration, composed shortly after the occurrence of the events recorded, and derived, wherever this was possible, from the testimony of eye-witnesses. For it is only from an accurate and original report that the ungarbled fact can be disentangled from interwoven opinion. If the report be later and less original, what security is there that what is taken for the matter-of-fact kernel does not belong to opinion or tradition? To avoid this objection, Eichhorn sought to assign a date to the Old Testament histories approximating as nearly as possible to the events they record: and here he, and other theologians of the same school, found no difficulty in admitting suppositions the most unnatural: for example, that the Pentateuch was written during the passage through the wilderness. However this critic admits that some portions of the Old Testament, the Book of Judges, for instance, could not have been written contemporaneously with the events; that the historian must have contemplated his heroes through the dim mist of intervening ages, which might easily have magnified them into giant forms. No historian who had either witnessed the circumstances, or had been closely connected with them in point of time, could embellish after such fashion, except with the express aim to amuse at the expense of truth. But with regard to remote occurrences it is quite different. The imagination is no longer restricted by the fixed limits of historical reality, but is aided in its flight by the notion that in earlier times all things were better and nobler; and the historian is tempted to speak in loftier phrase, and to use hyperbolical expressions. Least of all is it possible to avoid embellishment, when the compiler of a subsequent age derives his materials from the orally transmitted traditions of antiquity? The adventures and wondrous exploits of ancestors, handed down by father to son, and by son to grandson, in glowing and enthusiastic representations, and sung by the poet in lofty strains, are registered in the
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written records of the historian in similar terms of high flowing diction. Though Eichhorn took this view of a portion of the Old Testament Books, he believed he was not giving up their historical basis, but was still able, after clearing away the more or less evident legendary additions, to trace out the natural course of the history. But in one instance at least, this master of the natural mode of interpretation in reference to the Old Testament, took a more elevated view:namely, of the history of the creation and the fall. In his influential work on primitive history, 35 although he had from the first declared the account of the creation to be poetry, he nevertheless maintained that of the fall to be neither mythology nor allegory, but true history. The historical basis that remained after the removal of the supernatural, he stated to be this: that the human constitution had at the very beginning become impaired by the eating of a poisonous fruit. He thought it indeed very possible in itself, and confirmed by numerous examples in profane history, that purely historical narratives might be overlaid by a mythical account; but owing to a supranaturalistic notion, he refused to allow the same possibility to the Bible, because he thought it unworthy of the Deity to admit a mythological fragment into a book, which bore such incontestable traces of its divine origin. Later, however, Eichhorn himself declared that he had changed his opinion with regard to the second and third chapters of Genesis. 36 He no longer saw in them an historical account of the effects of poison, but rather the mythical embodying of a philosophical thought; namely, that the desire for a better condition than that in which man actually is, is the source of all the evil in the world. Thus, in this point at least, Eichhorn preferred to give up the history in order to hold fast the idea, rather than to cling to the history with the sacrifice of every more elevated conception. For the rest, he agreed with Paulus and others in considering the miraculous in the sacred history as a drapery which needs only to be drawn aside, in order to disclose the pure historic form. § 7. Moral interpretation of Kant Amidst these natural explanations which the end of the eighteenth century brought forth in rich abundance, it was a remarkable interlude to see the old allegorical system of the Christian fathers all at once called up from its grave, and revived in the form of the moral interpretation of Kant. He, as a philosopher, did not concern himself with the history, as did the rationalist theologians, but like the fathers of the church, he sought the idea involved in the history: not however considering it as they did an absolute idea, at once theoretical as well as practical, but regarding it only on its practical side, as what he called the moral imperative and consequently belonging to the finite. He moreover attributed these ideas wrought into the biblical text, not to the Divine Spirit, but to its philosophical inter-
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preters, or in a deeper sense, to the moral condition of the authors of the book themselves. This opinion Kant37 bases upon the fact, that in all religions old and new which are partly comprised in sacred books, intelligent and well-meaning teachers of the people have continued to explain them, until they have brought their actual contents into agreement with the universal principles of morality. Thus did the moral philosophers amongst the Greeks and Romans with their fabulous legends; till at last they explained the grossest polytheism as mere symbolical representations of the attributes of the one divine Being, and gave a mystical sense to the many vicious actions of their gods, and to the wildest dreams of their poets, in order to bring the popular faith, which it was not expedient to destroy, into agreement with the doctrines of morality. The later Judaism and Christianity itself he thinks have been formed upon similar explanations, occasionally much forced, but always directed to objects undoubtedly good and necessary for all men. Thus the Mahometans gave a spiritual meaning to the sensual descriptions of their paradise, and thus the Hindoos, or at least the more enlightened part of them, interpreted their Vedas. In like manner, according to Kant, the Christian Scriptures of the Old and New Testament, must be interpreted throughout in a sense which agrees with the universal practical laws of a religion of pure reason: and such an explanation, even though it should, apparently or actually, do violence to the text, which is the case with many of the biblical narratives, is to be preferred to a literal one, which either contains no morality at all or is in opposition to the moral principle. For example, the expressions breathing vengeance against enemies in many of the Psalms are made to refer to the desires and passions which we must strive by all means to bring into subjection; and the miraculous account in the New Testament of the descent of Jesus from heaven, of his relationship to God, etc., is taken as an imaginative description of the ideal of humanity well-pleasing to God. That such an interpretation is possible, without even always too offensive an opposition to the literal sense of these records of the popular faith, arises according to the profound observations of Kant from this: that long before the existence of these records, the disposition to a moral religion was latent in the human mind; that its first manifestations were directed to the worship of the Deity, and on this very account gave occasion to those pretended revelations; still, though unintentionally, imparting even to these fictions somewhat of the spiritual character of their origin. In reply to the charge of dishonesty brought against his system of interpretation, he thinks it a sufficient defence to observe, that it does not pretend that the sense now given to the sacred books, always existed in the intention of the authors; this question it sets aside, and only claims for itself the right to interpret them after its own fashion. Whilst Kant in this manner sought to educe moral thoughts from the biblical writings, even in their historical part, and was even inclined to 249
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consider these thoughts as the fundamental object of the history: on the one hand, he derived these thoughts only from himself and the cultivation of his age, and therefore could seldom assume that they had actually been laid down by the authors of those writings; and on the other hand, and for the same reason, he omitted to show what was the relation between these thoughts and those symbolic representations, and how it happened that the one came to be expressed by the other. § 8. Rise of the mythical mode of interpreting the sacred history, in reference first to the Old Testament It was impossible to rest satisfied with modes of proceeding so unhistorical on the one hand, and so unphilosophical on the other. Added to which, the study of mythology, now become far more general and more prolific in its results, exerted an increasing influence on the views taken of biblical history. Eichhorn had indeed insisted that all primitive histories, whether Hebrew or pagan, should be treated alike, but this equality gradually disappeared; for though the mythical view became more and more developed in relation to profane history, the natural mode of explanation was still rigidly adhered to for the Hebrew records. All could not imitate Paulus, who sought to establish consistency of treatment by extending the same natural explanation which he gave to the Bible, to such also of the Greek legends as presented any points of resemblance; on the contrary, opinion in general took the opposite course, and began to regard many of the biblical narratives as mythi. Semler had already spoken of a kind of Jewish mythology, and had even called the histories of Samson and Esther mythi; Eichhorn too had done much to prepare the way, now further pursued by Gabler, Schelling, and others, who established the notion of the mythus as one of universal application to ancient history, sacred as well as profane, according to the principle of Heyne: A mythis omnis priscorum hominum cum historia turn philosophia procedit. 38 And Bauer in 1820 ventured so far as to publish a Hebrew mythology of the Old and New Testament.39 The earliest records of all nations are, in the opinion of Bauer, mythical: why should the writings of the Hebrews form a solitary exception?-whereas in point of fact a cursory glance at their sacred books proves that they also contain mythical elements. A narrative he explains, after Gabler and Schelling, to be recognizable as mythus, first, when it proceeds from an age in which no written records existed, but in which facts were transmitted through the medium of oral tradition alone; secondly, when it presents an historical account of events which are either absolutely or relatively beyond the reach of experience, such as occurrences connected with the spiritual world, and incidents to which, from the nature of the circumstances, no one could have been witness; or thirdly, when it deals in the marvellous and is couched in symbolical language. Not a few narratives of
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this description occur in the Bible; and an unwillingness to regard them as mythi can arise only from a false conception of the nature of a mythus, or of the character of the biblical writings. In the one case mythi are confounded with fables, premeditated fictions, and wilful falsehoods, instead of being recognized as the necessary vehicle of expression for the first efforts of the human mind; in the other case it certainly does appear improbable (the notion of inspiration presupposed), that God should have admitted the substitution of mythical for actual representations of facts and ideas, but a nearer examination of the scriptures shows that this very notion of inspiration, far from being any hindrance to the mythical interpretation, is itself of mythical origin. Wegscheider ascribed this greater unwillingness to recognize mythi in the early records of the Hebrew and Christian religion than in the heathen religions, partly to the prevailing ignorance respecting the progress of historical and philosophical science; partly to a certain timidity which dares not call things manifestly identical by the same name. At the same time he declared it impossible to rescue the Bible from the reproaches and scoffs of its enemies except by the acknowledgment of mythi in the sacred writings, and the separation of their inherent meaning from their unhistorical form. 40 These biblical critics gave the following general definition of the mythus. It is the representation of an event or of an idea in a form which is historical, but, at the same time characterized by the rich pictorial and imaginative mode of thought and expression of the primitive ages. They also distinguished several kinds of mythi. 41 1st. Historical mythi: narratives of real events coloured by the light of antiquity, which confounded the divine and the human, the natural and the supernatural. 2nd. Philosophical mythi: such as clothe in the garb of historical narrative a simple thought, a precept, or an idea of the time. 3rd. Poetical mythi: historical and philosophical mythi partly blended together, and partly embellished by the creations of the imagination, in which the original fact or idea is almost obscured by the veil which the fancy of the poet has woven around it. To classify the biblical mythi according to these several distinctions is a difficult task, since the mythus which is purely symbolical wears the semblance of history equally with the mythus which represents an actual occurrence. These critics however laid down rules by which the different mythi might be distinguished. The first essential is, they say, to determine whether the narrative have a distinct object, and what that object is. Where no object, for the sake of which the legend might have been invented, is discoverable, every one would pronounce the mythus to be historical. But if all the principal circumstances of the narrative concur to symbolize a particular truth, this undoubtedly was the object of the 251
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narrative, and the mythus is philosophical. The blending of the historical and philosophical mythus is particularly to be recognized when we can detect in the narrative an attempt to derive events from their causes. In many instances the existence of an historical foundation is proved also by independent testimony; sometimes certain particulars in the mythus are intimately connected with known genuine history, or bear in themselves undeniable and inherent characteristics of probability: so that the critic, while he rejects the external form, may yet retain the groundwork as historical. The poetical mythus is the most difficult to distinguish, and Bauer gives only a negative criterion. When the narrative is so wonderful on the one hand as to exclude the possibility of its being a detail of facts, and when on the other it discovers no attempt to symbolize a particular thought, it may be suspected that the entire narrative owes its birth to the imagination of the poet. Schelling particularly remarks on the unartificial and spontaneous origin of mythi in general. The unhistorical which is interwoven with the matters of fact in the historical mythus is not, he observes, the artistical product of design and invention. It has on the contrary glided in of itself, as it were, in the lapse of time and in the course of transmission. And, speaking of philosophical mythi, he says: the sages of antiquity clothed their ideas in an historical garb, not only in order to accommodate those ideas to the apprehension of a people who must be awakened by sensible impressions, but also on their own account: deficient themselves in clear abstract ideas, and in ability to give expression to their dim conceptions, they sought to illumine what was obscure in their representations by means of sensible imagery. 42 We have already remarked, that the natural mode of interpreting the Old Testament could be maintained only so long as the records were held to be contemporaneous, or nearly so, with the events recorded. Consequently it was precisely those theologians, Vater, De Wette and others who controverted this opinion, who contributed to establish the mythical view of the sacred histories. Vater43 expressed the opinion that the peculiar character of the narrations in the Pentateuch could not be rightly understood, unless it were conceded that they are not the production of an eye witness, but are a series of transmitted traditions. Their traditional origin being admitted, we cease to feel surprised at the traces which they discover of a subsequent age; at numerical exaggerations, together with other inaccuracies and contradictions; at the twilight which hangs over many of the occurrences; and at representations such as, that the clothes of the Israelites waxed not old during their passage through the wilderness. Vater even contends, that unless we ascribe a great share of the marvellous contained in the Pentateuch to tradition, we do violence to the original sense of the compilers of these narratives. The natural mode of explanation was still more decidedly opposed by De Wette than by Vater. He advocated the mythical interpretation of a
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large proportion of the Old Testament histories. In order to test the historical credibility of a narrative, he says,44 we must ascertain the intention of the narrator. If that intention be not to satisfy the natural thirst for historical truth by a simple narration of facts, but rather to delight or touch the feelings, or to illustrate some philosophical or religious truth, then his narrative has no pretension to historical validity. Even when the narrator is conscious of strictly historical intentions, nevertheless his point of view may not be the historical: he may be a poetical narrator, not indeed subjectively, as a poet drawing inspiration from himself, but objectively, as enveloped by and depending on poetry external to himself. This is evidently the case when the narrator details as bona fide matter of fact things which are impossible and incredible, which are contrary not only to experience, but to the established laws of nature. Narrations of this description spring out of tradition. Tradition, says De Wette, is uncritical and partial; its tendency is not historical, but rather patriotic and poetical. And since the patriotic sentiment is gratified by all that flatters national pride, the more splendid, the more honourable, the more wonderful the narrative, the more acceptable it is; and where tradition has left any blanks, imagination at once steps in and fills them up. And since, he continues, a great part of the historical books of the Old Testament bear this stamp, it has hitherto been believed possible (on the part of the natural interpreters) to separate the embellishments and transformations from the historical substance, and still to consider them available as records of facts. This might indeed be done, had we, besides the marvellous biblical narratives, some other purely historical account of the events. But this is not the case with regard to the Old Testament history; we are solely dependent on those accounts which we cannot recognize as purely historical. They contain no criterion by which to distinguish between the true and the false; both are promiscuously blended, and set forth as of equal dignity. According to De Wette, the whole natural mode of explanation is set aside by the principle that the only means of acquaintance with a history is the narrative which we possess concerning it, and that beyond this narrative the historian cannot go. In the present case, this reports to us only a supernatural course of events, which we must either receive or reject: if we reject it, we determine to know nothing at all about it, and are not justified in allowing ourselves to invent a natural course of events, of which the narrative is totally silent. It is moreover inconsistent and arbitrary to refer the dress in which the events of the Old Testament are clothed to poetry, and to preserve the events themselves as historical; much rather do the particular details and the dress in which they appear, constitute a whole belonging to the province of poetry and mythus. For example, if God's covenant with Abraham be denied in the form of fact, whilst at the same time it is maintained that the narrative had an historical basis,-that is to say, that though no objective divine communication took place, the occurrence had 253
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a subjective reality in Abraham's mind in a dream or in a waking vision; in other words, that a natural thought was awakened in Abraham which he, in the spirit of the age, referred to God:-of the naturalist who thus reasons, De Wette asks, how he knows that such thoughts arose in Abraham's mind? The narration refers them to God; and if we reject the narration, we know nothing about these thoughts of Abraham, and consequently cannot know that they had arisen naturally in him. According to general experience, such hopes as are described in this covenant, that he should become the father of a mighty nation which should possess the land of Canaan, could not have sprung up naturally in Abraham's mind; but it is quite natural that the Israelites when they had become a numerous people in possession of that land, should have invented the covenant in order to render their ancestor illustrious. Thus the natural explanation, by its own unnaturalness, ever brings us back to the mythical. Even Eichhorn, who so extensively employed the natural explanation in reference to the Old Testament, perceived its inadmissibility in relation to the Gospel histories. Whatever in these narratives has a tendency to the supernatural, he remarks, 45 we ought not to attempt to transform into a natural occurrence, because this is impossible without violence. If once an event has acquired a miraculous colouring, owing to the blending together of some popular notion with the occurrence, the natural fact can be disentangled only when we possess a second account which has not undergone the like transformation; as, concerning the death of Herod Agrippa, we have not only the narrative in the Acts, but also that of Josephus. 46 But since we have no such controlling account concerning the history of Jesus, the critic who pretends to discover the natural course of things from descriptions of supernatural occurrences, will only weave a tissue of indemonstrable hypotheses:-a consideration which, as Eichhorn observes, at once annihilates many of the so-called psychological interpretations of the Gospel histories. It is this same difference between the natural and mythical modes of interpretation which Krug intends to point out, referring particularly to the histories of miracles, when he distinguishes the physical or material, from the genetic or formal, mode of explaining them. Following the former mode, according to him, the inquiry is: how can the wonderful event here related have possibly taken place with all its details by natural means and according to natural laws? Whereas, following the latter, the question is: whence arose the narrative of the marvellous event? The former explains the natural possibility of the thing related (the substance of the narrative); the latter traces the origin of the existing record (the form of the narrative). Krug considers attempts of the former kind to be fruitless, because they produce interpretations yet more wonderful than the fact itself; far preferable is the other mode, since it leads to results which throw light upon miraculous histories collectively. He gives the pref254
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erence to the exegetist, because in his explanation of the text he is not obliged to do violence to it, but may accept it altogether literally as the author intended, even though the thing related be impossible; whereas the interpreter, who follows the material or physical explanation, is driven to ingenious subtleties which make him lose sight of the original meaning of the authors, and substitute something quite different which they neither could nor would have said. In like manner Gabler recommended the mythical view, as the best means of escaping from the so called natural, but forced explanation, which had become the fashion. The natural interpreter, he remarks, commonly aims to make the whole narrative natural; and as this can but seldom succeed, he allows himself the most violent measures, owing to which modern exegesis has been brought into disrepute even amongst laymen. The mythical view, on the contrary, needs no such subtleties; since the greater part of a narrative frequently belongs to the mythical representation merely, while the nucleus of fact, when divested of the subsequently added miraculous envelopments, is often very small. Neither could Horst reconcile himself to the atomistic mode of proceeding, which selected from the marvellous narratives of the Bible, as unhistorical, isolated incidents merely, and inserted natural ones in their place, instead of recognizing in the whole of each narrative a religious moral mythus in which a certain idea is embodied. An anonymous writer in Bertholdt's Journal has expressed himself very decidedly against the natural mode of explaining the sacred history, and in favour of the mythical. The essential defect of the natural interpretation, as exhibited in its fullest development by Paulus's Commentary, is, according to that writer, its unhistorical mode of procedure. He objects: that it allows conjecture to supply the deficiencies of the record; adopts individual speculations as a substitute for real history; seeks by vain endeavours to represent that as natural which the narrative describes as supernatural; and lastly, evaporates all sacredness and divinity from the Scriptures, reducing them to collections of amusing tales no longer meriting the name of history. According to our author, this insufficiency of the natural mode of interpretation, whilst the supernatural also is felt to be unsatisfactory, leads the mind to the mythical view, which leaves the substance of the narrative unassailed; and instead of venturing to explain the details, accepts the whole, not indeed as true history, but as a sacred legend. This view is supported by the analogy of all antiquity, political and religious, since the closest resemblance exists between many of the narratives of the Old and New Testament, and the mythi of profane antiquity. But the most convincing argument is this: if the mythical view be once admitted, the innumerable, and never otherwise to be harmonized, discrepancies and chronological contradictions in the Gospel histories disappear, as it were, at one stroke. 47
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§ 9. The mythical mode of interpretation in reference to the New Testament Thus the mythical mode of interpretation was adopted not only in relation to the Old Testament, but also to the New; not, however, without its being felt necessary to justify such a step. Gabler has objected to the Commentary of Paulus, that it concedes too little to the mythical point of view, which must be adopted for certain New Testament narratives. For many of these narratives present not only those mistaken views of things which might have been taken by eye-witnesses, and by the rectification of which a natural course of events may be made out; but frequently, also, false facts and impossible consequences which no eye-witness could have related, and which could only have been the product of tradition, and must therefore be mythically understood. 48 The chief difficulty which opposed the transference of the mythical point of view from the Old Testament to the New, was this:-it was customary to look for mythi in the fabulous primitive ages only, in which no written records of events as yet existed; whereas, in the time of Jesus, the mythical age had long since passed away, and writing had become common among the Jews. Schelling had however conceded (at least in a note) that the term mythi, in a more extended sense, was appropriate to those narratives which, though originating in an age when it was usual to preserve documentary records, were nevertheless transmitted by the mouth of the people. Bauer49 in like manner asserted, that though a connected series of mythi,-a history which should be altogether mythical,was not to be sought in the New Testament, yet there might occur in it single myths, either transferred from the Old Testament to the New, or having originally sprung up in the latter. Thus he found, in the details of the infancy of Jesus, much which requires to be regarded from a mythical point of view. As after the decease of celebrated personages, numerous anecdotes are circulated concerning them, which fail not to receive many and wondrous amplifications in the legends of a wonder-loving people; so, after Jesus had become distinguished by his life, and yet more glorified by his death, his early years, which had been passed in obscurity, became adorned with miraculous embellishments. And, according to Bauer, whenever in this history of the infancy we find celestial beings, called by name and bearing the human shape, predicting future occurrences, etc., we have a right to suppose a mythus; and to conjecture as its origin, that the great actions of Jesus being referred to superhuman causes, this explanation came to be blended with the history. On the same subject, Gabler-'0 remarked that the notion of ancient is relative; compared with the Mosaic religion Christianity is certainly young; but in itself it is old enough to allow us to refer the original history of its founder to ancient times. That at that time written documents on other subjects existed, proves nothing, 256
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whilst it can be shown that for a long period there was no written account of the life of Jesus, and particularly of his infancy. Oral narratives were alone transmitted, and they would easily become tinged with the marvellous, mixed with Jewish ideas, and thus grow into historical mythi. On many other points there was no tradition, and here the mind was left to its own surmises. The more scanty the historical data, the greater was the scope for conjecture; and historical guesses and inferences of this description, formed in harmony with the Jewish-Christian tastes, may be called the philosophical, or rather, the dogmatical mythi of the early Christian Gospel. The notion of the mythus, concludes Gabler, being thus shown to be applicable to many of the narratives of the New Testament, why should we not dare to call them by their right name; why-that is to say in learned discussion-avoid an expression which can give offence only to the prejudiced or the misinformed? As in the Old Testament, Eichhorn had been brought over by the force of internal evidence from his earlier natural explanation, to the mythical view of the history of the fall; so in the New Testament, the same thing happened to Usteri in relation to the history of the temptation. In an earlier work he had, following Schleiermacher, considered it as a parable spoken by Jesus but misunderstood by his disciples. 51 Soon however he perceived the difficulties of this interpretation; and since both the natural and the supernatural views of the narrative appeared to him yet more objectionable, he had no alternative but to adopt the mythical. Once admit, he remarks, a state of excitement, particularly of religious excitement, among a not unpoetical people, and a short time is sufficient to give an appearance of the marvellous not only to obscure and concealed, but even to public and well-known facts. It is therefore by no means conceivable that the early Jewish Christians, gifted with the spirit, that is, animated with religious enthusiasm, as they were, and familiar with the Old Testament, should not have been in a condition to invent symbolical scenes such as the temptation and other New Testament mythi. It is not however to be imagined that any one individual seated himself at his table to invent them out of his own head, and write them down, as he would a poem: on the contrary, these narratives like all other legends were fashioned by degrees, by steps which can no longer be traced; gradually acquired consistency, and at length received a fixed form in our written Gospels. We have seen that in reference to the early histories of the Old Testament, the mythical view could be embraced by those only who doubted the composition of these Scriptures by eye-witnesses or contemporaneous writers. This was equally the case in reference to the New. It was not till Eichhorn52 became convinced that only a slender thread of that primitive Gospel believed by the Apostles ran through the three first Gospels, and that even in Matthew this thread was entangled in a mass of unapostolic 257
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additions, that he discarded as unhistorical legends, the many narratives which he found perplexing, from all share in the history of Jesus; for example, besides the Gospel of Infancy, the details of the temptation; several of the miracles of Jesus; the rising of the saints from their graves at his crucifixion; the guard at the sepulchre, etc. 53 Particularly since the opinion, that the three first Gospels originated from oral traditions, became firmly established,54 they have been found to contain a continually increasing number of mythi and mythical embellishments.55 On this account the authenticity of the Gospel of John, and consequently its historical credibility, is confidently maintained by most of the theologians of the present day: he only who, with Bretschneider,56 questions its apostolic composition, may cede in this Gospel also a considerable place to the mythical element.
§ 10. The notion of the mythus in its application to sacred histories not clearly apprehended by theologians Thus, indeed, did the mythical view gain application to the biblical history: still the notion of the mythus was for a long time neither clearly apprehended nor applied to a due extent. Not clearly apprehended. The characteristic which had been recognized as constituting the distinction between historical and philosophical mythi, however just that distinction might in itself be, was of a kind which easily betrayed the critic back again into the scarcely abandoned natural explanation. His task, with regard to historical mythi, was still to separate the natural fact-the nucleus of historical reality-from its unhistorical and miraculous embellishments. An essential difference indeed existed: the natural explanation attributed the embellishments to the opinion of the actors concerned, or of the narrator; the mythical interpretation derived them from tradition; but the mode of proceeding was left too little determined. If the Rationalist could point out historical mythi in the Bible, without materially changing his mode of explanation; so the Supematuralist on his part felt himself less offended by the admission of historical mythi, which still preserved to the sacred narratives a basis of fact, than by the supposition of philosophical mythi, which seemed completely to annihilate every trace of historical foundation. It is not surprising, therefore, that the interpreters who advocated the mythical theory spoke almost exclusively of historical mythi; that Bauer, amongst a considerable number of mythi which he cites from the New Testament, finds but one philosophical mythus; and that a mixed mode of interpretation, partly mythical and partly natural (a medley far more contradictory than the pure natural explanation, from the difficulties of which these critics sought to escape), should have been adopted. Thus Bauer57 thought that he was explaining Jehovah's promise to Abraham as an historical mythus, when he admitted 258
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as the fundamental fact of the narrative, that Abraham's hopes of a numerous posterity were re-awakened by the contemplation of the starsown heavens. Another theologian58 imagined he had seized the mythical point of view, when, having divested the announcement of the birth of the Baptist of the supernatural, he still retained the dumbness of Zachariah as the historical groundwork. In like manner Krug,59 immediately after assuring us that his intention is not to explain the substance of the history (according to the natural mode), but to explain the origin of the narrative (according to the mythical view), constitutes an accidental journey of oriental merchants the basis of the narrative of the visit of the wise men from the east. But the contradiction is most glaring when we meet with palpable misconceptions of the true nature of a mythus in a work on the mythology of the New Testament, such as Bauer's; in which for instance he admits, in the case of the parents of John the Baptist, a marriage which had actually been childless during many years;-in which he explains the angelic appearance at the birth of Jesus as a meteoric phenomenon; supposes the occurrence of thunder and lightning and the accidental descent of a dove at his baptism; constitutes a storm the groundwork of the transfiguration; and converts the angels at the tomb of the risen Jesus into white graveclothes. Kaiser also, though he complains of the unnaturalness of many of the natural explanations, accords to a very considerable proportion of natural explanations a place by the side of the mythical; remarking-and the remark is in itself just-that to attempt to explain all the miracles of the New Testament in one and the same manner betrays a limited and partial comprehension of the subject. Let it be primarily admitted that the ancient author intended to narrate a miracle, and the natural explanation is in many instances admissible. This may be either a physical-historical explanation, as in the narrative of the leper whose approaching recovery Jesus doubtless perceived; or it may be a psychological explanation; since, in the case of many sick persons, the fame of Jesus and faith in him were mainly instrumental in effecting the cure; sometimes indeed good fortune must be taken into the account, as where one apparently dead revived in the presence of Jesus, and he became regarded as the author of the sudden re-animation. With respect to other miracles, Kaiser is of opinion that the mythical interpretation is to be preferred; he, however, grants a much larger space to historical, than to philosophical mythi. He considers most of the miracles in the Old and New Testament real occurrences mythically embellished: such as the narrative of the piece of money in the fish's mouth; and of the changing of water into wine: which latter history he supposes to have originated from a friendly jest on the part of Jesus. Few only of the miracles are recognized by this critic as pure poetry embodying Jewish ideas; as the miraculous birth of Jesus, and the murder of the innocents. 60 Gabler in particular calls attention to the error of treating philosophical mythi as if they were historical, and of thus converting into facts things 259
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that never happened. 61 He is however as little disposed to admit the exclusive existence of philosophical, as of historical mythi in the New Testament, but adopting a middle course, he decides in each case that the mythus is of this kind or of that according to its intrinsic character. He maintains that it is as necessary to guard against the arbitrary proceeding of handling as philosophical a mythus through which a fact unquestionably glimmers, as it is to avoid the opposite tendency to explain naturally or historically that which belongs properly to the mythical clothing. In other words: when the derivation of a mythus from a thought is easy and natural, and when the attempt to educe from it a matter of fact and to give the wonderful history a natural explanation, does violence to the sense or appears ridiculous, we have, according to Gabler, certain evidence that the mythus is philosophical and not historical. He remarks in conclusion that the philosophical-mythical interpretation is in many cases far less offensive than the historical-mythical explanation.62 Yet, notwithstanding this predilection in favour of the philosophical mythus in relation to biblical history, one is surprised to find that Gabler himself was ignorant of the true nature both of the historical and of the philosophical mythus. Speaking of the mythological interpreters of the New Testament who had preceded him, he says that some of them, such as Dr. Paulus, discover in the history of Jesus historical mythi only; whilst others, the anonymous E. F. in Henke's Magazine for instance, find only philosophical mythi. From this we see that he confounded not only the natural explanation with the historical-mythical view, (for in Paulus's "Commentar" the former only is adopted,) but also historical with philosophical mythi; for the author E. F. is so exclusively attached to the historical-mythical view that his explanations might almost be considered as naturalistic. De Wette has some very cogent observations directed equally against the arbitrary adoption either of the historical-mythical or of the natural explanation in relation to the Mosaic history. In reference to the New Testament an anonymous writer in Bertholdt's Critical Journal63 is the most decided in his condemnation of every attempt to discover an historical groundwork even in the Gospel mythi. To him likewise the midway path struck out by Gabler, between the exclusive adoption of historical mythi on the one hand and of philosophical mythi on the other, appears inapplicable; for though a real occurrence may in fact constitute the basis of most of the New Testament narratives, it may still be impossible at the present time to separate the element of fact from the mythical adjuncts which have been blended with it, and to determine how much may belong to the one and how much to the other. Usteri likewise expressed the opinion that it is no longer possible to discriminate between the historical and the symbolical in the Gospel mythi; no critical knife however sharp is now able to separate the one element from the other. A certain measure of probability 260
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respecting the preponderance of the historical in one legend, and of the symbolical in another, is the ultimate point to which criticism can now attain. 64 Opposed however to the onesidedness of those critics who found it so easy to disengage the historical contents from the mythical narratives of the Scriptures, is the onesidedness of other critics, who, on account of the difficulty of the proposed separation, despaired of the possibility of success, and were consequently led to handle the whole mass of Gospel mythi as philosophical, at least in so far as to relinquish the endeavour to extract from them a residuum of historical fact. Now it is precisely this latter onesidedness which has been attributed to my criticism of the life of Jesus; consequently, several of the reviewers of this work have taken occasion repeatedly to call attention to the varying proportions in which the historical and the ideal in the pagan religion and primitive history, (the legitimate province of the mythus,) alternate; an interchange with the historical which in the Christian primitive history, presupposing the notion of the mythus to be admitted here, must unquestionably take place in a far greater degree. Thus Ullmann distinguishes not only firstly the philosophical, and secondly the historical mythus, but makes a further distinction between the latter (that is the historical mythus, in which there is always a preponderance of the fictitious,) and thirdly the mythical history, in which the historical element, though wrought into the ideal, forms the predominating constituent; whilst fourthly in histories of which the legend is a component element we tread properly speaking upon historical ground, since in these histories we meet only with a few faint echoes of mythical fiction. Ullmann is moreover of opinion, and Bretschneider and others agree with him, that independently of the repulsion and confusion which must inevitably be caused by the application of the term mythus to that which is Christian-a term originally conceived in relation to a religion of a totally different character-it were more suitable, in connexion with the primitive Christian records, to speak only of Gospel legend, (Sage) and the legendary element.65 George on the contrary has recently attempted not only more accurately to define the notions of the mythus and of the legend, but likewise to demonstrate that the Gospel narratives are mythical rather than legendary. Speaking generally, we should say, that he restricts the term mythus to what had previously been distinguished as philosophical mythi; and that he applies the name legend to what had hitherto been denominated historical mythi. He handles the two notions as the antipodes of each other; and grasps them with a precision by which the notion of the mythus has unquestionably gained. According to George, mythus is the creation of a fact out of an idea: legend the seeing of an idea in a fact, or arising out of it. A people, a religious community, finds itself in a certain condition or round of institutions of which the spirit, the idea, lives and
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acts within it. But the mind, following a natural impulse, desires to gain a complete representation of that existing condition, and to know its origin. This origin however is buried in oblivion, or is too indistinctly discernible to satisfy present feelings and ideas. Consequently an image of that origin, coloured by the light of existing ideas, is cast upon the dark wall of the past, which image is however but a magnified reflex of existing influences. If such be the rise of the mythus, the legend, on the contrary, proceeds from given facts: represented, indeed, sometimes in an incomplete and abridged, sometimes in an amplified form, in order to magnify the heroes of the history-but disjoined from their true connexion; the points of view from which they should be contemplated, and the ideas they originally contained, having in the course of transmission wholly disappeared. The consequence is, that new ideas, conceived in the spirit of the different ages through which the legend has passed down, become substituted in the stead of the original ideas. For example, the period of Jewish history subsequent to the time of Moses, which was in point of fact pervaded by a gradual elevation of ideas to monotheism and to a theocracy, is, in a later legend, represented in the exactly opposite light, as a state of falling away from the religious constitution of Moses. An idea so unhistorical will infallibly here and there distort facts transmitted by tradition, fill up blanks in the history, and subjoin new and significant features-and then the mythus reappears in the legend. It is the same with the mythus: propagated by tradition, it, in the process of transmission, loses its distinctive character and completeness, or becomes exaggerated in its details-as for example in the matter of numbers-and then the mythus comes under the influence of the legend. In such wise do these two formations, so essentially distinct in their origin, cross each other and mingle together? Now, if the history of the life of Jesus be of mythical formation, inasmuch as it embodies the vivid impression of the original idea which the first Christian community had of their founder, this history, though unhistorical in its form, is nevertheless a faithful representation of the idea of the Christ. If instead of this, the history be legendary-if the actual external facts are given in a distorted and often magnified form -are represented in a false light and embody a false idea,-then, on the contrary, the real tenour of the life of Jesus is lost to us. So that, according to George, the recognition of the mythical element in the Gospels is far less prejudicial to the true interests of the Christian faith than the recognition of the legendary element.66 With respect to our own opinion, without troubling ourselves here with the dogmatic signification, we need only remark in this introduction, that we are prepared to meet with both legend and mythus in the Gospel history; and when we undertake to extract the historial contents which may possibly exist in narratives recognized as mythical, we shall be equally careful neither on the one part by a rude and mechanical separation, to
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place ourselves on the same ground with the natural interpreter; nor on the other by a hypercritical refusal to recognize such contents where they actually exist, to lose sight of the history.
§ 11. The application of the notion of the mythus too circumscribed The notion of the mythus, when first admitted by theologians, was not only imperfectly apprehended, but also too much limited in its application to biblical history. As Eichhorn recognized a genuine mythus only on the very threshold of the Old Testament history, and thought himself obliged to explain all that followed in a natural manner; as, some time later, other portions of the Old Testament were allowed to be mythical, whilst nothing of the kind might be suspected in the New; so, when the mythus was once admitted into the New Testament, it was here again long detained at the threshold, namely, the history of the infancy of Jesus, every farther advance being contested. Ammon,67 the anonymous E. F. in Henke's Magazine, Usteri, and others maintained a marked distinction between the historical worth of the narratives of the public life and those of the infancy of Jesus. The records of the latter could not, they contend, have been contemporaneous; for particular attention was not at that time directed towards him; and it is equally manifest that they could not have been written during the last three years of his life, since they embody the idea of Jesus glorified, and not of Jesus in conflict and suffering. Consequently their composition must be referred to a period subsequent to his resurrection. But at this period accurate data concerning his childhood were no longer to be obtained. The apostles knew him first in manhood. Joseph was probably dead; and Mary, supposing her to be living when the first and third Gospels were composed, had naturally imparted an imaginative lustre to every incident treasured in her memory, whilst her embellishments were doubtless still further magnified in accordance with the Messianic ideas of those to whom her communications were made. Much also that is narrated had no historical foundation, but originated entirely from the notions of the age, and from the Old Testament predictions-that a virgin should conceive-for example. But, say these critics, all this does not in any degree impair the credibility of what follows. The object and task of the Evangelists was merely to give an accurate account of the three last years of the life of Jesus; and here they merit implicit confidence, since they were either themselves spectators of the details they record, or else had learned them from the mouth of trustworthy eye-witnesses. This boundary line between the credibility of the history of the public life, and the fabulousness of the history of the infancy of Jesus, became yet more definitely marked, from the circumstance that many theologians were disposed to reject the two
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first chapters of Matthew and Luke as spurious and subsequent additions.68 Soon, however, some of the theologians who had conceded the commencement of the history to the province of mythi, perceived that the conclusion, the history of the ascension, must likewise be regarded as mythical. 69 Thus the two extremities were cut off by the pruning knife of criticism, whilst the essential body of the history, the period from the baptism to the resurrection, remained, as yet, unassailed: or in the words of the reviewer of Greiling's Life of Jesus: 70 the entrance to the Gospel history was through the decorated portal of mythus, and the exit was similar to it, whilst the intermediate space was still traversed by the crooked and toilsome paths of natural interpretations. In Gabler's 71 writings we meet with a somewhat more extended application of the mythical view. He distinguishes (and recently Rosenkranz72 has agreed with him) between the miracles wrought by Jesus and those operated on him or in relation to him, interpreting the latter mythically, but the former naturally. Subsequently however, we find Gabler expressing himself as if with the above mentioned theologians he restricted the mythical interpretation to the miraculous narratives of the childhood of Jesus, but this restriction is in fact a limitation merely of the admitted distinction: since though all the miracles connected with the early history of Jesus were operated in relation to him and not wrought by him, many miracles of the same character occur in the history of his public life. Bauer appears to have been guided by the same rule in his Hebrew mythology. He classes as mythical the narratives of the conception and birth of Jesus, of the Baptism, the transfiguration, the angelic apparitions in Gethsemane and at the sepulchre: miracles selected from all periods of the life of Jesus, but all operated in relation to him and not by him. This enumeration, however, does not include all the miracles of this kind. The often referred to author of the treatise "Upon the different views with which and for which a Biographer of Jesus may work," has endeavoured to show that so limited an application of the notion of the mythus to the history of the life of Jesus is insufficient and inconsequent. This confused point of view from which the Gospel narrative is regarded as partly historical and partly mythical owes its origin, according to him, to those theologians who neither give up the history, nor are able to satisfy themselves with its clear results, but who think to unite both parties by this middle course-a vain endeavour which the rigid supranaturalist pronounces heretical, and the rationalist derides. The attempt of these reconcilers, remarks our author, to explain as intelligible everything which is not impossible, lays them open to all the charges so justly brought against the natural interpretation; whilst the admission of the existence of mythi in the New Testament subjects them to the direct reproach of being inconsequent: the severest censure which can be passed upon a scholar. Besides,
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the proceeding of these Eclectics is most arbitrary, since they decide respecting what belongs to the history and what to the mythus almost entirely upon subjective grounds. Such distinctions are equally foreign to the evangelists, to logical reasoning, and to historical criticism. In consistency with these opinions, this writer applies the notion of the mythus to the entire history of the life of Jesus; recognizes mythi or mythical embellishments in every portion, and ranges under the category of mythus not merely the miraculous occurrences during the infancy of Jesus, but those also of his public life; not merely miracles operated on Jesus, but those wrought by him. 73 The most extended application of the notion of the philosophical or dogmatical mythus to the Gospel histories which has yet been made, was published in 1799 in an anonymous work concerning Revelation and Mythology. The writer contends that the whole life of Jesus, all that he should and would do, had an ideal existence in the Jewish mind long prior to his birth. Jesus as an individual was not actually such as according to Jewish anticipations he should have been. Not even that, in which all the records which recount his actions agree, is absolutely matter of fact. A popular idea of the life of Jesus grew out of various popular contributions, and from this source our written Gospels were first derived. A reviewer objects that this author appears to suppose a still smaller portion of the historical element in the Gospels than actually exists. It would, he remarks, have been wiser to have been guided by a sober criticism of details, than by a sweeping scepticism.74
§ U. Opposition to the mythical view of the Gospel history In adopting the mythical point of view as hitherto applied to Biblical history, our theologians had again approximated to the ancient allegorical interpretation. For as both the natural explanations of the Rationalists, and the jesting expositions of the Deists, belong to that form of opinion which, whilst it sacrifices all divine meaning in the sacred record, still upholds its historical character; the mythical mode of interpretation agrees with the allegorical, in relinquishing the historical reality of the sacred narratives in order to preserve to them an absolute inherent truth. The mythical and the allegorical view (as also the moral) equally allow that the historian apparently relates that which is historical, but they suppose him, under the influence of a higher inspiration known or unknown to himself, to have made use of this historical semblance merely as the shell of an idea-of a religious conception. The only essential distinction therefore between these two modes of explanation is, that according to the allegorical this higher intelligence is the immediate divine agency; according to the mythical, it is the spirit of a people or a community. (According to the
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moral view it is generally the mind of the interpreter which suggests the interpretation.) Thus the allegorical view attributes the narrative to a supernatural source, whilst the mythical view ascribes it to that natural process by which legends are originated and developed. To which it should be added, that the allegorical interpreter (as well as the moral) may with the most unrestrained arbitrariness separate from the history every thought he deems to be worthy of God, as constituting its inherent meaning; whilst the mythical interpreter, on the contrary, in searching out the ideas which are embodied in the narrative, is controlled by regard to conformity with the spirit and modes of thought of the people and of the age. This new view of the sacred Scriptures was opposed alike by the orthodox and by the rationalistic party. From the first, whilst the mythical interpretation was still restricted to the primitive history of the Old Testament, Hess75 on the orthodox side, protested against it. The three following conclusions may be given as comprising, however incredible this may appear, the substance of his book, a work of some compass; upon which however it is unnecessary to remark further than that Hess was by no means the last orthodox theologian who pretended to combat the mythical view with such weapons. He contends, 1st, that mythi are to be understood figuratively; now the sacred historians intended their writings to be understood literally: consequently they do not relate mythi. 2ndly, Mythology is something heathenish; the Bible is a Christian book; consequently it contains no mythology. The third conclusion is more complex, and, as will appear below, has more meaning. If, says Hess, the marvellous were confined to those earliest biblical records of which the historical validity is less certain, and did not appear in any subsequent writings, the miraculous might be considered as a proof of the mythical character of the narrative; but the marvellous is no less redundant in the latest and undeniably historical records, than in the more ancient; consequently it cannot be regarded as a criterion of the mythical. In short the most hollow natural explanation, did it but retain the slightest vestige of the historical-however completely it annihilated every higher meaning,-was preferable, in the eyes of the orthodox, to the mythical interpretation. Certainly nothing could be worse than Eichhorn's natural explanation of the fall. In considering the tree of knowledge as a poisonous plant, he at once destroyed the intrinsic value and inherent meaning of the history; of this he afterwards became fully sensible, and in his subsequent mythical interpretation, he recognized in the narrative the incorporation of a worthy and elevated conception. Hess however declared himself more content with Eichhorn's original explanation, and defended it against his later mythical interpretation. So true is it that supranaturalism clings with childlike fondness to the empty husk of historical semblance, though void of divine significance, and estimates it higher than the most valuable kernel divested of its variegated covering.
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Somewhat later De Wette's bold and thorough application of the mythical view to the Mosaic writings; his decided renunciation of the so-called historical-mythical, or more properly speaking of the natural mode of interpretation; and his strict opposition to the notion of the possibility of arriving at any certainty respecting the residue of fact preserved in these writings, gave rise to much controversy. Some agreed with Steudel in totally rejecting the mythical view in relation to the Bible, and in upholding the strictly historical and indeed supranatural sense of the Scriptures: whilst Meyer and others were willing to follow the guidance of De Wette, at least as far as the principles of Vater, which permitted the attempt to extract some, if only probable, historical data from the mythical investment. If, says Meyer 76 , the marvellousness and irrationality of many of the narratives contained in the Pentateuch, (narratives which no one would have thought of inventing,) together with the want of symmetry and connexion in the narration, and other considerations, permit us not to mistake the historical groundwork of the record; surely, allowing the existence of an historical basis, a modest and cautious attempt to seek out or at any rate to approximate towards a discovery of that historical foundation is admissible. In the hope of preserving those who adopted the historicalmythical view from relapsing into the inconsistencies of the natural interpreters, Meyer laid down the following rules, which however serve rather to exhibit afresh the difficulty of escaping this danger. 1. To abstract every thing which is at once recognizable as mythical representation as opposed to historical fact; that is the extraordinary, the miraculous, accounts of immediate divine operation, also the religious notions of the narrators in relation to final causes. 2. To proceed from that which is simple to that which is more complicated. Let a case be supposed where we have two accounts of the same event, the one natural, the other supernatural, as, for instance, the gathering of the elders by Moses, attributed, Numbers, xi. 16., to the suggestion of Jehovah, and Exodus, xviii. 14., to the counsel of Jethro. According to this rule all divine inspiration must be subtracted from the known decisions of Noah, Abraham, Moses, and others. (Precisely the proceeding which met with the censure of De Wette quoted above.) 3. As far as possible to contemplate the fact which forms the basis of a narrative, in its simple and common character, apart from all collateral incidents. (This however, is going too far where no basis of fact exists.) For example. The story of the deluge may be reduced thus; a great inundation in Asia Minor, according to the legend, destroyed many wicked. (Here the supposed final cause is not abstracted.) Noah the father of Shem, a devout man, (the teleological notion again!) saved himself by swimming. The exact circumstances of this preservation, the character of the vessel, if such there were, which saved him, are left undetermined in order to avoid arbitrary explanations. Thus, in reference to the birth of Isaac, Meyer is satisfied with saying, that the wish and hope of the wealthy 267
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and pious Emir Abraham to possess an heir by his wife Sara was fulfilled unusually late, and in the eyes of others very unexpectedly. (Here again De Wette's censure is quite applicable.) In like manner Eichhorn, in his Introduction to the New Testament, declared in yet stronger terms his opposition to the view advocated by De Wette. If the orthodox were displeased at having their historical faith disturbed by the progressive inroads of the mythical mode of interpretation, the rationalists were no less disconcerted to find the web of facts they had so ingeniously woven together torn asunder, and all the art and labour expended on the natural explanation at once declared useless. Unwillingly does Dr. Paulus admit to himself the presentiment that the reader of his Commentary may possibly exclaim: "Wherefore all this labour to give an historical explanation to such legends? How singular thus to handle mythi as history, and to attempt to render marvellous fictions intelligible according to the rules of causality!" Contrasted with the toilsomeness of his natural explanation, the mythical interpretation appears to this theologian merely as the refuge of mental indolence, which, seeking the easiest method of treating the Gospel history, disposes of all that is marvellous, and all that is difficult to comprehend, under the vague term-mythus, and which, in order to escape the labour of disengaging the natural from the supernatural, fact from opinion, carries back the whole narration into the camera-obscura of ancient sacred legends. 77 Still more decided was Greiling's78 expression of disapprobation, elicited by Krug's commendation of the genetic-that is to say, mythical theory; but each stroke levelled by him at the mythical interpretation may be turned with far greater force against his own natural explanation. He is of opinion that among all the attempts to explain obscure passages in the New Testament, scarcely any can be more injurious to the genuine historical interpretation, to the ascertaining of actual facts and their legitimate objects (that is, more prejudicial to the pretensions of the natural expounder) than the endeavour to supply, by aid of an inventive imagination, the deficiencies of the historical narrative. (The inventive imagination is that of the natural interpreter, which suggests to him collateral incidents of which there is no trace in the text. The imagination of the mythical interpreter is not inventive; his part is merely the recognizing and detecting of the fictitious.) According to Greiling the genetic, or mythical mode of explaining miracles, is a needless and arbitrary invention of the imagination. (Let a groping spirit of inquiry be added, and the natural explanation is accurately depicted.) Many facts, he continues, which might be retained as such are thus consigned to the province of fable, or replaced by fictions the production of the interpreter. (But it is the historical mythical mode of interpretation alone which substitutes such inventions, and this only in so far as it is mixed up with the natural explanation.) Greiling thinks that the explanation of a miracle ought not to change the fact, and
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by means of interpretation, as by sleight of hand, substitute one thing for another; (which is done by the natural explanation only,) for this is not to explain that which shocks the reason, but merely to deny the fact, and leave the difficulty unsolved. (It is false to say we have a fact to explain; what immediately lies before us is a statement, respecting which we have to discover whether it embody a fact or not.) According to this learned critic the miracles wrought by Jesus should be naturally, or rather psychologically, explained; by which means all occasion to change, clip, and amplify by invention the recorded facts, till at length they become metamorphosed into fiction, is obviated-(with how much justice this censure may be applied to the natural mode of explanation has been sufficiently demonstrated.) Heydenreich has lately written a work expressly on the inadmissibility of the mythical interpretation of the historical portions of the New Testament. He reviews the external evidences concerning the origin of the Gospels, and finds the recognition of a mythical element in these writings quite incompatible with their substantiated derivation from the Apostles, and the disciples of the Apostles. He also examines the character of the Gospel representations, and decides, in reference to their form, that narratives at once so natural and simple, so complete and exact, could be expected only from eye-witnesses, or those connected with them; and, with respect to their contents, that those representations which are in their nature miraculous are so worthy of God, that nothing short of an abhorrence of miracles could occasion a doubt as to their historical truth. The divine operations are indeed generally mediate, but according to Heydenreich this by no means precludes the possibility of occasional intermediate exertions of the divine energy, when requisite to the accomplishment of some particular object; and, referring to each of the divine attributes in succession, he shows that such intervention in nowise contradicts any of them; and that each individual miracle is a peculiarly appropriate exercise of divine power. These, and similar objections against the mythical interpretation of the Gospel histories, which occur in recent commentaries and in the numerous writings in opposition to my work on the life of Jesus, will find their place and refutation in the following pages. 79 § 13. The possibility of the existence of mythi in the New Testament considered in reference to the externa) evidences The assertion that the Bible contains mythi is, it is true, directly opposed to the convictions of the believing Christian. For if his religious view be circumscribed within the limits of his own community, he knows no reason why the things recorded in the sacred books should not literally have
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taken place; no doubt occurs to him, no reflection disturbs him. But, let his horizon be so far widened as to allow him to contemplate his own religion in relation to other religions, and to draw a comparison between them, the conclusion to which he then comes is that the histories related by the heathens of their deities, and by the Mussulman of his prophet, are so many fictions, whilst the accounts of God's actions, of Christ and other Godlike men contained in the Bible are, on the contrary, true. Such is the general notion expressed in the theological position: that which distinguishes Christianity from the heathen religions is this, they are mythical, it is historical. But this position, thus stated without further definition and proof, is merely the product of the limitation of the individual to that form of belief in which he has been educated, which renders the mind incapable of embracing any but the affirmative view in relation to its own creed, any but the negative in reference to every other-a prejudice devoid of real worth, and which cannot exist in conjunction with an extensive knowledge of history. For let us transplant ourselves among other religious communities; the believing Mohammedan is of opinion that truth is contained in the Koran alone, and that the greater portion of our Bible is fabulous; the Jew of the present day, whilst admitting the truth and divine origin of the Old Testament, rejects the New; and, the same exclusive belief in the truth of their own creed and the falsity of every other was entertained by the professors of most of the heathen religions before the period of the Syncretism. But which community is right? Not all, for this is impossible, since the assertion of each excludes the others. But which particular one? Each claims for itself the true faith. The pretensions are equal; what shall decide? The origin of the several religions? Each lays claim to a divine origin. Not only does the Christian religion profess to be derived from the Son of God, and the Jewish from God himself, through Moses; the Mohammedan religion asserts itself to be founded by a prophet immediately inspired by God; in like manner the Greeks attributed the institution of their worship to the gods. "But in no other religion" it is urged "are the vouchers of a divine origin so unequivocal as in the Jewish and the Christian. The Greek and Roman mythologies are the product of a collection of unauthenticated legends, whilst the Bible history was written by eye-witnesses; or by those whose connexion with eye-witnesses afforded them opportunities of ascertaining the truth; and whose integrity is too apparent to admit of a doubt as to the sincerity of their intentions." It would most unquestionably be an argument of decisive weight in favour of the credibility of the biblical history, could it indeed be shown that it was written by eye-witnesses, or even by persons nearly contemporaneous with the events narrated. For though errors and false representations may glide into the narrations even of an eye-witness, there is far less probability of unintentional mistake 270
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(intentional deception may easily be detected) than where the narrator is separated by a long interval from the facts he records, and is obliged to derive his materials through the medium of transmitted communications. But this alleged ocular testimony, or proximity in point of time of the sacred historians to the events recorded, is mere assumption, an assumption originating from the titles which the biblical books bear in our Canon. Those books which describe the departure of the Israelites from Egypt, and their wanderings through the wilderness, bear the name of Moses, who being their leader would undoubtedly give a faithful history of these occurrences, unless he designed to deceive; and who, if his intimate connexion with Deity described in these books be historically true, was likewise eminently qualified, by virtue of such connexion, to produce a credible history of the earlier periods. In like manner, of the several accounts of the life and fate of Jesus, the superscriptions assign one to Matthew and one to John: two men who having been eye-witnesses of the public ministry of Jesus from its commencement to its close were particularly capable of giving a report of it; and who, from their confidential intercourse with Jesus and his mother, together with that supernatural aid which, according to John, Jesus promised to his disciples to teach them and bring all things to their remembrance, were enabled to give information of the circumstances of his earlier years; of which some details are recorded by Matthew. But that little reliance can be placed on the headings of ancient manuscripts, and of sacred records more especially, is evident, and in reference to biblical books has long since been proved. In the so-called books of Moses mention is made of his death and burial: but who now supposes that this was written beforehand by Moses in the form of prophecy? Many of the Psalms bear the name of David which presuppose an acquaintance with the miseries of the exile; and predictions are put into the mouth of Daniel, a Jew living at the time of the Babylonish captivity, which could not have been written before the reign of Antiochus Epiphanes. It is an incontrovertible position of modern criticism that the titles of the Biblical books represent nothing more than the design of their author, or the opinion of Jewish or Christian antiquity respecting their origin; points the first of which proves nothing; and as to the second every thing depends upon the following considerations: 1. the date of the opinion and the authority on which it rests; 2. the degree of harmony existing between this opinion and the internal character of the writings in question. The first consideration includes an examination of the external, the second of the internal grounds of evidence respecting the authenticity of the biblical books. To investigate the internal grounds of credibility in relation to each detail given in the Gospels, (for it is with them alone we are here concerned) and to test the probability or improbability of their being the production of eye-witnesses, or of competently informed writers, is the sole 271
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object of the present work. The external grounds of evidence may be examined in this introduction, only so far however as is necessary in order to judge whether they yield a definite result, which may perhaps be in opposition to the internal grounds of evidence; or whether the external evidence, insufficient of itself, leaves to the internal evidence the decision of the question. We learn from the works of Iremeus, of Clemens Alexandrinus, and of Tertullian, that at the end of the second century after Christ our four Gospels were recognized by the orthodox church as the writings of the Apostles and the disciples of the Apostles; and were separated from many other similar productions as authentic records of the life of Jesus. The first Gospel according to our Canon is attributed to Matthew, who is enumerated among the twelve Apostles; the fourth to John the beloved disciple of our Lord; the second to Mark the interpreter of Peter; and the third to Luke the companion of Paul. 80 We have, besides, the authority of earlier authors, both in their own works and in quotations cited by others. It is usual, in reference to the first Gospel, to adduce the testimony of Papias, Bishop of Hierapolis, said to have been an auditor aKoua-rl)<; of John, (probably the presbyter) and to have suffered martyrdom under Marcus Aurelius. (161-180.) Papias asserts that Matthew the Apostle wrote ta .AOyw (ta KupwKa81 ). Schleiermacher, straining the meaning of Myw, has latterly understood it to signify merely a collection of the sayings of Jesus. But when Papias speaks of Mark, he seems to use auv-ra~t V -rrov KUptaKOOV A.oytmv 1t0Uot
etv as equivalent expressions. Whence it appears that the word Myw designates a writing comprehending the acts and fate of Jesus; and the fathers of the church were justified in understanding the testimony of Papias as relating to an entire Gospel. 82 They did indeed apply this testimony decidedly to our first Gospel; but the words of the Apostolic father contain no such indication, and the manuscript, of which he speaks, cannot be absolutely identical with our Gospel; for, according to the statement given by Papias, Matthew wrote in the Hebrew language; and it is a mere assumption of the Christian fathers that our Greek Matthew is a translation of the original Hebrew Gospel83• Precepts of Jesus, and narratives concerning him, corresponding more or less exactly with passages in our Matthew, do indeed occur in the works of other of the apostolic fathers; but then these works are not wholly genuine, and the quotations themselves are either in a form which indicates that they might have been derived from oral traditions; or where these authors refer to written sources, they do not mention them as being directly apostolic. Many citations in the writings of Justin Martyr (who died 166) agree with passages in our Matthew; but there are also, mixed up with these, other elements which are not to be found in our Gospels; and he refers to the writings from which he derives them generally as 272
DEVELOPMENT OF THE MYTHICAL POINT OF VIEW a7tOilVllllOVE:u~.w'ta 1:&v a1tocr1:6A.mv, or EuaneA.ta, without naming any author in particular. Celsus, 84 the opponent of Christianity, (subsequent to 150) mentions that the disciples of Jesus had written his history, and he alludes to our present Gospels when he speaks of the divergence of the accounts respecting the number of angels seen at the resurrection; but we find no more precise reference to any one Evangelist in his writings, so far as we know them through Origen. We have the testimony of the same Papias who has the notice concerning Matthew, a testimony from the mouth of John (7tpEO'~tHEpo<;), that Mark, who according to him was the interpreter of Peter (EPilllVEU'tll<; Ohpov), wrote down the discourses and actions of Jesus from his recollections of the instructions of that Apostle.85 Ecclesiastical writers have likewise assumed that this passage from Papias refers to our second Gospel, though it does not say any thing of the kind, and is besides inapplicable to it. For our second Gospel cannot have originated from recollections of Peter's instructions, i.e., from a source peculiar to itself, since it is evidently a compilation, whether made from memory or otherwise, from the first and third Gospels. 86 As little will the remark of Papias that Mark wrote without order (ou 1:al;n) apply to our Gospel. For he cannot by this expression intend a false chronological arrangement, since he ascribes to Mark the strictest love of truth, which, united with the consciousness that he had not the means of fixing dates, must have withheld him from making the attempt. But a total renunciation of chronological connexion, which Papias can alone have meant to attribute to him, is not to be found in the second Gospel. This being the case, what do those echoes which our second Gospel, in like manner as our first, seems to find in the most ancient ecclesiastical writers, prove? That Luke, the companion of Paul, wrote a Gospel, is not attested by any authority of corresponding weight or antiquity with that of Papias in relation to Matthew and to Mark. The third Gospel however possesses a testimony of a particular kind in the "Acts of the Apostles;" not indeed authenticating it as the composition of Luke, but attributing it to an occasional companion of the Apostle Paul. According to the proem to the Acts and that to the Gospel of Luke, these two books proceeded from the same author or compiler: an origin which these writings do not, in other respects, contradict. In several chapters in the second half of the Book of the Acts the author, speaking of himself together with Paul, makes use of the first person plural,87 and thus identifies himself with the companion of that apostle. The fact is, however, that many of the details concerning Paul, contained in other parts of the book of the Acts, are so indefinite and marvellous, and are moreover so completely at variance with Paul's genuine epistles, that it is extremely difficult to reconcile them with the notion that they were written by a companion of that apostle. It is also not a little remarkable that the author, neither in the introduction to the Acts,
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nor in that to the Gospel, alludes to his connexion with one of the most distinguished of the Apostles, so that it is impossible not to suspect that the passages in which the writer speaks of himself as an actor in the scenes described, belong to a distinct memorial by another hand, which the author of the Acts has merely incorporated into his history. But leaving this conjecture out of the question, it is indeed possible that the companion of Paul may have composed his two works at a time, and under circumstances, when he was no longer protected by Apostolic influence against the tide of tradition; and that he saw no reason why, because he had not heard them previously from this Apostle, he should therefore reject the instructive, and (according to his notions, which certainly would not lead him to shun the marvellous,) credible narratives derived from that source. Now, it is asserted that because the Book of the Acts terminates with the two years' imprisonment of Paul at Rome, therefore this second work of the disciple of that apostle, must have been written during that time, (63-65 A.D.) before the decision of Paul's trial, and that consequently, the Gospel of Luke, the earlier work of the same author, could not have been of later date. But, the breaking off of the Acts at that particular point might have been the result of many other causes; at all events such testimony, standing alone, is wholly insufficient to decide the historical worth of the Gospel. It were to be wished that Polycarp, (he died 167) who both heard and saw the Apostle John, 88 had left us a testimony respecting him similar to that of Papias concerning Matthew. Still his silence on this subject, in the one short epistle which has come down to us, is no evidence against the authenticity of that Gospel, any more than the more or less ambiguous allusions in several of the Apostolic fathers to the Epistles of John are proofs in its favour. But it is matter of surprise that Irenreus the disciple of Polycarp, who was called upon to defend this Gospel from the attacks of those who denied its composition by John, should neither on this occasion, nor once in his diffuse work, have brought forward the weighty authority of his Apostolic master, as to this fact. Whether or not the fourth Gospel originally bore the name of John remains uncertain. We meet with it first among the Valentinians and the Montanists, about the middle of the second century. Its Apostolic origin was however (immediately after) denied by the so-called Alogi, who ascribed it to Cerinthus; partly because the Montanists derived from it their idea of the Paraclete; partly also because it did not harmonize with the other Gospels.89 The earliest quotation expressly stated to be from the Gospel of John is found in Theophilus of Antioch, about the year 172.90 How little reason the numerous theologians of the present day have to boast of the evidences in favour of the fourth Gospel, whilst they deny the not less well attested Apocalypse, has been well remarked by Tholuck. Lastly, that there were two Johns, the Apostle and the Presbyter, living contemporaneously at Ephesus, is a 274
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circumstance which has not received sufficient attention in connexion with the most ancient testimonies in favour of the derivation from John, of the Apocalypse on the one hand, and of the Gospels and Epistles on the other. 91 Thus these most ancient testimonies tell us, firstly, that an apostle, or some other person who had been acquainted with an apostle, wrote a Gospel history; but not whether it was identical with that which afterwards came to be circulated in the church under his name; secondly, that writings similar to our Gospels were in existence; but not that they were ascribed with certainty to any one individual apostle or companion of an apostle. Such is the uncertainty of these accounts, which after all do not reach further back than the third or fourth decade of the second century. According to all the rules of probability, the Apostles were all dead before the close of the first century; not excepting John, who is said to have lived till A.D. 100; concerning whose age and death, however, many fables were early invented. What an ample scope for attributing to the Apostles manuscripts they never wrote! The Apostles, dispersed abroad, had died in the latter half of the first century; the Gospel became more widely preached throughout the Roman empire, and by degrees acquired a fixed form in accordance with a particular type. It was doubtless from this orally circulated Gospel that the many passages agreeing accurately with passages in our Gospels, which occur without any indication of their source in the earliest ecclesiastical writers, were actually derived. Before long this oral traditionary Gospel became deposited in different manuscripts: this person or that, possibly an apostle, furnishing the principal features of the history. But these manuscripts were not at first compiled according to a particular form and order, and consequently had to undergo many revisions and re-arrangements, of which we have an example in the Gospel of the Hebrews and the citations of Justin. It appears that these manuscripts did not originally bear the names of their compilers, but either that of the community by whom they were first read, as the Gospel of Hebrews; or that of the Apostle or disciple after whose oral discourses or notes some other person had composed a connected history. The latter seems to have been the original meaning attached to the word rca't'a; as in the title to our first Gospe1. 92 Nothing however was more natural than the supposition which arose among the early Christians, that the histories concerning Jesus which were circulated and used by the churches had been written by his immediate disciples. Hence the ascription of the Gospel writings generally to the Apostles by Justin and by Celsus; and also of particular Gospels to those particular Apostles and disciples, whose oral discourses or written notes might possibly have formed the groundwork of a Gospel manuscript, or who had perhaps been particularly connected with some certain district, or had been held in especial esteem by some particular community. The Gospel of the Hebrews successively received al1 three kinds of
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appellations; being first called £uan£A.wv Ka8' 'Ej3pai.ou~, after the community by which it was read; somewhat later, Evangelium juxta duodecim apostolos; and finally, secundum Matthteum. 93 Admitting however that we do not possess the immediate record of an eye-witness in any one of the four Gospels, it is still very incomprehensible, replies the objector, how in Palestine itself, and at a time when so many eye-witnesses yet lived, unhistorical legends and even collections of them should have been formed. But, in the first place, the fact that many such compilations of narratives concerning the life of Jesus were already in general circulation during the lifetime of the Apostles, and more especially that any one of our Gospels was known to an Apostle and acknowledged by him, can never be proved. With respect to isolated anecdotes, it is only necessary to form an accurate conception of Palestine and of the real position of the eye-witnesses referred to, in order to understand that the origination of legends, even at so early a period, is by no means incomprehensible. Who informs us that they must necessarily have taken root in that particular district of Palestine where Jesus tarried longest, and where his actual history was well known? And with respect to eyewitnesses, if by these we are to understand the Apostles, it is to ascribe to them absolute ubiquity, to represent them as present here and there, weeding out all the unhistorical legends concerning Jesus in whatever places they had chanced to spring up and flourish. Eye-witnesses in the more extended sense, who had only seen Jesus occasionally and not been his constant companions, must, on the contrary, have been strongly tempted to fill up their imperfect knowledge of his history with mythical representations. But it is inconceivable, they say, that such a mass of mythi should have originated in an age so historical as that of the first Roman emperors. We must not however be misled by too comprehensive a notion of an historical age. The sun is not visible at the same instant to every place on the same meridian at the same time of year; it gleams upon the mountain summits and the high plains before it penetrates the lower valleys and the deep ravines. No less true is it that the historic age dawns not upon all people at the same period. The people of highly civilized Greece, and of Rome the capital of the world, stood on an eminence which had not been reached in Galilee and Judrea. Much rather may we apply to this age an expression become trite among historians, but which seems in the present instance willingly forgotten: namely, that incredulity and superstition, scepticism and fanaticism go hand in hand. But the Jews, it is said, had long been accustomed to keep written records; nay, the most flourishing period of their literature was already past, they were no longer a progressing and consequently a productive people, they were a nation verging to decay. But the fact is, the pure historic idea was never developed among the Hebrews during the whole of 276
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their political existence; their latest historical works, such as the Books of the Maccabees, and even the writings of Josephus, are not free from marvellous and extravagant tales. Indeed no just notion of the true nature of history is possible, without a perception of the inviolability of the chain of finite causes, and of the impossibility of miracles. This perception which is wanting to so many minds of our own day was still more deficient in Palestine, and indeed throughout the Roman empire. And to a mind still open to the reception of the marvellous, if it be once carried away by the tide of religious enthusiasm, all things will appear credible, and should this enthusiasm lay hold of a yet wider circle, it will awaken a new creative vigour, even in a decayed people. To account for such an enthusiasm it is by no means necessary to presuppose the Gospel miracles as the existing cause. This may be found in the known religious dearth of that period, a dearth so great that the cravings of the mind after some religious belief excited a relish for the most extravagant forms of worship; secondly in the deep religious satisfaction which was afforded by the belief in the resurrection of the deceased Messiah, and by the essential principles of the doctrine of Jesus.
§ 14. The possibility of mythi in the New Testament considered on internal grounds Seeing from what has already been said that the external testimony respecting the composition of our Gospels, far from forcing upon us the conclusion that they proceeded from eye-witnesses or well-informed contemporaries, leaves the decision to be determined wholly by internal grounds of evidence, that is, by the nature of the Gospel narratives themselves: we might immediately proceed from this introduction to the peculiar object of the present work, which is an examination of those narratives in detail. It may however appear useful, before entering upon this special inquiry, to consider the general question, how far it is consistent with the character of the Christian religion that mythi should be found in it, and how far the general construction of the Gospel narratives authorizes us to treat them as mythi. Although, indeed, if the following critical examination of the details be successful in proving the actual existence of mythi in the New Testament, this preliminary demonstration of their possibility becomes superfluous. If with this view we compare the acknowledged mythical religions of antiquity with the Hebrew and Christian, it is true that we are struck by many differences between the sacred histories existing in these religious forms and those in the former. Above all, it is commonly alleged that the sacred histories of the Bible are distinguished from the legends of the Indians, Greeks, Romans, etc., by their moral character and excellence. "In the latter, the stories of the battles of the gods, the loves of Krishna, 277
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Jupiter, etc., contain much which was offensive to the moral feeling even of enlightened heathens, and which is revolting to ours: whilst in the former, the whole course of the narration, offers only what is worthy of God, instructive, and ennobling." To this it may be answered with regard to the heathens, that the appearance of immorality in many of their narratives is merely the consequence of a subsequent misconception of their original meaning: and with regard to the Old Testament, that the perfect moral purity of its history has been contested. Often indeed, it has been contested without good grounds, because a due distinction is not made between that which is ascribed to individual men, (who, as they are represented, are by no means spotless examples of purity) and that which is ascribed to God: 94 nevertheless it is true that we have commands called divine, which, like that to the Israelites on their departure out of Egypt to purloin vessels of gold, are scarcely less revolting to an enlightened moral feeling, than the thefts of the Grecian Hermes. But even admitting this difference in the morality of the religions to its full extent (and it must be admitted at least with regard to the New Testament), still it furnishes no proof of the historical character of the Bible; for though every story relating to God which is immoral is necessarily fictitious, even the most moral is not necessarily true. "But that which is incredible and inconceivable forms the staple of the heathen fables; whilst in the biblical history, if we only presuppose the immediate intervention of the Deity, there is nothing of the kind." Exactly, if this be presupposed. Otherwise, we might very likely find the miracles in the life of Moses, Elias, or Jesus, the Theophany and Angelophany of the Old and New Testament, just as incredible as the fables of Jupiter, Hercules, or Bacchus: presuppose the divinity or divine descent of these individuals, and their actions and fate become as credible as those of the biblical personages with the like presupposition. Yet not quite so, it may be returned. Vishnu appearing in his three first avatars as a fish, a tortoise, and a boar; Saturn devouring his children; Jupiter turning himself into a bull, a swan, etc.-these are incredibilities of quite another kind from Jehovah appearing to Abraham in a human form under the terebinth tree, or to Moses in the burning bush. This extravagant love of the marvellous is the character of the heathen mythology. A similar accusation might indeed be brought against many parts of the Bible, such as the tales of Balaam, Joshua, and Samson; but still it is here less glaring, and does not form as in the Indian religion and in certain parts of the Grecian, the prevailing character. What however does this prove? Only that the biblical history might be true, sooner than the Indian or Grecian fables; not in the least that on this account it must be true, and can contain nothing fictitious. "But the subjects of the heathen mythology are for the most part such, as to convince us beforehand that they are mere inventions: those of the Bible such as at once to establish their own reality. A Brahma, an Ormusd,
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a Jupiter, without doubt never existed; but there still is a God, a Christ, and there have been an Ad am, a Noah, an Abraham, a Moses." Whether an Adam or a Noah, however, were such as they are represented, has already been doubted, and may still be doubted. Just so, on the other side, there may have been something historical about Hercules, Theseus, Achilles, and other heroes of Grecian story. Here, again, we come to the decision that the biblical history might be true sooner than the heathen mythology, but is not necessarily so. This decision however, together with the two distinctions already made, brings us to an important observation. How do the Grecian divinities approve themselves immediately to us as non-existing beings, if not because things are ascribed to them which we cannot reconcile with our idea of the divine?, whilst the God of the Bible is a reality to us just in so far as he corresponds with the idea we have formed of him in our own minds. Besides the contradiction to our notion of the divine involved in the plurality of heathen gods, and the intimate description of their motives and actions, we are at once revolted to find that the gods themselves have a history; that they are born, grow up, marry, have children, work out their purposes, suffer difficulties and weariness, conquer and are conquered. It is irreconcileable with our idea of the Absolute to suppose it subjected to time and change, to opposition and suffering; and therefore where we meet with a narrative in which these are attributed to a divine being, by this test we recognize it as unhistorical or mythical. It is in this sense that the Bible, and even the Old Testament, is said to contain no mythi. The story of the creation with its succession of each day's labour ending in a rest after the completion of the task; the expression often recurring in the farther course of the narrative, God repented of having done so and so;-these and similar representations cannot indeed be entirely vindicated from the charge of making finite the nature of the Deity, and this is the ground which has been taken by mythical interpreters of the history of the creation. And in every other instance where God is said to reveal himself exclusively at any definite place or time, by celestial apparition, or by miracle wrought immediately by himself, it is to be presumed that the Deity has become finite and descended to human modes of operation. It may however be said in general, that in the Old Testament the divine nature does not appear to be essentially affected by the temporal character of its operation, but that the temporal shows itself rather as a mere form, an unavoidable appearance, arising out of the necessary limitation of human, and especially of uncultivated powers of representation. It is obvious to every one, that there is something quite different in the Old Testament declarations, that God made an alliance with Noah, and Abraham, led his people out of Egypt, gave them laws, brought them into the promised land, raised up for them judges, kings, and prophets, and punished them at last for their disobedience by exile;-from
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the tales concerning Jupiter, that he was born of Rhea in Crete, and hidden from his father Saturn in a cave; that afterwards he made war upon his father, freed the Uranides, and with their help and that of the lightning with which they furnished him, overcame the rebellious Titans, and at last divided the world amongst his brothers and children. The essential difference between the two representations is, that in the latter, the Deity himself is the subject of progression, becomes another being at the end of the process from what he was at the beginning, something being effected in himself and for his own sake: whilst in the former, change takes place only on the side of the world; God remains fixed in his own identity as the I AM, and the temporal is only a superficial reflection cast back upon his acting energy by that course of mundane events which he both originated and guides. In the heathen mythology the gods have a history: in the Old Testament, God himself has none, but only his people: and if the proper meaning of mythology be the history of gods, then the Hebrew religion has no mythology. From the Hebrew religion, this recognition of the divine unity and immutability was transmitted to the Christian. The birth, growth, miracles, sufferings, death, and resurrection of Christ, are circumstances belonging to the destiny of the Messiah, above which God remains unaffected in his own changeless identity. The New Testament therefore knows nothing of mythology in the above sense. The state of the question is however somewhat changed from that which it assumed in the Old Testament: for Jesus is called the Son of God, not merely in the same sense as kings under the theocracy were so called, but as actually begotten by the divine spirit, or from the incarnation in his person of the divine A6yo<;. Inasmuch as he is one with the Father, and in him the whole fullness of the Godhead dwells bodily, he is more than Moses. The actions and sufferings of such a being are not external to the Deity: though we are not allowed to suppose a theopaschitic union with the divine nature, yet still, even in the New Testament, and more in the later doctrine of the Church, it is a divine being that here lives and suffers, and what befalls him has an absolute worth and significance. Thus according to the above accepted notion of the mythus, the New Testament has more of a mythical character than the Old. But to call the history of Jesus mythical in this sense, is as unimportant with regard to the historical question as it is unexceptionable; for the idea of God is in no way opposed to such an intervention in human affairs as does not affect his own immutability; so that as far as regards this point, the Gospel history, notwithstanding its mythical designation. might be at the same time throughout historically true. Admitting that the biblical history does not equally with the heathen mythology offend our idea of Deity, and that consequently it is not in like manner characterized by this mark of the unhistorical, however far it be from bearing any guarantee of being historical,-we are met by the further 280
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question whether it be not less accordant with our idea of the world, and whether such discordancy may not furnish a test of its unhistorical nature. In the ancient world, that is, in the east, the religious tendency was so preponderating, and the knowledge of nature so limited, that the law of connexion between earthly finite beings was very loosely regarded. At every link there was a disposition to spring into the Infinite, and to see God as the immediate cause of every change in nature or the human mind. In this mental condition the biblical history was written. Not that God is here represented as doing all and every thing himself:-a notion which, from the manifold direct evidence of the fundamental connexion between finite things, would be impossible to any reasonable mind:-but there prevails in the biblical writers a ready disposition to derive all things down to the minutest details, as soon as they appear particularly important, immediately from God. He it is who gives the rain and sunshine; he sends the east wind and the storm; he dispenses war, famine, pestilence; he hardens hearts and softens them, suggests thoughts and resolutions. And this is particularly the case with regard to his chosen instruments and beloved people. In the history of the Israelites we find traces of his immediate agency at every step: through Moses, Elias, Jesus, he performs things which never would have happened in the ordinary course of nature. Our modern world, on the contrary, after many centuries of tedious research, has attained a conviction, that all things are linked together by a chain of causes and effects, which suffers no interruption. It is true that single facts and groups of facts, with their conditions and processes of change, are not so circumscribed as to be unsusceptible of external influence; for the action of one existence or kingdom in nature intrenches on that of another: human freedom controls natural development, and material laws react on human freedom. Nevertheless the totality of finite things forms a vast circle, which, except that it owes its existence and laws to a superior power, suffers no intrusion from without. This conviction is so much a habit of thought with the modern world, that in actual life, the belief in a supernatural manifestation, an immediate divine agency, is at once attributed to ignorance or imposture. It has been carried to the extreme in that modern explanation, which, in a spirit exactly opposed to that of the Bible, has either totally removed the divine causation, or has so far restricted it that it is immediate in the act of creation alone, but mediate from that point onwards;-i.e., God operates on the world only in so far as he gave to it this fixed direction at the creation. From this point of view, at which nature and history appear as a compact tissue of finite causes and effects, it was impossible to regard the narratives of the Bible, in which this tissue is broken by innumerable instances of divine interference, as historical. It must be confessed on nearer investigation, that this modern explanation, although it does not exactly deny the existence of God, yet puts aside 281
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the idea of him, as the ancient view did the idea of the world. For this is, as it has been often and well remarked, no longer a God and Creator, but a mere finite Artist, who acts immediately upon his work only during its first production, and then leaves it to itself; who becomes excluded with his full energy from one particular sphere of existence. It has therefore been attempted to unite the two views so as to maintain for the world its law of sequence, and for God his unlimited action, and by this means to preserve the truth of the biblical history. According to this view, the world is supposed to move in obedience to the law of consecutive causes and effects bound up with its constitution, and God to act upon it only mediately: but in single instances, where he finds it necessary for particular objects, he is not held to be restricted from entering into the course of human changes immediately. This is the view of modern Supranaturalism95 ; evidently a vain attempt to reconcile two opposite views, since it contains the faults of both, and adds a new one in the contradiction between the two ill-assorted principles. For here the consecutiveness of nature and history is broken through as in the ancient biblical view; and the action of God limited as in the contrary system. The proposition that God works sometimes mediately, sometimes immediately, upon the world, introduces a changeableness, and therefore a temporal element, into the nature of his action, which brings it under the same condemnation as both the other systems; that, namely, of distinguishing the maintaining power, in the one case from individual instances of the divine agency, and in the other from the act of creation. 96 Since then our idea of God requires an immediate, and our idea of the world a mediate divine operation; and since the idea of combination of the two species of action is inadmissible:-nothing remains for us but to regard them both as so permanently and immoveably united, that the operation of God on the world continues for ever and every where twofold, both immediate and mediate; which comes just to this, that it is neither of the two, or this distinction loses its value. To explain more closely: if we proceed from the idea of God, from which arose the demand for his immediate operation, then the world is to be regarded in relation to him as a Whole: on the contrary, if we proceed from the idea of the finite, the world is a congeries of separate parts, and hence has arisen the demand for a merely mediate agency of God:-so that we must say-God acts upon the world as a Whole immediately, but on each part only by means of his action on every other part, that is to say, by the laws of nature. 97 This view brings us to the same conclusion with regard to the historical value of the Bible as the one above considered. The miracles which God wrought for and by Moses and Jesus, do not proceed from his immediate operation on the Whole, but presuppose an immediate action in particular cases, which is a contradiction to the type of the divine agency we have
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just given. The supranaturalists indeed claim an exception from this type on behalf of the biblical history; a presupposition which is inadmissible from our point of view98 , according to which the same laws, although varied by various circumstances, are supreme in every sphere of being and action, and therefore every narrative which offends against these laws, is to be recognized as so far unhistorical. The result, then, however surprising, of a general examination of the biblical history, is that the Hebrew and Christian religions, like all others, have their mythi. And this result is confirmed, if we consider the inherent nature of religion, what essentially belongs to it and therefore must be common to all religions, and what on the other hand is peculiar and may differ in each. If religion be defined as the perception of truth, not in the form of an idea, which is the philosophic perception, but invested with imagery; it is easy to see that the mythical element can be wanting only when religion either falls short of, or goes beyond, its peculiar province, and that in the proper religious sphere it must necessarily exist. It is only amongst the lowest and most barbarous people, such as the Esquimaux, that we find religion not yet fashioned into an objective form, but still confined to a subjective feeling. They know nothing of gods, of superior spirits and powers, and their whole piety consists in an undefined sentiment excited by the hurricane, the eclipse, or the magician. As it progresses however, the religious principle loses more and more of this indefiniteness, and ceasing to be subjective, becomes objective. In the sun, moon, mountains, animals, and other objects of the sensible world, higher powers are discovered and revered; and in proportion as the significance given to these objects is remote from their actual nature, a new world of mere imagination is created a sphere of divine existences whose relations to one another, actions, and influences, can be represented only after human analogy, and therefore as temporal and historical. Even when the mind has raised itself to the conception of the Divine unity, still the energy and activity of God are considered only under the form of a series of acts: and on the other hand, natural events and human actions can be raised to a religious significance only by the admission of divine interpositions and miracles. It is only from the philosophic point of view that the world of imagination is seen again to coincide with the actual, because the thought of God is comprehended to be his essence, and in the regular course itself of nature and of history, the revelation of the divine idea is acknowledged. It is certainly difficult to conceive, how narratives which thus speak of imagination as reality can have been formed without intentional deceit, and believed without unexampled credulity; and this difficulty has been held an invincible objection to the mythical interpretation of many of the narratives of the Old and New Testament. If this were the case, it would apply equally to the Heathen legends; and on the other hand, if profane Mythology have steered clear of the difficulty, neither will that of the
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Bible founder upon it. I shall here quote at length the words of an experienced inquirer into Grecian mythology and primitive history, Otfried Mi.iller, since it is evident that this preliminary knowledge of the subject which must be derived from general mythology, and which is necessary for the understanding of the following examination of the evangelic myth us, is not yet familiar to all theologians. "How," says Mi.iller 99 , "shall we reconcile this combination of the true and the false, the real and ideal, in mythi, with the fact of their being believed and received as truth? The ideal, it may be said, is nothing else than poetry and fiction clothed in the form of a narration. But a fiction of this kind cannot be invented at the same time by many different persons without a miracle, requiring, as it does, a peculiar coincidence of intention, imagination, and expression. It is therefore the work of one person:-but how did he convince all the others that his fiction had an actual truth? Shall we suppose him to have been one who contrived to delude by all kinds of trickery and deception, and perhaps allied himself with similar deceivers, whose part it was to afford attestation to the people of his inventions as having been witnessed by themselves? Or shall we think of him as a man of higher endowments than others, who believed him upon his word; and received the mythical tales under whose veil he sought to impart wholesome truths, as a sacred revelation? But it is impossible to prove that such a caste of deceivers existed in ancient Greece (or Palestine); on the contrary, this skilful system of deception, be it gross or refined, selfish or philanthropic, if we are not misled by the impression we have received from the earliest productions of the Grecian (or Christian) mind, is little suited to the noble simplicity of those times. Hence an inventor of the mythus in the proper sense of the word is inconceivable. This reasoning brings us to the conclusion, that the idea of a deliberate and intentional fabrication, in which the author clothes that which he knows to be false in the appearance of truth, must be entirely set aside as insufficient to account for the origin of the mythus. Or in other words, that there is a certain necessity in this connexion between the ideal and the real, which constitutes the mythus; that the mythical images were formed by the influence of sentiments common to all mankind; and that the different elements grew together without the author's being himself conscious of their incongruity. It is this notion of a certain necessity and unconsciousness in the formation of the ancient mythi, on which we insist. If this be once understood, it will also be perceived that the contention whether the mythus proceed from one person or many, from the poet or the people, though it may be started on other grounds, does not go to the root of the matter. For if the one who invents the mythus is only obeying the impulse which acts also upon the minds of his hearers, he is but the mouth through which all speak, the skilful interpreter who has the address first to give form and expression to the thoughts of all. It is however very possible that this notion of necessity and unconsciousness, might appear
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itself obscure and mystical to our antiquarians (and theologians), from no other reason than that this mythicizing tendency has no analogy in the present mode of thinking. But is not history to acknowledge even what is strange, when led to it by unprejudiced research?" As an example to show that even very complicated mythi, in the formation of which many apparently remote circumstances must have combined, may yet have arisen in this unconscious manner, Muller then refers to the Grecian mythus of Apollo and Marsyas. "It was customary to celebrate the festivals of Apollo with playing on the lyre, and it was necessary to piety, that the god himself should be regarded as its author. In Phrygia, on the contrary, the national music was the flute, which was similarly derived from a demon of their own, named Marsyas. The ancient Grecians perceived that the tones of these two instruments were essentially opposed: the harsh shrill piping of the flute must be hateful to Apollo, and therefore Marsyas his enemy. This was not enough: in order that the lyre-playing Grecian might flatter himself that the invention of his god was the more excellent instrument, Apollo must triumph over Marsyas. But why was it necessary in particular that the unlucky Phrygian should be flayed? Here is the simple origin of the mythus. Near the castle of Celrene in Phrygia, in a cavern whence flowed a stream or torrent named Marsyas, was suspended a skin flask, called by the Phrygians, the bottle of Marsyas; for Marsyas was, like the Grecian Silenus, a demi-god symbolizing the exuberance of the juices of nature. Now where a Grecian, or a Phrygian with Grecian prepossessions, looked on the bottle, he plainly saw the catastrophe of Marsyas; here was still suspended his skin, which had been torn off and made into a bottle:-Apollo had flayed him. In all this there is no arbitrary invention: the same ideas might have occurred to many, and if one first gave expression to them, he knew well that his auditors, imbued with the same prepossessions, would not for an instant doubt his accuracy." "The chief reason of the complicated character of mythi in general, is their having been formed for the most part, not at once, but successively and by degrees, under the influence of very different circumstances and events both external and internal. The popular traditions, being orally transmitted and not restricted by any written document, were open to receive every new addition, and thus grew in the course of long centuries to the form in which we now find them. (How far this applies to a great part of the New Testament mythi, will be shown hereafter.) This is an important and luminous fact, which however is very frequently overlooked in the explanation of mythi; for they are regarded as allegories invented by one person, at one stroke, with the definite purpose of investing a thought in the form of a narration." The view thus expressed by Muller, that the mythus is founded not upon any individual conception, but upon the more elevated and general conception of a whole people (or religious community), is said by a 285
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competent judge of Muller's work to be the necessary condition for a right understanding of the ancient mythus, the admission or rejection of which henceforth ranges the opinions on mythology into two opposite divisions.100 It is not however easy to draw a line of distinction between intentional and unintentional fiction. In the case where a fact lay at the foundation, which, being the subject of popular conversation and admiration, in the course of time formed itself into a myth us, we readily dismiss all notion of wilful fraud, at least in its origin. For a myth us of this kind is not the work of one man, but of a whole body of men, and of succeeding generations; the narrative passing from mouth to mouth, and like a snowball growing by the involuntary addition of one exaggerating feature from this, and another from that narrator. In time however these legends are sure to fall into the way of some gifted minds, which will be stimulated by them to the exercise of their own poetical, religious, or didactic powers. Most of the mythical narratives which have come down to us from antiquity, such as the Trojan, and the Mosaic series of legends, are presented to us in this elaborated form. Here then it would appear there must have been intentional deception: this however is only the result of an erroneous assumption. It is almost impossible, in a critical and enlightened age like our own, to carry ourselves back to a period of civilization in which the imagination worked so powerfully, that its illusions were believed as realities by the very minds that created them. Yet the very same miracles which are wrought in less civilized circles by the imagination, are produced in the more cultivated by the understanding. Let us take one of the best didactic historians of ancient or modern times, Livy, as an example. "Numa," he says, "gave to the Romans a number of religious ceremonies, ne luxuriarentur otio animi, and because he regarded religion as the best means of bridling multitudinem imperitam et illis seculis rudem. Idem," he continues, "nefastos dies fastosque fecit, quia aliquando nihil cum populo agi utile futurum erat. " 101 How did Livy know that these were the motives of Numa? In point of fact they certainly were not. But Livy believed them to be so. The inference of his own understanding appeared to him so necessary, that he treated it with full conviction as an actual fact. The popular legend, or some ancient poet, had explained this fertility of religious invention in Numa otherwise; namely, that it arose from his communication with the nymph Egeria, who revealed to him the forms of worship that would be most acceptable to the gods. It is obvious, that the case is pretty nearly the same with regard to both representations. If the latter had an individual author, it was his opinion that the historical statement could be accounted for only upon the supposition of a communication with a superior being; as it was that of Livy, that its explanation must lie in political views. The one mistook the production of his imagination, the other the inference of his understanding, for reality.
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Perhaps it may be admitted that there is a possibility of unconscious fiction, even when an individual author is assigned to it, provided that the mythical consists only in the filling up and adorning some historical event with imaginary circumstances: but that where the whole story is invented, and not any historical nucleus is to be found, this unconscious fiction is impossible. Whatever view may be taken of the heathen mythology, it is easy to show with regard to the New Testament, that there was the greatest antecedent probability of this very kind of fiction having arisen respecting Jesus without any fraudulent intention. The expectation of a Messiah had grown up amongst the Israelitish people long before the time of Jesus, and just then had ripened to full maturity. And from its beginning this expectation was not indefinite, but determined, and characterized by many important particulars. Moses was said to have promised his people a prophet like unto himself (Deut. xviii. 15), and this passage was in the time of Jesus applied to the Messiah (Acts iii. 22; vii. 37). Hence the rabbinical principle: as the first redeemer (Goel), so shall be the second; which principle was carried out into many particulars to be expected in the Messiah after his prototype Moses. 102 Again, the Messiah was to come of the race of David, and as a second David take possession of his throne (Matt. xxii. 42; Luke i. 32; Acts ii. 30): and therefore in the time of Jesus it was expected that he, like David, should be born in the little village of Bethlehem (John vii. 42; Matt. ii. 5 f.). In the above passage Moses describes the supposed Messiah as a prophet; so in his own idea, Jesus was the greatest and last of the prophetic race. But in the old national legends the prophets were made illustrious by the most wonderful actions and destiny. How could less be expected of the Messiah? Was it not necessary beforehand, that his life should be adorned with that which was most glorious and important in the lives of the prophets? Must not the popular expectation give him a share in the bright portion of their history, as subsequently the sufferings of himself and his disciples were attributed by Jesus, when he appeared as the Messiah, to a participation in the dark side of the fate of the prophets (Matt. xxiii. 29 ff.; Luke xiii. 33 ff.; comp. Matt. v. 12)? Believing that Moses and all the prophets had prophesied of the Messiah (John v. 46; Luke iv. 21; xxiv. 27), it was as natural for the Jews, with their allegorizing tendency, to consider their actions and destiny as types of the Messiah, as to take their sayings for predictions. In general the whole Messianic era was expected to be full of signs and wonders. The eyes of the blind should be opened, the ears of the deaf should be unclosed, the lame should leap, and the tongue of the dumb praise God (Isa. xxxv. 5 f.; xlii. 7; comp. xxxii. 3, 4). These merely figurative expressions soon came to be understood literally (Matt. xi. 5; Luke vii. 21 f.), and thus the idea of the Messiah was continually filled up with new details, even before the appearance of Jesus. 103 Thus many of the legends respecting him had not to be newly invented; they already existed in the popular hope of the Messiah, 287
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having been mostly derived with various modifications 104 from the Old Testament, and had merely to be transferred to Jesus, 105 and accommodated to his character and doctrines. In no case could it be easier for the person who first added any new feature to the description of Jesus, to believe himself its genuineness, since his argument would be: Such and such things must have happened to the Messiah; Jesus was the Messiah; therefore such and such things happened to him. 106 Truly it may be said that the middle term of this argument, namely, that Jesus was the Messiah, would have failed in proof to his contemporaries all the more on account of the common expectation of miraculous events, if that expectation had not been fulfilled by him. But the following critique on the Life of Jesus does not divest it of all those features to which the character of miraculous has been appropriated: and besides we must take into account the overwhelming impression which was made upon those around him by the personal character and discourse of Jesus, as long as he was living amongst them, which did not permit them deliberately to scrutinize and compare him with their previous standard. The belief in him as the Messiah extended to wider circles only by slow degrees; and even during his lifetime the people may have reported many wonderful stories of him (comp. Matt. xiv. 2). After his death, however, the belief in his resurrection, however that belief may have arisen, afforded a more than sufficient proof of his Messiahship; so that all the other miracles in his history need not be considered as the foundation of the faith in this, but may rather be adduced as the consequence of it. It is however by no means necessary to attribute this same freedom from all conscious intention of fiction, to the authors of all those narratives in the Old and New Testament which must be considered as unhistorical. In every series of legends, especially if any patriotic or religious party interest is associated with them, as soon as they become the subject of free poetry or any other literary composition, some kind of fiction will be intentionally mixed up with them. The authors of the Homeric songs could not have believed that every particular which they related of their gods and heroes had really happened; and just as little could the writer of the Chronicles have been ignorant that in his deviation from the books of Samuel and of the Kings, he was introducing many events of later occurrence into an earlier period; or the author of the book of Daniel107 that he was modelling his history upon that of Joseph, and accommodating prophecies to events already past; and exactly as little may this be said of all the unhistorical narratives of the Gospels, as for example, of the first chapter of the third, and many parts of the fourth Gospel. But a fiction, although not undesigned, may still be without evil design. It is true, the case is not the same with the supposed authors of many fictions in the Bible, as with poets properly so called, since the latter write without any expectation that their poems will be received as history: but still it is to be
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considered that in ancient times, and especially amongst the Hebrews, and yet more when this people was stirred up by religious excitement, the line of distinction between history and fiction, prose and poetry, was not drawn so clearly as with us. It is a fact also deserving attention that amongst the Jews and early Christians, the most reputable authors published their works with the substitution of venerated names, without an idea that they were guilty of any falsehood or deception by so doing. The only question that can arise here is whether to such fictions, the work of an individual, we can give the name of mythi? If we regard only their own intrinsic nature, the name is not appropriate; but it is so when these fictions, having met with faith, come to be received amongst the legends of a people or religious party, for this is always a proof that they were the fruit, not of any individual conception, but of an accordance with the sentiments of a multitude. 108 A frequently raised objection remains, for the refutation of which the remarks above made, upon the date of the origin of many of the Gospel mythi, are mainly important: the objection, namely, that the space of about thirty years, from the death of Jesus to the destruction of Jerusalem, during which the greater part of the narratives must have been formed; or even the interval extending to the beginning of the second century, the most distant period which can be allowed for the origin of even the latest of these Gospel narratives, and for the written composition of our Gospels;-is much too short to admit of the rise of so rich a collection of mythi. But, as we have shown, the greater part of these mythi did not arise during that period, for their first foundation was laid in the legends of the Old Testament, before and after the Babylonish exile; and the transference of these legends with suitable modifications to the expected Messiah, was made in the course of the centuries which elapsed between that exile and the time of Jesus. So that for the period between the formation of the first Christian community and the writing of the Gospels, there remains to be effected only the transference of Messianic legends, almost all ready formed, to Jesus, with some alterations to adapt them to Christian opinions, and to the individual character and circumstances of Jesus: only a very small proportion of mythi having to be formed entirely new.
§ 15. Definition of the evangelical myth us and its distinctive characteristicslo9 The precise sense in which we use the expression mythus, applied to certain parts of the Gospel history, is evident from all that has already been said; at the same time the different kinds and gradations of the mythi which we shall meet with in this history may here by way of anticipation be pointed out.
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We distinguish by the name evangelical mythus a narrative relating directly or indirectly to Jesus, which may be considered not as the expression of a fact, but as the product of an idea of his earliest followers: such a narrative being mythical in proportion as it exhibits this character. The mythus in this sense of the term meets us, in the Gospel as elsewhere, sometimes in its pure form, constituting the substance of the narrative, and sometimes as an accidental adjunct to the actual history. The pure my thus in the Gospel will be found to have two sources, which in most cases contributed simultaneously, though in different proportions, to form the mythus. The one source is, as already stated, the Messianic ideas and expectations existing according to their several forms in the Jewish mind before Jesus, and independently of him; the other is that particular impression which was left by the personal character, actions, and fate of Jesus, and which served to modify the Messianic idea in the minds of his people. The account of the Transfiguration, for example, is derived almost exclusively from the former source; the only amplification taken from the latter source being-that they who appeared with Jesus on the Mount spake of his decease. On the other hand, the narrative of the rending of the veil of the temple at the death of Jesus seems to have had its origin in the hostile position which Jesus, and his church after him, sustained in relation to the Jewish temple worship. Here already we have something historical, though consisting merely of certain general features of character, position, etc.; we are thus at once brought upon the ground of the historical mythus. The historical mythus has for its groundwork a definite individual fact which has been seized upon by religious enthusiasm, and twined around with mythical conceptions culled from the idea of the Christ. This fact is perhaps a saying of Jesus such as that concerning "fishers of men" or the barren fig-tree, which now appear in the Gospels transmuted into marvellous histories: or, it is perhaps a real transaction or event taken from his life; for instance, the mythical traits in the account of the baptism were built upon such a reality. Certain of the miraculous histories may likewise have had some foundation in natural occurrences, which the narrative has either exhibited in a supernatural light, or enriched with miraculous incidents. All the species of imagery here enumerated may justly be designated as mythi, even according to the modern and precise definition of George, inasmuch as the unhistorical which they embody-whether formed gradually by tradition, or created by an individual author-is in each case the product of an idea. But for those parts of the history which are characterized by indefiniteness and want of connexion, by misconstruction and transformation, by strange combinations and confusion,-the natural results of a long course of oral transmission; or which, on the contrary, are distinguished by highly coloured and pictorial representations, which also
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seem to point to a traditionary origin;-for these parts the term legendary is certainly the more appropriate. Lastly. It is requisite to distinguish equally from the mythus and the legend, that which, as it serves not to clothe an idea on the one hand, and admits not of being referred to tradition on the other, must be regarded as the addition of the author, as purely individual, and designed merely to give clearness, connexion, and climax, to the representation. It is to the various forms of the unhistorical in the Gospels that this enumeration exclusively refers: it does not involve the renunciation of the historical which they may likewise contain.
§ 16. Criteria by which to distinguish the unhistorical in the Gospel narrativeno Having shown the possible existence of the mythical and the legendary in the Gospels, both on extrinsic and intrinsic grounds, and defined their distinctive characteristics, it remains in conclusion to inquire how their actual presence may be recognized in individual cases? The mythus presents two phases: in the first place it is not history; in the second it is fiction, the product of the particular mental tendency of a certain community. These two phases afford the one a negative, the other a positive criterion, by which the mythus is to be recognized. I. Negative. That an account is not historical-that the matter related could not have taken place in the manner described is evident. First. When the narration is irreconcilable with the known and universal laws which govern the course of events. Now according to these laws, agreeing with all just philosophical conceptions and all credible experience, the absolute cause never disturbs the chain of secondary causes by single arbitrary acts of interposition, but rather manifests itself in the production of the aggregate of finite casualities, and of their reciprocal action. When therefore we meet with an account of certain phenomena or events of which it is either expressly stated or implied that they were produced immediately by God himself (divine apparitions-voices from heaven and the like), or by human beings possessed of supernatural powers (miracles, prophecies), such an account is in so far to be considered as not historical. And inasmuch as, in general, the intermingling of the spiritual world with the human is found only in unauthentic records, and is irreconcilable with all just conceptions; so narratives of angels and of devils, of their appearing in human shape and interfering with human concerns, cannot possibly be received as historical. Another law which controls the course of events is the law of succession, in accordance with which all occurrences, not excepting the most violent convulsions and the most rapid changes, follow in a certain order of sequence of increase and decrease. If therefore we are told of a
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celebrated individual that he attracted already at his birth and during his childhood that attention which he excited in his manhood; that his followers at a single glance recognized him as being all that he actually was; if the transition from the deepest despondency to the most ardent enthusiasm after his death is represented as the work of a single hour; we must feel more than doubtful whether it is a real history which lies before us. Lastly, all those psychological laws, which render it improbable that a human being should feel, think, and act in a manner directly opposed to his own habitual mode and that of men in general, must be taken into consideration. As for example, when the Jewish Sanhedrim are represented as believing the declaration of the watch at the grave that Jesus was risen, and instead of accusing them of having suffered the body to be stolen away whilst they were asleep, bribing them to give currency to such a report. By the same rule it is contrary to all the laws belonging to the human faculty of memory, that long discourses, such as those of Jesus given in the fourth Gospel, could have been faithfully recollected and reproduced. It is however true that effects are often far more rapidly produced, particularly in men of genius and by their agency, than might be expected; and that human beings frequently act inconsequently, and in opposition to their general modes and habits; the two last mentioned tests of the mythical character must therefore be cautiously applied, and in conjunction only with other tests. Secondly. An account which shall be regarded as historically valid, must neither be inconsistent with itself, nor in contradiction with other accounts. The most decided case falling under this rule, amounting to a positive contradiction, is when one account affirms what another denies. Thus, one Gospel represents the first appearance of Jesus in Galilee as subsequent to the imprisonment of John the Baptist, whilst another Gospel remarks, long after Jesus had preached both in Galilee and in Judea, that "John was not yet cast into prison." When on the contrary, the second account, without absolutely contradicting the first, differs from it, the disagreement may be merely between the incidental particulars of the narrative; such as time, (the clearing of the Temple,) place, (the original residence of the parents of Jesus;) number, (the Gadarenes, the angels at the sepulchre;) names, (Matthew and Levi;) or it may concern the essential substance of the history. In the latter case, sometimes the character and circumstances in one account differ altogether from those in another. Thus, according to one narrator, the Baptist recognizes Jesus as the Messiah destined to suffer; according to the other, John takes offence at his suffering condition. Sometimes an occurrence is represented in two or more ways, of which one only can be consistent with the reality; as when in one account Jesus calls his first disciples
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from their nets whilst fishing on the sea of Galilee, and in the other meets them in Judea on his way to Galilee. We may class under the same head instances where events or discourses are represented as having occurred on two distinct occasions, whilst they are so similar that it is impossible to resist the conclusion that both the narratives refer to the same event or discourse. It may here be asked: is it to be regarded as a contradiction if one account is wholly silent respecting a circumstance mentioned by another? In itself, apart from all other considerations, the argumentum ex silentio is of no weight; but it is certainly to be accounted of moment when, at the same time, it may be shown that had the author known the circumstance he could not have failed to mention it, and also that he must have known it had it actually occurred. Il. Positive. The positive characters of legend and fiction are to be recognized sometimes in the form, sometimes in the substance of a narrative. If the form be poetical, if the actors converse in hymns, and in a more diffuse and elevated strain than might be expected from their training and situations, such discourses, at all events, are not to be regarded as historical. The absence of these marks of the unhistorical do not however prove the historical validity of the narration, since the mythus often wears the most simple and apparently historical form: in which case the proof lies in the substance. If the contents of a narrative strikingly accords with certain ideas existing and prevailing within the circle from which the narrative proceeded, which ideas themselves seem to be the product of preconceived opinions rather than of practical experience, it is more or less probable, according to circumstances, that such a narrative is of mythical origin. The knowledge of the fact, that the Jews were fond of representing their great men as the children of parents who had long been childless, cannot but make us doubtful of the historical truth of the statement that this was the case with John the Baptist; knowing also that the Jews saw predictions everywhere in the writings of their prophets and poets, and discovered types of the Messiah in all the lives of holy men recorded in their Scriptures; when we find details in the life of Jesus evidently sketched after the pattern of these prophecies and prototypes, we cannot but suspect that they are rather mythical than historical. The more simple characteristics of the legend, and of additions by the author, after the observations of the former section, need no further elucidation. Yet each of these tests, on the one hand, and each narrative on the other, considered apart, will rarely prove more than the possible or probable unhistorical character of the record. The concurrence of several such indications, is necessary to bring about a more definite result. The
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accounts of the visit of the Magi, and of the murder of the innocents at Bethlehem, harmonize remarkably with the Jewish Messianic notion, built upon the prophecy of Balaam, respecting the star which should come out of Jacob; and with the history of the sanguinary command of Pharaoh. Still this would not alone suffice to stamp the narratives as mythical. But we have also the corroborative facts that the described appearance of the star is contrary to the physical, the alleged conduct of Herod to the psychological laws; that Josephus, who gives in other respects so circumstantial an account of Herod, agrees with all other historical authorities in being silent concerning the Bethlehem massacre; and that the visit of the Magi together with the flight into Egypt related in the one Gospel, and the presentation in the temple related in another Gospel, mutually exclude one another. Wherever, as in this instance, the several criteria of the mythical character concur, the result is certain, and certain in proportion to the accumulation of such grounds of evidence. It may be that a narrative, standing alone, would discover but slight indications, or perhaps, might present no one distinct feature of the mythus; but it is connected with others, or proceeds from the author of other narratives which exhibit unquestionable marks of a mythical or legendary character; and consequently suspicion is reflected back from the latter, on the former. Every narrative, however miraculous, contains some details which might in themselves be historical, but which, in consequence of their connexion with the other supernatural incidents, necessarily become equally doubtful. In these last remarks we are, to a certain extent, anticipating the question which is, in conclusion, to be considered: viz., whether the mythical character is restricted to those features of the narrative, upon which such character is actually stamped; and whether a contradiction between two accounts invalidate one account only, or both? That is to say, what is the precise boundary line between the historical and the unhistorical?-the most difficult question in the whole province of criticism. In the first place, when two narratives mutually exclude one another, one only is thereby proved to be unhistorical. If one be true the other must be false, but though the one be false the other may be true. Thus, in reference to the original residence of the parents of Jesus, we are justified in adopting the account of Luke which places it at Nazareth, to the exclusion of that of Matthew, which plainly supposes it to have been at Bethlehem; and, generally speaking, when we have to choose between two irreconcilable accounts, in selecting as historical that which is the least opposed to the laws of nature, and has the least correspondence with certain national or party opinions. But upon a more particular consideration it will appear that, since one account is false, it is possible that the other may be so likewise: the existence of a mythus respecting some certain point, shows that the imagination has been active in reference to that particular subject; (we 294
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need only refer to the genealogies;) and the historical accuracy of either of two such accounts cannot be relied upon, unless substantiated by its agreement with some other well authenticated testimony. Concerning the different parts of one and the same narrative: it might be thought for example, that though the appearance of an angel, and his announcement to Mary that she should be the Mother of the Messiah, must certainly be regarded as unhistorical, still, that Mary should have indulged this hope before the birth of the child, is not in itself incredible. But what should have excited this hope in Mary's mind? It is at once apparent that that which is credible in itself is nevertheless unhistorical when it is so intimately connected with what is incredible that, if you discard the latter, you at the same time remove the basis on which the former rests. Again, any action of Jesus represented as a miracle, when divested of the marvellous, might be thought to exhibit a perfectly natural occurrence; with respect to some of the miraculous histories, the expulsion of devils for instance, this might with some limitation, be possible. But for this reason alone: in these instances, a cure, so instantaneous, and effected by a few words merely, as it is described in the Gospels, is not psychologically incredible; so that, the essential in these narratives remains untouched. It is different in the case of the healing of a man born blind. A natural cure could not have been effected otherwise than by a gradual process; the narrative states the cure to have been immediate; if therefore the history be understood to record a natural occurrence, the most essential particular is incorrectly represented, and consequently all security for the truth of the otherwise natural remainder is gone, and the real fact cannot be discovered without the aid of arbitrary conjecture. The following examples will serve to illustrate the mode of deciding in such cases. According to the narrative, as Mary entered the house and saluted her cousin Elizabeth, who was then pregnant, the babe leaped in her womb, she was filled with the Holy Ghost, and she immediately addressed Mary as the mother of the Messiah. This account bears indubitable marks of an unhistorical character. Yet, it is not, in itself, impossible that Mary should have paid a visit to her cousin, during which everything went on quite naturally. The fact is however that there are psychological difficulties connected with this journey of the betrothed; and that the visit, and even the relationship of the two women, seem to have originated entirely in the wish to exhibit a connexion between the mother of John the Baptist, and the mother of the Messiah. Or when in the history of the transfiguration it is stated, that the men who appeared with Jesus on the Mount were Moses and Elias: and that the brilliancy which illuminated Jesus was supernatural; it might seem here also that, after deducting the marvellous, the presence of two men and a bright morning beam might be retained as the historical facts. But the legend was predisposed, by virtue of the current idea concerning the relation of the Messiah to these two prophets, not 295
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merely to make any two men (whose persons, object and conduct, if they were not what the narrative represents them, remain in the highest degree mysterious) into Moses and Elias, but to create the whole occurrence; and in like manner not merely to conceive of some certain illumination as a supernatural effulgence (which, if a natural one, is much exaggerated and misrepresented), but to create it at once after the pattern of the brightness which illumined the face of Moses on Mount Sinai. Hence is derived the following rule. Where not merely the particular nature and manner of an occurrence is critically suspicious, its external circumstances represented as miraculous and the like; but where likewise the essential substance and groundwork is either inconceivable in itself, or is in striking harmony with some Messianic idea of the Jews of that age, then not the particular alleged course and mode of the transaction only, but the entire occurrence must be regarded as unhistorical. Where on the contrary, the form only, and not the general contents of the narration, exhibits the characteristics of the unhistorical, it is at least possible to suppose a kernel of historical fact; although we can never confidently decide whether this kernel of fact actually exists, or in what it consists; unless, indeed, it be discoverable from other sources. In legendary narratives, or narratives embellished by the writer, it is less difficult,-by divesting them of all that betrays itself as fictitious imagery, exaggeration, etc.-by endeavouring to abstract from them every extraneous adjunct and to fill up every hiatusto succeed, proximately at least, in separating the historical groundwork. The boundary line, however, between the historical and the unhistorical, in records, in which as in our Gospels this latter element is incorporated, will ever remain fluctuating and unsusceptible of precise attainment. Least of all can it be expected that the first comprehensive attempt to treat these records from a critical point of view should be successful in drawing a sharply defined line of demarcation. In the obscurity which criticism has produced, by the extinction of all lights hitherto held historical, the eye must accustom itself by degrees to discriminate objects with precision; and at all events the author of this work, wishes especially to guard himself in those places where he declares he knows not what happened, from the imputation of asserting that he knows that nothing happened.
Notes 1 [This passage varies slightly from the original, a subsequent amplification by Dr. Strauss being incorporated with it.-TR.) There is no indication of the source of this "amplification." Perhaps it represents an effort by Dr. Brabant to interpret Strauss on the basis of conversations and correspondence with him. 2 Plato, de Republ. ii. p. 377. Steph.; Pindar, Nem. vii. 31. 3 Diog. Laert. L. ii. c. iii, No. 7.
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4 Cic. de Nat. Deor. i. 10. 15. Comp. Athenag. Legat. 22. Tatian, c. Gr<ec. Orat. 21. Clement. homil. 6, 1. f. 5 Diodor. Sic. Bib!. Fragm. L. vi. Cic. de Nat. Deor. i. 42. 6 Hist. vi. 56. 7 Dopke, die Hermeneutik der neutestamentlichen Schriftsteller, s. 123. ff. 8 Gfrorer. Dahne. 9 Homil. 5. in Levit. § 5. 10 Homil, 2, in Exod. iii.: Nolite putare, ut scepe jam diximus, veterum vobis fabulas recitari, sed doceri vas per hcec, ut agnoscatis ordinem vitce. 11 Homil. 5. in Levit. i.: Hcec omnia, nisi alia sensu accipianius quam literce textus ostendit, obstaculum magis et subversionem Christiance religioni, quam hortationem cedificationemque prcestabunt. 12 Contra Cels. vi. 70. 13 De principp. L. iv. § 20: n&.cru fJ.EY (ypal!li!) EXEt 'tO 7tYE'OfJ.U'ttKOY, oil n&.cru 81:: 'tO <JC:OfJ.U'ttKOY. 14 Comm. in Joann., Tom. x. § 4:----crc:o~OfJ.EYov noA.A.aKtc; 'tOU ciA,neouc; 7tYE'OJlU'ttKou EY 't{i) <JC:OfJ.U'ttK{i), ffic; /iy E\1tOt 'tt<;, 'lfEU8Et. 15 De principp. iv. 15: crvYi>(j)TJYEY lj ypu<j>iJ 'tft ia'topi~ 'to fJ.il yEYDfJ.EYov, nl) fJ.EY fJ.TJ 8vYa'tOY y~::ytcreut, nl) 8E O'OYatoY fJ.Ev y~::ytcrem, oil fJ.ilY YfYEYTJfJ.EYOV. De principp, iv. 16: KUt 'tt Oft 1tAEiC:O AE')'EtV; 'tWY JJ.il 1tcXY'I) nJJ.I3AEC:OY fJ.'Opiu ocru 'tOtamu 8waJJ.f:Yc:oY avvuyayEtY, YEYPUfJ.fJ.EYU fJ.EY ooc; yqoY6'ta, oil yqEYTJfJ.EYa 8£ Kata trlY A.t~t Y. 16 De principp. iv. 16. 17 Homil. 6, in Gen. iii.: Quce nobis cedificatio erit, legentibus, Abraham, tantam patriarcham, non solum mentitum esse Abimelech regi, sed et pudicitiam conjugis prodidisse? Quid nos cedificat tanti patriarchce uxor, si putetur contaminationbus exposita per conniventiam maritalem? Hac Judcei putent et si qui cum eis sunt literce amici, non spiritus. 18 De principp. iv. 16: oil fJ.OYOY 81:: n~::pl. t&Y npo 'tfjc; nupovaiuc; 'tUU'ta 'to 7tYEUfJ.a ci>KOYOfJ.T)<JEY, aA."X, a'tE 'tO ail'tO 't'O')'XUYOY Kat ano 'tOU EYO<; 9EOU, 'tO OfJ.OlOY Kat E1tt tmY EilayyEAlC:OY m:: not T)KE. Kat E7tt 'tiDY a1tO<J'tOAC:OY' oiloi:: 'tOU't(J)Y 1tcXY'tT) (iK:pawY 'tl)Y lcr'toplay 'tiDY npocrvlj>acr!lEvC:OY Ka'ta 't6 crroJJ.attKOY EXOY'tC:OY !lil YfYEYT)fJ.EYC:OY. 19 Contra Celsum, i. 40. 20 Comm. in Matth., Tom, xvi, 26. 21 Comm. in Joann., Tom. x.17. 22 De principp. iv. 19. After Origen, that kind of allegory only which left the historical sense unimpaired was retained in the church; and where, subsequently, a giving up of the verbal meaning is spoken of, this refers merely to a trope or a simile. 23 In his Amyntor, 1698. See Leland's View of the Deistical Writers. 24 See Leland. 25 In his work entitled The Moral Philosopher. 26 Posthumous Works, 1748. 27 Chubb, Posthumous Works, i. 102. 28 Ibid., ii, 269. 29 The Resurrection of Jesus Considered, by a Moral Philosopher, 1744. 30 Six Discourses on the Miracles of our Saviour. Published singly, from 1727-1729. 31 Schrockh, Kirschengesch, se it der Reform. 6Th. s. 191. 32 Fragmente des Wolfenblittelschen Ungenannten von G. E. Lessing herausgegeben.
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33 Recension der iibrigen, noch ungedruckten Werke des Wolfenbiittler Fragmentisten, in Eichhorns allgemeiner Bibliothek, erster Band Ites u. 2tes Stuck. 34 Paulus's Commentar iiber das neue Testament. 35 Eichhorn's Urgeschichte, herausgegeben von Gabler, 3 Thl. s. 98. ff. 36 Allgem. Biblioth. I Bd. s. 989, and Einleitung in das A. T. 3 Thl. s. 82. 37 Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der blossen Vernunft, drittes Stiick. No. VI.: Der Kirchenglaube hat zu seinem hochsten Ausleger den reinen Religionsglauben. 38 Ad. Apollod. Athen. Biblioth. notre, p. 3 f. 39 Hebraische Mythologie des alten und neuen Testaments. G. L. Bauer, 1802. 40 Institutiones Theol. Chr. Dogm. § 42. 41 Ammon, Progr. quo inquiritur in narrationum de vitre Jesu Christi primordiis fontes, etc., in Pott's and Ruperti's Sylloge Comm. theol. No. 5, und Gabler's n. theol. Journal, 5 Bd. s. 83 und 397. 42 Ueber Mythen, historische Sagen und Philosopheme der altesten Welt. In Paulus Memorabilien, 5 stuck, 1793. 43 Vid. die Abhandlung iiber Moses und die Verfasser des Pentateuchs, im 3'e". Band des Comm. iiber den Pent. s. 660. 44 Kritik der Mosaischen Geschichte. Einl. s. 10. ff. 45 Einleit, in das N. T. 1, s. 408. ff. 46 Antiquit, xix, viii. 2. 47 Die verschiedenen Ri.icksichten, in welchen und fiir welche der Biograph Jesu arbeiten kann. In Bertholdt's krit. Journal, 5 Bd. s. 235. ff. 48 Recens-von Paul us Commentar, im neuesten theol. Journal 7, 4, s. 395 ff. (1801 ). 49 Hebraische Mythologie. 1 Thl. Einl. § 5. 50 1st es erlaubt, in der Bibel, und sogar im N. T., Mythen anzunehmen? Im Journal fiir auserlesene theol. Literatur, 2, 1, s. 49 ff. 51 Ueber den Taufer Johannes, die Taufe und Versuchung Christi, in Ullmann's u. Umbreit's theol. Studien u. Kritiken, 2, 3, s. 456 ff. 52 Beitrag zur Erklarung der Versuchungsgeschichte, in ders. Zeitschrift, 1832, 4. Heft. 53 Einleitung in das N. T. 1, s. 422 ff. 453 ff. 54 Besonders durch Gieseler, iiber die Entstehung und die friihsten Schicksale der schrift lichen Evangelien. 55 Vid. den Anhang der Schulz'schen Schrift iiber das Abendmahl, und die Schriften von Sieffert und Schneckenburger iiber den Ursprung des ersten kanonischen Evangeliums. 56 In den Probabilien. 57 Geschichte der hebraischen Nation, Theil. i. s. 123. 58 In Henke's Magazin; 5ten Bdes. Ites Stuck. s. 163. 59 Versuch iiber die genetische oder formelle Erklarungsart de Wunder. In Henke's Museum, i. 3. 1803. 60 Kaiser's biblische Theologie, 1 Thl. 61 Gabler's Journal fiir auserlesene theol. Literatur. ii. 1. s. 46. 62 Gabler's neuestes theolog. Journal, 7 Bd. 63 Bertholdt's Krit. Journal, v. s. 235. 64 The last two sentences of this paragraph replace, in the second, third, and fourth editions, a separate concluding paragraph of § 10 in the first edition. The paragraphs that follow were added in the third edition and retained in the fourth.
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65 Ullmann, Recens. meines L. J., in den Theol. Studien u. Kritiken 1836. 3. 66 George, Mythus und Sage; Versuch einer wissenschaftlichen Entwicklung dieser Begriffe und ihres Verhaltnisses zum christlichen Glauben, s. 11. ff. 108. ff. 67 Work cited, § 8, note 4. Hase, Leben Jesu, § 32. Tholuck, s. 208. ff. Kern, die Hauptsachen der evangelischen Geschichte, 1st Article, Tiibinger Zeitschrift ftir Theologie, 1836, ii. s. 39. 68 Comp. Kuinol, Prolegom. in Matthreum, § 3; in Lucam, § 6. 69 e.g. Amman, in der Diss.: Ascensus J. C. in ccelum historia biblica, in seinen Opusc. nov. 70 In Bertholdt's Krit. Journ. v. Bd. s. 248. 71 Gabler's neuestes theol. Journal, Bd. vii. s. 395. 72 Encyclopadie der theol. Wissenschaften, s. 161. 73 Following this point the several German editions and the English translation vary considerably. The second edition adds about three-quarters of a page in which Strauss explains further how he applies the concept of myth to the entire history of the life of Jesus. This additional material is dropped in the third and fourth editions. Following the paragraph beginning, "The most extended application ... ," the third and fourth editions add an additional section of nearly three pages, which is not contained in the Eliot translation. Strauss explains, in discussing August Tholuck's Die Glaubwiirdigkeit der evangelischen Geschichte (Hamburg, 1837), how, in view of external considerations, the possibility of mythical treatment was greater for the Evangelists in regard to the childhood stories of Jesus than to his later life. But once myth is allowed into the childhood stories, it is impossible to mark it off from any other period of Jesus' life-all the more so if it is employed in the exposition of the baptism narrative at the beginning of Jesus' public ministry. Strauss concludes this section, however, by stating: "It is by no means to be asserted that [myth] is equally extensive throughout. To the contrary, it is obvious that in those parts of the life of Jesus where he is brought into public light more historical ground is to be found than in those segments which had elapsed in the darkness of private life.'' This additional section adds an important qualification not found in the earlier editions, namely, that myth is not equally extensive throughout the Gospels and that authentic historical materials are to be found in the parts dealing with the public ministry of Jesus. The paragraph beginning, "The most extended application ... ,"is the only material following this point that is common to all four German editions, and is also the only paragraph included in the translation. This fact seems to indicate that the Brabants were acquainted with all the German editions and at certain points compared them critically, exercising an editorial judgment. 74 In Gabler's neuestem theolog. Journal, Bd. vi. 4tes Stuck. s. 350. 75 Granzbestimmung dessen, was in der Bibel Mythus, u. s. f., und was wirkliche Geschichte ist. In seiner Bibliothek der heiligen Geschichte, ii. Bd. s. 155. ff. 76 Meyer, Apologie der geschichtlichen Auffassung der historischen Bucher des A. T., besonders des Pentateuchs, im Gegensatz gegen die bios mythische Deutung des letztern. Fritzsche. Kelle. 77 Exegetisches Handbuch, i. a. s.l, 71. 78 Greiling in Henke's Museum. i. 4. s. 621. ff. 79 The second and subsequent editions conclude § 12 with the last two paragraphs. The first edition does not contain them, but continues for
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80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91
92 93
94
95
approximately twenty pages of German text with arguments defending the mythical view of the Gospel history. Much of this material was reworked and included in §§ 13-14 of the second edition. The reasons for the addition of §§ 13-16 in the second and third editions are discussed in the Editor's Introduction, pp. xxv-xxix. See the quotations given by De Wette in his "Einleitung in d. N. T." § 76. Euseb. H. E., iii. 39. Ullman, Credner, LUcke, De Wette. Hieron. de vir. illustr. 3. Contra Celsum, ii. 16. v. 56. Euseb, H. E. iii. 39. This is clearly demonstrated by Griesbach in his "Commentatio, qua Marci Evangelium totum e Matthrei et Lucre commentariis decerptum esse demonstratur." Chap. xvi. 10-17; xx. 5-15; xxi. 1-17; xxvii. 1-28; xxviii. 10-16. Euseb. H. E. v. 20, 24. De Wette, Gieseler. Ad. Auto!. ii., 22. The last two sentences of this paragraph were added in the third and fourth editions. They do little to resolve the question of Johannine authorship, since it could be argued on the basis of what is said here that the Gospel of John derived either from the Apostle or from the Presbyter, or from neither. For Strauss's vagueness on this question, see the Editor's Introduction, pp. xxxix-xl. See Schleiermacher. In this paragraph Strauss is tantalizingly close to the position of modern form criticism. He denies the existence of a hypothetical Proto-Gospel, an eyewitness source from which the canonical Gospels were supposed to have drawn their materials. Rather he allows for a period of oral tradition (die miindliche Oberlieferung, translated "orally circulated Gospel"), which only gradually came to be written down, and which went through many literary revisions. One of the first of these written documents was the Gospel of the Hebrews (belit:ved by some nineteenth century critics to be a written source behind the present Gospel of Matthew). These oral traditions might have originated with particular Apostles or disciples who were eye-witnesses, but there is no way of testing this. Indeed, Strauss's great problem is that he did not possess the tools of form criticism by which to analyse the formative process of oral traditions. He has no way of tracing these traditions back to their more primitive forms and of reaching historical bedrock. Thus he is led to the conclusion, stated in the next paragraphs, that "unhistorical legends" or "a mass of myths" began to form in Palestine shortly after Jesus' death. Strauss has proven to be correct about the oral transmission of the Gospel traditions; but given the critical tools of his day, there was no way to bridge the gulf from the events themselves to the earliest written documents. He did not shy away from the radical character of this conclusion because it harmonized with his theological and philosophical perspective. This same want of distinction has led the Alexandrians to allegorize, the Deists to scoff, and the Supernaturalists to strain the meaning of words; as was done lately by Hoffmann in describing David's behaviour to the conquered Ammonites. (Christoterpe auf 1838, s. 184.) Heydenreich, iiber die Unzulassigkeit, u. s. f. 1 stUck. Compare Storr, doctr. christ. § 35. ff.
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96 If the Supranatural view contains a theological contradiction, so the new evangelical theology, which esteems itself raised so far above the old supranatural view, contains a logical contradiction. To say that God acts only mediately upon the world as the general rule, but sometimes, by way of exception, immediately ,-has some meaning, though perhaps not a wise one. But to say that God acts always immediately on the world, but in some cases more particularly immediately,-is a fiat contradiction in itself. On the principle of the immanence or immediate agency of God in the world, to which the new evangelical theology lays claim, the idea of the miraculous is impossible. Comp. my Streitschriften, i. 3, s. 46 f. 97 In this view essentially coincide Wegscheider, instit, theol. dogm. § 12; De Wette, bib!. Dogm., Vorbereitung; Schleiermacher, Glaubensl. § 46 f.; Marheineke, Do gm. § 269 ff. Comp. George, s. 78 f. 98 To a freedom from this presupposition we lay claim in the following work; in the same sense as a state might be called free from presupposition where the privileges of station, etc., were of no account. Such a state indeed has one presupposition, that of the natural equality of its citizens; and similarly do we take for granted the equal amenability to law of all events; but this is merely an affirmative form of expression for our former negation. But to claim for the biblical history especial laws of its own, is an affirmative proposition, which, according to the established rule, is that which requires proof, and not our denial of it, which is merely negative. And if the proof cannot be given, or be found insufficient, it is the former and not the latter, which is to be considered a presupposition. See my Streitschriften i. 3. s. 36 ff. This footnote, added in the second and subsequent editions, is intended as a further elaboration of the author's claim to an "absence of presupposition" in the Preface to the first edition. Strauss had been challenged on this claim by Wilhelm Hoffmann and other critics. 99 Prolegomena zu einer wissenschaftlichen Mythologie, s. 110 ff. With this Ullmann, and J. Muller in their reviews of this work, Hoffmann, s. 113 f., and others are agreed as far as relates to the heathen mythi. Especially compare George, Mythus and Sage, s. 15 ff. 103. 100 The words of Baur in his review of Muller's Prolegomena, in Jahn's Jahrbiichern f. Philol. u. Padag. 1828, 1 Heft, s. 7. 101 I. 19. 102 Midrasch Koheleth f. 73, 3 (in Schottgen, horce hebraicce et talmudicce, 2, S. 251 f.). R. Berechias nomine R. Isaaci dixit: Quemadmodum Gael primus
(Moses), sic etiam postremus (Messias) comparatus est. De Goele prima quidnam scriptura dicit? Exod. iv. 20: et sumsit Moses uxorem et filios, eosque asino imposuit. Sic Gael postremus, Zachar. ix. 9: pauper et insidens asino. Quidnam de Goele prima nosti? Is descendere fecit Man, q. d. Exod. xvi. 14: ecce ego pluere faciam vobis panem de ccelo. Sic etiam Gael postremus Manna descendere faciet, q. d. Ps. lxxii. 16: erit multitudo frumenti in terra. Quomodo Gael primus comparatus fuit? Is ascendere fecit puteum: sic quoque Gael postremus ascendere faciet aquas, q. d. Joel iv. 18: et fans e dome Domini egredietur, et torrentem Sittim irrigabit. 103 Tanchuma f. 54, 4. (in Schottgen, p. 74): R. Acha nomine R. Samuelis bar Nachmani dixit: Qucecumque Deus S. B. facturus est l(:l? 1•nv? (tempore Messiano) ea jam ante fecit per manus justo rum i1H1 O'l:V:l (seculo ante Messiam elapso). Deus S. B. suscitabit mortuos, id quod jam ante fecit per Eliam, Elisam et Ezechielem. Mare exsiccabit, prout per Mosen factum est. Oculos
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104
105
106 107
108 109 110
aecorum aperiet, id quod per Elisam fecit. Deus S. B. futuro tempore visitabit steriles, quemadmodum in Abrahamo et Sara fecit. The Old Testament legends have undergone many changes and amplifications, even without any reference to the Messiah, so that the partial discrepancy between the narratives concerning Jesus with those relating to Moses and the prophets, is not a decisive proof that the former were not derived from the latter. Compare Acts vii. 22, 53, and the corresponding part of Josephus Antiq. ii. & iii. with the account of Moses given in Exodus. Also the biblical account of Abraham with Antiq. i. 8, 2; of Jacob with i. 19, 6; of Joseph with ii. 5, 4. George, s. 125: If we consider the firm conviction of the disciples, that all which had been prophesied in the Old Testament of the Messiah must necessarily have been fulfilled in the person of their master; and moreover that there were many blank spaces in the history of Christ; we shall see that it was impossible to have happened otherwise than that these ideas should have embodied themselves, and thus the mythi have arisen which we find. Even if a more correct representation of the life of Jesus had been possible by means of tradition, this conviction of the disciples must have been strong enough to triumph over it. Compare 0. Muller, Prolegomena, s. 7, on a similar conclusion of Grecian poets. The comparison of the first chapter of this book with the history of J oseph in Genesis, gives an instructive view of the tendency of the later Hebrew legend and poetry to form new relations upon the pattern of the old. As Joseph was carried captive to Egypt, so was Daniel to Babylon (i. 2); like Joseph he must change his name (7). God makes the tl'O'lipCI ,~ favourable to him, as the 0'J:1~PO iif 0'!9 to Joseph (9); he abstains from polluting himself with partaking of the king's meats and drinks, which are pressed upon him (8); a self-denial held as meritorious in the time of Antiochus Epiphanes, as that of Joseph with regard to Potiphar's wife; like J oseph he gains eminence by the interpretation of a dream of the king, which his O'r;>\?jl:l were unable to explain to him (ii. ); whilst the additional circumstance that Daniel is enabled to give not only the interpretation, but the dream itself, which had escaped the memory of the king, appears to be a romantic exaggeration of that which was attributed to Joseph. In the account of Josephus, the history of Daniel has reacted in a singular manner upon that of Joseph; for as Nebuchadnezzar forgets his dream, and the interpretation according to Josephus revealed to him at the same time, so does he make Pharaoh forget the interpretation shown to him with the dream. Antiq. ii. 5, 4. Thus J. Muller, theol. Studien u. Kritiken, 1836, iii. s. 839 ff. § 15 was added in the third and fourth editions. For a discussion of the contents of this section, see the Editor's Introduction, pp. xxvi-xxvii. This section was added in the second and subsequent editions and comprises wholly new material. The reasons for its addition, together with an analysis of its contents, are discussed in the Editor's Introduction, pp. xxviii-xxix.
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Bibliographies Modem authors cited by Strauss Bauer, Georg Lorenz. Handbuclz der Gesclziclzte der hebriiischen Nation. 2 parts. Nuremberg; 1800-1804. - - . Hebriiische Mythologie des A/ten und Neuen Testaments, mit Para/le/en aus der Mythologie anderer Volker, vornehmlich der Griechen und Romer. 2 vols. Leipzig, 1835. Baur, Ferdinand Christian. Apollonius von Tyana und Christus, oder das Verhiiltniss des Pythagoreismus zum Christenthum. Ein Beitrag zur Religionsgeschichte der ersten Jahrhunderte nach Christus. Tiibingen, 1832. - - . Die christliche Gnosis, oder die christliche Religions-Philosophie in ihrer geschichtlichen Entwicklung. Tiibingen, 1835. - - . Programma de Ebionitarum origene et doctrina, ab Essenis repetenda. Tiibingen, 1831. - - . Symbolik und Mythologie, oder die Naturreligion des Alterthums. 2 parts. Stuttgart, 1824-25. Bertholdt, Leonhard. Christologia Judaeorum Jesu apostolorumque aetate in compendium redacta observationibusque illustrata. Erlangen, 1811. --.Daniel. 1806. - - . Historisch-kritische Einleitung in siimmtliche kanonische und apokryphische Schriften des alten und neuen Testaments. 6 parts. Erlangen, 1812-19. - - . Verosimilia de origine evangelii Joannis, in Opuscula academica exegetici potissimum argumenti eo/leg. Edited by G. B. Winer, Leipzig, 1824. Bretschneider, Car) Gottlieb. Handbuch der Dogmatik der evangelisch-lutherischen Kirche. 3rd ed. Leipzig, 1828. - - . Probabilia de Evangelii et Epistolarum Joannis, Apostoli, indole et origine. Leipzig, 1820. Dahne, August Ferdinand. Geschichtliche Darstellung der jiidisch-alexandrinischen Religions-Philosophie. Halle, 1834. de Wette, Wilhelm Martin Leberecht. Commentar iiber die Psalmen. Heidelberg, 1811. - - . Kritik der Israelischen Geschichte. Part 1: Kritik der Mosaischen Geschichte. Halle, 1807. - - . Kurzgefasstes exegetisches Handbuch zum Neuen Testament. 3 vols. Leipzig, 1836-48. - - . Lehrbuch der christlichen Dogmatik, in ihrer historischen Entwickelung dargestellt. Part 1: Biblische Dogmatik Alten und Neuen Testaments; oder kritische Darstellung der Religionslehre des Hebriiismus, des Judenthums und Urchristenthums. 3rd ed. Berlin, 1831. - - . Lehrbuch der Hebriiisch-Judischen Archiiologie. 2nd ed. Leipzig, 1830. - - . Lehrbuch der historisch kritischen Einleitung in die Bibel Alten und Neuen Testaments. 4th ed. 2 parts. Berlin, 1833-34. - - . De Morte Christi expiatoria, in Opuscula Theologica. Berlin, 1830. - - . Ueber Religion und Theologie. Erliiuterung zu seinem Lehrbuche der Dogmatik. 2nd. ed. Berlin, 1821.
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Dopke, J. Chr. C. Die Hermeneutik der neutestamentlichen Schriftseller. Part I. Leipzig, 1829. Eichhorn, Johann Gottfried. Einleitung in das Atte Testament. 4th ed. 5 vols. Gottingen, 1823-24. - - . Einleitung in das Neue Testament. 2nd ed. 3 vols. Leipzig, 1820, 1810, 1812. - - . Urgeschichte. Edited by J. P. Gabler, 2 parts in 3 vols. Altdorf & Nuremberg, 1790-93. George, J. F. Leopold. Mythus und Sage. Versuch einer wissenschaftlichen Entwicklung dieser Begriffe und ihres Verhiiltnisses zum christlichen Glauben. Berlin, 1837. Gfrorer, August Friedrich. Kritische Geschichte des Urchristenthums. Vol. I; part 2: Philo und die alexandrinische Theosophie. Stuttgart, 1831. Greiling, Johann Christoph. Das Le ben Jesus von Nazareth. Halle, 1813. Griesbach, J oh ann J acob. Commentarius criticus in textum Graecum No vi Testamenti. 2 parts. Jena, 1793-1811. - - . Commentatio, qua Marci Evangelium totum e Matthaei et Lucae commentariis decerptum esse monstratur. Commentationes Theologicae, edited by J. C. Velthusen, C. J. Kuinoel and G. A. Ruperti. Leipzig, 1794. - - . Progr. de fontibus, unde Evangelistae suas de resurrectiones Domini narrationes hauserint. In Opuscula Academica, edited by Johann Philip Gabler. Jena, 1824-25. - - . Vorlesungen uber Hermeneutik des Neuen Testaments, mit Anwendung auf die Leidens und Auferstehungsgeschichte Christi. Edited by J. C. S. Steiner. Nuremberg, 1815. Hase, Carl August von. Das Leben Jesu. 2nd ed. Leipzig, 1835. Henke, Heinrich Philipp Conrad. Johannes Apostolus nonnullorum Jesu apophthegmatum. Sylloge Commentationum theologicarum, edited by D. J. Pott and G. A. Ruperti. Helmstadt, 180Q-1807. - - . Lineamenta institutionum Fidei Christianae historico-criticarum. Helmstadt, 1795. Heydenreich, August Ludwig Christian. Ueber die Unzulassigkeit der mythischen Auffassung des Historischen im Neuen Testament und im Christenthum. 2 parts. Frankfurt, 1831-33. Hoffmann, Wilhelm. Das Leben Jesu kritisch bearbeitet von Dr. D. F. Strauss, gepruft fii.r Theologen und Nichttheologen. Stuttgart, 1836. Kaiser, Gottlieb Philipp Christian. Die biblische Theologie. 2 parts. Erlangen, 1813-21. Leland, John. A View of the Principal Deistical Writers That Have Appeared in England in the Last and Present Century. 3rd ed. 3 vols. London, 1754-56. Lessing, Gotthold. Eine Duplik. Braunschweig, 1778. - - . Fragmente des Wolfenbuttelschen Ungenannten. 4th ed. Berlin, 1835. (Author: Hermann Samuel Reimarus.) - - . Werke. Donaueschingen Ausgabe. 8 vols. Berlin, 1840. Meyer, Heinrich August Wilhelm. Kritisches exegetisches Handbuch uber das Evangelium des Johannes. Gottingen, 1834. MUller, Carl Ottfried. Prolegomena zu einer wissenschaftlichen Mythologie. Gottingen, 1825. Pott, David Justus and Ruperti, Georg Alexander. Sylloge commentationum theologicarum. 8 vols. Helmstadt, 1800-1807. 304
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Rosenkranz, Johann Karl Friedrich. Encyclopiidie der theologischen Wissenschaften. Halle, 1831. Schleiermacher, Friedrich Daniel Ernst. Der christliche Glaube nach den Grundsiitzen der evangelischen Kirche. 2 vols. Berlin, 1821-22. 2nd ed., 1830. - - . Ueber die Schriften des Lukas. Ein kritischer Versuch. 1st Part. Berlin, 1817. - - . Sammlung zerstreuter, theologischer Aufstitze des Friedrich Schleiermacher. Reutlingen, 1830. (Includes the two Sendschreiben to Liicke published in Theologische Studien und Kritiken, 1829.) --.Die Weihnachtsfeier. Ein Gespriich. 2nd ed. Berlin, 1827. Storr, Gottlob Christian. Doctrina christianae pars theoretica e sacris litteris repetita. Stuttgart, 1807. - - . Opuscula academica ad interpretationem librorum sacrorum pertinentia. 3 vols. Tiibingen, 1796-1803. - - . Ueber den Zwek der evangelischen Geschichte und der Briefe Johannis. 2nd ed. Tiibingen, 1810. Tholuck, Friedrich August Gottgetreu. Commentar zum Evangelio Johannis. 4th ed. Hamburg, 1833. - - . Die Glaubwiirdigkeit der evangelischen Geschichte, zugleich eine Kritik des Lebens Jesu von Strauss. Hamburg, 1837. - - . Philogisch-theologische Auslegung der Bergpredigt Christi nach Matthiius. 2nd ed. Hamburg, 1835. Ullmann, Carl. Historisch oder mythisch! Beitriige zur Beantwortung den gegenwartigen Lebensfrage der Theologie. Hamburg, 1838. Woolston, Thomas. A Discourse on the Miracles of Our Savior. 6 parts. London, 1727-29.
Major writings by David Friedrich Strauss Streitschriften zur Vertheidigung meiner Schrift uber das Leben Jesu und zur Charakteristik der gegenwiirtigen Theologie. 3 numbers. Tiibingen, 1837.
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NON-HISTORICAL THEORIES M. Goguel Source: Jesus the Nazarene: Myth or History?, translated by Frederick Stephens (New York: Appleton, 1926), pp. 11-31. (Originally published as Jesus de Nazareth, Mythe ou Histoire?, Paris: Payot, 1925.)
Section 1.-The theories of non-historicity up to the close of the nineteenth century Bayle relates that one of the greatest scholars of the Renaissance, Laurentius Valla, during a banquet, said one day to Antoine Panormita, who was as much scandalized as shocked by the remark, that he had in his quiver weapons against the Messiah himself. 1 Did he mean by this to throw doubt upon the manner in which tradition presented the Gospel history? Or did he go so far as to question the historical reality of the person of Jesus? The manner in which the conversation is related does not permit us to decide the point. Up to the eighteenth century the authority of the Gospels was unquestioned. Each one contented himself by paraphrasing with more or less freedom the data of the accounts. So long as Protestants, equally with Catholics, continued to be dominated by the principle of the literal inspiration of Scripture it could not be otherwise. The sole problem which existed was that concerning the arrangement and disposition of the parallel records. From the sixteenth up to the eighteenth century, from Osiander to Griesbach, marvellous ingenuity had been displayed to coordinate these in such a manner that, according to the very words of Osiander,2 no word of any record should be omitted, that nothing foreign should be added, and that the order of no evangelist should be modified. 3 If this "reconciling" was not yet a true critical study of the life of Jesus, it at all events, owing to the complexity and improbability of the hypotheses it was compelled to construct, helped to show that the problem as then presented remained insoluble, and that in consequence it was necessary to transfer it to another field. It was during the eighteenth century that this transference took place.
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This revolution, the consequences of which were only gradually revealed, took place almost simultaneously in England under the influence of the Deists, in France under that of Voltaire and the Encyclopredists, in Germany under that of the School of Enlightenment (Aufklarung), which received the adhesion of Reimarus and Lessing. 4 The first scientific essay on the life of Jesus is that published by Lessing between 1774 and 1778. It consists of seven fragments obtained from a voluminous manuscript left by Hermann Samuel Reimarus (1694-1768). The author of this had for his object the justification of natural religion in showing that Christianity had but a feeble base of support. In the opinion of Reimarus, Jesus had never thought of founding a new religion. His preaching, exclusively eschatological and terrestrial, had solely in view His manifestation as Messiah, the son of David. Jesus perished at Jerusalem at the time that He attempted to get Himself proclaimed King. After His death His disciples imagined the idea of a second coming of the Messiah and of a spiritual redemption through His death. Reimarus has a double merit. He from the first recognized the importance of eschatology in the thought of Jesus, and tried to discover a natural connection of cause and effect, not only in the history of Jesus, but also in that of primitive Christianity. By the manner in which he presents the life and the teaching of Jesus, Reimarus claims to undermine traditional Christianity at the base. This intention introduces a philosophical element into his research, which is as much a disturbing factor as the dogmatic prejudices for which Reimarus reproaches his antagonists. The same may be said of the rationalists, whose activity extends from about the middle of the eighteenth century up to about 1830. Eliminating every supernatural element, they aimed at portraying Jesus as a master of virtue whose teaching accorded with their own. Such is specially the character of the works of HerderS and of Paulus. 6 The latter is particularly given to the interpretation of miracles. He sees in them real but perfectly natural facts which his contemporaries have not understood, and which they have considered as having the character of prodigies. If, for example, it has been believed that Jesus multiplied the loaves, this is because, in the desert where the crowd had followed Him, He had given an example of distributing the few loaves at His own disposal, an example followed by those of His hearers who possessed provisions. 7 The rationalist conception of the life of Jesus does not differ in essentials from the supernatural conception. The former limits itself to the recitation of the facts recorded whilst combining more or less happily the Synoptic and the Johannie statements, but instead of having perpetual recourse to miracle, the rationalists display an extreme ingenuity in giving to events a natural interpretation. 307
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The work of the French rationalists of the eighteenth century possesses a less systematic character; its import is only the greater for that. It rests upon no profound work of exegesis, and does not end in opposing a new conception of primitive Christianity to traditional opinion. In the involved and prudent manner forced upon him, Voltaire pointed out the small documentary value of Gospels "written by persons acquainted with nothing, full of contradictions and imposture"8-the improbability of the eschatological prophecies, against which good sense rebelled. "Let each ask himself," he writes, "if he sees the possibility of pushing imposture and the stupidity of fanaticism farther." 9 "The whole history of Jesus-only a fanatic or a stupid knave would deny it-should be examined in the light of reason. " 10 Voltaire on several occasions draws attention to the silence of non-Christian authors concerning the Gospel history.U Obviously, Christian tradition does not inspire in him any confidence. However, he does not go so far as to maintain that it corresponds to no reality at all. He is aware that "certain followers of Bolingbroke, more ingenious than erudite," considered themselves authorized by the obscurities and contradictions of the Gospel tradition to deny the existence of Jesus. 12 In so far as he is concerned, he rejects this conclusion, and it appears that this is not entirely for reasons of prudence, as is sometimes the case when he wishes to hint at opinions which it might be dangerous to profess openly. Indeed, Voltaire in this case gives weighty reasons for setting aside the negations he cites. He quotes precise cases of forged genealogies, of stories embellished and transfigured, and as for the disproportion which appears to exist between the humility of the person of Jesus and the importance of the movement which He inaugurated, he relates the case of Fox, "a very ignorant shoemaker, founder of the sect of Quakers." He concludes: "It is necessary, whilst awaiting faith, to limit oneself to drawing this conclusion: There did exist an obscure Jew, from the dregs of the people, named Jesus, who was crucified as a blasphemer in the time of the Emperor Tiberius, it being impossible to determine in which year." 13 Voltaire has not sketched any history of the origins of Christianity. His effort to place the study of the documents within the province of reasonwe should say in modern phrase the province of history-is none the less very remarkable. In doing so he dealt the traditional conception decisive blows. The almost entirely negative character of the criticisms of Voltaire explains the extreme conclusions stated at the end of the eighteenth century by Volney and Dupuis. In his work called Les Ruines ou Meditations sur les Revolutions des Empires (Paris, 1798-1808) Volney conceives a vision unfolded among the ruins of Palmyra. The representatives of the various religions explain, each in his turn, how priests have deceived mankind in inventing dogmas which obscured the real religion, spiritual in 308
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its essence. In Volney's view, the entire Gospel tradition represented an astral myth. 14 The views of Dupuis 15 closely resemble those of Volney. 16 According to him, the philosophers who have made a man of Jesus are not less seriously in error than the theologians who have made of Him a God: "Jesus is still less man than God. He is, like all the deities that men have adored, the sun; Christianity is a solar myth. When we shall have shown,'' writes Dupuis, "that the pretended history of a God, who is born of a virgin in the winter solstice, who is resuscitated at Easter or at the Vernal equinox, after having descended into hell, who brings with Him a retinue of twelve apostles whose chief possesses all the attributes of Janus-a God, conqueror of the prince of darkness, who translates mankind into the empire of light, and who heals the woes of the world, is only a solar fable, ... it will be almost as unnecessary to inquire whether there was a man called Christ as it is to inquire whether some prince is called Hercules. Provided that it be proven that the being consecrated by worship under the name of Christ is the sun, and that the miraculous element in the legend or the poem has this star for its object, then it will appear proven that the Christians are but sun-worshippers, and that their priests have the same religion as those of Peru, whose throats they have cut. •m The year 1835 was that of the publication of the first Life of Jesus, by Strauss, 18 and it is a date of primary importance in the history of evangelical criticism. Strauss attacks the problem with the absolute indifference to dogma which he owed to the philosophy of Hegel. The fundamental idea of religion in his view is that of the "Gottmenschlichkeit," and it is of small import whether this idea has been realized in phenomena or not. It is the idea which is important, and not history. The first Gospel accounts, in Strauss's opinion, have not been drawn up from an historical point of view. They do not relate the events as these took place, but express certain ideas by means of images and symbols, or, to employ the exact term that Strauss makes use of, by myths. What is important in the notion of the myth is not the idea of unreality, but that of a symbolical expression of a higher truth. The mythical explanation seems to Strauss the synthesis which resolves the antithesis between the naturalist and the supernatural explanations of the life of Jesus. The Life of Jesus of Strauss contains another novelty: it put forward as had never been done hitherto the problem of the relation between the fourth Gospel and the Synoptics. So long as one was content, as before Strauss, to combine the statements of the four evangelists, Strauss considers that the two traditions are irreconcilable with each other, and he solves the problem offered by their co-existence in a manner unfavourable to the fourth evangelist. The weak point of Strauss's construction was that it was not built upon a sufficiently thorough study of the sources. This omission was filled up simultaneously by the works of F. C. Baur and his disciples and by those of
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a series of critics who combatted the theses of the Ttibingen school, such as Weisse, Wilke, Reuss, Albert Reville, H. J. Holtzmann, Bernhard Weiss. 19 The outcome of the discussions which took place on the evangelical problem was a theory whose essential points are that at the base of the evangelical literature are two principal sources: The Gospel of Mark, either under its present form or one slightly different (Proto-Mark), and a collection of discourses (the Logia),20 the fourth evangelist being considered by the majority of critics as a secondary form of the tradition, dominated by dogmatic and allegorical ideas. The life of Jesus which would be the result of all this critical work has never been written; it is, so to speak, involved in the work of H. J. Holtzmann.21 To the school of Baur belong the works of Bruno Bauer,22 who in 1841 supported the priority of the Gospel of Mark. He explained the peculiarities of the other records by what he termed the creative power of the evangelists, and clearly showed the part played in the evolution of tradition by dogmatic and theological notions. But he did not stop there, and maintained that the forces which had guided the transformation of primitive tradition explained also the genesis of Mark's record. In Bauer's view the primitive evangelist was a creator, and his work is the product of the faith of the early Christians. Christianity was born at the beginning of the second century from the meeting of the different currents of thought originating in Judea, Greece and Rome. The person of Jesus was merely aliterary fiction. Jesus is the product, not the creator, of Christianity. Bruno Bauer remained a solitary. His ideas had but little influence. When, at a later period, analogous ideas to his were expressed, either by the radical Dutch school or by certain modern mythologists, it was not under his influence, and it was only after their expression that the authors of certain theories believed to be new found out that in Bruno Bauer they had a pioneer. The publication of the Vie de Jesus by Renan in 1863 marks a no less important date than that of Strauss's work on the history of criticism. This is not because the work was particularly original. Almost its entire substance was borrowed from the German criticism, but although the work of Strauss had been translated, that of Renan was the first French work on the question. It attracted all the more attention in that it was addressed to the general public. It thus produced an enormous effect.23 Possessing in reality but little originality, the Vie de Jesus of Renan is, from the literary point of view, a first-class work.24 Renan makes of Jesus a kind of gentle dreamer who walks through the midst of the Galilean countryside smiling at life, and as though surprised at the drama in which He takes part. When He disappears, the passion of a deluded woman gives to the world a risen God. 310
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The work of Renan was followed in the last forty years of the nineteenth century by a large number of other "Lives," from Keim to Oskar Holtzmann. 25 They all aim at presenting the results of literary criticism, often whilst combining, as Renan had already done, the facts of the fourth evangelist with those of the Synoptics. The point of view as to miracles varies, but in almost all there are found attempts at the psychological explanation of the Messiahship of Jesus and of the manner in which He had concealed it from the people and revealed it to His disciples. The principal effort made is the explanation of the scene at Cresarea Philippi (Mark viii. 27-33). In many of these "Lives" there is an effort to diminish the importance of the eschatological element, with the pre-occupation-more or less conscious-of discovering a Christ who shall not be too unfamiliar for the modem man and at the same time an ideal representative of true religion, such as is conceived by Protestantism of the liberal school. In the neighbourhood of 1890 a new period in the history of the "Lives" of Jesus begins. Discussion was concentrated principally on the Messianic consciousness and eschatology-two problems intimately connected. Already had Reimarus emphasized the eschatological views of Jesus, and Strauss had accorded them a certain importance. But in a general way these writers had scarcely been followed, and the aim was to give to the eschatological declarations of Jesus an interpretation which eliminated, whilst spiritualizing them. Attention was brought back again to this problem26 by the progress of the study of religions in the world of antiquity and of contemporary Judaism (with Jesus), in which eschatological ideas occupy a central position; also by the success of the school of Ritschl, who assigned capital importance to the notion of the Church-more or less explicitly identified with the idea of the Kingdom of God-preached by Jesus. The examination of the Biblical base of this doctrine led Johannes Weiss, disciple and son-in-law of Ritschl, to state conclusions of great import in a leading work dealing with the preaching of Jesus concerning the Kingdom of God. 27 In his view Jesus preached a Kingdom of God plainly and exclusively eschatological; He considered Himself as the King of this Kingdom-that is to say, the Messiah. The thesis of Weiss was repeated and pushed to its farthest consequences by Albert Schweitzer. 28 If the exegesis of the end of the nineteenth century has thrown light on the importance of the eschatological and Messianic element in primitive Christianity, agreement, however, was far from being complete on the interpretation of the facts noted. A whole group of scholars threw doubt on the notion of the Messiahship of Jesus being a primitive element of Christianity. This conception was formulated by William Wrede in a very acute work upon the Gospel of Mark. 29 In his view the oldest Gospel 311
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tradition suffers from a fundamental contradiction. It presents as Messianic a history which really was not Messianic. The contradiction is concealed and resolved-imperfectly it is true-by the theory of secrecy observed and imposed by Jesus. Wrede takes pains to show that theMessianic secret must not be interpreted as a kind of pedagogic proceeding employed by Jesus to prevent His followers throwing themselves into a movement of political Messianism which He would have been unable to approve, and whose control would have eluded Him. He sees in the Messianic secret a literary device, thanks to which the conceptions and beliefs of the Christian community have been inserted into the Gospel history. This theory has been discussed in the many studies devoted at the beginning of the nineteenth century to the problem of the relations between Paul and Jesus. 30 The problem discussed is this: Who is the real founder of Christianity? Is it Jesus Himself, or is it not the apostle Paul, who introduced into the Church the notions of Messiahship and redemption foreign to the thought of Jesus and the faith of His first disciples? The theories of Wrede did not, doubtless, go so far as to deny the historical reality of the person of Jesus; they end, nevertheless, in rendering it practically unnecessary, and they reduce the part played by Him to that of the occasional cause of the development of Christianity.31 From the notion of a Jesus having been, if one may so put it, only the pretext for the birth of Christianity to the thesis of His non-historical character there is but a shade of difference. We are thus brought to examine the modem forms of the myth concept formerly stated by Volney, Dupuis and Bruno Bauer. In the last twenty years of the nineteenth century the myth concept is only represented by an anonymous work published in London in 1887 under the title of Antiqua Mater and by some criticisms of the radical Dutch school,32 which is, however, as a general rule, more occupied with the apostle Paul and his epistles than with Jesus and the Gospels. Pierson, Matthes, Naber, Van Loon, and for some time Loman, have decided against the historicity of Jesus. The reasons which determined their conclusions are principally of the negative order. These authors insist on the uncertainty of the Gospel tradition, the absence of all external testimony, and thus consider as justified not only a scepticism regarding the possibility of reaching a positive conception of the life of Jesus, but also of His existence. The fact that they have failed to give from their point of view a coherent explanation of the origins of Christianity and of the formation of the Gospel tradition explains the slight influence that their theories have exercised.
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Section H.-Non-historical theories in the twentieth century That there existed in the indifference which the theories of the Dutch school met with something more than a conspiracy of silence is proved by the volume of discussion since the opening of the twentieth century upon the historical character of Jesus. According to J. M. Robertson,33 religions develop by a regular law, continually producing new gods, who are substituted for or added to the old ones, sometimes presenting themselves as sons of the latter. Jewish Monotheism thus gave birth to the Messianic cult. The adoration of Jesus is only the reappearance of an old religion which existed in Israel at the time when Abraham, Isaac, Moses and Joshua were still deities. Among these cults the most important was that of Joshua, the solar-deity of Ephraim, worshipped under the symbols of the lamb and the ram. This god Joshua is not unrelated to the Syrian Adonis and the Babylonian Thammuz. The new cult of Jesus-Joshua specially developed after the destruction of the Temple. It created a whole legendary tradition, whose principal elements have a distinctly mythical character. It is possible, however, that in these developments there may have been included certain historical souvenirs relating particularly to John the Baptist and to a certain Jesus Ben-Pandera, put to death under Alexander Janneus (106-79 B.c.) Albert Kalthoff 34 considers Christianity to be a social phenomenon. The new religion was born when the proletarian masses, oppressed in the Roman world, came into contact with Jewish Messianic aspirations. The history of Jesus is only that of the idea of the Christ-it reflects the development of the community. J ensen35 concedes that there may be an historical element at the base of the Gospel tradition, but this fact is without import. Whatever the history of the man Jesus may have been, the Christ of the Faith was born of the transformation of the Babylonian myth of Gilgamesch. Like Jesus, Gilgamesch is a person partly human, partly divine; his history, in which Jensen finds an astral character, is that of the quest of immortality. 36 William Benjamin Smith,37 mathematical teacher at New Orleans, sets out with a triple observation. It is inconceivable that one simple personality could have inspired such an important religious movement as Christianity. In the second place, there are in the writings of the apostle Paul and the first Christian apologists but few allusions to the public activity of Jesus. In the third place, no man could have been so easily deified as modern theologians suppose. In this mode Smith is led to adopt the idea of a divine pre-Christian Jesus. It is this person who was worshipped by the Naassene Gnostics, known to Hippolytus, and the Jewish sect of Nazarenes (or Nazorenes), known to Epiphanius. The name of this sect is not derived from the village 313
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of Nazareth, whose existence is very doubtful. In the name is found the root NSR, which expresses the idea of protection and salvation. In support of his theory of a pre-Christian Jesus, Smith cites a series of other proofs, such as the conjuration "by the god of the Hebrews, Jesus," in the magic papyrus of Paris, which, in truth, only dates from the fourth century after Jesus Christ; or, again, the case of Apollos and the disciples of John the Baptist at Ephesus (Acts xviii. 24-8 and xix. 1-7), who know the "things concerning Jesus" before their meeting with Paul. The magician Elymas, surnamed Bar-Jesus (Acts xiii. 6-12) and Simon (Acts viii. 9-13) were worshippers of this pre-Christian Jesus. His name (the Hellenized form of the name of Joshua) signifies deliverance, and is also related to the root of the Greek verb meaning "to heal." The history of Jesus had been created by the worshippers of the pre-Christian Jesus; it enshrines the history of the primitive community. The theories of W. B. Smith were welcomed with enthusiasm by Arthur Drews,38 who, in a work of religious philosophy published in 1906, maintained that the cult of Jesus was a relic of fetishism from which it was necessary to purge religion. Smith's system seemed to him adapted to bring about the religious reform he desired. He therefore adopted the theory of a pre-Christian Jesus, whilst combining it with an astral system, and adding to the product certain conceptions of his own devising, in particular a conjunction-unexpected, to say the least-between the Christ as lamb of God (Agnus Dei) and the Vedic lamb. The theories, amongst which we have been summarizing the most characteristic, have in Germany during the early years of the twentieth century been made the object of an intense propaganda. The controversy was not only carried on in scientific publications, but in a large number of tracts designed for the general public, in popular lectures, sometimes as public debates, in the presence of huge audiences. 39 The negative theses called forth a multitude of replies. 40 In France, if one passes over certain controversialists whose work has more resemblance to an historical romance than to history, 41 the thesis of non-historicity has been supported, with certain reservations, by M. Salomon Reinach, and in its entirety by M. Couchoud and M. Stahl. M. Salomon Reinach 42 does not formally give his verdict for the negative thesis, owing to the testimony of the Pauline epistles, which he is unable to consider as unauthentic. But whilst admitting that Jesus lived, Reinach insists upon three objections to the historicity of the Passion. The first is on the ground of the silence of non-Christian authors-particularly the absence of a report of Pontius Pilate to the Emperor Tiberius upon the condemnation and execution of the Nazarene. The second argument is that the history of the Passion fulfils certain prophecies, particularly that of verse 17 of Psalm xxii. The last argument is based upon the Docetist heresy-that is, the opinion which reduced the historical and human life of 314
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Jesus to a pure appearance. A very interesting attempt has been made by M. P. Couchoud 43 to present the Pauline testimony as concerned with a Christ purely ideal, and so eliminate the difficulty which prevented M. Salomon Reinach formally supporting the thesis of non-historicity of Jesus. M. Couchoud differs essentially from the mythologists in that he refuses to make Jesus a mythical being, but a spiritual being-in fact, he possesses a comprehension of the spiritual value of Christianity and of the religious influence of belief in Jesus which distinguishes him radically from such theoreticians as Drews, Smith, or Robertson. In M. Couchoud's opinion, the method in which historians, from Renan to Loisy, attempt to understand the history of Jesus and the genesis of Christianity is liable to two main difficulties. The first is that it is inconceivable that in less than a single generation a man should be deified, and this within the territory of Jewish monotheism. The second is that historically Jesus escapes us. The testimony of Josephus is an established forgery. The Talmud contains nothing about Jesus which does not come from Christian tradition. Out of three of the oldest pagan testimonies there is one-that of Suetonius-which may refer to an unknown Jewish agitator known as Chrestos. The other two-those of Pliny and Tacitus-establish only the existence of a Christian movement, but as regards its origins, they give only information borrowed from the Christians themselves. As for the evangelists, M. Couchoud points out that these are not histories, but outlines of the good news; in other words, they are writings of an essentially mystical character. They have two sources: the inspired writings and the visions. The Gospel of Mark, the oldest, is the apocalypse of a man without eloquence; it is the creation of imaginative exegesis, not an historical document; it is a free commentary made up of Biblical texts and spiritual memoirs, on which the Christian faith is fused. One must not ask from such a book humble and commonplace historical information. Beyond the evangelists it is requisite to go back to the oldest form of the Christian faith, such as the epistles of Paul bring to our knowledge. The Christianity of Paul is neither the deification nor the cult of a man. His Christ is but a new form of the old God of Israel, Yahveh, as Messiah. When, after the fall of Jerusalem, the populace entered the Church, a kind of transformation took place in the Christian faith. The mystery of Jesus became fixed in record, and passed from the lyrical to the narrative form. The ineffable epic of Paul became an artificial legend. The bold invention of popular preachers did its work; but this secondary form of Christianity has but disguised the real nature of the Gospel. In reality Jesus is not a man progressively deified; He is a God progressively humanized. He is not a founder of religion, but a new God. In his article in 1924, after emphasizing the very special character of the problem of Jesus, M. Couchoud applies himself to define his theory. "At the origin of Christianity there is, if I am right," he says, "not a personal
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biography, but a collective mystical experience, sustaining a divine history mystically revealed." 44 At the beginning Jesus was not a man, but a Spirit which manifested itself. Men believed in this Spirit, because of its manifestations, and because it was supposed that its existence and history could be discovered and read in Isaiah and the Psalms. And M. Couchoud aims to show that it is indeed to a spiritual being that the Pauline testimony refers. As to the origin of the tradition concerning the words of Jesus, the Pauline epistles would enable one to solve this problem in reading them. It was from the Lord, Paul says emphatically, that he received the account he gives of the last repast of Jesus. Exegesis of prophetic texts, visions and revelations, projection into the past, and the attribution to Jesus of the facts of apostolic history in which the activity of the Spirit had been discerned-such are the sources from which the Gospel tradition has sprung. Jesus must, then, have been at the beginning the God of a mystery. At the time of Paul neither the God nor the mystery had become historical. They were to become so in the period to follow the creative age, when it would be no longer possible to understand the high spirituality which had inspired the primitive faith, and when the celestial drama upon which Christianity of the first generation had lived had been transported to earth. The two articles published by M. Couchoud in the Mercure de France have been almost literally reproduced, under the title Le Mystere de Jesus, in the third volume of the collection, Christianity, published under his direction. The objections which were offered in this review on the part of the Rev. Father de Grandmaison or myself, as well as those advanced in the public discussions (Union de la Verite), have been completely ignored by M. Couchoud; they have not persuaded him to modify his views in the slightest degree; he has not even considered it advisable to state in what respect he thought them ill-founded. He contented himself by adding three chapters to his previous exposition. In the first he attempts to demonstrate that the study of the Apocalypse and the non-Pauline epistles of the New Testament confirm the conclusion to which his study of the Pauline epistles had led him; in the second he returns to what he had already said concerning the Gospel tradition; and in the last he summarizes the conclusions of his research. We shall call attention also to an original but very paradoxical work by Monsieur R. Stahl,45 which has the somewhat enigmatical title The Document 70. This "document 70" is the fragment of the Jewish Apocalypse which Wellhausen has disentangled from Chap. xii of the J ohannine Apocalypse. In this is found the idea of a Messiah transported to heaven immediately after His hirth. Whilst Wellhausen sees in the Apocalypse of the year 70 a Jewish fragment made use of by the Christian author of our Apocalypse, M. Stahl
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thinks he can recognize in it the oldest Christian document-one might almost call it the birth-certificate of Christianity. The Apocalyptic Messiah referred to must have been first presented as an actual individual, in a symbolic manner, in the fourth Gospel, and later in a more material way in the Synoptic Gospels, which would be younger than the Gospel of John. The letters of Paul are all unauthentic. Paul is not, however, a completely imaginary individual, but the real person, whose portrait has been somewhat modified, has been preserved for us in the book of Acts. He was merely a Pharisee missionary who had some quarrels with the Sadducees concerning the resurrection of the dead. M. Stahl has tried to sketch the development of Christianity as he represents it. It might be summarized in the following series: Document 70-Apocalypse-Fourth Gospel-Synoptics. He has no explanation of the first manifestations of Christianity in Rome, and particularly of the persecution by Nero. To get rid of this it would be necessary to overthrow the accepted ideas on Latin literature as well as those which appear the best established upon the books of the New Testament.
Section Ill.-The problem The review which we have presented of the principal theories, which (whilst utilizing the critical work of the nineteenth century) have during the last twenty years opposed the traditional acceptance of the historicity of Jesus, gives occasion to make several observations. The difficulty of the problem consists not only in the complexity and obscurity of its data, but also in the fact that in a certain sense it is a unique problem without analogy in the whole history of religion. M. Couchoud has much insisted on this fact. 46 "The problem of Jesus," he writes, "is no ordinary historical difficulty. The case of Jesus is unique. For the historian, unique cases are enigmas." But history, even in contemplating less exceptional cases, is nevertheless not exclusively a science of the particular. The wish to remove from its jurisdiction everything which does not present the character of collective fact is simply to prohibit it dealing with great personalities, and to exclude from its domain a Julius Oesar, a Mahomet, a Luther, and a Napoleon, and thus to suppress one of the most important factors on human evolution. So also, when it is claimed that the problem of Jesus is no historical problem, it is nevertheless (and here M. Couchoud is no exception) by the methods of historical criticism that it is attempted to solve it. It is important, we think, to distinguish carefully the observation of facts from their interpretation. If in this second part of historical research there is more or less a philosophical element, it is not the same thing for the first part. To carry the work out properly it is necessary to make an effort to reach impartiality, to free oneself from all preconceived ideas, and to see 317
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the texts as they are, to extract from them what they contain, and not what one would like them to say. But is perfect objectivity possible in a question whose solution cannot fail to have a very direct bearing upon our philosophical and religious concepts? The objection is a grave one; it does not seem to us decisive if only we consent to admit as the first premise of every religious philosophy that it is not the facts which must be adapted to our theories, but rather that it is our theories which must, if necessary, be corrected and rectified to put them in harmony with the facts. It is in the religious domain more than in any other that the principle proclaimed by Paul holds most truly. "We can do nothing contrary to the truth; we have no strength except in the truth" (2 Cor. xiii. 8). This principle was also proclaimed by one of the most eminent representatives of German theology, Herrmann, at the beginning of this century, who delighted to repeat: "Die erste Pflicht der Religion ist Wahrhaftigkeit." It is a question of fact which is before us: Are there historical proofs of value for the actual existence of Jesus? We shall therefore leave on one side the discussion of the more or less complicated theories offered to explain (other than by the existence and activity of Jesus) the appearance and development of Christianity. It would be easy to show how much there enters of the conjectural, of superficial resemblances, of debatable interpretation into the systems of the Drews, the Robertsons, theW. B. Smiths, the Couchouds, or the Stahls. We shall not linger on the way to do it. We shall not discuss theories which to a more or less extent are inspired by considerations depending neither on history nor on criticism, but upon religious philosophy. 47 If there are sufficient proofs of the historical existence of Jesus, it is above all things necessary that the theory offered of the origin of Christianity should accommodate itself to them. And even if there were no proofs, it might still happen that the explanation of the genesis of Christianity as due to the work and teaching of the prophet of Nazareth would be less conjectural than the theories which bring in the epic of Gilgamesch, the astral system, the pre-Christian cult of Joshua-Jesus, a collective mental representation, or the "document 70."
Notes 1 2 3 4
Bayle, Dictionnaire historique et critique, article "Valia." See his Harmonie, published in Basle in 1537. Concerning L'Harmonistique, see M. Goguel, Introd., i, pp. 49. seq. Concerning the beginnings of the critical history of the life of Jesus, see Albert Schweitzer, Geschichte der Leben Jesu-Forschung, Tiibingen, 1913, pp. 13--26; also Chas. Guignebert, Le probleme de Jesus, Paris, 1914, pp. 7-21. The part played by English Deists and French writers, completely ignored by Schweitzer, has been well emphasized by Guignebert.
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5 Herder, Vom ErlOser der Menschen nach unsern drei ersten Evangelien: Vom Gottessohn der Welt H eiland nach Johannesevangelium, Rig a, 1797. 6 Paulus, Das leben Jesu als Grundlage einer reinen Gesch. des Urchristentums, Heidelburg, 1828. 7 With rationalism may be connected the works of Bahrdt (Ausfilhrung des Plans und Zwecks Jesu, 1784-92), Venturini (Natilrliche Gesch. des grossen propheten von Nazareth, 1800-2), which represent Jesus as an agent of the sect of the Essenes. Concerning these authors see Schweitzer (Gesch., pp. 38-48). 8 Voltaire, Examen important de Milord Bolingbroke (Edition Kehl), xxxiii, pp. 44-60. Cp. Sermon des Cinquante, xxxii, pp. 399-400; Hist. de l'Etabt. du Christianisme, xxxv, pp. 274-93. 9 Id., Ex. de Milord Bolingbroke, xxxiii, p. 68. 10 Id., Dieu et les Hommes, xxxiii, p. 271. 11 Id., ib., p. 272; Sermon des Cinquant, xxxii, p 401; Hist. de l'Etabt. du Christianisme, XXXV, p. 274. 12 Id., Dieu et les Hommes, xxxiii, p. 273. 13 Voltaire, Dieu et les Hommes, xxxiii, p. 279. Further to what has been quoted it is necessary to read l'Essai sur les Mteurs (especially chap. ix); Les Homelies prononcees a Londres, 1765, xxxii; Conseils raisonnables a M. Bergier, xxxiii; Questions de Zapata, xxxiii; Epitre aux Romains, xxxiii; many articles in the Dictionnaire Philosophique, xxxvii to xliii. With the ideas of Voltaire may be compared those of Holbach, Systeme de Nature, Londres, 1770; under the name of Mirabeau, Le bans sens du cure Meslier, Londres, 1772. 14 Napoleon I was under the influence of Volney when, in a conversation that he had with Wieland at Weimar, in 1808, he said it was a great question to decide whether Jesus had existed (Schweitzer, Gesch., p. 445). 15 Dupuis, l'Origine de taus les cultes ou la religion Universelle, Paris, anno Ill (1794); Abrege de l'origine de taus les cultes, Paris, anno VII (1798). These two works have been reprinted several times. 16 It was during a conversation with Dupuis that Volney conceived the project of his book. 17 Dupuis, Abrege, p. 251. The views of Dupuis have been wittily criticized by J. B. Peres, librarian of the town of Agen, in a curious booklet in which he applied the method of Dupuis to the History of Napoleon to prove the latter had never existed. 18 Strauss, Das Leben Jesu, Tiibingen, 1835, 1836, 1840. Concerning Strauss see Schweitzer, Gesch., p. 69; also A. Levy, David Frederick Strauss, Paris, 1910; Guignebert, pp. xxii seq. 19 Concerning these works see Maurice Goguel, Introd., i, p. 67, and ii, p. 27. 20 Usually referred to in England and Germany by the letter Q (Quelle). 21 Schweitzer, Gesch., pp. 124-40. 22 Bruno Bauer, Kritik des Evangelischen Gesch. des Johannes, Bremen, 1840; Kritik der Evangelischen Gesch. der Synoptiker, Leipzig, 1841-2; Kritik der Evangelien, Berlin, 1850-1; Christus und die Ciisaren, Berlin, 1877. Concerning Bruno Bauer see M. Kegel, Bruno Bauer und seine Theorie ilber die Entstehung des Christentums, 1908. 23 See Schweitzer ( Gesch., pp. 647-51) for a list of eighty-five books and pamphlets published in 1863-4 concerning Renan's work. 24 There are, however, in Renan's work certain errors in taste. "There is no work," writes Schweitzer, "which swarms with so many and such grave errors in taste as the Vie de Jesus. It is Christian art in the worst sense of the wordan art of waxen figures. The gentle Jesus, the pretty Maries, the refined
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25 26 27 28 29 30 31
32 33
34
35
36
37
Galileans who make up the retinue of the charming carpenter have been taken from the windows of a shop in the Place St. Sulpice." See also opinion of Marcel Proust on the style of the work-" A sort of Lovely Helen of Christianity" (Revue de Paris, Nov. 15, 1920). Schweitzer, Gesch., pp. 193-221. Sometimes these were simply declared unauthentic, particularly by Colani, Jesus Christ et les Croyances Messianiques de son temps, Strasbourg, 1864. Johannes Weiss, Die Predigt Jesu vom Reiche Gottes, Gottingen, 1892. A. Schweitzer, Das Leidens- und Messiasgeheimniss, Tiibingen, Leipzig, 1901; Gesch., pp. 390-443; Die psychiatrische Beurteilung Jesu, Tiibingen, 1913. W. Wrede, Das Messiasgeheimniss in den Evangelien, Gottingen, 1901; Paulus, Halle, 1904. Concerning this literature see Schweitzer, Gesch. der Paulinischen Forschung, 1911, pp. 119-40. Such appears to be the point of view reached by M. Loisy. Under the influence of the sociological school, many critics in recent years insist upon the part played by the community, and specially of worship, in the development of Christianity and of the evangelical tradition. As characteristic of this tendency we cite the work of Bertram, Die Leidensgeschichte Jesu und der Christuskult, Gottingen, 1922. On this school, see a book, somewhat one-sided, by G. Van den Bergh van Eysinga, Die hollandische radikale Kritik des Neuen Testaments, Jena, 1912. Robertson, Christianity and Mythology, London, 1900, 1910; Short History of Christianity, 1902; Pagan Christs, Studies in Comparative Theology, 1902-11; The Jesus Problem-Restatement of the Myth Theory, 1917. Concerning Robertson, see Schweitzer ( Gesch. ), Guignebert (p. 88). Some ideas of Robertson resemble the astral theories developed by Niemojewski ( Gott Jesu im Lichte fremder, etc, Munchen, 1910; Das werwende Dogma vom Leben Jesu, Jena, 1910); and by C. P. Fuhrmann (Der Astralmythus von Christus, 1912). The idea of a pre-Christian cult of Jesus-Joshua is also admitted by Bolland (De Evangelische Jozua-Het Evangelien), Leiden, 1907-10. Cp. also W. Erbt, V on Jerusalem nach Rome, Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des Urchristentums, Leipzig, 1912. Kalthoff, Das Christusproblem, Grundlinien zu einer Sozialtheologie, Leipzig, 1902-3; Die Entstehung des Christentums, Leipzig, 1904; Was wissen wir von Jesus? Berlin, 1904. Concerning Kalthoff see Schweitzer (Gesch., p. 345) and Guignebert, p. 78. P. Jensen, Das Gilgamesch-Epos in der Weltlitteratur, Strasbourg, 1906; Moses, Jesus, Paulus, Drei Varianten des Babylonischen Gottmenschen GilgameschEine Anklage wider die Theologie ein Appel an die Laien, Frankfurt-a-M., 1906-9; Hat der Jesus der Evangelien wirklich gelebt? On Jensen see Schweitzer (Gesch., p. 466) and Guignebert, p. 85. H. Zimmern (Zum Streit um den Christusmythe, Das Babylonische Material in seinen Hauptpunkten dargestellt, 1910) admits, in addition to the influence of Gilgamesch, that of the cults of Marduk, Mithra and Thammuz. W. B. Smith, Der vorchristliche Jesus (Giessen, 1906); Ecce Deus; The preChristian Jesus (American Journal of Theology, 1911). Resembling the ideas of W. B. Smith are those of G. T. Sadler, Behind the New Testament, London,
1921. 38 A. Drews, Die Christus Mythe, Jena, 1909-11; Die Petruslegende, Frankfurt, 1910; Das Markusevangelium als Zeugnis gegen die Geschichtlichkeit Jesu,
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Jena; Die Entstehung des Christentums ausdem Gnostizismus. Concerning Drews see Schweitzer ( Gesch., p. 483), Guignebert (p. 107). 39 See particularly the public debates in Berlin in 1910, published by the German Monist Union and translated into French by A. Lipman, Jesus-a-t-il existe? (Paris, 1912). 40 Among all this literature we shall only cite: Bousset, Was wissen wir von Jesus?; L. C. Pillion, L 'existence historique de Jesus et le rationalisme contemporain; Jiilicher, Hat Jesus gelebt? H. von Soden, Hat Jesus gelebt? 1910; Weinel, Ist das "liberate" Jesus-bild widerlegt? 1910; Job. Weiss, Jesus von Nazareth, Mythus oder Geschichte? 1910; Dunkmann, Der historische Jesus, der mythologische Christus, 1910; S. J. Case, Historicity of Jesus, 1912; Guignebert, Le probleme de Jesus, 1914. The method employed by Pen~s against Dupuis (see Section I) has been turned against the modern mythologists by J. Naumann (see Die Bismarcksmythe) and by an anonymous writer to show that Martin Luther never existed (Beweis dass Docktor M. Luther nie existiert hat). 41 The most prolific of these authors is Arthur Heulhard (Le mensonge Chretien, Jesus Christ n'a pas existe, Paris, 1908-10, 11 vol.; La Yerite Barabbas, Le mensonge Jesus; Tu est Petrus, l'histoire et la Legende, Paris, 1913-14). Heulhard sums up his theory in the two following theses:"1. It was the Jew known as John the Baptist who said he was Christ and Bar Abba (son of the father), and he was certainly not beheaded. 2. It was Barabbas who, condemned to death for his public crimes-such as assassination, robbery and treason-was crucified at Guol Golta by Pilate. The evangelists are a mystification invented more than a century after the execution of this scoundrel. It is Barabbas that the Church worships under the name of Jesus, an imaginary personage substituted by the evangelists for the crucified, and invented by them to impart the hue of innocence to the individual by whose invention they exploited lucratively the remission of sins by baptism." 42 Salomon Reinach, Orpheus, 1909; Le Verset 17 du Psaume xxii; Apropos de la curiosite de Tibere; Bossuet et l'argument des propheties; Simon de Cyrene; Une source biblique du Docetisme. 43 P. L. Couchoud, L'enigme de Jesus (translated into English by Mrs. G. Whale); Enigma of Jesus, with introduction by Sir J. G. Fraser; Mystere de Jesus (Mercure de France). The first article in the Mercure de France by M. Couchoud was discussed by me. Under the pretext that it was not a review of religious history, the Mercure refused to insert an article in which I discussed the second article of M. Couchoud. On the other hand, M. Couchoud has explained his views in a series of informal discussions at the Union pour la Verite (Jan.-April, 1924). The development of the objections made by me on these occasions will be found in the present volume. 44 See Couchoud, Le Mystere de Jesus, p. 117. 45 R. Stahl, Le document 70, Paris and Strasbourg, 1923. On this book see the observations of M. Alfaric, Revue d'histoire, 1924. 46 See Couchoud, Mystere de Jesus and Mercure de France (March 1924). 47 This has been well noted by Guignebert (p. 23). Let us recall only, for example, the case which Drews has pointed out (p. 25, French edition). There is something similar with M. Couchoud, who, pointing out how the concept formed about Jesus was transformed according to the particular epoch, foresees that this evolution will continue and that in "about 1940 Jesus in His entirety
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will have passed from the historical stage to that of collective mental representations" (Mystere de Jesus). Have we not here a theory upon the essence of religious facts? The same author supposes that if Christianity had really arisen from the deification of an historical personage it would be something very mean, a religion of a low type, on the commonplace level of the Imperial Roman Cult, in any case quite inferior to Judaism and Islamism, which have taken great care that neither Moses nor Mahomet should be taken for gods. For him this is an objection to the historicity of Jesus, at any rate, "because he has a vague idea that Christianity is not there." We can hardly fail to recognize in this an a priori opinion calculated to hinder historical inquiry.
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14 NEW TEST AM ENT AND MYTHOLOGY The mythological element in the message of the New Testament and the problem of its re-interpretation Rudolf Bultmann Source: Hans-Werner Bartsch (ed.), Kerygma and Myth: A Theological Debate, translated by Reginald H. Fuller (London: SPCK, 1953), pp. 1-44. (Originally published as 'Neues Testament und Mythologie', in Offenbarung und Heilsgeschehen, Beitrage zur evangelischen Theologie 7; Munich: Kaiser, 1941.)
I The task of demythologizing the New Testament proclamation A. The problem 1. The mythical view of the world and the mythical event of redemption
The cosmology of the New Testament is essentially mythical in character. The world is viewed as a three-storied structure, with the earth in the centre, the heaven above, and the underworld beneath. Heaven is the abode of God and of celestial beings-the angels. The underworld is hell, the place of torment. Even the earth is more than the scene of natural, everyday events, of the trivial round and common task. It is the scene of the supernatural activity of God and his angels on the one hand, and of Satan and his daemons on the other. These supernatural forces intervene in the course of nature and in all that men think and will and do. Miracles are by no means rare. Man is not in control of his own life. Evil spirits may take possession of him. Satan may inspire him with evil thoughts. Alternatively, God may inspire his thought and guide his purposes. He may grant him heavenly visions. He may allow him to hear his word of succour or demand. He may give him the supernatural power of his Spirit. History 323
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does not follow a smooth unbroken course; it is set in motion and controlled by these supernatural powers. This aeon is held in bondage by Satan, sin, and death (for "powers" is precisely what they are), and hastens towards its end. That end will come very soon, and will take the form of a cosmic catastrophe. It will be inaugurated by the "woes" of the last time. Then the Judge will come from heaven, the dead will rise, the last judgement will take place, and men will enter into eternal salvation or damnation. This then is the mythical view of the world which the New Testament presupposes when it presents the event of redemption which is the subject of its preaching. It proclaims in the language of mythology that the last time has now come. "ln the fuiness of time" God sent forth his Son, a pre-existent divine Being, who appears on earth as a man. 1 He dies the death of a sinner2 on the cross and makes atonement for the sins of men. 3 His resurrection marks the beginning of the cosmic catastrophe. Death, the consequence of Adam's sin, is abolished,4 and the daemonic forces are deprived of their power. 5 The risen Christ is exalted to the right hand of God in heaven6 and made "Lord" and "King". 7 He will come again on the clouds of heaven to complete the work of redemption, and the resurrection and judgement of men will follow. 8 Sin, suffering and death will then be finally abolished. 9 All this is to happen very soon; indeed, St Paul thinks that he himself will live to see it. 10 All who belong to Christ's Church and are joined to the Lord by Baptism and the Eucharist are certain of resurrection to salvation, 11 unless they forfeit it by unworthy behaviour. Christian believers already enjoy the first instalment of salvation, for the Spirit12 is at work within them, bearing witness to their adoption as sons of God, 13 and guaranteeing their final resurrection. 14 2. The mythological view of the world obsolete
All this is the language of mythology, and the origin of the various themes can be easily traced in the contemporary mythology of Jewish Apocalyptic and in the redemption myths of Gnosticism. To this extent the kerygma is incredible to modern man, for he is convinced that the mythical view of the world is obsolete. We are therefore bound to ask whether, when we preach the Gospel to-day, we expect our converts to accept not only the Gospel message, but also the mythical view of the world in which it is set. If not, does the New Testament embody a truth which is quite independent of its mythical setting? If it does, theology must undertake the task of stripping the Kerygma from its mythical framework, of "demythologizing" it. Can Christian preaching expect modern man to accept the mythical view of the world as true? To do so would be both senseless and impossible. It would be senseless, because there is nothing specifically Christian in the 324
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mythical view of the world as such. It is simply the cosmology of a prescientific age. Again, it would be impossible, because no man can adopt a view of the world by his own volition-it is already determined for him by his place in history. Of course such a view is not absolutely unalterable, and the individual may even contribute to its change. But he can do so only when he is faced by a new set of facts so compelling as to make his previous view of the world untenable. He has then no alternative but to modify his view of the world or produce a new one. The discoveries of Copernicus and the atomic theory are instances of this, and so was romanticism, with its discovery that the human subject is richer and more complex than enlightenment or idealism had allowed, and nationalism, with its new realization of the importance of history and the tradition of peoples. It may equally well happen that truths which a shallow enlightenment had failed to perceive are later rediscovered in ancient myths. Theologians are perfectly justified in asking whether this is not exactly what has happened with the New Testament. At the same time it is impossible to revive an obsolete view of the world by a mere fiat, and certainly not a mythical view. For all our thinking to-day is shaped irrevocably by modern science. A blind acceptance of the New Testament mythology would be arbitrary, and to press for its acceptance as an article of faith would be to reduce faith to works. Wilhelm Herrmann pointed this out, and one would have thought that his demonstration was conclusive. It would involve a sacrifice of the intellect which could have only one result-a curious form of schizophrenia and insincerity. It would mean accepting a view of the world in our faith and religion which we should deny in our everyday life. Modern thought as we have inherited it brings with it criticism of the New Testament view of the world. Man's knowledge and mastery of the world have advanced to such an extent through science and technology that it is no longer possible for anyone seriously to hold the New Testament view of the world-in fact, there is no one who does. What meaning, for instance, can we attach to such phrases in the creed as "descended into hell" or "ascended into heaven"? We no longer believe in the three-storied universe which the creeds take for granted. The only honest way of reciting the creeds is to strip the mythological framework from the truth they enshrine-that is, assuming that they contain any truth at all, which is just the question that theology has to ask. No one who is old enough to think for himself supposes that God lives in a local heaven. There is no longer any heaven in the traditional sense of the word. The same applies to hell in the sense of a mythical underworld beneath our feet. And if this is so, the story of Christ's descent into hell and of his Ascension into heaven is done with. We can no longer look for the return of the Son of Man on the clouds of heaven or hope that the faithful will meet him in the air (1 Thess. 4. 15ff.). 325
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Now that the forces and the laws of nature have been discovered, we can no longer believe in spirits, whether good or evil. We know that the stars are physical bodies whose motions are controlled by the laws of the universe, and not daemonic beings which enslave mankind to their service. Any influence they may have over human life must be explicable in terms of the ordinary laws of nature; it cannot in any way be attributed to their malevolence. Sickness and the cure of disease are likewise attributable to natural causation; they are not the result of daemonic activity or of evil spells. 15 The miracles of the New Testament have ceased to be miraculous, and to defend their historicity by recourse to nervous disorders or hypnotic effects only serves to underline the fact. And if we are still left with certain physiological and psychological phenomena which we can only assign to mysterious and enigmatic causes, we are still assigning them to causes, and thus far are trying to make them scientifically intelligible. Even occultism pretends to be a science. It is impossible to use electric light and the wireless and to avail ourselves of modern medical and surgical discoveries, and at the same time to believe in the New Testament world of spirits and miracles. 16 We may think we can manage it in our own lives, but to expect others to do so is to make the Christian faith unintelligible and unacceptable to the modern world. The mythical eschatology is untenable for the simple reason that the parousia of Christ never took place as the New Testament expected. History did not come to an end, and, as every schoolboy knows, it will continue to run its course. Even if we believe that the world as we know it will come to an end in time, we expect the end to take the form of a natural catastrophe, not of a mythical event such as the New Testament expects. And if we explain the parousia in terms of modern scientific theory, we are applying criticism to the New Testament, albeit unconsciously. But natural science is not the only challenge which the mythology of the New Testament has to face. There is the still more serious challenge presented by modern man's understanding of himself Modern man is confronted by a curious dilemma. He may regard himself as pure nature, or as pure spirit. In the latter case he distinguishes the essential part of his being from nature. In either case, however, man is essentially a unity. He bears the sole responsibility for his own feeling, thinking, and willing. 17 He is not, as the New Testament regards him, the victim of a strange dichotomy which exposes him to the interference of powers outside himself. If his exterior behaviour and his interior condition are in perfect harmony, it is something he has achieved himself, and if other people think their interior unity is torn asunder by daemonic or divine interference, he calls it schizophrenia. Although biology and psychology recognize that man is a highly 326
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dependent being, that does not mean that he has been handed over to powers outside of and distinct from himself. This dependence is inseparable from human nature, and he needs only to understand it in order to recover his self-mastery and organize his life on a rational basis. If he regards himself as spirit, he knows that he is permanently conditioned by the physical, bodily part of his being, but he distinguishes his true self from it, and knows that he is independent and responsible for his mastery over nature. In either case he finds what the New Testament has to say about the "Spirit" (1tveu11a) and the sacraments utterly strange and incomprehensible. Biological man cannot see how a supernatural entity like the nveu11a can penetrate within the close texture of his natural powers and set to work within him. Nor can the idealist understand how a nveu11a working like a natural power can touch and influence his mind and spirit. Conscious as he is of his own moral responsibility, he cannot conceive how baptism in water can convey a mysterious something which is henceforth the agent of all his decisions and actions. He cannot see how physical food can convey spiritual strength, and how the unworthy receiving of the Eucharist can result in physical sickness and death (1 Cor. 11. 30). The only possible explanation is that it is due to suggestion. He cannot understand how anyone can be baptized for the dead (1 Cor. 15. 29). We need not examine in detail the various forms of modern Weltanschauung, whether idealist or naturalist. For the only criticism of the New Testament which is theologically relevant is that which arises necessarily out of the situation of modern man. The biological W eltanschauung does not, for instance, arise necessarily out of the contemporary situation. We are still free to adopt it or not as we choose. The only relevant question for the theologian is the basic assumption on which the adoption of a biological as of every other Weltanschauung rests, and that assumption is the view of the world which has been moulded by modern science and the modern conception of human nature as a self-subsistent unity immune from the interference of supernatural powers. Again, the biblical doctrine that death is the punishment of sin is equally abhorrent to naturalism and idealism, since they both regard death as a simple and necessary process of nature. To the naturalist death is no problem at all, and to the idealist it is a problem for that very reason, for so far from arising out of man's essential spiritual being it actually destroys it. The idealist is faced with a paradox. On the one hand man is a spiritual being, and therefore essentially different from plants and animals, and on the other hand he is the prisoner of nature, whose birth, life, and death are just the same as those of the animals. Death may present him with a problem, but he cannot see how it can be a punishment for sin. Human beings are subject to death even before they have committed any sin. And to attribute human mortality to the fall of Adam is sheer nonsense, for
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guilt implies personal responsibility, and the idea of original sin as an inherited infection is sub-ethical, irrational, and absurd. The same objections apply to the doctrine of the atonement. How can the guilt of one man be expiated by the death of another who is sinless-if indeed one may speak of a sinless man at all? What primitive notions of guilt and righteousness does this imply? And what primitive idea of God? The rationale of sacrifice in general may of course throw some light on the theory of the atonement, but even so, what a primitive mythology it is, that a divine Being should become incarnate, and atone for the sins of men through his own blood! Or again, one might adopt an analogy from the law courts, and explain the death of Christ as a transaction between God and man through which God's claims on man were satisfied. But that would make sin a juridical matter; it would be no more than an external transgression of a commandment, and it would make nonsense of all our ethical standards. Moreover, if the Christ who died such a death was the pre-existent Son of God, what could death mean for him? Obviously very little, if he knew that he would rise again in three days! The resurrection of Jesus is just as difficult for modern man, if it means an event whereby a living supernatural power is released which can henceforth be appropriated through the sacraments. To the biologist such language is meaningless, for he does not regard death as a problem at all. The idealist would not object to the idea of a life immune from death, but he could not believe that such a life is made available by the resuscitation of a dead person. If that is the way God makes life available for man, his action is inextricably involved in a nature miracle. Such a notion he finds incomprehensible, for he can see God at work only in the reality of his personal life and in his transformation. But, quite apart from the incredibility of such a miracle, he cannot see how an event like this could be the act of God, or how it could affect his own life. Gnostic influence suggests that this Christ, who died and rose again, was not a mere human being but a God-man. His death and resurrection were not isolated facts which concerned him alone, but a cosmic event in which we are all involved. 18 It is only with effort that modern man can think himself back into such an intellectual atmosphere, and even then he could never accept it himself, because it regards man's essential being as nature and redemption as a process of nature. And as for the pre-existence of Christ, with its corollary of man's translation into a celestial realm of light, and the clothing of the human personality in heavenly robes and a spiritual body-all this is not only irrational but utterly meaningless. Why should salvation take this particular form? Why should this be the fulfilment of human life and the realization of man's true being?
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B. The task before us 1. Not selection or subtraction Does this drastic criticism of the New Testament mythology mean the complete elimination of the kerygma? Whatever else may be true, we cannot save the kerygma by selecting some of its features and subtracting others, and thus reduce the amount of mythology in it. For instance, it is impossible to dismiss St Paul's teaching about the unworthy reception of Holy Communion or about baptism for the dead, and yet cling to the belief that physical eating and drinking can have a spiritual effect. If we accept one idea, we must accept everything which the New Testament has to say about Baptism and Holy Communion, and it is just this one idea which we cannot accept. It may of course be argued that some features of the New Testament mythology are given greater prominence than others: not all of them appear with the same regularity in the various books. There is for example only one occurrence of the legends of the Virgin birth and the Ascension; St Paul and St John appear to be totally unaware of them. But, even if we take them to be later accretions, it does not affect the mythical character of the event of redemption as a whole. And if we once start subtracting from the kerygma, where are we to draw the line? The mythical view of the world must be accepted or rejected in its entirety. At this point absolute clarity and ruthless honesty are essential both for the academic theologian and for the parish priest. It is a duty they owe to themselves, to the Church they serve, and to those whom they seek to win for the Church. They must make it quite clear what their hearers are expected to accept and what they are not. At all costs the preacher must not leave his people in the dark about what he secretly eliminates, nor must he be in the dark about it himself. In Karl Earth's book The Resurrection of the Dead the cosmic eschatology in the sense of "chronologically final history" is eliminated in favour of what he intends to be a non-mythological "ultimate history". He is able to delude himself into thinking that this is exegesis of St Paul and of the New Testament generally only because he gets rid of everything mythological in 1 Corinthians by subjecting it to an interpretation which does violence to its meaning. But that is an impossible procedure. If the truth of the New Testament proclamation is to be preserved, the only way is to demythologize it. But our motive in so doing must not be to make the New Testament relevant to the modern world at all costs. The question is simply whether the New Testament message consists exclusively of mythology, or whether it actually demands the elimination of myth if it is to be understood as it is meant to be. This question is forced upon us from two sides. First there is the nature of myth in general, and then there is the New Testament itself. 329
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2. The nature of myth
The real purpose of myth is not to present an objective picture of the world as it is, but to express man's understanding of himself in the world in which he lives. Myth should be interpreted not cosmologically, but anthropologica1ly, or better still, existentially. 19 Myth speaks of the power or the powers which man supposes he experiences as the ground and limit of his world and of his own activity and suffering. He describes these powers in terms derived from the visible world, with its tangible objects and forces, and from human life, with its feelings, motives, and potentialities. He may, for instance, explain the origin of the world by speaking of a world egg or a world tree. Similarly he may account for the present state and order of the world by speaking of a primeval war between the gods. He speaks of the other world in terms of this world, and of the gods in terms derived from human life. 20 Myth is an expression of man's conviction that the origin and purpose of the world in which he lives are to be sought not within it but beyond it-that is, beyond the realm of known and tangible reality-and that this realm is perpetually dominated and menaced by those mysterious powers which are its source and limit. Myth is also an expression of man's awareness that he is not lord of his own being. It expresses his sense of dependence not only within the visible world, but more especially on those forces which hold sway beyond the confines of the known. Final1y, myth expresses man's belief that in this state of dependence he can be delivered from the forces within the visible world. Thus myth contains elements which demand its own criticism-namely, its imagery with its apparent claim to objective validity. The real purpose of myth is to speak of a transcedent power which controls the world and man, but that purpose is impeded and obscured by the terms in which it is expressed. Hence the importance of the New Testament mythology lies not in its imagery but in the understanding of existence which it enshrines. The real question is whether this understanding of existence is true. Faith claims that it is, and faith ought not to be tied down to the imagery of New Testament mythology. 3. The New Testament itself
The New Testament itself invites this kind of criticism. Not only are there rough edges in its mythology, but some of its features are actually contradictory. For example, the death of Christ is sometimes a sacrifice and sometimes a cosmic event. Sometimes his person is interpreted as the Messiah and sometimes as the Second Adam. The kenosis of the preexistent Son (Phil. 2. 6ff.) is incompatible with the miracle narratives as proofs of his messianic claims. The Virgin birth is inconsistent with the 330
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assertion of his pre-existence. The doctrine of the Creation is incompatible with the conception of the "rulers of this world" (1 Cor. 2. 6ft.), the "god of this world" (2 Cor. 4. 4) and the "elements of this world" cr'totXEta 'toU KOO"Ilou, Gal. 4. 3). It is impossible to square the belief that the law was given by God with the theory that it comes from the angels (Gal. 3. 19f.). But the principal demand for the criticism of mythology comes from a curious contradiction which runs right through the New Testament. Sometimes we are told that human life is determined by cosmic forces, at others we are challenged to a decision. Side by side with the Pauline indicative stands the Pauline imperative. In short, man is sometimes regarded as a cosmic being, sometimes as an independent "I" for whom decision is a matter of life or death. Incidentally, this explains why so many sayings in the New Testament speak directly to modern man's condition while others remain enigmatic and obscure. Finally, attempts at demythologization are sometimes made even within the New Testament itself. But more will be said on this point later. 4. Previous attempts at demythologizing
How then is the mythology of the New Testament to be reinterpreted? This is not the first time that theologians have approached this task. Indeed, all we have said so far might have been said in much the same way thirty or forty years ago, and it is a sign of the bankruptcy of contemporary theology that it has been necessary to go all over the same ground again. The reason for this is not far to seek. The liberal theologians of the last century were working on the wrong lines. They threw away not only the mythology but also the kerygma itself. Were they right? Is that the treatment the New Testament itself required? That is the question we must face to-day. The last twenty years have witnessed a movement away from criticism and a return to a naive acceptance of the kerygma. The danger both for theological scholarship and for the Church is that this uncritical resuscitation of the New Testament mythology may make the Gospel message unintelligible to the modern world. We cannot dismiss the critical labours of earlier generations without further ado. We must take them up and put them to constructive use. Failure to do so will mean that the old battles between orthodoxy and liberalism will have to be fought out all over again, that is assuming that there will be any Church or any theologians to fight them at all! Perhaps we may put it schematically like this: whereas the older liberals used criticism to eliminate the mythology of the New Testament, our task to-day is to use criticism to interpret it. Of course it may still be necessary to eliminate mythology here and there. But the criterion adopted must be taken not from modern thought, but from the understanding of human existence which the New Testament itse1f enshrines. 21 331
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To begin with, let us review some of these earlier attempts at demythologizing. We need only mention briefly the allegorical interpretation of the New Testament which has dogged the Church throughout its history. This method spiritualizes the mythical events so that they become symbols of processes going on in the soul. This is certainly the most comfortable way of avoiding the critical question. The literal meaning is allowed to stand and is dispensed with only for the individual believer, who can escape into the realm of the soul. It was characteristic of the older liberal theologians that they regarded mythology as relative and temporary. Hence they thought they could safely eliminate it altogether, and retain only the broad, basic principles of religion and ethics. They distinguished between what they took to be the essence of religion and the temporary garb which it assumed. Listen to what Harnack has to say about the essence of Jesus' preaching of the Kingdom of God and its coming: "The kingdom has a triple meaning. Firstly, it is something supernatural, a gift from above, not a product of ordinary life. Secondly, it is a purely religious blessing, the inner link with the living God; thirdly, it is the most important experience that a man can have, that on which everything else depends; it permeates and dominates his whole existence, because sin is forgiven and misery banished." Note how completely the mythology is eliminated: "The kingdom of God comes by coming to the individual, by entering into his soul and laying hold of it. "22 It will be noticed how Harnack reduces the kerygma to a few basic principles of religion and ethics. Unfortunately this means that the kerygma has ceased to be kerygma: it is no longer the proclamation of the decisive act of God in Christ. For the liberals the great truths of religion and ethics are timeless and eternal, though it is only within human history that they are realized, and only in concrete historical processes that they are given clear expression. But the apprehension and acceptance of these principles does not depend on the knowledge and acceptance of the age in which they first took shape, or of the historical persons who first discovered them. We are all capable of verifying them in our own experience at whatever period we happen to live. History may be of academic interest, but never of paramount importance for religion. But the New Testament speaks of an event through which God has wrought man's redemption. For it, Jesus is not primarily the teacher, who certainly had extremely important things to say and will always be honoured for saying them, but whose person in the last analysis is immaterial for those who have assimilated his teaching. On the contrary, his person is just what the New Testament proclaims as the decisive event of redemption. It speaks of this person in mythological terms, but does this mean that we can reject the kerygma altogether on the ground that it is nothing more than mythology? That is the question. 332
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Next came the History of Religions school. Its representatives were the first to discover the extent to which the New Testament is permeated by mythology. The importance of the New Testament, they saw, lay not in its teaching about religion and ethics but in its actual religion and piety; in comparison with that all the dogma it contains, and therefore all the mythological imagery with its apparent objectivity, was of secondary importance or completely negligible. The essence of the New Testament lay in the religious life it portrayed; its high-watermark was the experience of mystical union with Christ, in whom God took symbolic form. These critics grasped one important truth. Christian faith is not the same as religious idealism; the Christian life does not consist in developing the individual personality, in the improvement of society, or in making the world a better place. The Christian life means a turning away from the world, a detachment from it. But the critics of the History of Religions school failed to see that in the New Testament this detachment is essentially eschatological and not mystical. Religion for them was an expression of the human yearning to rise above the world and transcend it: it was the discovery of a supramundane sphere where the soul could detach itself from all earthly care and find its rest. Hence the supreme manifestation of religion was to be found not in personal ethics or in social idealism but in the cultus regarded as an end in itself. This was just the kind of religious life portrayed in the New Testament, not only as a model and pattern, but as a challenge and inspiration. The New Testament was thus the abiding source of power which enabled man to realize the true life of religion, and Christ was the eternal symbol for the cu]tus of the Christian ChurchY It wi11 be noticed how the Church is here defined exclusively as a worshipping community, and this represents a great advance on the older liberalism. This school rediscovered the Church as a religious institution. For the idealist there was really no place for the Church at all. But did they succeed in recovering the meaning of the Ecdesia in the fu11, New Testament sense of the word? For in the New Testament the Ecclesia is invariably a phenomenon of salvation history and eschatology. Moreover, if the History of Religions school is right, the kerygma has once more ceased to be kerygma. Like the liberals, they are silent about a decisive act of God in Christ proclaimed as the event of redemption. So we are still left with the question whether this event and the person of Jesus, both of which are described in the New Testament in mythological terms, are nothing more than mythology. Can the kerygma be interpreted apart from mythology? Can we recover the truth of the kerygma for men who do not think in mythological terms without forfeiting its character as kerygma?
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5. An existentialist interpretation the only solution The theological work which such an interpretation involves can be sketched only in the broadest outline and with only a few examples. We must avoid the impression that this is a light and easy task, as if all we have to do is to discover the right formula and finish the job on the spot. It is much more formidable than that. It cannot be done single-handed. It will tax the time and strength of a whole theological generation. The mythology of the New Testament is in essence that of Jewish apocalyptic and the Gnostic redemption myths. A common feature of them both is their basic dualism, according to which the present world and its human inhabitants are under the control of daemonic, satanic powers, and stand in need of redemption. Man cannot achieve this redemption by his own efforts; it must come as a gift through a divine intervention. Both types of mythology speak of such an intervention: Jewish apocalyptic of an imminent world crisis in which this present aeon will be brought to an end and the new aeon ushered in by the coming of the Messiah, and Gnosticism of a Son of God sent down from the realm of light, entering into this world in the guise of a man, and by his fate and teaching delivering the elect and opening up the way for their return to their heavenly home. The meaning of these two types of mythology lies once more not in their imagery with its apparent objectivity but in the understanding of human existence which both are trying to express. In other words, they need to be interpreted existentially. A good example of such treatment is to be found in Hans Jonas's book on Gnosticism. 24 Our task is to produce an existentialist interpretation of the dualistic mythology of the New Testament along similar lines. When, for instance, we read of daemonic powers ruling the world and holding mankind in bondage, does the understanding of human existence which underlies such language offer a solution to the riddle of human life which will be acceptable even to the non-mythological mind of to-day? Of course we must not take this to imply that the New Testament presents us with an anthropology like that which modern science can give us. It cannot be proved by logic or demonstrated by an appeal to factual evidence. Scientific anthropologies always take for granted a definite understanding of existence, which is invariably the consequence of a deliberate decision of the scientist, whether he makes it consciously or not. And that is why we have to discover whether the New Testament offers man an understanding of himself which will challenge him to a genuine existential decision.
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11 Demythologizing in outline A. The Christian interpretation of being 1. Human existence apart from faith
What does the New Testament mean when it talks of the "world", of "this world" (6 KO<Jf.LO<; oi>'to<;), or of "this aeon" (oi>1:o<; 6 airov )? In speaking thus, the New Testament is in agreement with the Gnostics, for they too speak of "this world", and of the princes, prince, or god of this world; and moreover they both regard man as the slave of the world and its powers. But there is one significant difference. In the New Testament one of these powers is conspicuously absent-viz., matter, the physical, sensual part of man's constitution. Never does the New Testament complain that the soul of man, his authentic self, is imprisoned in a material body: never does it complain of the power of sensuality over the spirit. That is why it never doubts the responsibility of man for his sin. God is always the Creator of the world, including human life in the body. He is also the Judge before whom man must give account. The part played by Satan as the Lord of this world must therefore be limited in a peculiar way, or else, if he is the lord or god of world, "this world" must stand in a peculiar dialectical relation to the world as the creation of God. "This world" is the world of corruption and death. Clearly, it was not so when it left the hands of the Creator, for it was only in consequence of the fall of Adam that death entered into the world (Rom. 5. 12). Hence it is sin, rather than matter as such, which is the cause of corruption and death. The Gnostic conception of the soul as a pure, celestial element imprisoned by some tragic fate in a material body is entirely absent. Death is the wages of sin (Rom. 6. 23; cf. 1 Cor. 15. 56). True, St Paul seems to agree with the Gnostics as regards the effects which he ascribes to the fall of Adam as the ancestor of the human race. But it is clear that he later returns to the idea of individual responsibility when he says that since Adam death came to all men "for that all sinned" (Rom. 5. 12), a statement which stands in formal contradiction to the Adam theory. Perhaps he means to say that with Adam death became possible rather than inevitable. However that may be, there is another idea which St Paul is constantly repeating and which is equally incompatible with the Adam theory, and that is the theory that sin, including death, is derived from the flesh (crap~, Rom. 8. 13; Gal. 6. 8, etc.). But what does he mean by "flesh"? Not the bodily or physical side of human nature, but the sphere of visible, concrete, tangible, and measurable reality, which as such is also the sphere of corruption and death. When a man chooses to live entirely in and for this sphere, or, as St Paul puts it, when he "lives after the flesh", it assumes the shape of a "power". There are indeed many different ways of living 335
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after the flesh. There is the crude life of sensual pleasure and there is the refined way of basing one's life on the pride of achievement, on the "works of the law" as St Paul would say. But these distinctions are ultimately immaterial. For "flesh" embraces not only the material things of life, but all human creation and achievement pursued for the sake of some tangible reward, such as for example the fulfilling of the law (Gal. 3. 3). It includes every passive quality, and every advantage a man can have, in the sphere of visible, tangible reality (Phil. 3. 4ff.). St Paul sees that the life of man is weighed down by anxiety (f.!Eptf.Lv&.v, 1 Cor. 7. 32ff.). Every man focuses his anxiety upon some particular object. The natural man focuses it upon security, and in proportion to his opportunities and his success in the visible sphere he places his "confidence" in the "flesh" (Phil. 3. 3f.), and the consciousness of security finds its expression in "glorying" ( Kauxa
The authentic life, on the other hand, would be a life based on unseen, intangible realities. Such a life means the abandonment of all selfcontrived security. This is what the New Testament means by "life after the Spirit" or "life in faith". For this life we must have faith in the grace of God. It means faith that the unseen, intangible reality actually confronts us as love, opening up our future and signifying not death but life. The grace of God means the forgiveness of sin, and brings deliverance 336
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from the bondage of the past. The old quest for visible security, the hankering after tangible realities, and the clinging to transitory objects, is sin, for by it we shut out invisible reality from our lives and refuse God's future which comes to us as a gift. But once we open our hearts to the grace of God, our sins are forgiven; we are released from the past. This is what is meant by "faith": to open ourselves freely to the future. But at the same time faith involves obedience, for faith means turning our backs on self and abandoning all security. It means giving up every attempt to carve out a niche in life for ourselves, surrendering all our self-confidence, and resolving to trust in God alone, in the God who raises the dead (2 Cor. 1. 9) and who calls the things that are not into being (Rom. 4. 17). It means radical self-commitment to God in the expectation that everything will come from him and nothing from ourselves. Such a life spells deliverance from all worldly, tangible objects, leading to complete detachment from the world and thus to freedom. This detachment from the world is something quite different from asceticism. It means preserving a distance from the world and dealing with it in a spirit of "as if not" (roe; IJ.TJ, 1 Cor. 7. 29-31). The believer is lord of all things (1 Cor. 3. 21-3). He enjoys that power (£~oucria) of which the Gnostic boasts, but with the proviso: "All things are lawful for me, but I will not be brought under the power of any" (1 Cor. 6. 12; cf. 10. 23f.). The believer may "rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep" (Rom. 12. 15), but he is no longer in bondage to anything in the world (1 Cor. 7. 17-24). Everything in the world has become indifferent and unimportant. "For though I was free from all men, I brought myself under bondage to all" (1 Cor. 9. 19-23). "I know how to be abased, and I know also how to abound in everything, and in all things I have learned the secret both to be filled and to be hungry, both to abound and to be in want" (Phi!. 4. 12). The world has been crucified to him, and he to the world (Gal. 6. 14). Moreover, the power of his new life is manifested even in weakness, suffering, and death (2 Cor. 4. 7-11; 12. 9f.). Just when he realizes that he is nothing in himself, he can have and be all things through God (2 Cor. 12. 9f.; 6. 8-10). Now, this is eschatological existence; it means being a "new creature" (2 Cor. 5. 17). The eschatology of Jewish apocalyptic and of Gnosticism has been emancipated from its accompanying mythology, in so far as the age of salvation has already dawned for the believer and the life of the future has become a present reality. The fourth gospel carries this process to a logical conclusion by completely eliminating every trace of apocalyptic eschatology. The last judgement is no longer an imminent cosmic event, for it is already taking place in the coming of Jesus and in his summons to believe (John 3. 19; 9. 39; 12. 31). The believer has life here and now, and has passed already from death into life (5. 24, etc.). Outwardly everything remains as before, but inwardly his relation to the world has been radically 337
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changed. The world has no further claim on him, for faith is the victory which overcometh the world (1 John 5. 4). The eschatology of Gnosticism is similarly transcended. It is not that the believer is given a new nature (qr6crtc;) or that his pre-existent nature is emancipated, or that his soul is assured of a journey to heaven. The new life in faith is not an assured possession or endowment, which could lead only to libertinism. Nor is it a possession to be guarded with care and vigilance, which could lead only to ascetism. Life in faith is not a possession at all. It cannot be exclusively expressed in indicative terms; it needs an imperative to complete it. In other words, the decision of faith is never final; it needs constant renewal in every fresh situation. Our freedom does not excuse us from the demand under which we all stand as men, for it is freedom for obedience (Ram. 6. 11ff.). To believe means not to have apprehended but to have been apprehended. It means always to be travelling along the road between the "already" and the "not yet", always to be pursuing a goal. For Gnosticism redemption is a cosmic process in which the redeemed are privileged to participate here and now. Although essentially transcendent, faith must be reduced to an immanent possession. Its outward signs are freedom (eA.cu8cpia), power (e~oucria), pneumatic phenomena, and above all ecstasy. In the last resort the New Testament knows no phenomena in which transcendent realities become immanent possessions. True, St Paul is familiar with ecstasy (2 Cor. 5. 13; 12. lff.). But he refuses to accept it as a proof of the possession of the Spirit. The New Testament never speaks of the training of the soul in mystical experience or of ecstasy as the culmination of the Christian life. Not psychic phenomena but faith is the hallmark of that life. Certainly St Paul shares the popular belief of his day that the Spirit manifests itself in miracles, and he attributes abnormal psychic phenomena to its agency. But the enthusiasm of the Corinthians for such things brought home to him their questionable character. So he insists that the gifts of the Spirit must be judged according to their value for "edification", and in so doing he transcends the popular view of the Spirit as an agency that operates like any other natural force. True, he regards the Spirit as a mysterious entity dwelling in man and guaranteeing his resurrection (Ram. 8. 11 ). He can even speak of the Spirit as if it were a kind of supernatural material (1 Cor. 15. 44ff.). Yet in the last resort he clearly means by "Spirit" the possibility of a new life which is opened up by faith. The Spirit does not work like a supernatural force, nor is it the permanent possession of the believer. It is the possibility of a new life which must be appropriated by a deliberate resolve. Hence St Paul's paradoxical injunction: "If we live by the Spirit, by the Spirit also let us walk" (Gal. 5. 25). "Being led by the Spirit" (Ram. 8. 14) is not an automatic process of nature, but the fulfilment of an imperative: "live after the Spirit, not after
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the flesh". Imperative and indicative are inseparable. The possession of the Spirit never renders decision superfluous. "I say, Walk by the Spirit and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh" (Gal. 5. 16). Thus the concept "Spirit" has been emancipated from mythology. The Pauline catalogue of the fruits of the Spirit ("love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, temperance", Gal. 5. 22) shows how faith, by detaching man from the world, makes him capable of fellowship in community. Now that he is delivered from anxiety and from the frustration which comes from clinging to the tangible realities of the visible world, man is free to enjoy fellowship with others. Hence faith is described as "working through love" (Gal. 5. 6). And this means being a new creature (cf. Gal. 5. 6 with 6. 15). B. The event of redemption
1. Christian self-understanding without Christ?
We have now suggested an existentialist unmythological interpretation of the Christian understanding of Being. But is this interpretation true to the New Testament? We seem to have overlooked one important point, which is that in the New Testament faith is always faith in Christ. Faith, in the strict sense of the word, was only there at a certain moment in history. It had to be revealed; it came (Gal. 3. 23, 25). This might of course be taken as part of the story of man's spiritual evolution. But the New Testament means more than that. It claims that faith only became possible at a definite point in history in consequence of an event-viz., the event of Christ. Faith in the sense of obedient self-commitment and inward detachment from the world is only possible when it is faith in Jesus Christ. Here indeed is the crux of the matter-have we here a remnant of mythology which still requires restatement? In fact it comes to this: can we have a Christian understanding of Being without Christ? The reader will recall our criticism of the History of Religions school for eliminating the decisive event of Christ. Is our re-interpretation of Christianity in existentialist terms open to precisely the same objection? It might well appear as though the event of Christ were a relic of mythology which still awaits elimination. This is a serious problem, and if Christian faith is to recover its self-assurance it must be grappled with. For it can recover its certainty only if it is prepared to think through to the bitter end the possibility of its own impossibility or superfluity. It might well appear possible to have a Christian understanding of Being without Christ, as though what we had in the New Testament was the first discovery and the more or less clear expression, in the guise of mythology, of an understanding of Being which is at bottom man's natural understanding of his Being, as it has been given clear expression in 339
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modern existentialist philosophy. Does this mean that what existentialism has done is simply to remove the mythological disguise and to vindicate the Christian understanding of Being as it is found in the New Testament and to carry it to more logical conclusion? Is theology simply the precursor of existentialism? Is it no more than an antiquated survival and an unnecessary incubus? Such is the impression we might derive from a consideration of the recent developments in philosophy. Might we not say that the New Testament lays bare what philosophy calls "the historicity of Being"? Count Yorck van Wartenburg26 wrote to Dilthey on 15 December 1892: "Dogmatics was an attempt to formulate an ontology of the higher historic life. Christian dogmatics was inevitably the antithesis of intellectualism, because Christianity is the supreme vitality." 27 Dilthey agrees: " ... all dogmas need to be translated so as to bring out their universal validity for all human life. They are cramped by their connection with the situation in the past in which they arose. Once they have been freed from this limitation they become ... the consciousness of the supra-sensual and supraintelligible nature of historicity pure and simple .... Hence the principal Christian dogmas, which include such symbols as 'Son of God', 'satisfaction', 'sacrifice', and the like, are, in so far as they are limited to the facts of the Christian story, untenable. But once they are re-interpreted as statements of universal validity they express the highest living form of all history. They thus lose their rigid and exclusive reference to the person of Jesus, which deliberately excludes all other references." 28 Y orck gives by way of illustration a re-interpretation of the doctrines of original sin and the atonement. He finds them intelligible in the light of what he calls the "virtual connection" which runs like a thread right through history. "Jesus is the historical demonstration of a universal truth. The child profits from the self-sacrifice of its mother. This involves a conveyance of virtue and power from one person to another, without which history is impossible. [Note the corollary-all history, not only Christian history, involves transference of power.] This is why rationalism is blind to the concept of history. And sin-not specific acts of wrong-doing, but man's sinfulness in general-is, as the religious man knows from his own experience, quite unpredictable. Is it less 'monstrous and repulsive' [as Dilthey had stigmatized the doctrine of original sin] that sickness and misery are inherited from generation to generation? These Christian symbols are drawn from the very depths of nature, for religion itself-! mean Christianity-is supernatural, not unnatural. "29 The development of philosophy since Dilthey's day has, it would seem, amply justified these contentions. Karl Jaspers has found no difficulty in transposing Kierkegaard's interpretation of Christian Being to the sphere of philosophy. Above all, Heidegger's existentialist analysis of the ontological structure of being would seem to be no more than a secularized, 340
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philosophical version of the New Testament view of human life. For him the chief characteristic of man's Being in history is anxiety. Man exists in a permanent tension between the past and the future. At every moment he is confronted with an alternative. Either he must immerse himself in the concrete world of nature, and thus inevitably lose his individuality, or he must abandon all security and commit himself unreservedly to the future, and thus alone achieve his authentic Being. Is not that exactly the New Testament understanding of human life? Some critics have objected that I am borrowing Heidegger's categories and forcing them upon the New Testament. I am afraid this only shows that they are blinding their eyes to the real problem. I mean, one should rather be startled that philosophy is saying the same thing as the New Testament and saying it quite independently. The whole question has been posed afresh in the recent book by Wilhelm Kamlah.J0 It is true that Kamlah expressly attacks the eschatological character of the Christian understanding of Being, but that is because he misinterprets the detachment from the world which is consequent upon faith. He understands it undialectically as a simple negation of the world, and so fails to do justice to the element of "as if not" which is so characteristic of the Pauline Epistles. But the understanding of Being which Kamlah develops philosophically is manifestly a secularized version of that which we find in Christianity. For the Christian concept of faith he substitutes "self-commitment", by which he means "surrender to the universal reality", or to God as the source of all Being. Self-commitment is the antithesis of autonomy. It brings with it a revelation of the meaning of universal reality. Further, it is emancipation, bringing inward freedom through detachment from all sensual objects of desire. Kamlah himself is aware how close this is to the Christian conception of faith. He says: "The theologians have often observed the paradoxical character of this ability to trust, at least so far as the inception of faith is concerned. It has often been asked how the individual can come to believe at all if faith is the gift of God and is not to be won through human effort, and how faith can be demanded if it is outside the limit of human capacity. The question has often been left unanswered because the theologians have failed to see that this is a problem which is not peculiar to Christianity, but which belongs to the fundamental structure of our natural Being."31 Christian faith, properly understood, would then (on Kamlah's view), be identical with natural self-commitment. "Since it offers the true understanding of Being, philosophy emancipates natural self-commitment and enables it to become what it was meant to be.'m Thus it has no need of any revelation. Christian love, through which faith operates, is open to a similar interpretation. It is equivalent to committing ourselves to our familiar surroundings. Indeed, Kamlah thinks he can correct the New Testament at 341
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this point. As he sees it, the Christian conception of love interrupts what he calls the smooth flow of history. It infringes the priority of the immediate environment in which we have been placed by history. It dissipates love by universalizing it instead of directing it to our true neighbours, those who are nigh to us. Kamlah would have us see as our neighbours those who are tied to us by the inexorable bonds of history. In this way he would emancipate the true naturalness of man. 33 But is it really true that in the last resort the New Testament means by faith the natural disposition of man? Clearly "natural" in this context means not "empirical" but "proper to man's authentic Being". This Being has first to be set free. But according to Kamlah this does not require revelation. All that is necessary is philosophical reflection. Is faith in this sense the natural disposition of man? Yes and no. Yes, because faith is not a mysterious supernatural quality, but the disposition of genuine humanity. Similarly, love is not the effect of mysterious supernatural power, but the "natural" disposition of man. The New Testament goes part of the way with Kamlah when it calls man-infaith a "new creation". Its implication is that by faith man enters upon the life for which he was originally created. The question is not whether the nature of man can be discovered apart from the New Testament. As a matter of fact it has not been discovered without the aid of the New Testament, for modern philosophy is indebted both to it and to Luther and to Kierkegaard. But this merely indicates the place of existentialism in the intellectual history of man, and as far as its content is concerned it owes little to its historical origin. On the contrary, the very fact that it is possible to produce a secularized version of the New Testament conception of faith proves that there is nothing mysterious or supernatural about the Christian life. No; the question is whether the "nature" of man is realizable. Is it enough simply to show man what he ought to be? Can he achieve his authentic Being by a mere act of reflection? It is clear that philosophy, no less than theology, has always taken it for granted that man has to a greater or lesser degree erred and gone astray, or at least that he is always in danger of so doing. Even the idealists try to show us what we really are-namely, that we are really spirit, and that it is therefore wrong to lose ourselves in the world of things. Become what you are! For Heidegger man has lost his individuality, and therefore he invites him to recover his true selfhood. Kamlah again realizes that what he calls "genuine historical existence" may lie hidden and buried beneath the rubble of unreality, and that this is especially the case to-day when we are suffering from the aftereffects of the Enlightenment. Kamlah also is aware that self-commitment is not the natural disposition of modern man, but a demand continually imposed upon him from without. There can be no emancipation without obedience.34
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At the same time, however, these philosophers are convinced that all we need is to be told about the "nature" of man in order to realize it. "Since it is the true understanding of Being, philosophy emancipates that self-commitment which is proper to man and enables it to attain to its full stature" 35-evidently, that means: it emancipates man for true self-commitment. Philosophy seeks to "liberate"36 the true naturalness of man. Is this self-confidence of the philosophers justified? Whatever the answer may be, it is at least clear that this is the point where they part company with the New Testament. For the latter affirms the total incapacity of man to release himself from his fallen state. That deliverance can come only by an act of God. The New Testament does not give us a doctrine of "nature", a doctrine of the authentic nature of man; it proclaims the event of redemption which was wrought in Christ. That is why the New Testament says that without this saving act of God our plight is desperate, an assertion which existentialism repudiates. What lies behind this difference? The philosophers and the New Testament agree that man can be only what he already is. For instance, the idealists believed that the life of the spirit was possible only because they regarded man as essentially spirit. Become what you are! Similarly Heidegger can summon us to the resolve to exist as selves in face of death because he opens our eyes to our situation as one of "thrownness" 37 into Nothing. Man has to undertake to be what he already is. Similarly it is reasonable for Kamlah to invite us to emancipate ourselves by an act of self-commitment, because he sees that our empirical life is already a life of self-commitment-we are already members of society, we already receive its benefits and contribute to its maintenance. The New Testament also sees that man can be only what he already is. St Paul exhorts Christians to be holy because they have already been made holy (1 Cor. 6. 11, cp. 5. 7), and to walk in the Spirit because they are already in the spirit (Gal. 5. 25), and to mortify sin because they are already dead unto sin (Ram. 6. 11ff.); or in Johannine language, because they are not "of the world" (-rov K:OC'iJlOV, John 17. 16) they can overcome the world, and because they are born of God they do not sin (1 John 3. 9). Eschatological existence is an attainable ideal because "the fulness of time has come" and God has sent his Son "that he might deliver us out of this present evil world" (Gal. 4. 4; 1. 4). Thus the New Testament and the philosophers agree that the authentic life is possible only because in some sense it is already a present possession. But there is one difference-the New Testament speaks thus only to Christian believers, only to those who have opened their hearts to the redemptive action of God. It never speaks thus to natural man, for he does not possess life, and his plight is one of despair. 343
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Why does the New Testament take this line? Because it knows that man can become only what he already is, and it sees that natural man, man apart from Christ, is not as he ought to be-he is not alive, but dead. The point at issue is how we understand the fall. Even the philosophers are agreed about the fact of it. But they think that all man needs is to be shown his plight, and that then he will be able to escape from it. In other words, the corruption resulting from the fall does not extend to the core of the human personality. The New Testament, on the other hand, regards the fall as total. How then, if the fall be total, can man be aware of his plight? He certainly is aware of it, as the philosophers themselves testify. How can man be aware that his fall is total and that it extends to the very core of his personality? As a matter of fact, it is the other way round: it is only because man is a fallen being, only because he knows he is not what he really ought to be and what he would like to be, that he can be aware of his plight. That awareness of his authentic nature is essential to human life, and without it man would not be man. But his authentic nature is not an endowment of creation or a possession at his own disposaL The philosophers would agree thus far, for they also know that man's authentic nature has to be apprehended by a deliberate resolve. But they think that all man needs is to be told about his authentic nature. This nature is what he never realizes, but what at every moment he is capable of realizingyou can because you ought. But the philosophers are confusing a theoretical possibility with an actual one. For, as the New Testament sees it, man has lost that actual possibility, and even his awareness of his authentic manhood is perverted, as is shown by his deluded belief that it is a possession he can command at wilL Why then has the fall destroyed this actual possibility? The answer is that in his present plight every impulse of man is the impulse of a fallen being. St Paul demonstrates this in the case of the Jews. In their search for righteousness they missed the very object of their quest. They looked for justification from their own works; they wanted to have a ground for glorying before God. Here is a perfect illustration of the plight of man, of his bondage to the flesh, which the Jews were trying so frantically to escape. This bondage leads to self-glorying and self-assertion, to a desperate attempt to control our own destiny. If the authentic life of man is one of self-commitment, then that life is missed not only by the blatantly selfassertive but also by those who try to achieve self-commitment by their own efforts. They fail to see that self-commitment can be received only as a gift from God. The glorying of the Jew over his faithfulness to the law and the glorying of the Gnostic in his wisdom are both illustrations of the dominant attitude of man, of his independence and autonomy which lead in the end to frustration. We find the same thing in idealism with its deus in nobis:
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Lay hold on divinity; make it your own: Down it will climb from its heavenly throne. In Heidegger's case the perversity of such an attitude is less obvious because he does not characterize resolve as self-commitment. But it is clear that the shouldering of the accident of his destiny in the facing of death is really the same radical self-assertion on man's part. Kamlah is relatively nearer to the Christian position when he asserts that the commandment of self-commitment is capable of fulfilment because God grants an understanding of himself 38 or because "Reality" makes selfcommitment possible to man by disclosing its own meaning to him/9 or because self-commitment receives an indication of its own intelligibility from "Reality" itself. 40 But to assert the intelligibility of Reality is to my mind a counsel of despair. Is it not a desperate act of self-assertion when Kamlah says: "It is not possible to doubt altogether in the intelligibility of Reality"? 41 This surely goes to prove that the only reasonable attitude for man to adopt apart from Christ is one of despair, to despair of the possibility of his ever achieving authentic Being. This at any rate is what the New Testament asserts. Of course it cannot prove its case any more than the philosophers can prove the intelligibility of Reality. It is a matter for decision. The New Testament addresses man as one who is through and through a self-assertive rebel who knows from bitter experience that the life he actually lives is not his authentic life, and that he is totally incapable of achieving that life by his own efforts. In short, he is a totally fallen being. This means, in the language of the New Testament, that man is a sinner. The self-assertion of which we have spoken is identical with sin. Sin is selfassertion, self-glorying, for "No flesh should glory before God .... He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord" (1 Cor. 1. 29, 31; 2 Cor. 10. 17). Is that no more than an unnecessary mythologizing of an ontological proposition? Can man as he is perceive that self-assertion involves guilt, and that he is personally responsible to God for it? Is sin a mythological concept or not? The answer will depend on what we make of St Paul's words to the Corinthians: "What hast thou that thou didst not receive? But if thou didst receive it, why dost thou glory, as if thou hadst not received it?' (1 Cor. 4. 7). Does this apply to all men alike, or only to Christians? This much at any rate is clear: self-assertion is guilt only if it can be understood as ingratitude. If the radical self-assertion which makes it impossible for man to achieve the authentic life of self-commitment is identical with sin, it must obviously be possible for man to understand his existence altogether as a gift of God. But it is just this radical self-assertion which makes such an understanding impossible. For self-assertion deludes man into thinking that his existence is a prize within his own grasp. How blind man is to his plight is illustrated by that pessimism which regards life as a burden thrust
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on man against his will, or by the way men talk about the "right to live" or by the way they expect their fair share of good fortune. Man's radical selfassertion then blinds him to the fact of sin, and this is the clearest proof that he is a fallen being. Hence it is no good telling man that he is a sinner. He will only dismiss it as mythology. But it does not follow that he is right. To talk of sin ceases to be mere mythology when the love of God meets man as a power which embraces and sustains him even in his fallen, selfassertive state. Such a love treats man as if he were other than he is. By so doing, love frees man from himself as he is. For as a result of his self-assertion man is a totally fallen being. He is capable of knowing that his authentic life consists in self-commitment, but is incapable of realizing it because however hard he tries he still remains what he is, self-assertive man. So in practice authentic life becomes possible only when man is delivered from himself. It is the claim of the New Testament that this is exactly what has happened. This is precisely the meaning of that which was wrought in Christ. At the very point where man can do nothing, God steps in and acts-indeed he has acted already-on man's behalf. St Paul is endeavouring to express this when he speaks of the expiation of sin, or of "righteousness" created as a gift of God rather than as a human achievement. Through Christ, God has reconciled the world to himself, not reckoning to it its trespasses (2 Cor. 5. 19). God made Christ to be sin for us, that we through him might stand before God as righteous (2 Cor. 5. 21). For everyone who believes, his past life is dead and done with. He is a new creature, and as such he faces each new moment. In short, he has become a free man. It is quite clear from this that forgiveness of sins is not a juridical concept. It does not mean the remission of punishment. 42 If that were so, man's plight would be as bad as ever. Rather, forgiveness conveys freedom from sin, which hitherto had held man in bondage. But this freedom is not a static quality: it is freedom to obey. The indicative implies an imperative. Love is the fulfilment of the law, and therefore the forgiveness of God delivers man from himself and makes him free to devote his life to the service of others (Rom. 13. 8-10; Gal. 5. 14). Thus eschatological existence has become possible. God has acted, and the world-"this world"-has come to an end. Man himself has been made new. "If any man is in Christ, he is a new creature: the old things are passed away; behold, they are become new" (2 Cor. 5. 17). So much for St Paul. St John makes the same point in his own particular language. The knowledge of the "truth" as it is revealed in Jesus makes men free (8. 32), free from the bondage of sin (8. 34). Jesus calls the dead to life (5. 25) and gives sight to the blind (9. 39). The believer in Christ is "born again" (3. 3ff.); he is given a fresh start in life. He is no longer a worldling, for he has overcome the world through faith (1 John 5. 4). 346
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The event of Jesus Christ is therefore the revelation of the love of God. It makes a man free from himself and free to be himself, free to live a life of self-commitment in faith and love. But faith in this sense of the word is possible only where it takes the form of faith in the love of God. Yet such faith is still a subtle form of self-assertion so long as the love of God is merely a piece of wishful thinking. It is only an abstract idea so long as God has not revealed his love. That is why faith for the Christian means faith in Christ, for it is faith in the love of God revealed in Christ. Only those who are loved are capable of loving. Only those who have received confidence as a gift can show confidence in others. Only those who know what self-commitment is by experience can adopt that attitude themselves. We are free to give ourselves to God because he has given up himself for us. "Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins" (1 John 4.10). "We love, because he first loved us" (1 John 4. 19). The classic statement of this self-commitment of God, which is the ground of our own self-commitment, is to be found in Rom. 8. 32: "God spared not his Son, but delivered him up for us; how shall he not also with him freely give us all things?" Compare the Johannine text: "God so loved the world, that he gave his only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life" (John 3. 16). There are also similar texts which speak of Jesus' giving up himself for us: " ... who gave himself for our sins, that he might deliver us out of this present evil world" (Gal. 1. 4); "I have been crucified with Christ; yet I live; and yet no longer I, but Christ Iiveth in me: and the life which I live in the flesh I live in faith, the faith which is in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself up for me" (Gal. 2. 19f.). Here then is the crucial distinction between the New Testament and existentialism, between the Christian faith and the natural understanding of Being. The New Testament speaks and faith knows of an act of God through which man becomes capable of self-commitment, capable of faith and love, of his authentic life. Have we carried our demythologizing far enough? Are we still left with a myth, or at least an event which bears a mythical character? It is possible, as we have seen, to restate in non-mythological terms the New Testament teaching on human existence apart from faith and in faith. But what of the point of transition between the old life and the new, authentic life? Can it be understood otherwise than as an act of God? Is faith genuine only when it is faith in the love of God revealed in Christ? 2. The event of Jesus Christ
Anyone who asserts that to speak of an act of God at all is mythological language is bound to regard the idea of an act of God in Christ as a 347
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myth. But let us ignore this question for a moment. Even Kamlah thinks it philosophically justifiable to use "the mythological language of an act of God" (p. 353). The issue for the moment is whether that particular event in which the New Testament sees the act of God and the revelation of his love-that is, the event of Jesus Christ-is essentially a mythical event. (A) THE DEMYTHOLOGIZING OF THE EVENT OF JESUS CHRIST
Now, it is beyond question that the New Testament presents the event of Jesus Christ in mythical terms. The problem is whether that is the only possible presentation. Or does the New Testament itself demand a restatement of the event of Jesus Christ in non-mythological terms? Now, it is clear from the outset that the event of Christ is of a wholly different order from the cult-myths of Greek or Hellenistic religion. Jesus Christ is certainly presented as the Son of God, a pre-existent divine being, and therefore to that extent a mythical figure. But he is also a concrete figure of history-Jesus of Nazareth. His life is more than a mythical event; it is a human life which ended in the tragedy of crucifixion. We have here a unique combination of history and myth. The New Testament claims that this Jesus of history, whose father and mother were well known to his contemporaries (John 6. 42) is at the same time the pre-existent Son of God, and side by side with the historical event of the crucifixion it sets the definitely non-historical event of the resurrection. This combination of myth and history presents a number of difficulties, as can be seen from certain inconsistencies in the New Testament material. The doctrine of Christ's pre-existence as given by St Paul and St John is difficult to reconcile with the legend of the Virgin birth in St Matthew and St Luke. On the one hand we hear that "he emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being made in the likeness of men: and being found in fashion as a man ... " (Phil. 2. 7), and on the other hand we have the gospel portraits of a Jesus who manifests his divinity in his miracles, omniscience, and mysterious elusiveness, and the similar description of him in Acts as "Jesus of Nazareth, a man approved of God unto you by mighty works and wonders and signs" (Acts 2. 22). On the one hand we have the resurrection as the exaltation of Jesus from the cross or grave, and on the other the legends of the empty tomb and the ascension. We are compelled to ask whether all this mythological language is not simply an attempt to express the meaning of the historical figure of Jesus and the events of his life; in other words, significance of these as a figure and event of salvation. If that be so, we can dispense with the objective form in which they are cast. It is easy enough to deal with the doctrine of Christ's pre-existence and the legend of the Virgin birth in this way. They are clearly attempts to 348
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explain the meaning of the Person of Jesus for faith. The facts which historical criticism can verify cannot exhaust, indeed they cannot adequately indicate, all that Jesus means to me. How he actually originated matters little, indeed we can appreciate his significance only when we cease to worry about such questions. Our interest in the events of his life, and above all in the cross, is more than an academic concern with the history of the past. We can see meaning in them only when we ask what God is trying to say to each one of us through them. Again, the figure of Jesus cannot be understood simply from his inner-worldly context. In mythological language, this means that he stems from eternity, his origin is not a human and natural one. We shall not, however, pursue the examination of the particular incidents of his life any further. In the end the crux of the matter lies in the cross and resurrection. (B) THE CROSS
Is the cross, understood as the event of redemption, exclusively mythical in character, or can it retain its value for salvation without forfeiting its character as history? It certainly has a mythical character as far as its objective setting is concerned. The Jesus who was crucified was the pre-existent, incarnate Son of God, and as such he was without sin. He is the victim whose blood atones for our sins. He bears vicariously the sin of the world, and by enduring the punishment for sin on our behalf he delivers us from death. This mythological interpretation is a mixture of sacrificial and juridical analogies, which have ceased to be tenable for us to-day. And in any case they fail to do justice to what the New Testament is trying to say. For the most they can convey is that the cross effects the forgiveness of all the past and future sins of man, in the sense that the punishment they deserved has been remitted. But the New Testament means more than this. The cross releases men not only from the guilt, but also from the power of sin. That is why, when the author of Colossians says "He [God] ... having forgiven us all our trespasses, having blotted out the bond written in ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us; and he hath taken it out of the way, nailing it to the cross" he hastens to add: "having put off from himself the principalities and powers, he made a show of them openly, triumphing over them in it" (Col. 2. 13-15). The historical event of the cross acquires cosmic dimensions. And by speaking of the cross as a cosmic happening its significance as a historical happening is made clear in accordance with the remarkable way of thinking in which historical events and connections are presented in cosmic terms, and so its full significance is brought into sharper relief. For if we see in the cross the judgement of the world and the defeat of the rulers of
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this world (1 Cor. 2. 6ff. ), the cross becomes the judgement of ourselves as fallen creatures enslaved to the powers of the "world". By giving up Jesus to be crucified, God has set up the cross for us. To believe in the cross of Christ does not mean to concern ourselves with a mythical process wrought outside of us and our world, with an objective event turned by God to our advantage, but rather to make the cross of Christ our own, to undergo crucifixion with him. The cross in its redemptive aspect is not an isolated incident which befell a mythical personage, but an event whose meaning has "cosmic" importance. Its decisive, revolutionary significance is brought out by the eschatological framework in which it is set. In other words, the cross is not just an event of the past which can be contemplated, but is the eschatological event in and beyond time, in so far as it (understood in its significance, that is, for faith) is an ever-present reality. The cross becomes a present reality first of all in the sacraments. In baptism men and women are baptized into Christ's death (Rom. 6. 3) and crucified with him (Rom. 6. 6). At every celebration of the Lord's Supper the death of Christ is proclaimed (1 Cor. 11. 26). The communicants thereby partake of his crucified body and his blood outpoured (1 Cor. 10. 16). Again, the cross of Christ is an ever-present reality in the everyday life of the Christians. "They that are of Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with the passions and the lusts thereof" (Gal. 5. 24). That is why St Paul can speak of "the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world hath been crucified unto me, and I unto the world" (Gal. 6. 14). That is why he seeks to know "the fellowship of his sufferings", as one who is "conformed to his death" (Phil. 3. 10). The crucifying of the affections and lusts includes the overcoming of our natural dread of suffering and the perfection of our detachment from the world. Hence the willing acceptance of sufferings in which death is already at work in man means: "always bearing about in our body the dying of Jesus" and "always being delivered unto death for Jesus' sake" (2 Cor. 4. 10f.). Thus the cross and passion are ever-present realities. How little they are confined to the events of the first Good Friday is amply illustrated by the words which a disciple of St Paul puts into his master's mouth: "Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and fill up on my part that which is lacking of the afflictions of Christ in my flesh for his body's sake, which is the Church" (Col. 1. 24). In its redemptive aspect the cross of Christ is no mere mythical event, but a historic (geschichtlich) fact originating in the historical (historisch) event which is the crucifixion of Jesus. The abiding significance of the cross is that it is the judgement of the world, the judgement and the deliverance of man. So far as this is so, Christ is crucified "for us", not in the sense of any theory of sacrifice or satisfaction. This interpretation of the cross as a 350
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permanent fact rather than a mythological event does far more justice to the redemptive significance of the event of the past than any of the traditional interpretations. In the last resort mythological language is only a medium for conveying the significance of the historical (historisch) event. The historical (historisch) event of the cross has, in the significance peculiar to it, created a new historic (geschichtlich) situation. The preaching of the cross as the event of redemption challenges all who hear it to appropriate this significance for themselves, to be willing to be crucified with Christ. But, it will be asked, is this significance to be discerned in the actual event of past history? Can it, so to speak, be read off from that event? Or does the cross bear this significance because it is the cross of Christ? In other words, must we first be convinced of the significance of Christ and believe in him in order to discern the real meaning of the cross? If we are to perceive the real meaning of the cross, must we understand it as the cross of Jesus as a figure of past history? Must we go back to the Jesus of history? As far as the first preachers of the gospel are concerned this will certainly be the case. For them the cross was the cross of him with whom they had lived in personal intercourse. The cross was an experience of their own lives. It presented them with a question and it disclosed to them its meaning. But for us this personal connection cannot be reproduced. For us the cross cannot disclose its own meaning: it is an event of the past. We can never recover it as an event in our own lives. All we know of it is derived from historical report. But the New Testament does not proclaim Jesus Christ in this way. The meaning of the cross is not disclosed from the life of Jesus as a figure of past history, a life which needs to be reproduced by historical research. On the contrary, Jesus is not proclaimed merely as the crucified; he is also risen from the dead. The cross and the resurrection form an inseparable unity. (C) THE RESURRECTION
But what of the resurrection? Is it not a mythical event pure and simple? Obviously it is not an event of past history with a self-evident meaning. Can the resurrection narratives and every other mention of the resurrection in the New Testament be understood simply as an attempt to convey the meaning of the cross? Does the New Testament, in asserting that Jesus is risen from the dead, mean that his death is not just an ordinary human death, but the judgement and salvation of the world, depriving death of its power? Does it not express this truth in the affirmation that the Crucified was not holden of death, but rose from the dead? Yes indeed: the cross and the resurrection form a single, indivisible cosmic event. "He was delivered up for our trespasses, and was raised for
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our justification" (Rom. 4. 25). The cross is not an isolated event, as though it were the end of Jesus, which needed the resurrection subsequently to reverse it. When he suffered death, Jesus was already the Son of God, and his death by itself was the victory over the power of death. St John brings this out most clearly by describing the passion of Jesus as the "hour" in which he is glorified, and by the double meaning he gives to the phrase "lifted up", applying it both to the cross and to Christ's exaltation into glory. Cross and resurrection form a single, indivisible cosmic event which brings judgement to the world and opens up for men the possibility of authentic life. But if that be so, the resurrection cannot be a miraculous proof capable of demonstration and sufficient to convince the sceptic that the cross really has the cosmic and eschatological significance ascribed to it. Yet it cannot be denied that the resurrection of Jesus is often used in the New Testament as a miraculous proof. Take for instance Acts 17. 31. Here we are actually told that God substantiated the claims of Christ by raising him from the dead. Then again the resurrection narratives: both the legend of the empty tomb and the appearances insist on the physical reality of the risen body of the Lord (see especially Luke 24. 39-43). But these are most certainly later embellishments of the primitive tradition. St Paul knows nothing about them. There is however one passage where St Paul tries to prove the miracle of the resurrection by adducing a list of eyewitnesses (1 Cor. 15. 3-8). But this is a dangerous procedure, as Karl Barth has involuntarily shown. Barth seeks to explain away the real meaning of 1 Cor. 15 by contending that the list of eye-witnesses was put in not to prove the fact of the resurrection, but to prove that the preaching of the apostle was, like the preaching of the first Christians, the preaching of Jesus as the risen Lord. The eye-witnesses therefore guarantee St Paul's preaching, not the fact of the resurrection. An historical fact which involves a resurrection from the dead is utterly inconceivable! Yes indeed: the resurrection of Jesus cannot be a miraculous proof by which the sceptic might be compelled to believe in Christ. The difficulty is not simply the incredibility of a mythical event like the resuscitation of a dead person-for that is what the resurrection means, as is shown by the fact that the risen Lord is apprehended by the physical senses. Nor is it merely the impossibility of establishing the objective historicity of the resurrection no matter how many witnesses are cited, as though once it was established it might be believed beyond all question and faith might have its unimpeachable guarantee. No; the real difficulty is that the resurrection is itself an article of faith, and you cannot establish one article of faith by invoking another. You cannot prove the redemptive efficacy of the cross by invoking the resurrection. For the resurrection is an article of faith because it is far more than the resuscitation of a corpse-it is the eschato352
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logical event. And so it cannot be a miraculous proof. For, quite apart from its credibility, the bare miracle tells us nothing about the eschatological fact of the destruction of death. Moreover, such a miracle is not otherwise unknown to mythology. It is however abundantly clear that the New Testament is interested in the resurrection of Christ simply and solely because it is the eschatological event par excellence. By it Christ abolished death and brought life and immortality to light (2 Tim. 1. 10). This explains why St Paul borrows Gnostic language to clarify the meaning of the resurrection. As in the death of Jesus all have died (2 Cor. 5. 14f.), so through his resurrection all have been raised from the dead, though naturally this event is spread over a long period of time (1 Cor. 15. 21f.). But St Paul does not only say: "In Christ shall all be made alive"; he can also speak of rising again with Christ in the present tense, just as he speaks of our dying with him. Through the sacrament of baptism Christians participate not only in the death of Christ but also in his resurrection. It is not simply that we shall walk with him in newness of life and be united with him in his resurrection (Rom. 6. 4f.); we are doing so already here and now. "Even so reckon ye yourselves to be dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God in Jesus Christ" (Rom. 6. 11 ). Once again, in everyday life the Christians participate not only in the death of Christ but also in his resurrection. In this resurrection-life they enjoy a freedom, albeit a struggling freedom, from sin (Rom. 6. 11ff.). They are able to "cast off the works of darkness", so that the approaching day when the darkness shall vanish is already experienced here and now. "Let us walk honestly as in the day" (Rom. 13. 12f.): "we are not of the night, nor of the darkness .... Let us, since we are of the day, be sober ... " (1 Thess. 5. 5-8). St Paul seeks to share not only the sufferings of Christ but also "the power of his resurrection" (Phil. 3. 10). So he bears about in his body the dying of Jesus, "that the life also of Jesus may be manifested in our body" (2 Cor. 4. 10f.). Similarly, when the Corinthians demand a proof of his apostolic authority, he solemnly warns them: "Christ is not weak, but is powerful in you: for he was crucified in weakness, yet he liveth in the power of God. For we also are weak in him, but we shall live with him through the power of God toward you" (2 Cor. 13. 3f.). In this way the resurrection is not a mythological event adduced in order to prove the saving efficacy of the cross, but an article of faith just as much as the meaning of the cross itself. Indeed, faith in the resurrection is really the same thing as faith in the saving efficacy of the cross, faith in the cross as the cross of Christ. Hence you cannot first believe in Christ and then in the strength of that faith believe in the cross. To believe in Christ means to believe in the cross as the cross of Christ. The saving efficacy of the cross is not derived from the fact that it is the cross of Christ: it is the cross of Christ because it has this saving efficacy. Without that efficacy it is the tragic end of a great man. 353
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We are back again at the old question. How do we come to believe in the cross as the cross of Christ and as the eschatological event par excellence? How do we come to believe in the saving efficacy of the cross? There is only one answer. This is the way in which the cross is proclaimed. It is always proclaimed together with the resurrection. Christ meets us in the preaching as one crucified and risen. He meets us in the word of preaching and nowhere else. The faith of Easter is just this-faith in the word of preaching. It would be wrong at this point to raise again the problem of how this preaching arose historically, as though that could vindicate its truth. That would be to tie our faith in the word of God to the results of historical research. The word of preaching confronts us as the word of God. It is not for us to question its credentials. It is we who are questioned, we who are asked whether we will believe the word or reject it. But in answering this question, in accepting the word of preaching as the word of God and the death and resurrection of Christ as the eschatological event, we are given an opportunity of understanding ourselves. Faith and unbelief are never blind, arbitrary decisions. They offer us the alternative between accepting or rejecting that which alone can illuminate our understanding of ourselves. The real Easter faith is faith in the word of preaching which brings illumination. If the event of Easter Day is in any sense an historical event additional to the event of the cross, it is nothing else than the rise of faith in the risen Lord, since it was this faith which led to the apostolic preaching. The resurrection itself is not an event of past history. All that historical criticism can establish is the fact that the first disciples came to believe in the resurrection. The historian can perhaps to some extent account for that faith from the personal intimacy which the disciples had enjoyed with Jesus during his earthly life, and so reduce the resurrection appearances to a series of subjective visions. But the historical problem is not of interest to Christian belief in the resurrection. For the historical event of the rise of the Easter faith means for us what it meant for the first disciples-namely, the self-attestation of the risen Lord, the act of God in which the redemptive event of the cross is completed.43 We cannot buttress our own faith in the resurrection by that of the first disciples and so eliminate the element of risk which faith in the resurrection always involves. For the first disciples' faith in the resurrection is itself part and parcel of the eschatological event which is the article of faith. In other words, the apostolic preaching which originated in the event of Easter Day is itself a part of the eschatological event of redemption. The death of Christ, which is both the judgement and the salvation of the world, inaugurates the "ministry of reconciliation" or "word of reconciliation" (2 Cor. 5. 18f.). This word supplements the cross and makes its saving efficacy intelligible by demanding faith and confronting men with
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the question whether they are willing to understand themselves as men who are crucified and risen with Christ. Through the word of preaching the cross and the resurrection are made present: the eschatological "now" is here, and the promise of Isa. 49. 8 is fulfilled: "Behold, now is the acceptable time; behold, now is the day of salvation" (2 Cor. 6. 2). That is why the apostolic preaching brings judgement. For some the apostle is "a savour from death unto death" and for others a "savour from life unto life" (2 Cor. 2. 16). St Paul is the agent through whom the resurrection life becomes effective in the faithful (2 Cor. 4. 12). The promise of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel is eminently applicable to the preaching in which he is proclaimed: "Verily I say unto you, He that heareth my words and believeth on him that sent me, hath eternal life, and cometh not unto judgement, but hath passed out of death into life .... The hour cometh and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God; and they that hear shall live" (John 5. 24f.). In the word of preaching and there alone we meet the risen Lord. "So belief cometh of hearing, and hearing by the word of Christ" (Rom. 10. 17). Like the word itself and the apostle who proclaims it, so the Church where the preaching of the word is continued and where the believers or "saints" (i.e., those who have been transferred to eschatological existence) are gathered is part of the eschatological event. The word "Church" (f:Kdrtcrio:) is an eschatological term, while its designation as the Body of Christ emphasizes its cosmic significance. For the Church is not just a phenomenon of secular history, it is phenomenon of significant history, in the sense that it realizes itself in history.
Conclusion We have now outlined a programme for the demythologizing of the New Testament. Are there still any surviving traces of mythology? There certainly are for those who regard all language about an act of God or of a decisive, eschatological event as mythological. But this is not mythology in the traditional sense, not the kind of mythology which has become antiquated with the decay of the mythical world view. For the redemption of which we have spoken is not a miraculous supernatural event, but an historical event wrought out in time and space. We are convinced that this restatement does better justice to the real meaning of the New Testament and to the paradox of the kerygma. For the kerygma maintains that the eschatological emissary of God is a concrete figure of a particular historical past, that his eschatological activity was wrought out in a human fate, and that therefore it is an event whose eschatological character does not admit of a secular proof. Here we have the paradox of Phil. 2. 7: ''He emptied himself"; of 2 Cor. 8. 9: " ... though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor"; of Rom. 8. 3: "God, sending his Son in the likeness of
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sinful flesh"; of 1 Tim. 3. 16: "He was manifested in the flesh"; and above all of the classic formula of John 1. 14: "The Word became flesh." The agent of God's presence and activity, the mediator of his reconciliation of the world unto himself, is a real figure of history. Similarly the word of God is not some mysterious oracle, but a sober, factual account of a human life, of Jesus of Nazareth, possessing saving efficacy for man. Of course the kerygma may be regarded as part of the story of man's spiritual evolution and used as a basis for a tenable Weltanschauung. Yet this proclamation claims to be the eschatological word of God. The apostles who proclaim the word may be regarded merely as figures of past history, and the Church as a sociological and historical phenomenon, part of the history of man's spiritual evolution. Yet both are eschatological phenomena and eschatological events. All these assertions are an offence (m~avoaA.ov ), which will not be removed by philosophical discussion, but only by faith and obedience. All these are phenomena subject to historical, sociological and psychological observation, yet for faith they are all of them eschatological phenomena. It is precisely its immunity from proof which secures the Christian proclamation against the charge of being mythological. The transcendence of God is not as in myth reduced to immanence. Instead, we have the paradox of a transcendent God present and active in history: "The Word became flesh".
Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15
Gal. 4. 4; Phi!. 2. 6ff.; 2 Cor. 8. 9; John 1. 14, etc. 2 Cor. 5. 21; Rom. 8. 3. Rom. 3. 23-26; 4. 25; 8. 3; 2 Cor. 5. 14, 19; John 1. 29; 1 John 2. 2, etc. 1 Cor. 15. 21f.; Rom. 5. 12ff. 1 Cor. 2. 6; Col. 2. 15; Rev. 12. 7ff., etc. Acts 1. 6f.; 2. 33; Rom. 8. 34, etc. Phil. 2. 9-11; 1 Cor. 15. 25. 1 Cor. 15. 23f., 50ff., etc. Rev. 21. 4, etc. 1 Thess. 4. 15ff.; 1 Cor. 15. 51f.; cf. Mark 9. 1. Rom. 5. 12ff.; 1 Cor. 15. 21ff., 44b, ff. 'Amxpxit: Rom. 8. 23, appa~rov: 2 Cor. 1. 22; 5. 5. Rom. 8. 15; Gal. 4. 6. Rom. 8. 11. It may of course be argued that there are people alive to-day whose confidence in the traditional scientific view of the world has been shaken, and others who are primitive enough to qualify for an age of mythical thought. And there are also many varieties of superstition. But when belief in spirits and miracles has degenerated into superstition, it has become something entirely different from what it was when it was genuine faith. The various impressions and speculations which influence credulous people here and there are of little importance, nor does it matter to what extent cheap slogans have spread an atmosphere inimical to science. What matters is the world view which men imbibe from their environment, and it is science which determines that view of the world
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16 17 18 19 20
21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43
through the school, the press, the wireless, the cinema, and all the other fruits of technical progress. Cp. the observations of Paul Schi.itz on the decay of mythical religion in the East through the introduction of modern hygiene and medicine. Cp. Gerhardt Kri.iger, Einsicht und Leidenschaft, Das Wesen des platonischen Denkens, Frankfurt, 1939, p. 11f. Rom. 5. 12ff.; 1 Cor. 15. 21ft., 44b. Cp. Gerhardt Kri.iger, Einsicht und Leidenschaft, esp. p. 17f., 56f. Myth is here used in the sense popularized by the "History of Religions" school. Mythology is the use of imagery to express the other worldly in terms of this world and the divine in terms of human life, the other side in terms of this side. For instance, divine transcendence is expressed as spatial distance. It is a mode of expression which makes it easy to understand the cultus as an action in which material means are used to convey immaterial power. Myth is not used in that modern sense, according to which it is practically equivalent to ideology. As an illustration of this critical re-interpretation of myth cf. Hans Jonas, Augustin und das paulinische Freiheitsproblem, 1930, pp. 66-76. What is Christianity? Williams and Norgate, 1904, pp. 63-4 and 57. Cp. e.g. Troeltsch, Die Bedeutung der Geschichtlichkeit Jesu filr den Glauben, Ti.ibingen, 1911. Gnosis und spiitantiker Geist. I. Die mythologische Gnosis, 1934. Terms like "the spirit of the age" or "the spirit of technology" provide some sort of modern analogy. Briefwechsel zwischen Wilhelm Dilthey und dem Grafen Paul Yorck von Wartenburg, 1877-97. Halle, Niemeyer, 1923. P.154. P.158. P.155. Christentum und Selbstbehauptung, Frankfurt, 1940. P. 321. P. 326. P. 337. P. 403. P. 326. P. 337. Geworfenheit: see "Existence and Being" Vision Press, 1949, p. 49f. (Translator). Pp. 341, 353. P. 298. P. 330. P. 358. It is worth noting that St Paul never uses the term &:cpecrt1; trov &J.iapn v, though it reappears in the deutero-Pauline literature; see e.g. Col. 1. 14; Eph. 1. 7. This and the following paragraphs are also intended as an answer to the doubts and suspicions which Paul Althaus has raised against me in Die Wahrheit des kirchlichen Osterglaubens, 1941, p. 90ft. Cp. also my discussion of Emanuel Hirsch's "Die Auferstehungsgeschichten und der christliche Glaube", 1940, in Theol. Lit.-Ztg., 1940, pp. 242-6.
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Bibliography Kamlah, W. Der Mensch in der ProfaniUit. Studium Generate, 1949. Kriiger, G. Philosophisches Denken und christlicher Glaube, Studium Generate, 1948.
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15 MYTHOLOGY AND THE NEW TESTAMENT A review of Kerygma und M ythos Amos N. Wilder Source: Journal of Biblical Literature, 69, 1950, pp. 113-127.
How can the message of the New Testament be most effectively mediated to modern men? How can the barriers of its ancient thought-forms be surmounted? We have here problems both of hermeneutic and apologetic which take on a special form and a special urgency today. It is not surprising, therefore, that a proposal with regard to these matters by Rudolf Bultmann has received wide attention, and in fact has become the focus of what amounts to a major theological discussion on the continent at least. This scholar's monograph, "Neues Testament und Mythologie: Das Problem der Entmythologisierung der neutestamentlichen Verktindigung" was first published as a part of his volume, Offenbarung und Heilsgeschehen, Beitrage zur Evangelischen Theologie, Band 7, Evangelischer Verlag, Munich, 1941. Our special concern here is with the volume edited by Hans Werner Bartsch, Kerygma und Mythos, Ein Theologisches Gespriich/ in which it is reprinted with accompanying discussion. The core of the present book is made up of Bultmann's paper, a lengthy and systematic critique of it by Julius Schniewind, and a reply point by point to the latter by Bultmann himself. These three items make up something less than half the volume. Four of the remaining papers are written by systematic theologians and one representative of the history of religions. 2
I In his preface the editor speaks of the exceptional impact made by Bultmann's monograph in and after the war years, and the handicaps under which the discussion was carried out in view of publishing difficulties. He then situates Bultmann's proposal with regard to the mythical elements in the New Testament in its wider context. Briefly stated, liberal 359
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interpretation supposed that it could solve the problem by elimination. But the recent rise of the "kerygmatic" emphasis in the interpretation of the New Testament faith has made this procedure impossible. Mythological elements are an inseparable aspect of the message. Thus the need not of elimination but interpretation of these elements became very pressing, especially since the new emphasis on the kerygma has threatened to revive an uncritical biblicism in some quarters. It is the merit of Bultmann that he has raised this issue in all its sharpness and offered a proposal which has not only the authority of his own scholarly competence behind it, but which seeks to meet the outlook of men in our modern situation. We shall first summarize briefly the content of Bultmann's "Neues Testament und Mythologie": The problem is constituted by the fact that the New Testament's world-picture is mythological in character (a three-story world; the earth a theatre of activity of supernatural beings under the power of Satan; the course of history running on to an imminent worldcatastrophe); and by the fact that the course of salvation, the coming of the pre-existent Son from heaven, etc., corresponds to this mythological world-picture. All such conceptions which can easily be traced to Jewish apocalyptic and to the gnostic redemption-myth, are today both unbelievable and unmeaningful. Bultmann is much concerned with the outlook of modern man. The attitudes developed in connection with both his scientific interests and his technological mastery have indisposed him completely to certain aspects of the anthropology and psychology implicit in the New Testament. For example man sees himself as an autonymous unity and this excludes the idea of demonic or spiritual control, together with the allied sacramental conceptions. Again death for modems is a natural process, and not attributable to sin. Similar problems arise with regard to interpretations of Christ's death in terms of substitutionary atonement, and with regard to the resurrection of Jesus. "Such a miraculous event in nature as the reanimation of a dead body - quite apart from its incredibility - he cannot grasp as a relevant method of divine action." The task, continues Bultmann, is not one of selection and elimination. The theologian and the preacher are responsible to their public to Jet men know exactly what they accept as true and what not. But this would lead to endless refinements and distinctions in the Scriptures, and the author concludes that the message of the New Testament can only retain its full validity if the mythological elements be set aside in a thorough-going way, and a point of view be established from which the whole can be reinterpreted. Two factors encourage Bultmann in this procedure. The very nature of the myth is such that we are pointed behind it. Its role is not to give a world-picture actually, but to illuminate man's situation and understanding of himself. The myth is not so much cosmological as anthropological. But, secondly, the contradictions and plurality of the mythological
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representations are such that we can say that the New Testament itself imposes the general task and points the way to it. At this point the author recognizes that earlier attempts have been made to meet the problem. Men have recurred to allegory to alleviate the problem of obsolete conceptions. Harnack's distinction between the shell and the kernel is cited as a misconception of the problem and a falsification of the early Christian message. The history of religion school, which treats the subject matter with full seriousness and recognizes the significance of Entweltlichung in religious piety and rite, nevertheless deprives the Christian message of its kerygmatic character. Bultmann concludes that an existential interpretation of the myth must be carried out which will safeguard the basic sense of human existence expressed in it and carry over the kerygmatic message without loss. In his second and last part the proposed procedure is suggested. The situation of man apart from faith, as it is conveyed by the mythology of the concepts: "world", "flesh", "sin", "anxiety", "death", and their connections, can best be understood in terms of his this-worldliness and his false security in it and bondage to it. Man, asserting himself and his "world", thus excludes himself from true freedom and his true possibilities in God. Bultmann makes much of the conception of man as "glorying" in his fleshly self, in his visible works, or in his acquired mystical experience. In the Christian faith on the other hand man surrenders these securities and possessions and enters into the freedom and future of God. He lives in the world still but "as not using it," because he is now devoted to the invisible and undisposable security that God offers him. This is the meaning of eschatological existence, or of being a "new creature." Thus Bultmann translates the New Testament's mythological picture of man under the power of sin and Satan, and of man in Christ, into existential terms which are meaningful today. And he turns for corroboration to the Johannine literature where victory over the world for the believer is stated in a way which eliminates at least the eschatological myth. Here the argument turns to its crux: can the saving action of God in Christ be presented apart from mythological terms? The section opens with an extremely interesting discussion as to how far it is possible for the philosopher, apart from faith, and apart from the use of myth, to state the predicament of man and the meaning of salvation. Bultmann has in mind not only older idealistic versions of Christianity which relegated the figure of the historical Christ to a mere symbol, but especially contemporary existentialists who portray the situation of man unsaved and saved in very much the same terms that Bultmann does in the section just described. The author here insists that such an exposition of the matter as Heidegger gives truly conveys in "profane" terms the sense of existence which is that of man in despair as well as that of men who have been delivered from it. Yet while philosophy sees that man is fallen, 361
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for it the fall has not reached the centre, and it is not recognized that man cannot be master of his situation. What philosophy speaks of in saying that man is guilty of self-sufficiency is not the same thing as what the New Testament so describes. "Self-sufficiency must be seen as ingratitude to be 'guilty'." Thus Bultmann insists on the Christ-event as a reality indispensable for that genuine freedom from the world which the philosopher postulates. Here he recognizes that a residue of mythology appears to be necessary in restating the gospel. "It is, however, clear in the first place that the Christevent is not myth in the same sense as the cult-myths of the Greek or Hellenistic deities." For here we have to do with a historical man. "Historical and mythical are here uniquely combined." Bultmann concludes that the mythological here is not constitutive, but "serves only to give expression to the significance of the historical figure Jesus and his story." So with regard to the sacrificial and forensic symbol in which the Cross is presented (today unavailable to men): these convey its historical significance. To believe in the Cross, rightly understood, is not to put faith in a cosmic mythical transaction of the past, but to share that Cross as one's own. The fact that the Cross is represented as having an eschatological significance means that it is not an event of the past to which one looks back but something which is always actualized for faith, i.e., in the sacraments and in our "putting to death the works of the flesh." Thus the central salvation-event is not mythological but historical, based in the actual crucifixion of Jesus, but made present continually in the believer. Bultmann's treatment of the resurrection of Jesus is a crux, as has been recognized in the discussions. It is certainly not a historical (historisches) event. Nor is it a merely mythical one. No, we have here "an expression for the significance of the Cross . . . Indeed, Cross and resurrection, as cosmic transaction, are one whole" (Rom 425 ). In the Cross Jesus is lifted up, as John has it. The resurrection, therefore, does not offer itself to us in the form of a miraculous attestation. Here the author acknowledges that it is so viewed in the New Testament, not only in the narratives of the empty tomb, but also in Paul's listing of the eye-witnesses in I Cor 153-8 (which cannot then pretend to be part of the primitive kerygma). The resurrection is throughout presented as an eschatological event, to bring home the fact that "in Christ all are made alive; the believer is raised with him, is alive to God in Christ Jesus." This actualizes itself in daily life, in our laying aside of the works of darkness and dying to sin. In fine, the resurrection faith is naught but faith in the Cross as saving-event, or faith in the proclamation of it. Here Bultmann resists any proposal to legitimate the truth of the proclamation by historical examination of its origin. The word of the resurrection comes to us from God, as it came to the apostles in the first place, and is not to be established therefore by historical criticism. Indeed, "the Easter-event as the resurrection of Christ is no historical event; as 362
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historical event only the Easter-faith of the first disciples is understandable." Bultmann concludes again that all mythology has thus been accounted for. It is true that God's action in Christ is still in view. But this action takes place, in paradoxical fashion, in the disguise of human circumstance, so that it cannot be recognized except by faith, and this does not accord with the nature of myth. Reference to some of the other statements in the volume will indicate the directions taken by the discussion. Gotz Harbsmeier, in a lecture delivered at Gottingen in 1943 on "Mythos und Offenbarung: Bultmann's BibelversUindnis", supports the latter's position vigorously, as he does in an exchange of letters with a correspondent also included here. Speaking as a pastor and as a wounded veteran he lays stress on the alien character of the language of the Bible for men. "It is not Bultmann," he insists, "who says that these things are done with (erledigt) but men generally- in the Wehrmacht, in France, in Belgium, in Russia." We cannot just rest on dogma. Simply to cite the Bible verbatim is not the same thing as bearing our witness. Harbsmeier then deals with criticisms of Bultmann, such as that of Sasse who objects that practically all of the articles of the Apostles' Creed are in effect denied. The answer is that Bultmann is engaged not in a negative but a positive task, not in a mutilation of the gospel as a concession to a secular criticism but in a translation of it in a form capable of encounter with modern men. What scandalizes the conservative, but what should not scandalize the Christian, is that Bultmann insists that we go back to the naked man on the cross, divested of all power and glory, abandoned and vilified, and recognize that this event of the Cross is at the same time the world-transforming event which the mythology attempts in its own way to portray. Many of the critics of Bultmann, writes Harbsmeier to his correspondent, urge that there is today a widespread trend toward the appreciation and use of myth for the depth-dimension of life, and that Bultmann's proposal runs counter to this opportunity offered to the church. But this flight to myth is misconceived. Men of our time cannot truly find a home for themselves in this mentality and its obsolete patterns. The faith must rather come to us- in our own reality, and in terms suitable to us. Here, however, it would seem that Harbsmeier confuses two matters. He is no doubt correct in holding that particular pre-scientific elements in the Bible can only be a handicap to the message. But an age like ours, nourished too exclusively on a rational fare, may legitimately deepen its grasp of existence by the symbolic-imaginative vehicles offered in myth, provided that they be constantly animated by and criticized by what is central in the faith. Harbsmeier's correspondent points out that the Roman Catholic Church appears not to suffer the handicaps which 363
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Bultmann's premise would imply, and yet it affirms the mythological elements in the New Testament without any concessions. The reply is that this resort to the cultic and the mythical is the attempt of men in insecurity to find retreat in a lost Paradise in which they will have God and his mysteries at their disposal. But we may here interject an observation. Several of Bultmann's critics are probably right in questioning his premise that men of today are chiefly characterized by the scientific outlook and the effect of the technological age. Many men are so influenced, and for them the Christian faith must deal rigorously with obsolete conceptions or fail. But even with such men it will fail unless it also offers a message couched in such symbol as is capable of conveying the Alpha and Omega with which it pretends to deal. The address of Ernst Lohmeyer included in the volume cannot but have special interest. This writer recognizes Bultmann's problem. He notes the various ways in which first the Enlightenment and then German idealism sought to deal with it. Bultmann similarly seeks the kernel and discards the shell, not now in terms of a phenomenology of spirit but of existence. His definition of mythology is borrowed from the history of religions and is inadequate. Myth is properly an account of the inter-relations of God, man and the world; and to anthropologize as Bultmann does is to reject two of the terms. He only grasps the relations of God and man on the human side in his existential approach. Injustice is also done to the New Testament's view of "world" in that it is made entirely relative to man. Thus Lohmeyer, though he recognizes the obsolete elements in the New Testament, insists that they are often inseparable from its faith. It is true that Bultmann is concerned to maintain the kerygma in its integrity. But he also makes much of his determination to justify a scientific criticism and a scientific theology. Yet the proper task of the latter in connection with the mythology is not that of its removal but of laying hold of its enduring content of meaning through sound understanding of the peculiarity of its historical form. But this is, after all, only the task that scientific interpretation pursues with any historical subject matter. It is true that scientific procedure can only in part convey the content of revelation. Thus this attempt to translate the New Testament message into the terms of a secular existential philosophy is beset with difficulty. Yet Lohmeyer remarks that this existentialism is not a true philosophy, but rather a secularized Christian theology. To employ its categories is then a permissible form of apologetic, but no more, and we must take care to maintain the kerygma as the basis of interpretation and not the object of criticism. Of the remaining four papers by contributors outside the field of New Testament scholarship we confine ourself to the statement by H. Thielicke. This writer again approves Bultmann's undertaking, but notes the risks 364
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involved. He does not think it possible for the latter to safeguard the normative character of the gospel if it is restated in this way in the categories of Heidegger. The revelation dissolves into philosophy. Thielicke deplores the fact that all is referred to the Selbstverstiindnis of the individual before or after salvation, rather than to the object of faith, and sees a disturbing analogy here to the Selbstbewusstsein of Schleiermacher. He also stresses even more emphatically than other critics that the historical events of the gospel story become shadowy. The Cross becomes only a "moment'' of my self-consciousness. Theilicke insists also that we must view the resurrection of Christ as a real event in itself and apart from the Cross: a transaction between God and Christ, and not merely one between God and the disciples. Most significant in this paper is the thesis that the fundamental problem of myth is not one of history but of theory of knowledge and language. He makes a strong case for the necessity of myth, which is not to be viewed as a fallible objectification of a subjective experience, but rather our subjective formulation of an objective (heavenly) transaction. To point toward a solution he draws attention to the peculiarity of the myth of the Bible with a reference to Cullmann's work, and urges that we should look in it not for a Weltbild but for a Weltanschauung, for the ground of reality behind the form and for that integrating and total view of experience which myth alone can convey. This sounds, indeed, very much like the way that Bultmann himself conceives of his task. But there is a very important difference. Bultmann sees the myth as obsolete pre-scientific fiction. Thielicke, and others as we have noted, see at least much of it as the inevitable and continually valid language of faith. How, indeed, we add, can the full vividness of the divine action in history and in the soul be maintained without the employment of mythical discourse? Regin Prenter has well said that the elimination of mythology in the representation of religious realities is bound to issue either in a barren metaphysic (i.e., scholasticism) or in psychologism. It is this latter danger that Bultmann runs. It is our view that mythopoetic language is an indispensable vehicle of the biblical truth and message. It does not grow obsolete though it is in need of constant interpretation and re-interpretation. There are, indeed, marginal elements in the New Testament. Account of this problem is taken by W. G. Ktimmel in a satisfactory way in the article mentioned in a footnote above.
11 Bultmann's proposal is one that every biblical student will find worthy of study. It is true that it is couched in existentialist terms which are more relevant to continental readers than to most in this country. But the questions raised are live issues and we shall have to find equivalent terms to 365
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deal with them. The basic problem is indeed an old one: that of the outworn conceptions in terms of which the message of the New Testament is presented- the symbol, metaphor, myth which is so inextricably linked with the gospel. But new circumstances place this problem in a new light. It is not possible today for us to deal with the outworn conceptions of the New Testament in the way in which they were dealt with in the past, even in the recent past. Previous to the Enlightenment the problem was not acute. Reformation Protestantism did not see any great difficulty here, though it is of interest that in Paradise Lost Milton finds it necessary now and then to comment on the special ways in which heavenly events have to be presented. The advance of rationalism, however, highlighted the problem. First the Enlightenment and then the period of German idealism solved the problem by simply discarding the outworn conceptions and world-view, and fixing upon a body of eternal truth or ethic which was viewed as a sub-stratum or residue. The New Testament took on the character, therefore, of a deposit of universally valid truth or teaching, rather than the vehicle of a gospel. This distinction of shell and kernel, or scaffolding and building, has been widespread right down to our own time. To quote Bultmann: "What is the kernel of the proclamation of Jesus concerning the Kingdom of God and its coming according to Harnack? 'First, that this Kingdom is something Oberweltliches, a gift from above, not a product of the natural life; second, that it is a pure religious good - an inner bond with the living God; third, that it is the most important, yes, the most decisive thing that man can experience, that it penetrates and rules the whole sphere of his existence, since sin is forgiven and wretchedness is brought to an end.' All that is mythical is here eliminated. 'The Kingdom of God comes in that it comes to the single individual, finds admission to his soul, and is appropriated by it.' "The kerygma is here reduced to specific religious and ethical principles, and to a religiously motivated idealistic ethic. But therewith the truth of the kerygma as kerygma is eliminated, that is, as the message of the decisive operation of God in Christ. " 3 Bultmann here somewhat exaggerates the contrast, failing to distinguish between Harnack's exegesis of the New Testament and Harnack's attempt to modernize the gospel. But his judgment remains basically true. The new feature which conditions our present problem of dealing with the outworn elements in the New Testament comes as a result of recent developments in the study of the eschatology of the New Testament and especially of form-criticism, with the resultant emphasis on the message or kerygma of the early community. If we recognize that the central thing in the New Testament is a message concerning the divine action, it is a much more difficult thing to discard the so-called mythology. This is the crux of the problem, and Bultmann who has contributed so much to the discipline of formcriticism is properly the one to deal with the problem in this new form.
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We may first make a few observations arising out of Bultmann's statement and the discussion in Bartsch's symposium. All agree that this writer is dealing with a real problem and one that is today urgent in a new form. His existential methodology is a highly illuminating one, and makes possible a fresh and profound view of the contents of the New Testament. His recent small volume, Das Urchristentum im Rahmen der antiken Religionen, is a further illustration. Furthermore, he is to be commended for his critical scruple, his opposition to a new pietistic biblicism based on the ke1ygma, and for his starting point, which is our actual human condition, and a contemporary philosophical understanding of it. But Bultmann oversimplifies the nature of the mythological. He defines it as "that form of representation in which the other-worldly and divine appear as the worldly and the human, in which the Jenseitiges appears as the Diesseitiges." Its fictions have no correspondence to reality, no descriptive truth. All that they can do is to suggest man's sense of his existence. But surely it is better to recognize that much myth, and much biblical myth, has very considerable descriptive truth, that is, it genuinely reports reality and real processes. Our problem in the Bible is to distinguish and interpret, not to discard totally and offer a total surrogate. Some of the myth in the New Testament is central and some is marginal. Much is fully made over in the gospel. As Augustine said: "Circuitus illi explosi sunt", ("These cycles [of the pagan myths] are broken"). Some of the myth of the New Testament is fully reconceived, some is indeed vestigial or parasitic or secondary or tertiary. The basic problem is not one of obsolete conceptions, but of the very language of religion and its interpretation. It is a problem of semantics. We are dealing with mythopoetic language and our problem is to understand what it tells us. We are dealing with the imaginative language of faith to be interpreted, not with dead myths. Bultmann's monograph and the discussion of its issues in the present volume lead the student finally to the presuppositions of his theological method, his dialectic. 1. We note that Bultmann in many ways writes from a radically modern, radically critical point of view. He begins with form-criticism in its most rigorous operation and most negative results. He defines and treats the mythology of the New Testament in terms of the religionsgeschichtliche school, that is, as a body of untenable conceptions relative to a particular age and outlook. He is primarily concerned with meeting the difficulties of scientifically-minded modems. He sees the dangers of a new uncritical biblicism in connection with the current emphasis on the kerygma. In short Bultmann has a good deal of the old-fashioned rationalist about him, the rationalist who stands guard against all forms of uncritical pietism, and that kind of rationalist who has a blind spot for imaginative and connotative expression. It may seem peculiar to speak of Bultmann as in any sense 367
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a rationalist. By a rationalist we do not here mean a liberal. Bultmann's polemic against what we call liberalism is familiar, for example, his attacks in Glauben und Verstehen upon evolutionary views of religious development. Connected with this rationalist influence no doubt is his denial of the resurrection of Jesus as a historical event distinct from that of the Cross; but more particularly his scepticism as to our knowledge of the historical Jesus and the limited significance of the historical Jesus for faith; and finally his unwillingness to expose the central matters of faith to the tests of historical scholarship. 2. But over against this rigorous scientific orientation we find in him by way of compensation a transcendental doctrine of revelation. Revelation is, granted, connected with the once-for-all work of God in history, in Jesus Christ. But it is transmitted only through the Word of proclamation. This saving Word can reach the modern scientific sceptic all the more easily just because scientific preoccupations and the preoccupations of historical research cannot touch it! And because the mythical, outworn conceptions that accompanied its origin are discarded. Is there not here a curious anomaly? Bultmann the scientific critic and apologist to scientific-minded men heavily discounts his own tools. In his discussion with Schniewind, for example, he depreciates his own book, Jesus (English translation, Jesus and the Word), not because it is not scientific, but because this kind of method does not touch the communication of the gospel. 3. The point of the matter would seem to be this. Bultmann 's rationalist legacy leaves him with too meagre a result, particularly because it makes it impossible for him to recognize the true character of myth. Myth for him is only time-conditioned, pre-scientific error. True it suggests man's understanding of his "existence" (understanding "existence" here in the special sense given it in existential philosophy). But this is all. It carries no truth. The myth of the Redeemer carries no truth. The myth of vicarious redemption carries no truth. The myth of world-judgment and a new age carries no truth. Perhaps this is going too far. Though he finds, for instance, in New Testament eschatology no meaning or goal with reference to world-history, yet he does recognize that it "inquires as to the meaning and goal of my own history and therewith that of the eschatological community." But the meaning he finds here is actually only an undefined existential possibility in the individual. His critics have pointed out clearly that this is not what the New Testament means when it speaks of the Kingdom of God and its coming. As Theo Preiss of Montpellier has pointed out, Bultmann and C. H. Dodd have granted the early Christians and ourselves aD-day, but seem to think that we can be content with that. No V-day, or Victory-day is necessary. Now our conclusion is that Bultmann is thrown into an impasse by his method and his failure to recognize the full richness and meaning of 368
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mythopoetic conceptions, and this accounts for his leap into a dialectical view of revelation. 4. A final word with regard to Bultmann's view of the role of historical study. It is well known that he holds an extremely sceptical view with regard to our ability to reconstruct the figure of the historical Jesus. But this is not the crux of the matter. Scholars vary widely at this point. Nor is it surprising that he places his emphasis on the Lord of faith rather than the Jesus of history. This is true of the whole New Testament. What is peculiar and surprising is that Bultmann puts historical research out of court in what concerns our grasp of the real significance of these matters. Only faith operates here- on the basis of direct revelation by the Word. He thinks, indeed, of revelation as operating in isolation from historical contingencies and relativities - save that of course it began with a historical event and that our own faith is conditioned by our individual historical setting. The Word reaches us as it were, by a kind of high-tension trolley across the centuries and strikes its saving spark in us. But the origin of it must not be placed at the mercy of historical investigation! Even the witness of the first believers is put out of court as something distinct from the kerygma or Word. Thus Bultmann sets aside the various witnesses to the resurrection of Jesus found in I Corinthians 155_8 ("he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve," etc.). The "witness" could deal only in mythological terms and is therefore to be rejected. Similarly with the paradosis or tradition of that "which was from the beginning" which appears so frequently in the New Testament. All this is precarious and relativistic evidence, and faith must not rest on such a basis. Schniewind answers Bultmann effectively here. He well shows that the memory and testimonies of the first believers cannot be separated in this way from the Word or Gospel itself. The church's historical memory of Jesus is inseparable from its faith and message. The church has always from the first days reflected upon this memory. And our historical-critical work is only a sophistication of this reflection. Thus the mythological character of the early witness cannot be set aside by this kind of dialectic. The object of faith is really involved in these difficulties and in these elements of precariousness. And for this reason historical study retains its immense responsibility.
Notes 1 Hans Wemer Bartsch, Editor. Kerygma und Mythos, Ein Theologisches Gespriich. Mit Beitragen von Prof. D. Rudolf Bultmann; P. Gotz Harbsmeier; P. Friedrich Hochgrebe; Prof. D. Dr. Ernst Lohmeyer; Dr. Paul Olivier; P. Hermann Sauter; Prof. D. Julius Schniewind; Prof. D. Dr. Friederich K. Schumann; Dr. J. B. Soucek; Prof. D. Dr. Helmut Thielicke. Theologische Forschung: Erste Veroffentlichung. Hamburg: Reich & Heidrich; Evangelischer Verlag, 1948,241 pages.
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2 See also W. G. Kiimmel, "Mythische Rede und Heilsgeschen im Neuen Testament," Coniectanea Neotestamentica, XI (Lund & Kopenhamn, 1947), pp. 109-131; Regin Prenter, "Myth et Evangile," Revue de Theologie et de
Philosophie, XXXV (1947), 49-67; and now Entmythologisierung: Eine Auseinandersetzung zwischen Schniewind, Bultmann und Karl Earth, edited by Ernst Wolf. Stuttgart, Evangelisches Verlagswerk. 3 Kerygma und Mythos, pp. 25-26.
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MYTH AND GOSPEL A discussion of the problem of demythologizing the New Testament message Gunther Bornkamm Source: C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville (eds), Kerygma and History: A Symposium on the Theology of Rudolf Bultmann, translated by C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville (Nashville: Abingdon, 1962), pp. 172-196. (Originally published as 'Mythos und Evangelium. Zur Diskussion des Problemes der Entmythologisierung der neutestamentlichen Verkiindigung', in G. Bomkamm and W. Klaas (eds), Mythos and Evangelium. Zum Programm R. Bultmanns, Theologische Existenz heute 26; Munich: Kaiser, 1951.)
Theology too is bound to be wise and to build its house upon a rock. For that reason it cannot for one moment avoid the question concerning its foundations. When this question is put to it afresh, then it must face up to it and must even suffer gratefully the shock and disquiet meted out to it. Any attempts to suppress or dispose of such questions with alarm and undue haste could only be symptomatic of the fact that the foundations of our theology are not in the best repair, indeed, that the concern for a firm foundation is not at all a genuine concern in a theology which behaves so anxiously and waxes so indignant. Rudolf Bultmann's publication Offenbarung und Heilsgeschehen, and in it particularly his essay on the "New Testament and Mythology," has put anew and with most pressing urgency the question concerning the foundations of our theology-that is, concerning the proper appropriation and exposition of the New Testament message. For a long time no theological writing has aroused such a storm and such passionate literary and oral discussion in theology and in the Church-even far beyond their confines. It appears that this storm will agitate us still further and keep us in suspense for some time to come. Moreover, any perceptive person knows that it is not a problem peculiar to the theological disciplines which is involved here, but rather an unsolved question which affects everyone who is thoughtfully concerned about appropriating the Christian message or indeed, about merely taking an honest position over against it. In addition 371
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it is a question which concerns primarily the theologian who must present that message. The question is certainly not new. It is in a certain sense as old as the gospel itself; it is woven into the whole history of the Church and of the Western spirit, however that spirit undertook to accept or reject the Christian message and however it solved or capitulated before the question put to it. We must consider the question in the form put to us, however, and would do well not to begin at an earlier stage of the discussion. Hence, in the following, a survey 1 shall first of all be given of Bultmann's development of the problem and his attempt at solution; then, a critical coming to grips with the discussion thus far; and finally a few theological observations on the problem as newly sketched by Bultmann.
I Bultmann's program of demythologizing Bultmann's train of thought is as follows: He sees that the problem implicit in the question consists in the complete and profound discrepancy between the New Testament world of ideas and modern thought as irrevocably shaped by science. The three-story world pictured in the New Testament (heaven, earth, hell) is mythical; its idea of man whose existence is determined by supra- and sub-wordly powers (God, Satan, angels, demons) is mythical; its idea of history as the arena of these divine and demonic powers, its notion of the two aeons-of the end of the old world period now under the form of antidivine powers and hastening on to its end in the midst of cosmic catastrophes and of the coming of a new time of salvation, a new creation-is mythical. Accordingly, the idea of the saving event set within the framework of this mythical view of the world and of history is also mythical, i.e., the idea of a divine being which descends in human form, performs miracles, conquers demons, vicariously dies an atoning death for men; which arises, ascends to heaven and will soon return upon the clouds of heaven for the resurrection of the dead and for judgment. This mythical world of ideas is irrevocably shattered for the modern man. His world no longer has room for mythical figures and occurrences. Hence he can no longer understand the Christian message together with all the ideas which have been added to it, particularly from late Jewish apocalypticism and from Hellenistic Gnosticism. The question, therefore, is whether the New Testament proclamation is essentially bound to these ideational forms. It it is not, then the task of demythologizing the Christian message in a radical and methodical sense is required, and without arbitrariness and sporadic deletions. According to Bultmann, the necessity of this task is twofold. First of all, it is indicated by the nature of myth itself in so far as it does not intend giving an objective picture of the world as outlined by science, but rather a 372
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form of expression in which man, not yet awakened to reason, expresses his own understanding of the world and of himself. Into such an understanding every genuine interpretation of myth must inquire. That interpretation must distinguish between what the myth says and what it intends. The myth, of course, speaks of the figures and the occurrences of a world accessible to the senses, but it has in mind that which transcends the realm of the disposable world, though it conceives the other-worldly in terms of this world and the divine in terms of human life. Therefore the question in light of which the myth will be expounded is: How does man understand himself in it? What idea of human existence is expressed in it? So the question is not: How is the world described in it? An exposition which puts such questions Bultmann terms existential interpretation? The necessity of such an exposition, however, really arises out of the New Testament itself, for we can see from the mainfold fragmentariness, imbalance, and discrepancy of the ideas in the message that what is intended in the gospel is not bound up in those mythical forms of ideas. Bultmann thus understands the theological task of appropriating the primitive Christian message in a way quite different than did the liberal theology of the history-of-religions school (Harnack, Troeltsch). If the latter attempted to peel off the mythical forms of ideas as temporally conditioned husks in order to discover the kernel of a timeless truth or a religious experience, Bultmann sees his task not in the elimination of the myth, but rather in its interpretation, and always in terms of the question: What conception of human existence is expressed in the mythological statements? Therefore, Bultmann's attempt to carry out his demythologizing according to its basic features is so consistently structured that he does not begin with the Christ event, but inquires first of all into the New Testament understanding of existence. For that reason, in all of his New Testament and theological works 3 Bultmann begins with the description of unredeemed man, of the "fleshly" man (Paul) who has fallen prey to sin, care, self-praise, anxiety, and death; in short, who has fallen prey to the world but who in his lostness still never gets free of God because God's law calls him to his destiny, a destiny which the fleshly man (either as lawless or as zealous for the law) can indeed never realize. It is not accidental that Romans 7 plays such an important role in Bultmann's theological thought and work. In contrast to this unredeemed man the believer is one who abandons all security and in reliance upon God's grace frees himself from whatever is disposable and exists in terms of a critical distance over against the world. 4 Bultmann describes this attitude by the concept "desecularization," a concept not to be misconstrued in terms of mysticism or asceticism. He characterizes faith as eschatological existence, whereby again "eschatological" does not contain ideas of a catastrophic world destruction occurring within time, but rather the end of the world as 373
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an event within the attitude of faith itself. For the believer it is true that the world is crucified to him, just as he is crucified to the world (Gal. 6:14). This understanding of eschatological existence removes the basis from those worldly ideas of the end which primitive Christianity appropriated from apocalypticism and Gnosticism. Paul, of course, is still bound to them. John is the first to have completed the conquest of a mundane, traditional eschatology in that word which for Bultmann constitutes the decisive witness of eschatological faith: "He who hears my word and believes him who sent me, has eternal life; he does not come into judgment, but has passed from death to life" (John 5:24). Thus far, Bultmann has unfolded the New Testament understanding of existence (in regard to unredeemed, as well as redeemed, believing man) without any reference to the Christ event. On the basis of his theological and hermeneutical presuppositions, he could not, as should now be clear, first develop a drama of salvation in factual objective fashion, in order to draw from it specific conclusions for man and the world-that is, he could not at the outset place man within the course of a history of salvation capable of being demonstrated or mythologically represented. Does this mean that Bultmann's theology dispenses with what we call the saving event in Christ? Must not theology admit that this "saving event" is a mythological residue which must be dissolved into statements about man's existence? Bultmann sees this question put most urgently by modern philosophy (Dilthey, Graf York, Heidegger, Jaspers, Kamlah), which has been greatly influenced by Paul and Augustine, Luther and Kierkegaard, and which now, though disregarding a saving event, can also speak of the fallenness of man and of his real destiny. Is it, perhaps, theology's task to liquidate, so to speak, the mythological heritage of the tradition and to surrender what is existentially intended in that tradition to the philosophy of existence? Bultmann views philosophy in an intimate closeness with theology, but he also views its difference from theology at a fundamental point, namely, at the point of deciding how fallen man achieves his authenticity, how the one who is lost becomes redeemed. If philosophy views the realization of man's real destiny as lying within the realm of his own possibilities, theology knows and maintains that just such an assumption is nothing but the hybris of despair, for it is God's love alone which frees man, indeed, which has freed him through Jesus Christ. "This is precisely the meaning of that which was wrought in Christ. At the very point where man can do nothing, God steps in and acts-indeed He has acted already-on man's behalf. " 5 Of course, the primitive Christian proclamation speaks of this Christ event in such a way that the mythical and the historical are remarkably interlaced in it: The Son of God coming from heaven is the man Jesus of Nazareth. The cross, interpreted with ideas of the Old Testament concept of sacrifice, is a historical fact. But what does this "interlacing" of the 374
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mythical and the historical mean? Bultmann answers that the mythological mode of speaking intends to make visible the significance of the person and history of Jesus Christ, and it is precisely that significance which the interpretation must bring out. Interpretation may not simply content itself with describing the crucifixion in objectifying ideas. It must rather unfold the cross of Jesus as an eschatological event-that is, as an event which has once for all changed my history and with it the history of my world. To believe in the cross of Christ, therefore, means to take up his cross as my own, to let myself be crucified with him. I do not understand the cross when I merely demonstrate it to be a historical event within the relational context of the world, nor do I understand it when I accept the objectifying ideas by which this crucifixion is portrayed. Rather, I understand it in the sense of the primitive Christian message only when I allow my own existence to be determined by this event. That which is true of the cross of Christ is true also of the resurrection; both belong inseparably together. Indeed, for Bultmann, there is a notable difference. Unlike the cross, Jesus' resurrection is not a "historical" (historisch) event; language about the resurrection is rather an expression of the "meaning of the cross."6 It is not surprising that this formulation has caused offence. (Nor do I regard it as simply misunderstandable, but rather as disastrous.) That which is correct in this very questionable thesis is that historical science which only demonstrates what is objectively present cannot demonstrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ. What it succeeds in demonstrating are, in terms of its own categories, the visionary experiences of the disciples. It is an absurd undertaking as Stauffer recently attempts, to verify historically the message of the resurrection of Christ by archaeological means-for example, by reference to an inscription found in Nazareh from the time of Tiberius, placing severe penalty upon the robbing of corpses and the desecration of graves. 7 That is impossible. And the interpretation of the resurrection as a miraculous proof certainly does not suit the meaning of the Easter message, although such ideas play a role in the New Testament. In this respect, Bultmann is obviously correct: The resurrection of Jesus Christ is based alone upon the word of proclamation. Indeed, the proclamation itself is part of the Easter event. "In the word of preaching and there alone we meet the risen Lord." 8 All in all, Bultmann's effort has one aim, as expressed in the conclusion of his essay: To give validity to the paradox of the New Testament proclamation in its genuine form-that is, not to fasten that paradox to the mythological forms of ideas of the New Testament kerygma, but rather to give to it its place where it also puts to man today the question of decision, namely, in the message that God has acted eschatologically upon the world in a man of flesh and blood, Jesus of Nazareth, and in a history which lies open without limitation to historical, sociological, and psychological 375
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considerations. Only in this way, as Bultmann says, is the paradox of the presence of the transcendent God in history maintained, a paradox which the prologue of the Gospel of John expresses as "the Word become flesh."
11 The discussion of the problem Bultmann's essay affected some as a liberating word. To others it appeared and still appears as a unique, fearful heresy, and more, an old heresy, for here blasphemous ghosts long believed dead appear to celebrate their wretched resurrection. That this could happen to a theologian who once associated with Karl Barth and who participated in the struggle of the Confessional Church (and therefore did not emerge from the camp of Emanuel Hirsch and colleagues) only made the situation more confusing. Not a few, therefore, have raised the cry against Bultmann as a David Friedrich Strauss redivivus, just as Herod raised it against the allegedly resurrected Baptist: "John I beheaded; but who is this about whom I hear such things?" The discussion is still in full swing. Karl Barth has said no; Friedrich Gogarten has said yes; Hans-Werner Bartsch has prepared the second volume of Kerygma und Mythos; pastoral conferences and briefs have attached themselves to Ethelbert Stauffer as the most powerful voice in the struggle; in many places demythologizing is the convention theme; students are continually pleading for a treatment of the question in lectures and seminars; protests are raised in abundance from congregations; synods are appealing for binding pronouncements on the part of ecclesiastical leaders, as well as for proceeding with disciplinary action; the daily press has already discussed the problem in a host of ways. That is the external situation. In the following we will discuss a series of characteristic objections to Bultmann's program. In view of the plethora of statements available in written form or frequently recurring in oral debates, we can only make a selection and in particular a selection of arguments of very different weight. It will be shown that with all they may correctly contain, they do not really suffice. 1. The first objection is as frequent as it is dangerous. It attempts, by biblicistic argument, to drive the problem from the field, so to speak, in one fell swoop. The argument proceeds somewhat as follows: The Scripture is normative for all theological thought, but the Scripture itself inveighs passionately against all myths as useless fables (I Tim. 1:4; 11 Tim. 4:4; 11 Pet. 1:16). From the very outset, therefore, it is absurd to assert that there are mythical elements in the gospel. Even in cases where the argument is not so formally biblicistic, but where the opposition of gospel to myth is seen in terms of the gospel's historical basis which gives evidence of its unmythical antimythical character such a summary dismissal of the entire problem is not any more con-
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vincing. Thus as it is said by Hermann Sasse, among others, "The New Testament does not need to be demythologized, because it contains no myth." 9 The thesis of Edmund Schlink, as once formulated, has considerably more weight: "Whoever would demythologize the Bible overlooks the fact that its witness is totally and altogether demythologized, since God's word, penetrating men's language in the revelation, broke through the myths of men." 10 Actually, the New Testament message itself can be and is understood as a kind of demythologizing, but the problem remaining for us is obviously rooted in the fact that not even the demythologizing carried out in the New Testament encounters us apart from a mythological mode of conception. Where this fact is overlooked, it is difficult to see how one can avoid the danger of changing the sphere of the biblical revelation into a kind of shelter and quarantine which must be a priori set off limits and which no longer allows critical observation. In that case, our quest for truth, as the destiny and task of thought, can no longer be seriously undertaken, and the believer or the one called to faith would also have to become a kind of museum visitor who upon entry would have to doff everything which otherwise belonged to his ordinary equipment of life lest the objects of his observations suffer harm.U 2. The argument preferred by some theologians, namely, that it is of the very nature of the gospel as scandal that it encounter us in the form of an alien world view, I can only describe as a poorly veiled, theologically tainted capitulation before the problem. To such a point of view, demythologizing would be tantamount to eliminating or attenuating the Christian scandal. It is not difficult to note in this objection a frivolous juggling with the concept of scandal, for, in truth, the scandalon of the Christian message can never consist in the strangeness of a world view, in the unintelligibility of a mythological language. If that were so, then we would be in a remarkably different situation as regards this message than were those who lived in the New Testament age for whom the world view was not an alien one and for whom mythological language was not at all unintelligible. Moreover, it is not at all in my power to appropriate an alien world view. Actually, however, the gospel, and precisely in its character as scandal, does not aim at such appropriation, but rather at my decision of faith. It must therefore be presented to me in a language which I understand very well. Only in this way does it give me room to make the decision of faith or of unbelief. Hence, it is not a question of presenting the gospel to man today in a language which comes to him from the outside, but rather in a language which is native to him. 3. For many others the mythical does not at all belong to the gospel's character as scandal, but actually belongs to that which can prepare for the entrance of the gospel today in a special way. It is part of that in which the man of today again puts his faith, indeed, to an extreme. In contrast to earlier generations, ours has once again experienced the reality
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of the mythical, has "seen the demons." However a professorial, musty rationalism might react to it, the task now is to see a problem here where the myth has again become such a power for modern man's thought, where the myth of resurrection was only recently celebrated at the Feldherrnhalle or is celebrated at the sarcophagus of Lenin, where again the daily press seriously occupies itself with Lourdes and erects sanatoria at Groning. Once again the theologians arrive too late upon the scene (e.g., Stauffer). We shall omit from our discussion whether in this and in the above cases myth can be spoken of in the same sense (certainly not!). The theological objection to this line of argument is that we are prohibited from it by the New Testament kerygma itself. The heretics of the Colossian epistle already attempted to gain access to the gospel by way of myth. Respect for mythical powers, for the "elements of the world," was regarded by them as a prerequisite and essential part of Christian faith. To pay positive respect to the alleged mythical thought of modern man (as a rule we should rather refer to this as his "supersitition") means nothing else than to exalt the devil to God's advocate. Christ himself disenchanted the world and put an end to its mythical nimbus. Our preaching can no longer retreat behind this radical coming of age, however a man may misunderstand it rationalistically and may have lost his freedom in secularism or may even have tired of that freedom. 4. For that reason, also, no further contribution is made by that argument which appeals to the questionable and changeable nature of the modern understanding of the world and of the self, an argument which is often quite clumsy and primitive, but which also results from quite weighty reflection. Certainly, the picture of the world has been subject to changes, actually to revolutions, and man can understand himself in this world of his in very different ways. How differently Schiller viewed man, standing at the "decline of the century": "Free through reason, strong through laws, great through gentleness and rich through treasures which your bosom long kept hid from you, lord of nature which loves your fetters, expends your power in a thousand battles and shining rose beneath you from the wildness." And Spengler, who occasionally likens man to a victorious warrior in a chariot race who is ground to death by his own vehicle. It may be a rewarding and urgent task, not merely to accept as axiomatic modern man's understanding of the world and of himself, together with his science and technology, but rather to discover in the Enlightenment, in the world picture grounded in it and in the culture springing from it the atheistic tendency, the tendency to self-assertivenessY But however modern man understands himself in his picture of the world and from whatever sources this picture has arisen for him, in no case is a return to the world picture of antiquity open to him, and our preaching cannot be sufficiently on its
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guard against making a virtue of a mythical concept of the world out of the necessity of the modern picture of the world. 5. Werner Georg Kiimmel has expressed himself on this question in still another way.D He proceeds from a criticism of Bultmann's unauthorized enlargement of the concept of myth (it is "the use of imagery to express the other-worldly in terms of this world and the divine in terms of human life, the other side in terms of this side") 14 and, in terms of a definition given earlier by Martin Dibelius, understands myth as a history which somehow narrates divine actions replete with implications for man. Though Bultmann's concept of myth may in many respects be problematic, our objection to Kiimmel's use of the concept is that he does not take into slightest consideration the problematic of the "mode of conception" as seen by Bultmann, and thus he minimizes the question involved. With his concept of myth, Kiimmel of course need not be afraid of speaking of mythological features in the kerygma. "The mythological mode of speech is a necessary form of expression for the assertion of faith regarding the divine activity in the history of Christ." 15 It is necessary, however, to distinguish between such mythical features as are essentially and inalienably peculiar to the kerygma and those which were added subsequently and which are .to be described as accessories from the standpoint of the kerygma itself. Among the former he reckons the ideas of a futuristic eschatology, without which the New Testament message would lose its event-full, temporal significance and the understanding of the resurrection as an event in time. Among the latter he reckons all sorts of individual features, such as the legend of the empty grave, the ascension, the virgin birth, and the descent into hell. No doubt, Kiimmel is correct when he attributes a varying weight and meaning to the individual "mythical" expressions of the Christian message. Our theological objection to his argument is that he does not really face up to the problem as principally seen by Bultmann and hence, when exposition is required, can only describe the New Testament findings. He thereby falls prey to the error which can be frequently observed in the discussion with Bultmann, i.e., of contenting himself with establishing New Testament utterances (which no one will seriously contest) instead of giving a real interpretation. 6. From the great number of voices which have been raised against Bultmann, we mention, finally, the attempt to clarify the problem of the mythical on the basis of the nature of religious language in general. Ernst Lohmeyer, among others, 16 has represented the attempt most impressively. Myth is here regarded as the language of all religion. According to Lohmeyer the secret and ultimate basis of all religion is that "human conceptions, while they remain human, are nevertheless capable of apprehending the divine and so surpass all human conception." 17 Lohmeyer thus assigns to interpretation a twofold task: First, "to appreciate that myth is the mode in which God reveals himself, and that the apparently empty and 379
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worn-out husk is the symbol of the historicity of that eschatological revelation of God in which the Word became flesh." 18 In this sense he rejects the attempt at demythologizing: "To demythologize a religious proclamation of whatever kind is to condemn every religion to silence and therefore to destroy it." 19 At the same time he can speak positively of demythologizing and assign to interpretation the task of "the translation of the New Testament material from the language of myth into that of science," "to ascertain the abiding truth it (the myth) enshrines and accept its mythical expression as a symbol of the unique character of its historicity." 20 Theology, therefore, must give the myth its due. All mythical speech has its nature and character in the fact that every religious object totally yields to thought and yet transcends all thought. Mythical speech ventures to speak and is able to speak of God's being in himself (his aseity). Theology advances as far as this principle and from thence conceives human being and world order and the existence of man within the world. Theology thus becomes a system. It is clear that God is not really understood here from the viewpoint of the revelation as One who historically encounters man, but rather as the arche in the Greek sense. Strictly speaking, theology no longer has to do with revelation, with saving event, but rather with its possibility. Its possibility is the abiding truth which lies hidden and concealed in the myth and which is elevated by theology to a system. Lohmeyer's ideas appear to me to renew the old dialectic between myth and logos ingeniously developed by Plato and mediated in various ways since his time. According to it, myth is a form of speech which is not suitable to the truth and which must continually be overcome by the logos, but the myth is at the same time always superior in character to the logos, in so far as it conceals a truth which is unattainable for the logos, a truth which continually compels us to search and question. 21 By means of this platonic reflection, emphasis can at times be put on the appropriateness of mythological speech in relation to its intended truth, transcending what the logos can grasp, and at times on the inappropriateness of this speech, since the myth forever remains a mere expedient and expression of an ultimate aporia. Thus, for example, Friedrich Karl Schumann in his discussion with Bultmann can say that mythological language is "the best available medium" for expressing events which signify an ultimate decision regarding existence and the world. 22 As illuminating as these theses appear to be and as applicable as this hermeneutical key may be for numerous texts, we still cannot admit that they provide a real solution. Can theology be content with this attenuation of its specific problematic into a general ontological one? Can it rest easy with this vague relationship between est and significat?
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lll Theological considerations Our report on this discussion is far from being complete. It merely intended to give critical expression to a selection of typical arguments which have been of influence in the debate. We now proceed to develop a few theological questions and considerations in which ideas already expressed by others will be mentioned now and again. 23
A. The hermeneutical question At the outset we raise the question concerning the hermeneutical principle guiding Bultmann in his interpretation. I believe that Bultmann has correctly made the message of justification and therefore the doctrine of law and gospel the guide for his exposition of the saving event. But he is obviously not intent thereby with forcing all of New Testament theology into the Procrustean bed of Pauline thought. Pauline theology for him is merely the supreme example of a relevant exposition of the primitive Christian kerygma. Of course, this connection with the doctrine of justification leads Bultmann to reduce the entire New Testament message of salvation to the realm of a possible human understanding of existence and the world. For that reason he is repeatedly suspected of dissolving theology into Christian anthropology, and the ghost of Feuerbach in whom we can find astounding parallels to individual propositions of Bultmann is continually hovering about. The case is not that simple, however. There can be no doubt that Bultmann tries with all his might to cling to the saving event extra nos. The insistence on the meaning of the saving event is unquestionably with him the one factor which prevents a transmutation of theology into anthropology, a dissolution of the Christian message into a mere illumination of existence (cf. his debate with philosophy!). The saving event for him is reduced to the brutum factum, however, the bare, completely inaccessible fact that in Jesus Christ the revelation of God took place and God acted for our redemption, a fact which precisely in its unprovableness requires the submission of faith. Jesus Christ has become a mere saving fact and ceases to be a person. He himself has no longer any history; he himself is no longer really the One who speaks in his word. In other words, he is no longer the One who personally addresses me, who in speaking personally encounters me face to face; the word in which he encounters me, as naturally Bultmann can also emphatically say, has merely the "thatness" of the revelation for its content. Hence the preeminence of John's Gospel in Bultmann's theology, a Gospel, actually, in which the mere ego eimi (I am ... ) of the Revealer is witnessed to with a concentrated force. Hence it is typical for Bultmann that the synoptic kerygma is weakened and relegated to the background, a fact which Schniewind has correctly and repeatedly noted. Jesus Christ has become a 381
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mere saving fact. Everything which goes beyond this brutum factum, one might almost say this periodic "thatness" of the saving fact, is for Bultmann either past history or mythology which can no longer be elucidated anthropologically (or better, existentially). It is therefore only figurative speech. Whatever in the New Testament message is said regarding, e.g., God's saving decree from eternity, the sending of the Son when the time was fulfilled, the relation of the Father to the Son, the obedience of Jesus demonstrated in his life and suffering, his resurrection and exaltation, his intercession for us at the right hand of God, et cetera, all that is only an expression for the fact that Jesus Christ is and remains the One in whom God has acted decisively upon the world. The retention of the saving event, of the saving action of God in Christ, thus preserves Bultmann's theology from becoming a mere Christian philosophy of existence, but his insistence upon the understanding of existence as a hermeneutical principle makes it impossible for him to understand the speech of the New Testament about the person and history of Christ as authentic speech. It is changed into a network of significant ideas; it is dissolved into a mere significat and has lost the force of the est. With what we have just said no solution has yet been given to the question as viewed by Bultmann; rather, the question now is just put in a new way. It is the question concerning the being, concerning the reality of that which the kerygma proclaims and which faith apprehends. The theological elaboration of the concept of reality implied by the gospel message and faith is a task which still has to be performed. There can be no doubt that Bultmann, and more, that most of his opponents are led and determined by a disastrously positivistic concept of reality. Bultmann's concept of myth, his persistent differentiation between nature and existence, world and man, are burdened by such a concept. Even the majority of his opponents are in no better position, however, for they either totally deny him the right to his concern, or at least snatch this and that from his grasp-the virgin birth, the miracles, the story of the empty grave, or whatever it may be-and once more attempt to secure them "historically."24 Thus the question of faith is always fatally captive to the alternative whether this or that event has occurred in such a way or not, and faith suffers confusion when it must admit that many occurrences (for example in the Passion and Easter narratives) can no longer be historically verified and have obviously been formed under the influence of scriptural argument and legend. If the latter alternative is taken, then in the opinion of some, the pastor should honestly explain from the pulpit that everything naturally did not happen as it is related; it is pious legend or a temporally conditioned myth; but we know better today. And, in the opinion of others, we must believe that it happened in just that way. "The resurrection of Christ is the best attested fact of world history." Is not the one type of preaching as dreadful as the other. What makes them so? Clearly the fact that by an acceptance of 382
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those alternatives the reality which the, e.g., Easter message proclaims, is not seen at all. It is of the nature of this reality of which the kerygma speaks, that it encounters man only in the word and that the knowledge which corresponds to it is faith or nothing at all. I cannot, as it were, a priori isolate that reality as a realm of mysterious things totally beyond the realm of our scholarship, 25 a realm, then, in which everything and anything could be possible. Whoever makes into an a priori of knowledge the proposition that with God all things are possible and raises it to a general principle before faith, so to speak, concretely begins to believe, must of necessity face up to the childish question whether or not the dear Lord can make worms fly through the air. ("Naturally!" will come the answer, but what would be gained by it?) The sphere of revelation cannot a priori be isolated and marked off in advance by an orthodox concept of Scripture and the canon, so that as a result the miracle stories of the New Testament, for example, could be subjected to a different evaluation than that which is narrated in an apocryphal tradition. I must rather recognize that the reality with which the message and faith are concerned encounters me within the completely ambiguous context of the relation between history and mythology. There is nothing which would not be historically derived or integrated and which would not, in principle, be open to observation from the standpoint of the history of religions. It is also of the nature of faith to break through the realm of mere significances and to affirm the est instead of the mere significat. (How, and in what sense, remains the primary and still unsolved question). It is of the nature of faith to reply to the revelation of Jesus Christ: "Ah, now you are speaking plainly, not in any figure" (John 16:29). Faith thereby makes known that the reality which encounters it in the word is the transcendent reality of the risen Lord which touches me together with my world, but now in such a way that it transcends, abolishes and at the same time renews my own understanding of the world and myself. B. The christological question Now we have reached an area of discussion in which our previous statements must be demonstrated and made more clear. How are the christological expressions of the New Testament to be correctly understood? Perhaps, we might first tell how, in our opinion, the New Testament Christology may not be understood and developed. Our answer: In the mere sketch and description of a drama of redemptive history as recently appears, e.g., in Oscar Cullmann's book Christ and Time and in Ethelbert Stauffer's New Testament Theology. I believe the general objection to be raised against Cullmann's clever and instructive book is that it allows the description of New Testament ideas of time to 383
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displace a genuine interpretation of the understanding of time in the New Testament. The mathematical clarity with which the saving event is here developed within the scheme of linear time and with which Christ likewise is set at the mid-point of a co-ordinate system of eons is deceptive. The eschatological "now" and "today" of the primitive Christian proclamation cannot be grasped more geometrico. And, for the New Testament, Christ is not the mid-point but the end of history. 26 However, Stauffer's New Testament Theology, to a greater degree, offers a most instructive example of this type of treatment. With all respect for the achievement of this book, I can still only regard it as a thoroughgoing mythologizing of the New Testament. It is symptomatic that in this comprehensive work only one half page is given to the doctrine of justification. In lieu of this doctrine the triumphal portrait of Christus Imperator is pieced together from a mass of scattered mosaics which are often nothing more than splinters and fragments in the New Testament itself, but which are gleaned by Stauffer predominantly from late Jewish apocalypticism. Only in this way does Stauffer gain the great drama of the world and redemptive event, with all its acts and scenes, all its divine and demonic actors-all the way from God's primeval prescience; beyond the creation, fall, and redemption; up to the restoration of the All-a drama which, it must be said, he "produces." Seen as a whole, therefore, what Stauffer offers in his theology can indeed be read with excitement, but cannot be preached (hopefully not!). In saying this, however, I do not espouse the cause of those "practical theologians," all of whom measure theological work according to the degree to which it can immediately be changed into homiletical and catechetical currency, but I intend rather to touch on a statement of fact, namely, that the real kerygmatic character of the New Testament statements regarding salvation is completely absorbed by a great and uniform myth. As to the way in which the New Testament message of Christ should be interpreted, what is most significant is to be learned from the New Testament itself and especially from the theology of Paul. How does he interpret the Christian tradition handed down to him? He neither narrates merely a story of Jesus, nor develops a Christ myth, as essential to him as the historical once-for-allness of the incarnation, crucifixion and resurrection is, 27 and as strongly as he shows his dependence, above all, on the ideas of the Gnostic redemption and anthropos myth, even in his Christology. He rather interprets the tradition according to the canon of the doctrine of law and gospel (Romans, Galatians) or, and still quite appropriately, according to the canon of the antithesis of the wisdom of the world and the word of the cross (I Corinthians). That means that the story of Christ for Paul is not a self-contained drama of salvation from which consequences of saving significance for man and the world can subsequently be drawn, but rather that the story of Christ can only be
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understood when the question about man, his lostness, and his redemption is always included in it. The penetration of mythical thought in Paul does not, as is occasionally heard, occur in the application of the ideas, e.g., of the anthropos myth to the historical figure of Jesus, but rather in the union of the message of Christ and the doctrine of justification, of Christology and anthropology. In that union Paul has understood the character of the saving revelation as kerygma and has given it its validity. 28 No one has so thoroughly grasped and demonstrated this situation as Bultmann. But should we follow him in interpreting the christological utterances merely as an expression of the Christian self-understanding? It seems to me that such a procedure is opposed by the fact that Paul does not merely develop Christology as the doctrine of law and gospel, but also develops the doctrine of justification as Christology. This seems to involve us in a circulus vitiosus. It is based upon the very nature of the case, however. We may visualize that in what Paul says about redemption in Romans 8. How does he develop the proposition that "the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set me free from the law of sin and death" (8:2)? By speaking of the history, the mission, the way, and the work of Jesus Christ. This history begins with God and stands wholly and totally under the sign of sin (8:3). In contrast to the law, it does not capitulate to the selfassertiveness which sin and death have raised against God, but rather it leads to the conquest of sin and to the establishment of a new existence of the believer. Of course, however, Paul does not speak of faith here (not in the entire eighth chapter!), but of a new "being in" of the redeemed. "There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus" (8:1). They are in him, as he himself, the Spirit of God, the Spirit of Christ, is in them (8:9 ff.). The incarnation of Christ in our reality (in the same form of sinful flesh) means that he, or rather his Spirit has now made his dwelling where sin once made its home (note the recurrence of the verb oikein in 7:17, 18, 20-8:9). The redeemed therefore are now redemptively embraced by Christ. By his incarnation, his obedience (Rom. 5:18 ff.), his death, and his resurrection he has become the saving basis of a new existence. He not only makes possible for me the decision of faith, which I have to make, but prior to that he is the reality of a decision which God in his saving grace has made about me. 29 He not only gives me the possibility of understanding myself anew in my existence and my history, but he opens and discloses to me a new history and a new existence by taking me up into his history. Here, Bultmann's interpretations are, in my opinion, no longer sufficient, for they do not enable us to grasp the reality of the new being in Christ. They are orientated to the question: How do I understand myself? But for Paul the question is more urgent: Where am I? This question-just as in the story of the fall-has priority over and alone makes possible an answer to the question of man's self-understanding. The 385
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believer's new existence has its nature in the fact that my "I" is dissolved . and is taken into Christ (Gal. 2:20), of course, not in the sense of an enthusiastic rapture, but in the sense of God's having surrendered his Son up to the real curse and death of my life. Thus, God is for us, thus he makes us righteous before him (Rom. 8:31 ff.). Hence it is by no means sufficient to describe redemption in such a way that it means nothing more than a new qualification of my own history. Paul means in fact a new history which is no longer mine. This is the purpose of the characteristically "local" expressions of Romans 8, which are of course exposed to mythological abuse (Gnosis provides sufficient examples of this!), but must not be surrendered as being mythological and replaced by definitions of being which are gleaned from existence as such. The new history of Christ into which I am incorporated begins and ends in heaven; in its basis and goal it radically surpasses my history and the understanding of my existence. Like all history, it has its past, its present, and its future. Its past, the "whence'' from which as a believer I come, means now: God sent his only Son; God has given him up for us all. Its present, its "wherein," means: Christ dwells within you, God is for us ... , Christ is with us .... Its future, its "whither," means: How will he not give us all things with him, who will separate us from the love of God? 30 C. The eschatological question The question of eschatology is most intimately connected with the problem of Christology. No one will seriously be able to deny that primitive Christian eschatology and apocalyptic are bound up with ideas of a world picture which are simply not recoverable for us. But is the actual concern of this eschatology to be grasped on the basis of Bultmann's hermeneutics? I do not believe so and will clarify this by means of Paul's statements in Phil. 3:7 ff. Paul speaks here of abandoning what was once gain to him but which now appears to him as loss and refuse for the sake of Christ (vs. 7), for the sake of the surpassing knowledge of Jesus Christ (vs. 8). It is very characteristic of Paul to speak of Christ as "gain." Not in such a way that he says: "For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things because I have gained Christ;' but rather, "in order that I may gain Christ." This gain, therefore, is not yet attained. This goal is still in the distance. The future of this final, saving gain puts an end to his own righteousness. He is already apprehended; he already has the righteousness of faith, but precisely for that reason he is only on the way toward the goal of being found in Christ and of sharing in the resurrection of the dead. Now he is only taken up into the death of Christ; life lies before him. There are few statements in Paul which so forcefully oppose transmuting the new existence in Christ into a demonstrable, accessible world reality as this: "Not that I have already attained this or am already 386
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perfect." As much use as Paul makes of the terms of the Gnostic mysteries here, the Gnostic understanding of salvation is nevertheless radically broken through, and precisely at this point: For Paul the "knowledge" of Jesus Christ does not mean perfection and deification. For that reason the believer's present can only be characterized by the concept of a righteousness from God on the ground of faith. Why then is not Paul content with it? Justification is indeed still an eschatological event ("where there is forgiveness of sins, there is also life and salvation"). Why does he continue: "that if possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead" (3:11)? Obviously, because God's acquittal which has become his in Christ means precisely the obtaining of a new future. Bultmann is used to stating it similarly, but he gathers from it only that faith implies the possibility of authentic existence, a being open to the future. Once again, that means nothing else than that Christ signifies the possibility and disclosure of a new self-understanding, a new qualification of my history. Then, however, there would be no need for mythological speech about a resurrection from the dead. Now, what the New Testament age and Paul, in dependence upon late Jewish apocalypticism, have "conceived" by the resurrection of the dead is not our concern here. What is of importance is that by that concept Paul certainly had more in mind than merely a new self-understanding in my history (for which the concept of the resurrection from the dead would certainly be the worst imaginable). Again, he is concerned with a new history into which believers are taken up. It has its sign in the fact that in a radical reversal of what may otherwise be called history it does not lead from life to death, but rather originates in death-Christ's death, that is-and has life, namely, life with Christ, before it. Into this new history, which is the history of Christ, his incarnation, his cross, his resurrection and his future, the believer is personally and historically taken up. It has its end beyond the possibilities of my self, just as its beginning radically surpasses my own capacity and understanding. Paul, of course, does not speak in descriptive terms of the future of this new history-the resurrection of the dead-31 but rather in an indirect way by explaining once more what it is which now constitutes being in faith. It has its nature in the not-yet, in forgetting what lies behind, in straining forward toward the heavenly goal. The believer is only apprehended by Christ in order to apprehend him. By the power of the life of Christ he is first drawn into his death (3:12-21). Therefore, speech about the resurrection from the dead must in no way involve an uncritical repetition of certain objectifying ideas. However, the interpretation may never surrender what the message of the resurrection from the dead intends to express-namely, that the destiny and realization of my existence lies beyond the possibilities of my self. They signify the disruption and the end of my history and thus the disclosure of a new history in Christ. 387
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We conclude with a reference which clarifies what was said from another point of view. It is the uniqueness of the primitive Christian Confessio that in a most characteristic contrast to the, e.g., confessions of the Psalms, it no longer describes the history of an I, but only the history of Jesus Christ: He, who was in the form of God (Phil. 2:6 ff.), he is the image of the invisible God (Col. 1:15 ff.), he was manifested in the flesh (I Tim. 3:16). The third person is the mark of the primitive Christian confession. Wherever it speaks of the being of Christ as Lord and Son of God, it always embraces his history, and this history of Christ, whether or not it is unfolded, always embraces the end of our history as those imprisoned in sin and death and the disclosure of a new history which incorporates us. But the Confessio always merges into a proclamation which acclaims his dignity and his history. Thereby this confession corresponds to the gospel which first and finally proclaims the great deeds of God and narrates the history of Jesus Christ. There is no question that the appropriation of this kerygma and this Confessio can only take place within a critical interpretation, not simply in a mere recitation. Whoever leaps over this critical interpretation betrays theology and makes the kerygma into a myth. But the interpretation, originating in kerygma and Confessio and leading back to kerygma and Confessio, will always express the fact that it is not the interpretation but the word prior to it which is the actual and suitable speech of God. That is true not although, but because the interpretation knows that this word does not encounter it directly, but always in a definite, historical presentation.32 The nature of this Confessio will always be that it no longer speaks of man, but rather of God and of his activity in Christ. More precisely, it speaks of man because it is silent about him. In just such a way it demonstrates itself to be the answer of faith which surrenders its own existence to the deed of God. The simplicity of this speech in kerygma and Confessio must, of course, be understood. It does not stand at the beginning, but at the end.
Notes 1 The following brief summary of Bultmann's ideas, already considerably condensed, ought merely to serve some as an aid to memory and a guide, and others as a stimulus to read Bultmann himself. 2 The concepts "existential" and "existentiell," which are continually confused, are to be sharply differentiated. "Existential" interpretation is an exposition which inquires into the understanding of human existence given in a text. The concept originates with Martin Heidegger who distinguishes as existentialia the characteristics of being pertaining to existence (of the human being), from those characteristics pertaining to objectively extant things (categories). Cf. Martin Heidegger, Sein und Zeit (Ti.ibingen: Max Niemeyer, 1927), pp. 44 ff. "Existentiell," on the other hand, is a speaking and listening in terms of one's own concrete concerns. ("You are the man," II Sam. 12:7.) 3 Cf. Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, tr. Kendrick Grobel (London:
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8 9 10 11
12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23
S. C. M. Press, 1952); Primitive Christianity, tr. R. H. Fuller (New York: Meridian Books, 1958), pp. 189 ff.; "Paulus," Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, ed. Hermann Gunkel and Leopold Tscharnack, IV (2nd ed.; Ti.ibingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1929), 1019 ff. It is not an accidental principle of arrangement, but a very specific and theological intent, a very specific hermeneutical principle which underlies this general sketch of his presentations, which, in that respect, are basically different from e.g., Ethelbert Stauffer's New Testament Theology. For this reason Bultmann so frequently quotes I Cor. 7:29 ff. Bultmann, "New Testament and Mythology," Kerygma and Myth, ed. HansWerner Bartsch, tr. R. H. Fuller (London: S. P.C. K., 1954), p. 31. Ibid., p. 38. As if such an inscription could not give equal support to the Jewish claim that Jesus' corpse was stolen by his disciples-if, indeed, there is any connection between this inscription and the Easter event. Cf. Stauffer, "Entmythologislerung oder Realtheologie?" in Kerygma und Mythos, ed. Hans-Werner Bartsch, II (Hamburg-Volksdorf: Herbert Reich Evangelischer Verlag, 1952). Bultmann, "New Testament and Mythology," p. 43. Flucht vor dem Dogma, Luthertum (1942), pp. 161 ff. Studium Generale (Berlin: Springer, 1948), p. 203. Please pardon this comparison which may appear a bit in poor taste. However its intention is to refer to a very serious question. Is it so surprising that for many inquisitive people whose questions are usually ignored or discredited by theologians the Christian message seems to retain a peculiarly museumlike odor? In this regard, cf. G. Kri.iger, "Philosophisches Denken und christlicher Glaube" in Studium Generale, and W. Kamlah, Der Mensch in der Profanitdt, 1949. W. G. Ki.immel, "Mythische Rede und Heilsgeschehen im Neuen Testament," Kerygma und Mythos, II, 153 ff. Bultmann, "New Testament and Mythology," p. 10, n. 2. Klimmel, op. cit., p. 156. Ernst Lohmeyer, "The Right Interpretation of the Mythological," Kerygma and Myth, pp. 124 ff. Ibid., p. 126. Ibid., p. 130. Ibid., p. 126. Ibid., p. 132. Cf. G. Krliger, Einsicht und Leidenschaft (Frankfurt: Klostermann, 1939), pp. 29 ff., 56 ff. Friedrich Schumann, "Can the Event of Jesus Christ be Demythologised?" Kerygma and Myth, p. 189. Up to this point, the reader will perhaps have missed a more precise treatment of Schniewind's great article in Kerygma and Myth (pp. 45 ff.), an article which also appears to me to be one of the most significant. However, I believe that it requires a separate, critical translation from the kerygmatic into the theological, in order that its concerns may come to the fore and that Bultmann's insistence on an interpretation, which he has constantly reiterated to Schniewind, may not go unanswered. Among the more recent statements on the problem not mentioned above, I mention Kart Barth, Kirchliche Dogmatik, III/2 (Zollikon-Zlirich: Evangelischer Verlag, 1948), 531 ff., and the work of his pupil W. Klaas, Der moderne Mensch in der Theologie Rudolf Bultmanns, Theologische Studien, ed. Karl Barth, XXIV (Zollikon-Zlirich: Evangelischer Verlag, 1947), and finally, E. Brunner, Dogmatik, 11 (1950), 311 ff. (also 221 ff.). 389
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24 To their number Emil Brunner also belongs. In spite of a thankful recognition of Bultmann's attempt, Brunner reproaches him for having fatally orientated himself toward the irrelevant modern world view of science and toward the thoroughly unauthorized self-understanding of the modern man, and thus for having extended his demythologizing sketch in an unfortunate manner. World view and self-understanding, however, must be distinguished and differently judged. Bultmann's answer to Brunner would be, and correctly, that an inner connection exists between the two which cannot be surrendered. 25 At this point it seems important to me to mention Karl Barth's objections to Bultmann (Kirchliche Dogmatik, 11112, 531 ff.). The objections are directed at five axioms by which Bultmann, in Barth's opinion, is guided: (1) Only that theological proposition is valid which can be demonstrated to be a component part of the Christian understanding of human existence. (2) Only that may be described as having occurred in time which can be demonstrated to be a historical factum. (3) The assertion that an event narrated with sagalike or legendary features really occurred is possible only on the basis of an irresponsible sacrificium intellectus. (4) The modern world view is absolutely binding for us. (5) We are prohibited from any eclectic procedure in matters of a world view. It is obvious that Barth's "No" to Bultmann's sketch would have to be more comprehensively discussed and more thoroughly considered than is possible in this context. Nevertheless, I cannot suppress the question as to whether or not Barth's criticism of Bultmann's "axioms" does not also have a priori as its aim making room for the revelatory event. I hope I have misunderstood Barth at this point, for there ought not to be any possible disagreement about this, that with all this readiness to adopt a genuine distance over against the world (a distance, moreover, which provides a foundation for humor) and thus also over against science and a world picture, the persistent earnestness of Bultmann's question cannot be dismissed with the careless counter question: "Really, why not?" (i.e. why could not an event such as the resurrection have occurred?). 26 Cf. E. Fuchs, Evangelische Theologie (1949), pp. 447 ff. 27 This situation is not simply to be explained by the fact that he did not know our Gospel tradition in its entirely. 11 Cor. 5:16 expresses the real reason for Paul's unconcern. 28 That can be shown in a corresponding manner in the Gospel of John, in which the tradition of Jesus Christ is grasped and expounded in such an astonishingly new way. In John, the kerygmatic character of the revelation becomes visible in the peculiar style of the narratives which often, without terminating, change into speeches and are attached to the revelatory speeches as "signs." 29 Also the detailed statements of Eduard Schweizer, Zur Interpretation des Kreuzes bei R. Bultmann, Aux Sources de la Tradition Chretienne, Festschrift fUr M. Goguel (Paris: Delachaux et Niestle, 1950), pp. 228 ff .. correctly allude to this. 30 Instead of giving many examples, we merely refer to the tenses of the verbs in Rom. 8:31 ff. 31 Where he does so, as in I Cor. 15:35 ff., he is, in all certainty, to be interpreted critically. Cf. Bultmann, "Karl Barth, 'Die Auferstehung der Toten,'" Glauben und Verstehen, 1, 58 ff. 32 On this point cf. Bultmann, Das Problem des Verhiiltnisses von Theologie und Verkundigung im Neuen Testament, Aux Sources de la Tradition Chretienne, pp. 32 ff.
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Part 3 CRITICAL QUESTIONS: PRESUPPOSITIONS AND CRITERIA OF AUTHENTICITY
17 THE AUTHENTICITY OF JESUS' SAYINGS Frederick C. Grant Source: W. Eltester (ed.), Neutestamentliche Studien fur Rudolf Bultmann (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift fur die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 21; Berlin: Topelrnann, 1954), pp. 137-143.
The early Christian tradition of Jesus' sayings embraced a wide range and variety of both content and form - as no one has made clearer than Professor Bultmann, especially in his Geschichte der Synoptischen Tradition (1921; 2d ed., rev., 1931). The sayings range all the way from simple yet profound expositions of the Old Testament, in some of which he controverted the current scribal expositions, to the sublime admonitions to love and trust God, to love and do good to neighbours and even enemies; and from the type of saying that assumes no role for the speaker beyond that of the "teacher of righteousness" (i.e. of religion) to the type which presupposes the inspired prophet - and then, eventually (e.g. in John), the Hellenistic mystagogue, the Heavenly Witness and Redeemer, and the Incarnate God. The question of authenticity is an inevitable one. Did Jesus speak in all these different tones and manners, and with all this variety of presuppositions? When he spoke ''as one having authority, and not as the scribes" (Me 1 22), was it with the authority of immediate religious experience or intuition, as the chasid or "holy man of God" (cf 1 24)? Or was his authority that of the prophet "raised up" or "sent" by God (e.g. Mt 2111)? Or were his words those of God himself, either incarnate, as in John, or speaking through the medium of human lips, as in the popular Hellenistic conception of inspiration (e.g. that of the theios aner)? In general, the contrast between the Synoptic and the Johannine versions - both as to form and content and also as to the presupposed authority, or even the nature, of the speaker - is obvious on the surface of the gospels. Some of the older explanations are interesting and suggestive: for example Matthew Arnold's view, that the "nuclear" sayings in the earlier gospels were expanded into the fuller, more "meditative" sayings in John 1. But neither of these views is satisfactory; closer examination of the sayings in the Fourth Gospel discloses that they are not the result of meditation 393
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upon the synoptic tradition, but sui generis, and use a language that belongs to a whole new world of thought, as remote from the realm of concepts employed in the Synoptics as it is from that of Galilee in the early first century2• Nor is the older and still popular view acceptable, viz. that John contains the "esoteric" teaching of Jesus, his private -even secret - indoctrination of the Twelve, while the Synoptics contain his public teaching. For one thing, there is little difference in content, form, or presuppositions between the public discourses in the Fourth Gospel and the "Farewell Discourses" in eh. 14-173; for another, the Gospel itself rejects the view that Jesus' teaching was esoteric (see 18 19-21). On beyond the canonical New Testament lie the non-canonical writings, the apocryphal gospels, and the agrapha. Are any of the sayings contained in these "sources" authentic and attributable to Jesus? The problem is not one which is peculiar to the Christian religion. Islam has a similar problem, with its Hadith. The solution proposed there is neither unsound nor unworkable: the Prophet said, "Whatever is worthy of me, accept; whatever is unworthy of me, reject.'' The dictum frankly recognizes the subjective character of the judgment involved: "worthy of me" - but according to whom? or by what standard? Obviously, according to the accredited teachers, and by the standard of the Quran (cf. A. Guillaume, The Traditions of Islam, 1924, pp. 32, 53). In effect, the Christian judgment has been equally pragmatic. Some sayings of Jesus are "in character", some are "worthy" of the Christian's Lord and Master, some (e.g. the cursing of the fig tree, Me 11 14) are not. Whatever the principles adopted or maintained in theory, the practical test, followed by the majority of teachers and preachers of the Christian religion, is quite clear: some sayings attributed to Jesus, even in the gospels, simply never get quoted, expounded, or preached upon in the pulpit. At the same time, the theoretical test is lacking. For example, what are the criteria by which the Christian student or teacher is to test the authenticity of such sayings as the following? "It is more blessed to give than to receive" (Act 20 35); [The same day, seeing a man working on the sabbath, he said to him,] "Man, if you know what you are doing, you are blest; but if not, you are accursed and a breaker of the Law" (Le 6 5 D); "No prophet is acceptable in his own birthplace, nor does a physician effect cures for those who know him" (Oxy. Pap., I. 6; cf. Le 4 24); "Never be joyful except when you look on your brother with love" (Ev. Heb., ap. Jerome, Comm. on Ephesians, 54); "He who is near me is near the fire" (ap. Origen, Horn. in fer., 20 3); "Raise the stone and thou shalt find me there, cleave the wood and there am I" (Logia Jesou, I. 4); "For the Son of Man did not come to destroy men's lives but to save them" (Le 9 56 v. 1.); or the Pericope de Adultera in John 7 53-8 11, or the Longer and Shorter Endings of Mark, or the words of the exalted Christ in Ape 1-3, or the Great Thanksgiving in Mt 11 25-30 = Le 10 21-24, or the equally "Christological" passages in John 5 17-23, 394
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8 54-58, 10 14-30, with their great climaxes, "Before Abraham was, I am," and "I and the Father are one." This is something more - and far more serious - than Paul Schmiedel's famous "pillar passages," sayings which are indubitably authentic since no one in the early church would have invented them, and which carry with them the mass of more readily acceptable sayings belonging to the superstructure4 • Schmiedel's argument was a valid one, and most valuable in the days of the "Christ-myth" delusion. But we face today the irresistible conviction that some of the sayings attributed to Jesus in the gospels were invented - not only in those gospels that are found outside the canon but even in the acknowledged four. We now recognize tendencies which were at work in the very process of selection, preservation, and transmission of Jesus' sayings, and in their translation, paraphrasing, editing, and further application - tendencies which certainly were operative in the Synoptic Gospels and in the transition from gospel to gospel (i.e. from Mark to Luke and Matthew), and which can sometimes be traced earlier still, not only in the use of their underlying sources by the later evangelists, but even within the sources themselves (Q, L, M, etc.). And this is something totally distinct from the great leap as across a chasm, from the Synoptic to the Johannine Gospels: this earlier process was taking place at the other end of the stream of tradition. The gospel traditions, like all religious traditions everywhere (e.g. in the Old Testament, but also in the literature of other religions), were selected and drawn together by a strong religious interest. The convictions of the earliest Christians supplied the magnet which drew and held them together. And as in all examples of religious tradition, the same forces were at once selective, preservative, formative - and also creative. But the "created" sayings were formed under the inspiration of Jesus' life, character, teaching, and spirit. Indeed, the early church did not hesitate to ascribe certain utterances to the exalted Christ with exactly the same directness and simple, unquestioning acceptance as it credited the "historical" utterances to him 5• In fact, as a religion- and that is precisely what it was- early Christianity was not specially concerned to provide a collection of "earliest sources for the life and teaching of Jesus" or a dossier of indisputably authentic sayings, or of unquestionable recollections by his disciples, for purposes of modern literary and historical research. It is not in the least inconceivable that, under the conditions of the early Christian mission, some post-resurrection sayings of the heavenly, exalted Christ, spoken through an inspired Christian prophet, may have come to be recorded in the gospels as among the sayings of the Lord uttered during what we modems choose to call his "earthly" ministry. Such a saying as the baptismal formula in Mt 28 20 seems to be such a saying, which forced itself part-way back into the "earthly" ministry, but was halted in the postresurrection period. Another is the great Lucan missionary saying in 395
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Act 1 8. To view the matter realistically and with full historical sympathy, we must break away, at least in imagination, from our ultra-modern criterion of pure historicity, and realize that for the earliest Christians this particular test of authenticity simply did not exist. What the Lord had to say to his churches "through the Spirit" - or "what the Spirit saith unto the churches" (which seems to mean the same thing) -was of exactly the same value and importance, if not of more importance, than what the "teachers" of the church reported and inculcated as the traditional collection of his sayings uttered in Galilee and Jerusalem. From a theological point of view, this naive spiritual realism was wholly justified. It is incredible that the church should accept as authentic what Jesus said on a hillside in Galilee and then reject as unauthentic what he said later to his followers, gathered "in his name", when present with them as their living exalted Head. An Indian Christian student once assured me that "unless every saying in the gospels is authentic, there is no use in competing with the Gita or the Quran; for to hold otherwise is to admit that all Jesus' sayings are uncertain." This view is certainly widespread among Christians at the present day. Nevertheless it is little more than an argumentum ad hominem. One might more plausibly assert the superiority of the Quran to the Bhagavad Gita, on the ground of its historical authenticity as a collection of oracles delivered to, or by, one man, as against a poetic, philosophic treatment of an incident in an ancient myth- as "unhistorical" a setting for religious teaching as could possibly be conceived! But the real test is the contents: what makes the gospels different (and we believe superior) to both the Quran and the Gita is the message they contain the Christian message of salvation, the proclamation, kerygma, first made by the Lord (Hbr 2 3) and then carried further by those who were the first "eyewitnesses and ministers of the word" (Le 1 2). But this content, and its value, cannot be established by merely proving its "historicity" - "historicity" being defined in modern terms (the principle is as old as Lessing) -but only by the "obedience of faith", as Paul described it (Rm 1 5). It is possible to read all three, the Gita, the Quran, and the NT, and not discern any difference or inequality of spiritual insight, intellectual understanding, or ethical motivation. "Spiritual things are spiritually discerned" (cf. I Cor 2 13 B 33; cf. Luther, DEB edition 1937), and it is only by the guidance of the Holy Spirit that the disciple can grasp "the things of Christ" (John 16 14f.). Jesus' words are "spirit and life" (John 6 63) and must be understood in a kindred spirit - the gift of the Spirit. No amount of historical attestation can give spiritual authenticity or authority to words that lack depth of meaning, nor can the lack of it deprive true statements of their authenticity or authority. The very fact of variety in the NT, above all in the gospels, proves that the early church laid no emphasis whatever upon a dictographic, record396
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ing-tape kind of authenticity. It was so with writers outside the NT, as in Plato's account of Socrates, or Thucydides' version of Pericles' oration, or the great dramatic presentations, e. g. the sacred dramas of Aeschylus and Sophocles. As in the Hermetica, so in John the words of the Redeemer are "spirit and life" (6 63), i.e. they are the words of the eternal Logos, the Word; or, in John, of the exalted, heavenly Son of Man, who is identified with the eternal Logos. In the OT, the prophets did not hesitate to credit God himself with words which welled up in their own inspired consciousness: and we do not question their divine origin, as "words from God." Even the rabbis used a formula, "The Holy One, blessed be He, says- or does- or thinks- so and so." How did they dare to use such a formula? The answer is, they were authoritative teachers, working in a tradition; and their insights were not the result of logical inference or induction but of immediate intuition. As Professor Martin Nilsson insists, the logic of religion is basically a simple "logic of association," not a mathematical or school logic. In the NT it is the Fourth Gospel which is the most valuable book in showing how the words of Jesus got transformed and "reformulated", or came by direct fresh inspiration from the church's Lord. Often we cannot tell where the "authentic" or "historical" words of Jesus end (i.e. those so viewed by the author - or what we assume he must have held to be "authentic" or "historical") and the "interpretation" or comment of the author or his fellow-believers begins. This phenomenon is especially marked in eh. 3 and 4, but it is found elsewhere in John. And we can project the line backward, and begin to recognize that a similar process of creation or extension was at work long before the writing of the Fourth Gospel. To sum up: "authenticity" is of two kinds, and the term may be used in two senses, as historical authenticity, and as a veracious representation of the Great Event or Creative Idea which fashioned the gospel into the new historical world religion, Christianity, which it soon became. And there are several types of such validity to be seen in the NT and the other early Christian literature. (1) There are certain sayings of Jesus which are indubitably authentic and "historical", taking "historical" in the strictly (or merely) modern sense of veracious, "tape-recorded" utterance. (2) There are other sayings found in the gospels, and elsewhere, which are like these indubitable sayings, conformed to them even in style, and certainly like them in content: sayings which are "in character" and wholly "worthy" of Jesus, whatever the literary source in which they are now found (e.g., "He who is not against us is for us", Me 9 40, versus "He that gathers not with me scatters", Mt 12 30). (3) There are also sayings that represent further extensions or applications of Jesus' utterances, resp. pronouncements, in view of new situations and problems faced by the early church, especially in applying Jesus' teaching as a code of law governing daily conduct, i.e. halakah, or even of 397
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etiquette (Le 14 10). Here one may suspect that the church's teachers were at work in codifying, expanding, and applying the "sayings and commandments of the Lord" (e.g. especially in Matthew, and earlier still in Matthew's source, M). (4) There were fresh "words of the Lord" spoken by inspired prophets in the Christian community; these could not be disregarded, but must be accepted, cherished, and put in practice. The only question was the reality of the prophet's inspiration - or rather of its validity: a problem as early as Paul, if not earlier, and one which was still vexing the church in the days of the Didache. Many of these utterances were presumably apocalyptic in content and form, especially in times of great crisis, as during the two Jewish wars, and in days of persecution (e.g. under Caligula in 40-41 A.D ., or under Nero and Domitian later on.) The apocalyptic sayings in Mark 13 and parallels, in I Thess, and in the Apocalypse of John at once come to mind. (5) There were the dramatizations, in liturgy and in homily, of themessages of the exalted Christ, addressed to his church (found not only in John but also in the Synoptics), similar to the utterances of the OT prophets and to some extent modelled upon their oracles; for the OT, especially in its LXX version (as Adolf Deissmann always insisted), was the Bible, i.e. the normative religious literature, of the early church. As the late Canon B. H. Streeter once remarked6, the truth set forth in John is that Christ is the Bread of Life, the Light of the World, the Logos Incarnate; but in the dramatization the words are placed on Jesus' own lips: "I am the Bread of Life, I am the Light of the World, I and the Father are one." The authentication of such sayings was not to be found in some historical "source" or record, but in direct spiritual experience, especially in worship. As Albert Schweitzer has said, "Men shall learn in their own experience who he is" 7 • The extent to which each one of these types of saying has influenced the transmission of the tradition, or is to be identified or recognized in this or that particular saying attributed to Jesus, both within and without the NT, is one of the most fascinating and most rewarding of present day studies. And in this whole area of research, the debt we all owe to our learned friend and judicious guide, Rudolf Bultmann, is one we cannot possibly exaggerate.
Notes 1 See his Literature and Dogma, 1873; God and the Bible, 1875; or B. H. Streeter's theory, based on Westcott, that John represents the recollections of an aged apostle - or elder - plus the mellow insight of his many years of preaching, teaching, and study (see The Four Gospels, 1924, Pt.III). 2 See especially, now, C. H. Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel, 1953. 3 See Dr. Bultmann's commentary, 1941, 2d ed., 1950, passim, and especially his isolation of the Redequelle underlying the discourse material as a whole. 398
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4 See Encyclopaedia Biblica, 1899-1903, art. "Gospels", §§ 131-145; William Sanday used a similar argument in his Outlines of the Life of Christ, reprinted from the article ''Jesus Christ" in Hastings' Bible Dictionary, Vol. II, 1899. 5 See the sayings of the Risen Christ at the end of each gospel; those in Acts 1 8, etc.; in Paul; in Ape 1-3. I might refer to my article, The Spiritual Christ, in JBL, Vol. LIV, 1935, pp. 1-15. 6 Cf. Cambridge Ancient History, Vol. XI, p. 285. 7 Quest of the Historical Jesus, p. 401 =Von Reimarus zu Wrede, ad fin.
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18 THE QUEST FOR THE HISTORICAL JESUS A discussion of methodology William 0. Walker Source: Anglican Theological Review, 51, 1969, pp. 38-56.
I What is today known as "the old quest for the historical Jesus" was abandoned by the main stream of European New Testament scholarship and theology in the early years of the twentieth century. The death of this movement, which represented an attempt to recover through critical historical research the Jesus of history as he really was before the early Church transformed him into the Biblical Christ or the later Church produced the Christ of Christian orthodoxy, can be attributed primarily to four causes. In the first place, Martin Kahler and later the Form Critics argued that the Gospel materials were essentially "kerygmatic", not biographical, in nature and that the original oral transmission and use of the traditions within the Church ruled out the possibility of their use as biographical sources. 1 In the second place, Wilhelm Dilthey and others observed that objective, presuppositionless historiography is impossible, that all history is interpreted history, that historical facts have no independent and objective reality apart from their significance for those persons who are somehow involved in or affected by them, and, therefore, that the Jesus of history can be known only as he has been interpreted, never as a bare historical fact. 2 In the third place, Albert Schweitzer and, in a somewhat different way, the History of Religions School, asserted that the first century Palestinian Jewish Jesus was not necessarily intelligible and relevant to the modern world and that he had been made to appear intelligible and relevant only by an unconscious "modernizing" on the part of the questers. 3 In the fourth place, Martin Kahler and later the so-called Dialectical Theologians maintained that the proper object of Christian faith is not the Jesus reconstructed by critical historical research, but
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rather the Christ proclaimed in the kerygma, and that faith should never be at the mercy of the shifting results of historical criticism.4 As a result, many scholars-and Rudolf Bultmann articulated this viewpoint most forcefully---<:ame to insist that the quest for the historical Jesus was historically impossible and theologically illegitimate.5 Bultmann himself has consistently warned against basing Christian faith upon the results of historical research, but he has nevertheless always stressed the necessity of the fact of the Jesus of history as the starting point of Christian faith, and he has acknowledged that some historical information about Jesus is ascertainable and that his information has significance for Christian faith. 6 By the middle of the twentieth century, however, certain of Bultmann's former pupils began to express the fear that Bultmann's general scepticism and disinterest regarding the details of Jesus' history might lead to a docetic or mythological view of Jesus, and so what is known as "the new quest for the historical Jesus" began.? The essential differences between the new quest and the old are two. The first difference is that the new quest has no intention of creating a "biography" or a comprehensive picture of Jesus, for it recognizes full well that the New Testament materials in their final literary form are direct expressions only of the faith of the various authors, that they reflect indirectly the corporate life and developing faith of the first century Christian communities, and that they can be used, therefore, only with extreme caution as sources for the actual history of Jesus; rather, the new quest seeks to establish the probable authenticity of particular episodes, sayings, and motifs which are reported in the Gospels and, on the basis of these, to depict as accurately and comprehensively as possible the characteristic message and activity of Jesus. A second difference is that the new quest, unlike the old, is concerned to demonstrate the continuity, not the discontinuity, between the Jesus of history and the Christ of Christian faith.
11 Inasmuch as the Gospel tradition in its present form appears to be the end product of a long and complicated process of selection, transmission, reinterpretation, adaptation, alteration, and even creation within the early Church, a great deal of attention has been devoted to the problem of establishing criteria for distinguishing between "authentic" materials (i.e., materials which actually go back to the historical Jesus) and "inauthentic" materials (i.e., materials which derive from the needs and concerns of the early Church). The earliest such criterion, first proposed more than half a century ago by F. C. Burkitt,8 is the criterion of attestation in multiple sources or, as it is sometimes labeled, a kind of cross-section criterion. 9 This criterion suggests that when a particular tradition or motif appears independently in a11 401
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or most of the sources underlying the Synoptic Gospels (usually assumed to be Mark and "0", and perhaps "M" and "L" as well), then that tradition or motif is likely authentic. Harvey K. McArthur believes that this criterion, while it is not infallible, "is the most objective of the proposed criteria and one which will undoubtedly have a permanent place in the task of Gospel research," and he commends British scholars for "their regular and faithful use of this criterion" as opposed to the Bultmannians who "do not display any great interest in this multiple-attestation criterion, apparently perferring more esoteric guides." 10 The value of this criterion of attestation in multiple sources is called into serious question, however, by the fact that the whole problem of the literary relationships between the Synoptic Gospels, as well as of the validity of the "0" hypothesis, has recently been re-opened by several scholarsY It is at least possible that Matthew, not Mark, was the earliest Gospel and that there never was any "0". If so, then this criterion, at least in its usual form, may not be as useful as McArthur and others think. At best, indeed, it can only lead us behind the sources to a common tradition, not necessarily to the historical Jesus himself, for it can no longer be maintained seriously that the materials in Mark and "0", for example, derive directly or second-hand from eye-witness testimonyP Another kind of cross-section criterion was formulated and used by C. H. DaddY It is what might be called the criterion of attestation in multiple forms. If a tradition or motif appears in more than one literary form (pronouncement stories, parables, sayings, etc.), then that tradition or motif is likely authentic. Here, the presumption is that the tradition in question antedates the particular forms in which it appears. McArthur suggests that this criterion "has some value in distinguishing comparatively early from comparatively late traditions, but it is not as decisive as that of multiple attestation by a number of sources." 14 The chief difficulty with this criterion of attestation in multiple forms, however, is its assumption that the Gospel writers exercised very little real creative and artistic literary and theological skill in the composition of their Gospels and were, in fact, little more than editors or compilers, who transmitted the various traditions essentially as they received them. Recent studies in Redaktionsgeschichte point rather to the conclusion that each of the Gospels bears the distinctive literary and theological mark of its own author throughout all the traditions and literary forms contained in itY A third criterion has been proposed by Joachim Jeremias/ 6 with reference to the earlier work of C. F. BurneyP This is the linguistic criterion. As summarized by Reginald H. Fuller, this criterion asserts that: ... any saying of Jesus, if it is authentic, should exhibit Aramaic features, and if it has the structure of Aramaic poetry this
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increases the presumption that the saying is authentic. Of course the earliest Aramaic-speaking church could also have used poetic forms, and certainly its creation would undoubtedly exhibit Aramaic linguistic features, just as the authentic logia of Jesus .... Hence this criterion of Aramaic linguistic features cannot be used alone ... But the linguistic criterion has special value in enabling us to eliminate later additions to logia. This is especially true of the parables, where it is quite easy to peel off the later interpretations and applications of the church. 18 Jeremias himself has often tended to assume that the establishment of an Aramaic original proves the authenticity of a tradition. 19 As Fuller and others have pointed out, however, such establishment per se only locates the tradition within the context of the Aramaic speaking church.Z0 Matthew Black carries the linguistic criterion further, including as indications of authenticity such phenomena as presumed faulty translations from Aramaic into Greek, variant translations of the same saying in two separate lines of tradition, and the appearance, upon re-translation of a saying into Aramaic, of assonance and rhyme.Z 1 This linguistic criterion assumes that the Greek materials in the Gospels can be translated fairly accurately into their alleged Aramaic originals, and this, despite the painstaking labors of Jeremias, Black, and others, is a highly dubious assumption. Furthermore, it may well be the case that many features of the Gospel traditions which are sometimes regarded as "Aramaisms" or "Semiticisms" are simply common forms of expression in the koine Greek of the first century Graeco-Roman world or that they should be attributed to the literary influence of the Septuagint or other Greeklanguage literature of the Jews. Finally, the idea that an Aramaic version of a tradition is necessarily more primitive than a Greek version cannot simply be assumed, for a form of Jewish Christianity appears to have continued long after the translation of the Aramaic traditions into Greek, and this late Jewish Christianity could have made many changes in the earlier traditions. Jeremias has also proposed a fourth criterion: the environmental criterion.Z2 This criterion assumes that a saying is "authentic" if it reflects the social and domestic customs, the agricultural processes, and the religious practices and views of first century Palestine. This environmental criterion, however, like the linguistic criterion, cannot authenticate a tradition; it can only root the tradition within Palestinian Christianity. Many apparent reflections of Palestinian life, however, may be derived from the Old Testament or other Jewish literature or reflect merely an acquaintance of sorts with the area on the part of a writer or transmitter of the tradition. A fifth criterion, which has been most thoroughly developed and utilized by Rudolf Bultmann and other Form Critics,23 is the criterion of the 403
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tendencies of the developing tradition. By observing the way in which Mark's material has been altered in Matthew and Luke, and by noting the use of "Q" in Matthew and Luke, it is possible to detect certain "tendencies of the developing tradition"; these can be traced further in some cases by an investigation of the Fourth Gospel and particularly the Apocryphal Gospels. When once the laws governing such transmission of tradition are established we may assume that these laws prevailed also in the case of Mark and in the collection of the Logia. Then, it is frequently possible to attempt provisionally to reconstruct a literary form older than the one lying before us. The ability to make the necessary distinctions can be developed by studying the general laws that govern popular transmission of stories and traditions in other instances, for example, in the case of folk tales, anecdotes, and folk songs_24 McArthur summarizes the most common of these "tendencies of the developing tradition" as follows: 1.
2.
3. 4. 5.
Changes in place, time, and sequence of incidents were made without serious historical concern. The beginnings and endings of narratives were subjected to the greatest change; or, conversely, the central section of an incident remained the most stable. Sayings of Jesus changed less than narrative material. Names tended to be added to narratives. Aramaisms tended to disappear. 25
Bultmann observes that the fundamental character of particular narratives remains the same, "but the details are subject to the control of fancy and are usually made more explicit and definite"; moreover, indirect discourse tends to become direct quotation, and there appears the inclination to "impose a schematic idea" upon such features of the tradition as Jesus' activity and the identity and intent of his opponents. 26 As McArthur points out, however, these "tendencies of the developing tradition" indicate "what happens on the average; they cannot state categorically what must happen in a specific instance." Moreover, he notes "that the tendencies listed here have been identified from a study of the written tradition and its development," and the same tendencies "may not have been applicable in precisely the same manner during the development of the oral tradition.'m Indeed, the question must be raised here: How far do the Form Critics propose to go in removing everything from the tradition which could be attributed to the alleged "tendencies of the 404
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developing tradition"? In a great many instances, the traditions could be reduced to absolutely nothing! It must also be observed (as Bultmann admits in principle, but not always in practice) that this criterion of the tendencies of the developing tradition cannot demonstrate the authenticity of a tradition, but can at best only recover an early form (perhaps even the earliest form) of the tradition, which may or may not derive from the historical Jesus. Finally, this criterion, like that of attestation in multiple sources, is based upon a particular view of the literary relationships between the Synoptic Gospels (i.e., the view that Mark and probably "Q" served as sources for Matthew and Luke), and this view is today being called into question by an increasing number of scholars. Indeed, it is a well known fact that in many cases the Markan version of a particular tradition actually contains more detail than the Matthean and Lukan parallels, and this fact tends to discredit either one of the so-called "tendencies" proposed by Bultmann or the priority of Mark. The most frequently cited criterion today is what might be called the criterion of distinctiveness or dissimilarity. As first formulated by Bultmann in his treatment of the parables, this criterion asserts that "we can only count on possessing a genuine similitude of Jesus where, on the one hand, expression is given to the contrast between Jewish morality and piety and the distinctive eschatological temper which characterized the preaching of Jesus; and where on the other hand we find no specifically Christian features."28 Ernst Kasemann later applied essentially the same criterion to the tradition as a whole, observing that "in only one case do we have more or less safe ground under our feet; when there are no grounds either for deriving a tradition from Judaism or for ascribing it to primitive Christianity."29 The same point has been stressed by many others, including Hans Conzelmann,30 Harvey K. McArthur, 31 Heinz Zahrnt, 32 Reginald H. Fuller, 33 and Norman Perrin.34 As summarized by Fuller, this criterion asserts that: ... we can, for historical purposes, eliminate from the sayings of Jesus anything which clearly presupposes the post-Easter situation, and which reflects the faith of the post-Easter church. For here the presumption is that their Sitz im Leben, their creative milieu, is in the life of the church, and not in the life of Jesus. Secondly, we can eliminate any material which can be paralleled in contemporary Judaism, for here too the presumption is that the sayings in question have (historically speaking) been erroneously attributed to Jesus. This material would include sayings which are paralleled in Jewish apocalyptic and in Rabbinic tradition. Of course these methods are not foolproof, and one cannot help feeling that German scholars often proceed as if they were. They 405
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yield no complete certainty, for on some points Jesus could have agreed with the post-Easter church: but usually, in a saying of this class, the post-Easter situation is clearly reflected. Jesus might also have quoted or used with approval Rabbinic teaching. The most we can claim for this method of elimination is that it provides a safer course than Stauffer's principle of in dubio pro tradito. It may result in a reduction of the available historical data, but at least it should be reliable enough as far as it goes: and actually it turns out that it does go far enough for our purposes. 35 Oscar Cullmann suggests the same criterion in a more positive form: sayings of Jesus which contradict the tendencies of the early Church can be accepted as authentic. 36 Joachim Jeremias has demonstrated an effective use of this criterion of distinctiveness or dissimilarity in many of his works, 37 and it forms the real basis for Norman Perrin's recent book, Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus. 38 The use of this criterion of distinctiveness or dissimilarity encounters at least two difficulties, however. In the first place, the assumption that materials which clearly reflect the post-Easter situation or the faith of the post-Easter Church should be eliminated is frequently interpreted in such a way as to mean that materials which might reflect the post-Easter situation or the faith of the post-Easter Church are inauthentic. In the second place, as even its proponents agree, this criterion eliminates all but a bare minimum of material and, in the process, undoubtedly eliminates a great deal of authentic material; indeed, it may well be that the authentic material (or some of the authentic material) which is thus eliminated constitutes the most characteristic features of the authentic Jesus tradition. Unique features are not necessarily the most characteristic features, and only an exaggerated presupposition regarding the "uniqueness" of Jesus would assert that the message of Jesus, for example, must be distinguished sharply from both first century Judaism and primitive Christianity. As a matter of fact, if everything "Jewish" and everything "Christian" is eliminated from the Jesus tradition, then nothing is left. Hence, even those who propose this criterion grant that it must be used with caution and not in isolation from the other criteria. Yet another criterion, closely associated with the last, has been suggested by Kasemann; it is what might be called the criterion of modification, and it asserts that "we have more or less safe ground under our feet" when we can show that "Jewish Christianity has mitigated or modified the received tradition, as having found it too bold for its taste. "39 An example of this might be the saying about adultery. Mark 10:11-12 reads: "And he said to them, 'Whoever divorces his wife and marries another, commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.'" The parallel in Luke 16:18 is 406
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similar: "Everyone who divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery, and he who marries a woman divorced from her husband commits adultery." In Matthew 5:32, however, there is a significant difference: "But I say to you that every one who divorces his wife, except on the ground of unchastity, makes her an adulteress; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery." Here, the presumption is that the phrase, "except on the ground of unchastity,'' has been added by the Church in order to mitigate the original stipulation of Jesus. The difficulty with this criterion of modification is that it assumes the ability to determine whether, when, and by whom the traditions in question were modified. It may be that no conscious modification was ever made in a given instance and that what appear to be variant versions of the same tradition actually represent originally different traditions. Moreover, traditions generally assumed to have been modified by Jewish Christianity because it found them too radical may, in fact, have been modified by Hellenistic Christianity for precisely the same reason, or for the opposite reason. Indeed, it may be that the so-called "modified" version actually derives from Jesus himself and that the Church produced the more "radical" version; there seems to be no question but that some early Christians were more "radical" or "bold" (or perhaps the proper term is more "rigid") in certain respects than was Jesus himself. An eighth and final criterion has been proposed by Charles Edwin Carlston,40 though it was earlier used by Bultmann.41 This is the criterion of consistency or coherence. If a tradition reflects the social, political, ecclesiastical, and linguistic conditions prevailing during Jesus' lifetime and, more importantly, if the tradition fits "reasonably well into the eschatologically based demand for repentance that was characteristic of Jesus' message," 42 then that tradition may very well be authentic. As McArthur expresses it, once a critically assured minimum of authentic material has been established with a high degree of probability by means of other criteria, "it may be possible that materials previously rejected can be reclaimed because of their congruity with elements in the established base." 43 Nils Alstrup Dahl proposes the more ambitious goal of "harmonizing the maximum of the tradition with the critically assured minimum to the highest degree possible, in order step by step to approach more closely to the historical Jesus. "44 This criterion of consistency or coherence has been used to good effect by Joachim Jeremias. 45 The most obvious weakness of this criterion, apart from questions about the "critically assured minimum" to be established by means of other criteria, is the probability that if the early Church did, in fact, create traditions about Jesus (and it surely did), it would no doubt have attempted, at least for the most part, to create such traditions as would fit "reasonably well" into the general picture of Jesus which it had received through the prior traditions.
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So much, then, for the criteria which have been proposed for distinguishing between the authentic and the inauthentic elements in the Gospel tradition.
Ill No one, of course, would argue that any one of these criteria, taken alone, is decisive except, perhaps, in a negative sense. The appeal is generally to the cumulative weight of the criteria as a whole or to some combination of criteria. Fuller, for example, offers a rather typical summary of the appropriate use of the various criteria: The quest of the historical Jesus should be seen as part of and as the end-process of the study of the whole history of the gospel tradition. That study is an attempt to assign to their proper place in the history of the tradition the various strata: first, redaction, then primary sources, then oral tradition, Hellenistic and Palestinian, then finally, the authentic Jesus tradition. The appropriate criteria must be applied at each successive stage. 1. The redaction. This is established from the criteria furnished by source criticism and by the redaction-historical method (K. L. Schmidt). 2. Primary sources. These are established by source criticism. 3. Hellenistic and Palestinian oral tradition. This is established by the cross-section method applied to the primary sources (Burkitt), by form criticism (Bultmann, Dibelius), by the crosssection method applied to the oral forms (Dodd), and by the linguistic and environmental tests (Jeremias, Black). 4. The authentic Jesus tradition. This is established by the criteria of distinctiveness. 5. The criterion of consistency (Carlston) can then be employed to confirm the results at each stage, and to recover for the Jesus tradition some of the material which had been provisionally rejected by the test of distinctiveness. 46 My own view is that these criteria can by no means be disregarded; indeed, they serve a very useful purpose. Nevertheless, primarily because of the often unexamined presuppositions which underlie them, they must be employed with great caution, and, for the reasons already mentioned, they produce extremely meager and tenuous results. 47 Perhaps the greatest difficulty of all, however, is that the whole methodology and the very aims presupposed in the use of such criteria are themselves highly dubious or at least self-limiting. The method is the "atomistic" or "inductive" one of attempting to authenticate isolated bits of tradition, then of piecing these
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together in such a way as to be able to say something about the characteristic message and activity of the historical Jesus. In principle, this approach begs the real question, which is "whether we may detect only characteristic individual features or whether it is possible to give a scientific description of the life of Jesus founded on objective arguments." 48 Its this "atomistic" or "inductive" approach the only live option today, or is it possible that some kind of "holistic" or "deductive" approach would be more realistic and appropriate and useful? Contemporary scholarship has tended simply to accept without question the view that the collapse of the nineteenth century quest rules out the possibility of any future pursuit of that quest's goal, which was to form, on purely historical grounds, a comprehensive, consistent, and convincing picture of the historical Jesus. It seems to me, however, that the failure of the nineteenth century quest may have resulted not from the impossibility of its intent, or even from the invalidity of its general methodological presuppositions and procedures, but rather from the fact that "it set too directly and rashly toward its goal" 49 without first carrying out a thorough literary, form-critical, and traditio-historical analysis of the Gospel materials. I am suggesting, in short, that what is today called "the new quest for the historical Jesus" actually represents an untenable "halfway house" between the historical scepticism and unconcern of the Bultmannian "school" and the uncritical naivete of the nineteenth century quest and that its results are, and inevitably must be, unsatisfying both to the theologian and to the historian. For my own part, I should prefer either of the two so-called "extremes"--either Bultmannian scepticism and unconcern or "liberal" naivete-to this middle "atomistic" position. In actual fact, however, I am proposing a return to a sobered version of the old quest or, as W. D. Davies has put it, a "resumption of the old quest on a new level." 50 Such a quest can learn much from the results to date of the new quest, and it can utilize the criteria which have been suggested, but it will attempt to go much further along the road toward the reconstruction, on purely historical grounds, of a comprehensive, consistent, and convincing picture of the historical Jesus. The call for a resumption of the old quest is not new, of course. In various ways, it has been sounded by such eminent scholars as T. W. Manson, 51 Joachim Jeremias, 52 W. D. Davies,53 and Nils Alstrup Dahl. 54 And of course, there are many who have never abandoned the old quest. 55 Most of the men who call for a resumption of the old quest, and many of those who have never abandoned it, are motivated in large part by theological considerations: they want to establish a historical basis and object for Christian faith. It is highly significant, however, that they seek to recover the historical Jesus through the general methods of secular historiography and, at least in theory, are unwilling to allow their theological
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convictions to govern their historical conclusions. My own concern at this point, it should be noted, is essentially historical, not theological.
IV It is true, of course, that the obstacles to a resumption of the quest are numerous and formidable. In the first place, the quest obviously involves using the New Testament documents in ways and for purposes quite alien to the apparent intent of their authors. Indeed, Samuel Sandmel has recently asserted "that the Gospels are not telling about the man that scholarship seeks, but about the human career of a divine being," and he maintains that "to search the Gospels for the man" represents "a distortion of what is in the Gospels." 56 This is not a problem unique to the study of Christian origins, however; historians must frequently use documents in ways and for purposes which their writers never intended, and they must inevitably utilize documents which tell not who a person really was, but rather who the author thinks he was. In the second place, the historian must at the very outset resolve certain basic questions regarding presuppositions and methodology; perhaps foremost among these is the question whether history is to be regarded as "a closed continuum of effects in which individual events are connected by the succession of cause and effect" or whether this "continuum of historical happenings" can "be rent by the interference of supernatural, transcendent powers." 57 My own view is that the historian, as historian, can reckon with the historical phenomenon of faith in such supernatural acts, but not with the alleged supernatural acts themselves; he must look for all "causes" within history itself. In the third place, the historian must recognize the impossibility of the "positivistic" view of history as "telling exactly what happened." He can encounter the monuments of the past, and he can question these monuments, but he has no direct access to past events. He must acknowledge that all human thinking, his own included, is historically conditioned, and that the work of the historian is to posit certain hypotheses about the past, examine these hypotheses on the basis of all available evidence, and ultimately accept, reject, or modify the hypotheses in terms of their comprehensiveness, inner consistency, and cogency in light of the evidence. Historiography, in other words, is as much an "art" as it is a "science," and it never produces certainty. In the fourth place, the historian (and the theologian) must accept the fact that the results of the quest may or may not be directly relevant and useful for Christian faith. It may well be that much of the current scepticism regarding the possibility of a quest for the historical Jesus is actually rooted in the fear that Schweitzer was right: "either thoroughgoing scepticism or thoroughgoing eschatology," or, as it was recently paraphrased: 410
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"the real Jesus was either a raving wild-eyed prophet or else a figure irrevocably buried in history." 58 Most Christians, of course, would prefer that he be "irrevocably buried in history" than he be "a raving wild-eyed prophet." The historian, however, must prefer to find him, even if this should mean finding a "raving wild-eyed prophet." In the fifth place, the historian must be willing to re-open the question of sources. This means not only a reassessment of the literary relationships between the Synoptic Gospels, but also a reinvestigation of the value of the Fourth Gospel as a historical source. It may be that, in some respects at least, the Fourth Gospel preserves a more primitive picture of the historical Jesus than do the Synoptics. Finally, it must be conceded that the results of such a quest will be far from satisfying to one who demands certainty regarding the authenticity or inauthenticity of each particular pericope, but these results will be much more adequate for the historian who is attempting to understand the origins of Christianity, and they may be of greater use to the theologianparticularly if the quest proceeds on the basis of the kind of imaginative ingenuity which characterized, for example, the work of Albert Schweitzer.
V Much difficult work remains to be done, of course, before such a quest can be carried out successfully, but, at the very outset, three tests for the validity of any proposed reconstruction of the historical Jesus can be suggested. As Dahl puts it, the fixed starting point of all our knowledge about Jesus is "that he is the crucified One whom the community, originating in his band of disciples, believed to be the risen Messiah," and "we also know that Jesus worked in Israel and that he himself was born and grew up a Jew." 59 In other words, we know three things about the historical Jesus with a fair degree of certainty: he was a first century Palestinian Jew, he was put to death by the Roman authorities, and he was the focus of the faith of the primitive Christian community. Any adequate picture of the historical Jesus, therefore, must satisfy three basic criteria. In the first place, it must set Jesus convincingly within the context of first century Palestinian Judaism; quite apart from any particular view about the "nature" of Jesus, it must be obvious that the historical antecedents, influences, and environment surrounding him were Jewish. In the second place, it must show why his life ended in execution at the hands of the Roman authorities; as Dahl points out, "an obvious weakness of many descriptions of Jesus as a very pious and very humane, but somewhat harmless teacher lies in the fact that it is not understood why high priests and Romans had any kind of interest in the execution of this man." 60 In the third place, it must account for, or at least illumine, the birth of the Christian community; as Sir 411
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Edwyn Hoskyns insisted a generation ago, "any historical reconstruction which leaves an unbridgeable gap between the faith of the primitive church and the historical Jesus must be both inadequate and uncritical: inadequate, because it leaves the origin of the church unexplained; and uncritical, because a critical sifting of the evidence of the New Testament points towards the life and death of Jesus as the ground of primitive Christian faith, and points in no other direction. " 61 None of these criteria can easily be satisfied. First, there is still much work to be done before any comprehensive picture of first century Judaism can be formed, and this work must include further examination of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Secondly, "a historical description of the death of Jesus is still a most difficult and complicated task" because of the significant gaps in present knowledge regarding the times and practices. 62 Thirdly, there is still great disagreement among scholars regarding the exact nature of the earliest Christian faith, and, moreover, the creative influence of the reported post-resurrection "appearances" of Jesus and of the "coming of the Holy Spirit"-that is, of various kinds of "ecstatic experiences"-must be taken into account in any attempt to speak meaningfully about the birth of the Christian community. These difficulties, however, are no different in kind from those which face all historical scholarship and should not immediately lead to the conclusion that the task is impossible. This proposal does not, of course, assume the invalidity of what I have called the "atomistic" or "inductive" approach to the quest for the historical Jesus; rather, it suggests that the two kinds of methodology be used jointly to supplement and correct each other. The "atomistic" or "inductive" approach attempts to authenticate particular motifs and bits of tradition, while the "holistic" or "deductive" approach attempts to form a more or less comprehensive picture of the historical Jesus. At those points where the results of the two approaches coincide or approximate one another, the scholar can be relatively certain that he is on solid historical ground. 63
Notes 1 See Martin Kahler, The So-Called Historical Jesus and the Historic, Biblical Christ, trans., ed., and intro. Car! E. Braaten (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1964), first published in German in 1896. For major presentations of the application of Form Criticism to the study of the Gospels, see, for example: Martin Dibelius, From Tradition to Gospel, trans. Bertram Lee Woolf (New York: Scribner, 1934), first published in German in 1919; and Rudolf Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition, trans. John Marsh (Oxford: Basil Black well, 1963), first published in German in 1921. 2 Wilhelm Dilthey lived from 1833 until1911; a short selection from his writings on the problem of history is available in English in Wilhelm Dilthey, Pattern &
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3
4
5
6
7
Meaning in History: Thoughts on History & Society, ed. & intra. H. P. Rickman (1st Harper Horchbook ed., New York: Harper, 1962). See Albert Schweitzer, The Quest of the Historical Jesus: A Critical Study of Its Progress from Reimarus to Wrede, trans. W. Montgomery (Macmillan Paperbacks ed.; New York: Macmillan, 1961), :first published in German in 1906 and translated into English in 1910. For one example of the treatment of the historical Jesus by the History of Religions School, see Wilhelm Bousset, Kyrios Christos. Geschichte des Christusglaubens von den Anfiingen des Christentums bis Irenaeus (5th ed.; Gottingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1965), :first published in 1913 and revised in 1921. See Kahler, op. cit. The position of the Dialectical Theologicans has recently been expressed again by Karl Barth: "To me it is significant that present-day Old Testament scholars, especially in regard to the old yet always new theme of 'faith and history,' are on the whole on much better ground than the authoritative New Testament men, who to my amazement have armed themselves with swords and staves and once again undertaken the search for the 'historical Jesus'-a search in which I now as before prefer not to participate." Karl Barth, "Recapitulation Number Three." The Christian Century, LXXVII (1960), 75. See, for example, Rudolf Bultmann, "Die Bedeutung des geschichtlichen Jesus ftir die Theologie des Paulus," in Glauben und Verstehen. Gesammelte Aufsiitze, vol. I (Tiibingen: Paul Siebeck, J. C. B. Mohr, 1933), p. 208, where Bultmann asserts that "one may not go back behind the kerygma, using it as a 'source', in order to reconstruct a 'historical Jesus' with his 'messianic consciousness', his 'inwardness' or his 'heroism'," for "that would be precisely the Christ according to the flesh, who is gone," and it is "not the historical Jesus, but Jesus Christ, the proclaimed," who is the Lord. For a recent statement by Rudolf Bultmann regarding the historical Jesus, see his response to scholars who have recently resumed the quest for the historical Jesus: "The Primitive Christian Kerygma and the Historical Jesus," in The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ: Essays on the New Quest of the Historical Jesus, trans. and ed. Car! E. Braaten and Roy A. Harrisville (New York and Nashville: Abingdon, 1964), pp. 15-42; this essay was first delivered as a lecture in 1959 and published in German in 1960. Ernst Kasemann first proposed this new quest in a paper read at the reunion of former Marburg students on October 20, 1953; the paper was first published in Zeitschrift fUr Theologie und Kirche, LI (1954), 125-153, and is now available in English translation: Ernst Kasemann, "The Problem of the Historical Jesus," in Essays on New Testament Themes, trans. W. J. Montague ("Studies in Biblical Theology," no. 41; London: S. C. M. 1964), pp. 15-47. More recently, however, Kasemann has increasingly disassociated himself from the new quest, explicitly refusing to base faith and Christian theology on what historical research can establish about the pre-Easter Jesus of History; cf. James M. Robinson, "The Recent Debate on the 'New Quest'," The Journal of Bible and Religion, XXX (1962), 201; also Ernst Klisemann, "Die Anflinge christlicher Theologie," Zeitschrift fiir Theologie und Kirche, LVII (1960), 162-185. The new quest has been pursued primarily by Ernst Fuchs and Gerhard Ebeling. A number of Fuchs' writings are now available in English in Studies of the Historical Jesus, trans. Andrew Scobie ("Studies in Biblical Theology," no. 42; London: S. C. M., 1964). Ebeling's thought is set forth in English in The Nature of Faith, trans. Ronald Gregor Smith (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg, 1961); Word and Faith, trans. James W. Leitch (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1963); Theology and
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8 9
10 11 12
13 14 15 16
Proclamation: Dialogue with Bultmann, trans. John Riches (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1966); and The Problem of Historicity in the Church and Its Proclamation, trans. Grover Foley (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1967). Giinther Bornkamm has written the only full-length treatment to date of the historical Jesus as reconstructed through the methodology of the new quest: Jesus of Nazareth, trans. Irene and Fraser McLuskey with James M. Robinson (New York, Evanston, and London: Harper and Row, 1960). James M. Robinson has surveyed the new quest in his book, A New Quest of the Historical Jesus ("Studies in Biblical Theology," no. 25; London: S. C. M. Press, Ltd., 1959), which was enlarged and translated into German as Kerygma und historischer Jesus (Zurich: Zwingli Verlag, 1960); the bulk of the additional material contained in this German edition is available in English as "The Formal Structure of Jesus' Message," in Current Issues in New Testament Interpretation: Essays in Honor of Otto A. Piper, ed. William Klassen and Graydon F. Snyder (New York: Harper, 1962), pp. 91-110; cf. also Robinson's "The Recent Debate on the 'New Quest'," pp. 198-208. F. C. Burkitt, The Gospel History and Its Transmission (Edinburgh: T. and T. Clark, 1906). See, for example. T. W. Manson, The Teaching of Jesus: Studies of Its Form and Content (2nd ed.; Cambridge: The University Press, 1935), pp. 10-11; Nils Alstrup Dahl, "The Problem of the Historical Jesus," in Kerygma and History: A Symposium on the Theology of Rudolf Bultmann, se!., trans., and ed. Car! E. Braaten and Roy A. Harrisville (New York and Nashville: Abingdon, 1962), pp. 153-154; Reginald H. Fuller, A Critical Introduction to the New Testament (London: Gerald Duckworth & Co., Ltd., 1966), pp. 97-98; Norman Perrin, Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus (New York: Harper and Row, 1967), pp. 45-47. Harvey K. McArthur, "Basic Issues: A Survey of Recent Gospel Research," Interpretation, XVIII (1964), 48. See, for example, William R. Farmer, The Synoptic Problem: A Critical Analysis (New York: Macmillan, 1964). For the view that the testimony of the Apostle Peter stands behind the Gospel of Mark, see, for example, T. W. Manson, "The Foundation of the Synoptic Tradition: The Gospel of Mark," in Studies in the Gospels and Epistles, ed. Matthew Black (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1962), pp. 28-45. For the view that "0" was the work of the Apostle Matthew, see, for example, ibid., "The Gospel According to St. Matthew," pp. 68-104. C. H. Dodd first used this criterion in his Cambridge lectures on "The Earliest Sources for the Life of Jesus" (1937) and then made extensive use of it in his book, History and the Gospel (New York: Scribner, 1938), pp. 91-101. Harvey K. McArthur, op. cit., p. 50. See, for example, Norman Perrin, "The Wredestrasse Becomes the Hauptstrasse: Reflections on the Reprinting of the Dodd Festschrift," in The Journal of Religion, XLVI (1966), 296--300. Joachim Jeremias, "Kennzeichen der ipsissima vox Jesu,'' in Synoptische Studien. Alfred Wikenhauser zum siebzigsten Geburistag am 22. Februar 1953 dargebracht von Freunden, Kollegen, und Schi1lern (Munich: Karl Zink Verlag, 1953), pp. 86--93; cf. also The Problem of the Historical Jesus, trans. Norman Perrin (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1964), pp. 17-18. This criterion is employed particularly in The Parables of Jesus, trans. S. H. Hooke (rev. ed.; New York: Scribner, 1963); and The Eucharistic Words of Jesus, trans. Norman Perrin (3rd. ed.; New York: Scribner, 1966). For a critical discussion
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17 18
19 20 21 22
23
24 25 26 27 28 29 30
31 32 33 34 35 36 37
of this criterion, see Norman Perrin, Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus, pp. 37-38. For a treatment of the Aramaic poetic forms, see C. F. Burney, The Poetry of Our Lord: An Examination of the Formal Elements of Hebrew Poetry in the Discourses of Jesus Christ (Oxford: Clarendon, 1925). Reginald H. Fuller, The New Testament in Current Study (New York: Scribner, 1962), pp. 33-34; cf. also The Foundations of New Testament Christology (New York: Scribner, 1965), p. 18; and A Critical Introduction to the New Testament, p. 97. See, for example, Joachim Jeremias, The Eucharistic Words of Jesus, pp. 173-203, though the tendency is not so pronounced in this third edition as it was in the first and second. Reginald H. Fuller, The New Testament in Current Study, pp. 33-34; A Critical Introduction to the New Testament, p. 97. Matthew Black, An Aramaic Approach to the Gospels and Acts (3rd ed.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1966). Joachim Jeremias, "Kennzeichen der ipsissima vox Jesu," pp. 86-93; cf. also The Problem of the Historicallesus, pp. 16-17. This criterion, like the linguistic criterion, is employed particularly in The Parables of Jesus, and The Eucharistic Words of Jesus. See, for example, Rudolf Bultmann, "The New Approach to the Synoptic Problem," The Journal of Religion, VI (1926), 337-362, reprinted in Existence and Faith: Shorter Writings of Rudolf Bultmann, sel., trans., and intro. Schubert M. Ogden (New York: Meridian, 1960), pp. 35-54, esp. p. 41; cf. also "The Study of the Synoptic Gospels," in Rudolf Bultmann and Karl Kundsin, Form Criticism: Two Essays on New Testament Research, trans. Frederick C. Grant (New York: Harper, 1962), esp. pp. 32-35. Rudolf Bultmann, "The New Approach to the Synoptic Problem," p. 41. Harvey K. McArthur, op. cit., p. 49. Rudolf Bultmann, "The Study of the Synoptic Gospels," pp. 32-35. Harvey K. McArthur, op. cit., p. 49. Rudolf Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition, p. 205; cf. also Jesus and the Word, trans. Louise Pettibone Smith and Erminie Huntress Lantero (new ed.; New York: Scribner, 1958), pp. 12-13. Ernst Kasemann, "The Problem of the Historical Jesus," p. 37. Hans Conzelmann, "Jesus Christus," in Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart. Handworterbuch fUr Theologie und Religionswissenschaft, vol. Ill, ed. Kurt Galling, et al. (3rd ed.; Tlibingen: J. C. B. Mohr, Paul Siebeck, 1959), col. 623. Harvey K. McArthur, op. cit., pp. 50-51. Heinz Zahrnt, The Historical Jesus, trans. J. S. Bowden (New York and Evanston: Harper and Row, 1963), p. 107. Reginald H. Fuller, The New Testament in Current Study, p. 33; cf. also The Foundations of New Testament Christology, p. 18; and A Critical Introduction to the New Testament, pp. 96-97. Norman Perrin, Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus, pp. 39-43. Reginald H. Fuller, The New Testament in Current Study, p. 33. Oscar Cullmann, Salvation in History, trans. Sidney G. Sowers (New York: Harper and Row, 1967), p. 189. See, for example, his discussion of the phrase, "Amen, I say to you ... " in "Kennzeichen der ipsissima vox Jesu," pp. 90-91; cf. also his investigation of 415
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38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51
52
53 54 55
56 57 58 59 60
the use of abba in addressing God in The Central Message of the New Testament (New York: Scribner 1965), pp. 9-30. Norman Perrin, op. cit. Ernst Kiisemann, "The Problem of the Historical Jesus," p. 37; cf. also Norman Perrin, op. cit., pp. 39-43. Charles Edwin Carlston, "A Positive Criterion of Authenticity?" Biblical Research, VII (1962), 33-44; cf. also Norman Perrin, op. cit., pp. 43-45. Rudolf Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition, pp. 105, 125; note the constant use of this criterion in B ultmann, Jesus and the Word. Charles Edwin Carlston, "A Positive Criterion of Authenticity?", p. 34. Harvey K. McArthur, op. cit., p. 51. Nils Alstrup Dahl, "The Problem of the Historical Jesus," p. 156. See, for example, Joachim Jeremias, Unknown Sayings of Jesus, trans. Reginald H. Fuller (London: S.P.C.K., 1957), p. 30. Reginald H. Fuller, A Critical Introduction to the New Testament, p. 98. See ibid., pp. 99-103, for a representative list of passages representing the authentic Jesus tradition, as reconstructed on the basis of these criteria, and a summary of the authentic Jesus tradition; cf. also Norman Perrin, op. cit. Nils Alstrup Dahl, op. cit., p. 157. Ibid., p. 156. William D. Davies, "A Quest to Be Resumed in New Testament Studies," in New Directions in Biblical Thought, ed. Martin E. Marty (New York: Association, 1960), p. 71. T. W. Manson, "The Quest of the Historical Jesus-Continued: A Commemoration Day Address delivered at Westminster College, Cambridge, in 1949," in Studies in the Gospels and Epistles, ed. Matthew Black (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1962), pp. 3-12; cf. also "The Life of Jesus: A Study of the Available Materials," The Expository Times, LIII (1942), 248-251, reprinted in Studies in the Gospels and Epistles, pp. 13-27. Joachim Jeremias, "The Present Position in the Controversy Concerning the Problem of the Historical Jesus," The Expository Times, LXIX (1958) esp. pp. 336-338, revised and reprinted in The Problem of the Historical Jesus, pp.15-20. William D. Davies, op. cit., pp. 35-72. Nils Alstrup Dahl, op. cit., pp. 138-171. See, for example, Harry Emerson Fosdick, The Man from Nazareth as His Contemporaries Saw Him (New York: Harper, 1949); Edgar J. Goodspeed, A Life of Jesus (New York: Harper, 1950); Morton Scott Enslin, The Prophet from Nazareth (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1961); S. Vernon McCasland, The Pioneer of Our Faith: A New Life of Jesus (New York, Toronto, and London: McGraw-Hill, 1964). In a somewhat different way, the following would also fit into this company: Maurice Goguel, The Life of Jesus, trans. Olive Wyon (New York: Macmillan, 1933); and Charles Guignebert, Jesus, trans. S. H. Hooke (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, and Trubner, 1935). Samuel Sandmel, We Jews and Jesus (New York: Oxford University Press, 1965), p. 108. Rudolf Bultmann, "Is Exegesis without Presuppositions Possible?" in Existence and Faith: Shorter Writings of Rudolf Bultmann, pp. 291, 292. "Easter 1966-A Quest for the True Jesus," Newsweek, LXVIII, 15 (Aprilll, 1966), 72. Nils Alstrup Dahl, op. cit., p. 154. Ibid., p. 159.
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61 Edwyn Hoskyns and Noel Davey, The Riddle of the New Testament (London: Faber and Faber, 1931), p. 170. 62 Nils Alstrup Dahl, op. cit., p. 158. 63 It should be noted that the three criteria proposed above are stated in a somewhat different way by T. W. Manson in "The Quest of the Historical JesusContinued," p. 11. It should also be recognized that much of the argument in this paper was anticipated a generation ago by Maurice Goguel in The Life of Jesus,esp.pp.204-215.
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19 CHRISTOLOGY AND METHODOLOGY 1 M. D. Hooker Source: New Testament Studies, 17, 1970-1971, pp. 480-487.
New Testament scholarship of the 70's begins from the position which 50 years ago still needed to be hotly argued, but today seems axiomatic: the gospel material as it stands reflects the beliefs and interests of those through whose hands - or mouths - it has been handed down; to separate out the views of each evangelist from those of his predecessors -still more to isolate the original sayings of Jesus from the tradition as it is presented to us- is an intricate, perhaps an impossible task. How are we to proceed? The so-called 'traditio-historical' method followed by many scholars suggests that the only safe way to proceed in recovering the teaching of Jesus is to adopt the principles of 'dissimilarity' and 'coherence'. The idea of dissimilarity as the standard by which we establish the distinctive teaching of Jesus is used by Bultmann,2 and by Kasemann, 3 Conzelmann,4 Perrin5 and Fuller, among others, after him. Fuller6 explains the principle in these terms: 'As regards the sayings of Jesus, traditio-historical criticism eliminates from the authentic sayings of Jesus those which are paralleled in the Jewish tradition on the one hand (apocalyptic and Rabbinic) and those which reflect the faith, practice and situations of the post-Easter church as we know them from outside the gospels.' To the small body of material extracted in this way there can then be added other sayings which are regarded as being consistent with it. As Perrin 7 expresses it: 'material from the earliest strata of the tradition may be accepted as authentic if it can be shown to cohere with material established as authentic by means of the criterion of dissimilarity'. Some of us, however, feel uneasy about the way in which these two principles are applied, and doubt whether they are the means of recovering the teaching of J esus.8 There are serious faults in the logic of using these particular criteria to establish his authentic message. (1) Use of the principle of dissimilarity, it is claimed, gives us what is distinctive in the teaching of Jesus. But the English word 'distinctive' can 418
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have two senses- it can mean 'unique' (what makes it distinct from other things, the German verschieden), or it can mean 'characteristic' (the German bezeichnend). In which sense is it being used here? Clearly the method is designed to give us the former - but what we really want is the latter; and the two are by no means necessarily the same. As an example, we might consider three typical speeches by three political leaders at election time; if we were to eliminate what was common to all three, how much would be left of any one speech? Probably very little! The result might give us what was distinctive of a party in the sense of what its members believe and members of other parties do not, but it would certainly not be representative of the policy of the party. This particular method of procedure has this inevitable drawback - that it will eliminate from the teaching of Jesus those areas in which he was in agreement with Judaism and those in which he was in agreement with the Church. This is, of course, recognized by those who use the method, and accepted as a drawback. 9 It is, however, a very serious drawback indeed, for to take the remaining material as the basis of our reconstruction will inevitably lead to serious distortion. No one can seriously doubt that in some things Jesus' views must have overlapped those of the Jewish leaders and those of his followers, yet these must be set aside from our reconstruction. But to exclude details from our picture of Jesus may lead to distortion as serious as (or worse than) that which comes if we include too much. Moreover, since it inevitably detaches Jesus from his contemporaries, we are perhaps justified in suggesting that this distortion is serious. In this attempt to recover what is distinctive, it seems that the two senses of 'distinctive' are being confused - what makes Jesus distinct from others is being regarded as that which is characteristic of him. 10 We must be clear as to what this particular criterion can do: it may perhaps be able to give us a collection of sayings concerning whose authenticity we may be reasonably confident - but those sayings will not necessarily represent the kernel of Jesus' teaching, or be his most characteristic thought. 11 Indeed, they would seem to offer us those sayings which the early Church treated as peripheral. (2) 'It may'- but here we come to a second ground for misgiving. Since the method proceeds by eliminating ideas found in Judaism and early Christianity, it presupposes a fairly confident knowledge of both areas. To what extent is this justified? Use of this criterion seems to assume that we are dealing with two known factors (Judaism and early Christianity) and one unknown - Jesus; it would perhaps be a fairer statement of the situation to say that we are dealing with three unknowns, and that our knowledge of the other two is quite as tenuous and indirect as our knowledge of Jesus himself. 12 As far as Judaism is concerned, the discovery of the Qumran material should be sufficient warning against over-confidence in supposing that we know the whole truth about first-century Judaism. Any comparison between the beliefs of Judaism and the teaching of Jesus 419
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which claims to find ideas in the latter unparalleled in the former is inevitably an argument from silence, and should be treated as such. And if our knowledge of Judaism is only partial, so, too, is our knowledge of early Christian belief, and here, too, we must tread with caution. The traditiohistorian is the first to recognize that the material as we have it today in the New Testament represents only part of the picture; there may have been other beliefs about Jesus and Christological statements which are not now represented in our canonical material. It could be that if we knew the whole truth about Judaism and the early Church, our small quantity of 'distinctive' teaching would wither away altogetherY (3) But even if we had perfect knowledge of Jesus' contemporaries, the method must be suspect because it begs the question. We begin our examination of the Gospel material with a tool which denies the possibility of overlapping, and which insists on Jesus' uniqueness. Such a tool is bound to produce a picture in keeping with its assumption - and that is precisely what we get: a Jesus who stands out from his contemporaries as distinctive in his attitudes, who makes no Messianic claims for himself, and who finds himself in opposition to the Jewish leaders. The method dictates its own conclusions. (4) The application of the method is bound to be subjective. How do we decide what is 'dissimilar'? - especially when we are reminded, also, that an 'authentic' saying of Jesus should be 'at home' in first-century Palestine. To be acceptable as genuine, a saying of Jesus must at one and the same time be 'dissimilar' from contemporary Judaism, and yet use its categories and reflect the language and style of AramaicY In other words, authentic sayings must not be reflected in Judaism (as far as it is known to us) but must sound as if they could have been spoken at that time! It is difficult to know how to apply these apparently contradictory criteria simultaneously. When Perrin,15 for example, argues that Jesus could not have used 'the Son of man' as a title because it did not exist in Judaism at the time, he is apparently using the second criterion; but if the title had (in his opinion) existed, he would presumably have eliminated it by applying the criterion of dissimilarity! (5) Subjectivity is even more of a danger when we turn to the second principle - that of coherence or consistency. We may be able to sort out what seems coherent (or incoherent) to us, but we are living in a completely different world, and what seems incoherent to us may have seemed coherent in first-century Palestine, and vice versa. Moreover, some of Jesus' sayings, if they are genuine, are paradoxical, and that alone should perhaps warn us against looking for what seems to us to be consistent. (6) When one adds the coherence principle to that of dissimilarity, then any errors in the results obtained by that method are liable to be magnified by the use of this second criterion. If the core of material upon which we build our reconstruction of the teaching of Jesus is inaccurate, then the
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addition of material which seems to be consistent with that core is likely to reflect those same inaccuracies. (7) Those who advocate the use of these criteria are strangely inconsistent in applying them. This may be illustrated by looking at the word 'Abba'. Here is a good example of something which is Aramaic in form but to which an exact parallel has not been found in Judaism; but it is used by the early Church (see Rom. viii. 15 and Gal. iv. 6), and by the strict application of the principle of dissimilarity it should be eliminated. Yet it seems to be almost universally accepted that Jesus addressed God as 'Abba', and taught his disciples to do the same. Why? Perrin writes: '[these two verses] may not be regarded as representing early Christian tradition as such', 16 but this seems like special pleading. The real criterion being used here is not the principle of dissimilarity, but our own understanding of the situation. As a contrasting example, let us take the term 'Son of man'. The 'orthodox' position today seems to be that Jesus spoke of a future, eschatological Son of man (not himself), and justification for this is found in I Enoch. Yet by the application of the principle of dissimilarity, the words of Enoch, if they did indeed exist at the time, as is assumed on this view, should eliminate all eschatological 'Son of man' sayings from the teaching of Jesus! Strict application of this rule would either reduce us to the position of Vielhauer, 17 Conzelmann18 and others - that none of the 'Son of man' sayings are authentic- or leave us with the sayings about the earthly and suffering Son of man, which do not seem to have parallels in first-century Judaism. 19 As far as comparison with the Church's beliefs is concerned, it is difficult to know how to apply the principle. We could argue that, since the evangelists identified Jesus with the Son of man, we must eliminate all the sayings. On the other hand, there is little sign outside the gospels of a 'Son of man' theology, and no confessional formulae in the synoptic gospels that 'Jesus is the Son of man'. Yet there is a marked increase in the eschatological sayings as time goes on. By the principle of dissimilarity, we might argue that it seems probable that the original, authentic sayings are those which refer to the humiliation and suffering of the Son of man, and that the eschatological sayings are inauthentic - this would give us 'a good example of the things for which the criterion of dissimilarity seeks: radical difference from Judaism and later modification towards Judaism'. 20 Yet those who advocate this method come, surprisingly, to very different conclusions; they desert their principle at this point and use instead the principle of multiple attestation, arguing that the eschatological sayings are found in all the gospel sources, but the others are chiefly Marcan. Once again, the real criterion being used is a particular view of the situation- in this case, the belief that Jesus made no messianic claims for himself, and so could not have spoken of himself as Son of Man. The 'Son of man' problem illustrates also the point made earlier, of our insufficient knowledge of Judaism, though in this particular case we may 421
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be assuming knowledge with undue foundation. It is strange how often it is accepted without question that 'the Son of man' was a well-known title for the eschatological redeemer in first-century Palestine. But was it? Was it well known? Was it even a title? Was the book of the Similitudes of Enoch yet written? These questions are all open to debate, and many would feel that the evidence tends towards negative answers. 21 Yet the assumption that we do know the meaning of the phrase and understand how it would have been interpreted at the time of Jesus lies at the basis of the kind of approach we have been examining. How, then, can we proceed in our attempt to analyse early Christian beliefs about Jesus, and any Christological statements and claims which he himself may have made? Much has been written recently about 'the burden of proof' regarding a saying's authenticity. From the old assumption that a gospel saying was authentic unless proved otherwise, the pendulum has swung over to the opposite approach - the belief that sayings must be treated as non-authentic unless they can be proved dominical. This, it is suggested, is a more cautious method - the only 'safe' way of proceeding. 22 Yet perhaps a debate about 'the burden of proof' is not very profitable, and is appropriate only if one takes the extreme position that the gospels represent historical reports of the words of Jesus, or the equally extreme view that Jesus himself said nothing sufficiently memorable to have come down to us. Similarly, perhaps, the question 'Who is the more creative, an individual or a community, Jesus or the Church?' is not particularly helpful, for these are not the real alternatives. What we have is a body of material which has been handed on, shaped, moulded, used, and perhaps created, by the early Christian communities. It is perhaps more appropriate to suggest that the 'burden of proof' lies upon each scholar who offers a judgement upon any part of the material, to give a reasonable explanation for the existence of that saying, and to suggest a suitable Sitz im Leben for every saying or pericope. Too often, material is simply rejected as non-dominical, and attributed to 'the early Church'; but this is only one step in the process, and though it is taken as a first step it ought, perhaps, more often to be the last, taken only when we have considered every possibility. For we are being no more 'cautious' or 'safe' in our procedure if we discard doubtful material than if we retain it - and if we unknowingly attribute dominical sayings to the Church, our resulting pictures of Jesus and the development of Christology will be just as prone to error as if we wrongly attribute the Church's formulations of their belief to Jesus. Those of us who are less than optimistic about the possibility of reconstructing the process by which the tradition developed simply by using the tools of 'form-criticism' and 'traditio-criticism' are sometimes described as 'opponents of form-criticism'. Professor Perrin, for example, has recently 422
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written: 'Miss Hooker is convinced that form criticism has failed to make its point.m This is a complete misunderstanding and misrepresentation of our position. I myself wrote in the study which Professor Perrin attacks: 'It is certainly not our intention ... to attack the form-critical method. Formcriticism has established itself as an invaluable tool which can tell us a great deal about the history of the gospel material.' 24 But it cannot tell us everything; it is not a key which can unlock all mysteries. Too often it is treated as though it can. My chief plea, then, is for less dogmatism in our conclusions, and the recognition that all our results are only tentative. We know too little to be dogmatic, and it is probable that any rigid division of material into 'authentic' and 'non-authentic' distorts the picture. All the material comes to us at the hands of the believing community, and probably it all bears its mark to a lesser or greater extent; to confine our picture of Jesus to material which passes all our tests for genuineness is too restricting. British readers are familiar with the tests on various commodities carried out by the magazine Which? to discover which brand is the best buy. The results are printed in the form of tables, with points being scored for reliability, efficiency, comfort, etc., and the greater the number of 'blobs' appearing in a column the better. Our approach to the gospel material must be something like this; few sayings will score the maximum number of points, but the greater the score the greater will be our confidence. The criteria that we use will be various. They will include the principle of dissimilarity which we have been discussing, but we shall use this in a positive way, to increase our confidence about a saying, and not in a negative way, to blackball one. Equally, the principle of multiple attestation can be used positively, not negatively. The presence of Aramaisms, also, will be a point in a saying's favour, though it can no more prove a saying's genuineness than any other criterion. Parables are likely to go back to Jesus, though details may have been added, and the original point lost. The use of paradox and irony might also be thought to strengthen a saying's claim to be genuine. But most important, perhaps, is the demand that a saying must be given a reasonable 'pedigree', whether it is attributed to Jesus or the Church. Too often this is thought to be unnecessary. Let us take the 'confession' at Caesarea Philippi as an example. This is now commonly explained as a complete rewriting by Mark of an originally totally different story. The command to secrecy is eliminated as a typically Marcan theme, and the passion prediction is regarded as ex eventu; we are left with a narrative in which Jesus asks the disciples who they think he is, the reply of Peter, and the words of Jesus, 'Get behind me, Satan.'25 Granted that this story is credible within the life of Jesus (which some of us may doubt), no satisfactory explanation is given as to how it came to be remembered and repeated (and it certainly fails to comply with the form-critical
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requirement that it should answer a demand within the Christian community), or how it came to be so drastically altered as to take on a diametrically opposed meaning. It may be suggested that the very difficulty of the pericope led to the alteration - but the whole process has been based upon a completely hypothetical reconstruction, obtained by a rigid use of certain principles regarding what can and cannot be authentic. Attempts to trace the history of the tradition must therefore take into consideration, at every step, the relation of any reconstruction to what we know (tentatively!) about Jesus and the Church. We cannot solve problems simply by eliminating sayings from one stage and attributing them to another, for we may find ourselves confronted by even greater difficulties. Remembering always the danger of subjectivity mentioned above, we may here apply the principle of 'consistency' or 'coherence' in seeking to discover the most likely Sitz im Leben for a saying, and fitting it - tentatively - within the life of Jesus or of the Christian community. It is primarily for this reason that those of us who maintain the authenticity of the term 'Son of man' as a self-designation of Jesus do so. With all the difficulties involved, it is nevertheless easier to understand its use within the ministry of Jesus, the growing emphasis on the eschatological hope of the Son of man's return, and the final fossilization of the term within the tradition, than to suppose either that Jesus did not use the term at all, and that the community are responsible for all the sayings, or that he spoke of a coming Son of man, and that his followers completely misunderstood both his identity and his functions. 26 Finally, we may perhaps put a question mark against the common assumption that Jesus made no direct messianic claims, and used no messianic titles of himself. This is part of an understandable reaction against the idea that we could recover Jesus' 'messianic self-consciousness' - but in its place we seem to be offered Jesus' 'unmessianic self-consciousness'! It is suggested that Jesus acted with extraordinary authority but offered no explanation in terms of his own person. It is perhaps worth quoting here some words of R. H. Fuller, writing about the relationship between Hebrew and Greek ways of expressing Christological belief.27 'It is not just a quirk of the Greek mind, but a universal human apperception, that action implies prior being - even if, as is also true, being is only apprehended in action.' If Fuller is right, then his words should apply also to Jesus, who shared human apperceptions: we must at least pose the question whether his own understanding of the ground of his actions coincided with that of the Church.
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Notes 1 This paper was read at the Seminar on Christology, under the chairmanship of Professor N. Perrin, during the Annual meeting of the S.N.T.S. held at Newcastle in August 1970. 2 The History of the Synoptic Tradition (E.T. 1963), p. 205. 3 Essays on New Testament Themes (E.T. 1964), pp. 34-7. 4 'Jesus Christus' in Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart (1959), col. 623. 5 Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus (1967), pp. 39-43. 6 The Foundations of New Testament Christology (1965), pp. 18, 116. 7 Op. cit. p. 43. 8 We must therefore disagree with the statement of H. Zahrnt, The Historical Jesus (E.T. 1963): 'There is today general agreement on this basic principle of method.' 9 N. Perrin, loc. cit. 10 R. H. Fuller, for example, refers to sayings which pass this test as 'the more characteristic parts of Jesus' teaching', op cit. p. 103. What he means is that they are 'distinctive' in the other sense. Cf. N. Perrin, op. cit. p. 39: 'If we are to seek that which is most characteristic of Jesus, it will be found not in the things which he shares with his contemporaries but in the things wherein he differs from them.' This assertion of Jesus' uniqueness is a dogmatic assumption. Cf. the criticism of F. G. Downing, The Church and Jesus (1968), p. 116. 11 Cf. M. D. Hooker, The Son of Man in Mark (1967), pp. 6 f. D. E. Nineham in Christ for Us Today, ed. N. Pittenger (1968), p. 58, n. 18. 12 Perrin's statement that 'the Gospels offer us directly information about the early church' (What is Redaction Criticism? (1970), p. 69) is over-optimistic. 13 Cf. F. G. Downing, op. cit. pp. 114f. 14 Cf. R. H. Fuller, op. cit. p. 18; N. Perrin, Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus, pp. 37 f.; and the criticisms of F. G. Downing, op. cit. pp. 113f. 15 Op. cit. pp. 164-75, 197-8. 16 Op. cit. p. 41. 17 'Gottesreich und Menschensohn in der Verklindigung Jesu', Festschrift fiir Giinther Dehn, ed. W. Schneemelcher (1957), pp. 51-79; 'Jesus und der Menschensohn', Z. Th.K. LX (1963), 133-77. 18 'Gegenwart und Zukunft in der synoptischen Tradition', Z. Th.K., uv, (1957), 277-96. 19 So E. Schweizer; see 'Der Menschensohn', Z.N.T.W LX (1959), 185-209; 'The Son of Man', J.B.L. LXXIX (1960), 119-29; 'The Son of Man Again', N.T.S. IX (1963), 256-61. 20 Loc. cit. 21 See, most recently, the article by R. Leivestad, which challenges these assumptions: 'Der apokalyptische menschensohn ein theologisches Phantom', pp. 49-105, in Annual of the Swedish Theological Institute, VI (1968). Cf. also N. Perrin's discussion, referred to above, p. 483, n. 2. 22 N. Perrin, op. cit. p. 39. 23 What is Redaction Criticism?, p. 70. A similar misunderstanding is found in A. J. B. Higgins's essay 'Is the Son of Man Problem Insoluble?' in Neotestamentica et Semitica, Studies in Honour of M. Black, ed. E. Earle Ellis and Max Wilcox (1969), p. 73. 24 The Son of Man in Mark, p. 5. 25 SeeR. H. Fuller, op. cit. p. 109; J. Knox, The Death of Christ (1959), pp. 78-80. 26 Cf. M. D. Hooker, op. cit. pp. 182-93; R. Leivestad, op. cit. pp. 80-91. 27 Op. cit. p. 248. Fuller himself recognizes this when he writes on page 130: 'Jesus 425
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understood his mission in terms of eschatological prophecy and was confident of its vindication by the Son of man at the End ... Take the implied selfunderstanding of his role in terms of the eschatological prophet away, and the whole ministry falls into a series of unrelated, if not meaningless fragments.' We may accept the underlying truth of this statement, without necessarily agreeing that the term 'eschatological prophet' is the correct one.
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AN EXAMINATION OF THE CRITERIA FOR DISTINGUISHING THE AUTHENTIC WORDS OF JESUS D. G. A. Calvert Source: New Testament Studies, 18, 1972, pp. 209-219.
The purpose of this article is to examine the various suggested criteria to distinguish the authentic teaching of Jesus in the synoptic gospels. The present situation is reviewed; the negative and positive criteria are examined; and in conclusion an improvement of method is suggested. The study of this problem has to some extent been prompted by Perrin's 'The Teaching of Jesus', though this article is in no way an examination of the book.
The present situation It is important to be clear about the meaning of 'authentic'. J. M. Robinson suggests that a saying which Jesus never spoke 'may well reflect accurately his historical significance, and in this sense be more "historical" than many irrelevant things Jesus actually said'. 1 He therefore speaks of 'the helpless ambiguity of the old term "unauthentic" '.2 Ambiguity, however, is avoided if the word 'authentic' is reserved for those words which Jesus actually spoke. All other material is unauthentic. It has been put into the mouth of Jesus either in the process of oral tradition or directly by the evangelist. However, an unauthentic saying may in part be authentic and in part not. The proper question therefore is often not 'is this authentic?', but rather 'in what part, if any, is this saying authentic?'. Knox warns that conclusions about authenticity may well be determined by the point of view from which we look at the gospels as a whole. 3 He describes the two extreme points of view. One is that the gospels represent the life and faith of the churches in the final decades of the first century. They embody therefore a tradition about Jesus which has undergone important changes under the influence of the Church. Authentic
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sayings must therefore prove themselves to be such. The other point of view is that the gospels are primitive accounts of the life and teaching of Jesus. There is therefore no need to distrust what they say unless the possibility of accuracy is clearly ruled out. Although the former view has been very influential it has met with some criticism. M. D. Hooker is particularly critical of the scepticism which often accompanies this form-critical approach to the Son of man sayings, as for instance Mark ii. 10 and ii. 28. 'The fact that a story has a setting within the life of the early Church does not necessarily mean that it could have no place in the life of Jesus as well.' 4 Cullmann makes the same criticism concerning Jesus' consciousness of fulfilling the task of the Suffering Servant of God. He claims that the conclusion is too quickly made that Jesus could not have had this consciousness, and warns of the danger that we shall be led by subjective judgements in determining what actually comes from Jesus. 5 He sees the younger pupils of Bultmann as 'controlled by an arbitrariness influenced by a definite, theological, dogmatic standpoint', by which he means existential exegesis. 6 Downing (The Church and Jesus) has written about the false assumptions of form criticism. 7 The most important is that we know enough about the early Church to enable us to ascertain the respects in which its outlook would colour any accounts of Jesus. These reservations about the approach of form-criticism to the problem of the authentic sayings of Jesus are sufficient to make us wary of simply accepting the criteria generally agreed upon by form-critics. Moreover, other scholars have expressed positively a more confident attitude to the gospel material, somewhat similar to the second approach described by Knox. 8 We would do well therefore to approach with a fresh mind the whole question of the criteria to be used to distinguish the authentic sayings of Jesus. There have been a great variety of criteria suggested; always a group is suggested, for it is recognized that no one criterion is much use on its own. Bultmann suggests three. 9 One, the content must be opposed to Jewish morality; two, it must reflect the eschatological temper characteristic of Jesus' teaching; three, it must exhibit no specifically Christian traits. Fuller echoes the first and third of these and adds the presence of Aramaic features.10 The basic form-critical method, therefore, is to eliminate sayings which reflect the post-Easter faith of the Church and those which can be paralleled in contemporary Judaism. Jeremias in his writings on the parables and the eucharistic words stresses the Aramaic test. Many years ago, Burkitt urged use of the cross-section method. J. M. Robinson stresses the consistency test. Moule values Schmiedel's pillar argument. All these, and other, criteria will now be examined. We divide them into negative criteria, which are used simply to rule out the genuinenes of a saying, and the positive standards demanded of those sayings that are to be accorded
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genuineness - though there is necessarily some overlap, as some of the criteria can be expressed in both negative and positive form. Those sayings are judged to be unauthentic which
a. b. c. d. e.
accord with the teaching of the early Church; accord with the contemporary teaching of Judaism; presuppose a situation unthinkable at the time of Jesus; contradict other, more genuine sayings; are shown by a comparison of the gospels to be a development of what is found elsewhere. Those sayings are judged to be authentic which
1. are positively distinctive from Jewish thought; 2. are positively distinctive from the thought of the post-Easter Church; 3. contain elements that could not be from the Church; 4. exhibit Ararnaisms in various forms and reflect Palestinian conditions; 5. are found in more than one tradition or form; 6. are characteristic of the known teaching of Jesus.
An examination of the negative criteria (a) 'A saying is unauthentic if it is in accordance with the teaching of the later Church.' This criterion presupposes that we know all that the later Church taught, apart from that knowledge which we gain from a study of the gospels; that the teaching of the later Church was completely different from the teaching of Jesus; and that Jesus himself did not intend to found a Church, and gave no preparatory teaching to his followers for this situation. These are large assumptions. Fuller acknowledges that Jesus may have agreed with the post-Easter Church, and comments that an application of this criterion leads to minimal results and notorious scepticism.H He suggests that where the sayings of Jesus reflect a changed eschatological situation these sayings are either a created expression of the postEaster Church or a genuine saying transformed. There are applications of this criterion in Nineham's Pelican Commentary on MarkY Concerning Mark x. 30 he says 'the sharp distinction between the "two ages" seems to reflect the teaching of the early Church rather than any that Jesus is known to have given, and the unusual phrase "in this time" is reminiscent of Pauline phraseology'. There are several difficulties with this criterion. First, although we recognize that the teaching of Jesus has been affected by the Sitz im Leben in the Church, a rigid application of this test would rule out automatically any connection between the teaching of Jesus and the teaching of the
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Church. It therefore presupposes one of the things it is trying to discover. Secondly, as a test it cannot be applied on its own, but must be applied along with the test of distinctiveness; i.e. a saying which conforms with the later teaching of the Church can be ruled out unless it betrays the distinctive (eschatological?) situation in which Jesus stood. But thirdly, we gain an understanding of this distinctive eschatological situation only from the teaching of Jesus, the authentic elements of which we are seeking to establish. It is at least theoretically possible that the eschatological setting is part of the later addition by the Church. Thus this qualification of the criterion, suggested by Fuller as a safeguard, is no safeguard at all. (b) 'A saying is unauthentic if it is in accordance with the teaching of contemporary Judaism.' This criterion means that where the gospel shows Jesus merely repeating the Jewish teachings of his day- without the addition of his own distinctive message - the teaching is a re-Judaizing of Jesus' teachingY The difficulties with this criterion are similar to those above. It presupposes no connection between Jesus and contemporary Judaism to which he belonged, and indeed no connection between Jesus and the OT. It demands the additional test of whether the material betrays the distinctive message of Jesus. But it has this advantage over the first criterion - it is easier to say with some assurance what the teaching of contemporary Judaism was than to say what the teaching of the Church was; though it must be remembered that the precise dating of Jewish documents at this time is notoriously difficult. A rigorous application of these two criteria would rule out most of the teaching of Jesus. Taken together they suggest that the teaching of Jesus was unique, and yet had no influence on the future ideas of the Church. Jesus' teaching is in a vacuum- no connection with Judaism; no connection with Christianity. (c) 'A saying is unauthentic if it presupposes a situation unthinkable at the time of Jesus.' This expresses in sharper form, and therefore in a less sweeping manner, the two criteria described above. As such it overcomes the more basic objection (that Jesus could not have agreed with Judaism or Christianity), but still leaves the same difficulty of application. It is difficult to assess what would be unthinkable to Jesus, and the decision must often be that of individual judgement. 14 (d) 'A saying is unauthentic if it contradicts a recognized authentic saying.' Such a test has very limited application. There are few instances where we can say with certainty that there is a contradiction. When this does occur, we then have to decide which of the sayings is the authentic and which the contradiction. Thus this test depends entirely upon the establishment of other satisfactory tests to decide the question of authenticity. (e) 'A saying is unauthentic if a comparison of the gospels shows it to be a development of what is found elsewhere.' This is a test that Jeremias
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finds particularly applicable in his study of the parablesY For example, the parable of the servants to whom money is entrusted speaks of three servants in Matthew and ten in Luke. Jeremias concludes that the oriental storytellers' delight in large numbers led to embellishments, though he admits that this test has to be applied with great caution. Jesus himself was an oriental storyteller; the larger number may be his. Also an alteration may be made by an evangelist for theological or symbolic purposes and not be explicable as an exaggeration. In instances other than the parables this test is even more difficult to apply. For example, if we compare Mark viii. 38 with Luke xii. 8 f., are we to conclude that the words in Mark about the Son of man and the angels are additional because they are not to be found in Luke? Or are we to conclude that Luke, with his markedly weaker emphasis on the parousia, has cut them out, and that Mark has given us the original? The recognition that each gospel writer is presenting a theological point of view (or indeed several) prevents a straightforward synoptic comparison leading to the conclusion that the shorter version is always more original. However, this test can be applied within one gospel. It has often been suggested that Mark ix. 31 has a better claim to originality than viii. 31 because of its brevity and lack of detail,1 6 There are not many instances, however, when this can be applied. We must conclude that it is difficult on the basis of these criteria to say more than that there is established a probability that some of the recorded teaching of Jesus is less than authentic. We do not find much help in deciding precisely what is unauthentic. The common approach of ruling out the more obviously unauthentic teaching before applying more positive tests is therefore rejected. (1) 'A saying is authentic if it is positively distinctive from Jewish thought.' Bultmann stresses the need for a similitude to be 'opposed' in its content to Jewish morality and piety. Fuller prefers to speak of a place where Jesus has 'transformed' the Jewish teaching in the light of his distinctive message. 17 He therefore wishes to use this criterion only in connection with (6) (characteristic of the known teaching of Jesus). An example of the use of this criterion can be found with the words 'the law and the prophets were until John' (Luke xvi. 16). This is clearly different from Jewish teaching in its suggestion that the reign of the law and the prophets is over. It also qualifies under (6), if it is assumed that characteristic of the teaching of Jesus is the message that the kingdom of God is near. Yet to some extent it is in line with Pauline Christianity and therefore would be suspect according to (2). Another instance which might meet Fuller's double requirement is Jesus' teaching on not resisting evil. It is different from Jewish thought and is perhaps governed by a particular eschatological outlook. It is not easy to say how distinct it is from the thought of the Church. 431
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The criterion can be applied with a fair expectation of success only alongside criteria (2) and (6). This lessens its value considerably, for we shall see that neither of these other two criteria is very satisfactory. (2) 'A saying is authentic if it is distinct from the post-Easter thought of the Church.' There is more difficulty attached to this criterion than to (1). It is possible to establish the Jewish thought of the time of Jesus more easily than it is possible to build up a picture of the post-Easter thought of the Church. Often use is made of gospel material judged on arbitrary grounds to be from the later Church. 18 This was the fundamental criticism we noted of the method of some form-critics. The process is merely circular. 19 There is an important restatement of this criterion by Turner (Historicity and the Gospels). He suggests that where there is an overlap of interest between the gospels and the early Church, but a marked difference in the scale of treatment, we can be reasonably sure that we are on firm historical ground. Here it is not simply a difference that is sought, but a difference at the very point where we should expect to find similarity. Turner has sought to narrow the application of the criterion; perhaps it is narrowed too much. Certainly it will not be applicable in many instances; but where it can be applied the conclusion can more safely be drawn that we are dealing with authentic material. One such instances is examined by Moule (Phenomenon of the N. T., pp. 56ft.). An examination of the Christology of Luke and Acts suggests that in the gospel Luke does not have the same explicit estimate of Jesus as he does in Acts. The difference is noted in two respects. First, there is a subtle difference in the use of the term 'prophet'. Secondly, there is an explicit difference in the use of 'the Son of man'. According to Moule, this difference bears witness to the writer's clear consciousness of a changed situation as between the period of the ministry of Jesus and the period of the apostolic Church. 20 However, this does not mean that the writer is necessarily recording accurately what Jesus said. He may simply be expressing his own understanding of the changed situation. (3) 'A saying is authentic if it contains elements that could not be from the Church.' Schmiedel regarded as solid foundation pillars sayings which were alien to the outlook of the evangelists. For example, the question in Mark x. 18, 'why do you call me good?', or the suggestion in Matt. xii. 31 f. that blasphemy against the Son of man is forgivable. Moule qualifies Schmiedel's formulation of the criterion. First, he rephrases it as 'certain features in the story of Jesus, the retention of which can scarcely be explained except by their genuineness and durable quality, since everything else was hostile to their survival'. 21 Secondly, he extends its application beyond those instances which fall directly into Schmiedel's category. 22 Matt. xi. 12 f., the words of Jesus about John the Baptist, is an instance where this criterion is applied. This assessment of John could not have 432
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come from the Church because the later Church was to reduce the Baptist to the position of a mere forerunner. Here he is presented as the initiator of a new era. Such a view would be unacceptable to the later Church unless it came from Jesus himselfY When the criterion is applied in this way, we see how close it is to criterion (2) (material dissimilar to the thought of the Church). There are however objections to this criterion. Mark xiii. 32 is clearly authentic according to this test; the Church would not have invented the phrase 'nor the Son'. But Nineham suggests that it is at least possible that the non-event of the End led to the invention of a saying showing that Jesus had not claimed that it was near. 24 Mark xv. 34 is a further verse that is said to stand the test of this criterion; the early Church would never have ascribed such a cry of dereliction to Jesus. If, however, Jesus is referring to the whole psalm, the reference may be to trust in God rather than to despair, for this is the theme of the psalm as a whole. 25 The weakness that Nineham reveals in this pillar argument is that whether we regard a saying as impossible of invention by the Church depends entirely on the interpretation we give to the saying. (4) 'A saying is authentic if it exhibits Aramaisms in various forms, 26 and reflects Palestinian conditions.' This criterion is usually applied to isolated sayings or to a small collection of sayings forming one unit, as with a parable. T. W. Manson, 27 however, applied the criterion to a large collection of material in attempting to show that Q was an Aramaic document. For instance, he showed that the 'whatsoever' of Matt. vii. 12 and the 'as' of Luke vi. 31 were to be found in the LXX of Gen. xliv. 1 and xli. 13 respectively as a translation of the same Hebrew word ka'asher. Manson suggested therefore that Matthew and Luke are both using here an Aramaic source which reads kma de. There would need to be an enormous amount of such evidence to form a convincing argument that Q was an Aramaic document. More possibility is offered in Jeremias' study of the eucharistic words of Jesus in Mark. 28 He notes 20 Semitisms, and concludes that Mark's account is the nearest we have to the primitive Aramaic of the Last Supper. Yet not all the evidence points towards the authenticity of the account. For example, 'tO aiJla JlOU 't'llc; ota811K:1lc; is thought by many to be an impossible expression in Aramaic, where a noun with a pronominal suffix cannot govern a genitive. 29 In any case, Jeremias' own conclusion points to a pre-Marcan form- a primitive Aramaic account- rather than to the authentic words of Jesus. 30 A further reason to treat this test with caution is that it is possible that Aramaisms have come into the gospels from the use of Jewish Greek and therefore do not indicate in any way an original Aramaic source. 31 Alongside the discovery of Aramaisms sometimes goes a reflection of Palestinian life. 32 But this is not a very useful test of authenticity. Jesus 433
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himself may well have reflected non-Palestinian conditions, as for instance when he describes what seem to be Levantine methods of punishment. Also, as Jeremias points out, the descriptions of non-Palestinian conditions may be due to the translation of the setting of a story or parable from Galilean Aramaic into Greek. If the occurrence of non-Palestinian conditions does not count against the authenticity of a saying, it is difficult to see why the occasional ocurrence of seemingly Palestinian conditions should be thought to testify to authenticity. (5) 'A saying is authentic when it is found in more than one tradition or form.' Although the chief interest in synoptic study has moved on, sourcecriticism still remains the backbone of any study of the gospels. Burkitt traced 31 sayings which appear in the tradition independently in Q and Mark and claimed that the tradition behind these is traceable back to within 10 or 15 years of Jesus. 33 The criterion is most useful when the saying occurs in more than one form (e.g. parable and aphorism) whether in the same tradition or not. This is because the lack of certainty about the relationship between the synoptic gospels makes the more general use of the test rather suspect.34 Even so it is to be admitted that when several sources (whatever their relation to one another) agree on a saying this unanimity of tradition gives weight to the authenticity of the saying. Dodd applies this criterion to the applications found at the end of parables.35 Such applications are found in all four traditions. While any particular application may be the work of the evangelist, it does seem that there were applied parables in all their sources. Dodd also uses this criterion in a negative manner; 36 he doubts the application given to a parable in those cases where a parable occurs without application in one source and is supplied with one in another, as in the parable of the lamp which has an application in Matthew, though not in Mark or Luke. (6) 'A saying is authentic if it is characteristic of the known teaching of Jesus.' Carlston shows the fundamental difficulty by the way he himself expresses the criterion- 'once the central message of Jesus has been established ... .m But 'once' it has been established, the criterion has ceased to be of value - unless the central message has been too easily assumed and there still remains a large amount of teaching to be considered.38 Robinson applies this criterion in a more subtle form. He first argues that the parables (less their allegorical features) preserve substantially the teaching of Jesus. Next he analyses the message of the parables as being a statement 'to the present in view of the imminent eschatological future'. He then applies this to the question of the authenticity of the individual logia, 'relating the prevailing character of the parables to the dominant consensus as to the basic direction of Jesus' message'. His basic supposition is that the parables preserve the authentic teaching of Jesus. 39 However, there is reason to doubt this. It is not clear that there is evidence of an Aramaic original behind the Greek words.40 Often the parables do
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not reflect Palestinian features. There is much disagreement about the original versions of parables,41 without which it is not possible to build up an accurate picture of their teaching. We can only conclude that the authenticity of the parables is not sufficiently established for them to be used for testing the authentic nature of the rest of the material. 42
Conclusion: a possible way forward At this point we summarize our conclusions before offering a possible way forward. There is no value in ruling out 'unauthentic material' by means of the negative criteria. This is true no matter how justified we may feel on general grounds in having a sceptical approach to the gospels. This method should therefore be abandoned and only positive criteria should be employed. As far as positive criteria (1) and (2) are concerned, if any material definitely falls into this combined category, we are very probably right to regard it as authentic. But this does not necessarily make it more authentic than material not within this category; this would be to use the criteria negatively. These two criteria are therefore of limited value as they do not on their own build up a full picture of the teaching of Jesus. The trust that used to be placed in the 'pillar' criterion has been seen to be largely misplaced. Even if we reject the particular instances examined by Nineham, we must accept that the application of the criterion demands a far greater knowledge of the thought of the later Church than we possess. Concerning the Aramaic test, two matters emerge. First, the presence of an Aramaism may not even be a sign of antiquity; secondly, it would in any case be a sign only that the material went back to the Aramaic Church, and in no way proof that we had the actual words of Jesus. The growing feeling that the synoptic problem is still with us, and that the two-source theory is no longer adequate, makes it difficult to build up a criterion on this basis. However, the version of the criterion that speaks of the same saying being found in more than one form still has value, though its application is limited. The final criterion has been seen to be most inadequate. Usually there is the presumption that characteristic of the teaching of Jesus is a particular eschatology. It is also often assumed that the parables are the certain gateway to this distinctive teaching. It is clear that some new approach is needed. Here we hope to make a tentative suggestion about the way forward. From-criticism has played too exclusive a role both in determining the criteria and in their application. The literary and source-criticism that preceded form-criticism has often been ignored, and redaction-criticism that succeeded form-criticism has not yet been given its place. We suggest that there needs to be a new 435
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approach worked out on the basis of the best of all three of these ways of looking at the gospels. From the first method we have seen the value of criterion (5). Although there is no certainty about the inter-relation of the gospels, it is clear that they are inter-related. The finding of material in more than one tradition does at least show consistency in the tradition. Especially valuable is the occurrence of a saying in two or more different types of story- for example, a miracle in Matthew and a parable in Luke. From the second way of viewing the gospels, we have seen that there is some limited value in criteria (1) and (2), combining to make one criterion of distinctiveness. From the third approach too it is possible to work out the beginnings of a criterion. If each of the gospel writers is expressing his own point of view through the stories he selects and the way his material is presented, the inclusion of material which does not especially serve his purpose may well be taken as a testimony to the authenticity of that material, or at least to the inclusion of it in the tradition of the Church in such a clear and consistent way that the evangelist was loath to omit it. The material asserts itself even though it does not particularly suit the purpose of the storyteller. For instance, it is well recognized that Matthew and Mark take different attitudes to the disciples of Jesus. Mark seems anxious to show their lack of understanding and their lack of faith, whereas Matthew takes a much more sympathetic view. A saying in Mark which did not fit in with his criticism of the disciples would seem to be authentic; a saying in Matthew which was critical of the disciples would seem to be authentic. With the use of these three criteria it may be possible to build up something of a basic picture of the teaching of Jesus. Yet even so it is not easy to build an objective picture, because persistently personal judgements have to be made about the nature of the gospel material.
Notes 1 J. M. Robinson, The New Quest of the Historical Jesus, p. 99. Compare Bornkamm, Jesus of Nazareth, p. 21. 2 Compare Dinkler, 'Jesu Wort vom Kreuztrager', N. T. Studies for R. Bultmann, pp. llOff. 3 John Knox, The Death of Christ, pp. 52 f. 4 M. D. Hooker, The Son of Man in Mark, pp. 175 f. 5 Compare D. E. Nineham, Saint Mark. Writing about xiii. 24-7 he asks, 'Have scholars who deny all authenticity to the passage been influenced at all by the desire to dissociate Jesus from ideas and language strange to modern minds?' (p. 356, footnote). 6 0. Cullmann, Salvation in History, pp. 187 ff. 7 Compare H. Palmer, The Logic of Gospel Criticism. He claims that we have no 'independent knowledge of groups producing, preserving, or altering stories cast in one form or another', without which the form-critical attempts to grade these as historical evidence are not very convincing (p. 193).
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8 Cullmann expects to find authentic sayings of Jesus in the gospels. This is the proper approach of form-criticism (Salvation in History, pp. 189-92). Moule suggests that in one sense the post-Easter interpretation was only a rediscovery of what had already been there in the teaching of Jesus (Phenomenon of the N. T., p. 46). See also Riesenfeld (Gospel Tradition and its Beginnings) and Gerhardsson (Tradition and Transmission in the Early Church). 9 History of Synoptic Tradition, p. 265. 10 N. T. in Current Study, pp. 40 f. 11 Critical Introduction to the N. T., p. 97. 12 Saint Mark, p. 276. Nineham also suggests that the addition or alteration in some cases may not be due to the theology as much as the practice of the Church in different conditions. See his comment on 'except a staff' (Mark vi. 8) onp. 169. 13 Fuller gives the example of Matt. v. 17, commenting that because this is merely Jewish and is also inconsistent with the central message of Jesus it is basically inauthentic (Critical Introduction, p. 96). Compare Stauffer, Jesus: Gestalt und Geschichte, p. 11. 14 For example, if Matt. xxii. 7 seems to reflect the destruction of Jerusalem, it is not from Jesus, as Jesus did not predict the future. Beasley-Murray (A Commentary on Mark 13, p. 7) correctly points out that the strength of this argument depends largely on our view of prediction. 15 Rediscovering the Parables, pp. 19 ff. 16 M. D. Hooker, Son of man in Mark, p. 134. Likewise she says about x. 33 f. that 'this final prediction of the passion is by far the most detailed, and is for that reason the most open to suspicion'. Compare Higgins (Jesus and the Son of Man, p. 34) who, using the same argument, concludes that even ix. 31 is a church formulation. 17 Critical Introduction to N. T., pp. 96 f. 18 See Jeremias's statement of the ways in which the Church has influenced the message of the parables (Rediscovering the Parables, pp. 36 ff.). However, no agreed changes in the parables can simply be applied to the rest of the teaching of Jesus. It may be that there were influences at work in the retelling of the parables that are not to be found elsewhere. 19 The criterion is often used in this way against the Little Apocalypse. 20 Moule, Phenomenon of the N. T., p. 60. When writing earlier (p. 54) about the term 'Abba', Moule recognizes that this criterion does not always apply. 21 Op. cit. p. 62. 22 Moule instances the use of 'Amen' at the beginning of a sentence- a technique unprecedented and not found in the rest of the N.T. 23 Kasemann, Essays on N. T. Themes, p. 43. 24 Nineham, Saint Mark, p. 360. He also asks whether elsewhere Jesus ever referred to himself absolutely as the Son. The saying seems unacceptable according to criterion no. 6, and probably also no. 2. 25 Saint Mark, pp. 427 f. However, the saying is recorded in Aramaic, which makes it more acceptable according to no. 4. 26 Sanders (Tendencies of Synoptic Tradition) argues against Black (Aramaic Approach to the Gospels and Acts) that the discovery of parataxis in Mark does not really serve to prove an Aramaic sayings tradition behind the words of Jesus (p. 250). He also comments that in the Acts of Pilate 5. 2 and 14. 2 there is a higher degree of asyndeton than is to be found in Mark. No one however suggests that these verses are translated from primitive Aramaic sayings (p. 250). 437
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27 T. W. Manson, Sayings of Jesus, pp. 18 ff. Compare Black, p. 43. 28 Eucharistic Words of Jesus, pp. 118 f. Jeremias points out that many words appear in graecized form in 1 Corinthians. According to criterion no. 2, this would not support their authenticity. 29 Emerton has challenged the conclusion that this expression is untranslatable into Aramaic; but Nineham ignores this with the words 'virtually impossible' (Saint Mark, p. 385). 30 A. J. B. Higgins (Jesus and the Son of Man, p. 48) uses this test negatively when discussing Mark x. 45a and concludes that because the Greek cannot be a translation of Aramaic it must be the creation of the Greek-speaking Church. 31 Sanders, pp. 194 ff. Compare Turner, 'Second Thoughts: VII. Papyrus Finds', Expository Times, LXXVI (1964). 32 Jeremias suggests that if a saying reflects Palestinian conditions its authenticity is assured. 33 F. C. Burkitt, Gospel History and its Transmission, pp. 147 f. 34 Palmer, The Logic of Gospel Criticism, and Sanders, Tendencies of Synoptic Tradition. Compare Butler (Originality of Matthew) and Farmer (The Synoptic Problem). 35 Parables of the Kingdom, p. 24. 36 Moule, however, warns against any negative use of this criterion. 'Selection is often at work on the traditions; and I see no reason to reject a tradition merely because it appears in only one stream, provided it is not intrinsically improbable or contradicted by the other.' (Phenomenon of N. T., p. 71.) 37 C. E. Carlston, B.R. 7 (1962), 33 ff. 38 This is what M. D. Hooker claims has happened with the interpretation of the Son of man. Many scholars assume that the 'coming' Son of man is the basis of the teaching and then rule out the 'suffering' and 'activity on earth' sayings as inconsistent (Son of Man in Mark, eh. 1). Compare Fuchs, Studies of Historical Jesus, p. 105. 39 Formal structure of Jesus's Message, pp. 96 f. However, it can equally be argued that 'the meaning which we attribute to the parable must be congruous with the interpretation of his own ministry offered by Jesus in explicit and unambiguous sayings' (G. H. Dodd, Parables of the Kingdom, p. 27). 40 Jeremias, Rediscovering the Parables, pp. 8 f. Compare Black, Aramaic Approach, p. 51. 41 Compare Hunter, Interpreting the Parables, p. 87; Jones, Art and Truth of Parables, p. 35; and Jeremias, op. cit. pp. 54 ff. 42 Cullmann, Salvation in History, p. 193.
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21 ON USING THE WRONG TOOL M. D. Hooker Source: Theology, 75, 1972,pp. 570-581.
My text is taken from the words of R. H. Lightfoot, according to a tradition recorded for us by D. E. Nineham, who tells us that R. H. Lightfoot "was often to be heard lamenting: 'If only they [NT scholars] would say "we do not know".' " 1 My subject is that much-used (and usually mis-used) term "methodology". My plea is that we should stop pretending to know the answer when we do not. My argument is that the tools which are used in an attempt to uncover the authentic teaching of Jesus cannot do what is required of them. I was accused recently of believing "that form criticism has failed to make its point". 2 My immediate reaction to this terrible charge was to spring to my own defence by quoting what I had in fact written on the subject: "It is certainly not our intention ... to attack the form-critical method. Form-criticism has established itself as an invaluable tool which can tell us a great deal about the history of the gospel material."3 But recently I have begun to wonder whether I was right in describing formcriticism as an invaluable tool. Was I simply paying lip-service to the phrase which is now part of the NT scholars' creed: "form-criticism is a useful tool"? I sometimes set my pupils an essay with the title "The uses and abuses of form-criticism"; the results of their researches are illuminating, for the abuses are often found to outweigh the uses. Form-criticism is a useful tool. But useful for what? First, and most obviously, it is a literary tool. It tells us about the form of the material; it examines the shape of a piece of tradition and classifies it. This may be interesting to those who like doing that sort of thing, but I do not think it is particularly illuminating to be told that a miracle story is a miracle story, or that a paradigm is a paradigm- or an apophthegm- nor even that such stories take on certain shapes; one can learn that any evening by watching TV commercials. At this stage, form-criticism is being used simply as a literary tool, to sort the material into piles according to its shape - and my reaction is a somewhat bored but polite "How interesting".
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Much more interesting is the second stage of the discussion, when we begin to examine the Sitz im Leben of the material. The Sitz im Leben is defined by Bultmann4 as the "situation or occupation in the life of a community", and the form of the material is linked with its use by the community. It is at this stage that form-criticism becomes exciting and that one may rightly speak of something which has proved invaluable - since it has revolutionized the way in which we look at the gospels; though it is perhaps not so much form-criticism itself which is invaluable in illuminating the material as the insight which goes with it- or rather underlies it that the material comes to us via the community and was being used by the community. Form-criticism itself, as a critical tool, attempts to discover the way in which the material was being used and applied to the life of the community at the time when it came into the written tradition. The difficulty is that it is not a very precise tool, since (as Bultmann stresses in the Preface to his Die Geschichte der Synoptischen Tradition), there is an inbuilt circularity in the method: as in all historical work "it has to move in a circle. The forms of the literary tradition must be used to establish the influences operating in the life of the community, and the life of the community must be used to render the forms themselves intelligible."5 We have no independent knowledge of the groups which formed the pericopes which we are discussing, and we can only deduce the needs and interests of the community which shaped the material from that material itself. The Sitz im Leben to which a pericope is assigned - often with great confidence - is only a hypothesis, and sometimes one feels that the hypotheses demonstrate an excessive endowment of imaginative ability on the part of those who put them forward; as Humphrey Palmer has nicely put it: whether or not the early Church was adept at thinking up stories about Jesus to fit Church situations, the form-critics are certainly adept at thinking up Church situations to fit the stories about Jesus. 6 Form-criticism, then, tells us something about the shape of the material, and it attempts on the basis of that shape to tell us something about the way in which the material was being used - about its function within the community. It is at this stage, it seems to me, that the form-critic gets carried away. For he next tries to deduce, from the material which he has before him, what the earlier forms might have been; it is at this stage that he begins to use form-criticism as a historical tool. The aim of formcriticism, wrote Dibelius, is "to rediscover the origin and the history of the particular units and thereby to throw some light on the history of the tradition before it took literary form". 7 In order to do this, one has to establish certain "laws" about how oral tradition is changed: this is done by looking at certain tendencies in the Synoptic material, and reading them back into the oral period. Certain dangers in this method are immediately apparent. One is the assumption that the same developments apply at the oral stage as at the written; those who have conducted experiments maintain that
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they do not. The issue is complicated by the fact that, at the time when the gospels were being written, the oral tradition was still a present reality, and it is possible that the processes of handing on tradition, on the one hand in an oral form, on the other in a written, were moving in opposite directions - that, for example, traditions could at the same period become shorter as they were repeated orally and lost details, and longer as they were written and attracted detail. The other obvious danger is that of generalization; however much one tries to establish "laws" about the material, there are always some stories which refuse to fit the theory. One may discover a general tendency but that means only that the majority of cases behave in a certain way; any particular case may well belong to the minority, and behave in a quite contrary manner. 8 In attempting to suggest earlier forms than those which at present exist, therefore, the form-critic is once again postulating hypotheses; there can be no certainty that his suggestions are correct. Moreover, in attempting to reconstruct earlier forms behind those which we now have, we can never be sure that we have got back to the earliest form. For the form is shaped according to the purpose to which the early community put it - and the purpose is deduced from the form. We do not know what earlier forms there may have been, shaped in accordance with purposes no longer recoverable; the evidence for both forms and purposes has vanished. All we can do is to examine the existing material and, where the material is found in different forms, to discuss which of them is likely to be the earliest - though even that may be difficult (perhaps impossible) to determine. But we can never be certain that the form we have is the original - that there is no pre-history of the material. The trap into which the form-critic so often falls is that he equates the Sitz im Leben with the origin of the material; the Sitz im Leben is not simply the "setting" of the material but, according to Fuller,9 its "creative milieu". Now this is all right so long as by "creative" is meant "that which licked the material into its present shape". But at this stage the form-critic too often makes the mistake of confusing form with content. Because he has no knowledge of earlier forms, and because he can see the relevance of the material in its present form to the life of the early community, as he understands it, he thinks he has discovered the origin of the material. Of course he may be right: but he is making an assumption on the basis of insufficient evidence. Explorers have often been misled into thinking they have discovered the source of a river - and NT scholars have perhaps sometimes similarly been misled, though with less excuse. The tool of form-criticism can tell us about form; it also tries to tell us about the use which has shaped the material into that form. But it cannot tell us anything about the material itself and its reliability - except where, by a comparison of parallel traditions, it can be clearly seen that elements have been added to the material or changed. Nor can form-criticism tell us 441
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about the history of the material before it took its present shape. To suppose that it can is to assume a knowledge about Jesus and the community which we lack. But of course, in trying to dig behind the tradition as we now have it, the NT scholar has other criteria, other tools, to aid him. In this task of historical reconstruction we have moved beyond the confines of formcriticism into the wider field of "traditio-historical criticism". Are there other methods here which can help us in the perennial task of trying to rediscover the teaching of Jesus? At this stage of the argument we meet two criteria which are, we are often assured, "universally" recognized as the proper method of undertaking this task. They are the two principles of "dissimilarity" and "coherence". The idea of dissimilarity as the standard by which we establish the distinctive teaching of Jesus has been used by Bultmann, Kasemann, Conzelmann, Perrin and Fuller, among others. Fuller explains the principle in these terms: "As regards the sayings of Jesus, traditio-historical criticism eliminates from the authentic sayings of Jesus those which are paralleled in the Jewish tradition on the one hand (apocalyptic and Rabbinic) and those which reflect the faith, practice and situations of the post-Easter Church as we know them from outside the gospels. " 10 To the small body of material extracted in this way there can then be added other sayings which are regarded as being consistent with it. As Perrin expresses it: "material from the earliest strata of the tradition may be accepted as authentic if it can be shown to cohere with material established as authentic by means of the criterion of dissimilarity." 11 There are, however, serious faults in the logic of using these particular criteria to establish the authentic message of Jesus. 1. Use of the principle of dissimilarity, it is claimed, gives us what is distinctive in the teaching of Jesus. But the English word "distinctive" can have two senses - as usual, the Germans use two words: "distinctive" can mean "unique" (what makes it distinct from other things, the German verschieden), or it can mean "characteristic" (the German bezeichnend). In which sense is it being used here? Clearly the method is able only to give us the former - but what we really want is the latter; and the two are by no means necessarily the same. As an example, we might consider three typical speeches by three political leaders at election time; if we were to eliminate what was common to all three, how much would be left of any one speech? Probably very little! The result might give us what was distinctive of a party in the sense of what its members believe and members of other parties do not, but it would certainly not be representative of the policy of the party. This particular method of procedure has this inevitable drawback: that it will eliminate from the teaching of Jesus those areas in which he was in agreement with J udaism and those in which he was in
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agreement with the Church. This is, of course, recognized by those who use the method, and accepted as a drawback. It is, however, a very serious drawback indeed, for to take the remaining material as the basis of our reconstruction will inevitably lead to serious distortion. No one can seriously doubt that in some things Jesus' views must have overlapped those of the Jewish leaders and those of his followers, yet these must be set aside from our reconstruction. But to exclude details from our picture of Jesus may lead to distortion as serious as (or worse than) that which comes if we include too much. Moreover, since it inevitably detaches Jesus from his contemporaries, I think we are justified in suggesting that this distortion is serious. In this attempt to recover what is distinctive, it seems that the two senses of "distinctive" are being confused. What makes Jesus distinct from others is being regarded as that which is characteristic of him. We must be clear as to what this particular criterion can do: it may perhaps be able to give us a collection of sayings concerning whose authenticity we may be reasonably confident, but those sayings will not necessary represent the kernel of Jesus' teaching, or be his most characteristic thought. Indeed, they would seem to offer us those sayings which the early Church treated as peripheral. 2. "It may". But here we come to a second ground for misgiving. Since the method proceeds by eliminating ideas found in Judaism and early Christianity, it presupposes a fairly confident knowledge of both areas. To what extent is this justified? Use of this criterion seems to assume that we are dealing with two known factors (Judaism and early Christianity) and one unknown -Jesus; it would perhaps be a fairer statement of the situation to say that we are dealing with three unknowns, and that our knowledge of the other two is quite as tenuous and indirect as our knowledge of Jesus himself. But one can solve x + y = z only if one knows the value of two of the three "unknowns". As far as Judaism is concerned, the discovery of the Qumran material should be sufficient warning against overconfidence in supposing that we know the whole truth about first-century Judaism. Any comparison between the beliefs of Judaism and the teaching of Jesus which claims to find ideas in the latter unparalleled in the former is inevitably an argument from silence, and should be treated as such. And if our knowledge of Judaism is only partial, so, too, is our knowledge of early Christian belief, and here, too, we must tread with caution. The traditio-historian is the first to recognize that the material as we have it today in the New Testament represents only part of the picture - but he apparently underestimates the importance of that fact. There may have been other beliefs about Jesus and Christological statements which are not now represented in our canonical material: certainly there was no uniformity in expressing belief in Christ. It could be that if we knew the whole truth about Judaism and the early Church, our small quantity of "distinctive" teaching would wither away altogether. 443
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3. But even if we had perfect knowledge of Jesus' contemporaries, the method must be suspect because it begs the question. We begin our examination of the gospel material with a tool which denies the possibility of overlapping, and which insists on his uniqueness. Such a tool is bound to produce a picture in keeping with its assumption - and that is precisely what we get: a Jesus who stands out from his contemporaries as distinctive in his attitudes, but who makes no messianic claims for himself (he cannot, because the Church will make messianic claims on his behalf), and who finds himself in opposition to the Jewish leaders. The method dictates its own conclusions. 4. The method presupposes that much of the gospel material is due to the creative activity of the early Christian community; stories about Jesus came into being to deal with certain situations; inspired prophets spoke to the community in the name of the Risen Lord. But did not those same inspired prophets sometimes utter sayings which have no known parallel in contemporary Judaism and the early Church? If individuals in the Christian community were as creative as is supposed, then presumably some of them at times spoke- as Jesus had done- in "distinctive" ways. So perhaps in the small "hard core" of sayings which this method attributes to Jesus, we may again have included too much! 5. The application of the method is bound to be subjective. How do we decide what is "dissimilar"? Especially when we are reminded of another criterion which we should be using- namely, that an "authentic" saying of Jesus should be "at home" in first-century Palestine. To be acceptable as genuine, a saying of Jesus must at one and the same time be "dissimilar" from contemporary Judaism, and yet use its categories and reflect the language and style of Aramaic. In other words, authentic sayings must not be reflected in Judaism (so far as it is known to us) but must sound as if they could have been spoken at that time! It is difficult to know how to apply these apparently contradictory criteria simultaneously. When Norman Perrin, for example, argues that Jesus could not have used "the son of Man" as a title because it did not exist in Judaism at the time, he is apparently using the second criterion; but if the title had (in his opinion) existed, he would presumably have eliminated it by applying the criterion of dissimilarity! 6. Subjectivity is seen also in the suggestion that authentic teaching can be guaranteed by the presence of "the distinctive eschatological temper which characterized the preaching of Jesus"Y Here, clearly, we are in danger of going round in circles. For how do we know what was characteristic of Jesus' teaching, or what was his distinctive eschatological outlook, until we have established which sayings are authentic?! It is well known that different people look at the evidence regarding eschatology and get very different answers. Bultmann, for example, sees the eschatological emphasis of Jesus as wholly future; others have looked at the same 444
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evidence and drawn a very different picture. At the moment, there is something of a truce - it is usually said that the Kingdom is both present and future. But it may not be so simple. One of the worrying things about Jeremias's discussion of the parables 13 is the very Lucan character of his reconstruction of Jesus' message, with its emphasis on the present character of salvation: Jesus and Luke are found to be in remarkable agreement, and this seems very odd. May it be that Jeremias is reading Jesus through Lucan spectacles? The old danger of looking down a well and seeing one's own reflection still exists. 7. Subjectivity is still a danger when we turn to the principle of coherence or consistency, by which similar sayings are added to the core (or rump) of teaching which has been separated by the principle of dissimilarity. We may be able to sort out what seems coherent (or incoherent) to us - but we are living in a completely different world, and what seems incoherent to us may have seemed coherent in first-century Palestine - and vice versa. Moreover, some of Jesus' sayings - if they are genuine - are paradoxical, and that alone should perhaps warn us against looking for what seems to us to be consistent. 8. When one adds the coherence principle to that of dissimilarity, it is clear that any errors in the results obtained by that method are liable to be magnified by the use of this second criterion. If the core of material upon which we build our reconstruction of the teaching of Jesus is inaccurate, then the addition of material which seems to be consistent with that core is likely to reflect those same inaccuracies. If, for example, our core contains only "future references to the Son of man", then any "present" references will be automatically excluded. 9. Those who advocate the use of these criteria are strangely inconsistent in applying them. This may be illustrated by looking at the word "Abba". Here is a good example of something which is Aramaic in form but to which an exact parallel has not been found in J udaism; but it is used by the early Church (see Rom. 8: 15 and Gal. 4: 6), and by the strict application of the principle of dissimilarity it should be eliminated. Yet it seems to be almost universally accepted that Jesus addressed God as "Abba", and taught his disciples to do the same. Why? Perrin writes "These [two verses] may not be regarded as representing early Christian tradition as such". 14 But why not? This seems like special pleading. The real criterion being used here is not the principle of dissimilarity, but the scholar's own understanding of the situation. As another example, let us look at the very different treatment which is given, on the one hand to the term "the Kingdom of God", and on the other to the phrase "the Son of man". The two terms have much in common. The "spread" of their occurrences throughout the gospels and sources is remarkably similarY Both are without real parallel in the Old Testament - though appeal can be made in each case to extra-biblical
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Jewish material. Both appear to have sometimes a present reference, sometimes a future one. Both refer to something possessing divine authority, which at present suffers reverse. The treatment which is handed out to these two phrases, however, is remarkably different. Although there is a certain overlap between Jesus and the early Church regarding the Kingdom of God - since the phrase does occur in the NT outside the gospels- it is nevertheless regarded by all NT scholars as the core of Jesus' teaching. References to the Son of man, however, which with one famous exception is not used outside the gospels, are reduced to a mere handful if that. It is commonly assumed, either that Jesus did not refer to the Son of man at all, or that his only authentic utterances are to a future, glorious coming of the Son of man. On the principle of dissimilarity, it would be more logical to maintain that Jesus never used the expression "the Kingdom of God" than that he did not speak of "the Son of man". Similarly, if one really applied this principle rigidily to the Son of man sayings, one would find that it was the eschatological group which was eliminated, and the present and suffering sayings which were left. But this must not be. Since the principle of dissimilarity has let the investigators down at this point, they fall back on another principle - the old one of multiple attestation; we have returned to dear old source criticism and dragged out Q, in support of the argument that since the suffering Son of man sayings are almost entirely Marcan, they are clearly inauthentic. Now it may be proper for the NT scholar to use whatever tools are available; but when he throws down one tool and picks up another like this, it certainly looks as though he is selecting his tool to fit his conclusion. In fact, the real criterion which is being applied in this case is a rule which is based on certain presuppositions: first, that the background of the phrase "Son of man" is to be found in a messianic figure in I Enoch, who will ride on clouds of glory at the Last Day - which, as Dr Vermes reminded us, is a very dangerous assumption 16 - and secondly, that Jesus did not apply any messianic titles to himself and therefore could not possibly have referred to himself as Son of man. Of course NT scholars recognize the inadequacy of their tools; when different people look at one passage, and all get different answers, the inadequacy is obvious, even to NT scholars! But they do not draw the logical deduction from this fact. They go on, hammering or chiselling away with their pet tools, and using the pieces which are left as the sure foundation on which they then erect their edifice. But if these tools fail us because they are too imprecise, can we not find others? The history of NT criticism is a continuous search for such criteria. There were, for example, Schmiedel's famous pillar sayings 17 - sayings which the early community clearly could not have invented; but if we are to apply this rule, then we must first be sure that we have understood the saying; and then, when it comes to asking whether there could have been a situation at some stage 446
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in the community's life to fit it, some commentators prove to have more lively imaginations than others· the force of the argument depends once again on our knowledge of the 'early community- and that is inadequate. Or perhaps you prefer Jeremias's appeal to Aramaisms; in his recent New Testament Theology, Part 1, he has an impressive list of Aramaic words which occur on the lips of Jesus; 18 my confidence in this as a method of approach was shaken badly when I discovered that a third of the words listed are found in a sentence attributed to Jesus in a polemical passage in the Babylonian Talmud! The remainder turned out to be words like abba, mammon, Gehenna, and the word from the Cross. And of course, even if we succeed in showing that the form of the material, its sentence structure and so on were Aramaic, we could with certainty claim only to have dug back to a layer belonging to a Palestinian community - which would not necessarily even be early: we should not have proved that these were "words of the Lord". Jeremias uses another criterion in looking at the Son of man sayings; he suggests eliminating as dubious any which have parallels in an "I form''. 19 The existence of such parallels may well be a matter of chance however - as is demonstrated when we have to turn to the Gospel of Thomas to find some of them; once again, our material is too limited to justify our using this kind of method. And the whole thing founders when we discover that the majority of the Son of man sayings which have no "I parallel" are those which refer to the Son of man coming in glory; for by their very nature these are precisely those sayings which cannot be put into an "I form"; once again we have been going round in a circle. Then there is the principle that any reference to the Old Testament must be credited to the early Church, and represents the earliest Christian exegesis; why Jesus himself must be presumed never to have referred to Scripture has never been clear to me. This principle is no more valid as a criterion than the older, opposite view that OT references are a sign of the authentic teaching. And finally, we have an old criterion in a new guise with the advent of redaction criticism. It is suggested that anything which is incompatible with an evangelist's plan and purpose could be regarded as authentic teaching of Jesus.2° Such incompatability would, however, prove nothing - except that the author has included material which he found already existing in the tradition. And, of course, to establish even that we should first need to discover the plan and purpose of the evangelist, with which the material is said to be incompatible. One glance at the innumerable and widely differing interpretations of the redaction critics will show how far we are from discovering that. The fact that I have questioned the value of form-criticism and certain other critical methods as tools in getting back to the Jesus of History does not mean that I am trying to offer comfort to those who have all along maintained a traditional "conservative" approach. I venture to suggest that I am being more radical than those who are commonly labelled
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"radical". For it seems to me that conservative and radical alike have both succumbed to the temptation to seek for certainty - and to believe that it can be achieved. The "radical", though he may eschew the old form of certainty, is seeking another. He looks for some kind of scientific verification - a litmus paper test which can be applied to the sayings of Jesus, which turns either pink or blue, according to whether they are or are not authentic, so that he may sort his material into neat piles. Nevertheless, because these tools have, in general, been applied in a very negative way, it is true that any reaction must make the pendulum swing back to what appears, in its assessment of the material, to be a more "conservative" one. It is over-confidence in our tools that has led to the very minimal accounts of the Jesus of history. But if my own assessment tends to be a more traditional one, it is with the proviso that any attempt at reconstructing what lies behind our gospels is highly speculative, and will in large measure reflect our own presuppositions about the material. One important area of presupposition concerns the likelihood of the material being "authentic". From the old assumption that a gospel saying was authentic unless proved otherwise, the pendulum has swung over to the opposite approach - the belief that sayings must be treated as nonauthentic unless they can be proved dominical. This, it is suggested, is a more cautious method- the only "safe" way of proceeding. It is, of course, nothing of the kind: if we attribute dominical sayings to the Church, the resulting pictures both of Jesus and of the development of Christology will be just as prone to error as if we wrongly attribute the Church's formulations of their belief to Jesus. The old assumption that we can recover Jesus' messianic self-consciousness was no more of a distortion than the present tendency to assume that he had no self-consciousness at all. The presuppositions come to the surface when one side declares "The burden of proof is on those who maintain that any of the material is authentic", or when the other asks "Who is more likely to have been creative - Jesus or the Church?" But these are not the real alternatives. All the material comes to us via the Church, and is likely to have been coloured by the beliefs of those who have handed it on. But the burden of proof, to prove or disprove authenticity, lies neither on one side nor on the other. It is the duty of every scholar, in considering every saying, to give a reasonable account of all the evidence; for he is not entitled to assume, simply in the absence of contrary evidence, either that a saying is genuine or that it is not. And what tools should he use in this task? He must, alas, use the tools we have been discussing, for there are no others, and there are unlikely to be any better ones discovered. But he must not use them arbitrarily, selecting only the one which seems to give the answer he wants. Neither must he use them negatively - to blackball a saying. The critic who tries with his knife to carve away the thick layers of the Church's theology and give us the bare skeleton of the Jesus of history will no doubt shudder at
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my unscientific analogy, but it seems to me that all his criteria can only give us results like those which appear in the tables of the magazine Which?. The more blobs in the column, the more confidence one may have in that particular product, and the better buy it is. So with our gospel sayings. The saying which is found in all the Synoptic strata, which has no known parallel outside the gospels, which is Aramaic in structure, will perhaps rate more blobs than one which has none of these features. But I am not suggesting that we should assume that those which score so many blobs are authentic, and those at the bottom of the table are not. We are moving here only from the more to the less probable. For in the end, the answers which the New Testament scholar gives are not the result of applying objective tests and using precision tools; they are very largely the result of his own presuppositions and prejudices. If he approaches the material with the belief that it is largely the creation of the early Christian communities, then he will interpret it in that way. If he assumes that the words of the Lord were faithfully remembered and passed on, then he will be able to find criteria which support him. Each claims to be using the proper critical method. Each produces a picture of Jesus- and of the early Church- in accordance with his presuppositions. And each claims to be right. The man who gets a different answer is accused of being a bad critic, because he has got the wrong answer. But who is right and who is wrong? They cannot all be right- though they may well all be wrong. Every scholar likes to produce assured results. To say, as I am doing, that there are none, and can be none, may seem like a counsel of despair. But assured results are dangerous things. Too many hypotheses have been regarded as proved, and have become accepted dogmas. Of course one must have working hypotheses; but it should never be forgotten that these are only hypotheses, and that they must constantly be re-examined. Perhaps every NT scholar should have before him on his desk, as he writes, as a constant reminder of the dangers of dogmatism, the words of R. H. Lightfoot: "We do not know".
Notes 1 D. E. Nineham, " ... et hoc genus omne", pp. 199-222 in Christian History and Interpretation, Studies Presented to John Knox, 1967, ed. W. R. Farmer, C. F. D. Moule and R. R. Niebuhr, p. 209. 2 N. Perrin, What is Redaction Criticism?, 1970, p. 70. 3 M. D. Hooker, The Son of Man in Mark, 1967, p. 5. 4 R. Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition, Eng. tr., 1963, p. 4. 5 Eng. tr., p. 5. 6 H. Palmer, The Logic of Gospel Criticism, 1968, p. 185. 7 M. Diebelius, "Zur Formgeschichte der Evangelien", pp. 185-216 in Theologische Rundschau, n.f., 1, 1929, p. 187.
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8 Cf. E. P. Sanders, The Tendencies of the Synoptic Tradition, 1969, who at the end of his investigation concludes (p. 272): "There are no hard and fast laws of the development of the Synoptic tradition. On all counts the tradition developed in opposite directions. It became both longer and shorter, both more and less detailed, and both more and less Semitic." 9 R. H. Fuller, The New Testament in Current Study, 1963, p. 40. 10 R. H. Fuller, The Foundations of New Testament Christology, 1965, p. 18. 11 N. Perrin, Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus, 1967, p. 43. 12 R. Bultmann, op. cit., Eng. tr., p. 205. 13 The Parables of Jesus, rev. Eng. edn., 1963. 14 Op. cit., p. 41. 15 Cf. the tables given by J. Jeremias in his Theology of the New Testament, I, Eng. tr., 1971, pp. 31, 260. 16 A previous paper to the Society, by Dr Vermes, had maintained that "the Son of man" was not a messianic title in I Enoch. There is in any case very little evidence to support the commonly held belief that first century Palestinian Judaism was expecting the coming of an "apocalyptic" Son of man; see M. D. Hooker, op. cit., pp. 33-48, 182-9; R. Leivestad, "Exit the Apocalyptic Son of Man", NTS 18, 1972, pp. 243--67. 17 P. W. Schmiedel, in his article on "Gospels" in Encyclopaedia Biblica, 11, ed. T. K. Cheyne and J. S. Black, 1901, referred to certain sayings as "the foundation-pillars for a truly scientific life of Jesus". 18 Pp. 5 f. 19 Ibid., pp. 262-4. Jeremias's argument is set out in full in ZNTW 58, 1967, pp.159-72. 20 Suggested tentatively by D. G. A. Calvert, in "An Examination of the Criteria for Distinguishing the Authentic Words of Jesus", NTS 18, 1972, p. 219.
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22 LITERARY CRITERIA IN LIFE OF JESUS RESEARCH An evaluation and proposal Richard N. Longenecker Source: G. F. Hawthome (ed.), Current Issues in Biblical and Patristic Interpretation (M. C. Tenney Festschrift; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1975), pp. 217-229.
Life of Jesus research has fallen out of favour in many circles and taken new directions in others. Karl Barth, Paul Tillich and Rudolf Bultmann, to mention only three of the most illustrious theologians of the past half century, have taught the fraternity of biblical scholars to think in ways inimical to such an enterprise. Bultmann, in particular, has convinced a number of NT interpreters that, in opposition to a so-called "positivistic" historiography, (1) the meaning of history (Geschichte) lies not in events themselves (Historie) but in the interpreter's own self-understanding; (2) the adjective "historical" refers not to accounts given of ancient personages but to one's own existence in history; (3) writings claiming to relate events in history tell us more about the authors who wrote them than about the events they purport to relate (the so-called "New Hermeneutic"); and (4) a proper historiography must always be "existential" (i.e., a "demythologizing" of the purely culturally conditioned narrative and message in order to arrive at the underlying faith that impelled the proclamation) rather than "positivistic" (i.e. a laying out of details, together with their causes and nexuses, from some feigned "neutral" perspective and in "objective" fashion in order to arrive at a comprehensive picture of what actually took place and was proclaimed). In opposition to all interpreters of the Christian religion who, whether liberal or orthodox in their commitments, assume that some type of explicit and propositional continuity must surely have existed between Jesus and the Christian church that followed him, Bultmann also has carried the day in many quarters in asserting that (1) the Jesus of history was not the basis for the church's faith but the occasion for it; (2) the 451
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message of Jesus did not become a part of the theology of the NT but is a presupposition for it; and (3) the faith of modern Christians, while in continuity with the "selfhood" of Jesus and the faith of the early disciples, is not mediated by the specific details of the apostolic message but rather arises instead of them. Not everyone, of course, has followed Bultmann in all of his conclusions. Among those who share with him a common philosophic and historiographic stance, a number have attempted to do what he insisted was impossible: to spell out the basic features of continuity between the Jesus of history and the Christ of the church's proclamation (or, at least, to explain how such a continuity was presumed by the early Christians), which endeavor inevitably involves them in Life of Jesus research of a type. Martin Dibelius, for example, who published in concert with Bultmann an explication of the "form-critical" method and who coined the term Form-geschichte for this new approach to the biblical materials, saw his work as a basically constructive effort to identify certain critically assured elements in the portrayals of Jesus, in opposition to the scepticism of classicalliberalism. 1 And Ernst Kasemann in his 1953 Marburg address on "The Problem of the Historical Jesus" gave voice to a concern among many of Bultmann's own students to moderate the historical negativism of their teacher and to bridge the gap in the Bultmannian system between Jesus and the church's proclamation, lest they become enmeshed in some new form of docetism. 2 On the other hand, a number of scholars holding to a more objective historiography and having a more positive (though not "positivistic") appreciation of the NT's historicity have worked in basic continuity with older approaches in Life of Jesus research-though all the while refining the tools of their discipline by newer data and more recent insights, and have disassociated themselves in the main from Bultmann's conclusionsthough without disavowing what each believes to be a "proper" employment of the critical methodologies of Formgeschichte and Redaktionsgeschichte, which Bultmann in large measure inspired and succeeding generations have developed. Most prominent among this latter group of scholars are Oscar Cullmann, Joachim Jeremias, Harald Riesenfeld and Charles F. D. Moule, each of whom has influenced in his own way a cluster of students to carry on his own particular type of approach and study. In such a matrix of stances and concerns (as alluded to above so very briefly), the modern complex of literary criteria in Life of Jesus research has been developed. While many voice their agreement as to the validity of the criteria themselves, there is widespread disagreement as to their employment. Generally speaking, Neo-Bultmannians (if we may call them that) tend to use the criteria negatively, to focus on criteria having to do with content more than form, and to presume that the burden of proof for any individual unit of biblical material rests with those who would accept
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authenticity;3 non-Bultmannians on the other hand, tend to approach the Gospel records with an expectation of basic reliability, to focus on criteria having to do with form more than content, and to employ the criteria more positively, though without being adverse to expressing their doubts or ruling negatively in individual cases where they feel the evidence is contrary.4 In scope, however, both tend to restrict the investigation in the Gospels to the words of Jesus, concentrating mainly on the parables and those features of his teaching that can be critically acclaimed to have been distinctive.
I. The criteria and their employment today The task of delineating precisely the various literary criteria currently in vogue in Life of Jesus research, and of assigning the proper nomenclature in their regard, is somewhat formidable, for the lines of demarcation and the terminology employed vary considerably from scholar to scholar. Nevertheless, five basic criteria can be singled out as being widely employed today: two having to do with form ("formal criteria") and three having to do with content ("material criteria"). While these could be arranged according to some order of increasing or decreasing importance, they are probably most easily presented and best understood historicallyi.e. as they have arisen to prominence in scholarly discussion during the past century. The first criterion is most commonly known today as multiple attestation (or, "the cross section method") and arose in conjunction with the discipline of source criticism. It argues that our assessment of the authenticity of any particular saying of Jesus can be heightened when that saying appears in more than one tradition (i.e. Q and Mark), in all or most of the Gospels in the same manner, or within one tradition or Gospel in more than one form (e.g. a parable and an aphorism). F. C. Burkitt, for example, traced thirty-one sayings back to both Q and Mark, and declared that these may therefore be assumed to have originated no later than ten or fifteen years after Jesus himself. 5 C. H. Dodd invoked this criterion to argue that where the same application of one of Jesus' parables appears in more than one Gospel, it probably appeared in the source or sources employed by the Evangelists; but where it appears in only one of the Gospels, it may be considered the work of that writer himself. 6 The second criterion focuses on the semitic features (or, "Aramaic and Palestinian forms") in the teaching of Jesus. It argues that the retention of such elements in Gospels written in Greek-particularly in Luke's account -"is of great significance for the question of the reliability of the gospel tradition." 7 Pioneer work in identifying the semitic features of expression and structure in Jesus' teaching was done by Gustav Dalman at the end of the nineteenth century.8 Since then-particularly with the rising interest in 453
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Judaic studies among Christian scholars-almost everyone has employed this criterion to some extent. The overzealous endeavors of C. F. Burney and C. C. Torrey to find Aramaisms everywhere in the Gospels tended to discredit such an approach during the second quarter of the present century. 9 But the careful and moderate application of this criterion to the Gospels by Matthew Black and Joachim Jeremias has brought it back into currency in recent days. 10 A third criterion commonly, though not universally, employed in critically determining authentic elements in Jesus' teaching is that of eschatological context and temper. Many listings of criteria in Life of Jesus research do not, it is true, include any specific reference to such a criterion. Nevertheless, a decisive factor in judging authenticity is very often whether or not an individual saying appears, or originally appeared, in a futuristic context or reflects a "proleptic" (i.e. anticipated) eschatological temper. Rudolf Bultmann and Joachim Jeremias, to take the leaders of two somewhat competing systems of NT interpretation as examples, agree in this: that a criterion for authenticity is whether or not the words in question are set in the context of or reflect a "proleptic" type of eschatology. The magnum opus of each of these scholars invokes this criterion repeatedly-often as the final and overriding consideration. 11 Bultmann's work avowedly begins on such a premise with a study of "The Eschatological Message." 12 Historically, the criterion came to prominence in conjunction with the "consistent" or "thorough-going" type of eschatology advocated by Johannes Weiss and Albert Schweitzer at the turn of the centuryP Modern-day proponents of "proleptic" eschatology, however, do not credit Weiss or Schweitzer for their stance; probably because, for varying reasons, they hesitate to attribute to Jesus all of the details of Jewish apocalypticism or to join in Schweitzer's portrayal of Jesus' messianic consciousness. Nevertheless, Bultmann and Jeremias, together with those who at this point have been influenced by them, are heavily indebted to Weiss and Schweitzer in requiring a "proleptic" eschatological context and temper for authentic sayings of Jesus-though, of course, Dodd with his "realized" eschatological position and Cullmann with his "inaugurated" eschatology, and those influenced by them, are not ready to judge matters in quite the same fashion. The fourth criterion is most widely known as the criterion of dissimilarity (or, "distinctiveness"). Rooted in the formgeschichtliche schemata of Martin Dibelius, Karl L. Schmidt and Rudolf Bultmann, it has come to most vocal expression in the programmatic studies of Reginald H. Fuller and Norman Perrin on early Christology and the teaching of Jesus. 14 It proposes that while individual sayings may or may not pass the first two criteria as to form, "material [as to content] may be ascribed to Jesus only if it can be shown to be distinctive to him, which usually will mean dissimilar to known tendencies in Judaism before him or the church after him." 15 454
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In applying this criterion, some, like Bultmann, require a saying to be in opposition to all previous Jewish teaching and piety as well as not a part of later Christian theology before accepting it as authentic. Others, like Fuller, prefer to speak along the lines of Jesus transforming Jewish teaching in terms of his own distinctive message and of the church failing to catch the essence of this transformation as signalling authenticity. Both types of employment, however, presuppose a fairly accurate knowledge of first-century Judaism and at least "a provisional picture of the primitive community and its history" 16 by which to make comparisons. The fifth criterion is that of coherence (or, "consistency"), and parallels the fourth in its origin and development. It argues that "material which is consistent with or coheres with material established as authentic by other means may also be accepted." 17 At times the criterion of coherence is employed in a manner that relates it only to the criterion of dissimilarity, so that only those elements consistent with features found to be dissimilar in Jesus' teaching are taken to be also authentic. At other times, however, it is employed more broadly. James M. Robinson, for example, works from the premise that the parables of Jesus (minus their allegorical features, ii la Jiilicher, Dodd, Jeremias, et al.) substantially preserve the original message of Jesus, since they can be validated as to form by the criteria of multiple attestation and semitic features and as to content by eschatological temper and dissimilarity. He then measures other sayings of Jesus by the critically established teaching in the parables, and judges them accordingly .18
11. An evaluation of the criteria The issue regarding the proper criteria to be employed in Life of Jesus research is hotly debated today and of great concern. This is as it should be, for the question deals with matters lying at the very heart of Christianity both as a subject of scientific inquiry and as a religion. What, then, can we say to the question, particularly in light of the proposals that have been made? To begin with, it must be insisted that if in the outworking of human redemption and its culmination in Jesus of Nazareth God truly entrusted himself to the historical process-which, admittedly, neither those on the extreme left nor on the extreme right of the theological spectrum really believe he did, though that is part-and-parcel of the NT proclamation-we must be prepared to do the same. Both "issues of history" and "issues of faith" are involved in any assessment of Jesus, requiring us to think both historically and theologically in our appraisal of the Gospels wherein he is portrayed. Yet while history and theology are inextricably intertwined in the study of the Gospels, and while decisions made in one area invariably affect those made in the other, the two disciplines can for purposes of 455
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analysis be treated to some extent separately. It is for this reason that the various literary criteria have been formulated, for without the framing of such criteria one would be in no position to ask many of the necessary historical questions-which questions, in turn, are productive of critically founded historical answers. The endeavor to develop such a set of criteria, therefore, must be judged to be absolutely essential to the scientific study of the biblical narratives, and can hardly be faulted per se. Having said this, however, it must still be kept firmly in mind that the particular criteria proposed must be constantly reviewed to see that they pose their questions in a manner appropriate to the genre of material under consideration, are not too inclusive to be unserviceable, or so exclusive as to negate the possibility of rendering fair judgments. Only as the questions are pertinent and proper will the answers be appropriate and significant. In evaluating the proposed literary criteria, at least three observations need to be made. In the first place, each of the criteria considered separately falls short of its intended demonstration, though in concert with other criteria the degree of probability is heightened. The criterion of multiple attestation evidences a consistency at certain points in the tradition, but does not assure us that the tradition itself stems directly or even ultimately from Jesus. The criterion of semitic features suggests that the material in question probably circulated among Aramaic believers, but cannot tell us how their recounting of the teaching of Jesus corresponds to Jesus' own utterances. In some cases, even, the Aramaic and Palestinian forms to which the criterion points may have arisen under septuagintal influence or because of a Jewish-Greek idiom current in the day, and would not therefore indicate an earlier semitic tradition. 19 The criterion of eschatological context and temper puts its finger on one feature in the eschatological message of Jesus, but fails to explicate the fullness of that message (particularly if the adjective "inaugurated" better describes Jesus' own eschatological consciousness than does "proleptic"). It may, in its exclusivism, even distort it. The criterion of dissimilarity provides us with what was distinctive in the proclamation of Jesus, but only in the sense of what was "unique" and not at all of what was "characteristic"20-which, ultimately, is what we really want to know from our historical study and why the various literary criteria were originally formulated. And the criterion of coherence operates effectively only if the essential message of Jesus is already known; but if any or all of the other four criteria have been misapplied, this fifth criterion only compounds the error. Such difficulties, of course, are inherent in any historical investigation. But they need to be kept in mind lest we begin to confuse "issues of history" with "issues of faith" and to attribute to the probability-arguments of history an aura of psychological certainty associated with faith. Second, it needs to be observed that the criteria are hardly able to be 456
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employed negatively because of the paucity of data available by which to make comparisons and our lack of adequate knowledge as to the Evangelists' respective purposes. Neo-Bultmannians, it is true, often speak of elminating the unauthentic elements in the Gospels by means of one or more of these criteria.21 But this assumes a knowledge of data and of purposes far beyond what is historically justifiable at present. C. F. D. Moule rightly warns against such a negative use of the criterion of multiple attestation in commenting upon the John the Baptist traditions in the Synoptics and the Fourth Gospel: "After all, selection is often at work on the traditions; and I see no reason to reject a tradition merely because it appears in only one stream, provided it is not intrinsically improbable or contradicted by the other.'m And this is true as well for the criterion of semitic features; for much that was originally spoken in Aramaic and structured along Hebraic lines would invariably have been transformed into more appropriate Grecian dress in the proclamation to the Jewish diaspora and among Gentiles, either by early Greek-speaking believers or by the Evangelists themselves, so that while semitic elements in Gospels written in Greek may be suggestive of an earlier stratum of tradition the lack of such elements cannot be said to indicate the reverse. While this second observation is true of these more formal criteria, it is especially true for the criterion of content most employed today: the criterion of dissimilarity. Many applications of the criterion of dissimilarity not only presuppose a fairly accurate knowledge of first-century Judaism and a fairly extensive understanding of early Christian theology, but also seem to assume that such knowledge, unlike the portrait of Jesus gained from the Gospels, has come about in some direct and unmediated fashion. Bultmann, for example, readily confesses that he begins with "a provisional picture of the primitive community and its history, which has to be turned into a clear and articulated picture in the course of my inquiries," 23 and he and his students have drawn up comprehensive expositions of what was undoubtedly believed in the Judaism of Jesus' day and in the Christian communities that followed him-both as to what was positively affirmed and what would have been unthinkable.Z4 But while "a provisional picture'' is certainly necessary in any inquiry, such a picture must be constantly tested by the data and cannot be allowed to dominate the results. While our knowledge of first-century Judaism is enormously extended and diversified over what it was in previous generations, it is still very far from being complete. Likewise, our knowledge of the earliest days of the Christian church is only sketchy and partial-and all of it derived from primary source materials that have as their thesis the essential unity that existed between Jesus of Nazareth and the earliest body of his followers. To invoke the criterion of dissimilarity in negative fashion, therefore, is to lay claim to both a fullness of knowledge and a type of knowledge regarding first-century Judaism and the early church
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such as is impossible to vindicate on a scientific basis. And since this is so, it must still be insisted that to recognize the currency of a saying or tradition in the church it is not necessary to exclude it from our picture of Jesus; nor to find its parallel in contemporary Judaism is it essential to assert its impossibility on the lips of Jesus. 25 There must have been at least some continuity between Jesus and his contemporaries in Palestine-both those who opposed him and those who accepted him-for "the wholly unique would be the totally incomprehensible."26 In the third place, the criteria as proposed today have a positive value in establishing a critically assured minimum of authentic material in the Gospels, and no more. To determine such "a critically assured minimum" 27 by means of probability arguments, taking the literary criteria individually or in concert, is of real significance historically. But to reduce the portrait of Jesus in the Gospels to such a minimum, while critically "safe," is to produce a picture of Jesus so historically unbalanced and theologically distorted as to be disastrously misleading. What is required to go beyond the critically assured minimum as it is presently drawn up in Life of Jesus research is (1) an expansion of the literary criteria to include various divergent patterns of thought and expression that appear in the Gospel narratives for both circumstantial and redactional reasons (as developed in the discussion below), (2) the development of a set of historical criteria that will take into account recent archaeological data on first-century Palestine and recent studies of Pharisaic and non-conformist Judaism of the day, and (3) the development of a set of theological criteria that will give guidance in those areas beyond the province of the purely literary and historical criteria. The problem with the literary criteria is not that they provide only a critically assured minimum of authentic material, but that they are often being employed too exclusively and in a manner to preclude further inquiry. Many contemporary critics, for example, stress almost exclusively the criteria of content over the criteria of form (which, to some degree, makes them more "content critics" than "form critics") and then proceed to employ the criteria of eschatological temper, dissimilarity and coherence in such a way as to settle all issues. Scholarly research into the life of Jesus has undoubtedly been advanced in determining by means of such literary criteria a certain assured critical minimum. But the literary criteria themselves must be perfected and must be combined with other criteria of an historical and theological nature if we are to characterize aright, and not merely caricature, Jesus of Nazareth.
Ill. A proposed sixth criterion Literary criteria in Life of Jesus research, as we have argued, cannot be employed in any monolithic, exclusivistic or ham-fisted manner. They are 458
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of value in the scientific endeavor to establish a critically assured minimum of authentic material in the Gospels, but their results must be incorporated into a larger body of conclusions drawn from more directly historical and theological sets of criteria in order for a true scholarly appraisal to emerge. Nevertheless, while not the final determining factors, literary criteria are important in the scientific study of the NT-though attention must be constantly given to their proper formulation and application. In a recent article, D. G. A. Calvert argues: "Form-criticism has played too exclusive a role both in determining the criteria and in their application. The literary and source-criticism that preceded form-criticism has often been ignored, and redaction-criticism that succeeded form-criticism has not yet been given its place."28 Calvert then proceeds to suggest a redactional criterion that he proposes ought to be employed in conjunction with the criteria of multiple attestation and dissimilarity: If each of the gospel writers is expressing his own point of view
through the stories he selects and the way his material is presented, the inclusion of material which does not especially serve his purpose may well be taken as a testimony to the authenticity of that material, or at least to the inclusion of it in the tradition of the Church in such a clear and consistent way that the evangelist was loath to omit it. The material asserts itself even though it does not particularly suit the purpose of the storyteller. For instance, it is well recognized that Matthew and Mark take different attitudes to the disciples of Jesus. Mark seems anxious to show their lack of understanding and their lack of faith, whereas Matthew takes a much more sympathetic view. A saying in Mark which did not tit in with his criticism of the disciples would seem to be authentic; a saying in Matthew which was critical of the disciples would seem to be authentic. 29 We need not here get into the sticky issue as to whether redaction criticism is a development from form criticism or form criticism arose out of redaction criticism; both are inherent in the formgeschichtliche schemata of Dibelius, Schmidt and Bultmann. Advocates of each discipline, however, are renowned for their confidence that the development of their own particular type of approach is the apex of modern critical achievement. What is significant in Calvert's proposal is the question: Is there a further literary criterion of a redactional nature that should be employed in Life of Jesus research? The question may seem somewhat academic, since distinctions of this nature are what redaction criticism is all about. But Calvert has gone beyond most redaction critics to suggest the application of redaction criticism to Das Leben Jesu as well as to Das Leben Kirche.
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C. F. D. Moule has long been employing redaction criticism as a tool not only for determining the individual outlooks of the Evangelists and explicating their respective theological tendencies but also for identifying certain features within their writings that are at variance to some degree with their stances and that thereby unintentionally witness to a persistent tradition within the church-which features, because of their durable quality within the tradition taken over by the Evangelists, may be assumed to be rooted in some manner in Jesus himself. It is an argument based upon divergent patterns of thought and expression, which lays emphasis upon both development and continuity (employing the one to explicate the other), and which has been worked out by Moule along both circumstantial and redactional lines. Moule's articles on "The Influence of Circumstances on the Use of Christological Terms"30 and "The Influence of Circumstances on the Use of Eschatological Terms"31 are programmatic explications of his position along circumstantial lines, while chapter four of his The Phenomenon of the New Testament 32 is his fullest statement along redactional lines. In effect, what he is proposing is an additional criterion in Life of Jesus research, a sixth criterion as we have enumerated them: the criterion of divergent patterns of thought and expression that appear in the Gospels for both circumstantial and redactional reasons and which unintentionally signal a note of authenticity. In applying the criterion, Moule focuses on two types of patterns in particular. The first has to do with distinctions that appear in Luke-Acts between the pre-resurrection portrait of Jesus and the post-resurrection presentation, the first in the Third Gospel and the other in the Acts of the Apostles (both, of course, assumed to be by the same author). This complex of unintentioned distinctions "gives the lie to the notion that the Church's estimate of Jesus is something which Christians unconsciously adopted in the course of time, and then simply assumed as having obtained from the beginning. " 33 The second has to do with "certain features in the story of Jesus, the retention of which can scarcely be explained except by their genuineness and durable quality, since everything else was hostile to their survival." 34 The instances where Moule applies this criterion are numerous, and the argument is cogent. Yet, sadly, as Robin Barbour points out, "arguments of this kind from unintentional data are not common among New Testament scholars."35 I have myself applied this criterion elsewhere in explicating the Christological convictions and expressions of early Jewish Christianity, and the results are particularly significant in this regard for such titles as "Messiah," "Son of Man," "Son of God," and "Lord." 36 One further example, however, could be given here-an example of a purely formal kind-for it illustrates quite well the application of this sixth criterion. Much has been made of late of the fact that the eleven fulfillmentformulae quotations from the OT in Matthew's Gospel reflect a definite
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semitic influence in their text-forms, whereas the quotations in the common narrative of this same Gospel-and also in the Gospels of Mark, Luke and John-are quite septuagintal in form. The observation is extremely pertinent, incorporating within it several significant implications for a redactional understanding of the First Gospel and illuminating the Evangelist's own distinctive treatment of Scripture. 37 But while the Hebraic nature of the text-forms in the editorial material of Matthew's Gospel has significance for an understanding of Matthean theology and practice, the septuagintal text-forms of the common narrative have something to say with regard to the Evangelist's employment of earlier traditions. It will not do, as is commonly asserted today, to say that the septuagintal nature of Jesus' biblical quotations in Matthew's Gospel only indicates that they are part-and-parcel of a Hellenistic Gemeindetheologie, and therefore are probably not dominical. This may be argued for the Fourth Gospel, where the difference in text-form between the Evangelist's own citations and those he claims to report is not too distinct, or in the cases of Mark and Luke who report the use of Scripture by others but seldom (if ever) directly quote the OT themselves in their editorial comments. But it will hardly serve as an explanation for the phenomena in the First Gospel, where the Evangelist's own eleven fulfillment-formulae quotations are dominantly semi tic in character while those reported of Jesus are strongly septuagintal. An extended application of the criterion of dissimilarity (i.e. the sharp distinction in text-form between the two sets of quotations) and of the criterion of multiple attestation (i.e. the pattern is consistent in Matthew throughout a large number of samples) prohibits any such easy equation. Nor can it be said that Matthew simply assimilated Jesus' biblical citations to the LXX for the sake of a Greek-speaking audience. If the Evangelist made no attempt to assimilate the fulfillment-formulae quotations in his avowed editorial comments, but allowed his Hebraic text-forms to manifest themselves quite clearly, why should it be thought he would have done this for Jesus? Editorial assimilation may be an explanation for the textforms elsewhere in the NT, but it is inadequate as a solution for the form of Jesus' quotations in the First Gospel. A great deal of research, admittedly, remains to be done on such matters as the languages employed in Palestine during Jesus' day, the form of the biblical texts in the first century, and Christian compilations of sayings of Jesus (which, presumably, would include his biblical citations). Nonetheless, this difference in text-form between Matthew's fulfillmentformulae quotations and those of his common narrative suggests that the form of Jesus' quotations in Matthew's Gospel is not just a product of Gemeindetheologie nor a result of editorial assimilation by the Evangelist, but must be accounted for in some other manner. It may be that an early
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Greek sayings-compilation (or, compilations), which not only translated Aramaic into Greek but also assimilated Hebraic text-forms to their septuagintal counterparts, circulated widely in the church and gained a status of quasi-sanctity because it stemmed ultimately from Jesus. Matthew could have employed such a compilation (or, compilations) in his reproduction of the biblical citations of Jesus without disturbing the septuagintal form of the quotations, even though he personally preferred to work from a more semitic text in his own biblical citations. Or it may be that in his use of Scripture, Jesus, who normally spoke a Palestinian form of Aramaic but could also employ Greek and Mishnaic Hebrew to some extent, at times engaged in textual selection among the existing versions then current, and that therefore some of the septuagintal features in the text-forms attributed to him actually stem directly from him. The mixed text-form of Isa 61:1f. in Luke 4:18f. would seem to support such a view in at least this one case, for the quotation defies all explanations along the lines of assimilation, whenever such assimilation may be supposed to have been employed. Or, perhaps, the septuagintal nature of Jesus' quotations in the First Gospel (and, perhaps, in the others as well) lies in postulating both the employment of an early Greek sayings-compilation (or, compilations) and textual selection on the part of Jesus himself. But however explained, such a divergent pattern in this very formal matter of text-forms in the biblical citations within one Gospel points up in unintentional fashion a difference between Matthew's own editorial material and his handling of what may be presumed to be more traditional material. And it is this type of literary observation and application that must be made in order to complement the current and more usual literary criteria in Life of Jesus research.
Notes 1 M. Dibelius, Die Formgeschichte des Evangeliums, Ttibingen, 1919. 2 Now published in English in E. Kasemann, Essays on New Testament Themes, trans. by W. J. Montagne, London, 1964, pp. 15-47. The clearest description of the resultant endeavor is provided by J. M. Robinson, The New Quest of the Historical Jesus, London, 1959. Three prominent examples of the task in practice are G. Bornkamm, Jesus of Nazareth, trans. by I. and F. McLuskey with J. M. Robinson, New York, 1960; R. H. Fuller, The Foundations of New Testament Christology, New York, 1965; and N. Perrin, Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus, New York, 1967. 3 Kasemann asserts that "our questioning has sharpened and widened until the obligation now laid upon us is to investigate and make credible not the possible unauthenticity of the individual unit of material but, on the contrary, its genuineness" (Essays on New Testament Themes, p. 34). N. Perrin argues that "the burden of the proof must lay [sic] on the claim to authenticity, and the difficulties of establishing that claim become very great-very great indeed, but not impossible" (What is Redaction Criticism?, Philadelphia, 1969, p. 70).
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4 Jeremias insists that "the linguistic and stylistic evidence ... shows so much faithfulness and such respect towards the tradition of the sayings of Jesus that we are justified in drawing up the following principle of method: In the synoptic tradition it is the inauthenticity, and not the authenticity, of the sayings of Jesus that must be demonstrated" (New Testament Theology, Vol. 1: The Proclamation of Jesus, trans. by J. Bowden, London, 1971, p. 37). 0. Cullmann employs form criticism with the expectation of finding authentic sayings of Jesus (Salvation in History, trans. by S. G. Sowers, London, 1967, pp. 189-92); and C. F. D. Moule argues that "in a sense, the post-Easter interpretation was only a re-discovery of what had been there in the teaching of Jesus himself" (The Phenomenon of the New Testament, London, 1967, p. 46). 5 F. C. Burkitt, The Gospel History and Its Transmission, Edinburgh, 19113, pp.147-83. 6 C. H. Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom, London, 1936, pp. 26-29; cf. also History and the Gospel, New York, 1938, pp. 91-103. 7 Jeremias, New Testament Theology, 1, 8. 8 G. Dalman, Die Worte Jesu mit Berucksichtigung des nachkanonischen jiidischen Schrifttums und der aramiiischen Sprache erortert, Leipzig, 1898 (ET = The Words of Jesus, Edinburgh, 1902). Dalman had earlier produced a grammar of Palestinian Aramaic (1894) and a lexicon to the Aramaic of the Palestinian Targum and the Mishnaic Hebrew of the Talmud and Midrash (1897). 9 Cf. C. F. Burney, The Poetry of Our Lord, Oxford, 1925; C. C. Torrey, The Four Gospels, New York, 1933. 10 Cf. M. Black, An Aramaic Approach to the Gospels and Acts, Oxford, 1946, 19673; Jeremias, New Testament Theology, 1, 3-37, passim. 11 R. Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, 2 vols., trans. by K. Grobel, London, 1951, Jeremias, New Testament Theology, 1. 12 Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, 1, 4-11. 13 Cf. J. Weiss, Die Predigt Jesu vom Reiche Gottes, Gottingen, 1900; A. Schweitzer, The Quest of the Historical Jesus, trans. by W. Montgomery, London, 1910, and The Mystery of the Kingdom of God, trans. by W. Lowrie, New York, 1914. 14 Fuller, Foundations of New Testament Christology; Perrin, Rediscovering the Teaching ofJesus. 15 Perrin, What is Redaction Criticism?, p. 71; cf. Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus, p. 39. 16 R. Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition, trans. by J. Marsh, Oxford, 1963, p. 5. 17 Perrin, What is Redaction Criticism?, p. 71; cf. Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus, p. 43. 18 J. M. Robinson, "The Formal Structure of Jesus' Message," Current Issues in New Testament Interpretation, ed. by W. Klassen and G. F. Snyder, New York, 1962, pp. 96f. 19 Cf. E. P. Sanders, The Tendencies of the Synoptic Tradition, London, 1969, pp. 194ff., though without negating the general thrust of the evidence marshalled by Black and Jeremias, and their proteges. 20 In opposition to Perrin's claim that "if we are to seek that which is most characteristic of Jesus, it will be found not in the things which he shares with his contemporaries, but in the things wherein he differs from them" (Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus, p. 39), Miss Hooker rightly observes: "Use of the principle of dissimilarity, it is claimed, gives us what is distinctive in the teaching of 463
THE HISTORY OF THE QUEST
21
22 23 24 25
26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37
Jesus. But the English word 'distinctive' can have two senses-it can mean 'unique' (what makes it distinct from other things, the German verschieden), or it can mean 'characteristic' (the German bezeichnend). In what sense is it being used here? Clearly the method is designed to give us the former-but what we really want is the latter; and the two are by no means necessarily the same" ("Christology and Methodology," NTS, 17 [1971], 481). Robinson speaks of "the helpless ambiguity of the old term 'unauthentic,' " since a saying Jesus never spoke "may well reflect accurately his historical significance, and in this sense be more 'historical' than many irrelevant things Jesus actually said" (New Quest of the Historical Jesus, p. 99; cf. Bornkamm, Jesus of Nazareth, p. 21). To this, D. G. A. Calvert correctly responds: "Ambiguity, however, is avoided if the word 'authentic' is reserved for those words which Jesus actually spoke. All other material is unauthentic" ("An Examination of the Criteria for Distinguishing the Authentic Words of Jesus," NTS, 18 [1972], 209). Moule, Phenomenon of the New Testament, p. 71. Bultmann, History of the Synoptic Tradition, p. 5. Cf. R. Bultmann, Primitive Christianity in Its Contemporary Setting, trans. by R. H. Fuller, London, 1956; H. Conzelmann, Geschichte des Urchristentums, Gottingen, 1971. Cf. M. D. Hooker, The Son of Man in Mark, Montreal, 1967, pp. 6f. R. S. Barbour observes that among many more radical form critics, "the belief, which is doubtless correct, that most of the material in the Synoptic Gospels has a Sitz im Leben in the concerns of the early Church and is not simply remembered because Jesus said it or did it and for no other reason, is turned into the different and much more questionable assumption that because the material has a Sitz im Leben in the early Church, therefore the early Church may plausibly be assumed to have composed it" (Traditio-Historical Criticism of the Gospels, London, 1972, pp. 10f.). Barbour, ibid., p. 8, citing D. Daube's argument on the presence of "Amen" in the Gospels, in The New Testament and Rabbinic Judaism, London, 1956, p. 388. The expression comes from N. A. Dahl, "The Problem of the Historical Jesus," Kerygma and History, ed. by C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville, New York, 1962, p. 156. D. G. A. Calvert, "An Examination of the Criteria for Distinguishing the Authentic Words of Jesus," NTS, 18 (1972), 219. Ibid. C. F. D. Moule, "The Influence of Circumstances on the Use of Christological Terms," JTS, 10 (1959), 247-63. C. F. D. Moule, "The Influence of Circumstances on the Use of Eschatological Terms," JTS, 10 (1959), 247-63. Moule, Phenomenon of the New Testament, pp. 56-76. Ibid., p. 75. Ibid., p. 62. Moule's argument here confessedly runs parallel to that of P. W. Schmiedel in the article on the "Gospels" in Encyclopedia Biblica, and draws from the work of such scholars as G. B. Caird, D. Daube and E. Stauffer. Barbour, Traditio-Historical Criticism of the Gospels, p. 27. R. N. Longenecker, The Christology of Early Jewish Christianity, London, 1970, pp. 63ff., 82ff., 93ff., 120ff. Cf. K. Stendahl, The School of St. Matthew, Uppsala, 1954, 19672• See also my "Can We Reproduce the Exegesis of the New Testament?" Tyndale Bulletin, 21 (1970), 3-38 ..
464
THE HISTORICAL JESUS
THE HISTORICAL JESUS Critical Concepts in Religious Studies
Edited by Craig A. Evans
Volume 11
The Teaching of Jesus
~~~~~!~~~~~up LONDON AND NEW YORK
First published 2004 by Routledge 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 Rout/edge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group
Editorial matter and selection © 2004 Craig A. Evans; individual owners retain copyright in their own material Typeset in Times by Wearset Ltd, Boldon, Tyne and Wear Printed and bound in Great Britain by MPG Books Ltd, Bodmin, Cornwall All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested.
ISBN 0-415-32750-4 (Set) ISBN 0-415-32752-0 (Volume 11) Publisher's Note References withln each chapter are as they appear in the original complete work.
CONTENTS
VOLUME 11
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
vii
Acknowledgements
1
Introduction to volume 11
PARTl
Parables and Kingdom of God
5
23 The nature and purpose of the Gospel parables
7
C. H. DODO
24 Parables: their meaning and nature and The Kingdom of Heaven
20
ETA LINNEMANN
45
25 The setting JOACHIM JEREMIAS
26 Similitudes, parables, illustrations, allegories
61
W. 0. E. OESTERLEY
27 If we do not cut the parables out of their frames
93
BIRGER GERHARDSSON
28 Introduction and Extracts from Jesus' Proclamation of the Kingdom of God
107
JOHANNES WEISS
29 The imminent future of the Kingdom of God WERNER G. KUMMEL
V
uo
CONTENTS
30 The Kingdom of God expels the Kingdom of Satan
147
RUDOLF OTTO
31 The Kingdom of God in the proclamation of Jesus
156
REGINALD H. FULLER
32 On understanding the Kingdom of God
180
ERICH GRASSER
33 Jesus and the language of the kingdom
199
NORMAN PERRIN
213
34 Regnum Dei Deus Est BRUCE D. CHILTON
35 Jesus as inaugurator of the Kingdom of God
221
MARINUS DE JONGE
PART2
Ethics and Piety
243
36 The ethical teaching of Jesus
245
JOSEPH KLA USNER
37 The original teaching of Jesus and the ethics of the early Church
262
T. W. MANS ON
38 The teacher
272
C. H. DODD
39 God as father in the proclamation and in the prayer of Jesus
289
DIETER ZELLER
40 Jesus and the quest for holiness: the alternative paradigm
301
MARCUSJ. BORG
41 Alms, debt and divorce: Jesus' ethics in their Mediterranean context
320
JOHN S. KLOPPENBORG
42 Jesus and ethics
339
PHEME PERKINS
VI
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Volume II
The publishers would like to thank the following for permission to reprint their material: Prentice Hall for permission to reprint C. H. Dodd, "The nature and purpose of the Gospel parables", in The Parables of the Kingdom (London: Nisbet, 1935), pp. 11-33. Macmillan for permission to reprint W. 0. E. Oesterley, "Similitudes, parables, illustrations, allegories", in The Gospel Parables in the Light of Their Jewish Background (New York: Macmillan, 1936), pp. 3-36. SCM Press for permission to reprint J. Jeremias, "The setting", in The Parables of Jesus, translated by S. H. Hooke (London: SCM Press, 1963), pp. 96-114. The Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge for permission to reprint E. Linnemann, "Parables: their meaning and nature" and "The Kingdom of Heaven", in Parables of Jesus: Introduction and Exposition, translated by John Sturdy (London: SPCK, 1966), pp. 3-33. Birger Gerhardsson, "If we do not cut the parables out of their frame", New Testament Studies, 37, 1991, pp. 321-335. Copyright © Cambridge University Press, reprinted with permission. Johannes Weiss, "Introduction" and extracts, reprinted from Richard Hyde Hiers and David Larrimore Holland (eds), Jesus' Proclamation of the Kingdom of God, translated by Richard Hyde Hiers and David Larrirnore Holland (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971), pp. 57-74. Copyright© 1971 Fortress Press (www.fortresspress.com). Used by permission of Augsburg Fortress. SCM Press for permission to reprint Werner G. Kiimmel, "The imminent future of the Kingdom of God", in Promise and Fulfilment, translated by D. M. Barton (Studies in Biblical Theology 23; London: SCM Press, 1957), pp. 19-48.
vii
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The Lutterworth Press for permission to reprint Rudolf Otto, "The Kingdom of God expels the Kingdom of Satan", in The Kingdom of God and the Son of Man: A Study in the History of Religion, translated by Floyd V. Filson and Bertram Lee Woolf (rev. edn, Lutterworth Library 9; London: Lutterworth, 1943), pp. 97-107. SCM Press for permission to reprint Reginald H. Fuller, "The Kingdom of God in the proclamation of Jesus", in The Mission and Achievement of Jesus (Studies in Biblical Theology 12; London: SCM Press, 1954), pp. 20--49. The Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge for permission to reprint Erich Grasser, "On understanding the Kingdom of God", in B. D. Chilton (ed.), The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus (Issues in Religion and Theology 5; London: SPCK; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), pp. 52-71. The Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge for permission to reprint Norman Perrin, "Jesus and the language of the kingdom'', in B. D. Chilton (ed.), The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus (Issues in Religion and Theology 5; London: SPCK; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), pp. 92-106. Bruce D. Chilton, "Regnum Dei Deus Est", Scottish Journal of Theology, 31, 1978, pp. 261-270. Copyright© Cambridge University Press, reprinted with permission. Yale University Press for permission to reprint M. de Jonge, "Jesus as inaugurator of the Kingdom of God", in Jesus, The Servant-Messiah (Shaffer Lectures; New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1991), pp. 55-75. SCM Press for permission to reprint T. W. Manson, "The original teaching of Jesus and the ethics of the early Church", in Ethics and the Gospel (London: SCM Press, 1960), pp. 87-103. HarperCollins Ltd for permission to reprint C. H. Dodd, "The teacher", in The Founder of Christianity (London: Collins, 1971 ), pp. 53-79. Ktav Publishing House for permission to reprint Dieter Zeller, "God as father in the proclamation and in the prayer of Jesus", in A. Finkel, (ed.), Standing Before God: Studies on Prayer in Scripture and in Tradition (J. M. Oesterreicher Festschrift; New York: Ktav, 1981), pp. 117-129. M. J. Borg, "Jesus and the quest for holiness: the alternative paradigm", in Conflict, Holiness, and Politics in the Teachings of Jesus. Copyright© 1984, 1998 by Marcus J. Borg. Reprinted by permission of Trinity Press International, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Pheme Perkins, "Jesus and ethics". © Theology Today. Originally published in Theology Today 52, 1995, 49-65. Reprinted with permission. Vlll
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Disclaimer The publishers have made every effort to contact authors/copyright holders of works reprinted in The Historical Jesus: Critical Concepts in Religious Studies. This has not been possible in every case, however, and we would welcome correspondence from those individuals/companies who we have been unable to trace.
ix
INTRODUCTION TO VOLUME 11 The teaching of Jesus
At the heart of Jesus' teaching lay his proclamation of the kingdom of God, and his favorite way of explaining it was through the use of parables and similes. Jesus also had things to say about ethical issues (such as loving, forgiving, and caring for others) and about piety, or putting one's religion into practice. However, lying behind his teaching on ethics and piety was the proclamation of the kingdom of God.
Part 1: Parables and kingdom of God The central element of Jesus' message was his proclamation of the kingdom of God, though the precise meaning of this proclamation often eluded interpreters. Although some scholars in recent years have tried to explain the kingdom of God in terms of community (i.e., Jesus' followers make up the kingdom of God), it is now widely recognized that by "kingdom of God" Jesus meant "the rule of God." On this point, one will want especially to see Bruce Chilton's essay (1978; see Chapter 34). Jesus' preferred mode of explaining his understanding of God's rule was by parables. Because some of his parables contain allegorical elements, it became popular in the Church to allegorize the parables. The parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:30-37) became an allegory about the fall of humankind, the inability of the Jewish Law and Prophets to save, and salvation that comes through Christ who takes upon himself the sin of the lost and delivers the lost safely to the kingdom of God (as interpreted by most Church fathers, though with some variations). Reacting against this allegorical approach, Adolf Jtilicher in the nineteenth century argued, in a massive two-volume work, that not only was allegorizing the parables hermeneutically inappropriate, allegorical parables (such as the parable of the Wicked Vineyard Tenants in Mark 12:1-9) and allegorical features in what are otherwise non-allegorical parables do not derive from Jesus but are products of the early Church, influenced by allegorical approaches in Hellenistic circles. 1
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
The influence of Jiilicher's study was widely felt and still lingers to this day. But Paul Fiebig and others have challenged this thesis, noting that the Hebrew parable (or rnashal) frequently contains allegorical features and that therefore the presence of allegory provides no sure grounds for judging parables inauthentic. Again, the Judaic background of Jesus' parables assumes an important place. Another issue that appears in some of the selected readings in this volume (see especially Gerhardsson, 1991; Chapter 27) concerns original meaning and context. Parables may well be judged authentic, but what was the point originally scored? To what was Jesus referring when he crafted it? Sometimes the Gospels provide a context (again, as seen in the case of the parable of the Wicked Vineyard Tenants, or the parable of the Good Samaritan), but scholars are divided over whether the contexts provided by the Gospels reflect the original context and therefore the original meaning. The fact that the parables often do not have a specific context suggests that the evangelists were not in the habit of providing artificial contexts. This may suggest that when a context is provided, it reflects the original context; when the original context is not known, no context is provided. Related to this debate once again is the question of what contribution the extra-canonical Gospel sources can make. Some of these sources, especially the Gospel of Thomas, present the parables in different contexts.
Part 2: Ethics and piety One of the major issues that confronts interpreters of Jesus' ethical teachings is whether Jesus held to an ethic that differed in any significant way from Jewish thinking and practice in his day. The Golden Rule ("Whatever you wish that men would do to you, do so to them") was often thought to be a brilliant, original, and succinct expression of Jesus' ethics. However, this teaching, usually in the negative form (i.e., "And what you hate, do not do to anyone"), is found in several Jewish sources (e.g., Tobit 4:5; b. Shabbat 31a). The Golden Rule, therefore, is not original with Jesus. His use of it suggests that his ethics stood in the center of Torahobservant Jewish faith. Another major issue concerns Jesus' attitude to the Jewish Law. At one time it was in vogue to think that Jesus opposed the Law or was against the Jewish practice of sacrifice. Jesus demonstrated in the Temple, so it was believed, because he saw no point in offering sacrifices. Although it is true that at some points Jesus held different views of purity and perhaps emphasized different elements of the Law (especially in contrast to Sadducean and Pharisaic teaching), most now recognize that Jesus held the Jewish Law in high esteem: "If you do it, you will live" (Luke 10:28, slightly adapted). 2
INTRODUCTION
Jesus' teaching on ethics and piety is now seen in more thoroughly Judaic light. Now that some halakic teachings (i.e., legal interpretations of the Jewish Law) can be traced to the time of Jesus- thanks in large part to the Dead Sea Scrolls - those points where Jesus' teaching is consistent with or in tension with the teachings of others are more clearly understood.
3
Part 1 PARABLES AND KINGDOM OF GOD
23
THE NATURE AND PURPOSE OF THE GOSPEL PARABLES C. H. Dodd Source: The Parables of the Kingdom (London: Nisbet, 1935), pp. 11-33.
The parables are perhaps the most characteristic element in the teaching of Jesus Christ as recorded in the Gospels. They have upon them, taken as a whole, the stamp of a highly individual mind, in spite of the re-handling they have inevitably suffered in the course of transmission. Their appeal to the imagination fixed them in the memory, and gave them a secure place in the tradition. Certainly there is no part of the Gospel record which has for the reader a clearer ring of authenticity. But the interpretation of the parables is another matter. Here there is no general agreement. In the traditional teaching of the Church for centuries they were treated as allegories, in which each term stood as a cryptogram for an idea, so that the whole had to be de-coded term by term. A famous example is Augustine's interpretation of the parable of the Good Samaritan. A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho: Adam himself is meant; Jerusalem is the heavenly city of peace, from whose blessedness Adam fell; Jericho means the moon, and signifies our mortality, because it is born, waxes, wanes, and dies. Thieves are the devil and his angels. Who stripped him, namely, of his immortality; and beat him, by persuading him to sin; and left him half-dead, because in so far as man can understand and know God, he lives, but in so far as he is wasted and oppressed by sin, he is dead; he is therefore called half-dead. The priest and Levite who saw him and passed by, signify the priesthood and ministry of the Old Testament, which could profit nothing for salvation. Samaritan means Guardian, and therefore the Lord Himself is signified by this name. The binding of the wounds is the restraint of sin. Oil is the comfort of good hope; wine the exhortation to work with fervent spirit. The beast is the flesh in which He deigned to come to us. The being set upon the beast is belief in the incarnation of Christ. The inn is the Church, where travellers are refreshed on their return from pilgrimage to their heavenly country. The morrow is 7
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
after the resurrection of the Lord. The two pence are either the two precepts of love, or the promise of this life and of that which is to come. The innkeeper is the Apostle (Paul). The supererogatory payment is either his counsel of celibacy, or the fact that he worked with his own hands lest he should be a burden to any of the weaker brethren when the Gospel was new, though it was lawful for him "to live by the Gospel."-(Quaestiones Evangeliorum, ll. 19-slightly abridged.) This interpretation of the parable in question prevailed down to the time of Archbishop Trench, who follows its main lines with even more ingenious elaboration; and it is still to be heard in sermons. To the ordinary person of intelligence who approaches the Gospels with some sense for literature this mystification must appear quite perverse. Yet it must be confessed that the Gospels themselves give encouragement to this allegorical method of interpretation. Mark interprets the parable of the Sower, and Matthew those of the Tares and the Dragnet, on just such principles; and both attribute their interpretations to Jesus Himself. It was the great merit of Adolf Ji.ilicher, in his work Die Gleichnisreden Jesu (1899-1910) that he applied a thoroughgoing criticism to this method, and showed, not that the allegorical interpretation is in this or that case overdone or fanciful, but that the parables in general do not admit of this method at all, and that the attempts of the evangelists themselves to apply it rest on a misunderstanding. The crucial passage is Mk. iv. 11-20. Jesus, in answer to a question of His disciples, says: "To you is granted the mystery of the Kingdom of God, but to those outside everything comes in parables, in order that they may look and look but never see, listen and listen but never understand, lest they should be converted and forgiven"; and then follows the interpretation of the parable of the Sower. Now this whole passage is strikingly unlike in language and style to the majority of the sayings of Jesus. Its vocabulary includes (within this short space) seven words which are not proper to the rest of the Synoptic record. 1 All seven are characteristic of the vocabulary of Paul, and most of them occur also in other apostolic writers. These facts create at once a presumption that we have here not a part of the primitive tradition of the words of Jesus, but a piece of apostolic teaching. Further, the interpretation offered is confused. The seed is the Word: yet the crop which comes up is composed of various classes of people. The former interpretation suggests the Greek idea of the "seminal word"; while the latter is closely akin to a similitude in the Apocalypse of Ezra: "As the farmer sows over the ground many seeds, and plants a multitude of plants, but in the season not all that have been planted take root, so also of those who have sowed in the world not all shall be saved" (2 Esdras viii. 41). Two inconsistent lines of interpretation have been mixed up. Yet we may suppose that the Teller of the parable knew exactly what He meant by it. 8
NATURE AND PURPOSE OF THE GOSPEL PARABLES
Again, the idea that the parable is a veiled revelation of the coming behaviour of those who heard the teaching of Jesus, under temptation and persecution, is bound up with the view expressed in 11-12 about the purpose of parables. According to these verses they were spoken in order to prevent those who were not predestined to salvation from understanding the teaching of Jesus. This is surely connected with the doctrine of the primitive Church, accepted with modifications by Paul, that the Jewish people to whom Jesus came were by divine providence blinded to the significance of His coming, in order that the mysterious purpose of God might be fulfilled through their rejection of the Messiah. That is to say, this explanation of the purpose of the parables is an answer to a question which arose after the death of Jesus, and the failure of His followers to win the Jewish people. But that He desired not to be understood by the people in general, and therefore clothed His teaching in unintelligible forms, cannot be made credible on any reasonable reading of the Gospels. The probability is that the parables could have been taken for allegorical mystifications only in a non-Jewish environment. Among Jewish teachers the parable was a common and well-understood method of illustration, and the parables of Jesus are similar in form to Rabbinic parables. The question therefore, why He taught in parables, would not be likely to arise, still less to receive such a perplexing answer. In the Hellenistic world, on the other hand, the use of myths, allegorically interpreted, as vehicles of esoteric doctrine, was widespread, and something of the kind would be looked for from Christian teachers. It was this, as much as anything, which set interpretation going on wrong lines. What then are the parables, if they are not allegories? They are the natural expression of a mind that sees truth in concrete pictures rather than conceives it in abstractions. The contrast between the two ways of thinking may be illustrated from two passages in the Gospels. In Mk. xii. 33 a scribe is introduced, who expresses the sentiment: "To love one's neighbour as onself is better than all burnt offerings and sacrifices." In Mt. v. 23 the same idea is expressed thus: "If you are offering your gift at the altar, and remember there and then that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar, and go and get reconciled with your brother first of all; then come and offer your gift." This concrete, pictorial mode of expression is thoroughly characteristic of the sayings of Jesus. Thus instead of saying, "Beneficence should not be ostentatious," He says, "When you give alms, do not blow your trumpet"; instead of saying, "Wealth is a grave hindrance to true religion," He says, "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God." In such figurative expressions the germ of the parable is already present. At its simplest the parable is a metaphor or simile drawn from nature or common life, arresting the hearer by its vividness or strangeness, and 9
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
leaving the mind in sufficient doubt about its precise application to tease it into active thought. Our common language is full of dead metaphors: a thought "strikes" us; young men "sow wild oats"; politicians "explore avenues." Such dead metaphors are often a sign of mental laziness and a substitute for exact thought. But a living metaphor is another thing. "Where the carcass is the vultures will gather"; "a town set on a mountain cannot be hidden"; "make yourselves purses that do not wear out"; "if the blind lead the blind, both fall into the ditch." Now such a simple metaphor may be elaborated into a picture, by the addition of detail. Thus: "They do not light a lamp and put it under the meal-tub, but on a lamp-stand; and then it gives light to all in the house"; "No one sews a patch of unshrunk cloth on an old coat, else the patch pulls away from it-the new from the old-and there is a worse tear"; "Why do you look at the splinter in your brother's eye, without noticing the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, let me take the splinter out of your eye, when there is a plank in your own?"; or to take a simile, "To what shall I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the market-place and calling to one another, we played the pipes for you and you would not dance; we set up a wail for you and you would not weep!" This is the type of parable which is called by the Germans Gleichnis, i.e. similitude. It is a common type, including, for example, the Son asking for Bread, the Eye the Light of the Body, the Sons of the Bridechamber, the Fig-tree as Herald of Summer (Mk. xiii. 29), and other familiar parables. Or again, the metaphor (or simile) may be elaborated into a story instead of a picture, the additional details serving to develop a situation. This is what the Germans call Parabel, the parable proper. The story may be a very short one; e.g. "The Kingdom of God is like leaven which a woman took and hid in three measures of meal, until the whole was leavened." Very little longer are the parables of the Lost Sheep and Lost Coin, the Hid Treasure and the Costly Pearl, the Mustard-seed, the Seed Growing Secretly and the Two Sons. Somewhat longer are the Two Houses, the Sower, the Importunate Friend, and some others. And finally we have full-length tales ("Novel/en") like the Money in Trust, the Unforgiving Servant (Mt. xviii. 23-35), the Prodigal Son, and the Labourers in the Vineyard. It cannot be pretended that the line can be drawn with any precision between these three classes of parable-figurative sayings, similitudes, and parables proper. 2 If we say that the first class has no more than one verb, the second more than one verb, in the present tense, and the third a series of verbs in the historic tense, we have a rough grammatical test; and this corresponds to the fact that the similitude on the whole tends to describe a typical or recurrent case, the parable a particular case treated as typical. But one class melts into another, and it is clear that in all of them we have nothing but the elaboration of a single comparison, all the details being 10
NATURE AND PURPOSE OF THE GOSPEL PARABLES
designed to set the situation or series of events in the clearest possible light, so as to catch the imagination. This leads us at once to the most important principle of interpretation. The typical parable, whether it be a simple metaphor, or a more elaborate similitude, or a full-length story, presents one single point of comparison. The details are not intended to have independent significance. In an allegory, on the other hand, each detail is a separate metaphor, with a significance of its own. Thus in the Pilgrim's Progress we have the episode of the House Beautiful. It is a story of the arrival of belated travellers at a hospitable country house. Commentators even undertake to show us the actual house in Bedfordshire. But in the story the maid who opens the door is Discretion, the ladies of the house are Prudence, Piety and Charity, and the bedchamber is Peace. Or to take a biblical example, in Paul's allegory of the Christian warrior the girdle is Truth, the breastplate Righteousness, the shoes Peace, the shield Faith, the helmet Salvation, and the sword the Word of God. On the other hand, if we read the parable of the Importunate Friend, it would be obviously absurd to ask who is represented by the friend who arrived from a journey, or the children who are in bed. These and all the other details of the story are there simply to build up the picture of a sudden crisis of need, calling for an urgency which would otherwise be untimely and even impertinent. Similarly in the parable of the Sower the wayside and the birds, the thorns and the stony ground are not, as Mark supposed, cryptograms for persecution, the deceitfulness of riches, and so forth. They are there to conjure up a picture of the vast amount of wasted labour which the farmer must face, and so to bring into relief the satisfaction that the harvest gives, in spite of all. The object before the writer of an allegory is of course to tell his tale so that it reads naturally as such, even when the interpretation is out of sight. But this needs great skill, and it is scarcely possible to keep it up for long. The interpretation will show through. Thus to return to the House Beautiful, Bunyan has shown great skill in introducing the natural incidents of a short stay at a country house. Among other things, the ladies display, very naturally, the family pedigree, which one still sees framed and hung in some old-fashioned houses. But here theology breaks in: the pedigree showed that the Lord of the house "was the Son of the Ancient of Days, and came by an eternal generation." With less skilful allegorists the story often becomes sheer nonsense, and to make sense of it the details must be transposed into the ideas which they signify. Thus Paul, who is not always felicitous in his use of illustration, gives an allegorical story of a gardener who lopped off the branches of an olive tree, and grafted in their place shoots of wild olive. The lopped branches, however, he kept by him, and after the wild grafts had "taken" he once more grafted the olive-branches into the stock (Ram. xi. 16-24). A curious piece of horticulture! But it is all intelligible if we bear in mind that the olive tree is the people of God; 11
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
the lopped branches, the unbelieving Jews; the wild-olive shoots, the Gentile Christians. In the parables of the Gospels, however, all is true to nature and to life. Each similitude or story is a perfect picture of something that can be observed in the world of our experience. The processes of nature are accurately observed and recorded; the actions of persons in the stories are in character; they are either such as anyone would recognize as natural in the circumstances, or, if they are surprising, the point of the parable is that such actions are surprising. Thus there is no doubt something surprising in the conduct of the employer who pays the same wage for one hour's work as for twelve, but the surprise of the labourers at being treated so gives point to the story. In making this distinction between the parable and the allegory, we must not be too rigorous. For if the parable is drawn out to any length, it is likely that details will be inserted which are suggested by their special appropriateness to the application intended, and if the application is correctly made by the hearer, he will then see a secondary significance in these details. But in the true parable any such details will be kept strictly subordinate to the dramatic realism of the story, and will not disturb its unity. And this is, with very few exceptions, true of the parables given in the Gospels. Here and there interpretation has intruded itself into a parable and marred its realism. But if the parables are taken as a whole, their realism is remarkable. I have shown elsewhere3 what a singularly complete and convincing picture the parables give of life in a small provincial town-probably a more complete picture of petit-bourgeois and peasant life than we possess for any other province of the Roman Empire except Egypt, where papyri come to our aid. There is a reason for this realism of the parables of Jesus. It arises from a conviction that there is no mere analogy, but an inward affinity, between the natural order and the spiritual order; or as we might put it in the language of the parables themselves, the Kingdom of God is intrinsically like the processes of nature and of the daily life of men. Jesus therefore did not feel the need of making up artificial illustrations for the truths He wished to teach. He found them ready-made by the Maker of man and nature. That human life, including the religious life, is a part of nature is distinctly stated in the well-known passage beginning "Consider the fowls of the air .... " (Mt. vi. 26-30; Lk. xii. 24-28). Since nature and super-nature are one order, you can take any part of that order and find in it illumination for other parts. Thus the falling of rain is a religious thing, for it is God who makes the rain to fall on the just and the unjust; the death of a sparrow can be contemplated without despairing of the goodness of nature, because the bird is "not forgotten by your Father"; and the love of God is present in the natural affection of a father for his scapegrace son. This sense of the divineness of the natural order is the major premiss of all 12
NATURE AND PURPOSE OF THE GOSPEL PARABLES
the parables, and it is the point where Jesus differs most profoundly from the outlook of the Jewish apocalyptists, with whose ideas He had on some sides much sympathy. The orthodox Rabbis of the Talmud are also largely free from the gloomy pessimism of apocalypse, and hence they can produce true parables where the apocalyptists can give us only frigid allegories; but their minds are more scholastic, and their parables often have a larger element of artificiality than those of the Gospels. A further point of contrast between the parable and the allegory is that while the allegory is a merely decorative illustration of teaching supposed to be accepted on other grounds, the parable has the character of an argument, in that it entices the hearer to a judgment upon the situation depicted, and then challenges him, directly or by implication, to apply that judgment to the matter in hand. 4 We need only recall a familiar and typical parable in the Old Testament, where Nathan tells David the story of the poor man's ewe lamb which was stolen by the rich man. David falls neatly into the trap, exclaiming indignantly, "As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this is worthy to die"; whereupon Nathan retorts: "Thou art the man!" That the parables of Jesus had a similar intention is sometimes shown by the way in which they are introduced. Thus: "What do you think? if a man has a hundred sheep .... " "What do you think? A man had two children; he came to the first and said: My boy, go and work in the vineyard to-day. He answered, Yes, sir; but did not go. He went to the second and said the same. He answered, I will not; but afterwards he changed his mind and went. Which of the two did his father's will?" But whether they are so introduced or not, the question is implicit. The way to an interpretation lies through a judgment on the imagined situation, and not through the decoding of the various elements in the story. Jtilicher and his followers, then, have done great service in teaching us how to take the first step towards the understanding of the parables. It is to accept the story as a piece of real life, and form our judgment upon it. What is the next step? Those who follow Jiilicher's method tend to make the process of interpretation end with a generalization. Thus we may take the parable of the Money in Trust (Talents or Pounds). It is a story of a man whom overcaution or cowardice led into breach of trust. Such conduct is contemptible, and befits no honourable man. That is our judgment on the situation. What then is the application? "We must vote for the broadest possible application," says Jiilicher5 ; "fidelity in all that God has entrusted to us." By taking this line, he has happily delivered us from questions whether the talents represent the Gospel, the true doctrine, ecclesiastical office, or bodily and spiritual capacities, with which the earlier exegetes concerned themselves; and equally from modern attempts to make the parable into an instruction to Christians to invest their money wisely, and incidentally into a justification for the capitalist system! But can we really be content with the pure generalization which Jiilicher 13
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
produces as the moral of the parable? Is it much more than an ethical commonplace? Similarly the parable of the Sower leads to the judgment that in agriculture, much labour may be lost and yet a good harvest may be reaped. Are we to apply this in the form of the generalization that any kind of religious work is subject to the same conditions? Or shall we say that the parable of the Hid Treasure teaches that one should always sacrifice a lower good for a higher; that of the Waiting Servants that one should be prepared for emergencies; and that of the Lamp and the Bushel that truth will out? This method of interpretation makes the parables to be forcible illustrations of eminently sound moral and religious principles, but undeniably its general effect is rather flattening. Was all this wealth of loving observation and imaginative rendering of nature and common life used merely to adorn moral generalities? Was the Jesus of the Gospels just an eminently sound and practical teacher, who patiently led simple minds to appreciate the great enduring commonplaces of morals and religion? This is not the impression conveyed by the Gospels as a whole. There is one of His parabolic sayings which runs: "I have come to set fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!" Few parables are more difficult to interpret with precision: none perhaps is clearer in its main purport. Indeed any attempt to paraphrase its meaning is both less clear and less forcible than the saying as it stands. It is exactly the phrase we need to describe the volcanic energy of the meteoric career depicted in the Gospels. The teaching of Jesus is not the leisurely and patient exposition of a system by the founder of a school. It is related to a brief and tremendous crisis in which He is the principal figure and which indeed His appearance brought about. Thus we should expect the parables to bear upon the actual and critical situation in which Jesus and His hearers stood; and when we ask after their application, we must look first, not to the field of general principles, but to the particular setting in which they were delivered. The task of the interpreter of the parables is to find out, if he can, the setting of a parable in the situation contemplated by the Gospels, and hence the application which would suggest itself to one who stood in that situation. 6 We may first ask, how far the evangelists themselves help us thus to relate the parables to their setting. It might be thought that the place in which a parable comes in the order of the narrative would give a decisive clue. But in the first place, the evangelists sometimes give the same parable in different settings; and secondly, recent research has tended to show that the materials of the Gospels were at first transmitted in the form of independent units, the framework being supplied by the evangelists who wrote not less than a generation after the time of Jesus. While I think myself that this judgment needs qualification, and that more of the framework was traditional than some recent writers suppose,? yet it is clear that 14
NATURE AND PURPOSE OF THE GOSPEL PARABLES
we cannot without question assume that the setting in which we have a parable is its original setting in history. It is only where something in the parable itself seems to link it with some special phase of the ministry that we dare press the precise connection. More often we shall have to be content with relating it to the situation as a whole. Apart, however, from the setting of the parables in the narrative, the evangelists sometimes, though by no means always, give an indication of the intended application. These usually brief applications stand on a different footing from the elaborate allegorizations of the Sower, the Tares and the Net, and they deserve more attention. It is, however, necessary to ask how far such applications can be regarded as original. The tendency of recent writers from Jtilicher to Bultmann is to discount them all heavily. But it would be well not to go too far in this direction. To begin with, parables with applications (no less than parables without applications) occur in all our four main Gospel strata. While therefore any particular application may be the work of this or that evangelist, the primitive tradition underlying the variously differentiated traditions from which our Gospels are derived, was certainly acquainted with applied parables. Moreover, in many cases the application shows by its form that it had an organic connection with the parable itself from the earliest stage that we can trace. Thus in the parable of the Two Houses the application is so interwoven with the story, in Matthew and Luke alike, that it could not be eliminated without rewriting the story completely. And observe that the application thus suggested is not general but particular. We have not a simple contrast between hearing and doing. The actual listeners to the words of Jesus then and there will be as foolish, if they do not follow them, as a builder who chooses a site on ftoodland, with no firm foundation. Again, the parable of the Children in the Market-place is followed immediately by a passage which by its form shows that it is a part of the same tradition:"John came neither eating nor drinking, and you say, He is possessed. The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and you say, See, a glutton and a drinker, A friend of publicans and sinners!" I cannot bring myself to doubt that the earliest tradition contained this application of the parable to the people in their attitude to Jesus and John. It is clear that any attempt to work it out by way of an allegorical equivalence of terms breaks down. You cannot say, Jesus and His disciples are the piping children, John and his disciples the mourning children; the picture does not fit. But the picture of petulant children who quarrel about their games suggests the frivolous captiousness of a generation who would 15
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
not see that the movement inaugurated by John and brought to such an unexpected pitch by Jesus was a crisis of the first magnitude, but wasted their time in foolish carping at the asceticism of the one, and the goodcompanionship of the other. They fiddled while Rome was burning. Thus there are cases where, without necessarily solving the possibly unanswerable question whether we have the ipsissima verba of Jesus, we may have confidence that the application of the parable came down with the parable itself in the earliest tradition, and therefore shows us at the least how the parable was understood by those who stood near to the very situation which had called it forth. On the other hand there are grounds for suspecting that in many cases the application was not a part of the earlier tradition, but was supplied by the evangelist, or by his immediate authority, representing no doubt the current exegesis in that part of the Church to which he belonged. It is noteworthy that sometimes a parable occurs without application in one Gospel and is supplied with one in another, as for example, the parable of the Lamp occurs in Mark and Luke without any application, but in Matthew is followed by the injunction, "In the same way your light must shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father in heaven." Again, sometimes a parable occurs in two or more Gospels with different and even inconsistent applications, as, for example, the parable of the Savourless Salt. We must suppose that Jesus intended some one definite application; hence either one, or more probably both applications are secondary. Sometimes different applications are supplied even by the same evangelist. Thus to the very difficult parable of the Unjust Steward (Lk. xvi. 1-7) the evangelist has appended a whole series of "morals": (i) "the sons of this age are more prudent in relation to their own time than the sons of light," (ii) "make friends by means of unrighteous wealth," (iii) "if you have not been honest with unrighteous wealth, who will entrust you with the true riches." We can almost see here notes for three separate sermons on the parable as text. It is possible that the clause with which the parable itself appears to close was the application in the earliest form of the tradition. The reporter of the parable added, "The Lord (Jesus) commended the unjust steward because he had acted prudently." In that case we can relate the parable to its setting in this way. The story tells of a man suddenly faced with a crisis which may mean utter ruin to him. Realizing the seriousness of his position, he does some strenuous thinking, and finds out a drastic means of coping with the situation. The hearers are invited to make the judgment: this man, scoundrel as he was, at least had the merit of taking a realistic and practical view of a crisis. They would then reflect that, as Jesus was constantly urging, they themselves stood before a momentous crisis. Surely, He would have them conclude, it was only common sense to think 16
NATURE AND PURPOSE OF THE GOSPEL PARABLES
strenuously and act boldly to meet the crisis. This seems to me to be the most probable application of the parable, and in that case the evangelist's further comment, "The sons of this age are more prudent than the sons of light," is apt enough. On the other hand it is possible that the clause, "The lord commended the unjust steward" is actually part of the parable. The "lord" is then the character in the story, the defrauded master, and the statement that he commended his fraudulent steward is so palpably absurd that it provokes the hearers to deny it vigorously. In fact it is a strong way of putting the question, "What think ye?" In that case we must relate the story to its setting in this way. Here is a man who feathered his nest by sharp practice, and actually expected to be commended for it! Who then, among the hearers, or among people known to them, were acting in that way? Possibly the Sadducaic priesthood, who made a merit of keeping in with the Romans by concessions which they had no right to make. 8 Possibly the Pharisees, who by a little easy almsgiving sought to make of their ill-gotten riches a means of winning the divine favour. 9 It is clear that in this case there was no certain clue to the application of the parable even when it reached the evangelist Luke, and that he has given a variety of current interpretations. I shall presently try to point out certain changes in the historical situation which have led to the re-application of parables in senses not originally intended. In any such case we must carefully scrutinize the parable itself, and attempt to relate it to the original situation, so far as we can reconstruct it. From this will follow the conclusion regarding its original meaning and application, which may be guided by the following principles: (i) The clue must be found, not in ideas which developed only with the experience of the early Church, but in such ideas as may be supposed to have been in the minds of the hearers of Jesus during His ministry. Our best guide to such ideas will often be the Old Testament, with which they may be presumed to have been familiar. Thus the images of a vineyard, a fig-tree, harvest, a feast, and others, had associations which could escape no one brought up on the Old Testament. 10 (ii) The meaning which we attribute to the parable must be congruous with the interpretation of His own ministry offered by Jesus in explicit and unambiguous sayings, so far as such sayings are known to us; and in any case it must be such as to fit the general view of His teaching to which a study of the non-parabolic sayings leads. A preliminary task, therefore, will be to define, so far as we can, the general orientation of the teaching of Jesus. Among the parables reported in the Gospels a certain number are introduced with some form of words such as "The Kingdom of God is like ... " This introductory formula may be regarded as giving the "application" of these parables. In Mark two parables are so introduced, those of the Seed Growing Secretly and of the Mustard Seed. In Luke again there 17
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
are two, the Mustard Seed and the Leaven. As these two also occur in Matthew with the like introduction, we may take it that they stood in the common source ("Q") of the first and third Gospels. In Matthew there are eight other parables introduced in this way. One of them, the Great Feast, is given in a different form in Luke, where it is not explicitly applied to the Kingdom of God. The others are the parables of the Tares, the Hid Treasure, the Costly Pearl, the Drag-net, the Unforgiving Servant,11 the Labourers in the Vineyard, and the Ten Virgins. It appears that this form of introduction was a favourite one with the First Evangelist, and it may well be that he has made use of it in some cases where it was absent from the earlier tradition. As we have seen, the evangelists use a certain freedom in applying parables. But he has not used it indiscriminately, for the majority of the parables which he reports have no such introduction. At any rate we have three parables, those of the Seed Growing Secretly, the Mustard Seed and the Leaven, in which the reference to the Kingdom of God is attested by one or other of our earlier sources, and in one case, by both of them (the strongest form of attestation which our Gospels can provide). It is therefore certain that Jesus did make use of parables to illustrate what Mark calls "the mystery of the Kingdom of God" (iv. 11). I shall try to show that not only the parables which are explicitly referred to the Kingdom of God, but many others, do in fact bear upon this idea, and that a study of them throws important light upon its meaning.
Notes 1 Mucrtf]pwv, oi el;m, 1tp6cnca.tpcx;, <'x.m't:tT\, are not found in the Synoptics outside this passage; em8uJ.Ll.a. is found elsewhere only in Lk. xxii. 15, in a different sense; otmyJ.L6~ and 8A.t1j!t~ are found only in Mk. x. 30, and in the Synoptic Apocalypse (Mk. xiii.), passages which are for other reasons suspected of being secondary. 2 This is Bultmann's basis of classification; Bildworter, Gleichnisse, and Parabel, see Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition, 1931, pp. 179-222. 3 The Authority of the Bible, pp. 148-152. 4 This argumentative character of the parable is emphasized by Bultmann ( Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition, 1931, p. 195). It is well worked out by A. T. Cadoux, The Parables of Jesus, a very interesting book to which I am indebted, and to which I shall have other occasions to refer, though I cannot always accept his interpretations. 5 Gleichnisreden Jesu, II, 1910, p. 481. 6 The book to which I have referred, by A. T. Cadoux, The Parables of Jesus, has the great merit of making a serious and sustained attempt to carry this through. 7 See my article, "The Framework of the Gospel Narrative," in the Expository Times, vol. xliii, pp. 396 sqq. 8 So A. T. Cadoux, The Parables of Jesus, p. 135. 9 So Henri Clavier in Etudes Theologiques et Religieuses, 1929, p. 333. 10 Emphasis is laid upon this point in Hoskyns and Davey, The Riddle of the New Testament, pp. 177 sqq.
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NATURE AND PURPOSE OF THE GOSPEL PARABLES
11 I have failed to find any specific link between this parable (Mt. xviii. 23-35) and the idea of the Kingdom of God, apart from the general notion of judgment. I suspect that in this case the formula has become conventional. In all other cases it does seem to have real point.
19
24
PARABLES Their meaning and nature and
THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN E. Linnemann Source: Parables of Jesus: Introduction and Exposition, translated by John Sturdy (London: SPCK, 1966), pp. 3-33. (Originally published as G/eichnisse Jesu: Einftihrung und Aus/egung, Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1961.)
In seeking to ascertain what is meant by a parable both in its simple and more extended forms it is essential to begin by turning to the Old Testament; for although there are plenty of parables, in varied forms, found outside the Old Testament1 they are unimportant from the point of view of our present study. The Hebrew word for "parable" is mashal, the root meaning of which is "to be like." Thus, one of the earliest proverbs mentioned in the Old Testament runs: "Out of the wicked cometh forth wickedness"; this is spoken of as "a proverb of the ancients," and means that the words and acts of the wicked correspond with, or are like, their nature. A number of such "parables" occur in the Old Testament, and in this simplest form they may be described as popular sayings which in their nature consist of something universally recognized as true. But the term mashal is used in a very much wider sense than this; indeed, many of the "parables" in the strict sense occurring in the Old Testament contain no idea of likeness, nor do they, in many cases, present anything in the nature of a correspondence or comparison. In the book of Numbers, for example, there are a variety of utterances to which the term mashal, or parable, is applied, but which are in reality oracles; thus, in Num. xxiii. 7 it is said: "And he took up his parable, and said"; there follows what, according to verse 5, is an oracle ("And Yahweh put a word into Balaam's mouth, and said, Return unto Balak, and thus shalt thou speak ... "). Again, twice in the book of Job (xxvii. 1, xxix. 1) it is said that Job
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PARABLES
"took up his parable"; but what follows is a discourse which contains nothing in the shape of a similitude or comparison; see also Ps. xlix. 4 ff. (Hebr. 5 ff.). Various instances occur in which the term must be understood in the sense of a contemptuous saying; thus, in 1 Kgs. ix. 7 it is said that "Israel shall be a proverb (mashal) and a byword among all peoples," which must evidently mean that the peoples will show their contempt for Israel by uttering a scornful saying; such a saying, also called a parable, occurs in Is a. xiv. 4: " ... thou shalt take up this parable against the King of Baby Ion, and say, 'How hath the oppressor ceased! (hath) arrogance ceased!'" (Cp. also Deut. xxviii. 37; Jer. xxiv. 9, and elsewhere.) A still more extended use of the term is when it is applied to an allegory; so, for example, in Ezek. xvii. 2: "Son of man, put forth a riddle, and speak a parable unto the house of Israel"; there follows a clear example of an allegory; similarly in Ezek. xxiv. 3 ff., cp. xx. 49 (Hebr. xxi. 5). The most usual form of the parable or proverb is, however, that of a wise saying, containing the idea of a comparison; this is the development of the earliest form of a proverb, and itself develops into the form of a miniature essay, such as occurs, e.g., in Prov. xxxi, and often in Ecclesiasticus. Whatever other uses a "parable" served, its prime purpose was to teach. It is important to bear in mind the various forms of the parable as found in the Old Testament, for, as we shall see, in the Gospels there is a similar variety. It should also be pointed out that in the Old Testament there are instances in which a passage consists of what, in its essence, is a parable, but which is not so called. For example, we have in Judg. ix. 7-15 a discourse which, as containing a comparison, is clearly of the nature of a parable, though we should describe it as a fable; it is not, however, called a parable. Again, in 2 Sam. xii. 1-4. Nathan's words to David contain a comparison, and, though it is clearly what we should call a parable, it is not so described. In Isa. v. 1, 2, there is a comparison between the Lord's vineyard and the nation, which is an allegory, but it is not called a parable. There are other instances of a similar kind. In the Gospels this will also be found to be the case. In the large variety of what are called parables in the Old Testament, whether so described or not, the great majority are easily understood, and are intended to be so. But there are also cases in which the meaning is not immediately apparent, and which demand consideration before they can be generally understood; indeed, they are intended to be obscure in order to force thought, and they can only be understood by the discerning. This is brought out, for example, by the use of the word chidah, "riddle" or "perplexing saying," as synonymous with parable; thus, in Ps. xlix. 4 (Hebr. 5) it is said: "I will incline mine ear to a parable; I will open my
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dark saying (chidah) upon the harp"; so, too, in Ps. lxxviii. 2: "I will open my mouth in a parable; I will utter dark sayings of old." This applies not only to longer discourses, historical or others, such as Ezek. xvii. 2 ff., "Son of man, put forth a riddle (chidah), and speak a parable (mashal) unto the house of Israel," but also to short sayings, proverbs in the ordinary sense; thus in Prov. i. 6 it is said: " ... To understand a proverb (mashal), and a satire; the words of the wise and their dark sayings (chidah ). " Under parables in the Old Testament, then, are included short popular sayings, oracles, sapiential discourses, scornful or satirical sayings, short utterances of wisdom, allegories. Often their meaning is obvious, sometimes they require concentrated thought if they are to be understood, while there are many cases in which there is a prima facie meaning which is straightforward, but also a deeper significance which can be apprehended only by the more discerning (recipitur ad modum recipientis ). Coming now to the post-biblical literature we find that, as in Proverbs, so in Ecclesiasticus the term mashal is used in reference to the contents of the book;2 these are largely based on the pattern of Proverbs, but frequently the "proverbs" take a more extended form than is usual in the earlier book. The scribe is spoken of as one "who preserveth the discourses of men of renown, and entereth into the subtleties of parables; he seeketh out the hidden things of proverbs, and is conversant with the dark things of parables. " 3 It may well be that in the extended form of proverbs which we meet with in Ecclesiasticus we may discern a development which tended in the direction of the development of a proverb into the form which we should call a parable. Ben-Sira often takes a central theme and enlarges upon it; from this to a narrative illustrating a central theme is an easy transition; in that form we get the parable in our sense of the word. The other books of the Apocrypha, with one exception, offer but little towards the understanding of the subject under consideration. The exception is 2 (4) Esdras, which, though included in the Apocrypha, belongs properly to the apocalyptic literature, and to a later date (or dates, for it is composite). In this book we have several examples of parables in the fuller sense, e.g. vii. 3-5, 6-9, viii. 2, 3, and allegories, e.g., in iv. 13-19, ix. 38ff., xi. 1 ff.; these are, however, too long to quote. Of a special character are the parables, or visions, in the Book of Enoch (xxxvii-lxxi, circa 94-79 B.c.); as applied to these, "parable" is used "pretty much in the same sense as in Num. xxiv. 3, 15, Job xxvii. 1, and means merely an elaborate discourse, whether in the form of a vision, prophecy, or poem. "4 It must suffice to draw attention to these without going into details, which would take us too far afield. The various forms of parables to which reference has been made are of importance for the study of the Gospel parables; but of even greater importance are the parables in the Rabbinical literature. To these we turn next. 22
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It is necessary to point out, first, how this literature came into existence; this is both interesting and instructive, for the materials of which this literature is made up began to accumulate during the two centuries, approximately, immediately preceding the beginning of the Christian era, and the process continued during and after the time of our Lord. Before the Written Law had assumed the character of canonical Scripture-before the time, that is, when it was forbidden to alter or add anything in or to the sacred text-its study and interpretation resulted in an accumulation of comments, and the like, which became known as the Oral Law. 5 This Oral Law or Tradition was in a constant state of development, being adapted, modified, and expanded from time to time to meet the varying practical needs of successive ages, and itself passing from the oral stage to the written. After centuries of discussion it first assumed a written form in the Mishna, the earliest text-book of the Oral Law, which was compiled about A.D. 200. The text of the Mishna became in turn the subject of interpretation and commentary in the later Rabbinical schools of Palestine and Babylonia, the results of which are crystallized in what are known as the Babylonian Talmud and the Jerusalem Talmud. The active work of the Jewish schools embodied in these, containing the investigation, interpretation, and expansion of the text of Scripture, continued roughly from 300 B.c. to A.D. 500. Besides this, there is what is known as the Tosephta, i.e. "Addition," or "Supplement," to the Mishna, the Baraitha, i.e. material "external" to the Mishna, and the Midrashic works. Of the latter the two most important, from the present point of view, are Sifre (a Midrash 6 on Numbers and Deuteronomy), and Mekilta (a Midrash on Exodus); but interesting parables occur also in the Midrash Shir-haShirim (Song of Songs) and Midrash ~oheleth (Ecclesiastes). The parables contained in these writings are of very various dates, and in their present form are all post-Christian, the earliest belonging to the end of the first century A.D.; but it is highly probable that many of them have been handed down from earlier times; as Fiebig7 says, the material contained in the Rabbinical literature was originally handed down orally; first stored up in the memory, it was uttered by word of mouth from teacher to pupil and thus preserved, until ultimately put down in writing,-a process similar to that in which the material of the Gospels was handed down. The great mass of Rabbinical literature, which has been carefully preserved from the beginning, belongs chronologically to two periods, called respectively that of the "Teachers," and that of the "Interpreters." The Aramaic word for "Teacher" is Tanna, that for "Interpreter" is Amora, so that these two periods are known respectively as the Tannaitic and the Amoraic. The material belonging to the former of these, being the earlier in date, is the more important for our purposes; it covers the period approximately, 300 B.C.-A.D. 200; but the literature of the later period, roughly to A.D. 500, is not without importance on account of the earlier 23
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material often incorporated in it. A notable feature of this entire body of Rabbinical literature is that it does not consist of lengthy treatises, but almost wholly of the utterances of individual teachers; and these utterances are for the most part, though by no means always, short; often they consist of a single sentence. Everything that is recorded is the outcome, in the last instance, of thought concerning some biblical text, often a single word, and is intended to be explanatory of Holy Scripture. Now, as Fiebig points out, since this study of the Scriptures occupied almost the whole of the higher intellectual life of the learned Jews during the first five Christian centuries, the Rabbinical literature represents the deposit of Jewish intellectual activity during this period. It will thus be evident that one must not confuse the date of a particular writing which has incorporated a particular citation with the date of the citation itself. It is a very fortunate thing that in this Rabbinical literature the origin of a citation is almost always indicated either by the mention of the name of the Rabbi cited, or else by special formulas. Thus, citations dating from the earlier, Tannaitic, period are introduced by the formula: "Our teachers have handed down," or: "It has been handed down," or similar words; citations belonging to the later, Amoraic, period can usually be recognized by their being introduced by the formula: "It has been said." Another way whereby the period to which a citation belongs can be fixed, when the name of a Rabbi is not mentioned, is by its language; as a general rule, a citation belonging to the Tannaitic period is in Hebrew (Neo-Hebrew), whereas, if it belongs to the Amoraic period, it is in Aramaic. 8 It is from this large body of Rabbinical literature, then, that we get illustrations of the Jewish method of teaching by means of the parable. The nature and characteristics of Jewish parables may be briefly indicated; illustrations need not be given here, as a number will be found in the lectures which follow. Of the various types of parables we have, first, parables pure and simple: that is, narratives presenting scenes from life, the meaning of which is clear and straightforward; they teach lessons easy to be understood, and in every case of this kind a comparison is presented. Then there are parables which contain a metaphor; it may or may not be a simple metaphor, but an explanation often follows. Many others, again, are allegories, at times somewhat obscure; and in a number of cases allegory and metaphor occur in one and the same parable, and even a parable of the simplest type may contain allegorical or metaphorical elements. The great majority of the Rabbinical parables are exegetical; they purport to explain difficulties in the Scriptures, and especially in the Pentateuch; the exaltation of the Law, and the need of observing its ordinances are very often the purpose of these parables. Unlike the few parables found in the Old Testament, and unlike so many of those in the Gospels, the Rabbinical parables are not prompted by surrounding circumstances; they have not, that is to say, the practical value of these; a great many have 24
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merely a theoretical interest, useful for the students of Scripture in the Rabbinical schools, but of little help to the masses. On reading these parables one is often struck by their want of logical sequence, by gaps in the chain of thought, by quaint parallelisms, and inconsequent deductions. A foremost Oriental scholar draws attention in an illuminating way to "the inveterate tendency of Jewish teachers to convey their doctrine, not in the form of abstract discourse, but in a mode appealing directly to the imagination, and seeking to arouse the interest and sympathy of the man rather than the philosopher. The Rabbi embodies his lesson in a story, whether parable, or allegory, or seeming historical narrative; and the last thing he or his disciples would think of is to ask whether the selected persons, events, and circumstances which so vividly suggest the doctrine are in themselves real or fictitious. The doctrine is everything; the mode of presentation has no independent value. To make the story the first consideration, and the doctrine it was intended to convey an afterthought, as we, with our dry Western literalness, are predisposed to do, is to reverse the Jewish order of thinking, and to do unconscious injustice to the authors of many edifying narratives of antiquity." 9 A point of much interest is that there seems to have been a certain number of what may be called parabolic themes, which were used by different Rabbis for the purpose of teaching different truths, or of illustrating different facts; the commonest of these are those of a certain king who does or says something, which constitutes the parable; those which present the scene of a feast; and those which deal with some agricultural topic, such as a field or a vineyard. These parabolical themes seem to have formed the framework of many of the Rabbinical parables; they are manipulated and filled in in various ways by different Rabbis in accordance with the teaching it was desired to inculcate. This point is of special interest inasmuch as in a number of the Gospel parables these very parabolic themes are utilized; in some cases our Lord uses the same theme in different connexions. One cannot, however, fail to notice the immense difference both in subjectmatter and treatment and, above all, in application, between the Gospel parables and those of the Rabbis; interesting and instructive as the latter often are, they stand on an altogether lower plane. It is not prejudice that prompts us to say this-far from that, we have a feeling of warm sympathy with a great deal of the Rabbinical teaching; but we are convinced that any impartial reader of the two sets of parables, the Gospel and the Rabbinical, will be forced to admit that the latter compare very unfavourably with the former. Another point of interest, small though it be, is the similarity of the introductory formulas of parables both in the Gospels and in the Rabbinical literature, showing again a common background in external form. Thus, in the latter we find introductory formulas such as these: "A parable," often followed by the parable itself without intervening words; at
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other times: "A parable; it is like ... " Again, a parable is frequently introduced by: "Wherewith is it to be compared?" or "I will set forth a parable." Often, too, a parable is introduced without any introductory formula. With these we may compare some of the ways in which parables are introduced in the Gospels: "For (it is) as (when) a man ... " (Matth. xxv. 14); or, without any introductory words: "A man planted a vineyard ... " (Mk. xii. 1); "Then shall the Kingdom of Heaven be likened unto ... " (Matth. xxv.); "So is the Kingdom of God, as if a man ... " (Mk. iv. 26); "Another parable set he before them" (Matth. xiii. 24); "The Kingdom of Heaven is like ... " (Matth. xiii. 24); "Whereunto shall I liken the Kingdom of God?" (Lk. xiii. 20). One can see at once that there is a family likeness between these respective introductory formulas; and if we had the Gospel parables in their original language the likeness would be seen to be still more striking. But we must now turn more particularly to the Gospel parables themselves in order to offer some general preliminary considerations concerning them. While recognizing that the parables were first put forth in oral form, and that they may, therefore, have undergone some alteration in course of transmission; while recognizing also that their original written form may in some cases have been subjected to modification at the hands of the early Christian communities for reasons which will be referred to later, we affirm, nevertheless, in spite of the contentions of some scholars on the subject,10 that the parables, so far as their essence is concerned, are, in their present form, substantially the same as when first uttered by our Lord. In his recently published book on the parables Dr. Dodd writes: "They have upon them, taken as a whole, the stamp of a highly individual mind, in spite of the re-handling they have inevitably suffered in the course of transmission .... Certainly there is no part of the Gospel record which has for the reader a clearer ring of authenticity." 11 Using the term "parable" (mashal) in its Old Testament connotationand, as we have seen, the usage is very similar in the New Testament-as embracing a variety of forms, it will be seen that the Gospel parables comprise four types. First, there is that of the simple saying, e.g.: "And he spake also a parable unto them, Can the blind guide the blind? shall they not both fall into a pit?" (Lk. vi. 39). "And he said unto them, Doubtless ye will say unto me this parable, Physician, heal thyself" (Lk. iv. 23). Other such sayings, which are likewise parables, though the term is not used, occur, e.g.: "Ye are the salt of the earth; but if the salt have lost its savour, wherewith shall it be salted?" (Matth. v. 13). "Ye are the light of the world" (Matth. v. 14). "Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast your pearls before swine" (Matth. vii. 6). "They that are whole have no need of a physician, but they that are sick" (Matth. ix. 12). These are all simple, straightforward sayings, the meaning of which can be grasped by
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everyone; it is quite possible that some of them were current proverbs familiar to the people, and for that very reason utilized by our Lord. Then we have parables, in the more ordinary sense of the word, which contain a comparison; though these are not necessarily called parables in the text, they are such in their nature; for example: "The Kingdom of Heaven is like unto leaven, which a woman took, and hid in three measures of meal, till it was all leavened" (Matth. xiii. 33); or: "But know this, that if the master of the house had known in what watch the thief was coming, he would have watched, and would not have suffered his house to be broken through. Therefore, be ye also ready ... " (Matth. xxiv. 43). Another instructive illustration is that of one coming to his friend at midnight asking for the loan of three loaves (Lk. xi. 5 ff.). All the parables of this type which contain a simple comparison, are, again, easy to be understood. Of the third type we have not many in the Gospels; they are those which are allegorical, e.g. the parable of the Sheep and Goats (Matth. xxv. 31-46), the parable of the Wicked Husbandmen (Mk. xii. 1-12), and the parable of the Wheat and the Tares (Matth. xiii. 24-30); parables of this kind do not carry their meaning on the surface; they demand thought, and in some cases they are explained by our Lord. The fourth type comprises the larger number of the great Gospel parables; in so far as they contain a comparison, these are parables which might seem to belong to the simple type; but a comparison is not their only element; mingled with this there are often allegorical and metaphorical elements. In some respects these parables convey a lesson which the first listeners may have grasped; but it is certain that the fullness of the meaning enshrined in them was beyond the comprehension of those first listeners. And, what is more, all through the ages the differences of interpretation prove that there is more in the parables than has been grasped even at the present day. Simple as most of the parables seem to be, and easy to understand, when first read, there are many which are seen to be very difficult as soon as they are pondered over. To be sure, many of the parables offer no difficulty, their meaning is obvious; but there are others, belonging to this last type, in regard to which it must be said that certitude as to what their central theme is has not been attained; one has only to read the varieties of explanation of commentators, all having so much to commend them, to realize that the parables of this type present us with some of the most difficult problems of New Testament study. We have spoken of the Gospel parables as consisting of four types, and, speaking generally, that seems to be the fact; but when we come down to details and begin to define the nature of individual parables, difficulties soon appear. Let us start with the time-honoured definition of a parable as being "an earthly story with a heavenly meaning"; nobody will deny that there is truth in this definition as far as it goes; but it does not always apply. For 27
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example, in Mk. iii. 23-26 we have this parable: "And he called them unto him, and said unto them in parables, How can Satan cast out Satan? And if a kingdom be divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand .... And if Satan hath risen up against himself, and is divided, he cannot stand, but hath an end." The definition does not apply to a parable like this; and there are many others to which it would not apply. And when one applies the other definitions mentioned above-comparison, metaphor, allegorytheir inadequacy becomes apparent again and again as soon as the interpretation is undertaken. This will be granted, we think, in view of the following considerations. A comparison facilitates the understanding of what is taught, i.e. it saves thinking; but a metaphor necessitates thinking out what is meant, and is often susceptible of more than one interpretation. A comparison does not, from its nature, admit of an interpretation, it is, generally speaking, obvious; but the metaphor, as just said, requires this. Again, when the term "parable" is applied to what is an allegory, the term may be misleading; for the difference between a parable, in the generally accepted sense, and an allegory, is the same as that between "to be like" and "to mean," as between "to place side by side," and "to identify," as between "to compare" and "to indicate." However we may define the allegory, it is, like the metaphor, something that requires thinking out, only more so; but whether one defines a parable by saying that it is a "putting forth of a likeness" or a "placing side by side," or merely a "comparison," it is not a thing that requires pondering over, at any rate not in the sense that an allegory does, nor in the sense required by a metaphor. Thus, the nature of any given parable must be decided before its interpretation can be entered upon.'2 Our next consideration is concerned with the scope of any given parable; that is to say, whether it is intended to teach one or more truths; and if the latter, how is one to decide which is intended to be the central truth, and which is subsidiary? This is by no means easy, as is proved by the diversity of opinion held in regard to so many of the parables. One has only to think of such parables as those of the Unrighteous Steward and the Labourers in the Vineyard, especially the form.er, to realize the difficulty of coming to a satisfactory conclusion as to what is intended to be the central truth taught in either. But there are others in regard to which the question arises as to whether they teach one or more truths, and as to which is the central one. There is one test which may sometimes be of help in deciding which of two or more truths in any given parable is the central one; and that is to see whether the sense of a parable is affected by eliminating what is held to be the central truth taught. Here is an example: It may be truly maintained that one of the truths taught or implied in the parable of the Unrighteous Steward is that the betrayal of a trust brings its own punishment; but that this is not the central truth taught by the parable is proved by the fact that if it is ignored in interpreting the parable, the 28
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course and sense of the parable are not affected; nothing in the parable loses its force if the thought of this truth be left aside; in this case it is clear that this is not the central truth, the main object, for which the parable was uttered. Once more, what must always be of great help in determining what the central truth of any given parable may be, is to study carefully the context in which the parable stands; it seems almost superfluous to say this; but parables are sometimes treated as independent entities, and are interpreted without sufficiently considering what prompted their utterance. That which gave the reason for a parable to be spoken must be a certain guide as to its main purpose, and therefore a clear indication as to the central truth intended to be taught. We will take as an illustration Lk. xiii. 6-9: "And he spake this parable; A certain man had a fig-tree planted in his vineyard; and he came seeking fruit thereon, and found none. And he said unto the vinedresser, Behold, these three years I come seeking fruit on this fig-tree, and find none; cut it down, why doth it cumber the ground? And he, answering, saith unto him, Lord, let it alone this year also, till I shall dig about it, and dung it, and if it bear fruit thenceforth, well; but if not, thou shalt cut it down." Now, taking this parable as it stands, without reference to its context, it can either mean that unless a man leads an upright life and manifests the fruit of good living, punishment will overtake him; or it can mean that the longsuffering of God gives even the evil-living man ample chance of reforming. There is much to be said for each of these interpretations. In turning, however, to the context, one can see that the central truth which the parable teaches is neither of these; what our Lord intended to teach was the truth enforced by the words twice repeated: "Except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish." The parable is thus meant to teach the need of bringing forth the fruits of repentance; and though the two other truths mentioned may be implied, neither is the object for which the parable was spoken; it can be interpreted without any thought of them, and if they are eliminated from the mind, the central teaching of the parable is not affected. It is necessary, therefore, to take the context into consideration if the central teaching of the parable is to be apprehended. It will, of course, be understood that by the context we do not necessarily mean that which precedes the utterance of a parable; there are instances in which our Lord's comments on a parable give the real clue as to its central teaching. Nevertheless, it must be confessed that the interpretation of the parables is often a difficult matter. Many people, on reading one of the parables, would in all probability believe they knew at once what it meant; that is, provided they did not think over it. The form and the matter of the parables are such that the cursory reader believes he recognizes almost intuitively what each is intended to teach. Yet it must strike one as extraordinary that, in spite of the often apparently obvious lesson of the
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parable, in spite of its, generally speaking, simple and straightforward form, there are few things connected with the study of the Gospels concerning which there is greater diversity of opinion than that of the meaning and doctrinal significance of many of the parables. Of one thing, we think, there can be little doubt, viz. that one of the causes of this diversity of opinion is the fact that the Jewish atmosphere and general background of the Gospel records are not sufficiently taken into account. It is for this reason that in the following study of the parables so much stress is laid upon this Jewish background. There is another reason for the difficulty in ascertaining the meaning of the parables which must be briefly referred to; though here the remedy is more difficult to find. The Gospels which enshrine the parables exist only in Greek or in translations of the Greek; but our Lord spoke them in Aramaic, or rather in that dialect of Aramaic known as Galilrean Aramaic. The parables were first handed down orally in this language, and various forms of the Gospels which contain them were put forth in Greek (see the Prologue to the third Gospel); these latter form the basis of the Gospels as we now have them; so that our present Gospels constitute the third stage in the transmission. But the initial difficulty was to render the oral Aramaic form into Greek adequately. We shall see, 13 e.g. that the Aramaic expression for "Son of Man" cannot be properly rendered in Greek, and it may be regarded as certain that other words and expressions which occurred in the parables as originally spoken do not always, in their Greek form, represent our Lord's meaning. In this connexion the words of BenSira's grandson, who translated the Hebrew of the Wisdom of Ben-Sira (Ecclesiasticus) into Greek, are worth quoting; they occur in the translator's Prologue to the book: "Ye are, therefore, entreated to undertake the reading (of this book) with kindliness and attentiveness, and to be indulgent if in any parts of what we have laboured to interpret we seem to fall short in (the rendering of) some of the phrases. For when things spoken in Hebrew are translated into another tongue they have not quite the same meaning; and not only these things (which follow), but the Law itself, and the Prophecies, and the rest of the books, convey a different meaning when spoken in their original (language)." Needless to say, the same applies to Aramaic. It must, therefore, be recognized that, regret it as we may, certainty as to the meaning of a parable cannot always be guaranteed. Diversity of opinion on some points is in the nature of things. One other matter demands some attention. In all three Gospels occur words to this effect: "Therefore speak I to them in parables; because seeing they see not, and hearing they hear not, neither do they understand" (Matth. xiii. 13); again, in Mk. iv. 11, 12: "And he said unto them, Unto you is given the mystery of the Kingdom of God; but unto them that are without, all things are done in parables; that seeing they may see, and not perceive; and hearing they may hear, and not understand; lest haply 30
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they should turn again, and it should be forgiven them"; similarly in Lk. viii. 10: "And he said, Unto you it is given to know the mysteries of God; but to the rest in parables; that seeing they may not see, and hearing they may not understand." Naturally enough, these passages have caused much perplexity to readers of the Gospels; the Marcan form is especially difficult, since it appears to impute to our Lord the laying down of a principle which sounds very hard in the mouth of Him Who desired of all things to turn the hearts of men to God that they might obtain forgiveness. As we deal with this whole matter in some detail when considering the parable of the Sower,14 it will suffice if we say here no more than that the words in question must be understood in the sense in which they were originally spoken by the prophet (Isa. vi. 9, 10); from this it will be seen that the sense is quite different from what the Marcan passage would seem to imply.
The Kingdom of Heaven The profound importance of this subject, and the dominating position it occupies in so many of our Lord's parables, as well as in His teaching elsewhere, make it essential that some special consideration should be devoted to it before dealing with the parables of the Kingdom. We note, first, that there is no essential difference between the two expressions "the Kingdom of Heaven" and "the Kingdom of God." According to Jewish usage, "Heaven" was frequently used as a synonym for "God." The feeling of reverence which avoided the direct mention of the name of God is observable already in the literature of the early part of the last century B.c.; thus, in 1 Mace. iii. 18, 19, Judas Maccabreus says: "With Heaven it is all one, to save by many or by few; for victory in battle standeth not in the multitude of a host; but strength is from Heaven"; clearly in this passage "Heaven" is used for the Almighty. Similarly in verse 60 of the same chapter it is said: "Nevertheless, as may be the will in Heaven, so shall he do," a particularly instructive passage. In the same way, in early Rabbinical literature there are such expressions as: "the fear of Heaven," "the name of Heaven," "through Heaven," and others of a similar kind, in all of which "Heaven" is used in place of "God." In all such cases "Heaven" is written without the article; whereas, when "the heavens" in the ordinary sense occurs it is always written with the article; so that the expression "the Kingdom of Heaven" in its Hebrew form is malkuth shamayim, the latter word being written without the article. 15 While the idea of the divine rule on earth has its roots in the Old Testament, the actual expression "the Kingdom of Heaven" does not occur there; the nearest approach to it is found in 2 Chron. xiii. 8, where the expression "the Kingdom of Yahweh" is used in reference to the Davidic Kingdom.
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According to Jewish usage the expression "the Kingdom of God," or "Heaven," has two distinct connotations. The first is what may be called the religious-ethical connotation; true believers in God who seek to do His will are subjects of the Heavenly King. In the Kingdom of God in Heaven the divine will is always obeyed by God's angelic subjects; but on earth, too, the Heavenly King has His subjects, so that there is a Kingdom of God on earth; but this is not to be understood in a territorial sense. Thus, in Ps. ciii. 19-22 we read: "The Lord bath established his throne in the heavens; and his kingdom ruleth over all. Bless the Lord, ye angels of his .... Bless the Lord, all ye his works, in all places of his dominion," the meaning of these last words being, wheresoever His rule is recognized; see also Ps. cxlv. 11-13. The earthly Kingdom of God included, however, only those belonging to the Jewish race; but this must not be thought to be due to narrow national prejudice; for only those who acknowledged the divine sovereignty and its claims could have a right to call themselves subjects of that Kingdom, and this was done by the Jews only. Among the prophets, and in later days among the apocalyptic teachers, there were those who contemplated the time when the Gentiles would render obedience to the One and only God; but in pre-Christian times none but Jews and their proselytes worshipped God and acknowledged His sovereignty. It was, therefore, not national prejudice which taught that the Kingdom of God on earth included none but those of the Jewish race and religion. This connotation of the Kingdom of God may be illustrated by one or two Rabbinical sayings which echo traditional thought. Rabbi Josua ben ~orchah (early second century A.D.) urges that men should "accept the yoke of the Kingdom of Heaven," 16 i.e. that they should belong to the Kingdom by keeping the commandments (cf. Matt. xi. 29, "Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me"). A contemporary of this Rabbi, Gamaliel 11, uses the expression in a similar sense; 17 and the celebrated Rabbi Yol).anan ben Zakkai, who lived soon after the destruction of Jerusalem, contrasted "the yoke of the Kingdom of Heaven" with "the yoke of flesh and blood," 18 i.e. the contrast between those who do the will of God, and those who are worldlings. Similarly in the Slavonic Book of Enoch xxxiv. 1 (early first century A.D.) it is said: "For I know the wickedness of men, that they will not bear the yoke which I have put upon them ... , but will cast off my yoke and accept another, and deny me, the only God." Many other illustrations could be given, but these will suffice.l 9 In all such passages the reality of the divine rule on earth is taken for granted, though the world does not recognize its presence; but when this present age comes to an end, then will appear the Kingdom of Heaven on earth in such wise that all flesh shall see it. This leads us to the other connotation attaching to "the Kingdom of Heaven," namely, the eschatological one. Here the Kingdom, the speedy
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advent of which was looked for, lay in the future, in the "last times"; it would be heralded by natural phenomena of a terrifying kind, and by manifold horrors among men; this is all described as "the birthpangs of the Messiah," since the coming Kingdom was also to be the "Messianic Age." During the last century B.c., or even a little earlier, and the first century A.D., the Jews looked for the sudden advent of the Kingdom in this sense, and believed that it might come at any time. This is reflected in the Gospels: Lk. ii. 25: " ... Simeon, and this man was righteous and devout, looking for the consolation of Israel"; and Lk. xix. 11: " ... they supposed that the Kingdom of God was immediately to appear," cp. also Mk. xv. 43. The leading figure at the advent was to be God's "Chosen One," or "the Anointed of the Lord," i.e. the Messiah, hence the expression "the days of the Messiah," in reference to the setting-up of God's Kingdom on earth, but in the sense of a dominion. The expectation was that in that time the re-establishment of the Israelite kingdom would be accomplished; the servitude of the people under the heathen yoke would come to an end, and the nation of the Jews would be supreme over all peoples; prosperity and well-being would be the lot of God's own people. One of the most interesting and instructive sources in which are reflected the hopes of the Jewish people is the pre-Christian prayer in the Jewish Liturgy (dating back, in part, to the third century B.c.),2° called the Shemoneh 'Ezreh ("Eighteen Benedictions"); its importance demands that a few passages from it should be quoted: "Look upon our affliction and plead our cause, and redeem us speedily for thy name's sake; for thou art a mighty Redeemer. Blessed art thou, 0 Lord, the Redeemer of Israel. Heal us, 0 Lord, and we shall be healed; save us, and we shall be saved; for thou art our praise .... Sound the great horn for our freedom; lift up the ensign to gather our exiles, and gather us from the four corners of the earth. Blessed art thou, 0 Lord, who gatherest the banished ones of thy people Israel. ... Reign thou over us, 0 Lord, thou alone, in loving kindness and tender mercy, and justify us in judgement. ... And to Jerusalem, the city, return in mercy, and dwell therein as thou hast spoken; rebuild it soon in our days as an everlasting building, and speedily set up therein the throne of David. Speedily cause the branch (Zemach, cp. Jer. xxiii. 5; Zech. iii. 8) of David, thy servant, to flourish, and let his horn be exalted by thy salvation, because we wait for thy salvation all the day .... " The sobriety of expression in this prayer is in striking contrast to much that is said in other ancient Jewish writings about the temporal blessings which are to be the lot of the people in the Messianic times. Another point in this prayer is of importance; it will have been noticed that the Ruler in that time to come is spoken of as the Almighty in one passage, and as the "branch" of David in another; this demands a word of explanation. The Kingdom of Heaven, synonymous with the Messianic times, was, 33
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according to the popular expectations, to be set up on this earth; on the other hand, both in the apocalyptic literature and elsewhere in early Jewish writings the Kingdom is thought of and described as belonging to the world to come, and as being ruled over by God alone. Two distinct sets of ideas are thus interlaced, one making the Messianic Kingdom an earthly rule, the other placing it in the realms above. In the prayer quoted, there is a modification of this in that the Kingdom is to be set up on this earth, and that God is to be the Ruler; the mention of Davidic rule is a concession to traditional expectations. We must see in this a striving to combine the transcendental conception of the Kingdom, held by the deeper thinkers, with the popular belief in a Messianic world-dominion, which, while brought about by divine intervention, would be ruled over by an earthly king, who would overcome all the nation's enemies, and inaugurate a time of both spiritual and temporal well-being. In view of our Lord's teaching regarding the Kingdom, with which we shall deal later, it is most important to emphasize what must be called the high-water mark of pre-Christian Jewish teaching; that, nameiy, which places the Kingdom on this earth with the Almighty as King. No apology is, therefore, needed if we quote from two other prayers belonging to the earliest elements of the Jewish Liturgy; their dates are a little uncertain, but that they are pre-Christian does not admit of doubt. The first is that known as 'Alenu (from its opening words, "It is meet for us"); it is too long to quote in full, but the salient passages are the following: " ... Therefore we hope in thee, 0 Lord our God, that we may speedily see the glory of Thy might; when Thou removest the abominations of the earth, and the idols shall be utterly cut off; when the world shall be set right in the Kingdom of the Almighty, and all the children of flesh shall call upon thy name; when Thou wilt turn unto Thyself all the wicked of the earth, that all the inhabitants of the world may perceive and know that to Thee every knee must bow and fall down; and to the glory of Thy great name let them give honour. And let them take upon themselves the yoke of thy Kingdom, and do Thou reign over them for ever and ever. For the Kingdom is thine, and for ever and ever shalt Thou reign in glory." Let it also be pointed out that immediately preceding these petitions that God's will may be done on earth, there occur the words: "We worship the King of the kings of kings ... the seat of His glory is in the heavens above; and the abode of His strength is in the far off heights. He is our God, and there is none other beside; truly our King, and there is none but He." When it is remembered that our Lord must have joined in this prayer daily, it is no stretch of the imagination to see a summary of it in the words: "Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in Heaven." The other prayer is called ~addish ("Sanctification," in reference to "His great name" being sanctified): "Magnified and hallowed be His great name in the world which He created according to His will. May He estab34
PARABLES
lish His Kingdom in your lifetime and in your days, and in the lifetime of all the house of Israel speedily and in a near time. And say ye, Amen." In neither of these prayers is there any reference to a Davidic kingdom, or to the Messiah. We have made one or two references to the Messiah; but it is necessary that the subject of the Messianic King should be considered in some detail. In the Old Testament "the Messiah" as a technical term does not occur; but the belief that a human king was "the anointed of Yahweh," together with the conception of Yahweh as the Divine King, are found throughout the period of the monarchy (see, e.g., Deut. xxxiii. 2-5; 2 Kgs. ix. 6). The conception of an ideal king of Davidic descent, being full of the spirit of Yahweh, was taught only by the prophets of the southern kingdom (e.g. Isa. xi. 1-5; Jer. xxiii. 5, 6; Ezek. xxxiv. 23, 24, xxxvii. 24, 25). In post-exilic times the hope of the Messiah is connected with the name of Zerubbabel (Hag. ii. 23; Zech. iii. 8, vi. 12); and in some of the later Psalms a Messianic king is referred to. These conceptions and beliefs form the foundation of all that is subsequently taught about the Messiah in the later Jewish literature. This we must now illustrate by some quotations. Just as there were, as we have seen, two sets of ideas regarding the Kingdom, so it is in regard to the person of the Messiah. They are incompatible with one another, as will be seen; but this cannot cause surprise, for it arises partly out of what are often arbitrary interpretations of Old Testament passages, and partly through the intermingling of ancient traditional ideas. The belief in a Messiah who would be of the seed of David occurs in Ecclus. xlvii. 22: "He will give to Jacob a remnant, and to the house of David a root from him"; and in verse 8 of the Hymn of Praise which is inserted after li. 2 (it occurs only in the Hebrew), it is said: "Give thanks unto him that maketh a horn to sprout for the house of David." Owing to causes into which we cannot go now it was held in some circles that the Messiah would not be of the seed of David; thus in the Test. of the xii Patriarchs (circa lOO B.c.) the Messiah is represented as arising from the tribe of Judah (Judah xxiv. 1), but in Levi xviii. 2ff. he is said to belong to the tribe of Levi. In the Psalms of Solomon, on the other hand (circa 70-40 B.c.), the Messiah is again represented as of the seed of David (xvii. 5, 23-51). So, too, in the "Eagle Vision," in 2 (4) Esdras xii (circa A.D. 90, but it incorporates old material), mention is made of "the anointed one, whom the Most High bath kept unto the end of days, who shall spring up out of the seed of David." Often, again, the Messiah, as an earthly king, is mentioned without any reference to his lineage; thus, e.g., in Enoch xc. 37 (circa lOO B.c.) it is said of the Messiah, symbolized by a white bull, simply that he was "born," and that through his power he will transform all men. So, too, in 2 (4) Esdras 35
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vii. 28 ff. (circa A.D. 100) it is said that the Messiah will reign for four hundred years, and will then die; but nothing is said of his lineage. It is the same in the Apocalypse of Baruch, of approximately the same date, where, in xxix. 3, it is said: "And it shall come to pass when all is accomplished that was to come to pass in those parts, that the Messiah will then begin to be revealed" (see also xxxix. 7-xl. 3; lxxii-lxxiii. 4); in all of these passages the Messiah, though an earthly ruler, is not spoken of as of the seed of David. In the Targums, reflecting earlier thought, the Messiah is represented as an earthly ruler, and is spoken of as "King Messiah," and not infrequently his lineage is mentioned; in the Jerusalem Targum to Gen. xlix. 10 (circa middle of the seventh century A.D.), e.g., it is said: "How beautiful is King Messiah who will arise from the house of J udah, and fight against his enemies and slay kings"; while in the Targum of Onkelos to Num. xxiv. 17 (of much earlier date) we read: "A mighty king from the house of Jacob shall reign, and great shall Israel's Messiah become." These few quotations, of many which could be given, illustrate one aspect of the belief concerning the person of the Messiah. We must refer next to the conceptions which represent the Messiah as superhuman. Here we come to a subject of great importance, for which the starting-point is Dan. vii. 13, 14: "I saw in the night visions, and, behold, there came with the clouds of heaven one like unto a son of man (u.i~~ "1i! bar 'eniish), and he came even to the Ancient of Days, and they brought him near before him. And there was given him dominion, and glory, and a Kingdom, that all the people, nations, and languages should serve him; his dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away, and his Kingdom that which shall not be destroyed." Whether the expression "a son of man" is to be understood as referring to an individual or as symbolic of the faithful remnant of Israel, there can be no doubt that he, or they, are thought of as supernaturaF1 (see further on this below). This is also the case in that part of the Book of Enoch called "the Parables" (xxxvii-lxxi, belonging to the earlier half of the first century B.c. ); thus, in xlvi. 1 ff., it is said: " ... And with him was another being whose countenance had the appearance of a man, and his face was full of graciousness, like one of the holy angels. And I asked the angel who went with me and showed me all the hidden things, concerning that Son of Man, Who he was, and whence he was, and why he went with the Head of Days? And he answered and said unto me: This is the Son of Man who bath righteousness, with whom dwelleth righteousness, and who revealeth all the treasures of that which is hidden; because the Lord of Spirits bath chosen him, and whose lot bath the pre-eminence before the Lord of Spirits in uprightness for ever. ... " Reference is made to the Son of Man, who is also called "the Elect One," in a number of other passages (xlviii. 2 ff., xlix. 2 ff., lxi. 5 ff., lxii. 1 ff., lxxi. 14 ff.); in all of which he is clearly represented as supernatural; that both these terms are used for the Messiah does not admit of doubt.22 36
PARABLES
Once more, in the "Vision of the Man from the sea," i.e. the Messiah, in 2 (4) Esdras xiii., the Seer says: "And after this I beheld, and, lo, all they which were gathered together to fight against him were sore afraid, and yet durst fight. And, lo, as he saw the assault of the multitude that came, he neither lifted his hand, nor held spear, nor any instrument of war; but only I saw how that he sent out of his mouth as it had been a flood of fire, and out of his lips a flaming breath, and out of his tongue he cast forth sparks of the storm. And these were all mingled together; the flood of fire, the flaming breath, and the great storm; and fell upon the assault of the multitude which was prepared to fight, and burned them up every one, so that upon a sudden of an innumerable multitude nothing was to be perceived, but only dust of ashes and smell of smoke" (verses 8-11). Further quotations are unnecessary. It is, thus, clear that in the century or so preceding and that following the beginning of the Christian era varying conceptions were held concerning the Kingdom of Heaven and the Messiah. Speaking quite generally, one may say that in regard to the former, materialistic ideas, on the one hand, spiritual ones, on the other, held sway; and with regard to the Messiah, an earthly king, on the one hand, and a supernatural personality, on the other, was conceived of. We turn now to the Gospels, and to the use there of the expression "the Kingdom of Heaven," and of the Messianic title "Son of Man." An initial difficulty is presented here by the variations in the Synoptic Gospels regarding the expressions used in connexion with the announcing or preaching of the Kingdom of Heaven, the difficulty, namely, of deciding what expressions, in their Aramaic equivalents, were used by our Lord. For example, the expression "to preach the good tidings" of the Kingdom of God (euayyeAicracr9m) in Lk. iv. 43, cp. xvi. 16, occurs in these two passages alone, and not in the parallel passages in the other Gospels. In the same way, the noun "good tidings" (euayyeA.i.ov) occurs but rarely in reference to the Kingdom. Dalman is probably right in saying that neither the verb nor the noun was used by our Lord, but that they arose as technical terms, either with or without "the Kingdom of God," within the early Christian community. 23 As he points out, the corresponding Aramaic word (bassar) does not contain the idea of "good" tidings which the Greek does; thus, when the Kingdom of Heaven was first proclaimed, so far from the idea of joy being connected with it, the words are, "Repent ye, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand" (Matth. iv. 17, cp. Mk. i. 15; Lk. xxiv. 47; Acts v. 31 ). The expression which our Lord used for the proclaiming of the Kingdom was more likely to have been the Aramaic equivalent of KTJpi>crcretv ("to preach"), cp. Mk. iii. 14; Matth. x. 7; Lk. x. 9. As to the coming of the Kingdom, the following passages illustrate the expressions used by our Lord: "The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand," or "bath drawn near" (Matth. iv. 17 and elsewhere); "When ye see these things coming to pass, know ye that the Kingdom of God is nigh" (Lk. xxi. 37
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
31); " ... then is the Kingdom of God come upon you (£<j>8acrEv, Matth. xii. 28); "thy Kingdom come" (E.A.ea'tffi), with which cp. Mk. xi. 10: "Blessed is the Kingdom that cometh" (it £pxoJ.teVTJ ~amA.Eia), not, however, spoken by our Lord. In Lk. xix. 11 it is said: " ... they supposed that the Kingdom of God was immediately to appear"; but, again, our Lord does not utter these words, and the expression "appear" in the reference to the Kingdom does not occur elsewhere in the New Testament; but in Mk. ix. 1 our Lord says: "There be some here of them that stand by, which shall in no wise taste of death, till they see the Kingdom of God come with power," Lk. ix. 27 omits "with power"; both passages must probably be understood in the sense of Matth. x. 23: "Verily I say unto you, Ye shall not have gone through the cities of Israel, till the Son of Man be come." In this connexion we have also the expression "looking for," or hoping for, the Kingdom of God (Mk. xv. 43; Lk. xxiii. 51), but here the expression is used by the evangelists, not by our Lord. The necessity of being worthy of belonging to the Kingdom is taught by our Lord in the words: "No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the Kingdom of God" (Lk. ix. 62, cp. xiv. 35). The Kingdom of God is clearly meant when our Lord speaks of "those who are accounted worthy to attain to that world, and the resurrection from the dead" (Lk. xx. 35, cp. 2 Thess. i. 5); but it will be noted that in this last passage the Kingdom is not thought of as being on this earth, which we are more especially thinking of now. The worthy are those who seek the Kingdom, which our Lord bids all men do: "Seek ye his Kingdom, and these things shall be added unto you" (Lk. xii. 31; Matth. vi. 33 adds "and his righteousness"), and we recall the words of Matth. vii. 7, 8: "Seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you ... "; that the reference is to the Kingdom is clear from v. 3. The same teaching is contained in the parable of the merchant seeking goodly pearls (Matth. xiii. 45, 46). All men are called upon or invited (KaA.Etv) to enter into the Kingdom; this is brought out especially in the parable of the Wedding Feast (Matth. xxii. 1-14, cp. Lk. xiv. 16, 17, 24, and see also 1 Thess. ii. 12, "who calleth you into his own kingdom and glory"). For those who are worthy it is said that the Kingdom is "prepared"; in Matth. xxv. 34 it is said: "Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world"; and in Matth. xx. 23 it is said that the Kingdom "hath been prepared of my Father" for those who are worthy of it (cp. also Matth. xxii. 4, 8; Lk. xiv. 17). In the passage just quoted there is mention made of inheriting the Kingdom, cp. Matth. xix. 29; hence the further expression of "the sons of the Kingdom" (Matth. xiii. 38); from Matth. viii. 12 it is to be gathered that these are primarily the Jews. Again, to those who are worthy it is said that the Kingdom is given; see, 38
PARABLES
e.g., Lk. xii. 32: "Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the Kingdom" (cp. Matth. vii. 7, xxi. 43; Lk. xi. 9); and those who are worthy are spoken of as receiving, or accepting, the Kingdom, Mk. x. 14; Lk. viii. 11, xviii. 17; and they, therefore, enter into the Kingdom, an expression which is frequently used, but more especially in reference to those who are not worthy of entering it (see Matth. v. 20, vii. 21, xviii. 3, xix. 23, 24, together with the parallel passages, and elsewhere). But of the worthy it is said that the Kingdom belongs to them as their own: "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven" (Matth. v. 3, cp. xix. 14). In regard to the unworthy, on the other hand, we have such expressions as casting out from the Kingdom (Matth. xxii. 13; Lk. xiii. 28), and being shut out (Matth. xxv. 10; Lk. xiii. 25). Three other expressions used in connexion with the Kingdom remain to be considered. (1) In several passages reference is made to "reclining," i.e. sitting down to meat, and "eating bread," and "eating and drinking," in the Kingdom of Heaven; thus, in Matth. viii. 11 (cp. Lk. xiii. 28): "And I say unto you, that many shall come from the east and the west, and shall sit down (i.e. recline) with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of heaven." Again, in Lk. xiv. 15 (though these are not the words of our Lord): "Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the Kingdom of God." And, once more, in Matth. xxvi. 29 (cp. Mk. xiv. 25; Lk. xxii. 18) our Lord says: "I will not drink henceforth of this fruit of the vine, until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father's Kingdom"; and in Lk. xxii. 15,16 it is said:" ... with desire I have desired to eat this passover with you before I suffer; for I say unto you, I will not eat it, until it be fulfilled in the Kingdom of God." Although our Lord echoes in some of these passages old-world traditional ideas, it is difficult to believe that He meant literal eating and drinking; in Oriental speech both are often used in a figurative sense, and this is also the case in the Old Testament; an interesting instance occurs in Ezek. ii. 8 ff.: "But thou, son of man, hear what I say unto thee ... open thy mouth, and eat that I give thee. And when I looked, behold, an hand was put forth unto me; and, lo, a roll of a book was therein .... And he said unto me, Son of man, eat this roll, and go, speak unto the house of Israel. So I opened my mouth, and he caused me to eat the roll. ... Then did I eat it; and it was in my mouth as honey for sweetness." And for an example of drinking being used figuratively we have Ps. lxxv. 8 (Hebr. 9): "For in the hand of Yahweh there is a cup with fermented wine, full of spices, and he poureth out therefrom even the dregs; all the wicked of the earth shall suck24 them out." See also Isa. lxv. 13. Our Lord uses both words in a figurative sense in Matth. v. 6 (Lk. vi. 21): "Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled." (2) The second is contained in Lk. xvi. 16: " ... from that time the gospel of the Kingdom of God is preached, and every man entereth violently into 39
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
it," cf. Matth. xi. 12: " ... the Kingdom of Heaven suffereth violence, and men of violence take it by force." The form of the text which lay behind both of these texts probably dealt simply with the treatment of the Kingdom of Heaven, i.e. those who belonged to it, from the time of John the Baptist. St. Luke interpreted it as referring to the way in which the multitudes flocked to our Lord and followed Him. The Matthrean interpretation, however, represents, according to Dalman,Z5 a closer approximation to the original meaning of the words. On the basis of what he holds, with a high degree of probability, to be the Aramaic form of the words, he explains the passage as referring, obviously, to the period in which the Kingdom was inaugurated, i.e. from the time of the imprisonment of John the Baptist; it was from this time, he points out further, that the Kingdom suffered violence, not, however, in the sense that men forced themselves into it, but on the part of the Jewish religious leaders; the words "and men of violence take it by force" mean not that the Kingdom is violently taken possession of, but that they who belong to the Kingdom are maltreated. (3) Then, lastly, we have the passage Lk. xvii. 20, 21: " ... The Kingdom of God cometh not with observation; neither shall they say, Lo, here! or there! for lo, the Kingdom of God is within you" (f:vtoc; Uf!&v). It is this last expression with which we are specially concerned. It will be noticed that it stands in contrast to, "cometh not with observation," and this would suggest that the meaning of "within you" is that the Kingdom, i.e. its nature and essence, is hidden in the hearts of men, and only appears in their manner of life. The expression can thus be illustrated by what is said about the hidden seed in the parable of the Sower (Lk. viii. 5 ff. ), by the grain of mustard seed hidden in the garden (Lk. xiii. 19), and by the leaven hidden in three measures of meal (Lk. xiii. 21 ). This meaning of f:vtoc; Uf!&v represents, as Dalman shows,26 the corresponding Aramaic. If the meaning were "among you," or "in the midst of you" (so the Syriac Versions and R.V. marg.), we should expect £v f!EO"Cfl Uf!&v, in accordance with Lucan usage, e.g. "I am in the midst of you (f:v f!EO"Cfl Uf!&v) as he that serveth" (xxii. 27), see also ii. 46, viii. 7, x. 3, xxii. 55, xxiv. 36; Acts i. 15, ii. 22, xxvii. 21. In summing up all that our Lord taught about the Kingdom of Heaven, Dalman27 rightly points out that not only was the content of the conception of the Kingdom, which formed the central point of His teaching, new and original, but the same is true also of the linguistic usage in regard to it. While our Lord makes use of an expression-the Kingdom of Heavenwhich in its origin belonged to the religious form of speech of the Jews, He transforms and exalts its meaning, and shows that its nature and essence were something very different from anything that the Jews had ever dreamed of. One thing more demands a few words. We referred above to Dan. vii. 13, 14, where the expression "a son of man" is used of the Messiah, as well
40
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as to various passages in the Book of Enoch, where a similar expression is used. One cannot speak about the Kingdom of Heaven, in our Lord's sense, without some consideration of the title "Son of Man" which He, as the Central Figure in the Kingdom, applies to Himself. Apart from its poetic use for "a man" in the ordinary sense, the expression "son of man" (ben-'adam) occurs with great frequency in the book of Ezekiel; here, though its meaning is simply that of a human being, it is in the nature of a title. This is true also of its use in Dan. viii. 17 (belonging to the Hebrew part of the book). The Aramaic equivalent (bar 'enash) is met with for the first time in the Aramaic portion of the book of Daniel, in vii. 13, where it means that he who "came with the clouds of heaven," was, so far as his appearance was concerned, like a man in the ordinary sense of the word. It is from this passage that the writer of the "Parables" in the Book of Enoch borrowed the expression "son of man"; but he developed it; for while in Daniel it is indefinite, like "a son of man," in the "Parables" it is used definitely of "the Son of Man," so that it is appropriate to use capital letters. Both writers, however, we maintain represent the person referred to as supernatural. In the Book of Enoch, however, the title is far more significant; as a definite personal title it is in the "Parables" that it appears for the first time in literature; the characteristics and functions of "the Son of Man," as there portrayed are, therefore, important, and call for some illustrations. In li. 3 it is related that he sits on the throne of God, and utters all wisdom: "And the Elect One shall in those days sit on my throne, and his mouth shall pour forth all the secrets of wisdom and counsel; for the Lord of Spirits bath given them to him and bath glorified him." The divine throne is also his throne, as it is said in lxii. 3: "And there shall stand up in that day all the kings and all the mighty, and the exalted, and those who hold the earth; and they shall see and recognize how he sits on the throne of his glory ... "; similarly in verse 5 and in lxix. 27, 29. He chooses the righteous as his own: "For in those days the Elect One shall arise, and he shall choose the righteous and holy from among them; for the day has drawn nigh that they should be saved" (li. 5• 2). There will be joy in heaven and earth when he appears: "And the faces of all the angels in heaven shall be lighted up with joy; and the earth shall rejoice, and the righteous shall dwell upon it, and the elect shall walk thereon" (li. 4, 5). When he appears, for he has been hidden with the Almighty, he will have dominion over all the earth, and the mighty shall worship him: "And the kings and the mighty and all who possess the earth shall bless and glorify and extol him who rules over all, who was hidden. For from the beginning the Son of Man was hidden, and the Most High preserved him in the presence of His might, and revealed him to the elect. ... And all the kings, and the mighty, and the exalted, and those who rule the earth, shall fall down before him on their faces, and worship and set their hope upon 41
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
that Son of Man, and petition him, and supplicate for mercy at his hands" (lxii. 6-9). When the Son of Man comes he will judge the world: "And he sat on the throne of his glory, and the sum of judgement was given unto the Son of Man, and he caused the sinners to pass away and be destroyed from off the face of the earth, and those who have led the world astray" (Ixix. 27, cp. xli. 9). Finally, and perhaps most important of all, he is the embodiment of righteousness: "This is the Son of Man who bath righteousness, with whom dwelleth righteousness, and who revealeth all the treasures of that which is hidden; because the Lord of Spirits bath chosen him, and whose lot bath the preeminence before the Lord of Spirits in uprightness for ever" (xlvi. 3). That the writer of the "Parables" used the title "Son of Man" in reference to the Messiah, for whom he has, moreover, no other designation, does not admit of doubt. But, as Dalman has shown, this use is quite exceptional; among the Jews the expression was never used as a current designation of the Messiah. 28 In the Gospels the Greek 6 uto<; 'tOU av9p0:l1tOU (lit. "the Son of the Man"; without the definite article it would be "the Son of a man") is the inexact equivalent of the Aramaic bar 'enasha, or bar nasha; it is an expression which cannot be adequately rendered in Greek. According to Dalman, 29 the Aramaic form was unknown in the earlier Jewish-Aramaic literature; and our Lord's application of the term to Himself was therefore new. In the Synoptic Gospels the title "the Son of Man" is used by our Lord alone; it is not used elsewhere in the New Testament excepting where our Lord's own words are quoted (John xii. 34, cp. iii. 13, 14; and Acts vii. 56, cp. Lk. xxii. 69). Nowhere is there any explanation given as to the meaning of the title or the reason of our Lord's use of it; but very significant is Matth. xvi. 13-15, where "the Son of Man" is shown to be equivalent to the Son of God: " ... Who do men say that the Son of Man is? ... And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God." Our Lord's words which follow show that St. Peter had divined the truth; it had been revealed to him from Heaven. The words, "Who do men say that the Son of Man i5 ?" seem to imply that our Lord had already applied the title to Himself, and this is borne out by the fact that the first time (so far as we know) 30 He used it (Mk. ii. 10, cf. Lk. v. 24), was when "many were gathered together." But to the disciples and to the people generally the meaning of the title as applied by our Lord to Himself must have been an enigma; those conversant with the Scriptures would naturally have recalled Dan. vii. 13, others would, likely enough, have recalled its use in the Book of Enoch, but they could not possibly have thought that our Lord intended to apply to Himself the title in the sense in which it is used in those writings. There was nothing at all to suggest this; both to the
42
PARABLES
disciples and to the multitudes our Lord was, as yet, nothing more than a wonderful man who taught strikingly, and healed people; it did not enter their minds that this could be He who "came with the clouds of heaven," the Elect One who sat on the throne of God. All the more striking, therefore, is the way in which St. Peter, and presumably with him the nearest disciples, came to the knowledge of what our Lord meant in applying it to Himself. To them the significance of the title was vouchsafed at an early period of our Lord's ministry; but to the rest it was not until the end that He revealed it: "But from henceforth shall the Son of Man be seated at the right hand of the power of God. And they all said, Art thou then the Son of God? And he said unto them, Ye say that I am" (Lk. xxii. 69, 70). With the difficult and controversial subject of what our Lord meant by His Second Coming we have not dealt here; no doubt when there are so many parables of the Kingdom it would have been appropriate enough; but a proper treatment of the subject would involve discussing Jewish eschatology and the apocalyptic literature; these would have taken us too far away from the subject in hand.
Notes 1 See, e.g., Buzy, Introduction aux Paraboles Evangeliques, pp. 170 ff. (1912). 2 In the Hebrew of the subscription to the book, 1. 27. The word is also used in xlvii. 17, but in reference to Solomon's "parables"; the reference is to Proverbs. 3 This is from the Greek; the Hebrew is not extant. 4 Charles, The Book of Enoch, p. 70 (1912). 5 The theory that the Oral Law was given to Moses together with the Written Law on Mount Sinai is of late date; it occurs in the Midrash Shemoth Rabba (Exodus) to xxxiv. 27; this Midrash belongs to the eleventh or twelfth century A.D., though it contains much earlier material. 6 Midrash means a "searching out" or studying, Le., of the Law. The term occurs in 2 Chron. xiii. 22, xxiv. 27. 7 Die Gleichnisreden Jesu im Lichte der Rabbinischen Gleichnisse des neutestamentlichen Zeitalters, p. 1 (1912). 8 Fie big, op. cit., p. 2. 9 C. J. Ball, in The Speaker's Commentary, ii. 307 (1888). 10 Drews, Christusmythe (1910); Ji.ilicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu (1910); Weinel, Neutestamentliche Theologie (1911); Cadoux, The Parables of Jesus: their Art and Use, pp. 15 ff. (undated). 11 The Parables of the Kingdom, p. 11 (1935); cf. also Cadoux, op. cit., p.14. 12 Cp. the interesting chapter on "The Parable and its Point," in Cadoux, op. cit., pp. 43 ff. 13 P. 33. 14 Pp. 51 ff. 15 The corresponding Aramaic is malkutha dishemaja, the emphatic form of the latter word (equivalent to the article in Hebrew) being due to the fact that there is no other form for it in Jewish-Aramaic (cp. Dalman, Die Worte Jesu, p. 75 [1898]).
43
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
16 17 18 19 20 21
22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30
Mishna, Berakoth ii. 2. M. Berakoth ii. 5. Jerusalem Talmud, Kiddushin 59 d. See, e.g., Dalman, op. cit., pp. 79 ff.; Volz, Die Eschatologie der jiidischen Gemeinde im neutestamentlichen Zeitalter, pp. 165 ff. (1934). This date is proved by the many parallels between various passages in the prayer and Ecclesiasticus (circa 190-180 B.c.); for details see the present writer's The Jewish Background of the Christian Liturgy, pp. 55 ff. (1925). This is not the opinion of all scholars; those who hold that "one like unto a son of man" is merely a symbol for Israel naturally deny the supernatural character of the "son of man." But as Nathaniel Schmidt well points out: "A symbolic representation of 'a more humane regime,' 'ein Menschheitsideal,' savours more of modern humanitarian ideas than of the concrete conceptions of Semitic antiquity" (Encycl. Bib!. iv. 4710). See Charles, The Book of Enoch, or 1 Enoch, pp. 85 ff. (1912). Op. cit., p. 84. The various expressions used by our Lord in connexion with the Kingdom of Heaven have been admirably gathered together by Dalman, to whom we express our indebtedness. "Shall drink" is a marginal gloss which has found its way into the present text. Op. cit., pp. 115 f. Op. cit., p.l19. Op. cit., p. 113. Op. cit., pp. 199 ff. Op. cit., pp. 191ff. It is impossible to know how far the evangelists have given the details of their records chronologically; but this certainly seems to have taken place early in our Lord's ministry.
44
25
THE SETTING J. Jeremias Source: The Parables of Jesus, translated by S. H. Hooke (London: SCM Press, 1963), pp. 96-114. (Originally published as Die Gleichnisse Jesu, Ziirich: Zwingli, 1947.)
We are indebted to the results of form criticism for the recognition of the fact that the framework of the gospel narrative is largely secondary, and this is equally true for the parables. Synoptic comparison shows that the parabolic element has been transmitted with greater fidelity than the introduction, interpretation and context. 1 This is of great importance for the right understanding of the parables of Jesus. (a) Secondary Context. The parable of the litigant on the way to the judge (Matt. 5.25 f.; Luke 12.58 f.) belongs, as we have seen, 2 to the crisisparables; its message is, 'Your situation is desperate! Come to terms with your brother before it is too late.' Hence it is one of the eschatological parables, envisaging the imminence of catastrophe. In Matthew the emphasis is diverted from an eschatological to a hortatory purpose; there it serves, together with the simile of the offering (Matt. 5.23 f.), as an illustration of the necessity of reconciliation, 'Give way, or it may be the worse for you!' Thus in Matthew the parable has been inserted into an apparently appropriate secondary setting. The same process may be frequently observed. In Luke, but not in Matthew, the parable of the Great Supper (Luke 14.16-24) has been placed in the setting of table-sayings in which Jesus addresses, first, those invited (14.7), then the host (14.12), and finally one of the guests (14.15 f.); it would seem appropriate to place a parable about a feast in a setting of table-sayings. Hence the parable in its present Lucan setting illustrates the advice to invite the poor, the lame, the halt, and the blind (14.12-14, cf. v. 21),3 while originally it was one of the numerous parables intended to vindicate the gospel message. 4 This also was the original purpose of the parable of the Lost Sheep (Matt. 18.12-14), which in its present Matthaean setting illustrates the warning not to despise one of the little ones. 5 The parable of the Wicked Servant now illustrates the preceding exhortation to unlimited forgiveness (18.21f.), which can hardly have been its original purpose, since in the parable itself nothing is said about repeated
45
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
forgiveness. 6 The question will be dealt with later whether Luke 11.5-8 is really an exhortation to unwearied prayer (cf. 11.9 ff. ).7 All these examples, which might be multiplied, enforce the necessity of always examining critically the context in which a parable has reached us, in order to see whether it agrees with the original meaning of the parable in so far as it is possible to recognize it. The question of the originality becomes specially urgent, since the Gospel of Thomas has transmitted all parables without context. (b) Situations and Transitions Created by the Redactor. A distinction must be made between the cases mentioned above, in which a parable has been inserted into an apparently appropriate setting, and those in which the details of a situation have been added to a parable or its interpretation by the tradition. Thus we repeatedly find situations in the Gospels, in which Jesus addresses a discourse to the public and subsequently reveals the deeper meaning of his words to the trusted circle of his disciples: Mark 4.1 ff., 10 ff.; 7.14 f., 17 ff.; 10.1 ff., 10 ff.; Matt. 13.24 ff., 36 ff.; John 6.22 ff., 60 ff. In an instructive article 8 D. Daube has shown that here we have to do with a pattern which is to be found in rabbinical narratives from the first century AD onwards,9 and is especially employed in controversies between Christians and Jews: 10 a scholar is questioned with polemical intention by a Gentile or by the Minim, gives an answer, and when his interlocutor has departed, reveals the deeper meaning of the problem to his disciples. It would no doubt often have happened that, similarly, after a polemical utterance, Jesus would have given deeper instruction to the narrower circle of the disciples. The probability, however, that the above-mentioned passages imply this pattern, and are not drawing on historical reminiscence, is enhanced by the fact that the introductory verse of such instruction to the disciples frequently exhibits the stylistic peculiarities of the evangelist, 11 and also by the fact that we have already recognized as secondary the interpretations of the parable of the Sower (Mark 4.13 ff.) and of the Tares (Matt. 13.36 ff.), which are introduced in this fashion. In the Gospel of Thomas (20), too, a similar introduction to the parable of the Mustard Seed: 'The disciples said to Jesus: Tell us what the Kingdom of Heaven is like', is secondary by comparison with Mark 4.30, where Jesus himself puts the question, since such questions from the disciples are characteristic of the Gospel of Thomas. 12 Moreover, the introductions to the parables themselves also exhibit an unusual number of the stylistic peculiarities of the individual evangelistsP We must, then, take into account the consideration that much is due to editorial style. It is, for example, not accidental that in the parables of the Tares (Matt. 13.24-30), the Two Sons (21.28-32), and the Wedding Feast (22.1-14), which are inserted by Matthew into a Marcan setting, it is precisely the introductions which betray the hand of Matthew. 14 In the Gospel of Thomas a transition only occurs in Logion 21 b, where the parable of the Burglar is introduced by the phrase 'therefore I say unto you'. 15 46
THE SETTING
Hence the situation in which each parable is set must be tested to see whether it shows signs of redactional activity. We may take Luke 12.41 as an example. At the end of the parable of the Housebreaker it says in Luke: 'And Peter said, Lord, speakest thou this parable unto us only, 16 or even unto all?'-a question which is answered in the first sense by the parable of the Servant set in Authority which immediately follows. Already the omission of the verse by Matthew, who otherwise agrees with the Lucan parallel (Matt. 24.43-51), raises the problem. But the decisive factor is that this question of Peter's, and especially its answer, contradict the original meaning of both parables; since, as we saw on pp. 48 ff., 55 ff., neither of them was an exhortation to the narrow circle of the apostles not to grow negligent in consequence of the delayed Parousia, but an eschatological note of warning addressed to the crowd (the parable of the Housebreaker), or to the scribes (the parable of the Servant set in Authority). Thus in Luke 12.41, we are confronted by a case of a created situation; the linguistic usage shows that it was already in Luke's source; 17 the promotion of the servant of Luke 12.42 ff. over his fellow servants has led to the limitation of the meaning of the parable to the leaders of the community. Especially in Luke do we find frequent examples of situations which have been deduced from the content of the parables and which, on closer examination, are found to be secondary. We saw on pp. 58 ff. that the parable of the Pounds is certainly not, as Luke 19.11 assumes, an announcement of the delay of the Parousia, and it is no accident that we find in this verse a strongly marked accumulation of Lucan stylistic peculiarities. 18 We shall see, furthermore (pp. 156 f.), that the definition of purpose prefixed to the parable of the Unjust Judge in Luke 18.1, "EA.qcv 6£ :n:apa~oA.itv au'to~ :n:po~ 'to 6Eiv :n:av'to't£ :n:pocrdlX£cr8at au'tou~ Kat Jllt £naKdv (despair); can hardly be a correct indication of the aim.of the parable.1 9 Moreover, the dialogue which serves to introduce the parable of the Rich Fool (Luke 12.13-15) appears to have been linked with the parable secondarily, since it is preserved independently in the Gospel of Thomas (without v. 15) (see p. 165). Nevertheless cases may differ considerably: to the situation presented in Luke 15.1-2 neither factual nor linguistic objections can be raised,Z0 and Luke 18.9, too, goes well with the parable that follows (see p. 139). (c) Introductory Formulae. The parables of Jesus, like contemporary parables, have two basic forms. 21 We have (1) the parable beginning with a noun in the nominative (a simple narrative without any introductory formula): Mark 4.3 par.; 12.1 par.; Luke 7.41; 10.30; 12.16; 13.6; 14.16; 15.11; 16.1, 19; 18.2, 10; 19.12; Gospel of Thomas 9 (the Sower); 63 (the Rich Fool); 64 (the Great Supper); 65 (the Wicked Husbandmen); this is the form most commonly found in Luke; (2) the parable beginning with a dative (Aramaic l•). Most of the rabbinical parables begin with the words: masal. le (e.g. a very common form is masal. le melekh se ... 'a parable: like
47
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
a king, who ... ').22 This usage is an abbreviation of: 'emsol l•kha masal. l•ma haddabhar dome? l• ... ('I will relate a parable to you. With what shall the matter be compared? It is the case with it as with ... '). 23 Hence, occasionally, all this may be replaced by the bare dative (1•). 24 In the parables of Jesus, corresponding to the introductory dative with a preceding question, we have in Mark 4.30 f., IT&<; Ol!otffiCH.oi!EV 'tfJV 25 or in Luke ~acnA.Eiav 'tOU ewu; 11 EV 'tlV1 aU't'fJV 1tapa~oA.ii e&I!Ev; roe; 13.20 f., 'ttV1 61lo1rom.o 'tTJV ~acnA.Eiav 'tou 8£0u; 6J.Loia £cniv ...26 Corresponding to the shortened form beginning with the dative we have: roc;,27 rocmEp,28 or in better Greek, OI!01(.il8flcrE't<X1,29 roi!01cll8TJ,30 01!010<; E<J'tlV. 31 The equivalent Aramaic l• underlies all these five forms. This z, is, as we have seen, an abbreviation, and should not be translated 'It is like', but 'It is the case with ... as with .. .' .32 In many cases the content of the parable forces upon our attention the shifting of the real point of comparison which is caused by this ambiguity in the introductory formula. 33 In Matt. 13.45, the Kingdom of God is, of course, not 'like a merchant', but like a pearl; in Matt. 25.1, it is not 'like ten virgins', but like the wedding; in 22.2 it is not 'like a king', but like a marriage feast; in 20.1 it is not 'like a householder', but like a distribution of wages; in 13.24 it is not 'like a man who sowed good seed', but like the harvest; in 18.23 it is not 'like an earthly king', but like the settlement of accounts. In all these cases we shall avoid error by remembering that behind the Greek OI!016<; ecrnv lies an Aramaic l•, which we must translate, 'It is the case with ... as with .. .'. The same holds for the remaining instances in which the ambiguity of the introductory formula is generally overlooked.34 In Matt. 13.31 we should not, after what has been said, translate the introductory formula by 'The Kingdom of God is like a grain of mustard seed', but 'It is the case with the Kingdom of God as with a grain of mustard seed', i.e. the Kingdom of God is not compared to the grain of mustard seed, but to the tall shrub in whose boughs the birds make their nests. In the same way, in Matt. 13.33, the Kingdom of Heaven is not 'like leaven', but like the prepared, risen dough (cf. Rom. 11.16), and in Matt. 13.47 the Kingdom of Heaven is not compared to a seine-net, but the situation at its coming is compared to the sorting out of the fish caught in the seine-net. In the parables the introductory dative occurs with varying frequency in the several Gospels. In Mark it occurs 3 times (4.26, 31; 13.34; always roe;), in Luke 6 times (6.48, 49; 7.32; 12.36; 13.19, 21: always Ol!ot6<; ecrnv, or, without the copula, U!!E~ o11oto1), in Matthew 15 times (25.14: ro<J1tEp; 11.16; 13.31, 33, 44, 45, 47, 52; 20.1: 011016<; ecrnv; 7.24, 26; 25.1: OI!Otffi8TJOE'tat; 13.24; 18.23; 22.2: rol!otffi8TJ), 9 times in the Gospel of Thomas. 35 While Luke predominantly uses the beginning with the nominative, Matthew shows an equal preference for the datival beginning. Thus the expression o11oia E
48
0
.,
THE SETTING
Grain of Mustard Seed, Leaven, Treasure Hid in the Field, Pearl, Seinenet, Wicked Servant, Labourers in the Vineyard, Wedding-feast, Ten Virgins; 8 examples occur in the Gospel of Thomas;36 in Mark it only occurs twice (Seed growing secretly, Mustard Seed), and the same in Luke (Mustard Seed, Leaven); in Luke's special material it is not found at all. Thus we have to do with an introductory formula which Matthew and the Gospel of Thomas prefer, and we must admit the possibility that it has been inserted in various cases, e.g. Matt. 22.2 (otherwise in Luke 14.16 and the Gospel of Thomas 64),37 also Gospel of Thomas 107 where the parable of the Lost Sheep (Matt. 18.12-14; Luke 15.4-7) has become a parable of the ~acnA.eia, 'the Kingdom is like a shepherd .. .' The parable or metaphor in the form of a question is a special case of the nominatival beginning: £av ... ;38 fill ... ;39 f!TJ'tt ... ;40 'tt<; ... ;41 'tt<; £1; Uf!cOV. 42 The last-mentioned question 'tt<; £1; UflcOV, by its direct address, seeks to force the hearer to take up a definite standpoint. Anyone to whom the question might be addressed, 'Can you imagine that a man whose son asks him for a piece of bread, will give him a stone?' (Matt. 7 .9), would indignantly deny it. This 'tt<; £1; Uf!cOV is noteworthy for the fact that it does not seem to have any contemporary parallels.43 It only occurs in the Prophets (Isa. 42.23; 50.10; Hag. 2.3), 44 but not as the introduction to a parable. Hence we are here 'as close as possible to the ipsissima verba Domini'. 45 Jesus prefers to use these emphatic questions in disputes with opponents or in addressing the crowds. 46 This is expressly stated in Matt. 12.11 (par. Luke 14.5), Luke 15.4 (opponents) and 14.28 (crowd); it is a sound conjecture in Matt. 7.9 (par. Luke 11.11, see pp. 158 f.), and it may be regarded as a possibility in Matt. 6.27 (par. Luke 12.25, seep. 171) and Luke 17.7 (seep. 193). (d) The Conclusion of the Parables. What do the parables mean? What message have they for the community? What practical directions, what consolation, what promises, has the Lord given us in his parables? Such were the questions which occupied the mind of the primitive Church when they related the parables of Jesus and meditated upon them. This enables us to understand how it is that the most important expansions and recastings of the parables occur where it is a question of the meaning and application of the stories, i.e. at the end. The parables have been transmitted to us with very varied endings. Some of them are limited to the symbolic material, some insert a brief comparison or a detailed interpretation, some end with an injunction, a question, or an instruction. In which of such cases is an expansion to be seen? In attempting an answer to this we shall do well to distinguish between expansions of the actual parable-material, and those which concern its application. 1. It is no accident, but agrees rather with what has been said above, that the cases are rare in which there had been an expansion of the parable material itself, the so-called symbolic part. In some of these cases the
49
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
cause of the expansion is entirely external. To the little parable about the new wine which must not be put into old wine-skins (Luke 5.37 f.) the tradition has added the sentence: 'And no man having drunk old wine desireth new; for the saith: The old is better'47 (Luke 5.39; the Gospel of Thomas 47b with the sentence prefixed). The addition is unfortunate, for, while the parable sets forth the incompatibility of the new wine with the old, the new wine being a symbol of the New Age, the addition emphasizes the superiority of the old. Evidently the addition is due to an entirely external cause, the catchword oivo<; vtoc;. 48 A similar case, only not so obvious, occurs in Luke 12.42-46, in the parable of the Servant entrusted with Authority. To this Luke has added a logion in antithetic parallelism setting forth the different degrees of punishment inflicted upon disobedient servants, according to whether they knew their lord's will or not (vv. 47-48a). The logion, which is missing in Matthew, ill consorts with the content of the parable, since the latter is not concerned with knowledge or ignorance of the lord's will, but with the use or abuse of the entrusted authority. The description of the punishment of the unfaithful servant (12.46) has attracted to itself the logion dealing with the varying degrees of punishment. Further examples of the secondary expansion of the conclusion of the symbolic part of a parable may be mentioned: Mark 2.19b-20 (see p. 52, n. 14); Matt. 21.41b (cf. Mark 12.9!); Matt. 22.11-13 (see pp. 65 f.); Luke 12.37b (see pp. 53 f.); Luke 19.27 (see p. 59); finally, Matthew has three times concluded a parable with his characteristic (Matt. 6 times, Luke once) closing formula: El\:d ecr'tat o KA.aue~o<; Kat 6 ~puy~o<; 'tWV 606v'trov (Matt. 22.13; 24, 51c; 25.30); in two cases he has prefixed to this closing formula the expression, also characteristic of him, de; 'to crKo'to<; 'tO £1;ro'tEpov (only found in Matthew in the NT), 22.13, and 25.30. 'Wailing and gnashing of teeth' is there a symbol of despair, a despair caused by a salvation forfeited by one's own fault. 2. Far more numerous than such expanded conclusions of the symbolic part of the parable are the cases in which the expansion relates to the application of the parable, either by adding an application to a parable which has no interpretation, or by expanding an earlier application. We shall deal first with the cases in which parables without an interpretation have been secondarily provided with an application. Eight parables end abruptly without an explicit application; Mark 4.26-29 (Patient Husbandman); 4.30--32 (Mustard Seed); Matt. 13.33 par. Luke 13.20 f. (Leaven); Matt. 13.44 (Treasure in the Field); 13.45 f. (Pearl); 24.45-51 par. Luke 12.42-46 (Faithful and Unfaithful Servant); Luke 13.6-9 (Barren Figtree); 15.11-32 (the Father's Love). Originally, however, the number of these parables in which Jesus left his hearers to draw their own conclusions was considerably greater. This can be seen from the Gospel of Thomas where all the parables except the Burglar (21b), the Great Supper (64), and the Pearl (76), end without an interpretation. It is easy to under50
THE SETTING
stand that a tendency to provide an application for parables which had no interpretation would arise at an early date. The clearest example is furnished by the three parables to which a detailed interpretation has been secondarily supplied: Mark 4.13-20 (see pp. 77 ff.); Matt. 13.36-43, 49-50 (see pp. 81 ff.). These three cases, however, do not stand alone. The group of logia in Luke 11.9-13, preserved by Matthew as an independent unit (7.7-11), has been used by Luke as the application of the parable of the Importunate Friend (Luke 11.5-8); since the transition (11.9: 1eayro u11tv 'Aeyro with UIJ.iV preceding) is a peculiarity of the Lucan source,49 and there is also the occurrence of the association of ideas ('knocking' in v. 5 and v. 9 f.), the linking of the two passages in Luke is secondary. The point of the parable has been distorted by this expansion. Originally, as we shall see on pp. 157 ff., the focus of the story was the helping friend (God helps as unconditionally as the friend did), but the Lucan interpretation places the praying friend in the centre of the picture (men ought always to pray and not to faint). The parable of the Labourers in the Vineyard becomes intelligible if we discard the secondary concluding interpretation in Matt. 20.16 (see pp. 36 f.). The logion which forms the interpretation of the parable of the Supper in Matthew: 7toAAot yap K/..:rp:oi, o/ciyot o€ EKA£K't0l (22.14), does not agree with the story; since the truth that only a small number will be saved is not inculcated either in Matt. 22.1-10 (the guest-room is full), nor in 22.11-13 (only one unworthy guest is rejected). Similarly, Luke 14.33 does not agree with the preceding parables of the Tower Builder and the King Going to War (14.28-32), since in both parables it is a question of self-testing, not of self-sacrifice. The closing application in Matt. 12.45c: o1'>'tro<; ecr'tat (a literary characteristic of Matthew, seep. 84, n. 74) Kat 'tTI yevef!. 'taU'tll 'tTI 7tOV1lPf!. which applies the parable of the return of the expelled evil spirit to the Jewish people, is missing from Luke; this is all the more remarkable, since Matt. 12.43-45 and Luke 11.24-26, with only slight verbal differences, are in complete agreement. The exhortation to watchfulness (Matt. 25.13), which serves as the interpretation of the parable of the Ten Virgins, can easily be recognized as an expansion, since it does not agree with the parable (see pp. 51 f.). The closing sentence, too, of the parable of the Rich Fool: 'So (foolishly50 behaves the man) who heaps up treasure for himself and does not gather wealth51 toward God' (Luke 12.21), must be an addition;sz it is missing from the Gospel of Thomas (63), and gives a moralizing meaning to the parable, which blunts the sharp edge of its warning. The eschatological warning (Fool, obsessed by his possessions and unconscious of the sword of Damocles hanging over his head, see pp. 164 f.), has been transformed into a warning against the wrong use of possessions (Fool, heaping up wealth, instead of entrusting it to God). The maxim in Matt. 25.29, parallel Luke 19.26, has been preserved elsewhere as an independent logion (see p. 62, n. 60). Luke 12.47 f. is missing in Matthew. In the Gospel of 51
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
Thomas the parable of the Pearl ends with the following hortatory application: 'Do you also seek for his treasure (the merchant's) which fails not, (but) which endures, there where no moth comes near to devour, and where no worm destroys'. 53 A special problem is presented by the cases in which the same simile or parable has been transmitted with divergent applications. Thus the simile of the lamp under the bushel is applied in Matthew to Jesus' disciples (5.16), while in Mark and in the Gospel of Thomas (33b) it is apparently applied to the gospel (4.22), see p. 120. To the simile of the salt Matthew gives the interpretation at the beginning (5.13a: 'Ye are the salt of the earth'), while Mark gives a different app1ication at the end (9.50b). In exactly the same way Luke has placed the application of the parable of the Supper at the beginning in the form of a logion (14.12-14), while in Matthew a different application comes at the end of the parable (22.14). Moreover, an application has been prefixed to the parable of the invited guests in the version found in the D-text of Matthew 20.28: 'But do you seek from little to become great, and from great to become less.' 54 In Luke 14.11, on the other hand, a related though different application comes at the end ('Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled by God, but he who humbles himself will be exalted by God'). In Luke 18.14b the interpretation just quoted recurs as the conclusion of the parable of the Pharisee and the Publican, while in Matt. 23.12 (cf. 18.4) it is found as an independent logion; and from this it might be inferred that in Luke 14.11 it is secondary. Such an inference would be mistaken-a warning to be cautious, since in Lev. r. 1.5 (to 1.1) we have a corresponding table-rule of Shim'on b. 'Azzai (c. AD 110), 'Stand two or three places below your (proper) place and wait, until they say to you, "Come up here", etc.', concluded by the following saying, closely related to Luke 14.11, 'And so has Hillel (20 BC) said: "My humiliation is my exaltation, and my exaltation is my humiliation".' (On the other hand it is not equally certain whether the sentence is also original in Luke 18.14b; it is quite appropriate so far as its content is concerned, but it has been objected that it gives the parable 'a suggestion of popular morality which is wholly out of keeping with its wording'.) 55 With regard to such cases of divergent applications it may often remain uncertain whether Jesus himself used the same simile on different occasions with a different application, or whether only one of the applications is original, or whether the simile was transmitted without an interpretation and all the applications are secondary. 3. Very often an existing interpretation has been modified or expanded. The parable of the Unjust Steward provides a typical example of this; it may be recalled that in this case the old interpretation in Luke 16.8a has been enlarged by a whole series of further interpretations (16.8b-13, see pp. 45 ff.). In the parable of the Wicked Husbandmen (Mark 12.1-9 and 52
THE SETTING
parallels) three stages of the expansion may be observed: before Mark a secondary proof-text was added (vv. 10f.); Matthew and Luke have added to this proof-text an expository comment in the form of a description of the destructive activity of the stone mentioned in the passage from the Old Testament (Matt. 21.44;56 Luke 20.18), and Matthew has applied the parable to Israel and the Gentiles (Matt. 21.43)57 which constitutes the third stage, and which disrupts the connection between the proof-text (v. 42) and its exposition (v. 44). Thus the three stages of the expansion are: (1) Mark 12.10 f. = Matt. 21.42; (2) Matt. 21.44 par. Luke 20.18; (3) Matt. 21.43. In Matt. 21.32 we can recognize Jesus' interpretation of the parable in 21.31b as secondarily applied to the Baptist (21.32, see pp. 80 f.). The concluding command in Mark 13.37 is missing in Luke 12.35-38; Matthew has prefixed the same command (yprryopdtE) to the parable of the Burglar (24.42), thus he (but not Luke) has enclosed the parable in two identically similar warnings. In the Gospel of Thomas, as against Matthew and Luke, the concluding command in the parable of the Burglar is expanded by the warning, 'with loins girded' (21b). The parabolic saying about 'the sign of Jonah' is interpreted by Luke (11.30) as God's legitimation of his messenger through his deliverance from death; in Matt. 12.40 this interpretation is expanded and its emphasis shifted: the point of comparison is now the period of three days and three nights (Jonah 2.1). 58 Specially noteworthy is the way in which the simile of the two kinds of tree acquires a new and secondary interpretation: it is fused with the simile of the two kinds of treasure in such a way as to make the latter an interpretation of the former (Matt. 12.33-35).59 The double simile of the City on a Hill and the Lamp (Matt. 5.14b-15; Gospel of Thomas 32), is interpreted by Thomas, through the insertion of the logion about the Preaching from the Housetops (33a), as referring to preaching; in Matthew it has two interpretations, one at the beginning (v. 14a) and one at the end (v. 16); the latter was, perhaps, originally an independent simile. An example of the way in which an existing interpretation can have its meaning altered without a change in its wording is to be found in Matt. 18.35: OU'tCO~ lC
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
Matt. 13.9; Luke 8.8), after the simile of the Lamp, only in Mark (4.23), and after the simile of the Salt, only in Luke (14.35); lastly, Matthew has it after the saying about Elijah (11.15), and as the conclusion of his interpretation of the parable of the Tares (13.43). On the other hand, the Gospel of Thomas gives the warning-cry as the conclusion of no less than five parables,61 doubtless as an appeal to the Gnostics to give careful heed to the secret meaning of the parables. This survey shows that the warning-cry is in most cases secondary. 62 4. The most important observation which results from the study of these secondary and expanded interpretations is that there was a strong tendency to add conclusions to the parables in the form of generalizing logia. 63 Where such generalizations are found, they are predominantly secondary in their present context;64 we must emphasize the point that it is their present place in the context which is secondary, and that we are not in any way calling in question the authenticity of the logia themselves, but only insisting that they were not originally uttered as the conclusion of a parable. 65 This is supported by the fact that they are entirely missing from the Gospel of Thomas. By employing them in this way it was intended to give the parables the widest possible application. A typical example of this tendency may be seen in the fact that the parable of the Labourers in the Vineyard displays two successive expansions by a generalizing logion (Matt. 20.16a, 16b, see pp. 34ff.) and also that the secondary parable of the Closed Door (Luke 13.22-30, seep. 96) has in v. 30 been provided with a generalizing conclusion. As the result of our discussion in pp. 105-10, the following parables and similes appear to have acquired a secondary generalizing conclusion: 66
ou yap ecr'ti.v n Kpu1t't6v, EfxV ~lJ t va. cpa.vEpro8ii. ouof: EYEVE'tO a1t6Kpucpov, af...f...' tva. EASTI ti~ cpa.vEpOV. The Measure (Mark 4.25):67 0~ yap EXEt, oo8TjO"E'ta.t a.u'tt!)· Ka.t 0~ OUK EXEt, Ka.t 0 EXEt apSTjcrE'ta.t· a1t' a.u'tou. The Doorkeeper (Mark 13.37): o of: u~l:v Myro, m'icrtv Myro, YPllYOPEt'tE. The Labourers in the Vineyard (1) ou'tro~ £crov'ta.t oi £crxa.'tot 7tp&'tot Ka.t (Matt. 20.16a, 16b): oi np&'tot £crxa.'tot · (2) 1to'AA.o\. yap Eicrtv KATJ'toi, 6/...iym of: EKAEK'toi. The Wicked Husbandmen Ka.l. (Lk. 1tti~) 6 1tEO"cOV E1tt 'tOV (Matt. 21.44;68 Luke 20.18): A.l.Sov 'tOU'tov (Lk. E1t' EKE1vov 'tOV A.i8ov), cruvSA.a.crSTjcrE'ta.t· Ecp' ov o'&v 1tEO"TJ, AtKflTJO"Et a.u't6v. The Lamp (Mark 4.22):
54
THE SETTING
1toUol. yap den v KA'll'toi., 6A.i.yot 8£ EKAEK'toi.. YPllYOPEi't£ o{)v, O'tt OUK OtOa't£ 'tlJV TJilEP<XV OUOE 'tlJV ropav. The Talents (and the Pounds) -riiJ yap exov-rt 1ravri 008ljcr£'tat K<Xl 7t£ptcrcr£u8ljcr£'t<Xl. (Matt. 25.29 par. Luke 19.26): -roil 8£ lllJ exov-ro<; Kat exn apef]cr£-rm a1t' au-rou. 1tfi<; yap 6 ai -rrov A.all~avet ... The Friend Begging for Help
The Wedding Feast (Matt. 22. 14): The Ten Virgins (Matt. 25.13):
o
(Luke 11.10): The Rich Fool (Luke 12.21 ):
o'\:mo<; 6 61]cravpi(m V <XU'tii) K<Xl lllJ d<; 8EOV 1tAOU'tWV. The Servant entrusted with 1ravri o£ Q) £068111toA.u, Authority (Luke 12.48b): 1tOA:o sll'tll8fJcr£-rat 1tap' au-rou, K<Xl Ql1t<Xp€.8£V't0 1t0AU, 7tEptcrcr6't£pOV <Xt'tljcroucrt V <XU'tOV. The Closed Door (Luke 13.30): K<Xl tOOU EtcrtV ecrxarOl, Ol tcrOV'tat 7tpW'tOt, Kat eicrl. v 1rpiinot, Ol tcrOV't<Xt EcrX<X'tOt. The Unjust Steward 6 7ttcr-ro<; tv £A.axicr-rcp (Luke 16.10): K<Xt EV 1tOAAii)7ttcr't6<; ecr'tl V' Kai. 6 £v £A.axicr-rcp &OtKo<; K<Xl EV 1tOAAii) aOtKO<; Ecr'tlv. oUOd<; OtKE'tll<; OUV<X'tat oucrt KUptot<; (16.13): OOUAEUElV ... O'tl1tU<; 6 uwrov E<XU'tOV 't<X1t£lV(I)8ljcr£'tat, Pharisees and Publicans 6 o£ -ra1t£tvrov tau-rov uw(l)ef]cr£-rat.69 (Luke 18.14b):
A survey of these generalizing conclusions shows that they deal only sporadically with guidance for daily life, but that the majority consist of eschatological promises, threats, and warnings. The recognition of the fact that these generalizing conclusions occupy a secondary place in their context is of the greatest importance for the understanding of the parables concerned, since their emphasis, as the result of the new conclusion, has in nearly every case been shifted, often fundamentally. But even when the generalization agrees with the meaning of the parable (Luke 18.14b) or at least is not incompatible with it (so, for instance, Luke 12.21), the recognition of its secondary nature is significant, since, through the addition of such generalizations, the parables concerned have acquired a moralizing sense which obscures the original situation and blunts the sense of conflict, the sharp edge of the eschatological warning, the sternness of the threat. The parable of the Labourers in the Vineyard, which is intended to vindicate, in an actual situation, the good news in the face of its critics, to assert 55
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
God's goodness, has been transformed, through a generalizing conclusion (the last shall be first and the first last), into a general instruction about degrees of importance in the Kingdom of Heaven, or about the unconditional nature of divine grace.7° The parable of the Unjust Steward, which is a summons to those who hesitate to decide on a fresh start in view of the threatened crisis, has, by the insertion of the sentence, 'He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much, and he that is unfaithful in that which is least is unfaithful also in much', been transformed into a general moral lesson. The recognition of the secondary character of these generalizing conclusions is also important for the total understanding of the parables. It is the voice of the Christian preacher or teacher, bent on interpreting the Lord's message,7 1 which we hear in the insertion of generalizing conclusions. We see in them how early the tendency arose to make the parables of Jesus serviceable in this way for the Christian community, giving them thus a general instructional or hortatory meaning. This is the tendency which finally succeeded in transforming Jesus into a Teacher of Wisdom, and which, as we saw on p. 19, celebrated its greatest triumph at the close of the last century in Jtilicher's exposition of the parables. This method of facilitating the application of the parables to ecclesiastical exhortation was specially favoured by Luke (or at least by his sources), while Matthew sought to attain the same end by the method of allegorical interpretation. Hence we can only hope to recover the original meaning of the parables of Jesus by an interpretation which resolutely takes this tendency into account and makes allowance for it. Summing up, then, the results of our enquiry. The parables have a twofold historical setting. First, the original historical setting, not only of the parables, but of all the sayings of Jesus, is their individual, concrete situation in the activity of Jesus. Then, secondly, they went on to live in the primitive Church. We only know the parables in the form which they received from the primitive Church; hence we are faced with the task of recovering their original form in so far as that is possible for us. Observation of the following laws of transformation will help us in this task. 1. The translation of the parables into Greek involved an inevitable change in their meaning. 2. For the same reason representational material is occasionally 'translated'. 3. Pleasure in the embellishment of the parables is noticeable at an early date. 4. Occasionally passages of Scripture and folk-story themes have influenced the shaping of the material. 5. Parables which were originally addressed to opponents or to the crowd have in many cases been applied by the primitive Church to the Christian community. 56
THE SETTING
6. This led to an increasing shift of emphasis to the hortatory aspect, especially from the eschatological to the hortatory. 7. The primitive Church related the parables to its own actual situation, whose chief features were the missionary motive and the delay of the Parowia; it interpreted and expanded them with these factors in view. 8. To an increasing degree the primitive Church interpreted the parables allegorically with a view to their hortatory use. 9. The primitive Church made collections of parables, and occasionally two parables were fused together. 10. The primitive Church provided the parables with a setting, and this often produced a change in the meaning; in particular, by the addition of generalizing conclusions, many parables acquired a universal meanmg. The analysis of the parables with the help of these ten laws of transformation was, in the first five editions of this book, confined to the synoptic material. In the meantime the Gospel of Thomas has been discovered. The fact that this has confirmed the results of our analysis to a surprising degree proves that it has been conducted on the right lines. These ten laws of transformation are ten aids to the recovery of the original meaning of the parables of Jesus. They will help us to lift in some measure here and there the veil, sometimes thin, sometimes almost impenetrable, which has fallen upon the parables of Jesus. Our task is a return to the actual living voice of Jesus. How great the gain if we succeed in rediscovering here and there behind the veil the features of the Son of Man! Everything depends on his Word. To meet with him can alone give power to our preaching.
Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6
7 8 9 10 11
Cf. N. A. Dahl, RGG3, II, 1958, col. 1618 (art. 'Gleichnis und Parabel'). See pp. 43 f. Seep. 45. See pp. 45, 176 ff. See pp. 39, 132 ff. Luke does not know the connection between 17.3 f. and the parable. Moreover, the lha wu,;o (Matt. 18.23) indicating the link between Matt. 18.21 f. and the parable of the Unmerciful Servant, is a linguistic peculiarity of Matthew. See pp. 157 ff. 'Public Pronouncement and Private Explanation in the Gospels', in Exp. T., 57 (1945-46), pp. 175-177. Reproduced in D. Daube, The New Testament and Rabbinic Judaism, London, 1956, pp. 141-50. j.Sanh. l.l9b; Pesiq. 40ab; b.Hull. 27b; Lev.r. 4 (on 4.1 f.). j.Ber. 9.12d-13a. Mark 7.17 f.: d~ o1xov (only found in Mark in the NT, and there always in redactional introduction), btEponfiv, Kat AE:yn (hist. pres.); 10.10 f.: 7tUAlV, btepomiv, JCai. A.tyet; on Matt. 13.36, see pp. 82 f. 57
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
12 Cf., e.g., logion 18, 21a, 24, 37, 51, 53. 13 Cf. the tables of the linguistic peculiarities of the first three evangelists in Hawkins, pp. 4 ff. The fact that the linguistic and stylistic peculiarities of the evangelists occur most frequently in the introductions to the parables, is to be observed equally in each of the three Synoptists. 14 AAA.T]v na.p~o'A:r'lv 1ta.pE8T]KEV and 'AEyrov (Matt. 13.24), 1:i o£ UJ.!iv OoKet (21.28), 6.noKpt8dc; Einev and 'A£yrov (22.1) are linguistic peculiarities of Matthew. 15 See above, p. 87. 16 See above, p. 39, n. 59. 17 Kupte (v. 41) and 6 Kupw<; used of Jesus in the narrative (v. 42), are characteristic of the Lucan source. 18 Lucan characteristics are, the skilful phrasing, 6.Kou6v1:rov o£ a:inrov 1:a'ina (cf. Luke 20.45), npoun8£vm (Luke 7 times, Acts 6 times, elsewhere in the N.T. 5 times), ot6. 1:6 with the i'!_.finitive (Matt. twice, Mark 3 times, John once, Luke and Acts 8 times each), Eivat after a preposition and article (never in Matthew and Mark, Luke 7 times, Acts 3 times), 'lepouua'A:r'IJ.l (Luke and Acts 66 times, Matthew twice, never in Mark), napaxpl1J.la (in the N.T., except Matt. 21.19 f., only in Luke and Acts 16 times), 6.vaq>aiveu8at (only in Acts 21.3 elsewhere in the N.T.). 19 Seep. 156 below. Lucan style in 18.1: see above, p. 93, n. 13. 20 Luke 15.1-3 has been thoroughly worked over by Luke, though not all the comments made in this connection are apt. F. Hauck, Das Evangelium des Lukas, Leipzig, 1934, p. 195, has noted three Lucan peculiarities in 15.2, but wrongly: (a) otayoyyul;ew (in the N.T. only Luke 15.2 and 19.7) is a peculiarity of the Lucan source, not of Luke himself. (b) 1:e might be claimed as a Lucan characteristic because it occurs 140 times in Acts. The evidence in the gospel, however, calls for caution. There are only 8 instances of 1:£, 6 of them in the Lucan source, and only two (both 21.11) in a passage drawn from Mark. Apparently Luke was not in the habit of introducing ,;e into his Voriagen, although he had plenty of opportunity to do so. (c) npouo£xeu8at occurs 5 times in Luke (Mark once), but this is the only place where it means 'to receive (guests)'. 21 P. Fiebig, Rabbinische Gleichnisse, Leipzig, 1929, p. 3, n. 4. 22 Examples in Bill., 11, p. 8, and in P. Fiebig, op. cit., p. 3, 1. 4; p. 4, 1. 12; p. 9, 1. 7; p. 10, 1. 15; p. 14, 11. 5f.; p. 17, 11. 6, 20 f.; p. 21, 1. 11; p. 22, 1. 7; p. 23, 1. 7 et al. 23 Examples: Bill., II, pp. 8 f.; Fiebig, op. cit., p. 27, 11. 3 f.; p. 32, 11. 1 f.; p. 34, 11. 1 f., 13 f., et al. 24 Bill., 11, pp. 7 f.; Fiebig, op. cit., p. 20, 1. 7; p. 38, 11. 6, 14, 17; p. 39, 11. 5, 8 et al. 25 Also with par. membr. Luke 7.31 f.; 13.18 f. 26 Also without par. membr. Matt. 11.16. (Luke 6.47 has an indirect question instead of a direct question.) 27 Mark 13.34; cf. 4.31. With ou,;roc; eu,;iv prefixed, 4.26 (improvement of Greek). 28 Matt. 25.14. 29 Matt. 7.24, 26; 25.1. 30 Matt. 13.24; 18.23; 22.2. 31 Matt. 13.31, 33, 44, 45, 47, 52; 20.1; Luke 6.49; 12.36. "OJ.1ot6<; eunv is most grecized. For while 6J.1otro8i]ue,;at, OOJ.lotOOST] refer to a previous subject which is about to be described, OJ.1ot6<; eunv often gives the erroneous impression of an identification. 32 A rabbinical example is to be found in j. Ber. 2.5c (funeral oration at the grave of Rabbi Bun): 'To whom shall Rabbi Bun bar Rabbi lfijja be compared? Lcmelekh who hired many labourers .... ' (Rabbi Bun being a specially industrious labourer, for which reason God allowed him to die young). This must not
58
THE SETTING
33 34
35
36 37
38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48
49 50 51
52 53 54 55
be translated, 'He is like a king who hired many labourers', but rather, 'His case is like that of a king who hired many labourers', see pp. 138 f. P. Fie big, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu, Ti.ibingen, 1912, p. 12, 131. This has already taken place in the Gospel of Thomas, where (except the parable of the Mustard Seed) the ~a.crtA.Eiu is always compared with a person, even in the parable of the Leaven (96, 'the Kingdom is like a woman, who ... '), and that of the Treasure in the Field (109, 'the Kingdom is like a man, who .. .'), and that of the Great Fish (8, 'the Kingdom [conjectural] is like a wise fisherman, who ... '). Cf. H. W. Montefiore, 'A Comparison of the Parables of the Gospel According to Thomas and of the Synoptic Gospels', in NTS, 7 (1960--61), pp. 246 f. Mustard Seed (20); Little Children in the Field (21a); Tares (57); Pearl (76); Leaven (96); Careless Woman (97); Attacker (98); Lost Sheep (107); Hidden Treasure (109). Seen. 57 with the exception of logion 2la. See pp. 65, 67 f. Similarly in rabbinical literature a king becomes the subject of secondary parables, e.g. in Sifr. Dt. §26 on 3.23; the king is missing from the parallel passages in Yoma 86b; Num.r. 19 on 20.12. Cf. G. Kittel, Sifre zu Deuteronomium, Stuttgart, 1922, p. 36, n. 5. On pp. 138 f. it is interesting to observe that a N.T. parable dealing with a 'householder', in its Talmudic form has become a king-parable. Mark 9.50; Matt. 18.12. Mark 2.19 par. Mark 4.21; Luke 6.39. Matt. 24.45 (par. Luke 12.42); Luke 14.31; 15.8, cf. Matt. 17.25 (uno 'tivoov). Matt. 6.27 (par. Luke 12.25); Matt. 7.9 (par. Luke 11.11); Matt. 12.11 (par. Luke 14.5); Luke 11.5; 14.28; 15.4; 17.7. H. Greeven, '"Wer unter euch ... ?"',in Wart und Dienst, Jahrbuch der Theologischen Schule Bethel, N.S., 3 (1952), p. 100. Op. cit., p. 100, n. 14. Op. cit., p. 101. The only exception might be Luke 11.5 (see pp. 158 f.). Xpl]cr't6c; ='better'. Semitic speech has no comparative. It is difficult to see how Luke intended v. 39 in its present context to be understood. A. T. Cadoux, The Parables of Jesus, New York, 1931, pp. 128 f., suggests that by the old wine Luke meant the Old Testament, and by the new wine the Halachah. See p. 45, n. 80. Cf. p. 46, n. 83. IU..ou'tEi:v has here the same active meaning as the parallel 8T]cra.upi~Etv, 'to enrich oneself (P. Joi.ion, Recherches de science religieuse, 29 (1939), p. 487). As in Matt. 6.19-21, it is a question of where the treasure has been laid up; the fool is he who has laid up treasure for himself on earth; the wise man, on the other hand, has entrusted it to God. Cf. D. Buzy, 'Les sentences finales des paraboles evangeliques', in Revue biblique, 40 (1931), pp. 321--44; M. Dibelius, Die Formgeschichte des Evangeliums2, Ti.ibingen, 1933, p. 258. Cf. Matt. 6.19 f.; Luke 12.33. On this agraphon, cf. J. Jeremias, Unknown Sayings of Jesus 2 , London, 1964, p. 39. Thus M. Dibelius, Die Formgeschichte des Evangeliums2, Ti.ibingen, 1933, 59
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
56 57 58 59 60
61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69
70 71
p. 254, somewhat too dogmatically, and failing to observe the possibility that the future tenses refer to God's action at the Last Judgement (seep. 142). The fact that the verse is wanting in D it sysin in no way justifies its omission, cf. J. Jeremias, The Eucharistic Words of Jesusz, London, 1966, pp. 145-52, on the shortened text in D it vet.-syr. Seep. 77. Cf. ThWBNT, Ill, p. 412.32 ff., and in this book, p. 187, n. 65. Seep. 94. This limitation of the meaning of UlieA.cp6c; is characteristic of Matthew. Following the well-established early Christian usage, he seems to use the word, except when it refers to a blood-brother, entirely of a Christian brother. This usage goes back to Jesus himself (Mark 3.33-35 par.). Yet in most cases it is clear that, as in Matt. 18.35, the limitation of the wider implication of the word is due to a secondary Christian interpretation: thus in Matt. 5.22; 18.15, 21 (Jesus in these passages is referring to Lev. 19.17: 'Thou shalt not hate thy brother in thine heart: thou shalt surely rebuke thy neighbour'); in 5.23 f. (where the parallel in Mark 11.25 has 'ttc; instead of UlieA.cp6c;), 47 (where the second half of the verse says that the Gentiles limit their affectionate greetings to their compatriots); in 7.3-5 (seep. 167, n. 75); and in 25.40 (seep. 207). It would see that in all these passages alieA.cp6c; had originally the wider meaning of 'neighbour, compatriot'. Matthew's tendency to Christianize the word is substantiated by the comparison of Matt. 12.49 (£nl. 'touc; JlU8T]'tac; a.il'tou) with Mark 3.34 ('to'bc; nepl. a.il'tov KUKA(!) KU8T]JlEvouc;). This secondary Christianization of alieA.cp6c; only occurs in Luke in two places (6.41f.; 17.3 f.), and never in Mark. The Gospel of the Nazarenes agrees with Mark in representing Jesus as using the word 'brother', unless it means a blood-brother, in the broader sense of 'neighbour' (J. Jeremias, Unknown Sayings of Jesus2 , London, 1964, pp. 44 ff., 94-96): a sign of ancient tradition. The Great Fish (8), the Rich Fool (63), the Wicked Husbandmen (65), the Leaven (96), and at the end of a parabolic conglomerate (21). Cf., for example, on Matt. 13.43, p. 84, n. 88. B. T. D. Smith, p. 179. Certainly not always. Cf. the conjectures concerning Luke 14.11, p. 107. This has also been widely recognized by Catholic exegesis, cf. D. Buzy, see above, p. 106, n. 74; M. Hermaniuk, La Parabole evangelique, Bruges-ParisLouvain, 1947,passim. The generalizing expressions are italicized throughout the list. Seep. 91. On the originality of the verse, seep. 108, n. 78. _ To these examples should be added Luke 14.33 (oi'moc; ouv nfi.c; £1; UJlrov), if, as most commentators assume, the logion did not originally belong to the double parable of the Tower-builder and the King planning a Campaign. The double parable is an exhortation to self-examination, not to self-denial. See pp. 34-36. F. C. Grant, Anglican Theological Review, 30 (1948), p. 120.
60
26 SIMILITUDES, PARABLES, ILLUSTRATIONS, ALLEGORIES W. 0. E. Oesterley Source: Parables of Jesus: Introduction and Exposition, translated by John Sturdy (London: SPCK, 1966), pp. 3--33. (Originally published as Gleichnisse Jesu: Einfiihrung und Auslegung, Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1961.)
The parable is a universally used figure of speech. Jesus was by no means the first teller of parables. He did not invent this stylistic form, but took it over; though it must be said that he handled it with extreme skill. The parable includes several types of "figurative" speech, each of which has its own characteristics, a knowledge of which is indispensable for the interpretation of the parables. 1 These types are: 1. The similitude. 2. The parable proper. 3. The illustration. 4. The allegory.
Similitude and parable The parable in the wider sense includes the similitude, but in a narrower sense is contrasted with it. The similitude tells of "a typical situation or a typical or regular event", the parable "some interesting particular case" .2 "The image in the similitude is taken from real life as everyone knows it, and refers to things that happen every day, to circumstances that even the most ill-willed must admit exist": this is how it always happens when leaven is added to meal (Matt. 13.33), when someone sows mustard-seed (Matt. 13.31f), when grain ripens to harvest (Mark 4.26-9). This is how every master behaves to his servant (Luke 17.7-10), how every father gives his son good gifts (Luke 11.11-13). This is how everyone rejoices at finding a lost sheep or a lost coin again (Luke 15.4-10). And would not everyone do all he could to secure for himself a treasure trove (Matt. 13.44-6)? For that reason many similitudes begin with the words "Which of you ... ?" (Luke 11.5; 11.11; 14.28; 15.4; 17.7; etc.). In the parables proper on the other hand we are told freely composed stories. "We are not shown what everyone does, what simply cannot be different, but what someone did once, whether or not other people would do it the same way." 3 "There was a rich man who had a steward ... " (Luke 16.1). "There was a man who had two sons ... " (Matt. 21.28). "There was 61
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
a man who gave a great banquet ... " (Luke 14.16). "In a certain city there was a judge ... " (Luke 18.2). These are typical beginnings of parables. "The similitude appeals to what is universally valid, the parable proper to what has happened only once .... The similitude guards against any opposition, since it only speaks of established facts; the parable hopes to avoid all opposition, by telling its story so attractively, so warmly and freshly that the listener simply does not think of objections. It makes it all seem so probable to him that he does not ask if it is true. What the similitude gains from the authority of what is generally known and recognized, the parable replaces by its perspicuity. The parable is even a higher form, because it is more subtle, and its bias less obvious. The similitude uses words like 'no one', 'no .. .', 'everyone', 'whenever', 'as often as', etc.; it tries as it were to overwhelm the listener by the weight of its generalizations, of its 'semper, ubique et ab omnibus'. The parable gently gives up this use of force, it says: 'Listener, let me tell you just one story; if it doesn't win you over I'll be silent. .. .' The individual instance comes before the eyes of the listener with total objectivity, the story-teller never allows himself, and what he thinks and feels, to look through the meshes of his net. But the parable has, like the Sibyl, become richer by renunciation; a well-composed story creates the impression of a law to which one must submit, even more strongly than if it is proclaimed in advance that by the laws of human behaviour everyone must act in such a way under such and such circumstances. " 4
The illustration Illustrations must be distinguished from similitudes and parables. Among them are to be found in the Gospels the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10.29-37), of the rich fool (Luke 12.16--21), of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16.19-31), and of the Pharisee and the tax-collector (Luke 18.9-14). Illustrations have this in common with parables proper, that they are invented stories and are subject to the same laws of story-telling.• They too are meant to be a form of argument.b But the way they work is different: the parable adduces a correspondence (analogia) but the illustration produces an example (exemplum). The parable gets its power of argument from the fact that what is admitted in one case can hardly be contested in another exactly corresponding case. The illustration works by reality itself, on the evidence of the example, appearing to prove the narrator right.c • Cf. below, pp. lOff. Cf. below, pp. 23f. 'In fact the narrator has stamped his example with the meaning that the reality has for him, and in so far as the example appears to be clearly a piece of real life and the narrator retreats behind the narrative, it is a masterpiece of the stage-production of the narrator-though this is not necessarily conscious on his part. b
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The difference between illustration and parable or similitude can be further elucidated by some examples: Both in the similitudes of the lost sheep and coin (Luke 15.1-10) and in the illustration of the Pharisee and the taxcollector the subject is the relationship of Jesus to tax-collectors and sinners, and the standing of sinners before God. In the similitudes a correspondence (analogy) to the case is set out; the meaning of loss and rediscovery is portrayed by the lost sheep and the lost coin, so that what is obvious to the listeners in reference to a sheep or a coin can win agreement in reference to taxcollectors and sinners. The illustration on the other hand mentions tax-collectors and Pharisees directly. It presents a (particular) Pharisee and a (particular) tax-collector in a situation which shows by its example what is at issue. A comparison of the parable of the unjust steward (Luke 16.1-8) with the illustration of the rich fool (Luke 12.16-21) also shows this difference. Both try to urge upon the listener wise, prudent conduct (on this point they agree; otherwise their meaning is different). The parable demonstrates the conduct which the situation requires by corresponding (analogous) conduct from economic life. The illustration produces an example of the question at issue. In the parable the evaluation that the narrative compels one to make has to be carried over to another level (from "picture" to "reality"). In the illustration it refers directly to the reality and only needs to be generalized. 5
Allegory The allegory, like the parable proper, is a coherent, freely composed narrative, and, just like the parable, it is not told for the sake of conversation, but to bring the listeners to understand something. But this is as far as the similarity between them goes. "Allegory tries to portray for us a ... truth in an expressive form by painting it in a series of pictures, which hint at the reality that is meant and yet veil it." 6 It gets its name from saying something other than what it means. The allegory in Matt. 22.1-14 for example speaks of servants and means prophets and apostles; it speaks of a king and means God; it speaks of recalcitrant guests, who maltreat and kill the messengers who summon them to the feast, and means the people of Israel, which "kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it" (Matt. 23.37); it speaks of the punitive expedition of the king against the unwilling guests, which destroys their city, and means 63
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the destruction of Jerusalem, and so on. The allegory in Ezek. 17.1-10 speaks of an eagle and means the King of Babylon; it speaks of a twig from the top of a cedar, and means the king and princes of Judah; it speaks of a seed of the land, and means one of the seed royal, and so on. The parable by contrast means what it says. In Luke 14.15-24, for example, the host is a man who invites people to a banquet. The messenger is just any slave, the guests are acquaintances and friends of the host. Everything that the parable mentions is meant in its proper sense. The allegory does not, however, mention just anything in the place of what is meant, but something that is similar to it. This similarity does not in fact need to be obvious; and it may be merely asserted. We can use the example of terms of abuse to clarify the connection between what is mentioned and what is meant. "If terms of abuse mention an animal, they do not really mean what they mention, but the man for whom the insult is designed. They want as it were to deprive the man who is so insulted of his own proper name. "7 They give him a new name, and so assert (for the name is the expression of the essential nature) that he is what he is being called. So an evaluation is being made when one thing is mentioned and another meant. "The new name should ... remind men of the attitude that is to be taken to what is really meant. "8 This brings us to the decisive function of allegory: it passes on an evaluation of the reality, so that it can be shared by the listeners or readers. It does this by placing a "picture" in front of the "reality", behind which this (apparently) disappears. Strictly speaking what happens is as if two tracings were laid one over the other, of which the lower one contains the outlines, the upper one the colours: the allegory in its entirety allows the reality with which the author is concerned in the allegorical narrative to show through it. It takes its outlines from it: the narrative is modelled on the reality, but gives it its colouring: it gives an evaluation to the situation. One can see very clearly in the allegory Matt. 22.1-14 how the narrative is modelled on the reality: although in v. 4 the banquet is already prepared, the new guests are only invited after the punitive expedition. This makes for an unnatural feature in the flow of the narrative. This point can be seen still more clearly in the allegory in Ezek. 17. There v. 7 says: "the vine bends its roots towards the eagle"! This feature can only be understood from the reality referred to. How the narrative makes an evaluation of the reality is shown in Ezek. 17, especially in v. 5; the vine was set "beside abundant
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waters" as a riverside plant: that is, the vine was placed in the best conditions possible; this makes its later fate all the more regrettable. The picture here expresses something which cannot be evident in the historical situation (note that this feature has no corresponding one in the interpretation of the allegory, 17 .11ff). In Matt. 22 the evaluation results from making the murder or manslaughter of the servants of the king the answer to the very friendly invitation to the wedding. An allegory cannot therefore be understood unless one knows not only the allegorical narrative but also the state of affairs to which it refers. Anyone who does not have this key can read the words, but the deeper meaning is hidden from him. Allegories therefore may serve to transmit encoded information, which is only intelligible to the initiated. In every case an understanding must exist between the author and those addressed. Without this understanding the allegory cannot become effective: those addressed will not understand it or will not concede its validity. Here there is an important difference between allegory and parable. The parable speaks (for preference) to opponents, the allegory to the initiated. The parable is used to reconcile opposition, the allegory presupposes an understanding. For the uninitiated the allegory is a riddle, which needs to be interpreted. Since the allegorical narrative in its entirety allows the reality to which it refers to show through it, every feature of the allegory must have its interpretation. In a parable on the other hand a transference of the individual features would be completely misplaced: here what matters is a single point of comparison.d An ideal example of how an allegory is to be interpreted is found in Ezek. 17. Every feature of the allegorical narrative that is mentioned in vv. 3-10 corresponds to a feature of the reality that is meant in vv. 12-21. There are very few allegories in the Gospels. The only passage that we can regard with certainty as an allegory is the pericope of the royal wedding (Matt. 22.1-14). This is, however, a later reshaping of the parable of the great supper (Luke 14.15-24). An application has certainly been appended to the parables of the sower (Mark 4.3--9), of the net (Matt. 13.47f) and of the tares among the wheat (Matt. 13.24-9), in which they are interpreted feature by feature in the style of an allegory; but it can be said with considerable certainty that these interpretations are not original. If, however, the interpretations are disregarded, at least the parables of the sower and of the net do not give the impression of allegories. Two further parables d
See below, p. 23f.
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which have been suspected (in my opinion wrongly) of being allegories are the parables of the wicked husbandmen (Mark 12.1-12) and of the wise and foolish virgins (Matt. 25.1-13). Nevertheless for centuries all the parables of Jesus have been understood and interpreted as allegories. Traces of this view of them can already be found in the Gospels. It was Jiilicher in his comprehensive work on the parables who was the first to prove irrefutably that the parables of Jesus are not allegories. This realization is to-day shared by all commentators, at least for the great bulk of the parables. The only matter for argument now is whether Jesus also composed one or two allegories alongside the similitudes and parables.
The narrative laws of similitudes and parables Similitudes and parables do not exist for their own sakes like fairy-tales, sagas, riddles, or songs, but serve a particular purpose. They are subject to particular laws to suit what they are trying to do: they are formulated to fit their purpose. 1. The similitude takes up a regular or typical occurrence: i.e. it borrows its material from reality. Reality is always manifold and complex. To present clearly the occurrence that is to serve as a similitude, the narrator has to take it on its own and ignore everything else that is connected with it in real life.
In the similitude of the mustard-seed (Mark 4.30-2) what matters for the narrator is that the grain of seed which is proverbially the smallest produces a shrub as big as a tree. This certainly means that it produces a very large yield as well; but that does not matter to the narrator, who ignores it, while emphasizing the difference in size between seed and plant. In the similitude of the sower (Mark 4.3-9) on the other hand the narrator completely ignores the difference in size between the seed and the ear, and stresses instead the yield: thirtyfold, sixtyfold, a hundredfold. In the similitude of the seed growing secretly (Mark 4.26-9) the narrator ignores the yield and the difference in size between seed and plant, and stresses instead that the seed, when once it has been sown, ripens to harvest without any help from the farmer. From one field of reality the most varied features can be drawn on for a similitude-as this comparison of Jesus' harvest similitudes shows. But each time only one is important; the others are ignored. The parable-teller makes use of the most varied narrative devices to stress the point that matters to him at the expense of the others:
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He divides up the decisive saying, and so gives it greater fullness: "The earth produces of itself, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear." He may connect this division with a gradation: "Thirtyfold, sixtyfold, a hundredfold." He may use antithesis: "The smallest of all seeds-the greatest of all shrubs"; "He leaves the ninety-nine on the hills and goes in search of the one; and if he finds it ... , he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine." These are only a few examples from a host of possibilities that are open to an experienced narrator. The narrator gives the material of the similitude the form that most clearly shows what is common to the event that the similitude describes and the reality for which it is designed. It must be made quite clear in what respect the two are comparable. The point of comparison, the "tertium comparationis", must be clearly brought out. Usually the narrator arranges it so that it comes at the end of the similitude, and the climax and the conclusion of the similitude coincide. This makes it particularly easy to remember. Only what bears immediately on this point of comparison is said. A similitude is formulated as briefly as possible. Embellishments are always open to suspicion as later additions. The narrator avoids them, because they distract the listener's attention from the point of comparison. 2. While the similitude draws on a typical occurrence of real life, the parable in the narrower sense offers a freely composed story. But since it is
composed with a specific aim, this story, like the similitude, is formulated to fit its purpose. All the freedom that the author of a freely composed story has, is in the parable put at the service of the impression which it is to make on the listener. Like a good stage-producer, the narrator is careful to find the arrangement of characters, sets, and properties that best suits his purpose: The "wicked servant" (Matt. 18.23-35) runs into his fellow-servant who owes him a debt just at the moment when he comes out from the king, who has let him off his great debt: it is just this temporal coincidence, a stage-artifice, that makes the verdict of the king in v. 33, "You too should have had mercy", seem compelling to the listener. The parable would have been ineffective if it had said: "Some years later the servant met one of his fellow-servants." The father sees his "prodigal son" (Luke 15.11-32) already at a distance: by means of this trait the narrator makes room for the gesture of the father hurrying to meet his son. The elder son does not come from the field until the feast is already in progress (Luke 15.25): this improbable feature also 67
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helps the movement of the narrative: it allows the protest of the elder son against the feast to come to light in his refusal to go in, and the generosity of the father to his sons is seen when he repeats the gesture of going out. The steward of the vineyard is ordered by its owner (Matt. 20.1-16) to begin with the last in paying the wages: by this device the first corners are made to witness the generous payment of the last, which is necessary for the development of the story. The owner of the vineyard is present at the payment of wages, although this is not usual if it is done by the steward. By this means the production ensures the smooth development of the story: this is the only way the dialogue between the grumbling day-labourer and the owner can be made to follow immediately on the payment of wages.• The listener to a parable is quite content with such "stage-production" as long as it passes only the bounds of probability and not of possibility. If the story as a whole seems credible, he will not be worried by small divergences from what is customary in real life. Like the similitude, the parable is so arranged that the point of comparison comes out clearly. The narrative of a parable has a strong direct flow, which is determined by the point of comparison. Without halts and detours the narrative runs on to the point of comparison. All the individual features of the narrative join in this dramatic movement, and have a function in the development of the narrative. Only when the flow of the narrative has reached its goal is the listener released from suspense. It can be seen from the following double example how the indi-
vidual features of the parable are included in the flow of the narrative. One of the most noticeable features of the parable of the great supper (Luke 14.16-24) is the twofold invitation of the substitute guests. It proves, however, to be necessary to the flow of the parable: the point of comparison is the proclamation of the host that none of the guests that are late shall taste of the meal. This proclamation follows on from the measures that the master of the house has taken to exclude the original guests. They lead up to the point that the house must be full, so that there is no room left for them. To bring out the point of comparison the narrator must describe as effectively as possible the intention of the host to fill • Cf. now also Eichholz, "Das Gleichnis als Speil'', p. 318: "So ... we can say ... that to fit
what has to be said often enough a story is told, which is far from being everyday .... Individual scenes and the sequence of scenes, monologue and dialogue, leading parts and minor parts, are staged, as they are required to fit what has to be said."
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the house right to the last place. The order for the (first) invitation of the substitute guests in v. 21 does not allow this, since the anger of the host must first be described. The narrator therefore uses the second exchange between servant and master (vv. 22f) to bring in this motif. He picks it up not only in the servant's inquiry ("still there is room"), but also in the master's answer ("that my house may be filled"), and uses this repetition to ensure that it cannot be overlooked. The variant of the parable of the great supper, the "royal wedding" (Matt. 22.2-5, 8, 9)b has a different point of comparison. In consequence the motif that the house must be filled is lacking, and with it the double invitation of substitute guests. The point of comparison here is: "those invited were not worthy" (v. 8). In a comparison of this variant with the passage in Luke one notices that the host is here a king, and also in what detail the second invitation at the hour of the meal is given. In this case, however, the unworthiness of the guests depends on the worthiness of the host. There must be no doubt of this. The mention of the king derives therefore from the development of the narrative, even though here the standard image of King for God is picked up. The detailed form of the invitation underlines its value. The listeners will then agree all the more readily with the verdict of v. 8. It is therefore not a superfluous decoration, but assists the development of the narrative to the point of comparison. The point of comparison forms the end of the parable. The upshot of the stories is not told: the listener does not learn whether the grumbling labourer in the end admits the owner is right (Matt. 20.1-16), whether the elder son allows himself to be persuaded to share in the joy of the father (Luke 15.11-32), whether the steward by his deceit achieves his aim (Luke 16.1-8). His attention would otherwise be left on the characters of the narrative and not turn as the narrator wishes to the reality for which the parable is coined. 3. In general the parables are subject to the laws of popular narrative. We are grateful to be allowed to quote the classification of these stylistic laws which Bultmann gives in his History of the Synoptic Tradition: "The conciseness of the narrative is characteristic. Only the necessary persons appear. Thus in the story of the Prodigal Son there is no mother, or in the parable of the Importunate Friend no wife of I distinguish between the allegory of Matt. 22.2-14 and the parables underlying this allegory, Matt. 22.2-5, 8, 9, and Matt. 22.11-13. In the parable of the royal wedding we see a later variant of the parable of the great supper.
b
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the disturbed sleeper. There are never more than three chief characters, and for the most part only two: slave and master (Luke 17.7ff), the widow and the judge (Luke 18.1ff), the importunate man and his friend (Luke 11.5ff) ... the Pharisee and the publican (Luke 18.9ff), etc. "But often there are three: the creditor and his two debtors (Luke 7.41f), the king and the two debtors (Matt. 18.23ff), the father and the two sons (Matt. 21.28ff), etc. If there are not two (or three) persons, there are two (or three) parties or groups; the wicked husbandmen and the master (Mark 12.1ff), the host and the guests (Luke 14.16ff), the master of the vineyard and the labourers (Matt. 20.1ff), the master and his servants (Matt. 25.14ff), etc. Groups of people are treated as a single person (the wicked husbandmen, Mark 12.1ff, the fellow servants, Matt. 18.31; 24.49; etc.) and only differentiated so far as it is necessary (the guests who make excuses, Luke 14.18ff, the labourers hired at different times, Matt. 20.1ff, the debtors, Luke 16.5ff, the priest and the levite, Luke 10.29ff, etc.). The law of stage duality is operative, i.e. only two persons speaking or acting come on at a time. If others are present, they remain in the background. If more than two have to speak or act, they have to do it in separate successive scenes. The steward deals with his master's debtors one by one (Luke 16.5-7); the father asks his sons one at a time to go into his vineyard (Matt. 21.28--30); the servants come with their talents one after another to their master, and he does not receive a report from all three before he distributes rewards and punishments, but everyone receives his reward immediately he has given an account of himself (Matt. 25.19ff). "There is also the law of the single perspective, i.e. one is not asked to watch two different series of events happening at the same time. In the parable of the prodigal son the whole story is told from the point of view of the prodigal. How the father took his son's departure, and what he thought while he was absent, is never stated. The parable of the unmerciful servant is similarly told. Admittedly the King and the servant come in turns to the forefront, but even so the scenes are so arranged that they never overlap. What the visitor thought or did in Luke 11.5-8 while his friend went to his neighbour is also unrecorded. The only time when it is otherwise is in Luke's version of the parable of the talents, but that is due to secondary editing. In Matthew the story flows from a single perspective, and where the master was between his first and second appearances we are not told. "Only seldom are the characters portrayed by some attribute, like the judge who 'feared not God and regarded not man' (Luke 18.2) or the ten virgins of whom five were wise and five foolish 70
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(Matt. 25.2). For the most part people are characterized by what they say or do, or how they behave, like the prodigal son and his loving father, or the magnanimous king and his unmerciful debtor, or the two so different sons, etc. Or it may be that in the story itself some characterizing judgement is made of one of the actors: the king upbraids the unmerciful servant as 'you wicked servant'; the first two servants who bring their talents back with interest are praised as 'good and faithful servant', while the third is rebuked as 'you wicked and slothful servant'; and God calls the rich farmer who is concerned only about his wordly prosperity a 'fool'. "Feelings and motives are mentioned only when they are essential for the action or the point. Thus in the parable of the unmerciful servant, as the servant fell down before the king and entreated him we read: 'And out of pity for him the lord ... released him'; when the servant then mercilessly threw his fellow-servant into prison: 'When his fellow-servants saw ... they were greatly distressed'; and finally when the king heard what had happened: 'In anger ... he delivered him .. .'. It is said of the Good Samaritan, 'He had compassion', as it is of the father when he sees his lost son returning home; and the shepherd who finds his sheep puts it on his shoulder 'rejoicing'. But for the most part feelings are only portrayed indirectly or left to the hearer's own imagination. The feelings of the prodigal are indicated at best simply by 'when he came to himself', and for the rest are conveyed by the account of what he said and did. In the same way the feelings of the Pharisee and the publican are presented only in their prayers and gestures. And there is e.g. no description of feelings at all in the parables of the importunate friend, the wicked judge, or the ten virgins. "Subsidiary characters are described only in so far as it is necessary. In Luke 10.30-5 there is no description of either the man who went down to Jericho or the innkeeper. The widow who importuned the judge is not characterized except by her persistency (Luke 18.1ff); nothing in fact turns on her motives and the justification for them. In the differentiation of subsidiary characters the parables are governed by the judicious economy of popular story-telling: two debtors suffice in the parable of the unjust steward, and their debts and his fraudulent manipulation of them are presented in identical form, with slight variation in details. Three types of guests are brought into the parable of the supper. ... In the parable of the labourers in the vineyard there are five groups of labourers; it is only the first and last groups that matter for the story, but the sharp contrast of the extremes has to be mitigated by some sort of intermediaries; otherwise the story would sound grossly improbable. 71
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"Motivation in particular is absent from the presentation, because it is irrelevant to the point being made. Thus the request of the younger son for his share of the inheritance (Luke 15.12f) and his journey into a far country are quite unmotivated. Similarly we are not told why the employer in Matt. 20.1ff needed so many labourers for his vineyard as to go out every three hours to take on more hands. From what motive the various travellers in Luke 10.29ff made their journey is not disclosed. Likewise the reason for the different answers and the different behaviour of the two sons in Matt. 21.28ff remains outside the story.... "There is a similar economy governing the description of events and actions. Anything unnecessary is omitted; e.g. we are not told how the steward dissipated his master's wealth. There is no description of how the widow importuned the judge, but just a very brief indication that she did, etc. In distinct contrast to this whatever is reported is described in very concrete terms. The debts of the two debtors in Luke 7.41f amount to 500 and 50 denarii, in Matt. 18.23ff to 10,000 talents and 100 denarii; Luke 16.5ff gives 100 measures of oil and 100 measures of wheat. The prodigal son becomes a swineherd; when he comes home the father clothes him with the best robe, adorns him with a ring, and kills the fatted calf for him. The luxury of the rich man and the lamentable state of Lazarus are vividly portrayed. The wage of the workers in the vineyard is concretely stated as one denarius. The owner of the unfruitful fig-tree has come already for three years to find no fruit, etc. All this conforms to the art of popular story-telling. "So does the rich use of direct speech and soliloquy. For the first we need only to think of the similitudes of the Lost Sheep and the Lost Coin [Luke 15.4-lOJ, ... of the Master and the Servant [Luke 17.7-10], ... or of the parables of the Barren Fig Tree [Luke 13.6--9] (for this reason the vinedresser has to appear beside the owner), of the Labourers in the Vineyard [Matt. 20.1-16) (for the same reason there has to be a steward), of the Sowing of the Tares [Matt. 13.24-30), of the Great Supper [Luke 14.15-24], etc .... Soliloquies can be found in the parables of the Prodigal Son, the Unjust Steward [Luke 16.1-8), the Unjust Judge (Luke 18.1-8), the Rich Fool (Luke 12.16--21), the Unfaithful Servant (Luke 12.45), the Wicked Husbandmen (Luke 20.13 expanded). Under this category we must include the prayers of the Pharisee and the publican.... "We can find other elements of style typical of popular story telling, like the law of repetition: the phrase 'Have patience with me and I will pay you all' appears twice in the parable of the 72
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Unmerciful Servant. The confession of the prodigal son comes twice. The servants in Matt. 25.20ff present their accounts and receive their reward in words that are repeated; similarly, with variations, are recorded the excuses of the invited guests Luke 14.18ff, and the dealings of the steward with the debtors Luke 16.5ff. A threefold repetition can be found in the parable of the Great Supper: three types of guests make their excuses; also Matt. 25.14ff: three sorts of servants who are entrusted with money; Luke 10.29ff: Priest, Levite and Samaritan go down the Jericho road.... There is also the law of End-stress, i.e. the most important thing is described last. The clearest example is Mark 4.3ff: the fruitful seed is mentioned last of all ... ; Luke 18.9ff: the publican is introduced after the Pharisee; Matt. 25.14ff: the servant who has not used the money entrusted to him is presented last, so as to accord with the hortatory nature of the story .... "Finally it is important to notice how and why the hearer's judgement is precipitated. The moral quality of the man who found the treasure [Matt. 13.44] or of the pearl-merchant [Matt. 13.45f] is not the subject of judgement; naturally, too, there is no verdict intended on the institution of slavery (Luke 17.7ff) or upon imprisonment for debt (Matt. 18.23ff). It is plain that the steward is fraudulent and the judge unscrupulous, but not in order that they should be judged on those grounds, but that we should realize that it is possible to learn something even from such rascals as these. In other instances we are required to pass a moral verdict on some action, ... in the parable ... of the talents, of the unmerciful servant, of the two sons, where the point of the parable is directed to just this verdict. Naturally some judgement is in general required by all parables, and their argumentative character is often expressed in their form .... Such a purpose is also often served by the antithesis of two types: the two debtors (Luke 7.41f), the two sons [Matt. 21.28-30], the wise and foolish virgins [Matt. 25.1-13], the faithful and unfaithful servants (Luke 12.42ff), the rich man and the poor man, the Pharisee and the publican, the Priest and Levite and the Samaritan. "9
Introductory fonnulas and applications Many of the parables begin just like an ordinary story: "A man planted a vineyard" (Mark 12.1), "There was a rich man" (Luke 12.16), "There was a man who had two sons" (Luke 15.11), "Two men went up into the temple" (Luke 18.10), "A nobleman went into a far country" (Luke 19.12). 73
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Other parables, however, are introduced by a formal phrase: It is fullest in the parable of the mustard-seed in Mark's version: "With what can we compare the kingdom of God, and what parable shall we use for it? It is like ... " (Mark 4.30f). In Luke the introduction to this parable runs differently: "What is the kingdom of God like? And to what shall I compare it?" (Luke 13.18f, cf. Luke 7.31f). Luke has a considerably shorter introduction for the parable of the leaven: "To what shall I compare the kingdom of God? It is like ... " (Luke 13.20f, cf. Matt. 11.16). But very often this formula is so abbreviated that only the "like" or "just as" is left. So we find in the parable of the Talents: "As when a man going on a journey" (Matt. 25.14, cf. Mark 13.34), in the parable of the Great Supper: "The kingdom of heaven is like a king ... " (Matt. 22.1, cf. Matt. 18.23, Matt. 13.24). "Then shall the kingdom of Heaven be like ten virgins ... ",we read in Matt. 25.1 (cf. Matt. 13.44, 45).
In no case are we to take these introductory formulas literally. They are not intended for this. The kingdom of God in Mark 4.31 is not "like" a grain of mustard seed but "it is the case with the kingdom of God as with a grain of mustard seed". "In Matt. 13.47 the kingdom of Heaven is not compared to a seine-net, but the situation at its coming is compared to the sorting out of the fish caught in the seine-net." 10 It can also be seen how such introductions are not meant literally from the imprecise way that Matt. 13.44 says, "The kingdom of Heaven is like a treasure" while Matt. 13.45 says, "The kingdom of Heaven is like a merchant", although the two parables otherwise correspond completely. The introduction, "The kingdom of Heaven is like ... " is found in Matthew very much more frequently than in Luke. "Thus we have to do with an introductory formula which Matthew ... prefers, and we must admit the possibility that it has been inserted in various cases, e.g. Matt. 22.2 (otherwise in Luke 14.16 ... )." 11 Numerous parables begin the narrative at once without an introductory formula, and many of them end the narrative without a word said beyond it. This is quite in order, because the original hearers could understand immediately from the situation what was meant by the parable, so that they needed no further help. In other parables we find an application, that is a saying which gives an indication what the reality is to which the parable should be applied. Frequently this application is attached to the parable by "so" or "therefore". "So also my heavenly father will do", it says in the parable of the unmerciful servant (Matt. 18.35), "So you also ... " in the simil74
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itude of the servant's reward (Luke 17.10). "Even so there will be joy in heaven", is the conclusion derived from the similitude of the lost sheep (Luke 15.7). In others the application takes the form of an imperative, for instance in the parable of the ten virgins, "Watch therefore ... " (Matt. 25.13). Some of the applications belonged from the beginning to their parables. But in many cases they are a help to understanding for a later reader, not for the original listener. This can easily be seen in those places where the application is a saying of Jesus transmitted by the other Evangelists in another position. So we find the application of the parable of the labourers in the vineyard, the saying about the last who shall be first (Matt. 20.16, cf. 19.30) used again in Luke 13.30 in another context. The saying with which Luke ends the parable of the Pharisee and the taxcollector (Luke 18.14b) he has already used at Luke 14.11. Sometimes the lack of correspondence between application and parable reveals that the application has been added later. This is true e.g. of the parable of the Pharisee and the taxcollector; for when the actual circumstances are examined, it is not true either that the tax-collector has "humbled himself' or that the Pharisee has "exalted himself'. The saying about the first and the last in Matt. 20.16 also does not fit the parable, because it only relates to a subsidiary feature of it. Occasionally a second application has been appended to the first in the course of transmission: The final verse of the parable of the royal wedding, that "many are called but few are chosen" (Matt. 22.14), is also given by some manuscripts after the parable of the labourers in the vineyard (Matt. 20.16). The parable of the unjust steward (Luke 16.1-8) is followed by no less than six different applications-all of them attempts to overcome by interpretation the difficulties this parable gave rise to when its original meaning was no longer understood. If Mark 12.10f is compared with Matt. 21.43 and Luke 20.18, it can be established that each of the Evangelists has expanded the application in Mark's text in his own way.
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The parable as a form of communication The parable (using the word in the wider sense•) is a form of speech. Its original situation is communication, dialogue. A parable is an urgent endeavour on the part of the speaker towards the listener. The man who tells a parable wants to do more than utter something or make a communication. He wants to affect the other, to win his agreement, to influence his judgement in a particular direction, to force him to a decision, to convince him or prevail upon him. Even when it is only the narrator who speaks, a conversation is really taking place. He has already anticipated the possible objections of the hearers, because it is to overcome such resistance that he has chosen the parable as his form of speech. It is of the essence of a parable that there is achieved in it a dialegesthai, a conversation, a dialogue between the narrator and the listener. 12 The type of conversational situation which a parable arises from can, however, be very varied. A parable can be used for instruction. It overcomes the difficulties of comprehension by explaining what is unknown or hard to grasp through what is familiar and easy to grasp. Thus the Palestinian scribes frequently used parables in their lectures. "The Rabbis said, 'Let not the parable be a small thing in your eyes, for through a parable a man can attain to understanding of the Torah [the Divine Law]. Like a king, who has lost a gold coin in his house or a precious pearl; can he not yet find it again by a wick of the value of an as [a small copper coin]? So too let not a parable be a small thing in your eyes, for through a parable a man can attain to understanding of the Torah.' " 13 The parable is also used for exhortation. Its power of persuasion is used to overcome the resistance that stands in the way of doing good. Thus the Rabbis used the following parable to give point to an exhortation to repent while it is still to-day, because every day can be the last and no one knows the moment of his death: "Like a king, who invited his servants to a banquet without giving them a fixed time. The wise among them made themselves smart and sat down at the entrance to the palace. They said: 'Is anything likely to be lacking in the house of the king?' (In his household everything is always on hand, so the meal could start at any moment.) The foolish among them went off to their work. They said: 'Is • Where it is not otherwise specified, the word is always used in its wider sense in this and the following chapters, except when a specific parable is mentioned.
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there ever a banquet without laborious preparation?' Suddenly the king called for his servants. The wise among them appeared before him, just as they were, smart and ready; the foolish among them appeared before him, just as they were, dirty. The king was pleased with the wise and was angry with the foolish. He said: 'These, who have made ready for the meal, are to sit and eat and drink; but those, who have not made themselves ready for the meal, are to stand and look on.' "1 4 The parable is also used readily when a man has to hold another responsible for his deeds and omissions. By setting the action of the other man in the light of the parable he compels him to pass his own verdict on himself, and in this way can convict him. The classical example of this is Nathan's parable, 2 Sam. 12.1-12. The parable was also used by the Rabbis, the Jewish scribes, in scholarly arguments. So in the discussion of the school of Shammai with the school of Hillel whether the earth or heaven was made first, each school taught a parable to support its view: The school of Shammai, which took the view that heaven was made before the earth, said: "The matter is like a king who has made himself a throne, and after he has made it he makes his footstool." The school of Hillel, which took the view that the earth was made first, said against this: "The matter is like a king who built himself a palace. After he had built the ground floor, he built the first floor. " 15 The parable was furthermore a favourite weapon of the Rabbis in controversy dialogues. There was no better means to reduce the view of an opponent ad absurdum, because with a parable he could be convicted through his own verdict. However, these were more or less superficial victories. The underlying cause of the controversy was seldom reached. Often all that mattered was to make a fool of one's opponent. Gamaliel answered a philosopher who asked why God was not wroth with the idols but with the idolators: "With what can this be compared? With a king of flesh and blood, who had a son; and this son had brought up a dog to which he gave his father's name (i.e. he called it 'Abba', my father). Thereafter whenever he took an oath he said, 'By the life of the dog Abba!' When the king heard
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of it with whom would he be angry? Would he be angry with the son or would he be angry with the dog? Of course he would be angry with the son!"16 The parable plays its most significant role in another situation, of which we will first give an example before we try to characterize it: We are familiar from Roman history at school with the saga of Menenius Agrippa, which we are given in Livy 2.32: The unity of Rome was threatening to break up, and the continued existence of the city was in danger. The plebeians, compelled year by year to bear arms instead of cultivating their fields, had been reduced to poverty and given over to serfdom. Consoled again and again by empty promises, they were finally not ready to bear their misery any longer. Returning from a campaign and still under arms, they demanded the fulfilment of the promises. The danger of an insurrection threatened. To find some temporary solution the consuls sent the plebeian legions, which were still bound to them by oath, out of the city. But they entrenched themselves over against Rome, on the Mons Sacer, and the position was more dangerous than ever. If any of the many enemies of Rome were to make use of it and an external war break out, the fate of the city might well be sealed. The unity of the citizens must at all costs be restored. The patricians therefore sent Menenius Agrippa as a mediator to the plebeian legions. "When he was admitted to the camp, he is supposed ... to have simply told the following story: 'At the time when not everything yet agreed in harmony within Man as it does now, but each single limb had its own will and its own power of speech, the other limbs were angry because their care, labour and service provided everything for the stomach; the stomach, at ease in their midst, did nothing more than make itself comfortable with the delights offered. They took an oath that the hands would bring no more food to the mouth, the mouth would not accept anything offered, the teeth would not grind anything. While they tried in their anger to break the stomach through hunger, at the same time the limbs themselves and the whole body were completely wasted away. By this it was shown that the stomach was not idle but gave its service and nourished as well as was nourished, because it shared round equally into the veins and gave back to all parts of the body the blood that gives life and strength, fortified by digestion of the food.' Because he thus showed by a comparison how similar the internal mutiny of the body was to the animosity of the plebeians against the patricians, he altered the feelings of the crowd." 17 78
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Three things can be learnt from this example: 1.
2.
3.
The parable is used to induce the listeners to make a decision after the mind of the narrator in a concrete historical situation. The situation is characterized by the greatest conceivable opposition which exists between the assessment of the situation by the narrator and by the listeners. The narrator, who has at his disposal nothing other than the power of language, is able to prevail upon his listeners, because through the parable he offers them a new understanding of the situation. While the plebeians understood their situation as infamous exploitation by the patricians and so were ready for revolt, Menenius Agrippa gives them the chance of understanding it from the natural differences within the body of the State, and the needs resulting from this.
The parable is acted out in between the differing verdicts of the speaker and of his listeners, but upon the same set of facts, and means to induce them to agree with him, even if it cannot compel them to do so. The narrator with his parable throws a bridge over the chasm of opposition. Whether the listener steps on to this bridge and finds his way over to him is, however, not under his control. He must be content to have made it possible. He can compel his listener to a decision; but what the decision is rests with the listener. It is the firmly established result of the latest era of parable interpretation, characterized by the names of Cadoux, Dodd, and Jeremias, that the parables of Jesus (like the parable of Menenius Agrippa) refer to an historical situation. Jesus' parables are not for instruction, still less for learned argument; only in rare and exceptional cases do they give an exhortation,b or make it their object to convict the listener of something.< Though almost all uttered to opponents, they do not intend to reduce the opponent ad absurdum, but make it their aim to win his agreement. The opponent is not dismissed with superficial arguments, but the depths of the conflict are reached.ct By this means he is given the chance of a genuine decision, which in controversy dialogues is normally lacking. Although a parable always has its origin in a dialogue situation, it is only in this last case that the original situation is essential for the understanding of the parable. It is not just an accidental occasion to which the E.g., the illustration of the rich fool, Luke 12.16-21, though it is questionable whether this goes back to Jesus. 'Mark 12.1-12 is probably the only example of this. d The evidence for this must be given in the interpretation of the parables. b
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parable owes its origin, and from which it can be loosed without loss as a general utterance. A parable of this sort becomes a factor in the historical situation in which it originates, and can be understood only in the context of the other factors which are at work in it. The expositor who is inquiring into the meaning of such a parable must therefore examine specifically its original situation. It is not enough to consider what ideas the narrator has connected with the parable; it must also be observed what ideas, images, and evaluations were at work in the hearers of the parable, in what the opposition between the narrator and his listeners consisted, and how accordingly his words must have acted on them. In other words, what the narrator was saying by such a parable can be grasped only when we know what the parable conveyed to its original listeners in that concrete situation.
The structure of the parable The parable is a form of argument. Although we are used to talking of pictures and parables in the same breath, parables are something different from pictures. They are neither illustrations nor communications in pictoriallanguage. This is true of the parables of Jesus too. We must not be led astray by the fact that many of his parables are introduced by the words: "The kingdom of Heaven is like ... ".• These parables do not at all communicate revelations in picture language of what the kingdom of Heaven is like, but intend to move the hearer to assess correctly what is needed now, at this moment. Thus the parable of the ten virgins (Matt. 25.1-13) is intended to help one to the recognition that those who neglect to prepare themselves for a lengthy time of waiting until the coming of the Son of Man are in danger of losing their share in the kingdom of God. The parable of the "royal wedding" (Matt. 22.2-5, 8f) does not mean to give information on what it is like at the banquet in the kingdom of God; it is intended to compel the listener to the verdict: "Those who do not comply with God's invitation show by this that they do not deserve it. It is their fault, not God's!" Parables are meant to be forms of argument. It is for this reason that they have only one point of comparison. One can hardly argue several things at once. For this reason we must carefully distinguish between what a parable is arguing and what it assumes. As soon as we draw from a parable a number of different significant ideas, we can be sure that we are missing the meaning that the parable had for its first narrator. This is also true ' Cf. pp. 16f.
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when we do establish the point of comparison, but then set alongside it other important ideas which the parable seems to give us. We do not then do justice to the parable, because it makes its effect only through this concentration on one point. This point of comparison, the tertium comparationis, is the cardinal point, which binds together the picture and the reality for which it is coined: or, as it is usually put, the "picture part" and the "reality part". The terms "picture part" and "reality part", or "picture and reality", make the distinction between what the narrative portrays and what it means, what the parable is intended to say. This distinction should prevent us from mixing the two together from the start, and make us consider the relationship which picture and reality have to one another. In the parable of the school of Shammai quoted above (p. 20), the "picture" or "picture part" is what is said about the king, the throne, and the footstool. The "reality" or "reality part" is the view that God made heaven first, and then the earth. The point of comparison is the factually determined sequence of events; as one does not make a footstool until the throne is ready, so the earth was only after the heavens. In the parable of Menenius Agrippa (see pp. 20f) the "picture" or "picture part" is the story of the stomach and the limbs, the "reality" or "reality part" the position of the patricians and plebeians in the State. The point of comparison is the thought: "As the limbs which refused to serve the stomach did themselves harm, so too the rebellion of the plebeians against the patricians must cause harm to themselves." The use of the terms "picture part" or "reality part" can easily mislead if its context is not considered. The description of the narrative as "picture part" does not mean that this is incomplete when taken on its own and needs amplification through an interpretation. The parable narrative is all the narrator says to his originallisteners.b They do not need an interpretation; they can understand the parable immediately from the situation. It is only for the later commentators and readers who do not know the situation or at least are not in it that the meaning of the parables is added as a second part to the narrative-since they must find it out more or less laboriously. The concepts "picture part" and "reality part" are therefore shaped to fit the point of view of the commentator and are only meaningful in this context. Picture and reality have only a single tertium comparationis; this can be definitely established. But beside this it should be noticed that numerous h
The question of the applications can in this connection be disregarded.
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further connections can exist between the parable and the reality to which it alludes. The choice of material for the parable by the narrator already implies the assertion that a correspondence exists between the parable and the reality to which it alludes. Sometimes this correspondence is obvious: E.g. in the parable of the son's request (Matt. 7.9-11): as a son makes petitions to his father, so man stands before God as a petitioner. Sometimes it is provided by a tradition: The school of Shammai refers to Isa. 66.1 for the parable quoted above (p. 20): "Thus says the Holy One (blessed be he): 'Heaven is my throne and the earth is my footstool' ." 18 The parable of the wise and foolish virgins (Matt. 25.1-13) is able to assume that the wedding is a current image for the time of the end. But in other cases the correspondence between the material of the parable and the reality is not predetermined at all. The narrator in his choice of parable material is then carrying out the function of "claiming one thing as another". Objects and situations do not have an unequivocal meaning simply as they exist: they only acquire their meaning from the way they are understood. It depends on our own understanding what a reality means for us. Understanding is, however, guided by the way this reality "enters into language". 19 The narrator brings the reality "into language" by his assertion of the correspondence between the material of the parable and the reality, and so opens up the possibility of understanding it (anew). This function is exercised by the narrator primarily in cases where the assessment of the situation is in dispute between him and his listeners, and he wants to present the listeners with his understanding of the situation through the parable, so that they share it. Here are some examples of this: In the parable of Menenius Agrippa the point of comparison is that the limbs in refusing to serve the stomach do themselves harm. This only acquires validity for the situation described, however, because the parable claims that the position of the plebeians in the Roman State is like the place a limb has in a body. The point of comparison of the parable of the great supper (Luke 14.15-24) lies in the fact that the guests who are late miss sharing in the meal. When Jesus tells this parable to Pharisees who call blessed whoever partakes of the meal of the kingdom of
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God, he is claiming that their conduct is like the behaviour of guests who still do not want to appear although the meal has already begun. The point of comparison of the similitudes of the lost sheep and coin (Luke 15.1-10) is the joy of rediscovery. When Jesus tells these parables to those who protest because he spends his time with the lost, he is claiming the situation as the moment of rediscovery in which one must rejoice. Such is the way in which the line of argument of the parables, which comes to a climax in the point of comparison, works in with their function of "claiming one thing as another". But to claim one thing as another is only possible if one is successful in making a correspondence clear. It must become clear to the listener that the parable is alluding to the opposition between him and the narrator, and in such a way that he cannot deny a "moment of truth" to this allusion. We find therefore in the parables numerous correspondences between picture and reality: Just as the stomach appears to be an inactive parasite in comparison with the limbs (see pp. 26f), the plebeians regard the patricians as people who enrich themselves at their expense. The prodigal son (Luke 15.11-32) leads a life which is in opposition to the commandments of God, like the sinners; he even takes himself off, like the tax-collectors, to serve the gentiles. But the elder brother has never yet transgressed a command of his father: which corresponds to the Pharisees' faithfulness to the law. The attitude of those who worked for the whole day (Matt. 20.1-16), who have "borne the burden and heat of the day", towards those who worked for the last hour, who went idle the whole day, corresponds to the attitude of the Pharisees who have toiled all their life long with patience and zeal to fulfil the law towards the tax-collectors and sinners. Such correspondences do not detract from the independence of the parable narrative. The parable always "means" what it says. Picture and reality do not coincide, as in an allegory; it is only parallels that exist between the two. To put it more exactly, the parallels consist in the fact that the relevant feature in the parable evokes the same or at least a similar attitude as the listeners have taken to the reality in question. In the parable of Menenius Agrippa the feature that the stomach (apparently) lives as an inactive parasite at the expense of the 83
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limbs evokes the same attitude as the listeners take to the position of the patricians. In the parable of the prodigal son it is not that the younger son "is" or "signifies" the publicans, but the attitude that the listeners must take after the first verses to the younger son corresponds to that which they take to the tax-collectors and sinners, while their attitude to the elder son at first corresponds to their estimation of their own obedience to the law. In the parable of the labourers in the vineyard the comparison of the labourers for the whole day with the labourers for the last hour, between the busy and the idle labourers, evokes an attitude similar to that which the (pharisaic) audience feel when they compare themselves with the tax-collectors. The correspondences between picture and reality depend therefore on the narrator allowing room in the parable for the evaluation of his listeners. They signify a concession to the listeners; the narrator concedes them something. Through what he concedes them he can get them to listen to his parable at first simply as being something said about this reality, in order to establish the connection between the parable and the point in dispute. The more unusual his demands on his listeners are when he claims by the parable that his own view of the situation is correct, the more careful he must be to concede his listeners something. Otherwise he would be talking at cross-purposes, and his parable would be a waste of effort. This "claiming one thing as another" together with the "concession" produces the phenomenon of interlocking. In the parable the verdict of the narrator on the situation in question "interlocks" with that of the listener. Both evaluations of the situation go into the parable. The choice of material, the point of comparison, and with it the course of the narrative, are of course primarily determined by the verdict of the narrator. But the verdict of the listeners on the situation also leaves its deposit in the parable. The narrator takes it up by conceding something to the listeners, so that they must recognize the reference of the parable to the reality. The opposed judgements do not simply appear in the parable side by side, but they are interlocked with one another or interwoven in the concise single strand of the narrative. In this the narrator's verdict naturally remains predominant. The verdict of the listeners on the situation on the other hand, so far as it comes into the parable, undergoes a process similar to the refraction of a ray of light as it enters another medium: The protest of the Pharisee against Jesus' table fellowship is not the same as the protest of the elder brother against the feast that is celebrated because of the younger son. Nor is it the same as the
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protest of the grumbling day-labourer who complains that someone else is being paid the same for much less work. But one cannot say either that the contrast as it is found in the parable has nothing to do with the historical situation. The result of this interlocking is, first, that deductions can be made back from the parable to the historical situation that is claimed in a particular sense in it, but secondly that such inferences are subject to strong reservations. The original evaluation of the situation by the listener, the true causes of his disagreement, and with them a clear picture of the opposition between him and the parable-teller, cannot be deduced from the parable alone. If the picture that the parable gives is simply identified with the reality, we are not only on the wrong track in assessing the historical situation, but an essential feature of the parable itself escapes us: the parable in its function of claiming one thing as another. As long as we do not notice this interlocking in the parables of Jesus, we have no access to what Jesus was really saying. Among the points of contact which picture and reality have outside the one point of comparison are also the unusual features. Several parables contain features which conflict with daily experience. Such features, which do not result from a natural context in the representation in the parable narrative, take their origin from the reality of which the narrator wishes to speak. 20 It is unusual for all the guests to send excuses. This feature of the
parable of the great supper (Luke 14.15-24) cannot therefore be occasioned by the material, but only by the situation which Jesus has in mind. It is unusual for a father to send his son in after his maltreated servants. The sequence "sending of the servants-sending of the son" in the parable of the wicked husbandman (Mark 12.1-12) must therefore have been composed for reasons derived from the reality. It is unusual for the father to behave as he does at the return of the prodigal son (Luke 15.11-32); here too we have to suppose an allusion to the reality. It is usually said that these features from the reality part have invaded the picture part. But this way of putting it obscures more than it clarifies. It cannot have been intended that in such places the picture part and the reality part should fall together. For in that case the narrator would have given up the power of analogy, and deprived the parable itself of the effect intended. Only if the parable narrative remains independent can it become effective as an argument about the reality. So the direct connection which 85
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exists in the unusual features between picture and reality does not mean that the narrator in these places combines the two. Although the reason for the introduction of an unusual feature is the connection with the reality, such a feature is in no way supported by the reality. It is the parable narrative that supports the unusual features too. They do not destroy the narrative but are kept under control by devices of the narrator. Our understanding of them is blocked if we limit ourselves to comparing what the parable narrates with our experience of the reality, instead of asking how the feature which contradicts our experience of reality has been built into the narrative. We should not be asking: "Does what is narrated ever happen in reality?" We must ask: "Does this as it is told strike the listener to the parable as unreal?" And here we should note that many an obstacle which can make the reader of the passage stop to think does not strike a listener. Though it is unusual for all the guests to refuse (Luke 14.18f), the listener who accepts the story as it comes, as the record of an event that happened only once, will not have trouble over this, particularly since the flow of the narrative, building up tension as it goes, sweeps him along with it and prevents him from fastening on to this point. The same is true of the action of the vineyard-owner (Matt. 20.1-16) who goes out several times in the day, and even for the last time at the eleventh hour, to hire labourers. It is improbable that a father should send his son in after his servants have been maltreated, as in the parable of the wicked husbandmen (Mark 12.1-12). A comparison of this feature of the parable with reality gives a negative result. But the trait is built into the narrative by a motivation with which the father justifies the sending of the son. This motivation seems credible; one usually respects the son to a far higher degree than a slave as the representative of a person. Whether this is also to be expected of rebellious vinedressers is not relevant. It is enough that the motivation has the appearance of credibility, so that no break arises in the story, and the listener follows the narrator without objections from the fate of the servants on to that of the son. The murder of the son by the husbandmen is also built in to the flow of the narrative by a motivation. It is the same with the conduct of the guests in the parable of the great supper, of the father in the parable of the prodigal son, etc. To summarize, parables have only one point of comparison, but the connections between "picture part" and "reality part" are not exhausted by this. Behind the course of argument of the parable, which is based on the 86
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point of comparison, stand its other functions, of which the listener hardly becomes aware-indeed he should not-but which are no less effective for that. Their immediate effectiveness is of course largely limited to the original listeners. It is only these who lose nothing if they pay attention only to the argument of the parable. The later expositor on the other hand would lose something essential if he confined himself only to this foreground and thought his exposition complete when he had formulated a main thought which depends on the point of comparison. This must be true at least for the parables which are intended to bridge over an opposition between the narrator and the listeners. In them the speaker makes a free gift to his hearers, which can be recognized in all its force only if one pays attention to the way in which the parable opens up for the listeners the possibility of coming into agreement with the narrator. The utterance of the parable, which comes out of the point of comparison, alters its character and no longer remains the same if it is detached from this urgent and active concern for the listener. The original listeners participated immediately in this free gift of the speaker. The later reader and commentator only gets access to it when he traces the means which the narrator puts at their service.
The parables as "language event" A successful parable is an event that decisively alters the situation. It creates a new possibility that did not exist before, the possibility that the man addressed can come to an understanding with the man addressing him across the opposition that exists between them. This possibility depends on the narrator bringing into language in a new way the matter which is in dispute between him and his listeners, and so opening up a new understanding. a This new possibility which the parable creates in the situation is significant even if understanding is not achieved. Even if the man addressed persists in his previous position, it is not simply "all as before". Just because a genuine opportunity has been opened up for him of giving up his previous position, this has lost its inevitability. Even if he persists in it he is really making a decision. His persistence acquires a different character; it becomes explicit opposition. So a successful parable is an event in a double sense; it creates a new possibility in the situation, and it compels the man addressed to a decision. That is to say (as should be clear after what has been said above), it compels the making of a decision; it cannot decide the outcome of it. Anyone who risks a parable in such a situation is risking everything; but · this is the only way he can win everything. 'See above, p. 25. Cf. Fuchs, Hermeneutik, particularly "Prolegomena" §5 (pp. 67-72) and "Hermeneutik" §6 (pp. 126-33).
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The deeper the opposition between the speaker and the man addressed goes, the more significant is the decision which the parable compels to be made. There are oppositions which reach right into the depths of existence, right to the ground that sustains the life of a man and determines it. The parables of Jesus-or at least most of them-are addressed to such an opposition.b If a parable reaches the listener this depends on the moment of truth which the narrator knows how to make so effective for his purposes that his listeners are perplexed by it. This perplexity does not remove the opposition between the speaker and the listener, but it does remove the possibility of ignoring the opposition. For the man so perplexed, truth is now set against truth. On the one hand there is the truth that he himself represents with his entire existence-in so far as this opposition, even if it has appeared at a superficial level, reaches down into the depths of existence; and on the other hand there is that which forces itself on him inescapably as being truth in the words of the speaker-as truth whose validity he has always known, or at least could have known. He must decide; in fact he has already done so at the moment of listening. This is true even if this decision has not been at all conscious for him, because he persists in his previous position. By this persistence he has placed himself in active opposition to that moment of truth which the parable holds out to him. But if the listener follows the call of the truth which confronts him in the parable, he sets himself in opposition to what has till now been the truth of his existence. Jesus, by compelling his listeners to a decision through telling a parable, gives them the possibility of making a change of existence, of understanding themselves anew from the depths up, of achieving a "new life". Such a change of existence no one can undertake in his own strength and on his own authority, for that would be like wanting to jump over one's own shadow or to pull oneself up by one's own bootlaces. The possibility can only come to a man from outside, only through a saying that reaches into the depths of his existence. A parable is such a saying if it succeeds in bridging an opposition that touches the depths of existence. Such sayings the parables of Jesus are. We called the parables of Jesus a "language event", for something decisive happens here through what is said. We have already said that one who risks a parable in such a situation is risking everything; we must now add more exactly, he risks all on the power of language. The man who risks such a parable wants his listeners to come into agreement with him across this deep opposition. The deeper the opposition the less there is as a matter of course that he and his listeners have in common, to which he could refer with his parable. If it is only a matter of opposition in doctrine, the disputants will still always have common basic presuppositions, which none of them questions; if it is a matter of moral exhortation, the speaker b
See below, pp. 33f.
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and the man addressed are still at one in the basic recognition of the good, and also agree extensively on what the good is, apart from the point at issue. If it is a question of imparting knowledge we cannot even talk of opposition, because here only the difficulties of comprehension need to be overcome. If, however, the opposition reaches right down to the depths of existence, the parable teller can only find a common point of reference in the basic features of language. He is thrown back on the power of language. Here what a philosopher has said is true: "Language speaks. Language? And not man? ... Man speaks in so far as he conforms to language. The conforming is listening." 21 Only when man succeeds in following the basic features of language does his word have force.c Language, however, is subject to historical change. There are words that "no longer say anything to us". Others have for us "acquired a different ring". Language is bound up with its context in cultural history and with historical events. Although the essential nature of human existence persists at all times and is the same in all cultural settings, it must at the same time not be overlooked that it "comes into language" in ever new forms, and must do so. The parables of Jesus have been passed down to us, but the "language event" that they effected cannot be passed down. It is not effected for us just by our reading or listening to the parables; we do not stand in the same situation as the original listeners. The opposition-even if it is basically the same-breaks out for us at a different point. Our language has changed in the course of history. The allusions of the parables no longer reach us, or at least not immediately. The "language event" of the parables of Jesus cannot be transmitted. But it can be made intelligible-this is the task of exposition; and it can be repeated-this happens in Christian preaching. Preaching repeats the event that happened to Jesus' listeners through the parables of Jesus. It is the word that comes from outside, the verbum externum, that alone makes this change of existence possible for man, that helps him from unbelief to faith. For "faith comes by preaching" (Rom. 10.17). Preaching, however, not only receives instruction from the parables of Jesus on how it is to be done rightly, but is grounded in what Jesus did when he risked his word.
The parables as sayings of Jesus Jesus' parables are not exhausted by being uttered; they effected an event in which something decisive happened. Only if we grasp this event as well shall we have grasped the original meaning of the parables. 'See Heidegger, Unterwegs zur Sprache, p. 33: "Everything depends on learning to stay within the utterance of language. For this continuous testing is needed whether and to what extent we achieve the essentials of conforming to language ... For man only speaks, in so far as he conforms to language." Cf. on this Fuchs, Hermeneutik, pp. 62-72.
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This event, however, is an historical event. It binds the parables of Jesus to a particular historical situation in the past. They cannot be loosed from this historical place of origin as an "eternal truth", for which it is of secondary importance at what historical moment it first appeared. What binds them to this point of origin is more than an accidental historical form, which can be stripped off so that the valid content appears all the more clearly. They need to be grasped in their connection with their original historical situation, for this is precisely how they reveal their meaning, though it reaches far beyond that situation.
Notes 1 The "classification of the parables according to categories" should not be described as "a fruitless labour" on the ground that the Hebrew mashal and the Aramaic mathla include "figurative forms of speech of every kind" (Jeremias, p. 20). For although the concept mashal includes a rich variety of meanings, in each individual occurrence it is used throughout in a single sense. As Eissfeldt (Der Maschal im AT, BZA W 24, 1913) has observed, "it is not a general concept under which the individual genera are brought together. Mashal is a technical term now for one type, now for another" (p. 33). Jtilicher has often been criticized for applying the categories of Greek rhetoric to the parables. This criticism would be justified only if he had done violence to the material through his classification of the parables (it is only the classification that comes into consideration here-this needs to be said against Hinge!, p. 95, n. 1) and clothed it in a scheme foreign to its real nature. But the differences between the individual forms of parable discourse are quite obvious in the parables of the New Testament. Jtilicher has merely applied to the material the categories needed to understand the differences which are there in conceptual terms. Though there can be hesitation in individual cases in which category a particular passage should be placed, this does not eliminate the differences in principle (cf. Bultmann, BST, p.174). 2 Bultmann, BST, p.174. 3 Jtilicher, I, p. 93. 4 Jtilicher, I, pp. 97f. Words in Greek have been translated, and the word fable has been replaced by parable in order not to introduce yet another new idea. This is justifiable because Jillicher says, "The majority of the parabolai of Jesus which are in narrative form are fables" (1, p. 98), and so himself makes the equation of fable and parable. 5 Cf. Jtilicher, 11, p. 585. 6 Weinel, p. 2. 7 Fuchs, Bermeneutik, p. 212. 8 Ibid., p. 213. 9 Bultmann, BST, pp. 188-92, a little abbreviated. Greek words and unfamiliar foreign words have been translated and some references supplied in brackets. (One or two alterations or corrections of the English translation have been made. Tr.) 10 Jeremias, p. 102. 11 Ibid., p. 102. 12 Eichholz takes a similar view: "The person addressed ... belongs ... to the structure of the parable" ("Das Gleichnis als Spiel", p. 319).
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13 Billerbeck, I, p. 654. Additions in brackets are by me. 14 Ibid., p. 878. 15 A full and literal version of the text, which has here been rendered very freely, and heavily abbreviated, is given with a list of references in Fie big, Gleichnisreden Jesu, pp.10f. 16 A.Z. 54b; Bultmann, HST, p. 43. 17 Livy, History of Rome, translated from the version in Romische Prosaiker in Neuen Obersetzungen, vol. 2, Stuttgart, 1926, pp. 176f, by C. F. Klaiber, ed. G. L. F. Tafel, C. N. Osiander, and G. Schwab. 18 Fie big, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu, p. 11. 19 Cf. Fuchs, Hermeneutik, §6: "Das Problem der Wirklichkeit und die Sprache". 20 The proof of this has been given by Madsen. 21 Heidegger, Unterwegs zur Sprache, pp. 20 and 33.
Bibliography (Abbreviations of Journals and Series are listed below. Where there is no danger of misunderstanding, books are quoted only by the name of the author.) Billerbeck: see under Strack, H. and Billerbeck, P. --Jesus of Nazareth, London, 1960 (quoted as: Bornkamm, Jesus). Bornkamm, G., Barth, G., Held, H. J., Tradition and Interpretation in Matthew, London, 1963. Bultmann, R. E., History of the Synoptic Tradition, Oxford, 1963 (quoted as Bultmann,HST). Conzelmann, H., "Gegenwart und Zukunft in der Synoptischen Tradition", ZTK, 54 (1957), pp. 277-96. --The Theology of Saint Luke, London, 1960 (quoted as Conzelmann, TSL). Dodd, C. H., The Parables of the Kingdom, rev. ed., Glasgow, 1961. Ebeling, G., Word and Faith, London,1963. Eissfeldt, 0., Der Maschal im Alten Testament, Beihefte zur Zeitschrift fur die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft, 24 (1913). Fiebig, P., Die Gleichnisreden Jesu im Lichte der rabbinischen Gleichnisse des neutestamentlichen Zeitalters, Tiibingen, 1912. Fror, K., Biblische Hermeneutik, Munich, 1961. Fuchs, E., Zur Frage nach dem historischen Jesus, Tiibingen, 1960 (Aufsatze 11) (quoted as Fuchs, Auftiitze 11). - - Hermeneutik, ed. 3, Bad Cannstatt,1963. - - Studies of the Historical Jesus, London, 1964 (ET of part of Aufsatze 11) (quoted as Fuchs, Studies). Grasser, E., Das Problem der Parusieverzogerung in den synoptischen Evangelien und in der Apostelgeschichte (BZNW, 22), ed. 2, Berlin, 1960. Heidegger, M., Unterwegs zur Sprache, ed. 2, Pfullingen, 1960. Jeremias, J., The Parables of Jesus, rev. ed., London, 1963 (quoted as Jeremias). Jiilicher, A., Die Gleichnisreden Jesu, 2 vols., ed. 2, Ti.ibingen, 1910. Jiingel, E., Paulus und Jesus, Ti.ibingen, ed. 2, 1964 (HUT, 2). Ki.immel, W. G., Promise and Fulfilment. The eschatological message of Jesus, London, 1957 (quoted as Kiimrnel, PP). 91
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Otto, R., The Kingdom of God and the Son of M an, London, ed. 2, 1943 (quoted as Otto, Kingdom). Strack, H., and Billerbeck, P., Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrasch, vols.1-4, ed. 2, Munich, 1956 (quoted as Billerbeck). Vielhauer, P., "Gottesreich und Menschensohn in der Verktindigung Jesu", Festschriftfilr G. Dehn zum 75. Geburtstag, Neukirchen, 1957, pp. 51-79 (quoted as Vielhauer, "Gottesreich"). - - "Jesus und der Menschensohn. Zur Diskussion mit Heinz Eduard Todt und Eduard Schweizer", ZTK, 60 (1963), pp. 133-77. Weinel, H., Die Gleichnisse Jesu, ed. 5, Leipzig and Berlin, 1929 (Aus Natur und Geisteswelt, 46).
Abbreviations BZNW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift fiir die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft HUT Hermeneutische Untersuchungen zur Theologie ZTK Zeitschrift for Theologie und Kirche
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IF WE DO NOT CUT THE PARABLES OUT OF THEIR FRAMES* Birger Gerhardsson Source: New Testament Studies, 37, 1991, pp. 321-335.
The New Testament discipline is a rather odd bird within the university. The object of our research is small, a book we can have in our pocket. And the learned work with this book has been carried out for a long time: acute theologians have studied it for almost two millennia and critical scholars for two centuries; there is hardly any counterpart. The secondary literature is as the grains of sand on the sea-shore. But it is typical of our discipline that we move our borders out all the time by requisitioning enormous amounts of comparative material and that, in addition, we import much: we bring in results and tools from other areas of research. No scholarly method in the world can feel safe; sooner or later it will be captured by some New Testament scholar, brought into our discipline and put to work here. Approaches, methods and tools from every imaginable corner meet within New Testament scholarship. If anyone loves pluralism, let him or her come to us. This immense aggregation around our central object of research is not all; we also increase our material by way of dissecting our own texts. We break up our documents into fragments; we try to work back to older versions, reconstruct earlier texts and isolate original elements. The breaking up which is necessary to all analysis is in our discipline taken extremely far. There are scholars today who seem to be notoriously uninterested in the text as it is; only questions about what can possibly have lain behind the text are of interest to them. However, strong tendencies in one direction always call up opposite tendencies. In this case I am, of course, thinking of those streams within our discipline which concentrate programmatically on the text as it is, e.g. the approaches we connect with disciplines such as Redaktionsgeschichte, Composition Criticism, Structuralism, Rhetorical Criticism, and Text 93
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Linguistics. They have in different ways reminded us of the fact that what we have in the material world is the text of the Bible books; that which may have existed before these are more or less hypothetical entities. Within parable research, interesting things have happened - as we all know - during the last decades. Scholars have started interpreting the parables of Jesus in new ways. This is made possible by disjoining the gospel texts. In the footsteps of Form Criticism, one takes the narrative bodies of the parables out of their settings and liberates them from the controlling non-narrative elements they are connected to in the gospels. In that way it is possible to analyse them differently and use them for new purposes. The naked narratives may then be put into new contexts and perspectives; thus fresh possibilities of interpretation are released. The old texts become as if they were new. This work is done with a high degree of theoretical consciousness and often with brilliance. It belongs to what is the most creative and fascinating scholarship within our discipline at present; that is the opinion of many and I am inclined to agree. The Athenians at Paul's time were not unique when they loved new things; we all do, more or less, not least within the circle of scholars. It is perhaps a sad person who puts on a critical face and mutters, 'Not so fast'. But I am afraid I must play that role myself in this paper. In the following, I shall give an account of a number of facts and observations applying to the synoptic parables as we find them in the extant texts. For my part, I prefer to call the parables 'narrative meshalim' - I will come back to that- but the terminology can in itself vary. The strength of what I present lies partly in the fact that my attention has been totally concentrated on the material in the form it indisputably has, partly in the fact that I have examined all the pertinent texts with the same questions: 55 narrative meshalim remaining in their settings and interpreted there, and partly in the fact that the examination has been of a very elementary character. The limitation lies in the fact that I do not discuss the situation before the evangelists. I am not trying to answer the question what Jesus of Nazareth said himself in his own time. But after all, the synoptic gospels are our oldest extant sources concerning the teaching of Jesus, and the three evangelists our oldest audible witnesses - or at least readable witnesses. Theories which presuppose that the synoptic evangelists have misunderstood basic things in Jesus' teaching pervasively must be regarded as very adventurous. Therefore I find it meaningful in the present situation of parable research to examine the gospel text before us attentively. New and fascinating theses must constantly be tested against the factual material. Imagination, inventiveness and creativity lose contact with the ground too easily, even within scholarship.
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The categorization of our material I proposed some years ago that we call all the independent units within the synoptic sayings-tradition 'meshalim' and divide them roughly into 'aphoristic meshalim' and 'narrative meshalim', corresponding to 'logia' and 'parables' .1 For our analytical aims we must, of course, proceed and categorize the miscellaneous and variegated mashal material more closely. Thus, I think, albeit with some hesitation, that it is helpful to draw upon the tradition from Jiilicher and divide the narrative meshalim into meshalim of a similitude type, of a parable type and of an example type (a Beispielerziihlung). (The mashal about the Last Judgement in Matt 25 does not fit into any of these categories; it is of a prophetic-didactic type.) But these distinctions remain problematic; many meshalim are mixtures or borderline cases. This very common categorization is hardly very important, however. We must remember that we make these categories ourselves. Nothing indicates that these distinctions were made by the evangelists (or by Jesus or by the early Christian teachers before them). In the gospels the Greek word 1tapa~oA.i] is employed freely to refer to logia and 'parables' of all kinds. And this use of the Greek word reflects the ancient Jewish teachers' undifferentiated way of using the Hebrew word miishiil. The Hellenistic teachers of rhetoric must, on their side, have found this usage both careless and uncultivated. As to the narrative meshalim in the gospels, they are all, without exception, fictive stories, invented mini-texts, in which the characters are anonymous (except two men in one of these texts: Lazarus and Abraham in the mashal about The Rich Man and Lazarus). There is, from this point of view, no difference between the meshalim of the similitude type and those of the parable type, nor between the meshalim of the parable type and those of the example type. Nor are the characters in the meshalim of the example type named persons from history or literature, as the exempla of rhetoricians should be.2 It is in itself not impossible that occasionally the plot of a narrative mashal or part of it has been taken from the real world (e.g. Luke 19.12, 14) but it has in that case been remade and rendered anonymous; it is now precisely as free of names as the stories in the other meshalim. Thus the narrative meshalim in the synoptic gospels are, all of them, without exception, invented stories and formulated without deliberate categorization. The fact that the different meshalim have not been designed according to any conscious rules for different types forbids us to take our own categorization too seriously and to draw from it conclusions that are too weighty. In recent time different attempts have been made at grouping together a number of meshalim exclusively on the basis of vital characteristics they have in common themselves. Of course, attempts of that kind have better reasons. 3 95
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The subject field of the narrative meshalim The narrative meshalim of the synoptic gospels elucidate questions in a subject field which, in the pertinent pericopes, is indicated sometimes with the expression il j)acrtA.da 'tOU ewu (twice in Mark, twice in Luke) or il j)acrtAEt<X 'tiDY oupav&v (10 times in Matthew) or, in an abbreviated form, solely il j)acrtAtt<X (twice in Matthew): God's rule or kingdom, the rule or kingdom of Heaven, or just the Rule or the Kingdom. In my opinion the three forms do not have different meanings; the expression is a vague umbrella-term, which covers the content of all the narrative meshalim in the synoptic gospels, provided we take it in its widest meaning, not onesidedly focusing on the future. It denotes God's ruling over the world, including our situation and tasks within it. God's basileia was a conventional expression; it is nowhere defined in our texts. Nor is its own proper meaning directly elucidated with one single narrative mashal; all these meshalim treat solely aspects of the basileia, not the basileia itself. In connection with the narrative meshalim the expression has sometimes a narrow meaning - it aims at the ideal situation which will come soon - but usually it seems to be used in the same vague way that we speak of 'God's will' or 'the relation to God' or 'the religious domain' or something similar. When it is said in the gospels that 'the kingdom of God/Heaven is like' something, this is mostly a very loose indication; in my opinion it hardly tells us more than that the mashal will elucidate something about God and us, something in the religious domain. That is a very imprecise piece of information but it is nevertheless a fundamental one: we do not deal with wild texts, loose narratives without intended messages.
The function of the narrative meshalim Modern expositors can increase their hermeneutic freedom immensely, if they may cut the narrative meshalim out of their frames. Then they get a collection of small, pure narratives, open in many directions. They can regard these stripped narratives as the most central Jesus-material; that we cannot do if we take them as they stand within our texts. And the expositor can go on and tell us that these literary pearls are calculated to 'invade' the listeners and, with their impressive metaphoric force, make an effect upon them which cannot be brought about by plain, discursive words. Accordingly in this view it is a great mistake when we try to tell in plain speech what the narrative is intended to 'teach' the listeners. The narratives are themselves the message, and they are calculated to influence the receiver as they are, in their own specific way. If, however, we stick to the narrative meshalim as our eyes meet them in the gospels, we must accept the fact that they are not naked stories there,
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not texts in a pure, exclusively narrative form. They are framed. The little story has a setting; it is part of a pericope. 4 Only one of the fifty-five narrative meshalim in the synoptic gospels is a totally naked narrative: the story of The Rich Man and Lazarus. The remaining fifty-four are controlled by one or several non-narrative text elements, or they include some element of this kind. 5 And every one of them stands in the service of a specific concern: the message which Jesus of Nazareth presents in words and deeds. To be more precise, the narrative mashal in the synoptic gospels is almost always a kind of comparative text. The synoptic Jesus has his subject - the rule of God - and when he teaches about different aspects of this subject he resorts to comparisons or analogies. In regard to the narrative meshalim, almost half the cases are supplied with an introductory phrase or a word telling that in this case the subject 'is like' this or that: OJ-lotouv in ten cases (1 in Mark, 6 in Matthew, 3 in Luke), OJ-lOto~ in 12 (7 in Matthew, 5 in Luke), ro~ in three cases (in Mark) and romtEp in one (in Matthew).6 In addition the comparison is made plain in all pericopes in which the narrative mashal is followed by an interpretation or an application: ou'tro~, f...f.yro UJ-ltV etc. The man who presents narrative meshalim in the gospels is not a storyteller, not a popular narrator. He teaches on a definite subject and he elucidates this subject with comparisons. The comparison is, so to say, a short excursion. Why is this excursion made, what purpose will the speaker achieve with it? In the ancient rhetorical textbook Ad Herennium (from about 80 BC or so), it is said about the 'parable' (similitudo) that it is used either to embellish the presentation (ornandi causa) or to prove something (probandi) or to say something more clearly (apertius dicendi) or to put something before the eyes of the audience (ante oculos ponendi). 1 We can ourselves think of other alternatives; comparisons serve many different roles in language, as everybody knows. I once put twelve possibilities in columns and went through all the pertinent pericopes - five in Mark, 21 in Matthew, 29 in Luke - asking twelve questions of each one: does this mashal serve the purpose of making the topic more clear? Does it give a concrete picture of it? Embellish it? Inform about it? etc. I practised in a way, the method of 'trial and error•.s What did I find? None of the narrative meshalim in the gospels seems to fulfil the function of just embellishing (ornare) a line of thought; a rhetorical luxury of that kind lies beyond the evangelists' horizon. 97
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Nor can the meshalim have been designed to prove (probare) something: neither the context nor the formulation of the meshalim themselves suggests that deductive reasoning is intended. But of course they want to support their case in a more general sense; they certainly are a kind of argumentation, an appealing argumentation. It is however possible to say, without forcing the evidence, that all the narrative meshalim of the synoptic gospels fulfil the function of making something clearer, of illuminating it. The formulation of the ancient rhetoricians apertius dicere, 'say something more clearly', is pertinent in all the cases. It is also appropriate, in almost every case, to say that the mashal conveys a concrete picture of something, or illustrates it. That certainly is what the rhetoricians meant with the formula ante oculos ponere, 'put something before the eyes'. By clarification and illustration, the speaker will help the listeners understand. The understanding which the synoptic Jesus will achieve is not a bare intellectual act, however. The intention is to make the listeners einverstanden as well, to awaken an insight which demands to be put into practice: a motivating insight (the Greek verb for this understanding is O"UVU~Va.t).
Thus all the narrative meshalim in the synoptic gospels fulfil primarily the function of making a matter more clear and, as a rule, also concrete, and this in order to plant it in the listeners' hearts, to make them understand and agree. This is their composite basic function. Different secondary aims may be added to the ones mentioned. Many narrative meshalim are exhortatory or parenetic as well. Several narrative meshalim ask a question which demands an answer. In a few cases a synoptic narrative mashal seems to attack something, in a few cases defend something. But these are always secondary aims, added to the primary ones, and they are very often expressed with the aid of the accessories of the mashal. The narrative meshalim in the so-called parable chapter have a certain distinctiveness. They intend to, they as well as the other ones, clarify something and make it concrete to everyone who has ears to hear; but something is added here. All seven in Matthew 13 disclose something, revealing an aspect of the mysteries of the rule of Heaven (cf. v. 11). All seven depict something which is hidden under the surface for a time. 9 They treat JCEJcpUf.Lf.LEVa. (v. 35). The same applies to the three in Mark 4 and the single one in Luke 8. In Mark- and in a milder form in Luke- Jesus says that these meshalim are also intended to hide the mystery from those who have a hardened heart. 10 But these aspects are additional aims and they do not at all apply to the remaining narrative meshalim, those outside the parable chapter. These meshalim do not treat hidden things which are revealed, even less do they hide something.
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When we say that the narrative meshalim are comparative texts, a qualification is necessary. The comparison is not made for its own sake with an equal interest in two entities which are placed side by side. The comparison is made to elucidate one of the two. The subject is lord, the mashal just a servant. The synoptic narrative meshalim are not created by a poet or a story-teller; they are designed by a man with a message which he wants to elucidate more closely on different points. I repeat: all the narrative meshalim in the synoptic gospels fulfil the function of illuminating and making concrete an aspect of the kingdom or rule of God, and this in order to make the listeners take it to their hearts: to understand and agree. This is their composite basic purpose, and it corresponds perfectly with the concluding words in the interpretation of the mashal of the Sower in Matthew (13.23): the right listener not only hears the word of the Kingdom but also understands what it is all about and consequently bears fruit in action. The decisive Greek words are aKOUEt v, cruvtEVat, and K<Xp7to<popEtV (and notEtV as well).
What our narrative meshalim are not One of our royal roads to an understanding of something is the via negativa, to study what it is not. Let me delimit our meshalim with the aid of seven observations of this kind. (1) The narrative meshalim in the gospels never have the character of an elementary proclamation, new tidings from heaven. There are such elements in the gospels ('The kingdom of God is at hand') but these have nowhere the form of a narrative mashal. Nor does any narrative mashal appear in an initial, proclamatory place. (2) The narrative meshalim do not very often present the gospel itself, in the narrow meaning of the word; they do not primarily deal with God's generous offer of the Kingdom. Some of them, however, do elucidate God's grace and forgiveness, his radical generosity and his special care for the small and the weak and the lost: The Lost Sheep, The Lost Coin, The Prodigal Son, The Labourers in the Vineyard, The Great Feast. And, of course, God is the governing factor for all that is illuminated by these narratives; that which must be clarified is his 'will', his 8EAT]jl<X. But astonishingly few narrative meshalim elucidate primarily God's graceful action and offer. An overwhelming majority of them clarify first of all God's demands upon his people and his way of maintaining them. In fact the situation can, with a certain pointedness, be described as follows: if the evangelists regard the narrative meshalim as the primary and dominating element in Jesus' preaching- if they really do- then we must notice that they present him as a legalistic wisdom teacher rather than as one who proclaims a generous gospel. But they do not. In the
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gospels, the first paragraph in Jesus' proclamation is only seldom elucidated with a narrative mashal. (3) The narrative meshalim do not either, on the other hand, proclaim law or clarify regulations. Least of all do they inculcate detailed halachic rules. There are in the gospels a number of aphoristic meshalim (logia) which deal with the regulations about hand-washing before meals, pure and impure food, tithes, oaths, the korban and a few other halachic questions (Mark 7, Matt 15 & 23). In these meshalim, aphoristic meshalim, Jesus brings such matters up just in order to belittle them. He blames the scribes and Pharisees in Matt 23 for zeal for such questions while neglecting -r:a ~apu-r:a::pa -r:ou v6t-tou, 'the weightier matters of the Torah', justice and mercy and faithfulness. In the narrative meshalim on the other hand, halachic questions are not taken up at all, not once. The synoptic Jesus may criticize such things, but he does not find them worthy of being elucidated. The narrative meshalim always deal with -r:a ~apu-r:a::pa, the most important matters in God's words to his people. They inculcate right basic attitudes, leading principles and main duties, such as obedience to God, penitence and watchfulness before him, mercy, forgiveness and generosity to the neighbour etc., not the casuistic observance of concrete, detailed rules. The narrative meshalim do not regulate external behaviour in the way halacha does. In one single narrative mashal - the one about The Last Judgement in Matt 25 - some specific duties are enumerated but even these are spoken of in broad terms (the obligation of giving the hungry food, the thirsty drink, the naked clothes etc.). These duties are not closely defined and delimited; halachic rules are not in view in this case either. The sum is that most of the narrative meshalim have a parenetic function and yet not one of them is halachic; they are all haggadic in their nature, if I may use this terminology. ( 4) The narrative meshalim in the gospels do not function as interpretation of Scripture in the more specific meaning, e.g. as sayings which expressly serve to clarify obscure points in a text, quoted from the Bible. Some of them come close. The mashal of The Good Samaritan elucidates the question of who is my neighbour in connection with the love commandment in Lev 19.18. And several narrative meshalim are certainly inspired by passages in the Holy Scriptures. Thus the parable of The Sower is connected with Isa 6.8-10 and Deut 6.4-5, the vineyard meshalim (Mark 12.1-12 parr., Matt 20.1-16 and 21.28-32) with Isa 5, and there are more examples. Yet these are not very numerous and none of them is as directly exegetical as the rabbinic narrative meshalim normally are, directly designed to expound a specific point in the text of the Holy Scriptures. Behind the narrative meshalim in the synoptic gospels there is not primarily an exegete of texts.
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(5) In the gospels, the narrative meshalim do not appear as playful, literary products, aesthetic objects with a value of their own, made by someone who could not help that his words were art. Their meaning may be somewhat ambiguous at times but it is never a wide open matter. The small texts are too strongly stylized for being aesthetic objects proper. The narrator knows very well why he designs his mashal. He never allows himself to depict milieu and incidental circumstances, to mention secondary characters which are not necessary for the action of the narrative, not even to have a closer look at the main characters of his story. Nor does he allow these characters to pronounce dense aphorisms or poetical rejoinders; almost without exception their words are but practical utterances which promote the action of the mashal. 11 This shows with what determination the narrator subordinates the pleasure of literary concerns to his practical aim, the didactic purpose the narrative is designed for. (6) It also belongs to this that the narrative meshalim of the synoptic gospels never psychologize. The narrative depicts attitudes, actions and events, not how the characters may be perceived from a psychological point of view. Adjectives like 'good' or 'bad', 'wise' or 'foolish' do not make us look into the soul of the characters. In a synoptic narrative mashal a character may become angry or distressed but this is very rare and, furthermore, such emotion involves nothing but very general, elementary reactions, never anything which makes the character into an individual with contours of his own. The perspective is always behavioural and typical. If a modern interpreter comments on the psychology of the characters in a narrative mashal, he operates totally on his own. (7) It does not seem adequate to say that our narrative meshalim force the listener to a decision (Entscheidung). This possibly applies to a few of those cases in which a narrative mashal has the form of an elaborate question (e.g. The Tower Builder or The Warring King) or ends with a question (The Two Sons or The Good Samaritan). But even in these cases the mashal will rather captivate the listener than force him to an acute decision. And it does not apply to all the narrative meshalim which have the form of a question or end up with one. 12 Even less can we say generally of the narrative meshalim in the gospels that they are intended to challenge the listeners to a decision. They are not formulated in that way. They are calculated instead to call forth an existential insight (auvecn~, biniih) which leads to action.
On the metaphoric language of the narrative meshalim The imagery of the narrative meshalim in the gospels does not consist of things or natural phenomena or natural processes except in a limited number of cases and then together with human beings. One does not see how small a role nature or material reality plays until one makes a comparison with the 101
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narrative meshalim in the Old Testament books.13 Extra-human nature plays its greatest role in the parable chapter, otherwise its role is small.t4 The strictly central imagery in our narrative meshalim is - with one exception (The Sower) - taken from the world of humans; it is anthropomorphic. In about three-quarters of these texts ( 42 out of 55) two human beings or more appear, 15 exceptionally one by one (The Two Builders), in all other cases related to each other. Thus the imagery is taken from the social interaction of human beings, their social life. The metaphoric language is mainly anthroposocial. This means that the distance between picture and matter is very small. That which shall be elucidated is the relation between God and us and God's demands on our relations with each other, and this is in most cases clarified with an imagery which depicts how human beings behave towards one another. This metaphoric language cannot be covered with any general, simple metaphor theory. The metaphoric language in these meshalim is not unitary, it is mixed. One example: in the meshalim certain human actors elucidate God's role and action. These actors function as comparative pictures; in this case there is an analogy between the man in the mashal and God. But those human actors who elucidate human behaviour belong to another category; they are only examples; this part of the mashal is, strictly speaking, only an example story. The human character in the narrative acts in his relation rightly or wrongly and this will be transferred to the same human behaviour in another context, the one which the mashal will elucidate. Two examples: the wicked husbandmen act wrongly against their master's emissaries; so Israel's leaders act wrongly when they behave in the same way against God's emissaries. The ten virgins have prepared themselves badly or well for the arrival of the bridegroom: so may also the followers of Jesus be badly or well prepared for the coming of their heavenly lord. This element of the mashal is nothing but a bit of example story. Thus the distance between picture and matter is very small: in certain parts of the mashal very small indeed, in other parts somewhat larger and, furthermore, the relation is of another character. The whole cannot be covered by one simple metaphor theory. This is one more example of the problems which are due to the fact that our texts are meshalim, not designed on the basis of clearcut rules from ancient rhetoric or modern literary criticism. 16
On the message of the narrative meshalim The man who presents the narrative meshalim of the gospels - the synoptic Jesus - does not perceive God as an abstract entity: as love or as an idea or a process or whatever has been proposed. To him God is a living 'You' which can most easily be compared with a human being, a Father in 102
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heaven. And the secret of human life is to him first of all a matter of fellowship: an ideal fellowship between human beings, inspired by an ideal fellowship between us humans and our heavenly Father. The basic existential task is to live in true fellowship with the Lord of heaven and earth. I have said that the narrative meshalim do not show any concern for the concrete, detailed regulations of the Torah. They paint a picture of a living obedience to God and an unselfish care for fellow human beings, with a great openness to the variations of life. In comparison with the scribe's learned pains for the text and the letter of the Holy Scriptures, and the exact demands in them, this teaching had a marked profile. It is interesting, however, to notice that in important regards the Jesus of the narrative meshalim nevertheless keeps within the traditional boundaries. Let me mention one instance. The figure who plays God's role in a narrative mashal is always above opposition and blame. His action is constantly presented so as to receive assent. The king, the owner of the vineyard, the landlord, the magnate, the master of the house, the lord, the father - his action is always treated as blameless. Normally it is just depicted, in an unproblematic way. In a few cases, however, it is focused, illuminated and made concrete. But this is done simply to justify God's action (The Labourers in the Vineyard) or defend it (The Wicked Husbandmen, The Prodigal Son). Never is the possibility suggested that the action could reasonably be criticized. It is axiomatic to the mashal narrator that God stands for the good and right, and that therefore he must be met with obedience and love, not with criticism, opposition or strivings for independence. If our texts were secular texts, they would argue for a blind obedience to all authorities. But they move in the religious domain and their message means that human beings shall not be disobedient and independent towards God. In their relation to him, obedience is necessary. The Jesus of the narrative meshalim demands that the people of God shall hear God's word and act accordingly, not develop themselves into self-governed individuals, independent in all directions, even towards God. The prodigal son's breaking away from his father's house is not presented as a right action; only his penitent return. The human ideal is thus not an individual free from all external authority, finding his norms within himself. The human ideal is realized by those who hear and understand God's will and who repent when they have sinned. These are not modern secularized and emancipated persons. And when the divine will is made clear and concrete in the narrative meshalim it concerns mostly care for other human beings: righteousness and mercy in attitude and action. In spite of their free and imaginative character, our texts move within a definite circle and share a definite base of argumentation with the listeners. In one way it can be said that the basic attitude presented is, in spite of its radicalism, religiously conservative. The new aspects are made 103
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concrete within the frame of an unproblematized faith in the God of the fathers, whose will is basically known already. In his teaching, the synoptic Jesus does not start from zero. He elucidates classical matters in Israel's faith: obedience towards God and willingness to hear his word and perform his will, in accordance with the ancient, inclusive words of the Shema', Hear, 0 Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord, your God, with your whole heart, and with your whole soul, and with all your resources (Deut 6.4-5). When God's will is inculcated in the narrative meshalim, a great majority of points may essentially be summarized in another basic commandment in the Torah: And you shall love your neighbour as yourself (Lev 19.18). The verb for 'love', a:yanfJ.v, in the synoptic gospels is usually an inclusive term, used to summarize. It does not appear often and alludes in most instances to one of the two love-commandments in the Torah or to both of themP In Matthew 22.34-40, in the dialogue concerning the greatest commandment, Jesus says that the whole Law and the prophets hang on the two love commandments. It is this overall view of God's will 18 that is made clear and concrete on a number of points with the aid of the narrative meshalim in the synoptic gospels.
Conclusion I have examined the texts as we read them in the synoptic gospels within the Greek New Testament. The original message of the historic Jesus of Nazareth, I have not discussed. But I will repeat what I said at the beginning, that I do not think the evangelists have misrepresented him completely, in this case in 54 out of 55 pericopes.1 9 Nor do I think that we remain ourselves within the limits of sound exegesis, if we cut the narrative meshalim out of their frames in the gospels and treat them as wild texts designed to function as naked narratives with indeterminable messages. 20
Notes
*
Presidential Address, delivered at the 45th General Meeting of SNTS, held in Milan, Italy, July 24, 1990. 1 'The Narrative Meshalirn in the Synoptic Gospels', NTS 34 (1988) 339-63, here 339-42.
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2 See, e.g., the textbook Ad Herennium (cf. below) IV.xlix.62: Exemplum est a/icuius facti aut dicti praeteriti cum certi auctoris nomine proposito. 3 On the problems of finding adequate categories, cf. E. Baasland, 'Zum Beispiel der Beispielerz!ihlungen', NT28 (1986) 193-219. 4 In the synoptic gospels the narrative meshalim are more or less determined by their context but also by one or more accessories before, after or within them. These are of eleven different types: (1) a directly preparing editorial notice, (2) some didactic phrase in the mouth of Jesus before the narrative itself, (3) an introductory formula to the narrative body of the mashal, (4) a concluding question, (5) a generalizing concluding statement, (6) a proper interpretation or application, (7) a conclusion, (8) one or more complementary, kindred statements, (9) a subsequent frame notice. Furthermore, (10): 'The factual hair can penetrate 'the figurative half' at certain places so that some textual elements express both these 'halves' at one and the same time, and (11) sometimes didactic elements (questions, admonitions etc.) are integrated into the narrative text of the mashal. See my article 'The Narrative Mesha!im in the Old Testament Books and in the Synoptic Gospels', To Touch the Text. Festschrift J. A. Fitzmyer (ed. by M. P. Horgan & P. J. Kobelski [New York: Crossroad, 1989]) 289-304, here 296-8. 5 See previous note, points (10) and (11). The mashal of The Last Judgement in Matt 25. 31-46 seems to be a pure narrative but it includes non-narrative elements of an aphoristic character, the sayings about 'the least of these my brethren' in vv. 40 and 45. 6 OJ.lOtOuv: Mark 4.30; Matt 7.24 (26), 11.16, 13.24, 18.23, 22.2, 25.10; Luke 7.31, 13.18, 20; OJ.lOtoc;: Matt 11.16, 13.21, 33, 44, 45, 47, 20.1; Luke 6.47 (48, 49), 7.31 (32), 12.36, 13.18 (19), 21; roe;: Mark 4.26, 31, 13.34; roc:mep: Matt 25.14. 7 Ea sumitur aut ornandi causa aut probandi aut apertius dicendi aut ante ocu/os ponedi, IV.xlv.59. 8 My questions were: does this narrative mashal serve the purpose of 1. making the matter more clear, illuminating it,
2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12.
giving a concrete picture of something, illustrating it, embellishing the presentation, making known something new, informing about something, revealing something hidden or secret, provoking the listeners to a decision, proving something, arguing for something, making the listeners agree, developing a question, defending something, or attacking something?
The twelve possibilities are not always distinct from each other. Many of them can be combined in different ways. 9 In these meshalim something is hidden down in the earth, under the surface of sea, in the dough, and behind the poker-face of an oriental merchant. See my article, 'The Seven Parables in Matthew XIII', NTS 19 (1972/3) 16-37, here 19-25. 10 Mark and Luke have tva (4.12 and 8.10 respectively). The Matthean Jesus says something else: 8ta 1:ou·ro ... on (13.13). As to the puzzling idea of divine hardening in Mark 4.10-12, see the commentaries ad loc. 11 The exceptions are the generalizing sayings which are often added after the
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12
13 14
15 16 17 18
19 20
narrative body of the mashal or in exceptional cases included in it, at its end. (There is also one at the end of the first part of The Last Judgement, Matt 25.40; cf. 45.) The following narrative meshalim have the form of an elaborate question: The Lost Sheep in both Matthew and Luke, and The Friend at Midnight, The Tower Builder, The Warring King, The Lost Coin, and the Servant's Reward in Luke. - The following end with a question: The Two Sons, and The Wicked Husbandmen in Matthew, The Two Debtors, The Good Samaritan, and The Unjust Judge in Luke. See my paper 'The Narrative Meshalim in the Synoptic Gospels' (above, n. 1) 345-7. Nature is a vital part of the imagery in Mark 4 in The Sower, The Seed Growing Secretly, and The Mustard Seed; in Matt 13 in The Sower, The Tares, The Mustard Seed, The Leaven, The Hidden Treasure; in Luke 8 The Sower. In addition Luke has - outside the parable chapter - The Mustard Seed, and The Leaven, and. in addition, The Barren Fig Tree. The man who sows in The Mustard Seed in Mark and those who are fishing in The Dragnet in Matthew are not actually mentioned, however,- only presupposed. For a more detailed analysis of the narrative meshalim in the synoptic gospels, see my article 'Illuminating the Kingdom', Jesus and the Oral Gospel Tradition (ed. by H. Wansbrough; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1991). See Mark 7.6 (var.), 12.28-34; Matt 5.43-8, 6.24, 19.19, 22.34-40; Luke 6.27-36, 7.36--50, 10.25-37, 16.13. How inclusively Luke 7.5 is meant, is difficult to decide. Mark 10.21 and Luke 11.43 are exceptions. On the programmatic character of this pericope, see my article 'The Hermeneutic Program in Matthew 22:37--40', Jews, Greeks and Christians. Festschrift W. D. Davies (ed. by R. Hamerton-Kelly & R. Scroggs; Leiden: Brill, 1976) 129-50. On the aya1tT1 motif in Early Christianity, see further my article 'Agape and Imitation of Christ', Jesus, The Gospels, and the Church. Festschrift W. F. Farmer (ed. by E. P. Sanders; Macon: Mercer University, 1987, 163-76), and my book The Ethos of the Bible (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981; London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1982). On the role played by the Shema· with its love-commandment in the parable chapter, see my articles 'The Parable of the Sower and Its Interpretation', NTS 14 (1967/8) 165-93, and 'The Seven Parables' (above, n. 9). Cf. above, p. 6. I am grateful to my friend Donald A. Hagner who has polished my English.
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28 INTRODUCTION and
EXTRACTS FROM JESUS' PROCLAMATION OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD Johannes Weiss Source: Richard Hyde Hiers and David Larrimore Holland (eds), Jesus' Proclamation of the Kingdom of God, translated by Richard Hyde Hiers and David Larrimore Holland (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971), pp. 57-74. (Originally published as Die Predigt Jesu vom Reiche Gottes, Giittingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1892.)
One of the most gratifying and promising aspects of recent theology! is its serious attention to and emphasis upon the concept "Kingdom of God." Even to common historical sense it must appear appropriate when describing the positive character of the Christian religion and the historical circumstances under which it arose to take as the point of departure and center of systematic theology the main ideas of Jesus' proclamation, rather than Paul's doctrine of justification. This likewise gives a more satisfactory basis for a really systematic arrangement of the series of Christian concepts which theology has to offer with respect to the special tasks for our time. It is possible on this basis to include in a unified perspective both "dogmatics" and "ethics," which otherwise always more or less fall apart, at least where systematic theology is constructed on the pattern of the doctrine of justification. The artificial isolation of religious experiences, "of the action of God upon men," from the religious-ethical reactions of individuals is a necessary consequence of the separation of the two disciplines which in turn follows from the mechanical demarcation between justification and new life. The application of this important orientation will even prove useful for practical theology and the preaching of the Gospel. For it is an open secret that preaching and instruction which proceed according to the pattern of the ordo salutis in the old Protestant sense, bounce off 107
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the majority of our contemporaries without effect. Such is the case for several reasons. First of all, the organic connection between the religious good and the ethical ideal does not stand out clearly enough. Moreover, the doctrine of redemption which is defined over against a general conception of sin is not concrete, and therefore not practical enough. Finally, the factor of gradual education through God's grace must necessarily be neglected where all one's energy is directed toward presenting the fundamental act of justification and forgiveness of sins. More recent dogmatics (exhibiting an enormous step forward) shows that it no longer pictures justification as a detached experience, as the acceptance of a sinner who until then had been completely estranged from God, but shows instead how the Christian born, raised, and developed within the congregation may, despite his sin, hope for the grace of God. But even so, there are still difficulties and dangers in the use of the word "justification." This word always necessarily calls forth the image of a single, dramatic act of pardon (OtK:ai.rocncr). But then if something of the sort is not experienced, what emerges will be either pietistic self-torment, or indifference toward an unintelligible doctrine. Preaching surely will not miss its mark, however, if it calls men seriously and enthusiastically into the Kingdom of God, into the company of those who entrust themselves to God as King and Leader of their lives, and commit their energies to his service. It will not miss its mark if it can show how limited yet how abundant, how simple and yet how immeasurably difficult, how grave and yet how exalted are the tasks which God gives to his servants in this Kingdom. And it must show that these tasks are possible only to one who feeds his soul with power from on high, by means of which he, himself a king, yet humble and joyous as a child, allows God to lead and form his life. We are not today in the kind of situation where our preaching has only to direct a surplus of religion into the correct paths. Our principal task does not consist in finding some way to solve the religious questions that people find perplexing. Rather, the real problem is, first of all, to reawaken religion. But we can never do this if we immediately confront our congregations with the greatest and most difficult things in Christianity, which require sensitive and believing minds if they are to be understood, and proceed deductively to derive from these the requirements for the moral life. Instead, we can succeed only if we introduce them inductively to Christian living (both ethical and religious) in its simplest and most concrete form. Then it will come about, when we once more have a Christian community in which new and tender life is sheltered and can prosper, that "faith" in the higher sense, as the heroes of our religion know it, will grow up of its own accord in minds prepared for it. From what has been said, it is sufficiently evident that we ought to be grateful for the new emphasis upon this central idea of Jesus. It therefore seems all the more necessary, however, to submit the historical founda108
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tions of this concept to a thorough investigation. Every dogmatics which employs Biblical concepts is always in the more or less clearly perceived danger of stripping these concepts of their original historical character by reinterpreting or converting them to new purposes in accordance with new viewpoints. There can be no objection to this procedure as such. For in all areas of the intellectual life, it is necessarily the case that words and concepts are transformed by later generations into new coinage and new meaning. Theology must insist only on one thing if it wants to remain clear concerning itself and conscious of its procedures, namely, that one should acknowledge whether and how far we today are removed from the original meaning of the concepts, and that one should declare, for the sake of clarity, that he wishes to issue the old coinage at a new rate of exchange. In this regard, it might not be superfluous if we attempt once more to identify the original historical meaning which Jesus connected with the words "Kingdom of God," and if we do it with special care lest we import modern, or at any rate alien, ideas into Jesus' thought-world.
1. Evaluation of the sources The problem is already complicated enough because of the nature of the sources. 2 The contemporary state of Gospel criticism justifies our excluding the Gospel of John almost totally from our investigation. It is dispensable to a large degree from our study since it furnishes few direct sayings concerning the Kingdom of God. But even the synoptic Gospels can be used only with certain qualifications, for at precisely those points which relate to our theme we have to take note of secondary displacement of the original material. Many today would also concur in regarding Mark, or at least a writing "A" of like scope and composition to Mark, as the skeleton for both of the other Gospels. 3 In addition, one may venture to acknowledge a source "Q" which contained predominantly sayings and which can be-though it has admittedly not yet been-reconstructed from Matthew and Luke. And one may also posit a special source for Luke "LQ" containing narratives, parables, and sayings. Furthermore, over against a recent tendency in criticism, I believe it must be maintained that Luke is not dependent on Matthew (and vice versa). On this point I regard as conclusive, among other things, the evidence set forth by Pfieiderer4 which indicates that our first Gospel [Matthew] was composed at a very late date: it already contains signs of the church's becoming catholic, and it points in the direction of the Apologists. 5 But even so, there are certain passages of this Gospel-to be selected with prudence of course-which are customarily preferred in construing Jesus' conception of the Kingdom of God: 6 particularly the explanation of the parable of the tares and the Matthean redaction of the parable itself (Matt. 13:24-30, 36-43), the simile of the fishnet (Matt. 13:47-50), and also
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the redaction of the Judgment Scene (Matt. 25:31-46), which belong, in the judgment of many scholars, to the latest components of the Gospel. These, consequently, cannot serve as direct sources for us because they contain a conception of the Kingdom of God formed from the standpoint of the later community by analogy to certain Pauline formulations. Matthew 13:41 distinguishes a jmcnA.ei.a of the Son of man (cf. John 18:36 f.)-the ecc/esia visibi/is-from the jmatA.ei.a 'tOU 7ta'tp~. Until then, the righteous were to dwell together with the sinners in the Kingdom of Christ, under the lordship of the Son of man; but with the auv'tf:A.eta 'tou airovoc; (Matt. 13:39), when Christ as jmatA.euc; will sit in judgment (Matt. 25:31), the righteous will enter into life (Matt. 25:46) or inherit the Kingdom which the Father had prepared for them from the foundation of the world. This conception of a jmmA.ei.a 'tou Xpta'tou which then will be separate from the jmatA.Eia 9eou is reported to us first by Paul (Col. 1:13 f.; 1 Cor. 15:24 f.), who, however, expresses here only one common early Christian view. In any case, it was invented from the standpoint of the ancient congregations who, in the exalted KUptoc;, recognize Christ, the divine regent of the world, commissioned to reign for a time as God's representative. Furthermore, they hope for his definitive overthrow of God's enemies until, after a complete victory, the strong hand of God himself will take up the reins once more. Because these conceptions belong within this thought-world of early Christianity, and proceed from belief in the Exalted One (Acts 2: 36), we cannot consider them among the authentic statements of Jesus. Equally little do I regard the characteristics which might perhaps be derived from the phrase jmatA.Ei.a 'trov oupavrov as features of the original idea. An expression which appears only in Matthew and John (3:5),7 but not in the Logia "Q", e.g., Matt. 12:28, presents little claim to be regarded as original, and one is continually constrained to declare it one of Matthew's most characteristic ideas. It appears, indeed, to be connected to that general shift in the conception of the Kingdom of God which has just been described. For however one may interpret the genitive form of 'trov oi>pavrov, whether as a designation of place, or as genitive of origin, or as simple subjective genitive (essentially equivalent to 'tou 9eou in Luke 15:18, 21), the jmmA.Eia still always appears to be thought of as completely transcendent and distinct from the present ~aatA.Ei.a of Christ on earth. In no case, therefore, may one regard this peculiarity of the first evangelist as the viewpoint of Jesus himself. Likewise, another preliminary remark concerning the parables is in order, especially concerning the form in which they appear in Matthew. A great many of them are introduced by a formula such as 11 ~aatA.Eia 't. 9eou ('t. oi>p.) OJ.I.Ota E:anv, etc. It is generally recognized that this comparison is to be understood only in a very loose sense. The translation "With the Kingdom of God, it is as with ... "might well approximate the vagueness
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of the formula. 8 More important is the fact that the whole point of view which regards the parables as a description of conditions within the Kingdom of God cannot be taken as binding for our strictly historical way of thinking. That method is derived from a saying of Jesus in Mark 4:11, the present textual form of which departs from the original of "A" which can still be recognized today from the Matthean and Lukan parallels. 9 According to the testimony of both these references (Matt. 13:10-13; Luke 8:9-10), the verse originally read: UJ.I.tV SEoo'tat yvrovat 'ta Jl.OO't'ftpta 'tll~ ~atA.e\.a~ 'tou 9eou, i:Jce\. vot~ SE: f.v 7tap~oA.at~. One gains the impression-and this is certainly the meaning of the evangelists-that the parables which are not comprehended by the people are supposed to present "secrets of the Kingdom of God." But how this expression is to be understood is not entirely clear. Usually one thinks of the "secret laws which are valid in the Kingdom of God" or the "secret means by which the rule of God will be established." In any case, what is intended is a description of the circumstances of the Kingdom of God, which is regarded, in some way or other, as coincident with the concern of the Gospel or with the community of the disciples. This saying in Mark inspired the other evangelists to attach this formula to a wide range of other parables. But now it is to be observed that: 1) a great many parables which are introduced in this manner have nothing at all to do with the Kingdom of God or can be related to it only with difficulty; and 2) in many cases the evangelists themselves abandon that formula and along with it the basic viewpoint as to the meaning of the parables. Because of this situation and because of the often extremely clumsy style of the introduction, we are obliged to disregard this interpretation entirely and to explain these parables, first of all, without regard to the Kingdom of God and, conversely, the idea of the Kingdom of God without regard to those parables. 10 Finally, it will be necessary to be careful in our historical description not to let ourselves be influenced by the language and religious outlook of the Fourth Gospel, which-though one is usually unaware of it-governs our religious and scholarly manner of speaking and thinking to a very considerable degree. Compare, for example, the systems of Schleiermacher, Ritschl, Kaftan and others. 11
2. Repentance and the coming of the Kingdom 12 According to the oldest report, Jesus appeared in Galilee with a message, the content of which was briefly set forth in "A" as follows: Jl.E'tavoet'tE· i\'Y'YtKEv yap..; ~atA.e\.a 'tou 9eou. 13 This brief summary seems to be established even more firmly by the Sayings source "Q". Thus in Jesus' instructions to his disciples on the occasion of his sending them forth, which seems to be reproduced from the same source, we read: 111
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1tOpEU6f!EVot SE: KTJpucrcrE'tE A.tyov'tEc;· (on) f\yYtKEV it ~amA.Eia 'tffiv crupav&v (Matt. 10:7) JCal. AE)'E'tE au'totc;· f\)')'tKEV £<j>' Uf!iic; it ~acrtA.Eia 'tOU Scou (Luke 10:9) 1tAitv 'tOtho )'l VW<JlCE'tE, on f\)')'l lCEV it ~acrtA.Eia 'tOU 8EOU (Luke 10:11) The meaning of this well-attested proclamation of Jesus and his disciples seems quite clear: the Kingdom (or the rule) of God has drawn so near that it stands at the door. Therefore, while the ~acrtA.Eia is not yet here, it is extremely near.l 4 Moreover, there is yet another saying reminiscent of Luke 10:9. In addition to f\)')'tKEv £<j>' Uf!iic; it ~acrtA.Eia 'toil 8Eou, there is in Matt. 12:28 (and in the parallel passage, Luke 11:20) the expression: £<j>SacrEv £<j>' ilf!&.c; it ~acrtA.Eia 'tou 8Eou. The similarity of both ideas is still more surprising if one thinks of the context. Luke 11 says: "If I, by the finger of God, i.e., with real success, cast out demons, then, as you yourselves can infer, £<j>SacrEv it ~acrtA.Eia 'toil 8Eou." Likewise in the speech at the sending out of the disciples, the term f\)')'tKEv follows directly upon the successful healings by the disciples. 15 The people among whom the disciples carry out their mission are expected to infer and perceive from the healings that the Kingdom of God is close by (or perhaps even already present?). It is customarily assumed that f\)')'tKEv is to be differentiated linguistically and materially from £<j>SacrEv. But is the difference between these two terms really so great? In the case of Dan. 4:8, the same verb t-tt.)O is translated by Theodotion with £<j>8acrE, but by the LXX with f\)')'tcrE. From the context it turns out that the verb in question, which the LXX renders in other passages with 1tapfjv (Dan. 7:13) or with f\~Et (Dan. 4:21 ), signifies not merely an approach, but a real coming into contact. 16 If we may assume, despite the double Greek terminology, that both times (in Luke 10:9 and 11:20) the Aramaic t-tt.)O is at the root (though the Peschitta has :ii' in both places), the two passages would still only say: the ~acrtA.Eia has come into your very midst; it is already touching youY Without drawing further conclusions from this for the present, we only point out that one cannot base a distinction between the ideas of drawing near and being already present upon alternation of the Greek verbs. Instead, both seem to intertwine: from a certain perspective the same Kingdom is still future which from another is already present.
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3. Was the Kingdom of God present? It is rather generally conceded that the surmise just presented is correct: i.e., that though Jesus generally pictured the Kingdom of God as still future, there are, on the other hand, statements in which the rule of God already appears actualized.l 8 And one can probably say that this intertwining of present and future, especially the statements concerning the present, gives dogmatics the right to use the idea of the Kingdom of God as the central concept of the Christian world-view. If originally it were only eschatological or regarded as such, most people today would consider it unsuitable for dogmatics. But one must now face the question: In what sense did Jesus speak of a presence of the ~ac:nA.da 'tOU 9cou, and is this the sense in which the concept is normally used today? A number of attempted interpretations must be examined. Probably the most widespread of these interpretations is formulated something like this: "According to Matt. 21:31 (n:poayouow u~a~ d~ 'tTJV ~acrtA.dav 'tOU 9cou) and Matt. 11:11 (6 ~ncp6't£po~ f.v 'tfj ~acrtA.dc,x 't. oup. ~dsrov au'toU = 'Iroavvou f.crnv), it is evident that there are already some who enter the Kingdom of God, and some who are already in it," namely, "those who see in Jesus the Expected One" (Matt. 11:3, 6). They are already within the Kingdom of God. It is conceded, of course, that it is not yet the case that those who believe in the Messiah compose or constitute the Kingdom of God-"nowhere does Jesus designate the company of his disciples as the Kingdom of God" 10-but "he brings the rule of God to life, within the community of his adherents (his disciples)." 20 And the latest portrayer of the "Teachings of Jesus" has defined the "Kingdom of God, insofar as it already is realized in the present," as a community of men who are not only in the "right attitude of obedience," but also in full enjoyment of "the Fatherly rule of God. "21 These paraphrasing interpretations of the alleged meaning cannot appeal, as even their proponents concede, to any passage in the Gospels in which the equation of the band of disciples with the Kingdom of God is clearly or plainly made. But that is, after all, a serious drawback. For if Jesus, as is usually assumed, had been so intensely concerned to correct the popular concept of the Kingdom, he would have had to state that concern, if it were to be understood at all, very frequently and emphatically. Surely our evangelists-at least Mark and Matthew-who are moving toward identifying the ~amA-Eia 't. 9. with the contemporary church,2 2 would not have let any such saying as this escape them. Moreover, Matthew finds it necessary to introduce not only the concept f.lcl
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
collectors and prostitutes precede the leaders of the people Eic; 'trlY ~acnA.Eiav 1:. 9. [Matt. 21:31], it only means that they are ahead of them on the way that leads to the Kingdom of God: they have a head start; they set a good example. But they are by no means within the Kingdom of God; rather, they are traveling toward it. And the notion that Matt. 11:11 presupposes the possibility that some already may be in the Kingdom of God is proven to be quite the opposite by the next verse:23 ano Se 'tWV TJ~Eprov 'lroavvou 'tOU ~anncnou f.roc; apn TJ ~aotAEia 'tWV oupavrov ~tasE'tat Kat ~tao1:ai aprcasoumv aun1v. How these interpreters would like to deduce from this something other than that since the days of John, there has dawned a movement of passionate longing for the Kingdom! Wendt, of course, explains it otherwise: Therefore the time of waiting and hoping for the future Kingdom is over; the time of the actualized Kingdom of God, where what matters is to make oneself a member of this Kingdom by energetic resolve, is already at hand. 24 According to this view, then, Jesus would have described those who had perceived in him the Expected One and had entered "into the Kingdom of God" with a most extraordinary figure: as ~tao1:a\. aprcasov1:Ec;. Is that conceivable? I contend that these words can and must be understood only in the sense of a rebuke. Jesus is describing the kind of people who had been aroused by the Baptist's preaching to the point of impassioned agitation. Jesus rebukes them because they wish to seize by force what they should be waiting for instead. They want to climb up to heaven to haul the Kingdom down (Rom. 10:6). This does fundamental violence to the standpoint of one who fled from the people as soon as he realized on ~f.Uouotv epxEo9at Kat aprcasnv ai>'tov 'iva rcotl,orootv ~acrtA.£a (John 6:15). This word of rebuke declares, therefore, that there is as yet no Kingdom of God as a community or concrete entity, and that the main fault, which is to be rebuked even in the Baptist and which he had in fact called into being, is impassioned impatience. From this, however, it follows that the words 6 ~nKpO'tEpoc; tv 1:fj ~amA.Ei~ are to be understood hypothetically. 25 In his whole manner, John is so completely foreign to the Kingdom of God that someone, though in other respects much less important, were he even just barely within the Kingdom of God, would far surpass him. To put it another way, just as the relations of rank generally will be reversed in the Kingdom of God, so there John also, if he succeeds in entering it at all, 26 will play a very minor role (precisely because of his impatient doubt) as compared with the "little ones" who waited quietly, patiently, and faithfully until the coming of the /}amAEia. Supporters of the contrary view could draw some further support from 114
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certain of the parables, such as the parables of the seed, of the tares, of the grain of mustard seed, and of the leaven. I have no doubt but that our evangelists allegorically explain the field of grain as referring to the contemporary church, the mustard tree as referring to the outwardly visible and expanding Kingdom, and the bread dough as referring to the world which was to be brought to fulfillment by the church. But whether this is the meaning Jesus associated with these parables is far from certain. The two about the mustard seed and the leaven, as is evident from their position after the parable of the sower,Z7 certainly intend to describe the fate of the proclaimed word, so that they might be introduced more appropriately with the formula OJ-LOt6v tan-'to cuayytA.wv (or 6 Myo<;). Here again, the introductory formula derived from Mark 4:11 may quite easily mislead us. Behind the parable of the tares, too, as it can be reconstructed from Matthew and Mark, 28 there is the basic idea that an obstructed and seemingly unsuccessful preaching will at last, through God's intervention, have its reward and result. Thus even these passages do not give one the right to identify the Kingdom of God in any sense with the group of disciples, or to think of it as being actualized in them. From this it also follows that one cannot expound Luke 17:21 in that sense either. When Jesus says here that the ~aatA.Eia 'tOU ecou is already in the midst of the Pharisees, this does not give any occasion for seeing here an allusion to the actualization of the Kingdom of God within the group of disciples. On the contrary, such a meaning is improbable, since Jesus' words, in some way or other, contain a paradox. For they can only be understood to mean that without the Pharisees' observing it, the !)acrtA.Eia has been realized in some mysterious manner. Therefore, it refers neither to the gathering of a group of disciples, nor even to the establishment of a new righteousness, but to mysterious events, which are invisible to the perverse eye. More will be said below as to what Jesus meant here. What speaks more forcefully than all else against the kind of interpretation to which we have been objecting is the fact that Jesus put in the mouths of his disciples, as the first petition of their prayer,20 the words: EA8E'tffi ;, ~aatA.Eia aou. Let us be careful lest somehow or other we play down this fact and these words. The meaning is not "may thy Kingdom grow," "may thy Kingdom be perfected," but rather, "may thy Kingdom come." For the disciples, the ~aatA-Eia is not yet here, not even in its beginnings; therefore Jesus bids them: Sll'tEt'tE 'tTtV ~aatA.tiav (Luke 12:31). This yearning and longing for its coming, this ardent prayer for it, and the constant hope that it will come-that it will come soon-this is their religion. We would import an opaque and confusing element into this unified and clearly unambiguous religious frame of mind were we to think somehow of a "coming in an ever higher degree" or of a growth or increase of the Kingdom. Just as there can be no different stages of its being-without prejudice to what Harnack has explained concerning its preexistence30-so 115
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likewise there are no stages of its coming. Either the ~acnA.cia is here, or it is not yet here. For the disciples and for the early church it is not yet here. And when Jesus calls them blessed because of what they see and hear (Matt. 13:17), the fact that glorious prophecies have been fulfilled in their presence is surely sufficient basis for this declaration-but the one great and foremost promise still remains to be fulfilled.
Notes 1 By "recent," "modern," or "the newer" theology, Weiss refers to that theological movement in late nineteenth century German theology of which Albrecht Ritschl is probably the most influential representative. See above, pp. 4 ff., 16 ff. Ritschl's conceptions of justification, ethics, and the Kingdom of God are reviewed briefly by H. Richard Niebuhr, Christ and Culture (New York: Harper, 1951), pp. 96--101. 2 Cf. Predigt2 , pp. 36--40. 3 Weiss, like the later European form critics, considered Mark's chronology unreliable: Predigt2 , pp. 38 f. 4 Otto Pfleiderer, Das Urchristentum, seine Schriften und Lehren, in geschichtlichem Zusammenhang beschrieben (Berlin: G. Reimer, 1887), pp. 538 ff. Trans. W. Montgomery, Primitive Christianity: Its Writings and Teachings in Their Historical Connections, 2 vols. (New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons, and London: Williams & Norgate, 1906, 1909), 2: 382 ff. 5 Although I certainly consider it important, I shall pass by for the time being the question of the sources of Mark or "A" as hardly yet soluble. For an assessment of this question, see especially Bernhard Weiss, Das Marcusevangelium und seine synoptische Para/le/en erkliirt (Berlin: W. Hertz, 1872). 6 Cf. Predigt2 , pp. 40--49. 7 The expression "Kingdom of Heaven" in John 3:5 is attested by only a few manuscript traditions. Its common usage in Matthew is now generally regarded as a circumlocution or substitute for the divine name, one of several Jewish features of the "First" evangelist. Weiss denies the validity of G. Dalman's proposal that Jesus himself used the expression as a circumlocution, noting that the term "Kingdom of God" appears regularly in the earliest sources. Mark and "Q" (e.g., Matt. 21:31 and 6:10). See Predigt2 , p. 43. 8 Weiss elaborates this point in Predigt2 , pp. 45 ff. Joachim Jeremias offers the same proposal: The Parables of Jesus, rev. ed. (New York: Scribner's, 1963), p. 225. 9 Cf. my essay on the parable discourse in Mark in Studien und Kritiken, 1891 "Die Parabelrede bei Marcus," pp. 289-321, pp. 297-305. 10 From this, one may suspect that the expression in Mark 4:11, which, because of the phrase E:v 1tapa~oA.al:~, is applied by the evangelists to the parables, originally had a different meaning. Cf. Studien und Kritiken, 1891, pp. 303 ff. (Seen. 9 above.) And cf. Predigt2 , pp. 82 ff.
11 Were he writing today, Weiss might well include Dodd and possibly Bultmann in this list. Cf. Predigt2 , pp. 60-64. 12 On this general section, cf. Predigt2 , pp. 65-99. 13 Our present text in Mark is enlarged by the Paulinizing formulation: 1tE1tJ.l]poYrat 0 Katpo~ KUt ljyytKEV l] ~UatAEtU 'tOU 8EOU. J.!E'tUVOEt'tE KUt 1tlO"'tEUE't"E EV 'tqi euayyeA.tqJ 'tOU eeou. [Mark 1:15]. The reading given above is also supported by Matt. 4:17. To be sure, it might be possible that a recollec-
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14
15 16
17
18 19
20 21 22
23
tion of the original wording in "A" may be preserved in the codices A and D, and in it 5, vg, pesh, aeth, and goth (if one does not opt for the reading given in the text; in that case, what has been said would also be true of our present Marcan text): instead of £1Jayy£'Awv 'tOU 9EOU, they read euayy£'Awv tij~ ~aatA.Eia~ -rou 9eou. If one considers, of course, the fact that Matthew twice has the phrase Euayy£'Awv -rfj~ ~aat'Aei.a~ in other passages (Matt. 4:23; 9:35), and that Luke also (4:43; 8:1) speaks of euayye'Ail;;ea9at -rl)v ~aat'A.Eiav, one might come to suspect that the reading in "A" was originally only Krtpuaaoov 'to euayyE'Awv 'tfi~ ~aat'AEia~ A.£yoov· flE'tavoEt'tE. Then the formula TjyytKEV, etc., would not have been in "A" at all (it is missing also in Mark 6:12), but would have been supplied by the last editor of Mark in accordance with a saying which appears several times in the Logia. Cf. Predigt2 , pp. 69-73. The expression "at the door," as Weiss doubtless realized, comes from the apocalyptic prediction in Mark 13:29 = Matt. 24:33 which refers to that time in the future when the Son of man will be near (cf. Luke 21:31-the Kingdom of God), and is, in its present structure, quite probably secondary. Here Weiss simply uses it to symbolize the imminent expectation which he finds evidenced in the message of Jesus and his disciples to their contemporaries. See, e.g., Luke 10:9. The relevant data are as follows: Dan. 4:8: N•ow? Nl)O' i10\i\, LXX: f) Kopv<j>l) aU'tOU f\yytO"EV E(J)~ 't· oupavou. Theod.: 'tO U'lfO~ UU'tOU £<j>9aaEv E(J)~ 'tOU oupavau. Dan.: 4:21: LXX: ft~t, Theod.: e<j>9aaev. Dan. 7:13: LXX: napfjv, Theod.: e<j>9aaev (in the passage about the Son of man). For further references, see below, note 17. Weiss expands his discussion of these verbs in Predigt2, pp. 69-73. Whether Jesus declares the Kingdom present or future depends on his mood at the time. But he normally proclaimed its coming in the future; the sayings in which he speaks proleptically of its presence are the exceptions. See above, pp. 12 f. For references to subsequent studies of these verbs, see Kenneth W. Clark, "Realized Eschatology," JBL 59 (1940): 367-83; Werner Georg Kilmmel, Promise and Fulfilment, trans. D. M. Barton, SBT no. 23 (London: SCM, 1957): 19-25; and Robert Berkey, "ErnZEIN, wE>ANEIN, and Realized Eschatology," JBL 82 (1963): 177-187. Berkey argues on behalf of "realized eschatology," Kilmmel against it, except in a restricted sense, and Clark shows that neither verb can mean that the Kingdom has become a matter of present experience. Cf. Predigf!, pp. 73-88. Bernhard Weiss, Lehrbuch der biblischen Theologie des Neuen Testaments 5 (Berlin: W. Hertz, 1888), sec. 14, pp. 49-51, trans. D. Eaton, based on 3rd rev. ed., Biblical Theology of the New Testament (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1882, 1883), 1: 67-70. Albrecht Ritschi, Die christliche Lehre von der Rechtfertigung und Versohnung3 (Bonn: A. Marcus, 1889), 2: 26-41. Hans Hinrich Wendt, Die Lehre Jesu (Gtittingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1890), vol. 2, eh. 5. The Teaching of Jesus, trans. John Wilson (New York: Scribner's, n.d.). vol. 2, eh. 5. Notice, e.g., how Mark 9:1 seems to contrast the ~aat'A.Eia 'tOU eeou f.v ovvaflEt (which appears only in our present Mark) as the fulfilled ~aat'Ada of the unfinished earthly one. In this connection, see Romans 1:4, where, with the same addition, this distinction is applied to Christ. Weiss treats Matt. 11:12 in a separate excursus in Predigt2, pp. 192-197. He maintains that it refers to those who wish to force entrance into the Kingdom
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24 25 26
27 28 29 30
(cf. Luke 13:24) or gain possession of it by force (Rom. 10:6). The meaning and authenticity of this verse continue to be disputed. Several writers, e.g., C. H. Dodd and G. E. Ladd, regard it as evidence for "realized eschatology." Others construe it as anti-Baptist polemic. Another recent theory places it in the context of the early church as an answer to the claim of its persecutors that Jesus wished to seize God-likeness or the rule of heaven for himself: Georg Braumann, "Dem Himmelreich wird Gerwalt angetan," ZNW 52 (1961): 104--09. Rudolf Otto thought that it referred to Jesus' followers who press their way into it with all their power and determination: The Kingdom of God and the Son of Man, trans. F. V. Filson, B. L. Woolf (London: Lutterworth Press, 1938), pp. 109 ff. For further notes on Matt. 11:11 and 11:12, see R. H. Hiers, The Kingdom of God in the Synoptic Tradition (Gainesville, Fla.: Univ. of Florida Press, 1970), pp. 36-42, 57-65. Wendt, Lehre Jesu, 2: 303. Otto Schmoller, Die Lehre vom Reiche Gottes in den Schriften des Neuen Testaments (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1891), p. 40. It is impermissible to press the present tense of ta'tiv for we do not know whether Jesus spoke in the preterite or the future, and whether he used a copula here at all, since we have before us only the view of a translator. It is just as erroneous to draw conclusions from the [a'tl.v in Matt. 5:3, 10 (Cf. Wilhelm Baldensperger, Das Selbstbewusstsein Jesu im Lichte der messianischen Hoffnungen seiner Zeit2 (Strassburg: Heitz, 1892), p. 132). Here the translation is either from an Aramaic future (note the future tense in the adjacent verses), or it is present and means: It is theirs by right, it belongs to them, just as the inheritance belongs to the heir, even though he has not yet come into possession of it. Moreover, there is still the question, with respect to Matthew 11:11 whether tv 'tTI ~aatA.Ei<;X is to be construed with iJ.tKp6tEpo~ or with 11Ei~rov [a-riv. [Weiss discusses Matt. 11:11 at greater length in Predigt2 , pp. 80-82, and takes the position that the point of the saying lies in the contrast between the present age and the coming age. Even the least important member of the Kingdom then, will be greater than John, the greatest man of the present age, is now. Weiss regards this as an instance of the general reversal of values which Jesus expected in the coming age: "Whoever is great here, will be small there, and vice versa." On this point in general, see Predigt2 , pp. 78-88. Weiss's later interpretation is more like that suggested by Schweitzer: John is the greatest natural man of the natural world; but with the dawn of the messianic Kingdom, its members are changed "to a supernatural condition akin to that of the angels" (Out of My Life and Thought, p. 8). Cf. below, chapter 9, "The Coming Transformation."] Cf. Studien und Kritiken, 1891, p. 318. (See above, n. 9.) B. Weiss, Lehrbuch, pp.159 ff. The words &ytaa9Tj'tro to ovowx aov comprise only a reverent, liturgical introductory formula. Adolf von Harnack, Dogmengeschichte2 (Freiburg: Mohr [Siebeck], 1888-1890), 1: 710 ff. (Trans. N. Buchanon, History of Dogma (Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1902), 2: 318 ff.)
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Bibliography of the major writings of Johannes Weiss 1891 "Die Parabelrede bei Marcus." Studien und Kritiken, pp. 289-321. Die Predigt Jesu vom Reiche Gottes. Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Second revised edition: 1900. Third edition, edited and with an introduction by Ferdinand Hahn, with an accompanying note by Rudolf Bultmann: 1964.
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29 THE IMMINENT FUTURE OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD Werner G. Kiimmel Source: Promise and Fulfilment, translated by D. M. Barton (Studies in Biblical Theology 23; London: SCM Press, 1957), pp. 19-48. (Originally published as Verheissung und Erfiillung: Untersuchungen zur eschatologischen Verkiindigung Jesu, Base]: Majer, 1945.)
1. The terms £yy~ and £yy\~£1.V Hot debate still centres as much on the texts which speak of the eschatological events as being near in time as on the question whether Jesus in any way expected an imminent consummation of the world and spoke of the Kingdom of God as being present. It therefore seems advisable to start not from the most debated texts, but from an examination of the particular terms which can throw some light on the temporal meaning of Jesus' eschatological pronouncements. It would seem most useful for this purpose to begin with the terms £yy1x, and £nisnv. The literal meaning of £yyur, in the New Testament is completely unambiguous: it denotes nearness in space. Corresponding with this the verb £yyis£tv declares that one has come nearer to a place than before but has not yet reached it (cf. Luke 19.11; Mark 11.1; 14.42 beside 14.43; Luke 18.35 beside 19.1 etc.). There are certainly passages in which one could also translate £nis£t v by 'coming to' (perhaps Luke 15.1; 22.47; 24.15; Acts 21.33); but nothing forces one to conclude that in these passages the literal meaning of 'coming near' has been given up in favour of the sense of 'coming to', 'arriving at', since in all these passages it may simply be a question of a less strict use of language. The same meaning of £yyur, and £yyisnv shows itself also in passages where these terms are transferred to a meaning other than temporal, since in these cases also it is always the nearness to, in contrast to the distance from, but not the arrival at the place which is emphasized (e.g. JlEXPt 8ava-tou f\yytoTv Phil. 2.30 of a man sick unto death, ol. 7W"t£ ovtEr, fiaKpav £yEvfJ811-tE £yyur, Eph. 2.13). So it is only likely that both terms when used with the transferred temporal meaning are there also intended to denote an event which is near, but has not yet taken place. There is no doubt about this in the case of 120
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eyyur;. It denotes the nearness of a fixed day which is imminent (John 2.13; 6.4; 7.2; 11.55) as well as the nearness of an event (Heb. 6.8; 8.13; Matt. 26.18 of Jesus' hour of death). Now since in Revelation 6 1eatpor; eyyur; (1.3; 22.10) is used unambiguously to denote the nearness of the end of the world, it is to be presumed to start with that this usage is to be found when f_yyur; is employed in connexion with eschatological events. It is true that Phil. 4.5 6 1eupwr; eyyur; is not a positive proof, but as it is said a little earlier (3.20): aro'tfjpa cmelCOEXOflE8a KUptov 'ITJaouv Xpta't6v, so in 4.5 eyyur; can hardly be interpreted otherwise than as meaning an imminent coming.I So when Paul (Rom. 13.11) writes in the course of an exhortation to cast off at last the works of darkness: vuv yap eyyu1:epov ilfl&v 1, aro'tTJpia fi o'tE en:tO"'tEUO"afiEV, it undoubtedly means that the day of salvation at the parousia has drawn nearer than it was at the time when Paul and the other Christians first believed. It is true that Michaelis 2 has objected to this exegesis on the ground that here the last day is indeed thought of as being near, but argues that Paul does not deduce so much 'that the last day will take place at a time, fixed though unknown to himself' as that 'the fact of his conversion which lies in the past is for the apostle the pledge of the nearness of the last day'. Nevertheless this argument is not in the least convincing; for if it is affirmed that salvation is now nearer than when they first believed and if this is made the basis of the assertion that it is time to arise from sleep, then the period until salvation appears is considered to be shorter than when they first believed. New Testament usage is therefore completely uniform as regards the temporal use of Eyyur;: it denotes that an event will happen soon, by which it is meant or presumed that there will not be a long time to wait before it happens. It is against this background that we can now consider the only text in which Jesus uses the word eyyur; in an eschatological sense, Mark 13.28 f. par. Matt. 24.32 f.; Luke 21.29-31. Here the conclusion which everyone would draw as a matter of course from the observation that the fig tree was putting forth its leaves, O'tt eyyur; 1:0 8£por; EO"'ttv, is used as the basis for the summons: o'ihror; 1ea\. Ufletr;, o1:av tOTJ'tE 1:au'ta yLV6fleUa, ytvffiaKE'tE on eyyur; Eanv en:l. Supatr;. This is preceded (Mark 13.26 f.) by the prediction of the parousia of the Son of Man with the gathering of the elect, and there follows in 13.30 a saying which sums up the whole of the eschatological events. Now as in the parable (13.28) the budding of the fig tree points to the conclusion that the summer is near, so in the application (13.29) 1:au·ra ytv6fl.Eva must in the same way denote happenings which guarantee the nearness of an expected event. It follows from this that eyyur; ea'ttv en:l. Supatr; cannot refer to the parousia mentioned in 13.26 f.; moreover since in 13.30 likewise a fresh start is made which cannot refer back only to 13.26 f., 13.28 f. must be a detached saying. Therefore the subjects to be presumed for 'tCXU'ta and eyyuc, tanv cannot be deduced from the connexion with 13.26 ff., 30. But it can nevertheless safely be concluded from the 121
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clear parallelism of the parable and its application3 that 'taU'ta must signify some kind of premonitory signs of the end, whilst as the subject of r:yyur; £crnv, the end, the parousia, the entry of the Kingdom of God must be presumed. 4 So this gives us a reliable proof of the fact that Jesus expected the eschatological consummation in the near future and knew its imminent coming to be announced by premonitory signs in the present. 5 Now Mark 13.28 has concerning this matter a parallel6 in Luke 12.54-56 where Jesus reproaches his disciples that they infer the occurrence of natural events from premonitory signs, but cannot deduce from the characteristics of the present the conclusion which obtrudes itself. It is not stated what Jesus meant by the characteristics of the present nor what conclusion should be drawn from them, but in view of Mark 13.28 f. we can surely consider that Jesus wishes the present to be understood as a pointer to the imminent eschatological consummation.? But if this is so, these two passages support each other and there is not the least reason to doubt that Mark 13.28 f. belong to the oldest tradition and therewith to the authenticated sayings of Jesus. This therefore provides a certain proof of the important fact concerning the term £yyur; that Jesus expected the eschatological consummation in the near future, and the assessment of the texts containing the verb £yyU~ct v must be materially influenced by this. There can be no doubt that £yyU~ov, when its use is transferred to a temporal meaning normally denotes 'to come near' in conformity with the literal usage. This applies to the obviously rare profane passages8 as well as to the prevailing eschatological usage of the Septuagint. 9 In the New Testament too this meaning is quite certain in a number of passages (Luke 21.20, 28; 22.1; Rom. 13.12 it vu~ npOEKO'JfcV, it 8£ itf!Epa TjyytKcv; Heb. 10.25; James 5.8 it napoucria 'tOU Kupiou TjyytKcv; I Peter 4.7). On the other hand Matt. 26.45 i8ou TjyytKcV it ffipa Kat 6 uior; 'tOU avepomou napa8i8o'tat dr; Xctpar; af!ap'tmA.&v might perhaps be translated 'The hour is come and the Son of Man is being betrayed into the hands of sinners', especially as in his source Mark 14.41 TjA.Scv it ffipa is said. But this assumption would probably be incorrect, because Matthew would hardly have replaced the clear TjA.Scv with the ambiguous TjyytKcV if he had wished to retain the meaning 'is come'. It is much more likely that Matthew made this change because he relates ffipa with the hour of death, while Mark applies it to the arrest. Therefore Matt. 26.45 should assuredly be translated 'the hour has come near'. 10 There is less certainty about the translation of Matt. 21.34, where in the parable of the wicked husbandmen, after the vineyard has been handed over to the husbandmen and the householder has departed on his journey, it is said 'o'tc 8£ Tjyywcv 6 Katpor; 'tffiv Kapn&v'. Here one might indeed translate 'when the time of the harvest had come'.ll But there is no necessity for this translation, since the servants could be sent off to collect the fruits even before the arrival of the harvest; so that it would be better to translate here also 'when the time of the harvest had 122
THE IMMINENT FUTURE OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD
come near' .12 Apart from the passages already mentioned the verb £yyi~nv occurs also in the summary of Jesus' preaching in Mark 1.15 par. Matt. 4.17 flyytKEV 11 ~acrtAEta tou 9£ou, and as a saying of Jesus in the missionary charge to the disciples Matt. 10.7 = Luke 10.9 (in Luke flyytKEV £<)>' ilj.!<X~ 11 ~acrtAEta tou 9£ou), and in view of the usage discussed above, the usual translation here also is: 'The Kingdom of God is coming near'. This has recently been contested by C. H. Dodd who wishes to translate 'The Kingdom of God has come'.U He brings forward the following argument for this: in the Septuagint £yyi~nv is used as well as <j>9av£tv to translate nagha' and m'tii', both of which mean 'to arrive', so that probably both the sayings of Jesus flyytKEV, ~acrtAEta 'tOU ewu (Luke 10.9 flyytKEV £<)>' Uj.l9acr£v £<)>' Uj.l9acr£v 12.28 must represent the same Aramaic verb with no 'futurist' meaning; 14 for only really compelling reasons would allow the assumption that within the same stratum of tradition (Matt. 10.7 and 12.28 both belong to Q) one and the same central idea has been translated differently in such a way that the one translation (flyytKEv) is employed, contrary to its usage elsewhere, in the sense of the other translation. Furthermore J. Y. Campbell and K. Clark have shown15 that in the Septuagint also in the preponderating number of cases £yyi~tt v bears the same meaning of 'coming near' and that the few passages (e.g. Jonah 3.6 flntcr£v 6 Myo~ npo~cr tov ~acrtA.£a) quoted against this by Dodd 16 only prove that the translators of the Septuagint occasionally stretch the meaning of £ni~tt v to the marginal case of 'approaching to'. As references in profane writings for £ni~nv = 'to approach' seem to be completely lacking, it is unlikely that in the tradition of detached sayings the verb £ni~nv was used with a quite unusual meaning to translate an Aramaic expression the sense of which could be reproduced unambiguously; besides this unusual sense of £ni~nv is deduced in the few Septuagint passages from the context only. And finally the evangelists, as has been shown, used the word £yyi~nv in other passages without exception in the sense of 'coming near', so if in Mark 1.15 etc. they wished to express the idea of 'having come', they must have been guilty either of an extremely grave misunderstanding of Jesus' fundamental message concerning the coming of the Kingdom of God or of an incomprehensible inconsistency in their use of wordsY There can therefore be no doubt that according to the detached saying in the Q tradition and the summary in Mark 1.15 Jesus proclaimed that the Kingdom of God had come near.!~
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2. What is said about the 'coming' of the eschaton What has been deduced from the usage of £yy1.x, and £yyi1;;nv is confirmed by the statements which presume or expressly mention not the nearness but the futurity of the Kingdom of God. That is undoubtedly the case in the second petition of the Lord's Prayer i:Ae(mo r, ~acrtA.da emu (Matt. 6.10 =Luke 11.2), for the parallels in the Jewish prayers 19 very seldom use the verb 'to come', but frequently 'to be manifested' or 'to bring about the reign'. This usage shows clearly that this petition expects the Kingdom of God to come into existence in the future; therefore Jesus can be applying it only to the future coming of the Kingdom of God. The verb £pxmeat for the appearance of the ~acnA.Eia generally bears the same meaning. It is true that the phrase, the 'coming' of the kingdom, which the rabbis seldom employ, is not often attested in the case of Jesus either. The clearest instance is Mark 9.1 c'x.fli}V A.Eym UfltV, on Ei~iv nv£~ roo£ t&v £crtTJK6tmv Ot 'tt V£~ ou llit "{EUO'ffiV'tat eavatOU Effi~ av tomcrt V 'tftV ~acrtA.Eiav 'tOU 8£0u EATJAU8u1av £v ouvafl£t. As the special introduction shows, it is clearly a case of a detached saying, which Mark, or the tradition he has adopted, has attached to the preceding series of sayings about following Jesus. 20 This saying must therefore be explained without regard to the context. One thing is clear: it is declared of definite people that they will not need to die, because the Kingdom of God will have come £v ouvafl£t whilst they are still alive. 21 It has been questioned whether £v ouvaf1£t is not merely an addition of the evangelist, who (as in Rom. 1.4) wishes to distinguish the entry of the Kingdom of God 'with power' from its previous hidden existence. But this assumption is arbitrary, since £v ouvaf1£t, even without emphasizing the antithesis, might simply denote the powerful manifestation to which at present nothing comparable corresponds (cf. Mark 13.26 (l\lfOV'tat 'tOY uiov 'tOU avepronou EPXOflEVOV EV V£<j>£A.at~ flE'tU OUVUf.L£(jJ~ noAA.fi~ Kat 00STJ~). 22 But Effi~ av tOffiO'tV ... EATJAU8u1av beside ou llTt y£ucrmvtat can only have the meaning of a futurum exactum: death will not come to these people before a particular occurrence in the future; they are not to die because the Kingdom of God will previously have been made known to them. 23 Since therefore em~ av 1omcrtv describes a future event and ti}v ~acrtA.eiav is the direct object of tomcrtv, the coming of the Kingdom of God must also still lie in the future for Jesus. It is true that C. H. Dodd disputes this. 24 He wishes to translate:' ... until they have seen that the Kingdom of God has come with power'; those who stood round were promised that some of them before their death will recognize that the Kingdom of God has come. So in that case it would not be a question of the future coming of the Kingdom of God, but only of the recognition which still lies in the future of its having come. 25 But this attempt to strike out the future coming of the Kingdom of God from Mark 9.1 is untenable. For firstly it has been correctly pointed out by different scholars that 124
THE IMMINENT FUTURE OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD
i:oroaw tl]v 13acrtA.Eiav ... £At'JAU9utav could not describe the becoming aware of a fact that had long existed, but only the experience of one that had just appeared. 26 And next the addition of f:.v ouvaJlEt means either that Jesus himself spoke of the open appearance of the Kingdom of God or that the evangelist had so understood him. Now since Matthew in 16.28 in his reproduction of Mark 9.1 (ero~ av tO(l)<Jt VtO Vuiov tOU av9pron:ou EPXOJlEVOV £v til ~acrtA.Et~ ai>tou) is also thinking of the eschatological appearance of the Messiah, which he clearly regards as equivalent to the coming of the Kingdom of God, 27 he and Mark must have completely misunderstood Jesus' saying if in fact the wording of Mark (with f:.v ouv6.Jln) should not be Jesus' own. But, as we saw, there is no reason to assume such a change in the interpretation of a traditional saying of Jesus. It may therefore be safely asserted that Mark 9.1 bears the meaning that some of Jesus' hearers will live to see the appearance of the Kingdom of God in the comparatively near future and therefore will not fall victims to death. Yet it is difficult to determine the precise significance of this saying. That it belongs to the oldest tradition is likely, if only because the fact that this prediction was not realized must have caused such serious difficulties that they would hardly have been created.28 It is equally clear that Jesus says of a limited number of persons only (tt v£~) that they will live to see the coming of the Kingdom of God; yet there is no reason for the assumption that this was intended (later?) to weaken the promise of its coming in this generation (Mark 13.30),29 because it is obvious that within a group of people only some individuals will remain alive until a definite date in the somewhat distant future. Lastly who is meant by nv£~ rooE t&v £crtt'JK6trov? The obvious assumption, adopted already by Matthew and Luke, that simply a few of the people happening to stand near Jesus were in mind, is contradicted only by the striking position of WOE. Since however only Codex B offers this reading and this Codex is known to be faulty, 30 it cannot be called well attested 31 and it must therefore be considered very doubtful. But if it is nevertheless thought to be authentic, as being the lectio difficilior, this order of words can easily be explained by the fact 'the participle is often separated from the word it qualifies'. 32 In any case however Mark 9.1 says that some of those standing near Jesus are to experience in their lifetime the entry of the Kingdom of God. 33 This not only confirms again the expectation of a future Kingdom of God in Jesus' thinking, but also establishes the fact that this futurity is thought of as restricted. Yet the absence of an unrestricted promise to all Jesus' contemporaries to experience the Kingdom of God implies that it cannot be expected within a very short period. Thereby A. Schweitzer's view that Jesus expected the coming of the Kingdom of God before his death is already proved to be impossible. 34 Yet we shall have to return to this question. Jesus speaks in the synoptic gospels twice more of the 'coming' of the Kingdom of God, as well as three times of the coming of eschatological 125
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'days'. It is true that these three texts (Luke 17.22; 21.6; 23.29) arouse critical doubts. The eschatological discourse, Luke 17.22-37, which is paralleled in part in Matt. 24.26 ff., is introduced by the saying in 17.22 which occurs in Luke only: £A.E1:>crov1:at TJJ.!Epat (he £m8UJ..LTJO"E'tE J..Li.av 1:&v TJJ..LEpffiv 'tOU uiou 'tOU avepron:ou 1.8£\:v Kat OUK 0\jiEO"SE. This saying might have been framed by Luke as an introduction. 35 The clumsy juxtaposition of TJJ..LEpat and ai TJJ.!Epat 1:ou uiou 'tOU av8pron:ou favours this and so especially does the fact that the plural ai ftJ..LEpat 1:ou uiou 1:ou avepron:ou is found only in Luke, and in 17.26, in accordance with the parallelism, denotes the time before the parousia and in 17.22 the parousia itself, for which in other passages (17.24, 30) the singular TtJ..LEpa is used. It would therefore be possible that Luke has here adopted the rabbinical technical expression, met with nowhere else in Jesus' mouth, for the 'Days of the Messiah' (which were thought to be limited in time). 36 But these facts are no compelling proof of a secondary origin of the sentence which could therefore also belong to the oldest tradition. In this case the saying presumes that Jesus on the one hand reckoned on the future appearance of the 'days of the Son of Man' and on the other hand expects that his disciples will one day ardently await this appearance for which they long. This must surely mean that Jesus foresees a time when he will have left his disciples without the hoped-for parousia having occurred or become clearly visibleY Luke 21.6 (tA.d>crov'tat TtJ..LEpat) is on the contrary doubtless a secondary expansion of Mark 13.2; and Luke 23.29 f. (ioou £pxov'tat TtJ..LEpat tv ate; £poumv ... ) is a prediction of final terrors and its place in the oldest tradition must remain doubtful. 38 The two texts which speak of the 'coming' of the Kingdom of God are all the more important. In Luke 22.18 the first cup-word at the Last Supper reads: ou J..LTJ TCt(l) an:o 'tOU vuv an:o 'tOU yevftJ..La'toc; 'tf\c; UJ..LTCEAOU E(l)c; ou it ~acrtA.Eia 1:ou eeou i:Mn. This word corresponds in its essentials with the word in Mark 14.25 par. Matt. 26.29 spoken to conclude the action at the meal: ou J..LTJ n:iffi EK 1:ou yevT]Jla'toc; 1:fjc; UJ..Ln:£A.ou Effic; 1:fjc; ftJ..LEpac; EKEivTJc; O'taV aU'tO TCtV(I) KatVOV EV 'tTI ~acrtA.Et(,l 'tOU eeou. Now there is, as we know, much debate about the length of Luke's original account and consequently about the literary nature of its first half (22.15-18). If, contrary to a widespread opinion, 39 the complete passage (Luke 22.15-20) is to be regarded as the original account of the Last Supper in the gospel, 40 the question remains how the double account in Luke 22.15-18 and 19, 20 is to be explained. The second half of this account, the two eucharistic words (22.19, 20), is most closely associated with the tradition reproduced by Paul (I Cor. 11.24 f.) but equally with Mark 14.23 f. par. Matt. 26.27 f. as regards the general structure of the words. The verses Luke 22.19, 20 are therefore a special third form of the liturgical tradition of the eucharistic words. 41 The double eschatological passover word (22.15-18) which corresponds essentially with Mark 14.25 springs either from another tradition
126
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which Luke has accepted or is placed by Luke himself in front of the traditional liturgical form of the eucharistic words. J. Jeremias42 has recently tried to show that Luke 22. 15-18 presents 'the origional duplication of the eschatological prospect', although in this case Mark 14.25 is earlier than Luke in wording and order. In proof of this he argues that Luke must have followed a separate source since he rejects transpositions and parallelism. But firstly it is not unlikely that Luke might have undertaken an insignificant transposition, such as placing the eschatological word first, since we know that he made slight transpositions in 6.17-19 and 8.19-21 as compared with Mark. 43 It is also true that Luke frequently excised Semitic parallelisms,44 but yet also occasionally created some himself;45 if he had, as Jeremias supposes, placed 22.15-18 and 22.19, 20 derived from two sources side by side, then he would actually have a parallelism which MarkMatthew do not have. But the assumption that Luke 22.15-18 is an original duplication of the 'eschatological prospect' taken over by Luke is decisively refuted by the fact that, except for the emphasis placed on the Last Supper as a passover meal, there is nothing in Luke 22.15-18 but what is in the saying Mark 14.25; and the formation of this simple saying out of the double saying of Luke would be completely inexplicable. So it is still the most probable assumption that we have in Luke 22.15-18 a reshaping for historical purposes, 46 and therefore it is essentially more probable that Mark 14.25 gives the oldest form of the eschatological eucharistic saying, and that Luke, apart from the mention of the passover, actually says no more than Mark 14.25. But this saying (Mark 14.25), as Jeremias has convincingly proved,47 is a vow of abstinence: Jesus declares that he will not drink wine any more until he can partake of the messianic meal with his disciples. From this it follows that Jesus expects the coming of the Kingdom of God to be in the near future, and that he feels it to be so near that he can impress its proximity on his disciples by limiting his abstinence to the dawning of the Kingdom of God. And it is equally clear that Jesus foresees between his imminent death and this eschatological 'coming' a certain interval of time about the length of which nothing is said in this word. 48 With this the question of an interval in time between Jesus' death and the parousia is posed; it can be carried further only in a later connexion. There still remains the text from the material peculiar to Luke, Luke 17.20 f.: to the Pharisees' question about the day appointed for the coming of the Kingdom of God Jesus declares: 'The Kingdom of God cometh not Jleta napatTJp'flm:ro~; neither shall they say, Lo here, or there; for the Kingdom of God is £vt6~ UJl&v.' The lack of connexion with what goes before and after proves that we have here a detached saying in which Luke has probably introduced the traditional words of Jesus with a question as in a Greek chria. 49 But Luke may yet have named the questioners correctly. The meaning of £vto~ UJl&v, the subject of much debate, can be 127
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won only from the rejected antitheses ou 1-lEta napatl'JpiJcm:o~ and oME. E.poucnv. ioou c:ME 11 EKEL It is clear what o& 1-lEta napatl'JpiJcrero~ means, for the Hellenistic word napati]pl'J~-t&v means here. £vt6~ does not occur again in Luke, and in the New Testament it appears only in Matt. 23.26 with the unambiguous meaning of 'inside' (to f.vt6~ tou 1tOtl'Jpiou); one must therefore seek for possible different meanings in other Greek usage and from this it appears without doubt that f.vt6~ can mean 'inside, inwards' as well as 'within, amongst•.so Consequently the translation of Luke 17.21 can be based only upon the interpretation of the text as a whole. Now the translation 'within you' could only be understood to mean that the Kingdom of God has a quality of inwardness (lnnerlichkeit). 51 It is not a positive objection to this explanation that the declaration 'the Kingdom of God is in your hearts' does not fit the Pharisees, because it is after all not completely certain that the saying was originally addressed to them. But on the one hand it is noteworthy that the rare £vt6~ instead of the frequent E.v is not likely to have been used by Luke or his tradition without a purpose; and on the other hand it must be observed that to calculate the Kingdom of God in advance or to search for it in the future can hardly be contrasted with 'in you' as a matter of a place, but only as one of time. Therefore the translation 'amongst you' must be preferred. 52 Now this translation can, as we have seen, be interpreted as referring to the present or to the future. If to the future the meaning would be: 'the Kingdom of God does not come 128
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in such a way that one can calculate it in advance or search for it, but it will (suddenly) be present amongst you'. 53 The £crtiv of the Greek text cannot be used as an objection to this meaning, since, as is well known, it is usual in Aramaic for the copula to be missing; but this interpretation makes sense only if an unexpected, sudden future revelation is contrasted with a future coming that is calculated in advance or hidden. But there is nothing in the text of this detached saying to suggest the word 'sudden' which must therefore be rejected as an intrusion. So the interpretation referring to the present alone remains: 'the Kingdom of God will not come according to calculations made in advance, nor will a search have to be made for it; for lo, the Kingdom of God is present in our midst'. This interpretation leaves only the manner of its presence obscure. But since Jesus, as has still to be shown, does not recognize any present development of the Kingdom of God, there remains only the interpretation that the Kingdom of God has already become effective in advance in Jesus and in the present events appearing in connexion with his person. 54 This interpretation of the difficult text stands naturally only as a hypothesis; 55 but if it is correct, we see here for the first time in statements about the 'coming' of the Kingdom of God an eschatological statement of Jesus which speaks not of the future, but of the present. It must still be examined whether the facts really demand that Jesus, beside expecting the Kingdom of God to come in the future, connected the future closely also with his earthly presence.
3. What is said about the eschatological 'day' The examination of the texts with £nu"', £ni~Et v and £pxecr8at has already established the fact that Jesus expected the near future to bring in the Kingdom of God. This can be confirmed and defined more precisely by considering a few more terms. Let us first direct our attention to ftf.Lepa. That Jesus used this word with a 'futurist'-eschatological meaning is certain on the authority of Mark as well as on that of the Q tradition. 56 The prediction UVEK'tO'tEpov £crtat Yfi 1:000J.LroV K<Xl rof16pprov EV llf.LEPt;X Kpicr£(1)"' il tft n6A.n EKEivn is found in Matt. 10.15 in connexion with Jesus' direction to his disciples about their attitude towards the cities which did not accept their missionary preaching; instead of £v itJ.LEPt:X KpicrEro"' Luke 10.12 has £v tft itJlEPt:X EKEi vn. Matthew with his mention of the day of judgment has preserved the more primitive saying; already in Q (=Luke 10.12) it evidently formed the conclusion of a group of sayings about the attitude of the cities to the missionary preaching of the disciples who were to proclaim that the Kingdom of God was near; further in the parallel saying threatening Chorazin and Bethsaida (Matt. 11.22 =Luke 10.14) ftJl£pa KpicrEro"' (Matt.) replaces Kpicrt"' (Luke). 57 And finally in Mark 13.32 par. Matt. 24.36 it ftf!Epa EKEtVT) occurs and there can be no doubt that in this Jesus is alluding to a current prophetic-apocalyptic usage which by 'that day', 'the day of 129
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judgment' etc. denotes the final historical event.sa Jesus also uses this term invariably for the end of time in the future; on that judgment day according to Jesus not only will the universal judgment about men's behaviour take place (Matt. 12.36), but questions will also be asked about men's attitude towards the appearance of Jesus in history (Matt. 10.15 =Luke 10.12 beside Matt. 10.14 =Luke 10.10 f.; Matt. 11.21 f.= Luke 10.13 f.). 59 Consequently the present time, being marked out by Jesus' actions and message, stands out in a particular relation to the coming day of judgment. Besides this, that day will undoubtedly coincide with the entry of the Kingdom of God (Mark 14.25 ou J..Llj n:iro ... £roe; 1:fjc; llJ..LEpac; EKEi VTJc; (hav amo rei vro Kat vov tv 'tTI ~amA.Ei<,X 'tOU Seou); for this promise which predicts Jesus' absence from the common meal of the disciples until the coming of the Kingdom of God surely presumes that this coming will coincide in time with 'that day' and cannot be thought to be far distant. Furthermore it is clear that this eschatological 'day' stands in an even more real relation to the present than has already been shown, inasmuch as 'that day' is also described as ai llJ..LEpat 1:ou uiou 1:ou avepcimou (Luke 17.26) or T, llJ..LEpa au1:ou (i.e. of the Son of Man, Luke 17.24). Both these texts are probably originally independent detached sayings6° which Luke has clearly applied to the parousia by inserting them between 17.22 and 17.30. But that may also have been their original meaning. In Luke 17.23 f. = Matt. 24.26 f. the contrast is drawn between the possibility that men, being wrongly informed, will search somewhere for the Son of Man and his sudden appearance in the future: 'For as the lightning when it lighteneth out of the one part under the heaven shineth unto another, so shall the Son of Man be in his day'; and Luke 17.26 f. = Matt. 24.37-39 compares with the carefree conduct of Noah's contemporaries the carefree behaviour of mankind today who will just as unexpectedly be surprised by ruin: 'As it came to pass in the days of Noah, even so shaJI it be in the days of the Son of Man'. It follows from the juxtaposition of these two statements that the singular T, llJ..LEpa 1:ou uiou 1:ou avepcimou has the same meaning as the plural ai llJ..LEpat 1:ou uiou 1:ou av8pcimou; 61 and also that the coming day of judgment wiJI be marked by the appearance of the Son of Man who is clearly represented as judge in Luke 17.26 f. 62 Both texts completely correspond in their emphasis on the threatening and incalculable nature of the eschatological day with Jesus' attitude already familiar to us, so that there is no need to doubt their belonging to the oldest tradition. 63 If in these words the relationship of Jesus to the coming Son of Man is not mentioned, that by no means justifies the assumption that Jesus used them 'just of the Son of Man and not of himself'. 64 For not only in the passage about to be discussed (Mark 8.38) did Jesus speak of the coming Son of Man in a way that points to the relationship of this figure to himself without clarifying it distinctly; in Matt. 8.20; 11.19 he also related the 'Son of Man' unmistakably to his person without a clear definition. 65 Therefore 130
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the words in Luke 17.24, 26 agree with what Jesus expressed elsewhere; for he connects the present with the expected future in a double sense: the eschatological Day of Judgment will judge a man according to the attitude he has taken up towards Jesus in his present guise, and it is the same Jesus, with whom a man has to establish a relationship in the present, before whom he will have to justify himself in the future. So this makes it clear already that the eschatological prediction of Jesus does not bear a purely speculative-apocalyptic character, but receives its meaning from the significance of the person of Jesus which confronts men and which both in the present and the future is decisive for the fate of mankind. It is certainly all the more striking that this same Jesus now emphasizes so strongly that the time fixed for the expected eschatological 'day' is unknown. We saw this hinted at already in the saying Luke 17.24 =Matt. 24.27 in which the sudden coming of the Son of Man is illustrated by the sudden coming of the lightning. The same is shown in Matt. 25.13: 'Watch therefore, for ye know not the day nor the hour'. This saying is appended as an interpretation to the parable of the ten virgins, but it is formulated in such a general way, that it is uncertain whether it belonged originally to the parable, especially as the parable summons not to watchfulness, but to preparedness. The assumption that the saying has been added to the parable only by the evangelist is therefore very likely; but it does not in the least follow from this that the saying was shaped altogether by him on the model of Mark 13.35.66 Yet since the age of the saying must remain doubtful, it affords no certainty that it was the opinion of Jesus that the eschatological date was quite unknown to men; this would contradict the statement made earlier that the date of the appearing of the Kingdom of God was expected within the lifetime of the generation of Jesus' contemporaries. But this thought is also found in the striking saying of Mark 13.32: 'But of the day or hour knoweth no one, not even the angels in heaven, neither the Son, but the Father'. This is a detached saying showing no connexion with what precedes or follows it. Its difficulty in the first place does not lie in the statement that even Jesus does not know the time fixed for 'the day', but in the mention of the 'Son' and the 'Father'. This use of the word 'Son' is found in the synoptic gospels apart from Mark 13.32 only in Matt. 11.27; besides there is a story about a son in the parable of the wicked husbandmen (Mark 12.6 and par.). Now the parable (Mark 12.1 ff. and par.) presents considerable difficulties in other respects also, and these are to be discussed later (see pages 82 f.); the question whether Jesus by indicating himself in this way could have described himself as 'the Son' cannot therefore be answered from this parable. The saying in Matt. 11.27 par. Luke 10.22 belongs as regards its meaning and its origin to the most controversial texts in the gospels; 67 yet only a few problems can be dealt with here. Since the fundamental work of E. Norden it is widely accepted that Matt. 11.25-30 forms a tripartite
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unity, the separate parts of which must then be explained by the general tenor of the whole group of passages. 68 The absence of Matt. 11.28-30 in Luke is in this case explained as an omission by Luke. But since this omission is really inexplicable, the passage in Matt. 11.25-27 appears all the more to be composite. 69 While 11.25, 26 is a prayer of thanksgiving, which shows Jesus in conflict with the intellectual arrogance of the Jewish teachers of his time,7° the saying about revelation, 11.27, employs the typically Hellenistic thought of mutual recognition: 'all things have been delivered unto me of my Father and no one knoweth the Son save the Father; neither doth any know the Father save the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son willeth to reveal him'.7 1 Here the function of the Son as the revealer rests clearly on the fact that the Father recognizes him and that he therefore knows the Father. But that is an idea of Hellenistic mysticism quite foreign to Judaism. 72 An explanation of Matt. 11.27 according to Jewish ideas involves either disputing the fact that the recognition between the Father and the Son is mutuaP 3 or striking out the sentence 'and no one knoweth the Son save the Father' on dubious grounds of textual criticism.74 As neither of these alternatives is satisfactory, it must be said that Matt. 11.27 drops out of the tradition of Jesus' sayings for reasons based on the history of religion. And this is confirmed by the realization that for Jesus to speak of the 'Son' is hardly possible, because 'Son of God' was not a Jewish title for the Saviour.7 5 Therefore if Matt. 11.27 cannot be claimed as part of the oldest Jesus tradition, it is all the more questionable whether the mention of the 'Son' in Mark 13.32 can be an authentic tradition of a saying of Jesus. In view of this un-Jewish way of speaking of the Messiah as the 'Son', it has been conjectured that the text Mark 13.32 arose first in the early Church, when the delay of the parousia began to make itself felt.7 6 But this conjecture is unlikely because there was no need to create an even greater difficulty by ascribing to Jesus ignorance of the final date in order to remove the difficulty of the delay of the parousia. 77 Since the wording 'the Son' by itself is without doubt extremely unusual within the framework of Jewish conceptions, it has been conjectured that the end of the saying 'neither the Son, but the Father' is a Christian addition to an original saying of Jesus.7 8 But then there would be very little reason to mention the angels in the rest of the saying. So, since it would be difficult to account for a later origin of the whole saying, the assumption that its wording has not remained intact, but that its main thought reproduces a saying from the oldest tradition is still the most probable.7 9 In that case here also Jesus refuses to make any apocalyptic calculations about the date of the eschatological consummation awaited in the future. 80 Therefore it can be asserted again on the basis of the sayings which speak of the eschatological 'day' that the Kingdom of God is expected as a future reality in Jesus' message and that this is attested with such certainty that there are no possible grounds for denial. 132
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4. The coming judgment We have already seen when considering the pronouncements about the 'day' that for Jesus the future appearance of the Kingdom of God coincides with the judgment. 81 This fact can be established even more firmly by examining the terms Kpimc; and KptJHX and some other texts. Jesus did not only say in quite general language that the judgment will come upon men (Matt. 5.21 f. £voxoc; £mm 1:fj Kpion, Matt. 7.1 f. Kpt9i]crecr9e = Luke 6.37 K:a'taOtK:acr9fj'te, Mark 12.40 par. Luke 20.47 A.i]J.HJIOV'tat neptcrcr61:epov K:ptj.W, Matt. 23.33 nroc; 'U'Yll'tE ano 'tfjc; Kpicreroc; 'tfic; YEEVVTJc;). 82 He also clearly expects that this judgment will take place at the appearance of the Son of Man (Luke 17.34 f. about two on one bed (Matt. 24.40 in one field), or at one mill, one shall be taken, the other left). 83 The judgment which will then be held will extend over the whole of mankind. Consequently it presupposes the general resurrection of the dead. (Matt. 12.41 f. par. Luke 11.31 f. 'the Ninevites and the Queen of Sheba shall rise up in the judgment with the men of this generation and shall condemn them'.) Since Jesus speaks here of the rising up of 'this generation' also, it is clearly expected that at least many of Jesus' contemporaries will die before the rising up and the judgment come. 84 This confirms the fact established by Mark 9.1 that Jesus expected the coming of the eschaton to be at hand but yet not very near. We must ask how the two conceptions, of nearness and at the same time of a certain remoteness of the end, are related to each other. It is not only that the judgment takes place at the appearance of the Son of Man, but also that it is he himself, the Son of Man, who holds it, and in this we see afresh the relationship already observed between the present and the eschaton. These facts follow with certainty from Mark 8.38: 'For whosoever shall be ashamed of my words in this generation, the Son of Man shall be ashamed of him, when he cometh in the glory of his Father with the holy angels'. This saying is transmitted both in Mark 8.38 par. Luke 9.2685 and in Q (Matt. 10.32 f. =Luke 12.8 f.). In both cases the context is clearly secondary, so that no doubt we have here a detached saying. The version in Q ('Every one, who shall confess me before men, him shall the Son of Man confess before the angels of God; but he that denieth me in the presence of men shall be denied in the presence of the angels of God' Luke 12.8 f.) shows that the saying was originally a double one. To start with it tells of the confession before men, then of the denial before men; the comparison of Mark 8.38 with Luke 12.8 shows in addition that the confession and denial of the Son of Man corresponded originally with the confession and denial of Jesus, so that the version in Matt. 10.32 ('who shall confess me ... him will I confess') represents a Christian interpretation. 86 Although therefore the original wording of the saying cannot be reconstrucied, yet the meaning is clear: whoever declares himself for or against Jesus by open support or denial, will meet with a 133
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corresponding fate when the Son of Man appears in glory with the angels for the judgment. Here therefore is clearly expressed what could only be inferred from Luke 17.24, 26, that a man's attitude to Jesus in the present time is decisive for the sentence he will receive at the final judgment. Here also the relation between the Son of Man and the Jesus who is speaking is not expressed without ambiguity. But no doubt this is a 'riddle', the solution of which is suggested from the text itself, because the recognition or the denial by the Son of Man as judge is linked in an altogether unusual way to the preceding recognition or denial of the man Jesus. 87 The identification of Jesus with the Son of Man obtrudes itself of course all the more when it is known that Jesus designated himself in veiled language as 'man'. It is true that this fact has again recently been vigorously debated. 88 Some have denied that Jesus ever spoke of himself as the Son of Man as a term denoting sovereignty,89 others admit that he did so, but consider that the title is to be understood collectively as the designation of the holy nation of which Jesus is the head. 90 But most particularly has it been denied that Jesus spoke of himself as the coming Son of Man and the judge; instead it has been asserted that when Jesus spoke of the future coming of the Son of Man, the coming of the Kingdom of God was always meant collectively;91 or an attempt has been made to prove that the statements about the eschatological coming of the Son of Man belong to Jesus' earlier period and might therefore have been intended collectively. 92 But the interpretation of the conception of the Son of Man in the collective sense suffers shipwreck just on the eschatological pronouncements such as Mark 8.38, Luke 17.24 and most particularly on the texts still to be discussed Matt. 10.23; 24.44; 25.31. And that Jesus applied this veiled ascription of sovereignty to himself is shown indubitably by Mark 2.10, 28 and Matt. 8.20; 11.19; and the objections raised against these texts will not hold water. 93 While it is not possible to discuss this difficult question any further here, it may be said that Mark 8.38 shows afresh that the eschaton is linked by Jesus to the present in a completely new way: the present is not only, as the present always is, the time in which a man decides in advance by his actions the sentence to be passed on him at the final judgment, but the presence of Jesus is in itself already an eschatological hour of decision, because in this present, the man Jesus has appeared who confronts men with denial or confession; by their action they determine in advance the sentence of the 'Son of Man' at the final judgment. An eschatological valuation of the present has therefore an essential connexion with Jesus' expectation of the end. 94 Finally the same fact appears also in the promise to the disciples: 'Verily I say unto you, that ye which have followed me, in the regeneration, when the Son of Man shall take his seat on the throne of his glory, ye also shall sit upon twelve thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel' (Matt. 19.28 == Luke 22.28, 30). The saying which undoubtedly in this version of 134
THE IMMINENT FUTURE OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD
Matthew represents the more original form is in its essence a saying of Jesus, a promise to the group of the twelve, which represents Jesus' claim to win the whole nation. 95 According to this the judgment is not only carried out by the Son of Man when he appears, but also the most intimate group of Jesus' disciples is to have a share in it as accusers, witnesses and fellow rulers. 96 So the coming final judgment is again linked with the present and again what obviously matters is the attitude adopted towards the person of Jesus in the present, because that will decide the verdict in the final eschatological judgment. So not only is the personal confession or denial of Jesus in question, but it is assumed that a group of men has gathered round this Jesus, which derives its significance entirely from its relation to Jesus, and just for that reason receives an eschatological promise. Thus here too the coming final judgment is linked with the present in so far as the present also receives an eschatological stamp through the group of the twelve gathered round Jesus and proclaiming the message of the Kingdom by his commission; for the condition of the coming final judgment by the Son of Man round whom the twelve are to gather is being secretly prepared beforehand in the present. The fact that for Jesus the present is linked in an unusual way with the coming eschatological event, giving the present an eschatological stamp, is clearly attested here also. Jesus undoubtedly spoke of the judgment in other ways as well. But most of the texts are worded so generally that nothing can be gathered from them about the time or the manner of the expected judgment (cf. Matt. 7.13 f.; 23.15; Matt. 25.30 = Luke 19.27; Mark 3.29; Luke 12.16 ff.). Some have interpreted other sayings of Jesus to his Jewish hearers as predictions of the impending war with Rome and of its terrors as judgment within this world. 97 But the texts quoted for this do not in any way justify this assumption; Luke 13.1 ff. (the allusion to the Galileans murdered by Pilate and the men on whom the tower of Siloam fell) threatens a corresponding fate, but not a national catastrophe; Luke 13.6 ff. (the parable of the barren fig-tree) speaks only of the judgment to be expected for the impenitent; Luke 12.57 ff. (the exhortation to be quit of the adversary before judicial proceedings begin) is presumably an exhortation to be converted before the judgment day arrives, in any case it contains not the least hint of an impending national catastrophe. On the other hand the question whether Jesus predicted the destruction of the temple as an event within this world or one in the strict sense eschatological must be discussed later in detail, taking into account Mark 13.2; Matt. 23.34 ff. But it can be stated already here that there can be no question of Jesus having expected a national catastrophe which he deduced from the political situation.
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Notes 1 W. Michaelis, Der Brief an die Philipper, 1935, 67 considers also that nearness experienced in fellowship with the Lord is meant here, but Rom. 10.8 ( = De ut. 30.14) and Ps. 144.18 LXX are hardly sufficient authority for such a 'mystical' usage, since in both these passages it is a question of God and God's word as being near at hand. 2 Michaelis, Verbeissung, 55 f. 3 Lohmeyer, Markus, 280 wishes to strike out the two introductory sentences a1to oe Tj~ crmclj~ JlaBen: 'tTJV 1tapaj3oA.T]v and oihro~ Kat UJlei~ because they are not precisely formulated. But that is not necessary, since the introductions to the parables are known to lack precision. 4 Bultmann, Urchristentum, 1949, 98, 243 note 50 conjectures no doubt correctly that Mark and Matthew suppose the 'Son of Man' previously mentioned to be the subject of 'is nigh', while the detached saying has rather in mind the ~acrtA.eia 'tou 9eou which Luke 21.31 completes. C. W. F. Smith, Jesus, 240 ff. also points correctly to the fact that Jesus' own presence and his deeds are to be estimated as signs that God's reign 'is beginning to make its progress known'. 5 So there is therefore no evidence for the assertion of Dodd, Parables, 137 note 1 that it is 'surely more pointed', if Jesus in this parable summons men to recognize the significance of the present situation (so also B. T. D. Smith, Parables, 91; Taylor, Mark, 520); for in that case the parallelism with the picture in 13.28 is completely lost. And when A. Feuillet, R.B. 56, 1949, 82 f. (similarly K. Weiss, Irrtumslosigkeit, 144; Sharman, Son of Man, 98 f.) interprets the parable by saying that Jesus was pointing to the new world which would follow on the destruction of Jerusalem, it is impossible to refer 'taU'ta to the destruction of Jerusalem, and the subject of eyyu~ ecrnv becomes completely nebulous. Finally M. Hermaniuk, La Parabole Evangelique, Univ. Cath. Lovaniensis, Diss. II, 38, 1947, 198 completely misses the parallelism between the picture and what it represents, when he denies that the fig tree is being compared with the signs of the end and declares the comparison to be between the disciples' ability to understand the sign of the fig tree and the ability demanded of them to recognize the premonitory signs of the approaching end. 6 So rightly Schniewind, Markus, 166. 7 C. J. Cadoux, Mission, 269 thinks that Luke 12.54-56 means that Jesus' Jewish contemporary would interpret the signs of his time as foretelling an imminent war with Rome (similarly also Sharman, Son of Man, 77), since 'the ordinary intelligent Jew' could not infer from the signs of the time that the eschatological judgment was imminent. But Jesus had always assumed that only 'those who see' could recognize the signs of the time (Matt. 13.16 f.; 11.3--6). 8 J. H. Moulton and G. Milligan, The Vocabulary of the Greek New Testament, Part Ill, 1919, 178 quote only Pap. Oxyrh. IX, 1202, 8 evyi~OV'tO~ 'tOU EKUO"'tOU e'to~ ayoovo~; H. Preisker, Th. Wb. z. N. T. II, 329 mentions Epictetus, Diss. Ill, 10, 14 'tt yap ecrn 'tO KUKW~ exew; eyyi~etv 't/i) lhaA.ualjvm 'tljv cpuxl]v aoo 'tou crroJla'to~; Liddell and Scott have no references. 9 References in H. Preisker, Th. Wb. z. N. T. II, 330, 26 ff. 10 So also all the Latin versions and the Sinaitic Syriac (Curetonian is missing). The Peshitta has wrongly mtt = is come. 11 The Peshitta (mt') translates it thus, and this is no doubt also the meaning of the Sinaitic Syriac (hw'). 12 So the Syriac Curetonian (qrb) and the Old Latin versions together with the
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13
14 15 16 17 18
19
20 21 22 23
24 25
Vulgate (adpropinquasset or adpropiasset, see Jtilicher, ltala, 154). Similarly Luke 21.8 in the passage about the false prophets i=:yoo df.l.t, 6 Katpoc; TjyytKev could only be translated 'the time has come near'; for it is quite clearly concerned with the prediction of the judgment in the style of Celsus' 'prophets' (in Origen c. Celsum VII, 9); here also all the Syriac versions read qrb. Dodd, Parables, 44 f. This translation is accepted as probable by R. H. Lightfoot, History and Interpretation in the Gospels, 1935, 65, 107. The same translation is given by Leipoldt, Jesus, 117; A. T. Cadoux, Theology, 46; Duncan, Jesus, 41 f.; Redlich, Mark, 50 f., 73; M. Barth, Augenzeuge, 91; K. G. Kuhn, Achtzehngebet und Vaterunser und der Reim, 1950, 42. Also M. Black, 'The Kingdom of God has come', Exp. T. 63, 1951152, 289 f. (quoting in support P. Joiion, Recherches de Science Religieuse 17, 1927, 538) would like to assume as the original text qrbt in the sense of 'has come', because qrb can have this meaning occasionally in the Old Testament. But even Black does not explain how the gospel tradition could come to such a mistaken translation as TjyytKev when the original Aramaic wording used qrb, which almost always denotes nearness. So also C. C. McCown, 'Jesus, Son of Man', Journal of Religion 28, 1948, 7. J. Y. Campbell, Exp. T. 48, 1936/37, 9 f.; K. Clark, J.B.L. 59, 1940, 367 ff. Cf. also C. J. Cadoux, Mission, 198 note 4. C. H. Dodd, Exp. T. 48, 1936/37, 140 f. C. T. Craig, 'Realized Eschatology' J.B.L. 56, 1937, 20 emphasizes rightly that the perfect TjyytKEV when used of time can only refer to the near future. Cf. also Taylor Mark, 167. Sharman, Son of Man, 99 ff. attempts to prove that Mark 1.15 does not reproduce Jesus' preaching correctly, since Mark 13.29 and 9.1 do not refer to the Kingdom of God, but to the destruction of Jerusalem; but this completely overlooks Matt. 10.7, quite apart from the mistaken interpretation of Mark 9.1. See Dalman, Worte Jesu, 88, 310 ff.; Strack-Billerbeck I, 418 f.-C. H. Dodd, History and the Gospel, 1938, 177 also refers this petition not to the eschatological future, but to the present; but to prove this he can only offer the reflection that the present alone can be brought into the context of God's redemptive action (similarly E. Pfennigsdorf, Der Menschensohn, 1948, 182). And Sharman, Son of Man, 133, explains simply that the second petition has nothing to teach about the nature of the Kingdom of God or that its meaning is defined by the third! Finally C. J. Cadoux, Mission, 201 and most particularly E. Lohmeyer, Das Vaterunser, 2 1947, 68 ff. emphasize the exclusively 'futurist' eschatological meaning of the second petition. Cf. e.g. Lohmeyer, Markus, 171; Hauck, Markus, 105; C. J. Cadoux, Mission, 199; Taylor, Mark, 380. Thus J. Weiss, Reich Gottes, 41 f.; Klostermann, Markus, 85. Barrett Spirit, 73 f. emphasizes that Mark 9.1 and 13.26 show Jesus' characteristic contrast between the hidden present and the manifest future. It is correct that the wording of the saying does not exclude the idea that the nvf:c; will yet die later (thus M. Barth, Augenzeuge 89); but it is only possible to understand it in this way by wrongly referring the arrival of the ~acnA.eia with power to historical events. See below note 25. Dodd, Parables, 42, 53 f.; Dodd, Exp. T. 48, 1936/37, 141 f. Likewise Bowman, Maturity, 250 f. Similarly K. Weiss, Irrtumslosigkeit, 165 f. (Some will recognize the manifestation of Jesus' kingly glory by the infliction of Israel's punishment); Duncan, Jesus, 182 f. (Jesus is convinced that the beginning of the new order will be
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26 27
28
29
30 31
32 33
realized visibly during the lifetime of some of the disciples); Glasson, Advent, 112 (Jesus expected at first that some would have to die with him before the Kingdom of God came with power; but then he went alone to the Cross and 'a few weeks later the Kingdom of God came with power'); Sharman, Son of Man, 99, likewise Waiter, Kommen, 96 (Mark 9.1 refers to the destruction of Jerusalem which Jesus expected soon); Bowman, Maturity, 251 (the Kingdom of God comes when many of this generation acknowledge Jesus' lordship); M. Barth, Augenzeuge, 90 (certain people will see the Son of Man appearing before their death, for 'the appearing of the Son of Man and the dawn of God's reign were already even in Daniel described as one event'). In all these exegeses the emphasis is laid, contrary to the way the sentence is composed, on toooe might be translated 'thus' and oi. ecr'tTJKO'tE~ be interpreted as 'those who stand' in contrast with those who fall; then of course it would refer to the last generation before the end and not to that of Jesus. This translation is untenable and Michaelis describes it as merely possible.
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THE IMMINENT FUTURE OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD
34 Michaelis, Verheissung, 43; Cullmann, Retour, 24, against Schweitzer, Quest, 357 ff. (in German Leben Jesu, 405 ff.). 35 Bultmann, Tradition, 138. The saying certainly does not betray 'disappointed hopes of the early Church' (against P. Wernle, Die synoptische Frage, 1899, 77). 36 See Strack-Billerbeck IV, 2, 1928,826 ff. 37 So correctly C. J. Cadoux, Mission, 303; Liechtenhan, Mission, 14 f. It is impossible to deny that the hope of the parousia here refers to the future, either by taking this saying to be merely a warning against apocalyptic hope (Sharman, Son of Man, 81 ff.) or simply by declaring that it cannot be interpreted with certainty (Glasson, Advent, 87). 38 According to Bultmann, Tradition, 37 f., 121 f. this is a Christian prophecy put into Jesus' mouth; this is not certain, but it is undoubtedly possible; C. J. Cadoux, Mission, 277 on the contrary considers it a genuine prediction of Jesus about the siege of Jerusalem for which there are no indications. 39 Cf. the supporters in Jeremias, Eucharistic Words, 100 note 1 (in German 75 note 2); in addition J. Behm, Th. Wb. z. N. T. Ill, 731; W. Manson, Jesus, 136 f. 40 Thus recently convincingly Jeremias, Eucharistic Words, 87 ff. (in German 67 ff.) (see there 106 note 1 (in German 79 note 4) for further supporters of this view), in addition H. Schi.irmann, 'Luke 22, 19b-20 als urspri.ingliche Texti.iberlieferung', Biblica 32, 1951,364 ff., 522 ff.; K. G. Kuhn, Th. L.Z. 75, 1950, 404. 41 See Jeremias, Eucharistic Words, 69, 102 f. (in German 56, 77 f.). 42 Eucharistic Words, 115 f., 165 ff. (in German 86 f., 118 ff.); likewise K. G. Kuhn, 'Uber den urspri.inglichen Sinn des Abendmahls und sein Verhaltnis zu den Gemeinschaftsmahlen der Sektenschrift', Ev. Theol. 1950/51,515. 43 Thus correctly Jeremias, Eucharistic Words, 69 (in German 56). 44 Jeremias, Eucharistic Words, 116 note 4 (in German 87 note 2) refers rightly to E. Norden, Agnostos Theos, 1913,357 ff. 45 See E. Norden, op. cit. 360 alluding to Luke 6.27 f. compared with Matt. 5. 44; Luke 10.8 ff. compared with Matt. 10.13 ff.; Luke 10.16 compared with Matt. 10.40. 46 See the references in Dibelius, Tradition, 210 f. (in German Formgeschichte, 211 f.) and also the scholars quoted in Jeremias, Eucharistic Words, 116 note 1 (in German 86 note 2), also A. Oepke, Stud. Theol. 2, 1948/50, 143 note 3; H. Vogels, 'Mark 14.25 und Parallelen', 'Vom Wart des Lebens,' Festschrift f M. Meinertz 1951, 95. K. G. Kuhn, op. cit., in note 42, 515, can only raise against this the objection that it is difficult to imagine this process. 47 Jeremias, Eucharistic Words, 165 ff. (in German 118 ff.). For the view that Jesus himself drank of the cup, Vogels (loc. cit. note 46) 96 ff. can only adduce patristic evidence (Taylor, Mark 547 asserts: 'the text implies this'!). 48 That this interval of time is expected to be very short does not follow from Mark 14.25 (against C. J. Cadoux, Mission, 327). It is completely erroneous for Wagenfi.ihrer, Kirchenbegriff, 218 to assert that Jesus' death 'interrupts for a short time the fellowship of God's reign with the disciples embodied in the meal, and that after the completion of his life's work Jesus will dwell again in spirit among the congregation.' The evasion suggested by Glasson, Advent, 113 that Jesus expects 'some future reunion with His disciples' or some great development to result from his death is also impossible, and so is the assumption of A. T. Cadoux, Theology, 47, who wishes to translate Kaw6v as 'novel, of a new sort' as the designation of heavenly wine (similarly also Dodd, Parables, 56; Michaelis, Verheissung, 28 f.). Vogels, op. cit. in note 46-101 ff., inclines to the eschatological exegesis and then strangely considers that the question cannot be decided! 139
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
49 Cf. Bultmann, Tradition, 24 and Dibelius, Formgeschichte, 162. The history of the exegesis of Luke 17.20, 21 has been carefully compiled by B. Noack, Das Gottesreich bei Lukas, Eine Studie zu Lk. 17.20-24 (Symbolae Biblicae Upsalienses 10), 1948, 3 ff. 50 See Liddell and Scott, and Bauer, Worterbuch, s.v. evt6\;. P. M. S. Alien, Exp. T., 49, 1937/38, 476 f.; 50, 1938/39, 233 ff. and C. H. Roberts, 'The Kingdom of Heaven (Luke 17, 21)', Harvard Theol. Rev. 41, 1948,1 ff. have contested that evt6\; could ever stand for 'amongst'. But this meaning is undoubtedly found in Xenophon, An. I, 10, 3 (taA.A.a 6n:6cra Evt<'>\; a\Jt&v Kat XPilJlata Kat &.v9poon:ot E"'{EVOVtO n:avta ecroocrav) and in Herodotus VII, 100, 3 (o o' EVtO\; t&v n:pcppeoov n;A,eoov E9T]dto Kat toil aiytaAoi> == 'as he drove between the ships' prows and the shore'), Ps. 87.6 Symmachus (EVtO\; VEKp&v a\; UJl&V in the sense that 'to belong or not to belong' lies hid 'in the innermost being of men' and will break through into the open unexpectedly at the dawning of the Kingdom of God. But that meaning is undoubtedly intruded into it. The text is dissolved into philosophy even more when it is said to declare that the Kingdom of God is 'in no sense present' either in the future or now (thus E. Fuchs, Verkund. u. Forsch. 1947/48, 1949, 76). 52 Both the Old Syriac versions already exhibit this translation byntkwn and this form of expression is already attested rabbinically in Siphre Num. 5.3 §1 (p. 4, 10 f. Horovitz, p. 12 Kuhn), where the comment on Num. 5.3 'in the midst whereof I dwell' reads: 'Beloved are the Israelites, for even when they are unclean, the Shekina dwells among them' (~ "bhibhim b•ney yisra'el sh' ''p sh'hem !"me' im sh 'khinah beyneyhem). 53 Thus, in addition to those named in Kiimmel, Eschatologie, 12 note 23, also W. Wrede, Vortriige und Reden, 1907, 111; D. VCilter, Die Grundfrage des Lebens Jesu, 1936, 43 f.; T. W. Manson, Mission and Message, 596; C. T. Craig, The Beginning of Christianity, 1943, 79. J. Hering, Le royaume de Dieu et sa venue, 1937, 42 f., translates similarly: 'for it will be said: "the Kingdom of God is in the midst of you".' But there are no reasons for interpreting Luke 17.21 that the Kingdom of God will be fulfilled 'in the midst of you' 'if you are obedient to the approaching God' (thus Ackermann, Jesus, 79). 54 Thus, in addition to those named in Kiimmel, Eschatologie, 13 note 24, Rengstorf, Lukas, 202; J. Kaftan, Neutestamentliche Theologie, 1927, 43; R. A Hoffmann, Das Gottesbild Jesu, 1934, 52 note 1; P. Wernle, Jesus, 1916, 288;
140
THE IMMINENT FUTURE OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD
E. Stauffer, Th. Wb. z. N. T. Ill, 117 note 369; id. Theologie des Neuen Testaments, 4· 51948, 264 note 394; Delling, Zeitverstiindnis, 140; Busch. Eschatologie, 141; L. Ragaz, Die Bergpredigt Jesu, 1945, 26; Rawlinson, Christ, 48; C. J. Cadoux, Mission, 130; P. M. Bretscher, Concordia Theological Monthly 15, 1944, 730 ff. (according to the extract in W. N. Lyons and M. M. Parvis, New Testament Literature I, 1948, No. 1621); Waiter, Kommen, 19 ff.; E. Pfenningsdorf, Der Menschensohn, 1948, 47.-Dibelius, Jesus, 63 f. (similarly C. W. F. Smith, Jesus, 242) would prefer to speak of the signs of the Kingdom and translates: 'for lo, God's reign is to be felt in your midst'.-C. H. Roberts (loc. cit. in note 50) would translate on the basis of two quotations from papyri 'with you, in your possession, if you want it, now' and interprets 'the Kingdom is not something external to man, but a conditional possession'. But H. Riesenfeld and A. Wikgren, Nuntius Sodalicii Neotestamentici Upsaliensis 2, 1949, 11 f. and 4, 1950, 27 f. have made it probable that in the two papyri references the evt6~ with the genitive stands elliptically for 'in the house, in the dwelling', so that, if we accept this meaning, Luke 17.21 should be translated 'in your domain'. This would amount essentially to the same sense as the translation 'amongst you', whilst that proposed by Roberts is neither confirmed by authorities, nor could it be inferred with any degree of certainty from the text. And J. G. Griffiths, 'evto~ 'i>J!&v (Luke 17.21)', Exp. T. 63, 1951/52, 30 f. has shown that the papyrus quotations cited by Roberts are examples of the local meaning 'on this side of. 55 B. Noack, op. cit. in note 49, 39 ff., wishes to prove that Luke by placing 17.20 f. and 17.22 f. together shows that he also understands evt6~ to mean 'amongst'; the happy present in which the Kingdom of God is there amongst the disciples is contrasted with the gloomy future in which this present has once more disappeared. But this supposed contrast between the two sayings does not follow from the text, so that nothing can be gathered from the context for the interpretation of 17 .21. 56 The age of Matt. 7.22 7tOAAOt epo\iol.v JlOl EV EKEi.vn tfi i)f1Ep~ is doubtful because its continuation shows, in view of Luke 13.26, that it was reshaped by the early Church. Matt. 11.24 yfi :Eoo6JlOOV c'xvEKt6tEpov E<Jtat Ev ljflEP~ KpioEoo~ l1 ooi. is lacking in Luke's parallel passage 10.15 and is therefore probably framed as a loose parallel to Matt. 11.22. The age of the texts which speak of the 'coming' of the eschatological 'day' (Luke 17.22; 21.6; 23.29) has already been discussed (page 29). Luke 21.34 1tpO<JEXEtE eautoi:~ JllJ1t0tE 13apT] 9Ci><Jtv UJlroV ai Kapoim ev Kpat1t<xA.n ... Kat btt<Jtfi eVioto~ i) T)Jlf:pa EKElVTJ not only shows clear Lucan peculiarities of style ( !tpo<JEXEt v eavtoi:~, E<:ptotc'xvm), but has also such strong Hellenistic colouring as regards its contents, that the saying cannot be derived from the old tradition (see Bultmann, Tradition, 126; Hauck, Lukas, 257). The age of the texts from the synoptic apocalypse (Mark 13.17, 19, 20, 24 and par.) which speak of the time before the final eschatological act as 'that day' can only be ascertained in connexion with the discussion of the apocalypse. All these texts must therefore be left out of consideration here. 57 It is therefore inadmissible from the point of view of method to interpret the appended saying threatening Capernaum, Matt. 11.23 = Luke 10.15: 'Shalt thou be exalted unto heaven? thou shalt go down unto Hades' as a prediction of the massacre of the attacking Roman legions, and to base on it the view that Matt. 11.22 and 10.15 are also a prophecy of the coming Roman war (against C. J. Cadoux, Mission, 268). Matt. 11.23 can hardly refer to 'two possibilities within the historical development' (Michaelis, Matthiius II, 128), but must be
141
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
58 59
60
61
62
63
64
applied to the day of judgment (thus T. W. Manson, Mission and Message, 369). But even if this exegesis did not prove to be correct, Matt. 11.23 could not help us to understand 11.21, 22. See Volz, Eschatologie, 163 f.-Dodd, Parables, 81 ff., disputes without proof the realistic quality of the saying of Jesus (against this correctly C. T. Craig, J.B.L. 56, 1937, 20 f.). Glasson, Advent, 128 f. maintains that the mention of Sodom in Luke 10.15 forbids the thought of the day of judgment, as Sodom will not be judged again a second time; it is rather a warning to the unbelieving cities of a fate similar to the one that Sodom experienced in the past. But Glasson does not say how in that case he explains L006J.Lotc; ... av£Kt6tepov £crtat. Cf. Bultmann, Tradition, 123, 128; he conjectures correctly that the parallel passage, Luke 17.28-30, dealing with the days of Lot which introduces nothing essentially fresh, is a new secondary development. (It is true that Bultmann, Urchristentum, 243 note 46 quotes Luke 17.30 also as Jesus' opinion.) Noack, op. cit. in note 49, 42 f., emphasizes correctly that the plural as well as the singular simply denotes the time of the future appearances of the Son of Man (cf. also Minear, Kingdom, 251, note 14). It is arbitrary to cut out the allusion to the Son of Man, because in Luke 17.24 B D it f.v tfi iJJ.Lf.p~ auto\i is omitted, because 17.31 could be applied only to a sudden danger, not to the last judgment, and because the whole passage Luke 17.22-37 points to the prediction of the horrors of war (Glasson, Advent, 83 ff.; similarly C. J. Cadoux, Mission, 274 f., 322 note 2; A Feuillet, R.B. 56, 1949, 358). Matthew has in the parallel passages (24.27, 37, 39) i) 1tapoucrla to\i utoi:i toi:i av9pOl1tO\l (but cf. also 24.3 'tO O"TjJ.LeloV tT\c; crTjc; 1tapoucrlac;). As this expression, distinctive of primitive Christianity since Paul, occurs in the synoptic gospels only in the passages named, Matthew has without doubt introduced here an idea from the theology of the early Church. This is supported by the fact that we cannot know for certain whether in the Aramaic world of ideas expressed in Jesus' language there was any equivalent to the Greek idea of 1tapoucrla. For apart from two texts probably edited by Christians only two passages are found which may go back to a Semitic origin: Assumptio Mosis 12, 12 usque ad adventum illius, which probably refers to the arrival of God, and Apoc. Baruch 30, 1 'when the time of arrival (m' tyt') of the Messiah shall be fulfilled and he returns in glory'. But we do not know in either case whether the Latin translation or the Greek one, on which the Syriac is based, had not first introduced the terminus technicus of adventus or 1tapoucria; and for Apor. Bar. 30, 1 Volz, Eschatologie, 43 f. conjectures a Christian interpolation for reasons which deserve consideration. Since it must therefore remain open to question whether a Palestinian-] ewish terminus technicus with this meaning in fact existed, it is all the more certain that Matthew introduced a term from the language of the early Church into the passages quoted (cf. on the question of the origin of the term 1tapoucrla in primitive Christianity M. Dibelius, An die Thessalonicher I, II; An die Philipper, 31937, 15; A Meyer, Das Riitsel des Jakobusbriefes, 1930, 160; Volz, Eischatologie, 64; K. Deissner, 'Paru:-ie', Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart IV, 21930, 979; Glasson, Advent, 31, 85 f.). Thus Bultmann, Tradition, 128; similarly M. Dibelius, Gospel Criticism and Christology, 1935, 47 f. According to J. Knox, Christ the Lord, 1945, 41 ff. Jesus had assumed a unique relationship between himself and the coming Son of Man, but not an identity.
142
THE IMMINENT FUTURE OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD
65 Thus also Wilder, Eschatology, 57: 'It appears more likely ... that he was content ... simply to insist upon the direct relation between himself and the future Son of Man'. 66 Jeremias, Parables 41, 88 (in German 39, 87); Bultmann, Tradition, 191; Klostermann, Matthiius, 201. 67 Beside E. Norden, Agnostos Theos, 1913, 277 ff., J. Weiss, Neutest. Studien f G. Heinrici, 1914. 120 ff. and W. Bousset, Kyrios Christos, 2 1921, 45 ff., recently: J. Schniewind, Th. Rdsch. N.F. 2, 1930, 169 f.; Bultmann, Tradition, 171 f.; Dibelius, Tradition, 279 ff. (in German Formgeschichte 279 ff.); D. Volter, Die Grundfrage des Lebens Jesu, 1936, 167 ff.: T. Arvedson, Das Mysterium Christi. Eine Studie zu Matt. 11.25-30, 1937; Grundmann, Jesus, 209 ff.; W. Manson, Jesus, 71 ff; Stonehouse, Witness 212 ff.; H. Schulte, Der Begriff der Offenbarung im Neuen Testament, 1949, 13 ff.; Michaelis, Matthiius II, 129 ff.; J. Bieneck, Sohn Gottes als Christusbezeichnung der Synoptiker, 1951, 75 ff. 68 Cf. e.g. Dibelius, Grundmann, Arvedson, Schulte, Bieneck, loc cit. in note 67; A. Oepke, Stud. Theol. II, 1948/50, 152 f. 69 See especially Bultmann and Michaelis, loc. cit. in note 67; Klostermann, Matthiius, 101 f. 70 Grundmann, Jesus, 212 f. emphasized this correctly. 71 Doubtless oulldc; iiyvro 'tOV ui6v must be read with the early Fathers of the Church since the time of Justin (see Norden, op. cit. in note 67, 75 note 1 and 301); on the other hand only the order 'tOV uiov Ei JllJ 6 7ta'ti]p and 'tOV 7ta'tEpa ... Ei JllJ 6 ui6c; can be original according to the evidence of nearly all the MSS. against Justin, the Gnostics and a few later Fathers and MSS.; see the evidence in Th. Zahn, Geschichte des Neutestamentlichen Kanons I, 2, 1889, 555 f. and The Liege Diatessaron, ed. D. Plooij and C. A. Phillips II ( = Verhandelingen der Koninkl. Akad. van wetenschappen te Amsterdam, Afd. Letterkunde, N.R. XXIX, 6), 1931, 154. For the saying offers reasons why the Son alone knows the Father and can reveal Him to others; namely because the Father recognizes the Son; the extra-canonical reading rests on a misunderstanding of the text (thus correctly Norden, op. cit., 286 f.: Arvedson, op. cit., 109 ff.; J. Bieneck, op. cit. note 67, 82; probably also H. Schulte, op. cit. in note 67, 15; against J. Weiss, op. cit., 126; Dibelius, op. cit., 280 note 2 (in German 281 note 1) etc.). 72 References in Norden, op. cit., 287 f. and Bousset, op. cit., 48 ff. 73 Michaelis, op. cit., 132; Stonehouse, op. cit., 213, note 12; J. Bieneck, op. cit. in note 67, 84. 74 Grundmann, Jesus, 222; also W. Manson, op. cit., 74 assumes 'considerable elaboration, both in form and in substance', but does not define its extent. 75 See my remarks in Melanges M. Goguel (Aux sources de la tradition chretienne), 1950, 129 f. (for the literature on this question). J. Bieneck loc. cit. in note 67, has not contributed anything to elucidate this question. See also J. Jeremias, Th. Wb. z. N.T. V, 680 note 196 and Jeremias, Parables, 57 (in German 56). 76 Cf. W. Bousset, Kyrios Christos, 21921, 43 f.; C. Clemen, Religionsgeschichtliche Erkliirung des Neuen Testaments, 2 1924,77. 77 Thus correctly recently Flew, Church, 33; E. Lohmeyer, Das Vaterunser, 21947, 31; Taylor, Mark, 439 places Mark 13.32 rightly in this respect beside 10.40. 78 Thus Dalman, Worte Jesu, 159; Bultmann, Tradition, 130 considers the saying originally without its final enlargement to be actually a Jewish saying. 79 This is the opinion of Hauck, Lohmeyer, Schniewind, Markus, ad loc., also V. Taylor, Jesus and His Sacrifice, 1937, 34 f.; W. Grundmann, Die Gotteskindschaft in der Geschichte Jesu, 1937, 160; Flew, Church, 33 f.; Michaelis,
143
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
80
81 82 83
84
85 86
Verheissung, 17; Cullmann, Retour, 22; Colwell, Approach, 92 f.; Duncan, Jesus, 106; C. J. Cadoux, Mission, 33; Glasson, Advent, 97; E. Pfennigsdorf, Der Menschensohn, 1948,52,67, etc. Glasson, Advent, 97 f. avoids this by stating that the meaning of the phrase 'that day and that hour' cannot be ascertained; and Bowman, Intention, 61 simply denies that the end of the world is spoken of, 'that day' is said to refer to the 'day of the Lord' of the Old Testament, at the same time it remains completely obscure what the concrete meaning of this might be in Jesus' mouth. A. Feuillet, R.B. 56, 1949, 87 refers 'that day' to the historical event of the judgment on Jerusalem which is indeed to take place in this generation, but which lies in the initiative not of Jesus, but of the Father. All these interpretations overlook the fact that Jesus has spoken elsewhere of 'that day' or used similar words, and that Mark 13.32 must also be interpreted in connexion with this usage (thus correctly Taylor, Mark, 522). Cf. for the following Wilder, Eschatology, 94 ff. (There are further references to the judgment as an ethical theme, which however it would serve no useful purpose to quote here owing to their ambiguity as regards time.) According to Glasson, Advent, 74 the saying in Matt. 23.33 is transferred from the Baptist's saying in Matt. 3.7 to Jesus; but apart from the address 'offspring of vipers' the wording in the two passages is completely different. From the literary point of view Luke 17.26--35 is a secondary grouping. But even if, as has already been stressed in note 60, 17.28---30 is presumably a secondary formation, yet there is no need to doubt that 'taU't'!l Tji V\lK'tt, which is applied in 17.30 by Luke to the day of the appearance of the Son of Man, applied in the original grouping of the logion 17.34 f. also to his appearance; especially since Matt. 24.40 f. shows the same application which therefore no doubt goes back to Q. To apply Luke 17.34 f. to the horrors caused by the invading soldiery (C. F. Cadoux, Mission, 274) is therefore arbitrary.-Also Luke 21.36 'Watch ye at every season, making supplication that ye may prevail to escape all these things that shall come to pass, and to stand before the Son of Man' can be applied only to the final judgment by the Son of Man and not to an eternal judgment which takes place during the course of human history (against Dun can, Jesus, 175); but it is unlikely that the saying is old, see Hauck, Lukas, 257. Of course if the wording of Matt. 12.41 f. is taken strictly, it follows that 'the whole generation of contemporaries' will die and rise again (Bultmann's objection, Th. L.Z. 72, 1947, 271). But Mark 9.1 does allow a restriction to the greater part of the contemporary generation (thus correctly Liechtenhan, Mission, 14). Glasson, Advent, 128, appealing to J. Wellhausen, Das Evangelium Matthaei, 21914, 63 (likewise Michaelis, Matthiius, II, 41 f.) wishes to translate avacr'tf]crov'tat and tyEp6f]crE'tat merely by 'appearing' to be judged and denies that there is any mention of a future day of judgment. But this weakening is very unlikely and moreover contradicts the usage of Kpicrtc; in the combination TJJ.!Epa KptcrEc.oc; (see above pages 36 f.). Matt. 16.27 has only reproduced the second half of the saying in Mark and has added to it Ps. 62.13; that is doubtless secondary (thus correctly Glasson, Advent, 127 f.). Thus correctly Bultmann, Tradition, 177; C. J. Cadoux, Mission, 100; Taylor, Mark, 383 f. Dodd, Parables, 93 ff. eliminates from the Q version the mention of the Son of Man and retains only the acknowledgment 'before my Father in heaven' or 'before the angels of God'; but the elimination of the eschatological meaning of the saying is impossible, because the rendering in Luke 12.9 ('he 144
THE IMMINENT FUTURE OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD
87
88 89
90
91 92 93
94 95
that denieth me in the presence of men shall be denied in the presence of the angels of God') is clearly a variant abbreviation of Luke 12.8 ('him shall the Son of Man also confess before the angels of God'). It is equally impossible simply to declare the Q version to be the original one as compared with Mark 8.38 in order to assert that there was originally no mention in the saying of the future coming of the Son of Man (Duncan, Jesus, 175; Sharman, Son of Man, 12 f.; V. Taylor, Exp. T. 58, 1946/47, 12; Taylor, Mark, 384; Liechtenhan, Mission, 15; Glasson, Advent, 74 f.); for the differentiation between 'I' and 'Son of Man', which leaves the identity of the Son of Man open is doubtless original contrasted with the unambiguous rendering of Matt. 10.32; and the allusion to the parousia in Mark 8.38 does not in fact say anything different from the confession and denial 'before the angels of God'.-The work of G. Bornkamm, 'Das Wort Jesu vom Bekennen', Monatsschr. f Pastoraltheologie 34, 1938, 108 ff. does not help us with this passage. Cf. Schniewind, Markus, 114. E. Lohmeyer, Gottesknecht und Davidssohn, Symb. Biblicae Upsalienses 5, 1945, 125 f. emphasizes correctly that Jesus alone may speak of the Son of Man, 'but, because he has full authority to speak, when he speaks, it sounds as if a bond bordering on identity is uniting the speaker, sent in the present, with the judge of the end of time still hidden from all the world'. See the report of C. C. McCown, 'Jesus, Son of Man, A Survey of Recent Discussion', Journal of Religion 28, 1948, 1 ff. Thus e.g. in different ways W. Grundmann, Die Gotteskindschaft in der Geschichte Jesu und ihre religionsgeschichtlichen Voraussetzungen, 1938, 155 ff.; Meyer, Prophet, 146; Duncan, Jesus, 135 ff.; Curtis, Teacher, 135 ff.; Bowman, Maturity, 255 ff.; R. Parker, 'The Meaning of "Son of Man"', J.B.L. 60, 1941, 151 ff.; J. Y. Campbell, 'The Origin and Meaning of the Term Son of Man', J. Th.St. 48, 1947, 145 ff.; Ackermann, Jesus, 107 f. T. W. Manson, 'The Son of Man in Daniel, Enoch and the Gospels', Bulletin of the John Rylands Library 32, 1949/50, 171 ff.; C. J. Cadoux, Mission, 100; V. Taylor, 'The Son of Man Sayings Relating to the Parousia', Exp. T. 58, 1946/47, 12 ff.; Taylor, Mark, 384, 386. H. H. Rowley, The Relevance of Apocalyptic, 21947, 121; Bowman, Maturity, 257. See V. Taylor, loc. cit. in note 90. Correctly recently M. Black, 'The "Son of Man" in the Teaching of Jesus', Exp. T. 60, 1948/49, 32 ff.-The assumption frequently accepted that there is in Mark 2.10, 28 a mistaken translation for 'man' (recently e.g. C. J. Cadoux, Mission, 75 f., 95 f.; J. Jeremias, Th. L.Z. 74, 1949, 528; Ackermann, Jesus, 107) overlooks the fact that Mark 2.10 has no meaning unless the complete authority of the Son of Man on earth is to be emphasized, and that Mark 2.28 clearly represents an intensification of 2.27 (see recently Taylor, Mark, 199 f., 219). Matt. 8.20 makes sense only if Jesus is speaking of his own fate, and Matt. 11.19 is an original comparison between Jesus and the Baptist, for the good reason that the early Church never saw the contrast between them as clearly as this. F. Btichsel, Jesus, 1947, 46 even wishes to discover in the idea of the last judgment the real core of Jesus' proclamation of the Kingdom of God, but this is probably an exaggeration. See the remarks in Ktimmel, Kirchenbegriff, 31, 56 and the reservations below on page 92 note 19. V. Taylor, op. cit. in note 90, 12 (likewise Taylor, Mark, 622) and Glasson, Advent, 142 again prefer the Lucan version in which the mention of the parousia is lacking; and M. Goguel, Rev. Hist. Ref. 123, 1941, 145
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
32 f. thinks the saying could not originate with Jesus, because he could not have expressed himself so openly about his coming messianic kingdom to his disciples; according to Sharman, Son of Man, 32 it is even impossible that in view of Mark 10.42 ff., 9.33 ff. Jesus promised the Twelve better places than the other disciples. But the saying does not speak of a special reward for the Twelve, but of Jesus' claim on his nation, which appears from their office as judges; and besides, Jesus did not in this saying speak openly of his messianic office as judge, since in fact the reference to the 'Son of Man' is ambiguous. 96 That the judging in this case 'is a function of the office of kingship' is rightly emphasized by Theissing, Seligkeit, 55; E. Stauffer, Die Theologie des Neuen Testaments, 4· 51948, note 637; M. Goguel, op. cit. in note 95, 32 note 3; A. Fridrichsen; The Apostle and His Message, 1947, 18 note 12; against this G. Schrenk, Die Weissagung ii.ber Israel im Neuen Testament, 1951, 17 f. Glasson, Advent, 141 ff. interprets Luke 22.30 symbolically to mean the promise of the new Israel and thus arbitrarily removes every eschatological reference. Taylor Mark, 622 wants to apply the rule of the king to a kingdom in history 'in the expected community of the Son of Man'. 97 C. J. Cadoux, Mission, 266 ff.; Bowman, Intention, 61 f.
Supplementary bibliography W. MICHAELIS 'Kennen die Synoptiker eine Verzogerung der Parusie?', Synoptische Studien A. Wikenhauser dargebracht, 1954, 107 ff.
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30
THE KINGDOM OF GOD EXPELS THE KINGDOM OF SATAN RudolfOtto Source: The Kingdom of God and the Son of Man: A Study in the History of Religion, translated by Floyd V. Filson and Bertram Lee Woolf (rev. edn, Lutterworth Library 9; London: Lutterworth, 1943), pp. 97-107. (Originally published as Reich Gottes und Menschensohn: ein religionsgeschichtlicher Versuch, Miinchen: C. H. Beck, c.1934.)
We read in Mt. xii. 25-29: 25. Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation; and every city or house divided against itself shall not stand; 26. and if Satan casteth out Satan, he is divided against himself; how then shall his kingdom stand? 27. And if I by Beelzebub cast out demons, by whom do your sons cast them out? therefore shall they be your judges. (Accordingly it is not, as you say, by Beelzebub, but by God's Spirit that I drive them out.) 28. But if I by the Spirit cast out demons, then (ara) is the kingdom of God come unto you. 29. Or how can one enter into the house of the strong man, and spoil his goods, except he first bind the strong man? and then he will spoil his house.
Instead of verse 29 as above Luke says in xi. 21 f.: When the strong man fully armed guardeth his own court, his goods are in peace: 22. but when a stronger than he shall come upon him, and overcome him, he taketh from him his whole armour wherein he trusted, and divideth his spoils. Luke's version manifestly preserves a more original form than Matthew's, and likewise allows that Old Testament passage to shine through more clearly which Jesus uses here, and into which he puts the idea of God's final struggle and victory over Satan. 1. Kingdom here struggles against, and is victorious over, kingdom, the chshathra varya of the Lord over that of the chief and final foe. Material of 147
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very ancient Aryan-Iranian origin stands here in the midst of the gospel, and is palpably rugged and real. Here the kingdom is power victorious, coercive power. It is also a realm of power, which replaces another realm of power-the kingdom, the house, the polis of Satan. It advances against the latter; victorious and growing, it pushes forward its boundaries against it in Christ's activity as exorcist. It expands its realm; its beginnings were small, but it grows ever larger. The impressive Iranian idea of a divine warfare is also operative in the Book of Enoch. It appears more clearly in other passages of late Jewish apocalyptic, e.g. in The Assumption of Moses, x. 1, 2. Here, at the close of the prophecy of the final period, we read: Tunc apparebit regnum illius (Dei) in omni creatura illius, Et tunc Zabulus (Diabolus) finem habebit et tristitia cum eo abducetur. [Then His (God's) rule will be manifest through all His creation, and then Zabulus (the devil) will be no more and sorrow will be removed along with him.] That is the plain Iranian message of the victory of the chshathra of the Lord over God's enemy, the conquest of the evil one in the great divine victory at the End. The victory takes place here through God's leader of the hosts, the archangel Michael. 1 We find Iranian ideas of an eschatological warfare expressed in greater bulk and in greater detail in materials embedded in different passages of our Christian apocalypse, the 'Revelation of John.' (They were certainly not newly invented but found current by the Apocalyptist, who wove them into his special prophecy and adapted them to his particular aims.) In Rev. xii. 7 the seer views the end of things, the in breaking of the final time. 'A great fiery dragon' appears, and there was war in heaven (whither the dragon had been compelled to ascend): Michael and his angels going forth to war with the dragon; and the dragon warred and his angels; and they prevailed not, neither was their place found any more in heaven. And the great dragon was cast down, the old serpent ... he was cast down to the earth, and his angels were cast down with him. Thus a great and decisive victory was gained at the outset, and the angels were already singing: Now is come the salvation, and the power, and the kingdom of our God, and the authority (exousia) of His Christ. But they closed with the words:
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Woe to the earth and to the sea: because the devil is gone down unto you, having great wrath, knowing that he hath but a short time. For although decisively defeated, the dragon now continued his attacks upon the earth: and went away to make war with the rest of her seed that keep the commandments of God. That is Iranian eschatology, applied and conformed to the supposed final fortunes of the Christian Church (at the same time, it fused with elements of Chaldean mythology, with which the Iranian tradition had long combined). The fiery dragon is not, as Bousset thinks, an aquatic animal, for nothing can be fiery in the water. Rather it is the literal translation of Azhi dahaka (Sanskrit: ahi dahaka), which means a fiery, burning dragon. 2 Azhi dahaka, like the aboriginal monster against which Trita fought, had three heads (and seven tails). Acting under Chaldean influence, John changed it into seven heads. The Iranian tradition described the arch enemy as pressing into heaven. 'The Lord hurls down the evil spirit, who goes forth from heaven' (SOderblom, p. 267), and Azhi dahaka 'is cast down to the earth, to commit sin.' Here he rages against man and beast. In like manner with John, the fiery dragon comes to earth and rages in great wrath and persecutes the righteous. Also the remarkable 'third part' in Rev. viii. 7, 9, 11, 12; xii. 4: The third part of the earth was burned up, and the third part of the trees ... there died the third part of the creatures which were in the sea ... the third part of the waters became wormwood ... the third part of the sun was smitten, and of the stars . . . and the day, comes from the same source, for Azhi dahaka swallows a third of mankind, of the beasts, and of the other beings created by the Lord. His aim is the destruction of the world and the annihilation of the creatures (Soderblom, p. 268 f.). According to a later tradition he swallows Ahriman, and so with the devil himself in his body he becomes l'unique adversaire (Soderblom, p. 267). The warriors against him (as the combatants on behalf of the saoshyant, the coming judge, the saviour, judge, and founder of the new world) are Keresaspa or Fretiln (= Thraetaona athwya == Trita aptya), beings originating from the oldest Aryan myths. In the Johannine Apocalypse the strategos of God, the valiant angelic hero Michael, represents a further development.
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2. With equal clarity we can trace the same Iranian echoes in the Beelzebub scene of the Gospels. In speaking about the strong man and the stronger one who comes upon the strong man, overcomes him, and takes from him his goods or his spoil, Jesus refers primarily to a passage from Isaiah xlix. 24 ff.: Shall the prey be taken from the mighty, or the spoil slip away from the powerful? . . . With him that contends against thee (Israel) will I, Yahweh, contend, and my children will I save, that all flesh may know that I, Yahweh, am thy Saviour and thy Redeemer, I, the Mighty One of Jacob. Two strong men (gibbor) are spoken of in Isaiah. They contend against one another. But Yahweh, the stronger, smites the strong one, i.e. the adversary, and gives deliverance. Isaiah meant the earthly oppressors of Israel in this world; but for Jesus this scene of strife takes on the deeper meaning of the divine struggle against God's enemy himself.J 3. The meaning and the logic of his answer to the accusation of being in league with Beelzebub is given most clearly in Luke's record, which follows an older form of St. than do Matthew and Mark. 4 Jesus says: Were I to exorcize by Beelzebub, Satan would be arrayed against himself, which cannot be. Therefore concede that I exorcize by the finger of God. But if this is so, then what I teach holds good, viz. that the kingdom of God has already dawned, i.e. God's rule over Satan has already come to pass and Satan himself is already deprived of his power, i.e. his armour, since otherwise one could not take away from him his spoil, the demon-possessed. As long as the strong one sits in full armour and is not deprived of his armour, and thus equipped watches his household, no exorcist, not even I, can take from him what he possesses. But just because the kingdom has already dawned, because God has already achieved His victory and stripped Satan of his armour (we might continue: because Satan has already fallen from heaven, but still rages with the remnants of his power here on earth), it is possible by exorcism to take from him his spoil, i.e. those made captive by him and taken into his possession. The stronger one (i.e. God Himself), who had stripped him of his armour, now proceeds to take from him his spoil through the working of the exorcist Jesus, who was sent by God and is working with His (God's) power. 5 4. We shall now give attention to a circumstance that is usually passed lightly over. What really is the reason that Jesus adds the clause 'ara ephthasen he basileia' ['then the kingdom has come'] together with the entire detailed demonstration that follows? He had been charged with exorcizing by Beelzebub. This accusation he had refuted by showing it to be absurd, since in such a case Satan would be contending against Satan. The accusation was thereby answered. But what is the purpose of the subsequent 150
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remarks? They have no further reference to the accusation. We say: it was occasioned by, but advanced beyond, what preceded; it was intended to prove a thesis which Jesus had propounded long before and which had been as much doubted as his working by the finger of God. Only on this theory does the continuation become intelligible. The word 'ara' introduces, like our 'really' or 'actually,' an assertion which is brought to the forefront. It means: accordingly what was asserted is correct. It presupposes the assertion as known and possibly disputed. In the present instance it means: Therefore what I teach and what I have taught, i.e. that the kingdom has come, is correct. It points to statements which Jesus must have uttered at an earlier time; to an assertion which was peculiar to him and which also had been doubted as paradoxical; to propositions such as the kingdom is in your midst; to other propositions which were implied in his parables of the kingdom of heaven; to a teaching which he had presented generally as his own peculiar teaching, and which he had certainly presented much more generally and frequently than our surviving gospel tradition leads us to suppose. In this tradition that teaching almost falls into the background. It was growing obscure, and doing so because, from the standpoint of the later Church, it was becoming paradoxical in a new way. 5. It is not Jesus who brings the kingdom-a conception which was completely foreign to Jesus himself; on the contrary, the kingdom brings him with it. Moreover, it was not he but rather God Himself who achieved the first great divine victory over Satan. His own activity lies in, and is carried forward by, the tidal wave of the divine victory. The victory and the actual beginning of the triumph of divine power, he not only deduces from his own activity, but knows of it because he has seen it. He has witnessed how Satan was cast out of heaven. This mysterious experience was the subject of a saying, which is a mere relic accidentally preserved from a context that was undoubtedly of larger extent. It reads: I saw Satan fall from Heaven like lightning. It is almost a miracle that such a saying should be preserved at all, for it contradicts all the later Christology. But the very fact that this saying, and likewise the words of the Beelzebub incident, were no longer possible from the later standpoint, and so could not have been invented, proves that both sayings belong to the most solid and aboriginal of Jesus' words. 6. In the power of the divine victory over the armed strong man, Jesus himself now works 'by the finger of God,' or by 'the Spirit of God,' i.e. with dynamis, exousia, charis, charisma. This dynamis of his is nothing other than the dynamis of the kingdom, the kingdom as dynamis. And this charisma and charismatic activity of his is nothing other and nothing less than the coming of the kingdom itself.
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He does not bring the kingdom, but he himself, according to the most certain of his utterances, is in his actions the personal manifestation of the inbreaking divine power. 'If I by the finger of God drive out the devils, then the kingdom has come to you'-can one fail to hear the tone of these words? What do they express? Some say an eschatological feeling of power. But is this vague expression satisfactory? The words do not witness to a general and undefined feeling, but rather to a highly defined, concrete, and unique consciousness of mission with reference to the kingdom of God. They witness to the consciousness of a unique attachment to and union with the kingdom that supports this person, and simply removes and tears him away from everything in the form of 'law, prophets, and John' which was previously present as a mere preparation for the eschatological order, and which in comparison to that order must dwindle to a mere preparation, indeed at times to an actual contrast and opposition. They witness to the metaphysical background in which Christ believed his own person and activity were embedded. He was by no means a mere eschatological preacher, who originated certain thought complexes; rather his person and work were part of a comprehensive redemptive event, which broke in with him and which he called the coming and actual arrival of the kingdom of God. And that is the last and inmost meaning of this saying with its rich connotation. 7. The kingdom comes in and with him and his working, after it has first been realized in heaven by Satan's overthrow, in order that it might now become real 'in earth as it is in heaven.' And it comes chiefly not as claim and decision but as saving dynamis, as redeeming power, to set free a world lying in the clutches of Satan, threatened by the devil and by demons, tormented, possessed, demon-ridden; and to capture the spoil from the strong one; i.e. it comes chiefly as saving dynamis, as redeeming might. It is the realm of saving power which is ever expanding, ever advancing farther, in which the weary and heavy laden find rest for their souls. It makes claims, but that is not its new element; it demands decision and determination radically and fundamentally, but that is not its difference from the law and prophets. For, as we have already said, that had long ago been done by prophetic religion in the primordial words: Ye shall be holy, for I am holy, and: Hear, 0 Israel: the Lord our God is one Lord. And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy soul, and with all thy might. The radical nature and completeness of claim of these words, and their power to put one in the situation which calls for decision, cannot be 152
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surpassed or heightened by any consistent eschatology. They are words whose radical meaning even the Sermon on the Mount can only repeat, illustrate by examples, bring to the mind afresh, and press into the inner recesses of the heart and conscience, i.e. into the depth of the soul. It does not disclose that meaning for the first time. New, however, is the knowledge that saving power from above-unnoticed by and hid from dim eyes-is at work, and is quietly but irresistibly extending its realm of power in opposition to the realm of power of God's enemy. 8. Therefore it is also utterly false and contrary to the original meaning of the person of Christ to understand him as a rabbi who uttered maxims and gained disciples, who was only later elevated to the miraculous Messianic sphere by the circle of these disciples, and who chanced to possess also a certain gift of healing which one hesitates to deny him completely, since other rabbis had the same gift. Wilhelm Schubert, not a theologian, showed deeper insight in Das Weltbild Jesu (published in the series Das Morgenland, vol. 13). His book is short but distinguished by understanding of the situation and environment, by intuitive penetration, and by excellent characterization. Schubert goes to the length of supposing (p. 32) that Jesus had long seen his unique and most important task in his exorcistic healings, expelling the dark tormenting powers. That seems to me to go too far and not to be demonstrable from our sources. But he is right in as far as Jesus was a miracle worker not by chance but quite essentially and in closest connection with his entire mission. He healed and exorcized, and showed separate concrete elements of both exorcistic and miraculous healing; Schubert is right in as far as Jesus sent his disciples throughout the country as similar persons to himself. Nevertheless his activity was not exercised in the manner of so many others who healed by miracle and exorcism at that time. Our gospels still bear witness to the latter, but Jesus, as the Beelzebub passage shows, knew himself to be, in this miraculous healing activity of his, the instrument of the dynamis of the inbreaking kingdom; on this side Jesus was altogether different from the others. Moreover it would be theoretically possible to assume that Jesus became aware that the kingdom was breaking in when his charismatic powers came to life and as they operated. Looked at from a higher point of view, however, this means that Jesus' person and his consciousness of mission include something more than, something quite different from, his transforming of John's call to repentance into that for a 'decision to fulfil the divine will in its totality.' He knew himself to be a part and an organ of the eschatological order itself, which was pressing in to save. Thereby he was lifted above John and everyone earlier. He is the eschatological saviour. Only thus understood are all his deeds and words seen against their right background and in their true meaning. Directly or indirectly, they are all borne up by the idea of a penetrating and redemptive divine power. This idea had its immediate 153
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correlate in the new God whom he preached, not the God who consumed the sinner but who sought him; the Father God, who had come near to men out of His transcendence, who asked for a childlike mind and a childlike trust, who freed not only from fear of the devil but from all fear and anxiety, who filled the entire life with childlike freedom from care. Thus also the akolouthia, the discipleship which Jesus demanded, did not signify adherence of disciples to a new rabbi in the way that other rabbis had had disciples and followers, but adherence to the soteriological and eschatological saviour. 6 Finally, only upon the basis of this understanding is there any possibility of rationally discussing the question whether Jesus was himself conscious that his mission was Messianic in character, or whether a society consisting of the disciples of a rabbi elevated him at a later date to the rank of Son of Man.
Notes 1 We likewise note the words 'et tristitia cum eo abducetur.' That is the purpose intended when someone comes with the message: the kingdom is near. This message is good news for sad and troubled people: it is besora and euangelion. 2 The fiery dragon is at the same time the ancient serpent. Both are used here in the myth of the sun woman, and are applied again but in a different sense in Rev. xx. 2. In Rev. xx. 2 ff. Bousset himself referred them (indeed, he had no alternative), to Azhi dahaka and his war against Fretun. But that the dragon in Rev. xx. 2 is of like origin with the fiery dragon here is indubitable. And no name is more suitable than fiery dragon on the one side, for Azhi means dragon and dahaka means fiery, and the ancient serpent on the other side, for this figure does in fact belong to the most primordial mythology. The dragon and its conqueror Fretfln = Trita, are the most primordial of primordial figures. 3 Perhaps it had taken on this meaning in apocalyptic circles before Jesus. The self-evident way in which he applies the words almost warrants that supposition. 4 In Matthew and Mark the logic of the verses Lk. xi. 21 f. has already become blunted, and that from a cause which we can still conjecture. 5 The peculiar obscurity which lies over the corresponding narratives in Matthew and also in Mark seems plainly connected with the fact that this story was no longer intelligible from the standpoint of the later community. For this community it was a matter of course from the dogmatic point of view that Christ himself had gained the real victory over Satan. This was not Jesus' view at all, and was not intended even in Luke. In Matthew and Mark, however, the words are so oddly veiled that one is almost compelled to gather from them that Jesus himself was the stronger one who had bound the strong one. It is plainly in connection with this tendency that in Mark the saying: 'then is the kingdom of God come upon you' is actually omitted. From the standpoint of later Christology this saying really was scarcely tolerable. For it clearly presupposed that Christ did not himself bring the kingdom of God, but that his own appearance was actually only a result of the fact that the kingdom had already come, that the powers of this kingdom were working in him and through him, but in such a way that he himself was part and parcel of this in breaking entity of the kingdom, which was superior even to him.
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6 This has been recognized by W. Bauer. In his essay, Jesus de Galiliier, which we have frequently quoted, he says on p. 29: 'Jesu had summoned men to let themselves be completely permeated by the consciousness of the nearness of the divine sovereignty, to yield to the conversion which alone leads to God, and to attach themselves to His person as the God-sent Preparer of the new era.'
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31 THE KINGDOM OF GOD IN THE PROCLAMATION OF JESUS Reginald H. Fuller Source: The Mission and Achievement of Jesus (Studies in Biblical Theology 12; London: SCM Press, 1954), pp. 20-49.
1. The imminence of the Kingdom It must be said at the outset that Bultmann's treatment of the Kingdom of God in the proclamation of Jesus merits more serious consideration than this interpretation often receives in this country. For it is widely held that Jesus proclaimed already in his lifetime a 'realized eschatology'. 1 With the appearance of Jesus, we are to suppose, the eschatological Reign of God had actually entered into history: the Kingdom of God had come. 'The eschaton has moved from the future to the present, from the sphere of expectation into that of realized experience.'2 No doubt the Reign of God awaits consummation somewhere beyond the bounds of history. Dr. Dodd apparently would place this, as far as the individual is concerned, on the other side of his individual death: 'But the spirit of man, though dwelling in history, belongs to the eternal order [a Platonic, rather than biblical idea] and the full meaning of the Day of the Son of Man, or the Kingdom of God, he can experience only in the eternal order. ' 3 For the rest, the futurist apocalyptic imagery in the gospels, so far as it is accepted as authentic to Jesus, and not the product of the Church's theology, is dismissed as 'an accommodation of language'. 4 Four principal texts have been adduced in support of this thesis: (1) Mark 1.15 (cf. Matt. 10.7 =Luke 10.9); (2) Matt. 12.28 == Luke 11.20; (3) Mark 9.1; (4) Luke 17.21. Professor J. Y. Campbell (seep. 20, footnote 1) has submitted Dr. Dodd's linguistic arguments to a searching analysis, to which the reader is referred. Here are some further points for consideration.
(l) Mark 1.15 (cf. Matt. 10.7 =Luke 10.9): fjyyucev i) (}aatA.ei.a 'tOU
eeou.
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Dr. Dodd would translate 'The Kingdom of God has come'. 5 Professor Campbell6 has shown that in the LXX £yyi~w in the majority of cases denotes 'to draw nigh', although on occasion it may be stretched to mean 'reached', as for example in the passage adduced by Dodd,7 Jonah 3.6 ( fjyytcr~::v b A.6y~ ttpoc; tov pam/J:a), but in each exceptional case the context makes the meaning quite clear. In profane usage the verb is rare in Hellenistic Greek. H. Preisker8 notes one instance where it bears a transitive sense = to bring nigh, and eight instances where it is intransitive (including three cases from the papyri where it means 'to draw nigh' or 'to approach'). Liddell and Scott (1940) give no case where it means 'to arrive'. In the New Testament the verb £yyi~w occurs thirty-five times apart from the cases where i] pamA.eta tou Seou ( t&v oupav&v) is the subject. Of these, twenty-four refer to spatial motion, literal or metaphorical, and in each case may be translated 'to draw nigh' or 'to approach'. It is the remaining occurrences referring to time which interest us here. (i) Matt. 21.34: ate~£ ijyytcr~::v oK:atpoc; tffiv K:aptt&v R.V.: 'and when the season of the fruits drew near' This could be translated 'when the season of fruits had arrived', but the normal profane sense 'drew nigh' makes perfectly good sense-the servants are sent from 'another country' (verse 33) well in advance, so as to be in time to receive the fruits. 9 (ii) Matt. 26.45: i~ou fjyytK:eV i] ropa R.V.: 'the hour is at hand' Since the Markan original had ~A.Sev i] ropa (Mark 14.41), this may be an instance where the meaning has been stretched, as in Jonah 3.6 (see above). It is more likely, however, that Matthew has deliberately intended to correct Mark. The ropa is not the arrest, but the death of Jesus.l 0 (iii) Luke 21.8: b K:atpoc; ijyytK~::v R.V.: 'the time is at hand' The disciples have asked in verse 7 for the sign that 'these things' (presumably the End) are about to come to pass. Jesus warns them about a false sign-the false prophets who come in his name claiming themselves to be the sign that 'these things' are about to come to pass. The false prophets would therefore claim that the End is near, has drawn nigh, not that it 'has come'it would be too late then to talk about signs of the approaching End! (iv) Luke 21.20: Tl"fYtKeV i] £pf]~wcrtc; autfjc; R.V.: 'her desolation is at hand' 157
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The beleaguering of the city must obviously precede its destruction, and therefore the translation of the RV. is the only possible one. (v) Luke 21.28: f.yyl.~et i] <'mol-:\:rrpmcrtc; UJlffiv RV.: 'your redemption draweth nigh' RV. is obviously correct here, as the first part of the verse shows: 'when these things begin to come to pass.' (vi) Luke 22.1: iinwev 8£ i] eop'ti] 'tffiV a~UilffiV RV.: 'now the feast of unleavened bread drew nigh' The Markan parallel has liv 8£ '[0 mxcrxa Kat '[U al;;ulla llE1U 8uo llllEpac;, and verse 7 shows that Luke clearly does not intend to change the Markan dating ('and the day of unleavened bread came'-liMev-subsequently to the meeting of the Sanhedrin). (vii) Acts 7.17.: Kaecbc; 8£ iint~EV 6 xp6voc; -rftc; btayyeA.l.ac; RV.: 'but as the time of promise drew nigh' The 'time of promise' is the Exodus, and the growth of the Hebrew population obviously preceded the Exodus. R.V. is clearly right. (viii) Rom. 13.12: it 8£ TtJlEpa iiYYtKEV RV.: 'the day is at hand' This follows the clause 'The night is far spent', and is obviously a case of synonymous parallelism. If the night is far spent, the day cannot yet have arrived. RV. is correct. (ix) Heb. 10.25: ocrq> ~A.bre1e f.yyi~ouncrav 1i]v llJlEpav RV.: 'as ye see the day drawing nigh' RV. is clearly right here.
(X) Jas. 5.8: Ott Tt napoucria 't"OU KUptOU llY'YtKEV R.V.: 'the coming of the Lord is at hand' The immediately preceding exhortation 'be patient' makes it perfectly clear that the Parousia is a future event for which the faithful must wait. RV. is correct. (xi) 1 Pet. 4.7: 1t6.v1mv 8£ 10 1EA.oc; TiyytKEV RV.: 'the end of all things is at hand' 158
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The imminence of the End is made the ground of ethical exhortation. If the End had already come, the time for ethical exhortation would be past! Once more, R.V. is correct. It is clear from the foregoing analysis that in every other instance (apart from Mark 1.15 and Matt. 10.7 =Luke 10.9 which are under consideration) the verb eyyt~ro is used of events which have not yet occurred, but which lie in the proximate future. It would therefore be surprising if the word bore a different sense at Mark 1.15 and Matt. 10.7 = Luke 10.9. It might of course still be argued, as Dr. Dodd has argued, that the verb here bore the exceptional sense 'has arrived' as at Jonah 3.6. But, as was already noted, the exceptional meaning is determined by the context. And the context does not demand the exceptional meaning here. Had the evangelists required the exceptional meaning, they would doubtless have used a wholly unambiguous verb such as Tji.8Ev. Thus we conclude that the phrase flyytKEV i] ~a
(qiirobh = is approaching, incompleted action), while the LXX oscillates between the present and the aorist. Indeed, at Isa. 56.1 there is excellent MSS. support for the perfect i\yytKEV, exactly as in the gospel passages under consideration, though this isolated instance should not be pressed. This does, however, suggest that we are entitled to give the perfect flyytKEV in Mark 1.15, etc., the same dynamic, present meaning which the Hebrew present participle has in the passages cited above. Now the 'righteousness' and 'salvation', whose approach Deutero-lsaiah announces, is 159
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the impending act of God in the event of the return from exile. That decisive event has not yet occurred. But-and this is the important point-that event is already so near that it is operative in advance in the preliminary victories of Cyrus (Isa. 41.25, etc.). These preliminary victories are signs of the coming restoration, but signs organically connected with it. For the signs are produced by the same energy and power which is to produce the decisive event. We must therefore expand the connotation of T\ntKeV at Mark 1.15, etc. While it still asserts that the decisive event, though impending, still lies in the future, it means more than that. It has the same dynamic force as qarobh. The impending event, while most emphatically future, is nevertheless operative in advance. With the emergence of Jesus, God is already at work, as he was at work in the preliminary victories of Cyrus, preparing to inaugurate his eschatological Reign. The signs of the coming Kingdom, concentrated in the person and activity of Jesus, are already there. Yet the decisive event itself has not yet taken place, any more than the return from exile had taken place at the time of the proclamation of Deutero-Isaiah. The Kingdom of God has not yet come, but it is near, so near that it is already operative in advance. This may not look, on the face of it, so very different from 'realized eschatology'. But there is in fact an all-important difference. 'Realized eschatology' asserts that the decisive event has already occurred. The view outlined here on the other hand seeks to give full, though not exaggerated, emphasis to what is already happening in the ministry of Jesus, yet at the same time to place the decisive event in the future. (2) Matt. 12.28 = Luke 11.20: e<j>Sacrev £<j>'
Ujlii~
i]
~acrtA.eia
'tOU
eeou. Dr. Dodd has argued 12 that e<j>Sacrev here and Tl'Y'YlKeV in the passages just considered are alternative translations of the same Aramaic verb m•ta' which means 'to reach', 'to arrive'. We have already seen that this meaning cannot be sustained with T\ntKeV. Here, however, a much stronger case can be put up for the meaning 'to arrive'. To begin with, he has the support of Dalman 13 in postulating meta' as the Aramaic original of e<j>Sacr~:v here. Secondly, it is a fact that in Hellenistic Greek the verb <j>Savro had largely lost its classical meaning of 'to anticipate' or 'to precede', and normally meant 'to arrive'. There are clear instances of this meaning at Rom. 9.31; II Cor. 10.14; Phil. 3.16; I Thess. 2.16. It could however on occasion retain its original classical sense. Moulton anrl Milligan14 list nine examples from papyri, and there is a clear case of the classical meaning at I Thess. 4.15. In these cases however the context makes it clear that the notion of priority in the verb is to be retained. Elsewhere we must always assume that the Hellenistic sense of 'to arrive' is intended. Hence, in the passage under consideration the meaning is 'the kingdom of 160
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God has arrived upon you', exactly as Dr. Dodd maintains. This does not however necessarily imply a 'realized eschatology'. In I Thess. 2.16 we have the phrase £<j>8acrE 8£ £n' au'!ou~ i] 6pyf]. Here the use of 1, 6pyf] indicates that Paul is thinking of the eschatological wrath of God, which elsewhere he states is to come at the last day (Rom. 5.9; I Thess. 1.10). How comes it about that Paul speaks of an event as already happening which elsewhere he places unequivocally in the future? The answer is that he is using the familiar prophetic device of speaking of a future event as though it were already present. The certainty of the event is so overwhelming, the signs of its impendingness so sure, that it is said to have occurred, or to be occurring already. 15 Now it seems that we have a similar instance in the saying under consideration (Matt. 12.28 para.). The fact that the demons are yielding to his exorcisms is for Jesus so overwhelming proof, so vivid a sign, of the proximity of the Kingdom, that he speaks of it as though it had arrived already. There is a close parallel in Luke 10.18: I beheld Satan fallen as lightning from heaven. The context is the same-successful exorcisms, though here they are accomplished by the Seventy in the name of Jesus (verse 17). Their success is interpreted by Jesus as a sign of the approach of Satan's final overthrow at the End (cf. Rev. 12.9, etc.), which, with vivid prophetic imagination, he sees as an already accomplished fact. Hence Matt. 12.28 para, despite its prima facie meaning, actually supports our thesis that the Kingdom of God was for Jesus a future event. (3) Mark 9.1. Dr. Dodd 16 interprets thus: 'until they have seen that the Kingdom of God has come with power' (italics mine). The decisive argument against this interpretation is that opav is never used of intellectual perception. 17 Many commentators, faced with an apparently unfulfilled prediction, seek to evade the difficulty by referring the saying to some event other than the Parousia, e.g. the Transfiguration or the Fall of Jerusalem. The latest attempt in this direction is that of Dr. V. Taylor 18 : 'A visible manifestation of the rule of God in the life of the elect community.' All these interpretations overlook the plain sense of the words. The event referred to can only be the final coming of the Kingdom, as the words £v 8uvcq..tEt make abundantly clear. See e.g. Mark 13.26: 'And then shall they see the Son of man coming with great power and glory (f.!E'!a 8uvcif.!Ero~).' Rom. 1.4: 'who was declared to be the Son of God with power (£v 8uvcif.!tt).' (In this passage the exaltation of Jesus after the Resurrection is interpreted as partially at least fulfilling the prediction of the Parousia.) I Cor. 15.43: 'it is sown in weakness: it is raised in power (£v 8uvcif.!Et).' Moreover 161
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Matthew referred Mark 9.1 to the future, for he has reworded the saying: 'till they see the Son of man coming in his kingdom' (Matt. 16.28). There can be no doubt that this is what Mark meant. The Parousia or coming of the Kingdom of God with power will take place in the lifetime of some ( tt v£~), but not all of those present. Two further difficulties arise here. ( i) We have here an unfulfilled prediction. (ii) In his indubitably authentic teaching Jesus consistently deprecated any attempt to fix the date of the End. 19 A suggestion has recently been made by G. Bornkamm20 that Mark 9.1 is not a saying of the historical Jesus, but a prophetic 'word of the Lord' circulated in the early Church at a time when it was wrestling with the problems of a delayed Parousia. 21 He detects two further traces of such a word in the New Testament, viz., I Cor. 15.51 (introduced as a J.lUcr'ti)ptov, a prophetic revelation) and I Thess. 4.15-17, explicitly ascribed to a 'word of the Lord'. It may be questioned however whether this is not too bold, and not really necessary, for the difficulties of Mark 9.1 are apparent rather than real. Jesus is not predicting the date of the Parousia, but assuring some of his followers that they will escape the martyrdom which he had foretold for others (Mark 8.34 f, etc.). 22 That the prediction of the Parousia was not fulfilled in the way it was uttered is not an insuperable difficulty. No doubt it was partially fulfilled in the exaltation of Jesus, and its final consummation delayed much longer than the prophetic foreshortening of the saying suggests. 23 But whatever the difficulties, there can be no doubt that it implies the coming of the Kingdom of God as a future event. (4) Luke 17.21:, ~acrtA.Eia 'tOU ecou EV'to<; UJ.ltOV EO"'ttV. This saying, which occurs only in the special Lukan material, has been much discussed, and it is in fact a crux interpretum. It has been used to prove that Jesus held a purely inward, immanent conception of the Kingdom, or, alternatively, that while he accepted the transcendental conception, he is here asserting that the Kingdom is already present in the fullest sense. The meaning of Ev'to~ UJ.ltOV cannot be decided: it may mean either 'within you' or 'among you'.Z4 Any interpretation we give must leave open both possibilities. Now it is frequently overlooked that the point at issue in the context is not the nature of the Kingdom, but the question of the signs of its advent. 25 Jesus is concerned to repudiate the notion that the advent of the Kingdom is to be heralded by observable (J.lE'ta ttapo:tllPilcrEm~) cosmic signs. The signs are of quite a different order: they are manifest in his own lowly mission and activity. Either then the coming Kingdom is operative 'within you' proleptically by its signs. That is to say, the signs of the coming Kingdom are to be sought in the hearts of men, in their response to the proclamation of Jesus. Or alternatively, the coming Kingdom is proleptically operative 'in your midst'-that is to say, Jesus 162
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himself, in his person as the bearer of the announcement of the dawning Kingdom, and in his healings and exorcisms, is the sign that the Kingdom of God is at hand. Whichever way we translate evto~ UJlWV, the meaning of the saying is ultimately the same: the eschatological Kingdom is dawning, and the signs of its coming are already apparent in the presence and activity of Jesus-if only men had eyes to see and ears to hear. There is another group of sayings in the primary documents which speak of 'entering' the Kingdom of God. Mark 9.47: And if thine eye cause thee to stumble, cast it out: it is good for thee to enter into the kingdom of God with one eye, rather than having two eyes to be cast into hell. The phrase 'cast into hell' in the second half of the saying makes it quite clear that Jesus speaks here of future entry into the Kingdom when it comes at the End, not of a present possibility. Mark 10.23-25: How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God! ... how hard is it for them that trust in riches to enter into the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through a needle's eye, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God. The use of the future (dm:A.Eucrovtat) in verse 23 makes it clear that the entry into the Kingdom of God in the two subsequent verses is future, as in the previous instance, Mark 9.47: cf. also 10.15 (see below). Matt. 7.21 (?0): Not everyone that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter the kingdom of heaven. The future £icr£A£UO'£'tat and the reference to 'that day' (= the day of the Lord, the End) in verse 22 make it abundantly clear that Jesus is thinking here of the Kingdom of God as a future event, and we may safely conclude that all the 'entry' sayings imply this. Another word employed is 'seek' (~ll'tEtv), e.g. in Matt. 6.33 para.: 'Seek ye first his kingdom'. This saying might imply that the Kingdom to be sought for is a present reality. But it could equally be an appeal to orientate one's present behaviour towards a future event. And in view of the future orientation of the Sermon on the Mount as a whole 26 the second alternative is preferable. A third word is 'received' (i>£xmeat). Mark 10.15: Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall in no wise enter therein. 163
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The second half of the saying is an 'entry' logion, therefore the first part must also be referred to a future event. 'Receive' means 'receive, not the kingdom of God as a present reality, but the present proclamation of the future event'-just as in the phrase 'receive the word of God' (Acts 8.14, etc.). It is men's acceptance of Jesus' proclamation of the coming Kingdom which decides their entry or rejection when it comes. Cf. Mark 8.38; Luke 12.8 (Q). Other passages speak of the qualifications for future entry: Mark 10.14: Of such (viz., the childlike) is the kingdom of God. Coming as it does immediately before verse 15, which excludes future entry to the unchildlike, this verse is the corresponding promise. The Kingdom is 'theirs', not in the sense that they already possess it as a present reality, but in the sense that they have the certainty of the promise. The childlike are those who accept Jesus' proclamation of the coming Kingdom with humble faith. Mark 12.34: Thou art not far from the kingdom of God. As in the previous instance, Jesus is speaking of the right disposition for future entry. The scribe in the context was almost on the brink of accepting the proclamation of Jesus, and therefore Jesus can say to him-almost, but not quite, for the decision has not been clinched-'Yours is the Kingdom of God.' 27 Matt. 5.3. para.: For theirs is the kingdom of heaven (cf. verse 10). The future tenses attached to all the other Beatitudes (shall be comforted, shall inherit the earth, shall be filled, shall obtain mercy, shall see God) make it quite clear that we have here, as in the two Markan passages just considered, a promise of future entry into the Kingdom when it comes. There is a very difficult saying which appears in different forms in Matthew and Luke, but which obviously represents varying traditions of the same logion: Matt. 11.12-13a And from the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and men of violence take it by force. For all the prophets and the law prophesied until John.
Luke16.16 The law and the prophets were until John: from that time the gospel of the kingdom of God is preached, and every man entereth violently into it.
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It is generally held, with good reason, that Matthew gives us the more original form of the saying. Luke has transformed what was to him an enigmatic saying and made it expressive of his missionary and universalist motif. 28 We will therefore consider the Matthean form. It is clear that John the Baptist marks the dividing point between two epochs, the first characterized by the law and the prophets, the second in some sense by the Kingdom of God. 29 It would be possible 30 to take ~ux~E'tat (which RV. takes as passive: 'suffereth violence') as a middle, 'exercising its force' (so Otto). Even if this be the correct interpretation, there is no need to follow Dr. Dodd in supposing this to mean that with Jesus the Kingdom had already come. It need mean no more than that the proclamation of the coming Kingdom is taking place, that the signs of its impending advent are being performed by Jesus, and that in this proleptic sense the Kingdom, though not having come, is 'exercising its force', i.e. is operative in advance. That at any rate seems to be the way Luke understood it, for he paraphrases ~ux~E'tat by EuayytA.i~E'tat. But this interpretation of ~ux~E'tat as a middle seems to be ruled out by the following clause, which explains that the violence in question is not the action of the Kingdom, but of violent men (~tacr'tai). Hence RV. is probably right in taking ~ux~E'tat as a passive. How then does the Kingdom 'suffer violence'? Probably in the resistance encountered by its proclamation. The advantage of this interpretation is that it brings the saying into line with the following parable of the Children in the Market Place, which is also concerned with the resistance of Israel to the proclamation of the Kingdom. The second clause of our saying will then mean that the violent men, who resist the message of Jesus, are also preventing others from accepting the message. They snatch away (apna~oumv, cf. Matt. 13.19) the word from the hearers, and prevent them from entering into the sphere of the eschatological salvation (cf. Matt. 23.13). Whichever way therefore we interpret this difficult saying, it does not necessarily imply a realized eschatology, any more than the earlier sayings. The Reign of God is already breaking in proleptically in the proclamation and signs of Jesus (that is the difference between the time of Jesus's ministry and the time of John the Baptist), but it would be to overstate the case to say that with Jesus the Kingdom of God has actually come. Matthew links the foregoing logion very closely with another saying from the Q material: Matt. 11.11 para.: He that is but little in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he (se. John the Baptist). Once more, this saying must not be pressed to imply that the Kingdom of God has already come. It is really a saying which belongs to the group of 'qualification' sayings (see above). It refers to the same people of whom the beatitudes assert that 'theirs is the Kingdom of heaven'.
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The numerous instances where the Kingdom of God is spoken of in connexion with the parables will be dealt with in the following section. There are four other passages whose future reference even the most ardent champion of realized eschatology can hardly deny, viz., Mark 14.25: 'Verily I say unto you, I will no more drink of the fruit ofthe vine, until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God'; Matt. 8.11 para.: 'Many shall come from the east and the west, and shall sit down ... in the kingdom of heaven'; Matt. 6.10 para.: 'Thy kingdom come.' Then there is the important saying at Luke 12.32 ('Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom'), which, though attested only by the special Lukan material, has a high claim to authenticity. 31 The attempt of Dr. Dodd to explain away the obvious future reference of these sayings,32 especially when he relegates Mark 14.25 to 'the transcendent order beyond space and time' (a wholly non-biblical, Platonic conception!) is singularly unconvincing. No amount of explaining away can alter the fact that in all four sayings Jesus quite unequivocally speaks of the coming of the Kingdom of God as a future event, which, however imminent it may be, however proleptically active here and now in his ministry, is nevertheless an event which has not itself yet taken place, but which still lies in the future. Finally, there are some sayings which, though they do not explicitly mention the Kingdom of God, are adduced in support of the thesis of realized eschatalogyJJ: Matt. 13.16-17 para.: Blessed are your eyes, for they see; and your ears, for they hear. For verily I say unto you, that many prophets and righteous men desired to see the things which ye see, and saw them not; and to hear the things which ye hear, and heard them not. The best commentary on this saying is provided by the Reply to John in Matt. 11.2--6 para., where the same verbs 'hear' and 'see' (iucounv and j3A.£1t£tv) recur, and where the 'things seen' are defined as the healings performed by Jesus (the blind receive their sight, etc.) and the 'things heard' as his proclamation (the poor have good tidings preached to them). The healings, as we shall see later, are signs pointing forward to the imminent future event of the coming of the Kingdom, and the proclamation, as we have already seen, is the proclamation of the coming Kingdom. 34 So in Matt. 13.16 f the disciples (verse 10) are pronounced blessed, because they, unlike the prophets and righteous men of old, who looked forward to the Kingdom from afar, are privileged to see and hear the signs of the coming Kingdom in the ministry of Jesus, and thus to witness, not its arrival, but its dawning. Matt. 12.41-42 para.: The men of Nineveh shall stand up in the judgement with this generation, and shall condemn it: for they repented at the preaching of Jonah; and behold, a greater than 166
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Jonah is here. The queen of the south shall rise up in the judgement with this generation, and shall condemn it: for she came from the ends of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon; and behold, a greater than Solomon is here. Dr. Dodd has rightly pointed out 35 that the 'greater' in these two verses is neuter (nA.Eiov) not masculine, and should therefore be translated 'something greater'. But what is that 'something greater'? Surely, what is contrasted is the reaction of the Ninevites to the preaching ( Ki}puyJla, verse 41) of Jonah with the reaction of this generation to the preaching of Jesus, viz., his proclamation that the Kingdom of heaven is at their doors. The 'something greater' is the proclamation of Jesus. Similarly in the next verse the proclamation of Jesus is 'something greater' than the wisdom of Solomon. In neither case is the nA.Eiov the already realized Kingdom.
2. The signs of the coming Kingdom It has become fashionable to interpret the miracles of Jesus as signs of a realized eschatology, as signs that with the appearance of Jesus the Kingdom of God had already come, and that in them he is already acting as Messiah. 36 There are two passages, both in Q, which are crucial for our Lord's understanding of his own miracles, the Reply to John in Prison and the Beelzebul controversy. (i) The Reply to John, Matt. 11.2-6 =Luke 7.18-22
We set out here the crucial words in Greek in one column, and two passages from the LXX of Isaiah in the other: ~
avai3A.tnoucrt, Kat :l(C.OAot 1t£pt1ta'COUO't· (AE1tpot Ka9api.~OV'Cat ), Kat Kro!)lo\. ixKm)oucrt · Kat veKpot eyEi.pov'tat, Kat 1t'tC.OXOt Ei:Jayydi~ov-rm.
'tO'tE UVotX9TJO'OV'tat o<j>9aAJ.!Ot 'tU!)lA.&v, Kat w'ta Kro!)lrov ixKoucrov'tat. 'CO't£ aA.Ei'tat ro~ n.a<J>o~ 6 ~· ... (Isa. 35.5-6) EuayyEAicracr9at 1t'tC.OXO~ (Isa. 61.1)
That we have here reminiscences of Isa. 35 and 61 has frequently been notedY It is worth observing, however, as the above columns make clear, that there is no direct quotation of either of these passages. There can be no question therefore of the Hellenistic Churches having deliberately combined two quotations from the LXX and placed them into the mouth of Jesus. They are rather the product of a mind which has soaked itself in the message of Isaiah as a whole, a circumstance which gives the saying a 167
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high claim to authenticity. Now Isa. 35 presents the Messianic salvation as a process. First, there is the journey through the wilderness, to facilitate which the miraculous healings of verses 5 and 6 are provided. Then, as the decisive, culminating event as the fulfilment of the Messianic salvation, comes the return to Zion in verse 10. The miraculous healings therefore are not so much signs that the Messianic age 'has dawned', as signs that it 'is dawning'. The distinction may seem subtle, and somewhat over-drawn, but nevertheless it is of great importance when applied to the miracles of Jesus. For, in applying Isa. 35 to his own works of healing, and claiming, not that the age of salvation has already come, but rather that it 'is dawning', Jesus places the decisive event, the fulfilment of the Messianic salvation, in the future. Again, the key word in the allusion to Isa. 61 is £i>ayy£Ai~ovtm, itself a key word in the prophecies of the earlier chapters which we now know as Deutero-Isaiah (40-55), but which Jesus of course would have attributed to the same author as Isa. 61:
0 thou that tellest good tidings38 to Zion, get thee up into the high mountain; 0 thou that tellest good tidings 38 to Jerusalem, lift up thy voice with strength (Isa. 40.9). I will give to Jerusalem one that bringeth good tidings 39 (Isa. 41.27). How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, 40 that publisheth peace, that bringeth good tidings of good,40 that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth! (Isa. 52.7). Let us recall once more 41 the situation in which the unknown prophet is speaking. The return from exile has not yet taken place, but things are in motion. Cyrus is already winning his preliminary victories. God is already at work, and the decisive event is just round the corner. Hence the verb £i>ayy£Ai~ov'tat in the answer to John must not be evacuated of its future reference. The proclamation of Jesus is part of the initial stages of the End, but the End itself has not yet occurred. That is the meaning of the answer to John. With the healings and the proclamation of Jesus the new age is dawning, but it has not yet arrived. The decisive event still lies in the future. (ii) The BeeJzebuJ Controversy (Luke 11.17-22 para.)
The crucial saying in this pericope is: If I by the finger (Matthew: Spirit) of God cast out devils, then is the kingdom of God come upon you (Luke 11.20).
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There is general agreement that the Lukan version of the saying is more primitive than the Matthean 42 and that 'finger of God' is an allusion to Ex. 8.19 (Heb. and LXX: verse 15). 43 Now this allusion to Ex. 8.15 (19) may have a deeper significance than is usually recognized. For the plagues of Egypt, wrought by the finger of God, were preliminary demonstrations of power pointing forward to the decisive act of God, the Exodus itself, which at Ex. 15.6 is attributed to the right hand of God. The plagues of Egypt, that is to say, were not themselves the great event, but signs wrought by God as pointers to the accomplishment of the great event in the near future. Now I suggest that by ascribing his exorcisms to the finger of God Jesus is placing them in the same relation to his own Exodus, which during his ministry still lies in the future, 44 as the plagues of Egypt bore to the original Exodus, which contemporary Jewish thought regarded as a type of the eschatological redemption. 45 In view of this widely accepted typology, it does not seem too far fetched to suggest that it was present to the mind of Jesus when he used the phrase 'finger of God'. At all events, the same preliminary character of the exorcisms is brought out in the Markan version of the Beelzebul controversy, which is independent of that in Q, and which omits the saying about the finger of God: But no one can enter into the house of the strong man, and spoil his goods, except he first bind the strong man; and then he will spoil his house (Mark 3.27). The exorcisms of Jesus are the preliminary assault on the kingdom of Satan, preparatory to his final overthrow at the End. The strong man must first (np&·tOv) be bound, and then ('t6n:) his goods can be spoiled. The np&'tov refers to the ministry of Jesus, the 'tO't£ to the decisive event of the future. In tracing the interpretation of the miracles of Jesus to a background provided by the 'signs' wrought by Moses before the Exodus, and to the 'signs' foretold by Deutero-Isaiah as preceding the eschatological return to Zion, we have implied that the miracles of Jesus were also 'signs'. As a matter of fact, however, Jesus never applies the word 'sign' to his miraculous activity. On the contrary, according to both Mark and Q, he uses the word 'sign' in a depreciating sense. According to Mark Jesus refused point blank to give any 'sign' to the Pharisees when they demanded 'a sign from heaven': Why doth this generation seek a sign? Verily I say unto you, There shall no sign be given unto this generation (Mark 8.12). It is difficult to determine in what sense a sign is demanded and in what sense it is refused. Some critics take the sign in question to mean a supernatural cosmological phenomenon such as Jewish Apocalyptic believed
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would precede the End, and of which, according to the Little Apocalypse, Jesus himself is alleged to have spoken in Mark 13.24 ff para. Others46 interpret the sign demanded as an action authenticating the present claims of Jesus. Now it is worth noting that in asking their question the Pharisees are said to be tempting Jesus (7tEtpa~ovw;, verse 11). The use of this verb recalls the temptation of Jesus by the devil in its Q form (Matt. 4.3 ff para.), where the purpose of the temptation is to make Jesus use his miraculous powers to point to himself. This is just what the Pharisees are demanding in Mark 8.11. Like the devil in the Temptation,47 they tempt Jesus to perform some striking act to prove who he is. Jesus rejects this kind of sign in toto. It is, as Mark rightly insists, a temptation. If this is what is meant by a sign, then no sign shall be given to this generation. Jesus refuses, not to perform signs as such, but signs intended to point to himself Thus the miracles of Jesus were not intended to be, and must not be interpreted as, signs that he was the Messiah. 48 The best commentary on the refusal of Jesus to give any sign as a proof of Messiahship is furnished by the Christological hymn in Phil. 2.6: Who, being in the form of God, counted it not a thing to be grasped (R. V. marg. = ap1tay116v) to be on an equality with God ... becoming obedient. Had Jesus performed signs as a proof of his Messiahship, he would have been treating the Messiahship precisely as an ap7tay!l6£, a thing to be grasped at. Hence his absolute refusal to give the kind of sign the Pharisees require. Their request is a diabolical temptation, and he rejects it with an oath: U!lTJV A.£yro i>!l'i:v £i (Heb. 'im) oo8ftcr£'tat....49 While, then, Jesus' absolute refusal to give a sign in Mark 8.11 is no proof that Jesus did not regard his miracles as signs pointing forward to the coming eschatological Kingdom it does appear to prove conclusively that he refused to interpret them as signs of an already exercised Messiahship. In the Q version, this refusal to give a sign is qualified: An evil and adulterous generation seeketh after a sign; and there shall no sign be given to it but the sign of J onah the prophet. (Matt. 12.39 para.; cf. Matt. 16.4, where Matthew has inserted the qualification from Q into his Mark an source.) There is no need to accept the suggestion50 that 'Jonah' is a corruption for 'John'(= John the Baptist). Nor can we agree with the judgement of Mr. C. K. BarreUS 1 that Matthew's interpretation (12.40) of the sign of Jonah as a reference to the death and Resurrection of Jesus is what Jesus himself intended. For in the continuation of the passage in Q Jonah is adduced as a parallel to Jesus and his activity in respect of his kerygma (Matt. 12.41 170
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para.). 52 Here, then, in the word kerygma we have a clue to Jesus' meaning. The only sign of the coming Kingdom given will be his own proclamation of the imminent advent of the Kingdom. This concession in Q is not incompatible with the absolute refusal in Mark, for the sign conceded is of a wholly different order from the sign demanded. The sign demanded was a sign vindicating the personal authority of Jesus; the sign conceded is a sign pointing forward to the coming Kingdom. That sign is to be sought exclusively in the kerygmatic activity of Jesus. But the miracles of Jesus are part and parcel of his kerygmatic activity. This is implied in the Reply to John, where the preaching of the gospel to the poor is bracketed with the healings as signs of the coming Kingdom,53 and in the Beelzebul controversy, where the exorcisms are made to convey the same message as the proclamation: 'the Kingdom of God has come upon you.' In fact the miracles are part of the proclamation itself, quite as much as spoken words of Jesus. A similar view is presented at Mark 6.5, where it is stated that Jesus limited his miraculous activity in Nazareth because its inhabitants rejected his kerygma (they refused to accept him as a 'prophet,' verse 4). Mark states bluntly that he 'could' (Eouva'to) do no act of power there. Why this startling admission of inability? Surely, because such acts of power apart from their subordination to the kerygma, would be outside the scope of his mission. Detached from the kerygma, they become independent displays of power, which call men's attention to himself and away from the coming Kingdom. As such, they would be a diabolical temptation. That Jesus therefore consented to give only one sign, the sign of the prophet Jonah, does not mean that he did not regard his miracles as signs. They were themselves part of the 'sign of the prophet Jonah', for they were a part of Jesus' own proclamation. The story of the Paralytic (Mark 2.1-12) raises a number of problems. It is the only miracle where a physical healing is brought into direct connexion with the proclamation of forgiveness of sins. This circumstance and difficulties of style and form have led many critics to conclude that the connexion between the declaration of forgiveness and the physical healing is the work of the evangelist. 54 Mark, it is held, has inserted a controversial dialogue into the bosom of a simple story of healing. It would be an easy way out of a difficulty if we could deal with the controversial dialogue in this way. We could then regard it as a product of Gemeindetheologie, and would have no need to take it into account in reconstructing the interpretation which Jesus placed upon his miracles. On the other hand it is by no means certain that the connexion between the miracles and forgiveness of sin is as unique as would appear at first sight. In Mark 5.34 para. and Mark 10.52 para. Jesus says to one whom he has healed: 'h 1ttO''tt1; crou cr£crroK£ 0'£. 55 The verb crm~ro could of course refer merely to the physical healing, but its use in Luke 7.50 after verse 48 ('Thy sins are forgiven') shows that there at any rate it is synonymous with the forgiving of sins. It is therefore 171
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quite possible that we are meant to take the verb crro~w, when used in connexion with the healings, in this wider sense. This will mean that the evangelists certainly, and the Lord himself quite probably, connected the miracles with the eschatological salvation. But in what way were the two things connected? Did Jesus already in his earthly ministry dispense the eschatological salvation? No doubt the evangelists, who knew him as the Lord of the Church, dispensing the eschatological salvation through word and sacrament, interpreted the miracles and pronouncements of Jesus in this sense. But in view of Jesus' basic proclamation of the Kingdom as on its way, but still decisively to come, it is difficult to suppose that historically he could have claimed so much. Rather, we must interpret &(j>mv; and crW'tllpia in that same proleptic sense in which we interpreted £(j>8acr£v £4>' UJ.lUt; l] ~acrtA.Eia at Luke 11.20.56 The a(j>Ecrtt; and O"W'tllpia dispensed to individuals in the course of Jesus' ministry are instalments in advance made available as signs of what will later become universally available through the decisive event of the coming of the Kingdom. As Hoskyns and Davey write in commenting on this episode 57 : 'The physical miracles are external signs of the supreme messianic miracle, the rescue of men from the grip of the powers of evil-from sin. The supreme messianic miracle to which the miracles point is the salvation of men by the power of the living God exercised through the agency of the messiah.' But, in the perspective of the gospels, and as we shall hope to show in the next chapter in the perspective of Jesus himself, the supreme Messianic miracle is accomplished on the cross. Moreover, Mark himself hints at this future reference of the Healing of the Paralytic to the cross by his suggestion that this Jesus who heals the man and conveys to him forgiveness is the One who is even now on the way to the cross, already encountering the same opposition of his enemies (verses 6 and 7), and already incurring the same charge of 'blasphemy' (verse 7), which are to bring him to the cross (Mark 14.64). Mark intends his readers to see in this miracle the crucified and exalted Lord dispensing in advance the fruits of his passion which they know he dispenses in the life of the Church in virtue of his death and Resurrection.58 Before leaving the subject of the miracles of Jesus, let us glance briefly at the Johannine interpretation of the signs as indicated by the first sign in John 2.1-11, the changing of the water into wine at Cana of Galilce. The clue to the interpretation of this sign lies in verse 4b: 'mine hour is not yet come' and in verse 6: 'after the Jews' manner of purifying'. 59 The episode points forward to the 'hour' (12.23; 13.1; 17.1) of the glorification of Jesus on the cross, when the eschatological purification from sin (John 19.34; cf. 1 John 1.7) will be accomplished. 'Until that time his actions are signs of what is to be.' 60 Although in 2.11 John says that in this miracle Jesus 'manifested forth his glory', he does not mean us to understand that the miracle is an independent manifestation of the Messianic glory. It is a glimpse in
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advance of that 'glory' which will be finally and decisively manifested in the death and exaltation of Jesus. Here also lies the clue to the enigmatic saying in John 14.12: Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also; and greater works than these shall he do; because I go unto the Father. The works which Jesus did in his earthly ministry were signs pointing forward to the work he will accomplish by going to the Father. The works which those who believe on him, i.e. his Church, will do then, namely the preaching of the word and the administration of the sacraments, will be, like the works of Jesus' ministry, signs, but they will be greater works. For in the meantime by going to the Father Jesus will have accomplished the decisive Messianic work, and the Spirit, which during the Lord's earthly ministry was not yet given, because he was not yet glorified (7.39) will have been released (20.22). Therefore the works of the Church, its proclamation and its sacraments, will not, like the miracles, point forward as preliminary instalments to the Messianic salvation, they will actually mediate it, and in this sense they will be 'greater works' than those which Jesus wrought during his ministry.
3. The parables of the coming Kingdom It is the main thesis of Dr. Dodd's Parables that the parables imply a 'real-
ized eschatology' already in the ministry of Jesus. We propose therefore to examine a selection of the parables in order to show this that is not necessarily so. (i) The Sower (Mark 4.3-8 para.)
Assuming with most modern critics61 that the allegorical interpretation given in Mark 3.14-20 para. is secondary, we may consider the parable on its own merits. The point of it lies in the contrast between the wastage during the sowing, and the abundant harvest which despite the wastage is eventually secured. It was probably told in view of some concrete situation in the ministry of Jesus which we can no longer recover, but which we may reasonably infer was a situation of apparent failure. 62 Now the harvest is a biblical image for the End. 63 A situation of failure is thus brought into relation with the coming End. Failure, so far from ruling out the coming of the End, is precisely the cost of its achievement. The failure of the proclamation will culminate in the failure of the cross, but out of it will come the triumphant conclusion of the End. Perhaps the Fourth Evangelist has given us precisely this interpretation of the parable of the Sower in summary 173
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form in the words: 'Except a grain of wheat fall into the earth and die, it abideth by itself alone; but if it die, it beareth much fruit' (John 12.24). However that may be, the parable quite clearly implies that the End is still to come. (ii) The Seed Growing Secretly. (Mark 4.26-29); no parallel
in Matthew or Luke) This parable depicts God's plan of salvation as involving first a period of secret growth, and then the decisive event of the End. Dr. Dodd has urged 64 that the period of growth represents the 'long history of God's dealings with his people' and the harvest the ministry of Jesus. But, we might ask, does a period of secret growth readily suggest the Old Testament salvation history? Were the Exodus or the mission of the prophets obscure? Surely, it is more natural to identify the period of secret growth with the ministry of Jesus. In that case the End, as in the parable of the Sower, is yet to come. On this interpretation the purpose of the parable becomes clear. It is meant to warn the disciples not to try and take matters into their own hands. They may think that the movement Jesus has inaugurated is not getting them anywhere, and that they must therefore, like the Zealots (was it perhaps addressed particularly to Simon the Zealot or to Judas Iscariot?), do something drastic, and so hasten the coming of the Kingdom for themselves? No-they must wait patiently like the husbandman for the divine intervention. The parable, on this interpretation, contains a warning and an encouragement which it lacks on Dr. Dodd's interpretation. The implication is that while the initial stages of the coming of the Kingdom are already at work (the growing of the seed) in the obscure activity of Jesus, the decisive event of its coming still lies in the future. (iii) The Mustard Seed and the Leaven (Mark 4.30 para.;
Matt. 13.33 para.) The point of these twin parables is that obscure beginnings do not rule out ultimate success. The ministry of Jesus is a very obscure beginning for the supreme cosmic event of the End, but that does not invalidate the claim that it is a sign of the coming Kingdom. Yet the humble beginnings are organically related to the future event. God is already initiating in the ministry of Jesus a movement which will issue in the coming of the End.
(iv) The Fig Tree (Mark 13.28-29 para.) The attempt of Dr. Dodd and others to read a 'realized eschatalogy' into this parable65 is singularly unconvincing. As the leaves of the fig tree are 174
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the signs, not that summer has arrived, but that it is close at hand (Eyyu~), so the ministry of Jesus is a sign of the approaching Kingdom. The Kingdom, like the summer, is still a future event, but things are already happening: the signs of the coming End are already there.
(v) The Cloud and the South Wind (Luke 12.54-56; cf. Matt. 16.2-3) With the parable of the Fig Tree we may aptly compare these little parabolic sayings, recorded in rather different forms in Matthew and Luke: When ye see a cloud rising in the west, straightway ye say, There cometh a shower; and so it cometh to pass. And when ye see a south wind blowing, ye say, There will be a scorching heat; and it cometh to pass. Ye hypocrites, ye know how to interpret the face of the earth and the heaven; but how is it that ye know not how to interpret this time? (Matt.: 'the signs of the times'). Here is another lucid expression of the relation between Jesus' ministry on the one hand and the coming Kingdom on the other. The cloud has appeared in the sky, the shower is imminent; the south wind rising, the scorching heat will arrive at any moment. But like the shower and the scorching heat, the decisive event of the End is still future. If the multitude had eyes to see and ears to hear, they would discern the kairoi of redemption history as surely as they can produce a weather forecast. But it requires the insight of faith to discern in Jesus and his activity the signs of the coming Kingdom.
(vi) Agree with thine Adversary (Luke 12.58-59; cf. Matt. 5.25-26) Luke follows up these little parabolic sayings with a saying which in Matthew (5.25) has been transformed into a community rule, but which was undoubtedly in its original form a parable: For as thou art going with thine adversary before the magistrate, on the way give diligence to be quit of him; lest haply he hale thee unto the judge, and the judge shall deliver thee to the officer, and the officer shall cast thee into prison. The point of this little parable is the necessity of decision while there is yet time. Once more the situation presupposed is the same. The ministry of Jesus, with its proclamation of the imminent advent of God's Reign, is a brief interval which God is allowing Israel for decision (cf. the Barren Fig Tree in its Lukan form as a parable, Luke 13.6-9). 175
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(vii) Parables of Decision
Other parables also call for a decision in face of an event, not which has already happened, but which is impending. Such is the point of the Ten Virgins (Matt. 25.1-13), the Rich Fool (Luke 12.16-20), and the twin parables of the Pearl and the Hidden Treasure (Matt. 13.44-46), which speak of sacrificing everything (i.e. making a radical decision) in view of a prize set before one (i.e. the coming Kingdom). (viii) Parables of Rejection
Lastly, a number of parables are concerned with the rejection by Israel of Jesus' proclamation of the imminent advent of the Kingdom. The parable of the Money in Trust (Matt. 25.14-30 and Luke 19.12-27) warns the hearers of a judgement which is impending on those who reject the proclamation. The situation presupposed by the parable of the Marriage Feast (Matt. 22.2-14; Luke 14.16-24) is that the ministry of Jesus is the period during which the invitations are being sent out. The righteous in Israel, those who were bidden, are refusing the invitation, and so it is being readdressed to the 'am ha-'arer;, the publicans and sinners. But the banquet, though ready (£'totJla, Luke 14.17), has not started. So the banquet of the Kingdom is still future (cf. the future <)la ye 'tat in verse 15). Finally there is the parable of the Vineyard (Mark 12.1-9 para.). Like the parable of the Great Supper or Marriage Feast, it implies that 'all things are now ready'. The history of redemption is rapidly drawing to its climax. The culmination of that history is the sending of the Son. The Son ought not to be allegorized and treated as a public claim of Jesus to be the Messiah, but it does mean that in his proclamation of the Kingdom with its accompanying signs the history of redemption is reaching its climax. These signs the Jewish authorities are rejecting-this is the point reached at the moment of narration. Then comes the question about the future: What then will the Lord of the Vineyard do? The answer given is that the eschatological judgement will be pronounced over Israel: when the Kingdom comes they will be excluded and others will enter. Once again, the decisive event lies neither in the present, nor in the past, but in the very near future. The situation implied by the parables therefore, is exactly that implied by Jesus' own interpretation of his miracles. The Kingdom of God is not yet present, it is imminent; but the imminent event is already at work, producing the signs of its coming. The Kingdom is dawning, but it has not yet arrived.
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4. The importance of non-realized eschatology The reader may perhaps have the impression that the interpretation of the eschatological proclamation of Jesus adumbrated in the foregoing pages is not after all so very far removed from the 'realized eschatology' which has borne the brunt of our criticism. For we have conceded that something was already happening in the ministry of Jesus, that God was already acting in his proclamation, works of power and teaching, that these activities were organically related to the End as the growing of the seed is organically related to the harvest, and that in some sense they might be described as proleptic instalments of the final blessings of the End. Is not this very close to what Dr. Dodd is after all contending for in his Parables? Such an impression would be erroneous. Realized eschatology asserts that the Kingdom 'has come'. It asserts that the decisive event has already taken place, at the Baptism of Jesus, at his birth at Bethlehem perhaps, or at the moment of the Incarnation. Any surviving traces of futurist eschatology would at best be the dotting of the t's and the crossing of the i's of what had already happened, or at the lowest estimate an 'accommodation of language'. But to place the decisive event in the past or present in this way not only does violence to the texts in which Jesus speaks of the Kingdom of God, not only fails to do justice to the way in which our Lord's earthly ministry is keyed up to a future event, to the tension which manifests itself on every page of the gospels, but, above all, it destroys-as we shall see in the following chapter-the cruciality of the cross.
Notes 1 This term was apparently first used by Dr. C. H. Dodd in Parables, p. 51, and the theory which it denotes first popularized by him in Chapter 11 of that work. Dr. Dodd claims the support of R. Otto's Reich Gottes und Menschensohn (1934 Eng. Trans. The Kingdom of God and the Son of Man)-see especially Parables, p. 49, footnote 1. There is however in Otto's work a strong sense of the future aspect to which Dodd fails to do justice. Cf. especially Otto, Kingdom, p. 59: 'Jesus preached: The time is fulfilled. The end is near at hand .... So near that one is tempted to translate: It is present. ... From its futurity it extends its operation into the present' (italics mine). See also Dodd in E.T. XLVIII, pp. 138 ff. The theory of 'realized eschatology' has been widely adopted despite the searching linguistic criticisms of Professor J. Y. Campbell (ibid., pp. 91 f) and J. M. Creed (ibid., pp. 184 f). See e.g. Richardson, Miracles, Chapter Ill; Taylor, Sacrifice, p. 11, and, with reservations, Mark, pp. 114 ff, pp. 166 f; Flew, Church, pp. 31 f, with reservations. 2 Dodd, Parables, p. 50. 3 Ibid., p. 108. 4 Dodd, Parables, p. 108. 5 Ibid., pp. 44 f. 6 See p. 20, footnote 1. 7 E.T., loc. cit. 8 T.W.N.T., 11, p. 329.
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9 Cf. Ktimmel, Verheissung, pp. 16 ff, to whose examination of £yyi.~w I am much indebted in this section. 10 Cf. Ktimmel, Verheissung, p. 16. 11 Cf. H. Preisker in T.W.N.T., II, p. 330. 12 Parables, pp. 44 f; E.T., XL VIII, pp. 138 ff. 13 Worte Jesu, p. 88. 14 Vocabulary of the Greek New Testament s.v. 15 Cf. Davidson, Hebrew Grammar, 23 1930, p. 156: 'A lively imagination is very apt to conceive things which are really future, especially if their occurrence be certain, as already done, and to describe them in the perfect. ... This usage is very common in the elevated language of the prophets, whose faith and imagination so vividly project them the event or scene which they predict that it appears already realized.' A. Oepke NT Deutsch ad toe. explains eq>eo:cr£ in I Thess. 2.16 as a 'prophetic aorist'. 16 Parables, p. 42, pp. 53 f, cf. E.T. XLVIII, pp. 141 f. 17 See the articles by Campbell and Creed in E.T. quoted above; Taylor, Mark, p. 385; Ktimmel, Verheissung, pp. 19 ff. 18 Mark, ad toe. 19 Cf. Mark 13.32; Luke 17.24; Acts 1.7. 20 In Memoriam Ernst Lobmeyer, 1951, pp. 116 ff. 21 Cf. Bultmann, Tradition, p. 128. 22 Cf. Jeremias, Jesusworte, p. 64. 23 See below, p. 118 ff. 24 See Dodd, Parables, p. 84; and Creed, Luke, ad loc. 25 Cf. Dibelius, Jesus, 1949, p. 66. 26 Cf. the Beatitudes, see below. 27 Cf. Rawlinson, Mark; Blunt, Mark, ad toe. 28 Cf. Creed, Lukes, ad toe.; and Schrenk, T.W.N.T., I, pp. 608 ff. 29 Cf. Dodd, Parables, p. 48. 30 Cf. Otto, Kingdom, p. 108. 31 Despite its rejection by Bultmann in Tradition, p. 116, p. 134. 32 Parables, pp. 53 ff. 33 See Dodd, Parables, pp. 46 f. 34 See also the discussion of the verb ~::uo:yyEA.i~E'tat below, p. 36. 35 Parables, p. 46, footnote 1. 36 See e.g. Richardson, Miracles, pp. 38 ff. Professor Richardson is not however always consistent. On p. 38 he writes: 'If we examine the utterances attributed to Jesus himself in the Synoptic Gospels on the subject of his own miracles, we find that he regarded them as evidences of the drawing nigh of the Kingdom of God.' Yet in a footnote on the same page he quotes with approval Dr. Dodd's statement in his Parables that the phrase eq>eo:crEV eq>' T,lliic; r, ~O:O'tAEtO: 'tOU 9EOU 'expresses in the most vivid and forceful way the fact that the Kingdom of God has actually arrived'. Again, on p. 43, where Professor Richardson discusses the Q logion Matt. 11.4 f para., he writes 'there can be no doubt that they (viz., this logion) are intended to assert that the Messianic age of the Jsaianic prediction had already arrived' (italics mine). It is difficult to harmonize 'drawing nigh' with 'already arrived' but on balance Professor Richardson clearly favours the latter. 37 Cf. Richardson, Miracles, p. 43 and p. 83. 38 6 Euo:yyEA.ts6llEvoc;, Mebhassereth. 39 Mebhasser; LXX has a different reading. 40 EUO:YYEAt~OflEVOU mebhasser.
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41 Cf. p. 25. 42 Cf. Richardson, Miracles, p. 39; T. W. Manson, Teaching, pp. 82 f; Barrett, Spirit, pp. 62 f. 43 Professor T. W. Manson (ibid.) states, though without offering any reason, that
the phrase 'finger of God' is derived from the Hebrew, but so far as the language is concerned, it could equally be a reminiscence of the LXX (liaK't:UA.o~ewu).
44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58
59
60 61 62
63 64 65
Cf. Luke 9.31, and the paschal background of the Last Supper. Cf. Jeremias, Kindertaufe, pp. 16 f and especially 1 Cor. 10.1-13. e.g. Taylor, Mark, ad foe. The historicity of the Q version of the Temptation is discussed below, p. 84. The question of the Messiahship of Jesus is discussed below in Chapter IV. For the oath form cf. LXX Ps. 94.11 (Heb. and Eng. Ps. 95.11), cited at Heb. 3.11, 4.3, 5. J. H. Michael, J.T.S., XXI, pp. 146-159. Spirit, p. 90. See above, p. 34. See above, p. 35 f. Taylor, Mark, ad loc., Tradition, pp. 66-8; Bultmann, Tradition, pp. 12-14, p. 227; Rawlinson, Mark, ad loc. Cf. Luke 7.50, 17.19, special Lukan material. See above, p. 25 f. Riddle, p. 120. A further passage which brings out the preliminary character of Jesus' miracles is the Matthean version of the Gadarene Demoniac: i;A.eE~ roliE 1t p 0 Katpou (3cxcrcxv\.crcxt fu.iCi~; Matt. 8.29. This passage is omitted in the above discussion, however, because the crucial phrase npo KCXtpou is a Matthean addition to Mark. Cf. Hoskyns and Davey, The Fourth Gospel, 1940, ad loc.; 0. Cullmann, Urchristentum und Gottesdienst, 1950, pp. 67 ff; Eng. Trans. Early Christian Worship, 1952, pp. 66 ff. Hoskyns, foe. cit., italics mine. e.g. Dodd, Parables, pp. 180 ff; Taylor, Mark, ad loc. Failure in the ministry of Jesus is indicated at Mark 6.1-6 (Nazareth); Matt. 11.21 para. (Chorazin and Bethsaida); these instances might provide a 'life situation' for the parable of the Sower. See the quotations in Hoskyns and Davey, Riddle, pp. 130 f; and cf. Dodd, Parables, p. 178. Parables, pp. 179 f. Dodd, Parables, p. 137; Smith, Parables, 1937, pp. 89 ff (apparently, though his interpretation is obscure); Taylor, Mark, ad loc.
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32
ON UNDERSTANDING THE KINGDOM OF GOD* Erich Grosser Source: B. D. Chilton (ed.), The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus (Issues in Religion and Theology 5; London: SPCK; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), pp. 52-71. (Originally published as 'Zum Verstandnis der Gottesherrschaft', Zeitschrift fiir die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 65, 1974, pp. 3-26.)
I In years past it was above all systematic theologians who made reference to "the kingdom of God" within their attempt to develop a practicallyoriented theology. They sought by means of the phrase to make theological discourse and activity relevant both socially and politically. 1 Exegetes were hardly involved in the discussion, except to raise the warning that the NT proclamation of God's coming rule does not provide the basis of a political theology in the sense of a socially revolutionary movement. 2 The reasons for this are evident. The revolutionary attitude towards the world promoted by such movements and the involvement in the near end of the world required by the New Testament are not at first sight reconcilable: whoever awaits God's revolution will not wish to waste his time sewing new patches on old cloth. Since that time the situation has changed somewhat. Exegetes still hold by their contention that the eschatological preaching of Jesus is not revolutionary, at least not in the political sense. But they see his proclamation as conditioned by its situation, formed within the horizons of the ancient world, so that -having regard to the historical condition of today's world one might move beyond this preaching. 3 This hermeneutical programme demands the discovery of "progressive theological intentions" in primitive Christian kerygma and their application to questions of theology, the Church, society and ideology,4 and it could be welcomed as a necessary hermeneutical undertaking for the present, analogous to the programme of demythologizing which was fashionable in the 1950s. At least, it could be if it confined itself to understanding within the horizon of how we think today what was intended, what was meant by the ancient formulation. But 180
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the political hermeneutic of the Gospel goes further. It considers that the task of interpreting for today is only complete if one does not confine oneself to discovering the intended meaning, but then proceeds "beyond the message of Jesus in a creative way". 5 This demand is not radically new, given the diversity of theologies in the New Testament itself, which do not simply repeat the message of Jesus. And those currently working in the field of hermeneutics know very well that in order to say the same thing in an altered historical situation, one must say it in a new way. 6 Nevertheless, a pressing question arises in this creative process of going beyond the witness to Jesus, the message about Christ: Who or what is to regulate this creative hermeneutic so as to be the norma normans (the norm that norms) of exegesis? Agreement on this matter is problematic at the moment, since only brief exegetical experiments, not detailed presentations, existJ Yet it would seem that the hermeneutical agenda is being determined by current critical awareness and by what is seen to be anthropologically and sociologically necessary in the light of that awareness. 8 To speak more precisely: "the future planned and produced by men for men", or "the political and human ideals" drawn up by men, must of necessity provide the basic material into which "the characteristic feature of the eschatological preaching of Jesus and the primitive communities is to be translated and elaborated upon, in order to produce a strategy for transforming the present". 9 Whether a more appropriate understanding of the kingdom of God can be drawn up in this way than is found in the theologies of Bultmann, Conzelmann, Jeremias and Kiimmel remains to be seen, especially when S. Schulz - in my opinion too hastily - decides on theological grounds against "all conceptions of the future which simply have to do with afterlife and another world".l 0 None the less, this hermeneutical assessment is not to be rejected from the outset as theologically untenable. Schulz abides by the belief that it is the kerygma "which changes a person radically" and which "empowers and obliges" us (note the order of words) "to protest not only against oppression, manipulation and inhumanity, but also to strive methodically and progressively, within the confines of our present situation, for more justice, more freedom and more peace, not in the world to come, but in our world with its technical, industrial, economic and political apparatus of power. Above all: it is not a matter of raising one's voice to all and sundry, but of a consistent strategy designed in a world oppressed by technology to produce timely changes in the interests of human aspirations." 11 The primacy of grace over law, the very character of the kingdom as the rule of grace, is thereby maintained. And when it is said, "The message of the kingdom of God ... implies (my italics) changes in inhuman social, political and economic conditions",l2 the danger of identifying the human and divine realms is guarded against. 181
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Matters become difficult, however, if the kingdom of God, whose realization requires a fresh collective and practical effort, is seen as implying only a socio-political programme. The question cannot then be avoided whether the overriding aspect of the beyond, as well as the basis of Jesus' kingdom preaching - the revelation of God's free grace - have not been hopelessly corrupted. Whether this is occasioned by a new legalistic zeal, a reappearance of the idea of evolution so dear to Protestant culture, or by socialist interpretations of the kingdom of God, is of no consequence.J3 The creative new hermeneutic permits of at least a tendency in this direction. It is therefore advisable to discuss its potential and its limitations, in order that the present debate about method should not be complicated unnecessarily.
11 Our consideration is based on an exegetical essay by Theodor Lorenzmeier, 14 which seems to be an example of how the door to misconceptions damaging to theology and Church can be left open by a less than careful exegesis and the unsupported application of a method. I have chosen to deal with this essay mainly because it seems to me symptomatic of a catastrophic rift, evident elsewhere as well, between exegetical insight and systematic reflection. Lorenzmeier takes an important saying from the sayings source (Matt. 12:28; Luke 11:20) as the basis of his investigation. He discusses recent exegetical work on the authenticity of the saying, the exorcism and Jesus' understanding of himself, and whether the kingdom is seen as actually present in the saying. He concludes with four theses on how the kingdom of God is to be understood. What is at first striking is the degree of certainty with which these concluding theses are presented. Such certainty is in stark contrast to the uncertainty of the exegesis, referred to frequently in the analytical section of the essay (290; 292; 296; 300; 301; 302). It is thus the problem of Lorenzmeier's essay that the conclusions do not really represent the result of its exegesis. The question must therefore be asked whether the exegetical premisses can support the systematic conclusions.
Ill We turn first to the problem of authenticity. That Lorenzmeier sees no need for a decision on the matter of originality in his traditio-historical analysis is understandable, for according to him both renderings of the saying, the Matthean and the Lucan, say the same thing: "the power of God makes itself known through the activity of Jesus" (291). And one may excuse a busy parish clergyman for not taking into account all of the more recent literature on Q, although that must be 182
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a disadvantage in considering the issues involved. 15 Incomprehensible, however, is the nonchalant ease with which the question of authenticity (Is this a saying of the earthly Jesus?) is passed over so lightly, although the exorcism to which the saying refers as its context is held to be among the incontestably historical data in the life of Jesus (291). 16 The historical scepticism with which the entire stock of recorded sayings of Jesus is regarded was at no time truly justified. And the matter is no different today, especially if a very general criterion - namely, the "complexity of the synoptic tradition" (289) -lies at the root of this scepticism. Lorenzmeier rightly notes (290 n. 4) 17 that the more discriminatory criterion of authenticity used by Kasemann and others proves insufficient, but certainly his general criterion will not suffice as a replacement. The problem lies in the dependence of such an approach upon a historicalcritical method which lacks the criteria and categories to come to terms with the gospel tradition in its true character. In other words, the tradition is not being treated as kerygmatic historical tradition. 18 The search continues for an impartial method of criticism which could achieve this, one which would above all help us to reconsider the modern understanding of history and reality which we have taken up as a matter of course. 19 But in any case, no exegete should neglect the need to test from time to time the effectiveness of the criteria of authenticity proposed up till now. In the case of Matt. 12:28 par. Luke 11:20, that would have meant examining the saying within the whole context of Jesus' preaching of the kingdom. It would thereby have been shown that his preaching differs from contemporaneous religious views (cf. Judaism, Qumran, the Baptist, and also the later primitive community). This difference is still best explained when seen as deriving from Jesus himself. 20 Two characteristic features are immediately apparent in our saying. First, the kingdom of God is clearly the power of God which reveals itself in acts; the rule of God is the eschatological (i.e. definitive and decisive) act of God which he effects for the benefit of his people and through which he is made known as king. 21 Second, there is the use of the verb "to come" in connection with the kingdom of God, a feature which is without parallel, yet characteristic of the proclamation of Jesus. 22 "Further, the connection of the presence (or imminence) of the kingdom with the present experience of a man is a motif unparalleled in Judaism." 23 Only when this and more 24 is taken into account should one pass comment upon the question of inauthenticity. For that, not the authenticity, is what has to be proved, and that is generally true for the synoptic tradition.
IV The decisive element in Jesus' ministry of exorcism is, according to Lorenzmeier, that: "confronted with the power of God, the demonic 183
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powers must yield'' (291). But something is neglected in that statement, which affects both this judgement and his evaluation of the other crucial passages (cf. Mark 3:27; Luke 11:21; Mark 1:25; 5:8; Luke 4:36; Acts 10:36f., where the whole of Jesus' activity is summarized in the words, "He went about doing good and healing all that were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him" [v. 38]). 25 He neglects to describe the structure of the kingdom announced by Jesus within its overall context as the decisive struggle between God's rule and Satan's,Z6 and this tells against his concluding systematic arguments (see below). Instead of interpreting the exorcisms as evident manifestations of the kingdom of God on the basis of this saying (and they can be nothing else!) the emphasis upon the culturally relative nature of Jesus' ideas is monotonously repeated. We hear also the claim (and it is only a claim) that there exists no qualitative difference between Jesus and other Jewish exorcists, and that as an exorcist he is "no unique phenomenon" (293), as if the very fact that he brought the kingdom into play with his exorcisms did not make him precisely that! A concession is frankly made, however, in the remarks on Jesus' self-understanding. The fact that the demons yield and that the kingdom of God is evident brings to expression something without parallel, something inexpressible in any concept or title, namely "the sovereignty" of Jesus (297). 27 That this has to be demonstrated as a unique phenomenon is nowhere maintained. 28 The insistence upon this question (is Jesus a unique phenomenon?) or its negative expression (as a phenomenon Jesus is nothing special) betrays the "all too basically subjectivistic habit of thinking and speaking", rightly criticized by Karl Barth, which sees Jesus in such acts primarily as confined to ancient "conceptions" ,29 and constantly conjures up a "mythical picture of the world", a picture which - by the way - generally cannot explain these "conceptions". 30 History naturally concerns itself with the conceptions of the past, but theological exegesis must first of all discover the actual circumstances which occasioned the exorcist's power struggle for the suffering man and against the threat of the abyss. This power struggle is in my opinion completely undervalued if one explains it on the basis of a "popular dualism" which influenced Jesus (291). 31 Roger Garaudy has offered a more penetrating exegesis in this regard, "Christ never appears as a magician, a thaumaturge, who acts from the outside in order to bring about a change in a person, in the way that one would manufacture a product. Everything takes place through the consciousness and will of the person involved. Jesus does not say, 'I have saved you', as one would to a drowning man one had just rescued. Rather he says, 'Your faith has saved you'." 32 Karl Barth called attention in a remarkable way to the actual circumstances which caused Jesus to act, although he paid too little attention to form criticism and redaction criticism in the course of his strongly theolog184
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ical interpretation. Under his analysis, it becomes evident that the question whether this is a commonplace or an unusual case in the history of religion is too narrow: The truth was that Jesus did in fact experience reality within the context of Judaism and its presuppositions, which were not only subjective but also objective, not only anthropological, but also theological and therefore cosmological. For this reason he saw as any other Jew, but in a way which was incomparably more exact than any other's, what really was there to be seen. He experienced, in a way which was incomparably more precise than any other's, what was really there to be experienced: the tangible abyss of darkness, not merely supposed, imagined, invented or projected into the sphere of being, but actual, the presence and action of nothingness, of the evil in the background and foreground of human existence. He saw and experienced man as he was, invisibly, but also visibly, and in any case really, claimed and imprisoned by this actuality, terrified of his human surroundings and therefore chained, constantly breaking his chains and really suffering in the freedom won in this way, "possessed" by nothingness in one or other of its different forms, inescapably delivered up to it, corrupted even in the forefront of his being by the corrupted background of the human situation. All this was at issue in the exorcisms of Jesus, and for this reason they were important in the tradition not only as narratives which could be told for their own sake, but as representing the direction of his whole ministry. As only his raisings from the dead, they reveal the total and absolutely victorious clash of the kingdom of God with nothingness, with the whole world of chaos rejected by God, with the opposing realm of darkness. Far beyond the sin and guilt of man, but also far beyond his need and sadness, even beyond death itself, the activity of Jesus struck at the heart of that power which was introduced into the cosmos by the sin and guilt of man and works itself out in his need and sadness, enslaving all creatures. He struck at the poisonous source whose effluents permeate the whole cosmos and characterize its form as that of "this present evil aeon" (Gal. 1:4).33 Barth called the meaning and the force of Jesus' m1mstry "the free grace of God". 34 On this basis he observed faith most accurately as the utterly free "anthropological counterpart" of grace: Whoever can have dealings with God as one who is elected in Jesus and called by Jesus is free in the New Testament sense. He is free not only in the negative sense of freedom as independence, 185
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but in its positive definition: he is an able and powerful man, a man of unconditional and unlimited capacity within the terms of reference and limits of his relationship with God. He can think rightly and desire rightly, wait rightly and hasten rightly, obey rightly and defy rightly, begin rightly and end rightly, be with and for men rightly and by himself rightly. He can do all these things and do them rightly - not as arbitrary or dilettante bunglers, but properly and diligently- because in faith he is God's free partner. His freedom is not chosen or sneaked or stolen or robbed, but acquired for him by God in the act of freeing him. The believer· can do all, and do all rightly, because the faith which God's grace bestows on man is freedom. 35 The priority of grace over any act of men is most strictly preserved by Barth. "They do not anticipate the miracle, but are anticipated by Jesus who performs the miracle, by the God active and revealed in Him. "36
V All this finds some expression in the fourth thesis of Lorenzmeier's concluding chapter, "On understanding the Kingdom of God"Y But this thesis stands in some tension with the other three, which, in my opinion, do not really explain the concept of the kingdom of God as it could have been explained on the basis of the preceding theological exegesis (had that actually been carried out). The theses read: 1 Ancient demonology is a spent force so far as modern man is concerned. At least, this should be the case in an age of natural science. What is not brought to an end, however, is the phenomenon of man under the control of all sorts of anti-human forces. Everything which spoils man's life, and his life with others, is at issue here: aggression levelled destructively against one's fellow-man, against other races and peoples, or against oneself; diseases which wear man down and wreck him both in body and soul; totalitarian ideologies by which men are spiritually tyrannized and enslaved; social systems in which men are degraded and exploited - and whatever else might be listed in this line. Wherever anti-human powers are deprived of their power or, expressed in more concrete terms, in every case where man is freed from destructive aggression, from excruciating illness, from enslaving ideologies or social wretchedness, there the kingdom of God is involved. That is where the kingdom of God takes place. God is within these events. 2 The kingdom of God does not come "vertically from above", that is: not directly. It requires someone who is determined to be God's fellow-
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worker. It comes about through people who deprive destructive aggression of power, people who bear the burden of their fellow-men in their misery, people who bring about release from totalitarian ideologies, people who render social systems more humane. Wherever the kingdom of God is brought to bear and the world is thus released from the demonic, there Christ is present. 3 The kingdom of God, which came to man in the past through Jesus, is an event which constantly seeks re-enactment. The hope of Christian faith is precisely this: that the kingdom of God as a permanent and never-ending process of events might constantly cast out anti-human forces. This hope is based upon the fact - expressed in mythical terms - that the power of demons is broken at its very roots. For God's benevolence, which found expression in Jesus of Nazareth, has proved itself more powerful. What the event of the kingdom of God puts in prospect is neither an apocalyptic drama nor the utopia of a perfect and restored world, a world without need, pain and death. What is in prospect is no more, and no less, than that the kingdom of God is constantly operative and drives away the demons. 4 Christian existence is that existence which is fully aware that it stands under God's rule. Such existence is also aware that it is, as every form of human existence, always threatened by demons (to use mythical terms once more). But it places its confidence in the fact that the kingdom of God, which it has experienced as a liberating force, will in future afford protection, so that the demons will again yield. Such existence is fully aware of its own inadequacy, and of its own failings, and yet it feels itself challenged and experiences itself as enabled - to co-operate in the advent of God's rule, shown by Jesus to be the benevolence of God, within the realm of human social life. The formulations chosen in these theses give the impression that the kingdom of God which is to be realized here and now is dependent upon human initiative. Such a contention only distinguishes itself from socialist interpretations offering secularized concepts of the kingdom of God (deriving from a variety of sources) in that it holds that "God is within" (303) the process described. It would require a careful distinction between God's activity and man's to escape the suspicion of a false legalism. In the first thesis, the idea is expressed that Jesus' struggle against the demons is a struggle against the nothingness which plainly threatens man. But the thesis concludes with a passage which is at the very least open to misinterpretation in just the sense cited above. "Wherever anti-human powers are deprived of their power or, expressed in more concrete terms, in every case where man is freed from destructive aggression, from excruciating illness, from enslaving ideologies or social wretchedness, there the kingdom of God is involved. That is where the kingdom of God takes place" (303). Without the reference to God, that is precisely the belief of 187
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early socialism. 38 Yet perhaps the first thesis is merely clumsily expressed, and critics who demand a different wording should be reproached for cavilling. We would nonetheless reformulate the thesis thus (and claim that the difference is essential): Where God's kingdom is involved, where it comes about and indeed where it comes about through grace ("free grace, grace which is plainly powerful against the power which constrains all creatures"), which meets us and guarantees freedom, 39 there the kingdom of God is experienced. It is experienced, "not as the assault of a powerhungry oppressor, but as the liberating immediacy of a God concerned with man". 40 Here is where anti-human powers are rendered powerless and the new righteousness makes its presence felt as the conqueror of destructive aggression, of excruciating illness, of enslaving ideology, of social wretchedness. It does this as faith working through love (Gal. 5:6). For whenever Jesus speaks of the kingdom directed towards man, he refers man, without doubt, towards his fellow-man. "God's concern for man can only become an immediate event when man is concerned with his fellow-man." 41 But what becomes an event does not bring God's kingdom into play because we bring it about. Rather, Jesus brings on the kingdom because he proclaims it as God's effective action, and it is present among us as an experience or not, depending on whether we accept what we hear and stand by it or deny it and offer resistance. 42 Otherwise, the coming of God's kingdom preached by Jesus would be an occurrence which depended on our action for its realization. And so we come to the second thesis which, like the first, is open to misinterpretation. Perhaps a change of emphasis would help here: where Christ is present, the demons have no chance, because the kingdom of God is coming about. A theological reference is apparent here (unfortunately all too coincidentally) and is basic for our understanding of the kingdom of God. We can speak of it now only in christological terms. For both the cross and the resurrection have of necessity turned the hapax ("once") of the kingdom of God (to which Jesus gave expression in parabolic fashion in his teaching and conduct) into the ephapax ("once for all") of the kingly rule of Christ. 43 This expresses the extra nos of salvation in that salvation remains even now solus Christus. 44 One part of the thesis, however, is quite wrong. I refer to the words: "The kingdom of God does not come 'vertically from above' that is: not directly. It requires (!) someone who is determined to be God's fellow-worker." 45 Quite apart from the fact that, in the saying in question, the kingdom does not need man but rather seeks men in their needy condition, the characteristic of God's rule as proclaimed by Jesus is precisely its directness: it comes without man's aid and changes the form of the world. The fact has often been demonstrated, so that illustrations are unnecessary here. Let it simply be said: man can in no way be considered as a fellow-worker in this connection. 46 Within Jesus' understanding, one would not say that the 188
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kingdom "happens through men", but that it comes, is near or appears. The notion that through moral action or socio-revolutionary activity men can assist in the realization of God's rule is presupposed and urged on us in Lorenzmeier's formulations, but it has no place in the preaching of Jesus. 47 Perhaps Lorenzmeier (and also H.-W. Bartsch) has the undeniably worldly aspect of the kingdom of God in mind: the kingdom of God is a secular kingdom insofar as it comes to men in this world, without their having in any sense to betray their concern for the world (see above). But if Lorenzmeier is here promoting man to a co-operator Dei, he thereby does away with the transcendental element which is so essential to the concept of the kingdom of God. 48
VI In the third thesis, the fact that the precise relationship between the present and the future aspects of the kingdom of God has been left undefined proves fatal for Lorenzmeier's contentions. Discussion of the exegetical controversy concerning the understanding of time in Jesus' preaching of the kingdom is foreclosed, in my opinion rashly, on the grounds that the uncertain results of biblical criticism lead nowhere in this case. In this way; where it concerns the understanding of God's kingdom only its presence as a dynamic event is mentioned. The future perspective is wholly omitted. The reader is left puzzling why this should be the case: because of the uncertain results of biblical criticism, or because the imminent expectation was a miscalculation? (Then demythologizing would indeed mean elimination and not interpretation!) 49 Or is it because the attempt to determine the relationship between the present and future aspects of the kingdom is too hastily given up? Lorenzmeier refuses to interpret "has come" in Luke 11:20 par. in the sense of "has drawn near" (299), although to do this would in no way be unreasonable, as J. Becker has recently shown. 50 Instead of offering an exegetical foundation for his opinion, he merely decrees "then the kingdom of God has already reached you" (298) as the straightforward translation, although it is still necessary to specify in what sense the existence of the kingdom of God is meant. The precise sense is indeed dependent upon the theological exegesis of the conditional clause, that is, upon the interpretation of the connection between the exorcism of demons and the figure of Jesus, and its significance for the kingdom of God. 51 For "existence" in the literal sense of the word would in fact render the sentence incomprehensible: where the kingdom of God is present, there is no longer a power struggle with Satan; he is a thing of the past (cf. As. Mos. 10:1, "and then his kingdom shall appear throughout all his creation, and then Satan shall be no more ... "). This is demonstration that the concluding statement at least, which is made to stand out by the emphasis on ara ("therefore"), is to be interpreted dialectically with respect to the present 189
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time. 52 In short: there has to be a reason for the choice of the word phthan6 instead of the usual word. And our predecessors (J. Weiss, H. J. Holtzmann and others) might be right in claiming, on the basis of 1 Thess. 2: 16, that we are here dealing with an unexpected coming.sJ Be that as it may, the choice between "present" and "future", which the lexical evidence cannot make for us, is not the last word on this subject. 54 And to define the relationship between the present and future aspects of the kingdom is not a hopeless task,55 as long as one recognizes that the purpose of emphasizing the radical nearness or presence of the kingdom is so to challenge men that the question of when the kingdom comes is put in the background. 56 I would like, for the time being at least, to reaffirm that the presence of the kingdom and the presence of its sign are to be distinguished,57 and that Jesus speaks only of the latter. Yet I agree that the question proves ultimately to be purely academic, "as soon as we realize that the claim of the saying is that certain events in the ministry of Jesus are nothing less than an actual experience of the kingdom of God", 58 which on the basis of that experience cannot be taken to be a far-off event. This experience of the kingdom of God is indeed of a struggle between good and evil, God and Satan, 59 of a divine intervention for the sake of restoring a particular individual in his entire being, not a collective, a group or a people. 60 This individualizing tendency is a characteristic feature of the kingdom of God as preached by Jesus. That is recognized even by the Marxist Gardavsky who notes here a "blue-print" of a new life but sees that it is not in the first instance a matter of social change. 61 Everything ultimately comes to a head in the individual, irreplaceable in his uniqueness, before God (Karl Barth). In my opinion this aspect receives far too little attention in Lorenzmeier's work. He places social salvation firmly in the foreground, but fails to affirm that its realization is not possible without the salvation of the individual. To this extent, his accusation that Bultmann and his followers neglected the question of society rebounds on him. 62 For the reality of the individual sinner before God is so clearly outlined in the proclamation of the New Testament and has been presented so clearly in the theology of Bultmann, that any "social teaching for our time" which purports to help this "vague" anthropology to a more sharply sociological focus simply misses the point. In conclusion, a final proviso: even if the paraphrase of the kingdom of God as "an event which constantly seeks re-enactment" (303) is not without its difficulties, it can be accepted insofar as Jtirgen Becker has demonstrated exegetically that the dynamic character of the kingdom is central to its understanding. 63 But it is incomprehensible that every eschatological aspect is removed from the event by Lorenzmeier: "The event of the kingdom of God puts in prospect neither an apocalyptic drama nor the utopia of a perfect and restored world, a world without
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need, pain and death. What is in prospect is no more, and no less, than that the kingdom of God is constantly operative and drives away the demons" (303). In other words, the perpetual improvement of what already exists, rather than the creation of something wholly new, is here being suggested. Many texts (e.g. Mark 2:21) say precisely the opposite. To ascribe such passages to the thought patterns of the ancient world in order to dismiss their message is to side-step, rather than face, the hermeneutical task. Many attempts have been made to express the future aspect of the eschatological preaching of Jesus and render it comprehensible.64 These attempts may be variously assessed. But one thing is certain: if there is no future which transcends the world and that death which is inextricably a part of it, then there is no Christian hope. There is certainly a strong emphasis upon the present, upon the "here and now" rather than the "only then", where a person is looked at as a whole in need of physical healing. But indeed: "The truth of the promise, the truth of what will be (and will be revealed) in the future, shines out already and distinguishes itself from all illusory hopes. Grace is so truly grace, and so truly free as grace, that it is capable even of this (so to speak doubly undeserved) overflow. The Evangelists attest the overflow of grace in the narratives of Jesus' miraculous deeds". 65 Do we want- or rather, are we able- simply to ignore this overflow of grace, as Barth called it? By whose authority do we want to let it be forgotten that faith speaks, after all, of the resurrection of the dead and the life of world to come? "But however that may be, and whatever may be the attitude of the world or Christians, if we are ready to keep to the only information we have (that is, the Gospels in the New Testament) about Jesus the Son of Man, we have to come to terms with the fact that what we are told about him is that he was the man who put his proclamation into practice in these acts (i.e. the exorcisms), thus characterizing it as the proclamation of the kingdom, or - and it comes to the same thing- of the superabounding free grace of God. " 66
Notes
* First published in ZNW 65 (1974) 3-26. Translated by C. Marsh. 1 Cf. J. Moltmann, Hope and Planning (London: SCM, 1971) 101ff. H. Cox, The Secular City (London: SCM, 1965) llOff.; also Pannenberg (1969). 2 Cf. W. Schmithals (1972); G. Klein (1970). 3 So S. Schulz (1972) 41; cf. also Schulz, "Strategie zeitgemasser Verlinderungen", Zeitwende (1970) 226-36; Q. Die Spruch quelle der Evangelisten (1972) 487ff. H.-W. Bartsch follows a similar line to Schulz; see Jesus. Prophet und Messias aus Galiliia (1970). The kingdom of God proclaimed by Jesus is here understood "in its content and essence" as a change in social structure and as the demolition of "existing governing structures in society" (125, 107 and elsewhere). 4 S. Schulz, Q (n. 3) 487. 191
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5 S. Schulz (1972) 41. Admittedly H.-W. Bartsch (n. 3) feels able to perceive a changed society as the "objective" in the eschatological texts (130). See below for criticism. 6 Cf. J. M. Robinson (1971) 20-70; E. Grasser, Text und Situation (1973) 128. 7 Seen. 3; also S. Schulz, Gott ist kein Sklavenhalter (1972). 8 See M. Hengel, Acts and the History of Earliest Christianity (1979) 127-36. 9 S. Schulz, Q (n. 3) 487. 10 S. Schulz (1972) 42; Q, 487. It is naturally not a matter of conceptions of the future beyond death. It is rather a matter of the future character of "life", without which Christian hope would be empty. Cf. R. Bultmann (J 952) 345ff. 11 S. Schulz, Q (n. 3) 487f. 12 Ibid. 488. I erroneously claimed that Schulz perceives the kingdom of God as coming about through human activity. This was not his contention. He meant that man's conduct is determined by it, with humane goals in view. (I am grateful for his letter of 1st May 1973, which clarified this.) 13 Cf. C. Waiter, Typen des Reich-Gottes-Verstiindnisses (1961). One of the century's influential Marxist interpretations derives from the pen of E. Bloch in his works, Das Prinzip Hoffnung (3 vols 1954-9), and Atheism in Christianity (1972). See further A. lager, Reich ohne Gott (1969); and C. H. Ratschow: Atheismus im Christentum? (1970). 14 T. Lorenzmeier, "Zum Logion Mt 12:28/Luke 11:20", Neues Testament und Christliche Existenz, Festschrift for H. Braun (1973) 289-304. All references quoted in the text are from this essay. 15 Lorenzmeier was unable to use Schulz's book on Q. But there are others: H. E. Todt, D. Ltihrmann and P. Hoffmann. And there are grounds for the contention that Jesus himself could have been citing Exod. 8:15 in this saying, in order to allude to a new exodus (N. Perrin [1967] 66f.). At any rate there are redaction critical decisions which are important for the theological questions. 16 Lorenzmeier generally refers to the "unanimity'' of recent historical-critical exegesis in a very arbitrary fashion. In the case of Matt. 12:28 par. Luke 11:20, where genuineness is accepted by most exegets, such exegesis is in his estimation of little significance: authenticity is, after all "nothing more than an unproven contention, which in no way carries greater weight merely by frequent repetition on the part of NT scholars" (291 n. 8). As far as the question of the exorcism performed by Jesus goes, this same unanimity is of such significance "that any further time spent upon this question is time wasted" (291 ). Yet this unanimity is based on an analysis of the synoptic tradition, which allegedly can permit of no absolutely certain answer to questions of authenticity because of its "complexity". This may well be the case in respect of wording, but not in respect of meaning. There are enough passages which have to be regarded beyond any reasonable doubt as "authentic". The passage under discussion is one of these; see N. Perrin (1967) 64f; W. G. Ktimmel (1957) 105ff; R. Bultmann (1968) 162. 17 The basic principle, in the words of Ernst Kasemann, runs as follows: "In only one case do we have more or less safe ground under our feet (i.e. for reconstructing authentic Jesus-material); when there are no grounds either for deriving a tradition from Judaism or for ascribing it to primitive Christianity, and especially when Jewish Christianity has mitigated or modified the received tradition, having found it too bold for its taste" (Essays on NT Themes [London: 1964] 15-47, 37). For criticism of this view cf. P. Stuhlmacher, "Kritische Marginalien zum gegenwartigen Stand der Frage nach Jesus", Festschrift M. Doerne (1970) 345f; F. Neugebauer, Jesus der Menschensohn (1972) llf.
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18 Cf. P. Stuhlmacher, "Kritische Marginalien" 344, 359ff., and other essays. 19 Cf. F. Hahn, ''Probleme historischer Kritik", ZNW 63 (1972) 1-17; also several essays by P. Stuhlmacher; M. Hengel (n. 8); H. Schlier, The Relevance of the NT (1968) 39-75. 20 P. Vielhauer (1957). Cf. N. Perrin (1967) passim; W. G. Kiimmel, Theology of the NT (1974) 32ff; J. Becker, Johannes der Tiiufer und Jesus von Nazareth (1972). 21 Cf. N. Perrin (1967) 55: "It is not a place or community ruled by God; it is not even the abstract idea of reign or kingship of God. It is quite concretely the activity of God as king" (55). Perrin points out, in my opinion correctly, that the concept of kingdom of God found expression in a number of forms in ancient Judaism. In view of this fact "and the endless variety of phenomena expected to be a feature of its manifestation, there could be no particular form or content necessarily implied by a proclamation such as 'the kingdom of God is at hand'; each hearer would supply his own, and it would be up to the proclaimer to make clear in what terms he conceived of the eschatological activity of God as king, which, as we shall see, is what Jesus did" (57). Cf. also G. Klein (1970) 25ff; H. Conzelmann (1969) 106ff. 22 The fact has often been demonstrated, and quite convincingly by G. Klein (1970), who also spells out its consequences. An important consequence of the application of terminology of the coming aeon in connection with the kingdom of God is that far-fetched speculations about the end of the world can be done away with; "instead of this, man is made ready for the demand which the creator makes, to set up his rule, a demand before which every religious curiosity founders" (27). A further important consequence is that the kingdom of God can in no way be thought of as a function of human activity. "On the contrary; human activity is wholly excluded. The kingdom of God appears 'by itself', like the fruit from the ground (Mark 4:28); man cannot do a thing to bring it about. His sole responsibility is to adopt an attitude towards it and to receive it, in the same way as a child (the most human embodiment of being human, one might say) does not live through its own activity, but through the gift of life which it has received (Mark 10:15)" (29). Moreover, the birth of apocalyptic bears witness to the fact that human history is powerless to bring about salvation. Only a transcendent intervention of God into history can bring salvation about. Cf. the excellent essay by H. Gese, "Anfang und Ende der Apokalyptik, dargestellt am Sacharjabuch", ZTK 70 (1973) 20-49 (now reprinted in Vom Sinai zum Zion [Munich: 1974] 202-30). 23 N. Perrin (1967) 64. 24 See, for example, J. Becker: Das Heil Gottes (1964) 199ff; G. E. Ladd (1966) 135ff.; R. F. Berkey (1963). 25 Cf. K. Barth, Church Dogmatics (CD) IV/2, 230f.: "Now, on the basis of this total war and victory can come the plundering of the house of the strong man, the dividing of the spoils, the forgiving of man's sins, the comforting of the sad and the healing of the sick. The peculiar feature in these passages is the absolute radicalism of the attack of Jesus, which reflects the wrath of God himself." 26 Cf. J. M. Robinson (1957) 33ff.; J. Becher Das Heil Gottes, 197ff.; R. Pesch, Jesu ureigene Taten? (1970) 151ff. 27 In the light of this correct recognition, the stark separation of person and object which is made later (302) is incomprehensible. It is certainly correct that Jesus does not make himself the content of his preaching of the kingdom. Yet it is also correct, and this is confirmed by our saying (Matt. 12:28), that he (i.e.
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28
29 30
31
32 33 34
Jesus himself) stands in a personal and unique relationship to the kingdom. He proclaims the kingdom of God with authority. This apart, E. Jtingel rightly draws attention to the fact that the temporal expression of the nearness of the kingdom of God favoured by Jesus must at the same time be interpreted with relation to his person. "Jesus believed in the nearness of God. This was much more than a hope in something yet to come. To witness the approach of that which is to come means that it has ceased to be an object of hope. It is a matter of certainty. We may even say that Jesus was more certain of the nearness of God than he was of himself. Without in any way becoming untrue to his world, he knew himself to be wholly determined by the rule of God. Governed and determined in a personal way, the temporal distinction between 'already' and 'not yet' is overcome, although not wholly annulled. It is only in this sense that we can understand such a text as Luke 11:20" (Death, The Riddle and the Mystery [1975] 101). The single Kasemann quote upon which Lorenzmeier bases his thesis of the stark separation of person says only - and wisely so that Jesus did not define the relationship of his own person to the kingdom of God in a precise way (E. Kasemann, Exegetische Versuche und Besinnungen I [244]. E. Fuchs has taken up the theme of the relationship of Jesus' person to his mission in Jesus. Wort und Tat (1971). Even so, a crowd, amazed at the exorcism, can say, "Never was anything like this seen in Israel" (Matt. 9:33), even though it witnessed similar happenings carried out by the pupils of the Pharisees (Matt. 12:27). "But that 'the kingdom of God has come upon you' (Matt. 12:28) was not previously to be seen. In Jesus' deeds it was, whether recognized or not" (K. Barth, CD IV/2, 219). A significant difference between the exorcisms carried out by Jesus and those performed by the miracle-workers found in the wider religious environment can be shown in any case. Cf. the article "Wunder" by A. Vogtle, in LTK, vol. 10, 1255--61; W. Trilling: Fragen zur Geschichtlichkeit Jesu (1969) 96-105. K. Barth, CD IV/2, 230. K. Barth (CD IV/2, 228f.) points out that "in the medical schools of antiquity there had already been those, like Hippocrates, who had refused to find any place for demons even in relation to sick mental states of every type ... Even within the widely accepted consensus of opinion as to the existence and activity of beings of this kind the New Testament has certain distinctive features. It speaks of 'demons' (no attempt is made to define them, and they are obviously regarded as incapable of definition) which (a) take possession of man, to estrange him from himself, to control him, and to disturb and destroy him both in body and soul, and (b) do this in a very definite context, in the service of a whole kingdom of disturbance and destruction, summed up in the form (which is not defined) of the devil, or Satan, or Beelzebub." Cf. W. Ltitgert's Das Reich Gottes nach den synoptischen Evangelien which as long ago as 1895 made a distinction between the formal character of the kingdom of God and the nature of its content: "The form of the kingdom of God is characterized by the power with which it appears, with which it shows its superiority over demons; its content is characterized by the restoration of life and freedom which it brings" (61). Lorenzmeier emphasizes especially that Jesus makes this freedom "recognizable as a restorative activity of God, which restores even physical life (by which is meant the conquering of illness)" (62). R. Garaudy, "Revolution als Akt des Glaubens", Evangelisches Kommentar 6 (1973) 339-43, 343. K. Barth, CD IV/2, 230. Ibid., 243.
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35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42
43
44
Ibid., 242f. Ibid., 243. See below. W. Weitling, The Poor Sinner's Gospel (1843, ET 1969), for example, saw the realizing of the kingdom of God as taking place in the context of work and material goods. K. Barth, CD IV/2, 244. E. Hinge!, Death (1975) 99. Ibid. On the worldly aspect of the kingdom of God, which is a kingdom not of this world, see: W. Schmithals (n. 2); E. Ji.ingel, Death (1975) 100. W. Ltitgert had noted as early as 1895 the necessity to distinguish but not separate the kingdom as God's gift from the kingdom as a task to be fulfilled. "Man awaits, receives, inherits, possesses, enjoys the kingdom; he enters the kingdom -but he does not bring it about. The one who brings it about is God. The kingdom is an objective dimension. In other words, it is founded on God's activity. Human activity is certainly a condition of the acceptance or loss of the kingdom. Yet the outcome is not founded upon this activity. It does not originate from human action. It originates solely and directly from the will and action of God. The kingdom is a result of the creative activity of God. God does not bring the kingdom about by developing what is already inherent in the world. Essential to the hope for the kingdom is that it expects the renewal of the world in a form arising not through immanent development but due to a creative demonstration of the power of God" (26). The exegesis of Bartsch (seen. 3) and the programme carried out by Schulz (ibid.) are both to be tested by this dialectic of the worldliness of the kingdom of the beyond. Thus far they seem to me to have dealt insufficiently with this problem. This explains why the sentences quoted seem to fail as exegesis. The problem has been current in hermeneutics since R. Bultmann, History and Eschatology (1957). On the proclaimer of the kingdom of God becoming the proclaimed, see Schmithals (n. 2) 101ft. and Jtingel, Death (1975) 103ff. K. Barth already anticipates his dogmatic solution to this problem by placing his discussion of the presence of the kingdom of God in the miracles of Jesus under the heading "The Exaltation of the Son of Man" (CD IV/2, 1). Characteristic of K. Earth's interpretation is the following statement: The perfect engiken he basileia on the lips of Jesus (Mark 1:15) says exactly the same thing as it did previously on the lips of John (Matt. 3:2), but it says it quite differently. "The kingdom is no longer just at the doors; it has broken in and crossed the threshold in the power of the works and deeds of Jesus and then (confirmed and manifested in his resurrection) in his sacrifice and victory at the cross. Strictly speaking, then, it is only now that engiken means that the kingdom, having become a factor in world history, is brought right home to the human race like a house built in front of one's window" (CD IV/4, 76). All this is founded upon what Barth has elsewhere (CD III/3, 418ff.) termed the "real dialectic" of heaven and earth. E. Lohse, "Apokalyptik und Christologie", ZNW 62 (1971) 48-67, deals with the theological significance of the linking of eschatology and Christology in the NT. M. Honecker discusses the theologically pertinent question whether "peace among peoples. calling for political efforts to make peace, and solidarity in the social order, meaning a need for socialism and a worldwide development programme, can be derived directly from the confession of the kingship of Christ". Cf. "Weltliches Handeln unter der Herrschaft Christi", ZTK 69 (1972) 72-99. Is this something to which Lorenzmeier pays but lipservice in his theses?
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45 H. Braun likewise launches into polemic against the idea of "vertically from above". This polemic, in Braun's case (1979) 128 as well as in Lorenzmeier's, is based on the alternative "divinity or humanity?" E. Jtingel rightly perceives this alternative as too restrictive. The important thing is not whether one says "from above" or "from ahead" or "out of the future" or "from alongside" when one is speaking of the action of God. "What is decisive when speaking of God's action is that one says 'of God' or 'from God'. God's action has its source in God himself. This was what 'directly from above' once used to mean. That God's action encounters us in and through other people does not in any way exclude the fact that although in this sense it is indirect, the action still has its source in God. To introduce an abrupt alternative here is to break off the work of theology precisely at that point where its real difficulties and subtleties are just beginning to appear" (Death, 99f). 46 The apostolic writings in the NT refer to synergoi Theou ("God's fellow workers") on only twelve occasions. Only one of these displays a clear link with the kingdom of God: in Col. 4:11 Paul's companions are called "fellow workers for the kingdom of God". But the phrase "kingdom of God" as a formal expression has lost its full original meaning so that the eschatological character of the concept is no longer in the foreground. Cf. E. Lohse, Colossians, (1971) 172. 47 On this question the book on Jesus by H.-W. Bartsch (n. 3) gives a discordant impression. On the one hand he emphasizes that the coming of God's kingdom is for Jesus "purely the work of God and thus as wonderful as the growth of a seed or the healing of a sick person or the raising of a dead man" (126). On the other hand he sees in the kingdom a social "utopia" (105 and elsewhere) to be brought into being by us in the form of "a fundamental change to the structure of this world", which supposedly is part of God's kingdom (104). And "theological consideration" must lead precisely to this "making do without special forms of organization; rather, within existing structures aiming to bring about through gradual, exemplary realization what Jesus proclaimed: the kingdom of God" (130). Faced with such an exegetical slalom, the cultured despisers of theologians can rightly pour scorn. Where the texts are quite clear as to their meaning, the desire for contemporary interpretation should not be allowed to cloud the issue. And the character of the kingdom of God as a gift is self-evident. Words such as Luke 12:32 and Luke 22:29 emphasize this. One can thus only "go in" (eiserchesthai) or "enter" (eisporeuesthai cf. Matt. 5:20; 7:21; 18:3 par.; 19:23f.; 23:12 and elsewhere), one can receive it as a child (Mark 10:15 par.), one can expect it (Mark 15:43 par.), but one cannot "gradually bring it about". On this see the article by B. Klappert, "King, Kingdom etc ... " in The New International Dictionary of NT Theology vol. 2, ed. C. Brown (Exeter: 1976) 372-90, 385ff. 48 This is at best demonstrated in the beatitudes from the Sermon on the Mount. Here I can refer simply to the excellent interpretation of G. Eichholz (Auslegung der Bergpredigt [1970]26-54). In the interpretation of the kingdom of God offered by Bartsch, Lorenzmeier and Schulz, once again the age-old problem of the relationship between dogmatics and ethics rears its head. This subject receives impressive treatment in the lectures on ethics given by K. Barth in 1928 which have recently been published (ET 1981); cf. the introductory section 18ff., 22ff. Are we not here once more falling into the trap of allowing ethics to become the sole and self-supporting theme of theological study? 49 At this point it should be stated that I see in the attempt to understand the kingdom of God discussed here- and Lorenzmeier is but one example of many similar attempts - no parallels to Bultmann's demythologizing. On the con-
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50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60
61 62
63 64
trary, R. Bultmann insisted that the beyond inherent in the activity of God resists every attempt to objectify it in this world. Thus he could rightly say, "Radical demythologizing is parallel to the Pauline-Lutheran doctrine of justification by faith alone without the works of the Law. More precisely: demythologizing is its consistent application in the sphere of knowledge" (R. Bultmann, "Zum Problem der Entmythologisierung", Kerygma and Myth vol. i (1953) 191-212, 211). Any political theology which sees itself continuing R. Bultmann's existentialist interpretation is thus tested by whether it abides by Bultmann's criterion or whether it wishes indeed once again to objectify the activity of God in the world. Cf. D. Solle, Political Theology (Philadelphia: 1974); and for a discussion of the Bultmann/Solle debate, see H. Htibner, Politische Theologie und existentiale Interpretation (1973). J. Becker, Das Heil Gottes, 201f. Cf. the article by G. Fitzer,phthano TDNTvo!. 9, 88-92. See the discussion in J. M. Robinson, Kerygma und historischer Jesus (19672) 153, 206ff. (Cf. The New Quest of the Historical Jesus [1959]77, 116). Cf. W. Ltitgert (n. 31) 59 n. 1. Cf. E. Jtingel, Paulus und Jesus (196?3) 185ff. Cf. G. Bornkamm (1960) 90ff.; H. W. Kuhn, Enderwartung und gegenwartiges Heil (1966) 189ff.; J. Becker, Johannes der Ttiufer und Jesus von Nazareth (see n. 20) 81ff. Cf. H. Conzelmann (1968) 36. Cf. E. Grasser (1959) 6ff., and Die Naherwartung Jesu (1973) 64; H. Conzelmann (1968) 35f. N. Perrin (1967) 67. Cf. N. Perrin, op cit., 67; J. Becker, Das Heil Gottes, 197-214; J. M. Robinson (1957) 33ff. With regard to the "distinctly individualizing tendency of Jesus" see H. Braun (1979) 48; M. Hengel (1971); G. Klein (1970) 29f., who correctly points out that the force which opposes the kingdom of God is the rule of sin, which "has built its nest in man in temporarily concrete form". The decision can thus only take place in man (Mark 1:15). And B. Klappert (in C. Brown [n. 47]384) presents an incorrect alternative in writing that the actual goal of Jesus' proclamation of the kingdom of God does not consist of a call to man to repent and to make a decision, but rather of a proclamation of the worldwide appearance of God's rule. God's kingdom directs itself primarily towards the individual. "The bastions of resistance against God are found in the heart of the individual and it is these which disappear at conversion. It thus follows that Jesus engages in no discrimination of any sociologically definable groups of people. He expressly avoids giving theological boundaries a sociological dimension. The only meaningful boundary lies from henceforth between obedience and disobedience" (G. Klein, 1970) 65f. V. Gardavsky, God is not yet dead (1973) 44. T. Lorenzmeier, Exegese und Hermeneutik (1968) 188: "Despite the emphasis that theology is concerned with man and his reality, this reality remains distinctly shadowy: the society and sociology of our time ... are ignored. It is characteristic that sociology is taken into consideration neither in the work of Bultmann nor of Braun and Ebeling. Nor indeed is its relevance for anthropology ... recognized and evaluated ... " Cf. J. Becker, Das Heil Gottes, 197ff. In my book Die Naherwartung Jesu (1973) I have dealt critically with the most important attempts made.
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65 K. Barth, CD IV/2, 246f. 66 Ibid.
Select bibliography Berkey, Robert F., "Engizein, phthanein and Realized Eschatology", JBL 82 (1963) 177-87. Bornkamm, Gtinther, Jesus of Nazareth. (German 1956) London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1960; New York: Harper, 1960. Braun, Herbert, Jesus. (German 1969) Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979. Bultmann, Rudolf, The History of the Synoptic Tradition. (German 1921, 193F) Oxford: Blackwell, 1963, rev. 1968; New York: Harper & Row, 1963, 1968. --Theology of the New Testament Vol. I. (German 1948) London: SCM, 1952; New York: Scribner, 1952. Conzelmann, Hans, An Outline of the Theology of the New Testament. (German 1968) London: SCM, 1969; New York: Harper & Row, 1969. --"Present and Future in the Synoptic Tradition", (German 1957) JTC 5 (1968) 26-44. Grasser, Erich, Das Problem der Parusieverzogerung in den synoptischen Evangelien und in der Apostelgeschichte, BZNW 22. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1959, 19602 • Hengel, Martin, Was Jesus a Revolutionist? (German, 1970) Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971. Klein, Gtinther, "'Reich Gottes' also biblischer Zentralbegriff", EvT 30 (1970) 642-70. Ktimmel, Werner Georg, Promise and Fulfilment, SBT 23. (German 1945) London: SCM, 1957; Naperville: Allenson, 1957. Ladd, George Eldon, Jesus and the Kingdom (New York: Harper & Row, 1964; London: SPCK, 1966; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 19742). Perrin, Norman, Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus. New York: Harper & Row, 1967; London: SCM, 1967. Robinson, James McConkey, The Problem of History in Mark, SBT 21. London: SCM, 1957; Naperville: Allenson, 1957. Robinson, James M., and Koester, Helmut, Trajectories through Early Christianity. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971. Schmithals, Waiter, "Jesus und die Weltlichkeit des Reiches Gottes", Jesus Christus in der Verkiindigung der Kirche (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1972) 91-117. Schulz, Siegfried, "Die Neue Frage nach dem historischen Jesus", Neues Testaments und Geschichte, ed. H. Baltensweiler and Bo Reicke (Ttibingen: Mohr, 1972; ZUrich: Theologischer Verlag, 1972) 33-42. Vielhauer, Philipp, "Gottesreich und Menschensohn in der Verkiindigung Jesu", Festschrift ftir Gtinther Dehn, ed. W. Schneemelcher (Neukirchen: Moers, 1957) 51-79. Repr. in his Aufsiitze zum Neuen Testament (Munich: Kaiser, 1965) 55-91. Vogtle, Anton, "'Theo-Iogie' und 'Eschato-Iogie' in der Verki.indigung Jesu?", Neues Testament und Kirche, ed. J. Gnilka (Freiburg-Basel-Wien: Herder, 1974) 371-98.
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JESUS AND THE LANGUAGE OF THE KINGDOM* Norman Perrin Source: B. D. Chilton (ed.), The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus (Issues in Religion and Theology 5; London: SPCK; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), pp. 92-106.
The roots of the symbol kingdom of God lie in the ancient Near Eastern myth of the kingship of God. This "was taken over by the Israelites from the Canaanites, who had received it from the great kingdoms on the Euphrates and Tigris and Nile, where it had been developed as early as ancient Sumerian times." 1 In this myth the god had acted as king in creating the world, in the course of which he had overcome and slain the primeval monster. Further, the god continued to act as king by annually renewing the fertility of the earth, and he showed himself to be king of a particular people by sustaining them in their place in the world. This myth is common to all the peoples of the ancient Near East, and elements from one version of the myth were freely used in others. Essentially it is only the name of the god which changes as we move from people to people. In Babylonia Marduk is king; in Assyria, Asshur; in Ammon, Milcom; in Tyre, Melkart; in Israel, Yahweh. A feature of this myth of the kingship of God was that it was celebrated annually in cultic ritual. In the ancient world life was seen as a constant struggle between good and evil powers, and the world as the arena of this struggle. So each winter threatened to become a permanent blight on the fertility of the earth; and each spring was a renewal of the primeval victory of the god over the monster, as each spring the god renews the fertility of the earth against the threat of his enemies and man's. It was this that was celebrated cultically in an annual New Year festival. In the cultic ritual of this festival the god became king as he re-enacted the primeval victory of creation; he acted as king as he renewed the fertility of the earth; his people experienced him as king as he entered once more into their lives. That ancient Israel learned to think of their god in this way, and to celebrate his kingship in this way, can be seen from the so-called enthronement psalms, Psalms 47, 93, 96, 97, 98, 99, with their constant refrain, 199
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"Yahweh has become king!", a cultic avowal often mistranslated, "The Lord reigns." 2 Perrin's chapter 2A, "The Kingdom of God in Ancient Jewish Literature" (16-32), continues with quotations from the royal psalms and the earlier salvation-history traditions of the tribal confederacy (Deut. 26:5b-9). He sees these streams combined in Ps. 99:6-7, 136, and in the Pentateuch, and thus "the stage was set for the emergence of the symbol kingdom of God" (20) which evokes features of the salvation history. He quotes Ps. 145:10-14 and Exod. 15 to illustrate the meaning and use of kingdom (of God - though the phrase itself does not occur). God has brought his people to the Promised Land and to Mount Zion, to Jerusalem and the Temple. Perrin continues (22f.): In all this God was acting as king, and it is to be expected that he will continue to act as king on behalf of his people: "The Lord shall reign for ever and ever." In these early uses of the symbol we have a consistent myth, the myth of a God who created the world and was continually active in that world on behalf of his people, with the emphasis upon the continuing activity of God. The symbol functions by evoking the myth, and in turn the myth is effective because it interprets the historical experience of the Jewish people in the world. They knew themselves as the people who had successfully escaped from Egypt, who had settled in Canaan, who had built a temple to their God on Mount Zion. In their myth it was God who had done these things on their behalf, and by using the symbol in their songs of praise they evoke the myth and so celebrate their history as the people of God. It is obvious that at this point I have begun to use the word myth in a particular way. Myth is a word that is notoriously difficult to define, but in the case of the myth of God acting as king I like Alan Watts' statement, as quoted by Philip Wheelwright: "Myth is to be defined as a complex of stories - some no doubt fact, and some fantasy - which, for various reasons, human beings regard as demonstrations of the inner meaning of the universe and of human life." 3 "A complex of stories- some no doubt fact, and some fantasy", that statement describes exactly the ancient Israelite people's understanding of their deliverance from Egypt, their conquest of Canaan, the bringing of the Ark to Mount Zion by David and the building of a temple there by Solomon. "A complex of stories ... which, for various reasons, human beings regard as demonstrations of the inner meaning of the universe and of human life", that too describes exactly the Israelite understanding of life in the world as being under the direct control of the God who had acted as king on their behalf and who 200
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would continue to do so. The ancient Israelite people believed that their myth of the kingly activity of God demonstrated "the inner meaning of the universe" and gave them a true understanding of the nature of human life in the world. It is because they believed this that the symbol was so effective: it was effective precisely because it evoked the myth by means of which they had come to understand themselves as the people of God, the beneficiaries of his kingly activity in the world. The symbol is dependent upon the myth, and it is effective because of its power to evoke the myth. The myth in turn derives its power from its ability to make sense of the life of the Jewish people in the world. With this understanding of things the historical destiny of the Jewish people in the world becomes an important factor in the functioning of the symbol and the effectiveness of the myth ... Perrin traces the history of Israel from Solomon on to show "the impact of these historical events upon the use of the symbol kingdom of God with its evocation of the myth of God active as king on behalf of his people in the world" (24). Prophets interpreted the events and so the myth maintained its force. Judgement and temporary reprieves were signs of God, still active on behalf of his people, and there was hope for a new act of God as king (Isa. 33:22; 52:7-11). When this hope is fulfilled, Zeph. 3:15 uses kingship language. But again "the events of history called into question the validity of the myth" (25), as the state again lost its independence under Persia and Syria and finally (63 B.c.) Rome. Perrin continues (26): Under these circumstances the Jewish people continued to evoke the ancient myth, but now the formulations have a note of intensity about them, a note almost of despairing hope. In the Assumption of Moses, an apocalyptic work written shortly before the time of Jesus, we find the symbolic language of the kingdom of God used again to express the hopes of the people. The myth remains the same - that of God as king active on behalf of his people - and the symbol remains the same - it is God's kingdom that will appear - but the formulation has changed. On the one hand, the language has grown more metaphorical: " ... Satan shall be no more, and sorrow shall depart with him .... " "The Heavenly One will arise from his royal throne ... with indignation and wrath on account of his sons." On the other hand, the hope itself is coming to take a form in which the expectation is for a dramatic change in the circumstances of the Jews over against the hated Gentiles. "The Most High will arise ... he will appear to punish the Gentiles ... Then thou, 0 Israel, shalt be happy ... God will exalt thee ... he wiii cause thee to approach the heaven of the stars ... " 201
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This is the language of apocalyptic, as this is the apocalyptic hope, and there is some question as to what the apocalyptic writers actually expected. It has been pointed out, above all perhaps by Amos Wilder, 4 that apocalyptic imagery is a natural form of expression when one is in extreme circumstances, and Wilder himself has turned to it in poetry arising out of his combat experiences in the First World War. What one can say perhaps is that the extremity of the situation of the Jews under the Romans in Palestine after 63 B.C. escalated their use of language in the expression of the characteristic hope for the activity of God on their behalf, as it also created circumstances under which they were no longer sure what they hoped for - except that it was for a deliverance like those from Egypt and Babylon in the past, but this time a permanent deliverance from all the evils of history. One particularly prominent form of this apocalyptic hope for a deliverance from history itself is that of the hope to begin a war against Rome in which God would intervene, and which God would bring to an end by destroying the Gentiles and their Jewish collaborators or sympathizers, and by creating a world transformed, a world in which "Satan and sin will be no more". Just how widespread and realistic this particular form of the apocalyptic hope was can be seen from the fact that the Jewish people rose in revolt against Rome in 66 A.D. and again in 132; both times they began a war against Rome in which they expected God to intervene, and which they expected God to bring to an end in victory for them as his people. The people we have come to know through the Dead Sea Scrolls shared this hope. Indeed one of the Dead Sea Scrolls is a battle plan for this war against Rome, and all evil, the war in which God would intervene and which he would bring to victory on their behalf. This is the so-called War Scroll (lQM) and in it we find a use of the symbolic language of the kingdom of God. We read, "And to the God of Israel shall be the kingdom, and among his people will he display might", and, "Thou, 0 God, resplendent in the glory of thy kingdom ... [art] in our midst as a perpetual help" (lQM 6:6 and 12:7). In both instances the symbol kingdom of God is being used to express the hope, indeed the expectatiOn, that God would act on behalf of his people by intervening in a war against Rome and the Roman legions. In this hope and expectation they began the war, but the war itself, contrary to their expectation, went the way of Rome and of the Roman legions. One last use of the symbol in ancient Judaism remains to be mentioned, the use in the Kaddish prayer, a prayer in regular use in the Jewish synagogues immediately before the time of Jesus, and for that matter still in use today. In an English translation of the ancient form, the prayer is as follows: 202
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Magnified and sanctified be his great name in the world that he has created according to his will. May he establish his kingdom in your lifetime and in your days and in the lifetime of all the house of Israel, even speedily and at a near time. This is so close to a central petition of the prayer that Jesus taught his disciples, Hallowed be thy name Thy kingdom come that the two must be related, and the most reasonable supposition is that the prayer of Jesus is a deliberate modification of the Kaddish prayer, a point to which I shall return below. But for the moment I wish to make the point that this is a use of the symbol in a prayer used regularly by the synagogue community as a community. The very fact that the symbol is being used in prayer by a whole group of people means that while it will always have evoked the myth of God active as king on behalf of his people, the form of the expectation expressed by the petition, "May he establish his kingdom", will have varied from individual to individual, and no doubt that for many Jews living in the period between Pompey's "settlement" of the East in 63 s.c. and the beginning of the Jewish revolt against Rome in 66 A.D. the prayer will have expressed the hope for the kind of dramatic irruption of God into human history that is the central theme of ancient Jewish (and Christian) apocalyptic. But it can never have been limited to the expression of that hope, for it is of the very nature of religious symbols that they are plurisignificant, that they can never be exhausted in any one apprehension of meaning; and this is, of course, true of most symbols. Before we can make any final statement of the use of the symbol "kingdom of God" in ancient Jewish apocalyptic, therefore, we need to digress somewhat and discuss the nature and function of symbols altogether. We will do this in relationship to two modern discussions of symbols: Philip Wheelwright (1962), and Paul Ricoeur, The Symbolism of Evil (1969). This is a valid approach to the use of a particular symbol in ancient Jewish apocalyptic, and in the message of Jesus, for the nature and function of symbol are of the very stuff of language itself and do not change in essentials from language to language, or from age to age. I will begin this digression on the nature and function of symbol with Philip Wheelwright's definition of a symbol: "A symbol, in general, is a relatively stable and repeatable element of perceptual experience,
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standing for some larger meaning or set of meanings which cannot be given, or not fully given, in perceptual experience itself" (92). A symbol therefore represents something else, and Wheelwright makes a most important distinction within symbols in terms of their relationship with that which they represent. A symbol can have a one-to-one relationship to that which it represents, such as the mathematical symbol pi, in which case it is, in Wheelwright's terms, a "steno-symbol", or it can have a set of meanings that can neither be exhausted nor adequately expressed by any one referent, in which case it is a "tensive symbol". Paul Ricoeur makes a similar distinction. For Ricoeur a symbol is a sign, something which points beyond itself to something else. Not all signs are symbols, however, for sometimes a sign is transparent of meaning and is exhausted by its "first or literal intentionality". But in the case of a symbol the meaning is opaque and we have to erect a second intentionality upon the first, an intentionality which proceeds by analogy to ever deeper meanings. Concerned with the symbolism of evil, Ricoeur discusses "defilement". This is a sign in that it has a first, literal intentionality; it points beyond itself to "stain" or "unclean". But "defilement" is also a symbol because we can, by analogy, go further to a "certain situation of man in the sacred which is precisely that of being defiled, impure" (15). What for Wheelwright is a distinction between a "steno-symbol" and a "tensive symbol" is for Ricoeur a distinction between a "sign" and a "symbol". We now return to the symbol "kingdom of God" in ancient Jewish apocalyptic, and I want to take up this aspect of the discussion by quoting a paragraph from my SBL Presidential Address, delivered in 1973. Let me begin this aspect of my discussion by pointing out that in ancient Jewish apocalyptic in general - and for that matter in early Christian apocalyptic in general - the symbols used are, in Wheelwright's terms, "steno-symbols"; in Ricoeur's "signs" rather than "symbols". Typically, the apocalyptic seer told the story of the history of his people in symbols where each symbol bore a one-to-one relationship with that which it depicted. This thing was Antiochus IV Epiphanes, that thing was Judas Maccabee, the other thing was the coming of the Romans, and so on. But if this was the case, and it certainly was, then when the seer left the known facts of the past and present to express his expectation of the future his symbols remained "steno-symbols", and his expectation concerned singular concrete historical events. To take an actual example, if in chapters 11 and 12 of the Book of Daniel the "abomination that makes desolate" is a historical artifact - and it is - and if those who "make many understand" and the "little help" are historically identifiable individuals- and they 204
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are- then the "Michael" of Dan. 12:1 is also someone who will be historically identifiable, and the general resurrection of Dan. 12:2 is an event of the same historical order as the setting up of the altar to Zeus in the Jerusalem Temple. The series of events described in Danielll and 12 are events within history: insofar as they are described in symbols, those symbols are "steno-symbols" (Wheelwright), or they are "signs" rather than "symbols" (Ricoeur). 5 In the year since I made that statement a number of my friends and colleagues have challenged it, and in the light of their challenges I have rethought the matter as carefully as I could. It now seems to me that I have pressed too hard the distinction between a "steno-" and a "tensive" symbol in the case of apocalyptic symbols. It is still a most important distinction, and it is still true that most apocalyptic symbols are stenosymbols. But it is also true that the distinction is not hard and fast, and that in the case of such major symbols as the coming of Michael and the resurrection of the dead, or the establishment by God of his kingdom - or the coming of Jesus as Son of Man- then no hard and fast line could be drawn, and some seers no doubt saw the symbols as steno-symbols while others saw them as tensive. What this means is that, for example, in the case of the symbols used to represent God's irruption into history, it was always possible to see the symbols as steno-symbols, and for Jews to identify the Messiah and seek signs of the coming of the one historical moment of God's final intervention on behalf of his people. Similarly for Christians it was always possible to see the symbol of Jesus coming "on the clouds of heaven" as Son of Man as a steno-symbol, and to seek to calculate the time and place of that coming. There is ample evidence that large numbers of both Jews and Christians did in fact do exactly those things, that, to use the words we are now using, large numbers of both Jews and Christians used and understood the symbols of God's eschatological activity on behalf of his people as steno-symbols. But the point I now concede - indeed the point I am now eager to embrace- is that this was not necessarily the case in any one instance. We have to investigate each case on its merits, recognizing that symbols of the order of those representing the eschatological activity of God can be either steno- or tensive symbols. If we view the symbol kingdom of God in ancient Judaism in this light, then we can see that fundamentally it is a tensive symbol and that its meaning could never be exhausted, nor adequately expressed by any one referent. However, in view of the identification of historical individuals as the Messiah, and in view of the undoubted expectation that God would intervene in the course of the war against Syria at the time of the Maccabees and that this would be the active beginning of the End - as well as 205
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in view of similar expectations in the case of the Jewish War and the Bar Cochba revolt- we would have to conclude that in ancient Jewish apocalyptic kingdom of God was predominantly understood as a steno-symbol. But then there is the Kaddish prayer to remind us that even during the heyday of ancient Jewish apocalyptic such an understanding was neither necessary nor universal. As we approach the message of Jesus, then, there are three things to bear in mind. In the first place, "kingdom of God" is a symbol with deep roots in the Jewish consciousness of themselves as the people of God. Then, secondly, it functions within the context of the myth of God active in history on behalf of his people; indeed by the time of Jesus it had come to represent particularly the expectation of a final, eschatological act of God on behalf of his people. Thirdly, it could be understood and used either as a steno- or as a tensive symbol, to use a modern but nonetheless appropriate distinction. It is against this background that we must view the message of Jesus. Perrin's chapter 3 traces "The Modern Interpretation of the Parables of Jesus" (89-193) from Jeremias through Fuchs, Linnemann, Jiinger, Wilder, Funk, Via and Crossan to the SBL Parables Seminar, Amos Wilder occupies a key position (127-131). The excerpt begins at 128: The work of A. Wilder's which concerns us here is his book, Early Christian Rhetoric: The Language of the Gospel. This book offers only a brief discussion of the parables (71-88), but it proved to be seminal because of the combination of insights and skills he brought to the interpretation of the parables. For the first time a scholar looked at the parables who, on the one hand, fully appreciated the results of the discussion among NT scholars, while, on the other hand, was able to bring insights from the worlds of literary creativity and of literary criticism. Wilder enters the discussion at the level of literary criticism, concerned with the literary features of the parables, but moving backward from there to a historical concern as he attempts to understand the creative vision of their author, Jesus, and moving forward from there towards the interpreter as he attempts to understand the particular, distinctive impact of the literary form and language of the parables. He begins by distinguishing various kinds of parables. "Some of the parables are straight narratives about a given individual case, ending with an application: The Good Samaritan, The Rich Fool ... Here we have 'example stories', not symbolic narrative. The point in these cases is that we should go and do likewise, or take warning by a given example." But then there are also parables like that of the lost sheep, where "the upshot is not that we should or should not go and do likewise". Here we have rather "an
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extended image - the shepherd's retrieval of the lost sheep and his joy - a narrative image which reveals rather than exemplifies" (72). This distinction between the parable as exemplary story and the parable as revelatory image is an important one, and Wilder, having made it, goes on to emphasize that "it is this revelatory character of Jesus' parables which is to be stressed", quoting with approval Gtinther Bornkamm's dictum, "the parables are the preaching itself", and claiming that Jesus used "extended images to unveil mysteries ... above all to mediate reality and life" (ibid.). Moreover, he claims the support of modern literary criticism in this, making a most important distinction between a simile and a metaphor in the process. "This understanding of Jesus' figures of speech is supported by our modern discussion of the metaphor in literary criticism. A simile sets one thing over against another: the less known is clarified by the better known. But in the metaphor we have an image with a certain shock to the imagination which directly conveys a vision of what is signified" (ibid.). What the previous discussion had differentiated as similitude and parable is here identified, not as simile, but as metaphor. The similitude is a metaphor, and the parable is an extended metaphor. The idea of a comparison which clarifies is abandoned in favour of the metaphor which reveals. That metaphor can be simple or extended but it is always essentially a revelatory image. But Wilder recognizes that even with this emphasis as central, there still is reason to acknowledge that Jesus also taught "teaching parables and polemic-parables, like those of the Prodigal Son or the Workers in the Vineyard in which the revelatory-image is used to justify and defend Jesus' mission ... The larger observation is that Jesus uses figures of speech in an immense variety of ways" (72f.). But the idea of the parable as revelatory image remains central. Another literary aspect of the parables which concerns Wilder is their realism. They are "human and realistic"; one may even speak of their "secularity". In these parables a shepherd is an actual shepherd and not "a flash-back to God as the Shepherd of Israel" (73). The realism and actuality of the parables are important because they command the attention of the listeners at the level of the actuality of their everyday existence. "[Jesus] is leading men to make a judgement and to come to a decision. The stories are so told as to compel men to see things as they are, by analogy indeed. Sluggish or dormant awareness and conscience are thus aroused. The parables make men give attention, come alive and face things. And they do this by evoking men's everyday experience" (75). Or, again, "The parables of Jesus, in addition to their revelatory character, are shaped more consistently towards a direct personal appeal or challenge, and their sobriety of style and sharpness of focus serve well the fatefulness of the issue in view" (77). Against the background of these considerations Wilder turns to a discussion of the "parables of the kingdom"; the sower, seed growing of itself, 207
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mustard seed, from Mark 4:the leaven, hid treasure, pearl of great price, from Matthew 13 (82-6). These are to be counted as authentic parables of Jesus. "The characteristic design, the tight form of these utterances helped to guarantee them against change and supplementation. A coherent image-story is resistant to change ... The parables of Jesus have an organic unity and coherence" (82). But there is a further criterion for the authenticity of these parables, and it is a characteristic which they share with other forms of Jesus' speech. Jesus used various forms of speech; he "used trope and metaphor in the most varied way", but there is always the same element of "force" and "significance" in his imagery. In this connection Wilder makes a statement that is important, both in connection with understanding the natural force of the parables, and also in providing the link between the parables and the use by Jesus of the symbol, kingdom of God, in other forms of speech. In the parables we have action-images. But these are only one kind of metaphor, extended metaphor. Jesus' communication, just because it is fresh and dynamic, is necessarily plastic. Now we know that a true metaphor or symbol is more than a sign, it is a bearer of the reality to which it refers. The hearer not only learns about that reality, he participates in it. He is invaded by it. Here lies the power and fatefulness of art. Jesus' speech had the character not of instruction and ideas but of compelling imagination, of spell, of mythical shock and transformation (84). "A true metaphor or symbol is more than a sign, it is a bearer of the reality to which it refers." These words are the essential clue to understanding both the symbolic language of the kingdom sayings and the metaphorical language of the parables on the lips of Jesus. But there is a further point about this language which is important to Wilder, and that is its relationship to the vision of the poet using it. Such language is not used idly; the poet who turns to symbol and metaphor does so because of some vision of reality which demands expression, and which can only find expression in such evocative or mind-teasing language. So it is with the parables of Jesus, as Wilder understands them. They are not "homiletic illustration drawn from nature". The sower (Mark 4:3-8) "is not just an example of what happens every day offered as an encouragement", nor is the seed growing of itself (Mark 4:26-8) to be taken in such "a banal sense". Their real authority and power emerge when we see them "in Jesus' own situation", that is, in the situation of Jesus addressing his disciples, in the situation of Jesus seeking to impart to his disciples "his own vision by the power of metaphor" (84f. ). The secret of the power of the parables of the kingdom then, as Jesus addressed them to his listeners in their original historical situation, lies not
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only in their reality-bearing power as metaphor, but also in the fact that the reality they bear is that of Jesus' own faith. "It is Jesus' own certain faith that paints in the feature of the great harvest. The formal felicity and coherence of these parables reflect the intensity of his own vision" (85). But this is not only the secret of the power of the parables in the original situation of Jesus' using them as he addresses his hearers; it is also the secret of their power as we seek to interpret them in a later day and a different situation. "For us, too, to find the meaning of the parable we must identify ourselves with that inner secret of Jesus' faith and faithfulness" (85). In this context Wilder quotes Fuchs. "The distinctive feature in the teaching aspect of Jesus' proclamation is the analogical power with which tacitly he sets forth himself, his own obedience, as a measure for the attention of his disciples" (85). The fact that Wilder can quote Fuchs in this context shows that he is close to him in his fundamental concern for Jesus, and for the highly personal aspects of the message of Jesus. But this should not be allowed to obscure the point that in fact Wilder and Fuchs are far apart at the very point at which they seem to be close: their interest in the highly personal aspects of the parables of Jesus. Fuchs is interested in Jesus as the supreme revelation of God to man, and hence as the one who actualized the possibility of faith in his own experience, and who verbalized the possibility of faith for his hearers in his parables. Wilder, on the other hand, is interested in Jesus as a poet who imparted to his hearers his own vision of reality in the metaphorical language of his parables. But both are raising the question as to whether there is or is not an essential relationship between the author and the text of the parables as the interpreter seeks to interpret that text in a subsequent and quite different situation. They would both maintain that there is such a relationship, though on different grounds. It is, I hope, evident that I regard Amos Wilder as enormously important in the discussion of both kingdom of God and the parables in the message of Jesus. He is important because he taught us to see the significance of the literary factors in the kingdom proclamation and the parables, the one as symbol and the other as metaphor. I have attempted to develop the former insight myself; the latter was developed in the subsequent American discussion of the parables. The final excerpt is from Perrin's conclusions (chapter 4), beginning at 197: A major feature of the discussions above has been the deliberate attention given to literary factors. I was concerned to claim that kingdom of God is a symbol, rather than a conception in the message of Jesus, and that indeed considering it as a conception had in fact caused difficulties in the discussion. Once it was seen as a symbol such unanswerable questions as whether it was present or future, or both, in the message of Jesus could 209
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be seen to be false questions, and one could begin to ask the true questions. The questions that should be asked, in my view, are questions as to what kind of symbol kingdom of God is in the message of Jesus, and what does it evoke or represent. In the exegesis I carried out, I argued the kingdom of God was a tensive symbol in the message of Jesus, that it was, to use Wheelwright's terms again, a symbol of cultural range, a symbol having meaning for people in cultural continuity with ancient Israel and its myth of God acting as king, a cultural continuity in which Jesus certainly stood. On the lips of Jesus the symbol evoked the ancient myth, and the claim of his message was that the reality mediated by the myth was to be experienced dramatically by his hearers. Thus a literary concern was important to an understanding of the message of Jesus at the historical level. As we move from a historical understanding of the message of Jesus to the possibilities for interpreting that message in a subsequent day and age, then a consideration of literary factors remains essential. The interpretation of the coming of the kingdom of God in terms of the coming of the Son of Man in the New Testament involved an understanding of the symbol as a steno- rather than as a tensive symbol. The speculative theological use of the symbol by Augustine also involved literary features in that Augustine was reading the NT texts as allegories and kingdom of God had become for him a speculative cipher to which he could give any meaning demanded by his overall theological system. With the rise of the historical sciences the interpretation of kingdom of God in the message of Jesus became more self-conscious and Johannes Weiss carried through the first modern scientific ( wissenschaftlich) interpretation. He thought of kingdom of God as a conception and decided that as a conception it had nothing to say to modern man, thereby opening up what I have called the "hermeneutical gulf" between the message of Jesus and modern, technological man. After Weiss we considered only two further interpreters and we considered these from the literary standpoint of their interpretation of kingdom of God in the message of Jesus as a symbol evoking a myth. We considered Waiter Rauschenbusch because he fully accepted the ancient myth and hence was able to return to a direct and natural use of the symbol. Using the symbol directly and naturally remains a hermeneutical option for those for whom the myth is still valid and meaningful. We considered Rudolf Bultmann because he is much the most important modern interpreter of Jesus' use of kingdom of God, and because he represents the hermeneutical option diametrically opposed to that represented by Rauschenbusch. For Bultmann the myth is dead and the symbolic language, archaic; he, therefore, sought a means of translating the myth as an "expression of life", and found it in the hermeneutics of "demythologizing". Bultmann's interpretation remains an option for those for whom the 210
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myth is dead and the symbolic language archaic, but there are problems, both with Bultmann's understanding of myth - which he sees as prescientific cosmology - and with his understanding of the symbolic language which he sees as symbolizing a conception and in which the symbols are steno-symbols. The question, therefore, arises as to whether Bultmann's demythologizing is the only hermeneutical option open to those who can no longer accept the myth and use the symbol as naturally and directly as did Rauschenbusch. The answer to this question is, No it is not. Other possibilities arise if kingdom of God is seen as a tensive symbol in the message of Jesus, and if the myth it evokes is seen as true myth, i.e., as a narrative means of demonstrating "the inner meaning of the universe and of human life", or as a means of verbalizing one's basic understanding of the historicity of human existence in the world in language meant to be taken seriously but not necessarily literally. In my SBL Presidential Address I expressed the hermeneutical option which challenges me personally as the responsibility to explore "the manifold ways in which the experience of God can become an existential reality to man," and to understand kingdom of God not as "a single identifiable event which every man experiences at the same time", but as something "which every man experiences in his own time". 6 Since I would be fully prepared to argue that "activity of God" and an "event which every man experiences" is ultimately mythological language to be taken seriously but not necessarily literally, in the last resort my option may not produce a result significantly different from "a Bultmannian understanding of the eschatology of Jesus". But I would claim that it had been arrived at by a more defensible hermeneutical method. Nor would I claim that the option which challenges me is the only possible option between those represented by Rauschenbusch and Bultmann. Others, more skilled than I in the understanding of symbol and myth, may arrive at other and more persuasive hermeneutical options. What I am concerned to claim is that a valid hermeneutics to be applied to Jesus' proclamation of the kingdom of God must take seriously and deal most carefully with the elements of symbol and myth in that proclamation. The nature of the language of the proclamation demands this.
Notes
*
First published in Jesus and the Language of the Kingdom by Norman Perrin
(1976) 16-32, 127-31, 197-9. 1 S. Mowinckel, The Psalms in Israel's Worship (1962) I, 114. 2 Ibid., 107. The English translations all have "The Lord reigns", or the equivalent. RSV: "The Lord reigns"; NEB: "The Lord is king"; Jerusalem Bible: "Yahweh is king". 3 Philip Wheelwright (1962) 130. A problem in this particular discussion is that we are dealing with two different kinds of myth. On the one hand, we have the myth
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of creation, the cosmogonic myth, mediated to Israel by its Canaanite neighbours, and forming the basis for the slightly different myth of the kingship of God. Then, on the other hand, we have the myth of the salvation history, the myth of God active as king in the history of the Israelite people. Because of the link with history in the case of the salvation history, some scholars tend to resist the use of the word myth in this connection. F. M. Cross, for example, prefers to speak of "epic", and the title of his book, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic, expresses his understanding of the contrast between the cosmogonic myth and the epic of the redemptive history. (Cross prefers history-of-redemption to salvation history to represent the German Heilsgeschichte, e.g. 83). But the element of history involved in the salvation history does not make it any less a myth, in the sense of the Watts definition, which I accept as a valid definition of this kind of myth. The cosmogonic myth and the salvation history myth are different kinds of myths, but they are both myths, and they both function as myths in ancient Israel, especially as they are amalgamated. Moreover, the salvation history myth continues to function as myth right into the present, as we shall argue in the course of this study. For an introductory discussion of the element of history in biblical myths see Perrin, The New Testament: An Introduction (1974) 21-33. 4 See, for example, A. Wilder, "The Rhetoric of Ancient and Modern Apocalyptic", Interpretation 25 (1971), 436-53, rep. in Jesus' Parables and the War of Myths (1982). 5 Perrin, "Eschatology and Hermeneutics," JBL 93 (1974) 11. 6 Ibid.l3.
Select bibliography Perrin, Norman, Jesus and the Language of the Kingdom. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976; London: SCM, 1976. See 92-106 in this volume. Wheelwright, Philip Ellis, Metaphor and Reality. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1962.
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'The kingdom of God' is central in the proclamation of Jesus, the reality to which his preaching points and which the parables are designed to explicate;1 the student of the New Testament must understand this concept if he is to appreciate dominical theology and the ecclesial theology which developed from it. Since Albert Schweitzer's well-known study, it has been taken as a matter of course that Jesus' kingdom concept was 'apocalyptic'. 2 Yet just this assumption has necessitated crucial qualifications. To take two notable examples of this, Rudolf Bultmann asserted that Jesus rejected 'the whole content of apocalyptic speculation' ,3 and Norman Perrin went a step or two further by saying that 'the difference between Jesus and ancient Jewish apocalyptic is much greater than Bultmann will allow'. 4 At this point, the term 'apocalyptic', as applied to Jesus' preaching, is practically evacuated of content. On purely logical grounds, the propriety of its continued usage in this connexion is seriously to be questioned. A serious historical objection to the consensus was voiced in 1964, when T. F. Glasson challenged the presupposition that the 'kingdom' is of apocalyptic provenance by pointing to 'the striking fact that while the apocalypses and pseudepigrapha often deal with the end-time and Messianic age they do not make use of the precise phrase "the kingdom of God" '. 5 Glasson followed the lead of T. W. Manson by turning to the Rabbinic phrase, 'the kingdom of the heavens'; here the kingdom can refer to the divine authority which one takes on oneself by obedience. 6 But this position had already been undermined by Norman Perrin who, in a critique of Manson and Gustav Dalman, observed that these references in classical Rabbinic literature could not be used to establish first-century diction.? Effectively, the present situation is one of stalemate: apocalyptic usage fails to provide sufficiently exact parallels to dominical kingdom diction, while the Rabbinic passages in question come too late in the day for their parallels to be conclusive. Strangely enough, then, a dearth of evidence is the principal obstacle to our understanding Jesus' preaching, and this nearly a century after Johannes Weiss. 213
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Further evidence is presently available and, at the outset, the possibility presents itself that some of it at least represents first-century diction. I refer to exegeses contained in the Latter Prophets Targums; these Aramaic documents are paraphrases of the prophetic books occasioned by the decline in the ability of some Jews (even some of those resident in Palestine) to understand classical Hebrew. The Targums incorporate the exegetical understanding and vocabulary of the communities in which they were used, and they appear to be the products of centuries of translation, discussion and selection. 8 In his magisterial study of the prophetic Targums, P. Churgin found allusions to circumstances in the period ranging from before the destruction of the Temple to the persecution of the Jews in Sassanian Babylon much later. 9 This suggests that the Targums achieved their present form as part of the same process which gave us Mishnah, Midrash, and Talmud, a process dedicated to the preservation and evaluation of tradition. It is therefore possible that Jesus was familiar with diction presently contained in these documents, and even that he came to know it in association with the biblical passages which it presently explicates. How can we know if this is in fact, or even probably, the case? For two reasons, our approach to this question must be circumspect. In the first place, these Targums are, as extant, too late to permit us to interpret Jesus' preaching as if he were directly and intimately familiar with them. Indeed, so far as the date of a given reading is concerned, the balance of probability must be tipped in favour of the view that it is later, rather than earlier, than a given New Testament passage, simply because these Targums had centuries of development in front of them by the time the Church's canon had achieved a fixed form. In the second place, Targumic renderings do not have the names of Rabbis attached to them, as is commonly the case in classical Rabbinic literature. Since this labelling is usually taken as a guide to the dating of Rabbinic traditions, Targumic passages cannot be dated by means of the standard procedure. A different procedure is called for, one which can operate on the basis of the diction of the Targums alone, because this is the only evidence which they present. To speak of the date of an extant Targum, it would be necessary to place its characteristic exegeses in the context of other, datable Rabbinic pronouncements. In this way, the theology of a Targum, or a section thereof, is made to identify the Rabbinic circle to which it has the greatest affinity. The systematic application of such a method is clearly desirable, but it would constitute a major project and results should not be expected in the near future. 10 Fortunately, the student of the New Testament need not await the conclusive dating of extant Targums and their traditions; he is concerned only with those exegeses which display positive coherence with the New Testament passages with which he is concerned, because the Targums may on occasion provide evidence of the vocabulary and thought on which the canonical tradition
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is built. I have said 'positive coherence' because a merely notional connection would not be enough to suggest that a Targumic rendering underlies a New Testament reading. After all, both bodies of literature take the Old Testament as read. Positive coherence may only be posited where there is a strong similarity in language which is not explicable on the supposition that the Hebrew and Greek Old Testaments have influenced the diction of the New Testament. If that is the case, further analysis is warranted. If the same thought is expressed by this similar language, coherence is established, but the possibility that the Targum represents pre-Christian diction must be weighed against the possibility that it is a deliberate riposte to Christian teaching. That is, the substance, as well as the language, of a rendering must be evaluated in order to determine its pedigree in relation to the New Testament. Only such methodical evaluation can avoid the Charybdis of interpreting Jesus' preaching in terms of later developments and the Scylla of discounting prematurely a potentially significant body of evidence. So far as mere language is concerned, on eight occasions the Prophetic Targums make use of the precise phrase 'kingdom of God' or 'of the LoRo'.l 1 This means that we are on to much harder linguistic parallels to dominical usage than we would be if we were to limit ourselves to apocalyptic material. Moreover, the Targumic usage is nearer to Jesus' phrase than the periphrasis, 'the kingdom of the heavens', which both the Gospel according to Matthew and classical Rabbinic literature prefer. Given the principles of investigation set out in the previous paragraph, the identity between Targumic and dominical diction requires us to look more closely at those passages in the Prophetic Targums in which the usage occurs. To set out the evidence, I have translated first the Masoretic Text (MT) counterpart of the Targumic passage in question, and then the Targum (Tg) reference itself, italicising its differentiae so that they are apparent at a glance. It is convenient to begin with Targum Zechariah 14.9, because the use of kingdom diction in connexion with this verse can be dated with reasonable accuracy: MT and the LORD will be king upon all the earth Tg and the kingdom of the LoRD will be revealed upon all the dwellers of the earth 'Kingdom' (KTI,::l?~) appears in place of the corresponding MT term (1?1.)) and it takes the predicate 'will be revealed' (from K?l, which is familiar from Rabbinic usage ) 12 to convey an emphasis on disclosure. It is not just that the LORD will reign: his kingdom, already a reality, will be manifest. At the same time, there is no question of the kingdom being separate from God because the clause as a whole renders an assertion in MT of what 215
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God himself will be. An allusion to Zechariah 14.9 in association with a statement about the kingdom is contained in material ascribed to the firstcentury Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanos. 13 This Rabbi was the student of Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai, who according to Jacob Neusner was active in Galilee at about the same time Jesus was.I 4 It is therefore conceivable (but no more than that) that Jesus and Yohanan shared a then current kingdom vocabulary which has been preserved in both the New Testament and the Targums. Be that as it may, R. Eliezer's statement forces us seriously to consider the possibility that Targumic references akin to Tg Zechariah 14.9 reflect a first-century conception. So far we have considered only the first differentia in Tg Zechariah 14.9 (the kingdom of, revealed), and not the second (the dwellers of). In itself, the latter addition does not alter the meaning of the Hebrew text. It tells in favour of the relative antiquity of this reading, however, that it is reproduced verbatim at Tg Obadaiah 21: MT and the kingdom will be the LORD's Tg and the kingdom of the LoRD will be revealed upon all the dwellers of the earth This suggests that the rendering at Zechariah 14.9 was practically a catchword for the interpreter of Obadaiah 21. Of course, the rather universalistic 'dwellers' reading (which had no part in R. Eliezer's statement) might well have been introduced after the kingdom diction was already established; I only wish to suggest that Tg Obadaiah 21 shows that Tg Zechariah 14.9 was considered to be a conventional assertion of the divine kingship. To recapitulate: the exegesis preserved in our passages accords with a first-century conception of the kingdom. We have also seen that 'the kingdom of God' refers to God himself, as it were, personally. This pattern is also evident at Tg Isaiah 31.4: MT so the LORD of hosts will descend to fight upon Mount Zion Tg so the kingdom of the LORD of hosts will be revealed to dwell upon Mount Zion What we have called a personal reference to God is especially evident here because 'kingdom' does not represent a 1?t.l-root word. This makes it undeniable that we must see more in 'kingdom' than slavish translation; it refers in context to God's activity on behalf of his people. The question now is, does such a view of the kingdom coincide with that of Jesus? Recent research indicates not only that the understanding of the kingdom as God himself is consistent with Jesus' preaching, but that in the interpretation of certain parables it is difficult to see what Jesus meant if he did not have such an understanding (Matthew 18.23-35; 22.1-14; Mark 4.26-29). 15 216
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In other words, the Targumic kingdom passages are substantively as well as linguistically coherent with Jesus' preaching of the kingdom. The case for coherence could be rested here, because the evidence already indicates that Jesus' language and thought is similar to that of the Targums in the matter of kingdom diction, and there is not a whisper of anti-Christian apologetic in the Targumic passages so far discussed. The evidence, however, will bring us a bit further: Jesus used 'the kingdom' in contexts similar to those in which it appears in the Isaiah Targum. Jesus applied festal imagery to the gathering of many from east and west in the kingdom (Matthew 8.11, 12 =Luke 13.28, 29), and this imagery is reminiscent of the LoRD's banquet in Isaiah 25.6-8. The connexion becomes more than a reminiscence when we read an explicit reference to the kingdom in Tg Isaiah 24.23: MT because the LORD of hosts reigns on Mount Zion Tg because the kingdom of the LORD of hosts will be revealed on Mount Zion. Since the connexion between this passage and Jesus' preaching is linguistic, substantive, and contextual, it is worth noting that it is virtually repeated at 31.4 (with the addition of 'to dwell', representing MT 'to fight', and with 'upon', again following MT, instead of 'on'), and worth repeating that 'kingdom' in the latter passage represents the very activity of God. This is also the case in the next passage to be cited. It is one of two in the Isaiah Targum in which kingdom usages occur as announcements; their context indicates that they are to be proclaimed (40.9; 52.7); MT Tg MT Tg
behold your God the kingdom ofyour God is revealed your God reigns the kingdom of your God is revealed
Since Jesus is also described as consistently preaching the kingdom (Mark 1.14, 15; Matthew 4.17, 23; 9.35; Luke 4.43; 8.1) and as sending others to do so (Matthew 10.7; Luke 9.2, 60; 10.9, 11), we have another contextual link between his view and that represented in Tg Isaiah. The near identity of the above two Targumic passages, despite variation in the Hebrew, again suggests that the interpreter's kingdom vocabulary was somewhat stereotyped, and therefore that it is part of a definite view, we might almost say a theology, and not an ad hoc translation. Finally, Tg Isaiah 40.9 is of particular interest because it is followed by a clause which says that God reveals himself 'in power' ( 'l,Ph:l ). It is not likely a coincidence that, in a unique phrase in Mark's Gospel, Jesus speaks of the kingdom of God 'in power' (£v ouva~£t, 9.1). 16 217
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There is kingdom diction in other prophetic Targums, but it appears to reflect later locutions, and such positive associations with dominical logia as we have seen are not evident. Since this is the case, it seems convenient to summarise our findings for Tg Isaiah before proceeding. The kingdom here is not separable from God, nor again is it simply a periphrasis for the verb 1?t.l ; it is neither an autonomous regime nor does it merely refer to the LORD's assertion of sovereignty. What is at issue is God's action, his very being as God. It is permissible at this stage to suggest that the dominical 'kingdom' ought also to be seen as inalienable from God. Seen in this way, the 'kingdom of God' is not a distinct entity which arrives apart from God, so that one need not pose what Johannes Weiss already called 'die unfruchtbare Fragestellung' concerning the time of the kingdom. 17 Jesus' eschatology has been variously described as, e.g., 'consistent', 'realised', 'self-realising' and 'inaugurated', 18 but the evidence from Tg Isaiah shows that all the time we have been talking about aspects of God's activity, which cannot be limited by time. Because the kingdom is the selfrevelation of God, it can be taken as having various temporal dimensions, but none of these can be taken to be the exclusive domain of the kingdom. Jesus announced to his hearers the self-disclosure of the King; for him, as in Tg Isaiah, regnum dei deus est. For the sake of completeness, we may now turn to Targumic passages which apparently stem from a later period. Once the full phrase, 'the kingdom of God', is familiar, one is inclined to use the term 'kingdom' alone by way of abbreviation (as in the present paper). Such usage occurs in the Gospel according to Matthew (see especially the summary statements 4.23; 9.35) and also in Tg Ezekiel 7.7(10): MT the crown (?) has come to you Tg the kingdom is revealed upon you The usage in the Targum need not have any connexion with that in Matthew; we are speaking here of a natural development in the use of vocabulary in which dependence need not be postulated. There is a further usage in Tg Micah which reflects a highly systematised theology (4.7b, 8): MT and the LORD will reign upon them in Mount Zion from now and forever, and you, tower of the flock, hill of the daughter of Zion, to you it will come, even the former dominion will come, the kingdom of the daughter of Jerusalem Tg and the kingdom of the LORD will be revealed upon them in Mount Zion from now and forever, and you, Messiah of Israel that is hidden from before the sins of the congregation of Zion, to you the kingdom is about to come, even the former dominion will come to the kingdom of the congregation of Jerusalem 218
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The Mount Zion-kingdom connexion is already familiar to us from Tg Isaiah 24.23; 31.4; Obadaiah 21, but there is a startling departure here in the progressive narrowing of the kingdom concept. The first use of the term simply replaces the root verb: the interpreter does not seem concerned substantially to alter the meaning of this clause. What does consume his interest is the scope of the revelation. The Targum announces that the kingdom is about to come to the messiah addressed, and this kingdom is subsequently associated with the 'former dominion'. This practical equation between God's kingdom and Jerusalem's autonomy is underlined in the last clause, in which the 'congregation' (not presently a national unit) becomes the recipient of the blessing. Such a limited kingdom conception is not that of the New Testament, and it even disagrees with Tg Zechariah 14.9. Relatively speaking, then, this passage appears to be a late-comer to the Targumic tradition which corrects earlier notions. The idea that the messiah is hidden because of 'the sins of the congregation' may permit us to date this passage. Generally speaking, the repeated use of 'congregation' presupposes the Jewish loss of national status; more specifically, the rendering coheres with the fourth-century dictum that one day of Israelite repentance would bring the messiah. 19 Targumic kingdom diction, then, is a rich seam for students of Christian and Jewish origins. These passages provide specimens of the turn of phrase which Jesus availed himself of, and they illustrate that Rabbinic theology was not monolithic, but developed markedly after the formation of the New Testament. Historically speaking, Jesus' proclamation is an important event in the development of Judaism which cannot be appreciated until it is placed in its proper context. Once that is done, it appears that the dominical 'kingdom of God' was no cipher in an esoteric view of history. Rather, a contemporary catch-phrase which referred to God was taken up by Jesus to serve as the key term in his vivid assertion that God is active among us.
Notes 1 This is an opinio communis, shared by, e.g., Norman Perrin, 'The Kingdom of God', in Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus (New York, 1967). 2 (Tr. W. Montgomery), The Quest of the Historical Jesus (London, 1910, 1963 from the 1906 German edition), see p. 365, 'The eschatology of Jesus can therefore only be interpreted by the aid of the curiously intermittent Jewish apocalyptic literature of the period between Daniel and the Bar-Cochba rising.' 3 (Tr. L. H. Smith and E. H. Lantero), Jesus and the Word (New York, 1934, 1958 from the 1926 German edition), p. 36; the italics are not my own. 4 Jesus and the Language of the Kingdom (London, 1976) p. 77. 5 'The Kingdom as Cosmic Catastrophe', in F. L. Cross (ed.), Studia Evangelica, Ill, part ii: Texte und Untersuchungen 88, pp. 187-8. In fairness, it should be noted that Psalms of Solomon 17.3 ('The kingdom of our God is eternal .. .')
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6 7
8
9
10
11 12
13 14 15
16 17 18 19
provides a near equivalent to our phrase, but the passage in question could not be called apocalyptic. Glasson, p. 190; Manson, The Teaching of Jesus (Cambridge, 1931), pp. 130-2. The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus (London, 1963, 1966), pp. 95, 24-7. Two readable introductions to this subject: J. W. Bowker, The Targums and Rabbinic Literature (Cambridge, 1969); R. LeDeaut, Introduction d la litterature targumique (Rome, 1966). All citations from the prophetic Targums are taken from the Aramaic text of Alexander Sperber (Leiden, 1962). The Isaiah Targum has been translated into English by J. F. Stenning (Oxford, 1949), cf. the seventeenth-century translation of all the prophetic Targums by Bishop Brian Walton in his monumental Biblia Sacra Polyglotta. Targum Jonathan to the Prophets (New Haven, 1927); he cites Targum Isaiah 28.1, where reference is made to a wicked high priest (p. 23), and 21.9, where a second judgment on Babylon is predicted (p. 28). S. H. Levey, 'The Date of Targum Jonathan to the Prophets', Vetus Testamentum 21 (1971), pp. 186--96 argues for a tenth-century terminus ad quem. While he does show a continuing interest in the prophetic Targums in the period of the Geonim, his argument is vitiated by the fact that his most convincing datum (the 'Romulus' cipher for Rome at 11.4 which Saadia also used) is only a variant reading (see Sperber's critical apparatus). Since, however, the line between editorial redaction and textual transmission in Targum studies has not yet been clearly drawn, his contribution is a useful warning against assuming the antiquity of any reading. A recent contribution to this field which is very important, if preliminary, is offered by M. Aberbach and B. Grossfeld, Targum Ongelos on Genesis 49: Society of Biblical Literature Aramaic Studies 1 (Missoula, 1976). For the treatment of renderings which appear to cohere with New Testament passages, see M. McNamara, The New Testament and the Palestinian Targum to the Pentateuch (Rome, 1966) and Targum and Testament (Shannon, 1972). Isaiah 24.23; 31.4; 40.9; 52.7; Ezekiel 7.7, 10; Obadaiah 21; Micah 4.7, 8; Zechariah 14.9, cf. the Masoretic text and Septuagint. See, e.g., G. Dalman (tr. D. M. Kay), The Words of Jesus (Edinburgh, 1902), p. 97, and G. F. Moore, Judaism 11 (Cambridge, Mass., 1946), p. 374. Mekilta Exodus 17.14 (p. 186, lines 4-7, of the Horovitz and Rabin edition (Jerusalem, 1960); 'and the Place will be alone in eternity and his kingdom will be forever', and a citation of Zechariah 14.9 follows). A Life of Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai (Leiden, 1962), pp. 27-32. See Perrin, The Kingdom, p. 184, and Joachim Jeremias (tr. S. H. Hooke), The Parables of Jesus (London, 1972), pp. 210-14; 176--80; 151-3. Chapter III of Perrin's Jesus and the Language updates Jeremias with a competent review of the recent discussion (and see pp. 195, 196). In a forthcoming issue of Themelios, this verse is analysed in detail. In the preface of the 1900 edition of Die Predigt Jesu. For a handy review of this controversy, see 0. Knoch, 'Die eschatologische Frage', Biblische Zeitschrift 6 (1962), pp. 112-20. H. L. Strack and P. Billerbeck, Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrasch I (Miinchen, 1926), p. 164, citing the Jerusalem Talmud, Taanith 1.1.
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35 JESUS AS INAUGURATOR OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD M. delonge Source: Jesus, The Servant-Messiah (Shaffer Lectures; New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1991), pp. 55-75.
Jesus' death, followed by his resurrection, was thought by his followers to mark the beginning of a new era in the relationship between God and humanity. The death of Jesus as God's final messenger to Israel had brought about a definitive change in God's relationship to that people; his final judgment on its leaders, who had rejected Jesus (and his messengers), had become inevitable. As God's suffering righteous servant and Son of God par excellence, Jesus had been vindicated by God when he was raised from the dead; he would come in the glory of his Father to reveal his kingdom in power. When Jesus died for all who placed their trust in him, he effected reconciliation and redemption forever. This aspect of definitive, eschatological change is not inherent in the early Christian models of interpretation. It is a reasonable supposition that after his death Jesus' followers were firmly convinced that a new era had dawned in his victory over death because they already believed in the inauguration of God's sovereign rule by Jesus during his mission on earth. This mission might have seemed to fail, but now it had become clear that it was continuing. Even his death had become an instrument in drawing people to God and making them partners in God's new covenant. If Jesus' disciples believed that he was the herald and inaugurator of God's Kingdom, the growing opposition to his message must have led them to envisage the likelihood of suffering and death and to contemplate the possibility of divine intervention and vindication. Many have thought that Jesus himself was firmly convinced of his mission as herald and inaugurator of God's Kingdom (see chapter 1). In that case he, too, must have considered the likelihood of persecution and death, and believed that it would be meaningful in God's eyes. He must have been convinced that his preaching and actions would not be in vain but would be vindicated by God. However difficult it is to speak with certainty in these matters, there must
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also have been some measure of continuity between the beliefs concerning Jesus (both before and after Easter) and Jesus' own views on his mission. My focus in this chapter will be on this continuity between Jesus and his followers. My first question will be to what extent the belief in Jesus' inauguration of God's rule on earth influenced the conviction that God had made a new start by raising Jesus from the dead. Together with this I shall examine whether the notion of the "messianic woes" influenced the views of Jesus' followers on his and on their own sufferings, and whether this sheds any light upon Jesus' own announcements of death and resurrection. Next I shall ask if Jesus' own announcement of God's Kingdom, with its dynamic tension between present and future, implied a claim concerning his own person. If so, the question arises: were certain designations used for him or even by him, even before the events around and after his death led to a more developed Christology?
Resurrection and suffering as collective events It has often been argued that the expression "to raise from the dead" is to be understood primarily against the backdrop of the apocalyptic and pharisaic conceptions of the resuscitation of the dead at the end of time. This point of view has been put forward eloquently and clearly by Helmut Merklein in an article on the raising of Jesus and the beginnings of Christology. 1 He starts with one of the oldest resurrection formulas, "God raised him [Jesus] from the dead" (Rom. 10:9; 1 Cor. 6:14; 15:15; 1 Thess. 1:10), and the clause "who raised him [Jesus] from the dead" (Rom. 4:24; 8:11; 2 Cor. 4:14; Gal. 1:1, cf. Col. 2:12; Eph. 1:20) used as a predicate to specify God's acts. The emphasis is on God, who by raising Jesus shows that he is able to make a new beginning and create new life. In Romans 4 Paul first mentions as an example Abraham's belief in the God "who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist" (v. 17; cf. Benediction 2 of the Eighteen Benedictions) and then ends the chapter with a reference to "us who believe in him that raised from the dead Jesus our Lord, who was put to death for our trespasses and raised for our justification" (vv. 24-25). 2 The God who raised Jesus is the God who gives life to the dead, as will become evident in the final resurrection. The early Christians were well aware of the fact that only Jesus had been raised so far, but his resurrection formed the basis of their expectation that all believers would be raised. "God raised the Lord and will also raise us up by his power," says Paul in 1 Cor. 6:14 (cf. 2 Cor. 4:14; Rom. 8:11; 1 Thess. 4:13-18). This is brought out most clearly in the long chapter 1 Corinthians 15, where (among other things) he declares that "in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep" (v. 20, see also vv. 22-23; cf. Rom. 8:29; Col. 1:18; Acts 26:23; Rev. 1:5). 222
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The apostle uses corporate notions that stress the close connection between Jesus and those who belong to him in order to explain how their resurrection is based on his. As I have already argued, these corporate notions may be early, but Paul's conclusions about the significance of Jesus' resurrection are very likely his own. Merklein rightly regards what he calls the Begriindungszusammenhang between the statement that Jesus was raised from the dead and the general resurrection as secondary rather than original. He posits, therefore, that Jesus' resurrection was understood not only against the background of the resurrection at the end of time but also in terms of the exaltation of God's suffering righteous servants. 3 This interpretation made it easier to apply the notion of eschatological resurrection to the raising of the one man Jesus, since history clearly had not yet reached its end. If it is true that the followers of Jesus needed more than one concept to express their convictions concerning what God had done for their teacher after his death, and if the terms used to denote "raising up/resurrection" in themselves could evoke different associations, 4 there is room for another approach than that put forth by Merklein. If an interpretation in terms of a general resurrection was facilitated by the notion of the exaltation of a righteous one, it is worth asking whether the emphasis lay on the first or on the second notion. Since a question like this can probably never be answered satisfactorily, it seems more likely that from the very beginning an "opalescent" 5 notion of resurrection led to a many-faceted approach to Jesus' death and resurrection. One thing, however, stands out clearly, in my opinion. The post-Easter belief that God's vindication of Jesus had ushered in a new era (a new era that was already manifesting itself in the lives of his followers and that would culminate in their resurrection at the end of time) would never have received such prominence if the dynamic presence of the Kingdom of God had not been recognized in Jesus even before Easter, and if this had not led to the expectation that its complete realization was at hand. Dahl's view, outlined in chapter 1, is that the events of Easter and Pentecost were explained and experienced as the preliminary fulfillment of Jesus' eschatological promise; otherwise one would have had to admit that this promise, at the heart of his message, remained unfulfilled. Stanton and Hahn have a similar perspective. A few remarks by Petr Pokorny are also in order here. He reminds us that the resurrection of one particular man, Jesus, was the keystone of early Christian belief: "We may have stressed that the oldest statements of faith, on the one hand, and the later written and formulated reports of the appearances, on the other, testify to the event that inaugurates the new reality, but we have to add straight away that the new reality is bound up with Jesus of Nazareth." 6 The risen one had to be identified with the earthly Jesus, Pokorny argues. "So far as the content is concerned, the preaching of Jesus is, despite all the differences,
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so intimately bound up with the Easter message that it became the way in which the later personal identification of the resurrected one with the earthly Jesus was shown to be the inwardly logical consequence of the experience of faith." 7 Dale C. Allison has recently raised a related matter with some force in The End of the Ages Has Come: An Early Interpretation of the Passion and Resurrection of Jesus. 8 "Jesus' resurrection," he argues, "was interpreted not as an isolated event but as part of the general resurrection of the dead, and his death was understood as if it were a death in the great tribulation of the latter days" (p. 100). The first half of this assertion is clearly more problematic than its simple formulation suggests, but what about the second half? Does it point to a model of interpretation of Jesus' death to which we have as yet paid too little attention? The problems Allison encounters in substantiating his second contention are manifold. The announcement of a period of great tribulation marking the transition between the present time and the age to come is widespread in Judaism, but it is by no means found everywhere. It does not always occupy an important place, and there is a great diversity in detail, as Allison himself points out. 9 There is also no fixed terminology: the term "the woes of the Messiah," often mentioned in connection with Mark 13:8 and Col. 1:24, is found only in later, rabbinic sources. 10 It is by no means self-evident that Jesus and his earliest followers should have used this complex idea in interpreting either the conflict and death they expected or the distress they were currently experiencing. There is also a great variety in early Christian use of eschatologicallanguage and in the attempts by individual authors to express the many facets of God's definitive action on behalf of humanity as manifested in Jesus' death and resurrection. The part of the book most relevant for our present purpose is Allison's discussion of the evidence of the Pauline letters. 11 He correctly points out that Paul, convinced that the appointed time has grown very short, speaks of "the present [or impending] distress" (1 Cor. 7:26). Christians, Paul says, are children of God and fellow-heirs with Christ, "provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him" (Ram. 8:17), and the "sufferings [pathemata] of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us" (v. 18)-a statement explained in the subsequent verses (19-25). The suffering of Christians in general and of the apostle himself are portrayed as directly connected with those of Christ. Underlining the effect of incorporation in Christ, Paul declares as his goal "that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that if possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead" (Phil. 3:10--11). The expression "the sufferings of Christ" is also used in a subtle passage about suffering and comfort in 2 Cor. 1:3-7; it occurs in 1 Pet. 4:13; 5:1 (cf. 1:11; 5:9) and is probably implied in Col. 1:24, which 224
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speaks of "my sufferings for your sake" and Christ's afflictions. Similar expressions are found elsewhere in Paul's letters (2 Cor. 4:10; 13:4; Gal. 6:17). The exact meaning of these texts is difficult to establish because of the subtlety and complexity of Paul's thought, but Allison is right when he remarks that "apostolic suffering and the sufferings of Christ are so closely bound together that they are both included in the one expression, 'the sufferings of Christ' " (p. 66); the question, however, is to what extent this expression can be connected with the variegated conception of the messianic woes, particularly when Allison links this with the notion that the resurrection of Christ, "the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep" (1 Cor. 15:20), was part of the general resurrection. Paul's approach is more complicated than Allison suggests-regarding the interpretation both of Christ's resurrection and of his death. If the early Christian community saw itself as living in the time of great eschatological tribulation and looked for the general resurrection, it also knew of God's Spirit and dynamic power at work in the community. Speaking about the effects of baptism in Ram 6:3-11, Paul says that Christians have been baptized into Christ's death and can walk in newness of life (v. 4). The "not yet" implied in the words "we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his" (v. 5) is directly connected with the "already": "You must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus" (v. 11). In 1 and 2 Corinthians the apostle repeatedly stresses his weakness, most movingly so in 2 Cor. 12:1-10, where he refuses to boast of the revelations granted to him. For the sake of Christ he is content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. "I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses," he says, "that the power of Christ may rest upon me" (v. 9). As J. Christiaan Beker has argued, the presence of the new age in the old, grounded in the fact that for Paul and other early Christians Christ's resurrection was an event of the past that determined their present condition, entailed modification of the concept of the escalation of evil in the last timesP And if the notion of the messianic woes is not applicable to the sufferings of Christians without strictures, it can also not be applied without important modifications to Christ's suffering and death to which, in Paul's view, the sufferings of his followers were closely related. In his discussion of the connection between Jesus' own expectations concerning his death and the prospect of a great tribulation, Allison takes up a number of synoptic texts, some of which have already been mentioned briefly in the third chapter of this book. 13 He emphasizes that Jesus expected distress and affliction and that he "surely must have assumed that God would vindicate his cause notwithstanding the coming time of trouble" (p. 137)-also that "the Synoptics do not permit one to sever the sufferings of Jesus from the sufferings of his disciples" (p. 117). But does that mean that he shared the views of many of his contemporaries
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concerning the great tribulation? Allison thinks so, although he does not agree with Schweitzer that Jesus, at the final stage of his ministry, expected to take up in his own person all the afflictions of the final tribulation in order to bring about the arrival of the Kingdom. 14 The evidence, however, does not all point in the same direction. On the one hand, if Jesus used the term Son of man, and if he associated that term with Daniel 7, it is very likely that "he thought of his coming death and resurrection as defined by the eschatological sequence of tribulation and vindication'' (p. 137). 15 He must also have expected his disciples to share in this process. On the other hand, the predictions of a passion and resurrection found in Mark 8:31, 9:31, and 10:33--34 speak about Jesus alone, whereas elsewhere in Mark we find predictions concerning the disciples that speak of their share in the joy and the glory of the Kingdom after they have suffered in imitation of their master (8:34--9:1; 10:28-31; 35-45). And in Mark 14:25 Jesus' death is connected not with his resurrection but with his participation in the Kingdom of God (cf. Matt. 19:28, par. Luke 22:29-30, which speaks about the disciples). Do these texts presuppose a direct connection between resurrection and the arrival of the Kingdom, and did Jesus then expect that his followers would suffer and rise together with him, and at the same time? Allison thinks so: "resurrection was primarily a collective category and for Jesus himself, talk of resurrection would almost certainly have been talk about eschatological matters, about the vindication of all the saints-just as the prospect of suffering was, in Jesus' proclamation, a collective category and part of the latter days" (p. 139). Resurrection was not exclusively a collective category, however, and Jesus, while stressing the close link between his followers and himself, may have separated in time his own death and resurrection from that of (at least most of) his followers. It is also not certain that for him resurrection and realization of the Kingdom coincided. To me it seems certain that vindication was the central notion. It could be expressed in terms of the antithesis between death and resurrection, but it could also be presented in terms of God's final triumph, the realization of God's Kingdom in power. Resurrection was, of course, a precondition for partaking in God's glory, 16 but it does not follow that the coming of the Kingdom in power had to take place at the time of Jesus' expected resurrectionP The available evidence does not allow us to speak with greater certainty; any reconstruction of the history of the transmission of Jesus' sayings on this matter is bound to be tentative. One further remark is in order. It is not only Paul who thinks in terms of "not yet" and "already"; in Jesus' own announcements of the arrival of the Kingdom elements stressing its future aspect are found side by side with those emphasizing its presence. The future Kingdom is not so much proleptically present in the sufferings of the period immediately preceding 226
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the end as breaking into the present age in Jesus' words and mighty actions.
Jesus announcement of the Kingdom of God and his own person The majority of modern critics agree that the announcement of the arrival of God's Kingdom constitutes the heart of the teaching of the synoptic gospels and, indeed, of Jesus himself. This has already become clear in the short survey of research into the historical figure of Jesus presented in the first chapter. There is also considerable agreement as to the essentials of Jesus' message concerning the Kingdom. The situation has been summed up admirably by N. A. Dahl, who points out that we cannot go back beyond Albert Schweitzer's conclusion that "the eschatological message and the eschatological expectation bind Jesus and primitive Christianity into a unity." At the same time it is important to correct Schweitzer's "throroughgoing eschatology" by reminding ourselves that in Jesus' "own mission, his word and his work, God's Kingdom was already breaking in. "18 In contemporary Jewish expectations as well (apocalyptic and otherwise) the decisive change hoped for was already inherent in the present. People regarded themselves as caught up in a course of events that, thanks to God's righteousness and faithfulness, would inevitably lead to a judgment upon the world and a new dispensation in which his servants would share. One had to be prepared to repent and to lead a life of strict obedience to God's laws in order to survive the impending crisis. One dared not delay in one's preparations; reading the signs of the times one could expect God's intervention any time in the near future-although it remained in God's power to determine the exact time. 19 Jesus' message is characterized by the same urgency; the element of Naherwartung (the expectation of the speedy complete realization of God's sovereign rule on earth) is evident. The saying "But of that day or that hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father" (Mark 13:32) does not postpone events to a distant future. It is followed by the admonition, "Take heed, watch; for you do not know when the time will come" (Mark 13:33). Many early Christians shared their Master's expectation of a short-term realization of the new dispensation; as is well known, Paul was one of them. In his first letter, 1 Thessalonians, he expects to be alive at the coming of the Lord (1 Thess. 4:13-18), and later in his letter to the Romans he writes: "For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed; the night is far gone, the day is at hand" (Ram. 13:11 b-12). For Paul the message concerning the (impending) fulfillment of what has been announced is founded in what God has already done in Jesus Christ, "For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, 227
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through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep" (1 Thess. 4:14). The certainty concerning what has taken place determines and intensifies the hope for what is sure to happen soon. 20 The same is true with Jesus. Notwithstanding his links with John the Baptist, God's final prophet announcing God's judgment and urging repentance, he is more than John and he has a different message. To borrow a few phrases from Helmut Merklein in another clear and straightforward article, "Jesus, Kiinder des Reiches Gottes," 21 John showed Israel the possibility to escape from the impending doom, but Jesus announced a new divine initiative, a new reality, new salvation. He urged people to accept what God offers, here and now. Yet our necessary emphasis on the present aspects of God's Kingdom in Jesus' teaching should not induce us to fail to appreciate the future aspects and the intrinsic connection between present and future in the announcements of the Kingdom. I have already described (in chapter 1) T. W. Manson's one-sided approach to the problem. C. H. Dodd, with whom he agreed in this matter, explained away the future elements of Jesus' message by taking them as a figure of speech. In The Parables of the Kingdom he writes, "It appears that while Jesus employed the traditional symbolism of apocalypse to indicate the 'other-worldly' or absolute character of the Kingdom of God, He used parables to enforce and illustrate the idea that the Kingdom of God had come upon men there and then" (p. 197). Dodd's and Manson's stress on "realized eschatology" betrays uneasiness about the meaning and relevance of apocalyptic imagery. It is interesting to note that in this respect they resemble R. Bultmann, notwithstanding his very different approach to the study of the synoptic gospels (see chapter 2). Amos Wilder's criticism of Bultmann's approach also applies to Dodd and Manson. We cannot do justice to the expectations of Israel or to Jesus' message if we do not take very seriously that they all were convinced that God would effectively intervene in human history and would judge and transform his creation. 22 In many passages, in Q as well as in Mark, "the dynamic presence of the Kingdom of God in the words and deeds of Jesus receives emphasis. What happens through him and around him cannot but lead to the full realization of God's sovereign rule on earth expected to take place in the near future on God's initiative .... In view of the unanimity of our sources in mentioning both aspects we have to assume that he spoke about the Kingdom as a dynamic entity, both present and yet to be fully realized, and-very important-that he acted on that conviction." 23 The many sayings about the Kingdom of God have received extensive treatment elsewhere; 24 for our present purpose it seems worthwile to summarize some important points. First, we should note Jesus' announcement of the fulfillment of time and the nearness of the Kingdom in Mark 1:15, Jesus' answer to the disci-
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pies of John the Baptist-"Go and tell John what you have seen and heard!" in Q (Luke 7:18-23, par. Matt. 11:2-6)-and the first beatitude, also in Q (Luke 6:20)-"Blessed are you poor, for yours is the kingdom of God" (emphasis added), combined with the following two promising to those who hunger that they shall be satisfied, and to those who weep that they shall laugh (Luke 6:21). The parables of growth (or contrast: Mark 4:2-8, 26-29, 30--32, and others) illustrate that, however small and insignificant the beginning may seem, the end will be glorious and plentiful. Jesus' message was addressed especially to the poor, the underprivileged, and the outcasts; and this message was borne out in his solidarity with them. He shared meals with tax collectors and sinners and was reproached for being their friend (Mark 2:14--17 and par.; Luke 7:34, par. Matt. 11:19 [Q]). The future Kingdom of God is also portrayed as a meal in which many will participate (Luke 13:28-29, par. Matt. 8:11-12; Luke 22:28-30, cf. Matt. 19:28; the two versions of the parable of the great feast in Luke 14:15-24 and Matt. 22:1-14). Next, there are Jesus' healings and exorcisms, evidence of God's power acting through Jesus in order to destroy the dominion of Satan (Mark 3:22-30). Q has handed down a word of Jesus linking the exorcising of demons with the arrival of God's Kingdom: "But if it is by the finger of God that I cast out demons, then the kingdom of God has come upon you" (Luke 11:20; the parallel Matt. 12:28 reads "by the Spirit of God"). Above all Jesus acts as a person with authority. He calls people and they leave everything to follow him (e.g., in Mark 1:16-20, 2:14). Mark relates that after his very first public appearance at Capernaum people wonder who he is. He teaches with authority, and not as the scribes. He commands even the evil spirits and they obey him (Mark 1:21-28). He forgives sins (Mark 2:10) and interprets the law in a radical, new way (Matt. 5:21-48, cf. Luke 6:27-36; Mark 7:1-23, par. Matt. 15:1-20), claiming to interpret the essence of God's commandments over and against the human traditions cherished by his opponents. However we may reconstruct the course of events connected with Jesus' final confrontation with the authorities in Jerusalem, we may safely say that the central issue at stake was Jesus' claim to authority. 25 Either he spoke and acted blasphemously (Mark 2:7; 14:64) or he spoke with a special mandate from God ("from heaven,'' Mark 11:27-33). Either he cast out demons as servant of the prince of demons or he did so inspired and empowered by God's Holy Spirit (Mark 3:22-30). Either he is insane or he is one who does the will of God in a singular fashion (see the controversy with his relatives in Mark 3:21, 31-35). Does Jesus' message concerning God's Kingdom, then, manifesting itself in his own words and deeds, imply a claim for himself? Does the fact that he presents the Kingdom as breaking forth now, in what he says and does, imply some form of Christology? At this point scholars proceed with utmost caution. 229
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We have already encountered Bultmann's disinclination-beyond conceding that Jesus' call to decision implies a Christology-to investigate the continuity between the period before and after Easter in this highly important issue. It was the kerygma of the early Church that made the Proclaimer the Proclaimed. We have also seen that Bultmann's pupil Bornkamm called Jesus unique, in the sense that he claimed to come with God's definitive offer and appeal; yet Jesus did not claim any messianic titles for himself. 26 An important argument for the theory that Jesus did not use any Hoheitstitel is that they would have hedged in and, in fact, fixed Jesus' eschatological uniqueness, his claim to speak directly on behalf of God. This opinion is also found outside the Bultmannian school. Well known is Eduard Schweizer's description of Jesus as the man who fits no formula ("der Mann, der alle Schemen sprengt''), leading to the conclusion that "in any case Jesus did not assume any current title with an exalted meaning" but that "Jesus keeps all the possibilities open; he refuses to use titles, which of necessity define and delimit, to make God's free action an object of human thought, placing it at the disposal of human mind. "27 Yet there is also another aspect, well brought out by F. Hahn when he identified as the real secret of Jesus' mission his inner certainty that he stood in a very special relationship to God as his Father. Very interesting and in a way typical of much modern scholarship is H. Merklein's approach in "Jesus, Kiinder des Reiches Gottes." On the one hand, he says, it is clear that a decision regarding the message of the Kingdom leads to a decision regarding Jesus as proclaimer and representative of the Kingdom (p. 138; cf. p. 151). The Lord's Prayer (Luke 11:2-4, par. Matt. 6:9-13) shows that the prayer for the coming of the Kingdom is directly connected with the freedom to address God as Father. Jesus addresses God as Father and teaches his disciples to do the same. A new era has begun, and at the heart of it is this special, intimate relationship between Jesus and his Father (pp. 141-142, cf. pp. 151-152). 28 On the other hand, Merklein is of the opinion that an explicit Christology making use of messianic titles did not originate before Easter, the event which made it clear that God had inaugurated a new era. He immediately adds, however, that this theory does not exclude but rather assumes that such an explicit Christology presupposes Jesus' word and work and the eschatological authoritative claim inherent to it. 29 I think there is room for a different approach. The use of the terms implicit and explicit is helpful insofar as it expresses the element of continuity in the positive response to Jesus before and after Easter. But if we think of explicit Christology primarily as a Christology of titles, and titles as fixed concepts, as unequivocal terms defining Jesus' exact role in God's dealings with Israel and the world, then we are on the wrong track. Anyone studying the use of the so-called Hoheitstitel within and outside
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Judaism 30 is immediately struck by the diverse ways in which they are used in a variety of literary and historical contexts. Certain terms stand for different combinations of traditional concepts (often connected with certain texts from Scripture), adapted to the specific situations of the authors or of their readers. I do not see why Jesus should not have clarified his own ideas about his mission, meditating in silence, praying to his God, speaking to his disciples, with the help of terms used to denote special servants of God in Israel's expectations of the future-and why he should not have applied them to his particular situation in a highly individual way. The term Son of man, as noted in the third chapter, was not used as a title in contemporary Judaism, nor did Jesus use it as a title for himself. Yet it is likely that what was related about "one like a Son of man" in Daniel 7 deeply influenced Jesus' thought about his mission and his destiny. His use of the term as a cryptic self-designation betrays a highly individual interpretation of an apocalyptic concept found in the scriptures. A second remark is in order. The more stress is laid on the continuity between the eschatological expectations of Jesus' followers after Easter and those before, including the conviction that God's Kingdom was already dynamically present in the words and deeds of the earthly Jesus, the less likely it becomes that there was a clear discontinuity in the use of christological designations. Even during his lifetime, did Jesus' unique claim to authority not ask for explicit statements, both on the part of his followers and on his own part? If an incipient explicit Christology is plausible in theory, are there any indications that it did in fact exist, and that Jesus himself admitted its legitimacy? In the two concluding sections I shall look at the use of the designations "Messiah/Christ" and "Son of God." Limiting myself to actual occurrences of the term Messiah/Christ, I again start with a comparison of the use of these designations in early formulas in Paul's letters, in Mark, and in Q, and attempt to "ask back" to Jesus himself.
Jesus as the Messiah/Christ The word Messiah-or, literally, "anointed one,"-is frequently used as a general designation for God's final envoy on earth at the inauguration of a new era,3 1 but this seems to me to lead to confusion. The term anointed one occurs surprisingly seldom in Jewish sources around the beginning of the Common Era. If it is used at all to refer to someone playing a role in God's final intervention, it denotes an ideal Davidic king. Only at Qumran is the term connected a few times with the awaited high priest, and also once with a future prophet. It is not at all self-evident that the word christos should have become the central term to be used for Jesus in early Christianity. 32 At what stage did it become so important? About half the occurrences of the term in the New Testament are found in the letters of Paul. Here, as 231
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N. A. Dahl has shown, 33 it is seldom used with a technical meaning. The designation Christ "receives its content not through a previously-fixed conception of messiahship but rather from the person and work of Jesus Christ." Already before Paul Jesus was called christos, particularly in connection with the formula "Christ died for us/you"-as noted in the preceding chapter. This appellation is also found in double formulas speaking about Jesus' death and resurrection (e.g., 1 Cor. 15:3-5, cf. 12-19). And, in general, christos stands for what is believed and proclaimed about Jesus, as "the Gospel" centering around his death and resurrection. How then did this term come to be connected with Jesus' death and resurrection? Many have accepted Dahl's answer in yet another influential article, "The Crucified Messiah." 34 As Dahl aptly points out, "from the discovery of the empty tomb (if it is historical) and from the appearances of the Resurrected One it could be inferred that Jesus lives and is exalted to heaven. But from this it could not be inferred that he is the Messiah" (pp. 25-26). He continues: "If he was crucified as an alleged Messiah, thenbut only then-does faith in his resurrection necessarily become faith in the resurrection of the Messiah. In this way the distinctiveness of the Christian idea of the Messiah, in contrast to the Jewish, was given from the outset" (p. 26).35 Mark 15 tells us that Jesus was crucified as "King of the Jews"-that is, as one pretending to be the Messiah (see also Mark 14:61-62). Dahl does not think that Jesus ever used this title for himself. But many of his more ardent followers certainly did. One should not speak of a "non-messianic history before the passion,'' but rather of "a movement of broken messianic hopes" (p. 32). It is not at all strange that the messianic hopes of Jesus' followers and his sovereign attitude to the Law and Jewish customs, coupled with severe criticism of the Jewish establishment, should have led the authorities to accuse him of royal-messianic claims. And Jesus "could not deny the charge that he was the Messiah without thereby putting in question the final eschatological validity of his whole message." By not denying it, he accepted the cross; "his willingness to suffer is implicit in Jesus' behavior and attitude throughout his preaching" (p. 33). Dahl's caution is to be commended, but the weak point in his reconstruction is his theory that it was Jesus' opponents who made his messiahship the central question and forced Jesus to accept the charge "by his silence, if not in any other way," as Dahl puts it (p. 34). In his view, only their accusation and Jesus' reaction to it led to the adoption of the christos-title in early Christianity and to its obtaining a central position, directly connected with Jesus' death and resurrection. I must confess that I find it difficult to accept that Jesus' opponents were able to make messiahship the decisive issue, while Jesus himself avoided this designation and discouraged his followers to use it in connection with him. 36 It is not so easy, however, to demonstrate that he did accept the title Messiah. 232
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The term christos is not found in the sayings which can be attributed to Q, and it occurs only a few times in the Gospel of Mark. Among the
crucial instances is Peter's confession "You are the Messiah/Christ" in 8:29, said to be elicited by Jesus himself. It constitutes a turning point in Mark's narrative, after the description of Jesus' activity in Galilee as a unique preacher, teacher, and exorcist at the turn of times. Jesus does not contradict this confession but commands his disciples to keep it secret (8:30). The first of the three predictions of Jesus' suffering, death, and resurrection follows immediately (8:31), with the designation "Son of man." For Mark the confession "Jesus is the Christ" presupposes the entire story of Jesus' death, resurrection, and finally the parousia (8:38). Jesus declares this openly in 14:61-62 in answer to the high priest's question, "Are you the Christ, the Son of the Blessed?" At that crucial moment, facing death, Jesus replies: "I am; and you will see the Son of man sitting at the right hand of power, and coming with the clouds of heaven." Earlier in the story Jesus praises the faith of the blind beggar Bartimaeus, whom he heals and accepts as his follower after Bartimaeus has addressed him as "Son of David" (10:46-52). At Jesus' entry into Jerusalem he is greeted as one "who comes in the name of the Lord" and associated with "the kingdom of our father David that is coming" (11:9-10). In 12:35-37 Jesus introduces the equation of the Messiah with the son of David as an opinion typically held by the scribes. Referring to Ps. 110:1, he points out that David calls him Lord. Although he does not explicitly refer to himself as the Messiah, readers of Mark will immediately note that Ps. 110:1 quoted here is also alluded to in Mark 14:61-62. For Mark Jesus is the Messiah, Son of David. He works on earth as a prophet, teacher, and exorcist; and in the future, after God has vindicated him, he will exercise the functions of the one like a Son of man of Daniel 7. Moreover, for Mark he is Son of God (8:38; 14:61-62, and other texts, to be discussed in the next section). 37 The question remains, however, whether Mark's presentation of Jesus' reaction to the title christos reflects Jesus' own attitude or the early Christology also expressed in the early pre-Pauline formulas. It is important to remember that Isa. 11:1-5, "the Spirit of the LoRD shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the LORD," has exercised a considerable influence on Jewish expectations concerning the coming royal Son of David. A very conspicuous example is Ps. Sol. 17, often (onesidedly) referred to as a typical example of the earthly and nationalistic messianic expectation. In the last part of this psalm (vv. 30-45) the king is portrayed as "strong with holy spirit, wise in the counsel of understanding with strength and righteousness" (v. 37).38 In the Old Testament David is not only king but also psalmist, prophet, and exorcist. In 1 Sam. 16:1-13 we hear how, immediately after Samuel had anointed him, "the Spirit of the LoRD came mightily upon David from 233
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that day forward" (v. 13). The Spirit of the Lord departs from Saul, and it is David who by singing hymns makes the evil Spirit that torments the king depart (1 Sam. 16:14-23). In the introduction to the last words of David (2 Sam. 23:1-7) he is called, among other things, "the anointed of the God of Jacob," and David is recorded as saying, "The Spirit of the LORD speaks by me" (vv. 1-2). Josephus, Ant. 6.166-168 describes David's exorcisms; Ps. Philo LAB 59-60 mentions new Davidic psalms in this connection, as does the 11 Q Psalms Scroll. This last source also includes a list of "David's compositions" that not only mentions an enormous number of psalms and hymns but also specifies that David composed four "songs for making music for the stricken." All his compositions were spoken "through prophecy given to him from before the Most High" (11 QPs• Dav. Comp. vv. 9-11). Also in Mark 12:36 and in Acts 1:16 and 4:25 David is said to have spoken through the Holy Spirit, and in Acts 2:30 he is called a prophet. Mark's characterization of Jesus' activity on earth as prophet, teacher and exorcist as that of "the Christ, Son of David" is very much in line, then, with the picture of David found in parts of the Old Testament and in some Jewish sources, as well as with certain expectations concerning the future ideal Son of David. The evangelist separates prophecy and exorcism from the royal aspects of the Messiah's activity, however; they are specifically connected with the period after Jesus' earthly life, when he will exercise royal power in the context of the realization of God's sovereign rule on earth (8:38-9:1; 14:62). If Jesus' messiahship became an issue at his trial before Pilate only because the designation Messiah had earlier been used in connection with Jesus, and probably by Jesus himself, it is quite possible that Mark's interpretation is accurate. Jesus may have understood himself as a prophetic Son of David called to proclaim the Gospel and exorcise demons in order to inaugurate God's Kingdom, and destined to hold full royal power in the near future. If so, he could regard himself as the Lord's anointed like David, not only in the future, but already during his prophetic work in Galilee. 39 This is how his disciples saw him, as Mark's clearly stylized, prototypical story of Peter's confession seeks to make clear. Jesus' messiahship could be and indeed was misunderstood by some of his followers and many of his opponents alike, but there is no reason to deny that he probably did regard himself as the Lord's anointed in the sense indicated. Definitive proof cannot be adduced. But this reconstruction al10ws for continuity, also in the use of the designation Messiah, before and after Easter. It is certainly one-sided, if not wrong altogether, to connect the title Messiah exclusively with the display of royal power and then to state that Jesus could be called Messiah only after his vindication by means of his resurrection. 40 The Easter experiences affirmed earlier belief in Jesus 234
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as Christ and expectations concerning his future and that of those connected with him. The paradox that the Messiah sent to Israel had been put to death on the cross made an explanation of the meaning of his death a matter of urgency, as we have seen. This Messiah was, indeed, a servantMessiah in a very special sense.
Jesus as the Son of God Finally, we must ask if Jesus called himself Son of God and if it is possible to say something more about the special relationship between Jesus and God, whom he is reported to have called his Father. 41 In the earliest Christian traditions accessible to us the term Son of God is used in different contexts with different connotations. In Gal. 4:4--5 Paul employs an ancient pattern of thought when he writes, "But when the time had fully come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons." The ancient kernel is here: "God sent his Son in order that ... "-found in Rom. 8:3-4, John 3:16-17, and 1 John 4:9 as well. It is also reflected in the parable of the vineyard in Mark 12:1-9: "He had still one other, a beloved son; finally he sent him to them" (v. 6). The emphasis is on the unique relationship between God and the Son whom he sends at the turn of times in order to bring about a fundamental change in the lives of those who accept him. The nature of that change can be expressed in different terms; for Paul and John the pattern implies pre-existence, but this is not the case in Mark, where it is combined with the concept of Jesus as God's final envoy rejected by Israel. 42 In a number of other texts we find Son of God together with Son of David or Messiah (see, as mentioned in the preceding section, Mark 12:35-37; 14:61-62; Rom. 1:3-4). Here Son of God is associated especially with the period after the exaltation/resurrection (cf. also in Mark 8:38; 1 Thess. 1:9-10). This is also the case in Acts 13:33-34, where Ps. 2:7 is applied to Jesus' resurrection. 43 These occurrences of Son of God should be seen in the context of the use of the term to denote the Davidic king in Old Testament texts (2 Sam. 7:12-14; Ps. 2:7; Ps. 89:3-4, 26-27; 1 Chron. 17:13; 22:10; 28:6). 44 The special connection between sonship and resurrection may have been inspired by the prophecy attributed to Nathan in 2 Sam. 7:12-14: "I will raise up your offspring after you. . . . I will establish the throne of his kingdom for ever. ... I will be his father, and he shall be my son." 45 But in view of the interpretation of the term Messiah outlined above, it seems doubtful that Jesus' sonship would have been regarded as beginning only with his exaltation, even where that is stressed. After Jesus' resurrection it became evident what he, as Son of David and Messiah, already was; it also became apparent that his reign was to last forever. 235
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Paul and Mark successfully combined this tradition about the royal Son of God with the strand of thought which implies that Jesus was Son of God from the very moment his mission began. In the Passion story Mark, too, incorporates the conception of the exemplary righteous servant as son of God (see chapter 3) found in Wisd. Sol. 2:12-20; 5:1-7; see Mark 15:29-32 (and especially Matt. 27:39-44) and 15:39 (par. Matt. 27:54; Luke 23:47); he even takes one further important step by attributing the introduction of the term Son of God into the story of the Gospel to God himself. It is God who declares, "Thou art my beloved Son," when Jesus is baptized and receives the Spirit (1:10-11), and it is God who confirms this, saying, "This is my beloved Son; listen to him," at the transfiguration (9:7). For Mark, Jesus' sonship is rooted in a special relationship inaugurated by God himself. 46 Human beings may not be aware of it (in fact, Jesus' three most intimate disciples know this only because it is revealed to them at the transfiguration), but the demons recognize the Son of God who is mightier than they themselves (3:11; 5:7; cf. 1:24). In Mark, Jesus is also portrayed as addressing God as Abba, Father. At Gethsemane he prays: "Abba, Father, all things are possible to thee; remove this cup from me; yet not what I will, but what thou wilt" (14:36). The Aramaic word abba was used in early Christian prayers, as Paul shows in Gal. 4:4-7. God sent his Son, he says, in order that we might receive adoption as sons. He continues: "And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying 'Abba! Father!'" (v. 6; cf. Rom. 8:14--17). We may assume that this reflects an ancient usage, rooted in the tradition that Jesus himself called God "Father" and that he taught his disciples to pray in the same wayY The centrality of the relationship to God as Father is clearly evident in the Lord's Prayer, which belongs to the Q-material (Luke 11:4, par. Matt. 6:9-13), and it also comes to expression in another important Q-passage, Luke 10:21-22 (par. Matt. 11:25-27). This passage, which opens with the words, "I thank thee, Father, Lord of heaven and earth," stresses the unique relationship between the Father and the Son, to whom all real knowledge of God is imparted in order that he may reveal it to those he chooses. I cannot treat this frequently discussed passage in detail here. This much is clear, however: the relationship between Father and Son pictured here goes beyond that of the truly righteous man who is called son of God in Wisd. Sol. 2:13, 16-18. It is closer to that between (female) Wisdom and God in Wisd. Sol. 8:3--4 (cf. 9:9): "She glorifies her noble birth by living with God, and the Lord of all loves her. For she is an initiate in the knowledge of God, and an associate in his works." 236
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Jesus is more than a supremely wise and righteous man or the ideal representative of Wisdom on earth. He addresses God as Father and speaks and acts out of his very special union with God. Luke 10:21-22 may represent the very core of Jesus' relationship to God, which goes beyond the use of any special title. 48 Yet here, too, continuity exists between the early Christology expressed in the words "Jesus is the Son of God" and Jesus' own expression of his relationship to his Father. Jesus not only announced the Kingdom of God; he inaugurated it. This placed him in a unique relationship to God, and he was aware of it when he addressed God as Father. It is probable that he regarded himself as the Messiah and Son of David inspired and empowered by the Spirit. We do not know whether he called himself Son of God, but he certainly spoke and acted as the Son on whom the Father had bestowed everything to be his servant at a supreme moment: the long-awaited turning point in human history.
Notes 1 "Die Auferweckung Jesu und die Anfiinge der Christologie (Messias bzw. Sohn Gottes und Menschensohn)," ZNW72 (1981), 1-26, now in H. Merklein, Studien zu Jesus und Paulus (WUNT 43; Tiibingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1987), 221-246. The statements relevant to our present purpose are found on pp. 1--4 (221-224 ). See also Merklein's notes for the views of other interpreters. 2 See also Christology in Context, 37-38. 3 Merklein rejects K. Berger's theory that the resurrection of Jesus should be viewed against the background of Jewish notions about the death and resurrection of (a) final, eschatological prophet(s). In his voluminous study Die Auferstehung des Propheten und die Erhohung des Menschensohnes: Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur Deutung des Geschickes Jesu in fruhchristlichen Texlen (SUNT 13; Gottingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1976), Berger has brought together a wealth of interesting material to support his thesis. The central question is, however, how many of the parallels taken mainly from late texts of Christian origin (or at least handed down by Christians) can really prove what they are supposed to prove. Central to Berger's argument are, e.g., Mark 6:14 and Rev. 11:1-13. We shall be wise to concentrate on the traditions concerning suffering righteous servants and martyrs (which also play a role in Berger's argumentation). 4 As is clear from many studies devoted to the subject; see those mentioned by Merklein in his note 9 and H. C. C. Cavallin, Life after Death I (CBNT 7, 1; Lund: C. W. K. Gleerup, 1977). 5 In his Jesus' Predictions of Vindication and Resurrection: The Provenance, Meaning and Correlation of the Synoptic Predictions (WUNT 11 20, Tiibingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1986), H. F. Bayer speaks of the "opalescent meaning of 'resurrection' in the first part of the first century A.D." (25). 6 See "The Decisive Impulse," chapter 3 of The Genesis of Christology; quotation from p. 128. 7 The word later has to be seen in light of Pokornfs argument in an earlier section of his work to which he refers here ("The Positive Sign," pp. 114-119). There he distinguishes a stage in which the eschatological ecstatic joy
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22
pre-dominated over other expressions of faith from a later one in which the acclamations and confessional phrases are first formulated. He emphasizes that Christian worship continued to contain an element of anticipation of eschatological happiness and that formulaic expressions were contained within the structure of primitive Christian joy (see esp. pp. 117-118). (Edinburgh: T. and T. Clark, 1987). Originally published by Fortress Press, Philadelphia (1985). See his chapter 2, "The Great Tribulation in Jewish Literature" (5-25). See P. Volz, Die Eschatologie der jUdischen Gemeinde im neutestamentlichen Zeitalter (Tiibingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1934, Reprint Hildesheim: G. Olms, 1966), § 31, "Die letzte bose Zeit" (pp. 147-163; on p. 147 there is a small excursus on the expression "the woes of the Messiah"). Cf. also Allison, p. 6, n. 6. See his chapter 6, "The Pauline Epistles" (62--69). J. Christiaan Beker, Paul the Apostle: The Triumph of God in Life and Thought (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1980), 145-146: "Christians do not simply 'endure' the tribulations of the end time and do not simply 'wait' for the end of suffering in God's glorious new age. Christians can already 'glory' in sufferings (Rom. 5:3), because God's power manifests itself in the midst of suffering." See chapter 11 "The Death of Jesus and the Great Tribulation" (115-141 ), where he mentions, e.g., Luke 12:51-53, par. Matt. 10:34--36 (Q); Matt. 11:12-13, par. Luke 16:16 (Q); Mark 3:27; Luke 12:49-50, as well as sayings concerning the suffering of Jesus and his disciples and their vindication. The authenticity and exact meaning of these passages cannot be discussed here. See The Quest of the Historical Jesus, as discussed in chapter 1 of this book. See the entire section on "Son of man" (128-137). Referring to T. W. Manson's view, Allison considers it likely that "when Jesus spoke of the Son of man he had in view a community at whose head he saw himself: a corporate personality embodied most fully in his own person." Paul specifies: "For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable nature must put on the imperishable, and this mortal nature must put on immortality" (1 Cor. 15:52-53, cf. vv. 50-51 and 1 Thess, 4:13-18). See H. F. Bayer, Jesus' Predictions of Vindication and Resurrection, p. 256: "Jesus' anticipation of the parousia is clearly distinguishable from his anticipation of vindication and resurrection. While the question of near-expectation remains open, a clear distinction between the categories or parousia and resurrection is traceable to the earliest strands of tradition and discourages the idea of the interchangeability of the two concepts." See Dahl, "The Problem of the Historical Jesus," p. 82 (already quoted in chapter 1). On this, see my Groningen lecture De Toekomstverwachting in de Psabnen van Salomo (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1965), 16-17, now translated as "The Expectation of the Future in the Psalms of Solomon," Neotestamentica 23 (1989), 93-117; see esp. 99-100. On this, see also my Christology in Context, 115-120. Most easily accessible in his Studien zu Jesus und Paulus (see note 1 of this chapter), 127-156; the reference in the text is top. 130. See also his books Die Gottesherrschaft als Handlungsprinzip (Forschung zur Bibel 34; Wiirzburg: Echter Verlag, 1978), and especially Jesu Botschaft von der Gottesherrschaft: Eine Skizze (SBS 111; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1983). See also Wilder's article "Eschatological Imagery and Earthly Circumstance," NTS 5 (1958-1959), 229-245. See especially p. 231: "The eschatological myth
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JESUS AS INAUGURATOR OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD
23 24 25
26
27
28 29 30
31
dramatizes the transfiguration of the world and is not a mere poetry of an unthinkable a-temporal state" and p. 232: "the characteristic imagery everywhere suggests a renewed or fulfilled creation, not an a-cosmic state." So my summary on p. 206 of Christology in Context; see the entire section on "Jesus and the Kingdom of God" (pp. 205-208). See in particular G. R. Beasley-Murray,Jesus and the Kingdom of God (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans and Exeter: Paternoster Press, 1986). On these questions see E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, Part Three, "Conflict and Death" (244-318). On p. 267 he writes: "Thus one can understand why scholars speak of Jesus' 'sovereign freedom' over the law. He apparently did not think that it could be freely transgressed, but rather that it was not final. This attitude almost certainly sprang from his conviction that the new age was at hand." See also R. Leivestad, Jesus in His Own Perspective: "it is doubtful that there is any authentic tradition which makes the person of Jesus central, to the extent that it is he who acts as saviour or judge, and it is he upon whom people's fate depends. That which determines salvation or condemnation is whether one receives the message of the Kingdom of God and becomes obedient to God, not whether one associates with the man Jesus" (p. 120). See Schweizer's Jesus (London: SCM Press and Richmond: John Knox, 1971), 21, 22. In the German original, Jesus Christus im vielftiltigen Zeugnis des Neuen Testaments (Munich and Hamburg: Siebenstern Taschenbuch Verlag, 1968), 25-26: "So oder so hat Jesus jedenfalls keinen gangigen Titel im Sinne einer Hoheitsaussage aufgenommen" but "Jesus hielt das Feld offen, ohne durch Titel, die notwendig immer fixieren und ausschliessen, Gottes freies Handeln so zum Objekt menschlichen Denkens werden zu lassen, dass dieses dari.iber verfi.igen konnte." See also Jesu Botschaft von der Gottesherrschaft, 83-91. See "Die Auferweckung Jesu und die Anfange der Christologie," p. 221 (especially note 4) and also "Jesus, Ktinder des Reiches Gottes," 153-154; Jesu Botschaft von der Gottesherrschaft, 145-171. See, e.g., the three recent "Christologies of the New Testament" that take the titles as their starting point: 0. Cullmann, The Christology of the New Testament, 2d ed. (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1963); F. Hahn, The Titles of Jesus in Christology: Their History in Early Christianity (London: Lutterworth and New York: World Publishing Co, 1969), translation of Christologische Hoheitstitel: Ihre Geschichte im fruhen Christentum (FRLANT 83; Gottingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1963), and R. H. Fuller, The Foundations of New Testament Christology (London: Lutterworth and New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1965). So also recently G. R. Beasley-Murray in his Jesus and the Kingdom at the end of an interesting excursus, "The Relation of Jesus to the Kingdom of God in the Present" (144-146). Here he calls Jesus the "Champion or Contender for the Kingdom of God" (Mark 3:27), "Initiator of the Kingdom" (Matt. 11:12), "Instrument of the Kingdom" (Matt. 12:28), "Representative of the Kingdom of God" (Luke 17:20-21), "Mediator of the Kingdom" (Mark 2:18-19), "Bearer of the Kingdom" (Matt. 11:5), and "Revealer of the Kingdom" (Matt. 13:16-17). He concludes, "Since we would do well to have a term to denote the manifold function of Jesus with respect to the Kingdom of God, and since the title Messiah is the acknowledged umbrella term to denote the representative of the Kingdom, it is difficult to avoid appropriating it for Jesus" (p. 146). Comparable is P. Pokorn:fs use of the term. Commenting on the fact that the
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32
33
34
35
36
37 38 39
40
41 42 43 44 45
expectation of the resurrection of many was fulfilled in the resurrection of one person Jesus, he says: "It follows that everybody's future is dependent on this man. The concretisation implies the representative status of this one person, as the simple statements of faith already indicate .... If only one person has risen, he must be the Messiah" (The Genesis of Christology, p. 138). See my articles "The Use of the Word 'Anointed' in the Time of Jesus," NovT 8 (1966), 132-148, and "The Earliest Christian Use of Christos: Some Suggestions," NTS 32 (1986), 321-343. What follows in this section can be found in more detail in the latter article; cf. Christology in Context, 166-167, 208-211. See "The Messiahship of Jesus in Paul," in The Crucified Messiah and Other Essays, 37-47, translation of "Die Messianitat Jesu bei Paulus," in Studia Paulina in honorem Johannis de Zwaan (Haarlem: Erven F. Bohn, 1953), 83-95. The quotation in the text is from p. 40. In The Crucified Messiah and Other Essays, 10-36. It goes back to "Der gekreuzigte Messias," in H. Ristow and K. Matthiae (eds.), Der historische Jesus und der kerygmatische Christus (Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1960), 149-169. On the same page he writes: "Jewish messianic expectations do not explain the meaning of the name Messiah assigned to Jesus. Neither can it be said that the title Messiah is the necessary contemporary expression for the conviction that Jesus is the eschatological bringer of salvation. This is no more valid than the older assertion that messiahship was the necessary garb for the archetypal religious self-consciousness of Jesus." So also Ragnar Leivestad, Jesus in His Own Perspective, 95-96. In my article "The Earliest Use of Christos: Some Suggestions" I was not aware of the fact that Leivestad had also criticized Dahl on this point in the original Norwegian version of his book, which appeared in 1982. Cf. the ancient formula in Rom. 1:3-4 "descended from David according to the flesh and designated Son of God in power according to the Spirit of holiness by his resurrection from the dead." See M.-A. Chevallier, L'Esprit et le Messie dans le Bas-Judaisme et le Nouveau Testament (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1958). R. Leivestad, Jesus in His Own Perspective, 99-100, pointing only to 1 Sam. 16:13, does not go far enough when he speaks of Jesus, as messias designatus. David was anointed long before he assumed his kingdom "in power"; yet he is clearly "the Lord's anointed" from the very moment Samuel has anointed him (1 Sam. 16:6-13). Helmut Merklein is of this opinion, together with many other scholars; see "Die Auferweckung Jesu und die Anfange der Christologie," esp. pp. 224-236. According to Merklein, the oldest explicit Christology is that which connects resurrection and enthronement (Mark 14:61-62; Rom. 1:3-4; 1 Thess. 1:9-10; Acts 2:32-36; 13:33). Ferdinand Hahn went even farther and assumed that the title Messiah was originally connected with the parousia (see The Titles of Jesus in Christology, 162). On this see also Christology in Context, 167-169, 207-208. See also Christology in Context, 42-43, 190-194. This psalm verse is also quoted in Heb. 5:5 and 1:5 (there together with 2 Sam. 7:14; cf. Luke 1:32-33). See also Acts 2:32-36. Cf. 4 QF!or 1:7-11, quoting from 2 Sam. 7:11-14 in connection with the "Branch of David," and 4 QpsDanA'. So, e.g., M. Hen gel, The Son of God (Philadelphia: Fortress Press and London:
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JESUS AS INAUGURATOR OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD
SCM Press, 1976), 63-64, translation of Der So/m Gottes (Ttibingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1975), 100-101. Hengel refers here to 0. Betz and E. Schweizer. 46 On this see especially J. D. Kingsbury, The Christology of Mark's Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983), 60-68. See also Mark 13:32. Mark begins his book with the sentence "The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God" (1:1), but here, as is well known, it is doubtful whether "Son of God" is original. 47 On the use of abba (and the recent research on it), see Joseph A. Fitzmyer's excellent contribution "Abba and Jesus' Relation to God" in A Cause de l'Evangile: Etudes sur les Synoptiques et les Actes offerts a Dom Jacques Dupont (Lectio Divina 123; Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1985), 15-38. 48 On this see, again, Fitzmyer, especially pp. 35-38, and also the careful study of the passage by B. M. F. van Iersel in 'Der Sohn' in den synoptischen Jesusworten, 2d ed. (NovT Sup 3; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1964), 146-164.
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Part 2 ETHICS AND PIETY
36
THE ETHICAL TEACHING OF JESUS J. Klausner Source: Jesus of Nazareth: His Life, Times and Teaching (London: George Alien & Unwin,
1925),pp.381-397.
The main strength of Jesus lay in his ethical teaching. If we omitted the miracles and a few mystical sayings which tend to deify the Son of man, and preserved only the moral precepts and parables, the Gospels would count as one of the most wonderful collections of ethical teaching in the world. These sayings and parables are to be found chiefly in Matthew and are mainly grouped together in what is called "The Sermon on the Mount." 1 Such sayings are comparatively few in Mark, and those which occur in Luke and are lacking in Mark and Matthew, are open to suspicion as emanating from a period later than Jesus. An attempt will here be made to give the moral principles as we find them in Matthew, using in addition what is common to Mark and Luke, 2 but drawing, in the main, from the Sermon on the Mount. The "blessed," they whose "reward is great in heaven," are the poor, they that hunger and thirst, the meek, the mourners, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peace-makers, the persecuted, and those who are reviled and blasphemed. A man may not be angry with his brother;3 he may not call his fellow "rascal" or "fool." Before making a religious offering a man should be reconciled with any whom he may have offended. He who looks on a woman and lusts after her, commits adultery in his heart. He who divorces his wife (and marries another) commits adultery, and a divorced woman who is married to another also commits adultery; for "whom God hath joined together let not man put asunder." Better is it not to marry at all. 4 "If thy right eye" or "thy right hand offend thee," "pull out thine eye" and "cut off thine hand: it is better that one of thy members perish than that thy whole body go down to Gehenna." 5 It is forbidden to swear any oath, even on the truth. It is forbidden to fight against evil, and "whosoever smiteth thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any ...
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would take away thy coat let him have thy cloke also .... Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away." "Love your enemies and pray for them that persecute you ... for if ye love them that love you, what reward have ye? Do not even the publicans the same? ... Ye therefore shall be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect." Almsgiving should be in secret so that the left hand may not know what the right hand is doing: "When thou doest alms sound not a trumpet before thee ... in the synagogues and in the streets." Display in prayer is likewis2 forbidden, or "much speaking as do the Gentiles;" but prayer should be brief, in secret, behind closed doors. When men pray they must forgive the sins which others have committed against them, that God may forgive them that pray, the sins which they have committed against God. Not once only, nor seven times only, must a man forgive his neighbour who has sinned against him-but seventy times seven. 6 When a man fasts he must not make display of the fact nor change his appearance that men may know that he is fasting; it is enough that his heavenly Father alone knows it. Therefore Jesus, contrary to the accepted Pharisaic usage,? allows washing and anointing during a period of fasting. 8 One should lay up treasure in heaven, by means of almsgiving and good works, and not on earth where "moth and rust doth corrupt and thieves break through and steal." "The lamp of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body is full of light; ... if the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is the darkness!" No man can serve two masters, God and Mammon (the world). So let him take no thought for the morrow: "sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin, ... yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these; but if God doth so clothe the grass of the field which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, 0 ye of little faith?" "Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what measure ye mete it shall be measured unto you." Let not a man look on the mote that is in his brother's eye and ignore the beam that is in his own eye. "All things whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, even so do ye also unto them: for this is the law and the prophets." To enter into the kingdom of heaven it is not enough to call Jesus, "Lord, lord!" Rather let a man do the will of his heavenly Father. Such are the ethical principles contained in the "Sermon of the Mount." The other ethical injunctions, which may with scarcely any doubt be accepted as genuine, can be summarized as follows: He that would follow after Jesus may not even go to bury his father: "Let the dead bury their dead." 9 He that loves father, mother or son or daughter more than Jesus, is not worthy of him, 10 "for he that findeth his soul shall lose it, and he that loseth his soul for Jesus's sake shall find it." 11
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"Everyone that doeth the will of my heavenly Father, he is my brother and sister and mother." 12 "Be ye hated of all men for my name's sake." 13 "Fear not them that can kill the body but are not able to kill the soul; but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell," 14 for "what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his soul?" 15 "Man is lord of the Sabbath" and "It is lawful to do good on the Sabbath," and therefore it is permitted to pluck ears of corn on the Sabbath and, on the Sabbath, to heal even in cases where life is not endangered. "Every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment." 16 Foolish vows do not bind a man, and unwashen hands do not defile him; what defile a man are evil thoughts and evil deeds-murder, theft, violence, adultery, false-witness and blasphemyP Let none despise or offend children or the innocent or the ignorant, or even sinners; for if a man have a hundred sheep and lose one of them, when he have found the one "he rejoiceth over it more than over the ninety and nine which have not gone astray." 18 "The first shall be last and the last shall be first." It is like a king who made a marriage feast for his son and invited the chief people of the city and they did not come; then said he to his servant; Since these came not, summon from the market place and from the way side the wicked and the maimed, that they may fill the places of the guests. 19 "If thy brother sin against thee" reprove him, and if he hearken unto thee, well; if he hearken not, warn him in the presence of two or three witnesses, "and if he refuse to hear them, tell it unto the church (ekklesia), and if he refuse to hear the church also, let him be unto thee as the Gentile and the publican. "2° The greatest commandment is, "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and with all thy soul," and the second is like unto it, "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself: on these two hang all the Law and the Prophets." 21 He that would win everlasting life and follow after Jesus, must not only keep the commandments-Thou shalt not kill, Thou shalt not commit adultery, Thou shalt not steal, Thou shalt not bear false witness, Thou shalt honour thy father and thy mother, and Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself-but he must also sell all that he has and give to the poor, for "it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven." 22 In the kingdom of heaven the great ones will not be like the great ones in this world whom others serve; but they shall serve others as does the Son of man. 23 The sin of the Scribes and Pharisees is twofold: What is of primary importance they make secondary, and what is secondary they make of primary importance; and they pay more regard to the letter of Scripture than to the spirit.24 He who performs a good work for the humblest of creatures is as though he performed a good work for Jesus' sake.zs They who take up the sword shall perish by the sword.26 247
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
The two mites that the widow gives to the Temple treasury are of more worth than the rich offering of the wealthy man: the latter gives of his superfluity, but she of her lack.27 Let him who feels himself free from sin throw the first stone at the harlot.28 "It is better to give than to receive." 29 These are the underlying principles of Jesus' ethical teaching. 30 Not all of these sayings may have been uttered by Jesus, but they are all in accordance with his spirit and they are all of distinct originality. Yet, with Geiger and Graetz, we can aver, without laying ourselves open to the charge of subjectivity and without any desire to argue in defence of Judaism, that throughout the Gospels there is not one item of ethical teaching which can not be paralleled either in the Old Testament, the Apocrypha, or in the Talmudic and Midrashic literature of the period near to the time of Jesus. 31 Furthermore, sayings similar to those in the Gospels, though found in literature later than the time of Jesus, must have been current orally among the Jews many scores of years before they were fixed in writing in the Mishna, Talmud or Midrash, because there are no grounds whatever for assuming that the Gospels influenced the authorities of the Talmud and Midrash. There are ethical sayings attributed to Jesus which recur word for word in Talmud or Midrash. For example, the saying, "With what measure ye mete it shall be measured unto you," in the Sermon on the Mount32 occurs in exactly the same form in the Mishna ('~ tl'11n.) il:l ,,U::l 01~t:!l i110:l ). 33 The parable of the mote and the beam, in the same chapter,34 is uttered by the early Tanna and enemy of the Gillayonim and Books of the Minim, R. Tarphon: "If he (the reprover) say to him, Take the mote from thine eyes (or, according to another reading, Thy teeth), the other replies, Take the beam from thine eyes." 35 Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof, 36 is a typical Talmudic expressionY The bulk of the rest of the sayings are to be found in the Talmud in a slightly different shape. For example, the saying, "He who looks on a woman to lust after her hath already committed adultery with her in his heart," 38 is found in the Talmud in the form, "He who deliberately looks on a woman is as though he had connexion with her;" 39 or, stated by the early Amora, R. Shimeon ben Lakish, "For thou mayest not say that everyone that committeth adultery with his body is called an adulterer; he that committeth adultery with his eyes is also to be called an adulterer. "40 Jesus' saying, "It is better that one of thy members perish than that thy whole body go down to hell," 41 is also uttered by R. Tarphon, "Better that his belly burst that he go not down to the pit of destruction." 42 As to the forbidding of oaths, the Talmud requires "a righteous yea and a righteous nay,"43 and R. Eliezer says, "Yea is an oath and nay is an oath." 44 As a parallel to the requirement that almsgiving should be in secret, and that the left hand shall not know what the right hand does, 45 we have the saying of the early Tanna, R. Eliezer: "He who giveth alms in secret is greater than
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THE ETHICAL TEACHING OF JESUS
Moses our master;" 46 and that that is the most excellent form of almsgiving when "he gives and knows not to whom he gives, or takes and knows not from whom he takes,'' 47 while "he who ostentatiously gives alms to the poor-for this, God will bring him to judgment. " 48 The Greek translators have probably made a mistake in the passage where Jesus is made to forbid "the blowing of a trumpet" (when giving alms) in the streets and synagogues;49 the original reference may have been to the l'ID1lt ~rt' "!£n~e~, the horn-shaped receptacle for alms, which stood in the Temple and synagogues, and, possibly, in the streets also. so As a parallel to the "treasure in heaven" where "neither moth nor rust doth corrupt nor thieves break through and steal," we may quote the Talmudic Baraita: "It happened with Monobaz that he squandered his wealth and the wealth of his fathers (in alms) during a time of famine. His brethren and his father's house gathered around him and said: Thy fathers laid up treasure and added to their fathers' store, and dost thou waste it all! He answered: My fathers laid up treasure below; I have laid it up above. My fathers laid up treasure where the hand (of man) controlleth it; but I have laid it up where no hand controlleth it. ... My fathers laid up treasure of Mammon; I have laid up treasure of souls .... My fathers laid up treasure for this world; I have laid up treasure for the world to come. "51 Here we have Jesus' ideas repeated almost word for word. Again, those "who are anxious for the morrow" Jesus calls "of little faith," 52 exactly as does the early Tanna, R. Eliezer ben Hyrcanus: "R. Eliezer the Great said, He who has a morsel of bread in his vessel and yet says, What shall I eat to-morrow? is of those of little faith (mete 'JCI'D ):" 53 and in the same way R. Eliezer Modai says: "He who created the day, created also food for the day. Thus R. Eliezer Modai used to say, He who hath ought to eat to-day and says, What shall I eat to-morrow, such a one is lacking in faith" ( ,0\MD i\Jt:JK ). 54
Within the Sermon on the Mount is to be found the "Lord's Prayer,'' perhaps the single religious ceremony or institution (except for the appointment of the "Twelve" Apostles, or disciples) which Jesus authorized during his lifetime. He requires of his disciples and followers that "they use not vain repetitions as to the Gentiles, who say in their heart, that they shall be heard by their much speaking." 55 The same thing was said by the author of Ecclesiastes: "For God is in heaven, and thou upon earth: therefore let thy words be few." 56 Like a real Jew, Jesus regards the prayers of the heathen as "vain repetition,'' "babbling." He therefore composed this brief prayer: "Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, as in heaven, so on earth. Give us this day our daily bread (the Gospel to the Hebrews reads, "our bread for to-morrow"). And forgive us our debts as we also have forgiven our debtors. And bring us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one. "57
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It is a remarkable prayer, universal in its appeal, earnest, brief and full of devotion. Every single clause in it is, however, to be found in Jewish prayers and sayings in the Talmud. "Our Father which art in heaven" is a Jewish expression found in many prayers; one ancient prayer, said on Mondays and Thursdays before returning the Scroll of the Law to the Ark, begins four times with the introductory clause: "May it be thy will, 0 our Father which art in heaven." 58 "May thy name be hallowed and may thy kingdom come" occurs in the "Kaddish," so widespread among the Jews, and containing many very ancient elements: "Exalted and sanctified be his great name in the world which he created according to his will, and may he bring about his kingdom (or 'rule in his kingdom')" 59 "Thy will be done, as in heaven, so on earth" occurs in the "Short Prayer" (precisely as with Jesus) of the early Tanna already referred to, R. Eliezer: "What is the short prayer? R. Eliezer said: Do thy will in heaven, and on earth give comfort to them that fear thee, and do what is right in thy sight." 60 The phrase "Give us this day our daily bread" is found not only in the Old Testament ("Give me the bread that is needful for me") 61 but also in a variant of R. Eliezer's "Short Prayer": "May it be thy will, 0 our God, to give to every one his needs and to every being sufficient for his lack." 62 "Forgive us our debts" is the Sixth Blessing in the "ShemonehEsreh" prayer; and in Ben Sira we also find, "Forgive thy neighbour's sin and then, when thou prayest, thy sins will be forgiven; man cherisheth anger against man, and doth he seek healing (or, forgiveness) from the Lord?" 63 Finally, the clause "bring us not into temptation" comes in a Talmudic prayer: "Lead us not into sin or iniquity or temptation," 64 a prayer that has been included among the "First Blessings" of the Book of Prayer used throughout Jewry to the present day. We see, therefore, that the "Lord's Prayer" can be divided up into separate elements every one of which is Hebraic in form and occurs in either the Old Testament or the Talmud. The same applies to virtually everything which Jesus uttered. If we remember that Hillel also said that the commandment, "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself," or the ethical law, "What is hateful to thyself do not unto thy neighbour," was the whole Law and the rest but commentary;65 and that the Talmud says: "They who are insulted yet insult not again, who hear themselves reproached yet answer not again, who act out of love and rejoice in afflictions ... of them Scripture says, They that love him are as the going forth of the sun in his might;" 66 and that Scripture enjoins that a man restore his enemy's ox or his ass and "help the ass of his enemy when it croucheth under its burden-" 67 : then how much more should he aid his enemy himself; and that God compels Jonah the Prophet to save Nineveh, the city of his enemies who have destroyed (or were about to destroy) his native country; and that it is said in a Midrash, "How doth it affect the Holy One, blessed be he, whether a man slay a beast according to Halakha or not,
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and eat it? doth it profit Him or harm Him? or how doth it affect Him whether a man eat food unclean or clean? ... the commandments were not given save as a means to purify mankind;" 68 and the wonderful saying, "Almsgiving and good works outweigh all the commandments in the Law;" 69-if we call to mind all these high ethical ideals (and there are very many more like them) we are inevitably led to the conclusion that Jesus scarcely introduced any ethical teaching which was fundamentally foreign to Judaism. 70 So extraordinary is the similarity that it might almost seem as though the Gospels were composed simply and solely out of matter contained in the Talmud and Midrash. But there is a new thing in the Gospels. Jesus, who concerned himself with neither Halakha nor the secular knowledge requisite for Halakha, nor (except to a limited extent) with scriptural exposition-Jesus gathered together and, so to speak, condensed and concentrated ethical teachings in such a fashion as to make them more prominent than in the Talmudic Haggada and the Midrashim, where they are interspersed among more commonplace discussions and worthless matter. Even in the Old Testament, and particularly in the Pentateuch, where moral teaching is so prominent, and so purged and so lofty, this teaching is yet mingled with ceremonial laws or matters of civil and communal interest which also include ideas of vengeance and harshest reproval. Although there is, in the Mishna, an entire tractate devoted exclusively to ethical teaching, viz., Pirke Aboth, it is but a compilation drawing on the sayings of many scores of Tannaim and even (in the supplementary sixth chapter, "Kinyan Torah") of Amoraim; but the ethical teachings of the Gospel, on the contrary, came from one man only, and are, every one, stamped with the same peculiar hall-mark. A man like Jesus, for whom the ethical ideal was everything, was something hitherto unheard of in the Judaism of the day. "Jesus ben Sira" lived at least two hundred years earlier. Hillel the Elder reached an ethical standard no lower than that of Jesus; but while Jesus left behind him (taking no count of the recorded miracles) almost nothing but ethical sayings and hortatory parables, Hillel was equally, if not more, interested in Halakha. Everything, from leprosy signs, Nidda and Halla, to lending on usury, comes within the scope of Hillel's teaching. He introduces amendments in civil law and marriage disputes (the Prozbol, Bate Homah [Lev. xxv. 31], the drafting of the marriage-settlement, and the like). He sits in the Sanhedrin. Not only is he teacher and Rabbi, but he likewise serves his nation as judge, lawgiver and administrator. In Jesus there is nothing of this. In its place there is a far greater preoccupation in questions of ethics, and the laying down of virtually nothing but ethical rules (not, as with Hillel, religious and legal injunctions too). Hillel was all for peace and quietness and the avoiding of quarrels, and was prepared to compromise with his opponents to this end (as in the 251
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matter of Ordination on a Feast Daypoa Jesus, on the contrary, was, as the preacher of a moral standard, a man of contention, saying harsh things of the Pharisees and Sadducrean priests, opposing by force the traffickers in the Temple, and even suffering martyrdom for his opinions. In this he is more like Jeremiah than Hillel, but while Jeremiah intervenes in the political life of his nation, contending not only with priests and the popular teachers, but also with kings and princes, prophesying not only against Judah and Jerusalem, but also against the Gentiles and foreign powers, and the whole of the then known world, enfolding them all in his all-embracing grip, and scrutinizing them with the acute vision of the eagle-Jesus, on the contrary, confines his exhortations within the limits of Palestine and against the Pharisees and priests of Jerusalem; as for the rest. ... "Give unto Cresar the things that are Cresar's, and to God the things that are God's." Thus, his ethical teaching, apparently goes beyond that of Pirke Aboth and of other Talmudic and Midrashic literature. It is not lost in a sea of legal prescriptions and items of secular information. From among the overwhelming mass accumulated by the Scribes and Pharisees Jesus sought out for himself the "one pearl." But we have already pointed out that, in the interest of Judaism (and, therefore, of humanity as a whole through the medium of Judaism) this is not an advantage but a drawback. Judaism is not only religion and it is not only ethics: it is the sum-total of all the needs of the nation, placed on a religious basis. It is a national worldoutlook with an ethico-religious basis. Thus like life itself, Judaism has its heights and its depths, and this is its glory. Judaism is a national life, a life which the national religion and human ethical principles (the ultimate object of every religion) embrace without engulfing. Jesus came and thrust aside all the requirements of the national life; it was not that he set them apart and relegated them to their separate sphere in the life of the nation: he ignored them completely; in their stead he set up nothing but an ethico-religious system bound up with his conception of the Godhead. In the self-same moment he both annulled Judaism as the life-force of the Jewish nation, and also the nation itself as a nation. For a religion which possesses only a certain conception of God and a morality acceptable to all mankind, does not belong to any special nation, and, consciously or unconsciously, breaks down the barriers of nationality. This inevitably brought it to pass that his people, Israel, rejected him. In its deeper consciousness the nation felt that then, more than at any other time, they must not be swallowed up in the great cauldron of nations in the Roman Empire, which were decaying for lack of God and of social morality. Israel's Prophets had taught that man was created in the image of God; they had proclaimed their message to all nations and kingdoms and looked 252
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forward to a time when they would all call on the name of the Lord and worship him with one accord. Israel's spiritual leaders, the Scribes and Pharisees, also looked for the time when "all creatures should fall down before one God" and all be made "one society (a League of Nations) to do his will with a perfect heart." 70b And the people knew, if once they compromised their nationality, that that ideal would be left with none to uphold it, and that the vision would never be fulfilled. Religion would be turned to mere visionariness, and morality would be torn and severed from life; while the manner of life of the Gentiles who were not yet capable of realizing such an ethical standard nor of being raised to the heights of the great ideal, would remain more barbarous and unholy than before. Two thousand years of non-Jewish Christianity have proved that the Jewish people did not err. Both the instinct for national self-preservation and the cleaving to the great humanitarian ideal, emphatically demanded that Judaism reject this ethical teaching, severed, as it became, from the national life: the breach which, all unintentionally, Jesus would have made in the defences of Judaism, must needs have brought this Judaism to an end. Yet another cause brought about this rejection: the "self-abnegation" taught by Jesus. It is difficult to suppose that Jesus was, like John the Baptist, an ascetic. We have seen71 how the Pharisees and the disciples of John reproved Jesus for not fasting like them, and for sitting at meat with publicans and sinners; and we have seen how he used to defend himself on the grounds that he is "the bridegroom" (and "the bridegroom is like unto a king," 72 and he, Jesus, is the "King-Messiah"), while his disciples are the "children of the bride-chamber," and neither "bridegroom" nor "children of the bridechamber" fast during the seven days of the wedding-feast. Jesus is not, therefore, the complete ascetic; he was, frequently, not averse to the pleasures of life (e.g. when the woman at Bethany poured the cruse of spikenard over his head).7 3 Yet after he had failed to arouse a great, popular movement, and after he had realized the severe opposition to his life-work, and also, perhaps, after he had begun to be persecuted by the Herodians and Pharisees, he began to adopt a "negative" attitude towards the life of this present world. Like all who have become immersed in ethics and nothing else, he became a "pessimist;" life, the life as it is lived in this world, is valueless; nothing is to be gained by resisting evil or fighting against Roman oppression ("Give unto C<esar the things that are Cresar's"). Let possessions be divided amongst the poor; no rich man can be worthy of the "days of the Messiah" ("It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven"). Let swearing be forbidden altogether, even swearing by the truth. It is preferable not to marry at 253
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all. It is forbidden to divorce a wife even though it be impossible to live with her owing to her unfaithfulness. For the sake of the kingdom of heaven, let a man forsake father and mother, brother and sister, wife and children. Let him desist from all litigation, even when it is a legal matter affecting inheritance. Let him stretch out the left cheek to one who strikes him on the right cheek, and let him give his cloak to the one who would take away his coat. Let him take no thought for the morrow, nor amass wealth or material for the furthering of culture. He need not labour for the sake of food or raiment, but let him be like the "lilies of the field" or the "fowls of the air" which labour not, but receive everything from God. As ethical rules for the individual, these may stand for the highest form of morality. We find similar sentiments in isolated sayings from the Tannaim and medireval Jewish thinkers. On the theoretical side Judaism possesses everything that is to be found in Christianity. Judaism has also its ascetic tendencies-the Essenes, systems of thought such as are to be found in works like "The Duties of the Heart," the "Testament of R. Yehudah the Pious;" and a lofty individualistic morality has been a feature in Judaism from the time of Ezekiel ("The soul that sinneth it shall die") till the time of Hillel ("If I am not for myself, who will be for me?" and "If I am here, all is here"). But as a sole and self-sufficient national code of teaching, Judaism could by no means agree to it. The most ascetic remark to be found in the Mishna is that of R. Jacob (the teacher of R. Yehudah ha-Nasi): "This world is as it were an ante-chamber to the world to come;"74 yet the same R. Jacob also says: ''Better is a single hour of repentance and good works in this world than all the life of the world to come. "75 Thus this world is the main thing, and the moral life is to be realised here. The same thing happened with Jesus' ethical teaching as happened with his teaching concerning God. Jesus made himself neither God nor the Son of God, and, in his view of the Godhead, he remained a true Jew; yet by over-emphasis of the divine Fatherhood in relation to himself, he caused Paul and his contemporaries to attribute to him a conception which was both foreign to his own mind and little removed from idolatry. So too with regard to his ethical teaching. Judaism also knows the ideal of love for the enemy, and exemplifies it in the law dealing with an enemy's ox or ass and in the ethical teaching of the Book of Jonah; but Judaism never emphasized it to such a degree that it ultimately became too high an ideal for ordinary mankind, and even too high for the man of more than average moral calibre.76 The same applies to the ideal of "stretching the other cheek." Judaism also praised them "who when affronted affront not again," but it never emphasized the idea unduly, for it would be difficult for human society to exist with such a basic principle. Judaism did not forbid swearing and litigation, but enjoined "a 254
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righteous yea or nay"7 7 and, in the person of Hillel, laid down the principle, "Judge not thy neighbour till thou art come into his place." 78 Everything which Jesus ever uttered of this nature is Jewish ethical teaching, too; but his overemphasis was not Judaism, and, in fact, brought about non-Judaism. When these extreme ethical standards are severed from the facts of daily life and taught as religious rules, while, at the same time, everyday life is conducted along completely different lines, defined in the prevailing legal codes (which are not concerned with religion) or in accordance with improved scientific knowledge (which again is not concerned with religion)-it is inevitable that such ethical standards can make their appeal only to priests and recluses and the more spiritually minded among individuals, whose only interest is religion; while the rest of mankind all pursue a manner of life that is wholly secular or even pagan. Such has been the case with Christianity from the time of Constantine till the present day: the religion has stood for what is highest ethically and ideally, while the political and social life has remained at the other extreme of barbarity and paganism. The Spanish Inquisition was not thought to be incompatible with Christianity. The Inquisition was concerned with everyday life, it was political religiousness, whereas Christianity was pure religion and ethics lifted above the calls of everyday life. This, however, can never be the case when, as with Judaism, the national religion embraces every aspect of the national life, when nation and belief are inseparable; then it is impossible to use an extreme ethical standard as a foundation. The nation desires freedom: therefore it must fight for it. As "possessor of the state" it must ensure the security of life and property and, therefore, it must resist evil. A national community of to-day cannot endure without civil legislation-therefore the community must legislate. Swearing on oath cannot always be dispensed with. The national community of today cannot exist without private property-therefore there must be private property; the point is, rather, in what manner the rich man makes use of his property. The social system is based on the family, therefore there is no place for teaching "celibacy for the kingdom of heaven's sake" as the most exalted virtue in those who would fit themselves for the kingdom of heaven. As to freedom of divorce, now, nineteen hundred years after Jesus, "enlightened" Christianity the world over is fighting for it. What room is there in the world for justice if we must extend both cheeks to our assailants and give the thief both coat and cloak? Human civilisation is wholly based on the difference between man and nature, between human society and the brute beast and vegetable world; it is, therefore, neither possible nor seemly for man to become as "the lilies of the field" or "the fowls of the air." 255
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But when, in reality, did Christianity ever conduct itself in accordance with these ethical standards of Jesus? In the small fellowship of his disciples community of goods was practised; but even so, the system was adopted only in part and temporarily. The earliest of Jesus' disciples married; they indulged in litigation, they hated and reviled not only their enemies but all who opposed them. Did Jesus himself abide by his own teaching? Did he love the Pharisees-who were not his enemies but simply his theoretical opponents? Did he not call them "Hypocrites," "Serpents," "Offspring of vipers?" and did he not threaten that "upon them would come all the innocent blood that was shed in the Iand?" 79 Did he not condemn the ungodly to hell where there would be "weeping and gnashing of teeth'?" Did he not resist evil with acts of violence-by expelling the moneychangers and them that sold doves in the Temple? Did he not promise houses and fields and even judgment thrones in the future to those who followed him? When he sent out the Twelve as his messengers to the cities of Israel did he not warn them to be "subtil as serpents and simple as doves," 80 and at the same time say that, for the city which would not receive them, it "would be more tolerable for Sodom and Gomorrah in the day of judgment than for that city." 81 And did he not say to his disciples that "whosoever denied him (Jesus) before men, Jesus would deny him also before his Father in heaven?" 82 and in this is there not vengeance, bearing of malice, unforgiveness and hatred of enemies? And what of those words: 'Think not that I came to bring peace upon earth: I came not to bring peace but a sword," 83 "not peace, but dissension?"84 And what of those harsh, definite words: "I came to cast fire on the earth, and what will I if it is already kindled!" 85 And what of his injunction "to sell the cloak and buy a sword?" 86 And what of those cruelest of words, "Give not what is holy to the dogs and cast not your pearls before swine?" 87 Where in all this do we find tenderness, pardon "till seventy times seven," love of the enemy and putting forth the other cheek? This is not an arraignment against Jesus: he maintained a high moral standard in all his doings, and his stern words and the expulsion of the traffickers and money-changers were in themselves a lofty moral protest; but such contradiction between precept and practice cannot but prove that this extreme ethical teaching cannot possibly be carried out in practice in everyday life, even by so exceptional a man for whom society was naught and the individual soul everything. Then how much more impossible must it be in the sphere of political and national life? This it was left for Judaism to perceive. We have before us two facts. In the first place, "Christian morality" was embodied in daily life byJudaism: it is Judaism, and Judaism only, which has never produced mur256
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derers and pogrom-mongers, whereas indulgence and forgiveness have become the prime feature in its being, with the result that the Jews have been made moral (not in theory but in living fact) to the verge of abject flaccidity. In the second place, monasticism is typical not of Judaism but of Christianity, in the same way as it is typical of Buddhism. Had there been no ascetic and monastic element in Jesus' teaching, monasticism would not have become a peculiarity of Roman and Orthodox Christianity. The Protestant Reformation which abolished monasticism and the celibacy of the clergy was a reversion to Judaism. Christianity is the halfway station between Judaism and Buddhism. Pharisaic Judaism as a whole (as distinct from certain individual moralists, from the time of the Essenes till the time of the writer of the Shebet Musar, who educed from Pharisaic Judaism an extremist ethical code) was alive to the fact that the Law "was not given to the ministering angels," 88 and it endeavoured to take account of existing conditions, but to raise them and to sanctify them. It did not teach the abolition of marriage, of oaths or of property: it sought rather to bridle sexual desire, to limit the use of oaths and lessen the evils of wealth. By embracing life as a whole Judaism rendered an extremist morality impossible; but it hallowed the secular side of life by the help of the idea of sanctity, while rendering the idea of sanctity real and strong and palpable by contact with actual reality. Judaism is an all-embracing, all-inclusive political-national social culture; therefore together with the noblest abstract ethic, it comprises both ceremonial rules of purely religious interest and entirely secular human points of view. Thus in the Levitical "Code of Holiness"89 we find, side by side, "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself," and rulings about "unclean foods" and the "sacrificial remnants;" "Thou shalt not take vengeance nor bear any grudge," side by side with rulings about "mixed materials" and "crossbreeding;" "The stranger that sojourneth with you shall be as the homeborn among you, and thou shalt love him as thyself," side by side with rulings about "the acquired bondmaid" (Lev. xix. 20); alongside of the lofty thought, "Ye are the sons of the Lord your God," comes the ceremonial rule, "Ye shall not cut yourselves." "Thou shalt not take vengeance nor bear any grudge" can occur in the same book in which it is written, "Remember what Amalek did unto thee," and "Harass the Midianites;" the command to help "the ass of thine enemy that is fallen under its load" does not exclude from the Law of Moses the command, "Thou shalt not leave a soul alive," and "of the foreigner shalt thou exact usury," and "of the stranger shalt thou exact it" (Deut. xv. 2-in whatever sense this is taken). Within the same Old Testament is included the Book of Jonah, teaching in unrivalled fashion the duty of forgiveness to enemies and preserving the destroyer of the fatherland; and also the Book of Esther describing in most garish colours the vengeance wreaked on the enemy. 257
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All such feelings and attitudes exist within a people and must find place in its literature: they are all human, deeply implanted in man's nature and they may not be changed in a moment at will. A proof of this is before us in the fact that even Christianity, in addition to the New Testament, was forced to accept unchanged the whole of the Old Testament as Canonical Scripture, a sign that the New Testament alone did not suffice. It did not suffice because it did not embrace the whole of life, whether civil or national, communal or private, religious or ethical, theoretical or practical. The Talmud also, like the Old Testament, is all-embracing and allinclusive. The Old Testament ideal is the Prophet Jeremiah: he is a moralist, but he is also a political worker and a great fighter on his nation's behalf. The Talmud ideal is Hillel the Elder; he, no less than Jesus, was a moralist of high degree, humble, a peace-maker, and a lover of his fellow men; but he was no fighter nor politician; instead his teaching embraced the whole of the social and national life. Hillel took up this position in the centre of affairs, laboured together with the community (his favourite saying was, "Do not keep yourself apart from the community"), took within his purview all the requirements of life from every possible point of view, embodied just such ethical standards as were possible in practice, and thus sanctified and raised the tone of ordinary, every-day life, and made his ethical teaching popular and widespread. He rendered it possible of practice to any man, and not merely to the chosen few who could withdraw from the affairs of everyday life. Jesus surpassed Hillel in his ethical ideals: he changed Hillel's "Golden Rule" from the negative form ("What thou thyself hatest do not unto thy neighbour"-in which the Book of Tobit 90 anticipates Hillel) to the positive form ("What thou wouldest that men should do unto thee, do thou also unto them"-in which the "Letter of Aristeas" 91 anticipates Jesus), and concerned himself more with ethical teaching than did Hillel; but his teaching has not proved possible in practice. 92 Therefore he left the course of ordinary life untouched-wicked, cruel, pagan; and his exalted ethical ideal was relegated to a book or, at most, became a possession of monastics and recluses who lived far apart from the paths of ordinary life. Beyond this ethical teaching Jesus gave nothing to his nation. He cared not for reforming the world or civilisation: therefore to adopt the teaching of Jesus is to remove oneself from the whole sphere of ordered national and human existence-from law, learning and civics (all three of which were absorbed into the codes of the Tannaim-Pharisees), from life within the State, and from wealth in virtually all its forms. How could Judaism accede to such an ethical ideal?-that Judaism to which the monastic ideal had ever been foreign! The ethic of Jesus is, however, founded on the special character of his
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belief in the Day of Judgment and the kingdom of heaven (the "Days of the Messiah"). Only after we have understood the nature of this belief can we comprehend how Jesus the Jew attained to such an extreme in his ethical teaching.
Notes 1 Matt. chh. v-vii. 2 No treatment of the ethics of Jesus along the lines of objective scholarship yet exists in any language. The best is Ehrhardt, Der Grundcharacter der Ethik Jesu, Freiburg, 1895. Christian apologetic works containing unbiassed treatment are: E. Grimm, Die Ethik Jesu, 2 Aufl. Leipzig, 1917; F. Peabody, JesusChrist et la question morale (trad. H. Anet), Paris, 1909; H. Monnier, La Mission historique de Jesus, Paris, 1906. 3 The words "without a cause" are added in the Syriac text translated by A Merx, Die 4 kanon. Evv. nach ihrem liltesten bekannten Texte, Berlin, 1897, p. 9. 4 Matt. viii. 21-22; also xix. 3-10. 5 Matt. v. 29-30, and more explicitly Matt. xviii. 8-9. 6 Cf. Matt. vi. 14-15 with xviii. 21-35. 7 During an ordinary fast the Mishnah, too, permits washing and anomtmg (Taanith I 4 and 5); but both are forbidden during exceptional fasts (Taanith I 6) and on the Day of Atonement (Yoma VIII 1). 8 Matt. vi. 16-18 9 Matt. viii. 21-22. 10 Matt. x. 37. A stronger form is given in Luke xiv. 26. 11 Matt. x. 39. 12 Matt. xii. 50. 13 Matt. x. 22. 14 Matt. x. 28. 15 Matt. xvi. 26. 16 Matt. xii. 36. 17 Matt.xv.l-20. 18 Matt. xviii. 1-14. 19 Matt. xx.16; xxii. 1-14. 20 Matt. xviii. 15-17. 21 Matt. xxii. 35-40. 22 Matt. xix. 16-26. 23 Matt. xx. 45-48. 24 Matt. xxiii. (the entire chapter). 25 Matt. XXV. 34-45; cf. X. 42 (end). 26 Matt. xxvi. 52. 27 Mark xii. 41-44; Luke xxi. 1-4. 28 An apocryphal saying, included in the Fourth Gospel, viii. 7, and, in certain versions, in Luke xxi. 38; but actually belonging to Mark xii. 18 or xii. 35. 29 Acts xx. 35 (Paul in the name of Jesus). 30 They are collected in a Hebrew translation in Dibhre Yeshua, Leipzig, 1898, a supplement to the two works of A Resch, Aussercanonische Paralleltexie zu den Evangelien, Theile 1-5, 1893-1897, and Agrapha 2, Aufl., 1906; and also separately in Dibhre Yeshua: Ta t..6yw. 'I11crou 1898. 31 See above, pp. 110 and 114.
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32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70
Matt. vii. 2. Sota I 7. Matt. vii. 3-5. Baba Bathra 15b; Arakhin 17b. Matt. vi. 38. Berakhoth 9b. Matt. v. 28. Massekheth Kallah. Lev. R. §23. Matt. v. 29-30; xviii. 8, 9. Nidda 13b. Baba Bathra 49b; J. Shebi'ith X 9. Shebuoth 36a. Matt. vi. 3. Baba Bathra 9b. Ibid. lOb (beginning). Hagiga Sa. Matt. vi. 2. Shek. VI 1; Erubin 32a; Gittin 60b; Pes. 90b. Baba Bathra 11a. Matt. vi. 30--34. Sota 48b. Mechilta, Exodus, "Way'hi b'shallach," §2 (ed. Friedmann 47b). Matt. vi. 7. Eccles. v. 1-2. Matt. vi. 9-12; Luke xi. 1-4. We disagree with some modern scholars who would regard this prayer, also, as late; in such a case virtually nothing at all would be left to Jesus: and from nothing we cannot get anything but nothing. Siddur Rab Amram Gaon, ed. Frumkin, Jerusalem, 1912, p. 158. See Zvi Karl, Ha-Kaddish, Ha-Shiloach, XXXV 45. T. Berachoth Ill 11; Berachoth 29b; cf. "Peace among men," Luke ii. 14. Prov. xxx. 8. T. Berachoth Ill 11; Berachoth 29b. Ben Sira 28, 2-5; cf. in Talmud, Rash ha-Shana 17a and b; Yoma 23a, 87b; Meg. 28a; J. Baba Qama VIII 10. Berachoth 60b; cf. "He will never lead men into temptation," Sanh. l07a. Shab. 31a. Judges vi. 31; Yoma 23a; Shab. 88b; Gitt. 36b. Ex. 23. 4-5. Tanhuma, Shemini, 12 ( ed. Buber p. 30); Gen. R. §44 (beginning); Lev. R. §13. T. Peah IV 19. The book giving all the Hebrew passages illustrating the Synoptic Gospels is Shack-Billerbeck, Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrasch, Vol. I-11, Mtinchen, 1922-4. The following give important material: J. Eshelbacher, Ha-Yahaduth u-mahuth ha-Natzriyuth (Hebrew translation, ed. Ha-Zeman, Wilna, 1911); B. Balzac, Torath ha-Adam, vol. 2, Warsaw, 1910; F. N. Nork (S. Korn), Rabbinische Quellen und Parallelen zu Neutestamentlischen Schriften, Leipzig, 1839; A Wtinsche, Neue Beitrage zur Erliiuterung der Evangelien aus Talmud und Midrasch, Gottingen, 1878; G. Friedlander, The Jewish Sources of the Sermon on the Mount, London, 1911; H. P. Chajes, Rivista Israelitica, 1904 (I) 41-57; 105-6; 214-225; 1906 (III) 83-96; 1907 (IV) 52-58; 132-136, 209-213 and elsewhere; H. P. Chajes, Ben Stada (Ha-Goren,
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IV 33-37). See also "Ahad ha-Am," Al sh'te ha-S'ippim (Collected works, IV 38-58); G. Dalman, Christentum und Judentum, Leipzig, 1898; H. G. Enelow, A Jewish View of Jesus, New York, 1920; Z'eb Markon, Ha-Talmud w'haNatzruth (Ha-Shiloach XXXIII 20-32, 170-176, 469-481). See also L. Back, Das Wesen des Judentums, 3. Aufi. Frankfort a. M., 1923; M. Gtidemann, Judische Apologetik, Glogau, 1906; Die Grundlagen der Judischen Ethik (Die Lehren des Judentums noch den Quellen, herausgegeben vom Verband der Deutschen Juden) bearbeitet von S. Bernfeld, Th. I-ll, Berlin, 1920-1921; Irsael Abrahams, Studies in Pharisaism and the Gospels, First Series, Cambridge, 1917; Second Series, Cambridge, 1924. 70a Betza 20a. 70bThe Shemoneh-Esreh Prayer for New Year and the Day of Atonement. 71 See above, p. 274. 72 Pirke d'R. Eliezer, §16 (end). 73 Mark xiv. 2-9; Matt. xxvi. 6-13. 74 A both IV 16. 75 Aboth IV 17. 76 It is worth noticing to what extremes apologists for the ethical teaching of Jesus are reduced, e.g., E. Grimm, Die Ethik Jesu, 2 Aufi., Leipzig, 1917, pp. 122-134, 104, in order to be convinced how contrary to nature this teaching is. 77 Baba Metzia 49a; J. Shebi'ith X 9. 78 Aboth 114. 79 Matt. xxiii. 35. 80 Matt. x. 16. 81 Matt. x. 15. 82 Matt. x. 33. 83 Matt. x. 34. 84 Luke xii. 51. 85 Luke xii. 49. 86 Luke xxii. 36. 87 Matt. vii. 6. 88 Berachoth 25b; Yoma 30a; Kiddushin 54a; Me'ila 14b. 89 Lev. xix. 90 Tobit iv. 15; the Rule is also found in Philo, as quoted by Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica, VIII 7, 6; and also in what is, in the main, a Jewish work, the Didache, I. 2. 91 Ed. Wendland, p. 207; see Kautzsch, Apocryphen und Pseudepigraphen des Alten Testaments 1122, n. a. See the Slavonic Enoch LXI 1. 92 See "Ahad ha-Am," Collected Works, IV 45-50; G. Friedlander, The Jewish Sources of the Sermon on the Mount, London, 1911, pp. 230-238. Maimonides, however, in his Sefer ha-Mitzvoth, Mitzvoth 'Aseh §206 (ed. H. Helier, Petrokoff 1914, p. 64), gives positive and negative forms together and regards them both as equally Judaism.
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THE ORIGINAL TEACHING OF JESUS AND THE ETHICS OF THE EARLY CHURCH T. W. Manson Source: Ethics and the Gospel (London: SCM Press, 1960), pp. 87-103.
We have been studying the messianic community, the early Church, as a new kind of social organism. We have now to consider that this Church preserved a body of Jesus' teaching, and that from what was preserved it is possible for us to get adequate illumination for living in our own time. A good starting point is Mark 10.32-45. This sets out clearly the main issue that confronted Jesus and his followers in the course of his Ministry. 'They were on the way going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus was leading the way; and they were dumbfounded and those who followed were afraid. And taking again the Twelve he began to tell them the things that were going to happen, saying, "We are on our way to Jerusalem, and the Son of man will be betrayed to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death and hand him over to the gentiles, and they will mock him and spit on him and scourge him and kill him; and after three days he shall rise again".' That is a picture of the destiny of suffering and sacrifice that has been reserved for the Son of man. Appended to it there is the story (beginning at verse 35) of the request of James and John. 'Master do for us whatever we ask.' And he said, 'What do you want me to do for you?' And they replied, 'Grant us to sit in your glory.' That is, 'Allow us to sit in state with you, one on the left and one on the right.' Jesus replied, 'You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink? or to be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?' And they said, 'We are able.' And Jesus said unto them, 'The cup that I drink ye shall drink; and with the baptism that I am baptized withal shall you be baptized; but to sit on my right hand or on my left hand is not mine to give: but it is for them for whom it has been prepared.' Now the Ten heard this, and they began to be annoyed with James and John (not because James and John wanted the chief 262
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places, but because they had jumped the queue!). Jesus called to them and said to them, 'You know that those who rule over the Gentiles lord it over them; and their great ones wield authority upon them. But it is not that way amongst you. On the contrary, whoever wishes to become great among you shall be your servant: and whoever would be first among you shall be servant of all. For the Son of man did not come to receive service but to give it, and to give his life a ransom for many.' We could not have a clearer statement of the contrasted hopes and ideals of Jesus and his contemporaries. Here side by side are two conceptions of the messianic task; one looks to the triumph and rule of the Messiah who sits on his throne and gives his orders; in the other there is a picture of the messianic Ministry in which the function of the Messiah is to be supremely the servant of all. The messianic ideal cherished by Jesus is put by him in the form of a statement about the Son of man; the Ministry of which Jesus speaks is the Ministry of the Son of man; the sacrifice is the sacrifice of the Son of man. 'Son of man' is in one way an ambiguous term.l It means 'People of the saints of the Most High' (see Daniel 7), the people within Israel who are completely devoted to the worship and service of God, for whom the will of God is their supreme rule, who know no higher loyalty. But 'Son of man' can also be used as a name for the Messiah, in so far as the Messiah is himself the representative and embodiment of this 'People of the saints of the Most High'. The meaning can oscillate between the sacred community as a whole and its head, so that when it is said by Jesus that the Son of man must suffer that can mean-and probably does mean-either or both of two things. It can mean that the 'People of the saints of the Most High' must suffer, and it can mean that the Messiah must suffer. When it says that the Son of man must serve, it means that the 'People of the saints of the Most High' must serve and that the Messiah himself must serve. Jesus says to the sons of Zebedee, 'Can you drink the cup that I drink?' '0 yes, we can,' they reply. 'All right,' says Jesus, 'You will.' But when it comes to the point they did not; they all forsook him and fled, which is probably what most of us would have done in similar circumstances. The Messiah says 'I do serve and I will suffer.' His acceptance of this challenge is found in two passages in Luke 22. The first is verses 24-27, which is Luke's version of the passage we have just considered in Mark. 'So now considerable contention developed among them as to who was the greatest. And he said to them, "The kings of the nations lord it over them and their men of authority are called benefactors. But you are not like that. The great man among you let him become as the junior, and the leader as the servant. For who is greater, the diner or the waiter? You say the diner, but I say the waiter. I am among you as one giving service".' This passage does not only say that it is better to give service than to receive it; it makes the positive statement 'I am among you as a servant'.
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Jesus' acceptance of the Messianic vocation of suffering occurs in the same chapter (verses 35-37). 'And he said to them, "When I sent you out without purse, wallet, or sandals, were you ever short of anything?" They said, "No." He said to them "It is different now; whoever has a purse had better take it and notes in a wallet too; and if anyone is short of a sword he had better sell his cloak and buy one. Why? Well, I can tell you that this text is about to have its fulfilment in me."' Then Jesus quotes from Isaiah 53.12: 'he was reckoned among the lawless ones'; and he adds: 'For my career is coming to its close.' 'And they said, "Master, here are two swords"; and he said to them, "Well, well".' All this is very elusive, but the words allude to the tragedy of Jesus' ministry. The first part of the passage refers to a time of Jesus' popularity and acceptance, the second part is a very strong way of expressing the fact that they are now surrounded by enemies so ruthless that the possession of two swords will not help the situation. The messianic task can only be fulfilled in one way, and that the way indicated in the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah. This means that the Messiah must accept a destiny of suffering and death, as well as a task of service, which brings us back again to the passage in Mark about rules and the true test of greatness. When Jesus says 'Whoever would be great among you shall be your servant', he is not saying that those who are ambitious will be punished by being compelled to do menial tasks, and vice versa. Precise correspondences of that sort do not exist in the messianic kingdom. In it greatness is service, and service is greatness; no decoration is given for a life of service, the life of service is the decoration. The phrase in Mark 10.43, 'But it is not so among you', has a history going back to the Old Testament, where we find it translated 'It is not so done in Israel' (II Samuel 13.12) to describe conduct that is incompatible with being the People of God. So the Christian ethic has its first acceptance within the Christian community. It is 'done' or 'not done' among 'you'. From there it may spread to the outside world, but if it does not begin there it is not likely to begin anywhere. But if the Christian ethic begins within the Christian fellowship it cannot stay there: the service and sacrifice of Christ are 'for many' (Mark 10.45; 14.24). Jeremias has shown that 'many' in these verses has an inclusive meaning; it is a way of saying that the Son of man who 'gave his life a ransom for many' is really giving his life for the common good. 2 There is an interesting parallel to this statement in the words of institution at the Last Supper: 'He said to them, "This is my covenant blood, which is shed for many"' (Mark 14.24). Again it means for the general good. It follows that as the Messiah sacrificed himself for the common good, so the community or people of the saints of the Most High must be expendable also for the common good. It was not very easy for the early Church to accept this in its full meaning and with all its practical implications. It was no easier for it than it is for us. Even when it had got away from the idea of a messianic 264
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triumph and the shaping of an Israelite world empire, there was still the standing temptation for the Christian community to become a 'saved Remnant' rather than a 'saving Remnant' ,3 to think of themselves as elected for privilege rather than for service, and so to make the words and deeds of Jesus the standard and pattern of their internal discipline rather than the inspiration of an apostolic mission. When we read the Acts of the Apostles it would seem as if the apostolic or missionary task was forced upon the primitive Church. What really started its missionary work was the persecution that followed the martyrdom of Stephen (Acts 8.1). Another factor that set the missionary work going was the outburst of missionary zeal that took place in Antioch (Acts 13). This outburst does not appear to have been initiated by any influence from Jerusalem: the entire credit is given to the Holy Spirit poured out on the community at Antioch. It is probably only when Paul went up to Jerusalem and started talking about foreign missions to the leaders of the Jerusalem Church that they decided to make some arrangements for carrying them on. On the other hand the narrowness of outlook at the beginning of the primitive Church, chiefly concerned with shaping itself as an elect body separated from the surrounding wickedness, has its good side. If the primitive Church tended to keep Jesus to itself, at least it did take him seriously. One of the ways in which it did so was by turning his teaching inwards upon itself. If we think in terms of strict historical documentation these early Christians were guilty of tampering with the evidence. But they did not regard themselves as bound to store up archives for the investigation of historians nineteen centuries later. They saw themselves as the messianic community, and the words of Jesus their Master as full of instruction for them. They were prepared to take his sayings and apply them to their own case, and if in the process sayings which had originally been intended to serve other purposes were diverted, that did not appear to them to be a serious matter. This process has lately been made the subject of close and detailed study by C. H. Dodd4 and J. Jeremias,5 and in what follows I am making a good deal of use of what they have to say. We can see the process at work most clearly in the case of the parabolic teaching of Jesus. Every authentic parable had originally its own actual situation in the life of Jesus. There was a day, a set of circumstances, and a definite group of people; and it was on that day, in those circumstances and to those people that the parable was first uttered. But not every parable has succeeded in keeping its original context. By the time they have been included in the Gospel, many have been given a new situation in the life of the early Church. Once we have got over the shock of realizing that the parables have been treated in this way to meet new situations, the fact is encouraging rather than otherwise, because it really means that the men of the early Church did not normally invent sayings of Jesus to 265
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express their own convictions, but rather that they selected from the mass what they thought was relevant. Admittedly the chosen words of Jesus may have been misunderstood or made to speak to a new situation in ways not originally intended by Jesus. The early Church remembered better than it understood. This means that the better we understand the mind of the early Church, the more likely it is that we shall be able to reverse the process that went on in the first decades, to strip off mistaken interpretations and applications and see the utterances in their original intention. We may not be able to reconstruct the actual situation, but we should be able readily to conceive the kind of situation in which it would be very much to the point. This process of adaptation of the sayings of Jesus has two important characteristics. One is that the audience to which the saying or parable is addressed is changed. It is possible to go through the sayings of Jesus classifying them according to their audience-disciples, opponents or the general public. One fact that emerges when one goes into this in detail is that some of the sayings that appear in more than one Gospel are addressed to opponents in one and to disciples in another. There is evidence of a tendency to transfer sayings originally spoken to opponents to disciples; but there is no evidence of traffic in the other direction, of sayings originally spoken to disciples being readdressed to people outside. Now why does this change take place? What is it that makes the tradition turn polemical utterance designed for outsiders into exhortations addressed to members of the community? I suggest that it is tied up with the fact that the primitive Palestinian community thought of itself as a kind of Israel within Israel; that it thought of itself as receiving a new Law from Jesus, and of Jesus as a new Moses (cf. Deuteronomy 18.15 ff.). Given a community of this kind, which thought of itself as Israel within Israel receiving Law from its messianic prophet, the oracles of that messianic prophet would all be precious, and the more precious where they could be understood as legislation for the community. That some of these oracles had been spoken in the first instance to those outside did not matter very much. Those outside had rejected the new Law in much the same way that the nations of the world had rejected the Law of Moses. The Christian community accepted and claimed the new revelation as Israel had accepted and claimed the old. Thus we are witnesses of a process by which the day-to-day answers of Jesus, his ways of dealing with the particular concrete situations that arose during his Ministry, are turned into the laws and customs of the Church. It is significant for the r;eneral question of the reliability of the Gospels as historical documents that it is the absorption and adaptation of existing material and not the creation of new material, with which we are presented. The second element in the process of adaptation is the turning of teaching which was eschatological in its intention and very often threatening in
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its meaning into exhortations and ethical advice for the community. The solemn warning to the outsider becomes wise counsel to the church member or the church leader. That is illustrated in a very striking way by a short parable in Matthew 5.25. 6 There, in the context of the Sermon on the Mount and in a general passage dealing with the necessity of having a conciliatory and friendly attitude to one's neighbour, Christian disciples are told to come to terms with the adversary quickly while they are still with him on the way to the court, in case the adversary delivers them to the judge and the judge to the prison-keeper and they are thrown into prison, where they will be kept until the last farthing is paid. Here the parable shows the Christian community the necessity of being reconciled to its neighbours and being on decent terms with them. But when we turn to the parallel passage in Luke (12.54 ff.) it is a very different story. Now it is addressed to the crowd, the general public. 'He said to the crowd, "When you see a cloud rising in the west you say, 'We shall have rain'; and when you observe the east wind blowing you say, 'There will be a heat-wave'. And so it is. Hypocrites, you know how to interpret the phenomena of the earth and sky; why can you not interpret this present situation? You can judge the seasons; why do you not judge what is right by yourselves? For as you are on your way with your adversary to the court take the opportunity to be quit of him."' Here the hearers are asked to consider the gravity of the times and the need to 'get right with God' while there is still time. What has happened is that the urgent and very necessary warning to outsiders in Luke has been adapted in Matthew to meet the needs of a Church whose members are not in need of any such warning because they have come to terms with God. The parable is now used as an exhortation to Christians to be conciliatory and to come to an agreement with their neighbours. Another example can be taken from Luke (16.1-13), where we have the story of the 'Dishonest Steward' who was accused by his master of embezzlement and falsifying the accounts. The master orders an immediate audit, and the steward realizes he is likely to lose his job, so he sets to work with people owing money to his master and hopes to establish them as friends who will take care of him when he is out of work. This parable has always caused a lot of uneasiness to Christians because of verse 8, 'And the master commended the unrighteous steward because he had done wisely'. It looks as if Jesus is commending shabby tricks. But the fact that Jesus applauded his cunning does not mean he approved of the man. The steward was a scoundrel, but a pretty smart scoundrel all the same. Let the children of light be equally alert! There follows (from verse 9) a number of commands in the mouth of Jesus himself. 'I say to you, Make yourselves friends by means of the mammon of unrighteousness; when it runs out they may receive you into everlasting dwellings. Men reliable in the smallest matters will be reliable in big things. He who is dishonest in 267
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small matters will be dishonest in big.' Then there is another detached reflection: 'If you have not turned out faithful or reliable in the unrighteous world; if you have not been reliable with other people's goods, who would give you your own?' 'No servant can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other; or else he will stick to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon.' All these give the impression of being detached sayings that have been linked to this parable because of something to do with reliability, or with the question of serving one master or several. The original force of the parable has nothing to do with the morals of the steward. This dishonest steward-dishonest to begin with and dishonest to the end-finds himself in a fix, and being in a fix he takes steps to get himself out of it. Granted that the steps he took were as dishonest as the steps that had brought him into the fix, but he did take energetic action to get out once he was in. The primary intention of the parable is to say to people in the world at large, 'You also are in a fix and the evil day for you is not very far away. If you had any sense you would take steps, and urgent steps, to get yoursleves out of the fix while there is still time.' In other words, the dishonest steward and the man on the way to the law court are in origin similar cases, but when the early Church adopted them they also adapted them for a community which had already made its peace with God, and therefore had to apply them in some way to fit its own situation. The parable of the labourers in the vineyard (Matthew 20.1-16) is another example of what appears to be change of audience. Here again is a parable which has worried a lot of good people, who feel a certain sympathy with the men who worked all day and at the end got no more than those who had laboured only for the last hour. But this is to miss the point. The essential meaning of the parable is in verse 15, 'Or is your eye evil, because I am good?' Everybody got the basic minimum wage, one denarius per day, which was just enough to keep a working man and his family, and no more. The people who worked the full day got the full day's pay; to give the people who had worked less than the full day something less than the day's pay would be to inflict hardship on them, because the one denarius was the minimum wage. The force of the parable is to emphasize the goodness, the kindness, of the employer who gives the one group of workers what they are entitled to, and to the others what they are not entitled to but what, in fact, they need. The parallel to these workers is the case of the two brothers in the parable of the 'Prodigal Son' (Luke 15. 11-32). There the party is open to both brothers, they are both entitled to come in and have a plate of veal and stuffing and everything else that is provided. The trouble is that the elder brother is not content: he either wants more himself or the prodigal to have less; this kind of equality of treatment irks him. It is probable that the parable ends with a rebuke to the scribes and the pharisees who 268
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wanted God to discriminate. They wanted the underserving to get less. They did not want 'parties for prodigals'. What the prodigal should get is a good plain suit of clothes, a good plain diet and plenty of work: discipline would be good for him. But God does not measure or discriminate in that way. When the parable came to be used in the early Church it was a community where some worked harder for it than others, and the parable became a warning to such folk that they must not expect special consideration because they had been particularly loyal; even the Twelve should not expect a lot of extras. In any case one is not dealing here with things that can be weighed and measured: one is dealing with the love of God, which cannot be divided up into parcels of different sizes for different people. A further example of a change of audience is found earlier in the same chapter, the parable of the man who has a hundred sheep and loses one, and goes to seek the lost one and does not rest until he has got it back (Luke 15.3-7). In Luke this is addressed to the pharisees and scribes and is a rebuke to them for criticizing the way in which Jesus deals with publicans and sinners and is so friendly with them. In Matthew, however, it appears in a different context (18.12-14). Here it is an address to the disciples concerned with the internal organization and discipline of the Christian community, and it has become a warning to those within the Church not to be harsh and censorious to their brothers. An original rebuke against a harsh attitude towards people outside the Christian community has now become an exhortation to preserve a spirit of kindness and brotherly love within it. It is possible to go on multiplying examples. Take, for instance, the parable of the 'Great Feast' (Matthew 22.1-10; Luke 14.16-24). In its original setting in the ministry of Jesus the parable was a reproach to his contemporaries for their unwillingness to accept what was being offered to them; a reproach for their refusal to enter the kingdom of God when the doors were standing wide open. As it now stands in the Gospels we can see it has been turned into encouragement to missionary effort on the part of the Christian community. The emphasis is now on the idea of going out to bring people in. It is interesting to see that in Matthew the instructions to the servants are to make only one expedition 'into the streets and lanes of the city'. In Luke there are two expeditions, one 'into the streets and lanes' and the other 'into the highways and hedges', in the country. It is quite possible that that extra expedition has in mind the expansion of the Christian community beyond Judaea to the Gentiles. Again there is the picture of the thief in the night (Matthew 24.43 ff.; Luke 12.39 ff. ). If the householder had known what time the thief would come he would have been watching. This was originally intended as an appeal to those outside the group of followers of Jesus to realize the urgency of the times and to take steps to deal with the situation. Jesus says, in effect, to his contemporaries, 'You are living on the edge of a 269
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volcano and it is urgent that you should do something about it before it erupts on you.' By the time the Church took it over it had become a warning to church members and leaders to be watchful and alert because at any moment the second coming may take place. The parable of the ten virgins (Matthew 25.1-13) is a warning to outsiders by Jesus that a crisis is at hand, but as applied in the life of the Church it is an exhortation to church members to be prepared and equipped. The original setting of the parable of the doorkeeper (Mark 13.33-37; Luke 12.35-38) was a warning to the leaders of the Jewish community that the crisis of the coming kingdom is at hand, and that they are neglecting their duty if they do not see it coming and help their fellow countrymen to appreciate the urgency of the matter. But in the Christian community it becomes an exhortation to church members and church leaders not to become lax because the second coming is delayed. The same may be said about the parable of the pounds (Matthew 25.14-30; Luke 19.12-27). It is important to realize what has happened. While Jesus was going about his own ministry he often reproached his hearers because they had the wrong attitude to God and to their fellow men, and tried to bring them to a different attitude. That situation had passed and a new one had taken its place, a situation in which Jesus had already suffered and died and risen. The Christian community was now trying to learn from his sayings and doings, and they took them and found ways of applying what had been said, for example to scribes and pharisees, to their own case. It is arguable that they misunderstood a great deal of what they adapted. No doubt they did. I have already said that there is very little doubt that they remembered far better than they understood. The point is that they did remember, and they did try to understand. Because they did these two things they preserved for us the chance of understanding more fully and of having a clearer picture of these words and deeds of Jesus which are a standing inspiration and challenge, and as often as not a standing rebuke, to us all. They could not have done it if they had not taken these words and deeds of Jesus with complete seriousness and accepted them as applicable to themselves. This is a striking contrast to the attitude which sees how well a rebuke applies to someone else, or how pointed advice is for someone else, but does not accept it for oneself. We can give the early Church full marks for diverting the rebukes that were given to outsiders and asking itself 'where does that touch me?' We have come to the end of our study, and the points that I would like to stress are few but important. The first is that the ethic we are dealing with is the ethic of a kingdom: the ethic of a society with a leader and ruler; and the primary quality of the ethic is that it comes from the ruler himself, who is the interpreter and exemplifier of it. This holds if we think in terms of the kingdom of God, in which God himself gives the rules of life and exemplifies them; 'you are to be holy as God is holy; perfect as he 270
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is perfect; merciful as he is merciful.' It still holds if we think of it in the terms of a messianic kingdom. It is the Messiah whose life and death exemplifies and interprets the ideal which is summed up in the commandment 'Love as I have loved you'. In the last resort the Christian ethic inevitably comes back to Christ himself. It is from him that it derives its content, its form and its authority. Its force is most likely to be felt by those who belong to the community which he founded and maintains, the community which belongs to him. And the power to carry it into effect is most likely to be found in living association with that community and with its head. If the Christian ethic is anything at all it is a living, growing thing. 'Love as I have loved you' is not to be construed solely in the past; if there is anything in the Christian religion 'I have loved you' is true of the past, the present, and the future. 'I have loved', in the perfect tense, means that it is a past thing which continues into the present until the end of time. Further, just as the power and inspiration of the Christian ethic is represented in a living person and a living body, so the achievement of Christian ethics is always something new and original. Christian ethics is certainly not a slavish obedience to rules and regulations. It is active living, and therefore it has the power to go to the heart of every ethical situation as it arises. It has the power to see what response is called for in terms of feeling, word and act, and the power to make that response, and make it creatively and effectively. In short, Christian ethics is a work of art.
Notes 1 See T. W. Manson, The Teaching of Jesus, pp. 211-234, and The Bulletin of John Rylands Library, XXXII (1950), pp. 171-193. 2 See J. Jeremias, The Eucharistic Words of Jesus, pp. 148 ff. 3 Cf. T. W. Manson, The Teaching of Jesus, p. 179. 4 Parables of the Kingdom, chapter 4. 5 The Parables of Jesus, pp. 2~38. 6 Previously referred to above, p. 47.
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THE TEACHER C. H. Dodd Source: The Founder of Christianity (London: Collins, 1971 ), pp. 53-79.
In the Jewish society of his time Jesus found his place, to begin with, as a teacher of religion and morals. He was addressed as "Rabbi" (Master), and not only by his immediate followers, but also by strangers, including some who would themselves have claimed the same title. It is true that the title had not yet become (as it did by the end of the century) something rather like the equivalent of a university degree, conferring license to teach, but even as a courtesy title it implied public, if informal, acceptance as a teacher. It was as such that Jesus was at first regarded. It was as such that he attached "disciples"-the word used was a technical term for those who attended upon a rabbi and formed his "school." What did Jesus teach? It is clear that there was a wide ground which he shared with other rabbis of his time. He accepted, as they did, the Old Testament as containing a divine revelation. He could assume its teaching as something well known to his audience: God is one; he is "Lord of heaven and earth"; 1 he is supremely good ("No one is good except God alone." 2), and supremely powerful ("To God everything is possible." 3). Because he is both good and powerful, he is to be trusted. Because he is Lord and King, he is to be obeyed. He is stern in judgment, but also "plenteous in mercy," as the Old Testament constantly declares. So far there is nothing which would be unfamiliar or unacceptable to any well taught Jew of the time. Similarly, in his ethical teaching he started on common ground. He could assume all that was best in the Old Testament, and in the teaching of contemporary rabbis. He offered interpretations of the Law of Moses as other rabbis did, as well as some criticisms of it on which they would not have ventured. Jewish scholars have shown that there is a considerable amount of rabbinic teaching which is markedly similar to that of Jesus in the gospels, which after all is what we should have expected. Indeed, we must suppose that a good deal of the current ethics of Judaism is silently taken for granted. And yet, the teaching is oriented in a direction which differentiates it from rabbinic Judaism; the angle at which it touches life is different. This 272
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can perhaps best be appreciated if we start again with the parables, which, as we have seen, are the most characteristic part of the record of the teaching of Jesus. If we survey the whole body of parables we cannot but observe that a large proportion of them have a common theme, which we might describe as the arrival of "zero hour," the climax of a process, bringing a crisis in which decisive action is called for. A farmer has patiently watched the growth of his crop: "first the blade, then the ear, then full grown corn in the ear. "4 For the moment there is nothing he can do about it; the forces of nature are in charge. "But as soon as the crop is ripe, he plies the sickle, because harvest time has come," and if he lets the moment pass, the crop is lost. A trader in gems who is offered a pearl of outstanding value-the prize of a lifetime-must buy there and then, or someone else will get it, even if it means gambling his entire capitaJ.5 A defendant on his way to court had better settle in a hurry. 6 A servant under notice of dismissal must devise means of avoiding beggary without delay. 7 One picture after another drives home the same idea: a crisis calling for decision. What was this "zero hour" he was speaking about? The gospels leave us in little doubt. It was the hour with which Jesus and his hearers were faced at the time of speaking. As harvest is the culminating point of the agricultural year, so this is the climax of centuries of growth. "Look round on the fields; they are already white, ripe for harvest. The reaper is drawing his pay and gathering a crop." 8 It is the time when the history of Israel, with all its unfulfilled promise, reaches fulfillment. "Happy the eyes that see what you are now seeing! I tell you, many prophets and kings wished to see what you now see, yet never saw it; to hear what you hear, yet never heard it." 9 More nearly explicit is a saying which Luke has rendered with almost telegraphic brevity: "Until John, it was the law and the prophets; since then, there is the good news of the kingdom of God. "10 That is to say, with the work of John the Baptist (who had recently been put to death) an old order was wound up, and a new order was inaugurated. It is characterized by "good news" about the "kingdom of God." In Hebrew idiom this phrase means something more like "the reign of God," or even "the reigning of God," that is, God himself exercising his royal power. Jesus came into Galilee, says Mark, announcing this "good news," which the writer has formulated in a kind of slogan: "The time has come; the kingdom of God is upon you!" 11 That meant, Here is God in all his power and majesty, confronting you where you live! What are you going to do about it? The Galilean public rightly divined that Jesus was here stepping outside the province of a rabbi. ''He is a prophet," they said, "like one of the old prophets. " 12 Jesus did indeed stand in direct succession to the prophets of ancient Israel, whose message is preserved in the Old Testament. The prophets took their stand on the conviction that God has a hand in human affairs, and they 273
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therefore interpreted the events of their time with insight derived from their converse with the Etemal ("hearing the word of the Lord," as they expressed it). Similarly, we should understand Jesus' proclamation of the kingdom of God as an interpretation of the contemporary situation in terms of his knowledge of God. It was a significant situation on any showing. Within Judaism a crisis loomed which was bound to resolve itself one way or the other before long. In the wider world remarkable things were happening to the minds of men, and Jewish life could not be insulated from it. Things were happening; but what was happening? Then, as always, there were many possible secular answers to the question. What answer should be given by one who believed in God? The prophets had answered for their time in terms of "the counsel of the Most High." And so Jesus answered the question posed by the crisis he discemed in the words, "The time has come; the kingdom of God is upon you." This is "zero hour," the hour of decision. God was confronting men, more immediately, more urgently, than ever before, and an unprecedented opportunity lay before them. The statement needs some examination. God, the eternal, the omnipresent, can hardly be said to be nearer or farther off at this time than at that. If he is king at all, he is king always and everywhere. In what sense his kingdom does not come; it is. But human experience takes place within a framework of time and space. It has varying degrees of intensity. There are particular moments in the lives of men and in the history of mankind when what is permanently true (if largely unrecognized) becomes manifestly and effectively true. Such a moment in history is reflected in the gospels. The presence of God with men, a truth for all times and places, became an effective truth. It became such (we must conclude) because of the impact that Jesus made; because in his words and actions it was presented with exceptional clarity and operative with exceptional power. Jesus himself pointed to the effects of his work as signs of the coming of the kingdom: "If by the finger of God I drive out the devils, then be sure the kingdom of God has come upon you." 13 The saying is obviously figurative. To speak literally, God has no fingers, and there may or may not be such things as evil spirits; what the gospels call casting out devils we might describe, rightly or wrongly, in other terms. But the essential meaning is not obscure. In the presence of Jesus the dark forces within, which ravage the souls and bodies of men, were overcome and their victims made new. That it was so, is a fact so deeply imprinted on the records that it cannot reasonably be doubted. And this, Jesus said, was a sign that God was coming in his kingdom. It would not be accurate to say that Jesus brought in, or set up, the kingdom of God. That was the work of God himself, whose perpetual providence, active in every part of his creation, had brought about this significant moment, and the most significant feature in it was the appearance of Jesus himself. In his words and actions he made men aware of it and challenged them to respond. It was "good
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news" in the sense that it meant opportunity for a new start and an unprecedented enrichment of experience. But when a person (or a society) has been presented with such a challenge and declines it, he is not just where he was before. His position is the worse for the encounter. It is this that gives point to the tremendous warnings that Jesus is reported to have uttered about the consequences of rejection. That is why John, looking back on the career of Jesus as a complete episode, saw it as a day of judgment. "Now is the hour of judgment for this world," 14 he writes. "The light came into the world and men preferred darkness to light." 15 Light is a good thing; to encounter the reality which is God's presence in his world is in itself good. Whatever possibility of disaster may lurk within the choice which is offered, the facing of the choice, in the freedom which the Creator allows to his creatures, in itself raises life to greater intensity. The coming of the kingdom meant the open possibility of enhancement of life; it also meant the heightening of moral responsibility. What response to the challenge did Jesus expect from his hearers? "The kingdom of God is upon you; repent!" So Mark's slogan runs. The word "repent" in English suggests being "sorry for your sins." That is not what the Greek word means. It means, quite simply, to think again, to have second thoughts, to change your mind. "Repentance," as the gospels mean it, is a readjustment of ideas and emotions, from which a new pattern of life and behavior will grow (as the "fruit of repentance"). The readjustment turns upon acceptance of "good news of God." The news was, in the first place, that God was here, now. If once that was grasped, then everything that could be said about God had a new immediacy. What Jesus had to say about God, as we have seen, was expressed in language imaginative and emotive, which suggests rather than defines. We have noted how he dwelt upon the beauty and wonder of nature, and linked man with nature in one order where each level could be illuminated from another, and God was to be traced in all. At every level man meets his Creator, the Lord of heaven and earth, supreme in goodness and power, whose goodness is an exuberant generosity directed toward all his creatures without discrimination, and yet focussed on individuals in inconceivable intimacy. "Even the hairs on your head have all been counted." 16 It is instructive to observe how this way of thinking about God gives a new col or to images of Deity which Jesus took over from the tradition of his people. The idea of God as the Shepherd of Israel is almost a commonplace in the Old Testament. A true shepherd, Jesus observed, will be deeply concerned over a single sheep that has gone astray: "He goes after the missing one until he finds it." 17 So does God. And the point is sharpened because Jesus was censured for doing that very thing. The parable of the Lost Sheep, in fact (so Luke tells us), was his reply to such censures. The traditional image of the divine Shepherd was revivified in his actions as well as in his words. 275
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Again, God as the Father of his people was a very familiar metaphor, deeply embedded in the religious language of Judaism. And indeed the idea of a Father-god is common to many religions. But what is fatherhood, in its essential meaning, as applied to the Deity? Jesus did not hesitate to compare it directly with ordinary human fatherhood. "If you, bad as you are, know how to give your children what is good for them, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask him!" 18 The same comparison emerges in the parable which is perhaps the best known of them all, that of the Prodigal Son. 19 This is no ideal picture of an imaginary father, of such exceptional saintliness that he can stand for God himself. He is any father worth the name, as the hearers are expected to recognize, and this is how he would behave; and that is what God is like. Once again, the parable, we are told, was by way of a defense of what Jesus was doing against the censures of the pious, who are slyly satirized in the figure of the smug elder brother ("I never once disobeyed your orders!"). It is, in equal measure, an expression of the attitude of Jesus and an image of Deity. All through, the teaching of Jesus about God is distinguished by the directness, warmth and simplicity with which the language of fatherhood is used. "You have a Father who knows that you need all these things." "It is not the will of your Father that one of these little ones should be lost." 20 The same qualities mark the prayer, used by the church from its earliest days, which was believed to have been taught by Jesus himself. The prayer as it is commonly used, now as for centuries past, in public worship agrees with Matthew's version of it, cast in a form which no doubt had such use in view. Luke gives a simpler, perhaps a more original version: Father, thy name be hallowed. Thy kingdom come. Give us each day our daily bread. And forgive us our sins, for we too forgive all who have done us wrong. And do not bring us to the test. 21 The word for "Father," which the earliest Christians learnt from Jesus in their native Aramaic, was "Abba" (the Aramaic word is preserved in some places of the New Testament), and "Abba" was the intimate mode of address from child to father in the Jewish family. "My Father," or "our Father," was felt to be slightly more distant or more respectful, and Matthew's "our father in heaven" represents the formal language of liturgical prayer. Here again is a slight but not insignificant pointer to the way in which Jesus wanted his followers to think of God. The actual petitions of the prayer agree with this. They are the appeal of children to a father, simple, direct and confident. 276
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This kind of language, they say, is "anthropomorphic." Of course it is; and of course all human language about God falls short of telling what he is-the language of philosophical abstraction no less than the poetic image. But it is nevertheless intended to be taken seriously. In the first century many devout Jews were shy of such language. We can see this from the way in which they paraphrased passages in the Old Testament which sounded anthropomorphic, and from the circumspect terms in which they spoke of the Deity ("Heaven," "The Name," "The Holy One, blessed be he," and the like). Some of them, especially if they had come under Greek influence, as had many Jews of that period, spoke of "the One who really is," much as some modems speak of "the ultimate reality,'' or "the ground of being." In contrast, the gospels are uninhibited in their use of anthropomorphic language. We must suppose that Jesus used it, by choice, because it is the appropriate way of speaking about the personal life with God which was his concern, but, even more, because it was the only possible way of speaking of God as he himself knew him. He was aware that there were sophisticated types who could not take his teaching; he accepted this as a part of the conditions under which he had to work. "I thank thee, Father," he is recorded to have said, in one of the very few echoes of his personal prayers that have come through into the gospels"I thank thee, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, for hiding these things from the learned and wise, and revealing them to the simple."22 Some people would need to make a considerable effort to put themselves into the attitude in which his teaching would have meaning for them. "Unless you turn round and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of God''; or, in other words, "Whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will never enter it." 23 This "turning round" is a large part of what is meant by "repentance" in the gospels. It is learning to think of God as your Father and of yourself as his child, quite simply. How it would work out in daily practice is a question, it would seem, which Jesus was willing to leave very much to the awakened conscience of the individual. To bring about that awakening of conscience was a major object of his work, certainly the major aim of most of the parables. We look in vain in the gospels for any such elaborate scheme of rules for living as were offered by contemporary moralists, Jewish and Greek. This is not to be taken as meaning that there was either any vagueness about the true nature of moral action or any relaxation of the moral imperative. The follower of Jesus is under orders, no less binding because they are not spelled out in detail; he is "the man who hears these words of mine and acts upon them." 24 It is not because he wanted to let people off lightly that Jesus did not dictate a set of bylaws. And in fact the gospels do contain a small but illuminating body of directly ethical instruction. To this we must now turn. To start from a point where Jesus occupied common ground with his Jewish contemporaries may help us to appreciate both the organic
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relationship of his teaching to its matrix in Judaism, and the new departure it marks. In the first century, some of the most advanced of Jewish teachers, faced with the growing complexity of the system of ethics contained in the so-called Law of Moses and its constantly proliferating interpretations and supplements, were attempting to bring out its central or overruling intention by giving prominence to one or another "great commandment" upon which the rest might be supposed to hang. Jesus was aware of these attempts, and in sympathy with them. It is recorded that in discussing the question he found himself in friendly agreement with some teachers of the Law that there are two "great commandments": Love God with all your heart; love your neighbor as yourself. According to Matthew and Mark the combination of these two commandments was suggested by Jesus, and his questions cordially agreed. According to Luke it was the "lawyer" (as he calls him) who made the combination, and Jesus assented. 25 There is no reason why both reports should not be true. It is likely enough that the question was discussed on more than one occasion. Love of God; love of neighbor: an important part of the ethical teaching of Jesus can be brought under these twin heads, and this has often been done by Christian moralists. But if we are to trust the three earlier gospels, this was not his way. The objection has often been raised, that love cannot be commanded, and that to say "Thou shalt love" involves a contradiction. The objection may be rebutted in various ways. But in fact Jesus dealt with the theme to which the two commandments refer in a different way, which is not open to any such objection. Singular as it may appear, he seems to have said little (in express terms) about the duty of loving God, and not much more (in express terms) about loving one's neighbor, except where he was relating himself to current teaching with which his hearers would be familiar. Indeed he seems to have been sparing in his use of the word "love" (noun or verb). Thus, when he is speaking in language of his own choice he does not say, "Thou shalt love God." He says (in effect) "God is your Father; become what you are, his child." To live as a child of God means, as a matter of course, trust and obedience. All that is in the Old Testament, and what Jesus says about it is only a re-emphasis. But there is a further point: the maxim "Like father, like child" holds good here, and it is in the application of this principle that we can recognize an emphasis which is characteristic of the teaching of Jesus. The child of God will be like his Father, at least to the extent that he will feel himself obliged to try to reproduce in his own behavior towards others the quality of God's action toward his children, and to pursue the direction in which that action points. The "imitation of God" was a not uncommon way of expressing the moral ideal; it is found in both Jewish and Greek moralists of the period. They differ among themselves in regard to the divine attributes held up for imitation. For example, there were teachers for whom the characteristic attribute of Deity was the blissful serenity of perfectly self-centered indif278
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ference, and it was this that the "philosopher" must imitate. For others it was a transcendent and ineffable "holiness," unrelated to the conditions and values of human life on earth, to be imitated in seclusion from the world, by a contrived and exacting discipline. This appears to have been the view of some Jewish sectaries. But in the best Jewish teaching (going back to the prophets of the Old Testament) the attributes of God which are to be imitated are those which can be conceived on the analogy of human virtues at their highest; such as his even-handed justice, his mercy, his "faithfulness." Jesus agreed: "Justice, mercy, and good faith" he declared to be "the weightier demands of the Law." 26 But he also put the subject in a fresh light by his emphasis on the undiscriminating generosity and sympathy of the heavenly Father, particularly as shown towards those who are unworthy of it. This is the divine quality, above all, in which children of God will be like their Father. He "makes the sun rise on good and bad alike, and sends rain on the honest and the dishonest." 27 This is not, in any workaday sense of the term, justice: it is "goodness beyond justice." And this is the kind of thing his children should be doing. Whether this should be called love to God or love to neighbor is a matter of indifference. To love God is to live as his child; to live as a child of God is to treat your neighbor as God treats you. But since the goodness of God is undiscriminating, "beyond justice," the term "neighbor" is no longer serviceable unless it is redefined. In the parable of the Good Samaritan, where love to neighbor is, quite simply, doing for him what needs to be done in the emergency, the good neighbor is both alien and heretic.28 And at this point, perhaps, some hearers who had assented so far might have had misgivings, even if they did not go to the lengths of those fanatical sectaries whose Manual of Discipline (found among the "Dead Sea Scrolls") enjoined them "to love all the children of light ... and to hate all the children of darkness, each according to the measure of his guilt." It may have been with teaching of this kind in view that Jesus said, "You have learned that they were told, 'Love your neighbar and hate your enemy.' But what I tell you is this: Love your enemies." He was at pains to dot the i's and cross the t's of this challenging revision of the old commandment, "Love your neighbor." If you love only those who love you, What credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them. If you do good only to those who do good to you, What credit is that to you? Even sinners do as much. And if you lend only where you expect to be repaid, What credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to be repaid in full.
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But you must love your enemies and do good, And lend without expecting any return; And you will have a rich reward: You will be sons of the Most High, Because he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. 29 It is impossible to miss the stress laid upon breaking out of the narrow circle within which it is natural to confine the love of neighbor, and this is specifically related to the quality of the divine action. It is also instructive to observe how the expression slides from "Love your enemy," modelled on the traditional "Love your neighbor," to "Do good," "Lend," becoming more concrete at each step. At a still further stage the expression becomes fully pictorial and we get what is in effect a parable. "If someone slaps you on the right cheek, turn and offer him your left. If a man wants to sue you for your shirt, let him have your coat as well. If a man in authority makes you go one mile, go with him two." (The reference is to the system of forced labor for the state which was employed under the Roman Empire, especially for the purposes of the imperial postal service.) "Give when you are asked to give, and do not turn your back on a man who wants to borrow. " 3° Considered as regulations for the conduct of daily life these maxims are utopian. They were not intended as such regulations. Yet they are meant to be taken seriously. They are vivid and even startling illustrations, in extreme cases, of the way in which the quality and direction of God's treatment of his children might be reproduced in human relations. The very extravagance of them shows that Jesus was well aware what a lot he was demanding of human nature when he substituted "Love your enemies" for "Love your neighbor." There is a somewhat similar note of extravagance in an illuminating little dialogue reported by Matthew. Jesus has been urging the duty of forgiveness. Peter is represented as asking, "How often am I to go on forgiving my brother if he goes on wronging me? As many as seven times?" Jesus replies, "I do not say seven times; I say seventy times seven. " 31 Four hundred and ninety times-which is absurd. Peter's question is one which would occur naturally enough to a well-brought-up Jew of the period. He had been taught that forgiveness was a virtue, and, in the spirit of much contemporary exposition of the Law, he would like to know exactly how far he was expected to go. The reply of Jesus is a reductio ad absurdum of any quantitative treatment of the question. There are no limits. It might be asked why Jesus gave such prominence to these themes. One answer might be that he saw, as any sensitive observer might have seen, that Jewish society was being corroded by rancorous hatreds, among the parties and factions into which it was divided, and between Jew and Roman. It was the part of any publicist who had insight and foresight, to point this out and to urge a change of temper before it was too late. But
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there is more to it than that. It is in this field of human relations, where the issues are most acute and the emotions are most strongly aroused, that the absoluteness of God's requirements can be exposed. This is a part of what is meant by the declaration that his kingdom is here. It is no time for the nicely calculated less and more of "practical" morality. It is a time for total commitment. There is no limit to what is demanded of children of God, nor can his demands be exhaustively fulfilled. "When you have carried out all your orders, you should say, 'We are servants and deserve no credit; we have only done our duty.' "32 All that a man can do is to accept full responsibility before God, and to throw himself on his mercy. Forgiveness to "seventy times seven" is a function of the heavenly Father. But "if you do not forgive others, then the wrongs you have done will not be forgiven by your Father. " 33 This is not to be taken as a threat of retributive action on the part of God. It means that the unforgiving person does not stand in the relation of a child to the heavenly Father. He has broken that relation by his own attitude; he has placed himself outside the family of God. "Observe," Paul once wrote, "the kindness and the severity of God. "34 We can observe both here, in a tension which must not be evaded, if the teaching of Jesus is to be understood. A similar combination of kindness and severity is to be observed in his own attitude. His tenderness to men in their need, and his unsparing demands upon them, both arise from a deep concern for the individual as a child of the heavenly Father, and this reflects the attitude of God himself, as Jesus represented it. We have seen that Jesus started from positions which he largely shared with other Jewish teachers of his time, but that in some respects he went beyond these positions. It is clear that a rift soon appeared, and this became with time an irreconcilable breach. In interpreting what the gospels report upon this subject it is well to bear in mind that, when they came to be written, controversy between the followers of Jesus and official Judaism had gone forward with increasing bitterness for some years before the final separation of church and synagogue. It was almost inevitable that in the course of this controversy the sayings of Jesus should sometimes have been given a sharper edge, certainly that those sayings should be most often repeated which were capable of such a sharp edge. But that he did upon occasion set his teaching in deliberate opposition to that of other rabbis cannot be doubted. Nor, whatever allowance be made for overcoloring in the course of controversy, is it possible to doubt that he did deliberately criticize them, and sometimes in trenchant terms, though we need not assume that all of them were included in such criticism; there were perhaps more teachers of the Law with whom Jesus could find himself in friendly agreement than the two or three who have found their way into the gospels. But a growing opposition is a feature of the record which cannot be set aside. In any study of the beginnings of Christianity it is 281
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necessary to take account of this opposition and to try to understand its nature and causes. Moreover, in the attempt we may hope to arrive at a juster appreciation of the distinctive tendencies and emphases of the teaching of Jesus himself. It is evident from what has already been said that the ethics of Jesus are predominantly concerned with the dignity and responsibility of the human individual face to face with God. In view of this it is not surprising to find a certain impatience with minutiae of religious etiquette with which the most influential school of rabbinic Judaism was much preoccupied. Not that he seems to have set himself deliberately to undermine the cherished customs of his people. A good example is his treatment of the law of tithe, a tax of 10 per cent for religious purposes levied on agricultural produce. It laid a serious burden on those who tried to observe it with scrupulous exactness, for it was, of course, in addition to the imperial taxation. It was no bad test of genuine devotion to the Law. Upon this there is a saying of Jesus, reported (with small verbal differences) by Matthew and Luke: "You pay tithes of mint and dill and cummin, but you have overlooked the weightier demands of the Law-justice, mercy and good faith. It is these you should have practiced, without neglecting the others. Blind guides! You strain off a midge, yet gulp down a camel!" 35 Jesus was not intolerant of these religious practices; there is no harm in having rules of discipline, and if such rules are accepted, certainly no harm in following them conscientiously. But there is a proportion to be kept; if they are allowed to get in the way of those personal relations which are summed up as "justice, mercy and good faith," then the attempt to keep the Law of God is frustrated. It was on similar grounds that Jesus sat loose to other current rules of discipline; for example, the regulations about sabbath observance, which had become immensely elaborate and detailed. Here again it does not appear that he planned to undermine the conventions of Jewish society. We are told that he was accustomed to attend the synagogue service on the sabbath, and we may assume that normally he would conform with the rules generally observed. But when these rules conflicted with elementary human need, they must give way. In principle, indeed, this was conceded. "The sabbath was given to you, and not you to the sabbath": the sentiment is attributed to more than one Jewish rabbi. Jesus agreed: "The sabbath was made for the sake of man, and not man for the sabbath." 36 But his actions implied a more thorough application of it than others were prepared to allow. He gave serious offense by treating patients, not in immediate danger of death, on the holy day. When challenged, he propounded the question, "Is it permitted to do good on the sabbath, or to do evil?" If the rules prevent you from doing good, that is, from promoting the welfare of any individual person who may be within your reach (your "neighbor"), then the rules must yield to a higher claim. There may also be a hint that to fail to "do good" because it is the sabbath is to "do evil."
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The keeping of the sabbath may seem to us a comparatively trivial issue, but it was a sensitive point. It was one of the most obviously distinctive of all Jewish customs; it was one which the Gentile observer, however superficial, could not miss, as references in Greek and Roman literature sufficiently prove. Nor was it forgotten that in the first great national revolt, two hundred years earlier, Jewish fugitives had allowed themselves to be massacred rather than fight on the holy day. The sabbath was specially prized as a mark of the separateness of the chosen people, and to attack it was to blur the national image. Without going into further detail, we can see how inevitable it was that tension arose between Jesus and the exponents of current religious practice. But the trouble went deeper than the lack of proportion and sheer triviality to which their casuistry sometimes descended. Jesus saw in it the grave danger of such an emphasis on the overt act that the inner disposition was forgotten. He is reported to have put the point by way of an interpretation of two of the Ten Commandments. "You have learned that our forefathers were told, 'Do not commit murder; anyone who commits murder must be brought to judgment.' But what I tell you is this: anyone who nurses anger against his brother must be brought to judgment." And again, "You have learned that they were told 'Do not commit adultery.' But what I tell you is this: if a man looks on a woman with a lustful eye he has already committed adultery with her in his heart. "37 There is nothing here that need have upset anyone who was acquainted with the Old Testament or with Jewish teaching of the time. There are many rabbinic sayings which condemn the indulgence of anger (against a fellow Jew, bien entendu), and the Ten Commandments themselves not only prohibit adultery but add, "Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's wife." But this constant and emphatic dwelling on the inward disposition rather than the overt act might well excite the suspicion of those who insisted on the deed as the sole visible test of obedience to the Law of God. It is clear that Jesus too attached importance to the concrete act; that is one reason why he cast so much of his ethical teaching in the form of vivid word pictures of action instead of abstract general maxims. But he did so with the proviso that the act is the sincere expression of an inward disposition. "A good man produces good from the store of good within himself, and an evil man from the evil within produces evil. For the words the mouth utters come from the overflowing of the heart." 38 It is a matter of wholeness of character, consistency of thought, word and act. That is why he expressed such horror of ostentatious display of religion where a true inward devotion was lacking. "Be careful," he is reported to have said, ''not to make a show of your religion before men .... When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; they love to say their prayers standing up in synagogues or at the street corners, for everyone to see them .... When you pray, go into a room by yourself, shut the door, and pray to 283
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your Father who is there in the secret place. "39 When he was censured for laxity in observing the traditional rules about ceremonial washing before meals, he retorted upon his critics in a biting phrase: "You clean the outside of cup and plate, but inside you there is nothing but greed and wickedness." 40 Again, it was held that certain kinds of food "defile" the eater. According to Mark Jesus pronounced categorically on the matter: "Nothing that goes into a man from outside can defile him." Mark adds an explanation: "From the inside, out of a man's heart, come evil thoughts [and a whole catalogue of violent and criminal practices]. These evil things come from inside, and they defile the man"; and he adds, as his own comment, "thus he declared all foods clean." The distinction between "clean" and "unclean" foods was deeply embedded in the Jewish system and had its basis in the Old Testament itself. It has been doubted whether Jesus can have gone so far, but there seems no reason to question Mark's report of the basic saying. It was known to Paul, who wrote, several years before Mark's gospel appeared: "I am absolutely convinced, on the authority of the Lord Jesus, that nothing is impure in itself. "41 If he did say something to this effect, it is no wonder hostility was aroused. In times of persecution, the test of loyalty to the Jewish religion had often been just this refusal of "unclean" food. Was it possible to repudiate a principle which the martyrs had sealed with their blood? Contemporary rabbis would not have dreamed of denying the importance of inward disposition. But Jesus pressed the principle with such ruthless logic that it seemed in danger of eroding the discipline by which social morals were safeguarded. For him it was a point of cardinal significance: an act is a moral act only so far as it expresses the whole character of the man who acts. His severest strictures are directed against those teachers of religion and morals whose lofty principles were belied by the pretentiousness, superficiality and inhumanity of their behavior. The strictures are severe enough; it is possible, as we have seen, that our reports of them have been colored by subsequent controversy. But that they were not without grounds we may learn from passages in the rabbinic writings themselves which castigate unworthy claimants to the honored name of "Pharisee" in terms no less scathing than those of the gospels. But all this is in a sense a side issue, significant only insofar as it iilustrates the moral bias of the teaching of Jesus as a whole. And this bias can equally be felt in his strictures on followers of his own in whom he detected the same lack of moral consistency. "Why do you keep calling me 'Lord, Lord'-and never do what I tell you?" 42 So runs a characteristically pointed saying in Luke. In Matthew it is enforced by a telling piece of imagery, in which Jesus imagines himself confronting these unworthy followers on a day of judgment beyond this world. "When that day comes, many will say to me, 'Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, cast out devils in your name, and in your name perform many miracles?' Then I will tell them to
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their faces, 'I never knew you; out of my sight, you and your wicked ways!'" It was not only Pharisees who had to feel the lash of his tongue. But the fact is that his whole approach to morals was different from that which prevailed among Jewish teachers of his time. The formidable structure of tradition with which the Law of Moses had come to be surrounded was designed to bring its demands within the compass of the individual by making every command applicable in a clearly defined way to each situation in which he might find himself. He must know, for example, just how far he might walk on a sabbath day without infringing the commandment, and exactly what circumstances might justify him in stretching it. (It was to the credit of the Pharisees that they did stretch it-for example, to save life-but within strict limits.) Something of the kind, no doubt, is necessary if ethics are to be made practicable; we can hardly dispense with casuistry. But it has its dangers. Beside the obvious danger of giving the outward act an independent value apart from the disposition which makes it a moral act, there is a more subtle danger, that of a quantitative conception of morality. It is as if there were a set of regulations each of which, like the questions in an examination paper, earned a certain number of marks, and the total could be put to a man's credit. The implication would be that it is possible to score full marks, and to say with a good conscience (as someone says in the gospels), "I have kept all these." 43 Jesus had severe things to say about "those who were sure of their own goodness and looked down on everyone else. "44 That, of course, is the trouble. The yardstick by which one measures one's own (real or supposed) excellence also measures the other man's defects, to one's own great comfort. In the teaching of Jesus, goodness is not measurable by any yardstick. It is qualitative and not quantitative at all. It is the effort to reproduce the quality of the divine action. The effort may be present at lowly levels of achievement; the quality itself is never fully present at the highest, since "no one is good [in the absolute sense] except God alone." There is therefore no ground either for complacency or harsh judgment on the part of the "virtuous," or for self-despair on the part of the "sinner." It is surprising how often the sayings of Jesus recur to this theme, of the folly and evil of self-righteousness and censoriousness. His heaviest count against the prevailing teaching of his time is precisely this: that, starting with the best intentions, it had come to encourage this folly and evil, as if it were inseparable from a high moral standard. It is clear that there breathes through all this a lively sympathy with those whose weakness, or whose lack of opportunity, placed them at a disadvantage. But it would be misleading to regard it as nothing more than the protest of a warm-hearted, liberal-minded humanitarian. It arose out of the conviction that with the coming of the kingdom of God a new era in relations between God and man had set in. Morality might now draw directly from fresh springs. The whole apparatus of traditional regulations 285
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lost its importance. Jesus never intended a campaign against the Law. It might still serve a useful purpose in its way; it might be understood as bearing witness to the two "great commandments." But it was no longer central, and no longer constituted the whole structure of moral obligation. The differences, therefore, which produced first a rift and then an irreconcilable opposition between Jesus and the dominant school of Jewish teachers in his time were not in the end (though they might appear at first sight to be) a matter of divergent interpretations of this or that point in the Law. After all, there was considerable latitude of interpretation among accredited rabbis-more latitude at that period than in the reformed Judaism which emerged after the debacle of A.D. 70. But his critics rightly divined that his teaching threatened the integrity of Judaism as a system in which religion and national solidarity were inseparable. This was the secret of the fatal breach, as it is pinpointed by a modern Jewish writer, and one who is by no means insensitive to the many noble ideas which he finds in the teaching of Jesus. 45 He writes: The Judaism of that time, however, had no other aim than to save the tiny nation, the guardian of great ideals, from sinking into the broad sea of heathen culture and enable it, slowly and gradually, to realize the moral teaching of the Prophets in civil life and in the present world of the Jewish state and nation. Hence the nation as a whole could only see in such public ideals as those of Jesus an abnormal and dangerous phantasy; the majority, who followed the Scribes and Pharisees (The Tannaim), the leaders of the popular party, could on no account accept Jesus' teaching. This teaching Jesus had absorbed from the breast of Prophetic, and, to a certain extent, Pharisaic Judaism; yet it became, on the one hand, the negation of everything that had vitalized Judaism; and, on the other hand, it brought Judaism to such an extreme that it became, in a sense, non-Judaism. This, a judgment from within the rabbinic tradition, may probably be accepted as being, up to a point, a fair assessment of the grounds of the opposition which Jesus encountered from a party with which in some respects he had much in common. If this seems hardly sufficient to account for a hostility which could be satisfied with nothing short of his death, we may recall that the time was one in which resentment of pagan domination was mounting high, and hot passions were stirred in defense of the cherished values of "the Jewish way of life." Yet there is something about the antagonism, as it is reflected in the gospels, which seems to draw from an even deeper spring than apprehension of a threat to the national heritage. Jesus was charged with "blasphemy." The term is a heavily loaded one, and the charge suggests an affront to powerful sentiments of religious
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reverence and awe, evoking both hatred and fear. The charge of blasphemy expresses not so much a rational judgment as a passionate, almost instinctive, revulsion of feeling against what seems to be a violation of sanctities. There must have been something about the way in which Jesus spoke and acted which provoked this kind of revulsion in minds conditioned by background, training and habit. It was this, over and above reasoned objections to certain features of his teaching, that drove the Pharisees into an unnatural (and strictly temporary) alliance with the worldly hierarchy, whose motives for pursuing Jesus to death were quite other. But of this more later.
Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37
Matt. 11.25, Luke 10.21. Mark 10.18. Mark 10.27. Mark 4. 28--29. Matt. 13. 45--46. Matt. 5. 25-26, Luke 12. 57-59. Luke 16. 3--4. John 4.35. Luke 10. 23-24. Luke 16.16. Matthew's version of this saying is more enigmatic, 11. 12-14. Mark 1.15. Mark 6.15. Luke 11.20; Matt. 12.28 has the more conventional, "by the Spirit of God." John 12.31. John 3.19. Matt. 10.30, Luke 12.7. Luke 15.4. Matt. 7.11, Luke 11.13. Luke 15. 11-32. Luke 12.29, Matt. 6.32. Luke 11. 2--4; Matthew's longer version, 6, 9-13. Matt. 11.25, Luke 10.21. Matt. 18.3, Mark 10.15. Matt. 7.24, Luke 6.47. Matt. 22. 34--40, Mark 12. 28--34, Luke 10. 25-28. Matt. 23.23. Matt. 5.45. Luke 10. 29-37. Matt. 5. 43-48, Luke 6. 27-36. Matt. 5. 39-42. Matt. 18. 21-22. Luke 17.1 0. Matt. 6.15. Romans 11.22. Matt. 23.23, Luke 11.42. Mark 2.27, 3.4. Matt. 5. 21-22,27-28.
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38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45
Matt. 12.35, Luke 6.45. Matt. 6. 1-6. Matt. 23.25, Luke 11.39, Mark 7. 15-23. Romans 14.14. Such is probably the meaning of the expression which is literally translated, "I know and am persuaded in the Lord Jesus." Luke 6.46, Matt. 7. 21-23. Mark 10.20, Matt. 19.20, Luke 18.21. Luke 18.9. Joseph Klausner, Jesus of Nazareth (English translation, 1925), p. 376.
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GOD AS FATHER IN THE PROCLAMATION AND IN THE PRAYER OF JESUS* Dieter Zeller Source: A. Finkel (ed.), Standing Before God: Studies on Prayer in Scripture and in Tradition (1. M. Oesterreicher Festschrift; New York: Ktav, 1981), pp. 117-129.
Today the belief in God the Father is questioned in many ways. Psychology gives evidence how the image of Father-God is modeled after the individual's human father, sometimes it personifies what is lacking in his own father. There are even psychologists who explain the idea of a divine father as the product of an early childhood process of suppression and projection.1 Sociology of Religion observes the interrelationships existing between societal organizations as family, clan, nation on the one hand and the idea of God on the other. 2 It fosters the suspicion that the authority of a Father-God serves to legitimize and support a certain patriarchal structure of society. Since the role of the father is subject to societal and historical vacillations, then, in light of social psychology which points to the contemporary "lack of the father" 3, it becomes difficult to assign to God his true status as father. From this critical perspective, the fatherhood of God is an image which stems from either individual or collective imagination. However this image is destroyed, when it not only derives its meaning from certain psychological and sociological conditions, but also turns out to be on the whole a function of such conditions. In contrast P. Ricoeur4 requires that one must leave behind the imaginary picture ("l'imaginaire") to arrive at the symbol. Then, the fatherhood of God comes not only to satisfy human needs and desires, but becomes an inevitable expression of border experiences which cannot be grasped in fixed terms but only in such metaphorical transfers of archetypal events between God and man. Exegesis can help to purify the metaphor of God as Father by studying its origins, how it relates to human experience and also how closely it is linked with human imagination.
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1. The Old Testament-Jewish foundation Popular opinion holds that Jesus is the founder of a new religion because he is said to have proclaimed God as Father for the first time in history. Thus, according to Schiller, can all people be brothers, for they are all children of the one benevolent Father residing above the firmament. History of religion dictates a two-fold revision of this opinion: 1. the designation of a deity as a father is a widespread phenomenon in ancient religions, 5 2. the proclamation of God the Father by Jesus is rooted in Old TestamentJewish foundations. Here, however, the fatherhood of God does not include all peoples but expresses a special relationship between Yahweh and his people Israel. Surely Israel recognized its God also as the Creator of the universe and the Source of all life. Because of this it would have been natural to call him Father, as the neighboring nations speak of their gods as "Father and Mother of the people", "Father of the country", "Father of heaven and earth". 6 But, for Israel, God's fatherhood begins with the historical act when Yahweh calls his son out of Egypt, as in Hos 11,1 (see Exod 4,22). In fact, it describes the covenantal relationship between God and Israel,? but it can be interchanged with other metaphors, such as that of a husband. From a statistical point of view it assumes no central place in the Israelite vocabulary denoting God. 8 Yet, while it is rooted in history in such a way, it does not preclude the possibility of it also becoming an expression of mythological thought. 9 Examples of northwest Semitic tribal religions illustrate that the title "Father" often designates the kinship between the tribe and the deity and the role of a protector. 10 In this connection Moab calls itself the people of Chemosh; the Moabites are called his "sons" and "daughters" (Num 21,29; see Mal 2,11 ). Israel also addresses idols fashioned of stone and wood with "you are my father" and "you have given birth to me", when they hope for rescue (Jer 2,27). Only when their election as God's children was understood as unmerited gift, which at the same time points to obligation, do they not fail in using such an address to Yahweh (see Jer 3, 19; Deut 14, 1). Precisely in the Father-Son relationship they recognize their duty of obedience and fear of God (see Isa 1, 2-4; 30, 1.9; Jer 3, 14.22; Mal1,6) but also Yahweh's undeserved mercy (see Jer 31, 9.20; Mal3, 17; Ps 103, 13). The same features in Judaism are attributed to God by using the title "Father". Here too, God is the Father of Israel and of righteous individuals because he has made them his people, 11 he loves them spontaneously12 and educates them.O He struggles for his son, 14 cares for him and protects him. 15 This is why the Israelites-as already in the Old Testament (see Isa 63, 16; 64, 7)-may call to their Father when in periJ.l 6 They use the stereotyped title "our Father" in the collective petitions for help,17 for rain, 18 or for forgiveness. 19 However, the fact that God creates and preserves the life of his people 290
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does not result in a natural relationship. Often we find next to the title "our Father" the additional one "our King." 20 The Father of Israel is raised above the concept of human fatherhood by adding "who is in heaven." 21 On the whole, the use of "Father" for God is relatively infrequent in pre-New Testament times; more common are the appellatives like "the Highest", "the Almighty", "the Eternal", "the Lord of heaven and earth". 22 To be a son of God means an acknowledgment of God's authority. This is why the Rabbis often mention the will of the Father in heaven, as revealed in the Law. 23 R. Judah (circa A.D. 150), in contradiction to R. Meir, emphasizes that the Israelites could be called children of God only if they behaved as such, that is, by being obedient. 24 In the Book of Jubilees, (which is closely related to the eschatological penitential movement of Qumran) but not with the Rabbis, one finds the prophetic thought (see Hos 2, 1-3) that this filial relationship is only realized to the fullest when God will turn the Israelites to himself in the end time and will create a new spirit for them (Jub 1,23ff). According to Ps Sol 17, 26f. the expected Messiah-King has the task of bringing together for God a holy people who are all sons of God. At the time of Jesus the idea of God as Father was certainly alive in Judaism. It was grounded in the special election of Israel by God. Weighing against the danger that Israel might reserve "Father" for itself is the tendency toward a transcendental apprehension of God, whereby simultaneously the Law is taken seriously as an expression of God's will. Eventually, the filial relationship to God becomes the object of an apocalyptic hope for the future.
2. God as Father in the sapiential admonitions of Jesus Does Jesus' proclamation of God as the Father offer a new teaching after all? A. von Harnack 25 believes that one could retrace the entire sermon of Jesus to these two lessons: "God as Father" and "the human soul so ennobled that it is able to unite with him". Here religion is supposed to rise above all particularistic and institutional boundaries. Recent authors 26 also maintain that Jesus is said to have freed the appellation "Father" for God from its association with the specific history of Israel and has attached a universal significance to it. In order to examine this we confine ourselves to the reliable logia (sayings) of Jesus. The historical conclusions leading to this selection cannot be defended individually here. It becomes apparent that only in the argument of some sapiential admonitions 27 is God mentioned as the Father. It seems to me that not enough attention has been paid to this. In the form-critical view those arguments do not have the function of creating completely new insights. Their purpose is to make Jesus' demands 291
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comprehensible. This is why he appeals to what his listeners already know. Based upon general faith convictions, the admonitions shall become plausible. Let us examine in what context Jesus mentions God as the Father. Life involves bodily needs and existential hardships. Jesus advises against anxieties (Matt 6, 25 ff/ /Luke 12, 22 ff) and argues from the carefree existence of the ravens and the wild flowers, who are nourished and clothed by God (Luke 12, 24.27 f). Luke correctly ascribes this care of the Creator to Theos, while Matthew (6,26) mentions "your heavenly Father." Anyway, for Jesus' audience, God is not only the Creator, but the Father who knows what they need (Luke 12, 30b ). Therefore, they have still fewer reasons for anxieties. Their intimate relationship with God, to whom Jesus refers as "your Father" seems to be constituted by their membership in God's people. For Jewish parallels also indicate that care for the sustenance of his children is one of the paternal duties of Israel's God. 28 This salvation-history background is evident in Luke 12,30a, a verse which, it is true, looks like an insertion. There "nations of the world" are mentioned as a contrast. Similarly the argument is presented in Matt 10, 28-31//Luke 12, 4-7. Here, Jesus utilizes the example of the sparrows to demonstrate to the persecuted that they do not have to fear anything. Not even those insignificant birds perish apart from God's will. This is also mentioned in a rabbinic Apothegm. 29 While there the circumlocution "Heaven" is used for God, Jesus employs "your Father"30 • God's special protection however is not meant for all men here, but for his disciples in particular, whose lives are in danger because of their commitment to Jesus. Furthermore, the father image appears in the context of prayer. The saying Matt 6,7f, which is perhaps Judaeo-Christian, in verse 8b echoes Luke 12,30b. Babbling in prayer is unnecessary because God is the Father of the suppliants and always knows what they need. Here again the pagans are adduced in a negative comparison. If this saying originated with Jesus, then it is clear that he appealed to the faith assumptions of his Jewish audience. He develops for them the idea of special closeness to "their Father in heaven" in the pericope encouraging them to pray (Matt 7, 7-11//Luke 11, 9-13). Thus he compares God's goodness with harsh human fathers, who can be softened by their children's entreaties. Similar analogies are used by the rabbis to elicit the confidence that the prayer will be accepted. 31 The image of "father" was familiar to Jesus since collective prayer so frequently addresses him. Here, he accepts this address literally and relates it to human experience by using a parable. He seizes upon the father instinct of his audience and actualizes what was already found in Israel's religious consciousness. This appears similarly in the parable of the father and his two sons (Luke 15, 11-32). It is considered here even though there is no admonition form, and the father in the story is not explicitly identified with God. The 292
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astounding reaction of the father, which seems to exceed all proper norms, is to the audience an understandable human emotion. Jesus thereby develops the reality of God anew for them. He develops it in relation to what they know of him from the Old Testament. Especially, Hos 11, 1-9 and Jer 31, 18-20 demonstrate with the same imagery, that Yahweh possesses the heart of a father, that he is deeply concerned about the lives of his children and rejoices when they return to him. Apparently, Jesus is aware that his audience knows of the mercy shown by their Father in heaven. Since it is an established fact that has been demonstrated again and again in the course of a long history he can formulate the demand: "You also be compassionate" (Luke 6, 36; see Matt 5, 48). Therewith he takes up a phrase already coined in the Targum. 32 God's liberal indulgence extends to all his work; he causes the sun to rise on good men and evil and sends rain to fall on the righteous and the wicked alike. So it appears in Matt 5, 44f//Luke 6, 35 following the Jewish scriptural interpretation specifically on Ps 145, 9. Yet God's fatherly rule does not therefore extend to all mankind. First, Matthew's tou patros hymon is probably not original.3 3 Secondly, only those are called sons of God who imitate the Creator's kindness by loving their enemies in contrast to the ways of tax collectors and pagans (see Matt 5,46f, probably an addition). This corresponds to the rabbinic tradition, in which the Israelites can only be the children of God in a probationary manner. The promise in Matt 5,45a develops a wisdom tradition (see Sir 4,10) in an apocalyptic dimension. The gift of sonship is indicated for those who become worthy of an eschatological reward by an energetic imitatio Dei. We can now summarize the results of our study of the admonitions, which are mostly preserved in the Logia source. The fact itself that God is their Father was known to Jesus' Jewish audience. Jesus reminds them of this in an immediate, arresting manner with vivid inductive examples. He does not restrict himself to foregone conclusions. Decisive for him are the practical consequences that must be taken from this relationship with the Father. This concerns the past, present and future of his hearers. Through a renewal of a filial relationship, they can overcome sin, pray confidently and become free from the anxieties of everyday existence and from fear of other men. Finally, they are asked to accept their neighbors unconditionally, including their enemies. Jesus also justifies his own ministry with the parable of the compassionate father in Luke 15, 11ff. By this he invites especially the Pharisees to acknowledge God's atonement for the sinners and to take them into the community34 just as he himself does. Jesus' ministry in the name of this compassionate Father generates such opposition because he proclaims this familiar Father as the one who comes unexpectedly with his royal dominion. The memory of the past is realized in the sign of the future. It becomes evident in Jesus' behavior and his demands that the coming God is in many ways different from what his Jewish 293
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contemporaries pictured. Speaking in terms of "form criticism": the sapiential admonitions of Jesus are subordinated to his Basileia-proclamation.35 Both elements, the transmitted title of "Father" and Jesus' proclamation of God's Kingship are found together in the "Our Father", the prayer which Jesus in all probability recommended to his followers (Luke 11, 2-4). 36 Out of their filial communion with God they may dare to ask for the necessities of life but, most importantly, for the coming of his Kingdom. Since they receive God's forgiveness in the present time, the establishing of his reign can only mean salvation for them. In comparison with the contemporary "Eighteen Benedictions", it is evident that the petition for national restoration is omitted.37 Furthermore, all other recurring appellations for God founded in salvation history are missing, unless they are concentrated in the simple Pater. 38 What else encourages the disciples of Jesus to use such an expression as "Father"?
3. God as Father in the prayer of Jesus Behind the address "Father" (Luke 11, 2) probably stands the Aramaic "Abba" which appears in Jesus' prayer at Gethsemane (Mark 14, 36). J. Jeremias 39 thinks that because "the personal address to God as 'my Father' cannot be shown in the literature of ancient Palestinian Judaism", and because "the address of 'Abba' to God is nowhere to be found in Jewish prayers," it seems that Jesus adopted "Abba" from everyday language of the time, and authorized his disciples to follow him in thus speaking to God, transmitting to them the "Our Father." "Therewith he invites them to share in his relationship to God." To test this frequently cited thesis40 , let us examine:
(a) The tradition-history of "Abba" In the Lord's Prayer, "Father" is primarily the way the disciples address God, unless this originated with the oldest Jewish-Christian community in Palestine.41 According to this, the Matthean form "our Father" is probably more original: It conforms to the plural pronouns of the subsequent petitions. In the Mishna "Abba" can also represent "Our Father." 42 Therefore, we cannot conclude that Jesus alone was competent to use it, because of his unique sonship. The liturgical addresses 'abba', ho pater prove only that "Abba" was used in the bilingual communities of Palestine. That these were shouted ecstatically in the Spirit of the Son is primarily a theological assertion. This does not mean that they can be derived through tradition-history investigation from Jesus' liturgical usage. 43 It is naturally quite difficult to ascertain how Jesus called on his Father in prayer because tradition tells us mainly about words addressed to 294
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human beings. Any word of prayer by Jesus is transmitted to us because it offered either a parenetic or an indirect Christological interest. The episode at Gethsemane (Mark 14, 32ff) demonstrates, for instance, how Jesus turns from seeming despair to an affirmation of God's will. This is written for the purpose of edification, most probably as a reflection of Jesus' humanity. 44 Since the "all-knowing narrator" stands above all matters, the question is superfluous whether the disciples might have heard the Master's prayer. 45 So, even here, we cannot show historically whether "Abba" is characteristic for Jesus. The so-called prayer of thanksgiving (Matt 11, 25-27//Luke 10, 21f) can be attributed to Jesus, if at all, only in the first half (Matt 11, 25f). 46 Here we encounter again the address pater or ho pater, which might stand for "Abba." But except for v 27, one is unable to deduce from the content of this prayer that such an address can be attributed exclusively to Jesus. Like other prophets and the Teacher of Righteousness in Qumran, Jesus is initiated into God's counsel and enthusiastically proclaims it. But nowhere is it mentioned that he is so informed as Son. Yet does it not testify to a special boldness which ultimately is permitted only to the Son, that he calls God "Abba"? Let us clarify:
(b) The semantics of "Abba" The word has its origin in the language of children. Yet in pre-New Testament times it had been used by adults addressing their fathers or other honored personages. Only in certain connections do we find clearly that it means the first word children articulateY Jeremias walks a tightrope when he tries to prove the unprecedented use of the word in the mouth of Jesus. On the one hand, it is not supposed to appear childish, as when it is rendered "Daddy" or "Papa." On the other hand, a familiarity must be contained within the phrase so that one becomes aware of the daring involved in addressing God as a child would his father "so simply, so intimately, so securely."48 However why should such an address to God seem "disrespectful to Jewish sensibilities" if it also could be used for revered persons (see Matt 23, 9)? The context will show: In Matt 11, 25 the word "Father" is parallel to "Lord of heaven and earth." In Mark 14, 36 we can follow the translation of J. M. Oesterreicher "Abba, You all-powerful One! "50 This does not seem to indicate a baby-like familiarity in the word "Abba". This word had nearly replaced the Hebraic-Aramaic "Abhi", and so Jesus had no other choice when he wanted to address God as "Father". 51 Still, Jeremias maintains that even this constituted an innovation. Therefore we present:
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(c) The history-of-religions findings
It is undisputed that the "Father" title for God appears in assertory texts,
and that with the singular possessive pronoun, too. 52 In a few cases we even find the form "Abba" in Targ. Ps 89, 27 and Mal 2, 10; bTa'anit 23b. 53 This last example comes from the first century A.D. It seems to me that Jeremias underrates this since I:Ianin Haneqba need not consciously imitate baby-talk with the phrase "Abba, who can give rain." Now the question is whether there is really such a big step from speaking about God, the Father, to addressing him as Father. In liturgical texts the Hebrew address "our Father" is quite common but the singular form appears only in later texts. 54 This could be explained by the fact that usually people prayed collectively, employing a "we" style. 55 For this reason one finds the address "Father" in the singular only in a few prayers which stem from Hellenistic Judaism. 56 However, Sir 23, 1.4 proves also that this manner of addressing God was also known in Palestine. Here we have only the Greek text, it is true, but there seems to be no reason to suppose with J. Jeremias 57 that the Hebrew original read "God of my father," since Sir 51, 10 mentions "Abhi 'attah:" "You are my Father." We conclude that, in none of the cases where the "Abba" can be ascribed to Jesus, doe she speak to his Father exclusively. It is even doubtful whether use of this title in prayer is really so unique, that it bespeaks a unique Sonship-consciousness on the part of Jesus. Therefore one cannot imply from the linguistic phraseology that Jesus shared with his disciples his messianic relationship to God. The line of tradition is not followed here, where both the Davidic King and the expected Messiah are called "Son of God", a title which appears in the post-Easter confession of Christ who "according to the Spirit of holiness was designated as the Son of God when he was raised from the dead" (Rom 1, 4). 58 It is noteworthy that this tradition in the beginnings appears as unconnected with Jesus' speaking of the Father. With his audience Jesus shared the Father whom he disclosed anew. His own personal relationship to the Father is not represented outwardly in quite a new way, outside the given frame of ideas. 59 Jesus rather lives in this relationship as he points to the Father and indicates that such accessibility to God is possible. The significance lies in how he does this. The Father, whom Jesus brings close to this listeners, remains the faithful God of Israel, who is linked with his people through their particular history. Yet, Jesus reinterprets God's nearness through the signs of the imminent Kingship (Basileia) of this same God. Thus he frees the image of God from national projections and renders God's concerning reality a matter of experience. This is especially manifested in practical consequences. The will of the Father is no longer fixedly laid down in the letter of the law.
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Jesus demands, especially in the name of the Father of Israel, a loving openness for the socially oppressed, which overcomes all religious appearances of group egotism.
Notes
* 1 2
3
4 5 6 7
8 9
10 11 12 13 14
Translation from German by Mrs. Nora Quigley and the editors, with corrections by the author. See special issue "Refus du pere et paternite de Dieu" LumVie 20(1971) No. 104, the contributions of M. Gillet and J.-C. Sagne. See e.g. G. Mensching, Soziologie der Religion (Bonn, 1947) p 65. For the O.T. compare P.A. H. de Boer, Fatherhood and Motherhood in Israelite and Judean Piety (Leiden 1974); he also points out (p 26ff.) traces of a mother-oriented image of God in Israel. In contrast F. K. Mayr deplores a developing masculinity of the image of God in post-biblical times (see "Patriarchalisches Gottesverstandnis?" Th. Q. 152(1972) p 224-255). See A. Mitscherlich, Auf dem Weg zur Vaterlosen Gesellschaft (new edition, Munich, 1973) and the account of M. Rijk, "The Role of Father in Today's Culture", Cone 7(1971) p 304-314 (especially about the works of G. Mendel). See Tellenbach's introduction to the essays, which he also edited: Das Vaterbild in Mythos und Geschichte (Stuttgart, 1976) p 7ff. Hermeneutik und Psychoanalyse (Munich, 1974) p 315-353; see also "Biblical Hermeneutics," Semeia 4(1975) p 27-148. For the Indo-Germanic cultures, see G. Schrenk, ThWNT V, p 951ff.; for the ancient oriental cultures, W. Marchel, Abba, Pere (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 2 1971) p 9-44. See H. Ringgren, Th WA T I, p 3ff. When the concept of creation is used parallel to the title "father" it implies in the O.T. a beginning in Egypt (Deut 32, 6.15.18; Isa 43, 1.7.15; 44, 2; 45, 9-11; 64, 7; Mal2, 10). The speech about God-Father is not to be deduced from the covenant terminology, contra F. C. Fensham, "Father and Son as Terminology for Treaty and Covenant," H. Goedicke (editor), Near Eastern Studies in honour of W. F. A/bright (Baltimore-London, 1971) p 121-135. He fails to show analogies for this in an agreement between a king and his people. The theophoric names seem rather to imply that this phraseology originated in nomadic times. See S. Orrieux, "La paternite de Dieu dans !'Ancien Testament," LumVie 20(1971), Nr 104, p 59-74 at 63. See Ringgren (see note 6) p 19, L. Perlitt, "Der Vater im Alten Testament," in Te!lenbach (see note 3) p 50-101 at 98. Contra E. Hiibner, "Credo in Deum Patrem?" EvTh 23 (1963) p 646--672 at 655ff. and H. Bourgeois, "Le dieu pere et theologie," LumVie 20(1971) Nr 104, p 104-138 at 105ff., 125ff. They believe that, though the image is taken from mythology, it eludes "ambiguite" because it is historicized. See Ringgren (see note 6) p 7. See Targum Onk Deut 32, 6 and Jerusalem Targum I Deut 32, 6 (Strack and Billerbeck I p 393); Midr Cant 2,16 (102b) (S.B. I p 394). Aboth 3, 14 (R. Akiba). See Tob 13, 4f.; Wis 11, 10; 12, 19-22; PsSol18, 4 (with the subordinate idea of chastisement). NumR 17 (S.B. I p 394) enumerates five paternal duties of God, among which is the teaching of the Torah. See 3Macc 7, 6.
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15 See lQH 9, 34-36; Mekhilta Exod 14, 19 (see G. F. Moore, Judaism in the First Centuries of the Christian Era Cambridge 1927, II p 203f.). See Wis 2, 18. 16 See Exod R. 46 (lOlb) (S.B. I p 393); bSota 9, 15 (p 394): Jerusalem Targum I Exod 1, 19 (p 396); RH 3, 8 and the third Kaddish-petition (p 395). 17 3Macc 6, 2f. (see 5, 7); see Alzabalz Rabbah (second Benediction before the Shema'), the petition for Torah study with "our Father, our King"; J. Oesterreicher refers to the daily morning prayer of the community in "Abba.... ," J. J. Petuchowski and M. Brocke (ed) The Lord's Prayer and the Jewish Liturgy (London: Burns and Oates, 1978) p 132. 18 See already in the Old Testament Jer 3, 4; R. Akiba in Ta'an 25b (S.B. I p 394), out of which the Litany for New Year grew; seeS. Lauer, "Awinu Malkenu," in Petuchowski op. cit. p 120--127. 19 See Apocr. Ezek frgm. 3; the 6th petition in the Eighteen Benedictions (Palestinian recension), which is an addition according to J. Jeremias, Abba (Gtittingen 1966) p 30 note 59; prayers on the Day of Atonement are mentioned by Oesterreicher p 132. The Father in heaven is approachable in a penitential act according to a teaching in the name of R. Meir, Deut R 2 (198d) in a parable (S.B. II p 216); compare Pesiqta 165a (R. Isaac, third century) cited by Moore (op. cit.) II p 207. He cleanses from sins: so R. Akiba in Yoma 8, 9 (S.B. I p 395). Further examples are given in Jeremias p 24 note 33. 20 See Moore (op. cit.) II p 209f. 21 For the usage of the phrase, see Jeremias (note 19) p 20f. According to Moore (op. cit.) II p 205 it does not imply the "remoteness of God". Oesterreicher is closer to the truth (art. cit. p 128ff.) when he emphasizes that Judaism has never forgotten God's infinite nearness despite his infinite remoteness. 22 See W. Bousset/H. Gressmann, Die Religion des Judentums im spiithellenistischen Zeitalter (Ttibingen 1966) p 310ff. A definite aversion to the use of "Father" is observed in the Targum of the Prophets by G. Dalman, The Words of Jesus (Leipzig, 1898) p 156f., S.B. I p 394 and Jeremias (see note 19) p 21. 23 See Moore (see note 15) II p 205; seeR. Elazar b. 'Azaria in Sifra to Lev 20, 26 (S.B. I p 395); also Jeremias (see note 19) p 22 note 25, with examples of obedience to the heavenly Father. 24 B. Kid 36a (see S.B. I p 371); also even earlier R. Akiba; BB lOa (p 371) and later R. Judah b. Shalom, Deut R 7 (204c) (S.B. I p 371); also Exod R 46 (10lc) (S.B. I p 393). In regard to the opinion of R. Meir that the Israelites even through sin do not lose their filial relationship to God, see the parallels mentioned by Moore (op. cit.) II, p 203, note 4. I do not agree with Jeremias (see note 19) p 23f. as to why the prophetic message which did demand obedience too should have changed here into "legalistic thought" or "be couched in the idea of merit". 25 See Das Wesen des Christentums (new edition, Munich-Hamburg 1964) p 49. 26 See H. W. Montefiore, "God as Father in the Synoptic Gospels," NTS 3(1956/57) 31--46; E. Lohse, Outline of New Testament Theology (Stuttgart 1974) p 36: Jesus is using the word "Father" in a new sense. "God's actions are no more confined to his relationship to Israel, but as Creator of the world he is the compassionate Father of all his creatures." Further opinions of this kind can be found in my "Habilitationschrift": Die weisheitlichen Mahnspriiche bei den Synoptikern (Wiirzburg 1977) p 162 note 73. 27 For a form critical examination and a textual reconstruction, see my thesis. 28 See NumR 17 (S.B. I p 394); lQH 9, 35f. Certainly in the analogy between feeding animals and nourishing humans who were created to serve God (Kid 4, 14; PsSol 5, 9ff.; see S.B. I p 436f.), man as such is highlighted.
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29 JShebi'ith 9, 38d, 22 (R. Simeon b. Yohai, about A.D. 150; see S.B. I p 582f.). 30 If we can accept the Matt text. For an explanation see my thesis p 94 note 302. 31 Lev R 34 (132a) (R. Tanl:mma, about A.D. 380, S.B. I p 459); see also Sifre Num 10, 29 para. 78. The phrase "God's family member" applies especially to the charismatic who prays; see Ta'anit 3, 8 and par. (S.B. IV p 109f.). At this point he is compared to a son who ingratiates himself with his father. D. Flusser, Jesus (Hamburg, 1968) p 89f. has called renewed attention to this. In the Targum Isa 63, 16, it is said that the mercy of God for the Israelites is greater than that of a human father; see Jeremias (see note 19) p 24. 32 Jerusalem Targum I Lev 22, 28. 33 Even in case it is original, consider the possessive pronoun. The generous actions of God in v 45b do not prove him to be a father. P. Schruers, "La paternite divine dans Mt. V, 45 et VI, 26--32," in EThL 36(1960) p 593-624 at 610 is correct. Even when the ethical action is conditional to the gift of sonship, it still does not follow that everyone is so called: this contrasts with E. Grasser, "Jesus und das Reil Gottes," in G. Strecker (ed.) Jesus Christus in Historie und Theologie (Tiibingen, 1975) p 167-184, at 177. He refers to Mark 3, 35, though the point there is the relationship with Jesus! The imagery in Mark 7, 27 puts in a sharp relief the Jewish self-understanding as the children of God. In the same way the parable of the two sons (Matt 21, 28-32) remains in a Jewish context even though two types of "children" are distinguished. Its attribution to Jesus is questionable according to H. Merkel, "Die Gleichnis von den 'ungleichen Sohnen'" (Matt 21, 28-32) NTS 20(1974) p 254-261. 34 P. Fiedler, Jesus und die Sunder, (Frankfurt-Bern, 1976) p 155ff. emphasizes that this follows the traditional belief in the unlimited readiness of God to forgive. See also R. Pesch, "Zur Exegese Gottes durch Jesus von Nazareth," Jesus-Ort der Erfahrung Gottes (Freiburg, 1976) p 140-189. 35 See my thesis p 169ff. 36 See A. Vogtle, "The Our Father-a Prayer for Jews and Christians?" The Lord's Prayer and the Jewish Liturgy (see note 17) p 93-117, at p 112 note 2. The name "Father" for God and his kingdom are also mentioned together in the probably secondary ending of the Pericope about "no anxieties" (Matt 6, 33//Luke 12, 31) and again in the early Christian verse of consolation Luke 12, 32. 37 See K. G. Kuhn, Achtzehngebet und Vaterunser und der Reim (Tiibingen, 1950). 38 G. Bornkamm, "Das Vaterbild im Neuen Testament" in Tellenbach (see note 3) pp 136--154, at 141. 39 Abba (see note 19) p 65; the following quotations p 33, 63; see also "The Our Father in the Light of Recent Research," The Prayers of Jesus (Naperville: Allenson, 1967) p 82-107 at p 97. 40 J. Oesterreicher offers critical reservations (see note 17) which I gratefully acknowledge. 41 S. Schulz, Q. Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zurich, 1972) p 87. 42 See G. Kittel, "'abba," in ThWNT I p 4-6 at 4f. Dalman (see note 22) p 157, in writing about the "Our Father" assumed an original 'Abuna, i.e. the Galilean 'Abunan, as beginning of the "Our Father." 43 In contrast to Jeremias (see note 19) p 63 note 56. E. Kaseman is also cautious in An die Romer (TUbingen3 1974) p 219f. 44 Oesterreicher (p 121) thinks differently. 45 In contrast, T. W. Manson, The Teaching of Jesus (Cambridge2 1951) p 104
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46
47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58
59
note 1 and Oesterreicher (p 122) emphasizes that the disciples fell asleep afterwards. See F. Hahn, The Titles of Jesus in Christology: their history in early Christianity (New York: World Publishing, 1969) who thinks one can understand v 25f. too only as Christian tradition. Furthermore, P. Hoffmann, Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle (MUnster, 1971) p 102ff. rightly rejects the interpretation of v 27 by J. J eremias. See Jeremias (see note 19) p 60ff.; Marchel (see note 5) p 107ff. Jeremias (see note 19) p 63, who nevertheless corrects himself somewhat on p 64. Oesterreicher also doubts this (p 123). See also H. Conzelmann, Outline of the Theology of the New Testament (New York, Harper and Row, 1969). See The Lord's Prayer and the Jewish Liturgy, p. 125. Jeremias himself admits this (see note 19) p 58; see also E. Haenchen, Der Weg Jesu (Berlin, 1966) p 493. See Dalman (note 22) p 153f.; Jeremias (note 19) p 25f.; Marchel (note 5) p 90. Other textually questionable places are isolated by J. Jeremias, "Characteristics of the ipsissima vox Jesu," in Abba (see note 19) p 145-152 at 146f. and Marchel (see note 5) p 110f. In the Seder Eliyyahu Rabba (tenth century); the Abhi is even attributed to R. ~adok (A.D. 70). See Jeremias (note 19) p 31; Marchel (note 5) p 91f. See S.B. I p 410f.; Moore (note 15) II p 208f. Wis 14, 3; 3Macc 6, 3.8; Apocr Ezek frgm 3. In contrast to Jeremias (note 19) p 31, one should ask if it is so certain that these writings really reflect the usage of the Greek world. In Abba (note 19) p 32, he refers to a late-Hebrew paraphrase. Compare with this a more recent presentation by M. Hengel, The Son of God (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975) 90ff. On the whole, referring to this problem, see A. Vogtle, "Der verkiindigende und verklindigte Jesus 'Christus' ",in J. Sauer (ed), Wer ist Jesus Christus? (Freiburg, 1977) p 27-91. I hope that even though I pursued a different path, I converge on J. M. Oesterreicher's position p 133f. He is convinced that Jesus' addressing God as 'Abba is influenced by the spirit of Jewish prayer. This does not preclude for him the fact that Jesus gave this phrase his "personal impress and thus his particular meaning".
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JESUS AND THE QUEST FOR HOLINESS The alternative paradigm M.J. Borg Source: Conflict, Holiness, and Politics in the Teachings of Jesus (Harrisburg: Trinity Press Intemational, 1998), pp. 135-155.
Though Jesus did not formulate a detailed program for Israel's life, his teaching did include a paradigm for the construction of such a program and broad indications of its effects on Israel's historical structures and future. In his challenge to the quest for holiness and his articulation of an alternative paradigm, Jesus followed both of the approaches open to an agent who challenges a dominant paradigm: on the one hand, he substituted a different paradigm; on the other hand, he redefined the meaning of the present one. Specifically, he replaced holiness with mercy, and alternatively transformed the meaning of holiness.
1. Substitution: mercy replaces holiness In our analysis of Jesus' criticism of the quest for holiness, we have already seen glimpses of the alternative paradigm. Consistently, "mercy" appears in opposition to holiness or to behavior mandated by holiness. To the meticulous tithing which derived from the paradigm of holiness, Jesus contrasted the triad mercy, faithfulness, and justice (Matt. 23.23). In the parable of the Good Samaritan, the Samaritan's behavior was distinguished from that of priest and Levite by its quality of mercy: when the Samaritan saw the wounded man, "he had compassion" (Luke 10.33), and he was "the one who showed mercy" (Luke 10.37). The quality of God to which the tax collector appealed was mercy: "God, be merciful to me a sinner!" (Luke 18.13). The father of the prodigal responded to his son's plight with mercy: "while he (the son) was yet at a distance, his father saw him and had compassion and ran and embraced him and kissed him" (Luke 15.20). Implicitly, the question addressed to the elder son was, "Do you begrudge the fact that I have acted compassionately?"I 301
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On two occasions attested by Matthew alone, Jesus contrasted holiness with mercy, citing Hos. 6.6 both times. 2 In the context of Pharisaic criticism of Jesus' table fellowship with outcasts, Jesus retorted: "Go and learn what this means. 'I desire mercy and not sacrifice'" (Matt. 9.13). So also in the context of Pharisaic criticism of his disciples for breaking the sabbath, the maintenance of which was absolutely central to the quest for holiness. 3 "If you had known what this means, 'I desire mercy and not sacrifice,' you would not have condemned the guiltless" (Matt. 12.27). Since both of these are Matthaean additions to Marcan pericopae, they have slight claim to authenticity, though they do provide evidence that the early community in Palestine (the Jesus movement itself) saw the conflict in these terms. The reference to mercy in the quotation from Hos. 6.6 reminds us that the Old Testament speaks very often about God as merciful and of human kindness as mercy. 4 Thus it was not new for Jesus to speak of mercy as normative; but what was remarkable was that mercy was spoken of in contexts where it was opposed to concerns mandated by holiness as then understood. This emphasis continues in two important texts in which Jesus explicitly spoke of an imitatio dei whose content was mercy, and which specify with considerable precision the sense in which mercy was meant.
2. Mercy as the content of the imitatio dei The heart of Jesus' ethic is the imitation of God. Observing that scholars have often treated Jesus' ethical teaching under the two rubrics of love of God and love of neighbor (the "Great Commandment"), C. H. Dodd notes that "this was not his (Jesus) way" of summing up his teaching. Instead, Jesus "when he is speaking in language of his own choice ... says (in effect) 'God is your Father; become what you are, his child.'" To be God's child is to act on the maxim "Like father, like child ... to live as a child of God is to treat your neighbor as God treats you," to imitate in one's own behavior the "quality" and "direction" of God's activity. 5 Jesus' ethic, in short, was based on an imitatio dei, just as the quest for holiness was based on an imitatio dei. Moreover, just as the Pharisaic imitatio dei was intended as a program for Israel's life, so it is reasonable to assume that the alternative imitatio dei of Jesus was intended as the guiding paradigm for Israel as a people. This assumption is confirmed by two texts which speak of the alternative paradigm, the second of which most clearly provides specific applications to Israel's life.
The Unmerciful Servant: Therefore the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his servants. When he began the reckoning, one was brought to him who owed him ten thousand talents; and as he could not pay, his lord ordered him to be sold, with his wife and children and all that he 302
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had, and payment to be made. So the servant fell on his knees, imploring him, "Lord, have patience with me, and I will pay you everything." And out of pity for him the lord of that servant released him and forgave him the debt. But that same servant, as he went out, came upon one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii, and seizing him by the throat he said, "Pay what you owe." So his fellow servant fell down and besought him, "Have patience with me, and I will pay you." He refused and went and put him in prison till he should pay the debt. When his fellow servants saw what had taken place, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their lord all that had taken place. Then his lord summoned him and said to him, "You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you besought me; and should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?" And in anger his lord delivered him to the jailers, till he should pay all his debt. So also my heavenly Father will do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother from your heart. (Matt. 18.23-35) In Matthew, where the parable is set in the context of church practice, it is addressed to the disciples to stress the importance of their being willing to forgive: the fate of the unmerciful servant will be theirs also "if you do not forgive your brother from your heart." Though the setting is recognized as secondary by almost every commentator, what Jesus meant when he spoke this parable is still most frequently stated as if Matthew's setting were original: it was, it is affirmed, addressed to those who knew the forgiveness of sins through Jesus (i.e., to the Jesus movement, as in Matthew). 6 On this interpretation the historical parallel to the rescinding of the debt by the king was the forgiveness of sins bestowed by God through Jesus. But one may doubt this interpretation, both because it depends on the secondary context and because another interpretation is more natural. The parable tells the story of a hopelessly indebted high official who, though he had been shown mercy by his king, seized a fellow official by the throat and demanded repayment of a comparatively small sum owed to him; the colleague was unable to pay and the first official had him imprisoned. The king angrily recalled the first official and asked him the question which is the climax of the parable (verse 33): "should you not have had mercy on your fellow servant as I had mercy on you?" 7 The point of the parable can be stated simply: mercy given is to have its consequences. 8 The mercy shown to the first servant should have had as its consequence the governance of his life by mercy. This also implies that the audience need not be those who had experienced God's forgiveness 303
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through Jesus, but rather those who were aware of living under the mercy of God - i.e., Israel.9 The parable invited the reflection that the fitting response of the people who live under the mercy of God was mercy; simultaneously, it warned of the threatening consequences ofthe failure to act mercifully. The paradigm emphasized in the preceding logia was again inculcated: Israel, who in her history knew God as merciful, was to live by mercy; indeed there is here an imitatio dei, the content of which is mercy. The "Mercy" Code- The imperative to replace holiness as the content of the imitatio dei with mercy and the consequence of this substitution for the historical life of Israel are nowhere so clear, however, as in a block of teaching recorded in Luke 6.27-36 and Matt. 5.38-48, which echoes and modifies the Holiness Code of Lev. 19 at crucial points. The unmistakably Q portion reads: But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who abuse you. To him who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from him who takes away your cloak do not withhold your undergarment as well. Give to everyone who begs from you. If you love only those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even the sinners [or "tax collectors"] love those who love them. But love your enemies and you will be sons of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the selfish. Be merciful, even as your Father is merc~ful. Both terminology and content point to the status of this section as articulating an alternative to the quest for holiness. The concluding saying of this block is strikingly parallel to the summation of the Holiness Code in Lev. 19.2, but with a decisive difference: "You shall be holy because I am holy" becomes "Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful". 10 That this saying echoed Lev. 19.2 is apparent, 11 and thus the replacement of holiness with mercy as the content of the imitatio dei was deliberate. Where J udaism spoke of holiness as the paradigm for the community's life, Jesus spoke of mercy. This conclusion is supported by the near silence of the synoptic tradition in applying the term "holy" to God or the community. 12 Even though one could argue that the holiness of God was presumed (and we shall see that it was, in modified form), the silence contrasts starkly with the common expression of the rabbinic tradition, "The Holy one, blessed is he ... " How does one account, on the one hand, for this substitution and, on the other hand, for the absence of "holiness"?13 The obvious suggestion is that it reflects a shift in dominant paradigms. What is meant by the mercy of God is clarified by the verse immediately preceding the imitatio dei: Luke has, "for God makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and the unjust." The 304
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thought is the same: the mercy of God is an inclusive mercy, embracing the selfish and the unselfish, the just and the unjust. This inclusive understanding of mercy moves beyond what is typical of the Old Testament. There, as here, "mercy" designated both a quality of God as well as an attribute of human behavior. The "mercy of God" established and sustained the covenant with Israel. Hesed - most commonly rendered by eleos in the LXX, 14 by "mercy" in the King James Version, and by "steadfast love" in the RSV - was thus a covenant word and emphasized steadfastness to a covenant and to those within it; from it derived the post-exilic hasidim, 15 marked by their steadfast loyalty to the Torah, including the separating function of the Torah. Just as God's hesed established the covenant, so the covenant established the realm within which mercy operated. God's mercy is not granted to those outside the covenant relationship; 16 similarly, human mercy is intrinsically tied to the community, moving outward in concentric circles from family to tribe to the people as a whole, but not to those outside the covenantP But here God's mercy is not limited to those within the covenant; instead, God's mercy is seen in the fact that the sun and the rain come to both the just and the unjust, i.e., to everybody, and not just to those with whom a special relationship exists. Similarly, specific behavioral applications in the pericope point to the inclusiveness of mercy as a quality of human behavior. The practice of mercy was not to be limited by the expectation of reciprocity: do good even to those who abuse you, lend without expectation of return. Even more emphatically, in a saying which also echoed the Holiness Code of Lev. 19 even as it transformed it, what it meant to be merciful not only transcended the covenant relationship, but also pertained directly to the conflict with Rome which flowed out of the quest for holiness. Matt. 5.43 explicitly quotes (and Luke 6.27, 35, implicitly refer to) Lev. 19.18: "Love your neighbor." But "neighbor" in the Holiness Code, consistent with the understanding of holiness as separation and of mercy as covenant loyalty, included only the fellow Israelite and convert. Since "neighbor" in Lev. 19.18 was parallel to "sons of your own people," it meant "fellow Israe!ite." 18 Nor was it expanded by the subsequent directive to love the sojourner in Israel (Lev. 19.34), for "sojourner" had come to mean convert or proselyte and did not embrace the non-Jew. 19 Thus "Love your neighbor" in the Holiness Code (at least by the time of the first century) meant "Love your compatriot," your fellow-member of the covenant. But this understanding was contravened in the "mercy code." Jesus said, in deliberate contrast to the delimitation of love to one's compatriot, "Love your enemies." The antithesis is explicit in Matthew ("You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy,' 20 but I say to you, Love your enemies") and implicit in Luke ("But 305
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I say to you that hear, Love your enemies"). 21 "Love your enemies" thus meant "Love your non-compatriots," i.e., non-Jews. What would this have meant in teaching directed to Israel in the late twenties of the first century? It had an inescapable and identifiable political implication: the non-Jewish enemy was, above all, Rome. To say "Love your enemy" would have meant, "Love the Romans - do not join the resistance movement," whatever other implications it might also have had. 22 That it would carry this meaning in a milieu of political conflict is illustrated by what the saying would be understood to mean when uttered in a modern situation of conflict, whether in Northern Ireland or Central America or elsewhere. To say "Love your enemies" would have a concrete as opposed to generalized meaning; it would not simply inculcate a discarnate attitude of benevolence, but would mean to eschew acts of terrorism and revenge. 23 The political implications of this logion are frequently denied. Sometimes it is claimed that the saying concerned the personal enemy within Israel, not the national enemy, and appeal is made to the use of echthros (personal enemy) rather than polemios (enemy in wartime) in Luke 6.27 = Matt. 5.43-44. 24 But this distinction is impossible to maintain in the biblical tradition. 25 Polemios simply does not appear in the New Testament and echthros therefore serves to denote both personal and national enemies (e.g., in Luke 1.71, 74). The rarity of polemios in the canonical LXX (three occurrences26 ) is striking compared to the over 500 appearances of echthros, used for both personal and national enemies. Hence no significance can be assigned to the use of echthros rather than polemios in this saying. Moreover, as already noted, since echthros here stands in antithesis to "compatriot," it must mean non-Israelite, not the personal enemy within Israel. 27 Perhaps more often it is claimed that the saying was not to be taken specifically or literally. Attention is drawn to the absurd consequence of understanding literally the adjacent command to yield to the one who steals the outer garment the inner one as well (the only two garments normally worn in first-century Palestine): nakedness. Instead, it is argued, the whole section illustrates the radically new approach to life which abandons natural pride, standing on one's own rights, and prudential considerations; nowhere, it is claimed, is it more evident than here that Jesus' teaching "is spectacularly devoid of specific commandments." 28 Yet the section itself calls this conclusion into question, for though hyperbole is present (though there is nothing self-evidently hyperbolical about "Love your enemies"), the specificity of the illustrations is, if anything, even more apparent. This is especially clear in the related verse in Matt. 5.41 (M): " ... if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles." For decades it has been recognized that this referred explicitly to the right of a Roman legionnaire to require a civilian to carry his gear for one mile. 29 Though a slavish following of this command was not necessarily intended, the fact that it 306
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employed as an illustration the practice of Roman troops is surely significant. Moreover, it is possible that the saying about the inner and outer garment also pointed to a practice of the occupation forces. If so, it invited a spirit toward the occupation forces which consented not only to deprivation of the outer garment, but "to be stripped to the skin." 30 Of course a literal fulfilment still issues in nakedness and it therefore may not be taken literally, but the specificity of the illustrations suggests that the commands were to be taken specifically. They did not refer simply to a style of life which did not insist on its own rights, but specifically to the issue of resistance to Rome. Indeed, could their point be missed in the historical situation of first-century Palestine? To this command and the emulation of God's mercy from which it derived, the highest priority was attached. To fail to observe it was to become as a "tax collector" (Matt. 5.46) or a "sinner" (Luke 6.32), i.e., it was to become "one who has made himself a Gentile," 31 to forfeit one's standing as an Israelite. Conversely, those who observed it would be called "sons of God" (Matt. 5.45 = Luke 6.35), 32 i.e., IsraeJ.3 3 Sonship consists of being like the "Father" who is merciful. The path of those who were truly Israel was to love the Roman enemy, in imitation of God the merciful one who "makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and the unjust" (Matt. 5.45); to do otherwise was to sink to the level of the enemy - "for even the Gentiles love those who love them." To the emphasis on love of enemies in the "mercy" code should be added several other synoptic passages. Two are peculiar to Matthew. The highest status is assigned to "peacemakers": "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God" (Matt. 5.9),34 the same promise extended to those who show mercy by loving their enemies. According to Matthew, when one of those with Jesus as he was arrested struck the high priest's servant with a sword, Jesus said: "Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword" (Matt. 26.52). 35 Since these sayings are found in Matthew alone, they cannot with confidence be attributed to Jesus; but at the very least they are evidence of the early community's convictions, consistent with and most likely derived from Jesus' teaching on love of enemies (if they do not go back to Jesus himself). In traditions recorded in Luke alone, Jesus used the enigmatic phrase "sons of peace" 36 and in a passage which clearly speaks of war, lamented that Jerusalem did not know "the things that make for peace." 37 Finally, in a dramatic action reported by all three synoptic authors, Jesus entered Jerusalem on an animal which symbolized the way of peace instead of the way of war. 38 All of these traditions were directly pertinent to one of the central issues facing Israel and the renewal movements operating within her, and they flow out of mercy understood in an inclusive sense: contrary to the holiness code which undergirded resistance, the "mercy code" urged love 307
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of enemies and the way of peace. Thus the "mercy code" strikes a new but complementary note: whereas the other substitutions of mercy for holiness were concerned primarily with shaping the internal corporate life of Israel in the direction of greater inclusiveness, this material points specifically to the consequences of the shift of paradigms for Israel's relationship to Rome. Thus Jesus' understanding of God as merciful implied showing mercy to those outside of the covenant (the Gentile enemy) and to those considered to have forfeited their status within the covenant (the outcasts), thereby implying that the Old Testament understanding of hesed does not stand behind the synoptic adjurations to be merciful. Instead, insofar as differences in vocabulary sometimes point to real differences, rahamim and/or hen are more appropriate to the contexts in which "mercy" appears in the teaching of Jesus. Rahamim is the plural of a noun which in its singular form means "womb." 39 To the extent that the plural form resonated with associations derived from the singular, one may speak (if it is not too daring) of God's mercy as God's wombishness - that is, embracing and nourishing. When this understanding of mercy is also seen as the norm for human behavior, then the meaning of mercy has shifted from steadfast loyalty within a covenant, with its concomitant dimensions of reciprocity and exclusiveness, to kindness and compassion which is inclusive and not limited. This emphasis exploded the boundaries established by the quest for holiness understood as separation. 40 Based like the Pharisaic program on an imitatio dei, Jesus' paradigm pointed to a different aspect of God for primary emulation and thus to a different historical course for the people of God.41 The contrasting paradigms "holiness" and "mercy" did not, it must be stressed, point to an absolute difference between Jesus and his opponents. For first century Judaism the claim that God was holy involved no denial that God was merciful, loving, etc., 42 though it did circumscribe the sphere within which people were to imitate the mercy and love of God. Similarly, for Jesus the claim that God was merciful involved no denial that God was also holy. But it did involve both a shift in paradigms, already argued, and a corresponding modification of holiness, to which we now turn.
3. Modification: holiness as transforming power Sayings explicitly modifying holiness are not to be found, since, as already noted, there is only one occasion upon which Jesus spoke of God as holy. What is to be found are sayings and narratives which implicitly presupposed a different understanding of holiness. The criticisms of the Pharisees as leaven and as unmarked graves 43 implied that Israel was indeed intended to be the holy people of God; only if this was so did it make sense to criticize the Pharisees as defiling, corrupting. The criticism also implied, of course, that holiness was to be 308
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understood differently than in the post-exilic quest after holiness. There the holiness of God was understood to require protection, insulation from sources of defilement; so too Israel as holy necessitated separation from the contagion of uncleanness. For uncleanness was not simply a lack of cleanness, but a power which positively defiled. 44 But in the teaching of Jesus, holiness, not uncleanness was understood to be contagious. Holiness- the power of the holy, the other realm- was understood as a transforming power, not as a power that needed protection through rigorous separation. Such was implied in the metaphor of the physician in Mark 2.17 par., set in the context of table fellowship. The physician was not overcome by those who were ill but rather overcame the illness. An understanding of holiness as a contagious power also lies behind several miracle stories. These cannot be used as direct evidence for the teaching of Jesus, since the relevant data lie in the narrative description of what happened, not in reported words of Jesus; thus they provide evidence for the early community's understanding of the shift occasioned by Jesus' ministry. For the same reason, the question of the historicity of the miracles need not concern us, since our interest lies in the beliefs of the community to which the narrative accounts give expression. In the healing of the leper in Mark 1.40-45, Mark reports that Jesus "stretched out his hand and touched him and said, 'Be clean.'" Leprosy excluded one from human community because it rendered one unclean, and everything touched by a leper became unclean. 45 For Jesus to touch a leper ought to have involved defilement, just as in touching a corpse. 46 Yet the narrative reverses this: it was not Jesus who was made unclean by touching the leper - rather, the leper was made clean. The viewpoint of the Jesus movement in Palestine47 is clear: holiness was understood to overpower uncleanness rather than the converse. Exactly the same transformation in the understanding of holiness underlies the account of the healing of the woman with a discharge in Mark 5.25-34. Her condition rendered her and all that she touched unclean; 48 yet when she touched Jesus' garment, it was not uncleanness that was transferred, but rather "power went forth" from Jesus (5.30) and she was healed. To these two narratives involving touch 49 should also be added narratives in which uncleanness is emphasized. The background detail of the story of the Gerasene demoniac (Mark 5.1-20) is a picture of absolute uncleanness: a man living among tombs, in Gentile territory, in proximity to swine, possessed by an unclean spirit - but all of this was overcome (including the destruction of the unclean swine!). 50 The exorcism accounts frequently portray Jesus in triumphant conflict with unclean spirits. 51 These stories, most or all current in a Palestinian milieu in which the significance of uncleanness was well understood, reflect the Jesus movement's affirmation that holiness, far from needing protection, was an active dynamic power that overcame uncleanness. 309
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This dramatic reversal also lies behind Paul's words of advice to Christians in Corinth whose spouses were non-believers. Do not leave them, he writes in I Cor. 7.12-14 (unless the unbelieving partner wished a separation), "for the unbelieving husband is sanctified by the wife, and the unbelieving wife is sanctified by the husband; if this were not the case, your children would be unclean, whereas they are in fact holy." Here the "clinging and infectious force" 52 of impurity was replaced by an understanding of holiness as infectious. This prodigious modification of holiness in both Paul and the Palestinian church is best explicable as derivative from (and evidence for) the practice of Jesus. He implicitly modified the understanding of holiness: no longer was holiness understood to need protection - rather it was seen as an active force which overcame uncleanness. The people of God had no need to worry about God's holiness being contaminated - in any confrontation it would triumph.
4. The consequences of mercy Jesus' understanding of God as merciful and of the norm for Israel's development as mercifulness accounted for his opposition to the quest for holiness. The shift in paradigms was directly responsible for the two highly specific yet centrally important applications treated in the last two chapters: table-fellowship with the outcasts and love of enemies. The first was possible because God was merciful -that is, forgiving, accepting, nourishing of righteous and sinner alike; because God accepted such as these, God's children - Israel - were to do so as well. For Israel's internal life, this understanding pointed toward greater inclusiveness, toward an overcoming of the "intra-cultural segregation" which increasingly marked her life. The second was possible and necessary for the same reason, but with primary implications for Israel's "external" life, her relationship to Rome. To be merciful meant to eschew the path of violence. Strikingly, these two applications are the two chief marks of the Jesus movement itself. Operating in Palestine in the crucial generation between 30 and 70 C.E., it was, according to Gerd Theissen's recent study, the inclusive movement and the "peace party" among the renewal groups. It intensified the Torah in such a way as to render meaningless the distinction between righteous and sinner, 53 and it renounced the path of national resistance as well as providing multiple means of overcoming aggressive impulses. 54 For Israel this shift in paradigms created new possibilities both for her internal reform and relationship to the world, possibilities effectively closed by the post-exilic quest for holiness. The same understanding of mercy and reinterpretation of holiness which made it possible for the table fellowship of Jesus to embrace tax collectors and sinners made possible an 310
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abandonment of the policy of isolation from the larger world, a possibility which the post-Easter Gentile mission realized. Yet it was first of all a possibility for Israel, not only because Jesus restricted his mission to Israel, but because the evidence is overwhelming that he intended this policy as a corporate (i.e., national) course for the people of God, not simply as a means of reconciling otherwise lost individuals to God. Only if this is true does his choice of table fellowship, that microcosm of Israel's collective life, as the arena in which to do battle, make sense; only so does his criticism of Pharisaism, based not upon their alleged hypocrisy but upon their program for the people of God, become meaningful. Would following the paradigm of mercy have meant the loss of a distinctive identity and thus have posed a threat to the survival of the Jewish tradition, as Jesus' opponents apparently feared? To attempt to answer is to speculate. One can say that to live with mercifulness as one's overarching norm does not necessarily involve the loss of a distinctive identity that persists through time, as religious orders throughout the world have sometimes demonstrated through lives dedicated to compassion even though marked by highly specific practices. Indeed, the capacity to be merciful probably flows out of the distinctive lifestyle and identity. Moreover, Jesus himself did not oppose the distinctiveness of the Jewish tradition. So far as we know, he never set aside the written Torah- consistently, his disputes with his opponents concerned the interpretation of the Torah, not the validity of the Torah itself. The Matthaean passage on the eternal validity of the Torah reflects the posture of the Jesus movement and probably the attitude of Jesus himself: "Think not that I have come to abolish the Torah and the prophets; I have come not to abolish them but to fulfill them. For truly, I say to you, till heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Torah until all is accomplished." 55 The Jesus movement also continued to worship in the Temple and follow religious practices such as prayer and fasting. In short, the substitution of mercy for holiness need not have meant the dissolution of Israel, even though it burst the limitations of holiness as a corporate ideal. Just as orthodox Judaism today may be thought of as a religious order within society, a religious community with a very distinctive identity and life-style, so also the Pharisees (the ancestors of orthodox Judaism) and Jesus movement may be thought of as religious orders living within firstcentury Jewish society. The first, committed to the actualization of holiness, had narrow and sharp boundaries; the second, animated by the vision of mercifulness, had broad and very indistinct boundaries. Though it maintained its own identity, it sought, on the one hand, not to judge that some were beyond God's mercy, and, on the other hand, to embrace all, even the outcasts, seeing them as also affirmed by the mercy of God.
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Epilogue: Jesus and the Pharisees The gospel portrait of the Pharisees as the anti type of true piety has posed a problem since the modern rediscovery of the genuine devotion and piety of the Pharisees. About the earnestness of their concern, the integrity of their intent and their loyalty to Yahweh, there can be little doubt. "It was not a sinning generation," writes J. Neusner about the generation living before the war of 66--70, "but one deeply faithful to the covenant and the Scripture that set forth its terms, perhaps more so than many who have since condemned it. " 56 It has seemed that either one must deny the validity of modern scholarship's picture of the Pharisees in order to save the honor of Jesus 57 or, more commonly, save the honor of both Jesus and the Pharisees by explaining away the gospel picture of conflict. Sometimes it is affirmed that Jesus criticized only some of the Pharisees, just as the rabbinic literature itself records criticisms of five classes of Pharisees. 58 For this view, Jesus criticized only those who were "fraudulent;"59 indeed, he levelled the same indictments which any authentic Pharisee would have made, and thus the honor of both Jesus and authentic Pharisaism is saved. 60 Or a radical change in Pharisaism is posited after 70 c.E. under the guidance of Y ohanan ben Zakkai, and it is this mature and truly pious Pharisaism that has been rediscovered by modern scholarship. Prior to 70, some affirm, Pharisaism was inchoate and probably included elements which wholly merited the castigations recorded in the gospels. 61 Here the honor of Jesus and post-70 Pharisaism is saved. Alternatively, the hostile passages are explained as the retrojection of the church's growing conflict with the synagogue into the ministry itself; here the honor of both is saved by attributing the most unflattering strokes of the portrait to a harassed church whose distress understandably produced unrestrained abuse. 62 It has even been claimed that the mutual hostility was due to a communication problem and personality clash: Jesus saw the Pharisees only from the outside, and they never could understand him. 63 And so the honor of both is saved by attributing a certain dullness of mind to each. Each of the above explanations accepts the gospel picture of the conflict as one between individual styles of piety and then seeks either to find Pharisees who deserve the epithets or some situation in the early church that explains the indictments in their present form. The effect of this is to minimize the conflict between Jesus and the Pharisees. True, there is some validity in many of the above claims. 64 Yet a close examination of the tradition demonstrates that the conflict was real, though not fundamentally about whether Pharisaic piety was genuine or sham, subjectively considered. Rather the conflict had a pointed historical reference to the issue facing the nation: the validity of the quest for holiness as the task of Israel 312
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-whether that quest was to dominate both the internal reform of Judaism and her relation to the Gentile world. In his practice of table fellowship and in his spoken defense of this practice, Jesus answered with an unmistakable "no". Instead he called Israel to imitate the mercy of God, to affirm holiness as a power active in the world which, far from needing protection, hallowed that which it touched. Yet even while challenging the religio-cultural program of the Pharisees, he showed himself to be like the Pharisees in a crucial respect: he too was concerned with the purpose of the people of God in the world, with their collective historical life and the structures thereof. For he did not challenge Pharisaism in the name of a religious individualism separated from a historical community, but in the name of a different paradigm for and vision of the people of God. Indeed, the ideological nature of the conflict between Jesus and the Pharisees accounts for the intensity. According to scholarly study of social conflict, conflict reaches "its most intense level" when it concerns "competing views of the same ideology," for what is at stake for the antagonists "is a matter of one's entire universe," of the "social world" in which one lives. Moreover, "the closer the relationship" between the antagonists, "the more intense the conflict." 65 Thus the similarity between Jesus and the Pharisees- sharing the same tradition, struggling with the same questions, competing for the allegiance of the same people - accounts for the depth of the conflict between them. In the same manner, the enmity of the Pharisees was not because they were "evil men," resentful that the teacher from Nazareth exposed their "hypocrisy" and "mendacity." Rather, they perceived the program of Jesus as a threat to the symbols and institutions which provided the cohesiveness necessary for the continued existence of the people of God in a world in which the winds of change threatened that existence. Their intent was altogether noble and admirable: to preserve a people who would worship and serve Yahweh. 66 They understandably viewed the teaching of Jesus as "the breaking down of the fence around the garden, instead of the bursting of the shell for the release of living power."67 Most frequently the gospels do present the hostility between Jesus and the Pharisees in other terms, as one between genuine and false piety. Whereas the Pharisees were hypocrites, Christians were to be sincere; whereas the Pharisees were ostentatious, Christians were to be humble; whereas the Pharisees were arrogant, Christians were to be gracious; whereas the Pharisees concerned themselves about external rectitude, Christians were to recognize that true goodness is a matter of the heart. It is altogether understandable that the evangelists should often cast the conflict in these terms; to some extent writing for Christians geographically and culturally distant from the conflict, they sought to give the controversy an immediate and permanent edifying content, and they did so by transforming it into a struggle over types of individual piety. Yet it is equally clear that this was 313
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not the original substance of the conflict. Sometimes the tradition has preserved variants of the same saying whose differences point to the original national thrust; in other instances it is clear that the original hearers could only have derived a meaning quite different from that possible for later Christians. This is a result of primary significance for method: behind the present references to more or less permanent spiritual issues facing the individual, often the tradition originally had a pointed reference to specific identifiable cultural-religious questions. Ultimately, the conflict between Jesus and the Pharisees was a hermeneutical battle between mercy and holiness, a struggle concerning the correct interpretation of Torah. 68 To call it a hermeneutical battle may seem too theological or intellectual, given the complex social matrix of economid political/cultural factors, but because of the central role which religion still played in structuring the social world, it was a hermeneutical battle with historical-political consequences of which both Jesus and his opponents seemed to be aware. We shall explore Jesus' perception of the consequences of the hermeneutic of holiness for Israel's historical course in chapters on the Temple and the future. But first we will examine the other major controversy between Jesus and the Pharisees, second only to table-fellowship: the conflict over the sabbath, an institution essential to Israel's holiness.
Notes 1 The Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard (Matt. 20.1-15) makes a similar point. Spoken in all likelihood as part of Jesus' defense of his association with tax collectors and sinners (see Jeremias, Parables, pp. 36-38, 136-139), the parable described a situation in which workers who had toiled all day complained because those who worked only an hour were paid the same as they were. The parable ends with the words of the employer to the complainers: "Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or do you begrudge my generosity?" (Matt. 20.15). As Jeremias notes, p. 37: "This is what God is like, merciful." 2 See David Hill, "On the Use and Meaning of Hosea vi. 6 in Matthew's Gospel," NTS 24 (1977), pp. 107-119. 3 See chapter six below. 4 N. Snaith, The Distinctive Ideas of the Old Testament (London, 1944), pp. 94-130; A. Schulz, Nachfolgen und Nachahmen (Mi.inchen, 1962), pp. 234--237; Bultmann, TDNT2.479-482. 5 Dodd, Founder of Christianity, pp. 63-65. 6 E.g., Jeremias, Parables, pp. 210--214, includes it in the section titled "Realized Discipleship"; that it is directed as a warning to those who have heard the offer of forgiveness from Jesus is clear especially on pp. 211, 213. Perrin, Rediscovering, p. 126, states that it is addressed to those who know the Kingdom of God in terms of the forgiveness of sins; so also Manson, Mission and Message, pp. 505-506. 7 For illumination of the customs reflected in the detail of the parable, see esp. Jeremias, Parables, pp. 210--214, and Linnemann, Parables, pp. 108--111, 175-177. 314
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8 Linnemann, Parables, pp. 111-112; 177, n. 17. 9 Cf. Linnemann, Parables, p. 178, n. 17: "If the parable was to be at all effective, it had to presuppose a knowledge of mercy received. Because Jesus' listeners were Jews, there were no difficulties in this." 10 Luke 6.36. Matt. 5.48 has, "You therefore must be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect". The difference between Luke's "merciful" and Matthew's "perfect" is not crucial since the meaning is largely determined by the context which they share; nevertheless, with the majority of commentators, Luke's reading is most likely that of Q: J. Piper, 'Love Your Enemies' (Cambridge, 1979), pp. 63, 146; Manson, Mission and Message, p. 347; Davies, Setting of the Sermon on the Mount, pp. 209-210; Schtirmann, Das Lukasevangelium I, p. 360 and n. 119 with citation of literature; Schulz, Nachfolgen, pp. 231-234; R. Schnackenburg, The Moral Teaching of the New Testament (London, 1965), p. 108; Barth, Tradition and Interpretation in Matthew, p. 97; against this is Black, Aramaic Approach, p. 181. 11 So Branscomb. Jesus and the Law of Moses, p. 249; H. J. Schoeps, Aus friihchristlicher Zeit (Ttibingen, 1950), p. 290; Stendahl, School of St. Matthew, p. 134; McConnell, Law and Prophecy, pp. 38-39; Schulz, Nachfolgen, p. 234; Wilder, Eschatology and Ethics, pp. 120-121. 12 Only once: the first petition of the Lord's Prayer, where the passive voice indicates that it is God who is being asked to hallow the divine name. Thus even here it does not explicitly enjoin holiness in the community; indeed, it is significant that the only mention of human response in that prayer is tied to God's activity in forgiveness. 13 The reserve of the synoptic tradition is matched by the New Testament generally; though the holiness of God is everywhere presumed, it is seldom stated: John 17.11; I. Pet. 1.15-16; Rev. 4.8, 6.10. See 0. Procksch, TDNT 1.101. On the other hand, "mercy" applied to God is common. 14 Bultmann, TDNT2.479-480. 15 See especially Snaith, Distinctive Ideas, pp. 94-130, esp. 122-130; and W. Lofthouse, "Chen and Chesed in the Old Testament," ZA W 20 ( 1933), pp. 29-35. 16 E. R. Achtemeier, !DB 3.352: "Not once is God's mercy granted to those outside the covenant relationship." 17 !DB 3.353. 18 So also M'Neile, Matthew, p. 71; H. Marriott, The Sermon on the Mount (London, 1925), p. 192; Manson, Mission and Message, p. 453; 0. Linton, "St. Matthew 5.43," StTh (1964), p. 69. 19 So it is rendered in the LXX of Lev. 19.33-34 and Deut. 10.18-19; see also 0. J. F. Seitz, "Love Your Enemies," NTS 16 (1969-70), p. 48; Piper, 'Love Your Enemies', pp. 30-32, 47-48, 91. 20 Since it is unlikely that Matthew's "hate your enemy" was part of the original logion, its specific origin need not detain us, though suggestions abound. That it refers to the teaching of Qumran, passages of which enjoin hatred of the enemy: Ellis, Luke, p. 115; Davies, Setting of the Sermon on the Mount, pp. 213, 427; Merkel, "Jesus und die Pharisaer," p. 200, n. 4; Dodd, Founder of Christianity, p. 66, grants that Qumran may be in mind; Seitz, "Love Your Enemies," pp. 49-51; Rowley, "The Qumran Sect and Christian Origins," p. 130. That it refers to a Targum or synagogue teaching which added hatred of enemies: Seitz, pp. 42, 52; M. Smith, "Mt. 5.43: 'Hate Thine Enemy,'" HTR 45 (1952), p. 72. That it is a logical corollary of the biblical "to love," which means first of all "to favor, to select, to prefer"; to favor the neighbor entails to disfavor the other: Linton, "St. Matthew 5.43," pp. 67-69. That it is intended in a
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21
22
23
24 25 26 27
28 29 30
31 32
comparative rather than antithetical sense: Banks, Law in the Synoptic Tradition, p. 200. Luke has the strong adversative a'A),a; and the expression tott; aKououcrtv may imply that the audience has heard something from elsewhere to which the word of Jesus is contrasted; see Seitz, "Love Your Enemies," pp. 40--41; Piper, 'Love Your Enemies', p. 55. Piper, 'Love Your Enemies', pp. 98-99, agrees that it would have had this meaning, though he argues that the issue of national resistance is not the crucial context. M. Hengel, Victory Over Violence: Jesus and the Revolutionists (Philadelphia, 1973), pp. 49-50, also argues that "love of enemies" was spoken in conscious contrast to the "Zealot" option; to the resistance movement; Jesus appeared simultaneously as both competitor and traitor (p. 54). The broader context of this block of material in Q may also be significant, where it is likely to have followed the Beatitudes (and "woes to the rich," if Q included them); so Luke has it, and Matthew preserves the same sequence, even though he separates love of enemies from the Beatitudes by the insertion of special material and Q material found elsewhere in Luke. The Beatitudes are addressed to the poor, the hungry, the sorrowing - roughly the same groups to which the resistance movement directed its message. See P. Hoffman, "Die Versuchungsgeschichte in der Logienquelle," BZ 13 (1969), p. 221; for the socio-economic concerns of the resistance movement, see B.J. 2.427; Hengel, Die Zeloten, pp. 368-369; S. Applebaum, "The Zealots: The Case for Revaluation," JRS 61 (1971), pp. 158-159, 167-168. If this connection also reflects the ministry, then to the same classes from which the freedom movement recruited adherents, Jesus urged, "Love your enemies." Marshall, Challenge of New Testament Ethics, pp. 119-120; Jeremias, New Testament Theology, p. 213, n. 3; Montefiore, Synoptic Gospels, II. 71, 79, 85; Branscomb, Jesus and the Law of Moses, p. 247. And elsewhere as well; W. Foerster, TDNT 2.811, notes that Plutarch uses exepot; to refer to the enemy in war. I. Chr. 18.10; Esther 9.16; II Esdr. 8.31. Marriott, Sermon on the Mount, p. 191, offers additional support: "love your enemy" presented in antithesis to what the hearers have heard cannot refer to a fellow Jew who has a personal enemy, for the Old Testament already restricted hatred toward them: Ex. 23.4-5; Job 31.29-30; Prov. 20.22, 24.29, 25.21-22; Ecclus. 10.6; and, of course, Lev. 19.17.18 Most recently Perrin, Rediscovering, pp. 147-149; the quoted words are from p.147. L. Dougall, "The Salvation of the Nations," Hibbert Journal20 (1921), p. 114; Montefiore, Synoptic Gospels, II. 74; Manson, Mission and Message, p. 452; Seitz, "Love Your Enemies," p. 52, n. 2; and Perrin himself, Rediscovering, p. 146. J. S. Kennard, Render to God (New York, 1950), pp. 36-37; in Matthew the saying envisions a lawsuit in which a person loses his undershirt (!); Luke, on the other hand, implies an unlawful seizure of the outer garment, the cloak. Citing Egyptian papyri (P. Oxy. 285, 394; B. G. U. 515), Kennard claims that when the manufacture of clothing ceased to be a government monopoly, Roman legions were empowered to requisition clothing from provincial civilians. Dougall, "The Salvation of the Nations," p. 114, connects the seizure to the activity of tax collectors, which gives to the illustration a similar import. See above, p. 83. See the comment by Piper, 'Love Your Enemies', p. 62, which nicely links sonship, imitatio dei, and love of enemies: "sonship of God depends on acting
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33 34
35
36 37 38 39 40 41
42
like God: God is kind to his enemies; therefore anyone who wants to be a son of God must do the same." See, e.g., Deut. 14.1, Hos. 1.19, Ps. Sol. 17.30, M. A both 3.15. That this is not a spiritualized understanding of peace is indicated by Foerster, TDNT 2.419: peacemaking " ... denotes the establishment of peace and concord between men. It is thus a mistake to refer with Dausch to those who promote happiness and well-being. Nor is it a matter of helping others to peace with God, as Brouwer suggests. The reference is to those who disinterestedly come between two contending parties and try to make peace." Why the disciples were armed is a puzzle. Luke even reports that Jesus at the end of his ministry ordered his disciples to purchase swords and that they already had two (Luke 22.35-38). Brandon, Jesus and the Zealots, repeatedly cites this incident as an indication that Jesus was sympathetic to the Zealots. Too much should not be made of this, however, as we do not know very much about the use of swords in first-century Palestine to warrant such a definite conclusion. Was it, for example, the custom of men leading an itinerant life to carry a sword, just as backpackers typically carry a hunting knife today? Did possessing a sword intrinsically imply the willingness to use it on a human, even if only in self-defense, or did swords have other important uses? Luke 10.5-6. See William Klassen, "'A Child of Peace' (Luke 10.6) in First Century Context," NTS 27 (1981), pp. 488-506, esp. 497-502. Luke 19.42-44. For detailed exegesis and an argument that it is authentic to Jesus, see below, pp. 186-187. Mark 11.1-10 par. See esp. Phyllis Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality (Philadelphia, 1978), pp.31-59,esp.33,38-53. Perhaps this expansive understanding of mercy is the new wine that threatens to break the old wineskins (Mark 2.21-22 par.). Matt. 5.20 reports that Jesus spoke of the differentiation between his followers and the Pharisees not in terms of mercifulness versus holiness, but in terms of a "righteousness which exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees." Since this saying is reported by Matthew alone, his context (which is obviously redactional) is the only guide we have for interpreting it. McConnell, Law and Prophecy, pp. 37-38, argues convincingly that "you shall be perfect" in Matt. 5.48 defines the righteousness which exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees: a) both 5.20 and 5.48 give summaries of the life that corresponds to God's will; b) just as 5.20 introduces the antitheses of the Sermon on the Mount, 5.48 concludes them; c) forms of nEptcrcrEUEtv are found in both 5.20 and 5.47. This permits McConnell to write, p. 37: "A perfection that corresponds to God's perfection is the righteousness that far exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees." Barth, Tradition and Interpretation, p. 97, also argues that 5.48 defines 5.20: "perfect" in verse 48 "denotes the 'more' which distinguishes the doers of the teaching of Jesus from others"; moreover, it is not denied that the Pharisees are righteous, but the righteousness of the congregation of Matthew's day is to exceed that. The degree to which Matthew here also represents the original import of Jesus' word in 5.20 cannot be determined; but it is significant that the "more" expected from those who respond to Jesus is expressed in terms of perfect/merciful in a logion which echoes the summary of the "holiness code." Hill, "On the Use and Meaning of Hosea v. 6 in Matthew's Gospel," p. 117, also suggests that the "higher righteousness" of Matt 5.20 is mercy. See also Schulz, Nachfolgen, p. 237. 317
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43 Mark 8.15, Luke 12.1, Matt. 16.6, 11-12; Luke 11.44, Matt. 23.27-28; see above, pp. 111-115. 44 See, e.g., F. Hauck and R. Meyer, TDNT 3.416, 418. 45 See Lev. 13.45-46; Num. 5.1-4; S-B IV. 751-757. On holiness and leprosy, see H. van der Loos, The Miracles of Jesus (Leiden, 1968), pp. 471-474. 46 Rawlinson, Mark, p. 21, n. 1; noted also by Cranfield, Mark, pp. 92-93; Nineham, Mark, pp. 87-88; Montefiore, The Synoptic Gospels, I. 39; A. Richardson, The Miracle Stories of the Gospels (London, 1941), pp. 60-61; McConnell, Law and Prophecy, pp. 81-82; van der Loos, Miracles of Jesus, p. 485. Because of the issue of defilement involved, F. Mussner, The Miracles of Jesus (Shannon, 1970), pp. 28-37, understands this miracle as one of several with an "anti-Pharisaic front." 47 Bultmann, History of the Synoptic Tradition, p. 240, points out that the detail about showing one's self to the priest could hardly originate in a nonPalestinian milieu; Jeremias, New Testament Theology, p. 92, also notes marks of primitiveness. 48 Lev. 15.25-30. 49 Cf. the comment of M. D. Hooker, "Interchange in Christ," JTS 22 (1971), p. 351n: in certain miracle stories, "Jesus touches (or is touched by) those who, according to Jewish law, are unclean, which should make him unclean also. Instead of becoming unclean, however, or perhaps in spite of it, he is able to covercome the power of defilement, and to make those with whom he comes in contact clean." 50 Cf. the comment of Nineham, Mark, p. 151: ''This is the first time in the Gospel that Jesus has been in Gentile territory, so it is noteworthy that his holy presence routs and banishes the uncleanness." 51 Mark 1.23-27 (note that the unclean spirit addresses Jesus as "the Holy One of God"); 7.24-30; 9.14-27; summary accounts in 3.11, 6.7. 52 Hauck, TDNT 3.429; for the intriguing suggestion that the question concerns a Jewish-Christian haver married to a Jewish-Christian am ha-aretz, see J. M. Ford, "'Hast Thou Tithed Thy Meal/' and 'Is Thy Child Kosher?'", JTS 16 (1966) pp. 71-79. 53 Theissen, Sociology of Early Palestinian Christianity, esp. pp. 78-80, 103-107. 54 Ibid., esp. pp. 64-65, 99-110, 114. 55 Matt. 5.17-18. Whether authentic to Jesus or the product of the Jesus movement, the passage suggests that the issue is the interpretation of the Torah, not whether loyalty to Torah is essential (though it makes that claim). The introductory words ("Think not that I have come to abolish the Torah ... ") suggest that Jesus (or his movement) had been saying things which somebody thought to be a denial of Torah. Since the following affirmation denies this, it is likely that the suspicion and response were based on different interpretations of Torah, not on whether or not Torah as a whole was valid. 56 Neusner, Yohanan ben Zakkai, p. 11. 57 The more unflattering portions of the gospel portrait are still repeated: e.g., Schnackenburg, Moral Teaching of the New Testament, pp. 66-73, speaks of the "false piety and vanity," "mendacity and hypocrisy" of the Pharisees; Marshall, Challenge, pp. 10, 42, 54, 66-67, speaks of their "ostentatious piety," "punctiliar regard for cermoniallaw combined with the frequent monstrous neglect of the moral law," "harshness in judgment of others," "contempt for the masses," "self-satisfied cocksureness," etc. 58 Sot. 22b; Jer. Ber. 9.14b; cf. M. Sot. 3.4. 59 Manson, Mission and Message, p. 391.
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60 K. Kohler, "Pharisees," JE 9.665; J. Z. Lauterbach, "The Pharisees and Their Teachings," HUCA 6 (1929), p. 139; H. Loewe, "Pharisaism," in W. 0. E. Oesterley (ed.), Judaism and Christianity: The Age of Transition, vol. 1 (London, 1937), pp. 179-188; Manson, Mission and Message, p. 391; Pawlikowski, "On Renewing the Revolution of the Pharisees,'' pp. 425-427. 61 F. C. Burkitt, "Jesus and the Pharisees," ITS 28 (1927), pp. 392-397. Finkel, The Pharisees, pp. 133-142, emphasizes that the woes were addressed to the school of Shammai, which largely disappeared after 70. 62 Most thoroughly by Winter, On the Trial of Jesus, pp. 111-135. 63 R. T. Herford, The Pharisees (London, 1924), p. 202; Judaism in the New Testament Period (London, 1928), pp. 200-201: noting that Jesus allegedly met few Pharisees in Galilee, he continues: "Each was seen by the other in the least favorable aspect. The Pharisees never saw him, and never could see him, as his [201] friends of the multitude saw him. And he never saw the Pharisees with any sympathetic discernment of what they really meant by their religion. He saw, as an outsider could only see, what they did; and, like any outsider, he had no clue to understand why they did it." 64 E.g., undoubtedly there were some Pharisees whose integrity was questionable, just as there were such Christians; there were some significant differences between pre- and post-70 Pharisaism; the developing synoptic tradition did at times insert "Pharisees" into contexts where the opponents of Jesus were either unidentified or otherwise identified; some of the sayings do reflect the conflict between church and synagogue. 65 The quoted phrases are from Gager, Kingdom and Community, pp. 82-83. Gager draws the propositions about conflict from Lewis Coser, The Function of Social Conflict (New York, 1956); he does not apply them to Jews and the Pharisees, but to conflict between Judaism and early Christianity and within early Christianity itself. 66 Klausner, Jesus, pp. 369ff, similarly argues that the opponents of Jesus feared that his teaching would dissolve the cords which bound the nation together; however, he sees Jesus as offering only a program for individuals, not for Israel. 67 H. H. Rowley, Israel's Mission to the World (London, 1939), p. 76. His judgment on pp. 77-78 has affinities to the above: "The attitude of the Pharisees to the new offshoot of Judaism was wrong, but it was wrong not because Pharisaism was evil through and through, a sham and a snare, but because Pharisaism contained so much that [78] was good and great, because the life that had been fostered under its protecting care was now ready to burst forth, and they knew it not." C. H. Dodd has consistently understood the conflict in these terms: see, e.g., More New Testament Studies, pp. 92-96; Founder of Christianity, p. 77. 68 See above, p. 71 and n. 105.
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41 ALMS, DEBT AND DIVORCE Jesus' ethics in their Mediterranean context John S. Kloppenborg Source: Toronto Journal of Theology, 6, 1990, pp. 182-200.
I Introduction The ethical injunctions ascribed to Jesus by the Synoptic Gospels have long posed interpretive difficulties both for exegetes who wish to understand the nature and coherence of Jesus' ethics, and for those engaged in the discussion of the Bible and contemporary Christian ethics. The problems are manifold. On the one hand, we are faced with striking gaps in the evidence. Not only are whole areas of ethical concern- household codes, for example - unrepresented in the extant Jesus tradition, but one also looks in vain for general principles from which to derive the prescriptions that are preserved. On the other hand, a surprisingly wide range of ethical topics are raised - public giving, divorce, payment of the tribute, lending to others and responding to insults. It is far from clear, however, that these varying topics display any measure of inner consistency or coherence. The problem of Jesus' ethical statements begins with their very form. As C.H. Dodd recognized, most of the statements are not framed as straightforward moral maxims, but are characterized by metaphor and hyperbole. 1 They do not approximate the direct ethical discourse found, for example, in Paul's letters, or in Hellenistic moralists like Seneca or Musonius Rufus. While a few sayings offer prudential or even banal advice such as "settle quickly with a plaintiff" (Q 12:58),2 the imperatives, "lend, expecting nothing in return" (Luke 6:35a) and "whoever requisitions you for one mile, go with him for two" (Matt. 5:41) are neither prudential nor banal. Such maxims are a combination of realism and dramatic imagination. The scenario belongs to the realm of village life in Roman Palestine, but the counsel is imaginative and compelling. This combination of concreteness and hyperbole has resisted most attempts to reduce Jesus' counsels to abstract ethical principles. This has caused serious difficulties for those who have wished to quarry the Jesus 320
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tradition for usable maxims. Does a particular piece of advice have universal validity? Or were certain prescriptions meant to apply only to certain persons or to limited social or historical situations? Or should these sayings be treated as a subset of ethical discourse at all? The matter is further complicated by the question of attribution. There can be no doubt that early Christians reworked earlier sayings, applying them to situations which simply did not prevail in Jesus' day. And they apparently placed on Jesus' lips sayings which spoke to post-Easter ecclesial problems. This means that in addition to being faced with an unsystematic corpus of ethical and quasi-ethical pronouncements, we also have multiple layers of traditions to be sorted. Various attempts have been made to come to terms with these difficulties. Some proposed a two-tiered ethics and treated the more "radical" prescriptions as counsels of perfection, intended for an elite who sought a higher standard of moral attainment. The most obvious difficulty for this view is that, apart from Matthew 19:11-12, the Jesus tradition was not framed in such a way to permit such discriminations. In fact, many of the "radical" imperatives are expressly directed at all followers of Jesus, as is the case, for example, with the injunction on hating one's family (Q 14:26). Luther argued that the stringency of the commands in the Sermon on the Mount and the impossibility of fulfilling them was deliberately intended to point to humankind's inability to be righteous before God. But this, as is obvious, is to read a particular understanding- some would say misunderstanding - of the Pauline doctrine of justification into the ethics of Jesus. Others have attempted to specify the way in which diverse ethical sayings can be understood as coherent, and this normally involves eschatology. For Johannes Weiss and Albert Schweitzer, Jesus was an apocalypticist who expected the dawning of the reign of God in the imminent future. His ethics were to be understood as "preparatory" or "interim ethics" - not ethics of the kingdom, since according to Schweitzer the kingdom would abolish all natural distinctions (e.g., marriage and kin) and all temptations to sin. A new ethos would require a new ethic. 3 For the present, however, Jesus enjoined a provisional ethic of repentance, selfabasement, service, and willingness to suffer. Schweitzer thus understood the radical demands of the Sermon on the Mount as expressions of this repentance and self-abasement. Not many have followed Weiss or Schweitzer. This is in part because their views are predicated upon the unacceptable picture of Jesus as an apocalyptic fanatic, and in part because, while the emphasis on imminent expectation made sense of the rather radical sayings such as "leave the dead to bury the dead'' (Q 9:60), it was less successful in providing an interpretive context for many other sayings - for example, the divorce 321
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sayings or the admonition to "render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's." Johannes Weiss, to whom Schweitzer owed much, simply sidestepped the divorce saying and was able only to offer the feeble explanation that the latter advice was a warning not to provoke a revolt against the Romans and thereby usurp God's initiative in precipitating the end. 4 At the very least the appeal to apocalypticism cannot provide a sufficient basis for Jesus' admonition to love one's enemies. As Wolfgang Schrage points out, apocalypticism led the Essenes, who were enjoined to hate outsiders, in quite another direction. 5 It is perhaps also true that a large measure of the disinclination to follow Weiss and Schweitzer comes from the recognition that if such were the basis of Jesus' ethics, they would be virtually irrelevant to any imaginable contemporary application. 6 In contrast to the advocates of "interim ethics," Amos Wilder recognized that overly literal reading of apocalyptic texts encouraged the quite mistaken conclusion that those who used apocalyptic language imagined a complete rupture in human history, and that this inclined them to abandon any real responsibility for the presentJ For Wilder, eschatological language provided only a "formal sanction" for ethics but could not be regarded as its material basis. This basis was to be found in the nature of God- God's perfection and generosity provided a basis for imitation, and God's glory and holiness became the ultimate sanction of obedience. 8 Many mediating positions have been propounded. Each typically refers ostensibly ethical statements to the theological core of Jesus' message, and this inevitably comes down to a particular characterization of the reign of God. 9 Unfortunately, this normally proceeds by treating Jesus' teaching chiefly in terms of its intellectual provenance. Jesus' sayings about the reign of God and ethical prescriptions related to them are referred to apocalyptic, sapiential and prophetic traditions, and to Hellenistic popular philosophy. But what frequently has gone unexamined is the way in which such sayings would have been heard and apprehended by their earliest audiences: peasants and day labourers, the petit gens of the villages and small cities of Galilee, Judaea, Gaulanitis and the region of the Decapolis; and perhaps a handful of elite who served as retainers for the Herodian dynasty, the Romans and the hierocracy in Jerusalem. This raises a key point. Much of the discussion of Jesus' ethics has gone on without any discussion of the cultural values represented in the key ethical vocabulary of Jesus. Without such a clarification, the principal terms retain by default the values they have for Northern Europeans or North Americans, and this inevitably leads to misapprehension. It is impossible, for example, to understand the teachings on divorce in Mark 10 without appreciating the values placed on marriage in ancient circumMediterranean cultures. Marriage cannot be regarded as a matter concerning two "individuals", as it might be considered today, but was an arrangement between two kinship groups in which the husband and wife 322
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were embedded. Social and economic ends were never far from view. Marital strategies might be contractual or conciliatory, where a paterfamilias would be willing to give his daughters in exchange for some economic or political advantage. This was often the pattern among Roman elites and the elites of their client states. The pattern might also be aggressive, where one group attempted to obtain the women of other groups while at the same time denying its women to others. Or it might be defensive, where exogamy for both males and females was discouraged. 10 Among peasants, marriage was normally endogamous, and presupposed a sexual division of labour which was in turn rooted in the basic values of honour and shame. To fail to grasp these features, and to read the key ethical vocabulary solely in terms of post-Enlightenment notions of the individual and of romantic love, and in terms of contemporary expectations of spousal equality, is necessarily to misunderstand those counsels. 11 It should also be obvious that we cannot fully grasp the significance of any ethical statement of Jesus until we understand what difference it would have made to his immediate audience. This means we must reconstruct the social context of a given saying and understand its sociorhetorical function. For example, "You cannot serve both God and Mammon" (Q 16:13b) would mean one thing to Luke's urban, probably affluent and certainly cultured audience who would doubtless hear the saying alongside Hellenistic moralizing sentences such as Horace's "imperat aut servit collegia pecunia cuique," 12 and draw from it the conclusion that the wealth of the Christian should be used in acts of benefaction and reconciliation - virtues which Luke's Zaccheus so excellently exemplifies. But the saying would sound quite different to a Galilean smallholder or day labourer, or to the urban non-elite of Sepphoris, who found themselves victims to the predatory lending practices of urban and southern elites and to the multilevel forms of taxation. These persons experienced at first hand the effects of the servitude to other people's Mammon. 13
11 Embedded religion, honour and shame, and limited good Although ancient Palestinian society is not easily characterized, at least three aspects of culture are intrinsic to any understanding of it. These are, first, the lack of an idea of 'religion' as a discrete and separate aspect of culture; second, honour and shame as 'pivotal' social values; and finally, the perception of limited good. None of these features is especially characteristic of modern northern European and North American societies, and hence our difficulty is understanding the intent of sayings formulated in a culture which takes these for granted.
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1. Embedded religion The temptation to analyze early Christian ethics with almost exclusive reference to their intellectual antecedents and in terms of their theological setting is part of the heritage of the view of society which developed after the Industrial Revolution. The breakdown of agrarian society made it possible to think of both religion and economics as discrete aspects of culture, separable from kinship patterns so integral to preindustrial, and especially peasant, societies. This encouraged the view that Jesus concerned himself not with politics or other worldly matters, but with the purely religious message of the reign of God. 14 In the preindustrial society, it is very difficult to separate either economics or religion from their embeddedness in kinship patterns (at the microsocial level) and political relations (at the macro social level). Antiquity, indeed, produced documents which superficially appear to be meditations on economics - Xenophon's Oekonomikos, for example. As Sir Moses Finley observes, however, far from treating abstract market relations, this contains meditations on leadership, the training of slaves, wifely virtues, agronomy, the good life and the appropriate use of wealth, but no "economic theory." There is, indeed, no word in either Latin or Greek which could translate the word so fundamental to economic analysis: 'market' (used abstractly). This is not an intellectual failing of ancient society, but a reflection of the structure of ancient society itself. 15 Although the literature of antiquity is full of accounts of spectacular fortunes being made (and lost), wealth was less an end than a means by which one pursued the more important goals of maintaining membership in various estates or orders, 16 and acquiring status and honour. Similar observations might be made of the term religion. 'Religion', as we call it, was thoroughly embedded in kinship, fictive kinship, and political groupings. 17 Although it was possible to cease the worship of one set of deities and embrace another, this would normally occur as a part of adjustments in one's social relationships. Hence it becomes very difficult to discuss the 'religion' of a particular Mediterranean group apart from a characterization of their patterns of kinship and marriage, their social organization and catchment, and their relationship with their neighbours. For example, the appeal of wisdom theology and the denial of the resurrection by the 'strong' Corinthians are intrinsically related to their social arrangements. These included participation in the civic institutions of the local temples, enhanced social mobility of women (expressed in higher divorce rates) and, in general, greater public roles for women - features characteristic of urban elites. It is actually doubtful whether one could address the "theological" issues at Corinth apart from an understanding of the way in which they are refracted in concrete social relations.
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2. Honour and shame
The second important feature of ancient Mediterranean culture has to do with the concept of personhood. It is, in fact, anachronistic to use the term 'individual' in relation to ancient Mediterranean cultures. Clifford Geertz has observed that: [t]he Western conception of the person as a bounded, unique, more or less integrated motivational and cognitive universe, a dynamic center of awareness, emotion, judgment and action organized into a distinctive whole and set contrastively both against other such wholes and against its social and natural background, is, however incorrigible it may seem to us, a rather peculiar idea within the context of the world's cultures. 18 In most cultures, ancient Palestine included, the group is valued above the individual and the individual is seen as embedded in larger groupings, deriving his or her identity from the group. This is reflected in the way in which individuals are identified by reference to their clan or father and in a host of other customs. Related to this phenomenon is the prominence of honour and shame as pivotal values. 19 Honour, whether ascribed (by birth, social position, etc.) or acquired by some worthy act, is a combination of a person's self-estimation of worth and the societal recognition of that claim. Dominant figures participate in and are expected to defend the honour of their clan. Non-dominant persons (children, wives, slaves, agents and clients) participate in the honour (or shame) of the dominant figure. 20 This has several consequences. On the one hand, ancient Mediterranean culture is agonistic. Within kinship groupings, roles and responsibilities are well-defined and non-overlapping and, therefore, tend to be non-competitive. Outside the group, however, the opposite is the case. Since the social relations are face-to-face rather than anonymous and bureaucratic, and since public roles in these societies are ill-defined and overlapping, social transactions that occur outside the family are competitive. Honour must constantly be asserted and defended. This is not an arbitrary social ritual but has immense utility, for example, when it comes to securing appropriate spouses for one's children or preserving advantageous relationships with one's patron or clients. 21 A person who has been separated from a sustaining social group and who is unable to assert and defend honour or to secure a defender of honour- a beggar, for examplehas become 'shameless' and incapable of significant social relations. 22 On the other hand, such cultures display relatively little attention to individual introspective analysis, internal motivations, or psychological development. When identity is group-oriented, 'individuals' and purely 'individual' concerns in a real sense simply do not exist.
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3. Limited good and reciprocity
One of the features of ancient society which buttressed its agonistic character was the perception that most goods existed in limited quantities. This is in sharp contrast to modern popular perceptions which assume that consumer items, money and most other commodities are virtually limitless. Commenting on peasant societies, the anthropologist G. Forster notes: By "image of limited good" I mean that broad areas of peasant behaviour are patterned in such a fashion as to suggest that peasants view their social, economic, and natural universes- their total environment - as one in which all of the desired things in life such as land, wealth, health, friendship and love, manliness and honor, respect and status, power and influence, security and safety, exist in finite quantity and are always in short supply, as far as the peasant is concerned .... There is no way directly within peasant power to increase the available quantities. 23 Since honour is one of the commodities in limited supply, any increase in one's honour is likely to come at the expense of someone else; hence the pervasive concern to preserve and defend honour in public social transactions. But there are also other consequences of the perception of limited good. Those who already possessed wealth and social influence could multiply it considerably (and, of course, lose it). But for the nonelite, as Ramsay MacMullen has observed, the experience of "rags to riches" would be rare indeed. 24 The structure of ancient economy made it virtually impossible for a peasant or artisan to 'make it'; supplies of raw materials were never available in sufficient quantities to allow the expansion of production, markets were not available even if it did expand, and underemployment was rampant. The elite could gain or lose a fortune; the non-elite (excluding, perhaps, freedmen of affluent households) could hold their own or lose. This means that the saying preserved by both Mark (4:25) and Q (19:26)- "to the one that has will more be given, and from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken" - would not seem a paradox: it was bitter economic reality. One way in which ancient society gained internal cohesion was through reciprocity, which Bruce Malina defines as "a sort of implicit, non-legal contractual obligation, unenforceable by an authority apart from one's sense of honor and shame. "25 For non-elite persons to maintain a subsistence level and for elites to advance themselves it was often advantageous, even necessary, to form relationships based on reciprocal exchange. Between persons of unequal social status, this took the form of patronclient relationships. The patron supplied material wealth (loans, gifts), advantage and prestige to his or her clients, and the clients reciprocated by 326
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honouring their patron with loyalty and praise. Recognition of benefaction in the form of public acclamation by clients, the erection of plaques describing benefaction, and other means represented necessary elements of social exchange.
Ill Listening to Jesus' sayings Any inquiry into the ethics of Jesus must take not only the theological context into account, but also the socio-rhetorical situation presupposed by the speaker. Obviously, it is impossible in this context to examine all of the ostensibly ethical statements in the tradition. I would like to pick three exempla from apparently divergent realms of 'ethical' discourse and in each case indicate how it might be heard by a Palestinian audience. In each case, it will become clear that it is inappropriate to limit its meaning to a purely 'religious' interpretation. The three are: (1) prescriptions for the appropriate comportment in public; (2) instructions on interpersonal relationships and the forgiveness of sin; and (3) matters pertaining to marriage and divorce.
1. Secret benefaction and public honour When you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you like the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets so that they may be praised by people. Amen I tell you, they have their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right is doing, so that your alms might be in secret; your father who sees in secret will repay you. A comparison of this pericope (Matt. 6:2-4) with Matthew 6:5-6 (on prayer) and 6:16-18 (on fasting) shows that the italicized portions are part of Matthew's framing formulae and are probably redactional. Matthew's contest is with Pharisees, and his view of them as "hypocrites" is peculiarly his; it is not the dominant element of pre-Matthean views of the Pharisees. 26 These polemical interests are responsible for three elements: the designation "hypocrites" which also appears throughout his chapter 23, the express mention of the synagogue, and the emphasis upon reward. If there is anything pre-Matthean, it is the admonition: When you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you in the streets; when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right is doingY Even without the Matthean elements, the saying is usually taken as condemning ostentation and nurturing an interiorized piety, values which 327
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seem self-evidently appropriate to modern audiences. After all, we live in an age in which anonymous donation is both common and virtuous. Robert Tannehill's literary analysis of this saying (and those surrounding it in Matt. 6) exposes the artful construction of the saying, with its use of repetition and hyperbole as a means to circumscribe and criticize a wide range of possibilities between the two extremes of sounding a trumpet and the most secretive sort of behaviour. Tannehill concludes that the saying is concerned with the depth of human need for recognition and approval from others, and danger of enslavement to the false god of this need. Man is insecure, for the validity of his life is open to question. He must be assured that his life is worthwhile, and he seeks this assurance from others. The resulting search for such approval can dominate the whole of man's life, even his religious behaviour, perhaps especially his religious behaviour, since religion claims to deal with what has ultimate significance to man. 28 What is problematic here - and I select Tannehill not because his analysis is poor but because it is in other respects superb- is that this statement is in danger of being read as the expression of an individual existential dilemma. It projects onto the ancient text a concern for introspective analysis which Krister Stendahl has so capably shown was not a problem for Paul or other first-century figures, but only became one after Augustine, and especially with Luther. 29 It is not that persons in Jesus' culture were not 'insecure'; indeed, the agonistic character of personal interactions indicates that there was great anxiety and insecurity in respect to one's honour and status. What is usually overlooked is the fact that the behaviour condemned is perfectly normal. In a culture in which personality is formed dyadically and where groups matter more than individuals, it is quite unexceptional to seek "assurance from others." That is the only way self-worth could be confirmed. The giving of alms was a form of reciprocity - in this case, between persons of unequal status. The ancient world was not in the least troubled by what we might regard as self-serving advertisements of largesse. Conspicuous benefaction and magnificent public displays were approved ways of acquiring honour. Plutarch comments: ''Most people think that to be deprived of a chance to display their wealth is to be deprived of wealth itself."30 Augustus' Res Gestae provides particularly dramatic testimony to the ideal of largesse. 31 He claims to have distributed to veterans, the treasury and Roman plebs more than 3.2 billion sesterces of his own fortune. To put this in perspective, this sum had a real buying power of 8.2 million metric tonnes of grain or 35 times the yearly revenues of Herod's kingdom, which was far from unproductive. The point of this would be lost entirely if it were given "in secret." 328
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Matthew 6:3--4 amounts to a repudiation, not of benefaction, but of the particular system of social exchange in which it functions. To advise people to be benefactors in such a way that their acts cannot be recognized or reciprocated is to say that acquired honour - at least insofar as it pertains to fellow villagers - should not be a consideration. This is to challenge one of the fundamental means by which the hierarchical society of the first century maintained its internal cohesion. To remove one side of the equation - public recognition of benefaction - is to destroy the equation itself. Only hints are given in regard to Jesus' alternative. The denial of the means by which social stratification was reinforced would naturally lead to a dissolution of that stratification. What the Jesus tradition juxtaposes with the system of balanced reciprocity is the image of a God who is "gracious to the ungrateful and selfish" (Q 6:35c)- that is, a God who is a benefactor even to those who will not reciprocate with honour. But this does not seem to matter. The context of Q 6:35 provides a clue as to why this should be the case. The well-known admonition: "To the one who strikes you on the cheek turn the other" (Q 6:29a), raises the spectre of a deliberate public insult.32 In exchanges of this sort, honour is at stake and the exchange is always among equals. Striking an inferior would not result in a gain of honour, and a superior would not stoop to the challenge since he would have nothing to gain. Tacitus says of Agricola, then a legatus praetorius, that he refrained from disputes with the lesser-ranked procurators, "for he considered it undignified to win such battles and ignominious to be beaten" (Tacitus, Agricola 9). When an insult occurred, the normal responses would be acceptance of the challenge, leading perhaps to a recovery of honour or passive acceptance, which would lead to dishonour. Although this saying has frequently been interpreted in the latter sense, it does not counsel passivity but suggests a response that both prevents the contest from going further (since the challenge to honour is not accepted) and indicates that the response is not one of weakness. The conclusion of the cluster of Q sayings provides the rationale: "You will be children of the Most High, who is gracious to the ungrateful and selfish" (6:35bc). Just as a human king is immune from a challenge to honour (since no one except another king is his peer), neither God nor God's children can be dishonoured in a contest. What the Jesus tradition here counsels is a mode of behaviour that challenges the honour system and the way it leads to feuding and social division. In the same way, the Jesus group is enjoined to refuse to participate in honour-acquisition and instead to emulate the ethos of the divine benefactor who stands outside of, and refuses to endorse social stratification predicated on, conspicuous displays of largesse.
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2. Forgiveness of sin and the problem of debt
A second instance of a saying which has been understood in a purely 'religious' sense is the fourth petition of the (Lukan) Lord's prayer. Even though it is not framed as an imperative, the phrase "as we have forgiven those who trespass against us" (Matt. 6:12/Luke 11:4) implies a prescription about mutual forgiveness of sins. As is well known, the word translated as 'trespasses' is opheilemata - literally 'debts'. Luke, whose audience perhaps would not have understood the metaphorical sense of 'debt' as 'sin', substituted hamartia and thus took the first steps toward the thorough spiritualization of the petition. There are several reasons, nevertheless, for not rejecting its literal sense too quickly. First, this is far from the only point in the tradition where concern about indebtedness occurs. It is not only a theme of the parables of the Unmerciful Servant (Matt. 18:23-35), the Two Debtors (Luke 7:41-43) and the Unjust Steward (Luke 16:1-Sa), but occurs in the aphoristk tradition in Matthew 5:42 and in allusions to the jubilee cancellation of debt (Luke 4:16--21 ). Second, contemporary sources indicate that indebtedness in pre-70 CE Galilee was an acute problem. 33 We do not know the precise level of tithe, tribute and tolls paid by inhabitants of Galilee, but the fact that Roman exactions were a source of bitter complaint is beyond dispute. 34 Douglas Oakman has estimated that between the temple tithe, Herod's exactions and the Roman tribute, the peasant would have paid between one-half and two-thirds of his produce. 35 The situation was exacerbated by a tendency toward monetization: taxes and rents were sometimes demanded in coin rather than in kind. In this situation it is hardly likely that a petition to cancel opheilemata would immediately be spiritualized as meaning only 'sins'. The context supplied by the (Lukan) prayer's second and third petitions for the coming of the reign of God and for the provision of subsistence bread indicates the concreteness of what was at issue. Bread and debt were, quite simply, the two most immediate problems facing the Galilean peasant, day labourer and non-elite urbanite. Alleviation of these two anxieties were the most obvious benefits of God's reign. This is not to say that the petition does not also concern other sorts of indebtedness and forgiveness, but it does imply that the horizon of this petition is much broader than the 'religious' realm. Just as in the case of the sayings concerning acquired honour where the admonition to refuse honours (Matt. 6:2-4) can be coordinated with characterizations of God (Q 6:35), so in this case the appeal to a God who forgives debt is coordinated with injunctions to lend to whomever asks (Matt. 5:42) and without expectation of return (Luke 6:34, 35b; Gospel of Thomas 95). Making loans to clients was a major way of securing one's own position and status and an obvious way to demonstrate one's inftu330
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ence. To have received a loan imposed far more than a monetary debt upon the debtor. As Aristotle notes, "it is a duty not only to repay a service done but also to take the initiative oneself in doing a service." 36 Clientism was self-perpetuating. Hence it is strange advice to counsel indiscriminate lending, and even stranger advice to recommend that one's debtors not be indebted. This breaks the circle of reciprocity. Indeed the fourth petition of the Lord's payer, "as we have forgiven those indebted to us," implies that those who call upon God for release from debt have themselves undertaken a program of release. It should be obvious that the sayings on debt and forgiveness, if seen in this way, reach far beyond the 'private' realm of forgiveness of sin and amount to a proposal for radical economic and social transformation. 3. Marital ethics and androcentric honour If two sayings which ostensibly refer to relatively narrow realms of ethical
discourse - Matthew 6:2-4 and Luke 11:4 - in fact reflect much broader social concerns, what of sayings which deal with familial relations? The saying on divorce is a good place to start because it is so securely attested to in the tradition: it is found in Q (Matt. 5:32/Luke 16:18), Mark (10:11-12; cf. Matt. 19:9) and is one of the few dominical sayings known by Paul (I Cor. 7:10-11). There are several intractable problems associated with this saying which cannot be discussed hereY A few issues are more or less settled, however. Since the evidence suggests that women in Palestine were unable to initiate a divorce,38 both the second clause of the saying in Mark 10:11-22 "and if she, having divorced her husband marries another, she commits adultery" - and the first in I Cor. 7:10-11 - "a woman should not be divorced from her husband" - must be regarded as adjustments of the original dominical saying to the legal realities of Greek and Roman law. It should be observed, too, that Paul does not retain the original comparison of remarriage after divorce with adultery, no doubt because such hyperbole would not suit the prescriptive use to which he puts the saying. The equation of divorce and remarriage with the capital offense adultery obviously implies a rather substantial mitigation of the divorce laws deriving from Deuteronomy 24:1-3. 39 Here Jesus appears to concur with the view espoused in the Cairo Damascus Covenant 4.20-5.2 40 and the Temple Scroll (11Q Temple 57.17-19),41 which interprets remarriage after divorce as successive polygamy. This is what has captured the attention of most commentators. But two other questions need to be asked. First, we should ask, At whom is this prohibition directed? As commentaries on Deuteronomy 17:14-17, both the texts from Qumran are ostensibly directed at the "prince". Nevertheless, it is usual to argue, following the dictum quod non licet Iovi, non licet bovi, that this stricture applied to 331
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all. 42 This may be true, but it is likewise true that the divorce rate in the peasant, day labourer and other non-elite sectors could not have been very high. Two factors proved substantial disincentives to divorce: first, the strong tendency towards endogamy and patrilineal parallel-cousin or uncle-niece marriages made any divorce extremely disruptive to the entire clan. Members of the clan were sure to intervene to try to prevent a divorce, since the act of sending away a wife in dishonour would inevitably lead to a rift within the clan. Second, the dissolution of a marriage would put into serious jeopardy the economic production unit, which was at the best of times only marginally viable and which could hardly survive without the woman's contribution. It was in the elite sector, most notably among the Herodian princes (and princesses), that divorce and remarriage was much more common. Marriage and divorce function here as it did among Roman elites: to secure and reorder power arrangements between ruling families - hence it may be no coincidence that neither Qumran text makes an explicit attempt to generalize the prohibition of Deuteronomy 17. It remains directed at the "prince". The historic tensions between the Qumran group and the ruling elites of Palestine should be kept in mind here. It should also be remembered that it was over the criticism of Herodian marriages that Jesus' erstwhile mentor, John, lost his life. I think, too, that it is no coincidence that among the Pauline churches, it was only at Corinth that the matter of divorce became problematic. It is precisely in Corinth that we have good evidence of the presence of elite and semi-elite groups where the incidence of divorce is normally high. Hence, we might well suspect that Jesus' apparent prohibition of divorce is formulated with the local and royal elites in view, and represents one form of social protest against them. We cannot stop here, however. One of the little-noticed features of the text is the force of the comparison of divorce and remarriage with adultery. As is well known, marriages in Palestine were patrilocal. The bride came to live with her husband's kin and thereby became imbedded in the honour of her husband's family. Recent anthropological studies of circumMediterranean cultures have shown the close correlation between male honour and female chastity. 43 A man who is unable to "be a man" by providing for his family and by insuring the sexual fidelity of his wife will lose honour. If his wife had adulterous relationships, he would not necessarily take any action provided that his honour was not at stake; but if it became a matter of public discussion, he would be obliged to divorce her for the sake of his honour. 44 Since female chastity is viewed as a pseudocommodity belonging to the husband, adultery is a kind of theft. 45 If this is made public, the husband must either recover his standing by divorce, or be regarded a fool or "billygoat. "46 The sanctions against adultery found in Hebrew Scripture are all formulated from the standpoint of the male: a wife found in an adulterous
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situation dishonoured her husband, and the offending male had in effect injured the honour of the husband. Injury to honour could be redressed by the deaths of the offenders. Or, a bill of divorce could be issued and the woman would be "sent away," having the effect of severing the relation between the woman, her children, her kin and her supporters, and those who are allied with the husband. The presupposition of all of this is that the woman is embedded in the honour of her husband (until divorce). Viewed in this context, Jesus' saying is quite peculiarY By saying that the male who disembeds his wife and remarries commits adultery against her (Mark lO:llb), Jesus implies that honour is not (only?) androcentricI use the term descriptively rather than pejoratively- but (also or equally) gynecocentric. Honour is still understood as a pseudocommodity, but it belongs as much to a woman as to a man. Hence a man can 'steal' his own wife's honour by divorcing her and remarrying. This is what makes the saying parabolic: it combines the notion of an injury to honour (adultery), normally considered to be male honour, with the scenario of divorce and remarriage, normally a strategy protecting male honour, but inverts the perspective. Now it is the woman's 'honour' that is in focus. It is semantically parallel to the statement: "Whoever disinherits a son steals from him." It is not that Mediterraneans would deny entirely that women had dignity - though they might not call it "honour". 48 Marital agreements from Hellenistic and Roman Egypt were careful to stipulate that the husband could not bring home another woman, maintain a concubine, or beget children of another woman. For her part, the wife could not be absent from the home without the husband's knowledge or do anything to dishonour him. 49 These former conditions are obviously designed to protect the position of the wife and, in particular, to protect the legitimate progeny of the marriage. They presuppose that the household is the locus of feminine honour and that the intrusion of another woman or the establishing of another household encroaches upon the wife's legitimate domain. In Egypt, since a woman could initiate a divorce, she and her kin had a means by which to indicate publicly that a husband had wronged their interests. In the Palestine of Jesus' day, which did not permit women to initiate a divorce, the dignity of women was not so easily guarded. It is for this reason that Jesus used the dramatic term 'adultery' in so surprising a way. He thus brought sharply into focus the wife's honour. It is as much to be protected and respected as the husband's honour and the woman is as vulnerable to damage as the male. It is clear at this point that Jesus' saying should not be construed as a legal pronouncement (as Paul apparently took it); instead it is what Tannehill calls a "focal instance" - a saying so formulated as to produce tension between the command and ordinary culture-bound expectations, 333
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and thus to draw attention to an entire range of situations governed by the same cultural assumptions. 50 What is questioned here is the way in which androcentric honour tended to obscure the dignity of other non-dominant persons. Similarly, in Matthew 6:3-4, the system of reciprocity which sustained the institutions of rank and status is called into question. By placing the issue of the protection of male honour in an almost absurd light, Jesus dramatically refocused the entire matter of honour and shame. I would conclude from this that Jesus' saying on divorce is not simply aimed at the promiscuous marriage patterns of the elite but, more importantly, at the concern for androcentric honour whose debilitating effects went far beyond the situation of divorce. It was also the basis for the dehumanization of women, children and non-dominant males. It could be mentioned that the comportment of the father in the Prodigal Son is an outstanding example of a father not insisting on his own honour: he goes out to welcome a son who had dishonoured him (and the entire village) by leaving home and by selling property over which his father had the right of usufruct. Jesus' sayings on the priority of children in the kingdom (Mark 10:15, 16; Gas. Thorn. 22) similarly amount to a 'focal instance' which calls into question the customary valuations of certain status-less persons. From the few sayings we have examined, at least three things become clear. First, the mode of Jesus' discourse is not directly moralizing- even in the case of the divorce saying. Rather than offering simple prescriptions, the point of the sayings was to expose and lampoon certain structures of social exchange which from the point of view of God's reign were false and debilitating. Nevertheless, an ethics is undoubtedly envisaged, even though it is not directly or expressly articulated. Second, it is clear that Jesus' message cannot be conveniently compartmentalized into discrete and non-contiguous realms. It is equally clear that we can no longer think of a Jesus who preached a purely religious message of interiorized piety, and avoided social questions. On the contrary, Jesus' ethics cannot be understood apart from his vision of the reign of God as profoundly social, and profoundly disturbing to the elites and to those for whom various sorts of status distinctions were important in the social construction of reality. Finally, the key to the ethics of the Jesus tradition does not appear to be apocalyptic eschatology with its fantastic scenarios of transformation and upheaval. Instead, Jesus' ethics reflect a perceptive critique of fundamental cultural codes and offer a new vision of social values. This vision is buttressed and sustained by the image of a God who refuses to place an absolute value upon honour or status, just as other sectors of the Jesus tradition invoke a God who does not absolutize purity or ethnic distinctions.51
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Notes 1 Cf. C.H. Dodd, Gospel and Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1950; New York: Columbia University Press, 1951), pp. 52-53. 2 Texts from the Sayings Gospel Q are cited by their Lukan versification. Thus Q 16:13 is the Q text preserved at Luke 16:13 (Matt. 6:24). 3 Johannes Weiss, Jesus' Proclamation of the Kingdom of God, ed. and trans. R.H. Hiers and D.L. Holland (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1971), pp. 105-114; Albert Schweitzer, The Quest of the Historical Jesus, trans. W. Montgomery; introduction by James M. Robinson (New York: Macmillan & Co., 1968), p.365. 4 Weiss, Jesus' Proclamation, pp. 82-83. 5 Wolfgang Schrage, The Ethics of the New Testament, trans. David E. Green (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988), p. 31. 6 J.T. Sanders (Ethics in the New Testament: Change and Development (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1975]) is one of the few modern exponents of interim ethics and accepts this inference openly: " ... Jesus does not provide a valid ethics for today. His ethical teaching is interwoven with his imminent eschatology to such a degree that every attempt to separate the two and to draw out only the ethical thread invariably and inevitably draws out also strands of the eschatology, so that both yarns only lie in a heap" (p. 29). 7 More recently, Bruce J. Malina ("Christ and Time: Swiss or Mediterranean", Catholic Biblical Quarterly 51 (1989], pp. 1-31) has pointed out that the entire scholarly construction of apocalypticism is predicated upon anachronistic and ethnocentric assumptions and has called for a reassessment which takes into account the essentially present-orientation of traditional peasant societies. 8 Amos N. Wilder, Eschatology and Ethics in the Teaching of Jesus (New York: Harper & Bros., 1939), pp. 130-131. A similar view is taken by Heinz Schiirmann, "Eschatologie und Liebesdienst in der Verkiindigung Jesu", Kaufet die Zeit aus, ed. H. Kirchhoff (Paderborn: SchOningh, 1959), pp. 39-71. 9 E.g., Schrage, Ethics, p. 18. 10 For an elaboration of this typology, see Bruce J. Malina, The New Testament World: lnsights from Cultural Anthropology (Atlanta: John Knox, 1981), pp. 94--121. 11 For a discussion of related issues, see Bruce J. Malina, "Interpreting the Bible with Anthropology: The Case of the Poor and the Rich", Listening 21 (1986), pp. 148-159. 12 Horace, Epistula 1.10.47: "Money stored up is either a person's master or slave." 13 Non-elite attitudes toward the rich are exemplified in the vulgar aphorism "Omnis dives aut iniquus aut heres iniqui" ("Every rich man is either unjust or the heir of an unjust man," Jerome, In Hieremiam 2.5.2 (CCL 74:61]: Tract. de Ps LXXXIII29-30 [CCL 78:96]; Epistulae 120 (PL 22:984]). 14 See, e.g., Rudolf Schnackenburg, God's Rule and Kingdom (New York: Herder & Herder, 1963), eh. 9 ("The Purely Religious and Universal Character of the Reign of God"). 15 Moses I. Finley, The Ancient Economy, 2nd ed. (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1985), pp. 18,22-23. 16 For example, the minimum net worth of an equestrian was 400,000 sesterces and 1,000,000 for a senator. 17 See Bruce Malina, "Religion in the World of Paul." Biblical Theology Bulletin 16 (1986), p. 93. 18 Clifford Geertz. " 'From the Native's Point of View': On the Nature of
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19
20 21
22 23 24 25
26 27
28 29 30 31 32
Anthropological Understanding," Meaning in Anthropology, ed. K.H. Basso and H.A. Selby (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1976), pp. 221-237, quotation p. 225. See J. Pitt-Rivers, The People of the Sierra (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1954); "Honour and Social Status", Honour and Shame: The Values of Mediterranean Society, ed. J.G. Peristiany (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1965), pp. 21-77; J.G. Peristiany, "Introduction", Honour and Shame, pp. 9-18; A.W. Adkins, Merit and Responsibility: A Study in Greek Values (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1960). See especially Bruce Malina, The New Testament World: Insights from Cultural Anthropology (Atlanta: John Knox, 1981), pp. 25-50, 51-70. Jeremy Boissevain, "Uniformity and Diversity in the Mediterranean: An Essay in Interpretation", in J.B. Peristiany, ed., Kinship and Modernization in Mediterranean Society (Rome: Center for Mediterranean Studies, 1976), pp.1-11. See Pitt-Rivers, "Honour and Social Status", p. 41. G. Foster, "Peasant Society and the Image of Limited Good", American Anthropologist 67 (1965), pp. 293-315, quote p. 296 (emphasis original). See also Malina, New Testament World, pp. 71-93. Ramsay MacMullen, Roman Social Relations from 50 B.C. to A.D. 284 (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1974), pp. 100-101, 119-120. Malina, New Testament World, p. 80. On reciprocity in general see M. Sahlins, Stone Age Economics (Chicago: Adline, 1972), pp. 185-276; Thomas Carney, The Shape of the Past: Models and Antiquity (Lawrence KS: Coronado, 1975); J.R. Gregory, "Image of Limited Good, or Expectation of Reciprocity?" Current Anthropology 16 (1975), pp. 73-92: Halvor Moxnes, The Economy of the Kingdom: Social Conflict and Economic Relations in Luke's Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988), pp. 34-35; Douglas Oakman, Jesus and the Economic Questions of His Day, Studies in the Bible and Early Christianity 98 (Lewiston and Queenston: Edwin Mel!en Press, 1986), pp. 78, 152-153, 211-215. Leif Vaage, "The Woes in Q (and Matthew and Luke): Deciphering the Rhetoric of Criticism", Society of Biblical Literature Abstracts and Seminar Papers 27 (1988), p. 584. In an unpublished paper presented to the Atlanta meeting of the Jesus Seminar (October, 1988), Perry Kea ("Matthew 6:1-6, 16--18") has shown, following Robert Guelich (The Sermon on the Mount [Waco: Word Books, 1982], pp. 316-20), that while Matthean vocabulary and style is clearly in evidence in Matthew 6:1-6, 16--18, it is possible to isolate three second person singular admonitions (vv. 3-4a, 6, 17-18) which stand out as non-Matthean and which probably represent the starting point of the Matthean composition. Robert C. Tannehill, The Sword of His Mouth, Semeia Supplements 1 (Philadelphia: Fortress Press; Missoula: Scholars Press, 1975), p. 85. Krister Stendahl, "The Apostle Paul and the Introspective Conscience of the West", Harvard Theological Review 56 (1963), pp. 199-215. Plutarch, Cato minor, 18.4. On the phenomenon of benefaction see Frederick W. Danker, Benefactor: epigraphic study of a Graeco-Roman and New Testament Semantic Field (St. Louis: Clayton Publishing House, 1982). It is now widely recognized that this saying does not concern spontaneous "violence" but is a matter of a calculated insult. See m. Baba Kamma 8.6; David Daube, The New Testament and Rabbinic Judaism (London: Athlone,
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33
34
35 36 37 38 39 40
41 42 43
44 45 46 47
1956), p. 257; Richard A. Horsley, "Ethics and Exegesis: 'Love Your Enemies' and the Doctrine of Non-violence", JAAR 54 (1986), p. 18. Martin Goodman ("The First Jewish Revolt: Social Conflict and the Problem of Debt", Essays in Honour of Yigael Yadin, ed. G. Vermes and J. Neusner [Totowa, NJ: Allanheld, Osmun, 1983] =Journal of Jewish Studies 33 [1982], pp. 417-427) has convincingly argued that one of the major contributing causes of the revolt in 70 CE was the increasing level of indebtedness and the reduction of freehold lands through default, which in turn led to emigration and especially, social banditry. It is significant that the first target of the revolt in 66 CE was the debt archive (Josephus Bell. 2.427). In addition to the tax revolt of Judas the Galilean at the time of the census (6 CE), Tacitus reports that Syria and Judaea petitioned Tiberius for a reduction of the tribute (Annals 2.42), and Josephus mentions several instances when the payment of the tribute was jeopardized. Oakman, Jesus and the Economic Questions of his Day, p. 72. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 1133a.4--5. For example, the meaning of Matthew's exceptive clause, "except for porneia," still awaits a convincing solution. Two Herodian princesses, Salome and Herodias, initiated divorce proceedings, but Josephus' protest to the effect that this is unlawful suggests that these were exceptions rather than the rule (Josephus Ant. 15.259-60; 18.136). There are no clear antecedents to this in the Jewish scriptures: Proverbs 18:22a (LXX) treats the foolishness of divorcing a good wife and of marrying an adulterous one. Malachi 2:14--16 registers revulsion at divorce, but not prohibition. CDC 4.20-5.2: "The builders of the wall, who have gone after Vanity- (now) 'Vanity' is a preacher of whom He said, 'They only preach'- have been caught in unchastity in two ways: by taking two wives in their lifetime, whereas the principle of creation (is) 'Male and female he created them'; and those who entered (Noah's) ark, 'two (by) two went into the ark.' And concerning the prince (it is) written, 'He shall not multiply wives for himself.'" llQTemple 57.17-19: "And he shall not take in addition to her another wife, for she alone shall be with him all the days of her life; and if she dies, he shall take for himself another (wife) from his father's house, from his clan." J.A. Fitzmyer, "The Matthaean Divorce Texts and Some New Palestinian Evidence", To Advance the Gospel: New Testament Studies (New York: Crossroad, 1981), p. 93. Julian A. PiU-Rivers, The People of the Sierra (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson; Chicago: University of Chicago, 1961), p. 114; 1977:78; John H.R. Davis, Land and Family in Pisticci (London: Athlone Press, 1973), p. 160; Anton Blok, "Rams and Billy-Goats: a Key to the Mediterranean Code of Honour", in Eric Robert Wolf, ed. Religion, Power, and Protest in Local Communities: The Northern Shore of the Mediterranean, Religion and Society 24 (Berlin and New York: Mouton, 1984), pp. 60-63; David D. Gilmore, "Introduction", in D.D. Gilmore, ed. Honor and Shame and the Units of the Mediterranean, Special Publication of the American Anthropological Association 22 (Washington, D.C.: American Anthropological Association, 1987), pp. 2-21. See the examples cited by Unni Wikan, "Shame and Honour: A Contestable Pair", Man 19 (1984), pp. 645-646. See especially Jane Schneider, "Of Vigilance and Virgins", Ethnology 9 (1971), pp. 1-24. Blok, "Rams and Billy-Goats", pp. 51-52,57-63. Malina (New Testament World, p. 120) is one of the first to have noted the 337
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48
49
50 51
difficulty with this saying. However, he argues that since the saying "makes no sense," it must either be interpreted metaphorically, by appealing to the prophetic equations of idolatry and adultery (Hosea 2:2-20; 3:1-5; 4:12-19, etc.), or turned into prescriptions by the addition of parallel, but culturally intelligible, clauses, as happens in Mark and Paul. A few anthropologists have suggested that since women "form part of the patrimony of men, ... they have no honour" (Blok, "Rams and Billy-Goats", p. 65, n. 13). See also Carol Delaney, "Seeds of Honor, Fields of Shame'', Honor and Shame and the Unity of the Mediterranean, pp. 40-41. J.A. PittRivers ("Honour and social status'', Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences [New York: Macmillan, 1968] 6:505) argues that women do not gain honour as men do since their "feminine status precludes the striving for it by might." On this, see Wikan, "Shame and Honour". See the discussion of marriage contacts by Sarah Pomeroy, Women in Hellenistic Egypt from Alexandria to Cleopatra (New York: Schocken Books, 1984), pp. 83-124. It seems to be taken for granted that while away from home the male is at complete liberty to frequent brothels, etc., so long as he does not set up what could be considered to be a household. Robert C. Tannehill, "The 'Focal Instance' as a Form of New Testament Speech", Journal of Religion 50 (1970), pp. 372-85. The author would like to thank Bruce J. Malina who read an earlier draft of this paper and provided numerous helpful criticisms and comments.
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JESUS AND ETHICS Pheme Perkins Source: Theology Today, 52, 1995, pp. 49-65.
Is Jesus fading from view? Even though the New York Times on Christmas day carried a front page story on historical Jesus research, Jesus books were notably absent from the public consciousness this year. Their absence is not due to lack of new entries, 1 but a random sample of local bookstores and assorted living rooms showed that gift giving had focused on other religious themes, Crossing the Threshold of Hope by John Paul II, various books on angels, and a number of New Age titles, especially The Celestine Prophecy and A Course in Miracles. The manager of an independent, local bookstore observed that people purchasing these books were almost equally divided between those who are religious and those who are non-religious. Most of those who bought Bibles, on the other hand, were affiliated with churches. Besides obvious marketing efforts, what motivates the first group? People are looking for personal peace, a moral compass, a guiding, protective power, or a future less painful, chaotic, and uncertain than the present. Asked why they needed "new revelations" when we have the Bible, many people replied that Jesus lived too long ago, was just a peasant, or didn't know about today's world. Ironically, the sense that Jesus was a human, historical figure has been so well-established that he has no more relevance to contemporary Americans than any other historical personage. These reactions expose an underlying pastoral concern: Can there be a Christian moral compass that is isolated from Jesus? Some scholars clearly answer, "Yes. It cannot be otherwise," as evidenced by two recent analyses of early Christian ethics: Wayne Meeks' The Origins of Christian Morality and Willi Marxsen's New Testament Foundations for Christian Ethics. 2 Marxsen's position follows from the epistemological difficulty of claiming to know anything at all about the historical Jesus. The Jesus traditions have been shaped by those affected by Jesus in particular ways that they associate with God's activity in their lives. 3 Meeks, on the other hand, 339
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begins with an understanding of morality informed by the social sciences. Morality reflects pervasive, value-laden habits of action and evaluation that members of a community take for granted. Modernity has imbibed a false understanding of moral agents as isolated individuals, but morality requires communal consensus. Thus, one cannot speak of Christian morality prior to the emergence of a sociologically identifiable Christian community. 4 Particular images of Jesus serve to draw the Christian community together or to galvanize its moral energies, but one cannot speak of Jesus as the source of a unique ethical system as one can in the case of Aristotle or Kant. Meeks admits that it is difficult to say precisely what is new in the Christian moral vision, since Christians adapted diverse ethical precepts, values, and arguments from their environment and there was as much diversity within early Christian communities as there was between Christians and their non-Christian neighbors. Contrary to what many people assume, it is difficult to isolate any specifically "Christian" sentiments or behavior in regard to the "hot issues" of the first centuries. 5 Indeed, the Pauline epistles provide a primary example of a Christian ethic that is not grounded in Jesus, since, as Ji.irgen Becker notes, the virtues of the earthly Jesus are never recommended for imitation. The cross or the humility of Christ's earthly existence appear in ethical exhortation because his selfgiving "for us" made the death and resurrection of Jesus the occasion of salvation. Without the events of salvation, there would be no occasion to recommend moral behavior to those addressed in the epistles. 6 Marxsen finds the roots of New Testament ethics in the experience of those who speak of "new life," the possibility of living in the present age as though the kingdom were a reality. This "new life" is not a negative experience of frustrated hopes, but, rather, a real experience of "life in the Spirit," making the transitory character of the old aeon clear.? The various images of Jesus in the New Testament focus the possibility of living this "eschatological existence" in particular situations. The context of the earliest Christians was shaped by Jewish apocalyptic. Today Christians pursue their lives in an ethos broadly described as secularism. Whether Jewish apocalyptic or secularism, these contexts are treated by Christians in polemical fashion by shaping their own ethos in contrast to the "other," which is not chosen. 8 The dynamics of communal self-definition have been translated into claims about the uniqueness of Jesus' moral vision, often associated with radicalization of the Law (for example, Matt. 5:21-48; Mark 2:23-28; 7:1-23) or love of enemy (Matt. 5:43-48; Luke 6:27-36; Luke 10:25-37). Historical research demonstrates that the content of such exhortations is not unparalleled. The Matthean antitheses, for example, reflect a christology that puts Jesus in the position occupied by the Mosaic Law. 9
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Jesus renews moral imagination It seems, then, that we have a new way to understand Jesus' ethical statements. Once it is granted that Matthew's antitheses do not depict Jesus as one whose interpretation of the Law guarantees membership in the community of God's elect, a legal approach to the "but I say ... "clauses is excluded. Persons who exhibit anger, take oaths, divorce their spouses, refuse a loan, retaliate, and so on are not excluded from the circle of disciples or the Kingdom. Instead, the antitheses present images of what is possible for Christians, even though their lives often fall short of its vision. W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison conclude: In our estimation 5.21--48 contains (with the exception of 5.32) not a foolproof scheme of rules but general directions, not laws for society but an ethic for those within the Christian community .... This is why 5.21--48 is so poetical, dramatic and pictorial, and why a literal (mis)understanding creates absurdities. The text functions more like a story than a legal code. Its primary character is to instil principles and qualities through a vivid inspiration of the moral imagination. 10 But there is a problem with this approach. Though a conclusion like that of Davies and Allison frequently appears in discussions of the sayings about anger (Matt. 5:21-22), lust (Matt. 5:27-30; Mark 9:43-Matt. 5:30), oaths (Matt. 5:33-37), retaliation (Matt. 5:38--42; Luke 6:29-30 == Matt. 5:39b-40, 42), and love of enemies (Matt. 5:43--48; Luke 6:27-28, 32-33, 36), its applicability to the question of divorce (Matt. 5:31-32; Luke 16:18 == Matt. 5:32) is challenged within the New Testament itself. 1 Corinthians 7:10-11, for example, refers, to a saying of the Lord in defense of the apostle's conclusion that a Christian woman should not be separated from her husband. Mark 10:2-12 (compare Matt. 19:3-9) preserves a variant of the divorce saying in a controversy story that pits Jesus against the Pharisees. Here are places, in other words, where Jesus' statement on divorce is being treated as a law. What accounts for this difference in evaluation? Merely the evidence from other examples of the saying on divorce that it was understood to proscribe divorce in various New Testament communities? Or should our understanding of this logion cause a reevaluation of those injunctions preserved in the rest of the antitheses? Matthew has drawn on traditional sayings material from Q, Mark, and his own sources. Its antithetical formulation provides that communal self-identification in which its moral position is contrasted with the "other," which forms an important element in early Christian morality. 11 The development of the tradition concerning divorce in Matthew 5:32 raises the possibility that Matthew understands 341
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Jesus' saying to represent Christian halakhah. Matthew 19:9 follows the tradition of Mark 10:11; the husband who remarries commits adultery (also Luke 16:18a). Matthew 5:32 presumes that the divorced woman must remarry so that her husband's action has forced her to commit adultery. Both of Matthew's sayings contain exceptions to the saying against divorce linked to pomeia ("unchastity," NRSV). Whether the exceptive clause refers to marriages that Jews would consider "incest" or to sexual misconduct on the wife's part,n does not change the dilemma created by its inclusion. The addition of an exception to the saying on divorce suggests that Jesus' word is being treated as a rule governing Christian life. Collins, however, who treats the divorce saying as a prophetic word rather than a legal ruling, argues that the "exceptive clause" is not really an exception. The dispute between Jesus and the Pharisees in Matthew 19:3-9 shows that Matthew does not think of Jesus as an interpreter of the Law. But Matthew knows that Deuteronomy 24:1 refers to a man divorcing a woman because of "something objectionable," and he preserves the integrity of God's original word by explaining that reference.l 3 Moreover, when Matthew attaches the saying about "eunuchs for the sake of the Kingdom" to the divorce controversy (Matt. 19:10-12), this indicates that the divorce saying is perceived by early Christians as a hard saying that is radically countercultural.14 Davies and Allison agree that the purpose of Jesus' original saying was not legal and that Jesus' intention was to challenge the cultural complacency surrounding divorce. They acknowledge, however, that the same vision cannot be carried over to the Matthean redaction: Jesus was not, to judge by the synoptic evidence, a legislator. His concern was not with legal definitions but with moral exhortation (cf. 5.27-30). If, however, all this be so, then Matthew must be found guilty of misunderstanding Jesus; for the "exception clause" betrays a halakhic interpretation: it turns the Lord's logion into a community regulation. 1s So, what is the ethic of Jesus--countercultural vision or community rule? The disagreement over Matthew's understanding of Jesus' saying highlights three difficulties in appropriating the teaching of Jesus. First, there is the problem of its sharp communal orientation. Both positions agree that Jesus' words presuppose a community of disciples that markedly distinguishes itself from the surrounding social and cultural milieu. Controversy stories, caricatures of "the Pharisees and scribes," and the antitheses of the Sermon on the Mount serve to sharpen the boundaries between believers and "the others." The power of Jesus' wordswhether they express visions or rules-operates specifically within the 342
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believing community, and Jesus' sayings are not exhortation or moral argument aimed at universal persuasion. Many Christians today, though, are uncomfortable with this sort of moral vision, one that depends upon sharp boundaries between a particular religious group and outsiders. They are unwilling to accept the implicit picture of "the other" as morally inferior or hypocritical. The history of violence spawned by such religious differences makes them leery of such formulations, and they point to the conflict between such boundary sharpening and other images of Jesus as the one who rejects such divisions. For example, tax collectors and sinners are invited to become disciples (Mark 2:13-17; Luke 5:27-32; Matt. 9:9-13), a foreign woman wins healing for her daughter (Mark 7:24-30; Matt. 15:21-28), and Jesus welcomes the children, whom his disciples push away (Mark 10:13-16; Luke 18:15-17; Matt. 19:13-15). Second, communal rules require reformulation. Matthew's modification of the divorce saying (as well as Paul's expansion in 1 Cor. 7:25-31) demonstrates the persistent need to specify what a rule or saying leaves unexpressed. As I. Howard Marshall points out, development does not undermine the authority of the biblical text. 16 Rather, reapplication is essential to the life-giving function of Scripture. Otherwise, the New Testament passages that refer to specific problems in the first century are merely witnesses to what once was. Indeed, Marshall suggests several principles appropriate to the reapplication of biblical texts, such as a recognition that development, as in the case of slavery or questions of human dignity, involves expansion of our understanding. A text might be taken beyond its original subject matter because we recognize that the question is not that status of a slave as our "beloved brother or sister in Christ" but the larger issue of dignity of all persons. Marshall also suggests that principles and insights found elsewhere in Scripture play an important role in expanding the range of a particular passage,17 a principle that Davies and Allison have seen at work in Matthew's treatment of the divorce logion. Third, ideals or visionary statements generate further images. If the primary function of Jesus' sayings and parables was to create a new vision of the world, that picture cannot be frozen. This vitality of Jesus' new vision makes it possible for the evangelists to vary, combine, and expand the sayings and parables of Jesus found in the tradition. Collins' suggestion that the saying about eunuchs for the kingdom keeps alive the visionary point of Jesus' divorce logion illustrates this point. Imagination must complement information if the sayings of Jesus are to describe a reality that is both "ideal" and, yet, a possibility realized in the lives of believers. This tension between poetic description of the way in which the creator and redeemer God intends humanity to live and new relationships actually emerging in the ministry of Jesus and the lives of his followers appears in Jesus' sayings about the kingdom of God. God's kingdom is both a present reality, which can be "entered" (Luke 11:20; Matt. 12:28), and the future 343
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hope of God's saving presence (Mark 14:25). 18 Without the ability to live in that tension, Christian ethics loses its eschatological edge. Its countercultural challenge depends upon the saving presence of God and the future hope that challenges the permanence of the present age.
The love command Love commands, whether as injunctions to fulfil the Law by loving God and neighbor (Mark 12:28-34; Matt. 22:35-40; Luke 10:25-28) or to fulfil the Law by loving enemies (Matt. 5:43-48; Luke 6:27-36), commonly appear in statements concerning the moral center of Jesus' teaching. New Testament evidence shows that this practice of giving centrality to the ethic of love was typical of the earliest communities (see Rom. 12:9-31; 13:8-10; 1 Cor. 13:1-13; Gal. 5:14; 1 Thess. 3:12; John 13:34-35; 1 Pet. 3:9-12; 1 John 2:9-11; 3:16, 23; 4:7-12).1 9 Love commands can be attached to the example of Jesus' self-sacrifice or of God's mercy. 20 Taken by themselves, such exhortations may seem sentimental or vague, but their contexts in the New Testament show that "love God, neighbor, and the enemy" required concrete, particular actions toward others,21 and the associated sayings and parables provide specific examples of what might be required. The New Testament authors recognize that the specifies are peculiar to the situation of each community, but they cannot be replaced by vague sentiments (see Jas. 2:8--17). As Schrage observes: Jesus' concern is not a vague love for the whole world, which can so easily become sentimental illusion. He realistically demands concrete involvement and personal action such as Matt. 25:31 ff. illustrates in elementary terms. This does not reduce love to material assistance. In Matt. 5:44, for example, prayer for persecutors underlines and interprets the requirement of love. Love implies that we bring others with us before God. 22 Luke 10:29-37 attaches the Parable of the Good Samaritan to the double love command (vv. 25-28). Luke's conclusion (vv. 36-37) gives the story an exemplary character. Hearers are to show themselves "neighbors" by treating others with mercy. This application parallels the conclusion to the sayings on "love of enemy" earlier in Luke (see Luke 6:36). 23 Interpretations of this parable highlight the three issues identified in the earlier discussion: rule, vision, and community. The opening question, "Who is neighbor?" (v. 29), appears to set up the usual rulish, legal debates over the extent of "neighbor" in Leviticus 19:16. A typical reply among Jesus' contemporaries would have been "fellow Israelite."24 However, within the context of Jewish or Jewish-Christian sectarian polemics, "neighbor" or "brother" can have the more restricted implication, "fellow member of a 344
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particular sect." 25 Given the sharp divisions and hostility between Jews and Samaritans in the first century, the parable challenges any attempt to fix communal boundaries. 26 Consequently, the social dynamics implicit in holding up "the enemy" as evidence for the meaning of compassion undermine even the moral superiority of those who might consider themselves instructed in the Law. 27 The episode of hostility from Samaritan villagers (Luke 9:52-54) has prepared Luke's reader to expect nothing from the Samaritan schismatic. His unexpected and unlimited generosity toward the unidentified human victim generates, by contrast, a negative picture of the behavior of the priest and Levite, even if they were avoiding ritual contamination by contact with a corpse.2B By connecting this story to the question about the eternal life (Luke 10:25), the evangelist instructs his readers that the Samaritan, moved by compassion for the anonymous victim, has discovered what the legal expert has not-the way to eternal life. 29 By elaborating on the Samaritan's action, the parable subverts any minimalist understanding of the man's compassion toward the victim. The Samaritan, who would clearly be a target for robbers himself, 30 stops, cares for the victim, and assumes the financial obligations necessary for his recovery. The story itself never indicates what the ethnic origins of the victim are. Most interpreters assume that he was Jewish. If so, divisions between the two communities would make it difficult for the victim to repay his benefactor as would be expected by social conventions of the day. 31 The dynamics of the story enlist the hearer's sympathies on the side of the victim by unexpectedly reversing the apparent tragedy of his situation. The robbers had achieved their objective before beating the man and leaving him for dead. 32 The Samaritan's excessive care for the victim counters the excess of violence with an "excess of compassion." 33 The story suggests possibilities that belong to human beings as such, not as members of particular communities. However, some recent interpreters have raised questions about the scale of Jesus' ethical vision. Is it linked to the "small scale" personal, face-to-face, interactions of villages and small towns? Or could "enemy" embrace the realities of life under an occupying power like that of Rome? Does it make any sense to apply this ethical vision to complex modern societies and nation states? The Galilee of Jesus' day was not directly occupied by Roman troops. Even the presence of Gentiles was largely confined to cities that form a ring around Galilee. Scholars who take the city of Sepphoris or the later turmoil over Roman rule that originates in Judea as evidence for Galilee of Jesus' time are forcing the evidence.34 Consequently, Richard Horsley depicts Jesus as the agent of local renewal in socio-economic and personal relationships. Examples of not resisting evil and doing good to the oppressor all describe interactions characteristic of peasant villagers. 35 This reading of Jesus' intentions has 345
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been challenged by Waiter Wink, 36 who emphasizes the inequality that characterizes the social relationships depicted in the sayings about not retaliating against evil (for example, Matt. 5:38-42). Resisting evil in situations that set the poor over against those with power to strike insultingly, to conscript labor, or to use legal manipulations to gain property would be suicidal. Jesus envisages actions that would highlight the evil done by the wicked, who might otherwise be thought to act "according to the system." Walking away from the judge naked demonstrates the intent of those who seek the cloak of the poor. Those who take a load more than the required mile show that they do not fear the power of those who require such service. Therefore, Wink argues that Jesus does speak to those who are powerless relative to the systems that govern their lives. Other forms of assistance that do not involve the peasant in the system of indebtedness and obligations are necessary to restore the integrity of the community. 37 The key to Jesus' agenda is to find ways of naming and rejecting evil without becoming involved in doing evil. 38 To reject seeing others as "friends" and "enemies" is essential to breaking up the social and political structures which sustain oppression.
Jesus: peasant sage or prophet? The exchange between Horsley and Wink turns on two questions: (1) the social context of Jesus' ministry and message and (2) the applicability of Jesus' message today. Horsley argues that social ethics draws simplistic, universalizing conclusions about the message of Jesus that are divorced from the need to act in particular contexts. The theory invoked to legitimate application of the biblical teaching general depends upon three types of argument: (1) analogy, (2) community and the biblical story, or (3) shaping individual character. Arguments by analogy claim to find a link between the first century context and the modern situation. Arguments based on a community and its vision of the world assume that Christian ethics does not begin with commandments but with a particular way of understanding the world, which is learned from the biblical story. Arguments about character presume that the Bible has shaped the character of moral agents. 39 Historical exegesis will demonstrate that the assumptions about the teaching of Jesus imported into any of these discussions are not grounded in first century realities. Therefore, Horsley concludes that, if we want to act as Jesus did, we have to diverge as much from the Jesus tradition as he did from the common views of the law of Moses. He doubts that we can apply any of Jesus' sayings to our own situation.40 Horsley makes it clear that his skepticism about the applicability of Jesus' teaching to contemporary social ethics is associated with a particular understanding of the historical Jesus. For Jesus, the presence of the kingdom of God referred to cooperation and a renewal of covenant-based 346
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relationships in local peasant communities. The same picture of Jesus' vision of the kingdom of God emerges in John Dominic Crossan's discussion of the historical Jesus.41 Unlike apocalyptic visions of God's sovereignty that image a cosmic future intervention of God to create justice and peace on earth, Crossan's Jesus had a vision grounded in the wisdom tradition. The Kingdom of God is present to those who participate in the new forms of "shared egalitarianism of spiritual and material resources" 42 that Jesus initiated, and the particulars of Jesus' ministry cannot be translated outside the context of the peasant society in which he operated. They required a radical itinerant lifestyle to dismantle the structures of hierarchy, honor and shame, patron and client that governed that society. Jesus refused to permit any place, whether it was Peter's house in Capernaum or the Temple in Jerusalem, to become the location from which the benefits of healing or communion with God were dispensed. 43 Other analyses of the sayings tradition depict Jesus as a wandering sage closer to the cynic philosophers of antiquity than to prophetic figures who engaged the communal concerns of Israel and its destiny. The sayings of Jesus advocate an individual life style that throws aside the anxieties and social conventions of his society. 44 Through Jesus' healing ministry and the Jewish content of some of his sayings and controversies, Downing argues that the style of his ministry fits the radical cynic model better than other cultural exemplars. 45 Forms of this hypothesis that isolate Jesus from the religious and social context of first century Judaism must omit much of the Jesus tradition in order to make their case. 46 However, tensions between Jesus' disciples and the socioeconomic structures of the Galilean villages, which forms a major piece of evidence in the "cynic Jesus" hypothesis, do appear well-grounded in the tradition. Freyne's study of the economic conditions of Galilee suggests that the picture of Jesus' first disciples leaving all to follow him demonstrates this view. "In leaving their nets and families," he claims, "the first followers of Jesus were actually rejecting the values of the market economy as these operated in Galilee and were cornmended for doing so."47 The issue that separates the view of Jesus as a cynic from a biblical interpretation of the itinerant radicalism of Jesus is the motivation for such actions. Why is Jesus concerned with acts of devotion to acquisition, such as greed or the need to flatter powerful benefactors? Is he concerned only with the effects of these acts on individuals or, as Freyne suggests, does Jesus' critique stem from the social values of the older covenant ideal? The new market economies of Galilee destroy the solidarity of families and villagers, and, on that basis, Jesus is not encouraging a cynical withdrawal from the society in which he lived. 48 E. P. Sanders finds little evidence for the common image of Jesus as a figure who sought to galvanize the nation as a whole. Unlike John the Baptist, Jesus does not preach repentance to a nation faced with God's
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judgment. His sayings speak to individuals or to small groups about devotion to the will of God and love of neighbor. 49 The future elements in Jesus' preaching about the kingdom are not to be ignored as in some of the other accounts of Jesus as a sage. Sanders suggests that Jesus did not assume that his ministry would inaugurate the kingdom or even gather all of those who will be part of God's rule. Jesus shared the hopes of other Jews for God's coming, which would recreate Israel (Mark 14:25; see Isa. 25:6-8),50 but Jesus' own actions focus on relationships between human beings and God in the present. He challenged cultural presumptions about relationships, wages owed, and obligation (for example, Matt. 20:1-6; Matt. 22:1-10; Luke 15:11-32), and he proposed a perfectionist morality in the antitheses and divorce sayings. This ethic should not be misunderstood as stern rigorism. It forms the foundation for radical compassion.51 Sanders admits that such descriptions of Jesus' ministry make it difficult to explain what led to the hostility against him. Jesus' comments about the Law are not objectionable given the debates over its application that were typical of the period. 52 Sanders concludes that the charges of association with "tax collectors and sinners" (Matt. 11:19) are the clue, not a social project. Jesus did not demand the conversion of such persons-had he done so, no one would have objected-but announced that those who were among the wicked, who rejected God's Law, would be included in the kingdom. 53 Other scholars have challenged this interpretation of "sinners and tax-collectors." James D. G. Dunn insists on situating Jesus' ministry within the sectarian factionalism that divided first century Judaism. 54 In that context, "sinners" can refer to those who do not share the standards of legal interpretation and conduct advocated by a particular sect. Pharisaic concerns with Sabbath observance, purification rites, tithes, and other marks of piety reflected in the controversy stories of Mark 2:1-3:6 and 7:1-23 indicate that Jesus was part of a religious debate over holiness. 55 Modern readers tend to caricature the Law as "difficult" and fail to recognize that such practical expressions of piety were felt to be integral to the covenant with God.56 The wandering, cynic sage is not the Jesus who speaks to the religious issues of his time,57 issues such as the requirements for the covenant people to experience God's blessing. The core beatitudes in the Sermon on the Mount also speak to the hopes and expectations for divine action that have been built up in the tradition of Israel. As Meier observes: In the background of these beatitudes stands the whole OT picture of God as the truly just king of the covenant community of Israel, the king who does what Israel's human kings often failed to do: defend widows and orphans, secure the rights of the oppressed, and in general see justice done (so, e.g., Ps. 146:5-10).58 348
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What distinguishes Jesus from the great prophetic voices of Israel's past is his conviction that God's judgment will end the present world. He does not address a message of sociopolitical reform to the wealthy and powerful,59 but sayings and stories in which the wealthy are portrayed suggest that Jesus' preaching did take a position on the issue. In general, wealth either blinds persons to God's call (Matt. 6:19-21, 24) 60 or makes it impossible for its possessors to leave everything in order to follow Jesus (Mark 10:17-31 ).6' Jesus' challenge to the wealthy has sometimes been treated as evidence of a disregard of a cynic for what people commonly value. However, the motivation of much of Jesus' critique remains grounded in the tradition of Israel. The problem does not lie in wealth as such but in the conspicuous personal consumption and greed that attended it. The foolish farmer only thinks of using his bumper crop to guarantee a secure future for himself (Luke 12:15-21 ). He should recognize the claims of the community on his prosperity: He did not acquire his wealth by evil means, but it is God's miracle, like the surplus of Joseph's time in Egypt or that of the land's before a sabbath. An audience soon expects this wealth to be stored up for the community's benefit. The man, however, intends to store up wealth not for community charity but for his own comfort and pleasure .... The story concludes with God's question, the implication of which is that the wealth will now be used for those for whom it was originally intended.62 The Samaritan, who spends his resources generously to aid an anonymous victim, demonstrates that persons of means can use what they have appropriately.63 Neither story illustrates a principle of the Law as rabbinic parables often did. The humorous elements in the description of the Rich Farmer cohere with a consistent "vision from below" in many of Jesus' sayings and parables. The saying about a camel passing through the needle's eye (Mark 10:25) takes the same stance: The image in the aphorism is deliberately absurd, for the camel was the largest animal normally found in Israel in Jesus' day .... Thus one is talking about a real impossibility, unless the rich person does something about his wealth in advance of the time he might enter the dominion. This teaching comports with what the Jesus tradition elsewhere suggests about the enslaving and or encumbering power of wealth (cf. Matt. 6:24; Luke 12:13-21).64 Humor and hyperbole in the sayings and parables of Jesus warn against taking things as they are. The issue of whether or not these sayings have 349
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an eschatological edge demonstrates the importance of how the ministry of Jesus is contextualized. The satire of an iconoclastic, cynic sage may persuade contemporaries-or even modem readers-to reject the pieties of their society. But such speech does not carry the authority of God's word to a covenant people. The sage highlights human folly and blindness. Those who find that vision persuasive may repeat his words and imitate his life, but they would hardly see the covenant with God at stake in such choices. "By whose authority?" is not an idle question. If Jesus claims God's authority, then his disputes with the Pharisees over a particular form of holiness and boundary building establishes the direction God intended for those who live out of the covenant promises. The theological principle of continuity in the story of salvation cannot be decided on historical grounds. But a historical contextualization of the ministry of Jesus that grounds such a theological understanding remains even more plausible than the individualist sage of the well-publicized "Jesus seminar." J. D. G. Dunn proposes a continuity between Jesus' challenge to the sectarian divisions of his day and the later struggles for inclusion of the Gentiles: For behind the particular objections and charges leveled against Jesus was the central fact that Jesus was ignoring and abolishing boundaries which more sectarian attitudes had erected within Israel. ... [I]t does help us see how a Christianity which broke through the boundaries of Israel's distinctiveness sprang from a Jesus who posed such a challenge to the boundary between the Pharisee and sinner. In other words, the recognition of the Jewishness of Jesus need not separate Jesus from the Christianity he founded, just as the recognition of the Christian significance of Jesus need not separate him from the faith of his own people. 65 If the evidence can be read to indicate the continuity between Jesus and Judaism, on the one hand, and Jesus and Christian faith, on the other, Christian scholars will prefer such a reading. Without that continuity, Christians can hardly claim that Jesus mediates the presence and salvation of God to a human history that is oriented toward communion with that God. The Christian claim about Jesus is not sustained by abstract, universal statements about God, human consciousness, and historicity. The Christian claim is grounded in the particular experience of Jesus' relationship to the traditions of God's dealing with the covenant people, Israel. 66
Conclusions If the image of Jesus is badly out of focus in Christian ethics and popular consciousness today, exegetes, theologians, and pastors all share the
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blame. We have allowed academic pluralism and information to overwhelm theological reflection and serious pastoral analysis. When theologians operate with a symbolic Christ with little relationship to the New Testament witness and pastors preach whatever inspires them at the moment, we can hardly be surprised when parishioners pick up and discard whatever is out there in the religion market as fast as they do various frozen desserts. Historical reconstructions of Jesus in first century Jewish and GrecoRoman contexts will always be diverse. We cannot reach univocal conclusions about recent historical events and persons, so we can hardly expect to do so for a period where we lack important pieces of evidence at every turn. As we have seen, the New Testament itself shows that Christians applied sayings of Jesus about divorce, love of neighbor, and wealth contextually. They did not assume that Jesus had formulated a universally binding rule that could be inserted into any context without modification. Even when their ethical conclusions and practice did not differ radically from that of others, early Christians did not assume that the moral authority of "doing good" came from the cultural ethos or popular philosophy. For them, "doing good" is always the expression of their relationship to God, mediated by Jesus, and lived out in the Spirit. The question "why?" or "how?" regarding action must be answered in relationship to powerful images of God and human life. Such images may be found in sayings or parables handed down from Jesus or, as is characteristic of the Pauline letters, in relationship to the character of Jesus as a whole, particularly his self-offering on the cross and resurrection. 67 Christian ethics cannot be formulated as a system of rules abstracted from the powerful images through which the teaching of Jesus is mediated. Instead, we should recognize that the universality of both the person and teaching of Jesus share with other classics an ability to transcend the particularities of time and culture.68 This process does not require abstraction of principles. Rather, we seek to inculturate the inherited images by reading our own times in their light. Where are the victims and Samaritans, the rich fools, and so on? Who are the victims in today's divorce proceedings? Jesus saw women "made adulteresses" as the silent victims. Today he might look at the children. What is the difference between reading sociological and legal studies about the impact of divorce on children and asking whether Jesus' words to his disciples challenge Christian consciousness on that issue? The former studies may do much more to highlight the social evils and their cost. As we have seen, the teaching of Jesus, taken out of the context of a covenant community, seems to have little concern for social reform. However, the eschatological dimensions of the governing metaphor of the kingdom of God frame the sense of community fundamental to Jesus' vision. A Christian community tries to make the reign of God a reality in today's world. To do so, requires a vision of the new covenant, the order of justice, peace, and love that is to be established with God's return.
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Every time we talk to individuals or families in distress, we find much of their pain heightened by the realities of the legal or social welfare system. At almost every turn, one is forced to settle for arrangements that are not really what those involved need. Jesus refused to let his audience lock its moral vision into categories dictated by the way things are in an evil age. The radical break with possessions and home in the lives of Jesus and the disciples enabled them to call forth community not indebted to the established order and its power structures. Churches today live in similar tensions with their culture. Our institutions have all of the particular legal and socio-economic baggage of our time. As communities gathered in the name of Jesus and inspired by his vision of the Kingdom of God, we can ask for a higher vision of the good, the good that even contributes to the well-being of those who are commonly thought to be enemies. After all, Jesus has set us a high standard, nothing less than the compassion of God.
Notes 1 See Charles W. Hedrick, Parables as Poetic Fictions: The Creative Voice of Jesus (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1994); John P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus, Volume Two: Mentor, Message and Miracles (New York: Doubleday, 1994); E. P. Sanders, The Historical Figure of Jesus (London: Penguin/Alien Lane, 1993); Elisabeth Schtissler Fiorenza, Jesus: Miriam's Child, Sophia's Prophet: Critical Issues in Feminist Christology (New York: Continuum, 1994); Ben Witherington Ill, Jesus the Sage: The Pilgrimage of Wisdom (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994). 2 Wayne A. Meeks, The Origins of Christian Morality (New Haven: Yale, 1994); Willi Marxsen, New Testament Foundations for Christian Ethics (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993); see also the analysis of Bible and ethics in contemporary theology in J. I. H. McDonald, Biblical Interpretation and Christian Ethics (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1993). 3 Marxsen, Foundations, pp. 28, 37, 48-50. 4 Meeks, Origins, pp. 4--6. 5 Meeks, Origins, p. 2. 6 Jtirgen Becker, Paul: Apostle to the Gentiles (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), pp. 318-319. 7 Marxsen, New Testament Foundations, pp. 71-75. 8 Ibid., pp. 88-91. 9 Ibid., pp. 110---113; W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison (The Gospel According to Saint Matthew I-VIII [Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1988], pp. 505-566) argue that the purpose is not interpretation or extension of the Law, which retains its validity for Matthew. The antitheses describe discipleship as lived out within the Christian community. 10 Davies and Allison, Matthew I-VII, p. 566. 11 See Raymond F. Collins, Divorce in the New Testament (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1992), pp. 152-156. 12 See Davies and Allison, Matthew I-VII, pp. 529-532; Collins, Divorce, pp. 188-207. 13 Collins, Divorce, p. 211. Both Jewish and Roman law expect a man to divorce a wife guilty of sexual immorality. This formulation of the tradition shows that
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14 15 16 17 18
19
20
21 22 23
24 25
Jesus does not put his followers in the position of violating those expectations. Davies and Allison (Matthew I-VII, p. 531) point to the figure of Joseph, the righteous, in Matt. 1:28-25. Without the exceptive clause, his decision to divorce his apparently unfaithful fiancee would contradict that description. Ibid. Davies and Allison, Matthew I-VII, p. 532. I. Howard Marshall, "New Occasions Teach New Duties: The Use of the New Testament in Christian Ethics," Expository Times, 105 (1994), p. 135. Ibid. Against the metaphoric blindness that leads some to reject the idea that Jesus spoke of the kingdom or limits his vision to the future coming of God's rule, see Bruce Chilton, ("The Kingdom of God in Recent Discussion," Studying the Historical Jesus: Evaluations of the State of Current Research, edited by Bruce Chilton and Craig A. Evans (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994), pp. 255-280); E. P. Sanders (Historical Figure, pp. 176-194) and John Meier (A Marginal Jew II, pp. 237-506). See The Love of Enemy and Nonretaliation in the New Testament, edited by Willard M. Swartley (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1992); Wolfgang Schrage, The Ethics of the New Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), pp. 65-87. Gordon Fee (The First Epistle to the Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987], p. 366, n. 38) observes that while agape as the basis for ethical behavior goes back to Jesus, its articulation as the identifying mark of Christian community appears in the Pauline and Johannine traditions. As in Luke 6:35-36. Gerhard Schneider ("Imitatio Dei als Motiv der Ethik Jesu," Neues Testament und Ethik: Fur Rudolf Schnackenburg (edited by Helmut Merklein; Freiburg: Herder, 1989], pp. 81-82) points to the wisdom tradition (Sir. 4:1-10) as the context for declaring that those who show mercy or generosity to the poor are beloved children of God. See Schrage's rejection of the "situation ethics" approach to the love commands (Ethics of the NT, pp. 79-82). Schrage, Ethics of the NT, p. 79. But the terms used to describe the attitude required differ: Luke 6:36 uses oiktirmon (adj., "merciful") while Luke 10:37 has the expression poiein to eleos ("to do mercy"). Hedrick (Parables, pp. 94-95) argues that Luke creates the framework to the question about the Torah (10:25) and the parable (vv. 36-37) in order to show that mercy is the meaning of the command to "love one's neighbor" (Lev. 19:18, 33-34). His analysis of the verbal poetics of the text of the parable itself (vv. 30b-35) concludes that the "compassion" invoked as the motive for the Samaritan's action (v. 33) belonged to Luke's source (pp. 100-102, 108). See John Nolland, Luke 9:21-18:34 (Dallas: Word, 1993), p. 584; Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke X-XXIV (New York: Doubleday, 1985), p. 878. As in the Qumran documents, which refer to loving the "sons of light" (e.g., 1 QS 1:9-10), or in the inner Christian polemics of 1 John (see Pheme Perkins, "Apocalyptic Sectarianism and Love Commands: The Johannine Epistles and Revelation," in Love of Enemies, edited by Willard M. Swartley, pp. 287-296). David Rensberger ("Love for One Another and Love for Enemies in the Gospel of John" in Love of Enemy, pp. 297-313) suggests that the "sectarian" cast of the love commands in the Fourth Gospel not be read merely as rejection of the Jews who expelled Christians from the synagogue, since the community also incorporated its former enemies, Samaritans (so John 4:4-42).
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26 27
28
29 30 31
32 33
34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45
Even in its sectarian form, the love command motivated inclusion of those considered to be outsiders. Cf. Nolland, Luke 9:2I-I8:34, pp. 594-595; Hedrick, Parables, pp. 107-109; John R. Donahue, "Who Is My Enemy? The Parable of the Good Samaritan and the Love of Enemies," in Love of Enemies, pp. 138--145. Lohse's statement (Theological Ethics, p. 56) that the Good Samaritan establishes the universal validity of the love command, i.e. no one can be excluded, misses the inversion created by using the Samaritan as "hero." Aid to a Samaritan victim would establish that point. Donahue ("Who Is My Enemy?," p. 144) emphasizes the fact that the Samaritan is not "converted." The parable subverts any tendencies to apocalyptic or sectarian triumphalism and its certainty about who is "inside" God's covenant. So Fitzmyer (Luke X-XXIV, pp. 883-884) citing Qumran evidence; Hedrick (Parables, p. 106) argues that the Law would require them to bury the victim (vs. that view, see Fitzmyer, p. 887). However, both readings agree that the audience is intended initially to treat the actions of the priest and Levite as matter of course. So Fitzmyer, Luke X-XXIV, pp. 884-885. So Hedrick, Parables, 112-113. Most interpreters have missed this nuance in the story. When they describe the Samaritan as compassionate, they ignore the obvious risk assumed by stopping to tend to the victim. Such challenges to the social obligations of benefactor-client relationships are also characteristic of the ethical vision attributed to Jesus in Luke (e.g., Luke 14:7-14). See Halvor Moxnes (The Economy of the Kingdom: Social Conflict and Economic Relations in Luke's Gospel [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988], pp. 36-47, 119-123, 127-138). Hedrick, Parables, p. 104. Hedrick (Parables, pp. 114-116) thinks that Jewish readers would hear the story over against the conventional portraits of the generosity of the righteous person. It included care for the poor, naked, etc. but also discernment about the object of one's charity (e.g., Sir. 12:1-7; 29:14-20). He comments: "The third man, on the other hand, goes beyond the expected ideal and acts in a remarkably radical, "irresponsible" way, i.e., even to the extent of placing his own life and possessions at risk" (p. 115). See Sanders, Historical Figure, pp. 12-28; Sean Freyne, "The Geography, Politics and Economics of Galilee and the Quest for the Historical Jesus," Historical Jesus, edited by Bruce Chilton and Craig A. Evans, pp.ll1-121. Richard Horsley, "Ethics and Exegesis: Love Your Enemies and the Doctrine of Nonviolence," in Love of Enemies, pp. 76-93. Waiter Wink, "Neither Passivity nor Violence: Jesus' Third Way (Matt. 5:38-42, par.)," in Love of Enemies, pp. 105-117. Wink, "Neither Passivity," pp. 106-112. Ibid., p. 117. Horsley, "Ethics and Exegesis," pp. 73--74. Horsley, "Response to Waiter Wink," Love of Enemies, p. 129. John Dominic Crossan, The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Peasant (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1991), pp. 228--355. Ibid., p. 341. Ibid. pp. 344-355. See F. Gerald Downing, Cynics and Christian Origins (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1992), pp. 115-168. Ibid., pp. 156-158.
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JESUS AND ETHICS
46 See the analysis by Hans Dieter Betz, "Jesus and the Cynics: Survey and Analysis of a Hypothesis," Journal of Religion 74 (1994), pp. 453---475. Betz points out that a variant of this image of Jesus as the one who rejected the cultural pieties is found in Nietzsche, though Nietzsche knew the cynic literature well enough not to call Jesus a cynic (pp. 462---470). 47 S. Freyne, "The Geography, Politics ... ," p. 111. 48 Freyne, "The Geography, Politics ... ," pp. 117-120. 49 E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), pp. 206-208; 222-224. 50 Sanders, Historical Figure, p. 185. 51 Ibid., pp. 193-204. 52 Ibid., pp. 210--213. The stories as we have them in the Gospels have been reformulated to sharpen the division between Jesus and the teachers of the Law (pp. 213-220). 53 Sanders,Jesus and Judaism, p. 179; Historical Figure, pp. 226-236. 54 James D. G. Dunn, Jesus, Paul and the Law (Louisville: Westminster, 1990), pp. 66-76. 55 Ibid., pp. 69-79. Rainer Dillmann's discussion of the uniqueness of Jesus' ethical teaching also focuses on the discussion of clean and unclean in Mark 7:1-23 (See Rainer Dillmann, Das Eigentliche der Ethik Jesu: Ein exegetischer Beitrag zur moral theologishen Diskussion um das Proprium einer christlichen Ethik [Ttibinger Theologische Studien 23; Mainz: Matthias-Grtinewald, 1984], pp. 83-113). 56 Therefore, a saying like Mark 7:15 might be felt to be a challenge to the Law and the holiness of the people even if Jesus were speaking a prophetic word against a preoccupation with purification rites that neglected real obedience to the will of God (as scholars have generally argued; see Dillmann, Ethik Jesu, pp. 93-95). 57 See the extended refutation of the parallels between Jesus and cynic philosophers in Witherington (Jesus, the Sage, pp. 117-141). In order to create such visions of Jesus, scholars have to neglect key elements in his preaching: (a) either deny that he spoke of the kingdom of God, or insist that it never referred to God's future action; (b) ignore the disputes over the meaning of the Old Testament and other Jewish issues; (c) deny any relevance of discussions about Jewish messianic expectations or christological claims about the relationship between Jesus and God (p. 139). 58 Meier, Marginal Jew II, p. 331. 59 Ibid., p. 311. 60 Schrage, NT Ethics, pp. 101-103. 61 Dillmann, Ethik Jesu, pp. 47-83. 62 So Bernard Brandon Scott, Hear Then the Parable (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), p. 138. Hedrick (Parables, pp. 157-159) rejects this interpretation of the audience reaction. He treats the story as a parody of a rich farmer who failed to foresee the need for extra storage space and then reacts inappropriately by tearing down the storage he has in order to build surplus capacity while he has grain ready to be harvested. 63 Schrage, New Testament Ethics, p. 105. "The crucial point is the use of earthly possession in the service of love. For Jesus, therefore, the problem of prosperity is primarily a problem of social rather than individual ethics, as in the Stoa" (p. 106). 64 Witherington, Jesus, the Sage, p. 166. 65 Dunn, Jesus, Paul and the Law, pp. 80--81.
355
THE TEACHING OF JESUS
66 See Roger Haight, "Appropriating Jesus Today," Irish Theological Quarterly, 59 (1993), pp. 246-247. 67 See Leander E. Keck, "Jesus in Romans," Journal of Biblical Literature, 108 (1989),pp.443-460. 68 See the discussion in Haight, "Appropriating Jesus," pp. 242-244.
356
THE HISTORICAL JESUS
THE HISTORICAL JESUS Critical Concepts in Religious Studies
Edited by Craig A. Evans
Volume ID Jesus' Mission, Death, and Resurrection
~~ ~~~~~;n~~~~p LONDON AND NEW YORK
First published 2004 by Routledge 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 Rout/edge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group
Editorial matter and selection © 2004 Craig A. Evans; individual owners retain copyright in their own material Typeset in Times by Wearset Ltd, Boldon, Tyne and Wear Printed and bound in Great Britain by MPG Books Ltd, Bodmin, Cornwall All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without pem1ission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested.
ISBN 0-415-32750-4 (Set) ISBN 0-415-32753-9 (Volume Ill) Publisher's Note References within each chapter are as they appear in the original complete work.
CONTENTS
VOLUME Ill
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
Acknowledgements
ix
Introduction to volume Ill
1
PARTl
Mission and Self-Understanding
5
43 Purpose, aim and motive in Jesus
7
H. J. CADBURY
44 Die Frage nach dem messianischen Bewu8tsein Jesu
24
OTTO BETZ
45 How much did Jesus know?- A survey of the Bib Heal evidence
50
RA YMOND E. BROWN
46 The son of Man in contemporary debate
83
I. HOWARD MARSHALL
47 The sonship of the historical Jesus in Christology
104
RICHARD BA UCKHAM
48 Did Jesus know he was God?
118
RA YMOND E. BROWN
U9
49 Why did Jesus have to die? P. STUHLMACHER
V
CONTENTS
50 Messianic ideas and their influence on the Jesus of history
144
J. D. G. DUNN
51 Jesus' ministry and self-understanding
161
BEN F. MEYER
52 Jesus' self-understanding
176
C. M. TUCKETT
PART2 The Death of Jesus
197
53 The bearing of the Rabbinical criminal code on the Jewish trial narratives in the Gospels
199
H. DANBY
54 The trial of Christ in the Synoptic Gospels
224
A. N. SHERWIN-WHITE
55 The burial of Jesus (Mark 15:42-47)
241
RA YMOND E. BROWN
56
"Where no one had yet been laid": the shame of Jesus' burial
253
BYRON R. MCCANE
57
"Are you the Messiah?" Is the crux of Mark 14:61--62 resolvable?
272
JAMES D. G. DUNN
PART3 The Resurrection of Jesus
291
58 The appearances of the risen Christ: an essay in form-criticism of the Gospels
293
C. H. DODO
59 Is the resurrection an 'historical' event?
317
GERALD. O"COLLINS
324
60 Was the tomb really empty? ROBERT H. STEIN
vi
CONTENTS
61 Resurrection: fact or illusion?
332
EDUARD SCHWEIZER
62 Luminous appearances of the risen Christ
352
GERALD O'COLLINS
63 The essential physicality of Jesus' resurrection according to the New Testament
360
ROBERT H. GUNDRY
64 The resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth
377
PHEME PERKINS
65 The resurrection of Jesus Christ
395
C. E. B. CRANFIELD
Vll
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Volume Ill
The publishers would like to thank the following for permission to reprint their material: Macmillan for permission to reprint H. J. Cadbury, "Purpose, aim and motive in Jesus", in The Peril of Modernizing Jesus (New York: Macmillan, 1937), pp. 120-153. Brill Academic Publishers for permission to reprint 0. Betz, "Die Frage nach dem messianischen BewuBtsein Jesu", Novum Testamentum, 6, 1963, pp. 20--48. The Catholic Biblical Association of America for permission to reprint Raymond E. Brown, "How much did Jesus know? - A survey of the Biblical evidence", Catholic Biblical Quarterly, 29, 1967, pp. 315-345. The author, InterVarsity Press and The Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge for permission to reprint I. Howard Marshall, "The son of Man in contemporary debate", in Jesus the Saviour: Studies in New Testament Theology (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press/London: SPCK, 1990), pp. 100-120. Richard Bauckham, "The sonship of the historical Jesus in Christology", Scottish Journal of Theology, 31, 1978, pp. 245-260. Copyright © Cambridge University Press, reprinted with permission. Biblical Theology Bulletin for permission to reprint Raymond E. Brown, "Did Jesus know he was God?", Biblical Theology Bulletin, 15, 1985, pp. 74-79. P. Stuhlmacher, "Why did Jesus have to die?", translated by Siegfried Schatzmann, Jesus of Nazareth - Christ of Faith (Peabody, Mass: Hendrickson, 1993), pp. 39-57. Copyright© 1993 by Hendrickson Publishers, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved. J. D. G. Dunn, "Messianic ideas and their influence on the Jesus of History", in J. H. Charlesworth (ed.), The Messiah: Developments in ix
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Earliest Judaism and Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), pp. 365-381. Copyright © Augsburg Fortress (www.fortresspress.com.) Reprinted by permission. Brill Academic Publishers for permission to reprint Ben F. Meyer, "Jesus' ministry and self-understanding", in B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Studying the Historical Jesus: Evaluations of the State of Current Research (New Testament Tools and Studies 19; Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 337-352. H. Danby, "The bearing of the Rabbinical criminal code on the Jewish trial narratives in the Gospels", Journal of Theological Studies, 21, 1920, pp. 51-76. Reprinted by permission of Oxford University Press. A. N. Sherwin-White, "The trial of Christ in the Synoptic Gospels", in Roman Society and Roman Law in the New Testament (The Sarum Lectures 1960--1961; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1963), pp. 24-47. Reprinted by permission of Oxford University Press. The Catholic Biblical Association of America for permission to reprint Raymond E. Brown, "The burial of Jesus (Mark 15:42--47)", Catholic Biblical Quarterly, 50, 1988, pp. 233-245. Brill Academic Publishers for permission to reprint Byron R. McCane, "'Where no one had yet been laid': the shame of Jesus' burial", in B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Authenticating the Activities of Jesus (New Testament Tools and Studies 28; Leiden: Brill, 1999), pp. 431-452. Brill Academic Publishers for permission to reprint James D. G. Dunn, "'Are you the Messiah?' Is the crux of Mark 14:61--62 resolvable?", in D. G. Horrell and C. M. Tuckett (eds), Christology, Controversy and Community: New Testament Essays in Honour of David R. Catchpole (Novum Testamentum, Supplements 99; Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 1-22. Blackwell Publishing for permission to reprint C. H. Dodd, "The appearances of the risen Christ: an essay in form-criticism of the Gospels", in D. E. Nineham (ed.), Studies in the Gospels: Essays in Memory of R. H. Lightfoot (Oxford: Blackwell, 1955), pp. 9-35. Blackwell Publishing for permission to reprint G. G. O'Collins, "Is the resurrection an 'historical' event?", Heythrop Journal, 8, 1967, pp. 381-387. The Evangelical Theological Society for permission to reprint Robert H. Stein, "Was the tomb really empty?", Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society, 20, 1977, pp. 23-29. For subscriptions please contact: Evangelical Theological Society, 200 Russell Woods Drive, Lynchburg, V A 24502-3574, USA. X
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Horizons in Biblical Theology for permission to reprint Eduard Schweizer, "Resurrection: fact or illusion?", Horizons in Biblical Theology, 1, 1979, pp. 137-159. The Catholic Biblical Association of America for permission to reprint Gerald O'Collins, "Luminous appearances of the risen Christ", Catholic Biblical Quarterly, 46, 1984, pp. 247-254. Robert H. Gundry, "The essential physicality of Jesus' resurrection according to the New Testament", in J. B. Green and M. Turner (eds), Jesus of Nazareth: Lord and Christ: Essays on the Historical Jesus and New Testament Christology. Copyright © 1994 Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., Grand Rapids, MI, USA. Used by permission. Brill Academic Publishers for permission to reprint Pheme Perkins, "The Resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth", in B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Studying the Historical Jesus: Evaluations of the State of Current Research (New Testament Tools and Studies 19; Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 423---442. C. E. B. Cranfield, "The resurrection of Jesus Christ", in On Romans and Other New Testament Essays (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1998), pp. 137-150. Reprinted by permission of The Continuum International Publishing Group.
Disclaimer The publishers have made every effort to contact authors/copyright holders of works reprinted in The Historical Jesus: Critical Concepts in Religious Studies. This has not been possible in every case, however, and we would welcome correspondence from those individuals/companies who we have been unable to trace.
xi
INTRODUCTION TO VOLUME Ill Jesus' mission, death, and resurrection
Quite apart from the issue of the actual content of Jesus' teaching-his proclamation of the rule of God and the impact on human behavior that that entails-is the question of how Jesus understood himself, both with respect to his mission and then, later, with respect to his death. Wrapped up in these issues is the question of whether Jesus thought of himself as Israel's Messiah and, if he did, in what sense he understood the messianic role. Yet another issue concerns the factors that led to Jesus' arrest and execution. Was it because of his teaching, or was it because of his claims about himself, or was it neither of these?
Part 1: Jesus' mission and seH-understanding One of the most hotly debated questions in the long history of Jesus research focuses on Jesus' self-understanding. Closely related to this issue is the question of his mission. That is, what did Jesus see as the purpose of his ministry? Was he merely proclaiming the rule of God, or did he envision himself playing a more active role in the coming rule of God? Christological titles usually figure in this discussion. Did Jesus think of himself as the "Son of God?" And, if he did, in what sense? Also, why did Jesus refer to himself as the "son of Man"? What did he mean by that curious epithet? Did it have messianic connotations? Was it a title of some sort? A major difficulty is differentiating between what Jesus probably said about himself, and what his earliest followers came to believe about him. We must also be sensitive to the cultural and religious context of the early Christians, who may well have employed titles and terminology that helped "translate" the significance of a Jewish Messiah for the Roman world. Today most scholars recognize that Jesus referred to himself as the "son of Man." It is hard to attribute the origin of this epithet to the development of Christology among early Christians. Christians preferred calling Jesus "Messiah" (or Christ), "Son of God," and "Savior"-not "son of 1
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
Man.'' The ubiquity of the epithet "son of Man" (and it is multiply attested), an epithet not easily explained as deriving from the Church (and here we are appealing to the criterion of dissimilarity, if not embarrassment as well), is probably best explained as deriving from Jesus himself. But what did Jesus mean by it? In all probability Jesus had in mind the son of man described in the vision in Daniel 7. This explains why every time the epithet appears in the Gospels it is articular. The definite article does not mean that "the son of Man" is a technical title, whether messianic or otherwise, but that reference is to a specific son of man, the son of man of Daniel 7, who was presented to God himself and from God received the kingdom and the authority to proclaim it. Quite apart from titles, self-designations, and their meanings, there is the question of Jesus' mission and his understanding of what role he was himself to play in it. Titles and self-references may provide important clues to the answer of this question, but the activities of Jesus, including symbolic acts, such as the appointment of the Twelve, as well as his teaching, have to be studied carefully.
Part 2: The death of Jesus The death of Jesus has been a particularly sensitive issue in JewishChristian relations. Often the question is framed in terms of who was responsible for Jesus' death. Uncritical Christian scholarship, sometimes itself infected with anti-Semitic tendencies, often asserted that the Jewish people in general, or at least the Jewish religious leadership, was responsible for Jesus' death. Jewish scholars sometimes replied that Jews themselves had no involvement in Jesus' death, that it was entirely a Roman affair. Scholars today recognize that both the Jewish leadership (primarily the ruling priests) and the Roman authorities were involved. Scholarship concerned with this question often focuses on the legal aspects of Jesus' hearing before the ruling priests and his later appearance before the Roman governor. Part of the debate centers on what aspects of (the later) mishnaic law may have been observed in the time of Jesus. Related to this is the question of in what sense Jesus may have committed blasphemy and how the charges brought against him by the Jewish ruling priests related to this blasphemy. Many studies have appeared that treat the Roman practice of crucifixion and how we may understand better Jesus' execution in light of it. The burial of Jesus has also become a subject of debate. Who buried him? Where? Was he buried at all? Questions such as these have prompted recent study into Jewish burial practices and Roman law.
2
INTRODUCTION
Part 3: The resurrection of Jesus Lying at the very heart of the Christian faith is the belief that God raised Jesus from the dead. This belief has been controversial from the very beginning, with the proclamation of the empty tomb attributed to grave robbery (Matt 28:11-15) and the idea of resurrection scorned as madness (Acts 26:24). Scholarly study has probed every conceivable aspect of this remarkable tradition: the number and complexity of the resurrection accounts, the nature of the appearances, the antiquity and reliability of the narratives, and their importance for understanding the emergence of the Christian church. In many studies of the historical Jesus the resurrection, if not skipped altogether, is often treated as an appendix. In the past this was done because it was thought that the resurrection was simply a matter of faith on the part of the disciples, perhaps arising upon reflection of the significance of Jesus' ministry. Today, however, there appear to be more scholars willing to approach the resurrection much as they do the miracles. That is, the resurrection, like the miracles, is interpreted in terms of what Jesus' followers experienced and described. The historian is not required to explain what exactly happened, only that something did happen that Jesus' followers could explain in no other terms than resurrection. The resurrection needs to be taken into account in the study of the historical Jesus, for it may well relate to his eschatology and proclamation of the rule of God, as well as relating to what Jesus may have said about his death and its meaning. It will simply not do to bracket off the resurrection as though it stands outside of history. It does not, for the resurrection tradition is rooted in eye-witness testimony, much as the teaching of Jesus itself.
3
Part 1 MISSION AND SELFUNDERSTANDING
43
PURPOSE, AIM AND MOTIVE IN JESUS H. J. Cadbury Source: The Peril of Modernizing Jesus (New York: Macmillan, 1937), pp. 120--153.
One of the assumptions that we make of any man, especially of a great man whose intelligence and success we admire, is that he was possessed of a clear and well chosen purpose in life. Of course we recognize that circumstances interfere with the pursuit of a single aim, at least that the method has to be sometimes adjusted to the possibilities in the case. But opportunist behavior is not incompatible with a steady underlying purpose. Probably we recognize also that, in our own time and in the past as well, this unifying principle is often less determinative than it seems to the actor. It may be for him a rationalizing of temperamental or circumstantial factors. But it seems to us inconceivable that the question should not present itself to him and should not hold the key to the secret of his life. The person's aim is to be deduced from his recorded words and actions. These words and actions were motivated by his aim. They were chosen with a view to their effectiveness towards the end that was conceived. Thus each consistent individual represents a natural interrelation of a general aim, of corresponding particular motives, and of reactions according with that aim and those motives. This assumption of the modem man is inevitably applied in writing and thinking about Jesus. It is indeed more assumed than affirmed but it colors none the less most biographical efforts. 1 As to what his aim was there may be much difference of opinion; one would suppose that there would be available books and articles comparing proposed aims and objectives of his life. That is, however, not the case. The one book that professes in its title to consider The Aim of Jesus is concerned to present only the author's own understanding of it. 2 Other volumes also each weave their portrait about some imagined purpose. My intention here is not to compare the aims assigned to him. To do so would be a long and elaborate study, especially with the many modem lives of Christ. I must admit that many of these books gain in force and 7
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
lifelikeness by their adopting of the unifying element of a definite purpose in the portrait of Jesus. Indeed, several of the most effective of them have owed their effect to just this trait. To mention but a single example, one recalls the influential volume of Henry Latham's issued in 1890 called Pastor Pastorum. Here the life of Christ was interpreted as a great educational undertaking, the training of the twelve. The events of Jesus' life were brought into an intelligible pattern, with a farsighted plan and well chosen actions. In all such books, so different in character, we have the common element of an interpretation of Jesus through relating him to an aim. The more definite and conscious that aim and the more completely it is shown to dominate his life, the more clear a pattern it seems to give to the scattered memorabilia of the gospels and the more real it seems to make their hero. Whether the aim is correctly divined or not is another question. Obviously not all of the aims proposed can be alike true. For the essence of the concept is that the aim should be inclusive of all facts and exclusive of all other possible aims. The question that now is raised is not which of these portraits is true, as if we could reject one by the adoption of another. It is rather the prior question, the assumption that all of them have in common, that some rather definite objective lies at the root of Jesus' career. Was Jesus, after all, not so modern and so purposive as we assume? Naturally we cannot disprove this modern assumption from the records. There are, however, some a priori considerations worth mentioning. Like most of the rest of us, Jesus was born into a culture that was a going concern. Few Jews had any occasion to reflect upon the purpose of human life in general or of their own lives in particular. Their religion gave an answer to any who were inquisitive, just as the Christian creeds did for a later inquirer into "the whole duty of man." Above all, example and convention gave the main direction to lives. There was for each a path of least resistance. They followed a norn1al round from birth to death. To plot a career de novo would occur to almost nobody. Just when did selfconsciousness of career really develop fully in human history? I suspect it to be of Puritan rather than of primitive Jewish vintage. It is perhaps associated with the idea of a divine calling, which no doubt has its origin in the old Hebrew prophets, but which in its economic aspects is believed to be connected with the Protestant interpretation of man's labor and profession. 3 Of course, in Jesus' day too there were professions and trades. To a large extent these set the pattern. A builder by trade, he would in that trade follow certain lines of natural development, varied, of course, by his own peculiar circumstances and interests. But in his adult life Jesus did not rely on this trade. Unlike our modern culture his was not an age of almost coercive need to make a living. Steady employment, economic regularity
8
PURPOSE, AIM AND MOTIVE IN JESUS
of daily program, the systematic budgeting of time to professional demands -all these traits of our industrial civilization with its factory whistles, its engagement calendar, its balanced bank accounts, would be absent from his world. We can hardly make a picture of Jesus' life and that of his contemporaries that will be too casual for the facts. The demands for food and shelter were easily met or easily ignored. There is no reason to suppose that in his freedom from worry, in his lack of a place to lay his head, in his life of roving, Jesus was much more of a vagabond or gipsy than many another in the land. There was another pattern which no doubt provided an unconscious substitute for conscious planning. That was the life of the scribes. In spite of the gospel contrasts Jesus was very much one of them. He had, like them, his disciples; like them he was addressed as "Rabbi." He too taught in the synagogues or by the roadside. In little ways, the gospels quite unconsciously reveal the similarity of Jesus' life to theirs-how his advice is sought, how technical questions are asked him, how his blessing is invoked, or how the sick touch the special tassel which he wore in accordance with the Jewish law. Just how the rabbis subsisted we do not know; perhaps like Jesus partly on gifts from their admirers. Like him too they had a trade to fall back on. On neither side, whether by accident or not, do we hear much of their practicing it. In any case they do not represent a special, well-defined clerical order. As for fixed schedules of teaching, a continuous curriculum of instruction, or any tuition fees, Jesus, and probably the rabbis, were innocent of all these things. Still, they both gave much time to what the gospels call teaching. This was their career, this their life. It need not have been systematized or scheduled to provide Jesus with an entirely sufficient outlet for what in our sophisticated age we express in far more self-directing terms. In spite of the casualness of economic life in Jesus' environment, which may betoken a similar casualness in other respects towards the investment of time, modem writers have hardly considered the possibilities-even the artistic possibilities-of such an unreftective vagabondage as we have suggested. A teleological theology, a practical ethics, and a modern economics of efficiency make casualness seem unthinkable in any really historical Jesus. The past felt it sufficient to attribute to Jesus the purpose which theology gave him, viz., that of God's sending him to save the world. Providence, as we call it, had a plan for his life. He knew that plan and followed it, with steadfastness in spite of natural shrinking from its unpleasantness, and with clear sight right up to the cross. No mere man could have been so cognizant of what he was about as Jesus was. In the view of older Christian theology the clear and understanding acceptance of the divine program was inevitable in one who knew as no other his Father's will and shared his Father's purpose. 9
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
The divine plan of salvation according to this older view was the central and conscious motive in Jesus' earthly life, and for us today, in our very different roles from his, the recognition of that plan and of its fulfilment in him constitutes the basis for the Christian life purpose. Recently, however, emphasis has been laid less on the saving career of Jesus than on his teaching and on his own character. As these are regarded as normative for us, we naturally think of them as important in his own purpose. We also wish to come into dynamic association with his undertakings-and for that reason we wish to know his purpose. We expect to find his secret in the intention of his soul, in his aim, ambition, striving. We are not content with the more static appreciation of God and Christ that used to prevail. We hear nowadays of a struggling God and of a program of Jesus. We call him "The Master Builder." The will of God has taken on a new and congenial meaning in modem Protestantism. Its volitional emphasis is most welcome to our thinking. It is a name now for a movement or campaign that God would endorse, and we look naturally to Jesus for a revelation of this ambition. That is what we now mean by the revelation of God in Christ-Christ tells us God's plan for the world: For other worlds God has other words, But for this world the word of God is Christ. In this creative and purposive conception of God and Christ, old texts get new meaning and favorite passages emerge, like the Johannine My father worketh hitherto and I work. Other men have labored and ye have entered into their labors. Even "thy kingdom come, thy will be done" is no longer a passive prayer but a summons to cooperative effort with God in the program revealed by Jesus. Recent scholarly study of the historical Jesus also has been bringing this aspect into the foreground. The eschatological school began by raising the question in an innocent form: Did Jesus believe in the near end of the world? Those who answered in the affirmative had no alternative but to infer that this expectation colored the whole plan and purpose of Jesus. Hence the problem of consistent (konsequent) eschatology was not: Must we retain the eschatological sayings in our records? but it was: What was Jesus aiming at in view of the near coming of the kingdom? The extremists like Wrede and Schweitzer differ from the more moderate eschatologists precisely in this, that taking an element which we may admit cannot be excised from the background of Jesus' thought and teaching, which was doubtless part of his Weltanschauung, they attempt to explain by it his actions. In other words, they are reducing Jesus to a consistent purpose. 10
PURPOSE, AIM AND MOTIVE IN JESUS
There can be no doubt that the expectation of a near cataclysm always gives the urgency of crisis. Urgency is always suggestive of dominating purpose. Yet even if we accept at its face value that tenseness, that undivided earnestness of Jesus' most rigorous ethic and his most imminent apocalyptic, any corresponding definiteness of direction is not easy to visualize except in quite general terms. Apocalyptic is only too likely to be panicky pressure rather than constructive aim. If Jesus had drive, had he also direction? The social school of interpreters of Jesus also tend to cast their interpretation into the form of a purpose. They regard him as a social reformer, a propagandist with a program. His program was the Kingdom of God or-to change the figure a little startlingly-the brotherhood of man and the fatherhood of God. His gospel was not merely some academic abstract of a Utopia but a constitution for a better society for which Jesus both lived and died. Like the eschatologists these interpreters wish to relate Jesus' action to a definite policy or program. They find the key to that program in his social teaching to others. They assume that his own life was shaped by the same purpose-a Purpose with a capital P-unwavering, conscious, absorbing, glorifying. This way of looking at Jesus has been further reinforced by the political interpretation of him which in America and England has been called forth by the Great War. A series of studies has appeared relating Jesus to the political scene of his day, the parties and their programs. In the light of all these circumstances we are asked what was Jesus' policy for his nation, for its relation to Rome and for international affairs. Surely he was no ignorant or provincial peasant but a "lord of thought," a consummate statesman, in contrast to the fanatical extremists or the time-serving politicians of his day. His background of politics-nationalism, pacifism, and imperialism-is the true key "towards an understanding of Jesus," as Simkhovitch phrases it. What, we may ask, using the title of another book, was "the proposal of Jesus"? 4 The political understanding of Jesus is, of course, only a special phase of the general modem social interpretation of his life and message. Our recent thinking on our own national and international questions has turned our attention to this special field, with a most anxious desire for "the guidance of Jesus for today" as Cadoux names another book. But we are not so much in search of legislative prescription about loving enemies or giving tribute to Caesar as an older generation would have been. We are concerned rather to detect behind Jesus' life and sayings a regulative purpose that will explain both his own conduct and his advice to others. For example we are told that Jesus devoted himself to averting the disaster of the year 70 A.D. though Jerusalem refused to accept his advice because she "knew not the things that belonged to her peace." But nevertheless Jesus and his words are to be understood like the glorious but ineffective 11
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
career of Jeremiah that preceded a like catastrophe some six centuries before. Another aspect of present day scholarly thought about Jesus, associated with these that I have mentioned and like them leading to an emphasis on the element of intention, is our interest in the Messianic self-consciousness of Jesus. Unless we deal very drastically with our records we must admit that Jesus claimed, accepted, or at least did not deny that in some sense he himself was the expected Messiah. It may be doubtful how far he conformed to the conventional rOle of such a figure, but as Messiah the reflection on a special function of his own would be if anything more necessary than if he had classed himself with groups less unique like "prophets and wise men and scribes." Without going into this question in detail, we can say that Messiahship, if taken seriously by Jesus or by us, must be thought of almost essentially as an active and aggressive part to be played with a definite objective and a definite program. Whatever we may think of the particular solution Professor Carver proposed, his striking essay on "The Economic Factor in the Messiahship of Jesus" 5 indicates how, even beyond theological circles, many believe that Jesus as the Messiah must have adopted a well-considered program towards a well-recognized goal. The temptation story of Q is perhaps the most satisfactory and extensive proof text of a weighed and reflected Messianic purpose of Jesus. 6 A favorite device among modem psychoanalysts of Jesus makes Messiahship the result rather than the cause of his life purpose. They would assume for him first an inner urgency, a sense of divine calling and of a duty to be performed. In its scope and in its climax the fatal career of Jesus did not suggest the role usually expected of the Messiah. Yet the call was too insistent to be brushed aside, too necessary to be evaded, too certain to be less than divine. Thus in spite of himself Jesus was forced to admit that he was the Messiah. By this hypothesis the plan of his life was not deduced by Jesus from his Messiahship but rather vice versa. Now all this study of Jesus' Messiahship is to be welcomed. It is a real grappling with historical problems. That "Jesus is the Christ" or better "the Christ is Jesus" was the oldest creed of the church. It was established by the scriptures and it guaranteed the second coming with its blessings. Never since the earliest days has the Messiahship of Jesus (as distinct from his Incarnation, Lordship, Saviorhood and Divinity) entered so largely into Christian thinking as in our own day. But even when Messiahship is thought of as not accepted by Jesus, as in Professor Case's biography, the element of purpose colors the picture. Two of the chapters in that book "Jesus' Choice of His Task," "Jesus' Pursuit of His Task," show that the biographer is thinking of Jesus as one would of any modem dynamic subject. 7 Jesus is taken for granted as no pawn of destiny but the master of his fate, the captain of his soul. Traditional roles may be accepted or declined; that makes little difference in the 12
PURPOSE, AIM AND MOTIVE IN JESUS
life of one who by hypothesis has proved the most influential factor in history. Ex nihilo nihil fit. Problems are solved by those who see them as problems, who have skill to analyze them, and wisdom and insight to settle them. This and indeed all the tendencies I have spoken of, are due to two most commendable characteristics of our time. One is the return to a fresh study of the contents of the gospels. The other is the attempt to understand Jesus in the light of reality, particularly of historical reality. Perhaps modem study and emphasis need some correction in the light of what I may call historical psychology. We have tried to understand his political, social, economic and religious environment but have we ever attempted sufficiently to visualize the difference in inner psychology between his day and ours? Before I attempt to evaluate further this modem interest in the purpose of Jesus I must again say a word about a difficulty that haunts us at every step of historical inquiry-the difficulty of knowing how far we can trust our gospels. The reader will not be surprised if I advise that for this question we omit entirely the sayings of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel. Whatever elements of historical value that most inscrutable book contains, they are to be found, I think, least of all in its portrayal of Jesus' self-consciousness. Precisely in this matter of Jesus' sense of knowing what he was about, the fourth Evangelist seems to have introduced what Professor Jacks would call "perspective." Jesus in its pages knew not only what he wanted but also what would happen. He was a thoroughly self-conscious, self-directing God. He knew when his hour had or had not come. He "knew what was in man" and he knew God. But, above all, he knew what he was about from beginning to end. How far do the synoptic gospels inject the same alien interpretation into the mind of Jesus, and how far do they guide us aright by providing original and accurate data of his life and words out of which to reconstruct that mind for ourselves? The answer to this question can hardly be unanimous in the present state of opinion. Scarcely a liberal minister exists today who has not publicly implied that he could gauge the intention of Jesus somewhat from these more primitive records. At any rate the data are not so unambiguous that unanimity about Jesus' purpose is easily attained. A questionnaire to theological students, to ministers, even to New Testament scholars would produce a great variety of answers to the question: What was Jesus' purpose? Certainly the synoptic gospels do not often represent Jesus as discussing his program. They have much less of that kind of Christian interpretation than we find in John. There are certain sentences beginning "I came," followed by a clause of purpose, which may be suspected as Christian interpretation; but on the whole the trouble with the synoptic gospels is their 13
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
sheer lack of material that would lead to a decision on this subject. Granted the genuineness of the bulk of them we may still conclude that while we know of many obiter dicta and anecdotes of Jesus we are not in a position to recover a knowledge of his central purpose. The "I came" passages are indeed of considerable interest and I pause a moment to review them. 8 Some of them are introduced in the impersonal way "The son of man came." They look a little too reflective or objective for Jesus, but we can hardly believe that this use of "son of man" which the evangelists limit to Jesus' lips never actually came from him. There are other reasons, however, for regarding these programmatic utterances as secondary. Many of them seem to be intended to answer the reflection of the church, as for example, "Think not that I came." The principal passages are: The son of man came not to be ministered unto but to minister and to give his life a ransom for many. I came not to call the righteous but sinners (to repentance). Think not that I came to destroy the law or the prophets. I came not to destroy but to fulfil. Think not that I came to cast peace on the earth. I came not to cast peace but a sword. For I came to divide a man, etc. I came to cast fire on the earth, and what will I if it is already kindled? I have a baptism to be baptized with, and how am I constrained until it is completed. Do you suppose that I came to give peace on the earth? No, I tell you, but division. For the son of man came not to destroy men's lives but to save. I was not sent save unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel. 10 Of these an authority on Judaism says that no scribe or teacher would thus have referred to himself. They did not cherish a sense of special mission, though they thought well of their vocation. These sentences are not to be understood apart from the Messianic idea. Elijah or Messiah would "come" or would "be sent." By whomsoever they were thus first phrased they would involve Messiahship for Jesus. A recent student of the synoptic tradition regards these as "the sayings in which the faith of the church in Jesus, in his work, his fate and his person, find their expression." He continues: "The predictions of the passion in Mark 8,31; 9,31; 10,33-34 and others were first created by the church; similarly also either all or most of the sayings which speak of the coming of Jesus, like Matt. 5,17; Mark 10,45. They are expressed from the retrospective standpoint in which an interpretation of the life of Jesus has become possible." 11 In one or two cases I think we can see the reference to Jesus' mission growing. The most conspicuous example is in the parallels: 14
PURPOSE, AIM AND MOTIVE IN JESUS
Luke
Mark Let us go elsewhere into the adjacent towns, in order that I may preach there, for I came out for this purpose.
It is necessary for preach the good news Kingdom of God also other cities, because sent for this purpose. 9
me to of the to the I was
Here we have Jesus sent from heaven, not merely escaping from Capernaum as probably Mark means to say; and more than that we have Luke's little but effective ~Ei: as in other Lucan passages; for instance: "It is necessary for me to be in my Father's house." Perhaps another warning may be added. It is too easy to arrive at a man's purpose by seeing what he accomplished. We reverently assume that Jesus in particular was a success, that even his death was in accord and not in conflict with his aim. Hence we read back into his mind the results which we see to have followed. But life often works the other way. Men aim at one thing and find another. They build better than they know, or God takes their failures and makes successes of them. We must be ready, if evidence warrants, to assign to Jesus as a purpose something which in no way was actually fulfilled. There is no need for face-saving at this distance. We can recognize that the early Church "supposed that it was he who should redeem Israel," but Paul admitted that in his time Israel was not yet saved, and a later writer testified: "He came to his own and his own received him not." In fact the whole notion of success is bound up with the very conception that I wish to challenge-purpose. If lives are read in terms of purpose then accomplishment is their measure. But suppose we could eliminate purpose. Then there would be no need to pass the judgment of success or failure. Let us turn then to consider, from the standpoint of his ethical teaching, what we may say about the purpose of Jesus. I say from the standpoint of his ethical teaching because I believe we know more on this than on any other phase of him-both in bulk and in reliability. Jesus' words on conduct and character are a more stable basis than our information on his own religious and moral life or on his religious advice to others. Our view of Jesus' ethical teaching depends, as does every other question, on what we think was Jesus' purpose. Jesus' main purpose may have been to instil a new way of life, by his teaching and example to establish as far as possible in contemporary Judaism, or in the leavening group within it which his followers so imperfectly became, a higher standard of conduct. If he expected the near end of the world or if he hoped to establish through his teaching this better order, whether as teacher or as herald, he may have deliberately worked out and consistently applied a new, complete standard of ethics. 15
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
If he aimed to build a church, this is again not inconsistent. His church could have been intended to embody these principles. No matter how religious Jesus' outlook was he may have been greatly interested in the fruits of religion. Jesus' purpose is often expressed in such terms as Messiah, or even more generally as doing the will of God. But all such definitions are extremely vague in themselves and most Christians assume that Jesus had one controlling guiding purpose in his life and that, even if circumstances caused him to change his method, he was deliberately working out a plan that consciously included the betterment of society or at least of his generation in Galilee and Jerusalem along lines of an ethical and social as well as a spiritual nature. The modem age, even without reference to the gospels, tends to believe that Jesus must so have lived. Every good man is expected now to have such a unity, definiteness and consciousness of purpose. Even if we cannot discover it we assume it in Jesus, and mostly we can read such unity, definiteness and consciousness of purpose into the gospel story. We assume very often, further, that Jesus' purpose was based on a knowledge of the factors involved. If he was dealing with the nation he must have studied the national situation and its present standards and policies, and he must have determined some program, which, beginning with the status quo in the church, the state or the empire, would mould it more nearly to the heart's desire. If Jesus was dealing with individuals we assume for him the same kind of diagnosis-a profound knowledge of human needs, impulses, aspirations and capacities, and we attempt to discover in him a technique of personal and collective evangelism based upon sound psychological and pedagogical principles. I am doubtful whether we do not read into Jesus' life more of a campaign than existed. The followers of Jesus and his biographers did this in their picture of his sending out missionaries, but were they right? Economic life in Jesus' day was simple; was his personal program not also hand to mouth? Suppose we try to picture a typical day in Jesus' life. It was not lived by schedule probably; his social contacts like those of Socrates were of the most accidental sort. He was neither a systematic teacher of his disciples, nor careful in his evangelistic planning. He wandered hither and thither in Galilee. He sowed his seed largely at random and left results to God. More depended, he believed, on the soil, than on the sowing. Probably much that is commonly said about the general purpose of Jesus' life and the specific place in that purpose of detailed incidents is modem superimposition upon a nearly patternless life and upon nearly patternless records of it. What I wish to propose is that Jesus probably had no definite, unified, conscious purpose, that an absence of such a program is a priori likely and that it suits well the historical evidence. Further I think that this explains some of the phenomena connected with his teaching.
16
PURPOSE, AIM AND MOTIVE IN JESUS
The sense of purpose, objective, etc., as necessary for every good life is more modern than we commonly imagine. Some men in antiquity lived under it-a sense of calling, mission, etc. Paul may be an example, though we should recall that the Greek omits the word "do" in the familiar sentence of his, "This one thing I do." My impression is that Jesus was largely casual. He reacted to situations as they arose but probably he had hardly a program or plan. His martyrdom is not in conflict with such a view, for one form of martyrdom at least is that of men who, without planning or scheming, submit to adversity as it comes. The religious man in particular leaves planning to God and simply submits to the inevitable. He may foresee it, but that is not the same as courting it or planning it or incorporating it into his self-justification. As Jesus says, "I go on my way today and tomorrow and the third day I am perfected." A large part of Jesus' sayings, interpreted as indicating an intelligent and chosen aim, may be understood in this sense of passive fatalism. Submission to the will of God does indeed give life a kind of unity, yet it lacks all that creative planning, intelligent selection, singleness of purpose and the like that we usually mean in our efforts to preach the integration of life. There is nothing irreverent or improbable in such a view of Jesus. Modern purposiveness has no guarantee of divinity about it, though we naturally attribute it to God and to Jesus, making them in our own image. Perhaps modern lives if analyzed would prove to be quite casual, varied and ununified in spite of the formula of integration which a self-conscious age demands that respectable men adopt for themselves. St. Francis is really not the last saint whose virtue was spontaneous and unpremeditated. Organization rapidly followed his movement as it follows many saints and prophets, but it is usually a by-product more than an original aim. If we may judge Jesus by the characteristics of mankind in general he is likely to have lived much by custom and by uncoordinated impulse and to have made conscious decisions only of a rather isolated and varied character, and the more we regard him a genius in any lines the more likely it is that in those lines he was dependent on flashes of insight and inspiration rather than upon some conscious planning and labored artistry. If Jesus was in this respect a child of his age, this explains some things in his social teaching. Our records suggest that Jesus had much to say about conduct. But they suggest further: L His remarks were usually in answer to concrete cases or questions. 2. The motives he appealed to are extraordinarily varied and show no derivation from a fixed standard but rather, as with most opinions of moral questions, a mixture of reasons. Sometimes he appealed to prudence; sometimes he simply gave advice as axiomatic, or assigned a conventional reason. Noteworthy for their absence (at least in the record) are some of the all-controlling purposes of ethics, like altruism, value of personality, greatest good to the greatest number, brotherhood. We may and often do 17
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
read between the lines some of them but we should remember that we are not reading the gospels. We need not suppose that this variety of motive was merely accommodation to the varied needs and points of appeal in Jesus' hearers. It perhaps correctly reflects the mixed character of Jesus' own bases of conduct and judgment. With this view accord the apparent statements of his own purposealready mentioned: "I came not to send peace but division," "I came to cast fire on the earth," "I came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance," "I was not sent except to the lost sheep of the house of Israel," "The son of man came to seek and to save the lost." All these, if genuine, are simply the varying ways of expressing his reaction to successive incidents or situations. Such unity of purpose as we can give his life is our own reading of it in the light of the records. Very early Christians summed up the meaning of Jesus' life (and especially his death) in terms he would never have recognized: To give life and to give it more abundantly. He became a curse to redeem us from under a curse. For the joy that was set before him he endured the cross. Being in the form of God-he emptied himself. For your sakes he became poor. To this end was I born and to this end came I into the world that I might bear witness to the truth. I am the way, the truth and the life. To give his life a ransom for manyY With this accords also the lack of a satisfactory summary in the gospels of any principle for general application. We ask for Jesus' advice in a nutshell and we are referred to the Sermon on the Mount, or more briefly the Golden Rule, or the two great commands. Other more modern terms for unifying Jesus' teaching are love, service, the value of the individual, the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man. All these may be useful rubrics for modern Christian ideals but there is grave doubt whether Jesus had any such conscious unifying principle, or even whether his attitudes allow themselves to be reduced to one such modern key explanation. Several of these headings do not gain any considerable support from the gospel materials. Others have at least the character of being probable since they are natural for any Jew, but at the same time they are not original or unique. Both the Golden Rule and the choice of the two commandments to love God and man were perhaps current Jewish summaries. They are traceable to Hillel and Akiba respectively, while one of the commandments, to love the Lord thy God, has the central authority, the familiarity and the prestige of the daily Jewish creed called 18
PURPOSE, AIM AND MOTIVE IN JESUS
the Shema. In both cases Jesus says of his summary, not "Here is the gospel" or "the New Testament," but, "This is (or on this hangs) the law and the prophets." Would it not be simpler to say that the aim of Jesus was to live according to the will of God, of which the law with the prophets formed the chief revelation? This leads us back to the knotty problem of Jesus' relationship to Judaism. In spite of all ingenious efforts no one formula brings into harmony all the utterances of Jesus on this subject. Now he is apparently rejecting, now insisting on, Jewish ethics. Now he apparently accepts the Old Testament law, while rejecting the oral tradition based upon it. Now he quotes one passage against another. Now he accepts the Jews' religion but criticizes their leaders. Now he distinguishes between the teaching and the doing of the Pharisees. He says their righteousness is too meticulous or too formal or too much for display or too hypocritical or not righteous enough. The modern mind tries to get out of all this a single definitive formula that will explain everything. One easily assumes that if Jesus had a controlling purpose, and that if that purpose included giving social teaching, Jesus probably had a definite code or principle. This code most naturally would be defined in terms of contemporary Judaism, and hence our next inquiry is for some formula that will place Jesus' teaching in connection with that of his age. Now, after all, few of us can be reduced in our views of social duty to a formula in terms of some code of contemporary ethics. We share it here, we disagree there, we side with one contemporary party or the other. Probably the same was true of Jesus. To a very large extent his viewpoint was ordinary Judaism. He endorsed the ten commandments and probably believed in the law (when correctly understood) as the revealed will of God. He argues that certain things are as bad as what the law prohibited. Study of contemporary teaching shows that Jesus agrees in many of the more striking and beautiful parts of his social teaching with the standards of the rabbis. Judaism was a principal source of his judgment. In the main, he reiterates with insistence what others have taught or what may be counted on to be recognized by his hearers as right. He rarely seems to be propounding something new. When he criticizes a contemporary standard he is usually agreeing with some other contemporary standard. Some questions were simply moot questions of his day-divorce, great commandment, tribute, capital punishment for adultery. Jesus sometimes takes sides, sometimes evades the issue. Neither in a unifying principle nor in detail does Jesus betray an independent and harmonious codification of his own, but a series of judgments-many old, perhaps a few new, many sound according to our own estimate. In all this he behaves just as one would expect of a pure, earnest, pious Jew of Galilee in the reign of Tiberius. 19
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
In denying to Jesus much of the modem fommlation of purpose we must beware of two extremes of negation. First, though Jesus did not share our characteristically modem emphasis upon a conscious life purpose, neither did he definitely reject it. It was not presented to him as an alternative ideal to his own rather passive and casual career. Thoreau, for example, who most of all modems agrees with this trait in Jesus, yet differs decidedly just because he is in revolt against a modem standard. If any of us today rebel against our inherited Puritan traditions of obedience to active duty, of labor and accomplishment, and allow ourselves to drift indifferent to the usual watchwords of "life with a purpose," "integrating our personalities," "forging out our careers," "God has a plan for every life," it will be more like Thoreau's protest than like the naive fatalism and spontaneousness of Jesus. We can quote Jesus only in part for our attitude, for the modem scene about us will never leave such an unmodem and unambitious ambition unchallenged. Second, the life of Jesus is not to be regarded as wholly without unity even if it lacked the modem type of conscious planning. For the true quality of life is not in the conscious, but in the subconscious, not in pose and profession but in deed and in truth. The native intuition of Jesus gave him no doubt a deep-lying consistency, what Thomas a Kempis would call an interior simplicityY Whatever he said and did was not brought by him into accord with some external criterion; it sprang from an inner coordination of life. In such cases logical consistency is not always present, and is not intended; but a moral consistency may be there, an habitual reaction and a natural selfaccord. There is perhaps no better description of Jesus' career than those phrases in the book of Acts which describe its spontaneous consistency and casualness. It was "all the days that he went in and out among us," say the apostles, or "he went about doing good." Such a life gets its unity neither from its goal nor from any standard of action but from an unphrased inner quality and temperament. Perhaps some day in the future historical students of the gospels will realize that there is more profit in inquiring into these hidden habits of his soul than in attempting to fit the anecdotes and sayings of Jesus into a program of his life. These hidden habits rather than the latter give us a sense of unison between him and ourselves. If Jesus was not self-conscious about his program he may not have been conscious about his motives either. In spite of our own interest in the subject and in spite of the fact that ethical teachers even in his own time distinguished motives behind apparently identical actions, I find little evidence in the gospels that Jesus made that distinction. Is it their motive that makes him call the Pharisees hypocrites? He does condemn prayer, almsgiving and fasting that is done "to be seen of men." But as we have already seen, he appeals more often than not to what modem ethics would have to call a "self-regarding" motive. 20
PURPOSE, AIM AND MOTIVE IN JESUS
Of the motives of his own action we must admit that we are left to the veriest conjecture. It is interesting-in the light of conventional talk about Christianity-that Jesus nowhere in the synoptic gospels uses "love" of either his own or his Father's attitude to men. 14 Shall we say that when Jesus saw the multitudes of misguided and unvirtuous lives threatened with a near day of judgment the prevailing feeling was pity and fear? Or did the ideals of life that he cherished so press themselves forward from within him that whenever he was asked advice or was confronted with opposite examples he could not choose but speak? To our embarrassment as professed altruists we discovered that Jesus appeals to the self-regard of men for their own welfare. Was Jesus himself so impelled? Was he looking out for number one? Did he lose his life to save it, deny himself to gain a hundredfold, take up the cross to gain a world? But even the motives he appeals to in others may not really represent a reasoned conclusion about the springs of action. To the strong statement made above that he appealed generally to self-interest and rarely to altruism many will object that we are judging merely by what he is quoted as saying. Perhaps he left some important considerations unsaid. Perhaps he took for granted that his hearers accepted unselfishness as proper conduct and he merely wished to reinforce it by pointing out what was less obvious-its advantageous results to the one who practices it. If so, we must at least say that he took for granted what we are wont to argue and argued what we are wont to take for granted. But in spite of his argument, on what did Jesus really count as likely to induce people to accept his advice? How could Jesus expect a man to seH all he had and follow him, or to rejoice in persecution, or to forgive his debtors, or to choose the humblest places at feasts? This is a question I have often asked myself and as often have wondered whether possibly he never really thought the matter through. In that case we can infer little from silence. He does not, for example, press his personal claims as a ground for heeding him, but the lack of appeal to his own authority is no evidence that he was modest or silent about his Messianic role. Possibly he counted on the self-evident rightness of his standards of conduct, so that when he suggested a course of action its intrinsic appeal would meet a response in other men's hearts and they would follow. Surely this is the most potent force on which the exponent of ideals can depend-the axiomatic correctness of his advice and the noblesse oblige of his hearers. But again we can hardly be sure that he figured it out that way. Or again did experience teach him, had he learned by trial and error, the pedagogic values of different appeals? Very likely he had not. Probably Jesus and even Paul would have been horrified at the suggestion that his converting of men was due to some skilful plan of his own devising. Consideration of a technique would be quite foreign to the whole thinking of such lives. Then neither subjective self-analysis nor objective testing of methods 21
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
belongs to the mentality of Jesus. Neither internal resolve nor external circumstance tended to conscious planning in a mind like his. In such questions we reach the area of utmost psychological obscurity in any life-much more in a life so little known and so far away. But even if there was much more self-analysis in Jesus than I have supposed, much more consciousness of life issues, of his own standing and what others thought of him, I would still remind us that it could easily have taken many other forms than the kind that first occurs to us, viz., the formulating of a plan, the study of method and the adjustment of one's conduct to that means and end. Self-consciousness need not take the forms of planned purpose and tested results. Another fertile outlet for introspective judgments is provided by religion. Because we today, rationalist and problem-minded as we are, relate the two we need not suppose that Jesus would do so. On the contrary, religion in his time and circle considered, much more than one's own plans, God's will. Obedience to God's will or being well pleasing in his sight, far more than accomplishment of a purpose, was the criterion of success or basis for self-satisfaction. The ancient equivalent of much modern calculation, purpose, and self-analysis was religion. It is appropriate, therefore, that our next and concluding chapter should deal with the religion of Jesus.
Notes 1 Not every biographer of Jesus so obviously accepts the presupposition of purpose as does Bemhard Weiss. Rejecting the older idea of a period utterly wanting in historical sense that Jesus devised a plan for the improvement of religion, morals and society by convincing instructions and by institutions, he nevertheless declared: "In common life it is considered a sign of immaturity for one to commence a public activity without being clear about his object and the means for its attainment. We must therefore suppose that Jesus did not appear without distinct knowledge of his calling," etc. The Life of Christ, Eng. Trans., Scribner, 1883, i., p. 295. Compare C. Guignebert, Jesus, Eng. Trans., Knopf; Routledge; Musson, 1935, p. 296: "It is legitimate to suppose, a priori, that the preaching of Jesus was characterized by a main purpose." 2 The Aim of Jesus Christ, by W. F. Cooley, Macmillan, 1925. Compare the title, The Purpose of Jesus in the First Three Gospels, by C. N. Moody, Harper; G. Alien, 1930. 3 Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, Eng. Trans., Scribner; G. Alien, 1930, pp. 79-92: "Luther's Conception of the Calling." 4 I have used in the text the titles of books all published in the years 1920 to 1922: Lily Dougall and C. W. Emmet, The Lord of Thought, Doran; C. J. Cadoux, Guidance of Christ for Today; J. A. Hutton, The Proposal of Jesus; V. G. Simkhovitch, Toward the Understanding of Jesus, Macmillan. See also C. J. Cadoux, "The Politics of Jesus," Congregational Quanerly, xiv (1936) pp. 58--67. 5 The Christian Register, Feb. 2, 1922. See above, pp. 12 f.
22
PURPOSE, AIM AND MOTIVE IN JESUS
6 Matt. 4:3-10 = Luke 4:3--12. Three false methods to fulfil his career are proposed to Jesus and rejected because he knew the better program for his life. Another limitation of our records which vitiates so many modern attempts to conjecture motives in Jesus is their want of chronology. Beginning with the Temptation as an initial choice and trusting Mark's order as temporal rather than editorial scholars trace from stage to stage with great ingenuity the pattern of Jesus' plan. But as recent literary study shows us, the mere sequence of items in the gospels will not bear the weight of such reconstructions. 7 Jesus, a New Biography, by S. J. Case, Univ. of Chicago Press, 1927, Chapters V and VI. 8 A. Harnack wrote a special study of these passages," 'Ich bin gekommen'; die ausdrticklichen Selbstzeugnisse Jesu tiber den Zweck seiner Sendung und seines Kommens," Zeitschrift filr Theologie und Kirche, 22, 1912, 1 ff., and as a pendant to this, "Geschichte eines programmatischen Worts Jesu (Matt. 5,17) in der liltesten Kirche," in Sitzungsberichte der Berliner Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1912, i. 184 ff. 9 Mark 1:38 =Luke 4:43. Another example of the very early editorial introduction of the mission of Jesus is found in the Fragments of an Unknown Gospel, published by H. I. Bell in 1935, Oxford; British Museum. Under the influence of the synoptic "think not that I came," "Think not that I will accuse you to the Father" (John 5:45) becomes "Think not that I came to accuse you to my Father." 10 Mark 10:45; Mark 2:17 ( = Matt. 9:13 = Luke 5:32); Matt. 5:17; Matt. 10:34 f.; Luke 12:49 f.; Luke 19:10 (cf. Matt. 18:11, omitted by the best authorities); Luke 9:56 (but the verse is omitted by good authorities); Matt. 15:24 (added to Mark 7:25). Do the last three passages indicate a tendency of scribes to add such sayings? 11 Rudolf Bultmann, Die Erforschung der synoptischen Evange/ien, 1925, p. 32, now translated by F. C. Grant in Form Criticism, Willett, Clark, 1934, p. 59 f. 12 John 10:10; Gal. 3:13; Hebrews 12:2; Philippians 2:7; 2 Cor. 8:9; John 18:37; Mark 10:45. 13 "The more a man is united within himself, and interiorly simple, so much the more and deeper things doth he understand without labour, for he receiveth the light of understanding from on high." The Imitation of Christ, I.iii.3. 14 Cf. G. S. Duncan, The Epistle of Paul to the Galatians, Harper; Hodder; Musson, 1935, p. 74. Only once does a synoptic evangelist himself use "love" of Jesus' own attitude towards persons (Mark 10:21).
23
44
DIE FRAGE NACH DEM MESSIANISCHEN BEWUBTSEIN JESU 0. Betz Source: Novum Testamentum, 6, 1963, pp. 20--48.
,Die Frage nach dem messianischen Bewusstsein Jesu und das Petrusbekenntnis" lautet der Titel eines Aufsatzes, den R. BULTMANN 1919 veroffentlicht hat 1• BuLTMANN bekennt sich darin zur These WREDES 2: ,Yor Tod und Auferstehung ist Jesus weder vom Yolk noch von seinen Jiingem als der Messias bzw. als der zum Messias Bestimmte erkannt worden. Daraus ergibt sich die Konsequenz, er selbst hat gar nicht daran gedacht, sich fur den Messias zu halten und zu erkliiren"3 • Den Beweis dafur liefert das fur Markus charakteristische Messiasgeheimnis, wonach Jesus alien, die ihn auf Grund seiner Wundermacht als Messias bekennen, Schweigen gebietet und seine Botschaft absichtlich in Gleichnisse hiillt, damit das Yolk sehe und doch nicht erkenne, bore und doch nichts verstehe, und also verstockt bleibe bis zum Gericht4 • WREDE hielt dieses Messiasgeheimnis fur eine Hilfskonstruktion der Gemeinde. Als niimlich die Christen das Leben Jesu zu erziihlen begannen, batten sie die Kluft zwischen dem eigenen Messiasglauben und der Tradition, die nur ein unmessianisches Leben Jesu bot, durch solch eine Theorie iiberbriickt und erkliirt: Auch der irdische Jesus trat schon messianisch auf, aber er selbst wollte, dass seine Wiirde ein streng gehiitetes Geheimnis blieb. In Wahrheit aber, so meint BuLTMANN mit WREDE, bilde die Auferstehung die bekenntnisentbindende Wende. Denn ,die Ostergewissheit schliesst beides ein: 1. den Glauben, dass Jesus lebt; 2. den Glauben, Jesus ist der Messias" 5• An dieser Sicht hat sich bei BVLTMANN nichts mehr geiindert6 • Seine Schiiler haben die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus und darnit die Frage nach Jesu Selbstbewusstsein von neuem gestellt. Ihre Antwort ist verschieden. Man urteilt, Jesus babe sich als inspiriert, als Werkzeug des lebendigen Gottesgeistes verstanden 7, man betont die unerhorte Yollmacht,
24
DIE FRAGE NACH DEM MESSIANISCHEN BEWUBTSEIN JESU die das Geheimnis seiner Person und seines Wirkens umschliessfl, oder stOsst in Jesu Lehre auf den Tatbestand einer, ,indirekten Christologie" 9• Mit einem Messiasbewusstsein Jesu hat das nichts zu tun; an diesem Punkte halt man an WREDES These und BULTMANNS Urteil fest. ,Denn dies ist das eigentlich Erstaunliche, es gibt tatsachlich keinen einzigen sicheren Beweis, dass Jesus einen der messianischen Titel, die ihm die Tradition anbot, fur sich in Anspruch nahm" 10• Erst ab Ostern wird er als der Messias bekannt. Aber diese Auskunft befriedigt nicht. BULTMANNS analytisches Urteil, die Ostergewissheit schliesse den Glauben ein, Jesus lebt, iibernehmen wir gern. Anders steht es mit dem synthetischen Satz. ,Wie konnte", so fragen wir mit A. ScHWEITZER 11 und N. A. DAHL 12 , ,der Ostergewissheit der Glaube entspringen, Jesus miisse nun der Messias sein?" BuLTMANN sagt: ,Schaute man den Auferstandenen, so war der Gedanke, er sei der kommende Menschensohn, nicht so fernliegend" 13• Diese Antwort setzt jedoch einfach den kommenden Menschensohn, eine himmlische Gestalt, an die Stelle des irdisch gedachten Messias und Davidssohns 14 • Und nirgends bezeugt das neutestamentliche Credo, Jesus sei an Ostem zum Menschensohn erhoht worden. Dagegen bekennt man schon friih, Gott babe ihn kraft der Auferweckung zum Herm und Christus gemacht (Apg. ii 36), den Davididen in die messianische Wiirde des Gottessohns eingesetzt (Rom. i 3f). Was hatte denn die Jiinger dazu bewogen, einem unmessianischen Jesus von Nazareth auf Grund der Auferstehung den Titel ,Christus" zu geben, so friih und so fest, dass schon Paulus ihn meist wie einen Eigennamen gebraucht, wahrend er nie VOID Menschensohn spricht? Hatten sie nicht, wie die anderen Juden, aus der Schrift gehort, der Messias bleibe fiir immer (Joh. xii 34)? Oder sollte ausgerechnet ein unmessianischer Jesus ihr Messiasbild zurechtgeriickt haben? Nicht nur von BULTMANN und dessen Schiilern, sondern auch von neutestamentlichen Forschem der Gegenseite wird ein Messiasbewusstsein Jesu bestritten. Der Wiirdename ,Messias" ist nach E. STAUFFER ,unjesuanisch", er kommt in der Logienquelle, dem altesten Jesusbuch der Christenheit, gar nicht vor. Jesus selbst hat die Messiaspradikation stets vermieden, iibergangen oder abgewehrt 15 • Statt dessen erklarte er sich fiir den Menschensohn: er war der Filius hominis incognitus 16• Auch fur den Gottessohn hat sich Jesus nach STAUFFER gehalten; das beweise ,der ktihne und einsame Jubelruf" Mt. xi 25-27 17 • CULLMANN ist nicht ganz so entschieden. Indessen glaubt auch er nachweisen zu konnen, dass ,,Jesus selber sich niemals die charakteristische, von seinen jiidischen Zeitgenossen angenommene Aufgabe des erwarteten Messias zugeschrieben hat" 18• Vielmehr babe er die Rolle des leidenden Gottesknechts auf sich genommen und sich fur den Menschensohn und Weltenrichter erklart 19 • Aber, ganz abgesehen von der Frage, wie Jesus zwei so diametral entgegengesetzte Titel und Amter in seiner Person 25
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
geeint wissen konnte 20 , bleibt dann das Problem, warum die Jiinger den Auferstandenen gerade als Messias bekannten, erst recht ungelost2 1• Darauf kommt es jedoch entscheidend an. Wer nach Jesu Selbstbewusstsein forscht, stOsst auf das Messiasbekenntnis der Urgemeinde als erstes Faktum und erstes Problem. Warum schliesst die Ostergewissheit der Jiinger den Glauben ein, Jesus sei der Messias? Die Antwort auf diese Frage ergibt sich 1. aus dem Zeugnis der Schrift. Der Schriftbeweis hat den Glauben der Jiinger bestiirkt und bestiitigt, Gott babe Jesus mit der Auferweckung als Messias inthronisiert; 2. aus dem Bewusstsein Jesu selbst. Er hat diesen Glauben geweckt, weil er sich, im Lichte der Schrift, als den Messias verstand. Die Jiinger und Jesus selbst lebten im Alten Testament. Wer nach der Bildung des christlichen Credo und nach dem Bewusstsein Jesu fragt, hat diese Tatsache vor andem in Rechnung zu stellen und das Schriftverstiindnis der neutestamentlichen Zeit so weit als moglich nachzuvollziehen. Das mochte ich bei der Darlegung meiner beiden Thesen tun.
I. Das Messiasbekenntnis der Gemeinde und der Schriftbeweis Eine bekannte, aber zu wenig beachtete Stelle hat im Schriftbeweis der ersten Christen eine wichtige Rolle gespielt. Das Studium der Messiaserwartung der Qumrangemeinde 22 hat mich auf sie gefiihrt. Die Manner vom Toten Meer erhofften zwei Messiasgestalten: einen Messias aus Aaron und den Messias aus Israel, aus Davids Geschlecht. Da Jesus kein Aaronide war, scheidet der Messias aus Aaron fiir unser Thema aus. Auf den letzteren, den traditionellen Messias, kommt es uns an. Der davidische Messias liiutt in den Schranken der Schrift. Viel mehr, als das Alte Testament vom Messias weiss, sagt die Qumrangemeinde eigentlich nicht. Ausserdem sind es meist die uns bekannten Orakel, nach denen man das Bild des Messias malt23 • Dabei werden Herkunft und Amt besonders betont: Der Messias ist der Davidsspross; er steht als der Retter und ideale Regent seines Volkes auf.
(a) Die Nathanweissagung Nun hat man in Qumran auch den durch Nathan verkiindigten Gottesspruch 2 Sam. vii eschatologisch interpretiert24 • In ihm wird David, der den Bau eines Tempels erwiigt, vom Propheten belehrt, Gott bediirfe solch eines Hauses nicht. Vielmehr werde er selbst Seinem Yolk einen sicheren Wohnort schaften (V. 10) und dem Konig ein Haus erbauen (V. 11). Gemeint ist das Haus der davidischen Dynastie: den Sohn, der aus Davids Lenden kommt, will Gott aufrichten, seinen Konigsthron fiir immer befes26
DIE FRAGE NACH DEM MESSIANISCHEN BEWUBTSEIN JESU
tigen (V. 12). Ja, Er will ihm ein Vater, und dieser soli Ihm ein Sohn sein (V. 14), der zwar geziichtigt werden kann wie ein Sohn, aber nicht wie Saul die Gnade Gottes fur immer verliert (V. 15). Dieser Davidide soH dem Namen Gottes ein Haus, d.h. den Tempel, erbauen (V. 13)25 • Es ist bezeichnend, dass die Sekte in diesem Spruch zunachst sich selbst, ihre eigene eschatologische Existenz, geweissagt sieht. Der sichere Ort, den Gott fur Israel bereiten will, ist nichts anderes als der lebendige Tempel der Endzeitgemeinde, in dem man Ihm den Weihrauch der toragemassen Werke darbringt. Das wird breit ausgefuhrt und mit weiteren Bibelstellen belegf6 • Kiirzer ist der Kommentar zum ewig herrschenden Sohn. Gemeint ist der Davidsspross, der sich amEnde der Tage mit dem Gesetzesforscher, d.h. dem Messias aus Aaron, erhebt. Wenn er auf dem Zion erscheint, wird die gefallene Hiitte Davids, Israel, wieder erstellt, denn, urn Israel zu retten, steht der Messias auf (Z. 11-13) 27 • Der Satz, Gott werde diesen Davididen als Sohn anerkennen, ist zwar zitiert, aber nicht kommentiert (Z. 10) 28 • Auch ausserhalb von Qumran, bei den Pharisaern29 und ersten Christen, bezog man das Nathanorakel auf die messianische Zeit. Im Hebraerbrief wird es zum Erweis der Gottessohnschaft Jesu ausdriicklich zitiert (i 5), an anderen neutestamentlichen Stellen klingt es recht deutlich an. Ja, jetzt erst schopft man diese Weissagung vollig aus, aber nicht fur das Bild der Endzeitgemeinde, sondern fur die Christologie. Die Juden des Johannesevangeliums behaupten, nach dem Zeugnis der Schrift miisse der Messias aus Davids Samen und aus Bethlehem kommen (vii 42); neben Micha v 1 haben sie an das 'to cr7tEpj.ux crou in 2 Sam. vii 12 als Testimonium gedacht. Nach der Apostelgeschichte hatte das Nathanorakel in der Christuspredigt vor Juden einen zentralen Platz. Petrus und Paulus verkiinden jeweils in ihrer ersten grossen Rede-Petrus an Ptingsten, Paulus im pisidischen Antiochien- Gott habe Seine Verheissung fur David in Jesus herrlich erfiillt. Wie der Kommentar, den man in Qumran dem Nathanorakel gab, kehren sie das ,Aufstellen" des Endzeit-Davididen besonders hervor. Ja, sie legen es zweifach aus: Gott hat aus Davids Samen den Retter Israels ,heraufgefuhrt" (Apg. xiii 23, 33; vgl. iii 26), und Er hat ihn m it der Auferstehung zum Messias ,eingesetzt", ihn inthronisiert (Apg. ii 30--36; vgl. xiii 34). Im Evangelium des Lukas wird ein anderer Teil der Nathanweissagung betont. Der Engel Gabriel kiindigt Maria an: ,Siehe ... du wirst einen Sohn gebaren, den du Jesus heissen sollst (i 31). Der wird gross sein und ein Sohn des Hochsten genannt werden. Gott der Herr wird ihm den Thron seines Vaters David geben (V. 32), und er wird iiber das Haus Jakob in Ewigkeit herrschen, und seines Konigtums wird kein Ende sein" (V. 33). Jesus hat demnach David zum Vater, dessen Thron er fur immer 27
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
erhalt, wie es dem Davididen von 2 Sam. vii 12f zugesagt ist. Aber er wird auch ein Sohn des Hochsten heissen und somit Erbe der Zusage Gottes 2 Sam. vii 14: ,Ich will ihm ein Vater, under soll Mir ein Sohn sein". Davidssohnschaft und Gottessohnschaft zeichnen also den Messias aus. Was ihn zum Sohn des Hochsten macht, ist die Kraft des Hochsten, der heilige Geist (Lk. i 35). So steht es im Anfang des Romerbriefes. Was David durch einen Propheten, Maria aus Engelsmund erfuhr, ist in Rom. i 3-4 in ein altes, vorpaulinisches Credo gefasst: Jesus ist Davidssohn nach dem Fleisch, zum Sohn Gottes eingesetzt nach dem heiligen Geist, kratt der Totenauferstehung. Schon im Alten Testament ist der Gottesgeist die Kraft, die den Konig iiber den gewohnlichen Menschen erhebt und zu Rettertaten begabt30 ; auch das Spatjudentum hebt die Geistsalbung des Messias besonders hervoy3 1• Neu ist, dass im christlichen Credo Jesus mit der Auferstehung zum Gottessohn eingesetzt wird. Eine weitere, fiir die Messiaswiirde Jesu besonders wichtige Stelle wird meines Erachtens vom Nathanorakel erhellt. Es ist die von allen Synoptikem berichtete Frage: Wie kann man den Messias als Sohn Davids bezeichnen, wenn ihn David, vom heiligen Geist geleitet, im ex Psalm seinen Herrn nennt? 32 Die Frage hat den modemen Schriftgelehrten fast noch mehr Kopfzerbrechen bereitet, als den alten, an die sie gerichtet war. Warum wird sie iiberhaupt gestellt, und was soli die Antwort sein? R. BULTMANN denkt zunachst an eine christologische Reflexion der palastinischen Gemeinde, die dem Davidssohn den Menschensohn, einem politischen den himmlischen Messias entgegensetzt, vielleicht aus dem Grunde, weil sich Jesu davidische Abstammung nicht nachweisen liess. Aber - so muss er sich selbst gleich fragen - wie war es dann moglich, dass das Dogma von der davidischen Herkunft Jesu so friih, schon vor Paulus, in der Gemeinde zur Herrschaft kam? BULTMANN modifiziert darum seinen Vorschlag und mochte die palastinischen Bestreiter der Davidssohnschaft auf einen bestimmten Kreis beschranken oder noch besser diese Geschichte im Schoss der hellenistischen Gemeinde entstanden sehen: ihr schwebte der iibematiirlich entsprungene Gottessohn als Gegenbegriff zum Davidssohn voy33• Aber die Sache Iiegt einfacher. 2 Samuelis vii bietet den Schliissel zur L6sung. Mit der kniffligen Frage wird nicht etwa die davidische Abstammung Jesu bestritten, auch ist nicht an den Menschensohn als Gegenbegriff gedacht. Vielmehr ist Jesus der Davidssohn, wie man im alten Bekenntnis Rom. i 3f und in den Evangelien immer wieder bezeugt. Aber als der endzeitliche, ewig regierende Davidide ist er gleichzeitig der Gottessohn, und darin besteht seine einzigartige, den Vater David iiberragende Wiirde. Nach urchristlicher Exegese hat der Konig an einer zweiten Stelle die Uberlegenheit seines endzeitlichen Sohnes bekannt. Er prophezeite, so fiihrt Petrus in der Pfingstrede aus, Gott werde seine Seele nicht in das Totenreich Iassen noch zugeben, dass Sein Heiliger die Verwesung schaue
28
DIE FRAGE NACH DEM MESSIANISCHEN BEWUBTSEIN JESU
(Apg. ii 27, 31 nach Ps. xvi 10). Nun ist aber David gestorben, wovon sein Grabmal jetzt noch sichtbar Zeugnis ablegt (V. 29). Also, folgert Petrus, hat er vom Messias gesprochen (V. 25, 30). Warum vom Messias? Weil David durch Gottes Eid einen Sohn und Erben zugesichert erhielt (V. 30), der nach 2 Sam. vii 13 fiir immer regieren wird und darum der Konig der Endzeit, der Messias, sein muss. V on diesem ewigen Herrscher, der gleichsam noch in seiner Lende war, konnte David verktinden, er werde nie die Verwesung sehen. Diese Weissagung hat sich mit Jesu Auferstehung erfiillt, der - so schliesst Petrus aus Psalm ex - die Einsetzung zur Rechten Gottes getolgt ist (V. 33-35 nach Ps. ex 1). Als der Auferstandene und zum Herrn Erhohte ist Christus grosser als sein Vater; der Apostel betont: ,Denn nicht David ist in den Himmel gestiegen" (Apg. ii 34 vor dem Zitat Ps. ex 1). Den gleichen Schriftbeweis tragt der lukanische Paulus den Juden in Antiochien vor (Apg. xiii 34-37).
(b) Die messianischen Titel Es ist deutlich, dass im alten Bekenntnis der Urgemeinde der Messias im Mittelpunkt steht. Der ,Christus" ist das zentrale, eigentliche Wtirdepradikat. Und wie man ihm die anderen Titel zuordnen muss, geht aus dem hier dargelegten Schriftbeweis klar hervor. 1. Der ,Gottessohn" gehort nicht etwa zum ,Menschensohn", wie J. ScHREIBER nach seiner jtingst gehaltenen Antrittsvorlesung meint34 , sondern, wie Rudolf BULTMANN richtig sah35 , zum Messias: Mit seiner Inthronisation wird der Endzeitkonig von Gott als Sohn adoptiert (vgl. Heb. i 3--9). Viele neutestamentliche Stellen sprechen ja auch von Christus, dem Gottessohn 36• Der Titel ,Gottessohn" geht auch nicht auf die Heidenchristen zurtick, so wiederum ScHREIBER37 , sondern auf die messianisch verstandenen Stellen 2 Sam. vii 13f und Ps. ii 7, ist also paHistinischer Provenienz38 • 2. Genausowenig haben erst die Heidenchristen Jesus als den crro'ti)p, als den Retter, bekannt39 • Schon im Alten Testament ist der konigliche Gesalbte ein Retter; Saul wird gesalbt, urn das Volk Israel aus der Hand seiner Feinde zu ,retten" (1 Sam. x 1 G, V; vgl. v 27). Nach dem sonst recht kargen Messiaszeugnis von Qumran steht der Davidsspross als Retter Israels auf- das wird als Kommentar zum Nathanorakel gesagt. Als hatte er diese Qumranexegese gelesen, erklart der lukanische Paulus da, wo er das Nathanorakel christologisch gebraucht, Gott habe Jesus als Israels Retter heraufgefiihrt (Apg. xiii 23); noch starker hebt das Simeon im Benedictus hervor (Lk. i 68--72). Und wenn Gabriel der Maria mit Nathans Spruch den Thronerben Davids und Gottessohn verheisst, so verktindet der zweite Himmelsbote der Weihnachtsgeschichte den Hirten auf Bethlehems Feld: ,Euch", d.h. den Vertretern Israels, ,ist heute der Retter geboren!" (ii 11). Dartiberhinaus spielt Lukas in dieser Geschichte 29
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
von der Geburt des endzeitliehen Davididen mehrfaeh auf den Kampf mit Goliath an, in dem der junge David ein Retter Israels war40 • Sehliesslieh muss man sieh fragen: Sollte denn wirklieh erst den Heiden der ,Retter" Christus bedeutsam geworden sein, wenn den Juden PaHistinas sehon der Name ,,Jesus", das heisst: ,Gott rettet", den Retter verhiess? Matthaus hat den Namen ,Jesus" eigens auf den Retter des Volkes gedeutet (i 21), und noeh in der Verspottung des Gekreuzigten klingt die messianisehe Retteraufgabe an: ,Andere hat er gerettet, sieh selbst kann er nieht retten41 • 1st er Christus, der Konig Israels, so steige er jetzt herab vom Kreuz!" (Mk. xiv 31f.). 3. Der ,Kneeht Gottes" (mx~ 9wu Apg. iii 13. 26; iv 27, 30; Did, 9, 2; 10, 2) ist wie die liturgisehe Formel des Spatjudentums ,David, Dein Kneeht" gebraueht42 und darum messianiseh gefarbt. Der ,Heilige Gottes" wird Weehselbegriff zum Christus und Gottessohn. Das bestatigt der Vergleieh des Petrusbekenntnisses, wie es Matthaus und Johannes formulieren: Hier ist Jesus der ,Heilige Gottes" (Joh. vi 69), dort der ,,Messias, der Sohn des Iebendigen Gottes" (Mt. xvi 16), ferner Markus, der die Damonen Jesus einmal als den ,Heiligen Gottes" (i 24) und dann als den ,Gottessohn" anrufen lasst (iii 11, v 7). 4. Sehliesslieh bezeiehnet der Titel ,Kyrios", Herr, sehon vom Sehriftbeweis her den erhohten Messias. Er stammt daher nieht erst, wie man heute zumeist meint, aus dem religiosen Spraehgebraueh des Hellenismus, sondern vom palastinisehen Christentum. Der auferstandene und damit zur Reehten Gottes erhohte Christus ist naeh dem viel zitierten Psalm ex der Herru. Petrus ruft an Pfingsten, naehdem er sieh als Zeugen der Auferstehung bekannt und eben diesen Psalm angefiihrt hat: ,So moge nun das Haus Israel mit Gewissheit erkennen, dass Gott ihn zum Herrn und zum Christus gemaeht hat, diesen Jesus, den ihr gekreuzigt habt!" (Apg. ii 36)44 • Und deshalb ist fiir Paulus, der den Erhohten verkiindigt, ,Jesus Christus der Herr". Nathanweissagung und Psalm ex sind in diesem Bekenntnis auf die kiirzeste Forme] gebraeht. Beide gehoren im messianisehen Sehriftbeweis eng zusammen. Der Prophet verheisst, Gott werde den Davidssohn als ewig thronenden Regenten einsetzen; David sehaut im Psalm ex, wie Er dieses Verspreehen einlost, Seinen Sohn als Herrn inthronisiert. Der Ruf der feiernden Christen: ,Marana tha!" ,Unser Herr, komm!" 45 fordert den erhohten Christus auf, herabzusteigen und seine Herrsehermaeht aueh auf der Erde durehzusetzen, wie das der ex Psalm kraftvoll besehreibt46 • Ich moehte einem Missverstandnis begegnen. Die ehristologisehen Titel stammen so, wie sie die Urgemeinde gebraueht, doch nieht einfaeh aus dem Alten Testament. Nur beim zentralen Wiirdepradikat ,Messias" trifft das zu. Aber weder im Alten Testament, noch in Qumran, sind der ,Retter", der ,Herr" und der ,Heilige Gottes" messianisehe Titel, strenggenommen aueh der ,Sohn Gottes" nieht. Diese Begriffe erseheinen 30
DIE FRAGE NACH DEM MESSIANISCHEN BEWUBTSEIN JESU
dort in messianisch interpretierbare Aussagen eingebunden; sie sind noch nicht abgelost, verselbsUindigt und zu Titeln erhoht. Aber sie liegen bereit; sie fallen dem, der am Baum des Schriftbeweises kraftig zu schiitteln beginnt, als reife Friichte in den Schoss. Das geschieht begreifticherweise da, wo nicht die Heilsgemeinde oder das Gottesreich, sondern der Messias, ein ganz bestimmter, schon gekommener Messias, Mitte der Predigt und dann auch des Credos wird; ferner da, wo sich zum Osterglauben eine echt jiidische47 Reftexion auf das Zeugnis der Schrift gesellt. Sie wird, wie Lukas zutreffend zeigt, nicht von der Heidenmission gefordert, sondern von der Predigt vor Juden, die man ja nur durch die Schrift iiberwinden kann (vgl. Apg. xviii 28). SelbstversUindlich werden diese Titel auf heidnischem Boden mit neuem Inhalt gefiillt, ja, der Kyrios und der Soter erhalten dort erst ihr volles Gewicht48 • (c) Auferstehung und Messiaswiirde
Dieser Schriftbeweis erlaubt nun auch eine erste Antwort auf die Hauptfrage, warum die Jiinger den Auferstandenen ausgerechnet als den Messias und Gottessohn bekannten. Gott hat das David gegebene Versprechen: ,Ich lasse dann deinen Samen aufstehen" (avacr'ti)crro 'tO cr7tEpjla crou 2 Sam. vii 12) mit der ,Auferstehung" (avacr'tamc;) des Davididen Jesus erfiillt49 • Er hat ihn an Ostern zum Gottessohn eingesetzt, ihn inthronisiert. Das endzeitliche Schopferhandeln Gottes ist besonders ein ,Aufstellen" oder ,Erwecken": Er stellt dabei die Heilsgestalten auf den Plan, er ,weckt" die Toten ,auf", indem Er sie auf ihre Fiisse stellt50• Dieser doppelte Gebrauch der Verben avtcr'tUVUl und £yEipElV findet sich in kerygmatischen Formeln der Apostelgeschichte51 • Wie Nathans Wort besUirkt auch der messianisch verstandene Psalm ex den Glauben, Gott babe den Auferstandenen zum Messias gemacht. Fiir das Verstandnis des Spatjudentums bedingt er die Erhohung, die Entriickung oder auch Auferweckung, des von Gott erwalhten Herrn. Wer zur Rechten des transzendent gewordenen Gottes thronen soH, kann nicht, wie im Alten Testament, ein irdischer, sondern nur ein zum Himmel erhohter Konig sein. Jesus wird daher im Himmel inthronisiert, wobei die Engel und Machte dem Herrscher huldigen (vgl. Phil. ii lOf); ehe die Gottesherrschaft auf Erden aufgerichtet wird, muss sie im Himmel durchgesetzt sein 52 • Freilich besitzen die beiden Schriftworte nur vergewissernde Kraft. Sie brachten das Messiasbekenntnis der Ostergemeinde nich hervor. Die Ursache dafiir liegt woanders: beim historischen Jesus selbst.
31
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
11. Das messianische Selbstbewusstsein Jesu und das Alte Testament a. Die Nathanweissagung
Die Frage nach Jesu Messiaswiirde fiihrt hinter die Auferstehung zuriick. Die Kreuzesinschrift ,Der Juden Konig" (Mk. xv 26 par) beweist, dass man mit dem Manne aus Nazareth einen Messiaspratendenten hingerichtet hat; dasselbe bestatigen die Verurteilung durch Pilatus und das Verhor vor dem Hohen Rat. Ja, N. A. DAHL meint, die Jiinger hatten Jesus deshalb an Ostern ,Christus" genannt, weil man ihn - freilich zu Unrecht - als Messias verurteilt hat; Kaiphas und Pilatus waren somit die indirekten Urheber der Christologie 53 ). Aber man braucht solch einen befremdlichen Schluss nicht zu ziehen. Vielmehr hat die Gemeinde Jesus darum als den Messias bekannt, weil er sich selbst als solchen gewusst und vor dem Hohen Rat bezeugt hat. Das zeigt das Verhor, wie es im altesten Bericht, bei Markus cp. xiv, dargestellt wird. Viele Zeugen treten auf, aber ihre Zeugnisse sind nicht gleich (V. 56) und lassen keine Verurteilung zu. Einige behaupten: ,Wir haben gehort, wie er sagte: Ich werde diesen mit Handen gemachten Tempel auftosen und nach drei Tagen einen andern, nicht mit Handen gemachten Tempel erbauen" (V. 57f). Auch ihr Zeugnis stimmt nicht iiberein (V. 59). Nun fordert der Hohepriester, der die Verhandlung leitet, Jesus auf, er solle sich zu den Anklagen aussern (V. 60). Und als dieser schweigt, stellt er die Frage: ,Bist du der Christus, der Sohn des Hochgelobten?" (V. 61f). Jesus antwortet: ,Ich bin es, und ihr werdet den Menschensohn sehen sitzend zur Rechten der Kraft und kommen mit den Wolken des Himmels" (V. 62). Dieses Bekenntnis wertet der Hohepriester als Gotteslasterung und erwirkt daraufhin das Todesurteil (V. 63f). Man versteht den Gang des Verhores nicht54 • ALBERT ScHWEITZER fragte: ,Woher weiss der Hohepriester, dass Jesus der Messias zu sein behauptet? ... Warum versucht man zuerst, Zeugen fiir ein Tempelwort, das als Gotteslasterung gedeutet werden konnte, aufzubringen, urn ihn auf dieses hin zu verurteilen?"55 Und wie kann der Messiasanspruch Gotteslasterung sein? Die Nathanweissagung zeigt, wie Markus seinen Bericht verstanden wissen will. Sie offenbart einrnal das ganze Schwergewicht der Frage des Hohenpriesters: Jeder, der fiir sich die Messiaswiirde beansprucht, hat zu bedenken, dass er dann nach der Schrift auch der Sohn des Hochgelobten, Gottes Sohn, sein muss. Nicht nur die eigene, sondern auch Gottes Ehre steht auf dem Spiel. Ein machtloser Mensch, der Messias zu sein behauptet, Iastert den allmachtigen Gott. Trotzdem sagt der gebundene Jesus: ,Ich bin's". Aber er fiigt hinzu: ,Ihr werdet den Menschensohn sitzen sehen zur Rechten der Kraft" 56). Er will damit sagen: Meine Ohnmacht ist kein Gegenbeweis, denn die von Gott 32
DIE FRAGE NACH DEM MESSIANISCHEN BEWUBTSEIN JESU
vollzogene Inthronisation steht noch aus. Aber sie kommt; Psalm ex wird an mir erfiillt. Zum andern lasst das Nathanorakel die Antwort auf ScHWEITZERS Fragen zu. Was hat ein Tempelwort im Prozess urn den Messiasanspruch zu tun? Nach 2 Sam. vii 13 soll der von Gott erweckte Davidsspross den Tempel erbauen; Sacharja hat diese Forderung ftir den Davididen Serubbabel wiederholt (vi 13). Wird das Nathanwort endzeitlich interpretiert, so ist die Errichtung des Gotteshauses messianische Pfticht. Umgekehrt erhebt jeder, der sich als Erbauer des Tempels ausgibt, indirekt den Anspruch, der Messias und Sohn Gottes zu sein. Jetzt wird klar, warum der Hohepriester, als das Zeugenverhor beim Tempelwort stockt und der Angeklagte kein Wort dazu sagt, direkt die Messiasfrage stellt und das Bekenntnis Jesu erzwingt. Den messianischen Rang des Tempelwortes enthiillt auch die Verspottung Jesu auf Golgatha. Von Markus wird sie in zwei parallelen Gangen erzahlt: eine erste Gruppe hohnt den hilftosen Tempelerbauer, eine zweite den ohnmachtigen Messias und Konig von Israel (Mk. xv, 29-32). Messiaswiirde und Tempelbau gehoren im Handeln Herodes des Grossen zusammen; das hat A. SCHALIT in seinem jiingst erschienenen Werk Hordos Hamiiliikh klar gezeigt57 • Urn Jesu Messiasanspruch ging es also bei diesem Verhor. Das trifft auch historisch gesehen zu, wie immer man iiber die Markusdarstellung urteilen mag58 • Und nahme man an, das Tempelwort habe darin keine Rolle gespielt - es besteht freilich kein Anlass dazu -: Dass Jesus es irgendwann gesprochen hat, steht fest 59 • An sechs Stellen wird es im Neuen Testament bezeugt60 , und wenn es dunkel erscheint, so spricht das eher fiir, als gegen die Authentitat. Demnach hatte sich Jesus als den Messias gewusst. Er hat sich beim Verhor often dazu bekannt, und Jesu gutes Bekenntnis (vgl. 1. Tim. vi 13) nahm der Osterglaube der Jiinger auf.
(b) Dos messianische Wirken Jesu Aber, so wird man fragen, kann denn dieses eine, zudem noch dunkle Wort die ganze Last des Beweises tragen? Wird denn die These vom Messiasbewusstsein nicht durch Wort und Werk des Jesus widerlegt? Mir scheint: Wie der Christus im Credo die Mitte halt, so stellt Jesu Messiasbewusstsein den Schliissel zum Verstandnis seines irdischen Wirkens da~ 1 • Jesus trat freilich nicht als der machtige Befreier Israels auf, den man im Messias erhoffte; eben darum blieb ihm die Anerkennung seines Volkes verwehrt. Aber er war ja noch nicht inthronisiert, sondern wartete auf seine Einsetzung zum Christus in Kraft. Bis dahin war seine Messiaswiirde verhiillt62 • Es gibt bei den Synoptikern strenggenommen keine unmessianische oder gar antimessianische Tradition. Das Messiasgeheimnis spiegelt eine historische Realitat; es erscheint mir absurd, es mit 33
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION J. ScHREIBER63 vom gnostischen Erlosermythus herzuleiten, und das ausgerechnet jetzt, wo diesem Koloss der Fels der fortgeschrittenen Forschung gegen die t6nernen Fiisse rollt64 • Ich greife zum Schluss nur noch die unbestrittenen Tatsachen aus Jesu Wirken heraus und zeige, wie sie in Deckung gebracht werden konnen mit dem Bild, das die eschatologisch gedeutete Schrift vom Davididen der Endzeit entwirft. Diese Tatsachen sind: 1. 2. 3.
Jesus rief zur Busse und predigte in Vollmacht das Gottesreich. Jesus war Exorzist. Jesus wanderte im Lande umber und zog schliesslich in Jerusalem ein.
1. Jesus rief zur Busse und predigte in Vollmacht das Gottesreich. Damit setzte er den Auftrag des hingerichteten Taufers fort. Dessen Wirken hatte nach Lukas den Sinn dem kommenden Herrn ein wohlgeriistetes Volk zu bereiten (i 18). Die Evangelisten nennen fiir Jesu Predigt ein ahnliches Ziel. Jesus weiss sich zu den irrenden Schafen Israels - und nur zu diesen!- gesandt (Mt. xv 24), er sammelt die Zerstreuten65 und nimmt sich ihrer erbarmungsvoll an (Mt. ix 35 f; Mk. vi 34). Das ist, von der Schrift her gesehen, messianischer Dienst. Die Konige waren 7tmjlEvEc; l..arov, nicht nur in Griechenland, sondern auch im alten Orient66 . David wurde von der Herde genommen, damit er Fiirst Israels sei; das hatte Nathan in dem bier so oft erwahnten Orakel gesagt (2 Sam. vii 8) 67 • Ezechiel und Jeremia pragten dieses Wort eschatologisch urn: Der Davidide der Endzeit wird der ideale Hirte Israels sein (Ez. xxxiv 23f, 25-31, Jer. xxiii). Nach den Psalmen Salomos sammelt der Gesalbte Gottes ein heiliges Volk (17, 28), er behiitet dann des Herren Weide treu und recht und lasst nicht zu, dass eines dieser Schafe auf der Weide krankle (17, 45) 68 • So ist es kein Wunder, dass Matthaus ein zusammenfassendes Zeugnis iiber Predigt und Heilungen Jesu mit den Worten beschliesst: Er fiihlte Erbarmen mit ihnen, denn sie waren abgequalt und erschopft wie Schafe, die ohne Hirten sind (ix 35f)69 • Auch Jesu Lehre steht nicht im Widerspruch zum messianischen Dienst. Gewiss hat in Qumran der endzeitliche Davidide nichts mit der Lehre zu tun, aber nur deshalb, weil sie dem Messias aus Aaron anvertraut ist. Grundsatzlich kommt man auch in der Endzeit ohne den Lehrer nicht aus. Woman von einem Priestermessias nichts weiss, muss der Davidide der Lehrer sein. So scharen sich nach dem Prophetentargum die Frommen urn den Messias, der dariiberhinaus viele dem Gesetz unterwirft 70• Und sollte ein Messias, der den ,Gottesbund" erneuern und die Konigsherrschaft iiber Sein Volk in Ewigkeit aufrichten wird, der die Armen in Gerechtigkeit regieren und die Demiitigen des Landes erziehen wird 71 , nicht ein Bild von der Gottesherrschaft entwerfen konnen, wie es Jesus in der Bergpredigt tut? Schliesslich: Wie konnte Jesus das Volk anders
34
DIE FRAGE NACH DEM MESSIANISCHEN BEWUBTSEIN JESU
sammeln und fiir Gott zubereiten, als eben durch den Bussruf und die Predigt vom Gottesreich? Hat nun der irdische Jesus mit der Sammlung des Volkes eine Gottesgemeinde, eine Kirche, gebaut? Blicken wir noch einmal kurz zurtick. Die Qumransekte verstand sich als das fiir Gottes Ankunft bereite Yolk, als wahre Bundesgemeinde inmitten eines treulosen Israel, und als geistliches, Gott wohlgefalliges Heiligtum im Gegensatz zum entweihten Tempel in Jerusalem. Dennoch verktindigte sie, der Messias aus David werde den Bund emeuem und die Konigsherrschaft tiber das Gottesvolk aufrichten (1QS b V, 21 ). Mit der Erhebung des endzeitlichen Davididen stellt Gott die gefallene Htitte Davids, Israel, wieder auf (4Qp Midr 2. Sam. 7, Z. 11-13) und schliesst dann mit Seinem Yolk einen Bund des Heils (Ez. xxxiv 25). Erst mit der grossen Geisttaufe der Endzeit werden die Erwahlten ganz rein und mit den Engeln zu einer neuen Gottesgemeinde geeint (1QS 4, 20-22). Ahnlich denkt Lukas. Er lasst die Jtinger den Auferstandenen fragen: ,Stellst du jetzt fiir Israel dein Reich wieder her?" (Apg. i 6), wahrend dieser als Antwort auf den baldigen Geistempfang und damit auf die Grtindung der Gemeinde verweist (V. 8). Von solchen Erwartungen her fallt auch auf die Stellung Jesu zur Kirche neues Licht. Als der endzeitliche Davidide sammelt er das Gottesvolk und beruft mit den Zwolfen die Ftihrer der Stamme (Mt. xix 28; Lk. xxii 29f) 72 • Beim Einbruch der Gottesherrschaft wird er die Kirche als die Versammlung aller Erwahlten in Herrlichkeit auferbauen 73 • Gerade das meint wohl auch das Tempelwort in seinem ursprtinglichen Sinn. Der Tempel, den Jesus erbauen will, ist, wie Markus richtig interpretiert, nicht mit Handen gemacht; er stellt das Heiligtum des neuen Israel dar. Das Tempelwort gehort somit zu Jesu bertihmtem Spruch, er werde auf dem Felsen Petrus seine Gemeinde erbauen (Mt. xvi 18). Ftir diese Verbindung liefert das Nathanorakel den erwtinschten Beweis. Warum erwidert Jesus Petri Messiasbekenntnis mit der Anktindigung des Gemeindebaus? Weil er als der Messias einen Tempel zu bauen hat74 • 2. Der irdische Jesus tat Heilungswunder, er trieb vor allem Damonen aus. Wieder konnte man meinen, der Messias aus David babe nichts mit solchen Taten zu tun. Aber ist es Zufall, wenn nach den Evangelien die Damonen Jesus beschworend ,Gottessohn" nennen 7S, die Heilung Suchenden ihn als ,Davidssohn" anftehen76 , und die Frage des Taufers, ob Jesus der erwartete Heilbringer sei, mit dem Hinweis auf die vollbrachten Heilungswunder beantwortet wird? (Mt. xi 2-5; vgl. Jes. xxix 18f, xxxv 5f). In der Zeit Jesu gilt eben der Messias als der Heiland schlechthin, dessen rettende Kraft sich auch auf die leibliche Not erstreckt77• Und weil er der mit Gottes Geist und Kraft Gesalbte ist, hat er tiber die unreinen Geister Macht78 • Das Alte Testament kennt nur einen, der einen bosen Geist vertrieb, namlich David; und davon berichtet es gleich, nachdem dieser gesalbt und Gottes Geist auf ihn gekommen war (1 Sa. xvi 13-23). 35
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
3. Jesus wanderte, ohne Ruhe zu finden, in seiner Heimat umber, ja, er war sogar gezwungen, ausser Landes, zu den Heiden zu gehen (Mk. viii 27). Gerade so teilt er das Schicksal Davids, der, obgleich zum Konig gesalbt, vor dem Regenten des Landes wich und sich in steter Gefahr befand79• Von dieser Beziehung her wird das dunkle Wort von ,Herodes dem Fuchs" erhellt (Lk. xiii 31-33). Es fallt gerade, als man zu Jesus sagt: ,Geh von bier weg und zieh weiter! Denn Herodes will dich tOten!" Meines Erachtens ist ein Spiel mit den Worten .,11''11 ,Fuchs" und .,'\KW ' ,Saul" intendiert: es macht Herodes zum ,Saul", zum verworfenen Ftirsten, der den erwahlten, aber noch nicht eingesetzten Gesalbten Gottes verfolgt. Schliesslich zog Jesus in Jerusalem ein. Was hat er gerade dort zu tun? Warum verktindet er seinen Entschluss, nachdem ihn Petrus als Messias bekannt hat (Mk. viii 29, 31; Mt. xvi 16, 21)? Weil das Heil aus Zion kommt (Ps. xiv 7, Iiii 7), weil der Messias nur in Jerusalem, der Davidsstadt, inthronisiert werden kann80• Auf dem Zion erhebt sich der messianische Retter Israels, sagt der eingangs erwiihnte Kommentar von Qumran; dahinter steht wohl Ps. ii 6; ,Habe Ich doch meinen Konig eingesetzt auf Zion, meinem heiligen Berg!" und Ps. ex 2: ,Jahwe streckt dein machtiges Szepter in Zion aus!" Dementsprechend handeln die Messiaspratendenten, von denen Josephus erzahlt: Der Prophet aus Agypten will vom Olberg her die Stadt tiberrumpeln (bell. 2, 261-263), der Zelot Menachem zieht wie ein Konig in Jerusalem ein (bell. 2, 433 ff); spater tun das Simon bar Giora, der vom Volk als Retter umjubelt wird (bell. 4, 575), und schliesslich Bar Kosiba, der gerade jetzt, nach neuen Handschriftenfunden, deutlicher in das Licht der Geschichte tritt. Der Messias, die heilige Stadt mit dem Tempel, und das heilige Volk gehoren zusammen; freilich tritt ihre Einheit, wahre Gestalt und Bestimmung erst in der Endzeit alien sichtbar hervor81• Eines fiillt noch ins Gewicht: Die Abkunft Jesu von Davids Geschlecht. Sie ist gut bezeugt82; auch die Frage nach dem Davidssohn sohn (Mk. xii 35-37 par) spricht, wie wir sahen, nicht gegen sie. Glaubte Jesus, er sei Davidide, so liegt es nahe, dass seine Vollmacht im Messiasbewusstsein Ausdruck fand; war er vom Geist inspiriert, so konnte er der (Geist-) Gesalbte sein83 • Freilich sprach er das nicht offentlich aus. Es ist naiv, damit zu rechnen, in der Logienquelle mlisste dann ein Messiastitel enthalten sein. Die Hinrichtung des Taufers war ein deutliches Wamsignal. Ausserdem bezeugt der Messias nicht sich selbst, sondem wartet, bis ihn Gott der Welt offenbart. Jesus sprach von sich als dem Menschensohn, und zwar in der dritten Person. Das bar nascha ist im Aramaischen der Zeit Jesu nicht der gewohnliche Ausdruck flir ,Mensch". Das feierliche Wort umschreibt im Munde Jesu den von Gott Erwahlten; es wird zur Chiffre, die den Messiasanspruch verdeckt, aber Sendung und Vollmacht durchschimmem
.
36
DIE FRAGE NACH DEM MESSIANISCHEN BEWUBTSEIN JESU
Hissts". Auch die Art, wie Jesus von Gott als ,Meinem Vater" spricht, konnte ein indirekter Hinweis auf seine messianische Wtirde sein. (c) Der Messias und das Leiden Es bleibt eine schwierige Frage: Wie passt zum Messiasbewusstsein die Bereitschaft, Leiden und Tod zu erdulden? Das Alte Testament fordert sie nicht. Im Nathanorakel steht zwar, Gott konne den als Sohn angenommenen Davididen ziichtigen, aber nur dann, wenn dieser sich verfehlt (2 Sam. vii 14). Wichtigen Aufschluss gibt das DaseinsversUindnis des Gerechten in der spatjtidischen Zeit. Er ist davon iiberzeugt, der Herrlichkeit in der Gottesherrschaft gehe notwendig eine Zeit der Drangsal vorauf: das ewig schemende Licht der Wahrheit breche durch das Dunkel einer in lrrtum und Liige gefangenen Welt, und die Geburt der neuen Ara vollziehe sich in furchtbaren Wehen85 • Die Gegenwart steht im Zeichen der Teufelsherrschaft86. Fiir den Frommen gilt es darum, leidend auszuhalten bis zur grossen Wende; fest zu bleiben im Glauben, da man durch viel Drangsal in das Reich Gottes eingehen muss (vgl. Apg. xiv 22). Der Beter in den Lobliedem von Qumran, der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit, spricht immer wieder von Verfolgung, Anfechtung und Lebensgefahr'7 und empfindet sie als Angriff des Teufels88 , als Drohung des Todes89• Die von ihm begriindete Gemeinde der Erwahlten teilt sein Schicksal. Dabei wird in der Darstellung ihrer gegenwartigen eschatologisch bedingten Drangsal gelegentlich an das Leiden des jesajanischen Gottesknechts, ja an messianische Stellen des Alten Testaments erinnert. Die Gemeinde ist nach Loblied 8 der fest verwurzelte, jetzt noch verborgene ,Schoss" (.,~ vgl. Jes. xi 1)90 fUr die immerwahrende, endzeitliche Pftanzung (Z. 6). Er befindet sich in dtirrem Land (Z. 4 vgl. Jes. liii 2), unbeachtet, ja misshandelt: Hohe Baume iiberragen ihn und drohen ihn fast zu ersticken (Z. 6, 9), die Tiere des Waldes weiden ihn ab; sein Wurzelstock (»! vgl. Jes. xi 1) ist ein Trampelplatz fiir alle, die voriibergehen; sein Gezweig dient alien Vogeln (Z. 8f). Die Schiiler des Lehrers werden sogar dem wunderbaren messianischen Kind von Jes. ix 5 verglichen; denn in den schrecklichen Wehen der letzten Zeit bringt sie ihr Meister zur Welt91 • Vom Hintergrund solcher Aussagen her versteht man das standhaft erduldete Martyrium, das die Essener durch die Romer erlitten. Wer Gottes Bund und Gebot in den Anfechtungen der Endzeit treu bewahren wollte, musste dazu bereit sein, sein Leben herzugeben, urn ein besseres zu empfangen (Jos. bell. 2, 152f)92 • Das wussten auch die Zeloten: selbst ihr Todfeind Josephus berichtet manches Beispiel zelotischer Todesverachtung und heroisch ertragenen Martyriums93 • Dieses Leiden und Sterben erhalt vom Eschaton her seinen Sinn. Den Blutzeugen erwartet grosse Gliickseligkeit (Bell. 1, 650-653), sein Tod schreit nach Gottes Rache an den Frevlem; vielleicht 37
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
sollte er, da diese Rache am umfassendsten im Endgericht vollzogen wiirde, den Anbruch der Gottesherrschaft herbeizwingen 94 • Schliesslich erhoffte man von solchem Leiden eine siihnende Wirkung zugunsten des ganzen Yolkes 95 • Das Martyrium ist ein Wesensmerkmal der jiidischen Religion iiberhaupt96. Mit dem Psalmwort: ,Urn Deinetwillen werden wir Uiglich getOtet, werden wir wie Schlachtschafe geachtet" (Ps. xliv 23, vgl. Ram. viii 36), beschrieb der Gerechte der spatjiidischromischen Zeit sein Dasein schlechthin (b Git 57b). Rabbinische Lehrer wie Elieser ben Simon und Jehuda Hanasi riefen alle Ziichtigungen Israels zu sich herab, heiligten sich dadurch, dass sie Krankheit und Schmerz stellvertretend fiir ihr Yolk ertrugen (Qoh. R. 11, 2; b Kil. 32b). Man beobachtet im neutestamentlichen Judentum ein starkes Interesse fiir die Sterbestunde der Gerechten, ihren Abschied von der Welt (Adam, Henoch, die Zwolf Patriarchen, Mose, Elia). Die Prophetenbiicher des Alten Testaments, die in mancher Hinsicht der synoptischen Uberlieferung gleichen, lassen fiir den spatjiidischen Frommen eines vermissen: den Tod des Propheten. In der Ascensio Jesajae und der Yita Prophetarum wird diesem Bediirfnis Rechnung getragen und ein Martyrertod mancher Propheten erzahlt. Schon von daher ware es begreiflich, dass auch Jesus, der Heilige Gottes, die Last der letzten Zeit auf sich geladen hatte, dass er, der von Gott Erwahlte, wie der auserwahlte Gottesknecht des zweiten Jesaja, durch Leiden und Tod zur Yollkommenheit zu gehen bereit gewesen ware. Gefangenschaft und Tod Johannes des Taufers konnten zeigen, dass das Zeugnis vom nahen Gottesreich nicht nur durch das Wort, sondem auch mit dem Opfer des Lebens verkiindigt werden musste. Jesu Wort vom Kreuztragen (Mk. viii 34 par; Mt. x 38) hat altertiimlichen Klang und erinnert an die Martyriumsbereitschaft der Zeloten: Wer sich zu ihnen hielt, musste sich dazu anschicken, sein Kreuz zu tragen97 • David war ein leidender Regent 98 • R. Jonathan (urn 140 n. Chr.) nannte neben Mose den Konig David als Beispiel des Gerechten, der ftir sein Yolk siihnend einzutreten bereit ist. Er verwies dabei auf 2 Sam. xxiv 17, wo der Konig bittet, die Strafe auf ihn zu legen, aber die ,Schafe", seine Untertanen, zu schonen (Mekh. Ex. 12, 1 [2a]). Auch dem Davididen der Endzeit bleiben Leiden und Tod nicht immer erspart. Der stark messianisch gefarbte Segen Jakobs ftir Juda in Jub. 31, 20 endet mit der Drohung: ,Alle, die dich hassen, qualen und verfluchen, sollen von der Erde vertilgt und vemichtet werden". Und im Testament Ruben heisst es vom Samen Judas, den Gott zum Yolkerherrscher auserwahlt hat: ,Fallt nieder vor seinem Samen, denn euretwegen wird er in sichtbaren und unsichtbaren Kriegen sterben und ftir immer Konig sein!" (7, 11f). In einem leider unvollstandigen Satz der Damaskusschrift heisst es: , ... [bis aufsteht der Messi)as von Aaron und Israel, und er wird ihre Siinde siihnen" (CD 14, 19). 1st der Messias Subjekt dieser Aussage 99, so ware 38
DIE FRAGE NACH DEM MESSIANISCHEN BEWUBTSEIN JESU
damit das stindentilgende, stihneschaffende Amt des Messias in einem vorchristlichen Text bezeugt, vielleicht beeinflusst vom Bild des leidenden Gottesknechts (vgl. Jes. liii 4-6, 12). Yor allem wird im Targum, das die Messiaserwartung der neutestamentlichen Zeit oft besser bewahrt hat als etwa Talmud und Midrasch, das Schicksal des Messias mit Leiden und Tod verkntipft. Das Prophetentargum legt das Lied vom Gottesknecht Jes. lii 13-liii 12 messianisch aus. Es verteilt zwar das Leiden auf Israel und die Heiden, aber sollte diese gektinstelte Exegese urspriinglich sein? J. JEREMIAS vermutet, sie sei antichristlich gefarbtHlO. Wahrscheinlich hatte man vorher den Messias durch Leiden und Tod zum rechtfertigenden Siege gelangen lassen, wie das der zweite Jesaja vom Gottesknecht verhiess. Freilich entsprach das nicht der offiziellen Messiaserwartung. Die Rabbinen reden meist vom triumphierenden Messias, und das Neue Testament bezeugt selbst, dass man beim Messias nicht an Leiden und Tod zu denken gewohnt war101 • Der Grund daftir ist naheliegend: Das unterdrtickte Yolk sehnte sich nach dem erlosenden, glanzvollen Regiment des inthronisierten Herrschers. Wo man aber von einem verborgenen, noch nicht eingesetzten und der Welt offenbarten Messias sprach, legte man ihm auch das Leiden aufl 02 • Wie immer ein Erloser Israels sich seinen Weg vorstellen mochte, der Gang der Geschichte zwang ihn unter das Leidensjoch. Das messianische Auftreten eines Theudas, Menahem und Bar Kosiba endete mit dem gewaltsamen Tod. So hat auch das messianische Handeln - der Einzug in Jerusalem, die Tempelreinigung- Jesus ans Kreuz gebracht. Die ftihrenden Manner Israels konnten zudem keinen Einklang, sondem nur den Konflikt zwischen dem Wort der Schrift und Jesu nunmehr enthtilltem Messiasanspruch sehen. Denn selbst in Jerusalem hat sich nach ihrer Auffassung Gott nicht zu Jesus bekannt; der Anbruch der grossen Wende, das Zeichen der Freiheit, blieb aus. Der falsche, machtlose Messias - nicht etwa der haretische Lehrer! - musste ans Kreuz. Er lasterte Gott und wurde ausserdem zur Gefahr fOr das von den Romem beherrschte Yolk.
Notes 1 ZNW19(1919/20),S.165-174. 2 W. WREDE, Das Messiasgeheimnis in den Evangelien, 1901. 3 A.a.O., S. 166f. 4 Zum Messiasgeheimnis gehort nach WREDE, a.a.O., S. 81-114, auch noch das Unverstiindnis der Jtinger, jedoch ist dieser Zug nicht spezifisch markinisch und im Vierten Evangelium noch mehr betont. 5 A.a.O., S. 166. Vgl. dazu: Die Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition, 3. Aufl. 1957, S. 314. Dort wird der Osterglaube bezeichnet als Gewissheit, dass Jesus auferstanden und als Auferstandener der kommende Messias sei. 6 Vgl. seinen Beitrag: ,Das Verhiiltnis des urchristlichen Christuskerygmas zum historischen Jesus" in: Der historische Jesus und der kerygmatische Christus, Berlin 1%0, S. 233-235.
39
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
7 So E. KAsEMANN, ,Das Problem des historischen Jesus", ZThK 51 (1954), S. 146-148. 8 So G. BORNKAMM, Jesus von Nazareth, 1956, S. 54f. Allerdings wird das Urteil von einer ,unmessianischen Geschichte Jesu" durch das von einer ,Bewegung zerbrochener Messiaserwartungen" ersetzt (S. 158). 9 S. H. CONZELMANN, ,Zur Methode der Leben-Jesu-Forschung", Beiheft 1 zur ZThK 56 (1959), S. 12. 10 G. BORNKAMM, a.a.O., S. 158. 11 Geschichte der Leben-Jesu-Forschung, 5. Auft. 1933, S. 383f. 12 Der gekreuzigte Messias, in: Der historische Jesus und der kerygmatische Christus, 1960, S. 149-169,158. 13 A.a.O., S. 166. 14 Dass man Messias und apokalyptischen Menschensohn fiir die Zeit Jesu nicht ohne weiteres gleichsetzen darf, lehrt die Eschatologie von Qumran. Die Sekte kannte offensichtlich die Bilderreden des Ath. Henoch nicht, wahrend die 4 anderen Teile dieses Sammelwerkes durch Fragmente aus der Hohle 4 belegt sind (vgl. dazu J. T. MILIK, Dix ans de decouvertes dans le Desert de Juda, 1957, S. 30f). Freilich erscheint der von Milik gezogene Schluss, die Bilderreden miissten deshalb eine judenchristliche Schrift aus dem 2. nachchristlichen Jahrhundert sein, zu gewagt. 15 Jesus, Gestalt und Geschichte, 1957, S. 121. 16 A.a.O., S. 122-124. 17 A.a.O., S.124-125. 18 Die Christologie des Neuen Testaments, 1957, S. 113. 19 A.a.O., S. 161f. 20 R. Orro (Reich Gottes und Menschensohn, 1934, S. 203ff) hat diese Auffassung besonders leidenschaftlich vertreten und dabei betont, der jiidischen Messiaserwartung gegeniiber stelle die Verbindung von Menschensohn und Gottesknecht die ,neue Didache" Jesu dar. Dabei beruft er sich vor allem auf Mk. ix 12 (sicher ein ,echtes Urwort Jesu!") und auf Mk. x 45 (a.a.O., 208f). 21 Sie batten den gekreuzigten und auferstandenen Herrn vor den Juden vie! leichter als den leidenden, sterbenden und von Gott wieder zum Leben erweckten Gottesknecht verkiindigen und sich dabei auf Jes. 53 berufen konnen. 22 Man darf freilich von der Messiaserwartung der Qumrangemeinde fiir die Frage nach dem messianischen Bewusstsein Jesu nicht allzuviel Aufschluss erwarten. Die messianischen Aussagen in den Qumranschriften sind meist kurz und nicht zahlreich; in den Hauptschriften fehlen sie entweder ganz oder stehen am Rand. Gott selbst sitzt im Regiment und erscheint bald zum Gericht; der Messias ist nur ein Werkzeug in Seiner Hand. Zudem muss ja der davidische Messias aus Israel seine Wtirde mit einem Messias aus Aaron teilen, der als endzeitlicher Hoherpriester noch vor dem Laienmessias rangiert. Und doch ist der Messias aus Israel in zweifacher Hinsicht bedeutender als sein klerikaler Kollege; 1. Als grosser Kriegsheld fiihrt er den Umschwung der Dinge herbei; sein Auftritt gibt das Signal zum Anbruch der neuen Zeit. 2. Nur den davidischen Messias kiinden Gesetz und Propheten an, wahrend fiir den Messias aus Aaron das klare Schriftzeugnis fehlt. Meist ist es ein Parallelismus membrorum, der den Exegeten der Sekte zu ihrem Doppelmessias und speziell dem Messias aus Aaraon zu einem nicht minder fragwiirdigen Dasein verhilft, wie es etwa bei Matthaus das Fiillen der Eselin besitzt (Mt. xxi 2; vgl. die Pescharim zu Gen. xlix 10 und 2 Sam. vii aus der Hohle 40). 23 Auf ihn weist der Juda-Spruch im Jakobs-Segen (Gen. xlix 10), den man in
40
DIE FRAGE NACH DEM MESSIANISCHEN BEWUBTSEIN JESU
24
25 26
27
Qumran so erkliirt: Der ,Herrscherstab", der nicht von Juda weichen wird, versinnbildlicht den ,Bund des Konigtums", den Gott einst rnit David schloss und der nun durch den Davidsspross, den Gesalbten der Gerechtigkeit, erne ut in Kraft gestezt wird (40 Pescher zu Gen. xlix 10). Der Messias ist nach Nu. xxiv 17 das ,Szepter", das aus Israel aufsteigt und die Feinde zerschmettert (CD 7, 19-21); nach Jes. xi 4 verheert er die Erde rnit seinem Stab und schliigt die Volker mit der Kraft seines Mundes. Er ist nach diesem Prophetenwort auch rnit den Gaben des Gottesgeistes erfilllt und darum der ideale Regent. Die Volker dienen ihrn als Knechte, und ihre Herrscher fallen vor ihm nieder. Sein Regiment offenbart das Wesen der Gottesherrschaft: Er richtet die Armen in Gerechtigkeit und erzieht in Geradheit die Demiitigen des Landes, sodass sie unstraflich wandeln vor Gott (1QSb V, 20ff). Dagegen fehlen alle uns aus der Weihnachtsgeschichte vertrauten Schriftworte, die auf die Geburt des Messias weisen, so Micha v 1f (vgl. Mt. ii 6; Job. vii 42) und Jes. vii 14 (Mt. i 22f; Lk. i 31);ja, Jes. ix 5, die Stelle vom neugeborenen, wunderbaren Kind, wird in 1QH 3, 10 kollektiv interpretiert und als geistliche Geburt der Gemeinde erkliirt. Man sagt wohl, der Messias werde von Gott gezeugt und denkt dabei an Ps. ii 7, versteht aber diese Zeugung sicherlich in alttestamentlichem Sinne als Salbung und Adoption (1QS a 2, 11; vgl. dazu 0. MICHEL-0. BETZ: ,Von Gott gezeugt" in: Festschrift fUr J. Jeremias, BZNW 26 [1960] s. 1-23. Der Nathanspruch ist eine besonders bedeutsame Stelle, in ,h6chstem Masse traditions-schopferisch" und in der Folgezeit immer neu interpretiert und aktualisiert; in ihm ,liegt der geschichtliche Ursprung und die Legitimation auch aller messianischer Erwartungen" (G. VON RAn, Theologie des A/ten Testaments Bd. I, 1957, S. 309). Zur Analyse von 2 Sam. vii vgl. neuerdings E. KUTZSCH, ,Die Dynastie von Gottes Gnaden", ZThK 58 (1961), S. 137-153 und besonders S. HERRMANN, ,Die Konigsnovelle in Agypten und in Israel", Festschrift f A. Aft S. 33--44. Z. 4-9 nach 2 Sam. vii 10; Ex. xv 17f; Dt. xxiii 3. Diese Auslegung wurde veroffentlicht von J. M. ALLEGRO, Fragments of a Qumran Scroll of Eschatological Midrasim", JBL 77 (1958), S. 350-354. Die kollektive Deutung der Nathanweissagung ist insofem nicht ganz unberechtigt, als die in den Vss. 22-24 zum Ausdruck kommende Oberlieferung ,die grosse Zusage von dem Triiger der Krone auf das Ganze des Gottesvolkes iibertragen" hat (G. VON RAD, a. a. 0., S. 308). Scheinbar sieht man bier das nationalistisch gefiirbte Messiasbild, wie es noch grosser und strahlender etwa in den Psalmen Salomos steht (17 und 18). Der Schein triigt. Gewiss erwartet man auch in Qumran den Messias Judaeorum. Aber das Israel, das mit ihm an die Spitze aller Nationen tritt, ist keine politische oder vOlkische, sondem eine geistliche Grosse; es stellt das Israel der Erwiihlten dar. Seine Manner leben jetzt noch als kleine heilige Schar inrnitten einer jiidischen massa perditionis, die das Schwert des Messias genau so trifft wie die widerspenstigen Heiden. Dieser kleinen Herde gehort die Verheissung. Der Messias fiihrt als Gottes Werkzeug diese Verheissung zum Ziel. Er richtet fur immer die Konigsherrschaft iiber das Gottesvolk auf und emeuert dabei den Bund der ,Einung"; darum gilt er als ,der Ftirst der Gemeinde" (1QS b 5, 20; CD 7. 20). Somit werden beim Anbruch der Endzeit zwei Bundesschliisse emeuert: der Bund, den Gott einst mit David schloss (vgl. dazu den neu veroffentlichten Text 4 Q BT IV, 4-8, wo nach der Erwahlung Israels und Judas der mit David geschlossene Bund erwahnt wird), und der Bund mit dem Gottesvolk. Auf dem letzteren liegt das Schwergewicht.
41
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
28 Die Zuriickhaltung der Sekte gegeniiber dem Kindschaftsverhaltnis ist auffallend. Denn das entscheidende Neue in diesem von Jahwe gesetzten Rechtsverhaltnis war ohne Frage die Adoption des Tragers der Krone an Sohnesstatt (G. VON RAD, a.a.O., S. 309 vgl. S. 318). 29 Vgl. dazu den messianischen Ps. Salomos xvii 5 ,Du, Herr, erwahltest David zum Konig iiber Israel, schwurst seines Stammes wegen ewig ihm, nie fande sein Konigsreich vor Dir ein Ende"; vgl. Ps. cxxxii 11. In Ps. cxxxii ist wie in Ps. lxxxix die Nathanweissagung ausgewertet. Auch das die Makkabaer verherrlichende 1 Makkabaerbuch erwahnt diese Tradition; vgl. 1 Makk. ii 57 mit 2 Sam. vii 11ff. In spaterer Zeit hat man allerdings 2 Sam. vii nicht mehr messianisch ausgelegt, sondem auf Salomo bezogen (BILL. Bd. Ill, S. 677; vgl. Pesiqta Rabbati z. St.). 30 Vgl. 1 Sam. x 1. Nach der Salbung sagt Samuel zu Saul: ,Du sollst herrschen iiber das Volk des Herrn, und du sollst es erretten aus der Hand seiner Feinde ringsum". (Nach Septuaginta und Vulgata so zu erganzen). Nach 1 Sam. xi 6 kommt der Geist Gottes iiber Saul, der dann zum heiligen Krieg gegen die Ammoniter aufruft. Mit der Salbung zum Konig empfangt er den Geist des Herrn (1 Sam. xvi 13), im folgenden Kapitel wird sein Sieg iiber Goliath berichtet. 31 T. Juda 24, 2; T. Levi 18, 7. 32 Mk. xii 35-37; Mt. xxii 41-45; Lk. xx 41-44. 33 Die Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition, 1957, S. 144-146; Theologie des Neuen Testaments, Bd. I, 1948, S. 28f. 34 ,Die Christologie des Markusevangeliums", ZThK 58 (1961), S. 163, Anm. 4: ,Der Menschensohn Titel kommt dem Titel ,Sohn Gottes' am nachsten." 35 Theologie des Neuen Testaments, 1948, S. 50f. 36 Mt. xvi 16; Mk. xiv 61 par; Job. xi 27 vgl. xx 31; 2 Kor. i 19; 1 Job. i 3, iii 23, v 20; 2 Job. iii. 37 A.a.O., S. 180. 38 ,Even in Judaism, the Messiah is the ,Son of God' (Ps. ii 7) to a greater extent than the rest of the children of Israel, although they too are ,the children of the Lord, their God'" (Dt. xiv 1; J. KLAUSNER, From Jesus to Paul, 1943, S. 478). 39 Gegen U. WILCKENS, Die Reden in der Apostelgeschichte, 1960, S. 176 und andere (siehe dort). 40 Vgl. dazu meinen Aufsatz: ,Donnersohne, Menschenfischer und der davidische Messias", Rev. de Qumran 3. (1%1) S. 41-70, besonders S. 65f. R. BuLTMANN (Die Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition, 3. Aufi. 1957, S. 325) meint, die Geburtsgeschichte Lk. ii 1-20 miisse im hellenistischen Christentum entstanden sein, da die Termini E"ixxneA.i~Ea9at (V. 10) und aoo'tip (V. 11) hellenistisch seien. Aber auch der Beter in den Hodajoth von Qumran weiss davon, dass den Armen die ,Frohbotschaft" vom Erbarmen Gottes verkiindigt wird (18, 14; vgl. Lk. iv 18 nach Jes. lxi If), und der ,Retter" wird in Lk. ii vom Alten Testament her beleuchtet. Auch der Messias als Friedensbringer (Lk. ii 14) ist schon ein alttestamentlicher Gedanke (vgl. Jes ix 5f und den Targum dazu, desgleichen die Wiedergabe der Nathanweissagung in I Chron xxii 9). Schliesslich haben die ,Menschen des (gottlichen) Wohlgefallens" (Lk. ii 14) von den Ui:ll"1'~ der Qumrantexte her eine iiberraschende Erklarung gefunden. · · 41 Natiirlich ist diese Stelle auch von Ps. xxii (xxi) 9 her beeinftusst; aber erst in Mt. xxvii 43 tritt das deutlich hervor. 42 J. JEREMIAS, ,1tal.c;" ThWBNT, Bd. V, S. 698f.
42
DIE FRAGE NACH DEM MESSIANISCHEN BEWUBTSEIN JESU
43 Der bekennende Ruf Ki>pw<; 'ITJO"O'\x; (1 Kor. x.ii 3) grenzt nicht etwa Jesus von anderen ,Herren" ab (so z.B. S. ScHULZ, ,Markus und das Alte Testament", ZThK 58, 1961, S. 185 im Gefolge BoussETS und BULTMANNS). Vielmehr bestiitigt die Gemeinde die jubelnde Huldigung der iibermenschlichen Miichte, den Zuruf der Engel zum inthronisierten Herm, mit diesem Bekenntnis, das dem ,Jahwe ist Konig geworden!" in den alttestamentlichen Thronbesteigungspsalmen entspricht. 44 Es ist irrig, diese Stelle als Hinweis auf eine alte, ,adoptianische" Christologie zu bewerten, nach der Jesus erst an Ostem der Christus wurde, wahrend er vorher kein Messias war (so zuletzt JoHN A. T. ROBINSON, Twelve New Testament Studies, 1%2, S. 142, 146). Vielmehr erfolgt an Ostem die Inthronisation des Davididen, die Einsetzung in seine konigliche Wiirde, der Antritt seiner Herrschaft im Himmel. 45 1 Kor. xvi 22, Apk. xxii 20. 46 Ps. ex 1--4. Auch weil der jiidische Messias der Konig ist, konnte er in Analogie zum romischen Kaiser x:'i>pwc; =dominus genannt werden (J. KLAUSNER, a.a.O., S. 484). 47 Der Schriftbeweis in Apg. ii und x.iii verrat nichts von der Allegorese oder Typologie, wie sie in der hellenistischen Gemeinde iiblich waren (zum hellenistischen Schriftbeweis vgl. R. BULTMANN, Theologie des Neuen Testaments, 1948, S. 115f). Ausserdem war den Heidenchristen an einem messianischen Jesus nichts gelegen. Die Tatsache, dass der Schriftbeweis in Apg. ii nach der Septuaginta gefiihrt wird, ist kein Gegenargument (gegen E. HAENCHEN, ,Die Apostelgeschichte", Meyer-Kommentar, 1956, S. 152). 48 Vgl. R. BULTMANN, a.a.O., S. 120-132. Abwegig ist jedoch die Behauptung, die kerygmatische Tradition des Heidenchristentums, wie sie etwa im Christuslied Phi!. ii 6-11 erscheinen soli, komme ohne die urgemeindliche Jesustradition und ohne das Alte Testament aus (so S. ScHULZ, a.a.O., S. 186). Solch ein Urteil entspringt der mangelnden Kenntnis des Spatjudentums, die im SCHULZ'schen Aufsatz auch sonst zutage tritt. Ich verweise z.B. auf die Behauptung, in A both I, I sei von den Prop he ten nicht die Rede (S. 191 ). Die Propheten sind auch in T Yadaim 2, 6 (68, 3, 24) das mittlere Glied zwischen Mose und Rabbinen. 49 In der Apostelgeschichte erscheint die alte kerygmatische Forme! ov 6 9£0<; ixvEO"'tTJO"EV (ixvfryElpEv): Apg. ii 24, 32, iii 15, iv 10, v 30, x 40, xiii 30, 33f, xvii 31; vgl. E. HAENCHEN, ,Die Apostelgeschichte", Meyer-Kommentar, 1956, S. 148. 50 Zum ,,Aufstellen" der messianischen Heilsgestalten vgl. T. Simeon 7, 1f (Hoherpriester aus Levi und Endzeitkonig aus Juda); nach T. Levi 18, 21 ,stellt" Gott den endzeitlichen Priester ,auf', nach T. Juda 24, 1 ,geht" der Stem aus Jakob in Frieden ,auf', ,steht" ein Mensch aus seinem Samen ,auf' (gemeint ist der davidische Messias); hinter diesen Aussagen steht der messianisch verstandene Bileamsspruch Nu. xxiv 17. Vgl. femer T. Dan 5, 10; T. Joseph 19, 11. Nach Dt. xviii 15, 19 wird Gott den (endzeitlich gedachten) Propheten wie Mose ,aufstehen lassen" (vgl. Testimonia von Qumran aus 40; Apg. iii 22, vii 37); nach Dan. xii 1 ,steht" in der Endzeit Michael ,auf'. Eine besonders wichtige Rolle spielen die Verben D~ bzw ,~~ (Qal und Hiph.) in Qumran. lch gebe nur wenige Beispiele: Nach CD 5, 17f ,standen" Mose und Aaron durch den Lichtfilrsten ,auf', wahrend Belial den Jannes und dessen Bruder ,aufstehen liess". In der Endzeit ,steht, der Messias aus David ,auf' (CD 7, 20f), ebenso der endzeitliche Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit (CD 6, lOf). Im Fragment eschatologischer Midraschim heisst es vom 43
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
51
52
53 54
55 56
57
Davidsspross, er ,stehe" zusammen mit dem Toraforscher .,auf', er .,erhebe sich", urn Israel zu retten; das ist der Augenblick, in dem Gott die zerfallene Hiitte Davids .,aufstellt" (Z. 10-13). Ahnlich wird das ,Erwecken" (,~:}) gebraucht: Gott .,erweckt" den Kyrus fur die heilsgeschichtliche Aufgabe an seinem Volk (Jes. xlv 13; vgl. xli 2, 25). Besonders wichtig ist die Stelle Hos. vi 2, die in Ber. R. 56, 1 zu Gen. xxii 4 auf die Auferstehung der Toten bezogen wird und sicherlich auch fUr die ersten Christen eine grosse Rolle gespielt hat: Gott wird ,uns nach zwei Tagen neu beleben (~~), am dritten Tage und wieder aufrichten ~·P.:), sodass wir le ben vor Ihm". Das Stehen - auf - den - Fussen ist das Kennzeichen des Lebenden im Unterschied zum (liegenden) Toten. Nach Ez. xxxvii 10 macht der Geist Gottes die Toten lebendig, sodass sie sich ,auf ihre Fusse stellen"; dieses Schriftwort wird in Apk. xi 11 bei der Erweckung der beiden getoteten Zeugen angefuhrt. Nach Wajj. R. 10 soH r. Schim'on ben Chalafta einen gestorbenen Sklaven des Kaisers Antoninus (Pius) mit den Worten zum Leben erweckt haben: ,.Was liegst du da, und dein Herr steht auf seinen Fussen?" - Auch im gnostischen Schrifttum spielt dieser Sprachgebrauch eine wichtige Rolle. Das Pneuma ist die Kraft, ohne die die Menschen nicht .,stehen" (aheratou) konnen (Evangelium Veritatis 30, 21f; Apokryphon des Johannes 51, 15-20; 67, 4-7); vgl. dazu Irenlius adv. hlir. I, 30, 6 (Ophiten); 1, 24,1 (Satomil). Nach den Mandliem wurde Adam durch das ,Grosse Leben" und dessen Heifer mit der Seele beschenkt und dadurch ,aufgerichter" (Ginza 108.242f.430; Johannesbuch 57; Liturgien 99f). Gott hat Jesus als den Heilbringer fur Israel ,aufgestellt" (exv£a't110Ev) d.h. auf den Plan gerufen (iii 26, xiii 33 in Verbindung mit Ps. ii 7), ihn .,auferweckt" (i\yEtpEv v 30). Er hat ihn von den Toten ,aufstehen lassen" (ixvEO'tTIO"EV xiii 34), .,auferweckt" (ilYEtpEv iii 15. iv 10, xiii 30, 37). Besonders wichtig ist Apg. xiii 33f. Dieser Gedanke wird auch in der Kriegsrolle von Qumran zum Ausdruck gebracht: In der Endzeit wird der Satan gestiirzt und der Erzengel Michael unter den gottlichen Wesen ,erhoht", gleichzeitig damit das Regiment Israels uber alles Fleisch aufgerichtet (xvii 5-8). In einer im Sommer-Semester 1961 in Ttibingen gehaltenen Vorlesung .,Messiastitel und Christusname". Nach J. KLAUSNER (Jesus of Nazareth, 1926, S. 340) und besonders A. SCHALIT (Besprechung von P. WINTER On the Trial of Jesus in Qiryath Sepher 37, 1961, S. 340) ist die Mk. xiv 53ff beschriebene nlichtliche Sitzung nicht als Gerichtsverhandlung des Plenum, sondem als Zeugenverhor eines Ausschusses zu verstehen, das Klarheit uber Schuld oder Unschuld des Angeklagten erbringen soil. Nach Mischna Sanhedrin 5, 5 konnte ein solches Verhor in der Nacht stattfinden, wonach die Verhandlung am Morgen wieder aufgenommen wurde. Geschichte der Leben-Jesu-Forschung, 5. Aufl., 1933, S. 439. Der zweite Teil der Aussage: , ... und kommen mit den Wolken des Himmels" geht schwerlich auf Jesus selbst zurtick, zumal die Reihenfolge von Dan. vii 13ff, auf das dieses Wort anspielt, unter dem Einfluss der Parusieerwartung verkehrt ist. Erst kommt der Menschensohn mit den Wolken des Himmels, dann wird er inthronisiert und in die Herrschaft eingesetzt. Jerusalem, 1960, S. 233f. Herodes hatte sich mit den radikalen Juden auseinanderzusetzen, die in einem frommen Konig aus Davids Haus, dem Messias, den allein legitimen Regenten Israels sahen; dabei fuhrt SCHALIT ebenfalls die Nathanweissagung als fundamentale Stelle fur die messianische
44
DIE FRAGE NACH DEM MESSIANISCHEN BEWUBTSEIN JESU
58
59
60 61
62
Erwartung an. Herodes bemtihte sich urn den Nachweis der Abkunft seiner Sippe aus Davids Geschlecht; er wollte femer dartun, dass sein glorreiches Regiment die Erwartung eines Messias tiberfltissig mache. Hatte er nicht den Volke seine beiden grossten Gtiter wiedergeschenkt: ein Reich, wie es seit David und Salomo nie mehr in Israel bestand, und dazu einen Tempel, den Herodes aus einem einfachen Gotteshaus ohne Gestalt und Schone in ein Bauwerk umgewandelt hatte, das die Grosse und Pracht des salomonischen Tempels besass? Denn die Wiederherstellung der glanzvollen davidischsalomonischen Ara wurde vom Messias erwartet. - Auch der Talmud bringt in einer legendarischen und dunklen Erziihlung den Tempelbau des Herodes rnit seiner koniglichen Wtirde in Zusammenhang (b. B. Batra 4a): Herodes soli von R. Baba ben Buta den Rat erhalten haben, den Tempel wieder aufzubauen. Er weigert sich aus Furcht vor der Regierung (Rom). Der Rabbi rat ihm, in Rom urn Erlaubnis anzufragen, jedoch bis zum Empfang der Antwort schon rnit dem Umbau zu beginnen. Man verbietet in Rom den Umbau; sei er bereits begonnen, so babe sich Herodes als schlechter Untertane erwiesen. Denn man wisse, dass er weder ein Konig, noch koniglicher Abkunft, sondem ein Freigelassener sei.- In b Meg 12a wird Jes. xlv 1 als eine anklagende Rede Gottes tiber Cyrus gedeutet, die an den Messias gerichtet ist: Cyrus hat die Aufgabe, Gott ein Haus zu bauen und die Gefangenen Israels zuruckzufuhren (Jes. xlv 13), nach Esra i 3 nur unvollkommen gelost. Jes. xlv 13 spricht vom Wiederaufbau der Stadt; R. Nachman ben Chisda setzt statt dessen die messianische Aufgabe des Tempelbaus ein! vgl. vor allem Midr. Teh. zu Ps. 29 Par. 2, 116 b: Wenn der Messias an den Weltvolkem Rache genommen haben wird, soli sofort das Heiligtum erbaut werden. Eine negative Beziehung zwischen Messias und Tempel wird in IV. Esra 9, 26-10, 51 und Midr. Echa 1, 51 erwahnt: Der Messias wird in dem Augenblick geboren, in dem man den Tempel zerstort. Vgl. dazu R. BULlMANN, Die Geschichte dev synoptischen Tradition, 1957, S. 307: Die messianischen Stticke xiv 55--64; Mk. xv 2, xv 26 gehoren einer spateren Schicht der Passionsgeschichte an. Nach J. ScHREIBER, a.a.O., S. 157 zeigt Mk. xiv 62--64 besonders deutlich die im ,mythischen Kerygma (gemeint ist der gnostische Erlosermythus) begrtindete Tiefe der Messiasgeheimnistheorie" an. Vgl. R. BULTMANN, Das Evangelium des Johannes, 11. Aufl. 1950, S. 88f.W enn die Aussage der beiden Zeugen tiber das Tempelwort als falsch bezeichnet wird (Mk. xiv 57), so nicht deshalb, weil Jesus dieses Wort nie gesprochen hiitte. Vielmehr ist falsch, dass Jesus den Jerusalemer Tempel selbst abreissen wollte; dieser wird in der Katastrophe der Endzeit zerstort (vgl. Mk. xiii 2; Micha iii 12; Jer. xxvi 6, 18; Josephus bell. 6, 300ff). Falsch ist femer, dass der Neubau des Tempels auf ein reales Heiligtum wie das des Jerusalemer Tempels bezogen wird; s.u. S. 21. Mk. xiv 58 par Mt. xxvi 61; Mk. xv 29; Mt. xxvii 40; Job. ii 19; Apg. vi 14. E. FucHs meint, Jesus babe fur seine Person so wenig etwas Besonderes sein wollen, wie der Apostel Paulus in Korinth (2 Kor. xii 11); er babe kein Amt, sondem nur einen einzigen Auftrag gehabt (,Das Neue Testament und das hermeneutische Problem", ZThK 58 [1961], S. 212f). Aber Amt und Auftrag lassen sich in neutestamentlicher Zeit schwer voneinander trennen; und wie hat Paulus urn die Anerkennung seines Apostelamtes gekampft! Auch der Menschensohn muss nach iiHen 62, 6f geoffenbart werden. ,Vor seiner Macht" ist er von Gott in Verborgenheit verwahrt und nur den Erwiihlten bekannt. Dennoch ist er auch in der Zeit seiner Verborgenheit
45
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
63
64 65 66
67
68
69 70 71 72 73
74
75 76 77
schon der ,Menschensohn" und nicht etwa nur designiert. Das Gleiche gilt von Jesus, dem verborgenen Messias. Ferner flillt auch beim Menschensohn die Wende der Zeiten mit der Inthronisation zusammen (vgl. Dan. vii 13; aHen 45, 3; 51, 3; 55, 4; 61, 8; 62, 2, 3, 5; 69, 27-29); diese Inthronisation wird so beschrieben: Der Herr der Geister setzte ihn (anbaro) auf den Thron Seiner Herrlichkeit (ib. 61, 8; 62, 2). J. SCHREIBER, a.a.O., S. 154-183. Das Messiasgeheimnis bei Markus ist Ausdruck einer hellenistisch-gnostischen Christologie, nach der der priiexistente Erloser in Verborgenheit ilber die Erde geht, leidet, stirbt und aufersteht. Die fur den gnostischen Mythus typische Verbundenheit von Erlosten und Erloser ist von Mark us ,unter dem Schleier des Messiasgeheimnisses ... zur Sprache gebracht" (S. 167). Vgl. dazu C. COLPE, Die religionsgeschichtliche Schule. Darste/lung und Kritik ihres Bildes vom gnostischen ErliJsermythus, 1961. Vor allem ist es urn die archaische, iranische Herkunft dieses Myth us schlecht bestellt. Mt. x 6; vgl. xii 30; Lk. xi 23; Mt. xxvi 31; Mk. xiv 27 und besonders Mt. ii 6, wo Micha v 1 durch 2 Sam. v 2 ergiinzt ist. Vgl. die bei E. NORDEN, Agnostos Theos, 4. Aufl. Neudruck 1956, S. 211 f. gegebenen Belege filr Gudea von Lagasch, Hammurapi, Nebukadnezar. Ferner nennt Assurbanipal sein konigliches Regiment ein ,Hirtenamt" (re-utu), Annalen I, 5 (ed. S. LANGDON, 1903 S. 1). Im Hirtenamt ilber Israel erschopfte sich nach einem kilrzlich veroffentlichten Text aus Qumran Davids Regiment. Man erkliirt, Gott habe Seinen Bund mit David deshalb aufgerichtet, darnit dieser ein Hirte und Ftirst tiber Sein Yolk sei (40 b T IV, 4-8; M. BAILLET, ,Un recueil liturgique de Qumran, Grotte 4", RB 68,1%1, S. 195-250). Das gottliche Verwerfungsurteil Uber den Messiasprlitendenten Bar Kosiba fand man in Sach. xi 17: ,Wehe du nichtssnutziger Hirt, der du die Herde im Stich liisst!" (Midr. Echa zu 2, 2 (63a); p. Ta'an. 4, 68d 65). Der Konig ist ein Heifer fur alle Entrechteten und Unterdrilckten; ,ihr Blut ist kostbar in seinen Augen" (Ps.lxxii 12-14, xlv 7f). Vgl. dazu auch Nu. xxvii 17f: Josua (¥W1l:r;) soli als Nachfolger Moses das Yolk filhren, damit es nicht wie eine Herde ohne Hirten sei. Zu Jes. liii 5. Zum Messias als Lehrer und Gesetzgeber der Volker vgl. Ber. R. 18 zu Gen. 49, 11, Midr. Teh. zu Ps. 21, 1. lQS b V, 20-23 nach Jes. xi 4. R. BuLlMANN (Jesus, 1951, S. 40) bestreitet freilich die Echtheit dieses Wortes. Aber der Zwolferkreis ist schon frilh bezeugt (1 Kor. xv 5). Einen analogen Vorgang bildet die Einsetzung des Menschensohnes (iiHen 62, 6-8). Wenn der Menschensohn aus seiner Verborgenheit herausgeholt und den Konigen und Miichtigen der Erde offenbart ist, wird die Gemeinde der Erwiihlten und Heiligen gesiit (62, 8). Man darf jedoch nicht einfach vom Faktum der ,christlichen" Gemeinde auf einen ,Christus" als Grtinder schliessen, da ein unmessianischer Rabbi allenfals eine ,Schule", keine Gemeinde, ins Le ben gerufen hlitte (So R. Orro, Reich Gottes und Menschensohn, 1934, S. 127). Denn der unmessianische Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit grilndete eine eschatologische Gemeinde. Mt. ix 27, xv 22, xx 30f; Mk. x 47f; Lk. xviii 38f. Mt. viii 29; Mk. v 7; Lk. viii 28; Mk. iii 11; Lk. iv 41. Die ,Hilfe" eines crom']p ist zwar vor allem politisch gemeint, aber sie kann sich auch auf Rettung aus leiblicher Not beziehen (vgl. etwa den Spott am Kreuz Mk. xv 31; Mt. xxvii 42). Zum leiblichen Heil in der messianischen Zeit
46
DIE FRAGE NACH DEM MESSIANISCHEN BEWUBTSEIN JESU
78
79 80
81
82
83
84 85
86 87
88
vgl. ferner Syr Bar 73, 2; IV. Esra 7, 28; 12, 34; Philo de praem. et poen. § 22ff. Rabbinische Belege bei BILL. I, 593-596. Von Vespasian wird die Heilung eines Blinden und eines Lahmen in Alexandrien berichtet (Tacitus Hist. IV, 81, 1-3; Sueton Vespas. 7, 2f). ,Es wird zwar durchaus glaubhaft von der Heilung Damonischer durch Jesus berichtet, und er selber hat nach dem kaum in seiner Authentitat bezweifelten Spruch Mk. iii 27; Mt. xii 28 solche Vollmacht fur sich in Anspruch genommen" (E. KASEMANN, ,Das Problem des historischen Jesus", ZThK 51 (1954), S. 146). Der Messias als der zweite Erloser wiederholt die Wunder der Mosezeit (Midr. Qoh. 1, 9; BILL. I, 69f). 1 Sam. Kpp. xxi-xxvii; zum Aufenthalt im heidnischen Gebiet vgl. 1 Sam. xxvi 19f, xxvii 1-12. Der Zionist der Thron der gottlichen Herrlichkeit Jer. xiv 21, xvii 12. Der mit dem Messias identifizierte Menschensohn von IV. Esra 13 tritt bei seiner machtvollen Offenbarung vor den feindlichen Volkerheeren auf die Spitze des Zion (35), und damit wird der vollig auferbaute, himmlische Zion alien offenbar: Ipse autem stabit super cacumen montis Sion; Sion autem veniet et ostendetur omnibus parata et aedificata, sicut vidisti montem sculpi sine manibus (vgl. V. 7). Vgl. die 14. Bitte des Achtzehn-Gebets: ,Erbarme Dich, unser Gott, durch Deine vielen Gnadentaten tiber Dein Yolk Israel und tiber Deine Stadt Jerusalem und tiber das Konigreich des Hauses Davids, Deines rechten Gesalbten!" ,Jesus war nach dem einhelligen Zeugnis des Neuen Testaments Davidide und hatte nach jtidischem Familienrecht rechtlich als Sohn des Davididen Joseph von Nazareth zu gelten" (J. JEREMIAS, Jerusalem zur Zeit Jesu, 2. Aufi. 1958, Bd. 11, S. 146). Vespasian, Domitian und Trajan verfolgten die Davididen, urn niemanden vom koniglichen Stamm tibrig zu lassen; diese Verfolgung betraf nach Hegesipp auch die Verwandten Jesu (Euseb. hist. eccl. Ill, 12. 19f. 32, 3f). Der alttestamentliche Konig war Charismatiker (G. VON RAo, a.a.O., Bd. I, S. 321f). Der Geist Jahwes ruht auf dem Davidsspross (Jes. xi 2, nach dem Targum zu dieser Stelle ist es der Geist der Prophetie; Jesus gilt in Apg. iii, 22 als der Mose gleiche Prophet). Die Rabbinen sollen nach b Sanh. 93b Bar Kosiba daraufhin geprtift haben, ob er die in Jes. xi 2 geforderten Eigenschaften besass. Freilich werden mit dieser Deutung nicht alle Menschensohnworte erfasst. Aber die Dan. 7, 13 aufnehmenden Menschensohnworte sind wohl Gemeindebildung. Zur Kennzeichnung der eschatologischen Wende als eines machtvollen Durchbruchs von Licht, Gerechtigkeit und Wahrheit durch die Nacht von Ltige und Unrecht vgl. die Aussagen des Mysterienbuches von Qumran (lQ 27, I, I, 5-7), des Sektenkanons (lQS 4, 19) und der Kriegsrolle (lQM 1, 8f). Den biblischen Hintergrund dieser Vorstellungen bildet vor allem Ps. xxxvii 6, 20. Das Bild von den Wehen wird in lQH 3, 7-11 ausgefiihrt. lQS 1, 16f; 3, 20-22. V or allem in den Liedern auf Kol. 11-VI, VIII, IX. Hinzu kommt das Geftihl von Heimatlosigkeit und Fremde: Der Lehrer ist von seinen Freunden und Verwandten getrennt, von seiner Heimat weggestossen wie ein Vogel aus seinem Nest (4, 8f); er lebt im Exil beim fremden Yolk (5, 5), wo ihn die Gottlosen drohend umgeben wie die Ltiwen, die Daniel in der Grube umlauerten (5, 6f. 9f. 13). lQH 2, 16. 22; 4, 13; 5, 26f.
47
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
89 1QH 3, 9. 19. 26; 5, 6, 8. 90 A. MEDEBIELLE (Miscellanea Biblica Orientalia fur A. Miller, Studia Anselmiana 27f, 1957, 301-326), hat die Bezeichnung Jesu als Na!;copai'o<; (Mt. ii 23, xxvi 71; Apg. ii 22, iii 6, iv 10 u.a.) vom '1~ in Jes. xi 1 her zu deuten versucht. · 91 1QH 3, 6-12. Zur Deutung dieser schwierigen Stelle vgl. mei'ne Aufsatze ,Die Geburt der Gemeinde durch den Lehrer", NTS 3 (1957), S. 314-326, und ,Das Yolk Seiner Kraft", ibid. 5 (1958), S. 67-75; wie ich urteilen J. CARMIGNAC, Les Textes de Qumran, 1961, S. 195 und P. BENOIT, ,Qumran et le Nouveau Testament", NTS 7, 1961, S. 283. 92 Josephus Jasst allerdings das Moment der Endzeiterwartung unerwahnt. 93 Die Belege finden sich eingehend besprochen bei M. HENGEL, Die Zeloten, 1961, s. 261-277. 94 M. HENGEL, a.a.O., S. 272f. 95 4 Makk. vi 29, xvii 22; Mekh. Ex. xii 1; Lev. R. xx 7 zu xvi 1; j Sanh. 30c, 28f. Dass der Einsatz des eigenen Lebens den gegen Israel entftammten Zorn Gottes abwenden und dem ganzen Volke Stihne schaffen konnte, sah man zur Zeit Jesu nicht nur an einer Gestalt wie der Moses oder der des Gottesknechts von Jes. liii, sondern auch am Eiferer Pinehas. Sein entschlossenes Eintreten fur Gottes Sache (Nu. xxv 13) wurde in Sifre Nu. z. St. mit dem Hinweis auf Jes. liii 12: ,Dafur, dass er sein Leben dem Tode preisgab", kommentiert und die Suhnkraft dieser Tat als bis hin zur Totenauferstehung fortwirkend gedacht (vgl. auch Num. R. 20, 25-21, 3 und M. HENGEL, a.a.O., S. 161-163). 96 Zur Stellung der offiziellen Synagoge zum Martyrium vgl. BILL. Bd. I, S. 221-226, zum stihnenden Leiden 11, S. 280-282. 97 Keiner unter Jesu Harem verstand Worte wie ,sein Kreuz tragen" und ,seine Seele verlieren" besser als die Zeloten (A. ScHLATIER, Geschichte lsraels von Alexander dem Grossen bis Hadrian, 3. Auft., 1925, S. 264). 98 Selbst in dem ,profanen" Bericht von Davids Thronnachfolge ist der Ki:inig auch als ein leidender Gesalbter verstanden: Er muss aus Jerusalem ftiehen, Thron und Lade zurticklassen, bis entschieden ist, ob Gott an ihm Gefallen hat (2 Sam. xv 16ff). In der nordischen religionsgeschichtlichen Schule misst man auch dem sakralen Leiden des Ki:inigs grosse Bedeutung bei (vgl. G. voN RAn, a.a.O., Bd. I, s. 315f). 99 Es ki:innte auch Gott sein, vor allem wenn man die Anfangslticke mit L. GINZBERG erganzt: , ... bis Gott den Messias sendet." Aber die Sekte spricht in den uns bekannten Texten nie vom ,Gesandtwerden" des Messias, sondern von dessen ,Kommen" oder ,Aufstehen". Die von Ch. Rabin gegebene Erganzung ist darum vorzuziehen (The Zadokite Documents, 1954, s. 70f). 100 Artikel ,1ta~" im ThWB zum NT, Bd. V, S. 693: ,Die messianische Deutung von Jes. lii 13-liii 12 war so fest eingebtirgert, dass Tg Js sich ibr nicht entziehen konnte, aber die Leidensaussagen werden in brtiskem Widerspruch zum Urtext durch das gangige Messiasbild ersetzt!" 101 Vgl. Mk. viii 31ff par; Lk. xxiv 20f; Apg. xvii 3; 1 Kor. i 23; Gal. v 11 u.a. 102 Vgl. dazu die bei BILL. 11, 284ff und M. ZOBEL, Gottes Gesalbter, 1938, S. 141ff gegebenen Stellen. Bereits im Kreise der Schtiler R. Jehudas des Ftirsten nannte man den Messias auf Grund von Jes. liii 4 den ,Siechen" oder ,Aussatzigen" (b Sanh 98b); der in der ersten Halfte des 3. Jhdts. lebende Amoraer Jehoschua ben Levi weiss den verborgenen Messias unter armen, mit Schwaren behafteten Kranken an der Pforte Roms sitzend (ib. 98a, vgl.
48
DIE FRAGE NACH DEM MESSIANISCHEN BEWUBTSEIN JESU
93: Gott belastet den Messias mit Geboten und Leiden wie mit Miihlsteinen). V or allem wird im Zohar Jes. liii auf den Messias bezogen: Der Messias wird geschlagen, damit alle Sunder genesen (Zohar Teil 3, S.218a mit Hinweis auf Jes. liii 5); er nimmt alle Leiden, Schmerzen und Drangsale Israels auf sich, a.a.O., Teil 2, 212b mit Hinweis auf Jes. liii 4f). Er ersetzt so die siihnende Wirkung des einstmaligen Opferkults.
49
45
HOW MUCH DID JESUS KNOW? A survey of the Biblical evidence 1 Raymond E. Brown Source: Catholic Biblical Quarterly, 29, 1967, pp. 315--345.
Writing this essay has not been an entirely pleasant task. Although today we are not much given to sentiment, there is an almost instinctive distaste for discussing the human limitations of him who is our Lord. It is hard to participate in such a discussion without seeming insufferably arrogant and without offending against the respect, nay adoration, that the figure of Jesus Christ calls forth. Nevertheless, the discussion is going on, and for the exegete not to participate would be a neglect of duty. Dogmatic theologians, not exegetes, have led the way in the modern discussion of Jesus' human knowledge. 2 If exegetes had begun the discussion, the orientation might have been different. They would probably have tended to start with Heb 4,15 which describes Jesus as "one who has been tempted as we are in every respect, yet without sinning." As Chalcedon (DS 301) rightly recognized, this means that Jesus is "consubstantial with us according to humanity, similar to us in all things except sin." Ignorance does not seem to be excluded by such a statement; and while there are other statements in the NT that do seem to reject any ignorance on Jesus' part, an exegete working from the evidence supplied by his own field would not have any a priori inclination against seeing limitation in Jesus' knowledge. But the modern discussion that theologians have taken up was already oriented by the medieval theory that Jesus possessed different types of extraordinary knowledge that prevented limitation. 3 The guiding principle that had come down to the theologians was not Heb 4,15 but: "One cannot deny to Christ any perfection that it was possible for him to have had." One cannot but admire the openness of modern theologians who had the intellectual courage to reexamine these earlier positions that seemed to foreclose any discussion of limitation. Moreover, they have had to reevaluate the many statements of the Church on this question, most of them quite unfavorable to limitation;4 and only after a very careful historical investigation about what was condemned in the past have they 50
HOW MUCH DID JESUS KNOW?
evolved their own theories of Christ's knowledge, theories which, they claim, legitimately allow limitation. Much that is pertinent biblically to the question of Jesus' knowledge, especially of his knowledge of himself, has been written by Protestant exegetes. However, since they approach the problem without the particular theological background that looms so large in the Catholic study of the problem, their work has been of only limited help to Catholic theologians. Exegetical studies by Catholics of the problem of Jesus' knowledge have been relatively few; 5 yet it is just such studies that would be of most help to the theologians. One reason for the paucity of these studies is that truly critical NT exegesis has, with some important exceptions, been a reality in Catholic circles only in the last few years; and only critical exegesis would see the limitations attributed to Jesus in the earliest layers of NT tradition. Another reason, however, has been the repercussions that such studies might bring upon their writers, for they leave the writers open to the charge of denying the divinity of Jesus. 6 This is somewhat paradoxical, because only when one has a strong faith in the divinity of Jesus is there a real problem about admitting that his knowledge might have been limited. Those who think of him as a mere man have no problem: his knowledge could not be anything but limited. But Catholic exegetes must put aside fear of misunderstanding and misrepresentation and take up the study. This is urgent first because they have a duty toward theology. As we shall insist in the conclusion, the biblical evidence does not decide the theological problem or conclusively support one theory over another. Yet the theologians who are trying to establish the possibility of new answers must have available to them competent critical surveys of the NT evidence in order to see how their theories can be best reconciled with the evidence. Exegetical study is urgent secondly because, in the absence of careful treatments, facile and inexact estimates of the NT picture are circulating among the Catholic public. Newsweek of April 11, 1966 attributed to Catholic scholars two statements on this question-statements of a type heard by the present writer in many parts of the country. One was: "Jesus had to discover who he was. He was uncertain of his divine sonship; yet he never abandoned his quest for certainty"; the other was: "I'm sure that Jesus himself was not aware of being God." 7 As will become apparent in the course of this essay, I do not believe that scientific biblical study can substantiate either of these statements; but we must write to that effect or such evaluations will carry the day. Exegetical study of Jesus' knowledge is demanded for a third and final reason: many problems in the history of NT thought can be solved only if we know to what extent Jesus' own knowledge of these problems was limited. How can we trace through the NT a gradual development in the understanding of such topics as Jesus' divinity, the personality of the Spirit, the organization of the Church, eschatology, etc., unless we know whether or not
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Jesus' formulations about them might have been unclear and limited? In other words, the failure to tackle the problem of Jesus' knowledge is holding up progress in other NT fields. The present chapter will, to the extent of my ability, be an exercise of critical exegesis and will admit the possibility that statements attributed to Jesus by the evangelists were not uttered by him or have been substantially modified. Despite the fact that Vatican 11 gave approval to such exegesis in principle,8 many still feel uneasy when a statement is treated in this way; and so at times I shall lean over backwards to see what would be the implication if a dubious statement really were the words of Jesus. In cases where no firm decision about ipsissima verba can be reached, I shall often comment on what the statements attributed to Jesus tell us about the evangelists' attitude toward his knowledge. In view of the delicacy of the subject matter I wish to state that I am completely open to correction if my evaluation of the evidence is unsatisfactory either exegetically or because of theological implications. There has been an attempt to combine honesty with circumspection, precisely because I am mindful of the caution the Church has shown in questions of Christ's knowledge. The non-Catholic reader will have to make the effort to understand the treatment in the light of the Catholic problematic. This study will necessarily seem pointless or objectionable only to the theological positions at the two ends of the spectrum. To the absolute minimalist who thinks that Jesus knew no more than any other man, the attempt to leave place for the divine in his consciousness will seem forced. To the absolute maximalist who says that Jesus was God and therefore knew everything that God knows, the uncovering of evidence of limitation will seem blasphemous. 9 To all the more nuanced positions in between 10 the study will offer evidence that must be faced. If the study has the byproduct of making Jesus seem more human, this too can be a service to Christian truth. It was Pope Leo the Great 11 who said, "It is as dangerous an evil to deny the truth of the human nature in Christ as to refuse to believe that his glory is equal to that of his Father." As originally conceived/ 2 this survey of the biblical evidence conceming the knowledge of Jesus was to consist of four parts: I. Jesus' Knowledge of the Ordinary Affairs of Life; D. Jesus' General Knowledge of Religious Matters; DJ. Jesus' Knowledge of the Future; IV. Jesus' Understanding of Himself and of His Mission.
The full survey will be published elsewhere; 13 and here, because of the limits of the Festschrift, we shall deal only with the last two parts. By way of synopsis, Part I shows that there is an ancient Gospel tradition (e.g., Mk 5,30--33) that accepts without noticeable difficulty normal ignorance on 52
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Jesus' part of the ordinary affairs of life. On the other hand Jesus is also presented a~ a man with more than ordinary knowledge and perception about other men. The latter feature does not exclude the former in great religious and prophetical figures, and thus a combination of the two is almost to be expected in Jesus. Part 11 shows that in the areas of demonology, the afterlife, and apocalyptic, Jesus seems to draw on the imperfect religious concepts of his time without indication of superior knowledge and without substantially correcting the concepts. In the parts treated below we move from such general areas to areas where the teaching attributed to Jesus has been regarded as unique, outdistancing the ideas of his time.
Ill. Jesus' knowledge of the future To a certain extent a knowledge of the future might be expected of Jesus since he was described as a prophet (Mk 6,15; Lk 7,16; Jn 6,14). 14 It is a commonplace of modem biblical science that the prophets of the OT were primarily religious reformers involved with their own times who did not spend their lives gazing into the distant future in the manner once thought. Therefore, in that understanding of a prophet, Jesus the prophet would not necessarily have had foreknowledge. But we cannot judge the firstcentury estimation of Jesus as a prophet from the standpoint of a modem critical understanding of an OT prophet. In post-biblical Judaism a notion of prophecy had evolved that stressed the prophetic foreknowledge of the future. The Qumran pesharim or biblical interpretations suppose that prophets like Habakkuk were really writing about the Qumran community which did not appear till hundreds of years after the prophets' time. Therefore, Jesus' contemporaries' evaluation of him as a prophet may well have connoted a tradition that he knew the future. 15 But there are difficulties in determining from the Gospels whether and to what extent Jesus actually did know the future. The Gospels were written after most of the events that Jesus is thought to have predictedall were written after his death and resurrection; Mt, Lk, and Jn were probably written after the fall of Jerusalem. In order to indicate the fulfillment of Jesus' words, the Gospel writers may have clarified those words so that the reader would recognize their nature as prophecy. 16 And so, in the prophecies attributed to Jesus, how much represents the ipsissima verba and how much represents clarification by the evangelist in the light of the subsequent event? If we do establish that the original statements of Jesus about the future may have been vaguer than they now appear, what is the demarcation line between firm conviction about how things will turn out and real foreknowledge? Genuine detailed foreknowledge is superhuman; unshakeable conviction is not necessarily beyond human powers.
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A. Foreknowledge of his own passion, crucifixion, and resu"ection All the Gospels attribute to Jesus such foreknowledge during his ministry. Yet there is a problem that might make us suspicious a priori of such exact predictions, namely, that the disciples who are supposed to have heard these predictions do not seem to have foreseen the crucifixion even when it was imminent nor to have expected the resurrection (Lk 24,19-26 is typical of the attitude found in all the Gospels). One may attribute this failure to the slowness of the disciples, but one may also wonder if the original predictions were as exact as they have now come to us. Mk 8,31; 9,31; 10,33-34 and par. On three occasions the Synoptic Gospels report sayings of Jesus foretelling his passion, death, and resurrection. In the first prediction Jesus says that the Son of Man (Mt: he) must suffer many things, be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes, be killed, and be raised after three days. The second prediction is less specific, for it simply speaks of action by men and does not mention the exact officials. The third prediction is the most specific; not only does it mention the officials, but it says that they will condemn him and deliver him to the Gentiles to be mocked, spit upon, and scourged. The Matthean form of the third prediction mentions crucifixion. These three sayings are Son of Man sayings of the variety that speak of the Son of Man as a suffering figure on earth. Neither of the two most recent full-scale treatises on the Son of Man 17 consider this class of Son of Man sayings to be genuine words of Jesus. They point out that passages dealing with the suffering Son of Man are not found in the "Q" tradition and that for such sayings we have only the authority of the Marcan tradition. For Todt, if Jesus spoke of a future coming of the Son of Man, he could not have described himself during his ministry as the Son of Man. But there are many other writers, including C. H. Dodd and C. F. D. Moule/ 8 who think that suffering was associated with the Son of Man figure already in Dn 7. Thus the a priori case against the genuineness of the three sayings is far from certain. The tradition of the three sayings is a very ancient one. Todt himself has shown that the way they describe the passion, death, and resurrection does not come from the Marcan accounts of these events. In other words the evangelist did not first compose an account of the passion, death, and resurrection and then go back and create the prophecies in the light of his account; rather the sayings came to Mk from a pre-Marcan Palestinian formulation. Have we then reason to suspect that these three sayings did not come from Jesus himself, once we have found inconclusive 54
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the argument against the genuineness of suffering Son of Man sayings? There is, of course, the general difficulty mentioned above about the failure of the disciples to understand after such explicit predictions. But there is also a problem created by the evidence of the Johannine tradition. Jn too has three predictions by Jesus that the Son of Man (or Jesus) must be crucified and raised up. In Jn 3,14 Jesus says: "The Son of Man must be lifted up" (also 8,28; 12,32). Jn makes clear that the phrase "lifted up" refers to the crucifixion, but there can be little doubt that the symbolism also includes the resurrection-ascension. 19 But we note that the wording in the Johannine predictions has no details; rather it echoes the vague language of Is 52,13: "Behold my servant ... shall be lifted up." One might suggest that a similarly vague style of prediction lies behind the Synoptic sayings, perhaps also in OT terms (if Dodd and Moule are right, perhaps in terms of the suffering Son of Man from On 7). At least it would be easier to explain how the details were added post eventum in the Synoptic tradition than to postulate that they were lost in the Johannine tradition. In Jn 2,19 Jesus says to the Jewish authorities: "Destroy this Temple and in three days I will raise it up." The evangelist comments that he was talking about his body but that the disciples did not understand until after the resurrection. There is an echo of this saying in the Synoptic tradition (Mk 14,58; Mt 26,61; Mk 15,29; Mt 27,40), but there the verb is to rebuild rather than to raise up. Thus, the interpretation of this saying as a prediction of Jesus' death and resurrection is peculiar to Jn and is dependent on the Johannine wording (which, at least in the use of "raise up," is certainly secondary). 20 The fact that a reference to three days appears in both the Synoptic and the Johannine form of the saying does not prove an allusion to Jesus' resurrection, for that phrase could mean simply a short time (Ex 19,11; Hos 6,2; Lk 13,32). Thus, this logion cannot be used to establish Jesus' foreknowledge of his crucifixion and resurrection. In Mt 12,39-40 Jesus offers to the Pharisees the sign of Jonah: "As Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of the whale, so will the Son of Man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth." This is a clear prediction of the resurrection, but comparative Synoptic studies suggest that the Matthean interpretation of the sign is a secondary addition to a more original saying. In the parallel passage, Lk 11,29-30.32, there is another interpretation of the sign, this time in terms of Jonah's preaching: "As Jonah became a sign to the men of Nineveh, so will the Son of Man be to this generation ... for they repented at the preaching 55
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of Jonah" (the latter clause also appears in Mt 12,41, so Mt has elements of a twofold interpretation). A third form of the saying in Mt 16,4 simply mentions the sign without explaining it, and this may have been the original form of the logion. In that case the two different interpretations taken from the career of Jonah may be alternative explanations of the enigmatic sign that became common in the early Church. Thus, once again, this logion cannot be used to establish Jesus' foreknowledge of his resurrection. There is a tradition that Jesus knew beforehand that Judas would betray him. Jn 6,70-71 attributes this foreknowledge to Jesus during the ministry; all the Gospels (Mk 14,21 and par.; Jn 13,18.21) report a prediction to this effect at the Last Supper; Mk 14,41; Mt 26,45; and Jn 18,4 show Jesus aware of imminent betrayal at Gethsemane. The last two groups of logia, at least in their Synoptic fom1, belong to the suffering Son of Man sayings (see the dispute mentioned above). If the agreement of the Synoptic and the Johannine tradition on the existence of such predictions offers at least a probability of their being original (perhaps without the title "Son of Man"), one may still wonder whether this prediction represents supernatural foreknowledge or only a penetrating insight into Judas' character and into the direction in which events were leading (especially if the prediction was made when the treason had already been committed). The evangelists seem to take the former option, but we may recall that Jn 12,6 describes Judas as previously corrupt. 21 In any case we could scarcely base a theory of Jesus' foreknowledge on these sayings alone. Summing up the question of Jesus' foreknowledge of his passion, crucifixion, and resurrection, we find it difficult to be categorical. Modem criticism would cast doubt on a foreknowledge of the details, but we should not undervalue the general agreement of the Gospel tradition that Jesus was convinced beforehand that, while his life would be taken from him, God would ultimately vindicate him (see also Lk 17,25; Mk 10,45). It may be difficult to prove scientifically that any one saying represents the ipsissima verba of Jesus, but are we to suppose that this conviction about death and victory was spontaneously attributed to Jesus in the divergent traditions? One may argue that the attribution of predictive ability to Jesus was part of Church apologetics, but is it not just as reasonable to argue that the Church merely embellished with details a genuine tradition in which Jesus predicted that he would die at the hands of men and be made victorious by God? Such a prediction could have come from his interpretation of the OT (e.g., of Is, and perhaps of Dn) and would not presuppose superhuman knowledge. It could represent the unshakeable conviction of a man who 56
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was sure that he knew God's plan. A similar conviction can be found in the career of Jeremiah and in Deutero-Isaiah's portrayal of the Servant. If we suppose that beforehand Jesus had a conviction that God's victorious reign could be brought about only by his death, can anything be said about when he got such a conviction? Undoubtedly Catholic writers of an earlier generation would have assumed that Jesus always knew he would have to die, but today some are beginning to suggest a psychological development of knowledge through various stages of the ministry. One popular thesis is that at first Jesus hoped to bring about God's reign through his preaching and miracles, but the discouragement of being rejected by the crowds and having the parables misunderstood led Jesus to realize that his own death would be required. J. S. Dunne 22 has suggested that it was probably when John the Baptist was killed by Herod that Jesus realized a similar fate awaited him. While there is a certain attraction to such theses, since they fit Jesus into an understandable psychological pattern, we must recognize that there is simply no scientific way to prove them. They are really exercises of the imagination. For instance, the fact that in the Synoptic tradition (Mk 8,31 and par.) the first detailed prediction of death and resurrection occurs after the death of John the Baptist really proves nothing, for the form critical analysis of the Gospels warns us against supposing that the individual sayings of Jesus are reported in their original sequence. And even if one argues that "substantially" the Synoptic order is true to history, one must face the objection that there are in the Gospels vaguer but unmistakable predictions of Jesus' death earlier in the ministry. We have already seen that Jn records two predictions of death (2,19-22; 3,14) before the arrest of the Baptist (see 3,24). The Synoptics (Mk 2,20 and par.) also record a prediction before the death of the Baptist: "The day will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast." 23 Cullmann24 and many others think that already from the time of his baptism the whole plan of salvation was laid out before Jesus, including his death; certainly the reference to "the Jamb of God" in Jn 1,29 may be interpreted in this way. 25 Lk 2,33-35 would seem to attribute a premonition of death to the period of Jesus' infancy. We are not suggesting that these remembrances of early predictions of death are necessarily historical-some of them are not, and that is why, on the other side of the question, the Gospels do not prove that Jesus always knew he would be put to death. But it is clear from such passages that the evangelists were aware of no tradition that only late in his ministry did Jesus become aware that he must suffer and die. Scripture alone neither favors nor disproves a theory that posits a psychological development of Jesus' knowledge of what Jay in store for him.
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B. Foreknowledge of the destruction of Jerusalem Another classical prophecy attributed to Jesus is that he predicted the destruction of Jerusalem. We have already discussed the prediction or threat about the destruction of the Temple; but this can scarcely be used as an example of successful prophecy, for it is in no way apparent how Jesus fulfilled the second part of the prediction about rebuilding the Temple in three days. The early Church had to reinterpret the saying in order to see a fulfillment (see note 20). Let us concentrate here on the predictions of the destruction of Jerusalem in the Synoptic eschatological discourse. First, the passage in Mk 13,14 and par. This could be considered as a clear prophecy only in the Lucan wording. In Mk 13,14 Jesus speaks obscurely of the desolating sacrilege set up where it ought not to be. Mt 24,15 clarifies (correctly) by explaining that the "desolating sacrilege" is the one spoken of by Daniel the prophet (Dn 9,27; 12,11). Since Dn referred to the profanation of the Temple altar by Antiochus Epiphanes, Mt continues the explanation by identifying Mk's "where it ought not to be" as the holy place or Temple. Thus, Mk and Mt agree in having Jesus figuratively predict a profanation of the Temple. But in Lk 21,20 Jesus says: "When you see Jerusalem surrounded by armies, then know that its desolation has come near." Some would see here a clear prediction of the Roman capture of Jerusalem in A.D. 70. From a critical viewpoint many have suggested that Lk rewrote the earlier and vaguer prediction after the destruction of Jerusalem, and so we have a vaticinium ex eventu. But C. H. Dodd26 has shown that such a suggestion is unnecessary. The Lucan description need not flow from a post factum knowledge of the tragedy of 70; rather its vocabulary is that of the prophetic description of the fall of Jerusalem to the Babylonians in the sixth century B.C. Thus, while in Mk and Mt the prototype Jesus offers for the coming disaster stems from the havoc Antiochus Epiphanes wrought in Jerusalem, the prototype in Lk is a more ancient disaster. Yet even were the Lucan saying faithful to the original words of Jesus, 27 Dodd's very argument would imply that it is not a prophecy that demands exact knowledge of the future. Like Jeremiah and Ezekiel, Jesus would be threatening disaster to a rebellious Jerusalem, 28 and he would be using traditional language to do so. The saying would not indicate that he knew when or how this disaster would come about. Another expression of Jesus' general conviction of impending disaster for Jerusalem can be found in his prediction that the great buildings of the Temple would be destroyed and that not one 58
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stone would be left upon another (Mk 13,2 and par.). If anyone would propose that this represented an exact foreknowledge of what would happen in 70, he need simply be reminded that the gigantic blocks of the Temple foundation are still standing firmly one upon the other in Jerusalem. Thus, in the two instances of Jesus' knowledge of the future that we have studied, the Gospel evidence when critically examined would demand no more than that Jesus have had firm general convictions about the unroJJing of God's plan in a way that would lead to death and victory for him and to punishment for Jerusalem. This type of conviction is characteristic of the OT prophets. Neither in their case nor in Jesus' case do we have really scientific proof for a detailed foreknowledge of unpredictable future events, a foreknowledge that could be given by God alone. C. Foreknowledge of the parousia
This aspect of Jesus' foreknowledge reflects in a different way on the total problem of whether and how his knowledge was limited. The instances dealt with above concerned predictions of things that actually happened; here we are concerned with the prediction of something that has not happened, and we must ask whether Jesus claimed to know when it would happen or mistakenly expected it to happen within a short time. We shall group here statements about the coming of the Son of Man, about the return of Jesus, and about the coming of the kingdom of God in power. 29 The divergence in these statements presents a very complicated situation that we cannot possibly hope to solve, but it will be very useful to classify the different temporal aspirations that seem to be involved in these statements. 1. Anticipations of an immediate parousia:
(a) A parousia during the ministry. In Mt 10,23 Jesus instructs the Twelve to go to Israel and to preach (in the parallel in Mk 6,7.30 the scene is one of his sending them two by two into the towns of Galilee). Jesus warns them that they will meet persecution, but he assures them: "When they persecute you in one town, flee to the next; for truly, I assure you, you will not have gone through all the towns of Israel before the Son of Man comes." Combining the Matthean and Marcan versions, A. Schweitzer put forward his famous theory that Jesus expected the parousia before the Twelve had finished their Galilean mission. When they returned without this having happened, disappointment brought Jesus to realize that his death would be necessary to bring about God's 59
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intervention. Today few would follow Schweitzer in this interpretation. The Matthean and Marcan scenes cannot be combined. The setting of Mt 10 (e.g., references to persecution by synagogues, governors, and kings in vv. 17-18) is that of the later Church; and in its present form, at least, 10,23 must be understood in that atmosphere and not as a reference to an expectation within the ministry of Jesus. The Palestinian church is assuring itself that, despite persecution, it will not have exhausted all possibilities of preservation before the Son of Man comes. (b) A parousia immediately after Jesus' death. This seems to be the import of Jn 14,3 where Jesus says that he is departing, but he will return to take his disciples along with him. A comparison with 1 Thes 4,16-17 suggests that Christians would have understood this return in terms of the parousia. M. E. Boismard30 has argued that 14,3 represents one of the oldest eschatological strains in Jn. An interpretation of parousia right after death might be placed on the words of Jesus to the high priest in Mk 14,62: "You will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Power and coming with the clouds of heaven.'m Mk 14,25 and Lk 23,42-43 are other passages that would be most intelligible if Jesus expected immediate victory after death. All of this would fit in with a theory that Jesus did not know precisely what form his victory over death would take. As a Jew, one might conjecture, he spoke of this victory in terms of the imagery of Dn and the coming of the Son of Man,32 whereas it was the resurrection that took place after his death, and the parousia remained in the future. One cannot refute scientifically the possibility of such a theory, nor can one prove it. All of the statements given above are capable of other interpretations, and no one of them specifies the precise moment of the coming of the Son of Man. 2. Anticipations that imply an interim between Jesus' death and the parousia:
This view is supported by many texts that never mention the parousia; for an interim is implied by all references to a church or a community life, a mission of the disciples to Israel or beyond; by the growth parables; by the orders to baptize and to commemorate Jesus in the Eucharist, etc. (a) A parousia in the lifetime of Jesus' hearers. There are two famous passages in Mk that support this: Mk 13,30 and par. "Truly, I assure you, this generation will not pass away before all these things take place." In the present 60
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context "these things" would have to include the coming of the Son of Man described in 13,2b. But for an inquiry about the original meaning the present context has little value, for most scholars recognize that the eschatological discourse in Mk 13 is a collection of once independent sayings. A. Vogtle, 33 in the latest Catholic treatment of the Iogion, agrees with Taylor and a host of Protestant scholars that the original reference of "these things" was to the destruction of the Temple mentioned in 13,2-4. All efforts to explain away the temporal limits of the saying by claiming that "this generation" refers to the existence of mankind are refuted, in my judgment, by the closely parallel saying we cite next. Mk 9,1 (Vulgate 8,31). "Truly, I assure you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the kingdom of God come with power."34 Mt 16,28 offers an interpretation of what Mk's last clause implies: it reads: " ... before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom." In order to avoid the implication that the parousia will take place while some of Jesus' hearers are alive, some scholars question Mt's interpretation and suggest that the saying does not refer to the parousia, or that it is inauthentic or a secondary rewriting of Mk 13,30 and referred originally to the destruction of the Temple (so Vogtle). In addition to the Marcan tradition, there is some Johannine support for this early anticipation of the parousia. This is of interest because the general Johannine tendency has been to reinterpret parousia expectations in terms of realized eschatology. Jn 1,51: "Truly, I assure you, you will see the sky opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man." This saying might have been listed among those that imply a parousia during the ministry; but it is probably an independent saying, out of place in its present context,35 and all that we can tell from it is that Jesus' disciples are promised a vision of the (seemingly) victorious Son of Man. In 21,22: "If it is my will that he [the Beloved Disciple] remain until I come, how does that concern you?" The obvious import of the saying is that Jesus will return during the Disciple's lifetime, and this is how Christians interpreted it (21,23). But since the Beloved Disciple was dying or dead, the Johannine author of eh. 21 employs casuistry to show that Jesus' promise was not absolute. If one accepts such logia without reinterpretation, one can be certain that neither of the Marcan sayings was a late creation; for from the 60s on, when the apostolic generation was dying out, such statements became a problem precisely because they were 61
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not fulfilled. 36 They are either substantially ipsissima verba of Jesus or the composition of the first generation. One might theorize that the first generation, puzzled by the fact that the parousia did not take place immediately, consoled itself by the assurance that it would at least come in its lifetime. 37 However, the reason that causes many scholars not to regard them as ipsissima verba or at least to claim that they were not originally a reference to the parousia is the theological thesis that Jesus could not have been mistaken about the time of an event which, de facto, did not take place during the lifetime of his hearers. (b) A parousia delayed and preceded by apocalyptic signs. These notions do not have to go together, but the mention of a great number of apocalyptic signs before the parousia does give the impression that it is not coming too soon (see reasoning in 2 Thes 2,3ff.). The eschatological discourse in Mk 13, Mt 24--25, and Lk 21 lists the signs that will precede the coming of the Son of Man, e.g., false messiahs, persecution, war, and cosmic cataclysms. While these chs. open with the question of the destruction of the Temple, they treat both of the punishment of Jerusalem and the parousia; and it is very difficult to interpret what the apocalyptic signs were originally meant to precede. Moreover, many would think that such sayings did not come from Jesus but from the Palestinian church, using the language of Jewish apocalyptic and seeking to console itself when the master did not return. There are also a group of sayings that specifically refer to a delay of the parousia without invoking apocalyptic, e.g., Mt 24,48; 25,5.19. 38 (c) A parousia the time of which cannot be foretold. A group of sayings insist that the disciples cannot know when the Lord is coming-his coming will be like that of a thief in the night or the unexpected return of a master (Mt 24,42-44 = Lk 12,39-40; Mt 24,50 = Lk 12,46; Mt 25,13). Lk 17,2~21 is particularly interesting in the light of the references to apocalyptic signs cited above: "The kingdom of God is not coming with signs to be observed ... The kingdom of God is in the midst of you.'' Which is the more original strain in Jesus' teaching? Even more famous is Mk 13,32 which implies that Jesus himself did not know when all these things would come to pass: "Of that day or that hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father." Some have questioned the authenticity of the saying because it is the only place in Mk that Jesus speaks of himself absolutely as "the Son," and indeed that might be a late feature. Others have thought that the early Church attributed the saying to Jesus to explain the seeming contradictions among his predictions.
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One is certain, however, that it ran against the grain of the Church to attribute ignorance to Jesus, and most authors would accept the saying as authentic. 39 How can one establish the original outlook of Jesus amidst such a confusion of expectations? Undoubtedly some of the confusion can reasonably be explained away. Seeming contradictions are often created by the microscopic analysis to which we subject Gospel passages, and at times they can be solved by common sense. It cannot be doubted that some of the confusion that now appears was caused by early Christians who reinterpreted Jesus' statements in the light of traditional eschatological expectations. In particular, it seems plausible that statements that once referred to the coming of the Son of Man in judgment on Jerusalem have been reinterpreted to refer to the parousia in glory (so A. Feuillet,40 and John A. T. Robinson). Yet, with all these allowances, one finds it difficult to believe that Jesus' own position was clear. The NT Epistles give independent evidence of the confusion that reigned in first-century thought about the parousia;41 and, salvo meliore judicio, such confusion could scarcely have arisen if Jesus both knew about the indefinite delay of the Parousia and expressed himself clearly on the subject. Since it is not reasonable to suppose that he knew about the parousia but for some mysterious reason expressed himself obscurely, one is almost forced to take at face value the admission of Mk 13,32 that Jesus did not know when the parousia would take place. 42 Many Catholics are willing to accept this today, but on this very basis they explain away the statements that attribute to Jesus the expectation of an immediate parousia or of one within the lifetime of his disciples. B. Rigaux43 distinguishes between what Jesus taught (namely, that he did not know the time of the parousia) and what he hoped for in an apocalyptic setting (namely, a parousia soon). Vogtle44 rightly objects that the statements that refer to a parousia within a short time are not especially apocalyptic and are clearly taught, e.g., they are preceded by "Truly, I assure you." Yet Vogtle himself manages to explain away all reference to the parousia in the promises of what will happen in the lifetime of Jesus' hearers. Is it totally inconceivable that, since Jesus did not know when the parousia would occur, he tended to think and say that it would occur soon? Would not the inability to correct contemporary views on this question be the logical effect of ignorance? That God would make Jesus victorious and would eventually establish his own reign was a basic conviction of Jesus' life and mission. Because there is evidence, nay even a statement, that Jesus did not know when the ultimate victory would take place, many Catholic theologians would propose that such knowledge was not an essential of Jesus' mission. Could theologians then also admit that Jesus was not protected from the 63
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confused views of his era about the time of the parousia? An exegete cannot solve such a question; he can only point out the undeniable confusion in the statements attributed to Jesus.
IV. Jesus' understanding of himself and of his mission We come now to the most sensitive of all areas-an area with theological repercussions for the understanding of the hypostatic union and an area where the Church has shown herself consistently opposed to a minimalist solution. The modem biblical discussions in this area have centered on the titles of Christ (whether he himself claimed to be the Messiah, the Son of Man, the Son of God, God, etc.). In this essay we cannot attempt even to summarize what has been written on these subjects. Practicality demands that we be selective; and so we have chosen one title, "Messiah," that might be a key to Jesus' knowledge of his salvific mission to men, and another title, "Son of God," that might be a key to Jesus' knowledge of his relationship to Yahweh.
A. Jesus as the Messiah There are two questions that we must keep distinct: (1) In what way did the early Christians accept Jesus as the Messiah? (2) When and/or to what extent did Jesus think of himself as the Messiah? 1. There is no doubt that the early Church confessed Jesus as the Messiah. A Christian was one who accepted Jesus as Messiah, and so popular was this designation of Jesus that "Christ" became part of his name. Yet within the NT there are conflicting indications as to what facet of Jesus' career brought men to confess him as Messiah. One is tempted to take these indications and to arrange them so that NT christology develops from earlier inadequate concepts to later adequate concepts. Yet, while one may suspect that certain christologies are more primitive than others, we cannot be certain of a sequence, nor that adequate and inadequate views did not originate at the same time. (The very use of the term "adequate" reflects the judgment of later orthodoxy.) There are two christologies best attested in the kerygmatic sermons that Acts dates to the early days of the Church; and so for external as well as internal reasons these christologies are considered primitive. 45 According to Acts 3,20-21, when Jesus comes back from heaven in the parousia, he will be the appointed Messiah sent by God. The earthly ministry of Jesus was only a preparation for his coming as the Messiah expected in Jewish thought, i.e., a Messiah coming to earth in power and glory. The future moment in which Jesus will appear is described as the time
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when there will be established "all that God spoke by the mouth of his prophets from of old." This has been called the oldest christology in the NT, for it implies virtually no change from the best-established late Jewish expectations of the Messiah. The other christology is voiced in Acts 2,36 (cf. also 5,31) which says that it is the risen-ascended Jesus whom God has made Messiah. God seated the risen Jesus at his right hand, and this glorification made him Messiah. Here we have a partial modification of the Jewish concept: the Messiah remains a glorious, victorious figure, but his reign is in heaven, not on earth. In the christology of the Gospels Jesus is seen as Messiah during his public ministry. The classical text for this appears in the Synoptic scene of Peter's confession (Mk 8,29 and par.). It is interesting to note, however, that the Johannine form of this scene (6,69) does not mention Messiah but "the Holy One of God"; the Johannine confession of Jesus as the Messiah occurs when Andrew speaks to Peter (1,41; also 11,27). Such christology required a radical reinterpretation of the Jewish concept of Messiah, a reinterpretation in terms of a suffering figure. This is implied in the relationship between the messianic confession in Mk 8,29 and the first of the predictions of the passion, death, and resurrection of the Son of Man in 8,31. All of the messianic theories thus far mentioned allow of (or, in the case of the first two, imply) an adoptionist interpretationthere was a time when Jesus was not the Messiah; he became or would become Messiah. Adoptionism is ruled out in the infancy narratives of Mt and Lk where it is proposed that Jesus was the Messiah from the time of his incarnation. 46 Obviously here we are moving toward a divine Messiah. This diversity of early Christian views would, a priori, make one think that Jesus himself did not make lucidly affirmative messianic claims during his ministry. The standard explanation, however, has been that his lucid claims were not understood because of the obtuseness or hardness of heart of his hearers. It is suggested that it took time for the Jewish presuppositions about the Messiah to be modified and tailored to suit Jesus' career, so that men could recognize him as Messiah. 2. When we turn to the question of Jesus' thought about himself as the Messiah, we are in an area for which Scripture gives us little evidence. Even if the infancy narratives are accepted at face value, they do not directly answer the question of whether the young Jesus (in the womb(!], as an infant, or after the age of reason) thought of himself as the Messiah. If we turn to the Gospel accounts of the ministry, a frequently proposed, sophisticated thesis is that Jesus' baptism revealed to him that he was the 65
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Messiah. 47 However, such a thesis faces two formidable objections from modern biblical science. First, the thesis presupposes that Jesus did accept Messiah as a designation for himself. Often in Catholic circles it is not sufficiently emphasized that in the oldest tradition of Peter's confession (Mk 8,29; Lk 9,20) 48 Jesus did not affirm Peter's estimate of him as the Messiah, but ordered silence49 and spoke of suffering. To the point-blank question of the high priest, "Are you the Messiah?" Jesus answers in a qualified manner, "You have said so." 50 This probably means that, while Jesus will not refuse the title and thus deny his unique role before the high priest, nevertheless, the phraseology is not what he would spontaneously choose and he is not happy about its implications. At any rate, Jesus is depicted as answering the high priest, not by quoting a passage about the Messiah but by quoting a passage about the Son of Man. Only in one instance in the Gospels does Jesus accept the title of Messiah without reservation (Jn 4,25-26). Even if one accepts this dialogue between Jesus and the Samaritan woman as straight historical material (an assumption not to be made lightly in peculiarly Johannine material), one must recognize that he is accepting a Samaritan concept of Messiahship, which was apparently less nationalistic than the Jewish concept.51 In Mt 23,10 Jesus indirectly identifies himself as the Messiah: he instructs the disciples that they are not to be called masters, for they have one master, the Messiah (=Jesus, presumably). This passage appears only in Mt, and the situation envisaged seems to be that of the later Church. One would be hard put to defend this saying as the unvarnished ipsissima verba of Jesus. It is possible that this consideration of the problems in the individual passages does not do justice to the totality of the evidence and that more emphasis should be put on the argument that Jesus would not have been so universally acclaimed as Messiah in the early Church if he had been so wary of the title. Nevertheless, at least an intelligent case can be made out for the thesis that Jesus never really accepted Messiah as a correct or adequate designation for his role, even though he would not categorically refuse the title. Second, the thesis is objectionable because it is impossible from the biblical accounts to tell whether the baptism revealed anything at all to Jesus. The speculation behind the thesis is that Jesus came to John the Baptist as one among a crowd, not knowing himself to be different from the others or, at least, not knowing in what way
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he was different. At the baptism he was told by God: "You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased," and thus he learned that he was the Messiah. 52 The difficulty of establishing scientifically the historical character of a theophany is enormous; but leaving that aside, let us ask whether the thesis of a revelation to Jesus corresponds with the intent of the narratives. Certainly it does not correspond with Mt and Lk, for the existence of infancy narratives in these Gospels means that the two evangelists did not think of the baptism as a first revelation to Jesus. 53 One may argue that in Mk the situation is different; and also in Mk (alone) both the vision and the voice in the baptismal scene are directed to Jesus. 54 Yet the variance between Mk and the other Gospels on the latter point is not really meaningful, for the scene is not directed to Jesus but to the Christian reader of the Gospel. 55 It is designed to tell him at the beginning of the Gospel and on the highest authority who Jesus is, namely, the Messiah (see note 52), and the Servant of Yahweh, and God's own Son. D. E. Nineham 56 has summed up the situation admirably: "He [Mark] makes no attempt, for example, to say what effect these events had on Jesus himself; did they, for example, constitute a 'call' or a sudden revelation about himself, or only a confirmation of views he had already formed about himself? On the basis of St Mark's account it is impossible to be sure and even idle to speculate." To sum up the question of Jesus as the Messiah, it is dubious whether we should speak in any strict sense of "messianic" knowledge on Jesus' part since he may never have really identified his role as that of the Messiah. (We are not denying, of course, the existence of a more basic problem that one often speaks of as "messianic" consciousness: Jesus' consciousness of himself as the unique salvific agent-see below.) Moreover, any attempt to trace a beginning or development of a "messianic" claim runs afoul of the complete lack of evidence for this type of speculation.
B. Jesus as the Son of God Often theologians prefer to study the problem of Jesus' knowledge of his divinity in terms of the question: "Did Jesus know he was God?" From a biblical viewpoint this question is so badly phrased that it cannot be answered and should not be posed. The NT does call Jesus "God,"57 but this is a development of the later NT books. In the Gospels Jesus never uses the title "God" of himself; indeed in Mk 10,18 (a text that is almost certainly a genuine saying of Jesus) he refuses to be given a mark of respect that belongs to God alone. There are many passages in the NT writings that distinguish between God and Jesus. We do not mean that
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such passages prove that Jesus was not God; rather they reflect the terminological problem in the question that we are asking. For the Jew "God" meant God the Father in heaven; and to apply this term to Jesus who was not the Father and who had come down to earth made no sense. Later, precisely under the necessity of giving proper honor to Jesus, especially in the liturgy, it was understood that "God" was a broader term that could include both the Father and Jesus. This designation became more frequent for Jesus in the last third of the first century, as far as our evidence permits us to determine. Therefore, when we ask whether during his ministry Jesus, a Palestinian Jew, knew that he was God, we are asking whether he identified himself and the Father-and, of course, he did not. Undoubtedly some would wish to attribute to Jesus an anticipated understanding of the later broadness of the term "God" (or, indeed, expect him to speak in trinitarian terminology), but can serious scholars simply presume that Jesus could speak and think in the vocabulary and philosophy of later times? And does one ignore a text like Mk 10,18? In a biblical framework it is preferable to discuss the question of Jesus' divinity in terms of his claiming to be the unique Son of God. That the early Church confessed Jesus as the Son of God is admitted by all, and this confession may be quite ancient (see 1 Thes 1,10 and Acts 9,20). 58 Does it have its roots in the way Jesus described himself? To prevent confusion, it is well to remind ourselves that "son of God" is a somewhat ambiguous term, for often it does not mean real divine filiation but only a special relationship to God (e.g., the OT use of the tem1 for angels, the king, and the nation of Israel). In particular, in the NT it appears as a messianic designation, flowing from its use in the OT for the king;59 such a usage would come under our previous discussion of Jesus as Messiah. For our purposes the question "Did Jesus consider himself the Son of God?" must refer to a unique sonship that is not shared by ordinary men. To support an affirmative answer to the question it has been customary to argue that Jesus spoke of God as "my Father" and that he never joined himself to others in speaking of "our Father." The argument is not without weakness. First of all, the expression "my Father" never appears in Mk; it appears only four times in Lk; the frequent usage is a Matthean feature, and for not a single one of the Matthean usages of "my Father" is there a Synoptic parallel. 60 Moreover, if in Mt Jesus speaks of "my Father," he also speaks frequently to his disciples of "your Father."61 What right has the exegete to assume that "my Father" implies a more intimate relationship to God than "your Father" implies? J. Jeremias62 has argued eloquently that Jesus' custom of addressing God as "Abba" ("Father") in prayer is distinctive; the 68
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Aramaic word is a caritative ( = "Daddy") and implies familiar, family relationship. 63 Since this is undoubtedly one of the ipsissima verba of Jesus, one must admit that Jesus claimed a special relationship to God as his Father beyond the general relationship postulated in contemporary Judaism. But Jesus offered to share this relationship with his followers: he taught them to pray to God as "Abba" (Lk 11,2, the original form of the address in the Lord's Prayet'4) and they carried this custom even into the Greekspeaking world (Gal 4,6; Rom 8,15). The Johannine tradition also implies a sharing of sonship, for the Prologue (1,12) speaks of all who believe in Jesus' name becoming children of God. In Jn 20,17 the risen Jesus says: "I am ascending to my Father and your Father." Drawing on the analogy of a similar phrase in Ru 1,16, F.-M. Catharinet65 has shown that Jesus means "my Father who is now your Father"-through the post-resurrectional gift of the Spirit, God becomes the Father of those who believe in Jesus. Now some of the NT theologians carefully distinguished between the type of sonship that Jesus communicated to those who believed in him and Jesus' own divine sonship that was unique. 66 Yet it is not easy to prove scientifically that such a distinction existed in Jesus' own words and promises. At least, however, one may suspect that if Jesus presented himself as the first of many to stand in a new and special relationship to God as Father, that very claim implies that his sonship was in some way superior to the sonship of all who would follow him. Perhaps the proof we seek can be found if we turn from the passages where Jesus speaks of God as Father to the passages where he speaks of himself as Son. Are there any instances in the Synoptic accounts of the ministry where Jesus speaks of himself absolutely as "the Son" of God? There is one instance in the "Q" tradition and one instance in Mk. The former is the famous "Johannine" logion shared by Mt 11,27 and Lk 10,22: "No one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal Him." This saying, so Johannine in style, has many Semitic features and could well be an adapted form of an original saying of Jesus. We say "adapted" because J. Jeremias67 has made a very convincing suggestion that the original was parabolic in style. Jesus is drawing on the maxim that a father and son know each other intimately and a son is the best one to reveal the innermost thoughts of the father. In this case, the definite article before "Son" is the definite article of parabolic style indicating a generic situation, e.g., "The sower went out to sow seed." English tends to use an indefinite article in such a situation, but the definite article
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is good Aramaic. This suggestion makes us wary of assuming that Jesus meant to describe himself as "the Son" in an absolute sense (although that is not excluded since many of the parables have allegorical features as well and Jesus could be playing on his being "the Son"). The other saying is Mk 13,32: "Of that day or that hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father." It is curious that the very passage that speaks of Jesus absolutely as the Son of God is the most famous passage in the Gospels for indicating that Jesus' knowledge was limited! We discussed this passage above and saw that it is not without difficulty. Another Synoptic passage that is thought to claim unique sonship for Jesus occurs in the Parable of the Vinedressers. There the son ( = Jesus) who is finally sent to collect the rent, only to be killed, is designated as "uniquely beloved" (agapetos) in Mk 12,6 and Lk 20,13. Although the indirectness of the description of Jesus is a difficulty, the fact that agapetos tends to be used for an only son would make this an extremely important passage were not agapetos missing from the Matthean form of the parable (21,37). The form without agapetos may well be original, for it is easier to posit an addition by the other traditions than an omission by Mt. To sum up, the way in which Jesus speaks of God as Father certainly indicates that he claimed a special relationship to God. But it remains difficult to find in the Synoptic account of the public ministry an incontrovertible proof that he claimed a unique sonship that other men could not share. However, it may well be here that the quest for absolutely scientific proof causes us to miss the woods for the trees. One could argue for a convergence of probabilities that Jesus did claim to be God's unique Son. It is when we stand before such a question that we realize the frustrating limitations imposed on research by the nature of the material we work with-material magnificently illuminated by post-resurrectional faith, but for that very reason far from ideal for scientific study. And just this difficulty has forced us to ignore two bodies of Gospel material which, if taken at face value, could settle the question of whether Jesus claimed a unique divine sonship. There is absolutely no doubt that the Jesus of the Fourth Gospel claims to be God's Son who alone has seen and heard God and who has come to earth to reveal God to man. He even describes himself as God's "only Son." 68 The present writer believes strongly that there is a core of historical material in the Fourth Gospel, but he also recognizes that this material has been rethought in the light of late first-century theology. The Gospel was written to prove
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that Jesus is the Son of God (20,31), and the evangelist accomplishes this by letting Jesus speak as he is now in glory. The words may often be the words of Jesus of the ministry, but they are suffused with the glory of the risen Jesus. The use of Jn to determine scientifically how much Jesus knew of himself during his lifetime is far more difficult than the use of the other Gospels. The second body of material to which we refer consists of the two, independent infancy narratives of Mt and Lk. These agree that Jesus is God's Son in a unique manner, for God Himself begot Jesus. The virgin birth reflects indirectly on Jesus' knowledge of his sonship, for in the scheme of these two Gospels one could scarcely imagine that Mary would not have told Jesus of his divine paternity (or of his messiahship ). Despite the fact that there are undoubtedly some very old Semitic elements in these infancy narratives, most non-Catholic critics do not consider them seriously as sources for the life of Jesus; and there are conflicts between the infancy narratives and the Gospel accounts of the ministry. 69 There has been little in the way of truly critical Catholic study of these narratives; 70 and until that has been done, Catholic scholarship is hampered in judging how much they can contribute to a scientific solution of the problem under consideration. C. A better approach to the problem?
Before we close this discussion of Jesus' understanding of himself, we should like to suggest some very important distinctions, one theological and one exegetical, that may supply a key to the whole problem. First, in the theological field. Often a certain confusion is introduced into the discussion of this topic by the equation of consciousness and knowledge. The question "Did Jesus identify himself as Messiah?" is described as the question of Jesus' messianic self-consciousness. Yet consciousness is not always the same as express knowledge; and while a study of the Messiah passages in the Gospels may tell us whether or not Jesus expressed himself in terms of Messiahship, this study need not necessarily tell us much about his self-consciousness. Without embarking on a psychological discussion, perhaps we may say that consciousness is often an intuitive awareness and thus is distinct from an ability to express by formulating concepts and words, which is generally what people mean when they speak of knowledge. In human experience, especially in artistic matters or in one's awareness of oneself, there may be a Jag between consciousness and express knowledge-one may be vividly conscious of something long 71
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before one finds a reasonably adequate way to express that consciousness. Of the two titles we have discussed, we chose "Messiah" because it was an early formulation for describing Jesus in his salvific mission to men. Now we have seen that in the Gospels there is insufficient evidence that Jesus claimed the title or that he fully accepted it when it was offered to him. But this would not necessarily imply that he had no consciousness of a salvific mission to men (the type of mission that the Church called Messiahship when it had reinterpreted that term in a spiritual way). It could simply mean that he found Messiahship, as the term was understood in his time, an inadequate way to give expression to the mission of which he was conscious. One might ask about other titles given to Jesus by the Church, e.g., Suffering Servant or Savior. Again scholars would argue whether or not Jesus himself ever fommlated his mission in such terms; but even if one thought that Jesus did not use such fommlations, the question of his consciousness of a mission would not be solved. If we turn to the title "Son of God," the question of Jesus' consciousness of a special relationship to God is not solved negatively if we cannot prove in a fully scientific manner that he claimed to be the unique Son of God. In the judgment of the later Church, "Son" was accepted as a reasonably adequate image through which to describe Jesus' relationship to Yahweh, but it is possible that in his lifetime Jesus never came to full use of this image. Still this does not necessarily mean that he was not conscious of the reality behind the relationship we call Sonship. In scholastic temlinology concepts like "Son" and "Messiah" are the products of the intellect, and man is said to come into the world with an intellect that is a tabula rasa. Against Apollinarianism the Church maintained that Jesus had a human soul and thus a human intellect (DS 146). Can theology admit that this intellect was also a tabula rasa, activated not by infused knowledge but by human experiences, as are other men's intellects? In this case it would have taken Jesus time to formulate concepts, and he might have found some of the concepts of his day inadequate to express what he wanted to say. One would then be able to say that his knowledge was limited, but such limitation would not at all exclude an intuitive consciousness of a unique relationship to God and of a unique mission to men. 71 The struggle of his life could have been one of finding the concepts and the words to express that relationship and that mission. Proving such a theory obviously goes far beyond the task and the capabilities of exegesis. For the most part exegesis can explore only the end product, i.e., the formulation and
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words used by Jesus. But we do wish to insist that if exegesis gives us a picture of rather limited formulations, one should not jump to conclusions about consciousness. Second, in the exegetical field. Since formulation is to some extent reflective of consciousness, perhaps if Messiahship and Sonship have not proved sufficiently fruitful fields of investigation, we are not approaching the problem of formulation correctly.72 These titles were certainly popular in the early Church; yet our precise difficulty is that there are relatively few passages in the oldest Synoptic tradition wherein Jesus could be considered to accept the title of Messiah or to describe himself as the unique Son of God. Suppose that instead of starting out with a prefabricated question, we begin by studying the most ancient Gospel traditions to see how Jesus does describe his mission and his relationship to God. There we might have sufficient formulation to tell us something about his consciousness of himself. I do not plan here to go into great detail, but it seems that an irreducible historical minimum in the Gospel presentation of Jesus is that he claimed to be the unique agent in the process of establishing God's kingship over men. He proclaimed that in his preaching and through his deeds God's kingship over men was making itself felt. From the beginning of Jesus' ministry to the end he exhibits unshakeable confidence that he could authoritatively interpret the demands that God's kingship puts on men who are subject to it. We have seen above that when Jesus spoke of the next life or of the signs of the last times, he seems to have repeated the descriptions current in his time; but when he spoke of God's rule over men, he spoke with startling originality. This was his metier, and here he brooked no opposition. He could and did declare sins forgiven, modify the Law of Moses, violate the Sabbath ordinances, offend against the proprieties (eat with tax collectors and sinners), make stringent demands (forbid divorce; challenge to celibacy and to leave family ties), defy common sense (encouragement to turn the other cheek}-in short, teach as no teacher of his time taught. And if one allows that he worked miracles-an allowance that has sound exegetical backing, no matter how much it offends liberal philosophical presuppositions-then what he did in the interests of the kingship of God was also astonishing, for he acted against evil with a power that went far beyond the range of ordinary experience. All of this certainly implies a consciousness of a unique ministry to men. Among the holy men of Israel's past one may find parallels to Jesus as regards individual sayings or deeds (Jeremiah, Elijah), but the total picture of Jesus breaks the mold. Moreover,
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the certainty with which Jesus spoke and acted implies a consciousness of a unique relationship to God. We have seen above that his conviction about the ultimate success of his mission (perhaps accompanied by a lack of knowledge about just how that victory would be achieved) resembles to some extent the conviction of the OT prophets. But no prophet broke with the hallowed past in so radical a way and with so much assurance as did Jesus. The Gospel traditions agree in depicting him as a man who thinks he can act and speak for God. Thus, while a scientific study may point out many limitations in the manner of expression attributed to Jesus in the most reliable Gospel material, such a study also portrays a man who defied ordinary limits in his claim to be the unique agent for establishing God's kingly rule. And in considering this very important evidence for Jesus' consciousness of himself, we should emphasize that there is no indication in the Gospels of a development of Jesus' basic conviction. From the very beginning of his ministry he proclaims the kingdom of God, and finally he is crucified on a charge growing out of that proclamation. Perhaps the time when he would begin to preach was determined by the baptismal scene. Perhaps the place and the emphasis of his preaching were determined by considerations stemming from the social and political structures of his time (e.g., a ministry outside of Herod's territory after Herod's action against John the Baptist). Perhaps (and this is a much more problematic assumption) he did not foresee in detail the way in which the kingship of God would be established. But there is not the slightest evidence that his own role in the kingdom had to be revealed to him.73 As far as Scripture is concerned, the awareness or the consciousness that God's rule over men would be established through him could spring from his innermost being, for from the first moment he speaks he has this consciousness.
Conclusion As we close, we must once more stress the limits of our discussion. This is a very short treatment of a very large subject, and there is much more that should be said. The evaluation of the biblical evidence represents one man's opinion, limited by his abilities as a scholar and open to challenge. But most important of all, the evaluation of the Gospel evidence given above does not predetermine the theological interpretation to be drawn from it. Some theologians are convinced that, because of the hypostatic union or because of special enlightenment given to him by the beatific vision and/or infusion, Jesus could not have been limited in what he knew, at least in matters of religion, matters of the future, and matters regarding 74
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himself. If a scriptural investigation points up the limitations in Jesus' statements about such matters, these theologians can simply say that, while Jesus actually knew what was correct and what would happen, he adapted himself to the circumstances of his time. Other theologians will argue that neither the hypostatic union nor other possible privileges extended to the God-man necessarily endowed him with extraordinary knowledge in the matters just mentioned. They tend to attribute to Jesus some sort of intuition or immediate awareness of what he was, 74 but they recognize that the ability to express this in a communicable way had to be acquired gradually. Thus they distinguish between two forms of knowledge (or, as has been suggested above, between self-consciousness and expressible knowledge). These theologians would have no difficulty at all in accepting at face value the limitations of knowledge that scientific biblical criticism finds in Jesus' statements. For them whatever ignorance is implied in such statements is real rather than feigned, as it was for the first group of theologians. The exegete has no means to solve such a dispute, even though most modern Catholic exegetes would be far more at home with the second theological solution than with the first. As a final comment on our discussion, let me insist that the evaluation of the Gospel evidence given above, if correct, does nothing to detract from the dignity of Jesus. The whole discussion has been predicated on an acceptance of him as "true God of true God." If in the Gospel reports his knowledge seems to have been limited, such limitation would simply show to what depths divine condescension went in the incarnation-it would show just how human was the humanity of Jesus. Perhaps there is a danger, however, that such a presentation as we have given may cause a generation already prone to reject authority to object that, if Jesus' knowledge was limited, his views are the views of his day and can be rejected by the much more learned twentieth century. A distinction is very necessary in response to such a contention. On the one hand, we have tried to indicate areas in which Jesus' views do seem to have been the limited views of his time. Perhaps these were areas in which he brought no new revelation to man. On the other hand, we have indicated an area where his views were not at all those of his time, namely, the area of belief and behavior called for by the coming of the kingdom. And in this area, in my personal opinion, his authority is supreme for every century, because in this area he spoke for God. No age can reject the demand that one must believe in Jesus as the unique agent for establishing God's kingship over men (a uniqueness which the Church at Nicaea finally came to formulate in terms of Jesus' being "true God of true God"). No age can reject the harsh moral demands that Jesus made in the name of that kingship, no matter how much they may offend against "the common consent of good men." Thus, at least in the mind of this writer, a critical biblical evaluation of 75
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Jesus' knowledge takes nothing from his authority in that area which he made his own, the area of the kingdom of God. But when all is said and done, the great objection that will be hurled again and again against any exegete (or theologian) who finds evidence that Jesus' knowledge was limited is the objection that in Jesus Christ there is only one person, a divine person. And so, even though the divine person acted through a completely human nature, any theory that Jesus had limited knowledge seems to imply a limitation of the divine person. Perhaps the best answer to this objection is to call upon Cyril of Alexandria, that Doctor of the Church to whom, more than to any other, we are indebted for the great truth of the oneness of person in Christ. It was that ultra-orthodox archfoe of Nestorianism (two persons or powers in Christ) who said of Christ, "We have admired his goodness in that for love of us he has not refused to descend to such a low position as to bear all that belongs to our nature, INCLUDED IN WHICH IS IGNORANCE."75
Notes 1 This is a digest of a paper given at Denver in June, 1965 at the Twentieth Annual Convention of the Catholic Theological Society. Despite the kind encouragement of G. Van Ackeren, S.J., President of the Society, I was unable to put the paper into final form in time to have it included in the Proceedings. 2 The theologians found most helpful include: A. Durand, "La science du Christ," NRT 71 {1949) 497-503; K. Rahner, "Dogmatic Considerations on Knowledge and Consciousness in Christ," Dogmatic vs. Biblical Theology, ed. by H. Vorgrimler {Baltimore: Helicon, 1964) 241-267; J. Galot, "Science et conscience de Jesus," NRT 82 (1960) 113-131; B. Lonergan, De Verbo lncarnato (Rome: Gregorian, 3 1964) 332-416. There are interesting surveys by T. E. Clarke, "Some Aspects of Current Christology," Thought 36 (1961) 325-343; E. Gutwenger, "The Problem of Christ's Knowledge," Concilium 11 (1966: Who is Jesus of Nazareth?) 91-105. 3 Besides experimental knowledge it has been customary to attribute to Jesus: (a) Beatific knowledge. Jesus would know in the divine essence all that God would know by the scientia visionis. The primary object known in beatific vision is God Himself; the secondary object consists of created realities seen in God. {b) Infused knowledge. Jesus had a passive intellect which was activated in plenitude by infusion. This would be a knowledge comparable to angelic knowledge. 4 In 1918 the Holy Office (DS 3645) said that one could not safely teach that during his life Christ did not have in his soul the same knowledge that the blessed possess. In Mystici Corporis Pius XII (DS 3812) said that Christ enjoyed the beatific vision from virtually [vixdum] the first moment he was in Mary's womb. In 1907 Pius X (DS 3434) condemned the Modernist proposition that the critical scholar cannot ascribe to Christ unlimited knowledge; see also n. 47 below. For early papal statements about Jesus' knowledge of the parousia see n. 42 below. Pope Gregory the Great (DS 476) would seem to have ruled out even acquired human knowledge; for he assures us that when Jesus asked where the women had laid the body of Lazarus (Jn 11,34), it was not because he did not know where the grave was!
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5 Bibliography is given in R. Schnackenburg, New Testament Theology Today (New York: Herder & Herder, 1963) 60; but he admits that almost all the work is apologetic in character and not really biblical. The most important critical contribution is by A. Vogtle, "Exegetische Erwagungen iiber das Wissen und Selbstbewusstsein Jesu," Gott in Welt (K. Rahner Festschrift; Freiburg: Herder, 1964) 60&--667. There are also some Catholic studies of individual titles given to Jesus. 6 In the July 24, 1966 questionnaire sent by the Doctrinal Congregation (Holy Office) to the Bishops (AAS 58 [1966} 660), point 5 of the possible dangers stated: "There is afoot a certain christological humanism that would reduce Christ to the condition of a mere man, who gradually became conscious of his divine Sonship." It is not clear whether the Holy Office was maintaining that all theories of gradual development of consciousness would reduce Christ to a mere man, or was objecting only to such theories of gradual development of consciousness as would reduce Christ to a mere man. It will become apparent in the article that I think there is no real biblical evidence for such gradual development of consciousness; yet Catholics who hold such a theory do not by any means reduce Christ to a mere man. The reply to this questionnaire by the French Bishops (Dec. 17, 1966) answered this point admirably: "The recent labors of exegesis make it necessary for us to deepen the knowledge of the man Christ without compromising faith in his divinity" (Catholic Messenger of Davenport, March 2, 1967, p. 5). 7 The first statement was attributed to Fr. John Dunne (see n. 22 below); the second (see n. 71) to Brother I sad ore McCarran. Of course, no one would hold either man responsible for statements reported out of context in a "news" magazine. 8 In the Constitution Dei Verbum 4,19, while the historical character of the Gospels is asserted, it is recognized that what Jesus said and did underwent several stages of modification. It was preached by the apostles; then it was selected, synthesized, and explained by the evangelists. Obviously such a process means that we do not always have the ipsissima verba of Jesus. 9 Often such a position represents inaccurate theology. The divine nature and the human nature in Christ remain distinct. St. Thomas (Summa Theologica Ill, q. 9, a. 1, ad 1) says: "If there had not been in the soul of Christ some other knowledge besides his divine knowledge, he would not have known anything. Divine knowledge cannot be an act of the human soul of Christ; it belongs to another nature." 10 Almost all Catholic scholars today admit a limited experiential knowledge on Jesus' part. Few would follow the Salmanticenses (Cursus Theologicus, tractatus XXI "De Incarnatione," disp. 22, dubium 2, n. 29) who maintained that among men Jesus was the greatest dialectician, philosopher, mathematician, doctor, politician, musician, orator, painter, farmer, sailor, soldier, etc. 11 Sermon 7 on the Nativity (PL 54,216): "Paris enim periculi malum est: si illi autem naturae nostrae veritas aut paternae gloriae negatur aequalitas." 12 Seen. 1. 13 Later in 1967 as a chapter in my book Jesus God and Man (Milwaukee, Bruce). 14 It is quite plausible that Jesus was thought of as a prophet during his ministry, for the role of prophet was a much more spontaneously obvious one than the roles implied in some of the other titles that the Gospels give Jesus (Messiah, Son of Man, etc.). 15 Vatican I stated that Jesus did utter prophecies (DS 3009). 16 An older rationalist exegesis saw in these instances vaticinia ex eventu created
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17 18 19 20
21 22 23
24
25 26 27 28
29
30 31
by the Church or by the evangelists for apologetic purposes. We shall suggest that a truer emphasis might be achieved if we think of the evangelists or their predecessors clarifying what they saw as already a prophecy. H. E. Todt, The Son of Man in the Synoptic Tradition (Philadelphia: Westminister, 1%5); A. J. B. Higgins, Jesus and the Son of Man (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1964). See Theology 69 (1966) 174. Anchor Bible John, 145-146. Far from being a clear prophecy, this saying seems to have been an embarrassment in the Synoptic tradition: Jesus had spoken about the destruction and rebuilding of the Temple, but he had died without the Temple's being destroyed or his rebuilding it. Lk omits the saying, but see Acts 6,14 where it is indirectly cited as still to be fulfilled. Mk 14,58 adds qualifications: "I will destroy this Temple that is made with hands, and in three days I will build another not made with hands." Mt 26,61 reduces the prediction to a possibility: "I am able to destroy the Temple of God and rebuild it in three days." Jn is giving us still another reinterpretation designed to remove the difficulty. Yet the blackening of Judas' moral character in a late Gospel like Jn may well be a secondary trait. "The Human God: Jesus," Commonweal (February 10, 1%7) 510. He promises a book developing the themes in this article. V. Taylor, The Gospel According to St. Mark (London: Macmillan, 1953) 21lf., favors the authenticity of this saying, but thinks that the incident originally may not have come so early in the ministry. In his sequence the evangelist may be following a pre-Marcan tradition. The Christology of the New Testament (London: SCM, 1959) 67. One may doubt, however, whether in the Synoptic tradition of the baptism there is really a reference to the death of Jesus. The voice from heaven may refer to Jesus as the Servant of Yahweh by implicitly citing Is 42,1, but would first-century thought have connected this passage with another Servant passage (Is 53) where suffering and death are described? For the Iamb as the Suffering Servant see Anchor Bible John, 60--61. "The Fall of Jerusalem and the 'Abomination of Desolation,'" Journal of Roman Studies 37 (1947) 48--54. This cannot be taken for granted simply because the saying is not necessarily a vaticinium ex eventu. Jesus was not alone among his contemporaries in this premonition. There is a Jewish tradition (TaiBab, Gittin 56a; Midrash Rabbah on Lam 1,5; #31) that Rabbi Zadok began fasting about A.D. 30 to forestall the destruction of Jerusalem. Ca. A.D. 62 Jesus bar Ananias warned of the impending destruction of the Temple (Josephus, War VI 6,3; #300ff.). Such a grouping undoubtedly represents an oversimplification. The coming of God's kingdom would not necessarily include the coming of the Son of Man. Many Protestant exegetes who think that the references to the future coming of the Son of Man stem from Jesus hold that Jesus expected a Son of Man other than himself. "L'evolution du theme eschatologique dans Ies traditions johanniques,'' RB 68 (1961) 518--523. Mt 26,64 and Lk 22,69 (each in its own way) modify the verb in this saying with an adverbial phrase: "from now on." Lk omits the reference to the coming of the Son of Man, perhaps because the saying seemed to imply an immediate parousia.
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32 To be exact, the NT expectation represents a modification of the literal sense of Dn where the Son of Man is not an individual so much as a symbolic figure, representing Israel or God's saints. In Dn the Son of Man is not depicted as coming to men but as coming to God. 33 Art. cit., 642--647. 34 The parallel in Lk 9,27 omits "with power," perhaps to make the prediction vaguer. 35 For detail see Anchor Bible John, 88--91. 36 The havoc that they caused at the end of the century is implicit in Jn 21 and explicit in 2 Pt 3,4 where scoffers use them to cast doubt on the parousia. 37 For instance, the hint in Mk 9,1 that some will be dead when Jesus comes (it is stated that only "some" will not taste death) may be compared with the problem in 1 Thes 4,13ff. about those who died before the parousia. 38 We may add Lk 19,11 where Jesus corrects the belief of the disciples that the kingdom of God is to come immediately; also Lk 17,22 where Jesus speaks of an unfulfilled longing on the part of the disciples to see one of the days of the Son of Man. 39 Lk does not report the Marcan saying; many mss. of Mt report the Matthean parallel (24,36) without the key phrase "nor the Son." Yet Haenchen, op. cit., 452, thinks that only the later Church would have been bothered by attributing inferiority to Jesus; he cites the example of the subjection of Jesus to the Father in 1 Cor 15,28. W. G. Ktimmel, Promise and Fulfilment (SBT 13; Naperville: Allenson, 1957) 42, cites a list of authors who accept Mk 13,32 as belonging to the oldest tradition, even though its wording has not remained intact. In an earlier age, P. W. Schmiedel, in Encyclopaedia Biblica (New York: Macmillan, 1901) vol. 2, col. 1881, listed Mk 13,32 as among the five "absolutely credible" general statements of the Gospel about Jesus. 40 His article "Parousie," DBS 6, cols. 1331-1419, is an important treatment with excellent bibliography. 41 Compare 1 Thes with 2 Thes; 1 Cor 15 with 2 Cor 5; 1 Pt 4,7 with 2 Pt 3,4-11. 42 Under Pope Vigilius in 553 (DS 419) there was a condemnation of an error of Nestorianism which proposed that Jesus Christ, true Son of God and true Son of Man, was ignorant of future things and of the day of the Last Judgment and could have known such things only in so much as a deity dwelt in him as if in another individual. This error is so tied into the Nestorian theory of two persons or beings in Christ that its condemnation would really not affect the modern non-Nestorian problematic. Ca. 600 Pope Gregory (DS 474-75) tended to interpret Mk 13,32 as an accommodation of God's Son to human speech. He maintained that the Son of God in his human nature knew the time of the parousia, but this knowledge did not come from his human nature. This statement invokes theological distinctions that go beyond what we can determine from the exegesis of the passage; and so while it may be of importance to theologians dealing with the hypostatic union (it is scarcely a De Fide pronouncement), it does not really interpret the literal sense of the scriptural passage. We know of no Church statement that would forbid the interpretation of the literal sense of Mk 13,32 in the sense given above. 43 "La seconde venue de Jesus," La Venue du Messie (Recherches bibliques 6; Desclee de Brouwer, 1962) 190. 44 Art. cit., 636ff. 45 See John A. T. Robinson, "The Most Primitive Christology of All?" ITS 7 (1956) 177-189; also in Twelve New Testament Studies (SBT34; London: SCM, 1962).
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46 In Mt 1,23; 2,6 and Lk 1,31-33 messianic passages are cited, i.e., passages that seemingly were being interpreted messianically in Jesus' time. 47 Some non-Catholics would resuscitate adoptionism and speak of Jesus' becoming Messiah at his baptism. For Catholics Pope Pius X (DS 3435) condemned the Modernist proposition that Christ had not always been conscious of his messianic dignity. The theological note to be attached to this type of condemnation is notoriously difficult to determine. Moreover, the idea is condemned in the whole context of Modernist historicism where it served as a denial of Jesus' divinity. Would the idea be condemned when held by a theologian who interprets it in a way that does not conflict with the dogma of Nicaea? Some do not appreciate that the Catholic theologians who are discussing this today are doing so not from any disloyalty to the Church's dogma but precisely from a desire to clarify Christian thought. 48 In Mt 16,18 there is an additional confession to Jesus as "the Son of the living God." To the combined confession Jesus reacts positively. Many Catholic scholars now regard Mt's scene as composite, suggesting that Mt has joined to Mk's account another (perhaps post-resurrectional) confession by Peter. For bibliography and for the proof of the orthodoxy of this view see my New Testament Essays (Bruce: Milwaukee, 1%5) 208, n. 37. 49 This touches on the question of the Marcan Secret (Taylor, op. cit., 122-124) wherein Jesus is presented as keeping his messiahship secret during his ministry. Is this a theological invention (Wrede)? Did Jesus keep quiet for political reasons? Or was it because his notions of messiahship differed from those of his contemporaries (Taylor)? A variant of the latter view is that there was so much difference that he never fully accepted the title of Messiah. 50 So Mt 26,64. (In Lk 22,67 Jesus answers ambiguously, "If I tell you, you will not believe"; the same type of answer is found independently in Jn 10,24-25.) In Mk 14,62 Jesus answers with an unconditional "I am." Scholars who think that Mk always has an earlier tradition tend to interpret Mt's "You have said so" as an unconditional affirmative. However, the very similar answer to Pilate in Jn 18,37 offers support for the interpretation we have given above. Christological development in the primitive Church would suggest that the vague answer is older than the clear affirmative. 51 See Anchor Bible John, 172-173. 52 The words spoken from heaven are predominantly an echo of a Servant passage of Deutero-Isaiah {42,1), with perhaps an admixture of Gn 22,2. But perhaps they also echo Ps 2,7 ("You are my son; this day I have begotten you"), a psalm that seemingly received messianic interpretation in Jesus' time. The reference to the psalm would be clearer in Mk 1,11 and Lk 3,22 than in Mt 3,17 ("This is my beloved Son"). There is an interesting variant of Lk 3,22 that cites Ps 2,7 word for word. Although textual criticism does not favor the variant, many commentators have argued for its originality on theological grounds: it was too adoptionistic and was changed to the safer reading found in most mss. 53 See Lk 2,49. Also Mt 3,14-15 has a scene that depicts Jesus as quite aware of special status. 54 In Mt the vision is directed to Jesus, but the voice speaks of him in the third person. In Lk the voice is directed to Jesus, but a wider audience is implied for the vision (since the Holy Spirit is in "a bodily form"). In Jn 1,32-34 the voice and the vision are reported by John the Baptist. 55 E. Haenchen, Der Weg Jesu (Berlin: Topelmann, 1966) 61: "The account [Mk] does not wish to describe an inner experience of Jesus (for that would be something far from the evangelist's mind) but to tell the reader who Jesus
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56 57 58 59
60 61
62 63
64 65
66 67 68
69
really is." In finnly rejecting the idea that the baptismal vision was the call of Jesus, he rightly characterizes this as a thesis springing from the Protestant Liberalism at the beginning of the century (e.g. J. Weiss). It is embarrassing that popular Catholic writers are now suddenly discovering and espousing such theses on the assumption that they represent the latest in biblical exegesis. A more serious Catholic study along these lines by A. Nisin (Histoire de Jesus) is refuted by Vogtle, art. cit., 658ff. St. Mark in the Pelican Gospel Commentaries (London, 1963) 58. See R. E. Brown, "Does the New Testament Call Jesus God?" TS 26 (1965) 545-573, which gives the evidence supporting the statements made above. Bultmann would attribute the confession of Jesus as Son of God to the Hellenistic Church; however, Cullmann, Christology, 275ff., makes a strong case for Palestinian origin. There is no published, pre-Christian Jewish evidence for "son of God" as a title for the Davidic Messiah. Yet it is quite logical that such a designation may have been prompted by the messianic interpretation of Ps 2 where God was thought to address the Messiah as "my son." For NT instance where "son of God" may be a messianic designation notice the conjunction of Messiah and son of God in Mt 16,16; 26,63; Jn 20,31, although one cannot be sure that in the mind of the evangelist the term "son of God" has not taken on deeper meaning. The latter is probably the case with Mt 16,16. In the two statements of the angel in Lk 1,32-35, the first one implicitly identifies Jesus as the Messiah, and the second calls him the "son of God." It is instructive to compare Mt 12,50 ("the will of my Father") with Mk 3,35 and Lk 8,20 ("the will [or word] of God"), and to compare Mt 26,29 ("my Father's kingdom") with Mk 14,25 ("kingdom of God"). A whole group of passages in the Sermon on the Mount teach the disciples to think of God as their Father in a very special way (Mt 5,16.45.48, etc.). In Mt 7,21 Jesus speaks of the will of "my Father"; in 18,14 he speaks of the will of "your Father." "Abba," The Central Message of the New Testament (London: SCM, 1965) 9-30. For some important examples of "Abba" or "Father" see Mk 14,36; Lk 23,34. Abba may mean "my Father"; if it does, then the Matthean practice of using "my Father" may reflect an authentic custom of Jesus. SeeR. E. Brown, "The PaterNoster as an Eschatological Prayer," TS 22 (1961) 182-185. "Note sur un verset de l'evangile de Jean," Memorial J. Chaine (Lyons, 1950) 51-59. John confines the word huios, "son," to Jesus and speaks of Christians as God's tekna, "children." Paul (Gal 4,5; Rom 8,15) attributes to Christians a type of adoptive sonship. "Abba," 2J-25. Jn 3,16: monogenes-that this does not mean "only-begotten" see D. Moody, JBL 72 (1953) 213-19. Jn is also the source of many statements that spring to mind when one asks about Jesus' consciousness of divinity, e.g.: "Before Abraham even came into existence, I AM" (8, 58); "The Father and I are one" (10,30); "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father" (14,9). In Jn even the general audience of the ministry perceives that the claims that Jesus makes are tantamount to asserting that he is God (5,18; 10,33). For a detailed discussion of such statements the writer must refer the reader to the Anchor Bible John. In the Lucan narrative John the Baptist is a close relative of Jesus; yet at the
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70
71
72
73
74
75
baptismal scene and later John the Baptist seems to have no knowledge of Jesus (Jn 1,31; Mt 11,2-3). All Jerusalem is aroused when the news comes that a star has announced the birth of the messianic king of the Jews at Bethlehem (Mt 2,3); yet later on at Jerusalem no one seems to remember this (Jn 7,41-42). In part this omission may have been caused by apprehension about how critical work on the infancy narratives would be received. The late J. Steinmann's cavalier dismissal of them won his Vie de Jesus (Paris: Denoel, 1959) the dubious distinction of being the last book (ever?) to be placed on the Index. Catholic study would be important in this area precisely because dogmas, like the virginity ofMary, are involved. We objected above to the question "Did Jesus know he was God?" on the grounds that it does not take into account the semantic problem of what "God" meant in Jesus' time (=the Father). It is also objectionable because of the ambiguity possible in the word "know"-one must ask if the questioner is speaking about intuitive consciousness of divinity or express knowledge which involves the ability to find a meaningful formulation of consciousness. H. Riesenfeld, "Observations on the Question of the Self-Consciousness of Jesus," SEA 25 (1960) 23--36, has some very interesting comments along this line of thought. "It is impossible to avoid the impression that the exegetical debate on the question of Jesus' self-consciousness has in the last decades moved too much on traditional lines" (24). "None of the prominent New Testament scholars of our generation ... has been able to present a picture of the person of Jesus which succeeds in doing justice to the central figure of what is by far the most powerful spiritual movement in world history" (26). "May there not be a flaw in a too onesided analytical method? ... It is no doubt the dimension of depth which is missing; that plasticity and 'form' which alone gives intelligibility-and above all 'life'-to a personality, to his thoughts and his work" (27). "The existence of the Gospels and, furthermore, the existence of the figure of Jesus in the Gospels, cannot be explained without the conditions created by Jesus, as a living, working and willing personality" (31). Vogtle, art. cit., 662, makes a good point against those who treat the baptismal scene as a revelation to Jesus. The really new aspect of Jesus' preaching about the kingdom was not his prediction that it would come in power at some future date with the parousia, but his contention that God's rule was active here and now in his own ministry without apocalyptic signs. Jewish thought had not prepared men to see the fulfillment of God's promises in one who walked the earth without royal political power, one who had not come on the clouds of heaven, etc. What is there in the baptismal vision that would have revealed to Jesus such a novel understanding of the kingdom? See articles cited in n. 2. Durand speaks of the pure knowledge acquired by the beatific vision, knowledge that is aconceptual and non-abstractive, knowledge not employing signs of which the brain is the instrument, incommunicable knowledge. Galot speaks of an intuitive perception of God differing from the beatific vision afforded to the saints; this perception involves an intuitive knowledge of Jesus' own divinity. Rahner speaks of a self-awareness flowing from the hypostatic union, an unobjectified consciousness rather than an objective vision of the divine essence. Lonergan speaks of ineffable human knowledge, not obtained through corporeal or sensory action and not able to be manifested through such action. PG 75,369. We do not mean to suggest that Cyril grappled with the problem of Jesus' limited knowledge in the way in which that problem is treated today, but only that the admission that Cyril makes is significant.
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THE SON OF MAN IN CONTEMPORARY DEBATE /. Howard Marshal/ Source: Jesus the Saviour: Studies in New Testament Theology (Downers Grove: lnterVarsity Press!London: SPCK, 1990), pp. 100--120.
Of the various christological titles that occur in the Gospels, the phrase 'Son of man' is of the greatest significance in contemporary study of the historical Jesus. Such titles as 'Messiah' (or 'Christ') and 'Son of God' appear infrequently in statements attributed to the lips of Jesus, but 'Son of Man' occurs comparatively often. 1 Further, while the authenticity of the other titles as self-designations of Jesus is highly debatable, 2 we are on much firmer ground in holding that Jesus did make use of the phrase 'Son of man' in a way which has important implications for his self-understanding, whether or not he meant to designate himself by this phrase. Consequently, in any attempt to discover what assessment Jesus made of himself and his relationship to the message which he preached, a consideration of the phrase 'Son of man' has more hope of fruitful results than discussion of other titles.3 Unfortunately, the problem of the meaning and use of this phrase is extremely complex, and there is a wide range of scholarly opinions about its solution. In 1959 A. J. B. Higgins produced a survey of 'Son of manForschung since "The Teaching of Jesus",'4 which described the many, varied contributions to the debate since T. W. Manson's important chapter in his book on The Teaching of Jesus. 5 Almost immediately afterwards a number of important studies of the theme appeared, and the present writer attempted to assess one aspect of this discussion in a paper composed four years ago. 6 In brief, it emerged that one of the chief points of debate was whether Jesus used the phrase 'Son of man' or not, and, if he did, whether he was referring to himself or not. In order to analyse the various opinions of scholars on this point, we made use of a fairly generally accepted classification of the Synoptic sayings by their contents into three groups. Group A contains those sayings that refer to the Son of man as an earthly figure 83
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who eats and drinks, has nowhere to lay his head, has authority over the Sabbath, and so on. Group B contains sayings that speak of the suffering, death and resurrection of the Son of man. Group C refers to the future coming or parousia of the Son of man, his exaltation and his functions at the last judgement. Making use of this classification we could distinguish the various scholarly contributions to the debate as follows: 1. The 'conservative' wing of scholarship, represented by 0. Cullmann on the Continent and by British scholarship generally, accepted the authenticity of all three groups of sayings and believed that Jesus was speaking about himself. 2. The 'radical' wing, with P. Vielhauer as its most thorough advocate, ascribed all the sayings to the early Church; the 'Son of man' formulations do not go back to Jesus himself. In between these extremes there were two main mediating positions. 3. A position which goes back to R. Bultmann, and which was especially advocated by G. Bomkamm, H. E. Todt and A. J. B. Higgins, was that only the sayings in Group C were authentic and that in them Jesus referred to an eschatological figure other than himself. 4. The other main position was that of E. Schweizer, who argued for the authenticity of the sayings in Group A as references to Jesus himself but was sceptical about the present form of the others, especially those in Group C. 7 Although the position of Todt and Higgins has perhaps gained the most support, it might well be thought that stalemate had been reached in a discussion which had divided the scholarly world into sharply conflicting groups. It may be that the inherent unsatisfactoriness of this situation has had something to do with fostering the extravaganza of further contributions to the debate which have appeared in the last four years. During this period there have been no less than three sizeable books on the theme and many smaller contributions. Our present purpose will be the modest one of chronicling this recent phase of study and attempting to assess where future progress may best be made. Our procedure will be to mention the main contributions to the subject in broad terms, and then look at each of the main areas of debate; namely, the linguistic problem, the problem of origins, the usage in the Synoptic Gospels, and the usage in John. 8
I The year 1%7 saw the publication of no less than six major contributions to our subject. The first two of these were limited in their scope. N. Perrin's book, Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus, was concerned to set out and illustrate the general principles of Gospel study, and it was notable for the much more sceptical attitude to the authenticity of the teaching ascribed to Jesus than might have been expected on the basis of 84
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the author's earlier work, The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus (London, 1963). In his study Perrin confines himself to the apocalyptic sayings in Group C, none of which he regards as authentic. 9 What is of interest, however, is not so much the adoption of this conclusion as the reasons which lead to it; these reasons lie in the previous history of the phrase 'Son of man' and in the author's use of the radical approach to the Gospels which does not accept any saying as authentic teaching of Jesus unless it can be proved to be such. A different approach to the Gospel material was taken by M. D. Hooker in her book, The Son of Man in Mark. As its title indicates, the treatment is confined to one branch of the tradition. Although the author is interested in the theology of Mark, she nevertheless draws conclusions regarding the teaching of Jesus, and these are more traditional than those of Perrin. It is, however, a serious weakness in the argument of the book that the author has confined herself to the occurrence of the phrase 'Son of man' in Mark, and as a result has not considered such a text as Mark 3.28f. which in its Marcan form does not refer to the Son of man but whose parallel in the Q tradition does have such a reference. 10 Closely related to the work of Hooker is that of C. K. Barrett. His book, Jesus and the Gospel Tradition, is a general study of the teaching of Jesus, but since the Son of man occupies an important place in that teaching the phrase is a central theme of the book. 11 The fourth main work to appear in this annus mirabilis for study of the Son of man was the lengthy work by F. H. Borsch, The Son of Man in Myth and History. Borsch is particularly concerned with the background of thought behind the New Testament use of the phrase, and he examines a mass of unfamiliar evidence from many sources in great detail (177 pages) before turning to the New Testament itself. Unfortunately his style of writing is not blessed with lucidity, and his conclusions are not easy to find or to summarize. Finally, there is the article on Son of man in Kittel's Theologisches Worterbuch zum Neuen Testament, running to seventy-nine pages of closely packed material, clearly written but immensely detailed and very hard on the digestion. Some forty years ago the composition of this article was entrusted to J. Jeremias, but he has been content to limit his contribution to a significant article in the Zeitschrift jar N. T. Wissenschaft and to hand over the composition of the Kittel article to his former pupil, C. Colpe. The latter is a foremost authority on Religionsgeschichte, wellqualified to deal with the difficult background problems of the Son of man, as well as a competent New Testament scholar of similar outlook to Jeremias. His article surveys the whole area of Son of man study, and it is noteworthy for its attempt to describe the history of the use of 'Son of man' during the period between the ministry of Jesus and the composition of the Gospels. 85
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n We now turn to the various problems associated with the phrase 'Son of man', and commence with the linguistic problem. A person who came to the phrase 6 ui.o~ 'tOU avepcimou from the background of a Greek education would probably be tempted to take it in a 'genealogical' sense with the meaning of 'the physical son of a particular man'. It would be difficult to interpret the phrase as it occurs in the Gospels in this way, 12 and it is generally agreed that the Greek phrase is a literal translation of a Semitic phrase. Old Testament Hebrew uses the phrase ben- 'tidiim to refer to a particular person or to mankind in general. 13 In Aramaic a set of similar phrases is used which can mean 'the man', 'a man', 'somebody' or 'mankind in general'. 14 There has been much argument whether any of these Aramaic phrases could be used (a) by a speaker to refer to himself, and (b) as a kind of title referring to a particular person. This point was the subject of a paper at the International Congress on New Testament Studies held at Oxford in 1965 in which G. Vermes argued that the Aramaic phrases bar ntish and bar nlishti could be used as a circumlocution for the first person singular in certain contexts. 15 This appears to be a sound conclusion, but there is some doubt about its significance. Vermes himself and M. Black apparently take the evidence to mean that the phrases can refer exclusively to the speaker, 'I and nobody else'. 16 But Jeremias and others argue that the phrases have an inclusive sense, so that the speaker says something which is true of humanity in general and hence also of himself in particular; 17 the meaning would then be, as A. Gelston puts it, 'I as a particular man' or 'I qua man'. 18 On the whole, the balance of probability seems to favour this second interpretation of the evidence. If so, this would seem to make it unlikely that Jesus could have used the phrase 'Son of man' as a circumlocution for 'I' in statements which were true only of himself. But the matter is complicated by the question of the use of the phrase as a title. Was this possible in Aramaic? It is a fact that there is no example of a titular use in Aramaic literature. 19 Thus in Daniel 7.13 what we have is not a reference to a person with the title 'the Son of man' who comes with the clouds of heaven, but rather a description of 'one like a son of man' (RSV), which should perhaps be translated simply as 'one like a man' or 'a human figure'. Here, therefore, is a case not of a fixed title but rather of a description akin to that in Ezekiel 1.26 of 'a likeness as it were of a human form'. On the basis of this negative evidence, Verntes argued that 'Son of man' could not have been used as a title in the Aramaic sayings which lie behind the Gospels. But this conclusion is not compelling. Colpe argues, rightly in our opinion, that the phrase could have a titular meaning in apocalyptic contexts; that is to say, the background of the usage in Daniel 7.13 and
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elsewhere could make it refer to 'that well-known manlike figure of apocalyptic tradition'. Nevertheless, the non-technical use of the phrase made it possible for a titular example of the phrase to be misunderstood in a generalizing sense and vice versa. 20 The conclusion appears to be, therefore, that the phrase could have been used in Aramaic to refer to the manlike figure of Daniel 7.13 and that it could also be used in a generalizing sense by a person referring to himself as a representative human being.21
m From linguistics we turn to origins. Where did the concept of the 'Son of man' arise? If we begin by considering the immediate influences which may lie behind New Testament usage, we are at once led into fairly familiar country. Three Jewish sources are usually thought to shed some light on the spiritual milieu of the concept, namely, the vision and its interpretation given in Daniel 7, the extended references to the Son of man in the Similitudes of Enoch, and the apocalyptic vision in 4 Ezra. Of these the third is too late in date to have been a direct influence upon New Testament usage, although it may contain earlier ideas which have also influenced the New Testament. The Similitudes of Enoch are usually assigned to the era B.C., but there are dissenting voices on the matter. 22 In any case, however, it is clear that in these writings the concept of the Son of man does not suddenly spring into existence without any previous history, and consequently recent study has concentrated its attention on the background of usage in these sources. There is the further consideration that, if the New Testament material cannot be adequately accounted for against the background of these sources, it may be that it is based independently upon the tradition which affected the Jewish material. We start from Daniel 7. As the chapter stands, the Son of man is interpreted as a symbol or representative of 'the saints of the Most High' who are identified with the pious members of lsrael. 23 This does not, however, necessarily mean that the man-like figure is merely a collective symbol; he may well have been a particular person. 24 The later history of the Son of man concept shows that it was taken to represent an individual and understood in what may be called a broadly messianic sense. It may well be the case that this later understanding of the concept betrays a memory of the origins of the Son of man figure which leads us to a correct interpretation of its meaning. 25 The most careful survey of the origin of the Son of man concept as used in Daniel comes from C. Colpe. 26 He examines successively the possibilities of an adequate background in the Old Testament itself and then in a series of non-biblical figures, that of Gayomart in the Avestas, Adapa in
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Babylonian literature, the sun god in Egyptian mythology, Adam in Rabbinic speculation and the primal man in gnosticism. Each of these possibilities is rejected, and Colpe finally suggests a background in Canaanite mythology where we find the figure of a young god, Baal, who rides on the clouds to the supreme god, El, the father of years. Colpe admits that there are difficulties surrounding this hypothesis but holds that these are less than with any other theory. 27 The other major survey in this area is that of F. H. Borsch who comes to somewhat different conclusions. Assembling material from a wide variety of sources, he attempts to show that these bear witness to a set of common ideas and motifs which have survived down the centuries in different, often fragmentary, forms. There were various legends involving the First Man, the king and Primordial Man which were inextricably bound up with each other and which are reflected in myth and dramatic ritual. Borsch ascribes the impulse for the later speculation about the Man (i.e., the Son of man) to this general mythical-ritual background with its ideology of kingship. He then argues that there were a number of Jewish or semiJewish groups which maintained such ideas into New Testament times. These sects practised various forms of baptism as an ordination/coronation rite and ... were likely open to at least a measure of foreign (or simply indigenous but non-Jewish) influences .... For a number of these groups, and often in connection with their baptismal rites, speculation about or belief in the Man (in one or more of his guises) had a significant role to play .... The sources of both many of these water rites and of the concern with the Man, as well as the interrelation between the two, reach back to the ancient kingship ideologies. 28 It is difficult to know what to make of this theory. Borsch moves so rapidly from one source to another and from one ideology to another, tracing common themes and establishing cross-links that his work may impress one critic as a master-stroke of synthesizing genius but another as a gigantic tour de force. The whole survey needs to be carefully examined by a competent Religionsgeschichtlicher and at present it remains sub judice. 29 One other investigation in this area of early origins must be noted. M. D. Hooker finds the background of the concept in the Old Testament itself. She claims that there it is to be understood collectively of Israel as the heir of Adam. Destined to rule, the Son of man experiences loss of dominion and suffering, but will ultimately be vindicated by God. The phrase thus refers to a role rather than a person, although in 1 Enoch it has come to be used of a supernatural individual. 30
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lbis survey of the ultimate origins of the Son of man concept may well suggest that we are some distance from any sort of consensus of opinion on the matter. Nevertheless, there are two points on which several of our authorities are agreed. We have already observed that from a linguistic point of view it is doubtful whether we can speak of a fully titular use of the phrase 'Son of man' in the pre-Christian period. We may now complement this observation by noting that it is doubtful whether we can speak of one single, well-defined 'Son of man' concept. Thus N. Perrin has argued that what we find in the literature is a series of separate and independent exegetical uses of Daniel7, making use of the human image described there. 31 Similarly, M. D. Hooker holds that the identification of the Son of man with Enoch which is made in the Similitudes was possible because 'Son of man' was not a title for a recognizable figure. 32 Finally, in this connection we must mention H. R. Balz, who has demonstrated that a considerable variety of ideas were associated with the phrase 'Son of man' so that it can hardly be regarded as a title with a specific content and reference. 33 This is a far cry from E. Stauffer's claim that 'Son of man' was 'just about the most pretentious piece of self-description that any man in the ancient East could possibly have used', 34 although the point should not be pressed unduly. A second conclusion is that we are probably not to look to the extrabiblical apocalyptic writings for a direct influence upon the New Testament usage. Our authorities are, however, divided regarding where we should seek for the immediate influence upon the New Testament. For example, C. Colpe holds that in the Gospels we have testimony to an independent Jewish Son of man tradition which must be placed alongside the surviving Jewish sources/5 but N. Perrin believes that the oldest New Testament texts rest upon a reinterpretation by the early Church of Daniel 7.36 This means that the scholars are far from being of one mind on the ultimate origins of the Son of man concept or the proximate influences upon the New Testament. What is of interest and importance as we turn to the next part of our theme will be the question how far these differences of opinion over background affect exegesis of the New Testament.
IV The most comprehensive survey of the material in the Synoptic Gospels is afforded by Colpe. 37 Following Jeremias, he begins by bracketing off three sayings in which 'Son of man' meaning 'a man' has been misunderstood in the tradition as a title for Jesus. Mark 2.10 goes back to an original form which may be paraphrased, 'Not only God can forgive but also in the case of me, Jesus, a man'. 38 Similar originals are postulated for Matthew 11.19 = Luke 7.34, and Matthew 8.20 = Luke 9.58. In all three cases Colpe accepts forms of the sayings without the titular 'Son of man' as authentic sayings of Jesus. 39 89
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Having thus cleared the ground, Colpe next argues that there are eight sayings about the future coming of the Son of man which go back to Jesus himself: these are Matthew 24.27, 37 (=Luke 17.24, 26); Luke 17.30; 21.36; 18.8; 22.69; Matthew 10.23 and 24.30. His reasoning is that there are no compelling arguments against their genuineness, that the production of further Son of man sayings by the early Church would be unlikely if there was not already a core of authentic sayings of Jesus, and that these eight sayings offer a unified picture of the activity of the Son of man which is not dependent upon the surviving Jewish sources (Daniel, 1 Enoch and 4 Ezra). They speak of the sudden coming of the Son of man from heaven at the last day to judge men on the basis of their response to Jesus. By accepting only this set of sayings as authentic teaching of Jesus, Colpe thus aligns himself with the view of R. Bultmann, G. Bornkamm, H. E. TOdt and A. J. B. Higgins that only the apocalyptic sayings in Group C are authentic teaching of Jesus. This raises the question whether Jesus identified himself with the Son of man. Before answering this question, Colpe refers to four groups of sayings which originally did not use the term 'Son of man' but later had it added to them. 40 Here Colpe is closely following Jeremias who holds that in cases where there are two forms of a statement in the Gospels, the one with and the other without the term 'Son of man,' the latter is more primitive than the former. These groups of sayings are: 1. Luke 22.27 and 48 which speak of Jesus as the Servant of Yahweh and of his betrayal; 2. Mark 3.28f. and Matthew 5.11 which speak of men's rejection of Jesus; 3. Matthew 10.32f. and Luke 22.28--30 which refer to the eschatological significance of Jesus for his followers; and 4. Matthew 12.39 and Mark 9.9 and 31 which prophesy the 'perfecting' of Jesus on the third day after he has undergone the suffering which is the typical fate of the prophet. Colpe argues that in order to understand the Son of man sayings we must also take these sayings into consideration, since apart from them Jesus would appear as no more than a prophet of repentance. It was, therefore, entirely fitting that these sayings were later transformed into Son of man sayings. According to Colpe, Jesus did not raise the question whether he was the Son of man. Rather he used three sets of parallel concepts, his own 'perfecting', the Kingdom of God and the Son of man, to refer to the breaking in of the eschatological future in the present time. These three sets of concepts were not brought into relationship with each other. Hence the Son of man is a symbol of Jesus' certainty of his own 'perfecting'. Colpe continues: 'With a shift from the assurance to the one who has it, the whole process may be interpreted as a dynamic and functional equating of Jesus and the coming Son of Man with the future perfecting of Jesus in view. On this view, the primitive community then made of it a static personal identification accomplished already in the present Jesus'. 41 90
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I find this conclusion difficult to accept, but proceed for the moment to expound Colpe's view of the subsequent development of the tradition. He gives a careful analysis of the various stages through which it passed, though he is careful to observe that this does not necessarily represent a chronological development. In brief, he distinguishes the period of oral tradition from that of the Gospels and their written sources. Within the former period he distinguishes three stages: 1. Once the Easter event had convinced the disciples that Jesus himself would return to them, the authentic sayings of Jesus about the coming Son of man were promptly understood to refer to himself. At the same time the sayings using 'Son of man' in a non-titular sense were given a messianic meaning and consequently the title was regarded as applying to Jesus during his earthly ministry. At this stage one or two other sayings (notably Matt. 10.32f. = Luke 12.8f. and Luke 12.10) were reformulated. 2. At a second stage this process was carried further. Statements about the suffering of Jesus were given a 'Son of man' form, and various eschatological sayings and other statements in the first person were reformulated in terms of the Son of man. 3. The third stage was characterized not so much by the reformulation of existing sayings of Jesus as by the creation of new sayings, including the Jonah saying (Luke 11.30) and the prophecy of the parousia in Mark 13.26. We may terminate our summary of Colpe's analysis here. It has emerged that only eight occurrences of the title 'Son of man', all referring to the eschatological figure, go back to Jesus himself. The present form of all the other sayings is due to the early Church. Consequently, Jesus did not think of himself as being already the 'hidden' Son of man during his earthly ministry, nor did he use an ambiguous form of expression, meaning 'I' or 'Son of man' to describe himself. The analysis of the Gospel material by N. Perrin takes its start from Mark 13.26.42 Perrin holds that this text represents the earliest form of the hope of the future coming of the Son of man and also that it is a product of the early Church. 43 Consequently, Jesus himself could not have spoken at all of the coming Son of man; all the other texts in the Gospels are secondary to Mark 13.26. What happened was that the early Church understood the resurrection of Jesus in terms of Daniel 7.13 (along with Ps. 110), so that Jesus was seen as the Son of man who ascends to God. Then the application of Zechariah 12.10ff. led to the idea of the parousia of the Son of man. From this beginning in early Christian exegesis of Old Testament texts arose the whole Son of man speculation. Perrin thus agrees with Colpe in finding the origins of the Son of man ideology in apocalyptic. He differs from him at two points. First, he denies, as we have already seen, the existence of a Jewish concept of the coming Son of man which Jesus and the early Church could have used, and consequently he has to show how this idea developed in the early Church by 91
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creative exegesis of the Old Testament. 44 Second, unlike Colpe, he holds that no sayings in the Gospels are authentic utterances of Jesus unless they can be positively proved to be such. 45 The question now arises whether the postulation of a different, nonapocalyptic background leads to different results. M. D. Hooker adopts as her method of study a simple seriatim consideration of the sayings recorded in Mark. This means that her starting point is the two Group A sayings, Mark 2.10 and 28, and she finds no difficulty in demonstrating that in them Jesus acts as the Son of man with the authority of God on earth, and thus as Adam was originally intended to act. Further, the disciples are associated with Jesus in this authority, although 'the Son of man in the gospels ... is not a truly corporate figure; rather it is true to say that the consequences of the Son of man's authority always extend to others' .46 Next there is a consideration of the passion prophecies; these refer to the denial of the Son of man's authority by men, but also speak of his vindication by God in terms of resurrection; only at his vindication will his authority and glory as the Son of God be revealed. Of particular interest is the theory that the suffering of the Son of man is not to be understood in the light of Isaiah 53, but rather in terms of the teaching in Daniel. 47 Finally, the sayings in Mark 13.26 and 14.62 are held to refer to the vindication of the Son of man and his reception of authority rather than primarily to the fact of his coming on the clouds. In her closing discussion M. D. Hooker concludes that the pattern of activity displayed in Mark goes back to Jesus himself, and pleads for an understanding of the Son of man which is 'messianic but not "supernatural". ' 48 It has already been observed that the views of C. K. Barrett are very close to those of Hooker. We may, therefore, content ourselves with noting three points which he makes: 1. The content of Mark 8.38 is such that it cuts across the traditional classification of the sayings into three groups; elements from each group are to be found in it. 49 2. Barrett argues that Jesus spoke of his vindication in two ways, in terms of resurrection and of future glory. These were two alternative ways of designating one event, which Jesus expected to happen soon after his death. It was the early Church which interpreted the sayings to refer to a past resurrection and a future parousia.50 3. Barrett reaffirms that ideas of suffering and atonement are bound up with the figure of the Son of man in Daniel, and that the whole concept is to be understood from its Old Testament background; the Son of man is the representative of humanity and of Israel in particular. 51 The general conclusion of these two writers is thus that the Son of man is less of an apocalyptic figure and more of a messianic figure, and that the substantial authenticity of the various aspects of this concept within the teaching of Jesus can be upheld.
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Finally, in this section, we must briefly mention the views of F. H. Borsch. Unlike the other writers he treats the Synoptic material after the rest of the New Testament evidence, a procedure which may well raise doubts whether he has taken the development of thought sufficiently into account. He accepts the substantial authenticity of most of the sayings attributed to Jesus and holds that Jesus believed that he had 'been given the right to speak and act in the role of the Son of Man', but left his own relationship to the future, glorious Son of man undefined. 52 Borsch's main concern, however, is to show how the various features of the Man myth which he described earlier in his book can be traced in a broken and fragmentary form in the Gospel material. In the course of this attempt he draws in much Gospel material in which the title itself does not occur; thus the baptism, temptation and Transfiguration are all held to be related to the Man myth. 53 The general impression that remains, however, is one of vagueness, and Borsch's defence of the general authenticity of the sayings as teaching of Jesus is the less convincing because his methods would seem to make it possible to prove almost anything.
V Before we attempt to draw some conclusions on the basis of this survey, two other areas of study must be briefly mentioned for completeness' sake. The investigation of the Son of man sayings in the Gospel of John is a wide field of research in itself.54 The Johannine sayings present the same features as the Synoptic sayings, but in addition there is a new emphasis on the Son of man as a figure who ascends and descends. Now if this group of sayings be regarded as forming one coherent Son of man ideology,55 the question arises whether this is simply a Johannine development of what is already present in the Synoptic Gospels,56 or whether other, non-Christian traditions have exercised an influence. In particular, has Gnostic mythology been at work here? Whereas earlier research was ready to find gnostic influence at this point, the general trend in the limited period of our investigation has been different. S. S. Smalley has argued that the case for Gnostic influence is weak, and holds that Johannine theology stands close to that of the Synoptic Gospels and the Hellenistic church.57 The other area of research is the writings of Paul. Here the question arises whether Paul's references to Jesus as 'the Man', which would be the correct Greek translation of bar niishii, represent a Hellenistic formulation of 'Son of man'. It must suffice to note that recent study has given a cautious affirmative to this question. 58
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VI So much by way of general survey. What conclusions may be drawn, and are there any pointers regarding profitable lines of future research? A number of questions arise from our discussion. The first is concerned with the proper method of studying the Gospel material. We have seen that somewhat different results are achieved according to whether or not the so-called traditio-historical (traditions-geschichtlich) method is followed.59 The general principle behind this method is that any sayings in the Gospels which might be derived from Judaism or ascribed to the primitive Church cannot, at least in the first instance, be ascribed to Jesus. In other words, sayings ascribed to Jesus are to be regarded as inauthentic unless they can be proved to be authentic. A radical application of this criterion leads to the denial that Jesus used the title 'Son of man' at all. A less radical application allows a minimum of sayings to him, usually those in Group C. But the validity of this radical method is by no means universally acknowledged. 60 Those, like M. D. Hooker, who adopt the principle that the tradition may be taken as authentic unless there are compelling reasons against doing so ascribe a much greater proportion of the sayings to Jesus. Nevertheless, it should be noted that, although C. Colpe adopts the more conservative approach, he accepts only eight of the Group C sayings as authentic. He is, however, prepared to admit the substantial authenticity of many of the other sayings in a non-'Son of man' forn1, and his rejection of the 'Son of man' formulations rests upon other grounds. For ourselves we believe that there are good grounds for preferring the conservative approach. 61 It may also be the case that the order in which the Gospel sayings are treated affects the results reached. Those scholars who start from the apocalyptic sayings find themselves rejecting the others as teaching of Jesus, but those who start from the Group A 'earthly' sayings, as the order of Mark requires M. D. Hooker to do, and as F. H. Borsch chooses to do, find themselves able to accept at least some of the apocalyptic teaching as well. Even with the apocalyptic sayings there are differences of judgement between N. Perrin who starts from the sayings which are dependent upon Daniel 7, and C. Colpe who starts from the sayings which, in his opinion, do not have this background. We may ask whether subjective considerations have influenced judgement here, and whether there is a proper starting point for study. 62 A further problem arises with regard to the type of theological development postulated by the two main wings of scholarship. If we adopt a view like that of M. D. Hooker, the majority of the sayings must be attributed to Jesus himself; all the development, so to speak, took place in his mind, and he had a 'complete' doctrine of the Son of man. There is consequently 94
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less room for development within the early Church. If, however, we adopt the kind of view which has been most carefully worked out by C. Colpe, we find that a very considerable development must have taken place in the early Church. The coming Son of man was identified with Jesus, and then the earthly ministry of Jesus was understood in terms of the Son of man. A number of considerations suggest that the former view is preferable. Apart from the Gospel sayings themselves, there is extraordinarily little evidence for a Son of man Christology in the early Church; unlike the other Christological categories, it has left little trace outside the Gospels. Further, Colpe never explains clearly why the early Church identified Jesus with the coming Son of man, nor why it proceeded to integrate certain aspects of his earthly ministry into a Son of man ideology. 63 J. Jeremias has argued that the oldest group of Son of man sayings are those to which there are no parallel formations without the term 'Son of man'; where such parallel forms exist, 'Son of man' is a later insertion. It is, however, unsafe to postulate a general rule of this character, and the possibility of exceptions cannot be ruled out. Some of the alternative forms which are supposed to give parallels to the Son of man sayings are not very convincing. 64 Moreover, the effect of the argument is to cast doubt upon a number of sayings which are otherwise perfectly unexceptionable as sayings of Jesus. 65 We may, therefore, be permitted to doubt the validity of Jeremias's rule, and consequently of Colpe's use of it. How, then, are we to view the sayings which are attributed to Jesus? We return to the other main consideration in our survey, that of background. There seems little doubt that a decision on this point does affect our attitude to the Gospel material. It does matter whether the background is to be found in Jewish apocalyptic, or in the Book of Daniel simpliciter, or more broadly in the Old Testament, or even in a wider amalgam of thought. 66 It seems to us more likely that the background to New Testament usage is to be found in the Old Testament with M. D. Hooker and C. K. Barrett rather than in the very shadowy and unsubstantiated apocalyptic tradition proposed by C. Colpe. 67 If this point is allowed-and clearly it requires a much fuller discussion than is possible here-then we are brought up against the fact that the majority of Son of man sayings can be seen as forming one pattern in which the general theme of authority, its rejection and its vindication, is expressed. 68 It is much more likely that the basis at least of this pattern goes back to one mind, that of Jesus himself, than that it was the product of piecemeal evolution in the early Church. We have also seen that it is reasonably certain that 'Son of man' should not be taken in too strict a titular sense: The use of it by Jesus with reference to himself would not clash with his general reticence with regard to titles. There is the problem that some of the uses seem more titular, whereas others seem more a form of self-designation. If it is unlikely that 95
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'Son of man' was a simple circumlocution for 'I', the possibility remains that Jesus, taking over the use of the term from the Old Testament and especially from Daniel, made it his self-designation in a quasi-titular manner. 69 The reason for his adoption of this self-designation may lie in his consciousness of divine Sonship70 and his unwillingness to reveal it openly; the phrase 'Son of man', referring in Daniel 7 to a heavenly, messianic being, could be used as a veil for his true title 71 and at the same time as a means of expressing his solidarity with the people of Israel. These conclusions will show that we favour the kind of view advocated by M. D. Hooker and C. K. Barrett. It would be idle, however, to suggest that the problem is settled, and any conclusion must necessarily be tentative. Further attention to the problems of method and background may lead to more assured results.72
Notes 1 There are about forty possible occurrences of the title (excluding obvious parallels) in the Synoptic Gospels, and a further dozen in the Gospel of John. 2 See 0. Cullmann, The Christology of the New Testament (London, 1959); F. Hahn, Christologische Hoheitstitel (Gottingen, 1964; Eng. tr. The Titles of Jesus in Christology, London, 1%9); R. H. Fuller, The Foundations of New Testament Christology (London, 1%5). 3 An increasing realization of the difficulty of the 'titular' approach and a recognition that this approach ignores an important area of evidence have combined to develop an interest in the Christological significance of the work of Jesus and of his non-titular sayings. See especially H. R. Balz, Methodische Probleme der Neutestamentlichen Christologie (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1%7). 4 A. J. B. Higgins (ed.), New Testament Essays: Studies in Memory ofT. W. Manson (Manchester, 1959), pp. 119-35. 5 Cambridge, 1931, pp. 211-34. 6 The Synoptic Son of Man Sayings in Recent Discussion', NTS, 12, 1%5--66, pp. 327-51 (see pp. 73-99 above). Other surveys include: G. Haufe, 'Das Menschensohn Probleme in der gegenwiirtigen wissenschaftlichen Diskussion', Ev. Theol., 26, 1966, pp. 130-41; R. Marlow, 'The Son of Man in Recent Journal Literature', CBQ 28, 1966, pp. 20-30; J. N. Birdsall, 'Who Is This Son of Man?' EQ 42, 1970, pp. 7-17. 7 For view 1., see Cullmann, op. cit.; V. Taylor, The Names of Jesus (London, 1937), pp. 25-35. For view 2., see P. Vielhauer, Aufsiitze zum Neuen Testament (Miinchen, 1%5), pp. 55-91, 92-140; H. Conzelmann, 'Gegenwart und Zukunft in der synoptischen Tradition', ZTK, 54, 1957, pp. 277-%; E. Kasemann, Essays on New Testament Themes (London, 1964), pp. 43f.; H. M. Teeple, 'The Origin of the Son of Man Christology', JBL, 84, 1%5, pp. 213-50. For view 3., see R. Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament (London, 1952), I, pp. 28-32; G. Bornkamm, Jesus von Nazareth (Stuttgart, 1956), pp. 160-3, 206--8; H. E. Todt, The Son of Man in the Synoptic Tradition (London, 1%5); A. J. B. Higgins, Jesus and the Son of Man (London, 1964). For view 4., see E. Schweizer, Neotestamentica (Zurich, 1%3), pp. 56ff. For fuller bibliographical details, see the previous essay.
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8
9
10 11 12
13 14
15
16 17
For further statements along the above lines, see for 1.: R. Maddox, 'The Function of the Son of Man according to the Synoptic Gospels', NTS, 15, 1%8--69, pp. 45-74; F. F. Bruce, This Is That (Exeter, 1%8), pp. 26-30, 96-9; for 2.: H. Conzelmann, An Outline of the Theology of the New Testament (London, 1969), pp. 131-7; for 3.: W. Pannenberg, Jesus-God and Man (London, 1%8), pp. 58--66; for 4.: E. Schweizer, Das Evangelium nach Markus (Gottingen, 1967), pp. 94--6; cf. T. Boman, Die Jesus-Oberlieferung im Lichte der neueren Volkskunde (Gottingen, 1%7), pp. 14&-83; R. Leivestad, 'Der apokalyptische Menschensohn ein theologisches Phantom', ASTI, 6, 1%8, pp. 49-105; J. C. O'Neill, 'The Silence of Jesus', NTS, 15, 1%8--69, pp. 153-67, finds authentic teaching of Jesus among those sayings in which 'Son of man' is a self-designation and not a title. The main works to be discussed here are: N. Perrin, Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus (London, 1%7); M. D. Hooker, The Son of Man in Mark (London, 1%7); C. K. Barrett, Jesus and the Gospel Tradition (London, 1%7); F. H. Borsch, The Son of Man in Myth and History (London, 1%7); Colpe, o ui<'x; tou civ9pomou, TDNT, VIII, pp. 400-77; J. Jeremias, 'Die alteste Schicht der Menschensohn-Logien', ZNW, 58,1%7, pp.159-72. A full bibliography up to 1%7 is given by C. Colpe. Perrin, op. cit., pp. 164-202, cf. pp. 259f. Elsewhere Perrin has indicated that he does not regard any of the Son of man sayings as authentic teaching of Jesus ('Recent Trends in Research in the Christology of the New Testament', in J. C. Rylaarsdam (ed.), Transitions in Biblical Scholarship (Chicago, 1%8), pp. 217-33, especially p. 221 ). On this text see E. Ltivestam, Spiritus Blasphemia: Eine Studie zu Mk. 3, 28f par Mt. 12, 31f, Lk. 12, 10 (Lund, 1%8). A similar view is defended by C. F. D. Moule, The Phenomenon of the New Testament (London, 1967), pp. 33-6. One or two scholars have argued that the 'particular man' is Adam (J. B. Cortes and F. M. Gatti, 'The Son of Man and the Son of Adam', Biblica, 49, 1%8, pp. 457-502). The clear association of the phrase with Daniel 7.13 speaks against this interpretation. Another view is that 'Son of man' is a euphemism for 'Son of God' (J. M. Ford,' "The Son of Man"-A Euphemism?', JBL, 87, 1%8, pp. 257--66). It is true that the Son of man has divine attributes and functions, but the linguistic suggestion is unproved and unlikely. C. Colpe (TDNT, VIII, 402), notes that the definite form is not attested in the Old Testament. According to C. Colpe (TDNT, VIII, pp. 402-5), the four expressions 'enash, 'enasha, bar ('e)nash and bar ('e)nasha were used. Any of these could be used to mean 'the man', 'a man' or 'somebody'. The first two expressions could be used collectively to mean 'men'; the last two (those with bar) could be used in a generalizing sense. 'The Use of bar nash/bar nasha in Jewish Aramaic', published as Appendix E in M. Black, An Aramaic Approach to the Gospels and Acts (Oxford, 1%73 ), pp. 310-28. According to Vermes, 'In most instances the sentence contains an allusion to humiliation, danger or death, but there are also examples where reference to the self in the third person is dictated by humility or modesty' (p. 327). The criticisms made by J. A. Fitzmyer in his review of the book (CBQ 30, 1968, pp. 417-28) do not affect the main point at issue. Black, op. cit., pp. 328-30; cf. O'Neill, op. cit., p. 161, n. 1. Jeremias, op. cit., p. 165, n. 9; Colpe, op. cit., p. 403f.; R. Le Deaut, 'Le substrat
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18 19 20 21
22
23 24
25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32
arameen des Evangiles: scolies en marge de !'Aramaic Approach de Matthew Black', Biblica, 50, 1968, pp. 388-99 (especially 397-9). The phrase 'I and nobody else' would be expressed in Aramaic by hahu gabra. A. Gelston, 'A Sidelight on the "Son of Man",' SJT, 22, 1%9, pp. 189-%, especially p. 189, n. 2. Vermes, op. cit., pp. 327f. Colpe, op. cit., pp. 404f. R. E. C. Formesyn ('Was there a Pronominal Connection for the Bar Nasha Selfdesignation?', Nov. T, 8, 1966, pp. 1-35) argues that the form hahu bar nasha was the actual expression for 'I'. He holds that the closeness of form between this expression and the title 'Son of man' led to the messianization of the former in the early Church. However, there is no positive evidence for the form postulated by Formesyn (cf. Vermes, op. cit., pp. 313f.). For the generally held view, see Colpe, op. cit., p. 423, n. 180. A date early in the second century AD is upheld by J. C. Hindley, 'Towards a Date for the Similitudes of Enoch: An Historical Approach', NTS, 14, 1%7--{;8, pp. 551--{;5. For discussion of the view that originally the 'saints of the Most High' were angelic beings rather than pious Israelites, see Hooker, op. cit., p. 13, n. 3. We must distinguish between the original significance of the figure before it was taken over by Daniel and the use which Daniel makes of it. The original figure is clearly that of a man-like heavenly being, an angel or a god (Colpe, op. cit., p. 421). In Daniel it may retain this meaning or be a symbol for something else. 1. Many scholars take it to be simply a symbol for the saints of the Most High, in the way in which the female figure of Britannia symbolizes the British people (Hooker, op. cit., pp. 11-30, 184). 2. Following P. Vielhauer and H. E. Toot, C. Colpe holds that the figure symbolizes the abstract concept of rule. This view is very unlikely. It places too much stress on the analogy with the beasts in the preceding part of the chapter (the beasts in any case represent kings as well as kingdoms), and it does not do justice to the form of v. 14 which speaks of dominion being given to the man-like figure. Further, the prehistory of the concept suggests that a heavenly individual is meant. 3. We therefore prefer the view that the man-like figure is a heavenly being who is the representative or head of the saints, in the same way as a king or president can be said to 'represent' his subjects. Thus Daniel's use of the figure is in accord with its previous meaning. See Marshall, op. cit., p. 336 (=pp. 81f. above), and, in addition to the authorities cited there, G. von Rad in TDNT, I, p. 567, n. 13; H. L. Ellison, The Centrality of the Messianic Idea for the Old Testament (London, 1953), pp. 13-15; E. J. Young, Daniel's Vision of the Son of Man (London, 1958); Bruce, op. cit., p. 26. To this extent, T. F. Glasson was right in suggesting that the concept in 1 Enoch 14 is older than that in Daniel 7 (The Second Advent [London, 1947], pp. 13-18). Literary dependence of Daniel on 1 Enoch is, however, unlikely. Colpe, op. cit., pp. 406-30. N. Perrin has indicated his acceptance of Colpe's thesis (op. cit., p. 166, n. 1). For the above summary, see Borsch, op. cit., pp. 132, 218f. As Borsch admits (op. cit., pp. 225-31), the existence of groups maintaining Son of man speculations in the time of Jesus has not been proved. In our opinion, Miss Hooker dismisses too easily the evidence for the Son of man as a heavenly individual being in Daniel. Perrin, op. cit., pp. 164-73. Hooker, op. cit., pp. 43-7. Other scholars who reject the view that 'Son of man'
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THE SON OF MAN IN CONTEMPORARY DEBATE
33
34
35 36 37 38
39 40 41
42 43 44
45 46 47
was a stereotyped apocalyptic title are Leivestad, op. cit., and 0. Betz, What do we know about Jesus? (London, 1968), pp. 109-12. Balz, op. cit., pp. 61-112. Of special importance is Balz's demonstration that very much the same mixtures of attributes and functions are associated with other titles for eschatological Saviour figures. Thus the sharp distinction which is sometimes drawn between the titles of Messiah and Son of man is unjustified. E. Stauffer, New Testament Theology (London, 1955), p. 108. It would, however, be wrong to deny completely the existence of any kind of Son of man figure in Judaism. Here Perrin plainly goes too far. The evidence shows that there was considerable fluidity in depicting the Son of man, not that there was no Son of man figure. See W. G. Ktimmel's critical assessment of Perrin 's book in J R, 49, 1969, pp. 59-66. Colpe, op. cit., p. 429. Perrin, op. cit., p. 173. Colpe, op. cit., pp. 430-61. The difficulty with this explanation of this and the other two sayings is that they are not general statements which are universally true; they refer to Jesus alone. It is therefore unlikely that an original reference to Jesus as a man has been misunderstood in the tradition as a reference to the Son of man. The reference to 'men' in Matthew 9.8 comes from Matthew himself and is not necessarily a clue to the original form of the saying. For the linking of the phrase 'Son of man' with forgiveness, see Maddox, op. cit., p. 57, who views forgiveness as a juridical function of the Son of man. Cf. Perrin, op. cit., pp. 119-21. Cf. Higgins, op. cit., for the same explanation of several sayings. Colpe, op. cit., p. 441. The original German is: 'Bezieht man es von dieser Gewissheit auf ihren Trager, dann kann man diesen Sachverhalt auch als dynamische, in seiner zuktinfrigen Vollendung intendierte und funktionale Gleichstellung Jesu mit dem kommenden Menschensohn interpretieren. Die Urgemeinde machte daraus eine statische, schon in Jesu Gegenwart realisierte und personale Identifikation' (C. Colpe, TWNT, VIII, p. 443). Colpe's conclusion is similar to that of A. J. B. Higgins who holds that Jesus spoke of 'performing Son of man functions in the future', but does not go as far as Higgins in claiming that Jesus expressly related himself to the Son of man (Higgins, op. cit., pp. 200-3). N. Perrin, 'Mark xiv. 62: The End Product of a Christian Pesher Tradition', NTS, 12, 1965--66, pp. 150--5. See the reply by F. H. Borsch, 'Mark xiv. 62 and I Enoch lxii. 5', NTS, 14,1967-68, pp. 565-7. Cf. Boman, op. cit., p. 152. Perrin notes that Colpe has to admit the lack of a Jewish background for the concept of the Son of man which he ascribes to Jesus, and therefore needs to postulate an otherwise unattested stream of apocalyptic tradition behind the usage of Jesus (Perrin, op. cit., p. 260). Perrin is correct in holding that the existing biblical and late Jewish material affords an adequate background for the New Testament usage, but is wrong in denying that this background could lead to the use of the Son of man concept by Jesus himself (cf. Ktimmel, op. cit., pp. 64f.). See C. Colpe's more conservative principle, op. cit., p. 432. Hooker, op. cit., p. 181. Cf. M. D. Hooker, Jesus and the Servant (London, 1959). E. Best, The Temptation and the Passion (Cambridge, 1965), p. 164, also finds a suffering Son of
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JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
48 49 50 51 52
53 54
55
56
57
58 59
60 61
man in DanieL Bruce, op. cit., pp. 26-30, 97-9, rightly stresses the weakness of the allusions in Daniel to a suffering Son of man and reasserts the use by Jesus of the Suffering Servant imagery. Hooker, The Son of Man in Mark, p. 187. Barrett, op. cit., p. 32; cf. Maddox, op. cit., pp. 49f. Barrett, op. cit., pp. 77-ifl. A similar view is upheld by M. Black, 'The Son of Man Problem in Recent Research and Debate', BJRL, 45, 1962-63, pp. 305-18; 'The "Son of man" Passion Sayings in the Gospel Tradition', ZNW, 60, 1969, pp. 1-8. Barrett, op. cit., pp. 41-5. Borsch, op. cit., pp. 321, 360. The ambiguity postulated by Borsch is not satisfactory, especially since the Gospels themselves do not make a clear distinction between the earthly Son of man and the glorious Son of man. Borsch's difficulty is due to his overstress on the use of 'Son of man' as an apocalyptic title. We may compare the way in which E. Lohmeyer found a Son of man Christology embedded in parts of the Marcan narrative where the title itself is not found (Das Evangelium des Markus (Gottingen, l959],passim). S. Schulz, Untersuchungen zur Menschensohn-Christologie im Johannesevangelium (Gottingen, 1957); R. Schnackenburg, 'Der Menschensohn im Johannesevangelium', NTS, 11, 1964-65, pp. 123-37 (cf. The Gospel according to St John (London, 1968] I, pp. 529-42). E. D. Freed, 'The Son of Man in the Fourth Gospel', JBL, 86, 1967, pp. 402-9, has argued that John uses Christological titles indiscriminately, and that consequently there are no special ideas bound up with the title 'Son of man' which are not part of a more general Christological conception; cf. Jeremias, op. cit., p.170. For the view that much of Johannine theology is a development of synoptic themes, see C. K. Barrett, The Gospel according to St John (London, 1955). Barrett, however, saw the influence of speculations about the primal or archetypal Man on the Johannine concept of the Son of man (ibid., pp. 60f. ). S. S. Smalley, 'The Johannine Son of Man Sayings', NTS, 15, 1968-69, pp. 278-301. See also E. M. Kinniburgh, 'The Johannine "Son of Man",' Studia Evangelica, IV= TU CII, 1968, pp. 64-71, who argues that in John the title is no longer apocalyptic but has become a term of realized eschatology. W. H. Cadman, The Opened Heaven (Oxford, 1969), pp. 26-42, holds that the imagery of the ascent of the Son of man to heaven symbolizes the close union between God and Jesus during his earthly life. Colpe, op. cit., pp. 470-3; Borsch, op. cit., pp. 232-56. The problem is part of the broader issue of Adam and 'man' in Paul's thought which cannot be raised here. For the basic principle, see (for example) Kiisemann, op. cit., pp. 36f., and for the method see Perrin, op. cit., pp. 15-53. There is some doubt whether the principle should be called 'form-critical' (Fuller, The Foundations of New Testament Christology, p. 116) or 'traditio-historical' (cf. R. H. Fuller, A Critical Introduction to the New Testament (London, 1966], pp. 93f.).lf the latter adjective is accepted, 'form-critical' loses its broad sense and refers purely to classification of the Gospel material by form; the study of the material thus classified in order to determine how it was modified in oral transmission and to determine the location of these modifications in the development of tradition is then 'traditio-historical'. Colpe, op. cit., p. 432; Hooker, op. cit., pp. 4-7, 79 et al.; Ktimmel, op. cit., pp. 60f. From a radical viewpoint also the method is open to criticism: F. G. Downing, The Church and Jesus (London, 1968). See I. H. Marshall, review of R. H. Fuller, The Foundations of New Testament
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62
63 64
65 66 67 68 69
70
71 72
Christology, Themelios, 3, 2, 1966, pp. 25-34; 'Questions about the GospelsH. History or Fiction?' TSF Bulletin, 53, spring 1969, pp. 3-9; I Believe in the Historical Jesus (London, 1977). The type of interpretation favoured by G. Bomkanun and H. E. Toot has its basis in taking Luke 12.8f., with its apparent distinction between Jesus and the Son of man, as its point of departure (Bomkanun, op. cit., pp. 161f.). On this text, see G. Lindeskog, 'Das Rlitsel des Menschensohns', Stud. Theol, 22, 1968, pp. 169-76. See the criticisms of this argument by Hooker, op. cit., pp. 185f.; Schweizer, Das Evangelium nach Markus, p. 94; cf. Teeple, op. cit., pp. 224--6. Jeremias 's use of parallels from the Gospel of Thomas is of doubtful value; it is uncertain whether this document reflects an independent, primitive stream of tradition. Some of the parallels cited from the Gospels are from secondary material (Matt. 9.8 as a parallel to Mark 2.10). In others the lack of correspondence is so great as to raise doubt whether they are in fact alternative versions of the same sayings (Luke 13.32 as a parallel to Mark 8.31; Mark 14.24 as a parallel to Mark 10.45; Matt. 26.50 as a parallel to Luke 22.48; John 5.12 and 8.25 as parallels to John 12.34). See, for example, the defence of Luke 24.7 by M. Black in his article in ZNW, 60, 1969, pp. 2f. (Seen. 50.) Leivestad, op. cit., pp. 98f. We would see a greater influence of Daniel upon the Synoptic tradition than C. Colpe allows. At the same time, we believe that there is no good reason for denying that Jesus knew and used the Book of Daniel. See especially Maddox, op. cit. Our view would be that 'Son of man' is used throughout the sayings of Jesus as a way of referring to himself in a manner intended to recall its use in the Old Testament. It would thus be a self-designation based on the quasi-titular use of the phrase rather than upon its putative use as a simple circumlocution for 'I'. At the same time, the phrase was ambiguous and would not necessarily be recognized as titular by Jesus' hearers. For Jesus' filial consciousness, see Higgins, op. cit., p. 207; 'The Son of Man Concept and the Historical Jesus', Studia Evangelica, V =TU CIII, 1968, pp. 14-20. For a defence of Jesus' use of the term 'Son' as a self-designation, see I. H. Marshall, 'The Divine Sonship of Jesus', Interpretation, 21, 1967, pp. 87-103 (reprinted below, pp. 134-49). The question may be raised how far one's attitude to the person of Jesus as the Son of God affects a critical estimate of the Son of man sayings; the type of criticism which rules out the resurrection (understood in the traditional sense) as an object of historical study is bound to rule out the possibility of understanding Jesus in any other than purely human categories. Such a limitation of historical possibilities prevents an adequate assessment of the Gospels. Cf. our remarks above on Miss J. M. Ford's theory; cf. also E. Lohmeyer, Galiliia und Jerusalem (Gtittingen, 1936), p. 35, who says of 'the Son of man', 'welcher Name nur verhtillt was der urchristliche Glaube vom Gottessohn bekennt'. [1989] The immense volume of material on the 'Son of man' question published since 1970 makes any attempt at evaluation within the limits of this postscript quite impossible. The following brief comments are an updating of the relevant discussion in the 'Nachwort' to the German translation of my book The Origins of New Testament Chri.stology (Leicester, 1976; Die Ursprii.nge der neutestamentlichen Chri.stologie (Giessen, 1985): A solid Festschrift in honour of A. Vogtle (R. Pesch and R. Schnackenburg (eds. ), Jesus und der Menschensohn [Freiburg, 1975) contains a number of con-
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tributions to the use of the phrase in the Gospels. On the one hand, H. Schiirmann and G. Schneider argue that the occurrences of the phrase in Q and the Lucan Sondergut are due not to Jesus but to the early Church. On the other hand, W. G. Kiimmel and R. Pesch argue for the use of the phrase by Jesus in Luke 12.8f; Mark 9.31 and 14.62. A. J. B. Higgins, who contributed to the same volume, has also written a further monograph defending the Todt-Hahn interpretation (The Son of Man in the Teaching of Jesus, SNTS Monograph Series 39 [Cambridge, 1980]). But the centre of interest in the English-speaking world is undoubtedly the further development of the kind of theory advanced by G. Vem1es discussed above. Two main contributions must be noted. First, there is the detailed study of Daniel? and its influence by M. Casey (Son of Man [London, 1979]). Casey is primarily concerned with the original significance of Daniel 7; he argues that there is no 'Son of man' figure in the chapter, and that what we have is merely the use of a human figure as a symbol for Israel. In subsequent Jewish literature he finds (like Vermes and N. Perrin) that there is no Son of man concept. Then he looks at the Gospels. He argues that sayings which reflect the influence of Daniel 7 are not authentic teaching of Jesus. What survives is a set of some twelve texts, all of which can be translated back into Aramaic and which use the Aramaic idiom bar 'enash(a) to make general statements that were true of Jesus himself. Casey's discussion has the important merit of actually testing the possibility of Aramaic renditions of the texts. He has taken the discussion further in various essays ('The Jackals and the Son of Man Matt. 8.20//Luke 9.58', JSNT, 23, 1985, pp. 3-22; 'General, Generic and Indefinite: The Use of the Term "Son of Man" in Aramaic Sources and in the Teaching of Jesus', JSNT, 29, 1987, pp. 21-56). Second, there is the study of B. Lindars (Jesus the Son of Man [London, 1983]) who differs from his predecessors in arguing that the Aramaic idiom bar 'enash(a) refers not to all people in general (and hence to the speaker in particular) but rather to a specific class of people with whom the speaker identifies himself. He then claims that there is a core of authentic sayings in the Gospels which can be understood in this way. For example, in Matthew 8.20 Jesus says that foxes have holes and birds have nests, but he and anybody who shares in the conditions of his missionary vocation have no place of rest. This is one of the few sayings where the hypothesis looks credible and could make good sense of a saying; but when, for example, we are told that Jesus said, 'just as Jonah was a sign to the Ninevites ... so there is a man who will be a sign to the present generation', or, again, that, 'if anybody confesses or denies Jesus now, he will have an advocate or an accuser in the shape of his own response to Jesus at the last judgment', our credulity is stretched to breaking point. This general type of view has now found its rather belated entry into the German-speaking world with the publication of a work by a Danish scholar, M. MUller, Der Ausdruck 'Menschensohn' in den Evangelien, Acta Theologica Danica 17 (Leiden, 1984). The work of these scholars suggests that instead of the usual threefold classification of the Son of man sayings we should rather divide them into two basic groups-those that reflect an Aramaic idiom and those that show influence from Daniel 7. They would argue that only sayings in the former category can have a chance of being authentic sayings of Jesus. J. D. G. Dunn, however, holds that it was Jesus himself who made the jump from the use of the Aramaic idiom to the use of an allusion to Daniel 7, and that once this jump was made the way was open for further use of Daniel 7 ( Christology in the Making [London, 1980], pp. 86-8).
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It is a problem with the approach of Casey and Lindars that their understanding of bar 'enasha as generic leads to some rather unconvincing interpretations of the texts in the Gospels. Renewed attention needs to be given to the possibility of an indefinite sense for the idiom originally defended by G. Vermes and developed by R. J. Bauckham, 'The Son of man: "A man in my position" or "someone"?', JSNT, 23, pp. 23-33. S. Kim has advanced the interesting thesis that Jesus used 'Son of man' in line with its Danielic use (which was based in turn on Ezekiel 1) to refer to himself as a divine figure, the Son of God who is the head of the sons of God ("The 'Son of Man'" as the Son of God [Tiibingen, 1983]). This hypothesis appeared independently of the works by Casey and Lindars and does not really come to terms with their discussion of the Aramaic background. The view that the concept of Son of man is essentially messianic continues to be defended by different authors with reference to Daniel 7, and also to the use in the Gospels (G. R. Beasley-Murray, 'The Interpretation of Daniel 7', CBQ 45, 1983, pp. 44-58; Jews and the Kingdom of God (Grand Rapids, 1986); G. Gerleman, Der Menschensohn, Studia Biblica 1 (Leiden, 1983); W. Bittner, 'Gott-Menschensohn-Davidssohn: Eine Untersuchung zur Traditionsgeschichte von Daniel 7, 13f.', Freiburger Zeitschrift fiir Philosophie und Theologie, 22, 1985, pp. 343-72; W. Horbury, 'The Messianic Associations of "The Son of Man",' JTS, n.s. 36, 1985, pp. 34-55; C. C. Caragounis, The Son of Man (WUNT 38) (Tiibingen, 1986). J. H. Charlesworth (Jesus within Judaism [London, 1988]) cautiously adopts the position that Jesus knew and was influenced by Daniel and 1 Enoch and that consequently Son of man sayings from all three traditional categories may go back to him). We thus have two approaches to the problem, the one concentrating attention on the use of an Aramaic idiom and the other defending the influence of Daniel 7 and subsequent Jewish literature. There is clearly an unfinished debate here, and it can be urged that both sides need to engage more closely with each other's insights.
Abbreviations ASTI BJRL CBQ EQ Ev. Theol. JBL JR JSNT ITS Nov.T NTS Stud. Theol. TDNT TWNT ZNW
Annual of the Swedish Theological Institute Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester Catholic Biblical Quarterly Evangelical Quarterly Evangelische Theologie Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Religion Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal of Theological Studies Novum Testamentum New Testament Studies Studia theologica Theological Dictionary of the New Testament Theologisches Worterbuch zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift fUr die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 103
47 THE SONSHIP OF THE HISTORICAL JESUS IN CHRISTOLOGY Richard Bauckham Source: Scottish Journal of Theology, 31, 1978, pp. 245-260.
The church's Christological confession of the uniqueness of Christ's relation to God has always been understood to include the historical Jesus. In theory, at least, this is a point at which faith must be vulnerable to historical investigation. To what extent can Jesus' unique relation to God be affirmed on historical grounds? While the church is not limited to believing about Jesus only what he explicitly believed about himself, a certain correspondence is necessary for the credibility of Christology. If there were no evidence that Jesus understood his relation to God to be in any way distinctive it would be difficult to maintain that he was in fact uniquely related to God. Both doctrine and history suggest that the most profitable line of enquiry into this question will concern Jesus' consciousness of sonship. It is a line of enquiry which may in its turn elucidate some of the problems of Christology.
(1) Was Jesus' sonship unique? In this section we confine our attention to the evidence of the Synoptic traditions. It must of course be clear that historical investigations could never conclusively demonstrate Jesus' religious consciousness to be unique. The most that can be done is, first, to ask whether the recorded expressions of his religious consciousness suggest that it was distinctive, especially by comparison with others in his own religious tradition; and secondly, to ask whether Jesus claimed a unique relation to God. In answering these questions we may find it possible to define more closely the uniqueness of Jesus' sonship as Christology may assert it. The researches of J. Jeremias into Jesus' use of Abba are a landmark in historical investigation of these questions. 1 It is unlikely that subsequent research will be able to do more than modify his conclusions. The most
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important recent re-examinations of the question of Jesus' filial consciousness are those of Geza Vermes2 and J. D. G. Dunn3 : these must be taken into account alongside Jeremias' work. Both suggest that Jeremias' conclusions may have gone somewhat beyond the evidence. It cannot be doubted that Jesus habitually and characteristically addressed God as Abba in prayer; as Jeremias says, 'We have here a quite unmistakable characteristic of the ipsissima vox Jesu.' 4 At least the relative distinctiveness of this characteristic is demonstrated by Jeremias' claim, which must still stand: 'there is no instance of the use of 'Abba as an address to God in all the extensive prayer-literature of Judaism'. 5 His further claim that 'there is as yet no evidence in the literature of ancient Palestinian Judaism that "my Father'' is used as a personal address to God',6 might require slight modification if his reconstruction of the Hebrew text of Ecclus. 23.1, 4 is not accepted. 7 On the other hand, we should notice what Jeremias does not claim. He does not deny that in Palestinian Judaism God was regarded as the Father of Israel, and so addressed as 'our Father' in liturgical prayer,8 while the designation 'heavenly Father' was an increasing, though not dominant, usage of rabbinic Judaism in the New Testament period.9 More important, he provides evidence, scant though it is, of individuals understanding the fatherhood of God in a more personal way ('my heavenly Father'). 10 Evidence of this latter type, even though it does not include examples of address to God as 'my Father', is a little more impressive, when assembled, than Jeremias seems to admit. There are, for example, the words put into the mouth of a Jewish martyr of Hadrian's persecution: 'These blows are the occasion of my being loved by my heavenly Father' (Mek. Ex. 20.6). (The Johannine Christ also says that his Father loves him because of his obedience to death: Jn. 10.7.) There is Testament of Levi 17.2, where Moses' (?) intimacy with God is expressed in his speaking with God 'as with a father'. Then there is the evidence from the Jewish charismatics, to which Vermes has drawn attention. The first-century saint Honi the CircleDrawer prays: 'Lord of the world, thy sons have turned to me because I am as a son of the house before thee.' And a Pharisaic critic of Honi had to admit: 'even though you importune God, he does what you wish in the same way that a father does whatever his importuning son asks him' (M. Taan. 3.8). (This perhaps bears comparison with Mt. 7.11, or with Jesus' confidence that the Father will answer his prayers: Mt. 26.53; Jn. 11.41f.) Vermes also quotes a statement that the Hasidim in prayer directed 'their hearts towards their Father in heaven' (M. Ber. 5.1), and an anecdote about Hanan the grandson of Honi: When the world was in need of rain, the rabbis used to send school-children to him, who seized the train of his cloak and said 105
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
to him, Abba, Abba, give us rain! He said to God: Lord of the world, render a service to those who cannot distinguish between the Abba who gives rain and the Abba who does not. (B. Taan. 23b) This is the nearest the extant literature gets to an address to God as Abba, although, as Jeremias points out;• Hanan does not address God as Abba. These recorded prayers of both Honi and Hanan address God as 'Lord of the world'. Perhaps we should allow for the possibility that the intimacy has been toned down by the rabbinic sources, but even so the evidence hardly permits Vermes' conclusion that 'one of the distinguishing features of ancient Hasidic piety is its habit of alluding to God precisely as "Father" '}2 It is important to notice that where some sense of filial intimacy with God is suggested by this evidence, it seems connected with special holiness, whether of the martyrs or of Moses or of the Hasidim; certainly it is recognised as exceptional. Moreover, in the evidence as we have it, the intimacy implied in the term 'Father' is certainly more formal and distant than Abba, while Honi and Hanan pray 'Lord of the world'. Even in Ecclus. 23.1, 4, where (in the Greek) 'Father' occurs as an address to God, its intimacy is qualified by its being placed in the phrase 'Lord, Father, and Ruler of my life'. There is nothing comparable with Jesus' habitual use of the simple Abba, and this makes Jesus' awareness of sonship exceptional even among the exceptional instances we have listed. Even allowing for the gaps and distortions of the surviving evidence, we can be confident that Jesus' form of prayer would have seemed distinctive to his contemporaries. He could not have been understood as articulating simply the good Jew's relationship to God. At the very least his use of Abba placed him in a class of holy men enjoying an exceptional degree of intimacy with God, and we can scarcely explain this usage except as a reflection of his awareness of such exceptional intimacy. At this point, however, two further aspects of the evidence heighten the significance of Jesus' sonship within the context of his contemporary J udaism, in a way which has been insufficiently noticed. In the first place, Jesus did not confine his use of Abba to himself, but also admitted his disciples, ordinary men with little claim to special holiness, to share his filial relationship, teaching them too to address God as Abba. To contemporaries this must have been more startling even than Jesus' own use of the term. Secondly, Jesus understood the Fatherhood of God as the eschatological relationship of God to men. The fact that Jesus taught his disciples to use his own distinctive address to God as Abba is firmly established by the original form of the Lord's Prayer (Lk. 11.2),13 and supported by the practice of the Pauline churches (Rom. 8.15; Gal. 4.6). The fact that the latter preserved the Aramaic term
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indicates that the primitive church was aware that in this form of address to God it had a distinctive privilege which it owed to Jesus. In that case it was Jesus' own relationship to God as Abba which he shared with his disciples: their sonship derived from his own. This is sufficient to distinguish Jesus' sonship from that of his followers. The relation to God as Abba was not open to any Jew independently of Jesus' mission; only as the disciples of Jesus did the disciples come to know God as Abba. It may be, as Jeremias and others have claimed/ 4 that Jesus distinguished in speech between his own direct sonship and the disciples' derived sonship by means of the distinction, which the Gospels everywhere observe, of 'my Father' and 'your Father'. Jesus never includes himself with the disciples in an 'our Father'. On the other hand, it is possible that this distinction in the Gospels reflects only the Christological style of the churchY In either case, however, a distinction is necessarily implied in the relationship of Master and disciples. Jesus' sonship was direct and unmediated; his disciples' sonship was dependent on his. 16 This is not the place for a full exposition of Jesus' teaching about the Fatherhood of God and the sonship of his disciples, but it is noteworthy that Jesus understands this as an eschatological relationship. 'In Jesus' eyes, being a child of God is not a gift of creation, but an eschatological gift of salvation.' 17 (See Mt. 5.9; Mt. 5.45 par. Lk. 6.35; Lk. 20.36.) Fatherhood and Kingdom are alternative images of eschatological salvation (only rarely combined, cf. Lk. 12.32). Thus Jesus' communication of his filial relationship with God to his disciples belonged to his mission as the agent of eschatological salvation. 18 This last point enables us to recognise the real uniqueness of Jesus' consciousness of sonship within his contemporary Jewish context. A merely quantitative distinctiveness in the intimacy of Jesus' experience of God's fatherhood could never be shown to be unique. We have no evidence that others before Jesus addressed God as Abba, but it is quite possible to envisage this occurring as a natural further step in the direction of personal understanding of God's fatherhood of which we do have some evidence, however slight. What enables us to move from the distinctiveness of his use of Abba to a recognition that he experienced his sonship as a unique relationship with God is the connexion between his sonship and his mission. Paradoxically it is in its capacity to be shared that Jesus' consciousness of sonship appears most distinctive. His relationship of filial intimacy with God impelled him to a mission of mediating the gracious presence of his Father to others. This sharing of his sonship with others belonged to his unique mission as the agent of God's eschatological salvation. He was the unique Son through whom the eschatological gift of sonship was bestowed on others. This argument for Jesus' consciousness of unique sonship has deliberately been based on the evidence of his use of Abba and not on explicit 107
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sayings about his sonship. These are rare in the Synoptic Gospels and their authenticity is in every case disputed. But it would be surprising if there were no authentic examples. It is surely a priori likely that at least on occasions in the private circle of the disciples Jesus should have spoken of his distinctive experience of God as Abba, and perhaps we may allow this a priori likelihood to tip the balance in favour of authenticity where other arguments are inconclusive. Many in fact tip the balance in the other direction by arguing that in these sayings Jesus speaks of his sonship in such a way as to claim a unique relationship with God not otherwise characteristic of his teaching. But the difficulty is that these sayings, if authentic, may not be expected to be characteristic of his teaching in general. On every showing Jesus was reticent about his sonship, as about his selfunderstanding in general. 'Jesus rarely if ever spoke directly of God as Father except to his disciples': this conclusion of T. W. Manson is amply confim1ed by Jeremias' more detailed research. 19 So the rarity of such sayings in the tradition is not in itself an argument for their nonauthenticity. There is, then, a certain impasse of method which can only be resolved if we judge them by their consistency with Jesus' known use of Abba and his teaching his disciples to use Abba. By far the most important of the sayings in question is the much discussed Q logion Mt. 11.27 par. Lk. 10.22. The arguments against authenticity are carefully weighed in the most recent discussion by Dunn,20 who finds himself unable to decide the issue. The most substantial argument against authenticity, that the ideas are those of Hellenistic gnosis, seems no longer valid in view of the parallels from Jewish Wisdom literature.Z1 The 'Johannine' character of the logion, which has certainly counted strongly against its authenticity, is in reality a double-edged argument, as we shall see in the next section. In the end the question is whether the claim to unique sonship is credible on the lips of Jesus, and this is surely to be answered by observing that Mt. 11.27 amounts precisely to a statement of Jesus' mediation of his knowledge of God as Abba to others, such as we have already concluded from his use of Abba. There is a particular difficulty in this saying's use of 'the Son' in a titular manner, which is otherwise paralleled in the Synoptic tradition only in Mk. 13.32. But the difficulty can be eliminated if we follow Jeremias' suggestion that the article be understood as generic. The result is a parabolic saying: All things have been given to me by my Father. Just as no-one (really) knows a son except his father, so no-one (really) knows a father except his son, and anyone to whom the son chooses to make him known. Dunn 's rather hasty dismissal of this suggestion 22 seems to me to miss the point of it. Of course Jesus is still understood to be speaking of his own 108
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sonship, and there is no diminution of the absolute claim to a unique sonship. It is most unlikely that the two middle lines are an already existing proverb; the saying is an original unit, in which Jesus explains the statement of the first line about his relation to the Father by means of an illustration from father-son relations in everyday life. The advantage of this interpretation is its conformity with Jesus' teaching style, which typically uses the analogy of human relationships to illustrate truth about the fatherhood of God. Several parables, especially the Prodigal Son, do this implicitly. Mt. 7.9-11 (par. Lk. 11.11-13) is an explicit argument from human fatherhood to divine fatherhood. In the next section we shall notice a Johannine example (Jn. 5.19-20a). Besides Mt. 11.27, there is only one Synoptic example of parabolic use of the father-son relationship to illustrate Jesus' own sonship: the parable of the Wicked Husbandmen (Mk. 12.1-12). The usual objections to the authenticity of this parable have been effectively answered, and it need not be thought that no allegorical elements in it can be original. 23 The connexion the parable makes between Jesus' sonship and his eschatological mission should be noticed: as the son he is the final messenger of God to Israel, embodying his father's authority more emphatically than his predecessors. It is true that the contrast of servants and son functions to create the climax of the narrative and should not therefore be allegorised too readily, but it is hard to believe that Jesus was unaware of its allegorical appropriateness, especially as he elsewhere alludes to the contrast of servant and son (Lk. 15.19) and uses it as an illustration (Jn. 8.35; cf. Mt. 17.25f). From the example of Mt. 11.27 we can see how the titular use of 'the Father' and 'the Son' could develop out of the parabolic, but only if we suppose that this development occurred in Jesus' own usage can we accept Mk. 13.32 as an authentic reference to Jesus' sonship. Probably the Synoptics contain other authentic sayings in which Jesus speaks of 'my Father', but since it is demonstrable that 'there was a growing tendency to introduce the title "Father" into the sayings of Jesus'/4 it is hard to be sure which are authentic. But the material already discussed provides a basis for Christological reflection to which additional Synoptic sayings would add little. 25 From our historical conclusions as to the consciousness and claims of the historical Jesus it is possible to define the uniqueness of his sonship in terms of a distinctive degree of intimacy in relation to God his Father, combined with a unique eschatological mission from his Father whereby he is able to admit others to his relationship to God as Father. It seems we should regard this consciousness of unique sonship as the determinative factor in Jesus' life. The Gospel traditions certainly preserve other authentic material relevant to his self-understanding, but sonship seems to be the fundamental category, by which his mission was grounded 109
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in his experience of his Father. Dunn, who also argues this, adds that we should give equal weight to Jesus' experience of the Spirit: his consciousness of sonship and his consciousness of the Spirit are 'two sides of the one coin'. 26 This should be borne in mind, although an investigation of it lies outside our scope here. But Dunn is not quite justified in claiming that only recognition of Jesus' consciousness of the Spirit can provide the eschatological dimension to Jesus' ministry which was lacking in Liberalism's portrayal of him solely in tern1s of sonship. 27 We have seen that sonship itself is an eschatological gift: in sharing his sonship with others Jesus communicates eschatological salvation. Of course, this conclusion is much strengthened by recognition of the eschatological character of the Spirit which empowered him, as also of the Kingdom which he preached.
(2) Is there historical value in the Fourth Gospel's account of Jesus' sonship? The Christological interest of this question arises particularly from the fact that the sonship of Jesus is so much more prominent a theme in the Fourth Gospel. It is true that even if the Fourth Gospel's account of Jesus' sonship is a theological development from no greater an historical basis than the material contained in the Synoptic traditions, it could certainly be argued that this is a legitimate theological development, which Christological construction may use as such. But although dogmatic theology is getting accustomed to working from a minimal basis in the history of Jesus, this should only be made a virtue if it is really a necessity. In fact the critical dogma that the Gospel of John may not be used as evidence for the teaching of the historical Jesus has for ·some time been open to question, and especially in relation to this subject of Jesus' sonship ought to be questioned. Christology, although it has only recently caught up with the idea that the Fourth Gospel is unreliable as history, cannot afford to be so slow taking an interest in the possibility that there are important ways in which it may after all be reliable. The recent trend to rehabilitate the Fourth Gospel as history has so far affected the narrative material much more than the discourses. The Palestinian origin of Johannine theology can no longer be excluded, but Palestinian origin is not the same as dominical authenticity. In fact there can still be no serious doubt that the discourses in John develop the teaching of Jesus; our question concerns the sources which this development may have had in reliable tradition of Jesus' words. The various attempts which have been made to identify such sources in specific passages, especially on stylistic grounds (e.g. recovering hidden parables),28 need to be integrated with study of the themes of Johannine theology from the point of view of authenticity and in comparison with Synoptic tradition. In this way some reliable substance might be given to a general theory such as Oscar 110
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Cullmann's recent suggestion that the Gospel of John contains a free development of 'a special kind of teaching' of Jesus, preserved by the 'Johannine circle' of the beloved disciple rather than in the traditions which go back to the circle of the Twelve and preserve only fragments of such teaching. 29 At least in the light of recent Johannine study it cannot any longer be assumed that where the Synoptic tradition shows points of contact with Johannine tradition, there the Synoptic tradition is historically suspect for that reason. Such points of contact may rather be regarded as clues to the identification of authentic material in the Fourth Gospel. For our purposes it is therefore especially significant that the most notorious such point of contact is the important passage about Jesus' sonship, Mt. 11.27, the socalled 'bolt from a Johannine sky'. This saying creates the presumption that Johannine passages about the Father and the Son may contain authentic sayings of Jesus, especially if Cullmann's thesis has any truth in it. For if the Fourth Gospel preserves in particular teaching which Jesus gave privately to some of his closest disciples, this is precisely the kind of context in which we might expect him to have spoken of his sonship. Mt. 11.27 has a number of fairly close parallels in John (e.g. 3.35; 7.29; 10.15; 13.3; 17.5, 25): they are some of the key expressions of the meaning of Jesus' sonship in John. C. H. Dodd brought to light another 'hidden parable' of a father and his son,30 the authenticity of which is the more probable in view of the analogous case of Mt. 11.27. This is the 'parable of the Son as Apprentice' (Jn. 5.19-20a): A son can do nothing on his own; he only does what he sees his father doing. What the father does, the son does, for the father loves his son and shows him all his trade. The importance of this parable is that it opens Jesus' first discussion of his sonship in the Fourth Gospel and announces the meaning of sonship as it continues to be expounded through the Gospel (cf. e.g. 8.28; 10.37; 12.49; 14.10). Another such parable preserved in John is that of the Slave and the Son (8.35), but in this case it is not very likely that the point was originally Christological.31 Finally, it may be relevant to note that the Synoptic parable of the Wicked Husbandmen, already discussed, provides an original parabolic context for the characteristic Johannine expression, 'the Father sent the Son' (cf. Mk. 12.6).32 Perhaps it could be argued that all Johannine teaching about 'the Father' and 'the Son' has been developed from parabolic teaching about 'a father' and 'a son'Y This possibility is increased by a similar process in other cases. I have argued elsewhere34 that the tradition of Jesus' parables was in some cases affected by a process of 'deparabolisation', whereby stories degenerated into metaphorical statements, especially where the story featured images 111
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which were commonplace early Christian metaphors, such as those of masters and servants. Just as easy would have been the transition from parabolic sayings about 'a father' and 'a son' to metaphorical statements about 'the Father' and 'the Son', and the transition could even have been made by Jesus himself. There seems no good reason why the allegorical interpretation (Jn. 5.20b-30) of the parable of the Son as Apprentice should not have been initiated by Jesus. 35 Other Johannine sayings about sonship might be suggested as authentic, but our purpose has been no more than to suggest the general probability that the Johannine account of Jesus' sonship can be shown to have its roots in reliable tradition of Jesus' teaching. Traditional Christology relied heavily on sayings of Jesus from the Fourth Gospel, especially sayings about his sonship, and some recent writers have maintained that since such reliance is no longer possible Christology must be modified accordingly. If we are correct in arguing that John is developing authentic material preserved in reliable non-Synoptic traditions, this objection to traditional Christology is no longer so cogent. Since Jesus' consciousness of sonship must be understood as central to his own self-understanding and determinative of his life and mission, and must therefore be a central concern of Christology, we may even say that Christology could rightly depend more on the Fourth Gospel than on the Synoptics, which preserve less of Jesus' teaching about his sonship. This is not to say that the interpretation of Johannine texts in traditional Christology is defensible today. Apart from the pre-existence and full divinity of the Son in the Fourth Gospel, most aspects of Jesus' sonship according to John can be paralleled from the Synoptic tradition. The Johannine idea of sonship may be regarded as a fuller exposition of what may be gathered of the filial consciousness of Jesus from the Synoptics, and it is important to stress its full content against the reduction of the meaning of sonship in developed Trinitarian theology. Sonship involves the unparalleled mutual intimacy of Father and Son (Mt. 11.27). The Son is the perfect reflection of the nature and character of the Father (cf. Mt. 5.45, 48). He represents the Father among men (Mk. 12.6; Jn. 5.23; 14.9). But the Son is all that he is and has all that he has in dependence on and by derivation from the Father (Jn. 5.19; 8.28). The Son is the Father's true Son only in his absolute renunciation of his own will and whole-hearted identification of himself with his Father's will (Mk. 14.36; Jn. 6.38; 12.49f). So far from heightening the Christology implicit in Jesus' use of Abba, the Fourth Gospel's tradition of his teaching stresses the dependence and obedience of the Son to a remarkable degree. As C. F. D. Moule comments, the Johannine Christ is 'uniquely identified with God precisely by his unique degree of submission to the will of God'. 36 This obedience, of course, is not the obedience of the slave but the obedience of the Son, who in love willingly identifies himself 112
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with the Father's purpose (Jn. 14.31). Neither in the Synoptics nor in John do we find that sonship is static being: sonship is a relationship to be fulfilled in mission, and as such it both determines and is validated by Jesus' whole life and fate. The credibility of his claim to unique sonship cannot be separated from his path to the cross, nor from his resurrection as the Father's seal of approval on the accomplishment of the filial mission. This is why the glory of the Johannine Son is fully attained on the cross.
(3) The sonship of Jesus in Christology We have argued that Jesus' consciousness of sonship was a consciousness of a unique relationship with God. This suggests a greater continuity than has sometimes been allowed between the self-understanding of the historical Jesus and the Christology of the early church. But we cannot jump to Christological conclusions. The evidence does not demonstrate that he was conscious of his unique sonship as divine sonship, still less does it provide a proof of his divinity. The confession of Jesus' divinity is the response of post-Easter faith to the totality of his life, death and exaltation, in which he is seen to embody so completely the self-revelation and authority of God as to be identical with God. But even though the historical Jesus' consciousness of unique relationship to God does not by itself require the confession of his divinity, it is presupposed or implied by that confession, and so to that extent our investigation provides the confirmation from the history of the pre-Easter Jesus which the church's post-Easter faith requires if it is to remain credible in the face of historical study. The historical Jesus did experience his filial relationship to God as a unique relationship: this is what we need to know if he is to be able to bear the weight of later Christological belief about him. Our delineation of the historical Jesus' sonship may also have more detailed implications for Christology, and in the following discussion we shall merely indicate some ways in which Christological reflection can be guided by the evidence presented above. We have argued that Jesus' filial relationship to God and his filial mission from God are interrelated, and the uniqueness of his sonship is to be found in this interrelation. He experienced his sonship both as an already given relationship and also as a responsibility to be fulfilled in obedient submission to the Father's will. His sonship shared in the genuine openness of his history, so that it was really open to question in the struggle in Gethsemane and was validated in his acceptance of the cup. It follows that Christology may not conceive the sonship of Jesus simply as the timeless being of the eternal Son. Jesus cannot be said to be the Son independently of his mission: the two are inseparable. Thus when the New Testament traditions variously declare him Son at the outset of his life (Lk. 1.35), at the outset of his ministry (Mk. 1.11 ), or at the resurrection 113
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(Rom. 1.4), each has its own appropriateness. He is already the Son from the beginning, but sonship may also be the verdict on his completed and vindicated mission. It follows also, however, that on the other hand Christology may not isolate Jesus' mission from his being. A purely functional Christology of God's action in Jesus' mission is inadequate, for his mission is rooted in his being the Son in his personal intimacy with the Father. As Waiter Kasper observes: 'Nature and mission, essential Christology and functional Christology, cannot be opposed. They cannot even be separated; they are mutually dependent. ' 37 Linked to the interconnexion of Jesus' being and mission is the further interconnexion of uniqueness and representativeness. The goal of his mission, in one aspect, is to share with others his filial relationship to God. He is uniquely the Son precisely in that through his sonship others become sons. His uniqueness, therefore, is of a kind which includes representativeness. It should be noted that the same kind of combination of uniqueness and representativeness is found elsewhere in New Testament, especially Pauline, Christology. Not only does Paul seem to relate the sonship of Jesus and the sonship of Christians in this same way (Gal. 4.4-6), but also his understanding of Christ as the last Adam implies a similar structure of thought. Christ is the eschatological Man through whom others participate in eschatological humanity. He is representative of the new humanity but at the same time unique in that others participate in the new humanity only by participating in his new humanity. 38 This precisely parallels the structure we have argued is implicit in Jesus' own understanding of his sonship. Christology must take account of this peculiar interconnexion of uniqueness and representativeness. It is not enough to isolate the fact that Jesus' sonship is distinctive by comparison with that of his followers. Certainly he cannot be reduced to one son among others, or even merely the first. But it belongs to the unique quality of his sonship that it can be shared, or rather, that it must be shared. It is the imperative of his filial mission (and therefore essential to his sonship) to mediate to others his own filial relation to God. His sonship means this. What then will it mean to call Jesus' sonship divine sonship? As the divine Son he is God's existence in the world for men, the Son for other sons. For God to be the Son in this way, as Jesus of Nazareth was, means that he seeks other sons. For God to reveal himself as the Father of Jesus of Nazareth means that he will be Father of other men. To see the sonship of the historical Jesus grounded in the eternal Trinitarian being of the Father and the Son is to see the eternal Trinity open in love to men. In the sonship of Jesus God provides a new possibility of human existence out of the resources of love of his own inner being. In that case Jesus' sonship is not to be distinguished as divine or human. 114
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While the Fathers tended to restrict the meaning of his sonship to his divinity, many modem writers 39 have restricted it to the religious experience of the man Jesus, which is by no means to be denied. But in the light of the interconnexions of being and mission, and of uniqueness and representativeness in Jesus' sonship, this dilemma is unreal. For Jesus to be the divine Son means that he must equally be the human Son. As the divine Son he comes from God's side to mediate God's fatherly presence to men, and he embodies this eschatological human sonship in his own human being and history in order to make it available to men. He is the divine Son who opens his sonship to men as a human possibility in God's eschatological grace. In this way the union of God and man in Jesus can be seen to belong to the logic of his sonship. This approach to applying a two-nature Christology40 to the historical Jesus will not solve all the problems of a two-nature Christology. It has, however, the advantage of focusing not on the relation between the Logos and the man Jesus, about which the historical evidence is silent, but on the relationships of Jesus to his Father and to men, to which the evidence of his consciousness of sonship is relevant.
Notes 1 J. Jeremias, The Prayers of Jesus (London: SCM Press, 1%7); summarised in New Testament Theology I (London: SCM Press, 1971), pp. 61--QB. 2 Jesus the Jew (London: Collins, 1973), chap. 8. 3 Jesus and the Spirit (London: SCM Press, 1975), chap. 2. 4 Prayers, p. 57. 5 New Testament Theology I, p. 65. Vermes, op. cit., p. 211, does not overthrow this conclusion; he cites the only instance in Tannaitic literature of Abba used of God (see below), but for his deduction from it, cf. Jeremias, Prayers, pp. 61f. Ecclus. 23.1, 4; 51.10, cited by Dunn, op. cit., p. 23, are not instances of Abba. 6 Prayers, p. 29. 7 Ibid., pp. 28f. Dunn, op. cit., p. 23, offers no reasons for not accepting it. Jeremias, of course, accepts that 'God was addressed as pater in Diaspora Judaism, which followed the example of the Greek world here'. He disallows Ecclus, 51.10 (Heb.) because the terminology there derives from Ps. 89.26: Prayers, p. 23 n. 51. 8 Op. cit., pp. 24-27. 9 Ibid., pp. 16-18. 10 Ibid., p. 22. 11 Ibid., pp. 61f. 12 Vermes, op. cit., p. 210. 13 Jeremias, op. cit., pp. 89-91, 97; F. Hahn, The Titles of Jesus in Christology (London: Lutterworth, 1969), p. 307; R. E. Brown, New Testament Essays (London: Geoffrey Chapman,1%5) p. 225. 14 Jeremias, op. cit., p. 53, n. 104, p. 62; E. Lohmeyer, The Lord's Prayer (London: Collins, 1965), p. 51. 15 H. Conzelmann, An Outline of the Theology of the New Testament (London: SCM Press, 1969), pp. 103-5; but cf. the comments of Dunn, op. cit., p. 25;
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I. H. Marshall, The Origins of New Testament Christology (Downers Grove,
Illinois: Inter-Varsity Press), p. 59. 16 Similarly, Dunn, op. cit., pp. 24-26, 38. On p. 36 he argues that Lk. 22.29f. is an authentic saying expressing this distinction. 17 Jeremias, New Testament Theology I, p. 181; cf. Brown, op. cit., pp. 226f.; Lohmeyer, op. cit., pp. 42ff. (though Lohmeyer's use of the sources is insufficiently critical). 18 Here, of course, the argument is reinforced by other evidence that Jesus understood his mission in this way; cf., e.g., R. H. Fuller, The Foundations of New Testament Christology (London: Collins, 1969), chap. 5, with the conclusion (p. 130): 'As eschatological prophet he was not merely announcing the future coming of salvation and judgment, but actually initiating it in his words and works.' 19 T. W. Manson, The Teaching of Jesus (Cambridge: CUP, 1943), p. 98; Jeremias, Prayers, p. 53. 20 Op. cit., pp. 27-34; cf. also H. B. Green, The Gospel according to Matthew (Oxford: OUP, 1975), pp. 120f. 21 See also the Jewish parallels adduced by W. Grimm, 'Der Dank fiir die empflangene Offenbarung bei Jesus und Josephus', Biblische Zeitschrift N.F. 17 (1973), pp. 249-56. 22 Op. cit., p. 32. 23 C. H. Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom (London: Collins, 1961), pp. 93-98; J. Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus (London: SCM Press, 1963), pp. 70-77; M. Hengel, 'Das Gleichnis von den Weingartnem Me 12, 1-12 im Lichte der Zenonpapyri und der rabbinischen Gleichnisse', ZNW 59 (1968), pp. 9-31; J. Drury, 'The Sower, the Vineyard and the Place of Allegory in the Interpretation of Mark's Parables', JTS 24 (1973), pp. 367-79; J. D. M. Derrett, 'Allegory and the Wicked Vine-dressers', JTS 25 (1974), pp. 426-32. 24 Jeremias, Prayers, p. 30. 25 A fuller version of the argument of this article would have to consider the question of Jesus' attitude to the Messianic title (if it was a title) 'Son of God', and to investigate the extent to which the early church's use of the title reflects Jesus' consciousness of sonship. On the latest Qumran evidence for the Messianic title, see J. Fitzmyer in NTS 20 (1973), pp. 391-4. On the various contributory influences on the apostolic church's use of 'Son of God', see M. Hengel, The Son of God (London: SCM Press, 1976), pp. 63-66. On pp. 23-41 Hengel has convincingly shown that significant influence from pagan Hellenism can now be ruled out. 26 Dunn, op. cit., p. 26. 27 ibid., pp. 89f. 28 C. H. Dodd, Historical Tradition in the Fourth Gospel (Cambridge: CUP, 1963), Part II; Dodd, 'A Hidden Parable in the Fourth Gospel', in More New Testament Studies (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1968), pp. 30-40; J. A. T. Robinson, 'The Parable of the Shepherd (John 10:1-5)', in Twelve New Testament Studies (London: SCM Press, 1962), pp. 67-75; A. J. B. Higgins, The Historicity of the Fourth Gospel (London: Lutterworth, 1960), pp. 67-74; B. Lindars, 'Two Parables in John', NTS 16 (1969-70), pp. 318-29. 29 0. Cullmann, The Johannine Circle (London: SCM Press, 1976), p. 82 and chap. IX. 30 Dodd, 'A Hidden Parable'. 31 Dodd, Historical Tradition, pp. 379-82. 32 Of course the Synoptic Jesus also refers to God as 'he who sent me': Mt. 10.40; Mk. 9.37; Lk. 9.48; 10.16; cf. Lk. 4.43.
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33 cf. J. A. T. Robinson, 'The use of the Fourth Gospel for Christology today', in B. Lindars and S. S. Smalley ed., Christ and Spirit in the New Testament (Moule Festschrift) (Cambridge: CUP, 1973), pp. 69-73. 34 'Synoptic Parousia Parables and the Apocalypse', NTS 23 (1976-7), pp. 167-9. 35 cf. R. E. Brown, The Gospel according to John (New York: Doubleday, 1966), p. 221, for a suggestion that v. 30 is the original application, to which independent sayings (20b-29) were later attached. 36 The New Testament and the Doctrine of the Trinity', Expository Times 78 (1976), p. 17. 37 Jesus the Christ (London: Bums and Oates, 1976), pp. 110f. 38 Those who think Jesus' use of 'Son of man' has corporate overtones can find this Christological theme explicitly anticipated in Jesus' own self-understanding. C. F. D. Moule, The Origin ofChristology (Cambridge; CUP, 1977), argues that Paul's understanding of Christ as a corporate, inclusive person is equivalent to understanding Christ as divine. 39 e.g. D. M. Baillie, God was in Christ (London: Faber, 1948), chap. V; A. T. Hanson, Grace and Truth (London: SPCK, 1975), chap. 11 and p. 109. 40 This is not a complete essay in Christology and I have assumed the essential validity of the patristic development of a two-nature Christology. On the other hand, the Chalcedonian statement is not itself the starting-point for further reflection; it needs to be continually filled out afresh from a starting-point in the history of Jesus and the apostolic witness.
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48
DID JESUS KNOW HEW AS GOD? Raymond E. Brown Source: Biblical Theology Bulletin, 15, 1985, pp. 74--79.
My subject is a 142-page paperback by Fran~ois Dreyfus, Jesus savait-il qu'il etait Dieu? (2d ed.; Paris: Cerf, 1984). I will review the book, using the occasion for some clarifications. The book itself calls for clarifications; but even more my lecturing experience convinces me that many are confused about the issue of Jesus' knowledge of his divinity. The French title of Dreyfus's book is borrowed from a sentence that he quotes from my Jesus God and Man (Milwaukee: Bruce, 1%7; New York: Macmillan 1 1972) 86, unfortunately omitting the essential introduction which I here italicize. "Often theologians prefer to study the problem of Jesus' knowledge of his divinity in terms of the question: 'Did Jesus know he was God?' From a biblical viewpoint this question is so badly phrased that it cannot be answered and should not be posed." Dreyfus disagrees and writes his book to answer the question, testing it by the following issue (p. 7): If Jesus of Nazareth in the course of his earthly life had had in his hands our Gospel according to John, how would he have reacted to the words that the evangelist attributes to him? Dreyfus assures us that he is not a fundamentalist (and he is not), that he has no polemic intent (and he writes irenically, not in the manner of recent French attacks on biblical criticism by Tresmontant and Laurentin), and that he is writing for a general [Catholic] public, although he hopes that specialists will read his book. I shall keep this same type of audience in mind as I review the book. But from the start it may help readers to know that I respect Dreyfus's interest in this problem and his struggle to deal with it, and that I agree with much of what he advocates even if I do not agree with the way he phrases it. Curiously, however, despite the long book, I do not think he has ever understood why I think the question is badly posed, and I know he does not understand why his way of answering misses the point.
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Dreyfus's views Early in the book (p. 7) Dreyfus cites the text of John 17:5, "Father, glorify me with the glory that I had with you before the world began," and reflects on why modern historical critics might think that this statement of the Johannine Jesus does not solve the issue of Jesus' knowing that he was God. For instance, some think that Jesus was a prophet and there is no proof that he conceived of himself as something more profound (p. 8); for others John may be giving only a theological view of Jesus, not a historical one. In point of fact, I would resort to neither of those explanations; but I was amused that Dreyfus did not discuss another statement of the Johannine Jesus in the immediate context (17:3): "This is eternal life, that they know you the one true God and him whom you sent, Jesus Christ." Since surely Jesus never called himself "Jesus Christ," the context might make one suspicious of how to use 17:5. On p. 9 Dreyfus shows opposition to having scientific exegesis lead to a "reinterpretation" of the traditional teaching of the Church. I suspect that for him "reinterpretation" means denial; but for me a reinterpretation of tradition that clarifies the precise point of revelation is a positive and constant duty in a living church. On p. 12 Dreyfus argues that John's Gospel is best understood as involving a progressive discovery of the true dimensions of the historical person Jesus of Nazareth. I agree but would add that John develops a language for expressing the discovery which often goes beyond the phrasing of Jesus. On p. 14 Dreyfus states what will be the conclusion of the book: "There is no serious reason to refuse to the historical Jesus the knowledge of the mystery of his own being: Son of God pre-existent in glory from all eternity, true God and true man." I can agree with Dreyfus about what precedes the colon; as for what follows the colon, there is insufficient historical evidence that Jesus was able to express the mystery of his own being in such terms as pre-existence, Son of God from all eternity, true God and true man, even though these terms are valid Christian insights into the mystery.
What is historical? Dreyfus spends a chapter on the Fourth Gospel seeking to show that "The author of the Fourth Gospel was convinced that the portrait he traced of Jesus of Nazareth both in act and in word substantially conformed to the historical reality: Jesus was God and he knew it" (p. 21). Again one would wish for more subtlety. Certainly the author was convinced that the portrait conformed to historical reality. But how is that conformity expressed in John? Is it a conformity of substantially exact words, or a conformity of correct insight? While I shall ultimately agree with Dreyfus that not only was Jesus God but also that he knew his identity, I disagree with the 119
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suggestion that Jesus would have phrased it almost exactly as John phrased it. Dreyfus seems to think that most Catholics are in danger of thinking Jesus did not know who he was; I would think they are in more danger of failing to realize that thirty to sixty years of development separates Jesus from the Gospel descriptions of him. Brief chapters consider the patristic and medieval contributions. Here Dreyfus, a Dominican, gives pride of place to Thomas Aquinas. He cites the all-important affirmation of Thomas: If there was not in Christ a form of knowledge other than the properly divine knowledge [that he possessed as Second Person of the Trinity], he would not have known anything at all. This affirmation in the Summa Theologica (Ill, q.9, a.1, ad 1) should, in my judgment, be printed large for all those people who solve the questions of the human knowledge of Christ by simply stating that he was God and knew everything. Thomas understood very well that purely divine knowledge would not be operative in a human mind. Dreyfus calls attention to Thomas's theory that three forms of extra knowledge were given to supplement the human knowledge of Jesus, and he insists very strongly on the beatific vision as the way in which Jesus knew that he was God. Dreyfus admits that this is not universally held today and cites the view of Karl Rahner that Jesus knew he was God through the hypostatic union, a view he dismisses because Thomas dismissed it, as do many contemporary Dominican writers. However, Dreyfus should have listed all the prominent modern theologians who deny to Jesus the beatific vision, including even some very conservative figures (J. Galot, H. U. von Balthasar). Thus, attributing to Jesus the beatific vision is not a matter of faith and would be denied by most Catholic exegetes, as Dreyfus acknowledges on p. 115. In a final chapter of Part One Dreyfus argues that the Church has consistently taught, even against opposition, that Jesus knew he was God. Here he needs distinctions: a teaching that Jesus knew his divine identity does not necessarily include a teaching that he would have been able to phrase this identity.
Novel hypothesis In the second part of his book, Dreyfus attempts to show by biblical criticism that Jesus knew he was God, arguing that he has found a novel way of doing this through a working hypothesis (p. 41): Jesus had the certitude of being God, and everything in the NT with regard to Jesus corresponds well with this conviction which he manifested in teaching and word. Dreyfus (p. 44) posits three stages of Jesus' teaching about his own identity: (1) Jesus revealed publicly first only what could be accepted and assimilated without error granted the mentality of his ambiance; (2) Jesus fom1ed a group of disciples who could eventually accept the teaching that
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in a certain sense went beyond their understanding and shocked them by its dimensions; (3) Jesus selected within this group a privileged few to whom his highest doctrine would be entrusted so that they might announce it to others when those others were sufficiently mature. He then attempts to establish this from Scripture. I have said that Dreyfus is not a fundamentalist and uses some critical methods; but overall, I think his methodology is quite weak in this section. One does not have to prove that a Gospel shows us how Jesus was being presented at the time the evangelist was writing (presumably between the 60s and the 90s). But one does need to prove any scholarly affirmation about Jesus that goes beyond that. Whether one is arguing for nonhistoricity or for historicity, one is going back beyond the document that we now have; and one needs proof. In my judgment, Dreyfus is not sufficiently rigorous in establishing the three historical stages of Jesus' teaching about his self-identity as God. I will give one example. On p. 50, Dreyfus discusses Mark 13:32 ("Of that day or hour no one knows ... not even the Son"), arguing that this text is authentically historical because the primitive community would not have created a limitation to Jesus' knowledgea view accepted by the "crushing majority" of NT critics. But then Dreyfus goes on to argue for Jesus' using "Son" to refer to himself, since it is illogical to admit the historicity of the text and then refuse to acknowledge that implicitly Jesus has called himself the Son. This second step in Dreyfus's reasoning is problematic because, if one sets up the Gospels in parallel columns, one can show that often titles for Jesus have been introduced at a later stage in the tradition where they were missing at an earlier stage. Might it not be that the honorific title was added here even on a preMarcan level precisely because otherwise the saying might be looked upon as denigrating Jesus? Certainly Acts 1:7 and many mss. of Matt 24:36 further modified the Marcan statement lest it denigrate Jesus (as Dreyfus admits). Why could not this process have begun at a pre-Marcan stage? Dreyfus also appeals to Jesus' custom of speaking to God as "Abba" without sufficiently alerting the reader of the objections that have been raised against this argument. In many points where he needs to call more attention to the critical problems, I might still agree with Dreyfus; but I do not think that making the case so simple is a service to the general audience. Dreyfus's chapter on the christology of the post-resurrectional period is even less nuanced. He assumes that the title kyrios (equivalent to Yahweh) was used of Jesus almost immediately after the resurrection (p. 58). He thinks that scholars who do not find pre-existence in the Philippians hymn are an extreme minority as opposed to a crushing majoritythis is tilting the scales too far. Nor would I agree with his seeming assumption that the pre-existence of Jesus and the divinity of Jesus necessarily go together. It is perfectly possible that some Christians who 121
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began to call Jesus Son of God or Lord had not even thought out the issue of pre-existence. Most scholars deem the pre-existence insight to be singularly lacking in the Synoptic Gospels, even if it was prevalent at an early period in some other Christian circles. On the one hand, I would agree with Dreyfus that the speed and breadth of the Christian tendency to give divine honors to Jesus cannot be attributed simply to the thought patterns of the Hellenistic world; it has its roots in the mystery of Jesus himself. On the other hand. Dreyfus's thesis that Jesus taught his pre-existence and his divinity to a narrow circle of disciples I find improbable. Jesus' disciples came to recognize his divinity in the light of a post-resurrectional experience (as the Pontifical Biblical Commission taught in 1964); but the lack of Synoptic reference to the pre-existence of Jesus controverts any thesis that this insight was taught during Jesus' lifetime. The conception of pre-existence was a still further penetration of the mystery of Jesus in certain Christian circles. On p. 80 Dreyfus confesses that the thesis that he proposes (which involves having Jesus teach his pre-existence to his select followers) will appear unique to any reader who has even a little familiarity with contemporary exegetical literature-it certainly will. The Fathers on history Toward the end of his book (pp. 92ff.) Dreyfus disagrees strongly with von Balthasar who argues that part of the authentic human existence of Jesus was to face a future that he did not know. In the mind of Dreyfus this goes against the theology of the Fathers and the medieval theologians, for all of them held that Jesus knew in detail what was going to happen to him. Here (p. 93), I am sorry to relate, Dreyfus resorts to a type of argumentum ad hominem: Are we to think ourselves superior to all these past generations, including the evangelists, by doubting that Jesus knew the future? In fact, we are more historically conscious than all the generations of the past-that is not pride or arrogance, but simply recognizing what is the genius of our era. The question of what Jesus knew in detail requires for an answer the component of historical consciousness. The fact that the Fathers too knew the difficult scriptural texts about Jesus' knowledge means little unless they approached them with the historical consciousness that we have. That does not mean that our answer is necessarily correct and their answer necessarily wrong, but it does weaken all arguments based simply on the weight of past opinion. Lest there be any confusion I have no difficulty with the authority of the unanimous opinion of the Fathers or of the medieval theologians when it touches matters of faith. I have great difficulty with appeal to such figures on matters of history unless they had historical sources that we do not have, or unless that matter of history is an essential component of a doctrine of faith (as in the virginal conception or the bodily resurrection). 122
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I can agree with Dreyfus (pp. 94ff.) that from the dogma, "Jesus was true man," one cannot deduce necessarily that Jesus had limited knowledge, precisely because one makes another exception about Jesus' humanity: he was like us except in sin. Therefore, "like us except in ignorance" is not an impossibility. However, I would be equally firm that from the principle "Jesus was true God," one cannot deduce the principle that the human mind of Jesus had no limitations or knew all things. In my judgment, neither a priori argument works, and one must solve the question (if a solution is possible) from the biblical descriptions. I can also agree with Dreyfus (p. 99) that, unless Jesus had consciousness of his own dignity, his suffering and death becomes somewhat banal-the tragedy of another good human being which, alas, in this world becomes insignificant by its frequency. But then Dreyfus (p. 101) jumps to the conclusion that the suffering and death lose all banality if Jesus knew he was "God, Son of God, come to save the world". One need not go that far: the suffering and death would lose their banality if Jesus, thinking he was the one sent to bring God's kingdom into this world, found himself rejected by the authorities of the people who were supposed to accept this unique proclamation. The parabolic paradox of the kingdom coming only through the annihilation of the king would be all that would be required by Dreyfus's argument about banality, not a self-consciousness of divinity (even though I think such a self-consciousness was there). In any case none of this requires that Jesus had a detailed foreknowledge of how he would suffer and die or how he would be victorious. To learn about Jesus' foreknowledge of his suffering and death, one must make a careful comparison of the various predictions attributed to him, especially, whether those predictions had been formulated in the language of a passion narrative already constructed (and therefore perhaps a description post-eventum)-something that Dreyfus does not supply. In the very last page of the book Dreyfus considers briefly a number of texts that I already considered in my book Jesus God and Man as showing the limitations of Jesus' knowledge. He manages to explain all of these away in terms of his thesis that Jesus knew he was God but spoke by way of condescension to those who could not comprehend this truth. In my own book I recognized that if one makes such a presupposition, this is a possible explanation. But on what grounds does Dreyfus or anyone else have the right to make that presupposition? In all the Gospels there are texts indicating that Jesus knew of his unique identity; there are also texts pro and con his knowledge of all things. It is perfectly possible to dissociate these two issues, and quite frankly I find it stranger to think that a Jesus who knew better condescended to speak in the ignorant categories of his audience than to assume that Jesus was also subject to limitation and to lack of omniscience. (You will notice that I am resisting a statement that "Jesus was ignorant"; understandably, I resent the cheap polemics of
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some adversaries of the view of Jesus' limitations who pretend that the many Catholic exegetes and theologians who hold this view insult Jesus by deeming him ignorant and thinking they are smarter than he was.) Faulty question As I close the review section of this article, let me return to the issue with which Dreyfus opened his book. Critical of my claim that the question "Did Jesus know he was God?" was badly phrased, Dreyfus thought he could answer it by asking whether Jesus would agree with the Gospel of John if he read it. My first reaction was a question that Dreyfus apparently never asked himself. Since there is no evidence that Jesus had a reading knowledge of Greek, how would he have read the Gospel of John and understood it? If Dreyfus regards that as a foolish question, then we are worlds apart. I do not find anything in the NT that would lead me to suspect that Jesus had a knowledge of languages which he was not taught in the same way that the rest of us are taught languages. (See the article of W. G. Most in Homiletic and Pastoral Review 83 [June 1983) 9-16 which, besides indulging in the ungracious polemics just mentioned, argues that Jesus could have answered a Chinese-speaking interrogator provided the situation was one of pastoral service!) Secondly, my objection to the question "Did Jesus know he was God?" was missed altogether by Dreyfus. As indicated by the introductory clause which he omitted, my issue was one of terminology illustrated by the gradual NT development in calling Jesus "God" (which was the subject of the first essay in the book Jesus God and Man). The person who is asking this question, "Did Jesus know he was God?" (and that includes Dreyfus), almost always has a trinitarian notion of "God," and so the person is not asking, "Did Jesus know he was the Father in heaven?" But that may have been what the question would have meant in Jesus' time, since for Jews of the first third of the first century (and certainly Jesus was one) God was a figure in heaven. Thus to discuss Jesus' knowledge of divine identity under the rubric "Did Jesus know he was God?" is to invite obscurity and confusion. It was Christians who, in their esteem for and evaluation of Jesus, came to expand the term "God" so that it could refer not only to the Father in heaven but to the Son on earth. To say that the enormous impact of Jesus changed the meaning of "God" is no exaggeration. That does not necessarily mean that Christians in their reflections changed the true identity of Jesus; it means that they began to adapt human language to express that identity. Dreyfus's single greatest fault is that he does not give attention to the limited connotation of language and how the language of religious belief was changed in the period between the earthly Jesus and the Gospel of John. I have no difficulty with the thesis that if Jesus were taught Greek, and could have read John, he would have found that Gospel
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a suitable expression of his self-identity. (I can make this statement because I believe that the inspiring Holy Spirit guided the scriptural authors in their interpretation of Jesus Christ.) That does not mean that I think Jesus would have expressed his self-identity this way in his lifetime.
Summary of my views But now let me move toward summarizing succinctly my own position. I shall not attempt to offer detailed arguments for what I state below; I have already done that in Jesus God and Man. However, because that book was an investigation rather than a firm statement of my own views, what follows may be useful; for I find myself in dissent not only with very conservative answers on this issue, but also with liberal answers. There is little danger that ultra-conservatives will cite me in support, but I do not wish to allow ultra-liberals this privilege-and quite frankly, I find liberals often more confused on the issue than conservatives. In all of this I must presume the same audience that Dreyfus addresses: a group that accepts as authoritative both the dogmas of the church and the inspiration of a Bible which conveys without error those truths that God wanted taught for the sake of salvation. Let me now list numerically my observations pertinent to this whole question of the knowledge of Jesus: (1) Jesus knew his own identity which involved a unique relationship to God that we call the divinity of the Son. Christians of a later period were able to formulate Jesus' identity as "true God and true man," a formulation better than any other that had been attempted but certainly not exhaustive of the mystery. Despite the gnostics and the docetists, there is little real need to prove that Jesus was human. The idea that he was divine I find on most Gospel pages. An attempt to lessen the self-evaluation of Jesus to something like "He thought only that he was a prophet" would, in my judgment, involve proving that the Gospels misunderstood Jesus. No OT prophet acted in such independence of the Mosaic Law; and it is remarkable that one never finds in reference to Jesus a prophetic formula such as, "The word of God came to Jesus of Nazareth." The presupposition seems to be that the word did not have to come to him, but rather he already had it-to which John gives an even further formulation: he was the Word. (2) It is not evident that Jesus formulated or even was able to formulate his self-identity in the terms of later NT Christianity, such as Son of God, Lord, or God. In the last several decades at least ten books have been published on the titles of Jesus, and all of them have insisted on the difficulty of proving that Jesus used titles for himself during his public ministry. It is quite true that the thesis of a progressively developing language to identify Jesus was used by the rationalist scholars of a previous generation as proof
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for their thesis that Christians gradually deified Jesus. But it need not mean that, for the developing NT tem1inology may be reflecting the struggle to find language for the mystery of what Jesus really was rather than "making" Jesus something that he had not been. Dreyfus does not distinguish sufficiently between the rationalist and non-rationalist understanding of progressive terminology.
Non-conceptual knowing Knowing one's self-identity and being unable to formulate that knowledge in concepts and judgments are not contradictory, as is apparent from human experience. All human beings know that they are human, but it is very difficult for them to formulate what being human means. Attempts have been made to define the identity of a human being chemically, physiologically, psychologically, metaphysically, etc.; but no one has ever found a totally satisfactory definition of "man." (What I am told was the definition of "woman" in the first edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica as the female of man is now recognized as even more unsatisfactory.) If one is willing to accept Thomistic philosophy, the reason for the discrepancy between knowledge of self-identity and ability to phrase it is clear. Thomas posits, following Aristotle, that our knowledge of all things is conceptual; we make abstractions, express them in concepts (animal, tree), and form judgments by combining these concepts. But our knowledge of self is the one exception-it is intuitive knowledge, not conceptual, and extremely difficult to formulate in concepts. (In light of this approach, I am perplexed at Christians who think they are being liberal in claiming that Jesus had no knowledge of who he was, for they would think it offensive to say of other human beings that they had no knowledge of who they were.) Jesus' intuitive knowledge of his self-identity would have been a knowledge of what we call in faith being God and being man, and certainly such self-knowledge can have been no less difficult to express than our knowledge of being human. I regard the term "God" applied to Jesus to be a formulation of Christians in the second half of the first century seeking to express an identity that Jesus knew better than they and which is scarcely exhausted by the tem1 "God." Therefore, my reluctance to deal with the question "Did Jesus know he was God?" has nothing to do with an underevaluation of the divinity of Jesus. It is rather a recognition of the limitation of tem1inology to express the mystery which he knew intuitively better than we know conceptually. Yet, if I judge unsatisfactorily obscure the question, "Did Jesus know he was God?", I am more disconcerted when Christians give the answer "No." Some who give that answer think they are being alert to the historical problem, in my judgment their denial is more false to the historical evidence of Jesus' self-awareness than the response "Yes." The affirmative response may be wrong linguistically if it
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assumes that Jesus must have had the ability to express his self-identity; the negative response may also be wrong in a second way if it assumes that Jesus did not have knowledge of his self-identity or thought he was simply another prophetic emissary. (3) The affirmation that Jesus had knowledge of his self-identity (an affirmation that is true of every one who walks this earth, at least in principle) is not meant to exclude a development in his existential knowledge of what that identity implied for his life. I can prove no development of knowledge in Jesus; nor can any Scripture scholar; nor can any theologian who is willing to base judgments on the evidence of Scripture rather than theory about what might be possible. Nevertheless, I see no reason to exclude such development. Human beings know that they are human from the first moment that they begin to think-no matter how inchoative and elementary the self-knowledge. But one knows more of what it is to be human at age 20 than at 10, more at age 40 than at 20, and, I suspect, even more at the moment of death when one has endured the whole human experience. None of this increasing knowledge means that previously there was no knowledge of what it was to be human; the process is one of deepening perception. Theoretically, then, I have no problem in thinking that Jesus learned increasingly what being divine in human circumstances really implied or "learned obedience through suffering" in the language of Heb5:8. But I find particularly unsatisfactory liberal or pop-liberal affirmations about when Jesus found out that he was God. No text of the NT ever supports such a discovery by Jesus; it is the invention of those who proclaim it. So far as I can see, all Scripture texts assume that Jesus knew who he was and acted with sovereign authority. (4) The thesis that Jesus knew his self-identity (which we express as being God) tells us nothing about the extent of his knowledge of other matters, whether they be secular or religious. As I mentioned in discussing Dreyfus's book, it is an enormous jump to assume that because Jesus was God, his human mind had to know all things. I do not see the necessity to posit the additional types of knowledge infused in or given to Jesus that Thomas Aquinas proposed and Dreyfus regards as definitive. Salva reverentia, why did Jesus have to have a conceptual knowledge different from that of other human beings? (It will be remembered that I regard, with Thomas, the knowledge of self-identity as intuitive not conceptual.) Did he not have to learn things as other human beings had to learn them? Did he not have only the limited vocabulary of his time in order to express the supreme realities he perceived intuitively, and the world view of his time in which to proclaim the unique message that arose from his consciousness of his self-identity? His self-identity gave him a mission, but I see no reason for thinking that he did not have to discover in human terms how to effect that mission and where it would take him. Unlike Dreyfus, I 127
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agree thoroughly with von Balthasar that Jesus may well have had to discover the future, despite an intuitive self-assurance that that future would make the plan of God victorious. Just as I cannot explain the basic Gospel picture if Jesus did not know who he was (and in our faith affirmation, he truly was God); so I cannot explain some important Scripture quotations if he knew all things. The thesis that Jesus condescended (i.e., that he knew things, but pretended not to know them for pedagogical reasons) is possible; but quite frankly I am enough a child of my time to regard this thesis as more a difficulty for the incarnation than a support. Let me hope that these four points (which were already inherent in Jesus God and Man) show why I think it is possible to reject many of Dreyfus's specific answers while still avoiding the skeptical views that he seeks to refute and preserving much of the value that he seeks to preserve.
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49 WHY DID JESUS HAVE TO DIE? 1 P. Stuhlmacher Source: Jesus of Nazareth - Christ of Faith, translated by Siegfried Schatzman (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1993), pp. 39-57. (Originally in German as a guest lecture given in Lund on September 27,1984, supplemented for publication.)
Difficulties of response However obvious the question of the reason and purpose of Jesus' death might be for friends and critics of Christianity, it is difficult to answer it clearly and intelligibly. The theological interpretation of the cross and resurrection of Jesus has concerned theology since the days of early Christianity, and Paul knew very well why his confidence was in the wisdom of faith alone to penetrate the offense of the cross of Jesus comprehensibly (cf. 1 Cor 1:18-2:16). Thus if the problem is already complex with regard to the NT itself, theologians and prospective pastors of the twentieth century need to be further aware of particular difficulties in comprehension in the context of addressing the topic question. These difficulties are related to the history of research and of ideas. In view of contemporary Gospel criticism, it seems impossible simply to refer back to the accounts of the Synoptics or of the Gospel of John to answer this question. Especially the statements of Jesus concerning his own death and the passion narrative on the whole are today almost universally suspected to have originated only in the reflective faith of the (late) post-Easter community. Even the apostolic letters do not seem to lend themselves to much progress. For instance, modernity's enlightened consciousness perceives the answer given several times by the apostle Paul; Jesus died to atone for our sins (cf. 1 Cor 15:3-5; 2 Cor 5:21; Gal1:4; 2:20; Rom 3:25-26; 8:3-4 etc.), as religiously unworthy and unacceptable. A God who needs the blood sacrifice of his own Son in order to be merciful to sinners impresses the modern human as an idol that has nothing to do (nor is allowed to have anything to do) with the spirit of Christianity. A deep-rooted skepticism toward the Catholic doctrine of the Mass (modified at important points since the sixteenth century) 2 among the Reformed churches lends additional importance to this enlightened criticism regarding the apparently unreasonably primitive christological notion 129
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of sacrifice. 3 Under these circumstances one is not surprised that the question tends to remain open or is answered only by means of careful circumscriptions in theology. This situation in the discussion, however, does not absolve theologians, pastors, and teachers of religion from their obligation to answer as clearly as possible the question of the purpose of Jesus' death vis-a-vis their students, communities, and pupils. In my attempt to formulate an answer, I begin with two presuppositions in terms of methodology and of the history of research: (1) Despite all the Qustified) criticism on the limitations of the historical method, I still contend that it is possible and theologically essential to penetrate the events and experiences of the biblical era by means of historical research, and to reconstruct it with understanding. (2) Together with friends and colleagues (among whom B. Gerhardsson, M. Hengel, H. Schtirmann, and R. Riesner deserve particular mention), I have become convinced in recent years that the synoptic tradition is developed from a carefully controlled continuity of tradition, growing from the period of Jesus into the postapostolic era.4 Hence I consider it imperative to treat the kerygmatic gospel tradition as historically reliable wherever no compelling historical reasons militate against it.5 This point also applies to the essential sayings of Jesus concerning his death and to the passion narrative. From these presuppositions-which continue to be subject to discussion-arise the following historical and theological perspectives.
Reasons for Jesus' condemnation When one focuses upon Jesus and his ministry, as the three Synoptic Gospels account for it, the severity of Jesus' death on the cross is certainly not concealed. Mark says: At three o'clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?" which means, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" [Ps 22:2]. When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, "Listen, he is calling for Elijah." And someone ran, filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink, saying, "Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down." Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. (Mark 15:34-37, NRSV) Jesus' dying in this manner confronts Christians and non-Christians with the question: Why did Jesus have to die? From the very beginning the answers were contrasted. Jesus' most influential Jewish opponents replied: "This man had to die because a religious deceiver and false prophet must be eliminated from the context of the people of Israel, according to the law of Moses" (cf. De ut 13; 17:1-7; 18:20).6 Pilate, the representative ofthe 130
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Roman occupation forces in Palestine at the time of Jesus, responded: "This Jesus of Nazareth had to be crucified to serve as a shock treatment, so that henceforth no one else will dare to assert himself as the messianic king of Israel in the purview of the Romans, and incite the Jewish people to rebellion." 7 Since Easter, however, the disciples of Jesus answered: "Jesus our Lord ... was put to death [by God] for our trespasses and raised for our justification" (Rom 4:24-25). How could. such diverse answers come about? The response of the Jewish opponents of Jesus is quite understandable. During his ministry in Galilee and Judea Jesus did little to endear himself to Pharisees, scribes, rich Jews, Zealots, or even to priests and Sadducees. On the contrary, he offended and challenged all of them with his unfamiliar words and deeds. One need only recall the following six scenes. First incident: Instead of keeping with good pharisaic tradition by caring for the weak and the sick on a weekday and refraining from all assistance on the Sabbath, Jesus provocatively heals precisely on a holy day and, more than that, declares himself to be the Lord of the Sabbath (cf. Mark 2:28; 3:1ff.). It is not surprising that this conduct offends Pharisees. Second scene: No less for every pious Jew than for us today it was a matter of course to avoid the society of notorious sinners and of shady business dealers. What does Jesus do instead? In his message he addresses "tax gatherers and sinners" pointedly, lets them invite him, and together with them celebrates messianic feasts (cf. Mark 2:15 ff, with 1 Enoch 62:14). No wonder that the Jews who are most sensitive in matters of religious practice were enraged about this behavior and said about Jesus: "Behold, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners" (Matt 11:19; cf. also Luke 15:2). Third scene: For pious Israelites nothing was-and continues to bemore sacred than the law that God had revealed to his chosen people through Moses at Sinai. Jesus likewise was raised in the fear of the law. Nevertheless, unlike any rabbi before him, he instructed his disciples and the people in the Sermon on the Mount: "You have heard that it was said [by God] to the people of old, 'You shall not kill; and whoever kills shall be liable to judgment'" (Matt 5:21-22). Or: "Again you have heard that it was said to the people of old, 'You shall not swear falsely, but shall perform to the Lord what you have sworn.' But I say to you: Do not swear at all" (Matt 5:33-34; cf. Jas 5:12). Here Jesus juxtaposes his own teaching with the revelation of God to the generation of the ancestors at Sinai, and one cannot miss the critical sound of the contrast. In the case of divorce Jesus even says that Moses allowed it to the Israelites only for the sake of their hardness of heart, and then adds: "But from the beginning [of creation] it was not so!" (Matt 19:8). Even when Jesus affirms explicitly: "Do not think that I have come to abolish the law and the prophets; I have
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come not to abolish them but to fulfill them!" (Matt 5:17), one can hardly blame his contemporaries for the impression that Jesus was opposed to God's holy law. Fourth scene: Instead of proffering the pious rich man a way to take the "path of righteousness" that leads to eternal life in the midst of his possessions, Jesus tells him to relinquish all his possessions if he wants to be Jesus' disciple (Mark 10:17-22 par.). By means of the "pronouncement of woes" (from Luke 6:24-25) he further offends the numerous landed proprietors and wealthy families of that period in Palestine and explains to his disciples: "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God" (Mark 10:25). Fifth incident: Among the insurrectionist and freedom party of the Zealots the imperial tolltax, introduced in AD 7, caused a revolt because they viewed it as the embodiment of the subjugation of God's people by godless pagans. The imperial denarius used to pay the tax, with its inscriptions and pictures lauding Caesar as God, they regarded as a symbol of idolatry. It was altogether impossible for any of them to accept Jesus' explanation: "Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's and to God the things that are God's" (Mark 12:17). For them such a declaration was a flat betrayal of what was holy in Israel. Finally the sixth scene: When Jesus moves to Jerusalem at the end of his ministry he decides on a provocative symbolic action. At one of the important ascents to the temple or-even more likely-in the so-called hall of pillars, he forbids the money changers their business, overturns the stands of those selling doves, and obstructs individuals who with their heavy loads want to move from the lower to the upper part of the city by using the temple bridges as a shortcut, thus traversing the temple area because of laziness. 8 Jesus substantiates his action by saying: "Is it not written, 'My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations'? But you have made it a den of robbers" (Mark 11:17; cf. Isa 56:7 and Jer 7:11). For the priests attending to the temple (cult) this is an incredible provocation. No sacrifice can be paid for and no donation made to the temple without the money changers, who convert the pilgrims' money into the (Tyrian) temple currency. Forbidding the sale of doves and small animals to the sellers of sacrificial animals means questioning the nature of sacrifices as a whole. By means of his temple cleansing Jesus endangers the entire order of the temple cult, which God had established in the Torah. Henceforth the powerful priesthood and the Sadducean nobility of Jerusalem, heavily involved financially in the temple, join Jesus' mortal enemies. In view of this sort of behavior on Jesus' part, if one reads in Deuteronomy 13 (and 17:1-7; 18:20) that a religious deceiver and false prophet must be eradicated from the people, the motive for the Jewish condemnation of Jesus by the high priests and Sadducees arises naturally: Jesus had to die 132
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because his public appearance, his teaching, and his (messianic) claim to authority violated the governing religious tradition of his people unbearably.
Jesus' messianic mission If one inquires about the reason for Jesus' action, one encounters Jesus'
messianic mission in all the incidents cited. For Jesus the baptism by John the Baptist meant the call to the public ministry as (messianic) Son of God (Mark 1:9-11 par.). Following his baptism Jesus set out to proclaim the message of the imminent kingdom of God (according to Isa 61:1-3) and, together with his disciples, to gather the eschatological people of God out of Israel (Luke 4:16 ff.; Mark 3:13 ff. par.). Through the provocative healings on the Sabbath Jesus asserts the kingdom of God against the powers of darkness opposing this kingdom. Jesus is "Lord of the Sabbath" (Mark 2:28) because, as the messianic Son of man, he ushers in the new, salutary order of creation. In the instances of table fellowship with tax collectors and sinners, so offensive to the Pharisees, he wants to demonstrate to these humans whom the pious shun that God has mercy upon the sinner rather than upon the righteous (cf. Mark 2:17). To those who can least expect it he wants to give a foretaste of what it will mean to recline at table together with him, the Son of man, and with the patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (cf. Matt 8:11).9 Healings and table fellowship are practical symbols of God's reconciliation with humans through the mediatorship of Jesus. The teaching of Jesus, whereby he does not want to abolish the law of Moses but instead transcend and fulfill it messianically, first of all summons his disciples, and then through them all Israel, to prepare anew for the loving will of a gracious God. The critique of wealth and the call to renounce property arises from the understanding of Jesus, himself destitute (cf. Luke 9:58 par.), that it is not possible to serve God and unrighteous mammon at the same time (Luke 12:13 par.). In his own way he can be unconcerned about the issue of the imperial tax because for him God's coming kingdom transcends the Zealots' political interests. By means of the messianic, symbolic action of the cleansing of the temple Jesus questions the temple's priesthood (and Israel with them) about whether they intend to continue to carry out the atonement ritual without acquiescing to Jesus' message of repentance. Jesus sees that the time has come to worship God in the Spirit of truth and to cleanse the temple for such worship. Despite all the criticism against him and the well-intentioned warnings not to carry things too far (cf. Mark 8:31-33; Luke 13:31-33), Jesus cannot 133
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desist from his controversial actions because that would mean denying his messianic mission. Accordingly the conflict between him and the main representatives of Israel's old religious order is unavoidable. Jesus sees this conflict coming and does not avoid it. Already in Galilee he had taught his adherents that the love commandment did not apply only to neighbors and friends but also to the enemies and persecutors of Jesus' band: "You have heard that it was said [by God], 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children [uioi] of your Father who is in heaven" (Matt 5:43---44). When he sets out on his journey to Jerusalem some time later, he does not hide from his disciples that rejection, suffering, and death await him there. When Peter wants to dissuade him from this course, he levels a razor-sharp rebuke at him: "Get behind me, Satan! For you are not on the side of God, but of humans" (Mark 8:33). Jesus is clearly convinced that his path into suffering and death is God's inevitable intent (cf. Luke 13:33).
Jesus' comprehension of his death Many exegetes and dogmatic theologians today are of the opinion that it was only the post-Easter community that attributed to Jesus the sayings in which he speaks about his suffering and sacrificial death. But together with Otto Betz, 10 Martin Hengel,U and others, 12 I think that the opposite is true. The post-Easter community learned the fact and the manner in which they were to understand Jesus' way of suffering to the cross directly from Jesus. One cannot infer the interpretation of Jesus' death as the vicarious death of the "Christ" (1 Cor 15:3) from the Easter events alone. Jesus' willingness to take the path leading to death is quite historically plausible if, together with him, one is prepared to read the OT and concentrate especially on the book of Isaiah, which Jesus cites time and againY Through the mouth of the prophet God announces to his people in Isaiah 43:3-5 that he himself, out of love, will give people as a ransom for Israel. In fact, the oldest extant manuscript of Isaiah, the Qumran scroll of Isaiah (1Qisa•), says: "because I love you I will give the human on your behalf [as a ransom]." 14 Isaiah 53 deals with the suffering servant of God. God's servant is sent and commissioned by God to bear vicariously the punishment for the sin of the people and thereby to procure Israel's salvation. Jesus' voluntary path into suffering and death makes good sense if he understood himself to be called to take the way of the suffering servant of God. Jesus' famous declaration: "The Son of man did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many" (Mark 10:45 par.), shows that he applies Isaiah 43:3-5 to his own pilgrimage. Instead of ruling and being served (cf. Dan 7:14), he himself is ready to serve "the many" to 134
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the point of death-as God determined it for his servant. 15 During the Last Supper in Jerusalem he gives the Twelve a share in the atoning power of his own "blood of the covenant" (Mark 14:24; cf. Exod 24:8), shed for "the many," according to Isaiah 53:11-12. One cannot wrest from the earthly Jesus this so-called saying of the cup, the one about the ransom in Mark 10:45, or the mysterious statement still shining through dimly in Mark 9:31: "The Son of man will be delivered [by God] into the hands of humans." These sayings of Jesus were lodged in the disciples' memory; from these sayings they learned, after Easter, to grasp the mystery of the death of Jesus. 16 In order to comprehend Jesus' willingness to suffer and to offer himself, expressed in these sayings, one needs to refer back once more to the OT-Jewish tradition of faith. In Luke 19:10 Jesus says concerning himself: "The Son of man came to seek and to save the lost [before God]." What does Jesus understand it to mean to be lost before God? For Jesus, as well as for the OT and for religious Judaism, sin is the actual and willful rebellion against God's will. Those who rebel against God's commandment have to bear the deadly consequences of their action. The OT makes clear that humans who have renounced God can in no wise escape the death penalty. God will not be mocked and no injustice will abide in his holiness. Jesus is not only familiar with this perspective but also affirms it emphatically. At one point he says to his disciples: "For what does it profit a person, to gain the whole world and forfeit life? For what can a person give [to God] in return for life?" (Mark 8:36-37; cf. Ps 49:8-9). An individual who is lost before God (as well as a nation in sin) has only one chance for salvation, according to Jewish belief-by God having mercy upon the offenders out of unconstrained love and sparing them from having to bear themselves the deadly consequences of their sin. For the OT the cultic atonement represents the great opportunity, given by God, to free the people and the individual from their sins. The life of an animal, contained in the blood, is given up vicariously for that of the guilt-ridden individual(s) (Lev 17:11). But the life of the servant of God, too, can be a substitute for the ruined life of "the many," according to Isaiah 53:10ffY On this premise one can retrace Jesus' willingness to offer himself. During his ministry he realizes not only that the disciples he chose continue to be weak and susceptible to temptation (cf. Luke 22:31-32) but also that more and more people rebel against his message. At the same time he knows that this resistance to his call to repentance and his person has deadly consequences for those concerned. Those who reject Jesus become guilty of the sin against the Holy Spirit (cf. Mark 3:28-29). In this threatening situation for his opponents, as well as for his disciples, Jesus decides to do the utmost he is capable of doing on earth: to offer himself to spare his friends and foes from the judgment of death. By means of his death Jesus does not appease a vengeful deity; rather, on his way of the 135
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cross he is the embodiment of the love of God, as sketched in Isaiah 43:3--4, 25. This love wants to spare the impenitent daughters and sons of Israel, as well as his feeble disciples, from having to perish because of their doubts about his mission and the consequences of their reserve toward Jesus' message. Even when he is nailed to the cross he does not curse his enemies but instead (like the servant of God) prays for them: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do" (Luke 23:34; cf. Isa 53:12). Jesus keeps the commandment to love the enemy even on the cross. To his friends and mortal enemies alike he wants to open up the possibility of one day realizing and confessing with the community of Isaiah 53: "Because the punishment [for our sins] was upon him, we are saved; by his wounds we are healed" (Isa 53:5). 18 When one sees these correlations between the OT-Jewish tradition and Jesus' actions, Jesus' offering of himself becomes clear: He himself triggers the final mortal conflict in Jerusalem via the act of the temple cleansing. 19 For this reason he could not have been surprised that the priests of the temple and the nobles of the city take action against him. When the high priest has him apprehended in Gethsemane in the night of the Passover, he consciously refuses resistance. Before the members of the highest Jewish court who are hastily called together, he bluntly confesses his messianic mission, but then adds that one day his present judges would have to answer before him as the coming Son of man-judge of the world (Mark 14:61-62). Jesus indeed claims divine rights of sovereignty by means of this response to their question. On this premise the high priest and the Sanhedrin could regard Jesus as convicted of being a messianic deceiver of the people and a blasphemer of God who claimed God's laws for himself and who therefore had to be removed from the people. Because they themselves have no authority to mete out the death sentence (John 19:31), they accuse Jesus before the Roman procurator of pretending to be a messiah, hence a politically dangerous insurrectionist. Pilate, the Roman, has little choice under these circumstances. In order to avoid a later rebellion, he has to act quickly. He has Jesus flogged and nailed to the cross as a deterrent. That this happens just outside Jerusalem on this major festival day is meant as a warning on the Romans' part. As far as the Jewish legal sensibilities are concerned, however, this is precisely in accordance with the special procedure governing the case of passing judgment against one who seduced the people. Following the Jewish law (t. Sanh. 11:7), such an individual is to be executed on one of the major pilgrim festivals, for the purpose of doing justice to the law, which determines in Deuteronomy 17:13: "All the people are to hear, so that they might be afraid and will not be contemptuous again." Jesus has to die because his messianic ministry is unbearable to his opponents. Yet he takes his death upon himself knowingly and willfully, in order to atone for the sin of the many humans who reject him and for his feeble disciples. 136
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Thus one confronts again Jesus' last words on the cross. According to the Gospel of Mark and of Matthew they are: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" This sounds like a cry of despair. Indeed, the dying Jesus does lament his peril and dereliction to God. Yet he does not do it out of despair but as a final act of fearing God. Psalm 22 begins, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" In this psalm the one who prays first laments his peril before God in order to be consoled with the salvation by the same God. 20 Jesus' lamenting cry, therefore, does not mean that in view of his death he despairs of his mission. 21 On the contrary! With his last words on earth Jesus entrusts himself prayerfully to his heavenly Father who, according to Jewish law and to Jesus' own confession, is the God who raises the dead (cf. Mark 12:27). Jesus' last cry: "My God, my God, why ... ?" points beyond the cross to the divine because. God does indeed declare it on the third day after Jesus' death, according to the experience of the Easter witnesses. Hence in Romans Paul confesses together with the Christians before and alongside him: "For to this end Christ died and lived again, that he might be Lord both of the dead and of the living" (Rom 14:9).
The problem of interpretation Thus one can give very diverse answers to the question, Why did Jesus have to die? They vary in intelligibility and yet they are all true historically. There can be no doubt about the first answer: Jesus had to die because he made too many enemies who opposed his messianic ministry. The second answer is more difficult: Jesus did not circumvent death because he viewed himself as called to take the way of the serving Son of man and of the suffering servant of God, whose death brings help and salvation to "the many" who are far from God. This answer is difficult because it begins to become intelligible only against the backdrop of the OT and because one has to continue to understand that Jesus' sacrifice was the sacrifice of love that the Father willed, so as to spare Jesus' friends and foes from perishing because of the consequences of their feebleness and rejection of Jesus. The third answer is the most difficult because it includes a confession that, since the earliest days of Christianity, does not appeal to everyone: Jesus "died for our sins" and "was raised [by God] for our justification." He lived, suffered, and was raised in order to be and remain the one who reconciled God and humanity (cf. 1 Cor 15:3ff.; 2 Cor 5:21; Rom 3:25-26; 4:25; 8:3-4; etc.). Because in Romans 5:1-11 and 2 Corinthians 5:18--21 Paul speaks of the "reconciliation" through Christ and proclaims the "message of reconciliation" as gospel, he truly is "the messenger of Jesus" (A. Schlatter)Y 137
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For the theological interpretation this result has the following implication: The texts of the Gospels and Letters that speak of Jesus' vicarious and atoning death remain indispensable to all attempts at theological interpretation; they represent the standard whereby one can and must test whether the sayings concerning Jesus' death are in accordance with Scripture. Nevertheless, one cannot ignore that the religious world of sacrifice is no longer a dynamic reality for people in the Western industrial nations. If it is essential to speak intelligibly about the meaning of Jesus' death with these people, it is necessary to choose a manner of expression that opens up the biblical texts without immediately presupposing a historical understanding of the biblical language of sacrifice. All the same, this manner of expression has to link today's people with the textual and experiential world of the Bible. One can find this manner of expression if one observes that Jesus himself, as well as the decisive texts in the apostolic letters, do not speak literally about the sacrifice and atonement through Jesus' vicarious death on the cross, but rather metaphorically. 23 The biblical texts speak of Jesus' sacrificial death and of the atonement effected by him; and they express that Jesus took the path of death out of love for his friends and foes, and that this love, ready to be offered up, is the love of God, who loves his people and his creatures even more fervently than a human mother, according to Isaiah 49:15. We have explored the way the language and experience of love links the biblical texts with the modem experiential world. We too know and experience that love which, in its purest form, is self-sacrifice for others. Hence one can also answer the question of why Jesus had to die as follows: He had to die because his life's witness to God's unfathomable love for the poor and the lost breaks the religious standards of the powerful in Israel at that time. Jesus was ready to offer himself because he deemed the realization of God's love to be more important than his own life. One can understand Jesus' resurrection as confirmation of the victory of love over all human sin and over death. As messianic Son of man Jesus is the love of God personified (1 John 4:9-10, 16). Even in this form of language the sayings about the meaning of Jesus' death remain difficult and demanding. Already in the biblical experience, and since then in a continually new Christian hermeneutical experience, these sayings are truly understood only when one engages in thought, word, and deed in the love of God. Indeed, understanding biblical texts is not merely a matter of the mind but also of the heart and of experience.
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Notes 1 In the original German form this was a guest lecture, given in Lund on September 27, 1984; it has been supplemented for publication. 2 The contemporary Catholic dictum is: "The sacrifice of the Mass is a sacramental representation, remembrance, and gift [German Vergegenwiirtigung, Gediichtnis, Zuwendung] of the sacrifice of the cross .... Hence the Eucharist is not a new and independent sacrifice replacing the sacrifice of the cross or even merely supplementing it. It is the sacramental bringing into the present of the sacrifice on the cross procured once for all," Katholischer Erwachsenen-Katechismus (ed. Deutsche Bischofskonferenz, 1985) 354. 3 On the history of the enlightened (and confessional) criticism of the NT notion of the (atoning) sacrifice, cf. Ulrich Wilckens's most instructive Der Brief an die Romer (EKKNT; Zurich: Benziger; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1978) 1:233-43. 4 See Birger Gerhardsson, Memory and Manuscript (Lund: Gleerup, 1961); critically continued in idem, The Origins of the Gospel Traditions (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977); idem, "The Path of the Gospel Tradition," The Gospel and the Gospels (ed. Peter Stuhlmacher; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991) 75-96; idem, The Gospel Tradition (ConBNT 15; Lund: Gleerup, 1986); Martin Hengel, "Jesus als messianischer Lehrer der Weisheit und die Anfange der Christologie," Sagesse et Religion (Colloque de Strasbourg; Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1979) 14&-88; idem, "Literary, Theological, and Historical Problems in the Gospel of Mark," The Gospel and the Gospels, 209-51; idem, "The Gospel of Mark: Time of Origin and Situation," Studies in the Gospel of Mark (trans. John Bowden; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985) 1-30; Heinz Schiirmann, "Die vorosterlichen Anfange der Logientradition," Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu den synoptischen Evangelien (Diisseldorf: Patmos, 1968) 39--64; Rainer Riesner, Jesus als Lehrer (WUNT 217, 2d ed.; Tiibingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1984); idem, "Der Ursprung der Jesus-Oberlieferung," TZ 38 (1982) 495-513. On the controls of the tradition, see James Dunn, "Prophetic 'I'-Sayings and the Jesus-Tradition: The Importance of Testing Prophetic Utterances within Early Christianity," (NTS 24 1977178) 175--98. David Aune closes the paragraph on "Christian Prophets and the Sayings of Jesus" in his profound book, Prophecy in Early Christianity and the Ancient Mediterranean World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983), by saying: "German NT scholars, it appears, have seized the hypothesis of the creative role of Christian prophets because it both accounts for the additions to the sayings tradition and absolves the early Christians from any culpability in the forging of inauthentic words of Jesus. In spite of the theological attractiveness of the theory, however, the historical evidence in support of the theory lies largely in the creative imagination of scholars" (p. 245). 5 So already Oscar Cullmann, Salvation in History (trans. Sidney G. Sowers, et al.; London: SCM, 1967) 192. I want to point out emphatically that the position taken above does not imply the end of the historical-critical investigation of all four Gospels. On the synchronic level (of the text) all four Gospels are postEaster witnesses of history and faith that one can probe historically (within the realm of the possible) only by careful diachronic analysis of the tradition. The only problem with this (indispensable, in my opinion) diachronic analysis is that the criteria of form criticism, itself critical of tradition, have meanwhile proved too flawed to construct reliable historical evaluations of what is historically primary or secondary, Palestinian or (only) Hellenistic, a saying of Jesus or prophetic (community) construction. Eduard Lohse ignores all of this in his
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essay, "Jesu Worte im Zeugnis seiner Gemeinde," TLZ 112 (1987) 705-16, and merely summarizes the outdated state of affairs in the investigation, as delineated by the authors mentioned in n. 4. On this issue, see also my essay, "The Theme: The Gospel and the Gospels," The Gospel and the Gospels, 1-25, esp. 6-8. From the perspective of the history of research, one certainly welcomes with good reasons Klaus Berger's attempt to base the history of the form of the NT on the premise of literary investigation. Cf. his Fonngeschichte des Neuen Testaments (Heidelberg: QueUe and Meyer, 1984). 6 In Die Stunde der Wahrheit (WUNT 21; Ttibingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1980), August Strobel demonstrated that the reproof voiced against Jesus-that he had been a pianos, a deceiver, beginning with Matt 27:63 until Justin's Dialogue with Trypho (69:7; 108:1)-is to be seen against the background of Deut 13; 17:12; and 18:20 (and the early Jewish legal traditions originating from these texts). They represent the historical reason for Jesus' arrest and condemnation by the Sanhedrin. Under these circumstances the Markan presentation of the passion deserves much more historical confidence than scholars have afforded it thus far (cf. Strobel, 4). On the reproof of Jesus being a religious imposter, see also Otto Betz, Probleme des Prozesses Jesu (ANRW 11125.1; Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 1982) 577ff., 594ff., as well as Graham N. Stanton, "Aspects of Early Christian-Jewish Polemic and Apologetic," NTS 31 (1985) 377-92. 7 This is the meaning of the warning and deterrent of the so-called titulus on the cross, as formulated by the Romans, not by the Christians (Mark 14:26 par.). On its historical and christological meaning, see Niels Alstrup Dahl, The Crucified Messiah and Other Essays (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1974) 10--36. 8 On the meaning of Mark 11:16, see Christian Maurer, TDNT, 7:362; and Josephus, Ag. Ap. 2. 106. Emst Lohrneyer, Das Evangelium nach Markus, 11th ed. (MeyerK; Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1951) 237 doubts the historicity of the Markan presentation in Mark 11:15-17 altogether. For him the story "can hardly be called an historical account, but rather a parenetic example with appended instruction. Historically one can barely recognize the incident as a whole, for it is difficult to imagine how Jesus is supposed to have cleansed the extensive court of the temple on his own, hence that the temple police did not intervene ... or at least the Roman guard on the Antonia, so that this act was no issue in the case against Jesus." In Was Jesus a Revolutionist? (trans. William Klassen; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971) 15-17, Martin Hengel traced the historical possibilities more carefully. He too considers a cleansing of the temple precinct by Jesus alone and without intervention by the Romans (as in Paul's case in Acts 21:27ff.) to be impossible: "According to Josephus, at the great feasts there were additional soldiers stationed on the roofs of the outer porches, who had the task of observing activities in the large outer court. [Note: Cf. Ant. 20, 106--7; J. W. 2.224-25). Any considerable tumult would inevitably have led to intervention by the garrison, especially since Pilate was not squeamish on this point. [Note: Cf. Ant. 18.55-62, 85-87.)" According to Hengel the Markan account is exaggerated because of narratival motivation, and Matthew and Luke have further intensified it. He concludes: "In the socalled temple cleansing we have, apparently, a prophetic demonstration or, one could also say, provocation, in which it was not a matter of driving out all those who sold and the money-changers. We are dealing, rather, with a demonstrative condemnation of their trade, a condemnation which was directed at the same time against the ruling temple aristocracy, which derived profit from it. It may also be assumed here that the word, not the action, stood at the center -
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9
10 11
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such an isolated action would have been meaningless by itself." If one considers Billerbeck's indications (in Str-B 1:850-51) that the sale of sacrificial animals was practiced from the Mount of Olives all the way to the temple mount, and further if one keeps in mind the temple ascents that Benjamin Mazar has uncovered on the southern side and on the southwestern corner of the temple area, one can reconstruct the events more easily. Mazar points out that shops were already extant in the arches of the pillars of the so-called Robinson's Arch (or ascent to the temple), "in which goods were tendered for the needs of the visitors of the temple." He adds: "It cannot be dismissed either that the hall of pillars [built in the shape of a basilica, with a middle nave and two side naves] was used for trade associated with the temple ritual. Here it was also possible to exchange foreign currency, especially Roman, for coins used in Jerusalem." "Neue archaologische Entdeckungen in Jerusalem," David Ausser, ed., Die letzten Tage Jesu in Jerusalem (trans. H. Zechner; Stuttgart: Calwer, 1982) 14J-54; citations from 146, 147. Since the hall of pillars, according to Mazar, "represented a separate entity on its own right" (146), Jesus' prophetic-messianic symbolic action may have taken place at one of the ascents to the temple (crowded with traders) or in the hall of pillars itself. In view of the respect Jesus enjoyed, it seemed inopportune to the (Jewish) authorities to proceed against Jesus at once. Only later (on the following day, according to Mark 11 :27ff.) did they call him to account. As Petr Pokorny assumes in The Genesis of Christology, 48: "It was perhaps on this or on a similar occasion that he uttered a vaticinium about the destruction of the temple by way of a prophetic threat, which the evangelist later modified ex even tu (Mark 13:2). This was clearly also the immediate occasion of the accusation against Jesus before the Sanhedrin." Otfried Hofius, Jesu Tischgemeinschaft mit den Siindem (Calwer Hefte 86; Stuttgart: Calwer, 1967) 20, formulates admirably: "Jesus' table fellowship with sinners is the bestowal and appropriation of God's forgiveness and the promise and giving of the kingdom of God in anticipation." One can recognize what is new and provocative in Jesus' actions if one compares the table fellowship of Jesus, the Son of man, which he had with tax collectors and sinners, to the early Jewish expectation found in 1 Enoch 62:14, namely that the "righteous" (who have been approved and tested in the final judgment) will one day be allowed to enjoy table fellowship with the Son of man. The price Jesus ultimately had to pay for his action was his life. Otto Betz, Wie verstehen wir das Neue Testament (Wuppertal: Aussaat, 1981) 34ff. Martin Hengel, The Atonement (trans. John Bowden; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981). The English book is an expanded version of the essay: "Der stellvertretende Siihnetod Jesu. Ein Beitrag zur Entstehung des urchristlichen Kerygmas," Internationale Katholische Zeitschrift 9 (1980) 1-25; 135--47. To be cited first of all are Joachim Jeremias, New Testament Theology (trans. John Bowden; New York: Scribner's, 1971) 276-99; idem, Jesus und seine Botschaft (Stuttgart: Calwer, 1976) 61-77, 88-92; Leonhard Goppelt, Theology of the New Testament (trans. John Alsup; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1981) 1:22J-38; and Hans Waiter Wolff, Jesaja 53 im Urchristentum, 4th ed. (Giessen: Brunnen, 1984) 55--71. For further consultation see Werner Grimm, Die Verkiindigung Jesu und Deuterojesaja (2d ed.; Bern: Peter Lang, 1981) 231 ff. In his study, The Mystery of the Kingdom of God: The Secret of Jesus' Messiahship and Passion (trans. Waiter Lowrie; London: A. & C. Black, 1925) 236-39, which was as ingenious
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as it was imaginative, Albert Schweitzer already pointed out that the message of Second-Isaiah had a decisive influence upon Jesus' understanding of suffering (cf. the workbook edition supervised by R. Grabs: Das Messianitiits-und Leidensgeheimnis: Eine Skizze des Lebens Jesu vol. 5 [1974) 316--18). The article is surely to be understood generically (cf. GKC, § 126/), though it can also be taken as a demonstrative, of course, in the context of Jesus' conception of being the (serving) Son of man himself. In the introduction to Wolfrs monograph, Jesaja 53, I have endeavored to show how Jesus' messianic mission, the Son of man title, and the understanding of the passion are linked. On this matter see also eh. 1, "Jesus of Nazareth as the Christ of Faith." Cf. my essay, "Jesus von Nazareth und die neutestamentliche Christologie im Lichte der Heiligen Schrift," Mitte der Schrift? Ein jiidisch-christliches Gespriich: Texte des Bemer Symposions vom 6--12. Januar 1985 (ed. Martin Klopfenstein, et al., Judaica et Christiana 11; Bern: Lang, 1987) 85-90. For an understanding of the atonement in the OT and NT, see Hartmut Gese, "The Atonement," Essays on Bible Theology (trans. Keith Crim; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1981) 93--116, and Bernd Janowski, Siihne als Heilsgeschehen (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1982). Schweitzer, Mystery of the Kingdom of God, 240ff., assumes that Jesus adopted suffering unto death in order for the petition of the Lord's Prayer-and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil-to be fulfilled. Temptation (peirasmos) refers to the premessianic tribulation, which was to take place prior to the coming of the kingdom, according to late Jewish eschatology. But Jesus did not instruct the believers about the atoning significance of his death, so that the disciples, who remained uncertain when he left, undertook a reinterpretation of Jesus' atoning death from the very inception of Christianity. Instead of speaking of Jesus' intent to suffer accordingly-that Jesus' atoning death was to relieve them of an atonement that they were to bring in this tribulation-they thought that through his death Jesus procured forgiveness of sins for them, and on that basis they would endure the judgment occurring when the kingdom of God breaks in. One should replace this fanciful assumption with Otto Betz's understanding, which the texts support much better: "Of particular importance is the statement in Mark 10:45: The Son of man sees the ultimate and highest purpose of his service in giving up his life for the many, that is to suffer death vicariously for a humanity subject to judgment. For since time was coming to a rapid close, the fact of unbelief and of refused repentance left no other choice to the one sent by God but to atone by his death for the sins of those whom he wanted to make the people of the basileia," Wie verstehen wir das Neue Testament, 34. Jeremias, New Testament Theology, 1:279: "Above all, when Jesus decided to carry out the cleansing of the temple it must have been clear to him that he was risking his life; and that was in fact the occasion for the definitive official action against him." This understanding is supported not only by the historical reconstruction of the events of the passion, but also by the description of the temple cleansing in John 2:14-22. On understanding Ps 22, see esp. Hartmut Gese, "Psalm 22 und das Neue Testament: Der alteste Bericht vom Tode Jesu und die Entstehung des Herrenmahls," Vom Sinai zum Zion: Alttestamentliche Beitriige zur biblischen Theologie (Munich: Kaiser, 1974) 180--201. While Rudolf Bultmann, Exegetica (ed. Erich Dinkler; Tiibingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck), 1967) 452-53, considers the possibility that Jesus collapsed on
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account of the impending death, Wolfgang Schrage's interpretation of Jesus' final cry is more in line with the text. For him this word is "not merely an expression of abject despair or of pure senselessness because Jesus does not throw himself into the arms of despair but of God, though he did so in despair" "Das Verstandnis des Todes Jesu Christi im Neuen Testament," Das Kreuz Jesu Christi als Grund des Heils (ed. Emst Bizer, et al.; Giitersloh: Mohn, 1967) 67n. 48. 22 On the Pauline understanding of reconciliation, see Otfried Hofius, "Siihne und Versohnung," Versuche, das Leiden und Sterben Jesu zu verstehen (ed. Wilhelm Maas; 1983) 25--46. Hofius also has the important reference to the fact that a satisfactory understanding of reconciliation has to do with a "theologically disastrous reversal of the Pauline statement of reconciliation" (44 n. 17). Precisely Jesus' own understanding of suffering and death nowhere points to a satisfaction demanded by God; rather one is to understand it as an act of representation. On behalf of God and in his nature as messianic Son of God, Jesus takes death upon himself, in order to keep his guilty friends and foes from the judgment of death. 23 Jesus' sacrificial death is no cultic act that needs to be repeated, but the Son of God's vicarious yielding of life on Golgotha. In this manner and only for this reason is he able to discharge the cultic sacrifice of atonement once for all. The transference to which I refer is seen exegetically because Mark 10:45 par. and Mark 14:24 par. contain an interpretation of Jesus' mission and pro-existence (Pro-Existenz) that is itself based on Isa 43:3ff.; 53:12; and Exod 24:8. The text witnesses find their new and unique realization in Jesus' "existential representation" (H. Gese). One can make an analogous case for Rom 3:25, which, against the backdrop of Lev 16, contains a bold interpretation of the death on the cross that is critical of the cult. It is no different with Heb 9:24ff. On this issue, consult further Ferdinand Hahn, "Das Verstandnis des Opfers im Neuen Testament," Exegetische Beitriige zum okumenischen Gespriich (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1986) 1:262-302.
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MESSIANIC IDEAS AND THEIR INFLUENCE ON THE JESUS OF HISTORY J. D. G. Dunn Source: J. H. Charlesworth (ed.), The Messiah: Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), pp. 365-381.
Introduction Jesus was a Jew. It is inconceivable that he was not "influenced" by Jewish "ideas." This uncontroversial a priori conceals potentially explosive issues. In particular, it leads naturally to a whole sequence of follow-up questions. To what extent was Jesus' whole message and ministry shaped and determined by particular ideas which came to him as part of his Jewish upbringing, character, and context? To what extent was the movement which sprang from Jesus shaped and determined by these same Jewish ideas, and to what extent by other (non-Jewish) forces? Does Jesus belong more to the Judaism from which he emerged or to the Christianity which resulted from his ministry? Did Jesus inject something new and different into his ancestral faith and practice, and can he therefore be credited (or blamed) for the consequent transformation which within two or three generations led to the schism between (rabbinic) Judaism and Christianity? Such are the wider issues with still wider ramifications which surround the more specific issue. Was Jesus influenced by current Jewish messianic ideas? Did he see himself or his ministry as the fulfillment of his people's hopes and aspirations for the future? Even this topic is huge, and impossible to tackle at more than an overview level within the scope of a single paper. Nevertheless the issue is potentially of immense significance and it is important that such a summary treatment be attempted as part of the wider inquiry of this colloquy.
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Definitions The terms used need to be defined with some care, lest we find ourselves arguing at cross purposes: (a) What do we mean by "messianic ideas"? Are we referring to: (i) Specific figures of whom the word "messiah" is used-in Jewish circles prior to Jesus or also in the first century C.E. as a whole? (ii) "Messiah" as redefined within earliest Christianity, not the least by drawing in other motifs and passages of the OT not previously regarded as "messianic"? (iii) The range of Jewish eschatological expectation (the "messianic age"), including expectations where no figure as such is specified, as well as the whole range of revelatory or redemptive or judgmental figures who feature within the kaleidoscope of diverse Jewish hopes and visions? In short, what can we say might have influenced Jesus (or any of his contemporaries) on the theme of "messiahship"? Since the issues are mutually entangled and a too narrow definition could shut off possible sources of influence too quickly, I will try to keep the inquiry as broad as possible within the constraints of the paper. (b) "The Jesus of history" as popularly used denotes the Jesus who ministered within Palestine during the late 20s and/or early 30s of the common era-"the historical Jesus," "Jesus as he actually was." NT scholars sometimes disparage this more popular usage and insist on a more restricted definition-"the Jesus of history," in some antithesis to "the Christ of faith/dogma," or Jesus insofar as he may be reconstructed by the tools of historical criticism. The problem with the former is that it makes too sharp a distinction between the "before and after" of Easter; it will hardly be disputed that Jesus made a considerable impact during his ministry-that is, before Good Friday and Easter. It would be unwise to predetermine what that impact could have involved in terms of "messianic ideas" or to assume that talk of either "Christ" or "faith" before Easter is inadmissible. The problem with the latter is that methodological presuppositions may impose a grid upon the text and prevent us from including within our evidence matter which is highly relevant. For the purposes of this paper I prefer to attempt a more open-ended inquiry into what "messianic ideas" we can say with some historical probability actually did influence Jesus in his ministry and in what he said about it. Both these areas, of context and of methodology, need some fuller exposition before we proceed. To avoid overextending this study, however, I will restrict the discussion of Jewish "messianic ideas" chiefly to those sources and Jewish writings which most probably predated or were contemporary with Jesus. This is not to deny that later documents may contain earlier traditions, but the need to demonstrate the earlier form of any tradition would involve some complex analysis and disrupt the form of the overview here offered. Besides which the undisputedly pre-Jesus traditions already provide substantial material and a relatively clear 145
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perspective on the range of options which must certainly have been "available" to Jesus and his contemporaries. 1
What "messianic ideas" were in cu"ent use or available as categories of possible definition at the time of Jesus? (a) The category of "messiah" itself. (i) Most important here is the hoped-for Davidic or royal messiah-so designated explicitly in the Psalms of Solomon 17 (see esp. 17:32; cf. 18:57), and Shemoneh 'Esreh 14, and almost certainly in view in the DSS's designation of the "messiah of Israel" (1QSa 2.12, 14, 20; also 1QS 9.11; cf. CD 12.23f.; 14.19; 19.10; 20.1). 2 This more specific language is clearly part of a richer strain influenced both by other "messiah" references with eschatological overtones (1Sam 2:10; Pss 2:2, 89:51, 132:17; Dan 9:25-26); and by specific promises regarding the Davidic dynasty-David's son! God's son (2Sam 7:12-4; 4QFlor 1.10--13), the royal "branch" (Jer 23:5 and 33:15; 4QPat 3-4 and 4QFlor 1.11), and the Davidic "prince" (Ezek 34:24 and 37:25; CD 7.20, 1QSb 5.20, 1QM 5.1, 40161); see also Isa 11:1-2; Hag 2:23; Zech 3:8, 4, 6:12; Sir 47:11, 22; 1Mac 2:57. We may conclude that these passages must have nurtured a fairly vigorous and sustained hope of a royal messiah within several at least of the various subgroups of Israel at the time of Jesus, and that that hope was probably fairly widespread at a popular level (such being the symbolic power of kingship in most societies then and since). 3 Talk of an expected "coming of the Messiah" would have been meaningful to first-century Jews and represented a major strand of Jewish eschatological expectations. 4 (ii) "Messiah" is also used of a hoped-for priest figure. This is explicit in the same "messiahs of Aaron and Israel" references from Qumran (1QS 9.11 etc.) and in TReu 6:8 (apxtEpE~ xptcr't~)-the high priest being also an anointed office (Lev 4:3, 5, 16; 6:22; 2Mac 1:10; cf. Ps 84:9). But it is closely modeled on the Moses-Aaron and Zerubbabel-Joshua (Zechariah 4) dual role, with T12P showing a similar concern to rank the priestly figure above the royal figure (particularly TJud 21:2-5), such as is also evident in 1QSa 2.11-22. The influence of this double expectation is indicated in the possible association of the priest Eleazar with Bar Kokhba in the leadership of the second revolt. 5 We should note also here TMos 9:1the expectation regarding Taxo, "a man from the tribe of Le vi." A further element which should be reckoned within the total picture is the promise of a "covenant of perpetual priesthood" made to Phinehas (Num 25:10--13), which evidently fascinated and influenced more than one branch of early Judaism (Sir 45:23-24; 1Mac 2:54; LAB 48:1), not the least the Zealots. 6 (b) When the category of "messiah" broadens out, the first to be considered is the prophet, not least since anointing can be associated also with
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prophets (1Kgs 19:16; Isa 61:1-2; Joel 3:1; CD 2.12, 6.1; cf. Ps 105:15). But beyond that, the expectation becomes diverse and unclear, with various strands or fragments evident whose relation to each other is far from clear. (i) Least problematic is the anticipated return of Elijah (Mal 4:5; Sir 48:9-10; see also 1En 90:31, Rev 11:3); but whether this was confined to the thought of Elijah's personal return (he had never died) or included the idea of a further prophet, Elisha-like, "in the spirit and power of Elijah" (Lk 1:17: cf. 2Kgs 2:15), remains uncertain. (ii) The hope of a prophet like Moses (Dent 18:15, 18) might have been expected to generate considerable expectation, but the only clear evidence of its influence in preChristian Judaism comes in the Qumran Testimonies (4QTestim 5-8); though we should note that according to Josephus, Ant 20:97, 169-70, Theudas and the Egyptian saw themselves both as "prophet" and as successor to Moses (dividing Jordan, and causing city walls to fall down). (iii) For the rest there is a scattering of evidence difficult to correlate: "the prophet" (1QS 9.11 = the Moses prophet of 4QTestim?; cf. Jn 6:14; 7:40, 52; how different from 1Mac 4:46 and 14:41 ?; cf. Josephus, War 6:285); the anointed one of Isa 61:1-2 (used in 1QH 18:14-15 and 11QMelch); "a prophet" (Mk 6:15, 8:28) or "one of the old prophets risen" (Lk 9:8; cf. Mt 16:14); Samaritan expectation focused particularly on a prophet figure, but our evidence does not enable us to reach a firm conclusion on whether such a hope was already entertained at the time of Jesus. 7 Whether these are diverse expressions of a single broad but vague conviction that some prophet figure was bound to be part of any eschatological climax is impossible to say. And how this variegated expectation related to the hopes of one or more messiahs (§1.2a) is also obscure-even in the one text which mentions all three together (1QS 9:11); perhaps it was simply an expression of a similarly imprecise conviction that the three main offices in Israel's salvation-history (king, priest, prophet) must surely be represented in any new age. In particular there is no indication that the idea of Elijah coming as the precursor or forerunner of another (the Messiah?) was already current in pre-Christian Judaism outside Christian sources (particularly Mk 9:11 ); the relevance and point of Mal 3:1 is unclear (the forerunner of God?);8 and though a forerunner role could have been claimed by the Baptist (cf. Jn 1:23 with 1QS 8:13-14, 9:19-20 and Mk 1:3 par.), the question both of Christian editing and of whom he might have meant by "the one stronger than me" (Mk 1:7 pars.) remains open. (c) When we turn to OT motifs and passages which seem first to have been given a messianic significance by application to Jesus, the focus of the discussion shifts. For in this case we cannot speak properly of "messianic ideas" already abroad at the time of Jesus; though since, in the event, a messianic significance has been claimed by Christianity, we should presumably allow a category of "potentially messianic ideas," which might within the constraints of the Jewish history of revelation, tradition, and 147
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hermeneutics be candidates for application to a putative messiah. Here the whole range of interest in the suffering righteous man would have to come under consideration,9 including not the least the "suffering servant" of Second Isaiah. It is beyond doubt that Isaiah 53 in particular played an important role in earliest Christian apologetic on behalf of a crucified Messiah (Acts 8:32-33; Rom 4:25; 1Pet 2:22-25; etc.); the real question for us would be whether it was Jesus himself who first drew the passage as such, or the motif in general, into play, or whether its potential as a messianic proof text only became evident in the wake of Jesus' death. Under this heading should also be mentioned the figure of Daniel 7, "one like a son of man." The continued fecundity of this theme in NT scholarship is remarkable, 10 though too much of the debate is repetitive. I continue to see no evidence for the existence of a pre-Christian/pre-Jesus Son of Man expectation within Judaism. Daniel 7 is not itself evidence of such speculation, 11 though clearly it is a "potentially messianic" passage. The Similitudes of Enoch, which do make messianic use of Daniel 7 cannot be dated to the period before Jesus' ministry with any confidence; they appear to be making a fresh interpretation of Daniel 7 (as also 4 Ezra); and probable influence on the Synoptic tradition is confined to the later strata. The lack of any clear confessional or apologetic identification of Jesus with "the [well-known] Son of Man" would be very surprising if such a powerful image was already in use at the time of Jesus (contrast 1En 71:14, Knibb)Y Here too then the question is not of influence on Jesus of already recognized and established ideas or categories. The question is rather whether an innovative use of Daniel 7 can be ascribed to Jesus himself or can be traced back only as far as the first Christians in the post-Easter Palestinian conventicles. Here too earliest Christian thought (including Jesus?) has to be seen itself as part of the development and transformation in the messianic ideas of the period, and not merely as reactive to ideas already in existence. (d) Beyond this, the category of "messianic ideas" becomes too illdefined to be of much use. Should we include glorification of heroes like Phinehas (Ps 106:30-31, Sir 45:23-24; 1Mac 2:54; 4Mac 18:12), or the idea of a human translated to heaven without death (Enoch-Jub 4:23, 1En 12:4, TAb 11) or after death (Ezra and Baruch-4Ezra 14:9; 2Bar 13:3, 25:1; etc.) or given holes in the final judgment (Enoch, Elijah, Abel-1En 90:31; TAb 11; Melchizedek (?)-11QMelch)? Should we include heavenly intermediaries-angels (e.g. Dan 10:13, Tob 12:15, 1En 9:1-3, TLevi 3:5, 1QH 6:13) or the vigorous poetic imagery used of divine wisdom (e.g. Prov 8:30; WisSol 9:4; ??r 24:5)? 13 For myself I think not. The full spectrum of eschatological expectation within Judaism, so far as we know it, should be borne in mind, including the visions in which no recognized or potential messianic figure appears. For any or all of it could have influenced Jesus, and have interacted in his teaching and ministry with more
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specifically "messianic ideas" to evolve a new formulation or idea. But in that case we are talking of the eschatological or apocalyptic context of the messianic ideas more than the ideas themselves. In view of the limitations of the paper, therefore, I do not propose to go into any detail on this broader area of interest. Methodology and perspective
A final word of introduction must be said about the perspective from which I approach the Jesus tradition of the Synoptics, where the debate must obviously focus most intensively. Such a declaration is necessary since it is very clear from the study of the Synoptic tradition during the past sixty years that the critical tools do not of themselves provide clear verdicts on most debated passages. Agreed criteria for determining redaction simply do not exist beyond a few general principles-and when it becomes a question of distinguishing multiple layers of tradition, the argument becomes increasingly circular and the subjectivity factor unacceptably high. Probability judgment in most individual cases therefore depends on a broad presuppositional perspective bolstered by a few key examples. 14 In my own work, not specializing on the Synoptics so thoroughly as many of my colleagues, I have become increasingly persuaded that the best starting point for study of the main body of the Synoptic tradition is to view it as the earliest churches' memories of Jesus as retold and reused by these churches. The importance of teachers and of tradition is well attested in the earliest documents of the NT (e.g. teachers-Acts 13:1, 1Cor 12:28, Gal 6:6; tradition-1Cor 11:2, Col 2:6, 1Thes 4:1, 2Thes 2:15 and 3:6). The Synoptics themselves conform surprisingly closely to the ancient (not modem) biography (bios or vita); 15 and the a priori probability that the earliest groups cherished and rehearsed the memories of the one whom they now counted as Lord (mar, x:upux;), that is, the traditions which gave them reason for their distinctive existence, must be regarded as strong. This perspective differs significantly from the characteristically literary model which has exercised far too much influence on traditionhistory analysis of the Synoptic tradition. The literary model envisages strata of tradition, and the task as tracing the linear descent of a tradition down through successively elaborated layers, each one dependent on the previous exemplar-much as one does in textual criticism or in tracing the history of translations of the Bible. But in oral transmission that model is inappropriate, for in oral tradition we have to do with themes and formulae and core material which often remains constant while quite a wide range of variations are played on them. The point is that one variation need not necessarily lead to another; subsequent variations may be derived directly from the central theme or core. Consequently tradition history analysis seeking to penetrate back to Jesus himself need not consist 149
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solely of pressing back through different variations but can focus immediately on the more constant material. For the probability is that the more constant material is the living heart of the earliest recollections of Jesus which has maintained the vitality of the tradition in all its variant forms. In short I see the earliest tradents within the Christian churches as preservers more than innovators, as seeking to transmit, retell, explain, interpret, elaborate, but not to create de nova. All of which means that I approach the Synoptic tradition with a good deal more confidence than many of my New Testament colleagues. Through the main body of the Synoptic tradition, I believe, we have in most cases direct access to the teaching and ministry of Jesus as it was remembered from the beginning of the transmission process (which often predates Easter), and so also fairly direct access to the ministry and teaching of Jesus through the eyes and ears of whose who went about with him. So much by way of introduction. What then of the issue itself: what messianic ideas influenced Jesus and how?
Jesus within a context of escbatological expectation We can start by noting the likelihood that Jesus would have been aware of such messianic ideas as were current at the time. The strong eschatological note which is an undeniable feature of his preaching is of a piece with the broader stream of eschatological and apocalyptic expectation which served as the seed bed within which messianic ideas flourished during the various crises of Israel's history in the two centuries prior to Jesus' ministry. No one, I think, would dispute either that Jesus' proclamation of the kingdom of God was central to his preaching or that his remembered utterances on the subject are essentially eschatological in character. We need not even go into the still contested question of whether he saw the kingdom as a future good ("the restoration of Israel") 16 or present reality, or both, though I would have to contest any attempt to argue that Jesus saw it as a timeless symbol (and therefore, properly speaking, noneschatological). Given this eschatological context and emphasis, it would be utterly astonishing if Jesus had not come into some sort of interaction with the messianic ideas which thrived in that same context. Without making any prejudgment on the question of whether Jesus saw a role for himself with regard to the kingdom, it nevertheless remains highly likely that one who proclaimed the kingdom of God in the way Jesus did would be faced with the issue of how his eschatological ideas related to the other (messianic) ideas cherished by others. Moreover, we must accept that Jesus made a substantial stir, even if only for a short time, and that he gained a fair amount of publicity and/or notoriety, however local or regional-he was, after all, condemned to death for causing some sort of trouble. In such circumstances his fellow 150
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Jews (or Galileans) were bound to attempt to categorize him, to fit him into an appropriate slot in their perspective. And the available categories would have included the ones reviewed above: was he one of the lookedfor anointed figures? was he a/the prophet? In other words, the tradition of popular speculation and questioning which we find in Mk 6:15, 8:28, and Jn 1:19-22 is just what we might have expected. But can we be more specific? More important, can we say whether Jesus reacted to these suggestions and questions? And if so, how he reacted? Only thus will we be able to speak of any influence of such messianic ideas on him. We naturally start with the messianic idea most narrowly defined as such in the above review-Jesus as messiah.
Are you messiah? A question Jesus must have faced We can dismiss at once the second of the two messiah figures described above-the priest messiah. There is no indication whatsoever that this was ever canvassed as a possibility or seen as an option in the case of Jesus. Presumably Jesus was known to lack the basic qualification of belonging to the tribe of Levi, and so it was a nonstarter even for (or particularly for) those who would have regarded the priestly messiah as more significant than the royal messiah. Significantly when the attempt is subsequently made to present Jesus as High Priest, it is done by using the quite different and extraordinary order of Melchizedek rather than that of Aaron (Heb 5:7). The picture is quite different, however, in the case of the royal messiah. The fundamental fact here is that Jesus was put to death as a claimant to such a role-executed as a messianic pretender for claiming to be king of the Jews (so all four Gospels-Mk 15:26 par.). Since "king of the Jews" is not a Christian title and probably caused the Christians some political embarrassment, there is a general agreement that this much at least must be historical of the passion narratives. But once that is granted, along with the fact of Jesus' crucifixion as a royal messianic pretender, a sentence carried out as a formal legal act on the authority of the Roman governor (cf. Tacitus, Ann 15.44.3),17 we have established the core of the hearing before Pilate described in Mk 15:1-4. And when we press further backward to the issue of some sort of preliminary Jewish hearing, we find ourselves with an equally plausible historical core-where an accusation that Jesus said something about the destruction and rebuilding of the temple results in the question, "Are you Messiah, son of the Blessed?" (Mk 14:57-61). For it was precisely this association of ideas which the messianic prophecy (4QFlor 1:10-13) of 2Sam 7:13-14 would suggest-the son of David (royal messiah) who would build the temple and who would be God's son. 18 In short, the evidence is strong that at the end of his life Jesus was confronted with the question, certainly implicitly but probably also explicitly as well: Are you Messiah, son of David? 151
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It is also unlikely that this was the first or only time in the course of Jesus' ministry that this question was put to him or the issue confronted him. Assuming that Jesus did say something about the future of the temple, on which the later accusation was based (Mk 14:58 par.; cf. esp. Mk 13:2, Jn 2:19, Acts 6:14), and that Jesus engaged in some sort of symbolic act in the temple (Mk 11:15-17 pars.)/ 9 the same correlation (Messiah= temple builder) probably occurred to him and to others (hence the subsequent accusation). Given too the excitement he engendered as a successful healer, it would be of no surprise that one such as Bartimaeus should seek to attract his attention or ingratiate himself with Jesus by hailing him as "Son of David" (Mk 10:47-48 par.).20 The confession of Peter at Caesarea Philippi is a much contested pericope (Mk 8:27ff. par.) whose detail we can hardly enter into here. Suffice it to say its basic content carries with it a strong degree of probability: Jesus had engaged for some time in what had evidently been overall a highly successful and popular teaching and healing ministry. It would have been odd indeed if none of those who had invested their lives in following him had not asked themselves whether Jesus might be the hoped-for leader from the house of David and in due course expressed the belief or hope to Jesus himself. To mention only one other episode. If we allow that behind the "feeding of the five thousand" (Mk 6:30 ff. par.) lies the memory of some symbolic meal in the desert, such a meal would probably have evoked a very potent mix of messianic ideas-Moses and manna, the shepherd king feeding his flock (Ezek 34:23), perhaps the same association of eschatological banquets presided over by the messiah(s) which we find in 1QSa. It is not surprising then that John's Gospel contains the testimony that the crowd wanted to make Jesus king by force (Jn 6:15), which meshes well in an uncontrived way with the unexpected note in Mark's Gospel that Jesus brought the occasion to an end by forcing the disciples to leave by boat, before he dismissed the crowd. There is a strong suggestion here of a crowd caught up on a wave of messianic enthusiasm which affected also the immediate circle of Jesus' disciples. Here too, in other words, Jesus was probably confronted in effect with the same stark question, "Are you Messiah, son of David?" This brief review of the most directly relevant evidence must suffice. In my judgment it presents us with the very strong probability that Jesus was confronted with the category of royal messiahship and was forced, whether he liked it or not, to respond to it. The more important question for us is: how did he respond? What sort of influence did the prevailing or dominant expectation regarding the royal messiah have on him? The answer which emerges is consistent and striking. He reacted more negatively than positively to it. As a possible role model he was more hostile than welcoming to the idea of the royal messiah. The evidence can be reviewed briefly. 152
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A basic fact is that nowhere in the Synoptic tradition is Jesus remembered as having laid claim to the title or role of messiah on his own initiative (only Jn 4:26). Since the earliest Christians certainly wanted to claim the title for him, the silence of the Synoptic tradition is striking: it confirms an unwillingness to retroject material beyond what Jesus was remembered as teaching back into the Jesus tradition; and since the claim to such a role was certainly a possibility for Jesus (as in principle for many firstcentury Jews), the fact that no such claim is remembered suggests at least an unwillingness on the part of Jesus to associate his mission with that particular role. This inference gains strength from some of the episodes touched on above. The "feeding of the five thousand" pericope has two points of interest. First, it confirms that there was abroad, in Galilee at least, a popular conception of the messiah as a kingly, political figure-the sort of king of the Jews, we might say, that Pilate felt justified in crucifying. Second, it indicates that Jesus reacted against this role and rejected it. The lesson learned there, about the inflammability of the Galilean crowd, would certainly help explain Jesus' reticence in other situations. In the Caesarea Philippi episode the earlier account of Mark shows Jesus as neither welcoming nor denying the confession of Peter (though Matthew understandably develops the tradition to give Jesus' response a warmer note-Mt 16:17-19). The command to silence of Mk 8:30, so often taken as part of a theological motif later imposed on the tradition,21 makes very good sense if the category "messiah" used by Peter was the same as that cherished in the Psalms of Solomon and among the Galileans. Since that indeed was what Messiah, son of David meant, the only content of the category "royal messiah" as then understood, we may assume that in any such historical confrontation this would have been the prospect offered to Jesus. The ambivalence of his immediate response thus becomes indicative of a certain unwillingness on the part of Jesus to entertain such a political role. And if the immediately appended teaching on the prospect of his suffering and rejection (Mk 8:31-33) belongs to the same sequence as remembered by those involved, as is certainly arguable, then we would have to begin speaking of an attempt by Jesus to redefine the category of messiahship. Finally with the hearing and trial of Jesus the interest again focuses on Jesus' reply in each case. To the High Priest's question Jesus is shown as answering "I am" (Mk 14:62). But the more weakly attested longer reading has a strong claim to originality-"You say that I am." 22 In which case it matches more closely the reply to the equivalent question by Pilate, "Are you the king of the Jews?" To which Jesus is said to have responded, au MyEtc; (you say so) (Mk 15:2). In each case, therefore, the answer probably was ambivalent-"You could say so"; "that is your way of putting it." In other words, we can see here a further indication of an unwillingness on 153
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the part of Jesus to accept the title of royal messiah, at least as understood by his questioners. For our enquiry the exchanges are important since they exemplify the dilemma which constantly must have confronted Jesus: could he accept or use categories which, however desirable in themselves, were usually understood to describe a role he did not or could not see himself as fulfilling? In short, if the question is "Did the hope of a royal messiah influence Jesus in shaping and executing his mission?" the evidence points to a fairly negative answer. Jesus seems to have reacted against rather than to have been influenced by the idea of a royal messiah as then conceived. The only qualification we would have to add is that this title "messiah" was too potent and resonant with theological significance for it to be rejected outright. And Jesus may have attempted to redefine the content of the title in terms of the role he saw himself as filling. The first Christians were certainly in no doubt that Jesus was Messiah and that the title had to be understood in the light of what had actually happened to Jesus ("Christ crucified"). But the extent to which we can say that the process of redefinition began already with Jesus himself depends on our evaluation of other material within the Jesus tradition which at the time of Jesus would not have been regarded as "messianic" in the stricter sense.
The eschatological prophet In terms of messianic categories properly so called at the time of Jesus, the only other category of significance is that of prophet. Of all the categories available, it seems to have been the one which was used most often. It was evidently applied to the Baptist (Mk 11:32; Mt 11:9; Lk 7:26); it was the category canvassed most frequently for Jesus, according to Mk 6:15 and 8:28 (cf. 14:65; note also particularly Mt 21:11,46 and Lk 24:19); and there seems to have been no lack of claimants to the role of prophet during that whole period (Josephus, Ant 18:85--87; 20:97-98, 167-72, 188). Given the relative prominence of Jesus as preacher and healer, it is wholly to be expected that he would have been regarded by many as at least a prophet. Jesus himself is remembered as accepting the designation for himself in at least some degree (see particularly Mk 6:4 par. and Lk 13:33). But more important is the evidence that he, like the Qumran sect, made use of Isa 61:1-2, as providing a program for his mission. The primary evidence is not Lk 4:18-19, which looks too much like an elaboration of the briefer account of Jesus' preaching in the synagogue at Nazareth as recalled by Mark. It is rather the emphasis which comes out both from the first beatitude (Lk 6:20/Mt 5:3), and from Jesus' response to the question of the Baptist in prison (Mt 11:5/Lk 7:22)-viz. that Jesus saw one of his priorities as proclamation of the good news to "the poor."23 If this recalls one of Jesus' own repeated assertions, as seems likely, then the implication is 154
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strong that he drew on Isa 61:1-2 to inform his own mission. This also makes best sense of the Lukan account of Jesus' preaching in Nazareth, for Lk 4:16-30 is then best seen not as a complete fabrication by Luke but as the sort of midrashic elaboration of a basic claim made by Jesus which we would expect in the course of oral retelling of the memories regarding Jesus, with Luke of course setting it at the beginning of his account of Jesus' ministry to give it programmatic significance for his own retelling of the Jesus story. Relevant here too is the fact that Jesus is remembered as having spoken on more than one occasion of his sense of commission in prophetic terms-as one "sent" by God (Mt 10:40/Lk 10:16; Mk 9:37 par.; Mt 15:24; Lk 4:43). 24 Also that Jesus evidently undertook what might be called a selfconsciously prophetic role-both in terms of his championing "the poor," and in terms of such prophetically symbolical actions like the entry into Jerusalem, the clearing of the temple, perhaps the meal in the desert, and certainly the Last Supper. All this is significant, for so far as the Evangelists were concerned, the category of prophet was not particularly helpful and certainly not of sufficient weight to embody the significance of Jesus. Part of the point of the Caesarea Philippi episode in all the Synoptics is that prophet categories canvassed by the crowds are less satisfactory (even that of Elijah) than the title ascribed by Peter-"You are the Messiah" (Mk 8:28--29 par.). The point of Mt 12:41 (and Lk 11:32) is that something greater than Jonah is present among them. According to Lk 16:16, the time of the law and the prophets has been left behind by the new era in which the kingdom of God is preached. And most striking of all, the category of prophet, even the prophet, has been completely relegated by the Fourth Evangelist to the status of one of the less than satisfactory opinions of the fickle crowd (particularly Jn 4:19, 6:14, 7:40, 8:52-53, 9:17). The implication is plain: it is unlikely that the category of prophet was first applied to Jesus after Easter. In the wake of Easter even the category of eschatological prophet would have been regarded as inadequate to express his status and its significance. From this it follows that the attribution of a prophetic role to Jesus and the use made of Isa 61:1-2 in describing his mission is likely to go back to the pre-Easter period; also that Jesus himself probably accepted the category of "prophet" as a more adequate description of his role (than messiah) and took Isa 61:1-2 as at least to some extent programmatic for his ministry. To sum up: Of the range of options within the more diverse expectation of a prophetic figure, the prophet like Moses has left least trace in the Synoptic Gospel accounts (Mk 9:7 par.; Jn 12:47-48; cf. Acts 3:22; 7:37). And though others may have proposed the category of Elijah for Jesus (Mk 6:15, 8:28), Jesus himself is remembered as referring that designation to the Baptist (Mt 11:10/Lk 7:27; Mk 9:13). It is only of the less specific 155
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categories of prophet and eschatological prophet that we can speak with some confidence. But there it does seem possible to speak of an influence and a positive influence on Jesus of the Jewish expectation that a prophet figure would be involved in the last days.
The suffering righteous man Of those reviewed in the first section, the only other category which calls for consideration is that of potential messianic ideas, in particular the suffering righteous man. The prominence of the motif in the Psalms and the Wisdom of Solomon and the variations on it in Daniel 7 and the martyr theology of the Maccabean literature are sufficient to indicate the strong probability that wherever those of faith found themselves in a situation of oppression, the theme of the suffering righteous man would be one which proved fruitful for consolation and encouragement. Under the Roman occupation it must be judged likely therefore that this strand of theologizing was still being actively pursued in Jewish circles and was available to Jesus, or at least near to hand for Jesus to use if he so chose. That he did so choose is strongly attested in the Synoptic tradition. Unfortunately this testimony has become for the most part inextricably bound up with the much more specific issues of whether Jesus was influenced in his own self-understanding by the suffering servant passage in Isaiah 53 and the vision of the manlike figure in Daniel 7. I say unfortunately, because the more contentious features of these more specific debates have tended to obsecure the fact that both Isaiah 53 and Daniel 7 are quite properly to be seen as particular expressions and outworkings of the broader and more pervasive reflection in Jewish thought of the sufferings of the righteous. 25 It may very well be the case therefore that what we should be looking for in the Jesus tradition are indications of whether Jesus was influenced by that broader stream of Jewish theologizing; and, moreover, we should bear in mind the possibility that any use made of Isaiah 53 and Daniel 7 in particular in the Synoptic tradition is a Christian elaboration of a less specific strand within the earliest memories of Jesus' teaching. Alternatively, of course, the possibility equally should be borne in mind that it was Jesus himself who saw the value and importance of these particular crystallizations of the broader movement of thought and saw their appropriateness to his own mission. The debate on these issues is much too complex to allow a satisfactory treatment here. I must confine myself to three observations. First, it must be judged highly likely that Jesus anticipated suffering and rejection for his message and himself-that is, that Jesus saw himself in the tradition of the suffering righteous. The expectation is clearly attested, apart from any influence of Isaiah 53 and Daniel 7, in Mark 10:38-39 par. and 14:36 par.; the facts that the prophecy of John suffering the same martyrdom was 156
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apparently not fulfilled and that the anguish of Jesus in the garden is depicted in most unmartyrlike terms (contrast Mk 14:33 with 2Mac 7:14) strongly suggest that these formulations are based on firsthand memory of what Jesus himself said. Moreover, as one who saw himself in the prophet tradition, Jesus must have anticipated the possibility of rejection, as a firm strand of tradition confirms (Mk 6:4 par.; 12:1-9 par.; Mt 23:29-36/Lk 20:47-51; Lk 13:33; Mt 23:37/Lk 13:34); the fate of the Baptist provided precedent and warning enough; and the opposition which Jesus roused must have confirmed the strong likelihood that he would meet a similar fate. Moreover, if Jesus did see the full consummation of the kingdom of God as imminent (Mk 1:15 par.; 9:1 par.; 13:29-30 par.; Mt 10:7/Lk 10:9, 11; Mt 10:23), he would probably be aware of the apocalyptic expectation of a period of extreme tribulation prior to the final climax (Dan 12:1-2; Mt 3:7-12/Lk 3:7-9; 16--17) 26 and indeed probably shared it (cf. Mk 13:5--8, 17-20 par. with Mt 5:11-12/Lk 6:22-23; Mt 6:13/Lk 11:4; Mk 10:39 par.; etc.). That he himself would be caught up in that extreme suffering must have been recognized as at least a real possibility. And when we add in the other strands just referred to, the probability begins to become rather strong that Jesus anticipated his own death, and indeed saw it in positive terms as somehow redemptive-as an eschatologically (or messianically) intensified expression of the martyr theology which comes to expression elsewhere in 2Mac 7:38 and 4Mac 17:22. Certainly it must be judged improbable that Jesus saw his likely death as a complete defeat (otherwise he could have stayed out of harm's way), and probable that he would see it as bound up with the coming of the kingdom. The famous passage of Schweitzer, its rhetorical flourish not withstanding, looks more and more like a justifiable restatement of Jesus' own hope and expectation-"Jesus' purpose is to set in motion the eschatological development of history, to let loose the final woes, the confusion and strife, from which shall issue the parousia, and so to introduce the supra-mundane phase of the eschatological drama.'m All this strengthens the likelihood that behind the passages influenced more explicitly by Isaiah 53 and Daniel 7 stand utterances of Jesus himself, remembered either as expressing his expectation of suffering by himself drawing in these passages, or as expressing an expectation of rejection which was illuminated and readily elaborated by the first Christians who themselves drew in these passages. In fact it is difficult to demonstrate use of Isaiah 53 at the earliest level of the Synoptic tradition: Lk 22:37, although found in an obviously ancient context, does look as though it has been inserted into preexisting material; Mk 10:45 is as likely to have been influenced by Daniel 7 as by Isaiah 53; and the earliest form of the cupword in the Last Supper is disputed (Mk 14:24 par.; 1Cor 11:25). And it is certainly arguable that behind the three Son of Man passion predictions (Mk 8:31 par.; 9:31 par.; 10:33--34 par.) lie KWlK ,:J sayings which of 157
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themselves contained no specific reference to Dan 7:13;28 in which case they would quite likely have used the Jewish recognition of human frailty (as in Ps 8:4) as the means of expressing expectation of the brevity of life and the expectation of it being soon cut off.29 But even if our critical tools and methods do not permit finn conclusions that Jesus himself made use of (and therefore was influenced by) Isaiah 53 and Daniel 7, the probability remains strong that Jesus entertained an expectation of rejection, suffering, and death, which was of a piece in his own perspective with the suffering of the righteous man and the final eschatological tribulation, and which would play a positive role therein.
Conclusion It would seem then that we can speak of the influence of messianic ideas on Jesus in several ways. (1) Some ideas he reacted against. In particular, the current view of the royal messiah was one which he did not find helpful as a means of understanding or informing his mission. (2) Some he drew on and used to inform his own vision of what he had been called to. This may not be the same as saying that he applied clearly defined roles, let alone clearly defined titles to himself. It would be more accurate to say that particular elements within a much more variegated spread of messianic ideas were taken up by him. Isa 61:1-2 is a good case in point. (3) Even those he did respond to favorably and found inspirational or informative for his own mission he adapted and molded by his own conception of his mission. This would apply in greater or lesser degree to all the categories and motifs discussed above. In every case, in fact, we have to avoid any impression of a fixed category which Jesus filled (or fulfilled), of a sequence of clear-cut "messianic ideas" which provided the agenda for Jesus' mission. It would appear that Jesus was as much shaping the messianic ideas of the time as being shaped by them. Certainly that has to be said of the totality of the Christ-event as reflected on in earliest Christian theology; but it would be surprising if Jesus himself had not begun the process of redefining the categories either by deliberate teaching or simply by the very shape of his ministry and its undoubted significance for many. In other words, Jesus is in no sense a tailor's dummy draped convincingly or otherwise in the robes of Jewish messianic hope. Rather he himself must be seen as part of the stream of Jewish messianic reflection and one of the most important currents within that stream during the first half of the first century c.E. broadening the stream and quite soon becoming the occasion of it splitting into two different channels. A final point worth pondering is that the brief review of the Jesus tradition just completed has by no means encompassed the full sweep of that tradition. We have had insufficient occasion to comment on other aspects
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of the Jesus tradition which certainly have christological if not messianic significance. I think of the question of the unusually high degree of authority Jesus evidently claimed-as a spokesman for God who could pronounce authoritatively on the eschatological meaning of the Torah without having undergone proper training. Or of the significance of his sense of intimate sonship evidenced in his "Abba" praying to God-a lived-out "claim" to divine sonship which seems surprisingly independent of any messianic son of God claim (2Sam 7:14). The point is that if we are to have any hope of seeing Jesus adequately, we cannot confine the discussion to the question of the influence of messianic ideas on him. That there was some such influence can be strongly affirmed, but the impact of Jesus and his own part in redefining several of these ideas has other roots as well.
Notes 1 For a more extensive survey, see J. H. Charlesworth, "The Concept of the Messiah in the Pseudepigrapha," ANRW 11.19.1 (1979), pp. 188-218. 2 L. H. Schiffman's cautions (during the colloquy) on identifying the Messiah of Israel as Davidic are methodologically commendable, but since a clear Davidic hope is entertained in the DSS [see (i) above], and since the Messiah of Israel associated with a Messiah of Aaron (1QS 9.11) would most naturally be understood as a reference to a royal messiah [see (ii) above], it is hard to know how else the "Messiah of Israel" would be understood other than as a way of designating the hoped-for Davidic branch or prince. 3 See further R. A. Horsley and J. S. Hanson, Bandits, Prophets, and Messiahs: Popular Movements in the Time of Jesus (Minneapolis, 1985), eh. 3. 4 See further E. Schi.irer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, rev. G. Vermes et al. (Edinburgh, 1979), vol. 2, §29. 5 Schi.irer, History, vol. 1, p. 544. 6 M. Hengel, The Zealots (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1989), pp. 171-77; Schiirer, History, vol. 2, pp. 598-606. 7 Schi.irer, History, vol. 2, p. 513. 8 See the brief review of the evidence in J. Jeremias, TDNT, vol. 2, pp. 931f. 9 See particularly G. W. E. Nickelsburg, Resurrection, Immortality, and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism (Cambridge, Mass., 1972). 10 For example, R. Leivestad, "Jesus-Messias-Menschensohn: Die jiidischen Heilandserwartungen zur Zeit der ersten romischen Kaiser und die Frage nach dem messianischen Selbstbewusstsein Jesu," ANRW 11.25.1, pp. 220-64; B. Lindars, The Son of Man (London, 1983); S. Kim, "The Son of Man" as the Son of God (WUNT 30; Tiibingen, 1983); M. Muller, Der Ausdruck "Menschensohn" in den Evangelien (Leiden, 1984); C. Caragounis, The Son of Man (WUNT 38; Ti.ibingen, 1986); D.R.A. Hare, The Son of Man Tradition (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990). 11 At this point I should register my cordial disagreement with colloquy collegues M. Black and A. Yarbro Collins: I do not see the manlike figure of Dan 7:13-14 as an "angelic representative" of Israel, but as a symbolical representation of Israel, in which the creation myth is reworked (Dan 7:2ff.) by depicting Israel's enemies as the beasts (beastlike figures) over which man (the manlike figure, Israel) is given dominion.
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12 See further my Christology in the Making (London, Philadelphia, 1980), pp. 67-82. My point is unaffected even if there is an emerging consensus on a pre70 date for the Similitudes (Charlesworth), since the other evidence just indicated would still point to a post-Jesus, post-earliest Christian date for the document or its ideas coming to public attention. 13 See further J. D. G. Dunn, "Was Christianity a Monotheistic Faith from the Beginning?" T35 (1982) 303-36; The Partings of the Ways Between Christianity and Judaism (London: CM; Philadelphia: T.P.I., 1991), eh. 10. 14 E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London, 1985), despite his trenchant criticism of his predecessors, provides a classic example. 15 D. Aune, The New Testament in Its Literary Environment (Philadelphia, 1987, eh. 2). 16 Sanders, Jesus, part one; Dunn, Partings, pp. 47-49. 17 See further particularly A. E. Harvey, Jesus and the Constraints of History (London, 1982), chap. 2. 18 0. Betz, What Do We Know About Jesus? (London, 1968), pp. 88-89. 19 See particularly Sanders, Jesus, eh. 1. 20 The argument here is not dependent on an early date for TSol or for the traditions behind it; David was already regarded as a healer (ia-cpOI;) and exorcist in the case of Saul, as Josephus, Ant. 6:166-68, indicates 21 I refer of course to "the Messianic secret"; see e.g. C. Tuckett, ed., The Messianic Secret (London, Philadelphia, 1983). 22 The longer reading explains the Matthean and Lukan versions better than the shorter: Mark Matt Luke
23 24 25 26
27 28 29
cri> d1ta~
cri> d1t~ U~Ei~ AE"YE'tE
O'tt eyro d~t O'tl eyro d~t.
And it is more likely that the equivocal longer text was abbreviated to the strong affirmation (eyro d~t) rather than the reverse. The passages are discussed in more detail in my Jesus and the Spirit (London, Philadelphia, 1975), pp. 55-60. For the prophetic significance of the claim, cf. e.g. Ps 105:26; Jer 1:7; Mic 6:4; Lk 4:26, 20:13. See above n. 9. Sanders notes that the "dogma" that suffering must precede the coming of the kingdom is difficult to document before 135 c.E. (Jesus, p. 124). But the idea flows directly from Dan 7 and 12:1-2, and is already implicit in such passages as Jub 23:22-31, TMos 5-10, llQH 3:28-36, and SibOr 3:632-56. A. Schweitzer, The Quest of the Historical Jesus (London, 1910), p. 369. See P. M. Casey, The Son of Man: The Interpretation and Influence of Daniel? (London, 1980), pp. 232-33; Lindars, Son of Man, eh. 4. See esp. J. Bowker, "The Son of Man," ITS 28 (1977) 19-48.
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JESUS' MINISTRY AND SELFUNDERSTANDING Ben F. Meyer Source: B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Studying the Historical Jesus: Evaluations of the State of Current Research (New Testament Tools and Studies 19; Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 337-352.
I. Diversity of views In the historical-Jesus literature of recent years, as indeed throughout the entire history of historical-Jesus research, there have been substantially diverse views on the self-understanding, mission, and ministry of Jesus. The roots of this diversity are themselves diverse, lying as they do as well on the side of the inquirer as on the side of the object of inquiry. Among factors on the side of the object are: the complexity of the relevant historical realities; their openness to a variety of kinds of inquiry; and the incompleteness of available data respecting many of our most spontaneous and insistent questions. Factors on the side of the inquirer may be brought together under the heading of "diverse horizons." Horizons-the limits of what one knows and cares about-are established, and grow or contract, in accord with the life-history of the inquirer. Historians may or may not have reached clearly articulated views of knowledge and reality. They will surely have had diverse life-experiences. They will have operated in several patterns of human experience and will exhibit consciousnesses diversely differentiated, which may or may not include, for example, literary competence, social sophistication, the scientific spirit, or flair for philosophic reflection. Historians differ in intelligence, imagination, and temperament; in their curiosity and alertness, their personal interests, tastes, sympathies; in how habitually exigent they are with respect to evidence and, in general, in the sum of their virtues and vices, intellectual and moral. Accordingly, the horizons of historians greatly differ in estimating possibilities and probabilities, and in the sphere of values and allegiances. 1 Historians of Jesus, finally, harbour sharply diverse views on the nature and origin of the gospel tradition and the gospels, the primary and almost 161
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only sources of data on Jesus. To offer even a bare review of these "nature and origins" questions is not possible here, but we can at least indicate what positions we have taken on them; namely, that the Synoptic tradition-historiographic and, by Hellenistic standards, historicaF-originated among the hebraioi of Jerusalem in the thirties of the first century. The tradition took shape in phases, beginning with the passion story, and the bulk of it (probably including the Q stratum of tradition) had been produced by the mid-forties. The Johannine tradition, independent of the Synoptic gospels, if not entirely of the Synoptic tradition, is a genuine historical source. It is occasionally valuable to take note of opinion that is neither thoroughly informed nor well balanced (e.g. Thomas Sheehan, The First Coming), or that is well informed but eccentric (e.g. Morton Smith, Jesus the Magician), or that, fanciful and self-indulgently conjectural, merits a critical-probability rating of close to zero (Jesus as mushroom cultist), and to say in each case what is lacking. 3 All these books are ornamented with learning and other intermittent evidences of sobriety; but none of them are deeply and consistently exigent. A viable hermeneutics is lacking in every one of these books. Worse, they betray a displacement of seriousness from historical reconstruction-which of its very nature cannot be achieved without something like total commitment to the task-to the ideological programmes that history is being made to serve. This seems to me to hold also for those still more recent studies that make Jesus a social reformer and manager of cultural conflict. Sociological expertise in Richard Horsley's Sociology and the Jesus Movement made possible a detailed critique of Gerd Theissen's ground-breaking social/ sociological study of the Jesus-movement;4 this same expertise, however, has also functioned as a potential distraction from the foci of the gospels and their evidential value for historical reconstruction. Burton L. Mack and John Dominic Crossan propose that Jesus was a Cynic social reformer, either gentile (Mack) or Jewish (Crossan). 5 Both works offer various sorts of erudition on the ancient world and its social systems, as well as current theory on those systems; neither, however, makes the effort to measure up to the mass of available gospel evidence on Jesus. Information abounds in both works, but neither presents a position closely argued, point by point. The critical reader is now informed, now entertained, rarely persuaded-at least on matters relating to Jesus. Both, finally, are original, abundantly and excessively original. To an historically grounded understanding of Jesus both run the risk of massive irrelevance. Are we mistaken in seeing here, once more, a radical lack of seriousness about history, a lack of sobriety in estimating what it takes to perform the historical task well, i.e., seriously and honestly, so that the reconstruction can stand up to critique and compel acknowledgement? (It would be reassuring if we could honestly answer, yes; I do not think we can.)
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It is more challenging and finally more profitable to review scholarly works that are radically serious, balanced, intent on the marshalling and weighing of evidence. Current work deriving its character at least in part from an infusion of social-scientific analysis can avoid, and has avoided, letting itself be distracted from the essentially biblical intelligibility of Jesus' mission. Sean Freyne's Galilee, Jesus and the Gospels6 offers asterling example of work that has only profited from the social-science connection. Like Mack, Crossan, and Horsley, Freyne softpedals the copious evidence of eschatological consciousness on the part of Jesus and, in fact, of most of the dramatis personae of the gospel story. This follows a line traced earlier by Marcus J. Borg, whose Jesus books exhibit partly contrary traits: insensitivity to the solid evidence of non-metaphorical eschatology in the gospels and keen sensitivity to "the holiness paradigm" regnant in Israel since the foundational Exilic and post-Exilic texts (the Pentateuch, Ezekiel, Trito-Isaiah, Deutero-Zechariah, Ezra, Nehemiah). 7 Dale C. Allison, Jr., by contrast, has produced a monograph offering a detailed and largely persuasive discussion of how the early Church arrived at its convictions of realized eschatology. 8 Informing Jesus' own self-understanding, furthermore, was a consciousness-of-mission-both of John's mission and of his own mission-bearing the traits of apocalyptic eschatology.9 Literary criticism has also had an impact on historical-Jesus work, with little awareness of the deficiencies of merely literary study respecting genuine historical knowledge. James Breech has offered two examples, of which the second is a crisp, illusion-free account of post-modernist nihilism and its rninimalist self. 10 "Hermeneutics," a term often used in puzzling ways though with confident aplomb (in the present essay it refers to interpretation and history in the light of the philosophy of knowledge), is still far from a success story. Though enriched by literary or social-scientific theory, historical effort might still be hermeneutically unself-suspecting. Let the recent major works of Crossan and of John P. Meier illustrate. Respecting "objectivity," Crossan seems to think that the choice is between a positivist hermeneutics and a simple pledge of "honesty." (This simplicity is no guarantee of freedom from Neo-Kantian suppositions and phrases inherited from the "New Quest"). Often naive realism remains the order of the day, though (as in John P. Meier's work) mixed indiscriminately with Neo-Kantian remnants.U Bernard Lonergan's views on the need for a thoroughgoing critical-realist break with naive-realist and positivist hermeneutics so as to deal with historical knowledge and the issues of "the historical Jesus and the Christ of faith" seem to hold truer than everY
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11. Jesus as communicator We take it, for our part, that Jesus was a man with a definite view of himself and his time, a man with a mission, equipped with great resources for accomplishing it and confronted with not easily manageable obstacles in the way of its accomplishment. The present essay will take account of Jesus' eschatology; of how it related to his mission; and of how it bore on his reading of the scriptures-all from the standpoint of Jesus as communicator. We should like to know what he had to communicate, what strategy of communication he adopted, and why. We do not intend here an account of Jesus' self-understanding that pretends to completeness. We wish only to offer generalizations on Jesus' self-understanding within the limits disclosed by his ministry as act-of-communication. Our first step is to clear a path for the inquiry by briefly reconsidering data relevant to Jesus as communicator, which, owing to prolonged banal treatment, have in recent years lost their edge, context, and significance. Since Wrede's day, discussion of "the messianic secret" has largely centred on the Marcan redaction. But both before and after Wrede many have expressed the view that the story of Jesus' recoil from scriptural titles and epithets whether for himself or his followers reflected not merely a literary trait, but a facet of Jesus' historic deportment: a continuous effort to avoid offering grounds for a "political" construal of his activity. In the context of the durable subsurface antipathy to the Romans that recurrently broke surface in Israel from Pompey to Hadrian, "(the) Messiah" meant "leader of the revolution." There was doubtless more than a grain of truth in the notion that it was to forestall this mode of interpretation that Jesus avoided messianic titles. At the same time, it is equally beyond doubt that the matter has a certain density and is not settled simply by appeal to the theme of "political" messiahship. The mission of Jesus had two traits whose partly antithetical character has been almost universally overlooked. On the one hand, the mission was directed to all Israel; on the other, it called for a deeply personal positive response. Directed to all Israel both geographically and socially, 13 it covered all regions and included all classes, not only the socially competent, but the marginal and unimportant, women and children, the mentally and physically disabled. It went beyond the borders of geographical Israel to Jews of the neighbouring countries, and beyond the borders of self-defining Israel to address notorious professional "sinners," whom the national elite had, if not ostracized, then excommunicated. The mission was too serious, too subtle, with too much at stake, to find expression in anything like a demogogic or crowd-pleaser mode. Intent, like the Baptist, on eliciting a personal response, Jesus gave every indication that he was acutely aware of the constraints imposed on any seeker
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after this kind of response. A flat proposal or assertion of claims would have stood at a pole almost directly opposite to his deliberate, habitual indirection. The dialogue between the rich man and Abraham in the parable of "Lazarus and the rich man" obliquely makes the point. What will win a personal response? The rich man, in Hades, separated from Abraham by an abyss, thinks of a spectacular appeal; Abraham looks on this as futile. The rich man asks if Abraham would send Lazarus " ... to my father's house, where I have five brothers, to warn them, so that they may not come to this place of torment?" But Abraham said, "They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them." "No, father Abraham," he replied, "but if someone from the dead visits them, they will repent." Abraham answered, "If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, they will pay no heed even if someone should rise from the dead." (Luke 16:24--31) The mordant realism of Abraham's words perhaps betrays a slight but definite post-Easter accent. However that may be, it certainly reflects the parabolist who was also an experienced kerygmatist, a herald to out-ofdoors crowds and synagogue congregations. Hence, too, the direct question that the Baptist, through his disciples, sent to Jesus, "Are you he who is to come, or are we to await another?" elicited the indirection of: Go and report to John what you hear and see: the blind see, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, news of salvation is broken to the poor.... followed by the avertissement, "Happy the man who finds in me nothing to make him stumble" (Matt 11:4--6 =Luke 7:22-23). Xavier Uon-Dufour accordingly appealed to an "economy of revelation," i.e., a strategy realistically taking into account the conditions of successful communication, as the basic component in any explanation of Jesus' policy of avoiding the appeal to claims and titles. 14 Still, despite his insistent indirection, the intended answer to "Are you he who is to come?" was inescapably "yes"-in the sense, moreover, that no other was to be awaited after him. A slightly different, complementary accent, equally relevant to the rationale of Jesus' flexible, layered, various policy in addressing others, 165
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was recovered by T. W. Manson from Mark 4:11 (cf.= Matt 13:11). 15 The original sense of the primitive Marcan form may be rendered: "To you has been (divinely) given the secret of the reign of God, /but to those outside everything is in riddles(= enigmatic)." 16 Why this distinction? From first to last, i.e., from Jesus' own meaning, through the sense that this word probably carried in the gospel tradition, to its sense in the Marcan redaction,t? the words bore on God's gracious predilection towards yea-sayers and met, at least obliquely, the scandal of the response of nay-sayers. The originally intended sense of the Aramaic word rf?r:o was "riddle, enigma." In the gospel redactions it has been made to mean "parable" and referred to Jesus' parabolic teaching. Mark as redactor exploited this line, making it serve two purposes. It explained why Jesus taught "in parables" and how God's own designs stood behind this teaching. That is, God, for his own saving purposes, willed Israel's failure to understand and accept Jesus. It is a trait of the gospel tradition to attribute positive responses-to-Jesus to God's prevenient illumination, and negative responses-to-Jesus to the inadequate dispositions of negative respondents. The accent falls on the role of the attitudes of groups and individuals. God favours those whose hearts are open to his revelation: "the simple" (vftxt.ot., Matt 11:25 = Luke 10:21), not "the wise and intelligent." Again, and on the same basis, Simon was enabled to speak the truth about Jesus (Matt 16:17). But if "flesh and blood" (m'lp1; Kat at~a. 16:17b), even when directly confronted by the data of messiahship-in-action, could not discern it, what good would it do to add spectacular claims and titles? Now, the reason why this question about claims and titles should have arisen at all lies in the character of the words and acts reflected in the gospel tradition as a whole. Following the arrest of the Baptist (with whom, according to a Johannine tradition of which the ingenuousness and discontinuity with later tradition commends a judgment of historical authenticity, he had been associated in a kerygmatic programme for all Israel), Jesus launched a new, independent mission, again to all Israel, of which the leit-motif was the advent of the reign of God. He proclaimed this fulfillment-event, notably in synagogues (Luke 4:16--30; Mark 1:39 = Matt 4:23; cf. Luke 4:44; Mark 1:21 = Luke 4:31; Mark 6:2; Matt 13:53). And since, to judge from the prayers of the synagogue ("May he allow his reign to reign in your lifetime and in your days and in the lifetime of the whole house of Israel, speedily and soon!")/ 8 his audience understood "the reign of God" as God's climactic visitation, definitively reversing the long era of "sorrow and sighing," 19 of humiliation and oppression, it follows that Jesus could only have been understood as laying claim to the role of appointed herald, the bringer of the news of salvation, publisher of peace ( = C'l~, Isa 52:7). From the mere phenomenon of his proclamation he raised a question about himself: What role was he playing in the scenario of the last days?
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m. Jesus' themes and the communications problem they posed Both the Baptist's call to the nation and Jesus' own later proclamation of God's reign established the non-metaphorically eschatological context of "the last days," 20 thereby inevitably raising the "Who?"-question, first respecting the Baptist (Luke 3:15; John 1:19-28), second respecting Jesus (Matt 11:3 = Luke 7:19-20). The question was insistently recurrent. Add to this a series of further traits qualifying Jesus and his public performance. He identified himself and his followers as eschatological antitypes of Israel, her kings and prophets (Moses, David, Solomon, Elisha, Isaiah, Jonah, the Servant of the Lord, the one like a [son of] man, the temple, tribes, prophets of Israel). He evoked the promises and prophecies of the scriptures realized in his own cures and exorcisms (e.g. Matt 11:5 = Luke 7:22-23). He alluded to the filling-to-the-full of the measures appointed for the eschaton in his own time and place and with reference to himself (Mark 1:14; Luke 6:21; Matt 5:17; 23:32-36). He taught with charismatic authority, backing his words with acts (Mark 1:22 =Matt 7:29 =Luke 4:22; Mark 1:27 =Luke 4:26). Furthermore, it is little by little coming to be accepted that the object of Israel's central hope, however denominated ("the visitation of God" as the Essenes called it, or "the age to come," as the rabbis put it, or "the reign of God" as Jesus, in accord with the Qaddis, preferred to express it) would centrally comprehend the eschatological restoration of Israel (die endzeitliche Wiederherstellung, the expression under which Emst Ludwig Dietrich in 1925 summed up the hope ofthe prophets 21 ). What we must infer from these data taken cumulatively is that Jesus was the conscious bearer of a (indeed, of the) climactic and definitive mission to all Israel. This mission (by definition, as it were) was destined to bring the scriptures to fulfillment and history to an end. This charged conclusion challenges us to recover the character of Jesus' mission, and consequently the character of the to-be-communicated in persuance of it. Respecting the themes central to Jesus, we begin by reflection on the founding of the Essenes, a second-century event that by its nature required that, for their own sake, the sectarians objectify and spell out the basic elements of their claim to be the remnant of Israel and to inherit the national legacy. Under the impact for the most part, probably, of the "Master of Righteousness," they adopted the same scheme of meaning as had been foundational for biblical Israel. It consisted in the Sinaitic convenant (cf. the several constituent elements of the Covenantal Formulary) and in the heritage of classical prophecy. This made up the scheme of meaning that let the priestly founder(s) of the sect define the community, the ground and condition of its existence, the sum of its expectations and hopes. 167
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The Master of Righteousness must have conceived his personal task not precisely as the restoration of Israel, which would be the future act of God at the divinely chosen moment, but as the definition of that proper response to God which would make the community the true remnant and heir of Israel. The result is that the communitarian structure, piety, and hope of the Essenes offer a privileged insight into how second-century pietists understood Israel. We learn at least how a powerful charismatica priestly rigorist of the Maccabaean period-understood biblical tradition on the situation and destiny of Israel in the sight of God. YHWH delivered Israel, the people born of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, from Egypt and at Sinai he brought Israel into covenant with himself. Whenever this people by its unfaithfulness made itself liable to judgment and destruction, God remembered his covenant of old and raised up a remnant, seed of continuity with the past and of the restoration to come. In "the age of wrath" hundreds of years after the Babylonian Exile. He visited them, and He caused a plant root to spring from Israel and Aaron to inherit His land and to prosper on the good things of his earth. And they perceived their iniquity and recognized that they were guilty men, and yet for twenty years they were like blind men groping for the way. And God observed their deeds, that they sought Him with a whole heart, and He raised for them a Teacher of Righteousness to guide them in the way of His heart . CD 1:7-11)22 The fruits of this guidance were entry into a new covenant-a sharply defined renewal of the covenant of old-which according to Essene selfunderstanding made the entrants the building built by God, the plantation he planted, his temple and his flock. They were to seek God, devoted to the Law and the prophets (1QS 1:1-2), bound to the covenant of grace ('1W n·')~). living in the communion/fellowship of God (~ ""'l:r~) during the dominion of Satan (.,.p:'?~ n~~) (1QS 1:8-18). They-not the sanctuary in Jerusalem-were the true holy place and holy of holies (1 OS 8:5-6), the precious cornerstone of Isa 28:16, the stone chosen by God and (Ps 118:22) rejected by "the builders" (Ps 118:22). The Temple Scroll (11QTemple) adds a powerful confirmation of the primacy of "holiness" among the ideals and values that the priestly sect cherished. In the period after the wreck of the second temple in A.D. 70, the sages can be seen to have supposed the mass of themes that the Essenes had objectified and highlighted, but they (the sages) were not obliged by their historic situation to spell it all out. They took the covenant for granted; they deemphasized eschatology, with its explosive potential, and even more markedly after the era of Bar Kochba. Otherwise, they affirmed the 168
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basic biblical thematic of "Israel," its election and call to holiness, just as the Essenes had, and essentially under the same influences (the Law, Ezekiel, Nehemiah and Ezra). They accordingly made it their main business to elaborate in loving detail the halakah making Israel holy. Jesus and earliest Christianity offer yet another example of the same classic biblical themes. Among the first differences between Jesus and the Essenes there were those of situation and relation. Jesus mounted a trenchant critique of the scribal elite, denouncing ("blind guides!") the scribes' immersion in the ritual law and their lack of proportionate concern for "the weightier things of the Law," its moral demands. But the centre of gravity of his own mission was not correction of the errors of the priests and sages of Israel. His issue was not past but present revelation. Besides, unlike the Essenes, he did not consider the nation to be cut off by its sins and errors from the covenant and its blessings. Jesus' situation, in its distinctiveness vis-a-vis the Essenes and the later rabbis, grounds the need in his case to make a sharp distinction between thematic and dramatic structure. Thematically, he drew on the same biblical traditions that they did. But there the comparison stops. Jesus begins (like the Baptist, and unlike the Essenes of the second century B.c or the sages of post-70 A.D.) from outside the establishment. The obstacles to his mission were considerable. It was one thing for his contemporaries to affirm each Sabbath the hope of the reign of God and restoration of Israel; it was another to affirm the Nazarene ex-carpenter and itinerant prophet, Jesus, as the plenipotentiary divinely chosen to mediate the coming to Israel of this same reign of God. Obstacles besides routine apathy and scepticism, included ideology. If the last-mentioned held for the ordinary people, it held far more for the religious elite. John the Baptist presents a parallel case. He had a mission to all Israel. Its thematic burden could be summed up as repentance, purification, reformation in the face of impending judgment. In one sense, no groups in Israel were better attuned to these themes (for they belonged to the nation's central fund of meanings and values) than the elite of the priests, the associations of the pious (Sadducees and Pharisees), and their respective scribes. But we know that these elite groups by and large rejected the Baptist's programme (Mark 11:30--33 =Matt 21:25-27 =Luke 20:4-8; Matt 3:7-9 =Luke 3:7-8; Matt 11:18 =Luke 7:33; Matt 17:12; 21:32). Why? If they were attuned to the Baptist's themes, why did they repudiate him? A factor, perhaps the crucial factor, was the immersion of the elite in religious system. They had integrated their hold on biblical meanings and values in a self-contained, wholly adequate field of vision. John demanded more; he demanded acceptance of something the scribes were not familiar with in advance: himself, his role, his rite. There was the rub. This holiness-absorbed priesthood, these pious observers of Torah and halakah, these resourceful, theologically expert scribes, looked on a figure like 169
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John-who claimed to bring a new word to Israel, a word independent of the inherited, familiar system on which Pharisaic and Sadducean scribes counted-as inauthentic. This was an obstacle that neither John nor Jesus succeeded in overcoming. Between them, on the one hand, and Israel's religious elite, on the other, there was a radical disparity of horizons that differed on such crucial issues as the eschaton. For John as for Jesus, the eschaton began with a new and crowning revelation. The elites of Israel-at least, apparently, their majority-could not conceive of the eschaton except as the definitive confirmation of what they already knew from the Law and the prophets. 23 Both John and Jesus appealed to Israel over the heads of these elites, which only confirmed what the elites had suspected from the start. These dangerously popular figures constituted a threat to establishment ideals and identity. Both fell victim to establishment politics, Antipas liquidating the first, the temple-clergy and other Sanhedrists engineering the liquidation of the second. These reflections on obstacles-from apathy to ideology and ideological antipathy-calculated to frustrate prophetic appeals, are meant especially to help retrieve the historic situation of Jesus. They tend to set in relief the rationale of his two streams of communication: one public, one private (esoteric). We are moving from a thematic to a dramatic structure: a policy or economy of revelation. Both thematically and dramatically, the reign of God was his focal point, defining his mission: not only to proclaim but to mediate the coming of reign-of-God/restoration-of-Israel (e.g. Matt 12:28 = Luke 11:20). The "restoration" dimension of the reign of God embraced the themes of king, covenant, temple, cult. But in the context of Jesus' mission there was a dramatic communications factor that impinged both on the order of these themes (king/Messiah, before covenant, temple, cult) and on their mode of communication (esoteric vs. public). All these themes belonged to his mission and, as the drama of that mission came to a head, they all reached thematic status. In terms, however, of what we have called his "economy of revelation" (and that means especially in view of the kind of self-surrendering response that he sought from Israel), it would have been utterly counterproductive to include in public proclamation or in the explanatory public teaching that followed it, the themes of "new king," "new covenant," "new temple," and "new cult," despite their deep connatural affinity with "reign of God/restoration of Israel." The conditions not only of success but of the kind of success that Jesus sought, ruled out immediately confronting Israel with the whole truth of his self-understanding and mission. He drew on the nation's foundational tradition: "covenant," "people/congregation," "Torah," "judgment," "restoration." He set in high relief the hope ("May he allow his reign to reign ... ") enshrined in prophetic oracles and synagogue prayers. But selfdisclosure and the full disclosure of his mission instantiated a strategy. 170
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"Secret," as in Wrede's phrase "messianic secret," is not the perfect word. Messiahship was a "secret" not in the sense of an unknown deliberately kept unknown, but in the sense of an unknown designed, meant, intended to be discovered as the key to God's crowning revelation: the saving mission of God's anointed Son to his people and the world. Jesus' realism about the conditions of a believing response that would break through to this secret called for a discerning approach to distinct audiences. In the 1930s T. W. Manson showed how this shaped Jesus' idiolect;24 Joachim Jeremias set "the esoteric tradition" in a history-of-religions context, pointing out its parallels among both the Essenes and the sages, and specifying its concrete content. 25 Why did the strategy of communication that Jesus adopted take the shape that it did? We have already made one indispensable point: Jesus was not seeking a spectator's uncommitted grasp, but a believer's committed grasp, of his mission. This says why the elements of his mission were to be presented not all at once as a single Gestalt to be carefully examined, but in a sequence that at every point appealed for a self-committing act of faith. The object of Jesus' esoteric teaching was, generically, "the secret of the reign of God," the whole ulterior meaning of public proclamation and teaching. This was a world of meaning that, as the gospel of John formulated it (e.g. John 2:22; 5:39c; 7:39; 12:16; 13:7; 14:26), the disciples were to understand only after the resurrection of Jesus. Penetration of Jesus' messianic identity (presented by John as among the first moments in the story, but retained by the Synoptic tradition as its dramatic turning point) was the crucial condition of receptivity on the part of the disciplies. The key to Jesus' view of "new covenant," "new temple," and "new cult" was precisely his identity as "new king." Why? We do not have, nor de we need to have, an exactly detailed repertory of messianism in his time and place to know why. The primacy of messiahship lay in its abundant power to legitimize the reality of Israel restored: new covenant, new temple, new cult. The danger was that the nation might follow the elite groups in rejecting-out of apathy, but still more out of ideology-the mission of Jesus without ever having understood its real scope. The prospect of rejection, it seems, forced the issue, leading Jesus to initiate his disciples into the "secret" of his identity.
IV. Self-understanding and ministry To recapitulate (and in view of limited space to fill out) in three points: (1) Jesus' proclamation in Galilee, which had for its object the coming of "the reign of God," was thematically bound up with the fundamental thematic of Israel (covenant, people, law, judgement, restoration, king-temple-cult). (2) In this the mission of Jesus had a certain thematic comparability with 171
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both the Essenes and the later rabbis. But there was a sharp difference in how, in these three moments-the founding of Essenism, the mission of Jesus, the founding of rabbinic Judaism-the themes were deployed and developed. Since the response Jesus sought to himself and his word was a self-committed act of faith, it would not do merely to set forth his mission to be impartially examined. (3) Concretely, his economy of revelation, or strategy of self-disclosure, called for a thematic sequence of disclosure: first, reign of God; second, Messiah, son of God; third, new sanctuary (eschatological people of God) and new cult (concretely: commemorative renewal of Jesus' sacrificial death, envisaging his parousiac vindication). The self-understanding of Jesus was that of the bearer of the supreme mission to Israel. He began it as baptizer and holy man, gathering a circle of disciples around him. He could summarize his subsequent activity in various ways: as the gathering of the flock of Israel (Matt 15:24; 10:6; Luke 19:9; cf. 13:6); as the bringing of the Law to completion (Matt 5:17); as the search for the lost sheep (Luke 19:10; Luke 15:3-7 =Matt 18:10-14), the summoning of "sinners" to the banquet of salvation (Mark 2:17 = Matt 9:12 =Luke 5:31; Luke 19:9-10), the cure of the ill (Mark 2:17 =Matt 9:12 =Luke 5:31), and the bringing of life to the dead (Matt 11:5 =Luke 7:22; Matt 8:22 = Luke 9:60; Luke 13:3; 15:32); as wonders and proclamation fulfilling the scriptures (Matt 11:5-6 = Luke 7:22-23); as exorcisms and cures under divine protection (Luke 13:32). The whole of this activity was designed to elicit an act of faithrecognition (Matt 11:5-6; Luke 7:22-23), the condition of a completely successful mission. Had the whole of Israel responded with faith, the whole of Israel would have been eschatologically restored; as it was, Israel came to eschatological restoration (Matt 16:17-19) in the remnant (Luke 12:32; cf. oi. a~6J.LEVOt, Luke 13:23) of those who acknowledged him as their messianic saviour. Our approach to the "self-understanding of Jesus" here has been correlative to his "ministry." The essential statement: Jesus understood himself as the climactic and definitive fulfiller of the hopes of Israel. Were we to go beyond the ministry to Jesus' passion and death, we would be obliged to add that Jesus' understanding of his mission and his correlative self-understanding included his response to rejection. The goal remained the same: the climactic and definitive salvation of Israel, together with the nations. Jesus, "mediator of God's final controversy with his people"26 had the authority 27 to determine the way to this goal. Hence, the new "problem and solution" structure found in the eucharistic words. The problem was the sunkenness in sin of Israel and the nations; the revealed solution, the death of the appointed messianic saviour as ransom,28 expiatory and covenant sacrifice (Mark 14:24 =Matt 26:28; cf. John 6:51; also Luke 22:20 = 1 Cor 11:24-25).29
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There is nothing to keep these categories from cohering and reciprocally reinforcing one another. The promises of God envisaged precisely the solution of the human problem: substitution of a heart of flesh for man's heart of stone (Ezekiel), a new heart and a new spirit (Jeremiah and Ezekiel), a new creation (Second and Third Isaiah), making possible the restoration of Israel; and, as the Isaian tradition emphasized, this restoration entailed the salvation of the nations, too. Still, these final considerations call for a full treatment of the historicity of the ransom-word and the eucharistic words, a task beyond the limits of this essay.
Notes 1 See B. F. Meyer, "The Relevance of 'Horizon'," DownRev (1994) forthcoming. 2 On how to determine whether ancient literature is historiographic, see Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985) 23-35. On how well the gospel literature measures up to ancient and modern standards of historicity, valid argument is discursive, piecemeal, cumulative, and circular (though not viciously so). Good practice, markedly conservative in the century from Dalman to the present, has been more in evidence than fully articulated methodical clarity. 3 Thomas Sheehan, The First Coming (New York: Random House, 1986); Morton Smith, Jesus the Magician (New York: Harper & Row, 1978); J. M. Allegro, The Sacred Mushroom and the Cross (New York: Doubleday, 1970). 4 Gerd Theissen, Sociology of Early Palestinian Christianity (London: SCM, 1978); Richard A. Horsley, Sociology and the Jesus Movement (New York: Crossroad, 1989) 13-64. 5 Burton L. Mack, A Myth of Innocence (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988); John Dorninic Crossan, The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1991). 6 Sean Freyne, Galilee, Jesus and the Gospels (London: SCM, 1988). 7 Marcus J. Borg, Conflict, Holiness and Politics in the Teaching of Jesus (SBEC 5; New York and Toronto: Mellen, 1984); idem, Jesus: A New Vision (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1987). 8 D.C. Allison, The End of the Ages Has Come (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985). 9 See B. F. Meyer, Christus Faber: The Master Builder and the House of God (Allison Park: Pickwick, 1992) esp., "Jesus' Scenario of the Future," 41-58. 10 James Breech, The Silence of Jesus (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983); idem, Jesus and Postmodemism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1989). 11 See Crossan, Jesus (see above, n. 5) xxxiv, 423, on honesty as the alternative to a spurious (positivist) objectivity, while speaking of "the historical Jesus" as a "reconstruction" and in the plural "historical Jesuses," e.g. 423. John P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1991) 1-6 (naive realism); 25-26 (Neo-Kantianism). For a critical-realist definition of "the historical Jesus," see B. F. Meyer, The Aims of Jesus (London: SCM, 1979) 256 n. 1; idem, Christus Faber, 3. 12 See W. F. J. Ryan and B. J. Tyrrell (eds.), A Second Collection (London: Longman, Dartman & Todd, 1974) 218. A fully differentiated treatment of "Jesus of history and Christ of faith" questions furthermore calls for "that recondite department of hermeneutics that involves one in cognitional theory, epistemology, and metaphysics." Bemard Lonergan, "Christology Today," in F. E. Crowe (ed.), A Third Collection (London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1985) 87.
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13 Albrecht Alt, "Die SHi.tten des Wirkens Jesu in GaliHi.a territorialgeschichtlich betrachtet," Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel /1 (Munich: Beck, 1953) 436-55. On social classes, besides the recent works of Theissen, Horsley, and Freyne (see above, notes 4 and 6), see Joachim Jeremias, Jerusalem in the Time of Jesus (London: SCM, 1969) 87-138, 147-245, 359-76. 14 X. Uon-Dufour, in "L'Evangile selon saint Marc," in A. Robert and A. Feuillet (eds.), Introduction a la Bible /1 (New York and Toumai: Desclee, 1959) 196-228, with reference to 216-17. 15 The breakthrough analysis was the work ofT. W. Manson, The Teaching of Jesus (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967; orig. 1935) 75-80; the analysis was refined by Joachim Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus (New York: Scribner's, 1963) 15-18. Both worked in relation to the Aramaic substratum. 16 My translation, echoing the work of Manson and Jeremias. 17 Along with Manson and Jeremias (n. 15), see Bruce D. Chilton, A Galilean Rabbi and His Bible (GNS 8; Wilmington: Glazier, 1984) 90-98. (It is often overlooked that early Christian translators of gospel traditions into Greek quite deliberately chose to render ambiguous Aramaic words this way rather than that in order to make a religiously or theologically motivated point-a phenomenon that has repeatedly complicated the "Son of man" question.) 18 From the QaddiS. On its date and use, see I. Elbogen, Der judische Gottesdienst in seiner geschichtlichen Entwicklung (3rd ed., Hildesheim: Olms, 1967) 93. 19 From the Tepillah, or "Eighteen Benedictions," 11th petition. 20 See above, n. 9. 21 E. L. Dietrich, SWB SBWT. Die endzeitliche Wiederherstellung bei den Propheten (Giessen: Topelmann, 1925). 22 Translation by Geza Vem1es, The Dead Sea Scrolls in English (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1962; rev. ed., 1970) 97. 23 The Essenes often (e.g. in halakic conceptions and practices) illustrate convictions widely held in late Second Temple Judaism by representing them in extreme form. So here: for all its dramatic content, the Essene scenario of the future (e.g. the Aaronic and Davidic Messiahs and their functions) is a cut-anddried projection of communitarian arrangements in the present. 24 See the vocabulary lists in Manson, Teaching (see above, n. 15) 320-29. 25 Joachim Jeremias, The Eucharistic Words of Jesus (NTL; London: SCM; New York: Scribner's, 1966) 125-130. 26 Amos Wilder, "Eschatology and the Speech-Modes of the Gospel," in Erich Dinkler (ed.), Zeit und Geschichte (R. Bultmann Festschrift; Ttibingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1964) 19-30, quotation from 29. 27 Fritz Neugebauer, Jesu Versuchung. Wegentscheidung am Anfang (Ttibingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1986). The essential issue in the initiation-events bears on the ascertainment of whether the tested one was authentically equipped for his mission. 28 See Peter Stuhlmacher, "Vicariously Giving His Life for Many, Mark 10:45 (Matt 20:28)," in Stuhlmacher, Reconciliation, Law and Righteousness (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986) 16-29. 29 The basis for assigning priority to the Marcan!Matthean fom1 is the principle enunciated by Peter Stuhlmacher, Jesus von Nazareth (Stuttgart: Calwer, 1988) 68-69: "In the quest of the original wording of the words of institution (as also in text criticism) that version should be preferred which most easily makes historically understandable how the other versions arose."
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Abbreviations ABRL D Rev GNS NTL SBEC
Anchor Bible Reference Library Downside Review Good News Studies New Testament Library Studies in Bible and Early Christianity
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JESUS' SELF-UNDERSTANDING C. M. Tuckett Source: Christology and the New Testament: Jesus and His Earliest Followers (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001), pp. 202-226.
So far our discussion has been concerned with what early followers of Jesus thought about him. In this chapter, we turn to a question of a rather different kind: what did Jesus think about himself? The issue of how important such a question should be, and the problem of how normative any answer we give might be, will be addressed briefly at the end of the discussion. For the moment, I shall only be concerned with the historical question of what Jesus himself may have thought about his own role and person. Anyone with any knowledge of the study of the New Testament will know that to venture into investigating such questions is to open up a minefield of potential problems and difficulties at almost every level. Such issues have been with us ever since the rise of critical scholarship. They have come even more to the fore in the last twenty years or so when there has been a huge mushrooming of interest in the historical Jesus in what has been called (perhaps slightly pretentiously) the 'Third Quest for the Historical Jesus'. 1 Given the enormous amount of literature now produced in studies of the historical Jesus, it will not be possible here to do more than state my own view, and that relatively briefly. Certainly it will not be possible to engage in much if any critical dialogue with the rest of the (by now enormous) body of literature on the historical Jesus. But before we can start to try to say something about Jesus himself, we need to address the question of what sources and methods we can or should be using to discover reliable information about him.
Sources So far we have used individual texts to discover information about the views of their authors. I have stressed at a number of points that, if we are trying to find out about the christological views of the writer, the evidence available may be rather indirect since no New Testament writer writes an 176
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explicit treatise on Christology_ Nevertheless, in the case of the authors of New Testament texts, we do have the texts they wrote (or at least approximations to what they wrote!)In the case of Jesus, such direct access is of course not an option for us. Jesus wrote nothing himself (or if he did, it has not survived). What we do have is a number of collections of traditions about him, written down by other people, mostly some years after his lifetime. We have the evidence of 'Gospels', collections of traditions reportedly of things said or done by Jesus. We also have a little further evidence in some of Paul's letters of traditions which are attributed to Jesus. Yet we have nothing directly from Jesus' own hand or mouth. Further, virtually all the evidence we have is preserved by Christians, all of whom (almost by self-definition) regarded Jesus in a positive light. Moreover, many, if not all, of them were convinced that the Jesus who had been active in Galilee before his death had in some sense or other been raised by God after his death. As such he was still alive in their present, he was one to whom they owed direct obedience (as their 'Lord') and who perhaps was still believed to speak to them in their present. Thus for the early Christians, any distinction which we today might make between a 'historical Jesus' of the late 20s and a 'risen Jesus' of the 60s or 70s would have been a rather unreal one. For them it would have been the same Jesus speaking. Hence early Christians evidently did not hesitate at times from adapting the tradition of Jesus' sayings to suit their own -perhaps changed- situations. We can see this happening quite plainly as Matthew and Luke rewrite the story of Mark, at times adapting the details - and even Jesus' words- to their own situation. And indeed we have already considered some aspects of this phenomenon in dealing with the Christologies of each of the evangelists. How extensive this process of adaptation, and possibly creation, was is much disputed. That some adaptation occurred seems undeniable, given the evidence of our Gospels. How far Christians actually created sayings of Jesus de novo and read them back into the pre-Easter story is less clear. Nevertheless the nature of the Gospel tradition means that we cannot simply take everything recorded in all the Gospels as unquestionably genuine reports about what Jesus said or did in a pre-Easter situation. What then should be the sources which we use to discover information about Jesus? As already noted, the primary sources within the New Testament are the Gospels: the epistles contain only a very small amount of anything purporting to come from the historical Jesus. Among the New Testament Gospels, we have already noted that the Fourth Gospel is more likely to be a primary source for the ideas of the evangelist and his community rather than for Jesus himself. As we have seen, the manner and content of Jesus' teaching is quite different from that in the synoptics.2 Thus it is widely held that John's Gospel for the most part cannot be used 177
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to provide us with much reliable information about the historical Jesus. 3 For that we must go to the synoptics. The question of whether other sources could also be valuable here has become a matter of some debate in recent years. Thus some have argued that evidence from non-canonical Gospels should be given as much, if not more, weight than the evidence provided by the canonical Gospels. In particular, a number of scholars have argued that the Gospel of Thomas may be an important source in this respect. The Gospel of Thomas, the full text of which was discovered in one of the codices of the Nag Hammadi library, contains a series of (mostly unconnected) sayings of Jesus. For some, these sayings represent an independent line of the tradition and preserve some very primitive, potentially authentic, sayings of the historical Jesus independently of our canonical Gospels. There is no space here to discuss the issue in any detail, and in any case we have already considered it briefly in chapter 1.4 The question of the status of the Gospel of Thomas is much debated and there is no scholarly unanimity on the issue. For myself, I would argue that a strong case can be made for the view that Thomas is a relatively late document. In places where Thomas has a version of a saying of Jesus parallel to one we find in the synoptics, as often as not Thomas seems to give a later, more developed, form of the saying. Thomas shows us a stage of the later, developing form of the Jesus tradition, as sayings of Jesus were used and adapted by Christians to serve their own needs and situations. It may thus not be a very useful source for recovering reliable information about the historical Jesus. This means that we are thrown back to the New Testament synoptic Gospels as our primary sources for information about Jesus. Of course this does not mean that we can take everything there as a straight transcript of things Jesus said. We have already seen, and exploited, the way in which the later synoptic evangelists changed and adapted the tradition as they used their earlier sources Mark and Q. Nor is it unreasonable to think that Mark and the Q editor were exempt from such a process either. Nevertheless, the relationship between the Gospels implies that we should focus on the earlier sources Mark and Q, rather than on Matthew's or Luke's adaptations of these sources, in seeking to recover information about Jesus, at least when the Gospels have parallel traditions. (Of course when Matthew and/or Luke alone preserve a tradition, this may have as good a chance of representing genuine material as other Markan or Q material.)
Criteria In seeking to recover reliable information about Jesus, what criteria should we apply? Again the issue has been extensively debated and various criteria proposed, as well as criticisedP 178
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Perhaps the most famous (or infamous!) is the so-called criterion of dissimilarity. This claims that a tradition which shows Jesus to be dissimilar to both the Judaism of his day and the early church is authentic. Much has been written about this criterion, highlighting its strengths but also some of its fundamental weaknesses. 6 Thus, for example, we cannot be sure that we know enough about either 'Judaism' or about 'the' early church to be able to say with any confidence what may or may not be 'dissimilar' to these. Further, the picture of Jesus produced is likely to be a somewhat distorted one, inevitably producing a Jesus who is cut off from both his roots and also from the movement which claimed to be 'following' him and hence presumably in a line of continuity, rather than discontinuity, with him. The use of this criterion may produce some genuine traditions about Jesus but it can scarcely provide all the information we need to build up a credible picture of the historical Jesus. A second potentially important criterion is that of 'multiple attestation'. According to this, traditions which appear in more than one of the major sources are likely to be authentic. Like the criterion of dissimilarity, this too has its strengths and weaknesses. Undoubtedly a multiply attested tradition has a good claim to authenticity (but equally a singly attested tradition may be just as authentic!); at the same time multiple attestation need only show that a tradition goes back to a very early stage in the development of the tradition, not necessarily to Jesus himself. A third broad general criterion might be that traditions which cohere with Jesus' situation in Judaism are likely to be authentic. This could be applied at the level of language (does a tradition reflect use of Aramaic idioms/language?) or of social conditions (does a saying make sense in relation to the situation of first-century Galilee/Palestine?) or of other features as well. In a way, such a criterion emphasises the Jewishness of Jesus, arguing that if Jesus is to be plausibly located in a first-century context, he must make sense within a context of first-century Judaism. This may to some extent go against the criterion of dissimilarity which accepts only traditions which made Jesus different from Judaism. However, it has been the trend of much recent Jesus study (the so-called 'Third Quest') that Jesus has to be seen as part of his Jewish context, however much he may have stood out from such a context. None of the criteria proposed is foolproof and each clearly has its weaknesses. Nevertheless, some such guidelines may help us in trying to recover something of what Jesus might have thought about himself and his own role.
Implicit Christology Earlier in this chapter I noted that we have only indirect access to Jesus since Jesus himself wrote nothing. There is, however, another sense in
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which, in relation to the more specific question of Jesus' self-understanding, any access we have has to be rather indirect. This is because, in the synoptic Gospels, the focus of attention in Jesus' teaching and activity is mostly not really his own self-understanding but his beliefs and claims about God. It is only in the Fourth Gospel that the issue of Jesus' own identity becomes a matter of explicit discussion by Jesus in any length or depth. And, as we have seen, this is one of the features of John that many have argued is more likely to be unhistorical. Thus if we are to try to discover something of what Jesus thought about himself we may have to deduce this from other parts of the tradition, rather than simply interpret things explicitly said by Jesus. If there is a 'Christology of Jesus', then it is, as many have said, more of an 'implicit Christology'. 7 Thus before we get to the issue of any explicit Christology, we need to make a bit of a detour into a discussion of other aspects of Jesus' activity to see what they may imply about Jesus, rather than what may have been explicitly said. One aspect of Jesus' teaching, the authenticity of which is hard to doubt, is its eschatological nature and its focus on the Kingdom of God. 8 Jesus was preceded by the figure of John the Baptist, and it seems clear that John's preaching is strongly influenced by eschatological expectations.9 One of the most certain facts of Jesus' own ministry was that he was baptised by John. 10 Whatever this event may have meant for Jesus himself, it must at the very least imply a willingness by Jesus to align himself with John's movement and hence to relate positively to John's teaching. This is supported by other parts of the tradition where Jesus clearly aligns himself with John and implicitly claims that in effect both stand or fall togetherY It thus seems highly likely that Jesus saw his own ministry and message as being in a line of clear continuity with that of John the Baptist (however much difference between the two of them there might have been as well)Y However, Jesus evidently did not simply repeat John's message which appears to have been primarily one of a threatening catastrophe about to hit the Jewish nation. If nothing else, Jesus changes the vocabulary so that what seems to be dominant in his teaching is the category of the Kingdom of God, language which (as far as we can tell) was not used by John. Further, there seems little doubt that Jesus' talk about the Kingdom is primarily eschatologicalP There is widespread agreement that the phrase 'Kingdom of God' does not mean a geographical place. Rather, it is a reference to the activity of God as reigning. A better translation of the Greek phrase in the Gospels might be rather 'the kingly rule of God', rather than 'Kingdom of God'. The phrase itself is not so common in Jewish literature (though it is not totally absent either). However, the idea expressed by the phrase is frequently witnessed in Jewish literature. The claim about the universal sovereignty of God which has been, is, and will be the case is fundamental for
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all Jewish beliefs about God (cf. e.g. Ps. 145: 13: 'Your kingdom is an everlasting kingdom and your dominion endures throughout all generations'; Dan. 4: 3, etc.). Yet alongside this idea, there is at various times in Jewish history, and evidently also in the first century, an awareness that all is not right in the world as it is. The world does not acknowledge God as King, and the Jewish people are suffering oppression. Hence alongside the belief that God was, is and always would be King, there arose the eschatological hope that, at a future time, God would intervene to establish his kingly role afresh (cf. Dan. 2: 44: 'In the days of those kings the God of heaven will set up a kingdom that shall never be destroyed ... '). Kingdom language can thus be used to express future eschatological hopes as much as claims about God's eternal and universal kingly rule. It seems clear that Jesus' language about the Kingdom is to be placed in this eschatological context, rather than in the alternative context of a belief in God's eternal kingship. Thus the Gospel tradition is full of sayings and traditions that seemed to refer to the Kingdom of God as something future. Mark 1: 15 ('The Kingdom of God has drawn near') may represent a Markan summary of Jesus' teaching but it is surely not far off the mark in terms of substance: the Kingdom of God is something that is expected to come in the future - and perhaps very soon. The same is implied in the saying in Mark 9: 1 ('There are some of those standing here who will not taste death until they see the Kingdom of God come with power'), a saying which, by virtue of its apparent non-fulfilment, is unlikely to have been invented by later Christians. So, too, Mark 14: 25 ('I will not drink again of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the Kingdom of God') seems to operate with the same presuppositions: the Kingdom of God is something to be looked forward to in the future. So, too, in the Q tradition, the disciples are told to pray in the Lord's Prayer for the coming of the Kingdom (Q 11:2 'Thy kingdom come'). Many of Jesus' parables also focus on the future aspect of the Kingdom which is to come in its fullness in the future (cf. the mustard seed, the sower, etc). 14 Similarly much of the teaching of Jesus in the Gospels is concerned with warnings about what will happen in the future, with threats of judgement and punishment as well as promises of rewards. 15 All this would, however, not serve to distinguish Jesus very sharply from John the Baptist, apart perhaps from a change in the categories used to speak about this future hope/threat. There is, however, a persistent thread running through the Gospel tradition whereby Jesus claims that this hoped-for future event is in some sense already being anticipated in his own ministry. In a Q saying relating to his exorcising activity ,16 Jesus claims that 'if it is by the Spirit/finger of God that I am casting out devils, then the Kingdom of God has come upon you' (Q 11:20)_17 The Greek 181
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(at least) of the saying is quite clear: unlike say Mark 1: 15 which says that the Kingdom has 'come near', which suggests that it is imminent but not yet present, Q 11: 20 claims that the kingdom has already arrived (by implication in Jesus' activity in exorcising). 18 This Q logion is perhaps the most explicit saying in the synoptic tradition claiming that Jesus' own activity signals the presence of the Kingdom. However, other sayings elsewhere make a similar (implicit) claim that in Jesus' activity the longed-for future eschatological events are already happening. Thus in Mark's account of the Beelzebul controversy (the context also of the logion in Q 11: 20), there is a saying with similar implications: 'no one can enter a strong man's house and plunder his property without first binding the strong man; then his house can be plundered' (Mark 3: 27). This implies in context that Jesus as the strong man has already bound Satan and hence can now plunder his home, that is in the exorcisms. The idea of the binding of Satan as one of the expected eschatological events was a well-established one at the time (cf. Rev. 20: 1). Thus the saying in Mark 3: 27 implies the same (in general terms at least) as Q 11: 20: in Jesus' exorcisms the hoped-for eschatological events are already happening. Jesus' reply to John the Baptist in Q 7: 22 is similar in scope. As we have already seen Jesus' words here clearly allude to various Isaianic hopes for the new age. The claim made here is that these hopes are now being fulfilled in the ministry of Jesus himself. So, too, in the Q saying Q 10: 23-4 it is made explicit that things which others in the past ('prophets and kings') had hoped to see/hear are now being seen and heard by Jesus' own disciples. In some of the parables too the same idea is implicit. For example, in the parable of the mustard seed (Mark 4: 30-2 par.) the stress in one way is on the glorious future Kingdom that is coming (cf. above), but equally it implies that this glorious future tree/shrub is already present, albeit in the form of a tiny mustard seed. The reference is almost certainly to the activity of Jesus himself. There is thus a claim which is firmly embedded in the Gospel tradition that the eschatological future events are fulfilled in the events of Jesus' own ministry. Clearly this implies that Jesus occupies a very special place within God's overall plan. Jesus is by implication the agent through whom the final eschatological activity of God is actually taking place in the present. However, we should note that all of this is at most implicit. It does not spell out in any detail the precise nature of the 'special place' which Jesus occupies. It does not use explicit categories or titles. We have then an 'implicit Christology'. The same may also be implied by another facet of the Gospel tradition which seems to be securely based and which we can reasonably confidently trace back to Jesus. This involves the choice of precisely twelve people to constitute a special group of followers around him and to be with him. 19 It 182
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seems most likely that the twelve disciples were thought of as in some way representative of the twelve tribes of Israel. Jesus' choice of precisely twelve people is thus probably an attempt to form a nucleus for a new, or renewed, nation (cf. Q 22: 30 where the link between the disciples and Israel is most explicit). But if this is the case, it may be significant for our purposes here that Jesus evidently chose twelve people besides himself. He did not choose eleven and count himself as the twelfth. The non-inclusion of Jesus within the group may thus imply a claim by Jesus to be over and above the group in some way or other. However, we should again note the at best implicit nature of the claim. Nothing is said that is explicit about precisely the role that Jesus was assigning to himself. We have seen that there is quite a lot in the Gospel tradition suggesting that Jesus was implicitly claiming a special position for himself and his activity in relation to God's overall plan. But can we be any more explicit? Are there any categories into which Jesus might have placed himself to express that 'specialness' any more precisely? We shall consider a few possible categories here; however, we should also recognise and accept that the fact that so little in what is usually taken to be authentic material in the Gospel tradition is explicit about Jesus' own status may indicate that for Jesus himself the issue of his own status and role was less important than his claims about the nature and activity of God.
Explicit Christology? Messiah
One of the most vexed questions in current New Testament research is whether Jesus regarded himself as in any sense a 'Messiah' figure. We have already noted some aspects of the issue in relation to Jewish beliefs at the time as well as in relation to the application of the term Messiah to Jesus by early (New Testament) Christians. The evidence seems to show that 'Messiah' was a fairly fluid concept in Judaism in the first century with no clear single belief focused on one set of expectations for such a figure. In contrast, the early Christians clearly applied the term to Jesus from a very early date; moreover, the name became so firmly attached to him that, by the time of the earliest writings of the New Testament which we have, namely the Pauline letters, the term has become virtually just another proper name for Jesus. 20 We have also seen that, insofar as anything definite seems to have been the focus of Jewish hopes for a 'Messiah' figure, such hopes were for a Davidic royal figure, one who would restore the political fortunes of the nation. 21 If anything is certain about Jesus, it appears that he does not appear to have shown the slightest interest in taking over any reins of political power in the present. If 'Messiah' means a royal political claimant, then Jesus 183
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clearly had no such pretensions. At the same time, we have to explain why then the earliest Christians applied the term to Jesus. We may also note that the charge on which Jesus was finally condemned to death is almost certainly reflected in the titulus over the cross: 'the King of the Jews' (cf. Mark 15: 25; John 19: 19). Such language is not Jewish, nor is it particularly Christian: hence it is unlikely to be a later invention. Jesus was thus crucified as a royal pretender, at least in the eyes of the Roman authorities. The evidence from within the Gospels is, however, much less clear. Some clearly editorial notes by the evangelists (cf. Mark 1: 1) can be excluded from consideration here. The main passages that arise for discussion are Peter's confession (Mark 8: 29) and the reply of Jesus to the high priest in the accounts of the Sanhedrin trial (Mark 14: 61-2). Both are Markan passages: it may or may not be significant that, as far as we can tell, the idea of Jesus as a 'Messiah' figure is completely absent from Q. Both the Markan passages have raised doubts about their authenticity. The account of the Sanhedrin trial in Mark has peculiar general difficulties of its own, partly because of the 'irregular' nature of the trial which is described, partly too because of the doubts about who could have supplied the information about these proceedings to a later Christian author. Some have also pointed to the abrupt break in the account of the trial, moving without explanation from the issue of whether Jesus had predicted the destruction (and possibly rebuilding) of the Temple to the issue of Jesus' messiahship. The last point may be less significant, especially in the light of some of the evidence from Qumran. In some of the scrolls, notably 4QFlor (= 40174), it is clear that the promise of Nathan to David in 2 Samuel 7 has been taken up and applied to a Davidic eschatological messianic figure who is thought of as one who will (re)build a temple. Hence the move of the high priest from the question of temple-building to the question of messiahship may in fact be quite plausible historically. 22 It remains the case, however, that Jesus' open acceptance of the term Messiah in Mark 14: 62 remains extremely odd in relation to current messianic expectations if these imply political leadership - for Jesus accepts the term at just the point where he is without any political power at all. One must say that, if Jesus did accept the term here positively, it is being used in a highly unusual way. On the other hand, the account here serves Mark's own developing story line very well. Hence many have argued that the messianic confession of Jesus owes more to Mark's redaction than to the historical Jesus. 23 The other instance where Jesus appears to accept the term Messiah is the story of Peter's confession at Caesarea Philippi. Again the story fits into Mark's developing narrative very well (though that does not preclude its being historical!). Nevertheless, the main thrust of the whole pericope, focusing attention on the identity of the person of Jesus himself, seems
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somewhat alien to the rest of the authentic Gospel material, where Jesus consistently points away from himself (at least explicitly) to refer to God_ 24 Thus each of the two passages in the tradition where Jesus seems to accept the term Messiah arouse some suspicion as to their authenticity_ At the same time, we have to explain why it was that early Christians were convinced- at a very early date- that Jesus was indeed a 'Messiah'_ One possibility is that the origin of the Christian use of the term lies in the titulus over the cross: Jesus was crucified as a messianic claimant; the resurrection then perhaps convinced Christians that what had appeared to be something of a crude joke before was in fact profound truth: Jesus was indeed a 'messianic' royal figure. 25 This is possible though it still does not fully explain why Christians should have used the term of Jesus so positively if Jesus himself had been negative about it. Certainly the resurrection on its own is not enough to explain things: there is no evidence of a specifically 'messianic' figure being associated specifically with resurrection. The very existence of the titulus over the cross suggests, however, that, at his trial, Jesus must have been faced with the suggestion that he was a 'Messiah' figure, that is, for someone in Pilate's position, a political claimant. The crucifixion itself may suggest that Jesus did not deny the charge outright. (Otherwise the execution might not have taken place.) All this might suggest an ambivalence on the part of Jesus to the term: it may have been a term which he did not necessarily welcome fully, but it was one which he did not deny outright if put to him. One can certainly see some aspects of activity possibly associated with the term which might have resonated positively with Jesus, and some aspects which might have resonated negatively. On the negative side, any ideas of political leadership seem to have been no part of Jesus' programme. On the positive side, we may note again the Sanhedrin trial and the possible link between messiahship and 'temple-building'. The evidence from Qumran has now shown us how the Qumran community reinterpreted language about the 'temple' to apply it to their own community life and its activities (lQS 8). We have also seen that one key aspect of the Jesus' ministry may have been the task of trying to form a new community, focused on his twelve disciples as representatives or leaders of a new chosen nation. If this is the case, then 'temple'-building, if understood in terms of forming a new community, may have been the one aspect associated with messiahship which Jesus could have regarded positively. Given that, it might explain then why the category of 'Messiah' may not have been rejected outright by Jesus, even if it was not wholeheartedly accepted. This might then go some way to explaining the undeniable fact that early Christians did apply the term Messiah to Jesus unequivocally. It would mean that 'Messiah' was a category which Jesus could perhaps m (small) part accept, but one which also he would wish to modify 185
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considerably by rejecting other possible overtones of meaning in the term. Perhaps, too, the silence of Q should be given more weight here than is often the case: any idea of messiahship as encompassing Jesus' own view may not have been central for Jesus. It may also be worth noting that, on each occasion in the Gospels where Jesus appears to accept the term, he immediately qualifies it by talking of (himself as) the Son of Man, a topic to which we shall return later. Prophet A category that may have been much closer to Jesus' own view is that of a 'prophet'. 26 For the most part, this was not necessarily a category which early Christians found adequate to express their beliefs about Jesus. Hence positive evidence in the Gospels that Jesus was seen in a prophetic role may be all the more significant. The category certainly seems to have been one in which others at the time placed Jesus. On two occasions when the views of others about him are articulated, one possibility expressed is that Jesus is a prophet (cf. the views of the 'others' in Mark 6: 15, or of the 'other people' in Mark 8: 28). There are also occasions when Jesus is portrayed as comparing himself favourably with prophets: his rejection at Nazareth evokes the wry comment 'a prophet is not without honour except in his home town' (Mark 6: 4 cf. Luke 4: 24); and in the story where Jesus is warned about Herod, he says 'it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside Jerusalem' (Luke 13: 33) to justify his onward journey to the city. A strong case can also be made for arguing that the use of Isaiah 61: 1-2 as encapsulating the terms of reference of Jesus' mission may well go back to Jesus himself. 27 We have already seen that this may have been a prominent feature of Q's Christology- but that does not make it ipso facto unhistorical! The opening beatitudes in the Q sermon are probably heavily influenced by the language of Isaiah 61. So too the reply of Jesus to the messengers of John the Baptist in Q 7: 22 reaches its climax in the assertion that, in Jesus' ministry, 'the poor are being evangelised', a clear echo of the words of Isaiah 61: 1 where the task of the prophet is to 'evangelise the poor'. 28 The claim is certainly not a very explicit one in terms of Christology, and hence may owe more to the historical Jesus than to later Christians. If so then Jesus may have seen himself as in some sense fulfilling the role and the task set out in Isaiah 61: 1-2. And this is clearly primarily a prophetic role. 29 The category of prophet might also explain the other aspects of Jesus' activity. Prophets in Israel were known for their use of prophetic signs or actions (cf. Jeremiah breaking the pot, or Ezekiel eating the scroll). Some of Jesus' actions may fall into this category. His action in the Temple looks very much like a prophetic symbolic action (though what precisely it is a sign of is much disputed): the fact that the incident evidently created so 186
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little stir among the Roman authorities suggests, at the very least, that it must have been very small scale and at best symbolic. Similarly, Jesus' baptism by John the Baptist suggests that he was willing to take part in what was almost certainly another prophetic symbolic action, namely baptism.30 So too some of the miracles could be seen as prophetic 'signs'. For example, the exorcisms are clearly interpreted as instances of the inbreaking of the Kingdom of God (cf. Q 11: 20; Mark 3: 27); and the accounts of the feeding of the crowds in the desert have clear echoes of the feeding of the crowds by the prophet Elisha (2 Ki. 4) as well as the giving of manna by Moses in the desert (for Moses as a prophet, cf. Deut. 18: 15). It may be too that Jesus saw his own future suffering as in some sense part of a prophetic vocation. We have noted earlier the existence of a tradition within Judaism, asserting that all the prophets had suffered violenceY The question of whether Jesus foresaw his own suffering is much debated. There can be no doubt that some of the Gospel traditions in which Jesus predicts his passion represent the writing in of the details of the passion narrative by later Christians into the pre-Easter story. Thus the very accurate prediction by Jesus of the details of his passion in the third of Mark's three passion predictions (Mark 10: 33-4) looks very much like a 'prophecy after the event'. Nevertheless, it seems not impossible that in some more general sense Jesus may well have foreseen that the opposition his ministry was arousing might result in violence against himself. 32 That Jesus related the hostility and rejection he experienced to a prophetic self-consciousness is suggested by Mark 6: 4 and Luke 13: 33, the two texts with which we started this section. At the same time, we must also note that, for the most part in the Gospel tradition, Jesus' future suffering is correlated with reference to himself as 'Son of Man'. This is a topic which we will turn to shortly. Here we may simply note that however much the category of prophet may reflect Jesus' own self understanding, it does not appear to exhaust it completely. Further, we should perhaps also note that some aspects of a prophetic style of activity do not seem to be reflected in Jesus' ministry. For example, it is characteristic of (at least the biblical) prophets to claim to speak in the name of Yahweh and to be the mouthpiece for Yahweh's own words. Highly characteristic of prophetic speech therefore is the introduction 'Thus says the Lord' to prophetic oracles. Of this there is no trace in the Gospel tradition. Jesus speaks of and for himself, apparently by his own authority. However theocentric his actual preaching may be (cf. above) by pointing people to God, he does not present his own teaching explicitly as simply that of God. It is true that there are claims in the tradition by Jesus to have been sent by God and that reaction to him is the same as reaction to God (cf. Q 10: 16; Mark 9: 37). But the style of preaching which we have in the Gospels suggests that Jesus claims to speak on the basis of his own authority. 33 This may be then another example of an implicit Christology. It 187
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does suggest that the prophetic category, although perhaps encompassing an important aspect of Jesus' self-understanding, does not exhaust it.
Son of Man The possible significance of the term Son of Man for Jesus' selfunderstanding is one of the most intractable problems within New Testament studies today. The secondary literature on the subject has mushroomed over the years and shows no sign of abating. Thus, to reiterate, it will only really be possible to state one's own views here and the constraints of space will not allow any full interaction with alternative views. The first point to make is that it seems almost certain that Jesus did use the phrase in some sense or other. The phrase occurs in all the strands of the Gospel tradition, and almost exclusively on the lips of Jesus. Further, it hardly ever occurs outside the Gospels. 34 While we must be wary of assuming that our extant evidence gives a complete picture of early Christianity, the virtual absence of the phrase outside the Gospels does suggest that the term was not a very important one for early Christians in articulating their beliefs about Jesus. 35 Hence it is most likely that the use of the phrase represents language used by Jesus himself. If the term were a creation of early Christians and had no basis at all in Jesus' own speech, then it is surprising that such a christological idea should have affected all the strands of the Gospel tradition so strongly but have left virtually no mark elsewhere in early Christian literature. We have earlier discussed something of the possible background for the use of the phrase, as well as the use of the term by the evangelists. Clearly for all the evangelists, and also for Q, the Son of Man is Jesus and Jesus alone: Jesus' use of the terms in the Gospels is always a self-reference. Moreover, the consistent use of the somewhat unusual Greek phrase in the Greek Gospels suggests that, for the Gospel writers at least, the phrase was regarded as a self-designation of some significance by Jesus. Many have pointed out that, when translated back into Aramaic, the phrase (as bar enash or bar enasha) is much less significant: it is a fairly ordinary phrase meaning 'someone' or 'man (human beings) in general'. (Other nuances of the generic usage have been suggested by others.) If this were the meaning of the phrase on the lips of Jesus (and we must remember that Jesus probably spoke Aramaic rather than Greek!) then the use of the term as one with considerable significance and as an exclusive selfreference by Jesus must all be due to later Christians, perhaps working at the stage when the tradition was translated into Greek.36 This is possible, but such a theory does suffer from the same weaknesses as that which would argue that all the Son of Man references are inauthentic. If all the uses of Son of Man as a significant descriptor of Jesus are inauthentic, this must imply a powerful influence by early Chris188
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tians on the tradition of Jesus' sayings that affected all strands of the Gospel tradition in a very significant way but which has left its mark on virtually no other parts of early Christian literature. The fact that the use of Son of Man as a significant reference to Jesus alone suggests that this too is an authentic facet of the Son of Man sayings in the Gospels. We have already seen some features of the Son of Man sayings in our study of the Christologies of the evangelists and Q. It is striking that, although there are some surface differences, our earliest sources (Mark and 0) show some important similarities in their Son of Man sayings. Both have sayings referring to the eschatological activity of Jesus as Son of Man {cf. Mark 8:38; 13:26; 14:62; Q 12:42; 17:23-37). Mark also has a very large number of sayings relating Jesus' suffering to his role as Son of Man (cf. the passion predictions which are all in the form of Son of Man sayings, as well as texts such as Mark 10:45, etc.). Q has no passion predictions as such, but it does have a number of sayings about Jesus' present activity and, as we noted earlier, all relate to the hostility and rejection experienced by Jesus and/or his followers {cf. pp. 196--7 above). Thus built into these Q Son of Man sayings seems to be an idea that, as Son of Man, Jesus is one who will suffer rejection, and perhaps violence and even death. Thus the idea of the 'suffering Son of Man' is not confined to Mark: it is implied in both of the earliest strands of the tradition. By the criterion of multiple attestation, it would seem then to have as good a chance as any of being an idea we can confidently trace back to Jesus himself. The eschatological activity of the Son of Man is seen, by the evangelists at least, as relating to the language about the figure in Daniel 7, called there 'one like a son of man'. In Daniel, and in the Gospels, such eschatological language serves in part to express the belief that this Son of Man figure will receive vindication in the heavenly court. There is, it is true, a development discernible in the Christian Gospels as compared with Daniel 7, in that Jesus as Son of Man in the Gospels has a more 'exalted' status in some respects than the Danielic figure: the latter receives vindication and judgement in the heavenly court, whereas Jesus in some Son of Man sayings in the Gospels is becoming more pro-active in the administration of judgement over others. 37 However, this may be of a piece with the development we see of the Danielic vision in texts such as 1 Enoch and 4 Ezra, as we have already noted. Thus the eschatological activity of Jesus as Son of Man seems to be based on the picture of vindication as set out in Daniel 7 and as that chapter was subsequently interpreted. Whether the picture of the Son of Man as a suffering figure can also claim a basis in Daniel 7 is much debated. As I have indicated earlier, I believe that a strong case can be made for such a view. In Daniel7, the vision of 'Daniel' is primarily one which is meant to give hope and encouragement to Jews who were suffering persecution under the regime of Antiochus Epiphanes because of their commitment to God and their refusal to accede to the 189
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demands of the Hellenising 'reforms'. The vision thus provides a promise of vindication for those currently being persecuted, holding out the assurance that fidelity and perseverance - even to death - would still be rewarded in a future judgement scene in the heavenly court. All this may suggest that the figure of Daniel 7 can appropriately be seen as a figure who has been/is suffering. It is true that the vision itself mentions only his vindication and triumph. But if that vision is to have meaning for its readers, then the figure who is vindicated must presumably be the same as (or closely related to) the suffering one(s) of the present if the message is to have any relevance. The interpretation of the vision in Daniel 7 itself identifies the 'one like a son of man' as the 'saints of the Most High' (see 7:22}, probably the loyal people of God. Just as then the vision serves to provide hope for those suffering by picturing the vindication scene so that they can identify with the figure of the vision, so by implication that figure can be identified with them in their suffering. All this suggests that fundamental to the whole vision of Daniel 7 is an idea not just of (abstract) vindication, but of vindication as a result of suffering because of loyal commitment to God. Against this background, the phenomenon of the Gospel sayings makes considerable sense. One cannot defend the authenticity of the all the Son of Man sayings in the tradition. Nevertheless, a general trend does seem clear and indeed sensible against this background. Jesus perhaps foresaw the hostility and rejection which his mission apparently aroused as spilling over into violence so that he would have to be prepared to suffer. Yet he also believed that this suffering, possibly even death, would nevertheless not be the end of the story and he could, and did, hope for vindication by God in the heavenly court. He thus expressed his beliefs about the role he believed he had to undergo in terms of the figure described in the vision of Daniel 7 as 'the Son of Man', since this encapsulated the twin ideas of suffering with subsequent vindication. 38 There is also perhaps not too much of a problem in envisaging Jesus using what was at one level a fairly ordinary Aramaic phrases to express this. 39 Every culture and sub-culture has its own jargon and shorthand to express important ideas via the use of words or phrases which, if taken in isolation, seem relatively general or insignificant. On particular afternoons or evenings in Manchester, a statement that one is going to 'the match' requires no greater precision to be fully understood!40 We have also seen that later (i.e. post-Daniel) traditions had also fastened on Daniel 7 and developed the picture of the creature who looked like a human being (i.e. the 'one like a son of man') to speak of a special individual. Jesus then appears to be in that same tradition, at least in general terms. 'Son of Man' for him expresses his total commitment to God and his readiness to stick by that total commitment even to the point of death, whilst at the same time maintaining an absolute trust in God who, as God, would not ultimately abandon his own but would vindicate them finally and reward them.
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In part this may be another side of the coin of Jesus' prophetic selfconsciousness: if the role of the prophet entails experiencing rejection, violence and even death, then perhaps this is also expressed by Jesus in terms of his role as Son of Man. 'Son of Man' and 'prophet' may thus be complementary terms, overlapping in some respects but expressing key ideas for Jesus' own view of his role, its consequences and its likely outcome.
Son of God Did Jesus think of himself as in any sense Son of God? For many this is perhaps the most important question of all to ask about Jesus' self-understanding, showing some clear continuity between Jesus and later Christian claims. We shall examine the issue of continuity - and its importance later. Here we should, however, be alert to the possibility - even probability - that, even if Jesus did think of himself as in some sense a/the son/Son of God, this may not have meant anything remotely similar to what later Christians meant in using that phrase of Jesus. That Jesus did think of himself as in some sense God's 'son' is hard to deny. 41 Above all there is the fact that, as far as we can tell, Jesus addressed God as 'Abba', 'Father' .42 The evidence for this is not entirely clear, as some of the examples in the Gospel tradition are somewhat suspect in relation to their authenticity. For example, the prayer of Jesus in Gethsemane (Mark 14: 36), where he addresses God as 'Abba', is unusual since no one else in the story is apparently present (or at least awake) to hear and record what is said. The so-called 'Johannine thunderbolt' of 0 10: 21-2 is unlike other parts of the synoptic tradition (it is so-called because it sounds so Johannine and not synoptic, and is sufficiently alien that it is a 'thunderbolt') that doubts have been cast on its authenticity. Nevertheless, it can be said that the phenomenon of addressing God as 'Abba', 'Father', is highly unusual within Judaism at the time. 43 Hence one could plausibly argue that, even if Jesus' actual prayers as recorded in the Gospels are not authentic in their present form, nevertheless early Christians may have put such prayers in a form which was congruent with Jesus' own prayers. Hence the Abba address may well be authentic, at least in general terms. Its precise significance is, however, less clear. One of the other instances where Jesus appears to have used the term comes in the Lord's Prayer (0 11:2 'Father'}.44 But this is a prayer which Jesus teaches his disciples to pray. The privilege (if that is what it is) of addressing God as 'Abba' is thus not confined to Jesus: it is something which followers of Jesus are invited to share as well. Thus the divine 'sonship' which one might ascribe to Jesus on the basis of the Abba usage does not apparently make Jesus unique. The same is implied by early Christian usage: in Romans 8: 15 and Galatians 4: 6 Paul refers to the Abba address as something which characterises the relationship which all Christians now have with God. 191
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The precise nuances of the Abba address have been much discussed. The (by now) older view that this was a child's term for a fathe~5 is now held to be somewhat difficult. To use the title of a famous article by James Barr, 'Abba isn't Daddy'. 46 Nevertheless, even if 'Abba' does not mean 'Daddy', it does probably imply a closeness of relationship, and claimed intimacy, which makes it a highly unusual and distinctive mode of addressing God. 47 Thus, even if we cannot say that Jesus called God 'Daddy', we can perhaps say that this Abba address implies a closeness of personal relationship that is certainly distinctive within first-century Judaism. Nevertheless, the implicitly shared nature of the term should not be forgotten. In one sense it could be argued that Jesus' sonship is qualitatively different from that of the disciples in that he enables others to share in this relationship. 48 This is unpersuasive, however, at least in relationship to sonship itself. While Jesus may indeed have a special position in relation to the disciples, it remains the case that the actual relationship of sonship itself, and the ability/privilege to address God as 'Abba', is something that is common to both Jesus and his followers. Sonship here seems to imply a relationship of trust and confidence, reflected too in some of the Q sayings about God as the 'father' of the disciples which we considered earlier {cf. Q 11: 2; 12: 31, etc.). It probably does not indicate any idea of ontological being, at least at the level of Jesus. Language of divine sonship, as we have seen, was thoroughly at home in a Jewish context, indicating perhaps a special relationship to God characterised by obedience and trust on the side of the human being, and by special choice or favour on the side of God. Jesus' God-talk seems to fit perfectly well into this mould. But it does not suggest that the one referred to as the 'son' of God is in any sense a 'divine' being. Jesus very probably saw himself as a son of God. As such he claimed a special personal relationship with God and a closeness to God. As such too he claimed the right to enable others to share in that relationship. But the latter should warn us against seeing Jesus' sonship as 'unique' in the sense that later Christians claimed Jesus' divine sonship as unique and qualitatively different from that of other human beings. If anything Jesus' own ideas of his divine sonship work in precisely the opposite direction: to unite others to enable them to share in the relationship with God which he claimed to enjoy himself. We have looked at a number of facets of the Jesus tradition to try to recover something of Jesus' own self-understanding. One must say that, at the end of this discussion, the conclusions may be more than a little imprecise. So much of Jesus' ministry is not directly concerned with his own person: it is focused on God and on the needs of other people. We thus have to deduce possible facets of Jesus' self-understanding from what is implied quite as much as from what is said explicitly. That there is an 192
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'implicit Christology', in the sense of a 'special position/role' occupied by Jesus and implied in his actions, seems undeniable. Trying to gain greater precision is much harder. In some sense Jesus seems to have regarded himself as a prophet with a mission that would arouse hostility and violence against himself. He was willing to accept that violence, convinced that he would ultimately be vindicated by God, and may have used the imagery of the vision of Daniel 7 to express this (albeit perhaps a little cryptically). He may have had some idea of 'messiahship' as not totally against his own beliefs about his role, though it would seem that many aspects often associated with messiahship were probably not part of a programme which he would accept as his own. In all this he claimed a close personal relationship with God, expressed through an idea of sonship, but which he hoped that others would share with him. All this probably distances Jesus' own self-understanding by some way from later Christian claims about Jesus to be the unique Son of God, meaning by that a fully divine member of an eternal Trinity. There may be also something of a gap between Jesus' self-understanding and the views of his earlier followers (who may not quite have reached the stage of Chalcedonian orthodoxy immediately!). Does such a gap matter? It is that question which we shall address very briefly in the Postscript.
Notes 1 For surveys of the history of scholarship on Jesus, and also on the so-called 'Third Quest' (and how it might differ from the first two 'quests'), see W. R. Telford, 'Major trends and interpretive issues in the study of Jesus', in B. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Studying the Historical Jesus: Evaluations of the State of Current Research (Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 33-74; Ben Witherington, The Jesus Quest: The Third Search for the Jew of Nazareth (Carlisle: Paternoster Press, 1995); also J. P. Meier, 'The present state of the "Third Quest" for the historical Jesus: Loss and gain', Biblica 80 (1999), pp. 526-36. I leave aside here also the question of what exactly we mean by the 'historical Jesus', and how far this relates to the 'real Jesus'. On this see Meier, A Marginal Jew, vol. 1, pp. 21-40. Very briefly, the 'historical Jesus' is usually taken to be the Jesus who can be recovered by means of historical methods. But how far we have then reached the 'real Jesus' (whatever that might mean!) is another matter. We shall also raise an aspect of this issue very briefly when we consider the question of how far Jesus' own ideas about himself enable us to see the 'real Jesus'. 2 See above. 3 This is not to deny that there may be some genuine historical elements in John. However, most would identify any such elements as historical precisely because they match the synoptic picture, at least in general terms. Thus any possible further information about Jesus derived from John is likely to reinforce, rather than dramatically change, the picture of Jesus we get from the synoptics. 4 See above, and the references in nn. 6, 7 of chapter 1. 5 For a valuable critical survey of the various criteria, see Meier, A Marginal Jew, vol. 1, pp. 167-95; more briefly in my Reading, pp. 104-9.
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6 A (by now) classic article is that of M. D. Hooker, 'Christology and methodology', NTS 17 (1971), pp. 480-7. See also T. Holmen, 'Doubts about double dissimilarity: Restructuring the main criterion of Jesus-of-History research', in B. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Authenticating the Word5 of Jesus (Leiden: Brill, 1999), pp. 47-80. 7 The formulation of R. Bultmann is often cited in this context: Jesus' 'call to decision in the light of his person implies a christology': see his 'The significance of the historical Jesus for the theology of Paul', Faith and Understanding (ET London: SCM Press, 1969), p. 237. 8 Like almost all statements in New Testament studies, this claim is disputed by some. The eschatological nature of Jesus' teaching is questioned above all by members of the Jesus Seminar who would see Jesus as primarily not influenced by eschatological ideas. Cf., however, the discussion immediately following here; there is a sharp critique of the work of the Jesus Seminar in Ben Witherington, The Jesus Quest, eh. 2; also D. C. Allison, Jesus of Nazareth: Millenarian Prophet (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998). 9 Cf. John's eschatological preaching recorded in Q 3: 7-9 ('You generation of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath that is coming .. .'). 10 The event clearly caused embarrassment to later Christians (seeking to explain why, if baptism were for the forgiveness of sins, a sinless Jesus needed to be baptised). The importance of events, rather than individual sayings (whose authenticity will always be open to seemingly endless debate), in rediscovering the historical Jesus is emphasised by E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London: SCM Press, 1985), pp. 3-13. Sanders (along with many others) regards Jesus' baptism by John as one of the 'almost indisputable facts' we can assert about Jesus (p. 11). 11 See Mark 11: 27-33; Q 7:31-5: hence the motif is attested in both Mark and Q. The element of reserve shown to John in some later Christian sources (e.g. the Fourth Gospel) would suggest that such a positive evaluation of the Baptist is unlikely to be a Christian invention. 12 Hence the view of the Jesus Seminar, which would see a radical discontinuity between Jesus and John (as indeed also between Jesus and the early Christians), is not persuasive. Such theories are effectively based on an application of the criterion of dissimilarity, with all the weaknesses inherent in that criterion (cf. above). 13 Now relatively old, but still valuable, is the treatment of N. Perrin, The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus (London: SCM Press, 1963). See also the essays in B. Chilton (ed.), The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus (London: SPCK, 1984). 14 Cf. J. Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus (London: SCM Press, 1963). 15 This is the message of several of the parables of Jesus as well as the teaching in the eschatological discourses of Mark 13, or Q 12: 39-48 and Q 17: 23-37. 16 Jesus' practice of exorcising is one of the best-attested parts of the tradition. 17 The difference between Matthew's 'Spirit' (Matt. 12: 28) and Luke's 'finger' (Luke 11: 20) need not concern us here. 18 The Greek verb translated here 'has come' (ephthasen) is different from the Greek verb used in Mark 1: 15 (eggiken), translated 'has drawn near'. The latter implies something is imminent but has not yet arrived; the former implies that the subject is actually present. 19 See Witherington, Many Faces, pp. 40-5. 20 Cf. 1 Cor. 15: 3 and the discussion on p. 46 above. 21 See the discussion in eh. 1, pp. 16--19 above.
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22 The person always credited with bringing 4QF1or into the discussion about the Markan account of the Sanhedrin trial is 0. Betz: cf. his What Do We Know about Jesus? (London: SCM Press, 1968), pp. 88--9. Cf. Witherington, Many Faces, pp. 60-1; J. D. G. Dunn, 'Messianic ideas and their influence on the Jesus of history', in Charlesworth (ed.), The Messiah, pp. 365--81, esp. 373. 23 Cf. e.g. J. R. Donahue, Are You the Christ? The Trial Narrative in the Gospel of Mark (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1973). 24 Cf. D. R. Catchpole, 'The "triumphal" Entry', in E. Bammel and C. F. D. Moule, Jesus and the Politics of his Day (Cambridge: CUP, 1984), pp. 319-34, esp. 326--8. 25 See N. A. Dahl, 'The crucified Messiah', in Dahl, Jesus the Christ, pp. 27--48. 26 Cf. Allison, Jesus of Nazareth; Dunn, 'Messianic ideas', pp. 376--8. 27 Cf. J. D. G. Dunn, Jesus and the Spirit (London: SCM Press, 1975), pp. 53--62. 28 I have kept the virtual transliteration 'evangelise' here, rather than 'bring good news to', if only to emphasise the clear linguistic link between the two passages. The precise nuance carried by the verb is much debated. 29 It is just possible that the concept of Jesus as an 'anointed' figure comes from here as well (cf. Isa. 61: 1: 'the Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me .. .') and hence possibly the language of Jesus as a 'messianic' figure has its roots here. If so, however, one might say that Jesus as 'messianic' in this sense must be seen primarily as a prophetic figure rather than a royal figure. However, while this might explain in one way the origin of the term 'Messiah' as applied to Jesus, there is still a problem of how specifically royal messianic ideas were applied to Jesus, not only by later Christians but as early as the time of the crucifixion itself: cf. the titulus over the cross mentioned above. 30 For the popular view that John was a prophet, cf. Mark 11: 32. 31 In Q this is linked with the Wisdom tradition so that Wisdom becomes the agent who sends out the prophets. However, this distinctive combination of two traditions seems characteristic of Q and is not witnessed elsewhere in the Gospel tradition: it is thus harder to trace back to the historical Jesus. 32 In this respect, the second of Mark's passion predictions (Mark 9: 31), which is couched in much more general terms, has a better claim to authenticity. 33 The 'but I say to you' in the antitheses of Matt. 5, and the ubiquitous 'amen amen, I say to you' in John may well be redactional. But there are many other uses of 'I say to you' elsewhere in the Gospel tradition: cf. Q 7: 9, 26, 28; 10: 12, 24; 11: 51; 12: 22, 27, 44; 13: 35; Mark 2: 11; 3: 28; 8: 12; 10: 15, 29, etc. So too the use of (perhaps a single) 'amen' may be characteristic of Jesus and indicative of the authority he claimed for himself. 34 Outside the Gospels, see Acts 7: 56; Heb. 2: 6; Rev. 1: 13; 14: 14. However, the two occurrences in Revelation are all but quotations of Dan. 7, as we have seen. He b. 2:6 is a quotation of Ps. 8: 4 and in context the phrase simply refers to human beings in general (even if what is said of humans in general is then claimed to apply to Jesus alone). The occurrence in Acts 7: 56 comes at the end of Stephen's trial scene, which is clearly intended by Luke to be closely parallel to the trial of Jesus: hence the Son of Man saying in Acts 7: 56 is a clear echo of the Son of Man saying in Luke 22: 69. 35 The proviso we must always bear in mind is of course that the Gospel editors the evangelists and the Q editor- may be the exception to this general claim! 36 Cf. the varying, but related, views of e.g. G. Vermes, Jesus the Jew; M. Casey, Son of Man; B. Lindars, Jesus Son of Man. 37 This development is probably most evident in Matthew's Gospel: see the earlier discussion.
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38 For such a view of the Son of Man sayings on the lips of Jesus, see e.g. Moule, Origin, 11-22, as well as others. 39 This is a standard criticism of the view I have outlined by those who would argue that the meaning of the phrase on the lips of Jesus must reflect the meaning of the phrase in 'ordinary' Aramaic usage. The trouble is that it is difficult to define what is 'ordinary' usage in any language as used by any particular social group. 40 The other example I have used elsewhere is the use of the term 'the war' which, in contemporary England at least, is almost always taken as referring unambiguously to the 1939-45 war against Germany (despite the prolongation of that war until at least 1946 against Japan, and the presence of many wars since then): hence, e.g., a statement to the effect that someone was born 'after the war' in England today pins their date of birth down for most people very precisely to be being post-VE day in 19451 41 Cf. in more detail, Dunn, Jesus and the Spirit, pp. 11-40; Christology, pp. 22-33. 42 A classic study remains J. Jeremias, The Prayers of Jesus (London: SCM Press, 1967), despite some overstatement of the evidence. 43 Whether we can call it 'unique', as Jeremias did, is now accepted as more doubtful: certainly there is now Greek evidence of Jews addressing God as 'Father' (Cf. Wisd. 2: 13, 16; Sir. 23:2, 4; 3 Mace. 6: 3, 8). Dunn, Christology, pp. 26-7. 44 Luke's plain 'Father' here is almost certainly more original than Matthew's stereotyped 'Our Father who art in heaven', and probably reflects an original 'Abba'. 45 So Jeremias. 46 J. Barr, 'Abba isn't Daddy',JTS 39 (1988), pp. 28-47. 47 Matthew's opening to the Lord's Prayer 'Our Father who art in heaven' is closer to the more formal flowery periphrases that tend to characterise liturgical usage. 48 So too Paul, as we have seen, may be making slight distinctions between Jesus' absolute sonship and Christians' adopted sonship. See p. 65 above.
Bibliography Casey, P. M., Son of Man: The Interpretation and Influence of Daniel 7 (London: SPCK, 1979) Dahl, N. A., Jesus the Christ: The Historical Origins of Christological Doctrine (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991) Dunn, J. D. G., Christology in the Making: A New Testament Inquiry into the Doctrine of the Incarnation (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 21996) Lindars, B., Jesus Son of Man: A Fresh Examination of the Son of Man Sayings in the Gospels (London: SPCK, 1983) Charlesworth, J. H. (ed.), The Messiah: Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1992) Allison, D. C., Jesus of Nazareth - Millenarian Prophet (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998) Dunn, J. D.G., Jesus and the Spirit (London: SCM Press, 1975) Meier, J. P., A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (2 vols; New York: Doubleday, 1991, 1995) Sanders, E. P., Jesus and Judaism (London: SCM Press, 1985) Witherington, Ben, The Jesus Quest: The Third Search for the Jew of Nazareth (Carlisle: Paternoster Press, 1995)
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53 THE BEARING OF THE RABBINICAL CRIMINAL CODE ON THE JEWISH TRIAL NARRATIVES IN THE GOSPELS H. Danby Source: Journal of Theological Studies, 21, 1920, pp. 51-76.
Summary of thesis The problem stated, (I) The customary methods and conclusions, and the premisses on which they are based. (11) (a) External evidence on the Sanhedrin's powers under the Romans to hold a criminal trial: Josephus, New Testament, procedure in Egypt. (b) Whether the Gospels point to such a trial. The Marcan versus the Lucan tradition. (Ill) Value of evidence afforded by the Rabbinic sources. Conclusion. The last century has seen the growth of a voluminous literature around the question of the justice of the trial and condemnation of Jesus. 1 The method and results of every fresh study of the available evidence have, with the fewest exceptions, never varied. The descriptions which the Gospels give us of the trials before the Jewish and Roman authorities are placed side by side with such information as can be gathered elsewhere concerning Jewish and Roman law and procedure; by this means the Jewish trial is easily demonstrated to be the veriest travesty of justice, and the sentence of Pilate that of a man deliberately going against his own conscience in a cowardly attempt to placate a threatening mob. The conduct of the Roman trial, owing to the almost entire absence of evidence as to criminal procedure in the Roman provinces, does not, like the supposed Jewish trial, lend itself to such clear-cut comparison between what should
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have happened and what did happen; but the Gospel accounts, in their vivid portraiture of the Procurator, provide abundant matter for passing judgement on Pilate's conduct, which 'beginning with indecision and complaisance, passed through all the stages of alternate bluster and subserviency; persuasion, evasion, protest, and compromise; superstitious dread, conscientious reluctance, cautious duplicity, and sheer moral cowardice at last; until this Roman remains photographed for ever as the perfect feature of the unjust judge' .2 The present study is, however, restricted to our Lord's examination before the Jewish authorities; and even so, it is not primarily concerned with the justice or injustice of the method and the result, but simply with the question: How far can evidence contained in the Mishna and kindred literature as to the Sanhedrin's procedure in cases of crimes punishable by death be regarded as of value for the criticism and illustration of the Gospel narratives? (I) The usual way of investigating the judicial fairness of our Lord's trial may be seen in such works as H. A. Bleby The Trial of Jesus Christ considered as a Judicial Act, London 1880; Giovanni Rosadi 11 Processo di Gesu, Florence 1904; A. T. Innes The Trial of Jesus Christ: a Legal Monograph, Edinburgh 1905; Septimus Buss The Trial of Jesus, illustrated from Talmud and Roman Law, S.P.C.K., 1906; M. Brodrick The Trial and Crucifixion of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, London 1908. The narratives of the proceedings before the Jewish authorities (Mt. xxvi 57-68, xxvii 1; Mk. xiv 53--65, xv 1; Lk. xxii 54, 63-71, xxiii 1; Jn. xviii 12-14, 19-24, 28) are assumed to be complementary, and are roughly harmonized. The main outlines of the episode are then found to be as follows:Those who arrested Jesus brought Him first to Annas (Jn.) who, after a private examination, sent Him, bound, to the High-priest Caiaphas (Jn.), in whose house the scribes and elders were assembled (Mt. Mk.). This is regarded as a formal sitting of the Sanhedrin. The whole council sought evidence on which to put Jesus to death, but at first were unsuccessful (Mt. Mk.). At last certain witnesses accused Him of saying that He would (Mt.; but Mk. has 'could') destroy the Temple and rebuild it in three days (according to Mk. even in this their evidence did not agree). The Highpriest asked Jesus if He had any reply to make to this (Mt. Mk.) and, on getting no answer, demanded outright whether He were the Christ (Mt. Mk.). Jesus acknowledged the claim in such terms that the High-priest rent his clothes and accused Him of blasphemy. When he appealed to the rest of the council they all condemned Jesus to death (Mt. Mk. ). They (the members of the council according to Mt.; the guards and perhaps the members of the council according to Mk.; but only the men who had arrested Jesus according to Lk.) then reviled and buffeted Him. As soon as 200
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it was morning, the chief priests, elders, and scribes met a second time in consultation (Mt. Mk.), and Jesus was questioned afresh as to His claims to be the Christ (Lk.). He again admitted the claim (Lk.), whereupon, without more ado, He was led away to Pilate (Mt. Mk. Lk.), whose duty it was to confirm and carry out the death penalty. The sum-total of this composite narrative is (a) a private examination before Annas, (b) a trial before the Sanhedrin during the same night, as a result of which Jesus is condemned to death for blasphemy, and (c) quite early in the morning a second sitting of the Sanhedrin preparatory to handing over the Prisoner to the Roman court. This, then, was the treatment meted out to Jesus by the highest legislative court of the Jews. Was the mode of trial fair? and was the condemnation justified? All but two or three of the innumerable writers on the subject answer both questions with an emphatic negative, and appeal to the Jews' own system of law as set forth in the Mishna. In the Mishna we possess what it has become customary to describe as a corpus iuris of Judaism. It deals with the greatest minuteness with every legal enactment in the Pentateuch, codifying scattered details, reconciling apparent contradictions, working out general principles, interpreting and explaining difficulties, and pressing home to their logical conclusions every item of the Mosaic legislation. One of the tracts of the Mishna is entitled Sanhedrin, which, as its name implies, treats of the Jews' supreme court of law, its constitution, authority, and method of procedure. It is to this document that recourse is had for testing the regularity and legality of the proceedings as described in the Gospels. Taken as it stands, the tract purports to be a manual drawn up to control the procedure of the greater and lesser Sanhedrin. Just as Sota is a book of instructions for the correct carrying out of the trial of a woman accused of adultery, and Yoma a manual for the service and details connected with the Day of Atonement, so Sanhedrin is a judge's hand-book regulating the proceedings of the courts charged with the conduct of capital trials. Here is a short summary of the contents of the tract. Those cases are first passed in review which can be settled on the basis of a money payment [nUlCD ,,,, ]; they are dismissed with just the briefest mention. They do not come within the real scope of the tract-the functions of the major and minor Sanhedrins-since they can be adjudicated by a court or jury consisting of as few as three members. The constitution of the greater and lesser Sanhedrins is then given, with a brief outline of the types of case which come before each-ordinary capital cases before the latter with its minimum of twenty-three judges, and those of national importance (such as communal apostasy [i'll nmJn], condemnation of a High-priest, a false prophet, or a whole tribe) before the former, a body of not less than seventy-one members. Then follows a section on the relations 201
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which were to hold between the greater Sanhedrin on the one hand, and the High-priest and the King on the other. The real subject of the tract is now entered upon. First comes the question of judges and witnesses-who are eligible to serve as such? Then there is described the method of legal procedure in non-capital cases, followed by that in capital cases; a comparison of the two serves to bring out the special features which are peculiar to, and which emphasize the importance of, the latter. The mode of carrying out the four death penalties is next discussed, in the order of their relative severity-stoning, burning, decapitation, and strangulation. This is followed by a catalogue, arranged in four corresponding divisions, of the criminals who are liable to these capital punishments. Here, then, would seem to be adequate material for basing a comparison between the accepted methods of dealing out Jewish law and the action of the Jewish authorities in the case of Jesus. The material has been used time and again. Salvador,3 one of the earliest investigators of the problem, who accepted the above composite story drawn from all four Evangelists, and believed the Mishna rules to have held good for the early part of the first century, satisfied himself that the condemnation of Jesus was according to law. Another, a Hindu writer,4 arguing from the same premisses, comes to the same conclusion. But these are veritable tours de force, almost isolated, and not altogether free from dishonesty in their manipulation of the facts. 5 The bulk of the remaining writers, eager to discover irregularities, have no difficulty in finding what they want. Assuming the Gospel narratives to be complementary and the regulations contained in the Mishna to be valid for the period in question, they lay bare the grossest examples of illegality. Thus they point out that Annas had no right to examine Jesus alone (Jn. xviii 19, Pirk. Ab. 4, 8) nor to seek to make Him incriminate Himself>; both sittings of the Sanhedrin violated the rule according to which (Tos. Sanh. 7, 1) 'the court sat from the time of the morning offering till the evening burnt-offering'; a capital charge may not be tried on the eve of a Sabbath or festival (Sanh. 4, 1), nor may it be tried by night (ibid.); the Sanhedrin was prejudiced in favour of conviction, taking the initiative in the prosecution, and deliberately seeking out witnesses who should give hostile testimony (Mt. xxvi 69; Mk. xiv 55), and therefore they were ineligible as judges (Tos. Sanh. 7, 5); a verdict of conviction must not be reached the same day, nor may such a verdict be uttered by night (Sanh. 4, 1); the witnesses were not admonished (Sanh. 4, 5), nor, when their evidence was found false, did they suffer the penalty to which the accused was liable (Sanh. 11, 6); no attempt was made to find witnesses or arguments for the defence (Sanh. 5, 4); the admission by Jesus (Mt. xxvi 64; Mk. xiv 62) was not technically blasphemy, since He did not expressly utter the Divine Name (Sanh. 7, 5); the High-priest, as chief judge, had no right to offer first his opinion as to the verdict (Mt. xxvi 65; Mk. xiv 64; Sanh. 4, 2); 202
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a unanimous verdict of conviction (Mk. xiv 64) was null and void (Sanh. 4, 1); though a second sitting of the Sanhedrin was in accordance with correct procedure when the sentence was to be one of conviction, it ought to have been postponed for a whole day (Sanh. 4, 1); it is regarded as highly doubtful whether the necessary quorum of twenty-three members (Sanh. 1, 5) could have been present at such a hurried, midnight trial; and, lastly, it was illegal to pass sentence of death anywhere except in the Hewn Chamber [n•un n•::1] (Sanh. 37 a, Ab. Zar. 8 b). Of the items in this long arraignment many are but dubious arguments from silence, others are drawn from the later stratum of the Talmud Babli, and another is but an expression of opinion; but even so, sufficient is left to condemn the conduct of the Jewish trial as utterly irregular and unjust. The best and most restrained of the many investigators along these lines can, granted his presuppositions, quite fairly sum up the case in such terms as: 'Our conclusion on the question of Hebrew law must be this: that a process begun, continued, and apparently finished, in the course of one night; commencing with witnesses against the accused who were sought for by the judges, but whose evidence was not sustained even by them; continued by interrogatories which Hebrew law does not sanction, and ending with a demand for confession which its doctors expressly forbid; all followed, twenty-four hours too soon, by a sentence which described a claim to be the Fulfiller of the hopes of Israel as blasphemy-that such a process had neither the form nor the fairness of a judicial trial.' 7 Obviously the soundness of this and the like conclusions turns on the soundness of the two premisses: (a) that the Gospels combined give us an essentially complete description of a formal process before a Sanhedrin which had power to condemn to death (though not to carry out the death penalty, Jn. xviii 31), and (b) that what Jewish scholars at the end of the second century thought to be correct law and procedure was necessarily the accepted practice at the beginning of the first. If either of these points fails to be established the comparison breaks down: the Hebrew sources will no longer be available as a criterion for the Greek. If the Gospel narratives will not bear the interpretation traditionally given to them-that Jesus was formally condemned to death as a direct result of a trial by the highest Jewish legislature-the rabbinic codes which governed such a trial cannot be adduced as evidence; nor, even if the Gospel narratives will bear such an interpretation, can the usual indiscriminating use be made of the Mishna regulations unless we can be assured that its provisions were valid at a period some two hundred years earlier. And there are reasonable grounds for questioning both premisses. 203
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(11) The first premiss assumes two things: (a) that the Sanhedrin under the Romans had power to condemn to death, and (b) that the Gospel records treat of a formal trial by the Sanhedrin ending with such a death penalty. These two points may be taken separately. (a) The question whether the Jews could actually inflict the death penalty does not here concern us8; the point is whether they had criminal jurisdiction at all. A priori it might fairly be assumed that with the coming of the Roman procuratorship in A. D. 6 after the deposition of Archelaus, powers over life and death would be taken out of the hands of the Jews and invested in the person of the governor. This applies not merely to the infliction of the death penalty, but also, naturally, to the examination of the evidence justifying the penalty; the Romans would try as well as execute the prisoner. The reasonableness of this is never disputed; such powers constitute a weapon which every conquering nation seeks to preserve to its own use. But since our knowledge of Roman usage in this matter is of the scantiest, and, until recently, almost non-existent, it has always been tacitly taken for granted that the Jews were more privileged in this respect than other provinces, and that, e.g., the Romans would not interfere in a religious dispute, even though it were a capital charge, except to carry out the sentence themselves. 9 Actually, however, there is no evidence to prove this, except what may be inferred, whether rightly or wrongly, from the New Testament and Josephus. Most of the evidence brought forward is of little value. J osephus, Ant. XVIII i 4, speaks of the Sadducees holding magistracies (61t6'tE yap £1t' apxa~ mxp£A.OotEv); but, judging from the context, these were petty offices depending on popular favour, and the tenu is too general to be restricted to the highest judicial positions. Bell. 11 viii 9 says of the Essenes that 'they do not pass sentence in a court of less than a hundred men'; but we have no reason to suppose that this refers to anything beyond private quarrels and minor disputes touching their own internal affairs. Ant. XVIII iii 5 speaks of a man who fled from Palestine to Rome to escape punishment for an offence against the law; but it does not follow that he was to have been judged by a Jewish rather than a Roman court. Ant. XX ix 1 tells how Annas summoned the Sanhedrin and had James, the brother of Jesus, stoned. He admittedly exceeded his powers; but whether by the fact of executing the sentence, or by the actual trying of the case, is not stated; we gather further, from the same passage, that the Sanhedrin could not be summoned except by the Procurator's consent, but we have no right to assume that even when so summoned it could pass judgement in capital cases. When we turn to the New Testament (leaving out of account for the moment the trial narratives of the Gospels) the evidence is equally slender or ambiguous. It is difficult to believe that the stoning of Stephen (Acts vii 57--60) was the result of a formal trial and sentence; the description reads 204
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much more like an outbreak of mob law. The case of Peter and John (Acts iv 3) certainly proves that the Sanhedrin had powers to arrest, but the examination which followed cannot be construed as a formal trial, but only an attempt to discover whether or not there was a charge for which they could be placed on their trial before a court empowered to inflict sentence. The second arrest (Acts v 17-18) was followed by their release; this, again, did not resemble an acquittal by a properly constituted court of law so much as a decision not to carry the case further, i.e. perhaps to the Roman court. The episode of St Paul and the Sanhedrin (Acts xxi ff) is not a case in point, since he was never out of the control of the Romans, and was, further, a Roman citizen. Again, Jn. xviii 31 (i1J.ttv oi)lc £l;Eanv cX1tOIC'tEtVCil OOOEVCI) denies the right of the JeWS tO carry OUt sentence of death, but it does not follow that they had therefore the right of trying such a case or of passing sentence. 10 Stronger proof may be derived from Mk. X 33 (napaooOflO"E'tCil 'tote; apx_tEpEOOlV x:a\. 'tOte; YPCIIJ.IJ.CI'tEOOtV, x:a\. x:a'tax:ptvouatv au'tov 9ava'tq> x:a\. napa&i>aouatv au'tov 'tote; £0vEatv), though the form that this saying takes may have been influenced by the trial narrative as given in the same Gospel. Yer. Sanh. 18a, 24 b (n~I:IDJ ·,J,, ~~cu n·~, :l"''n tt~C' ,ll roe' D'l1:1,~) D'ni' 'The Jews were deprived of the right of trying capital cases forty years before the destruction of the Temple') does not help. It cannot be concluded that if the Jews had lost this power forty years before the destruction of the Temple, they therefore possessed it at the date of our Lord's trial. 'Forty years' is a round number, and may well refer to the change brought about in A.D. 6 when the procuratorship was introduced. Such evidence, then, as we can glean from these sources is of a neutral character. There is nothing in it to nullify the traditional view of the Sanhedrin 's powers, and, in default of further and opposing evidence, the traditional view might stand; but, on the other hand, there is in it nothing positive or decisive against good evidence to the contrary. A certain amount of the obscurity which hitherto surrounded the question of treatment of criminal cases in the Roman provinces has, in the case of Egypt, been removed. Among the papyri found in recent years a few deal with criminal procedure. The knowledge to be derived from them is still slight, but sufficient to enable us to understand roughly the general outline of the system adopted by the Romans in one at least of their provinces. The results of the information so far accumulated from this source may be summed up briefly as follows 11 : At the head of the province was the prefect (liYEIJ.ci>V, £napx.oc;), appointed by and answerable to the emperor. The country was divided into three judicial districts over each of which was an E1tlO"'tpa'tl1Yoc; also appointed by the emperor, but responsible to the prefect. The country was further divided into smaller districts called v6~tot, and at the head of each of these was an inferior official, the O"'tpCI't'lY6c;· So far as our information 205
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goes the latter were generally chosen from the subject-race. Periodically the prefect used to make the round of the province to settle such points as required his authority. For our present purpose, the important facts which emerge in this connexion are: (1) owing to the stress of business the cases were prepared in advance, (2) cases of only minor importance were handed over to the local authorities, who were also possessed of police powers, while (3) graver matters were decided by the prefect personally. It does not of necessity follow that Egyptian methods were applied in every detail to Judaea; but it is improbable that the general principles varied very much in the two neighbouring provinces, and, in the entire absence of any other direct evidence to the contrary, we are justified in assuming that what held good for Egypt may, with some variation of local detail, have held good for Judaea also. Exactly to what extent the Romans would recognize the rights of the Sanhedrin it is not possible to determine. Such a passage as John xviii 31 A.cXj3£'t£ cx'iJ'tov UIJ.Et<;, Kcxl. JCCX'ta 'tov v611ov UIJ.rov Kpi vcx't£ cx'i)'tov (cf. Acts xviii 15 £i 0£ 1;TJ'tJliJ.CX'ta tcrn v Jt£pl. Myou JCcxl. 6vo1J.1J.c'i<;, O\jl£cr0£ CXlJ'tOt Kpt 'tl)<; tyro 'tOU'trov ou j3oUAOIJ.CXl £iVCXt) points to the not improbable course that minor matters affecting the Jewish religion would be left to the Jewish court, who, moreover (cf. Acts v 40), were empowered to inflict lesser penalties. The Sanhedrin would thus hold very much the same position as the Egyptian strategi; like them they could be native officials, with the power to arrest, and the duty of examining and preparing the evidence which, if the case were of sufficient gravity, would be submitted to the Roman governor. If we are right in assuming these points, the proceedings taken by the Jewish authorities, as recorded in the Gospels, will fit without difficulty into the scheme of things as we find them in Egypt. Possessed of police powers, the delegates of the Sanhedrin were able to seize the person of Jesus on the ground that He was either a breaker of the law or a menace to the public peace. They examined such witnesses as offered themselves, and made it their business, by examining the Prisoner and searching out whatever testimony was available, to prepare an adequate case against the Accused to present to Pilate on the occasion of his visiting Jerusalem in the course of his circuit through the provinceY (b) We come now to the evidence, hitherto purposely left out of account, of the Gospel narratives themselves. We at once notice that the method of procedure before the Jewish officials is put forward in two forn1s, Matthew and Mark agreeing in one, and Luke and John, though with differences, giving us the other. According to Matthew and Mark, immediately after the arrest, Jesus was taken before a court of the chief priests and scribes and elders, presided over by the High-priest, and found guilty of blasphemy; in the morning the court reassembled, and, after consultation, delivered Jesus up to Pilate. According to Luke, after the arrest, Jesus was taken to the High-priest's house, but there was no midnight trial. 206
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As soon as it was day He was led away into their council before the chief priests and scribes, and examined as to His claims. As a result of His confession they disclaimed the need of further witnesses, and, without any passing of sentence, took Him at once to Pilate. According to John, after the arrest, Jesus was taken before Annas, who again passed Him over to Caiaphas; by one of them-the narrative leaves it doubtful whether it was Annas or Caiaphas-He was subjected to a private examination concerning His teaching, but there is no mention of anything resembling a trial by the Sanhedrin. Then, early in the morning, Jesus was taken to the Praetorium. The moment we begin to criticize or harmonize these different forms of the proceedings, or attempt to revise or restate what happened, or prefer one of the Gospels' evidence to the detriment of the others, we are in the realms of mere conjecture, and any conclusions arrived at must be to a marked extent subjective and precarious. We can only be guided by probabilities. The more conservative way of looking at the variations is to regard Matthew and Mark as giving only what was at an early period more or less public knowledge, Luke as giving only the second sitting of the Sanhedrin, because it was that second sitting alone which, according to rabbinic details of Sanhedrin procedure, could utter the final condemnation, while the fourth Gospel, with its description of a private examination, is assumed, after its customary fashion, to supplement the earlier Evangelists' account by information unknown to them at the time. Those who adopt a more critical attitude suggest that 'the placing of the trial at night is possibly due to a corruption of the tradition, preserved more accurately in John, of the hasty, informal questioning in the house of Annas; the description of the proceedings, on the other hand, was derived from the tradition of the morning trial, preserved by Luke, of which the mention of the morning meeting [in Mt. and Mk.] was a further reminiscence'P At bottom, these rival interpretations turn on whether we accept the Marcan version of a formal trial and condemnation by night, followed by ratification by a fuller court in the morning; or whether we accept the Lucan version, which implies that there was no night trial nor any trial at all in a real sense, but only a preliminary examination of the prisoner, and (perhaps) examination of witnesses, which aimed at ascertaining whether sufficient evidence was forthcoming to condemn the prisoner when brought before the Roman tribunal. The objections to the Marcan version mostly turn on the general improbability of such a midnight trial and the difficulty of summoning witnesses and judges at such an hour. The defence that an exceptional case called for exceptional methods, and that the night trial was prearranged and witnesses and judges warned beforehand, does not wholly account for the breakdown of the witnesses. If the witnesses were false the likelihood is that the evidence was carefully worked up in advance, and that witnesses and judges were in collusion.
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Objections are also brought on textual grounds. In Mark the verses describing the midnight trial are interwoven with the account of Peter's denial, and bear, so it is alleged, marks of being an interpolation. The original account is assumed to have contained only the arrest, the taking of Jesus to the High-priest's house, the denial, the mocking, and then the morning trial or examination. The verses describing the night trial are introduced in such a way in Matthew and Mark as to make it appear that the members of the Sanhedrin were the men who indulged in the mocking. But if the trial section is omitted the offenders will be the soldiers who made the arrest, who would be far more likely to indulge in such rough horse-play. Wendling, 14 again, argues for the omission of these verses on the ground that the section was not a part of the primitive tradition (the Ur-Marcus), but was composed later out of material drawn from the description of the trial before Pilate. Much more cogent is the general objection to a state of things according to which, if we accept the Marcan account in its entirety, the Sanhedrin convicted Jesus on a charge of blasphemy, and then asked Pilate to put Him to death for treason-a charge on which they had never even examined Him. Although the arguments brought forward are by no means such as wholly to condemn it, it may perhaps be admitted that the Marcan account is not altogether free from improbabilities. On the other hand, the Lucan version in itself is free from any suspicion of unreality, and a respectable body of evidence can be brought up in support of it as against the opposing Marcan account. In the first place, that Luke is to some extent verbally dependent on the Marcan version throughout this section (Lk. xxii 54--xxiii 1) can scarcely be denied (cf. Lk. xxii 54 b with Mk. xiv 58; xxii 61 with xiv 67; xxii 71 with xiv 63 b); yet the outstanding fact remains that Luke treats this particular source, both at this point and throughout the whole of the Passion-narrative (xxii 14--xxiv 10), in a way strikingly different from his own treatment of it in every other portion of his Gospel which has any appearance of being grounded on Mark. 15 This bare fact, of course, by itself, is no argument against the Marcan version, yet the traditional explanation, that 'Luke does not exclude the possibility of the midnight trial and condemnation, but gives only the morning meeting of the fuller council, because their condemnation only was formally valid', has nothing to support it; for at the morning meeting Luke refrains from mentioning the fact of any passing of sentence. The examination ends by the council's decision, 'What further need have we of witnesses?' Again, that Luke's version is not a casual abbreviation but a deliberate emendation is borne out by a comparison of Lk. xviii 32 with Mk. x 33 (=Mt. xx 18-19). According to the Marcan version, our Lord, forecasting His Passion, says: 'They [the chief priests and scribes) shall condemn Him
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to death, and shall deliver Him unto the Gentiles'; and the course of the trial in the second Gospel is in agreement with this. In Luke, however, the forecast is modified to suit his particular version of the event, and our Lord is made to say simply: 'He shall be delivered up to the Gentiles.' Luke seems consistently to present a state of things according to which the Jews could carry out initial investigations but could not pass sentence; he tacitly maintains that they could not condemn-a state of things confirmed by John (xviii 31; cf. p. 57, note 1). It may be noted further that it is Mark alone who gives the technical expression for condemnation (x:atbcp\Vav). Yet though Matthew omits it in the account of the trial, he uses the word in the forecast (xx 18-19). Yet again, it is no longer possible to ignore the fact that when St Luke intervenes with a new detail in the Gospel story, especially when it relates to official dealings between the Jews and the Romans, his evidence must not be summarily rejected; wherever means have been discovered for checking his statements on these occasions he has hitherto been proved to be correct. 16 In his version of the proceedings against Jesus he introduces two fresh features: the modification in the Marcan Jewish trial, and the Herod episode. That it is unwise to dismiss the latter as a legendary accretion has more than once been shewn 17 ; and though the former cannot be said to introduce any new fact, the modification bears signs of being deliberate, tantamount to a correction of the existing tradition in the light of better information. A point of difficulty in the Marcan tradition, already pointed out, is corrected (or elided) in Luke. Mark makes the Jewish officials condemn Jesus for blasphemy, and straightway accuse Him before Pilate on a new charge, not mentioned in their own proceedings, of treason. There is no mention of blasphemy in Luke. The council tax Jesus as to His pretensions to be the Messiah-a claim which would be looked upon as treasonable by the Romans. To this they get no definite reply, but when He confesses Himself to be 'the Son of God' they accept this as sufficient, apparently regarding the title as embracing Messianic claims, and making further investigation uncalled for. There is another point, though of a less tangible nature, which can be urged in favour of the Lucan presentation. The Church very early began to lay the chief blame for our Lord's death on the Jewish people (1 Th. ii 14-15; cf. Acts xiii 27-28) rather than on Pilate, and this tendency to compare Pilate favourably with the Jews gradually became more marked until it reached its culminating point in the Acta Pilati. It is argued that this same tendency must have played its part even in the earliest traditions. Thus Loisy 18 explains the emphasis placed on the Jewish condemnation as a piece of necessary apologetic when preaching the Gospel to the Roman world. '11 importait a la nouvelle religion que son fondateur ne parfi.t pas avoir eU: condamne par une juste sentence de Pilate; d'autre part, il etait 209
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fort delicat d'accuser de prevarication Pilate lui-meme, et il etait impossible de nier que la sentence de mort eOt ete rendue par lui; restaient les denonciateurs et les accusateurs du Christ, les Juifs, adversaires du christianisme naissant, detestes eux-memes dans le monde paien; rien n'etait plus facile que d'elargir leur role, de facron a transporter de Pilate sur eux la reponsabilite entiere du jugement rendu contre Jesus .... Ainsi le supplice du Christ n'etait pas une action de la justice romaine: ce n'etait que le crime des Juifs.' It is therefore extremely unlikely that St Luke, whose work, it is supposed, was intended more definitely than the others to meet the needs of the Gentile world, would so weaken the force of this apologetic as to omit the formal condemnation, unless in the interests of historical accuracy. Even if we leave out of account the presuppositions aroused by the new light from Egyptian sources as to criminal procedure in the Roman provinces, and judge solely from internal evidence contained in the Gospels, the case on behalf of Luke's version is not negligible; but when we find that the external evidence from every available quarter either directly supports, or is in complete harmony with, that version, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that in the third Gospel we are nearer the truth of the matter than in the Marcan tradition.
(Ill) The second premiss, that in the Tract Sanhedrin we have a code valid for the first half of the first century, indicating the correct lines which governed the Sanhedrin's proceedings when confronted by such a case as that of Jesus, cannot, any more than the first premiss, be passed over unquestioned. A few summary details should be borne in mind as to the origin of this compilation which we call the Mishna. After the fall of Jerusalem, whatever measure of self-government the Jews may have possessed was abolished, and the Sanhedrin, the embodiment of their surviving political independence, such as it was, ceased too. A new court was, with very little loss of time, set up at Jabne, a court perhaps modelled on, and certainly regarding itself as the true successor of, the old national council. In its beginnings, however, it was nothing more than a body of teachers of the Law. It could pretend to no legal title; its powers depended solely on the moral influence which it held over the pious remnants of Judaism. For two hundred years the Pharisees had been making steady progress in popular favour, and, with the end of the Temple and priesthood, they passed naturally to the position of leaders of the people. Even at its best this 'Sanhedrin' never seems to have outgrown its position of an influential but purely academic body. Under a succession of famous rabbis its members undertook the interpretation and preservation of their law and customs. No tradition was too unimportant, and no law too antiquated. They omitted nothing. The attempt at codification seems 210
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to have been begun by Rabbi Akiba (circ. 130) and continued by his pupil Rabbi Meir. The Mishna, as we now have it, is, with the exception of a few and unimportant later additions, the work of Rabbi Yehuda ha-Nasi, who presided over the Jabne 'Sanhedrin' at the close of the second century. 'Taking the unfinished work of R. Akiba and R. Meir as basis, and retaining, in general, its divisions and arrangement, he examined and sifted the whole material of the oral law, and completed it by adding the decisions which his academy gave concerning many doubtful points. Unanimously adopted opinions he recorded without the names of their authors or transmitters, but where a divergence of opinions appeared the individual opinion is given in the name of its author, together with the decision of the prevailing majority, or side by side with that of its opponent, and sometimes even with the addition of short arguments pro and con. ' 19 We can best arrive at some estimate of the value of the Mishna Tract Sanhedrin as a criterion for early first-century jurisprudence, by comparing its provisions, when it is possible to do so, with the facts as we know them from other available sources. We can most readily do this by a comparison of the authority, the constitution, and the procedure of the court as we find them described in the rabbinic literature on the one hand, 20 and in Josephus and other non-rabbinic sources on the other hand. According to the Mishna the Great Sanhedrin is all-powerful. We receive not the slightest hint that its doings were ever subject to the control of any person or external power. It was the sole arbiter in home and foreign affairs. Changes in the Temple, the Holy City, and local government could only be carried through by their permission; and war could be waged only by their express sanction (Sanh. 1, 5). The doings of the King and the High-priest fell within the scope of the court's control, and even their appointment was subject to the Sanhedrin's consent (Tos. Sanh. 3,4). The High-priest was of no greater importance than any ordinary member, and could also be made to stand his trial before them (1, 5; 2, 1). The King has higher privileges. He is beyond the reach of the law, yet at the same time he has no power to interfere with its course. 'He can neither judge nor be judged, bear witness nor be witnessed against.' Further, both his family and public life were subject to certain restrictions (2, 2-3). Though nominally head of the state, his foreign policy must be guided by the views of the Sanhedrin. The Mishna knows nothing of combination in the one person of the royal and high-priestly offices. Thus, according to the Mishna, the Jerusalem court is supreme alike in matters sacred and secular. A study of the history of the Sanhedrin21 makes it evident that the authority exercised by this court might vary within very wide limits. So far as the scanty evidence allows us to come to any conclusions, it may be said that the Sanhedrin reached its maximum power at two periods: during the reign of Salome (78-69 B. c.), and during the rule of the procurators 211
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(6-70 A.D.). In the age of the early Hasmonaeans we seldom hear of its existence; under Aristobulus 11 and Hyrcanus 11 it does not appear to have been able to exert any effective authority; while under Herod it seems to have been all but suppressed. The rabbinic writings looked back on the reign of Alexandra Salome as the golden age,22 an age when pharisaic ideals obtained such recognition as they received neither before nor after until the Jews ceased to be an organized nation. During the procuratorship, however important the Sanhedrin may have been, it still was confined within very definite limits. There was no native king, only a Roman governor who could interfere at pleasure in the nation's affairs. Cases affecting life and death must be submitted to him. Also, the Sanhedrin could have had no control over the High-priest, since he was a creature of the Procurator, who could appoint him or remove him at will. And it would seem that the court could not even assemble without the Procurator's permission.23 It follows, therefore, that the Mishna picture, if it can ever have been true to facts at all, can only relate to the state of things during the former of the two stated periods, a short space of nine years. The High-priest Hyrcanus was a negligible quantity, Bta 'tl)v iJA.uciav, 1toA.u t.J.EV'tot 1tA.eov Bta 'to a7tpayt.J.oV au'tou, while the queen 1tCXV'ta 'tote; «<>aptcraiotc; E7tE'tpE7tEv 7tOtEtv . . . 'tO t.J.EV ouv ovot.J.a 'tile; jktmA.Eiac; EixEv au'ti], 'tl)v B£ O'i>V<Xt.J.tV oi «<>aptcrat'ot. But even so, she appears to have reserved to herself a measure of power hardly consonant with the Mishna's conception of what a monarch should be: E7tOtEt'to IJ.EV'tot Kat iJ yuvl) 'tfjc; jktmA.Eiac; 7tp6votav, Kat 1toA.u t.J.tcrElocjloptlCOV cruvicr't'lcrtV, Kat 't'l)v iBiav Buv<Xt.J.lV U1tEBEt/;EV Bt7tA.acriova, ci>c; lC<X't<X7tA.fj/;at 'touc; nept/; 'tupavvouc; Kat A.$tv Ot.J. npa au'trov. She was also able to secure the safety of the party who had aroused the murderous hostility of the Pharisees, and appears to have undertaken an expedition against Ptolemy Menneus of Damascus, without, so far as we can gather, any consultation with the Senate (Ant. XIII xvi 3). Towards the end of her reign Josephus gives us the impression that though she relegated considerable powers to the 'Elders of the Jews', it was not so much constitutional as physical disabilities which prompted her policy (Ant. XIII xvi 5). In view of what is laid down in Sanh. 2, 2, prohibiting the marriage of a king's widow, it should be noticed that the ideal monarch Salome was the wife of King Aristobulus before marrying Alexander Jannaeus, Aristobulus's eldest brother (Ant. XIII xii 1). R. Jehuda {ben llai), however, opposes the Mishna, holding that a king may marry a king's widowinstancing the case of King David. According to Maimonides and Bartenora the halaka is according toR. Jehuda. The tract gives us but the most meagre details as to the constitution of the court. We are told no more than that the Greater Sanhedrin consisted of seventy-one, and the Lesser of twenty-three members (Sanh. 1, 6), that 212
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this latter might, as occasion required, be increased to seventy-one (5, 5), that certain disreputable members of society could not sit as judges (3, 3), that only 'priests, Levites, and Israelites who could marry into priestly families' can try capital cases (4, 2), and that, as the need arose, the Sanhedrin was recruited by the appointment (lit. 'ordination' ro•co), in regular order of seniority, of those who made up the ranks of the 'students of the learned' o•~ ,,,c!m (4, 4). There are many other things we should expect to learn from a tract which lays itself out to describe the Sanhedrin, such as the period of tenure of membership, and the qualifications which were necessary for a seat in the highest national court. But what is most extraordinary is the entire omission of any mention of who is the president of this council. We hear, only once, of the 'chief judge' (o•).,,.J~ ~mi"') who is to announce the verdict (3, 7). This may mean either the 'eldest' or the 'most important,' of the members, and affords us no definite data. Examination of other Tannaitic material provides us with more definite titles of presidents of the Sanhedrin. We find n•.J l:'N"l (Yom. 7, 5, mentioned immediately after the king; but the text is dubious, and probably r, n•.J alone should be read). He is again mentioned by the same name in Ta'an. 2, 1, where he is next in order to the r<'t:fJ. Here by Nasi is meant the head of the state, as in Ezekiel (cf. Horayoth 3, 3: ,~, ilt ·&<'fe')i"' \,Na). In Pirke Aboth 1, 4-15 we find mentioned five pairs (nun) of prominent rabbis, Jose ben Joezer and Jose ben Jochanan, Joshua ben Perachya and Nittai (or Mattai) the Arbelite, Judah ben Tabbai and Shimeon ben Shatah, Shemaia and Abtalion, Hillel and Shammai, who received and handed on the 'tradition' in succession during the last two hundred years s.c.; and of these same rabbis it is said (Hag. ii 2) OH)""" O'I<'CIJ l'il Cl'll~"'., i'"1 n•.J .JI< oi"'; ; but this statement stands isolated in the whole of the Mishna. In Shabb. 15a a Baraitha is quoted to the effect that jll1CC'I ~~., met i"'tce n•.Jn •Jrb tnll<'~) Uf'U jl~ ~I<'~Cl; in Tos. Sanh. 2, 6 there are three letters attributed to Gamaliel I, in which he writes in an authoritative manner to certain Jewish communities on matters connected with tithes and the arrangement of the calendar; and in Tos. Pes. 9 mention is made of the appointment of Hillel as Nasi. In the Amoraitic literature we find fully established the system of the Ab Beth Din sitting side by side with the Nasi, the latter as president and the former as vice-president of the Sanhedrin (cf. Horayoth 13b), but these refer to the Jabne period and later. But all this gives us no hint of the state of things as we find them in the New Testament, Josephus, or the Maccabaean books. Nowhere else do we hear of such an office as that of the Nasi or Ab Beth Din. Where individuals, who, according to rabbinic views, held such offices, are mentioned, it is only as ordinary, though it may be more or less prominent, members of the Sanhedrin: cf. 'Pollion and Sameas' (Abtalion and Shemaia) Ant. XVI i, and Gamaliel, Acts v 34 'a certain Pharisee in the Sanhedrin,
r,
213
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Gamaliel by name'. Josephus several times (Vita 38, 39, 44, 60; Bell. IV iii 9) mentions Shimeon ben Gamaliel, and once (Vita 38) speaks of him as yEvou~ ()£ crcpoopa A.all7tpou; but we receive no impression that he was president of the court, nor can we conclude from his distinguished birth that the Hillel family held the position of Nasi over the nation by hereditary right. Throughout the whole course of the history of the Sanhedrin, from the time of its problematic existence in the Persian period till its abolition by the Romans, the non-rabbinic sources constantly and unanimously describe the High-priest as the chief member of the national council. The High-priest's position is clear from 1 Mace. xiv 44 (1ea\. oulC ~Ecrnv oMEv\. 'tOU A.aou lCa\. 'tWV i£pErov a9Etilcrai n 'tOU'tOOV lCa\. clV'tEt7tEtV 'tOt~ \m' autou P119TJO"OilEvOt~, 1ea\. tmcrucrtpE'I'at crucrtpo$i]v f.v tfl X~ avEu autou), Josephus Apion. ii, 23 (q>uA.a~Et 'tOU~ VO!!OU~, BtlCclO"Et 7tEp\. 'tWV cXIJq>t~'ll'tOUilEvrov, lCoA.acrEt tou~ £A£-yx9Evta~). Ant. IV viii 14 (in cases where there is an appeal, the parties are to go up to Jerusalem 1ea\. O"UVEA.96v'tE~ 0 'tE apxtEpE~ lCa\. , yEpoucria 'tO BolCOUV cl7t<><patvEcr9rocrav), Ant. XX X 5 ( ti]v ()£ 7tpocrtacriav 'tOU E9vo-u<; oi apxtEpEt~ E7tE7ttO"'tEUV't0 ). The High-priest is directly spoken of as occupying the presidency of the court in Ant. XIV ix 3-5 (Hyrcanus 11), XX ix 1 (Ananos), and consistently in the New Testament. We hear of him presiding at the trials of our Lord (Mt. xxvi 62-65), the Apostles (Acts v 17-40), St Paul (Acts xxiii 2 ff), St Stephen (Acts vii 1), in all things taking the leading part (cf. Acts ix 1-2; xxii 5; xxiv 1). On the question, therefore, of the president of the Sanhedrin, the Mishna is misleading and inadequate, and, whenever it makes a definite statement on the matter, it is unhistorical. There exists but little material for comparing the other constitutional points mentioned by the Mishna tract. The traditional number, seventyone, who sat in the court, need not be doubted. [In the Mishna itself, on three occasions, Zebah. 1, 3; Yad. 3, 5; 4, 2, the number 'seventy-two' is given. But none of these passages bears directly on the subject of the national judicial court.) Josephus gives the number as seventy (Bell. 11 xx 5, treating of the court which he extemporized to take charge of affairs when organizing the rising in Galilee; cf. IV v 4, where the Zealots oust the existing authorities and establish in their place a court of seventy members), and this is the number given by R. Jehuda (Sanh. 1, 6). The difference of one will depend on whether or not the president is included in the total. There is evidence in the Greek sources for the existence of local courts, but not, as is assumed in the Mishna (Sanh. 1, 4), courts of sufficient authority to undertake the trial of capital cases. Provincial Sanhedrins seem to be referred to in Mk. xiii 9 ( = Mt. x 17), where believers are spoken of as being delivered Ei~ cruvEBpta; cf. Josephus Bell. 11 xiv 1, 214
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where Albinus 'tO~ E7tt A.no'tEic;t OEOEJ.l.Evoul;; u7to 'tfj<; 1tap' E!cacr'tot<; l3ouA.fjc; il 'trov 7tpo't£pcov £m'tp6mov cl7tEA.1npou 'tot<; cruyyEvem. From Ant. IV viii 14, 38 it appears that these local courts consisted of seven persons, a number for which Josephus even claims Mosaic command; and when (Bell. 11 xx 5) he tried to introduce what was apparently a model Jewish constitution into Galilee, he set up courts of seven judges in each town. But they had jurisdiction only over lesser crimes, 'ta JlEi~ro npaYJla'ta Kat 'ta<; VtKa<; oiKa<; concerned the court of seventy. Nowhere outside of the Mishna do we find the mention of any court consisting of twenty-three members, the number required for the Lesser Sanhedrin. Yet it is difficult to imagine that this number had not some basis in actual practice, considering the Mishna's heroic effort to find scriptural sanction for it (Sanh. 1, 6). Perhaps it was the number necessary to form a quorum of the 'court of the one and seventy' (cf. Sanh. 5, 7; Tos. Sanh. 7, 1). The same explanation may also underlie the number, three, competent to judge non-capital cases (Sanh. 1, 1-3), as opposed to Josephus's court of seven. (Cf. Sanh. 1, 2; where the number three, when required, can be raised to seven.) As to the qualifications for membership the tract tells us nothing definite: it only gives us the impression (Sanh. 4, 3; 5, 4) that the position was the reward of rabbinical learning. The later strata are, as usual, more explicit. Cf. Sanh. 17 b, 88a, Sifre on Num. xi 6. The would-be candidate must be humble, learned, popular, strong, courageous, of tall stature, of dignified bearing, of advanced age, acquainted with foreign tongues, and initiated into the mysteries of magic. The Greek sources are likewise silent as to the mode of election and the tenure of office. As for the latter point, it can be safely argued, from the non-democratic nature of the Sanhedrin, that a seat would be held for a lengthy period, if not, for life; also, from its normal lack of independence, that new members were probably appointed by the supreme authoritythe reigning native ruler, or the Roman governor. The Mishna tells us nothing of different parties, priests, Sadducees and Pharisees, who made up the council. (The rules laid down in Sanh. 1, 3, as to the need of a priest in deciding certain matters, are self-evidently theoretical only, and even so are concerned merely with non-capital cases.) But the evidence provided by Josephus and the New Testament is plentiful. Thus we find sitting in the Sanhedrin clPX.tEPEt<;, Yp<XJlJla'tEt<; Kat 7tpE~U'tEpot (Mt. xxviii 41; Mk. xi 27; xiv 43, 53; xv 1; cf. Mt. ii 4; xx 18; xxi 13); and UpX,OV'tE<;, 7tpE~U'tEpot Kat 'Yp<XJlJla'tEt<; (Acts iv 5, 8), where apx.ov'tE<; is synonymous with c'xpX,lEpEt<; (cf. Acts iv 23). Josephus speaks of Ot 'tE apX,lEpEt<; Kat OUVa'tOt 'tO 'tE yvroplJlcO'ta'tOV 'tfj<; 7t0AE<; 'tE apX,lEpEt<; O"UV 'tOt<; yvroptJlO\<; (Bell. 11 xvii 3), oi ouva'tOt 'tOt<; apx.tEpEU
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
collocation of 'chief priests' and 'scribes', not to mention such an outstanding instance as Acts xxiii 6. On the procedure of the court there is no lack of detail in the tract (cf. Sanh. chs. iii-v), but unfortunately it is just here that our non-rabbinical authorities fail us. It might be imagined, on the other hand, that the New Testament trials, and especially the trial of our Lord, would afford us ample material for comparison, but as has been already shewn they are but a very uncertain criterion. We have no external authority which can act as a means of checking the contents of the latter part of the tract-the four death penalties and those who are subject to them. In the pericope adulterae, Jn. viii 5, the Pharisees say that according to the law of Moses the woman is to be 'stoned', whereas according to Sanh. 11, 1 she is to be 'strangled'-unless ta~ totai>ta~ is arbitrarily taken to mean 'betrothed virgins'. Then, as laid down in Sanh. 7, 5, 'stoning' would apply. Stephen's case does not afford us any help, for there, it would seem, the crowd took the law into their own hands. A few slight parallels can be culled from Philo and Josephus, but these only touch on the most immaterial points. Cf. Philo De Humanitate 14 with Sanh. 11, 2 ('kidnapping'); De Specialibus Legibus 2 (p. 211, ed. Wendland) with Sanh. 8, 9 ('the burglar'); Ill 19 (p. 180) with Sanh. 9, 3 ('delayed death') agreeing with R. Nehemia, not with Mishna; p. 190 with Sanh. 1, 4 ('owner of goring ox'); Josephus Ant. IV viii 17 with Sanh. 2, 5 f ('king and Sanhedrin'); IV viii 21 with Makk 3, 10 ('forty stripes save one'; according to Josephus it is the punishment inflicted on those who refuse to allow the poor and strangers to glean). But though such external means are so unsatisfactory for our purpose, the internal evidence which the Mishna provides is of a nature which can give us but little confidence in the laws as a practical working code governing the life of the nation before or after the fall of Jerusalem. We find great attention given to the theoretical working out of Pentateuchal enactments, which for long must have been obsolete (if indeed they ever were practicable), side by side with a quantity of misapplied erudition having as its object the finding of scriptural sanction for usage not obviously ordained by Scripture. It is worth while examining the method by which the Rabbis attached a definite punishment to a particular crime where Scripture itself is silent as to what means of death is to be adopted. Eighteen offences (Sanh. 7, 5) are punishable by stoning:(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)
Blasphemy, Lev. xxiv 16. Idolatry, Dt. xvii 2-7. Sabbath-breaking, Nu. xv 32-36. Seduction of betrothed virgin, Dt. xxii 23-24. Rebellious son, 'Dt. xxi 18-21. 216
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(6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18)
The Ba'al 'Ob. Lev. xx 27. The Yidd'oni, Lev. xx 27. Enticing to idolatry, Dt. xiii 7-12. Offering children to Moloch, Lev. xx 1. Bestiality by a man, Lev. xx 15. Bestiality by a woman, Lev. xx 16. Connexion with daughter-in-Jaw, Lev. xx 12. Connexion with mother, Lev. xx 11. Connexion with step-mother, Lev. xx 11. Cursing parents, Lev. x 9. Witchcraft, Ex. xxii 17. Enticing to communal apostasy, Dt. xiii 1-6. Pederasty, Lev. xx 13.
Against the first nine of these the Pentateuch issues the direct sentence that they should be stoned. But since in (6) and (7) there is added to this direct sentence the expression C.l Di"l'D,, it follows, according to the rabbinic law of gezera shawa, that wherever the same expression is attached to the mention of any other crime stoning must be applicable there also. Therefore (11), (12), (13), (14), (15), and (16) are punishable in this way. In the case of (11), besides this same expression 'their blood is upon them', the verb l"'\o, is used; therefore in (10) the use there of this same verb, 'he slew', implies that stoning is applicable to that case too. In (8) the verb ,,i"l is used of a crime for which stoning is prescribed; therefore since the same root is used again in describing (17) stoning there must be the penalty. Yet again, since the sentence against the witch (16) is i"l'M 'she shall not live' she likewise must be stoned, because we find in Ex. xix 13, i"l'M' M~ 'he shall not live', used side by side with the root ~pc 'he stoned'. As for the sentence of 'burning with fire', we find it issued directly against the priest's daughter (Lev. xxi 9), and the case given in Lev. xx 14. And since this latter crime is further specified as i"lor 'lewdness', it follows that all crimes which are so described must also be punished in the same way as Lev. xx 14. Cf. Lev. xviii 10, xviii 17. 'Decapitation' is regarded as the penalty attaching to all those who are guilty of communal apostasy; cf. Dt. xiii 13-16, 'Thou shalt smite the inhabitants of that city with the edge of the sword.' The only others who are to be so punished are 'murderers'. They are mentioned in Ex. xxi 12 and Lev. xxiv 17. But there we are not told of the means of death. Yet in the passage in Ex. xxi 20, also relating to murder, it is said DP" DPl; and in Lev. xvi 25 we find the expression MCPl .l.,; therefore it follows that the act signified by the verb Cj)l 'be avenged' must be carried out by means of the 'sword'! 'Strangulation' is not mentioned in the Pentateuch, but in the rabbinic code it is applied to those criminals for whom death is decreed without
M'
217
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
specifying the mode of death. In regard to these it is argued (Sanh. 52b, 53a) that since the Law must not be construed with severity the most
lenient form of death, i.e. strangulation, must be applied. Another line of argument is: Sometimes 'death at the hands of Heaven' is ordained (Gen. xxxviii 7, 10; Lev. x 7, 9); and as death from Heaven leaves no visible marks, so must the death inflicted by the tribunal leave no mark. And such is only possible by death from strangulation. 24 The post-mortem 'hanging' of the blasphemer and the idolater (Sanh. 6, 7 f) is self-evidently a rabbinic fiction to fulfil the letter of the law given in Dt. xxi 22. Stress should be laid on the fact that since the first decade of the first century the Jews had lost the right of carrying out the death sentence; and even if the Romans recognized the validity of the Jewish capital laws (Jn. xix 7) they always, so far as our evidence takes us, carried out at least the punishment in accordance with their own rules. Therefore the Mishna tract, throughout most of its pages, is discussing modes of capital punishment which had been in complete disuse for two centuries past. It is exceedingly doubtful how far their tradition can be trusted in bridging this gap. What makes the abstract character of Mishnaic jurisprudence still more clear is the incessant opposition of opinion expressed in the name of some one or other demurring teacher. This is sufficiently conspicuous in the Mishna alone. If the contents of the Tosefta and numerous Baraithas are taken into account the differences will be still more striking and numerous. Nor can we overlook the fact that these opposing opinions are not concerned with what was thought to have been the ancient usage; they differ in what they imagine to have been the custom because of the conclusions they, personally, find themselves able to draw from some biblical text. Instances of this can be found on almost every page of the Mishna. Ancient precedents counted for little or nothing (cf. Sanh., 6, 8; 7, 2); they could easily be set aside on the ground of some rabbinic scruple, or passed by as invalid owing to the ignorance of former times. It passes belief that a penal code with any claim to actual utility can ever have been drawn upon such a basis of literary criticism and interpretation. We have the rabbinic principles of hermeneutics and logical discussion-so obviously the laborious product of students with more love for the minutiae of vocabulary than recognition of practical needs or even of prosaic possibility-applied to a code whose provisions had in mind the requirements of the nation as it existed long ago, some six or eight hundred years past; and the result of this effort is offered, at the end of the second Christian century, as a manual of Jewish legal administration as it was any time from the return from Babylon to the fall of Jerusalem. Though not constituting a fair argument against the historicity of the Mishna's contents, there is another feature which must, to say the least, 218
THE RABBINICAL CRIMINAL CODE
have coloured the whole presentation of its subject. One of the rabbinic canons of truth seems to have been that their code must 'shew mercy in judgment' to the highest degree. This middath r'hamim 'quality of mercy' is carried to lengths which it is difficult to believe can ever have been possible in practice. We certainly find no example of its working in what we know of Jewish criminology from non-rabbinic sources. But according to the Mishna the judicial body was imagined as best fulfilling its functions when it sought to act as 'counsel for the defence'. If there seemed to be no extenuating circumstances in the prisoner's favour, the judges were to do their utmost to find some. The whole scheme of judicial procedure is characterized by the same attitude. The verdict of acquittal can be reached quickly, but that of conviction only as a result of the most leisurely deliberation. The prisoner must be robbed of no chance which might in any way tell to his advantage. The excessive mercifulness of the rabbinic ideal finds its strongest expression in Makkoth l, 10: 'The Sanhedrin which condemns to death one man in seven years is accounted murderous. According to R. Eleazar ben Azariah it would be a murderous court even if it condemned one man in seventy years. R. Tarphon and R. Akiba assert that if they had been in the Sanhedrin no man would ever have been condemned to death by it.' Rabban Shimeon ben Gamaliel may well have replied: 'Then they would simply have multiplied bloodshed in Israel.' Enough has been said to shew the marked disparity between our two sets of sources, a disparity so marked, indeed, as to leave but little room for doubt concerning the unhistorical nature of most of the Mishna's picture. An able and ingenious defence of the latter's presentation has been urged by Biichler (Das Synhedrium in Jerusalem, Vienna 1902), who, while admitting the truth of the Josephus and New Testament versions, and the gulf which lies between their account and that of the Mishna, explains the problem by the simple theory that they describe two distinctly different courts; according to his hypothesis there were two Sanhedrins, each having its own separate history, constitution, and authority. The one which we find in Josephus and the New Testament was a political body, possessed of civil jurisdiction; while the other, the 'Great Beth Din' of the Mishna and Talmud, was concerned exclusively with religious matters. The former necessarily came to an end with the Jewish state, while the latter was enabled to continue its existence unbroken throughout the whole of the nation's vicissitudes. Neither Josephus nor the Gospels speak of their Sanhedrin as passing decrees dealing with the priests, the Temple service, ritualistic purity, or anything touching on matters of a purely religious nature; they ascribe to it cases dealing only with ordinary judicial processes, penal sentences, and matters of definitely political interest. With these, Biichler holds (p. 36), the Sanhedrin of the Talmud never concerns itself. While the former was the supreme court, the highest political 219
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
authority, alone empowered to deal with criminal cases, and to inflict the sentence of capital punishment, the latter was the highest court dealing with the religious law, and the body entrusted with the religious instruction of the people. However much this dual government would explain, there is a conspicuous lack of evidence for proving its existence. Neither in the Gospels nor in Josephus is there any suggestion, much less proof, of such a state of things; while in the Talmud, the hints, even if they can be described as hints, are of the slenderest value. Granted a purely religious Sanhedrin, the total lack of any reference to it in the Gospels is inexplicable. Also Josephus, in his survey of the Jewish constitution (Ant. IV viii), must surely have made some definite allusion to it. Biichler (pp. 36 f) quotes two passages from Josephus as proving his point, Bell. 11 xvii 2-4, Ant. XX ix 6, but they are scarcely such as to carry conviction. Equally unconvincing is the supposed proof derived from the rabbinic literature (Yer. Sanh. 19c) that the 'mention of "Sanhedrin" without the epithet "great" presupposes another body than the Great Sanhedrin that met in the Hall of Hewn Stone' (I.E. vol. xi p. 42a). This dual system, a sort of 'House of Convocation' side by side with a national parliament, each working independently of the other, seems especially out of place in the Jewish constitution. The Jews' outstanding claim to national distinction was the theocratic nature of their government, in which civil and religious matters were everywhere interpenetrating, and for all practical purposes identical. Finally, this hypothesis lands us into the contradictory state of things in which we find essentially civil affairs presided over by a priest, while it is a layman who takes the lead in religious disputes! The obvious explanation of the differences between the Hebrew and Greek sources must surely be the true one. The Mishna fails to agree with the earlier accounts of the Sanhedrin because the historical Sanhedrin had ceased to exist, and the Sanhedrin which it did know, on which it based its description, was a purely academic institution, having purely academic powers and purely academic interests. It had no national territory to govern, only a national literature to expound. It was almost inevitable that R. Jehuda ha-Nasi and his brother rabbis should, in drawing up an account of the Jewish Sanhedrin, regard it as a glorified, all-powerful reproduction of the tribunal as it was known to them. The three or four generations which had passed by, while providing the substance for the Mishnaic tradition, served as a solvent modifying in a most marked way the historical facts of more than a century ago. The Jews have always idealized their past history and institutions, and naturally in an account of their judicial court would make it embody all of what to them was highest and best in legal theory and practice. That which had a genuine basis of fact, and that which, in their pursuit after the ideal, they 220
THE RABBINICAL CRIMINAL CODE
had evolved from a mixture of piety and artificial scriptural exegesis, would become inextricably mingled. What to them did not appear perfect was therefore not true. Excellent though such a method may be in the drawing up of a new code, it has its drawbacks as a historical process. It can only follow from all this that such a summary of our Lord's trial or examination before the Jews as 'The trial and condemnation from first to last violated every canon and principle of Jewish jurisprudence', or 'The whole trial before the Sanhedrin, therefore, being conducted contrary to Jewish law, was null and void' (Buss The Trial of Jesus, illustrated from Talmud and Roman Law, London 1906), must be subjected to considerable modification. The two premisses on which such a conclusion is based are by no means sound enough to bear the weight imposed on them. That our Lord was in the literal sense placed on His trial by the Jews is at least questionable; but that we have at our disposal authentic matter for testing the legality of the forms of that trial, if trial it was, is still more questionable. It is not a matter which admits of absolute proof, but the bulk of our evidence points to the probability that the Jewish authorities in Jerusalem were empowered to carry out no more than a preliminary investigation of the evidence against their prisoner, and a study of the Gospel narratives makes it doubtful whether they can justly be said to have overstepped this permission. Consequently, to measure the justice of these inconclusive proceedings by a code which is supposed to lay down rules and regulations for the conduct of a capital trial before an all-powerful Sanhedrin, is pointless. Furthermore, even if, in face of all the evidence to the contrary, we go so far as to admit the existence of a genuine trial by the Sanhedrin, a Sanhedrin possessed of full powers of uttering sentence of death, we have no criterion enabling us to check the validity of its methods. The compilation which has been habitually brought forward with this object is of such a nature that it is of little or no value as a picture of native law as practised during the period in question.
Notes 1 See bibliography in R. W. Husband The Prosecution of Jesus, 1916, pp. 283 ff. 2 A. T. Innes The Trial ofJesus, 1899, p. 93. 3 J. Salvador Histoire des Institutions de Moise et du Peuple hebreu (3rd ed.), 1862, i 383--393. 4 Aiyar and Richards The Trial ofJesus, 1915. 5 Cf. Salvador op. cit. p. 391: 'Un fait certain, c'est que le conseil se rassembla de nouveau dans la matinee du lendemain ou du surlehdemain, comme la jurisprudence l'exigeait, pour confirmer la sentence on l'annuler: elle fut confirmee.' 6 This same assertion is made in every study of the subject, and seems to be copied each time without verification. There is no trace of such a prohibition in
221
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
7
8
9 10
11
12
13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20
the Mishna or Tosefta. It is first put forward as a principle of rabbinical jurisprudence in the commentary of Maimonides, followed by Bartenora and Cocceius (all of whom were made accessible to Christian students for the first time in Surenhusius's Latin translation of the Mishna, Amsterdam, 1698) on Mish. Sanh. 6, 2: 'Lex nostra neminem condemnat mortis propria ipsius confessione.' Salvador (p. 373) quotes this as a final authority-'Le principe des docteurs sur ce point est pn!cis'-and since his time every writer on the Trial has brought this 'rule' forward, and made great play with it as a standing indictment against the conduct of the High-priest in demanding what might be a confession of guilt from the Accused. Innes op. cit. pp. 58 f. It is now generally accepted that they could not. The arguments hitherto brought to bear on the question have not been altogether conclusive: by use of the same evidence diametrically opposite conclusions have been reached. See Stephen Liberty The Political Relations of our Lord's Ministry, Oxford 1916, pp. 141-157. See Mommsen Provinces of the Roman Empire, London 1886, ii 187-188. It is in itself conclusive evidence as to the Jews' rights to pass judgement on lesser offences, but not in more serious, capital cases. Pilate had asked {A.~'t£ ai>'tov i>J,L£1~ K'tA..) why it was not within their power to judge Him themselves 'We cannot', they answered, 'because the charge against Him is a capital charge, involving His death if He be found guilty.' Pilate's immediately subsequent interrogation shews what was the charge they preferred against Him. Pilate, however, does not then say that they should themselves find Him guilty of this, but himself, to all appearances, starts the trial de novo on this charge, without accepting the verdict of the Jewish authorities--which he presumably would have done on the accepted hypothesis that it was for the ecclesiastical authorities to pass sentence and the civil arm to carry it out. For the points here summarized, see Corp. Inscr. Graec. 5089; Aegyp. Urkunden aus den K. Museen zu Berlin, Griechische Urkunden 1, 5; 1, 168; 2, 17, 256, 33; 2, 58 a; 3, 871, 10; Oxyrhynchus Papyri 237, v 7; 486 37; Greek Papyri in the British Museum ii p. 172; Mitteis-Wilcken Grundzuge und Chrestomathie der Papyruskunde ii n. 93. A more detailed discussion is to be found in R. W. Husband The Prosecution ofJesus, Princeton 1916. The wording of the interpolation in Josephus (Ant. XVIII iii 3) favours this limited view of the Jewish power: ... Kat aiJ'tOV EvOet~Et 'tcOV xpcO't(J)V llVOpcOV Jtap' ilJ.t.1v o'taupii) £m'tE'tlJ.lTJKO't~ TitA.a'tot> ... A. H. McNeile Gospel of St Matthew p. 397. E. Wendling Urmarcus, Tiibingen 1905. See Hawkins Oxford Studies in the Synoptic Problem p. 84 f. See W. M. Ramsay The Bearing of Recent Discovery on the Trustworthiness of the New Testament, 1915,passim, especially chs. 18 ff. See B. H. Streeter Oxford Studies in the Synoptic Problem pp. 229 ff, and A. W. Verrall J. T. S. vol. x pp. 321 ff. Les Evangiles synoptiques ii 610; Goguel Juifs et Romains dans l'histoire de la Passion ('Revue de l'Histoire des Religions' lxii pp. 165-182, 295-322) would even insist that in the primitive tradition the arrest also was carried out entirely on the initiative of the Romans, and that the Jews had no part whatever at any stage of the prosecution. See also the same writer's Les Sources du Recit Johannique de la Passion, Paris 1910. See M. Mielziner Introduction to the Talmud, New York 1903, p. 5. See H. Danby Tractate Sanhedrin, Mishnah and Tosefta, London 1919.
222
THE RABBINICAL CRIMINAL CODE 21 See Schiirer History of the Jewish People II i 163 ff; Bacher on 'Sanhedrin' in Hastings's Dictionary of the Bible. 22 See Taanith 23 a. 23 Ant. XX ix 1 nv£c; o' aU'tOOV Kai 'tOV 'A~'ivov imavna~ouow Kai OtOcXCJKOUOW, OOc; OUK E~OV Tlv , Avavcp xc:opic; 'tile; EKEivou 'YVcOj.lTJc; Kaeicrat cruv£optov. See also Ant. XX ix 6. 24 See Art. 'Capital Punishment', Jewish Encyclopedia vol. iii.
223
54
THE TRIAL OF CHRIST IN THE SYNOPTIC GOSPELS A. N. Sherwin-White Source: Roman Society and Roman Law in the New Testament (The Sarum Lectures 1960--1961; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1963), pp. 24-47.
Before discussing the great controversy about the nature of the investigation before the Sanhedrin, and its bearing on the precise charges against Christ, the evidence should be considered in the light of the Roman criminal procedure extra ordinem. In the account of the trial of Christ before Pilate two of the three synoptic gospels, Mark and Matthew, are decidedly more synoptic than the third, Luke. But this applies more to the phases of the story before the hearing at the tribunal of Pilate than to the account of the latter. In the hearing before Pilate the synoptic narrative fits the Roman framework remarkably well, considering that it was written with an entirely different purpose in mind. The trial is pro tribuna/i, the actual bema of Pilate being mentioned in Matthew. 1 Accusations are duly made by delatores, the chief-priests and the elders of the people acting as such. 2 The account of this is generalized. In practice there must have been not more than two or three spokesmen. The charge is clearly indicated, not as a charge against a particular Roman law, but as a charge of particular undesirable actions on which Pilate is asked to adjudicate. Mark and Matthew merely hint at the nature of the charge by giving Pilate the question: 'Are you a king of the Jews?' That this means 'a leader of the resistance' is shown by a parallel from Josephus, who in his anti-resistance fashion remarks of the troubles after the death of Herod: 'as the several companies of the seditious lighted upon anyone to head them, he was created a king immediately, in order to do mischief to the public'. 3 Luke is explicit: 'we found this fellow disturbing our people, telling them not to pay tribute to Caesar, and calling himself a king'. 4 This fits very well the workings of cognitio. The accusers allege facts, and the judge decides what to make of them. Since there was no defence, Pilate had no option but to convict. That was the essence of the system.
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THE TRIAL OF CHRIST IN THE SYNOPTIC GOSPELS
The story of the reluctance, or at least the surprise, of Pilate, however much it may have been worked up for the propaganda purposes of the authors, is not without Julio-Claudian analogies. The Roman criminal courts were more familiar with the absentee accuser than with the defendant who would not defend himself. A series of ordinances beginning with a well-known decree of the Senate inspired by the emperor Claudius sought to protect defendants against defaulting accusers who left their victims, as Claudius complained, pendentes in a/bo, swinging idle on the court lists.5 But a better comparison comes from the procedure in the early martyr trials, first testified, but not first employed, seventy years later. Those who did not defend themselves were given three opportunities of changing their minds before sentence was finally given against them. lbis was an early technique already established as the regular thing before Pliny's investigations in c. A.D. 110, his letter about the Christians being the earliest evidence for it. The triple citation appears also as a usage of the second century in dealing with absentee accused persons. The method had been established before Pliny suggested, for the first time, that there was any reason to be tender towards the accused Christians. 6 That means that this was a device invented for the protection of the reus, the defendant, as such, because Roman judges disliked sentencing an undefended man as much as an inadequately accused man. The remark of Festus in Acts, of which the justice should be apparent after Lecture One, is in the same spirit: 'It is not the custom of the Romans to make away with a man until the accused has had his accusers face to face, and has had an opportunity of defending himself against the charge.'7 In Mark and Matthew the question is twice put to Christ by Pilate, in Luke once only to Christ, and thrice, instead, to the importunate prosecutors. 8 One may here leave aside the worked-up sections concerning the release of Barabbas, and other material, such as the story of Pilate's wife in Matthew, and the sending of Christ to Herod in Luke, none of which is part of the cognitio proper. There follows the decision itself. This is given in virtually identical terms in Matthew and Mark cl>payEA.-A.roaac; n:apt~cmcEv iva cr'taupro9fl, 'Pilate had Christ scourged and handed him over to be crucified'. Luke is rather less precise at this point: 'Pilate gave sentence that what they asked should be done ... and delivered Jesus up to their will.' Matthew and Mark are correct. 9 The trial by cognitio gives not merely a verdict but a condemnation to a particular punishment. Matthew and Mark give the substantial equivalent of the technical duci iussit of Latin texts. 10 The jurors of the Roman ordo gave a verdict of 'guilty' or 'not guilty', fecisse videtur, and the sentence prescribed by a statute law automatically followedY But the proconsul or procurator with imperium orders an execution. The authors are correct also in the minor point of the beating. The jurists recognize a gradation of beatings: fustes, flagel/a, verbera. The severer beating was never a punishment in itself but
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JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
was associated with other punishmentsY The lightest form, fustigatio, is frequently associated with a magisterial warning, when the governor reckons that the situation did not require a formal cognitio. Thus in the case of fires caused by negligence, the Praefectus Vigi/um at Rome might give the negligent party a severe warning with a beating or the threat of a beating by fustesY This was technically an act of coercitio pure and simple. The same was done by provincial governors when dealing with the ancient equivalent of juvenile gangs. 14 Luke has this technique in mind when he represents Pilate as saying: 'You have brought this man to me as disturbing the people. But he has done nothing deserving the death penalty. So I will give him a warning and let him go', 1tat~E"ixr~ ouv ai>"tov c'xxol.:ixrro. 15 This is close to Callistratus' remark on those who stir up turbulentas acclamationes popularium. Of these Callistratus says: 'si amplius nil admiserint nee ante sint a praeside admoniti, fustibus caesi dimittuntur.' In Luke the term xatl>E"ixrac; is ambiguous, like the English 'give him a lesson'. Though commonly translated 'after a beating' it need mean no more than cum admonuerim. 16 But the cautionary beating is likely enough, as in the similar cases of St. Paul at Philippi and at Jerusalem when first arrested by the military tribuneP The synoptic writers thus get their technicalities right in this small matter-the severe beating accompanies the capital sentence, and the lighter whipping goes with the proposed act of coercitio. 18 Something must be said about the incident in Luke of the dispatch of Christ to Herod, as the ruler of Galilee. Pilate did this 'because Christ came from the region of Herod's power', in the words of Luke. There is a similar incident in Acts when the procurator Felix asked Paul from what province he came. 19 Neither Pilate nor Felix nor Gallio in Achaea hesitated to deal with a defendant whose place of origin was outside their own province when the man was charged with a crime inside their province. Why then the question? A rather fine point of Roman criminal law is involved. The answer given by Mommsen was that strictly a man was supposed to be tried by the governor of the province of his pern1anent home, wherever the offence was committed, and that this was the custom of the earlier Principate. Later, according to Mommsen, this usage was changed for practical reasons by a series of ordinances to allow trial in the province where the crime was committed; forum delicti replaces forum domicilii, as the lawyers say. 20 Mommsen was rather unhappy about this notion of forum domicilii, which does not fit the nature of coercitio and cognitio extra ordinem. One does not expect a governor of the late Republic and early Principate, when faced by a malefactor, to bother about the very fine question whether his imperium allowed him to deal with a man who was in but not of his province. But since certain legal texts seemed to indicate this doctrine, Mommsen put it forward with reservations. These texts were to a certain extent misinterpreted by Mommsen in his old age, when he wrote the Strafrecht. The basic passage is a text of Celsus 226
THE TRIAL OF CHRIST IN THE SYNOPTIC GOSPELS
belonging to the time of Trajan or Hadrian: 'non est dubium quin cuiuscumque est provinciae homo qui ex custodia producitur cognoscere debeat is qui ei provinciae praeest in qua agitur.' 21 That is clear enough, and should give the doctrine of the earlier Principate. Here agitur clearly either means 'where the man is active' as contrasted with cuiuscumque est provinciae or 'where the crime is being done'. One may compare a passage of Macer in which the term 'ubi factores agere dicuntur' means 'where the criminals are said to be living' .22 Celsus adds that some governors have the habit of sending such offenders back to their province of origin for trial after a preliminary investigation. And he concludes with the comment: 'quod ex causa faciendum est.' Assuming that none of this is affected by interpolations, it would seem that Mommsen has reversed the historical development. Forum delicti was the ordinary practice of the early Principate, but with the development of theory and bureaucratic notions the custom of forum domicilii began to arise. Another text, from Ulpian, also suggests that there was a good deal of argument in the later second century about questions of overlap in provincial jurisdiction. 23 Finally, the practical disadvantages of forum domicilii led to the assertion of a general rule in the empire of forum delicti. The texts cited by Mommsen support this order. They deal with examples of transferred jurisdiction as though they were unusual and exceptional. That is just what the last part of Celsus' above statement asserts. 'ex causa faciendum est' means that this should be done only for special reasons. Mommsen, to make the phrase fit his interpretation, wished to delete the words ex causa as a gloss or interpolation. A statement of Paulus makes sense at any period: 'praeses in suae provinciae homines tantum imperium habet et hoc dum in provincia est ... habet interdum imperium et adversus extraneos homines si quid manu comrniserint ... nee distinguuntur unde sint.' 24 The general principle of forum delicti is asserted by Papinian, and implied by Ulpian in a passage of his De officio proconsulis. 25 A passage of Macer-a third-century lawyer-refers to the extradition of offenders, of whatever origin, who have fled the province of their crime.26 So the general statements of jurists of the early third century assert the principle of forum delicti clearly enough. The idea of forum domicilii really belongs to the jurisdiction of the ordo, not to the realm of cognitio extra ordinem. The difficult cases in the evidence are connected with offences defined by leges publicae. For example, in an anecdote of Philostratus a man of Tyre is tried in Achaea on a charge of murder because he was an honorary citizen of Athens, though a Syrian by province. Evidently he might have claimed to be tried in Syria; in Roman law murder belonged to the ordo. 27 Eventually an enactment of Severus, in the Codex, dated A.D. 196, specifically asserts the principle of forum delicti both for cases under the ordo and for those extra ordinem. 28 This confirms the opinion of the jurists of the same period, cited earlier. 227
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
Returning now to the Scriptural examples, one observes that Pilate, Felix, and Gallio did not feel bound to refuse jurisdiction over extraneous defendants and to send them back to their provinces of origin for trial, as on Mommsen's view one would expect. But either they, or the narrator, were aware of the possibility, which was certainly establishing itself in some areas by the beginning of the second century. By the third century the suggestion could not have occurred to anyone who knew the system that then prevailed. The point of the question put to Paul, in mid-first century, was not to protect the rights of the accused, or those of another governor, but to enable the procurator or proconsul in question to avoid a tiresome affair altogether, if he felt inclined, either by expelling an accused person from a province to which he did not belong, or by a refusal of jurisdiction. As for Herod and Pilate, it is worth observing that Herod the Great, according to J osephus, had the abnormal privilege of extraditing offenders who had fled from his kingdom to other parts of the Roman empire. Possibly some remnant of this privilege underlay the sending of Christ to the second Herod: most of the activities of Christ had taken place in Galilee.29 So much for the procedural aspects of the synoptic accounts of the trial. It is noteworthy that though Luke at first reading gives the most intelligible account of the trial as a whole, and Mark the least, yet by no means all the advantages lie with Luke. On certain technical points, such as the reference to the tribunal and the formulation of the sentence, Mark and Matthew are superior. But Luke is remarkable in that his additional materials-the full formulation of the charges before Pilate, the reference to Herod, and the proposed acquittal with admonition-are all technically correct. So far, by confining discussion to the synoptic account, the most contentious issue concerning the trial of Christ has been avoided. This is the question of the charge. Lietzmann, in his well-known paper Der Prozej3 Jesu,'JJJ more cogently than any other scholar put the view that the only charge before Pilate was that of insurrection. Lietzmann, of course, rejected as unhistorical the version of John, in which the offence against the Jewish law is twice made the principal charge,31 Pilate is represented as finding Christ innocent of any political crime,32 and authorizes the Jews to execute the judgment of the Sanhedrin for the religious offence. John xviii. 31 is the crux: 'Pilate said, "Take him and judge him according to your law." The Jews replied, "We are not allowed to put any man to death".' This puts firmly what is only implicit in two of the three synoptic narratives, and absent from the third-the notion that the Sanhedrin, having condemned Christ for blasphemy, then sought the fiat of Pilate for the execution. In Mark and Matthew, whose narratives cohere very closely, there is no doubt that the Sanhedrin passes sentence for blasphemy: 'Ka'th:ptVav au'tov £voxov etvat 9ava'tov. Then, in Matthew, 'they take
228
THE TRIAL OF CHRIST IN THE SYNOPTIC GOSPELS
counsel to put him to death [9a.vcucooat], bound him and took him before Pilate'. 33 The Judas narrative is inserted at this point in Matthew, beginning with the significant words 'Judas, seeing that Jesus was condemned'.34 This interpretation is anticipated by Matthew in the prophetic passage set before the journey to Jerusalem: 'The son of man shall be handed over to the high priests and scribes, who will condemn him and hand him over to foreigners to scourge and crucify him. ' 35 This interpretation, according to Lietzmann, is lacking in Mark's account of the arrest and trial. Mark certainly gives no clear explanation of the connexion between the Sanhedrin session and the trial before Pilate. In the otherwise practically identical sentence-Mark xv. 1-linking the two scenes, Mark has the phrase crvllfX>ul..tov 1totf]O"av-rE<;, corresponding to Matthew's cr. £/..afX>v, but he omits the vital words cOO'tE 9a.va-rcooat. In Luke the whole business is worked out systematically. There is a plot to trick Christ into treasonable utterances, so as to hand him over to the 'government and the power of the governor'. 36 After the arrest there is a somewhat incoherent and allusive account of the session of the Sanhedrin, without a clear statement about a condemnation: merely 'What need have we of further witness? We have heard it from his own mouth'. 37 Then comes the transfer to the tribunal of Pilate on explicit charges of treason. Later, in the epilogue to Luke's Gospel, Cleophas says to the risen Christ, before the recognition: 'Our priests and rulers handed him over to judgement of death and crucified him.' 38 The solution of Lietzmann is simple-that Mark contains the kernel of historic fact which has been well elaborated in Luke, and that the narratives of Matthew and John tendentiously try by their account of the Sanhedrin trial to transfer the blame from the Roman governor to the Jews, for political reasons connected with the early mildness of the Roman government in the Apostolic age towards the Christians. Lietzmann seeks to clinch this by a formal argument. He poses a dilemma: either the Sanhedrin sentenced Christ and carried out the sentence in the Jewish fashion, by stoning, or Pilate sentenced Christ and carried out the sentence in Roman fashion, by crucifixion. Since all the evidence agrees that the execution was in Roman fashion by Romans, then the trial and condemnation by the Sanhedrin is a fabrication. He then presents an alternative proof. The Sanhedrin had the power of capital punishment, and had no need of a fiat from the procurator to carry out its execution. He puts rather less weight on this second argument, which is primarily aimed at the credit of Matthew and John, of whom the latter explicitly asserts that the Sanhedrin could put no man to death. Lietzmann's analysis of the differences between Mark and the others is somewhat weakened by an omission. He failed to observe that Mark, by including the anticipatory prophecy of the trial and death of Christ in the same terms as Matthew, followed exactly the same tradition as the trial
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story of Matthew: 'they shall condemn him to death and hand him over to foreigners and they shall scourge him and kill him, .. .' 39 It is also mildly unfortunate for Lietzmann that there is some doubt about the reading of x:a-rax:ptvo'lxnv au-rov 9<xva-rcp in the prophecy in Matt. xx. 19, where 9<xva-rcp has been bracketed, but there is no apparent doubt about the same words in the parallel passage in Mark. This seems to cast general doubt on the attempt to distinguish between the source value of the narratives in these two Gospels and to diminish the supposed superiority of Mark. But this is a question of techniques in source criticism, which is not our immediate concern. Lietzmann's formal argument has considerable logical force, but it seems to involve three false historical assumptions. The first two concern the powers of the Roman governor, and the third those of the Sanhedrin. A Roman historian could maintain, against Lietzmann, that if the Roman governor is asked to carry out an execution he will do it according to his own usage, and not according to that of the particular peregrini with whom he is dealing. This proposition is hardly susceptible of direct proof, because of the lack of parallel incidents. It simply lies in the nature of things, that is, the nature of cognitio. Pliny, for example, did not understand the charges against the Christians in Pontus, but he condemned them to a Roman execution without hesitation. If Pilate accepted a theological charge in his court, it would not occur to him to give sentence in non-Roman terms. Again, there is an assumption in Lietzmann's theory that two different kinds of charge could not be made against the defendant at the same time. This happens to be true of jurisdiction under the ordo. But the trial of Christ is a cognitio extra ordinem, where the judge is free to proceed as he likes. Multiple charges were common enough in the extraordinary jurisdiction of the capital in the Flavian period.40 But the third is the vital question. Did the Sanhedrin or did it not possess capital jurisdiction at this period? The starting-point is the statement in the trial narrative of John: 'We are not allowed to put any person to death.' On this point depends the historicity of the narrative of the Sanhedrin trial in Matthew, Mark, and John. Lietzmann, of course, wishes to eliminate the Sanhedrin trial altogether. Hence he makes much of the remarkable attempt of Juster, in his great book about the Jews in the Roman empire, to prove that the Sanhedrin possessed this powerY Indeed, the kernel of Lietzmann's main argument is derived from Juster. But the truth is, to speak generally, that all that the learned Juster did was to make out a case which would have some probability if it were the common practice of the Roman government to allow capital jurisdiction to local municipal or ethnic tribunals. When we find that the capital power was the most jealously guarded of all the attributes of government, not even entrusted to the principal assistants of the governors, and specifically withdrawn, in the instance of Cyrene, from the competence of local courts, 230
THE TRIAL OF CHRIST IN THE SYNOPTIC GOSPELS
it becomes very questionable indeed for the Sanhedrin.42 Significantly, in Cyrene the local courts were not municipally but provincially organized, and the rule was laid down that even in their limited jurisdiction a man should not be tried by judges from his own city. The only exceptions, in the Empire at large, to these limitations, were the highly privileged communities known as civitates liberae or 'free states', communes which for past services to the Roman State were made independent of the authority of Roman magistrates in local administration, and enjoyed unrestricted jurisdiction over their own citizens. 43 A contemporary example is the city of Rhodes, which was deprived of its technical freedom by the emperor Claudius for exceeding its powers in the treatment of Roman citizens. 44 Jerusalem was quite certainly not a 'free city', but very much the opposite. Public order was in the hands of a Roman military until stationed in the heart of the city. The general permission given to the Jews to follow their own customs, in a series of decrees and edicts from the time of Julius Caesar onwards, and the reaffirmation of this by Augustus and Claudius for the province of Judaea, is very far from proving that the Sanhedrin was allowed capital jurisdiction after the establishment of the Roman provincial regime. This is the loosest and the most audacious of the arguments of Juster. 45 Very strong evidence is necessary to prove so remarkable an cil.\kp\•u-n \\> ·ffie i;~;:m:;la\ ~u':-,\\>lt'l \>\ \'l.e tiii~ii't, ~";~~ -w~ \">d15J~ ~~~ upon the necessity of preventing anti-Roman groups from eliminating the leaders of the pro-Roman factions in the cities by judicial action. Traditionally, municipal libertas was a reward for loyalty to Rome. Turbulent Judaea is the very last place where we would expect any extraordinary concessions. Hence the evidence needs to be strong, where it is in fact weak. But one may expect to find some limited concession intended to lessen the difficulty of dealing with this very troublesome people. Juster gives a large part of his case away by the necessary admission that the procurator took the place of the kings. He has himself shown that Herod and his successors jealously kept the ordinary capital jurisdiction in their own hands. 46 The positive evidence cited by Juster to prove that the Romans allowed the Sanhedrin capital jurisdiction, including the power of execution, consists of the story of the execution of Stephen in Acts, and of James in Josephus' Antiquities, and the rule about pagan trespassers inside the precinct of the TempleY This last is very clearly a special case. A speech of Titus, Vespasian's son, in Josephus, confirmed in part by a well-known inscription, proves that the Sanhedrin was allowed to execute violators of the Temple including, remarkably, Roman citizens.48 But if the Sanhedrin had the general right to execute offenders against the religious law, this special concession would not have been necessary. At best it proves nothing about its ordinary jurisdiction over Jews, because the concession 231
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
concerns police powers over 'gentiles', not over Jews. The remarkable clause about Roman citizens is known only from the somewhat rhetorical passage in Josephus-a speech of Titus, not part of the factual narrative. Josephus is quite capable of suppressing any limiting conditions in the matter. The purpose of the concession, as Mommsen noted, was to prevent unfortunate behaviour by the 'drunken soldiery' from precipitating a riot in the tender heart of Jewry.49 There is no evidence here for a general capital jurisdiction of the Sanhedrin. The story of the execution of James in Josephus, as the text stands, explicitly disproves the thesis of Juster. It is represented as an action of the extremist element in the Sanhedrin, and as being ultra vires, undertaken in the interval between the retirement of the procurator Festus and the arrival of his successor Albinus. The moderate faction report the conduct of the High Priest to Albinus, and shortly after he is deposed. Accordingly, it becomes necessary for Juster to amend this troublesome text,50 which is one of those sections of Josephus suspected of interpolation because they mention the name of 'Jesus who is called Christ'. Juster is at remarkable pains to retain just so much of the story as proves his case, while omitting the phrases and sentences which suggest that the execution was illegal without the fiat of the procurator. It is amusing to see the sceptical Juster commending the Christian Origen and Hegesippus, who have different versions of the story, as sources superior to Josephus. Juster mocks at the notion that there was no one to represent the governor during an interregnum. But the hard core of the story is just what we would expect in the Jewish situation and from the workings of imperium. 'The capital jurisdiction was precisely what the governor could not delegate, least of all when he had left his province. 51 In a later age rules were designed to prevent the existence of interregnal periods. Governors were not supposed to leave their provinces until the arrival of their successors. 52 Ulpian comments in his day: 'utilitas provinciae exigit esse aliquem per quem negotia sua provinciales explicent.' One may recall here the long and successful disobedience--contumacia -of the Sardinian landholders recounted in the edict of the proconsul Helvius Agrippa. 53 Provincials could maintain a good many irregularities if they were determined. The efficacy of the Roman provincial control is apt to be over-estimated by those not closely in touch with the sources. This consideration leads on to the case of Stephen, which Juster is compelled to use, rather reluctantly, because he likes to make fun of the supposed accuracy of Acts. The story is there told as of a trial and an execution.54 There is no formal sentence, and the actual wording has been widely interpreted as a lynching: 'They rushed upon him in a general impulse, drove him out of the city and stoned him.' It is perhaps fair to admit that this impression may be due to the bias of the source. It is possible that the Sanhedrin, which before the Herodian period had been the sovereign court of Judaea,
232
THE TRIAL OF CHRIST IN THE SYNOPTIC GOSPELS
tried to exercise its full power whenever there was a chance of doing so unchecked. 55 The activities of Paul after the death of Stephen, not noticed by Juster, are an example.56 This evidence should be considered with the story of the arrest and examination of John and Peter by the Sanhedrin, given in two versions in Acts. 57 The basic elements common to both the narratives are: (1) the arrest of the apostles in the Temple area where they had been preaching,58 (2) threats of severe punishment or death,59 (3) examination by the Sanhedrin, (4) dismissal of the accused after either a warning or a beating.60 This suggests either that the Sanhedrin lacked the executive power of severe punishment, or, more probably, that it possessed the power in a restricted form for offences within the Temple precinct. That the Sanhedrin had powers of jurisdiction as the supreme court of Jewish law, short of the death penalty, is not in dispute. That is all that the Hebraic evidence, of which Juster makes much, seems to prove. There is a vague and indirect claim in an allusive Talmudic text, of apparently the fourth century, that the capital jurisdiction of the Sanhedrin survived until the year 70. Even Juster does not put great weight on this text, which naturally is not drafted from the Roman juridical point of view, and is quite in accord with the situation suggested by John. 61 Juster makes more of a text of the Mishna, derived from Rabbi Eleazer ben Zadeh, who lived, it seems, in the early second century.62 Eleazer quoted the case of the daughter of a priest condemned for adultery and executed by burning after trial before a Jewish tribunal. Juster supposes this case to have occurred before the destruction of Jerusalem in 70. The Mishna evidence should be considered with that of the curious passage from Origen's Letter to Africanus, first noted by Mommsen and later utilized by Juster. 63 Origen describes the power enjoyed by the Jewish patriarch in his own day, which made him, by imperial concession, CJ'I>'YXCOflOUV't~ 'tou txxmA.Eroc;, a virtual king of the Jewish folk. He continues: 'There even take place trials according to the law of Moses, secretly [or 'quietly', A.d:rt86Troc;] and men are condemned to death, neither entirely openly, nor yet without the knowledge of the emperor.' Juster exalted this into a proof a fortiori of unfettered jurisdiction before 70. But he paid no attention to the qualification A.£A.rt86'troc;. Mommsen saw that this suggests a situation, which is equally possible for the pre-70 period, in which the municipal government took as much rope as it dared. The most likely solution is that the Sanhedrin was allowed in the procuratorial period a limited criminal jurisdiction, both for police purposes in the Temple area and for the maintenance of the Jewish law. The scriptural tradition, both in Acts and the Gospels, suggests that the Roman procurators objected to capital sentences for theological offences. But the fairly well-attested question of adultery is different. Juster oddly makes no use of the story in John of the stoning of the woman taken in adultery. 64 Even 233
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
if this story is not textually canonical it is historically good material.
Perhaps it is too ambivalent for Juster: no Sanhedrin is mentioned and the story suggests a lynching. Yet here is an offence of which the Roman public law itself had recently taken cognizance in the lex lulia de adulteriis, though not as a fully capital crime. This is the sort of local custom which might be ratified under the Roman system of toleration. But, as the evidence stands, the only certain exception to the general rule that the municipal authorities of the Empire were refused capital jurisdiction is that the Sanhedrin possessed certain powers of this sort in connexion with the maintenance of public order in the Temple area. Anything else should either belong to the jurisdiction of the procurator or require his sanction. If the Sanhedrin, under a strong high-priest, occasionally overstepped these limits, it was not unparalleled in other parts of the empire. One may recall the curious passage in Philostratus, as late as the time of Hadrian, where the sophist Polemon warns the city of Smyrna not to occupy itself with charges such as murder, sacrilege, and adultery, because these require a Sucacnit<; 1;1.~ £xcov, a judge with a sword, and only the proconsul had that. 65 Josephus, describing Jewish customs in his contra Apionem, implies that capital penalties were in common use for sexual offences in his own day. Possibly the civic lynching was the traditional method of execution, and remained in use not only in the considerable territories of the tetrarchies, but was tolerated or surreptitiously practised in those areas of the province not under the immediate eye of the procurator. Apuleius, in the Golden Ass, could represent his characters as in danger of death from a civic tribunal. 66 But a casual reference in Josephus shows that though the local city councils and sanhedrins could arrest and punish robbers and brigands with imprisonment, execution for these offences depended on the procurator.67 Perhaps one of Juster's more sweeping arguments needs a word of correction. He holds that Augustus must have restored the full power of the Sanhedrin because Josephus speaks of the first, or 'good', procurators as not disturbing the customs of the Jews, whereas most of our infom1ation concerns the 'bad' procurators, who behaved illegally or tyranically. Hence when they are found taking over the function of the Sanhedrin it does not count as evidence of the norm. This is an absurd distinction, ignoring the fundamental nature of imperium, which justified the actions of 'good' and 'bad' governors alike. 68 There is also a crushing argument against the notion of Augustus restoring what Herod had taken away, in the experience of the city of Alexandria in Egypt and its town council; it had lost this under the Ptolemies, and nothing would induce Augustus and his successors to restore it.69 The specific problem of the Sanhedrin and the trial of Christ can now be faced. Lietzmann and his followers sought to reject the trial before the 234
THE TRIAL OF CHRIST IN THE SYNOPTIC GOSPELS
Sanhedrin as unhistorical on the ground that, in the shape which it takes in Matthew, Mark, and John, it is based on the false assumption that the Sanhedrin lacked the capital jurisdiction. The sentence of the Sanhedrin can only be carried out by the procurator, but the procurator executes a different sentence. If Juster's attempted proof of the Sanhedrin's capital powers is not sound, then the story of the Sanhedrin trial requires fresh consideration. There is one detail on which Lietzmann pours a good deal of scorn, which can be shown instead to be the best proof of the soundness of the tradition. This is the description of the trial taking place during the night and of Christ being sent to Pilate 'early in the morning'. It is one of the weaknesses in Lietzmann 's paper that, while seeking to demonstrate the superiority of the Marcan narrative, he yet has to prefer Luke's version of the meeting of the Sanhedrin and the reference to Pilate. In Luke Christ is arrested when it is night, and the Sanhedrin meets 'when it was day': the first investigation then takes place, and necessarily a good deal later they take Christ before Pilate. 70 But in Mark and Matthew the night is occupied by the interrogation before the Sanhedrin, and Christ is taken before Pilate as soon as it is morning, Eu&U<; 1tprol. or 1tprol.a<; yEVOIJ.EVTJ<;, when the Sanhedrin has made its decision.71 It may be noted in passing that the phrase which Matthew and Mark use at this point-in slightly different forms, O"UIJ.~oul..tov £1..a~ov cOO'tE 9ava'troa<Xt and O"UIJ.Jk>'l>A.tov 1totilaav'tE<;---<:ertainly cannot mean 'held a council meeting' but must bear the same meaning of 'taking a decision' or 'forming a plot' that the phrase has elsewhere in the two Gospels. 72 This O"UIJ.Jk>UI..tov cannot be constituted into a second, matutinal, meeting of the Sanhedrin, which was the only historical meeting according to Lietzmann.73 On Luke's time-table the reference to Pilate cannot take place until several hours after dawn. One can tell, from our ample evidence about the arrangement of the upper-class Roman official's daily round, that the tactless Jews would have arrived, on this scheme, at a moment when Pilate was enjoying the elaborately organized leisure of a Roman gentleman. There is plenty of information about the Roman daily round. The emperor Vespasian was at his official duties even before the hour of dawn, and the elder Pliny, most industrious of Roman officials, had completed his working day, when Prefect of the Fleet, by the end of the fourth or fifth hour. 74 In Martial's account of daily life at the capital, where two hours are assigned to the protracted duty of salutatio, the period of labores ends when the sixth hour begins. Even a country gentleman at leisure begins his day at the second hour. 75 The detail of the time-table may seem trivial, but it is like the button that hangs the murderer. Mark and Matthew have the time-table right, where Luke is less probable. The Jews, because of the festival, were in a hurry. Hence there was every reason to hold the unusual night session if 235
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
they were to catch the Procurator at the right moment. The quite unessential detail of the fire, which is common to both Mark and Luke, in the story of Peter's denial, supports the Marcan version. 76 Why light a fire-an act of some extravagance-if everyone was sleeping through the night? By way of analogy-it is not an exact parallel-one may quote the younger Pliny's astonishment at his uncle's habit of studying at night, and the way he underlines it as an exceptional circumstance when a protracted session of the Senate was concluded by lamplight.77 Lietzmann, who makes much of the evidence of Peter and its limitations, cannot have things both ways. If this story is part of the basic tradition, from Peter's eye-witness, then there was a nocturnal session, and the historicity of the Sanhedrin trial is confirmed. The detail about the time-table is like that of the soldiers sharing out the clothing of Christ. Given the relevant prophecy from the Old Testament, there is every reason to assume that this is one of the evolved myths dear to the form-critics. But, as has been familiar since Mommsen, legal texts confirm that it was the accepted right of the executioner's squad to share out the minor possessions of their victim. The custom, which must derive ultimately from the custom of plunder on the field of battle, became the subject of a legal dispute on which the emperor Hadrian pronounced a solution.78 The objection that the Sanhedrin had no need to have recourse to Pilate for the execution of Christ has already been eliminated. The trial before the Sanhedrin and the condemnation for blasphemy regain historical probability. There is nothing in the Roman background to make the older solution improbable: that the Jewish leaders, finding or knowing that Pilate was unwilling to confirm an execution for a purely theological offence, added or substituted an alternative charge of sedition, which Pilate ultimately accepted as the basis of his sentence. But it is equally possible, in Roman usage, that when Pilate refused a verdict on the political charge, they fell back on the religious charge, which Pilate finally accepted under the sort of political pressure that is indicated in a convincing technicality by John. The telling phrase-'If you let this man go, you are not Caesar's friend'-recalls the frequent manipulation of the treason law for political ends in Roman public life, and uses a notable political term-Caesaris amicus-to enforce its point.79 It is not the purpose of this lecture to examine critically the difficulties involved in John's version of the trials of Christ. But after the survey of the legal and administrative background, it is apparent that there is no historical improbability in the Johannine variations of this sort from the synoptic version. The framework of the trial is not notably inferior to that of Luke. It begins with a fom1al delation-'What accusation bring ye against this man?'-and ends with a formal condemnation pro tribunali.WJ The elaboration of what takes place between these two terminals-and the 236
THE TRIAL OF CHRIST IN THE SYNOPTIC GOSPELS
motives of this elaboration-is another matter. But the principal noveltythe implication that Pilate adopted, or was willing to adopt, the sentence of the Sanhedrin-is entirely within the scope of the procurator's imperium. 81
Notes 1 Matt. xxvii. 19. 2 Matt. xxvii. 12; Mark xv. 3; Luke xxiii, 1, 4. 3 Jos. Ant. xvii. 10, 8. He continues: 'they were in some small ways hurtful to the
Romans'. 4 Matt. xxvii. 11; Mark xv. 2; Luke xxiii. 2. 5 BGU, 611, col. ii. For the Se. Turpilianum, D. 48. 16. 7, see below, 52, 113 ff.
6
7 8 9
10 11 12
13 14
15 16
17 18
Absentee defendants are in a different category. In an Egyptian cognitio of A.D. 89 the Prefect gives them a second chance of appearance before condemnation in absence, FIRA, iii, no. 169. The lawyers were tender towards them, a year's grace being allowed them by a rule not later than Trajan, D. 48. 17. 5. See further Lecture Five, p. 114 n. 3. Pliny Ep. x. 96. 3. For the triple citation see D. 48. 1. 10, discussed in Lecture Five, p. 117 n. 3. Acts xxv. 16. Mark xv. 2-4; Matt. xxvii. 11-15; Luke xxiii. 3. 13-22. Mark xv. 15; Matt. xxvii, 26; Luke xxiii. 25. Cf., e.g., Pliny, Ep. x. 96, 3. Greenidge, Legal Procedure in Cicero's Time (Oxford, 1901), 498. D. 48. 19. 7; 10 pr. Brasiello, op. cit. 390 ff. Paulus, D. i. 15. 3. 1. Callistratus, D. 48. 19. 28. 3. Cf. Sent. Pauli, v. 21. 1: 'primum fustibus caesi civitate pelluntur. perseverantes autem in vincula publica coniciuntur aut in insulam deportantur.' Luke xxiii. 14--22. Liddell and Scott quote only Hosea vii. 2 (Sept.) for the sense of 'punish' and the noun form in Hebrews xii. 9. Amdt-Gingrich, Lexicon ofthe N.T. s.v. 'B', quote no N.T. parallel for sense 'whip'. Acts xvi. 22-24, xxii 24; below, pp. 70 ff. For the association of beatings with the severer penalties, cf. Sent. Paudi, v. 18.
1, 21. 1. 19 Luke xxiii. 7; Acts xxiii. 35. 20 Mommsen, D. Pen. R. ii. 23 f.; GS, iii. 442. 21 Celsus, D. 48. 3. 11. 22 D. 48. 3. 7. 23 D. 48. 22. 7. 11-13. He raises the nice question: 'an interdicere quis alicui possit
provincia in qua oriundus est cum ipse ei provinciae praesit quam incolit.' 24 D. i. 18. 3. Mommsen made too much of interdum. There were other matters
apart from criminal offences in which a man was subject only to his proper authority. A rescript of Pius, D. 48. 2. 7. 4, concerns slaves of a dominus who is refused revocatio in provinciam suam in order to exercise the usual right to defend them. But this provides no parallel for ingenui, who were not pieces of property.
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25 Papinian, D. 48. 2. 22. Ulpian, D. 48. 22. 7. 11-13. Cf. also Modestinus, D. 49. 16. 3. pref. 26 D. 48. 3. 7. 27 Philostratus, VS, ii. 19. 3. Cf. also a ruling of Septimius Severus concerning the lex Fabia de plagiariis, Cod. lust. iii. 15. 2. 28 Cod. iii. 15. 1. 29 Bl, i. 24. 2. Cf. Juster, Les Juifs dans /'Empire Romain (Paris, 1914), ii. 145. There is an alternative explanation, often adopted, that Pilate was trying to pacify Herod for a supposed infringement of his rights in the obscure affair of the massacre of the Galileans at Jerusalem (Luke xiii. 1). But this falsely assumes that Galileans were not justiciable in Judaea. 30 Sitzber. Preuss. Akad. Wiss., 1931, 313 ff. with bibliography, ibid. For the earlier bibliography of the trial of Christ from 1676 to 1912 the curious may consult Juster, ii. 137. For a parallel but briefer criticism of Lietzmann, see G. D. Kilpatrick, 'The Trial of Jesus', Friends of Dr. Williams Library, Sixth Lecture (Oxford, 1953). P. Winter, On the Trial of Jesus (Basel, 1961), follows Lietzmann. 31 John xviii. 30--31, xix. 7. 32 John. xix. 4-7, 12. 33 Mark xiv. 64; Matt. xxvi. 66--67, xxvii. 1. 34 Matt. xxvii. 3. 35 Matt. xx. 17-19. 36 Luke xx. 20. 37 Luke xxii. 71. 38 Luke xxiv. 20. 39 Mark x. 33-34. 40 The Augustan lex iudiciorum publicorum and a supporting SC forbade multiple charges, while in the Flavian period the jurisdiction of the Princeps and of the Senate, which were extra ordinem, allowed them. D. 48. 2. 12. 2. Quintilian, Inst. iii. 10. 1. Cf. Suet. Titus, 8. 5. 41 Juster, ii. 128--52. 42 Above, pp. 3f. 15f. Cf. especially the fourth edict from Cyrene, 1. 65. 43 On civitates liberae see, conveniently, A-J, eh. v.; Sherwin-White, Roman Citizenship, eh. vi. Independent jurisdiction is testified at Chios, A-J, no. 40 (Ditt. SylU 785), c. A.D. 5-14, and Cnidos, A-J, no. 36 (Ditt. Sy/1. no. 780), 6 B.C. Cf. Strabo, iv. 1, 5 (p.181), on the jurisdiction of Massilia. 44 Dio, 60, 24. 4. 45 Op. cit. ii. 132 ff. Cf. especially BJ, ii. 11. 6; Ant, xvii. 11. 1-2. The former passage merely states that Tiberius Alexander 'made no alterations in the ancient laws', and the latter gives the Jewish request, granted by Augustus, that they 'might live by their own laws ... under a Roman governor'. Juster, op. cit. ii. 153, admits that the edicts affecting the Diaspora concerned only questions of religious practice (Ant. xiv. 10. 10--21 and 19. 5. 2-3). 46 Op. cit. ii. 128 ff. 47 Op. cit. ii. 138--42. Of his four other arguments, two concern texts of the Mishna and Talmud, below, pp. 40--41. Two others indicate that the Sanhedrin possessed some power of jurisdiction, but not that it was capital-the arrests and beatings in Acts iv. 1-21, v. 17-40, and vague statements in Jos. Ant. 13. 10. 6, 18. 1.4. Bl, ii. 8. 9. The latter merely refers to the private practices of the Essenes. 48 Bl, vi. 2, 4. OGIS, 598; for a second copy see SEG, viii, n. 169. But the wording is very curious and suggests lynchings rather than executions. See below p. 43 n.l.
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49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61
62 63 64
65 66
67
68 69 70 71 72 73 74
75 76 77 78 79
80
GS, iii. 441 n. 6. Ant. xx. 9. 1; Juster, ii. 140 f. Above, p. 4. D. i. 16. 10. Above, pp. 7-8. Acts vi. 12-15, vii. 57-59. For the origins of the Sanhedrin, see briefly Pauly-Wissowa, RE, (ii) iv. 1346 ff. Actsxxvi.ll. Acts iv. 1-21, v. 17-40. Acts iii. 1-11, iv. 1-3, v. 21. Acts iv. 21, v. 40. Acts iv. 21, v. 40. Juster, ii. 138 n. 1. It is not the purpose of these lectures, or within the province of a Roman historian, to examine Rabbinical material as such in critical detail. But the texts certainly seem to lack any of the precision that is offered by the Graeco-Roman evidence, and which is essential to an exact evaluation of the legal situation. Cf. also the remarks of G. D. Kilpatrick, art. cit. 17 f. M. Sanhedrin 7. 2. Mommsen, D. Pen. R. i. 139 n. 3, 279 n. 1. Juster, ii. 151 n. 2. John viii. 7-11. Phil. VS, i. 25. 2 (p. 532). Mommsen, op. cit. i. 278 n. 1. Apuleius, Met. x. 5-10. Jos. C. Ap. ii. 25. 31. This latter solution of the capital problem was developed in a discussion with the Rev. J. R. Porter, who suggested that lynching is the proper explanation of the very curious wording of the Wall inscription: 'if a man is taken, it is his own fault. Death follows at once.' For the survival of lynching among Jewish communities even in the late Empire see Cod. lust. i. 9. 3. Philo approves it, De Spec. Leg. i. 54-58. Jos. BJ, ii. 14. 1. 'Festus destroyed a great many of them ... but Albinus ... permitted the relations of such ... as had been laid in prison for robbery, either by the senate of every city or by the former procurators, to redeem them for money.' Cf. Ant. xx. 9.5. BJ, ii. 13.2 for their execution by the procurator. Op. cit. ii. 132 n. 5. Cf. above, pp. 3 ff. Cf. Cambridge Anc. Hist. x. 294 with P. Lond. 1912 and PSI, 1160. Luke xxii. 66, xxiii. 1. Mark xv. 1; Matt. xxvii. 1. Cf. Mark iii. 6; Matt. xii. 14, xxii. 15, xxvii. 7, xxviii. 12. Lietzmann, art. cit. 315 f. Pliny, Ep. iii. 5. 9-11, vi. 16. 4-5. The elder Pliny (ibid.) finished work, bath, gustatio, and siesta, by the seventh hour. Martial, iv. 8. 5-8; Pliny, Ep. iii. 1. 4, ix. 36. 1. Cf. also Mommsen, op. cit. ii. 33 n. 2, on the limitation of hours of jurisdiction in the later Empire. Mark xiv. 54; Luke xxii. 55-56. Ep. ii. 11, 16, 18, iii. 5. 8-9, iv. 9. 14. Mommsen, D. Pen. R. i. 280 n. 2. John xix. 12. Crook, Consilium Principis, 23 f. The connotation, originally political rather than personal in Republican usage, becomes markedly official in imperial documents, with the suggestion that so and so is the official representative of the Princeps. Cf. A-J, nn. 49, 59: 'Plantam Iulium amicum et comitem meum'. The term 'friend of Caesar' is used in a very similar way to that of the Gospel in passages of the contemporary Philo. Cf. In Flaccum, 2. 40. John xviii. 29, xix. 13. 239
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
81 P. Winter's book on the trial of Jesus, cited 32 n. 1, appeared after the delivery of this lecture. His legal argument, here refuted, is merely a summary of Leitzmann's, and hence of Juster's, as indeed his whole thesis is an expansion of Leitzmann. Its legal foundations are equally fragile. Much more accurate, if old-fashioned, in its Roman background, is J. Blinzler, Der Prozess Jesu 2 (Regensburg, 1960), esp. 163 ff., 198 ff., 248 ff.
240
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THE BURIAL OF JESUS (MARK 15:42-47) Raymond E. Brown Source: Catholic Biblical Quarterly, 50, 1988, pp. 233-245.
While making some comments on the other Gospels, I wish to focus on the Marcan burial scene. What does Mark wish to convey to his readers in his description of the action of Joseph of Arimathea? Undoubtedly, Mark draws on earlier material, whether an already composed source or tradition;1 but I assume that whatever he has incorporated reflects his own understanding of the scene, and I wish to work on that level. Since some of what Mark has written is brief to the point of obscurity, in my interpretation I shall have to assume the coherence of the burial scene with what Mark has reported earlier about the Sanhedrin and Pilate. Moreover, since Mark gives no hint of anything extraordinary, I assume that Roman and Jewish attitudes toward the burial of crucified criminals would be pertinent to determining how Mark and his audience viewed the interaction between Pilate and Joseph described in the scene. True, we have in the Matthean and Lucan accounts of the burial an early interpretation of Mark; but, as I shall explain, there is a very high possibility that these two evangelists have changed and developed the Marcan outlook. 2 Consequently, I shall not use Matthew and Luke as a primary guide to Mark's intention. A quest to determine the Marcan meaning does not solve the issue of historicity, even if in this particular scene Mark may well provide the only entree to that issue-there is little in the other Gospels that plausibly adds historical data about the burial by Joseph beyond what is contained in Mark. 3 If I am right in my analysis of the Marcan portrait of Joseph, this picture could easily be close to history; but the movement from verisimilitude to history lies beyond the intent of this article. 4
I. Roman attitudes toward the burial of the executed What was the Roman custom or law dealing with the burial of crucified criminals? The Digest of Justinian5 gives the clement views of Ulpian and 241
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of Julius Paulus from the period ea. A.D. 200: The bodies of those who suffer capital punishment are not to be refused to their relatives (Ulpian) nor to any who seek them for burial (Paulus). Ulpian traces this attitude back to Augustus in Book 10 of Vita Sua, but he recognizes that sometimes the generous granting of bodies is refused if the condemnation has been for treason (maiestas). The exception was verified a few years before Ulpian in the treatment of the martyrs of Lyons reported in Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 5.1.61-62): The bodies of crucified Christians were displayed for six days and then burned so that the ashes might be scattered in the Rhone. The Christian fellow-disciples complained: "We could not bury the bodies in the earth ... neither did money or prayers move them. For in every possible way they kept guard as if the prevention of burial would bring them great gain." If we move back from the second century, what was the Roman attitude in the provinces at the time of Jesus toward the bodies of crucified criminals? Despite what Ulpian tells us about Augustus, he was not always so clement. Suetonius (Augustus 13.1-2) reports (with the obvious disapproval of second-century hindsight) that Augustus refused to allow decent burial to the bodies of those who had fought for Brutus: "That matter must be settled with the carrion-birds." Since Augustus would have looked on Brutus as a traitor, the parallel to the question of what would happen to those convicted of treason (maiestas) is significant. In the reign of terror that followed the fall of Sejanus in A.D. 32, Tacitus (Annals 6.29) reports the actions of Tiberius: "People sentenced to death forfeited their property and were forbidden burial." In particular, Suetonius (Tiberius 61) notes: "The relatives [of those condemned in the Sejanus aftern1ath) were forbidden to go into mourning" (see also Tacitus, Annals 6.19). These examples illustrate the imperial authority to act in a manner contrary to the usual clement disposition of bodies. Beyond such imperial vengeance, severity is assumed to be normal by Petronius (Satyricon 111-12), as in Nero's time he writes the story of a soldier at Ephesus who neglected his duty of preventing the bodies of dead criminals from being removed from the cross. While he was absent in the night making love to a widow, parents came stealthily, took one body down, and buried it, causing the soldier to fear the severest punishment. In discussing the case of Jesus, we have an even more difficult problem. The Roman law we have been citing is juxta ordinem; decisions in the province of Judea were often extra ordinem, so that such a matter as the disposition of crucified bodies would have been left to the local magistrate. Philo (In F/accum 10.83-84) tells us that in Egypt, on the eve of a Roman holiday, customarily "people who have been crucified have been taken down and their bodies delivered to their kinsfolk, because it was thought well to give them burial and allow them the ordinary rites." He is very critical of the prefect Flaccus, who (at a period within a decade of Jesus' 242
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death) "gave no orders to take down those who had died on the cross," even on the eve of a feast. Indeed, he crucified others after maltreating them with the lash. Looking at the total picture, then, what can we say of the likely attitude of Pilate dealing with Jesus, who was crucified on the charge of being "the King of the Jews" in the time of Tiberius? The Romans were not brutal6 and in principle did not desire to punish needlessly a criminal's family. Especially in charges of treason, however, they were most anxious that the convicted criminal not be regarded as a hero to be imitated. Therefore, the possibility that the prefect Pilate would give the body of a crucified would-be-king to his followers for honorable burial is low.7 It is true that, according to Mark, Pilate suspects that Jesus is being charged for motives other than those professed.8 Nevertheless, in the logic of the story, having committed himself to a public action, Pilate would have to think of the consequences as regards the idealization of Jesus by his followers, and of the severity of the emperor in matters relating to maiestas.
11. Jewish attitudes toward the burial of the executed With regard to the other component, what can we detect of the attitude in Judaism toward the disposal of the bodies of crucified criminals? There is ample evidence that in Jesus' era crucifixion came under the laws and customs related to hanging. 9 Deut 21:22-23 was involved: "And you hang him on a tree. His body shall not remain all night on the tree; but you shall bury him the same day, for a hanged man is accursed by God. You shall not defile your land, which the Lord your God gives you for an inheritance." In the Temple Scrol/64:10-13 and in Philo that text is cited in relation to crucifixion. 10 The conflict between Roman and Jewish attitudes is phrased thus by S. Lieberman: 11 "Roman practice of depriving the executed criminals of the rite of burial and exposing the corpses on the cross for many days horrified the Jews." In the First Jewish Revolt the Idumeans cast out corpses without burial. Commenting with disgust on this, Josephus states, "The Jews are so careful about funeral rites that even those who are crucified because they were found guilty are taken down and buried before sunset." 12 The crucial issue in Judaism, however, would be the type of burial. The hanged person was accursed, especially since in Jewish legal practice this punishment was meted out after another execution like stoningP In the OT we see a tendency to refuse to the wicked honorable burial in an ancestral plot (1 Kgs 13:21-22).14 Jer 22:18-19 describes a burial without lamentation and the body dragged and cast forth beyond the gates of Jerusalem, and 26:23 writes of being thrown "into the burial place of the common people" (also 2 Kgs 23:6). The account of the death of Judas in Matt 27:7-8 shows that Jews of Jesus' time 15 would also think of a common 243
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burial place (caution: not necessarily a common grave where corpses would be thrown together as in a charnel house). By the time of the Mishna, there is a reference to two places of burial which "were maintained in readiness by the court, one for those who were beheaded or strangled, and the other for those who were stoned or burned" (m. Sanh. 6:5). Once the flesh of the deceased criminal had decomposed, the bones could be gathered and buried in the ancestral burial place (6:6). Obviously, the common burial place provided by the court is not thought of as an indistinguishable common grave, for the bones had to be recoverable. Inevitably, some aspects of the mishnaic practice were ideal or reflected a post-NT situation;16 but the bones of the crucified Yehol)anan found in a first-century burial place at Giv'at ha-Mivtar in 1968 were in an ossuary adjacent to the ossuary of Simon the builder of the temple, so the honorable second burial of the crucified was not so late a practice as once thought. How would this attitude that criminals should receive (at first) shameful burial be applicable to those crucified by Gentiles? In the Bible and in the Mishna, there is an assumption that the condemned person has been worthy of death under Jewish law, which is God's law. Once the death penalty was imposed by Gentiles, the opposite might be true: an innocent or noble Jew could be crucified, having been found guilty of something that did not come under the law of God or indeed having been crucified for having supported the divine law. We find this issue raised in the Babylonian Talmud (b. Sanh. 47a-47b) when Abaye complains, "Would you compare those who are slain by a [Gentile) government to those who are executed by the Beth Din? The former, since their death is not in accordance with [Jewish] law, obtain forgiveness; but the latter, whose death is justly merited, are not [thereby) forgiven." Such a distinction had to be made much earlier, or there could have been no tradition of an honorable burial for the Maccabean martyrs. 17 Thus we cannot discount the possibility of an honorable first burial of one crucified by the Romans. What would be the Jewish attitude toward the crucified Jesus? A desire to get the body off the cross before sunset is implied in the appeal of Joseph to Pilate in the Synoptics and is explicit in John 19:31. 18 (The Deuteronomy text is cited in Gos. Pet. 2:5.) Yet would there have been a tendency to give the body of Jesus an honorable or a dishonorable burial? According to Mark and Matthew, the Sanhedrin found him worthy of death on the charge of blasphemy, 19 and Josephus (n. 14 above) is clear about dishonorable burial for those executed and hung for blasphemy. (Mart. Pol. 17 has Jews agitating to prevent the body of Polycarp from being given to his adherents for honorable burial.) But, in fact, Jesus was executed by the Romans on a charge of being King of the Jews. Could this have been regarded as a death not in accordance with Jewish law and so not necessarily subject to dishonorable burial? 244
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m. The Marcan account With this information on the plausible Roman and Jewish attitudes, what sense can be made of the description of the burial of Jesus in Mark 15:42-47? We begin with the description of the person responsible for that burial, Joseph of Arirnathea. We are told that he was a respected 20 member of the bou/e. Josephus (1. W. 2.17.1 §405) uses the same adjective as Mark for members of the Sanhedrin, and so we presume that Mark intends to describe Joseph as a Sanhedrist. (It is curious, however, that having used synedrion twice in the immediately preceding chapters, Mark here introduces an otherwise unused term.) Since Mark has twice written of "the whole Sanhedrin" in describing the Jewish authorities who decided that Jesus should die,21 nothing would dispose the reader to think of this Sanhedrist as a follower of Jesus. (Both Matthew and Luke explicitly change that impression: Matt 27:57 omits the information that Joseph was a Sanhedrist; Luke 23:51 specifies that he had not consented to the purpose and deed of his fellow Sanhedrists.) While below I shall work with the thesis that Mark thought of Joseph as a Sanhedrist (which is also Luke's interpretation), if in fact Mark meant by bou/eutes something other than Sanhedrist, that would give no greater reason to think of him as a disciple of Jesus; and there would be even less objection to thinking of him as a pious Jew, obedient to the law in burying Jesus. Since Jesus proclaimed the kingdom of God, does not the Marcan description of Joseph as one "who was also himself [kai autos) looking for the kingdom of God" make Joseph a disciple? 22 The Marcan import must be examined carefully. The kai autos suggests that there were others besides Joseph seeking the kingdom of God. Surely the disciples of Jesus would have been in that category, for to them were given the mysteries of the kingdom of God (4:11). Yet a scribe who asks Jesus about the commandments and admires Jesus' knowledge of the law but who does not specifically follow him is said to be "not far from the kingdom of God" (12:34). Thus Mark seems to allow both disciples and pious observers of the law outside the discipleship to be considered seekers of the kingdom. Is the category of being a pious observer of the law (but not a disciple) closed to Joseph because he was one of that Sanhedrin which sought "testimony against Jesus to put him to death" (14:55)? It is noteworthy that Mark does not say, as does Matt 26:59, that they sought "false testimony." Clearly, for Mark, the chief priests and the scribes acted with deceit (14:1); and the chief priests were envious and malicious (15:10,31). But there were members of the Sanhedrin who had to be led by the chief priest to recognize that Jesus had culpably blasphemed (14:63-64) and must be punished. If the Marcan Joseph were one of those Sanhedrin members, he might be described as a pious Jew who sought the kingdom of God in the sense that he sought only to obey the commandments, much as the scribe of 12:28. 245
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(In a parallel instance, the "pious men" who buried Stephen after he had been stoned seem from the context of Acts 8:2 to have been law-observant Jews who were not followers of Jesus.) On the other hand, if Mark had wished to describe the burial of Jesus by a disciple, that could easily have been made unambiguous, as in the instance of the burial of John's body by "his disciples" (6:29). Why would a pious, law-observant member of the Sanhedrin want to bury the body of a crucified blasphemer? It could have been a matter of obedience to God's will. The references to Deuteronomy made in section 11 show that the law required that a body not be left on the cross after sunset, a situation perhaps made more urgent by the approach of the Sabbath (see n. 18 above). Sometimes an objection is raised that, if Joseph's request were granted, contact with the corpse would render him impure. That is true; but since anyone who handled a corpse would become impure, 23 clearly burial was seen as a necessary good that overshadowed the accompanying impurity. We have seen in section 11 above how seriously burial of corpses, including criminal corpses, was taken in Jesus' time. A later example from the Mishna (m. Nazir 7:1) debates whether the high priest, upon encountering a stray corpse, would have to bury it even at the cost of contaminating himself. Thus, Joseph's concern is perfectly consistent with Jewish piety. A particular objection might be raised as to whether such piety would allow a burial of a crucified criminal on Passover Day. Mark, however, mentions Passover only in reference to Jesus' meal and then seems to ignore the Passover setting in describing all the activity of the Sanhedrin and the crucifixion. (This may mean that the Marcan dating of Thursday night/Friday as the 15th of Nisan is not historical and that John is correct on a 14th of Nisan dating; yet I do not wish to resort to a historical correction to solve the problems of making the Marcan narrative intelligible.) In fidelity to what Mark emphasizes, there is no reason to bring the Passover issue into the quest for intelligibility of the burial scene any more than we need to bring it into the trial scenes. (In the burial, Mark calls attention to Joseph's status as a member of the bou/e and that is why we needed to discuss his Sanhedrin-status in exegesis of the scene.) I emphasize this because J. Schreiber's whole approach to Joseph as an evil legalist hangs on the Passover motif.24 Why, in this approach to Joseph as a pious man, did it take daring on his part to approach Pilate? The to/mesas in Mark 15:43 is difficult no matter what view one has of Joseph. (This is attested by the omission of the participle by Matthew, who makes Joseph a disciple, and by Luke, who has him refusing to sentence Jesus to death. 25 ) The Marcan Pilate, who had perceived that Jesus had been handed over by the Sanhedrin out of envious zeal (phthonos, Mark 15:10), might conceivably have been suspicious if a Sanhedrist bothered him again. Another possible explanation for caution in approaching Pilate could have been Joseph's fear of coming 246
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under suspicion. Jesus had been condemned as one who did not deny that he was King of the Jews and accordingly was guilty of maiestas in Roman eyes. That crime was taken very seriously. Cicero (Philippic 1.9 §23) admitted that, while originally he had disapproved of the Lex Iulia maiestatis, that law should be scrupulously observed for the sake of peace. Suetonius (Tiberius 58) tells us: "A praetor asked Tiberius whether in his opinion courts should be convened to try cases of treason [maiestas]. Tiberius replied that the law must be enforced, and indeed he did enforce it most savagely." Tacitus (Annals 6.8) mentions Tiberius' insane suspicions about everyone who had ever been friendly with Sejanus, who was guilty of treason. Accordingly, for Joseph to come to the prefect to request the body of a criminal crucified for treason might well be an act of daring if it would implicate Joseph in the treason. What would save Joseph would be his status as a member of the Sanhedrin that had handed Jesus over to Pilate. Incidentally, the Marcan account, as I have interpreted it, is much more plausible according to what we know of Roman practice (section I above) than are the Matthean and Lucan accounts. In relation to one crucified for maiestas, a prefect would not have been likely to give the body to a disciple of Jesus (Matthew) or to one who had argued for not punishing him (Luke). A desire to make a hero out of the King of the Jews would scarcely have been encouraged. This leads us to the issue of the kind of burial that the Marcan Joseph gives to Jesus. From the prophets through to the Mishna there is an insistence that one sentenced according to Jewish law or by Jewish courts should not receive an honorable burial. An honorable burial would scarcely have been given by a Sanhedrist who voted for Jesus to be condemned to death on the grounds of blasphemy. In discussing this issue, however, we are hampered by the fact that we are not sure what constituted honorable burial in the time of Jesus. The Mishna (m. Sabb. 23:5) mentions burial customs such as anointing and washing the corpse, laying it out and binding up the chin, and closing the eyes. Other details for honorable burial can be detected from Jewish literature; trimming the hair, clothing the corpse with care, covering the head with a veil, perhaps tying the hands and feet for carrying purposes. 26 But how many of these practices were customary in Jesus' time? There is little certitude, especially since a change in burial style is reported to have been introduced between then and the time of the Mishna. 27 In any case, Mark reports none of the above. As for customs mentioned in the NT which reflect a contemporary understanding, in an honorable burial Tabitha (Acts 9:37) is washed and laid out at her home; but no washing is mentioned for Ananias and Sapphira (Acts 5:6, 10), a dishonorable burial. No canonical Gospel mentions the washing of Jesus' body. 28 Anointing and spices surely were a feature of honorable burial, whence the coming of the women on Easter Sunday in Mark 16:1 and Luke 24:1. The Synoptic Gospels significantly do not have 247
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Joseph using spices in the burial of Jesus. (John introduces Nicodemus, who brings spices, and this affects the picture of Joseph: "They took the body of Jesus and bound it in linen cloths with the spices, as is the burial custom of the Jews" [19:40]. 29 ) Thus, if one may use an argument from silence, nothing in the Marcan account suggests an honorable burial rendered to Jesus by Joseph. The eneilesen of Mark 15:46, which describes the wrapping of the body, is pedestrian and could refer to the elementary service rendered even in the dishonorable burial of a criminal (if we remember the Jewish horror of nakedness; cf. Acts 5:6). The peculiar agreement of Matt 27:59 and Luke 23:53 in substituting enetylixen may represent an early form of the transformation toward an honorable burial, quite consonant with their description of Joseph as a disciple or a sympathizer. One might be tempted to explain the laconic Marcan account not as a burial without honor but as an honorable burial in desperate haste since evening had come already, and it was the day before Sabbath (Mark 15:42). Again, we do not know the customs in Jesus' time, but the later law would not require such an abridgment of honorable burial. As for sunset, the Mishna (m. Sanh. 6:5) specifies that if one suffers a corpse to remain overnight because of the honor due to it (to bring for it a coffin or shrouds), that does not transgress the law. As for the Sabbath, the Mishna (m. Sabb. 23:5) permits on that day much that was required for burial, e.g., anointing and washing the corpse. Nothing, then, in the later law would force us to interpret the Marcan account as a hasty honorable burial. It is hasty, but scarcely honorable. What about the tomb-is that honorable? Both the implied haste and our knowledge of the inability of Jews to carry a corpse on the Sabbath30 suggest that, in the logic of the Marcan account, the tomb in which Joseph buried Jesus (Mark 15:46) could not have been far from the place of crucifixion. (Thus, John 19:41 is spelling out the obvious.) Consonant with making Joseph a disciple of Jesus, Matt 27:60 describes the burial place as Joseph's own new tomb, thus clearly an honorable burial place (John 20:41 makes it a new tomb, but not Joseph's). Mark never suggests that. Would a distinguished member of the Sanhedrin have his family tomb in the immediate vicinity of the place of public execution? Outside the walls of Jerusalem, next to the place of crucifixion, there may well have been burial grounds for convicted criminals, i.e., hollows quarried in the rock wall of a hill used for execution purposes. 31 Into one of these, the Marcan Joseph, acting quite consistently as a pious, law-observant Jew, may have placed the corpse of the crucified Jesus so that it not remain unburied after sunset. Such an interpretation of Mark makes sense of a detail that is the Achilles' heel of the simplifications in Matt 27:57 and John 19:38, where Joseph is already a disciple of Jesus. No canonical Gospel shows cooperation between Joseph and the women believers who are portrayed sitting near the tomb (Matt 27:61), seeing where the body of Jesus was laid (Mark 248
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15:47; Luke 23:55). Lack of cooperation in burial between two groups of Jesus' disciples is not readily intelligible. Lack of cooperation between a Sanhedrist responsible for the death of Jesus, whose only wish is to get the criminal's corpse buried, and women followers of Jesus is quite intelligible. Gos. Pet. 12:50 dramatizes what Mark implies by specifying that (on the day of death) the Jews had prevented Mary Magdalene from rendering at the tomb the customary burial services to the beloved. My interpretation of Mark, the earliest of the four canonical accounts, makes sense of another version of the burial of Jesus which also may be very ancient, viz., the suggestion that those who were responsible for Jesus' death were also involved in his burial. A sermon in Acts 13:27-29 reports: "Those who lived in Jerusalem and their rulers ... asked Pilate to have him killed; and when they had fulfilled all that was written of him, they took him from the tree and laid him in a tomb." 32 John 19:31 states: "Since it was the day of Preparation, the Jews did not want to have the bodies left on the cross during the Sabbath, for that Sabbath was a solemn feast day. So they asked Pilate to have the legs broken and the bodies taken away." A variant reading at the end of John 19:38 continues this story: "So they came and took his body." 33 Similarly, in Gos. Pet. 6:21 we read: "And then they [the Jews] drew the nails from the hands of the Lord and laid him on the earth." 34 Justin (Dial. 97.1) phrases the tradition thus: "For the Lord too remained on the tree almost until evening, and towards evening they buried him"-in a chapter where the context suggests that the "they" may be the Jewish opponents of Jesus rather than his disciples.35 The plural may be simply a generalization of the memory of Joseph (who scarcely did the whole burial alone), a Sanhedrist responsible for sentencing Jesus but active in burying him out of fidelity to the Jewish law. Before closing, I would like to add a word about Matthew and Luke. Am I saying that the two later evangelists completely misunderstood Mark by making Joseph a disciple or one who was favorable to Jesus? Many scholars argue that, like Simon of Cyrene, Joseph of Arimathea had his name remembered by the evangelists not only because he played a historical role in the passion but also because he eventually became a believer in Jesus. Just as Matthew reads postresurrectional faith and confessions of the apostles into their career during the ministry (cf. Matt 14:32-33 with Mark 6:51-52; Matt 16:16-20 with Mark 8:29-30), so he may be reading Joseph's postresurrectional career into the burial account by describing Joseph as a disciple. (Mark may have done this more subtly by describing a Sanhedrin member [bouleutes] so favorably as one "who was also himself looking for the kingdom of God.") As for Matthew's description (27:60) of the tomb as Joseph's "own," this may be an imaginative development from anticipating Joseph's discipleship, unless one chooses to speculate that after conversion this wealthy Jew (27:57) decided to purchase the burial place where Jesus had been laid. 36 Thus, a burial done to fulfill the law may have become in 249
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the later evangelists the memory of an honor rendered by one who came to believe that Jesus was the fulfillment of the law.
Notes 1 The issue of a pre-Marcan written passion account is not of concern here, even though I am skeptical about the stylistic criteria used to determine what is Marcan and what is pre-Marcan. 2 A redactional study of the four burial accounts has been offered by J. Schreiber, "Die Bestattung Jesu," ZNW 72 (1981) 141-77, which (in my judgment) is on the right track for Matthew and Luke, but quite wrong for Mark and John. See nn. 20, 22, 24 below. Very helpful is C. Masson, "L'ensevelissement de Jesus (Marc xv, 42-47)," RTP 31 (1943) 193-203. 3 Useful information about the burial may be found in J. Blinzler, "Die Grablegung Jesu in historischer Sicht," Resurrexit (ed. E. Dhanis; Vatican City: Editrice Vaticana, 1974) 56-107; F.-M. Braun, "La sepulture de Jesus," RB 45 (1936) 34-52, 184-200, 346-63; H. Cousin, "Sepulture criminelle et sepulture prophetique," RB 81 (1974) 375-93; E. Dhanis, "L'ensevelissement de Jesus et la visite au tombeau dans l'evangile de saint Marc (xv,40-xvi,8)," Greg 39 (1958) 367-410; G. Ghiberti, La Sepoltura de Gesu: I Vangeli et la Sindone (Rome: Marietti, 1982); A. O'Rahilly, "The Burial of Christ," Irish Ecclesiastical Record 58 (1941) 302-16, 493-503; 59 (1942) 150-71. 4 For that, one would have to debate rationalist theories that were meant to disprove the bodily resurrection of Jesus, e.g., burial in a type of common grave in which corpses could be confused; a double burial in which Joseph later took the body from the first tomb where the women had seen Jesus buried. For an example of this approach, see J. S. Kennard, Jr., "The Burial of Jesus," JBL 74 (1955) 227-38. 5 48.24; see The Digest of Justinian (4 vols.: ed. T. Mommsen et al.; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1985) 4. 863; also T. Mommsen, Romisches Strafrecht (Leipzig: Duncker & Humboldt, 1899) 987-90. 6 While Pilate was no model of sensitivity, a recent study argues that he was not a brutal tyrant: J.-P. Lemonon, Pilate et le gouvemement de la Judee (EBib; Paris: Gabalda, 1981). 7 More likely, a governor would have given the body to the family of the crucified, but no Gospel suggests that. In John alone the mother of Jesus is at Golgotha; but she and the disciple whom Jesus loved seem to depart before Jesus' death (19:27), and they are absent from the burial account. 8 The other three Gospels have Pilate clearly affirm Jesus' innocence, and that development probably affected the scene involving Joseph in those Gospels. 9 An aspect of crucifixion that added to the horror was the hanging of people alive, for in Israelite practice those already dead through execution were sometimes hung. See the Qumran texts 4QpNah (4QI69) 3-4 i 7---8 and the Temple Scroll 64:9, discussed by J. A. Fitzmyer, "Crucifixion in Ancient Palestine, Qumran Literature, and the New Testament," CBQ 40 (1978) 493-513. 10 Philo, De Spec. Leg. 3.28 § 151-52 uses anaskolopizesthai, "to be hung," but elsewhere couples the verb with nailing (De Post. 61; De Som. 2.31 §213). 11 "Some Aspects of Afterlife in Early Rabbinic Literature," in H. A. Wolfson Jubilee Volume (2 vols.; Jerusalem: Central Press, 1965) 2. 495--532, esp. 517. 12 J. W. 4.5.2. §317. In J. W. 3.8.5 §377, such practice applies even to suicides and the bodies of enemies.
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13 See the debate in m. Sanh. 6:4: "All that were stoned were then hanged, according to R. Eliezer, but the Sages say, 'No one is hanged except the blasphemer and the idolater.'" 14 1 Enoch 98:13: "Woe to you who rejoice in the distress of the righteous, for graves will not be dug for you." Josephus, Ant. 4.8.6. §202, would have the blasphemer stoned, hung, "and buried ignominiously and in obscurity"; 5.1.14 §44 has Achar at nightfall given "the ignominious burial proper to the condemned." 15 Whether fact or legend, Matthew's story surely took shape among Palestinian Jewish Christians. 16 A. Btichler, "L'enterrement des criminels d'apres le Talmud et le Midrasch," REJ 46 (1903) 74--88. For ossilegium, see E. M. Meyers, "Secondary Burials in Palestine," BA 33 (1970) 2-29. 17 M. Hadas, The Third and Fourth Books of Maccabees (New York: Harper, 1953) 104-13. 18 In Mark 15:42 (also Luke 23:54; Gos. Pet. 2:5), the concern involved the approaching Sabbath (not just the next day, as in Deuteronomy). 19 True, John has no Sanhedrin session on the night before Jesus died, but see 11:47-53 and 10:33. 20 Euschem6n (only here in Mark) means "prominent, honorable, outstanding." In Acts 13:50 Jews incite prominent citizens against Paul and Barnabas; in Acts 17:12 prominent Greek women as well as men become believers in Jesus. In 1 Cor 7:35; 12:24, and in the only LXX instance (Prov 11:25), the meaning is "fitting, honorable." Schreiber's attempt ("Bestattung," 143 n.4) to connect the description of Joseph as euschem6n with the rich people who put large sums in the treasury (Mark 12:41-44) and with the godless rich of Isa 22:16, who have hewn tombs for themselves and "habitations in the rock," is implausible. There is no connection in vocabulary, and in Mark the tomb is not identified as Joseph's. Matthew (27:57,60) makes Joseph the rich owner of the tomb. 21 Mark 14:55; 15:1; also Matt 26:59; cf. Luke 23:1 ("the whole plethos"). 22 Schreiber ("Bestattung," 143-45) interprets "looking for" in the light of Mark 4:12, "seeing but not perceiving"; Joseph is a pious legalist who ignores Exod 23:1,7 about killing the innocent, but is concerned about the body! Granted the place given to "the kingdom of God" in Mark, however, the reader would surely need an indication of failure to interpret "looking for the kingdom of God" negatively, especially when combined with euschem6n. (If Mark is describing a plotting legalist, then independently Matthew and Luke have completely misunderstood Mark. In my interpretation, they go beyond Mark but not in an opposite direction.) For pious Jewish expectation of God's establishment of the kingdom, see 1QSb 5:21 and the Qaddish. Mark's description of Joseph resembles the description of pre-Christian pious Jews in Luke 2:25,38. 23 See the detailed discussion in m. Oholot. 24 Beyond the points mentioned in the text above, one could counter Schreiber's portrayal of Joseph violating the Passover by invoking J. Jeremias's discussion of what would be allowed on Passover (The Eucharistic Words of Jesus [New York: Scribner's, 1964] 75-79). If Jesus were regarded by the Sanhedrin as a false prophet (Mark 14:65), a pious Jew could have thought it his duty to rid Israel of Jesus the seducer even on a feast day (Deut 13:9-10; 18:20). 25 Noteworthy are the agreements of Matthew and Luke versus Mark in the burial scene, leading some to appeal to Proto-Mark. Both omit Pilate's sending someone to verify Jesus' death, and both prefer enetylixen over the eneilesen of Mark 15:46.
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26 Ghiberti, Sepoltura (n. 3 above), 23. 27 E.g., Gamaliel is supposed to have opted for simpler burial customs (b. Mo'ed Qat. 27b). 28 In Gas. Pet. 5:24, Joseph (a friend of the Lord: 2:3) does wash the body of the Lord. 29 John describes an honorable, nay regal, burial (see R. E. Brown, The Gospel according to John XIII-XXI [AB 29A; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1970] 940-42, 960), for the immense weight of myrrh and aloes is comparable to the burial preparations for Herod the Great (Josephus, Ant. 17.8.3 §199). That is consonant with John's making Joseph a disciple of Jesus (19:38) and Nicodemus a sympathizer. 30 A practice surely forbidden in NT times (cf. John 5:10) and specifically in m. Sabb. 10:5. 31 Recent excavations show that a quarry surrounded the traditional tomb of Jesus in the Holy Sepulcher, and Golgotha may have been a knoll left unquarried because the rock had been damaged by earthquake. In this quarry were a number of burial places. See B. E. Schein, "The Second Wall of Jerusalem," BA 44 (1981) 21-26. For John's different picture with a garden tomb, see Brown, John, 943. 32 R. H. Fuller (The Formation of the Resurrection Narratives [New York: Macmillan, 1971] 54-SS) recognizes the antiquity of the tradition, but interprets the burial hostilely as the "last act of the crime." That is not really clear in Acts and may have been totally absent from the underlying tradition. 33 M.-E. Boismard (Synopse des quatre evangiles en franc;ais [2 vols.; Paris: Cerf, 1972] 2. 437) would have the Jews the subject in this earliest form of the Johannine tradition. J. Murphy-O'Connor ("Recension: Die Urgemeinde ... par I. Broer," RB 81 [1974] 266-69) rejects the Jews as subject, for they would have wanted to avoid ritual impurity. (He fails to take into account the serious responsibility on pious Jews to bury such a body even at the price of impurity.) For him the "they" are the anonymous disciples of John's Gospel, so that Joseph's role in the burial (19:38ab) is a later interpolation. If the "they" reading is original, Boismard's identification is far more plausible. 34 In the continuing story (6:23) the Jews give the body of the Lord to Joseph that he might bury it-thus seemingly a melding of two traditions. Acts Pil. 12 reports that the Jews became so hostile when they heard that Joseph had asked for Jesus' body that they imprisoned Joseph. (That development is consonant with the portrayal of Joseph as a friend or disciple of Jesus.) 35 Very peculiar is the inscription of Archbishop Hypatius of Ephesus from the year 536. In reference to the self-abasement of Jesus, it observes that not only did he humble himself to death on a cross, but after his death, "as the tradition of the evangelists runs, he was thrown out [aporiptein] naked and without burial; then in the property of Joseph was he buried, laid in that man's tomb." J. N. Bakhuizen van den Brink (ZNW 26 [1927] 213-19, esp. 217) suggests that the root of this "tradition" may be in the parable of Mark 12:8 about the son of the owner of the vineyard: "Taking, they killed him, and they threw him out [ekballein]," where the second "him" (peculiar to Mark) has to be the corpse of the son. 36 It has often been suggested that, from the beginning, the burial place of Jesus would have received from his followers the honorable remembrance given to the tombs of martyrs and saints; see J. Jeremias, Heiligengriiber in Jesu Umwelt (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1958).
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"WHERE NO ONE HAD YET BEEN LAID" The shame of Jesus' burial Byron R. McCane Source: B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Authenticating the Activities of Jesus (New Testament Tools and Studies 28; Leiden: Brill, 1999), pp. 431-452.
Recent studies have posed provocative questions about Jesus' burial, as a steady stream of books and articles has increasingly raised the possibility that the body of Jesus might have been disposed of in shame and dishonor.1 While some scholars still hold that Jesus was buried with dignity, it is now quite common to read assertions to the contrary. Raymond E. Brown, for example, has argued that Jesus was buried in a tomb reserved for criminals, and John Dominic Crossan has concluded that no one really knew what became of the body-it may have been thrown out to be eaten by dogs. 2 The problems surrounding Jesus' burial are extremely difficult, for reasons which are all too familiar to scholars of the historical Jesus: the event took place long ago, the sources are scarce, and most of the textual evidence is heavily shaded in Christian ideologies. All the same, in my judgment it is possible to reach a very high degree of historical confidence about the burial of Jesus. He was, after all, a Palestinian Jew crucified by Romans, and quite a lot is known about Jewish and Roman practices regarding the dead. In addition, anthropologists and sociologists have thoroughly analyzed the ways in which societies and cultures treat the remains of the dead. Accordingly, this chapter will draw upon evidence from archaeology and literature, along with theory from anthropology and sociology, to argue that Jesus was indeed buried in disgrace in a criminals' tomb. Based on what we know of Roman practice and Jewish custom, one or more members of the Sanhedrin must have obtained the body of Jesus from Pilate and arranged for a dishonorable interment. From an early date the Christian tradition tried to conceal this unpleasant fact, but the best evidence clearly shows that Jesus was buried in shame.
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I Jesus was crucified by Romans, and at the time of his death his body was in the hands of Romans, so any historical investigation of his burial must begin with the Romans. What would Pilate and the soldiers guarding the cross, who were in charge of the body of Jesus, have been most likely to do with it? There is a distinct possibility that they might have done nothing at all with the body, but simply left it hanging on the cross. As Martin Hengel has observed, the Romans used crucifixion not only as a punishment but also as a deterrent, and while the punitive effect of crucifixion may have ended when the victim died, the deterrent effect did not have to. 3 The impact of crucifixion could go on for days at a time, as the body of one who had crossed the purposes of Rome was left hanging in public view, rotting in the sun, with birds pecking away at it. Several Roman writers mention that condemned criminals could be denied a decent burial, and that victims of crucifixion in particular could be left on their crosses for days at a time. Suetonius, for example, writes that when Augustus avenged the murder of Julius Caesar, he not only took the lives of Brutus and his supporters but also denied them customary rites of burial. One victim who pleaded for a decent burial was told, "The carrion-birds will soon take care of that" (Suetonius, Augustus 13.1-2). Later, in 31 CE, when Tiberius moved against Sejanus and his supporters, some of them committed suicide rather than be executed, "because people sentenced to death forfeited their property and were forbidden burial" (Tacitus, Annals 6.29). Also from the first century is Petronius' amusing (to Romans, at least) story about a soldier who was assigned to guard some crosses "in order to prevent anyone from taking a body down for burial" (Petronius, Satyricon 111). The unfortunate soldier loses one of the bodies, however, when he diverts his attention from the crosses in order to pursue an amorous interlude with a widow. While he is thus distracted, parents of one of the victims take the body down and bury it. The story is full of bawdy themes-it is from the Satyricon, after all-but two incidental details suggest the seriousness with which Romans could take the matter of guarding crucifixion victims: the soldier guards the crosses for three nights, and he fears for his life when the theft is discovered. Finally. Horace mentions that a slave who is innocent of murder need not fear "hanging on a cross to feed crows" (Horace, Epistles 1.16.48). In each of these cases the central issue appears to be an assertion of power, and specifically Roman power. In typical Roman fashion, opponents and enemies are not merely subdued but utterly vanquished and even made an example of. Certainly the limp, putrefying body of a crucifixion victim would have displayed the might of Rome in viscerally graphic fashion. Something else was also at work in these practices, however, 254
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something which had to do with the Roman social order. Ordinarily, death is an event which disrupts the functioning of a social order, for the death of any particular individual tears away a member of a social network and forces the network to reconstitute itself. Death rituals-i.e., burial customs and rites of mourning-are social processes which heal the wounds which death inflicts on the social group. 4 By burying the dead and mourning their absence, members of a society affirm that someone significant has been lost. When the Romans did not permit the burial of crucifixion victims, then, they were doing more than merely showing off the power of Rome: they were also declaring that the deaths of these victims were not a loss to Roman society. Far from it, the deaths of condemned criminals actually served to strengthen and preserve Rome, protecting and defending the social order of the Empire. Certainly there were times when Roman officials in Judea behaved like their counterparts in the rest of the Empire. When Varus, for example, the Roman legate of Syria, moved into Judea in 4 BCE to quell civil unrest after the death of Herod the Great, he reportedly crucified two thousand of those who participated in the uprising in and around Jerusalem (Ant. 17.10.10 §295). Later, as the First Jewish War was breaking out in 66 CE, the Roman procurator Gessius Florus is said to have ordered indiscriminate crucifixions, including among his victims even some citizens of equestrian rank (1. W. 2.14.9 §306-307). And in 70 CE the Roman general Titus is reported to have crucified hundreds of Jewish captives around the walls of Jerusalem, in the hope "that the spectacle might perhaps induce the Jews to surrender" (1. W. 5.11.1 §450). Josephus does not specifically state that bodies were left hanging on crosses in these cases, but that would be entirely consistent with the general purpose of these crucifixions. It is likely, then, that on at least three occasions Roman authorities in Judea left victims of crucifixion hanging on crosses in just the way described by Petronius and Horace. These actions, however, are certainly not typical of the way Romans usually behaved in Judea. These mass crucifixions, it turns out, all come from times of acute crisis, when Roman military officers were being called in to stabilize situations which had gotten out of control. Varus and Titus, for example, were putting down armed rebellions, and even before Florus' action in 66, the legate of Syria (Cestius Gallus at the time) had already become involved with the escalating troubles in Judea (1. W. 2.14.3 §280-283). Throughout most of the first century, by contrast, and especially at the time of Jesus' death, Judea was not in open revolt against Rome and was not under the control of Roman generals commanding legions of soldiers. 5 It was instead administered by a prefect who had only a small· contingent of troops at his disposal. Certainly the prefect could mobilize those forces to suppress potential rebellion, as Theudas and "the Egyptian" discovered (1. W. 2.13.4-5 §258-263; Ant. 20.5.1 §97-99; 20.8.6 255
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§167-172; Acts 5:36), but such events were brief, intermittent, and did not involve mass crucifixions. Most of the time, in other words, the city walls of Jerusalem were not ringed by hundreds of crosses. At the time of Jesus, in fact, the situation was peaceful enough that events in and around Jerusalem were not always under the direct control of the Roman prefect. Pilate did not reside in Jerusalem, but at Caesarea on the coast in a palace built by Herod the Great, and he came to Jerusalem only on special occasions, such as Passover. A small Roman force was stationed in the city in the fortress Antonia, but the routine day-to-day government of Jerusalem was largely in Jewish hands, specifically the High Priest and the council, who were accountable to Pilate for the maintenance of public order. Pilate himself was accountable to the legate of Syria, and it was in the interest of all concerned to avoid disruption of the status quo. It would be a mistake, then, to conclude that episodes like those involving Varus, Florus, and Titus are typical of the situation surrounding Jesus' burial. They were military commanders putting their foot down-hard-on open rebellion against Rome. Pilate was a bureaucrat trying to keep the wheels of government running smoothly. Roman prefects like Pilate, in fact, often allowed crucifixion victims to be buried. Cicero, for example, mentions a governor in Sicily who released bodies to family members in return for a fee (In Verrem 2.5.45), and Philo writes that on the eve of Roman holidays in Egypt, crucified bodies were taken down and given to their families, "because it was thought well to give them burial and allow them ordinary rites" (In Flaccum 10.83-84). In addition, as Crossan has pointed out, the famous case of Yehoqanan, the crucified man whose skeletal remains were found in a family tomb at Giv'at ha-Mivtar, proves that a Roman governor in Jerusalem had released the body of a crucifixion victim for burial.6 Finally, the Gospels' assertion that Pilate "used to release for them one prisoner for whom they asked" (Mark 15:6 par.) is also relevant here, for it shows that during the first century CE one could plausibly tell stories of Roman judicial clemency, especially around religious holidays. Thus the fate of Jesus' body in Roman hands should not be regarded as automatic. The occasion of Jesus' death was a Jewish holiday, and Pilate was not in the process of suppressing a revolt, but rather simply trying to protect public order. On balance, then, the Romans involved with the death of Jesus naturally would have expected that the body would remain on the cross, unless Pilate ordered otherwise. It was something of a commonplace in the Empire that victims of crucifixion would become food for carrion-birds, unless the clemency of a governor intervened. Certainly Rome had its reasons for leaving its victims on public display. This fact can help to explain an interesting detail in Mark's account of the burial of Jesus: Mark 15:43 says that Joseph of Arimathea "dared" ('toA.~J.f!o"a~) to approach Pilate and request the body of Jesus. Why "dared?" Because such a 256
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request would indeed have been daring in light of the fact that victims often remained hanging on crosses as symbols of Roman will. 7 On the other hand, a request by a Jewish leader for the body of Jesus would not have been out of place, either, since Roman prefects-including at least one that we know of in first-century Jerusalem--did allow the burial of crucifixion victims. In the case of Jesus, such an allowance was likely, since Jesus was not caught up in a mass crucifixion, and his death did not come at a time of revolt against Rome. The Jewish leaders of Jesus' day generally cooperated with Pilate in preserving public order in Jerusalem, and the occasion of Jesus' death was a Jewish religious holiday. It may have taken a little nerve, then, but someone like Joseph of Arimathea could have reasonably expected that Pilate would grant his request for the body of Jesus.
n But would a member of the council have approached Pilate about the body of Jesus? Or would the Jewish leaders of first-century Jerusalem have been content to let Pilate do whatever he wanted with the body? The evidence indicates that they would not have wanted the body of Jesus to be left hanging on the cross. Based on what we know of Jewish culture, they would have preferred for Jesus to be buried, and promptly. Jewish burial practices in the days of Jesus are well-known: hundreds of tombs have been excavated, and many texts-from Josephus, the Mishnah, and the tractate $ema~of!-explicitly discuss the care of the dead. Indeed, the archaeological and literary evidence presents a remarkably complete picture, and the following portrait of a typical Jewish funeral is based on the combined witness of texts and tombs. 9 The Jews of Early Roman Palestine had a long tradition of prompt burial of the dead. Most funerals took place as soon as possible after death, and almost always on the same day. 10 As soon as death occurred, preparations began: the eyes of the deceased were closed, the corpse was washed with perfumes and ointments, its bodily orifices were stopped, and strips of cloth were wrapped tightly around the body-binding the jaw closed, holding the hands to the sides, and tying the feet together. 11 Thus prepared, the corpse was placed on a bier or in a coffin and carried out of town in a procession to the family tomb, usually a small rock-cut cave entered through a narrow opening that could be covered with a stone. 12 Upon arriving at the tomb, eulogies were spoken and the corpse was placed inside, either in a niche or on a shelf, along with items of jewelry or other personal effects of the deceased. 13 Expressions of condolence continued as the procession returned to the family home, and friends and relatives dispersed. The funeral was thus conducted without delay, and in most cases the body had been interred by sunset on the day of death. Once in a 257
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while a Jewish funeral might even be a little too hasty: the rabbis told stories of people who had been mistakenly buried before they were actually dead. 14 This preference for promptness was only heightened in the case of crucifixion victims, for the Torah specifically commanded that those who had been "hung on a tree" should be buried at sunset. Deuteronomy 21:22-23 reads: "if a man has committed a crime punishable by death and he is put to death, and you hang him on a tree, his body shall not remain all night upon the tree, but you shall bury him the same day." Victims of execution could be left hanging in public view, then, but only for a short period of time. In the book of Joshua, the king of Ai is killed, hanged, and then buried at sunset (Josh 8:29), as are the five kings who oppose the Israelites (Josh 10:27). The apocryphal book of Tobit tells of a hero who risked life and limb to bury execution victims at sunset of the day of death (Tob 1:16; 2:4), and Jewish writings from first-century Palestine confirm the ongoing vitality of this ancient cultural norm. The Temple Scroll from Qumran, for example, quotes Deut 21:22-23, and Josephus says that the Jews in Jerusalem were "so careful about funeral rites that even malefactors who have been sentenced to crucifixion were taken down and buried before sunset" (J.W. 4.5.2 §317). These norms continued to have currency long after the time of Jesus: m. Sanh. 6:4 quotes Deut 21:22-23 verbatim and notes that Jews did not customarily leave bodies of executed criminals hanging past sunset on the day of death. Jews in Palestine, in other words, had long regarded prompt burial as the normal and decent way to treat the dead. The Jewish leaders in first-century Jerusalem would have thought of it as only natural and right to take Jesus' body down from the cross at sunset. They would not have thought it natural and right, however, to bury Jesus like most other Jews. For there was also a long-standing Jewish tradition that some bodies ought to be buried differently from others. Some Jews were buried in shame and dishonor, because they were guilty of crimes which made them undeserving of a decent burial. The evidence for the practice of dishonorable burial begins in the Hebrew Bible. In 1 Kgs 13:21-22, for example, a prophet who disobeys the command of the LoRD is denounced and told, "Your body shall not go into the tomb of your fathers." Later, in Jer 22:18-19 it is the king himself (in this case, Jehoiakim, son of Josiah) who is so threatened: "They shall not lament for him ... With the burial of an ass shall he be buried, dragged and cast forth beyond the gates of Jerusalem." Granted, these texts evince only the beginnings of an outline of dishonorable burial by suggesting that there might be offenders who would not be buried in their family tombs, and that there might be deaths for which Israel would not mourn; but this early evidence is reinforced in later periods. Josephus, for example, records a version of the biblical story of Achan (Joshua 7) and his 258
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account ends with the statement that Achan was "straightway put to death and at nightfall was given the ignominious (an11~) burial proper to the condemned" (Ant. 5.1.14 §44). Josephus does not specify what "ignominious burial" was-apparently he can safely assume that his readers will know and understand. The Mishnah is much more specific. m. Sanh. 6:6 says that criminals condemned by a Jewish court were not interred "in the burial place of their fathers," but in separate places kept by the court specifically for that purpose. Rites of mourning were not observed for these criminals, either. Family members were supposed to keep their grieving to themselves: The kinsmen came and greeted the judges and the witnesses as if to say, "We have nothing against you in our hearts, for you have judged the judgment of truth." And they used not to make open lamentation, but they went mourning, for mourning has its place in the heart (m. Sanh. 6:6). Talmudic texts likewise argue that mourning should not be observed for those condemned by a Jewish court ($em. 2.6). Even though these sources do not always spell out in full the exact details of dishonorable burial, certain elements do recur, and enough for us to reach at least one conclusion. From the Hebrew Bible through the rabbinic literature, dishonorable Jewish burial meant two things: burial away from the family tomb, and burial without rites of mourning. Before proceeding any further, there is a point to be noted here about burial practices-not just Jewish burial practices, but burial practices in general. The point is this: they change very slowly. For centuries on end Israelites and Jews had been burying their dead promptly, and burying their dishonored dead in shame, and these customs did not change much over time. Burial practices are in fact among the most traditional and conservative aspects of human cultures, and they are especially so in unsecularized societies. When a society is still embedded in religion-i.e. when religious beliefs still serve as the foundation for social institutions and customs-burial practices function as ritual vehicles for social and cultural cohesion in the face of death. As such, they change very slowly. It is important to note the significance of this fact for the burial of JesusY Traditions of prompt burial, and of dishonorable burial, would have exerted a powerful influence on the Jewish leaders of first-century Jerusalem. These customs had been handed down for generations and were invested with the aura of sacred authority. The Jewish leaders were devoutly religious. To imagine that they could have disregarded these traditions, out of indifference or inconvenience, is to misunderstand burial customs in a fundamental way. Worse yet, it is to project post-modern secularized ways of thinking back into an era where they do not belong.
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The element of shame in Jewish dishonorable burial is most vividly evident in the specific differences between burial in shame and burial with honor. Honorable burial emphasized precisely what shameful burial left out: the family tomb, and mourning. Burial by family groups in subterranean chambers was the consistent pattern, not just among Israelites and Jews but throughout the ancient near east. The practice of secondary burial (i.e. the reburial of bones after the flesh of the body has decayed) was especially prevalent, going back as far as the Middle Bronze Age (c.2000-1500 BCE), when circular underground chambers were used and the bones of family members were typically gathered into a pile on one side of the tomb. 16 Similar practices persisted through the Late Bronze Age (c.1500-1200 BCE)Y Later, during Iron Age 11 (esp. c.800-700 BCE), benches were carved around the walls of the burial chamber, about waisthigh. 18 Bodies were laid on these benches, and when decomposition of the flesh was complete, the bones were moved into repositories beneath the benches. Over time, these repositories came to hold the bones of family members long dead, so that the bones of the deceased rested with those of their forebears. The recurrent biblical idiom, "to be gathered to one's people/fathers" (Gen. 25:8 etc.), vividly depicts this ancient Israelite burial practice. It also gives voice to the Israelite preference for burial in a family tomb. Secondary burial in family tombs was still being practiced at the time of Jesus. True, the "bench" tomb had been replaced by the "loculus" tomb, in which bodies were placed not on benches but in loculus niches (i.e. deep narrow slots carved into the wall of the tomb). Repositories had also been replaced by "ossuaries" (i.e. limestone boxes), but the basic ancient pattern still held true: bones of family members were re buried together in underground tombs. Archaeological evidence demonstrates that secondary burial in loculus tombs was by far the dominant burial practice among first-century Jews in and around Jerusalem, and inscriptions show that most of these tombs were used by family groups. In the "Goliath" tomb from Jericho, inscriptions enabled the excavators to reconstruct three generations of the family tree. 19 The famous "Caiaphas" tomb demonstrates that the family of the High Priest followed these customs: in that loculus tomb there were 16 ossuaries, one of which was inscribed with the name "Joseph Caiaphas." 20 Secondary burial is discussed at length in the Mishnah and Talmudim, and the tractate Semal}ot is almost entirely devoted to the topic. Here too there is a strong emphasis on ties of kinship and family: Semal}ot 12.9, for example, holds a son responsible for the re burial of his father's bones. Archaeological corroboration of the rabbinic sources is found in the second and third-century catacombs at Beth She'arim, where secondary burial is frequent and where inscriptions show that individual burial chambers were purchased and used by family groups. 21 260
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The element of mourning which was included in honorable burial also emphasized ties of kinship and family, and here too the traditions reach far back into Israelite history. Jacob was said to have rent his garments and put on sackcloth after being told that Joseph has died (Gen 37:34), and Bathsheba first "made lamentation for her husband" before becoming David's wife (2 Sam 11:26--27). Sometimes a specific length of time is mentioned: the people of Israel mourn the death of Aaron for thirty days (Num. 20:29), and Job sits with his comforters for seven days and seven nights (Job 2:12-13). References to the length of time spent in mourning also appear in Jewish literature from the first century, as for example when Josephus writes that Archelaus "kept seven days of mourning for his father" (J. W. 2.1.1 §1), and Mary and Martha are said to have been mourning their brother Lazarus for four days before Jesus arrives (John 11:17-19). The rabbinic literature supplies details of a more highly developed ritual. Here the period of mourning unfolds in two stages: first a seven-day period of intense grieving (called i1l7~~). when family members "stay away from work, sitting at home upon low couches, heads covered, receiving the condolences of relatives and friends," 22 and then a thirty-day period of less severe mourning (called o•ci"ci), during which family members still did not leave town, cut their hair, or attend social gatherings. The rabbinic literature strongly emphasizes family ties: the longest period of mourning-an entire year-is said to occur when a son mourns for his parents ($em. 9.15). These customs of honorable burial expose an important feature of the Jewish culture of Roman Palestine. When they tended to their dead in this way, Jews were doing more than simply disposing of a body and dealing with their grief; they were also making a symbolic statement about their most basic cultural norms and values. Anthropologists have found that death rituals typically feature symbolic representations of the most cherished values in a culture, because "the issue of death throws into relief the most important cultural values by which people live their lives and evaluate their experiences."23 For Jews, one of those values was the importance of belonging to an extended family group. The foundational narrative for Jewish culture was a story about a man whose descendants were to be more numerous than the stars in the sky, and respect for the family was enshrined in the moral charter of Judaism: "honor your father and mother." Jews in Jesus' day typically lived in extended family groups, and routinely identified themselves in legal documents, inscriptions, and literature as "X, son (or daughter) of Y." At life's end, they thought it best to be buried with their nearest kin. To be buried away from the family tomb--by design, not by fate-was to be cast adrift from these cultural patterns, and dislodged from a place in the family. To be unmourned by one's nearest relatives was to be effaced from the cultural landscape. It was worse than unfortunate; it was a shame. 261
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How does all of this affect the burial of Jesus? To begin, it is certain that the Jewish leaders did not want the body of Jesus left hanging on the cross. Instead they wanted it to be taken down and buried before sunset on the day of his death. They would not have placed the body in a family tomb, nor would they have felt any obligation to mourn, but failure to bury Jesus would have been an offense against everything decent and good. At the season of Passover such sensibilities would only have been heightened. Thus it is to be expected that someone from the council approached Pilate about the body of Jesus. It is not necessary to assume that most, or even many, of the council members were involved in the events which led to Jesus' death. Nor is it necessary to suppose that any of the council members had any secret allegiance to Jesus. It is only necessary to recognize that at least a few of them were involved in the proceedings against Jesus, and that they were devout Jews. In that situation, Jewish religious and cultural norms would have prompted them to see that Jesus was buried in shame at sunset on the day of his death. And to do that, someone had to approach Pilate about the body of Jesus. Jewish burial customs, in fact, can explain a detail in the Gospels which has puzzled some interpreters: why does Joseph of Arimathea bury only the body of Jesus? Why doesn't he also bury the others crucified with Jesus? 24 Jewish traditions of dishonorable burial can make sense of this turn of events in the story, because burial in shame was relevant only to those criminals who had been condemned by the action of some Jewish (or Israelite) authority. Dishonorable burial was reserved for those who had been condemned by the people of Israel. Semal:zot 2.9, in fact, specifically exempts those who die at the hands of other authorities. Mark's narrative conforms to this tradition. Since at least a few of the Jewish leaders had been involved in the condemnation of Jesus, they had an obligation to bury him in shame. But they were not necessarily responsible for Pilate's other victims.
Ill In describing the burial of Jesus, John 19:39 says, "Nicodemus, who had at first come to Jesus by night, also came, bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, weighing about a hundred pounds." This brief sentence showcases the kind of problems which bedevil the Christian accounts of Jesus' burial. In a word, the Christian stories are shot through with theology. Nicodemus, for example, is not mentioned in any other Christian story about the burial, but he figures prominently in the Gospel of John, both in the burial story and in his late-night conversation with Jesus in chapter 3. His appearance in the burial narrative has been linked to a specific theological agenda in the Fourth Gospel: he represents those who believe but do not openly declare their faith in Jesus. 25 In addition, the reference to "a 262
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hundred pounds" of spices is also problematic. That much myrrh and aloes would "fill a considerable space in the tomb and smother the corpse under a mound." 26 This exorbitant quantity of spices, however, can also be linked to a theological interest, since ancient texts often depict extravagant preparations for the burials of important people. In both of these cases, John has added details which advance a theological purpose, and that in a nutshell is the basic historical problem with the burial narratives. These texts stand at the intersection between the death of Jesus and his resurrection, and as such they are thickly woven with expressions of early Christian theology. It is tempting to try to solve this problem in one of two ways. First, it is possible to try to identify a pre-Gospel tradition which underlies and precedes the written Gospels, and which can then be used to bypass the difficulties of the written Gospel narratives. Brown offers just such a reconstruction in his magisterial work, The Death of the Messiah. The results are often persuasive, as for example when Brown argues that the pre-Gospel tradition probably included the designation that Jesus was buried on "the day of preparation.'m Yet reservations about such conclusions will always persist, since any effort to recover a pre-Gospel tradition is inevitably beset by intractable theoretical problems. We simply do not know enough about oral tradition in general, or about the pre-Gospel burial tradition in particular, to speak with confidence in this area. In the absence of any external confirmation it is practically impossible for us to know what preceded the burial narrative in the Gospel of Mark. It is also tempting to go to the opposite extreme and conclude that the Christian accounts of Jesus' burial contain no historically useful information at all. John Dominic Crossan argues for this view in Who Killed Jesus? Setting the burial texts against the background of early Jewish and Christian polemics, Crossan asserts that the Gospels tell us absolutely nothing reliable about the fate of Jesus' body: "The burial stories are hope and hyperbole expanded into apologetics and polemics." 28 Certainly there are elements in the burial texts which express Christian hope-Nicodemus, for one-and there are elements which obviously derive from Christian apologetics-the guard at the tomb, for another. Be that as it may, Who Killed Jesus? still reads like an exercise in throwing the baby out with the bath water. Even if everything in all the burial narratives has been constructed entirely from Christian theology and apologetics, these texts could still be instructive. It is precisely by looking closely at the ways in which Christian theology has shaped these stories-what has been changed, what has been emphasized, and (most especially) what has been presupposed and even tacitly admitted-that we can turn up a revealing clue about the historical circumstances of Jesus' burial. I refer, of course, to the well-known fact that the Gospels embellish and glamorize the burial of Jesus. Many scholars have already commented on 263
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this tendency in the Gospels. 29 Because he held such a prominent place in the worship of early Christians, their stories naturally seek to refine, polish and beautify the circumstances of his interment. A few bottles of ointment might suffice for washing an ordinary corpse, but for Jesus, no less than one hundred pounds will do. Examples of this sort can be repeated several times over. It is not necessary to rehearse in detail the studies which have already covered this material thoroughly and well; it will suffice merely to summarize their conclusions. Virtually all studies agree that as the tradition develops, every detail in the story is enhanced and improved upon. Mark begins the written tradition by saying that on Friday evening, Joseph of Arimathea, a respected member of the Council, requested the body of Jesus from Pilate, wrapped it in linen and sealed it in a rock-cut tomb. Never again would the story be told so simply. Joseph of Arimathea becomes a "good and righteous man" who did not consent to the action against Jesus (Luke 23:51), and then evolves into a secret disciple of Jesus (Matt 27:57; John 19:38). The "rock-cut" tomb in Mark becomes a "new" tomb (Matt 27:60), "where no one had yet been laid" (Luke 23:53). John not only combines those descriptions-the tomb is both "new" and "where no one had yet been laid" (John 19:41)-but also adds that the tomb was located in a garden. In Mark Joseph wraps the body in linen-nothing more-but subsequent Gospels describe the linen as "clean" (Matt 27:59) and claim that the body was bathed in vast quantities of perfume (John 19:39). By the time of the Gospel of Peter, during the mid-second century CE, Christians were going so far as to assert that Jesus had been sumptuously buried in the family tomb of one of Jerusalem's most powerful and wealthy families. The tendency of this tradition is unmistakable, and Crossan is right to describe it as "damage control."30 In view of this clear tendency, one characteristic of the burial narratives stands out as strikingly significant: The canonical Gospels depict Jesus' burial as shameful. Even though they take obvious steps to dignify the burial of Jesus, these documents still depict a burial which a Jew in Roman Palestine would have recognized as dishonorable. For in every Gospel up to the Gospel of Peter, Jesus is not buried in a family tomb, and he is not mourned. This fact is both surprising and revealing. It is surprising because it shows that even with all their embellishments and improvements, there was a limit beyond which the early stages of the tradition would not go. Brown, for example, has demonstrated that the burial described in the Gospel of Mark is a dishonorable burial at the hands of a Torah-observant council member. 31 In keeping with Jewish custom, Joseph of Arimathea buries the body at sunset, probably in a tomb reserved for criminals. What has been shown for Mark holds true for the other canonical burial narratives as well. The story is steadily improved upon, but the two defining marks of shame continue and persist: no family tomb, and no mourning. A detail added by Matthew, Luke, and John is particularly revealing in this 264
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regard. The tomb of Jesus, they all say, is new, "where not one had yet been laid" (Matt 27:60; Luke 23:3; John 19:43). Many scholars have noted that this description lends dignity to Jesus' burial, because it clearly differentiates his resting place from a criminals' burial place like the ones mentioned in the Mishnah. But as both David Daube and Josef Blinzler have pointed out, a new tomb would still be a shameful place of interment.32 In fact a new tomb, never before used by sinner or saint, would be the only culturally acceptable alternative to a criminals' burial place, for it would be the only other way to preserve the boundary of shame which separated Jesus from his people. By putting him alone in a new tomb, Matthew, Luke, and John do not deny the shame of Jesus' burial; they merely spare him the disgrace of being placed in a criminals' tomb. A residue of shame still clings to him as an executed convict. Rites of mourning are absent from these narratives as well. When Jesus dies, no one sits ;"ll1::J~: a few women merely note the location of the tomb, and later visit it after the Sabbath. They go there, however, not to mourn, but merely to anoint the body or "to see the tomb." The omission of mourning from the canonical Gospels is significant because in other contexts all four of these Gospels have clear depictions of the initial stages of mourning for the dead. Resuscitation stories like the raising of Jairus' daughter (Mark 5:21-43 par.), for example, or the Lazarus narrative (John 11:1-44) include explicit depictions of typical Jewish rituals of mourning. Indeed, in each of these stories the portrayal of mourning actually serves to heighten the narrative impact of the miracle by establishing that the unfortunate victim is truly dead, beyond all human help. Clearly these writers knew how to depict mourning for the dead and were willing to do so when it would advance the point of their story. What a shame that they did not put any such depictions in their stories of Jesus' burial. Contradictions against Jewish practices of dishonorable burial first appear in the Gospel of Peter, which both places Jesus in a family tomb and depicts specific acts of mourning. According to GPet. 6.22, for example, Joseph of Arimathea washes the body of Jesus, wraps it in linen and places it in "his own tomb"-nothing about newness here-which was called "Joseph's Garden." Later, women come to the tomb with the stated intention of performing the customary rites of mourning for the dead (& EicOeEaav 7tOtEiv; GPet. 12.52) True, the Jews are said to have prevented such mourning on the day of Jesus' crucifixion, but the women resolutely intend to do so after the Sabbath (x:al. wv E7tt -.ou ~vfu!a't~ au-.ou 7tOtTJaCO~Ev 'tau-.a; GPet. 12.53). They determine not to confine their grieving to the privacy of their own hearts: they will do "what ought to be done" ('tit 6$EtAO~Eva; GPet. 12.54). With these depictions the tradition of Jesus' burial has turned a corner, crossing the boundaries of Jewish custom and making the burial of Jesus honorable. 265
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In the early stages of the written tradition, then, culturally appropriate efforts were made to dignify the burial of Jesus. To that end, the canonical Gospels tell stories about a member of the Sanhedrin named Joseph of Arimathea, a new tomb, clean linen, and large amounts of perfume. Specific mention of either a criminals' burial place or rites of mourning is, however, discreetly avoided. Not until the Gospel of Peter are these stories embellished to the point that they denied what an earlier generation of Christians had tacitly admitted: Jesus had been buried in shame. This analysis is consistent with a fact which can all too easily get lost in the confusing shuffle of the burial narratives: the people who first told this story were Jews from first-century Palestine. The earliest layers of the Gospel tradition originated in first-century Palestine-certainly Matthew and possibly also Mark and John were written there-and as such these early stories of Jesus' burial were necessarily shaped by the burial practices of that place and time, customs which belonged to the contemporary social system and the prevailing cultural landscape. The earliest Christians lived and died by these customs, most of the time rather unreftectively, and their narratives inevitably presupposed them. From a distance of twenty centuries we can now imagine all kinds of reasons why their stories might have taken the shape they did. There are, for example, possible answers in literary criticism: perhaps the shameful burial completes the ongoing conflict between Jesus and the Jewish leaders in Matthew, or maybe it is Mark's final statement on the cost of discipleship. On the other hand, an ideological explanation will be more plausible to some: perhaps women did mourn the death of Jesus, but male Gospel writers, suspicious of what might happen if women began meeting in groups, expunged them from the written record. Frankly, all sorts of possibilities suggest themselves, none of which played any role at all in first-century Palestine. In that place and time, the answer was not so complicated. A story about the honorable burial of a criminal condemned by Jewish authorities was simply not plausible. Everyone knew it did not work that way. Certainly the early Christians in Palestine who first told the story of Jesus' burial knew it, for when it came to matters of death and burial, they appear to have been ordinary and typical Jews. Their narratives clearly display a thorough familiarity with most of the Jewish burial practices of first-century Palestine. They knew, for example, that bodies were customarily buried promptly on the day of death, after being washed with ointment and wrapped in linen. They knew that the dead were customarily buried in underground tombs, and that they were mourned by their nearest relatives. And by the subtle ways in which they dignified the burial of Jesus without crossing the boundaries of Jewish custom, the texts show that the earliest Christians also knew that condemned criminals were not buried with their families and were not mourned. It is reasonable to
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conclude, in other words, that the early Christians in Palestine buried their dead no differently from other Jews in that place and time. 33
IV E. P. Sanders, in attempting to reconstruct the course of events at Jesus' trial, has pointed out that probably no single individual was in a position to know fully the exact course of events that night. 34 The point is well taken and should serve as a reminder that a degree of uncertainty will always inhere in any effort to reconstruct what happened at the death and burial of Jesus. It was, after all, almost two thousand years ago. John Dominic Crossan, of course, takes scepticism a good deal further and argues that "nobody knew what had happened to Jesus' body ... With regard to the body of Jesus, by Easter Sunday morning, those who cared did not know, and those who knew did not care. " 35 There are reasons to agree with this sobering assessment, at least in part. Certainly few-if any--of Jesus' followers directly witnessed his death and burial, and the glamorized Christian stories of his interment cannot be trusted to describe wie es eigentlich war. Yet there are good reasons to stop short of complete scepticism about the fate of Jesus' body. Indeed, the evidence from Roman, Jewish, and Christian sources all coheres around a single conclusion: Jesus was buried in shame. Someone from the Council approached Pilate about the body and put it in an underground tomb reserved for Jewish criminals. The evidence has shown that even though Roman authorities like Pilate might sometimes have left crucifixion victims hanging, they often allowed bodies to be buried. Such allowances, in fact, were all the more likely during a religious holiday, or when the crucifixion was not part of a mass operation to suppress an open and armed revolt, or when the request for the body came from a person who was cooperative with Rome. The evidence has further shown that the Jewish leaders who participated in the proceedings against Jesus had strong religious and cultural motives for seeking to bury him in shame. Such motives came not from any secret allegiance to Jesus, but from observance of traditional law and custom. Finally, the evidence has also shown that the early followers of Jesus described his burial in terms which were dishonorable. They dignified it as much as possible but did not deny its shame. On the basis of the evidence, then, the following scenario emerges as a likely course of events for the deposition of Jesus' body: late on the day of his death, one or more of the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem-later personified by Christian tradition as Joseph of Arimathea-requested custody of the body for purposes of dishonorable burial. These leaders, having collaborated with the Romans in the condemnation of Jesus, had both the means and the motive to bury him in shame: means, in their access to Pilate, and motive, in Jewish law and custom. Pilate did not hesitate to grant
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dishonorable burial to one of their condemned criminals. Only the most rudimentary burial preparations were administered-the body was wrapped and taken directly to the tomb, without a funeral procession, eulogies, or the deposition of any personal effects. By sunset on the day of his death, the body of Jesus lay within a burial cave reserved for criminals condemned by Jewish courts. No one mourned. The shame of Jesus' burial is not only consistent with the best evidence, but can also help to account for an historical fact which has long been puzzling to historians of early Christianity: why did the primitive church not venerate the tomb of Jesus? Joachim Jeremias, for one, thought it inconceivable (undenkbar) that the primitive community would have let the grave of Jesus sink into oblivion.36 Yet the earliest hints of Christian veneration of Jesus' tomb do not surface until the early fourth century CE. 37 It is a striking fact-and not at all unthinkable-that the tomb of Jesus was not venerated until it was no longer remembered as a place of shame. 38
Notes 1 J. Blinzler, "Die Grablegung Jesu in historischer Sicht," in E. Dhanis (ed.), Resurrexit (Vatican City: Editrice Vaticana, 1974) 56--107; F. M. Braun, "La sepulture de Jesus," RB 45 (1936) 34--52, 184-200, 346--63; A. Buchler, "L'enterrement des criminels d'apres le Talmud et le Midrasch," REJ 46 (1903) 74--88; H. Cousin, "Sepulture criminelle et sepulture prophetique," RB 81 (1974) 375-93; D. Daube, The New Testament and Rabbinic Judaism (London: Athlone, 1956), 310-11; E. Dhanis, "L'ensevelissement de Jesus et la visite au tombeau dans l'evangile de saint Marc (xv,40-xvi,8)," Greg 39 (1958) 367-410. 2 R. E. Brown, "The Burial of Jesus (Mark 15:42-47)," CBQ 50 (1988) 233-45; idem, The Death of the Messiah (New York: Doubleday, 1994) 1201-1317; J. D. Crossan, The Historical Jesus (San Francisco: Harper, 1991) 391-94; idem, Who Killed Jesus? (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1995) 160-88. 3 M. Hengel, Crucifixion in the Ancient World and the Folly of the Message of the Cross (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977) 86--88. 4 R. Hertz, Death and the Right Hand (New York: Free Press, 1960). 5 E. P. Sanders, The Historical Figure of Jesus (New York: Penguin, 1993) 15-32; F. Millar, The Roman Near East 31 BC-AD 337 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993) 43--56. 6 Crossan, Who Killed Jesus?, 167-68. For the archaeology, cf. V. Tzaferis, "Jewish Tombs at and near Giv'at ha-Mivtar, Jerusalem," JEJ 20 (1970) 18-32. For two differing analyses of the skeletal remains-and two different reconstructions of the Roman method of crucifixion--cf. N. Haas, "Anthropological Observations on the Skeletal Remains from Giv'at ha-Mivtar," JEJ 20 (1970) 38-59; and J. Zias and E. Sekeles, "The Crucified Man from Giv'at ha-Mivtar: A Reappraisal," JEJ 35 (1985) 22-27. Crossan, however, completely misunderstands the significance of this find when he writes, "With all those thousands of people crucified around Jerusalem in the first century alone, we have so far found only a single crucified skeleton ... Was burial, then, the exception rather than the rule?" (168). The archaeological report plainly states that it was only an accident which caused Yeho)?.anan's remains to be preserved in such a way
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7 8
9
10
as to identify him as a crucifixion victim. Only the nail through his ankle provided evidence of crucifixion. And why was the nail still in Yehol}anan's ankle? Because the soldiers who had crucified him could not extract it from the cross. When the nail had been driven in, it had struck a knot in the wood, bending back the point of the nail. As any carpenter (or fisherman) knows, it is almost impossible to extract a nail with a point that has been bent back like the barb of a hook. Thus if there had not been a knot strategically located in the wood of Yehol}anan's cross, the soldiers would have easily pulled the nail out of the cross. It never would have been buried with Yehoi}anan, and we would never have known that he had been crucified. It is not surprising, in other words, that we have found the remains of only one crucifixion victim: it is surprising that we have identified even one. Crossan's inference on p. 168 is quite misguided. Brown, The Death of the Messiah, 121~17. The tractate $ema1Jot (lit. "rejoicings," certainly a euphemistic title) dates from the third century CE and is an earlier form of the Talmudic tractate 'Ebel Rabbati. For this date and a discussion of the evidence, see D. Zlotnick, trans., The Tractate "Mourning" ( $etna/Jot) (New York: Yale University Press, 1966). Comment is called for here on current scholarly suspicions regarding the value (or lack thereof) of the Mishnah as a historical source for the world of Jesus. Of course one cannot naively assume that this third-century text preserves reliable information about first-century Jewish life. In many cases it demonstrably does not. On the specific topic of burial practices, however, there is strong evidence in favor of using the Mishnah. First, at points where it can be checked against the archaeological evidence the Mishnah has already been shown to be accurate, m. B. Bat. 6:8, for example, records a rabbinic discussion about the ideal dimensions for burial niches, and the dimensions given in the Mishnaic text correspond closely to the actual dimensions of so-called "loculus" niches typically found in first-century Jewish tombs in Palestine. m. B. Bat. 2:9 stipulates that tombs should be located at least fifty cubits outside of a town or city, and archaeology confirms that this practice was typically followed both in firstcentury Jerusalem and at Qumran. Second, it is an anthropological commonplace that burial practices change very slowly (see below). Theological ideas about death and the afterlife are typically vague and fluid, but burial practices and customs have a weight and mass all their own. From this point of view, there would be nothing particularly remarkable about a third-century text which accurately preserved information about burial customs from two centuries earlier. For these reasons I do not hesitate to make critical use of the Mishnah-along with the tractate $ema1Jot -in conjunction with other sources of evidence on this specific topic. Cf. B. R. McCane, Jews, Christians, and Burial in Roman Palestine (Ph.D. diss., Duke University, 1992); P. Figueras, Decorated Jewish Ossuaries (Leiden: Brill, 1985); D. Goldenberg, Halakhah in Josephus and in Tannaitic Literature: A Comparative Study (Ph.D. diss., Dropsie University, 1978); R. Hachlili, Ancient Jewish Art and Archaeology in the Land of Israel (Leiden: Brill, 1988); S. Klein, Tod und Begriibnis in Paliistina zur Zeit der Tannaiten (Berlin: Itzowski, 1908); E. M. Meyers, Jewish Ossuaries: Reburial and Rebirth (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1971); L. Y. Rahmani, "Ancient Jerusalem's Funerary Customs and Tombs, Part Three," BA 44 (1981) 43-45; S. Safrai, "Home and Family," inS. Safrai and M. Stern (eds.), The Jewish People in the First Century (2 vols., CRINT 1.1-2; Assen: Van Gorcum; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976) 2.773--S7. m. Sanh. 6:5; $em. 1.5. Cf. also Mark 5:38 par., where funerary preparations have already begun after Jairus' daugher has died earlier that day.
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11 m. Sanh. 23.5; $em. 1.2-5; 12.10. One prominent rabbi, Rabban Gamaliel, is said to have disapproved of overly ostentatious preparations for burial, and to have ordered his body to be wrapped in flax rather than linen (b. Ketub. 86a; b. Mo'ed Qat. 27b). Brown appears to misunderstand the point of this gesture when he writes that "a change in burial style is reported to have been introduced" by Gamaliel (The Death of the Messiah, 1243). Gamaliel did not, however, introduce any change in Jewish burial practices: his body was wrapped in cloth like any other Jewish corpse. What Gamaliel changed was the degree of ostentation, by insisting on plain simple flax rather than fine linen. Such sentiments are rather common in the anthropology of death ritual. In the ancient world, Solon, Plato, and Cicero are all said to have urged limitations on funerary display (Plutarch, Sol. 21.5; Cicero, de Leg. 2.23.59; 2.24.60). 12 m. B. Bat. 2:9; cf. also A. Kloner, The Necropolis of Jerusalem (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University, 1980) [Hebrew]. 13 $em. 8.2-7. Two kinds of burial niches typically characterize Jewish tombs in Roman Palestine: (1) the kokh or loculus, a deep narrow slot in the wall of the tomb, and (2) the arcosolium, a broad arch-shaped recess along the wall of the tomb. A typical loculus cave can have 5-8 niches (cf. L. Y. Rahmani, "A Jewish Tomb on Shahin Hill, Jerusalem," /El 8 [1958] 101-105), while a typical arcosolium cave has only three (cf. idem, "The Mahanayim Tomb," 'Atiqot 3 [1961] 91-120). 14 $em. 8.1: "One may go out to the cemetery for three days to inspect the dead for a sign of life, without fear that this smacks of heathen practice. For it happened that a man was inspected after three days, and he went on to live twenty-five years; still another went on to have five children and died later." Such anecdotal accounts are more likely than rabbinic prescriptions to reflect the realities of everyday life-and death. 15 For the sociology and anthropology of death ritual, see P. Metcalf and R. Huntington, Celebrations of Death: The Anthropology of Mortuary Ritual (2nd ed., Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991); M. Bloch and J. Parry (eds.), Death and the Regeneration of Life (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1982); R. Chapman, I. Kinnes, and K. Randsborg (eds.), The Archaeology of Death (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981). 16 S. Campbell and A. Green (eds.), The Archaeology of Death in the Ancient Near East (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994). 17 R. Gonen, Burial Patterns and Cultural Diversity in Late Bronze Age Canaan (ASOR Dissertation Series 7; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1992). 18 E. Bloch-Smith, Judahite Burial Practices and Beliefs about the Dead (JSOTSup 123; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992). 19 R. Hachlili, "The Goliath Family in Jericho: Funerary Inscriptions from a First Century AD Jewish Monumental Tomb," BASOR 235 (1979) 31--65; idem and P. Smith, "The Geneology of the Goliath Family," BASOR 235 (1979) 67-70. 20 Z. Greenhut, "The Caiaphas Tomb in North Talpiyot, Jerusalem," 'Atiqot 21 (1992) 63-71. 21 M. Schwabe and B. Lifshitz, Beth She'arim, Vol. ll: The Greek Inscriptions (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1974) 223. 22 L. Y. Rahmani, "Ancient Jerusalem's Funerary Customs and Tombs, Part One," BA 44 (1981) 175. 23 Metcalf and Huntington, Celebrations of Death, 25. 24 Crossan, Who Killed Jesus?, 173. 25 R. A. Culpepper, Anatomy of the Fourth Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983) 136.
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26 27 28 29
30 31 32 33
34 35 36 37 38
Brown, The Death of the Messiah, 1260. Brown, The Death of the Messiah, 1238-41. Crossan, Who Killed Jesus?, 188. See, inter alia, Blinzler, "Die Grablegung Jesu," 74; Brown, "The Burial of Jesus," 242-43; Crossan, The Historical Jesus, 393-94; Daube, The New Testament and Rabbinic Judaism, 311; R. Pesch, Das Markusevangelium (HTKNT 2.1-2; 2 vols., Freiburg: Herder, 1977) 2.516; J. A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke (AB 28 and 28A; Garden City: Doubleday, 1981) 2.1523-25. R. Schnackenburg, Das Johannesevangelium (HTKNT 4.1-3; 3 vols., Freiburg: Herder, 1965-75) 2.346. Crossan, The Historical Jesus, 394. Brown, "The Burial of Jesus." Blinzler, "Die Grablegung Jesu," 101-102; Daube, The New Testament and Rabbinic Judaism, 311. The absence of distinctively Christian funerary archaeology in Roman Palestine further reinforces this conclusion. For the details of the archaeological and literary evidence, cf. McCane, "Jews, Christians, and Burial in Roman Palestine." E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985) 300. Crossan, The Historical Jesus, 394 (his emphasis). J. Jeremias, Heilegengriiber in Jesu Umwelt (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1958) 145. Eusebius, Vita Constantini 3.25-32. I am grateful to my colleague at the Sepphoris Regional Project, Jonathan L. Reed, and to my colleagues at Converse College, Robert J. Hauck and Melissa Walker, all of whom read an earlier version of this article and offered constructive criticisms.
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"ARE YOU THE MESSIAH?" Is the crux of Mark 14:61-62 resolvable? James D. G. Dunn Source: D. G. Horrell and C. M. Tuckett (eds), Christology, Controversy and Community: New Testament Essays in Honour of David R. Catchpole (Novum Testamentum, Supplements 99; Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 1-22.
1. Introduction By common consent, Mark 14:61-62 is one of the most important texts in the Gospels, particularly in any quest for Jesus' self-understanding and for the historical circumstances of Jesus' death. In it Jesus is asked by the High Priest whether he is "the Messiah, the Son of God". Jesus answers in the affirmative and then makes a prediction regarding the Son of Man sitting on God's right and coming on the clouds. The High Priest responds by charging him with blasphemy. In this one text, therefore, we find no less than three of the most important christological titles being used. Jesus seems to accept two of them (Messiah, Son of God), and a very plausible interpretation of the third (Son of Man) is that Jesus was also speaking of himself. Moreover, we have clearly indicated the reason why Jesus was rejected by the priestly authorities and why he was then handed over to the Roman authorities for execution. If all, or any, of this is historically accurate, or close to the events which led up to Jesus' execution, the consequences for Christian understanding of Jesus and of the reasons for his death are tremendous. If, alternatively, this is much elaborated or even wholly created tradition, then much as it tells us about early Christian belief regarding Jesus and the cause of his death, its value in answering important questions like, Who did Jesus think he was?, and Why was he executed?, becomes highly dubious if not worthless. These of course are issues which David Catchpole addressed in his early studies,1 which stimulated my own early interest in them. Since then, much water has flowed under the Cambridge bridges which we regularly traversed in each other's company back in the '60s. And in the meantime the issues have been debated endlessly and seem to have become ever more complex. The prospect of entering into the complexities of that debate in a 272
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single essay to any good effect would seem to be bleak. Fortunately, however, scholarship at the turn of the millennium has the benefit of Raymond Brown's magnificent survey and ground-clearing magnum opus. 2 So comprehensive, magisterial and measured is it (as with all Brown's work) that it raises the opposite question: whether there is anything more needing to be said. Nevertheless, in my own judgment, less well honed in this area of NT studies I freely admit, there do seem to be two aspects in particular on which more can usefully be said, and on these I will focus this essay: the High Priest's question as the very understandable outcome of a particular line of questioning; and the possible significance of merkabah mystical practice for understanding Jesus' answer and the ensuing verdict of blasphemy. For convenience I will provide here both the Nestle-Aland Greek text and the NRSV translation of Mark 14:55-64: 55 oi OE UPXtEpEtc; lCO.i ol..ov to cruvtoptov t~f]touv lCO.ta tou 'lllOOU ~aptupi.av Eic; to 9avat&crat aut6v, lCO.t OUX 11Upt01COV. 56 1tol..l..oi yap E'lfEUOo~apt'6pouv lCUt' autou, lCO.t tcrat al. ~aptupiat OUlC ~av. 57 lCO.l nvEc; avacrtavtEc; E'lfEUOo~aptupouv lCUt' autou A.tyovtEc; 58 on 'H~Etc; TJlCoucra~Ev autou A.tyovtoc; on 'Eyw lCO.ta.A.ucrro tOV vaov tOUtOV tov XEtpo1tOllltOV lCO.t Ota tpt&v ll~Ep(i)v &A.A.ov axEtpo1t0tlltOV oilCoOo~i]crro. 59 lCO.t OUOE outroc; tOll Tjv .., ~aptupia aut&v. 60 lCUt avacrtac; o apXtEpEUc; Eic; ~tcrov E1t11pc0t11crEv tOV 'lllOOUV A.tyrov, OUlC U1t01Cpi.vn OUOEV ti outoi crou lCO.tU~aptupo'llmv; 61 0 OE tcru:ima lCO.t OUlC U1tE1Cpi.vato ouotv. 1tUAtV 6 UpXtEpEUc; E1t11pc0tU O.UtOV lC(lt I..EyEt aut(j), l:u Ei 6 Xptcrtoc; 6 Utoc; tou E'i>l..oy11tou; 62 6 o£ 'I11crouc; Ei1tEv, 'Eyw Ei~t, Kat O'lfEcr9E tov uiov tOU av9pW7tOU ElC OE~t&v 1Ca9i]~EVOV tfic; ouva~Eroc; lCO.t tpxo~EVOV ~Eta t&v VE(j)EAOOV tou oupavou. 63 6 OE UptEpEUc; Otapp~ac; toUc; Xtt&vac; autou I..EyEt, Ti Ett XPEiav EXO~EV ~aptuprov; 64 TJlCoucratE tfic; ~A.acrq>~iac;. ti u~i:v q>aiVEtat; oi o£ 7tUVtEc; Kat£1Cptvav autov tvoxov Eivat Oavatou. 55 Now the chief priests and the whole council were looking for testimony against Jesus to put him to death; but they found none. 56 For many gave false testimony against him, and their testimony did not agree. 57 Some stood up and gave false testimony against him, saying, 58 "We heard him say, 'I will destroy this temple that is made with hands, and in three days I will build another, not made with hands' ". 59 But even on this point their testimony did not agree. 60 Then the high priest stood up before them and asked Jesus, "Have you no answer? What is it that they testify against you?" 61 But he was silent and did not answer. Again the high priest asked him, "Are you the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed 273
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One?" 62 Jesus said, "I am; and 'you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of the Power', and 'coming with the clouds of heaven'". 63 Then the high priest tore his clothes and said, "Why do we still need witnesses? 64 You have heard his blasphemy! What is your decision?" All of them condemned him as deserving death.
2. The charge against Jesus We need not become involved in the old question of whether Mark 14:55--64 is the account of a proper trial before a properly convened body properly described as "the Sanhedrin". All that the account itself indicates is a hearing before an ad hoc council convened by Caiaphas to advise him. 3 To pursue questions of legality is therefore largely a waste of time, with so many probable anachronisms in play as to render the question itself almost meaningless. This is not to deny that some sort of legal process took place. The fact that Jesus was "handed over" is well rooted in the tradition. It is true that the term has been characteristically elaborated in terms of Judas as the "betrayer",4 and theologised in terms of Jesus being "handed over" for our sins/us. 5 But the more basic technical sense of "handed over into the custody of' is still evident,6 including the semitic construction, "delivered into the hand(s) of'. 7 So there is a strong likelihood that behind Mark 14:55--64 lies the historical fact that Jesus was "handed over" to the Roman authorities as the outcome of a hearing before an ad hoc council convened by the High Priest Caiaphas. As to the account itself, there can be little doubt that Mark 14:55-59 is at best a partisan account of what happened. It is certainly likely that the first followers of Jesus were curious about what had transpired before Caiaphas's council. Some information may have been gleaned from one or two of those present-whether from attendants, or guards, or even a member of the council, and whether by direct information or through the popular account circulated in the market place and Temple courts is of less moment. But the record of the testimony against Jesus as "false testimony" (14:56--57, 59) is certainly a Christian slant on the proceedings. This point is all the more significant, since the accusation against Jesus-that he had been heard to say, "I will destroy this temple (Ka'tal.:ucrro 'tov vaov wlhov) that is made with hands, and in three days I will build another, not made with hands"-has a substantial degree of plausibility. Jesus is recalled elsewhere as predicting the destruction of the Temple (Mark 13:2/Matt 24:2/Luke 21:6), a possibility which no one with any political sensitivity could easily discount. 8 And the tradition that Jesus was remembered as saying something about both its destruction and its restoration has surprisingly strong roots. Not only does the saying appear as the accusation against Jesus in the hearing before Caiaphas (Mark 274
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14:58/Matt 26:61), to be echoed by the crowd later (Mark 15:29/Matt 27:39--40). But it also appears on Jesus' own lips in John 2:19: "Destroy this temple (l.:ucra'tE 'tov vaov 'to'lhov) and in three days I will raise it up". And in Acts 6:14 it reappears in the testimony brought against Stephen: "We have heard him say that this man Jesus of Nazareth will destroy this place (Ka'tal.:ucrEt 'tov 'to7tov 'to'lhov) and will change the customs that Moses handed to us". On the basis of this evidence, it has to be judged likely both that Jesus did in fact say something about the destruction of the Temple, and that reports of this saying constituted the principal and most effective testimony against him at the hearing before Caiaphas. That other testimony was offered is indicated by Mark and Matthew (Mark 14:55-56/Matt 26:59-60), but no indication is given of what it amounted to. And all the testimony against Jesus, including the testimony on his Temple saying, is branded by Mark and Matthew as "false". Yet the fact that John had no hesitation in attributing more or less the same saying to Jesus himself (John 2:19) confirms the less explicit testimony of Mark 13:2, that Jesus did indeed say something politically sensitive about the Temple. Luke's omission of the whole sequence may indicate no more than another example of him wishing to delay important sayings and developments till his second volume. 9 There could be several reasons why the first followers of Jesus regarded the testimony at the hearing as "false", including the form of wording used. (1) Matthew omits the very Greek antithesis XEtpo7totTJ'tov/ axEtpo7totTJ'tOV which thereby probably indicates Matthew's awareness that the antithesis had been added by Mark. 10 It is true that Stephen in his own critique of the Temple echoes the same antithesis (Acts 7:48), but that probably confirms the likelihood that in both cases the tradition of Jesus was being transposed into Hellenistic Jewish categories." (2) Did Jesus claim that he himself would destroy the Temple (Eycb JCa'tal.:ooro)? The Acts 6:14 version also attributes the destruction to Jesus himself. But John 2:19 implies a destruction for which Jesus had no responsibility. (3) Was it the second half of the saying which proved embarrassing for Jesus' first followers? John may also indicate some embarrassment at this point, in that he immediately interprets the whole saying as a reference to Jesus' own body: "he was speaking of the temple of his body" (John 2:21). And in Acts 6:14 the second half of the saying has become," ... and will change the customs that Moses handed on to us". Consequently the reference to "three days" has also disappeared, though it should not be assumed at once that the time reference in the Markan version (ota 'tpui>v TJIJ.Eprov) is derived from the tradition of the empty tomb and first resurrection appearances, since it may constitute an imprecise interval (as we would say, in two or three days, or even in a few days); 12 Matthew evidently felt it necessary to correct the similarly imprecise timing in the three passion 275
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predictions (IJ.E'tix 'tpEt<; fu.t.tpa~) to accord with the tradition of Jesus' resurrection "on the third day" ( 'tfl 'tpi 'tTI fu.t.tpn). Particularly interesting is the fact that none of those who deal with the tradition take the opportunity to refer Jesus' words to an alternative temple community, even though there was a precedent at Qumran (cf. 1QS 9:6; CD 3:12-4:12; 4QFior 1:1-7), and even though there are some hints that the earliest Christian community regarded itself as the temple of God built upon important "pillars", or within which important "pillars" were incorporated (Gal 2:9; Rev 3:12)Y All this suggests that the first followers of Jesus felt it necessary to blunt what they regarded as an unacceptable interpretation by his unidentified accusers of a saying about the Temple which Jesus was widely remembered as actually articulating. 14 This conclusion also accords well with other indications that it was primarily, if not exclusively the priestly party which took against Jesus and sought to have him removed. 15 And it also ties in well with the tradition usually known as "the cleansing of the Temple" (Mark 11:15-19). There is a wide consensus that Jesus did indeed engage in a symbolic act in the Temple, an act which could hardly have been understood by the priestly authorities as other than critical of the Temple in its present form or operation.16 Here we need to bear in mind that the Temple was the principal focus for economic and political power as well as for religious power. An act seen as critically or prophetically subversive of the priestly power, upon which Israel's stability under Roman rule was thought to depend, would provide sufficient excuse for a policy of real politique to dictate Jesus' removal from the scene. Whether Jesus' saying about the Temple was uttered by him on that occasion (as in John 2) or not, it seems to have provided the excuse needed.
3. The High Priest's question The charge against Jesus was that he said he would both destroy the Temple and build it again "in three days". Whether this is an accurate report of something Jesus actually said, or was a tendentiously hostile interpretation of a less controversial saying, either way, the important point in the Markan/Matthean accounts is that the saying in the forn1 reported (true or false) provides the occasion for the High Priest's questioning: "Have you no answer? What is it that they testify against you?" Jesus' refusal to answer then provokes the follow-up question, "Are you the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed One?" The implication is that having failed to entice Jesus to respond to the charge with an open question, Caiaphas then challenged Jesus with (one of) the obvious corollary/(ies) which followed from the charge. But what is the logic which links charge and corollary? Why should talk of destroying and building the Temple 276
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lead to the thought of Messiah and divine sonship? The issue is rarely posed, commentators usually being content to pass from verse to verse without examining the connection of thought. An answer, however, has long been available in the Dead Sea Scrolls. One of the most fascinating of the fragmentary scrolls published early on was 40Florilegium (40174/40Flor), what appears to be a collection of Hebrew Bible texts interpreted eschatologically and messianically, to give substance to the community's own eschatological expectations. Only one column has been sufficiently preserved to provide a coherent text. The first half of that column is in effect an exposition of 2 Sam 7:10--14, integrated with other texts, including Exod 15:17-18, and the column ends with what may have been the beginning of a linked exposition of Ps 2. The relevance to our present inquiry is twofold. (1) 2 Sam 7:12-14 is interpreted messianically. The text is first quoted: "The Lord declares to you that he will build you a House. I will raise up your seed after you. I will establish the throne of his kingdom [for ever]. [I will be] his father and he shall be my son" (2 Sam 7:12-14). Then, in accordance with the normal Oumran pesher style, the text, is interpreted: "He is the 'Branch of David' who shall arise with the Interpreter of the law [to rule] in Zion [at the end] of time". 17 Of particular interest here is the readiness to link together the concepts of son of David (the promise of 2 Sam 7:14 had its immediate reference to Solomon) and son of God ("I will be his father and he shall be my son"). The point would be strengthened if indeed the scroll proceeded to interpret Ps 2 in similar vein, since Ps 2 is widely recognized as an enthronement psalm, and includes Yahweh 's affirmation to the new Davidic king: "You are my son; today I have begotten you" (2:7). Even if we can have no assurance on this last possibility, the point remains that Oumran had already by the time of Jesus linked the ideas of royal/Davidic messiahship and divine sonship. (2) The 2 Sam 7:12-14 sequence also clearly established in the mind of the writer a connection between the building of the eschatological temple and this expected messianic figure. The preserved column 1 begins by citing 2 Sam 7:10, and interprets it thus: "This is the House which [he will build for them in the] last days, as it is written in the book of Moses, 'In the sanctuary which thy hands have established, 0 Lord, the Lord shall reign for ever and ever'" (Exod 15:17-18). Linked with the exposition of 2 Sam 7:12-14 a few lines later, the expectation seems to be clear: that the Davidic Messiah would fulfil the ancient promise to David and build the eschatological temple. The further publications of llOTemple and several fragments describing the new Jerusalem (particularly 40554--555 and 5015) confirm the community's fascination with the prospect of a reestablished Temple in the last days. Otto Betz was the first to draw on 40Florilegium and to observe that it provided the explanatory link between Mark 14:58 and Mark 14:61. 18 277
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Somewhat surprisingly, his essay attracted little attention. Even Raymond Brown does not refer to it in his exhaustive treatment of the passage, 19 possibly because he himself does not pursue the question of the linkage of thought between 14:58 and 14:61. But Betz's observation remains important: the Qumran treatment of 2 Sam. 7:12-14 indicates a very plausible explanation of why the charge that Jesus had claimed to build another Temple might well prompt the High Priest to ask his question, "Are you the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed?" The Qumran beliefs regarding the Temple would hardly be unknown to the Temple authorities. 20 And it would not be necessary for any particular link between Jesus and Qumran to have been in mind. All that would be necessary was the recognition that a claim had been imputed to Jesus which was probably eschatological in character and therefore echoed the sort of claim being made at Qumran. A natural question in follow up would be, "If you are claiming to build the eschatological Temple, are you therefore claiming to be the Davidic Messiah and son of God (in the terms provided by 2 Sam 7:12-14)?"21 Brown has pointed out that the phrase used in Mark 14:61, "the son of the Blessed" (6 ui.Cx; 'tou euA.on'tou) is without precedent at the time of Jesus. 22 But since, in terms of the implied issue, the time of Jesus is not very different from the time of Mark, or from the time of the earlier shaping of the passion narrative into this form, the force of Brown's point may be weaker than at first appears. Whoever put the tradition into this form assumed that this was an appropriate phrase to attribute to the High Priest. If it was deemed so in the Diaspora of the 40s and 50s it may not be so far from the mark in the Jerusalem of the 30s. Here we have to be alert to the illogicality which historical critical analysis sometimes finds itself in, by asserting that a new development in form or concept cannot be recognized unless there is a precedent! How then, methodologically, can one recognize the historically new or unprecedented? In every developing tradition (whether the tradition of God-talk in Judaism or the Jesustradition) there are times when traditional forms are reformulated in a different (new) way or when those outside the tradition express it in (new) ways that the insiders might not (at first) recognize. The historical critical resolution of the phrase "the son of the Blessed" may therefore be the conclusion, "First time so formulated", rather than, "Historically without precedent and therefore anachronistic or simply inaccurate". The more precise issue is whether the High Priest could/would have used such a phrase or not. But one could equally observe that to speak of God as "the Blessed" has no precedent within early Christian usage either, even though both traditions are familiar with benedictions uttered in praise of GodY Consequently, on the available evidence, it is just as difficult to see this as a Christian fommlation as it is to see it as a JewishChristian formulation of the 50s or 60s as it is to see it as a High Priestly formulation of the 30s. 24 The resulting uncertainties and obscurities are 278
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therefore probably insufficient to call in question the conclusion which was emerging above: that the charge against Jesus of willing the destruction and (re)building of the Temple provoked the understandable question whether Jesus was also claiming to be Messiah and God's son (in terms of the expectations based on 2 Sam 7:14). It is also worth noting that this is the only issue of substance which is reported in regard to the hearing before the council. We have already noted that other charges are left vague and unspecific (Mark 14:55-56). What we have, in fact, is at best a brief extract of what presumably was a much lengthier process. Presumably, also, whatever else was said, this (14:58-61) was the crucial and/or climactic phase. It was just this central and (in the event) decisive issue which we could expect to be reported (however unofficially) to and among Jesus' intimates25 or to and through the market-place rumour mill. Despite the obvious difficulties for a historical judgment on this point, therefore, including the question of sources and their reliability, the plausibility of the sequence of such a charge prompting such a question remains surprisingly strong. Even in the absence of any better data we may be confident that Mark's account gives a fair impression of the climax to the hearing before Caiaphas's council.
4. Jesus' reply Mark gives Jesus' reply to the High Priest's question as follows: "I am; and 'you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of the Power', and 'coming with the clouds of heaven' "-----Eyci> d~t, x:al. ovecrOe -rov uiov -rou av9pcil1tOU ElC Be~u'i'lv x:a9fJ~EVOV 'tfj(; Buva~emc; x:al. EPX~EVOV ~E'tcX 'tOOV vecpeJ..rov -rou oupavou. (Mark 14:62). NRSV puts quotation marks round two of the clauses in Jesus' answer, no doubt on the assumption that the text is quoting or at least deliberately echoing two passages of scripture. The first is Daniel's vision in Dan 7:13, "I saw one like a son of man coming with the clouds of heaven"-ioou ~E'ta 'tOOV VECj)EAOOV 'tOU oupavou cOc; uiD<; av9pci>1tou £:p:x6~vcx; T\v. The second is Ps 110:1 (LXX 109:1), "The Lord says to my lord, 'Sit at my right hand .. .' "--Ei1tEv 6 x:uptcx; -rep x:upicp ~ou x:a9ou i:x: Be~trov ~ou. Here too the problems go well beyond the scope of a single essay. For our purposes it is necessary to comment briefly on only six of them. (1) How should the i:yro d~t be understood? (2) Whether Jesus could/would have used the phrase 'tOV uiov 'tOU av9pci>1toU of his expectations for himself. (3) Similarly, could/would Jesus have drawn on Ps 110:1 to articulate his expectations? (4) Where did the reference to God as "the Power" (-r~ Buva~emc;) come from? (5) Why the sequence of "sitting" followed by "coming"? And (6) what does the O'lfEcr9E signify? (1) Mark's i:yro d~t is singular in the replies offered by Jesus to the question of the High Priest and to the corresponding question of Pilate in 279
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the following Roman trial. In Matthew the reply to the High Priest is cru (Matt 26:64), and in Luke it appears as Uf.LE'i~ UyE'tE on F.yro df.Lt (Luke 22:70). In the Roman trial Pilate's equivalent question is, "Are you the king of the Jews?" (Mark 15:2/Matt 27:11/Luke 23:3). In all three cases Jesus replies cru MlEl~. The predominant view in the Synoptics, therefore, is that Jesus gave an ambivalent answer, "You say so", meaning in effect, "That is your way of putting it". Mark's variation may be most simply explained by the fact that Mark did not wish to portray Jesus as seeming to dispute or even refuse the status of Messiah. 26 In so doing, Mark would be responding to the tradition he received, in the same way that Matthew responded to the equivalent ambivalence of Mark's account of Jesus' response to Peter's confession that Jesus was Messiah (cf. Matt 16:16-20 with Mark 8:29-30). In the event, however, the more ambivalent replies ring more true to a situation where Jesus probably did not wish to be identified with the popular expectation of a royal Messiah as a military leaderY In other words, the ambivalence of Jesus' answer to both questions could be paraphrased as "It depends what you mean by the term". It also has to be remembered that when the first Christians went on to confess Jesus as Messiah it was with a significance drawn from his suffering and death, as illuminated by scriptures not previously regarded as messianic.28 That however would not have been the High Priest's concept of the royal Messiah, and if it is indeed the case that he put such a question to Jesus, a more ambivalent answer is probably what we should have expected. However, the issue is relatively unimportant, since clearly the emphasis in Mark's account falls on the rest of Jesus' answer. (2) In order to avoid becoming trapped in the Saragosa Sea of the complex "Son of Man" issues, the question here can be reduced to the following: Is it likely or unlikely that Jesus could have drawn upon Daniel's vision to speak of his own expectations? Certainly it must be judged highly probable that Jesus did in fact use the Aramaic phrase bar •nasa; the entirely consistent Gospels tradition of a phrase used exclusively by Jesus and hardly picked up anywhere else only makes sense if it was a remembered characteristic of Jesus' own speech. 29 And if he did so use the phrase, it would be hardly a great innovation for him at some point to link his own speech usage with the particular reference in Dan 7:13. Here the same point made above (§3) about the illogicality of historical critical analysis also has bearing: in this case in terms of a critical unwillingness to recognize any innovation on the part of one (Jesus) to whom the Jesus tradition attributes considerable innovation in exposition of scripture (e.g. Mark 11 :24-27; Matt 5:38-42). A similar point can be made about Jesus' expectation for himself. Historical criticism finds itself, understandably, dubious about the historical value of any tradition which sounds like an early Christian confession Ei1ta~
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of faith. More or less since the Enlightenment, the rule has been that the presence of dogma indicates the later perspective of Christian faith-again understandably, since the 19th century quest of the historical Jesus was so much dominated by the desire to "liberate" the real (historical) Jesus from the distorting and obscuring layers of later theology. But Jesus as "the Son of Man" hardly appears as a Christian dogma, outside Jesus' own use of the phrase "son of man" in the Gospels. 30 A more rational explanation, as Albert Schweitzer pointed out, in response to William Wrede's discovery of the "dogma" of the "messianic secret" as the shaping force of Mark's Gospel, is that any dogma at this point was the dogma of Jesus himself. 31 Here we should draw in the acute observation of Eduard Schweizer: If Jesus did foresee suffering and rejection for himself and his dis-
ciples, then, of course, he saw it not as catastrophe but as a gateway to the glory of the coming kingdom. If he did call himself the Son of Man and connected the title (sic) with his lowly state on earth as well as the glory to come, then he must have expected something like his exaltation to the glory of God. 32 Leaving aside Schweizer's own interpretation of Jesus' usage of the "son of man" phrase, the main observation is sound. Given the proverbial fate of prophets and of his immediate predecessor (John the Baptist), Jesus can hardly have ignored the likelihood that he would meet a similar fate. In which case, Schweizer is right: Jesus would not have thought of such an outcome as catastrophe and failure; in line with the tradition of the suffering righteous,33 he would have expected vindication following such suffering and death. The fact is that the Dan 7:13-14 vision was a high point in the tradition of the suffering righteous and their vindication. If Jesus was indeed arraigned before Caiaphas's council, then any previous thought that he might escape death (cf. Mark 14:33-36) would have soon disappeared. In these circumstances Daniel's vision of one like a son of man exalted in heaven and interpreted in reference to the "saints of the Most High" in their vindication after terrible suffering (Dan 7:17-18, 21-27), would have provided a powerful solace and assurance for Jesus. We need not attempt to resolve the tricky question as to whether Jesus referred in this phrase ("the son of man") to himself or to another. 34 The text remains open on this issue. What the text does imply is that Jesus drew on this text to express his confidence that God would not abandon him and would vindicate him following the suffering and death which must have been looming ever more likely by the minute. (3) The case of Ps 110:1 is more tricky, since the evidence runs in a direction quite opposite to that concerning the Son of Man. On the one hand, it is clear that Ps 110:1 was much used within early Christian
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reflection to make sense of what had happened to Jesus. 35 On the other hand, the indication that earlier in his ministry Jesus took Ps 110:1 as some kind of self-reference is about as isolated within the Synoptic tradition (Mark 12:36 pars) as Acts 7:56 is within early (post-Easter) Christology. The predominant opinion among scholars, therefore, is to follow Norman Perrin's argument that Mark 14:62 is a Christian "pesher" (interpretation), the result of early Christian reflection on the death and resurrection of Jesus, drawing on Dan 7:13 and Ps 110:1.36 The question would then be whether the probable post-Easter origin for the Ps 110:1 allusion necessarily implies that the whole formulation is post-Easter, or whether the saying could be explained along the lines of the Ps 110:1 allusion being inserted into a report which derived originally from a remembrance of something said by Jesus himself. (4) Where did the reference to God as "the Power" ( 'tfl~ ouva~Ero<;) come from? Here the case is similar to that concerning "the Blessed" in 14:61. Brown similarly notes that the absolute use of "the Power" in the Mark!Matthew version has no true contemporary paralleP7 But as with God as "the Blessed", so here with God as "the Power", it is necessary to point out that the lack of parallel includes the rest of earliest Christian writing: "the Power" is neither a Jewish nor a Christian way of speaking about God. Where then does the phrase come from? The same considerations apply as in regard to the High Priest's question. Mark 14:62/Matt 26:64 themselves constitute evidence for this way of speaking about God within the first century CE. Someone within the eastern seaboard of the Mediterranean first spoke of God as "the Power", and already within forty years of Jesus' death at the latest. How did it get into the text here? No answer is wholly satisfactory. But they boil down to three options: either it is a Philonic-type Christian innovation put into the tradition at this point for some unknown reason, or an early rabbinic fornmlation taken over by early Christian tradents, or it was indeed an innovative formulation used by Jesus himself on the basis of the common recognition that power was a primary attribute of God. On the evidence available, there is little to choose between these options. That the phrase appears as part of the allusion to Ps 110:1 complicates the issue. It could have been suggested by the double reference to God's power in the next two verses of the Psalm (LXX). 38 But the evidence referred to under (3) suggests that the whole allusion was early Christian in origin. So possibly that tips the case in favour of the view that the reference to God as "the Power" was itself part of the early Jewish-Christian shaping of the tradition-though the question, "Why was it so shaped?" remains as puzzling as the question, "Would/could Jesus have so spoken of God?" (5) The sequence of "sitting" followed by "coming" is also a puzzle. The more natural sequence, one would think, is the reverse: the Son of Man 282
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comes on the clouds (to God) and then sits on his right. This is certainly the picture implied by Daniel's own vision: coming to the Ancient of Days, presented to him, and given dominion, glory and kingship (Dan 7:13-14). And it was how the vision was subsequently interpreted within Judaism. 39 Indeed, the logic of the double vision of Dan 7:9-10 and 13-14 is that the man-like figure was given the other throne beside the Ancient One (7:9 speaks of plural "thrones").40 The text of Mark 14:62/Matt 26:64, however, seems to envisage an enthronement of the Son of Man (a laPs 110:1), followed by his coming with the clouds. It is hard to escape the inference that what was in view in this form of the tradition was the coming again of Jesus to earth, rather than to heaven. 41 Since Jesus' coming again/parousia was an early Christian expectation,42 though probably drawing on Jesus tradition, 43 the obvious inference is that the Mark 14:62 demonstrates early Christian influence. 44 Taken together with (3) and (4) the most obvious solution would appear to be that the Ps 110:1 allusion has been inserted into an older tradition which spoke only of the Son of Man coming on the clouds, that is to God. An interesting alternative is provided by Luke, whose version has only the Son of Man (a la Dan 7:13) sitting on the right hand of the Power of God (a la Ps 110:1), without any mention of coming on clouds. Is this evidence of an independent source for Luke, 45 a source without the problems just discussed (4 and 5), or evidence that Luke (or his source) was aware of the problems posed by the Markan version? 46 Either way, the problem of Ps 110:1 (3) remains: on these issues Luke provides no surer way into what Jesus may have said at the hearing before Caiaphas than the Markan/Matthean version. (6) Why the oveo6e? Perrin explained its presence here as a pesher using Zech 12:10 and Dan 7:13, then conflated with Ps 110:1. Zech 12:10, " ... when they look on the one whom they have pierced, they shall mourn for him ... " (LXX-£m~M'IfOV'tat 1t~ f.LE c'xvO' rov x:a-rropxfJaav-ro x:al. x:6vov-rm £1t' au-rov x:o1tE'tOV ), was almost certainly a factor in earliest Christian reflection regarding Jesus' death: it is cited in John 19:37 and used in combination with Dan 7:13 in Rev 1:7, in the way that Perrin suggested.47 Whether the single word, O'lfEo6E, in the Markan/Matthean (not Lukan) version of Jesus' words is sufficient to demonstrate the allusion to Zech 12:10 is less clear, but Perrin's thesis is certainly plausible. Even so, the form of the tradition at this point required it to be formulated as a second person address ("you will see"), rather than Zech 12:10's "they shall see". So the question still stands: to what "seeing" does the saying refer? John 19:37 refers it simply to the witnessing of the crucifixion itself. But Rev 1:7 seems to envisage a universal epiphany of Christ's coming in eschatological glory and final judgment. Mark 14:62 is much more in tune with the latter. Is this, then, another indication of Christian formulation of 283
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an expectation developed in connection with the hope of Jesus' parousia? Or would a thesis that Jesus himself could have said something in this vein therefore imply that Jesus expected not just vindication following death, but a public vindication, his own epiphany in heavenly glory? That would certainly go beyond a hope built primarily on Dan 7:13 itself. But it would have the support of Mark 13:26---"They will see the Son of Man coming in clouds ... " (ovov'tat 'tOV uiov 'tOU av0pc01tOU EPXOf.LEVOV EV VEq>EAat~). The historical critical choice, therefore, is: to conclude either that Jesus was remembered as speaking of the son of man coming in clouds as a visible event, seen by those on earth; or that the O'lfEo6E is a further post-Easter reformulation of an original expectation framed solely in terms of Dan 7:13. And the overall conclusion has to be much the same: either that the saying as a whole attests an expectation of visible vindication beyond anything else within the Jesus tradition; or that an expectation of vindication expressed in terms of Dan 7:13 was elaborated at a very early stage of Christian tradition by adding allusions to Ps 110:1 and Zech 12:10, thus transforming the hope of vindication into one also of parousia. If the final issue is the plausibility of (an) unofficial report(s) of Jesus responding to the High Priest in some terms expressing his hope in God, the latter alternative, with its single allusion to Dan 7:13, would seem to be stronger than the former, with its complex allusion to three different scriptures.
5. The verdict of blasphemy According to Mark 14:63-64, Jesus' reply provokes the High Priest to find Jesus guilty of blasphemy, and therefore deserving of death: "Then the high priest tore his clothes and said, 'Why do we still need witnesses? You have heard his blasphemy! What is your decision?' All of them condemned him as deserving death" (6 B£ cXpltEPE~ Btappfl~a~ -ro~ Xt'trova~ ainou AE:yet, Ti. E'tl xpEi.av EXOf.LEV f.Lap'ti>prov; iJx:oooa-re ~ ~J..aaq>llf.Lta~· 'tt Uf.Liv cpaivE'tat; oi 1tcXV'tE~ x:a-rE:x:pwav au-rov £voxov Eivat Oava-rou). This has created puzzlement similar to that caused by talk of God as "the Blessed" and "the Power". For on a strict definition of "blasphemy" it is very doubtful whether there is any blasphemous content, even in the full answer of Mark 14:62. "Blasphemy" strictly speaking referred only to naming the name of Yahweh (Lev 24:16 LXX; m. Sanh. 7:5), and even "Son of the Blessed" does not fall under that definition. 48 How, then, could the High Priest have condemned Jesus for blasphemy? Once again, however, the same point has to be pressed. Whether it was in the 30s, or in the 50s or 60s, someone believed that what Jesus (is reported to have) said would have been counted as blasphemy by the High Priest of the time. This must indicate either a Christian misunderstanding of what was quite a technical matter of Jewish law, or that Christian belief regarding Jesus soon became so unacceptable to Jewish belief in God that 284
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it was counted blasphemous in at least some Jewish quarters, or that Jesus' own hope of vindication (§4) was regarded as sufficiently threatening to traditional understanding of God's purpose for Israel that it could be condemned as "blasphemous". Bound up with these options, of course, is the further question of whether the term "blasphemy" could/would only have been used in a strictly legal sense, or could/would have been used in a looser sense (of any serious threat to a Israel's conviction regarding Israel's God), or whether a rhetoricaVexaggerated/polemicaV politicallymotivated-and-theologically-tendentious usage would have been recognized/ acceptable within the Israel of Jesus' day. 49 This is where the possible influence of merkabah mysticism at some stage of the traditioning process becomes relevant. We know that a mystical practice based on meditation on the great chariot (merkabah) chapter of Ezek 1 was already being practised in the Israel of Jesus' day. There are already hints to that effect in Sir 49:8 and 1 Enoch 14:18---20. The Qumran Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice imply something to the same effect being practised in the worship of Qumran. Paul himself may have been a practitioner of such mysticism (2 Cor 12:2--4).50 The great rabbi Yohannan ben Zakkai, founder of the rabbinic school at Yavneh following the disaster of 70, is also attested to have been a practitioner (t Hag. 2:1). In all cases the aim was to experience the reality of heaven and the presence of God immediately, the Jewish equivalent of the later Christian desire for "the vision of God". Most interesting of all is the rabbinic tradition that four practitioners early in the second century shared a mystical experience in which they entered paradise (t. Hag. 2:3-4; cf. 2 Cor 12:2--4 ). One of them was rabbi Akiba, and it is likely that his reported speculation about the occupant of the other throne (of Dan 7:9) had the same mystical or speculative root.51 Another was Elisha ben Abuyah, who is reported to have been so overwhelmed by the vision of a glorious being other than God, that he cried out, "There are indeed two powers in heaven". For this, Elisha is condemned in rabbinic tradition as the arch-heretic, because he denied the Jewish axiom of the unity/oneness of God (b. Hag. 15a; 3 Enoch 16). Some scholars have recently drawn attention to this tradition and asked whether it provides an explanation for the High Priest's charge of blasphemy.52 It is true that the term "blasphemy" does not occur in connection with Elisha. But it would not take much loosening of the definition of "blasphemy" for the term to be regarded as wholly appropriate to Elisha's case. The issue would then be whether Jesus' reply could/would have been regarded as in effect a claim to the other throne in heaven, and therefore as some kind of threat to the divi_ne majesty, and therefore as "blasphemous" in a looser sense of the term. Certainly that seems to be the logic of the sequence in Mark 14:62-64; the tradition assumed that Jesus' reply would/could have been regarded as blasphemous by the High Priest of the day. 285
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Here the same sort of questions arise as with the earlier verses. Was it only the later Christian claims for Jesus which would have triggered such a response by the Jewish authorities at the time the tradition was first formulated in these terms? Or could Jesus' own hope of vindication, expressed by reference to Dan 7:13, have been sufficient to trigger such a condemnation? The problem with the former alternative is, once again, that the situation in late Second Temple Judaism was, so far as we can tell, little different between the 30s and the 60s. We have a surprising lack of indication that the Christian claims for Jesus as exalted created any problems for Jewish monotheism in that period. The law was a problem. A crucified Messiah was a problem (1 Cor 1:23). But belief in an exalted Christ and Lord could evidently be expressed in terms consistent with Jewish monotheism (as in 1 Cor 8:6) so as to create no problem. 53 The point is this: according to the available evidence, Jesus' reply as formulated in Mark 14:62 was little more likely to provoke the condemnation of "blasphemy" at the time when the Markan tradition received its enduring form, than was a reply by Jesus formulated in terms of Dan 7:13 in his own time. In addition, we have to consider the political situation at this final stage of Jesus' career. There is little doubt that Jesus was executed by the Roman authorities as a messianic pretender. The titulus on the cross ("The King of the Jews"-Mark 15:26/Matt 27:37) 54 is hardly a Christian formulation, and would still less have been approved by the Jewish authorities. Nevertheless, the implication that Jesus was denounced to the Roman governor in these terms is very strong. At the same time, it should be appreciated that for the Jewish authorities, the question of Jesus' messiahship was in fact a less serious issue. Moreover, for them to denounce to Pilate one who was a credible claimant to royal messianic status would even have been dangerous for themselves, in terms of the support they might expect from their fellow Jews. In which case, if the priestly authorities were determined to rid themselves of Jesus, for whatever real reason, the easiest way to do that was to denounce him to Pilate as a threat to the political stability of the province: a pretender to royal power (Messiah, in Jewish terms) was the obvious category to use. 55 But for "home" consumption, to present Jesus as a threat to Israel's fundamental beliefs about God would serve much more effectively to ensure the support of the crowd. In other words, real politique cynicism was probably evident at every stage of Jesus' downfall. It was important that the High Priest could report to Pilate a proven charge that Jesus laid claim to royal messiahship. But it was equally important that the High Priest was able to defend his council's action to his own people as finding Jesus' claims for himself a threat to Israel's foundational belief in God. From which it follows, of course, that reports of what happened before the council may have been deliberately spread around Jerusalem to ensure the people's support for the action. Finally, the notice over the cross ("The King of the Jews") was probably 286
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Pilate's own cynical attempt in turn to "rub the High Priest's nose" in his own political deviousness.
6. Conclusion Where then does all this leave us in historical terms? On the basis of the above analysis, the most likely reconstruction of the scene reported in Mark 14:55--64 would include the following. (1) A Jesus who said something about destroying and building again the Temple. Whatever he said, it evidently was taken as a threat to the power of the Temple authorities, not least in the light of his symbolically acted-out criticism of the present Temple. The saying provided the occasion for his denunciation before a quasi-legal council convened by the High Priest, Caiaphas. (2) A question/charge put to Jesus by the High Priest, as the direct corollary to a claim about rebuilding the Temple: "Are you the (royal) Messiah, son of God/the Blessed?" The corollary was clear enough; so, apart from an outright denial by Jesus, whatever he said in response would provide sufficient grounds for him to be "handed over" to the Roman authorities as a political threat to the stability of Roman rule. (3) An answer by Jesus in which he appears to have expressed his confidence that, whatever was to happen to him following the council hearing, he would be vindicated by God, as the "one like a son of man" (the saints of the Most High) was/were vindicated in Daniel's vision. (4) A condemnation by the High Priest which used Jesus' reply as an excuse to brand him as not just a threat to Roman rule, but, more seriously, as a threat to Judaism's core belief in the God of Israel as one and alone God. In short, there is a good deal more to be said for the historical value of the tradition on which Mark drew in his narrative 14:55--64 than is usually recognized within critical scholarship. That this conclusion accords as closely as it does with David Catchpole's own early conclusions is an added and delightful bonus.
Notes 1 D.R. Catchpole," 'You have heard His Blasphemy'", Tyndale House Bulletin 16 (1965) 10-18; also "The Answer of Jesus to Caiaphas (Matt 26.64)", NTS 17 (1970-71) 213-26; "The Problem of the Historicity of the Sanhedrin Trial", in The Trial of Jesus: Cambridge Studies in Honour of C.F.D. Moule (ed. E. Bammel; SBT, 2nd series 13; London: SCM, 1970) 47-65; The Trial of Jesus (Studia Post-Biblica 18; Leiden: Brill, 1971). 2 R.E. Brown, The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsemane to the Grave. A Commentary on the Passion Narratives in the Four Gospels (2 vols; New York: Doubleday, 1994). 3 See particularly E.P. Sanders, Judaism Practice and Belief 63 BCE-66 CE (London: SCM!Philadelphia: TPI, 1992) 475-90; "The trial of Jesus agrees very well with his (Josephus') stories of how things happened" (p. 487). 4 Mark 3:19/Matt 10:4/Luke 6:16; Mark 14:10-11, 18, 21, 42, 44/Matt 26:15-16, 21, 23,24-25, 46, 48/Luke 22:4,6, 21-22; Matt 27:3--4; Luke 22:48; 24:20.
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5 Rom 4:25; 8:32; Gal 2:20; Eph 5:2, 25. 6 Mark 10:33/Matt 20:19/Luke 18:32; Mark 15:1, 10/Matt 27:2, 18; Mark 15:15/ Matt 27:26/Luke 23:25; Matt 26:2; Luke 20:20; John 18:30, 35; Acts 3:13; cf. 1 Cor 11:23. 7 Mark 9:31/Matt 17:22/Luke 9:44; Mark 14:41/Matt 26:45; Luke 24:7. 8 C.A. Evans summarizes the various premonitions and prophecies of the destruction of the Temple in "Jesus and Predictions of the Destruction of the Herodian Temple", Jesus and his Contemporaries: Comparative Studies (Leiden: Brill, 1995) 367-80. 9 Cf. particularly Mark 7 with Acts 10; also Mark 6:17-29 with Acts 24:24-26, and Mark 4:12 with Acts 28:25-27. 10 See further my "Matthew's Awareness of Markan Redaction", in The Four Gospels I992, FS F. Neirynck (ed. F. Van Segbroeck et al.; Leuven: Leuven University & Peeters, 1992) 1349-59. 11 Similarly Brown, Death, 439; though 0. Betz, "Probleme des Prozesses Jesu", ANRWII.25.1, notes that cXX£1.p01tOilfto<; is Aramaic (p. 631 n. 184) and draws attention particularly to 4Q174/4QFior 1:2-3, 6 (pp. 631-2). 12 See e.g. C.F.D. Moule, An Idiom-Book of New Testament Greek (Cambridge: CUP, 2 1959) 56. 13 J.D.G. Dunn, The Partings of the Ways between Christianity and Judaism (London: SCM/Philadelphia: TPI, 1991) 60. If some sort of reconstitution of Israel was at all in view, then Hos 6:2 could have supplied the three day reference. 14 See further the full discussion in Brown, Death, 444-60. 15 "Chief priests" (apXtEP£t!O) dominate the passion narrative; "Pharisees" hardly appear (details in Dunn, Partings, 51). 16 In the debate about the significance of Jesus' act occasioned by E.P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London: SCM, 1985) 61-71, see particularly R. Bauckham, "Jesus' Demonstration in the Temple", in Law and Religion: Essays on the Place of the Law in Israel and Early Christianity (ed. B. Lindars; Cambridge: James Clarke, 1988) 72-89; and C.A. Evans, "Jesus' Action in the Temple: Oeansing or Portent of Destruction?", CBQ 51 (1989) 237-70, reprinted in Jesus and his Contemporaries: Comparative Studies (Leiden: Brill, 1995) 319--44. 17 For convenience I follow Vermes' translation, with the modification of indicating that the "Branch of David" was obviously a reference to (quotation of) the familiar and well established messianic expectation based on Isa 11:1 (Jer 23:5; 33:15; 4Q174/4QFior 1:11; 4Q25214QpGen• 5:3-4/Frag. 2:3-4). 18 0. Betz, "Die Frage nach dem messianischen Bewusstsein Jesu", NovT 6 (1963) 24-37; also "Probleme", 625-8,633-4. 19 Though he does refer in his bibliography to Betz's "Probleme des Prozesses Jesu", ANRW 11.25.1 (1982) 565--647. 20 The Damascus Document seems to envisage (Essene) communities more widely scattered through Israel and governed by judges (CD 9-14), but no doubt in communication with Qumran. 21 Cf. also Zech 6:12-13--'the man whose name is the Branch ... shall build the Temple of the Lord ... and shall sit and rule upon his throne". 22 Brown, Death, 469-70. 23 E.g. Gen 14:20; 1 Sam 25:32; Ps 41:13; in NT-Luke 1:68; Rom 1:25; 9:5; 2 Cor 1:3; 11:31; Eph 1:3; 1 Pet 1:3. 24 C.A. Evans, "In What Sense 'Blasphemy'? Jesus before Caiaphas in Mark 14:61-64", Jesus and his Contemporaries: Comparative Studies (Leiden: Brill,
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25 26
27 28 29
30 31 32 33
34 35 36
37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44
1995), argues that "the Blessed" is a forerunner of the later, expanded rabbinic expression, "the Holy One blessed be He" (p. 422). The tradition that Peter (and another disciple-John 18:15-16) was/(were) close at hand during the hearing is also strongly attested (all four Gospels). Some mss add "You say that" (uu Etnac; att) a curious mixture of Matt 26:64 and Luke 22:70. It is just possible that they preserve the original text written by Mark: which scribe would change the positively confident "I am" for the much more ambivalent "You say that I am"? On the evidence, however, it must be judged more probable that the weakly attested ms tradition is the result of conforming Mark to the dominant tradition. See further my "Messianic Ideas and their Influence on the Jesus of History", in The Messiah: Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity (ed. J.H. Charlesworth; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992) 365--81. E.g. Luke 24:25-27, 44-46; Acts 8:30-35; 17:3, 11; 1 Cor 15:3; 1 Pet 1:11. The statistics remain compelling: the phrase occurs 86 times in the NT, 69 in the Synoptics and 13 in John. Of the remaining four, three are OT quotations and non-titular (Heb 2:6; Rev 1:13; 14:14), and only one clearly titular (Acts 7:56). Only Acts 7:56 really counts; and that can hardly be counted as typical within earliest Christianity. A. Schweitzer, The Quest of the Historical Jesus (London: Black, 1910) 386, 390; in response toW. Wrede, The Messianic Secret (Cambridge: James Clarke, 1971). E. Schweizer, Lordship and Discipleship (London: SCM, 1960) 36. See further E. Schweizer, Emiedrigung und Erhohung bei Jesus und seinen Nachfolgem (Zurich: Zwingli, 2 1962) §§2-3; G.W.E. Nickelsburg, Resurrection, Immortality and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism (Harvard Theological Studies 26; 1972), particularly eh. 2. The two chief options respectively canvassed by English- and German-speaking scholarship through the 20th century. Acts 2:34--35; Rom 8:34; 1 Cor 15:25; Eph 1:20; Col 3:1; Heb 1:3, 13; 8:1; 10:12-13; 12:2; 1 Pet 3:22. N. Perrin, "Mark 14:62: The End Product of a Christian Pesher Tradition?", NTS 12 (1965-66) 150-5, reprinted in A Modem Pilgrimage in New Testament Christology (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974) 10-18. Perrin also argued that the 01j1Ea9£ of the Markan!Matthean form of the tradition was derived from Zech 12:10. Brown, Death, 4%; Evans, "In What Sense?", 422, provides parallels in later rabbinic usage. "The Lord sends forth your mighty sceptre" (~v BuvaJ.LEci><; uou); LXX is quite different for verse 3 (J.LEtc'x uou iJ apxiJ EV iJJ.Li:pc;t t~ BuvaJ.LEci><; UO'U ••• ) (Ps 110:2-3/LXX 109:2-3). Daniel's vision is taken up in I Enoch 46:1-6 and 4 Ezra 13:1-4 and interpreted in the following chapters/verses in terms of judgment, though the imagery is more complex. According to rabbinic tradition, rabbi Akiba speculated that the occupant of the second throne was the Messiah (b. Hag. 14a; b. Sanh. 38b). Cf. Mark 13:26/Matt 24:30-31/Luke 21:27; Matt 25:31. 1 Cor 15:23; 1 Thess 2:19; 3:13; 4:15; 5:23; 2 Thess 2:1, 8; Jas 5:7-8; 1 John 2:28. Cf. the several parables in Mark 13:34--36 and Matt 24:42-25:30. Evans, however, argues that if the throne was conceived as the chariot throne (see below §5), then the "coming" could indeed follow the "sitting", since the
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45 46 47
48 49 50 51 52
53
54 55
chariot throne was moving; he also notes that Dan 7 and Ps 110:1 are combined in the Midrash on Ps 2:9 in that sequence ("In What Sense?", 419-20). However, he produces no parallel to the idea of the chariot throne "coming with the clouds". An issue closely discussed by Catchpole in his Trial. But the concept of "sitting on the right of the power of God" is as problematic as the concept of God as "the Power". John 19:37 and Rev 1:7 show that the form of Zech 12:10 (Greek) known in earliest Christian circles used the uncompounded O'lfOvtat; the further use of JCO'IfOvt<Xt in Rev 1:7 puts the reference to Zech 12:10 beyond dispute. See Brown, Death, 521-22; pace J. Marcus, "Mark 14:61: 'Are You the Messiah-Son-of-God?'", Nov T31 (1989) 125-41. See again Brown, Death, 522-6; also Evans, "In What Sense?", 409-11. J.W. Bowker, "'Merkabah' Visions and the Visions of Paul", JSS 16 (1971) 157-73. See also A.F. Segal, Paul the Convert: The Apostolate and Apostasy of Saul the Pharisee (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990). See above n. 40. J. Schaberg, "Mark 14:62: Early Christian Merkabah Imagery?", in Apocalyptic and the New Testament, J.L. Martyn FS, ed. J. Marcus & M.L. Soards (JSNTSup 24; Sheffield: JSOT, 1989) 69-94; Evans, "In What Sense?", 419-21; and particularly D.L. Bock, "Key Jewish Texts on Blasphemy and Exaltation and the Jewish Examination of Jesus", SBL Seminar Papers 1997 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1997) 115-60; idem, Blasphemy and Exaltation in Judaism and the Final Examination of Jesus (WUNT 2.106; Tiibingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1998). See further my "How Controversial was Paul's Christology?", in From Jesus to John: New Testament Christologies in Cu"ent Perspective, FS M. de Jonge (ed. M.C. de Boer; Sheffield: JSOT, 1993) 148-67; reprinted in my The Christ and the Spirit: Vol. 1. Christology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998) 212-28. The variations in Luke 23:28 and John 19:19 are insignificant. Does Luke 23:2 simply spell out what was implicit but obvious in Mark's account?
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58 THE APPEARANCES OF THE RISEN CHRIST An essay in form-criticism of the Gospels C. H. Dodd Source: D. E. Nineham (ed.), Studies in the Gospels: Essays in Memory of R. H. Lightfoot (Oxford: Blackwell, 1955), pp. 9-35.
The form-critics distinguish with some unanimity two main types of narrative in the Gospels. Their nomenclature differs, but if we say that there is a concise and a circumstantial type of narrative, we shall beg no questions. There are no doubt types which do not readily fit either category; there are border-line cases, and it may not be easy, or even possible, to draw the line quite definitely; but anyone can feel the difference in character between, let us say, the story of the Withered Hand or of the Blessing of the Children, and the stories of the Epileptic Boy and the Gadarene Swine. The latter trace the course of an incident from stage to stage with heightening interest, and make it vivid to the reader by means of arresting details, and traits of character in the actors and interlocutors. In the story of the Epileptic we are shown, for example, the embarrassment of the disciples, the alarming symptoms of the boy's disease, the pathos of the father's repeated appeals, the pressure of the crowd, and the suspense created by the difficulty and apparent initial failure of the cure. In the story of the Gadarene Swine we have the horrifying description of the manacled maniac among the tombs, his grotesque fantasy about a legion of devils, the wild stampede of the pigs, the alarm of their owners, and finally the telling contrast of the restored madman, now 'clothed and in his right mind', aspiring to be one of the disciples of Jesus. All such details are a part of the art and craft of the story-teller, who, himself excited by the story he tells, seeks to kindle the imagination of his auditors. These stories are sometimes labelled 'Novellen', for which, perhaps, the best English equivalent is 'Tales'. In sharp contrast to these 'tales', the 'concise' type of narrative tells us nothing which is not absolutely essential to a bare report of what happened
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or what was said. It observes the unities of time and place, and takes no account of development. The situation presupposed is depicted in the fewest possible words ('He went into a synagogue and taught', 'It happened that he was in the house', or the like). Then follows the word or action which set things moving ('There was a man with a withered hand', 'They brought children to him', etc.) and this evokes the significant act or word of Jesus, after which the narrative ends by indicating the response of the interlocutors, or the effect produced upon spectators. This extremely concise and economical style of narrative has been shown by comparison with similar 'forms' elsewhere, to be characteristic of folk-tradition, in which an oft-repeated story is rubbed down and polished, like a water-worn pebble, until nothing but the essential remains, in its most arresting and memorable form. And it is a form which makes it possible for the story to be told as a self-contained unit, without any necessary direct link with what precedes or follows. The inference is that narratives of this 'concise' type (which should be made to include not only 'Pronouncement-stories' or 'Apophthegms', but also stories of action, such as 'Miracle-stories', cast in a similar mould) are drawn directly from the oral tradition handed down by the corporate memory of the Church, and consequently that they belong to a deposit which was deeply cherished and constantly repeated because it was bound up with the central interests of the Christian community. The 'Tales' on the contrary allow more room for the taste and ability of the individual narrator. They are closer to the 'unformed', or free, body of reminiscences which must have floated about in early Christian circles. That they were in consequence more exposed to alteration or 'improvement' is no doubt true; but I can see no cogent reason for accepting the view that the 'Tales' as a body represent a later, or secondary stage of the tradition. 1 If they are said to include 'worldly' traits, were the Christians so insulated from the world, even in the earliest days, that they had no interest in a well-told tale? These two types of narrative which have been distinguished in the evangelical records of the ministry of Jesus may be recognized also in those parts of the Gospels which follow upon the account of the discovery of the empty Tomb on Easter morning. Here we are given a number of narratives of appearances of the risen Christ to certain of His followers. Some of these narratives have a character similar to that of the 'Tales'. For example, the stories of the Walk to Emmaus in Lk. 24, and of the meal by the Sea of Galilee in Jn. 21, are full of the kind of dramatic detail, and characterization, which we have noted in such stories as those of the Epileptic Boy and the Gadarene Swine. On the other hand there are other narratives which equally clearly show the traits of such 'concise' narratives as the Withered Hand and the Blessing of the Children. It will be well to start by analysing these 'concise' narratives. If we take, to begin with, the appearances of Christ to the Women in Matt. 28:8-10, to 294
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'the Eleven Disciples' in Matt. 28:16-20, and to 'the Disciples' in Jn. 20:19-21, it is easy to recognize a common pattern, which we may analyse as follows:
A. B. C. D. E.
The situation: Christ's followers bereft of their Lord. The appearance of the Lord. The Greeting. The Recognition. The Word of Command.
I shall label narratives of this type, Class I, and those of the 'circumstantial' type, Class 11.
Class I We must now examine the three examples of 'concise' narrative, to see how the common pattern is variously developed. Using the index letters employed above, we get the following scheme: MATT. 28:8-10
MATT. 28:16--20
A. The Women were on the way from the Tomb to the Disciples.
The Eleven Disciples went to Galilee, to the Mountain appointed as rendezvous.
B. Jesus met them. C. He said XatpE't£. 2 D. They approached, grasped His feet, and did Him reverence. E. Go and announce to my brothers that they are to go to Galilee and they will see me there.
IN. 20:19-21
Late on Sunday evening the Disciples were gathered with closed doors [for fear of the Jews]. Jesus stood in the midst. Jesus approached. He said EipiJVTl u~i:v. 2 When they saw Him they The disciples were very did reverence, glad when they saw the Lord. though some doubted. Go and make disciples of As the Father sent me, all nations ... so I send you.
It is to be observed that the bare pattern is expanded at certain points, but in so brief a way as not to alter the character of the pericope. The expansions add nothing fresh, but emphasize what is already present in the pattern, though scarcely explicit. Thus, in all three pericopae there is at least a hint of an element of doubt or fear. In Matt. 28:17 it is explicit: 'some doubted'. In Matt. 28:10 it is implied in the words, 'Fear not'. In Jn. 20:20 nothing is said of any doubt in the minds of the disciples, but the Lord 'showed them His hands and His side', thus setting at rest, by proof tendered, a doubt which was there though unexpressed. Neither of the Matthaean pericopae has any such explicit tender of proof. In 28:18 the words of the Lord, 'All authority is given to me', seem sufficient to set all doubts at rest, but in 28:9 the fact that the women touch His feet may be 295
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held to carry an implicit assurance that there is a real Person before them. It is, perhaps, legitimate to say that this type of resurrection narrative carries within it, as an integral element, a suggestion that the appearance of the Lord does not bring full or immediate conviction to the beholders, who require some form of assurance: the sight of His wounds, contact with His body, or His word of authority. Each pericope works up (like the 'Paradigms' or 'Pronouncementstories') to a significant word of the Lord. In Matt. 28:10 it is no more than an injunction to the disciples to keep their rendezvous in Galilee. In Jn. 20:21 it is a formal commission to the apostles, in its simplest form: 'As the Father sent me, so I send you'. After this a second incident is added: the 'Insufflation', accompanied by a further charge. This however is strictly not a part of the narrative of the appearance of the Lord: the gift of the Spirit is a separate incident, even though, in John's setting of the story, it follows immediately upon the Christophany. In Matt. 28:18-20 the commission is given a more extended form, covering a wider field: the mission to the nations; the ordinance of baptism; the threefold Name; the promise of the Lord's perpetual presence. Here the standard pattern of resurrection-narrative has been used to introduce a kind of 'church-order', which may be compared with the 'church-order' of Matt. 18:15-20. Allowing, then, for these minimal supplements, we may recognize a standard pattern of resurrection-pericope which is analogous to that of the 'concise' narratives in the accounts of the Ministry, and like them bears the marks of a tradition shaped, and rubbed down to essentials, in the process of oral transmission. Two of them are so formed that they are complete in themselves. 'The Eleven went to a mountain in Galilee' is just such an opening as 'They entered into a synagogue', or 'He went to Capernaum'; and 'On Sunday evening when the doors were shut where the disciples were .. .' is comparable with 'In those days when there was a great crowd and they had nothing to eat'. In Matt. 28:8 there is no similar beginning: a connexion exists with what has preceded; yet the pericope might have stood alone, and comparison with Mark shows that there has in any case been some editorial manipulation hereabouts. We must ask later whether there are any other pericopae which, though not reproducing the pattern in so pure a form, properly belong to the same class; but for the moment it will be better to turn to those which clearly belong to a different class, that of 'circumstantial' narratives.
Classll Here we have two obvious examples to start with: the Walk to Emmaus in Lk. 24:13-35, and the Appearance by the Sea in Jn. 21:1-14. 1. The Walk to Emmaus is a highly-finished literary composition, in which the author, dwelling with loving interest upon every detail of his
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theme, has lost no opportunity of evoking an imaginative response in the reader. The pace of the story is leisurely, and the lapse of time is marked. The walk, enlivened by absorbing conversation, continues until we find that time has slipped by and the day is far spent. The return journey to Jerusalem is felt by contrast to be hurried, and interest passes at once to the reunion of the travellers with the Eleven, and the interchange of startling news. The changing moods of the two companions are convincingly rendered; their encounter with the unknown Stranger and their invitation to him to break his journey are managed with admirable naturalness; the scene of recognition at the supper-table, with the immediate disappearance of the mysterious Guest, is dramatically effective. We observe also the precise identification of persons and places: the name of one of the travellers, Cleopas; the village of Emmaus, sixty stades from Jerusalem. All these are no traits of a corporate tradition. They are characteristic of the practised story-teller, who knows just how to 'put his story across'. But further, the writer has used the captivating narrative as a setting for a comprehensive treatment of the theme of Christ's resurrection in its character of a reunion of the Lord with His followers. The dialogue is so managed that it leads up to a basic programme for the study of 'testimonies' from the Old Testament, which was the foundation of the earliest theological enterprise of the primitive Church. 3 The recognition of the Lord at table carries a significant suggestion to a community which made the 'breaking of bread' the centre of its fellowship. Not only so: the narrative is so contrived as to include, by means of 'flash-backs', the discovery of the empty Tomb, the angelic announcement, and the appearance of the Lord to Peter (24:22-24, 34), so that the pericope as a whole forms a kind of summary 'Gospel of the Resurrection'. It is clear, then, that we have no mere expansion of the general pattern, but a carefully-composed statement, which, in the framework of a narrative of intense dramatic interest, includes most of what needs (from this evangelist's point of view) to be said about the resurrection of Christ. It is however worth noting that here, as elsewhere, the story begins with the disciples feeling the loss of their Lord, that Jesus takes the initiative, and that the dramatic centre of the whole incident is the avayvroptcrtc;-for it seems proper in this case to use the technical term applied by ancient literary critics to the recognition-scene which was so often the crucial point of a Greek drama. 4 2. The account of the appearance of the Lord to seven disciples by the Sea of Galilee, contained in the appendix to the Fourth Gospel (Jn. 21:1-14), is recorded within the framework of a complex narrative, covering a considerable lapse of time, from the evening of one day, all through the night, to the morning of a second day. The narrative comprises two distinct but interlocking incidents: the fishing of the disciples and breakfast 297
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on the shore. Each is told with a wealth of picturesque detail. The incidents are dramatic, the dialogue lively and in character. There is abundant detail. We learn, for example, not only that Peter impulsively leapt into the sea, but that he first put on his coat; not only that a fire was kindled on the beach and breakfast prepared, but that it was a charcoal fire and that bread and fish were supplied. We are told the number of the company, five of whom are identified, the distance of the boat from shore, and the number of fish, 5 which strained the net but did not break it. All this is strictly unnecessary to the main theme. It is characteristic of the story-teller, and reflects his interest in the story and his mastery of his craft. The centre of interest is the recognition of the risen Lord, but here the recognition is not immediate but spread over an appreciable period. It begins with the dramatic exclamation of the beloved disciple, which impels Peter to jump overboard, but it is not complete until the party has landed and Jesus, having invited them to breakfast, distributes bread and fish. The motive of the breaking of bread appears once again, as in the Emmaus story. There is evidence in early Christian art that the meal of the seven disciples was treated, along with the Feeding of the Multitude, as a symbol of the Eucharist. Unlike Lk. 24:13-35, the pericope does not embody didactic passages in the story itself, which is a straightforward, uninterrupted, dramatic narrative. But it is made to lead up to a significant dialogue, in the course of which Peter receives his apostolic commission. Thus the motive of Matt. 28:19 and Jn. 20:21 reappears in a different setting. In spite of the marked contrast in form and pattern, we are still in close contact with the fundamental motives which underlie the concise narratives of Class I. We have now established the fact of two clearly distinguishable types of resurrection narrative. We must next examine the remaining such narratives in the Gospels, which appear to be doubtful or intermediate types, to see to which of the two main classes they are more akin. They are as follows: 1. 2. 3. 4.
The appearance to 'the Eleven' in the Received Text of Mk. 16:14-15. The appearance to 'the Eleven and those with them' in Lk. 24:36--49. Mary Magdalen at the Tomb in Jn. 20:11-17. Doubting Thomas. Jn. 20:26-29.
1. The so-called 'Longer Ending' of Mark must no doubt be regarded as 'spurious' in the sense that it formed no part of the Gospel according to Mark as it originally appeared; but as a rendering of the early Christian tradition of the resurrection appearances it demands consideration on its merits. On the face of it the pericope conforms fairly closely to the type of Class I. 298
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A. B. C. D. E.
As the Eleven were sitting (at table) cf. Lk. 24:30, Jn. 21:13. Jesus appeared to them. (In place of Greeting.) He reproached them for incredulity. [The Recognition is wanting, though implied.] He said 'Go into all the world and preach the Gospel .. .'
The pericope thus culminates, like Matt. 28:16-20, Jn. 20:19-21, in a commission to the apostles, which is also represented in the dialogue which follows on Jn. 21:1-14; and here, as elsewhere, it develops beyond the immediate situation into a more general instruction to the Church, with the promise of divine assistance. The question may be raised, whether this pericope is based (as parts of the 'Longer Ending' almost certainly are) upon the narratives in the canonical Gospels. That the Eleven were at table when Christ appeared to them is a trait which does not appear elsewhere: in Lk. 24:30 it is two disciples (apparently alluded to in Mk. 16:12), neither of them belonging to the apostolic body, to whom He is known in the breaking of bread; and in Jn. 21:13 it is a body of seven disciples, two of whom are unidentified, to whom He distributes bread and fish. It is therefore no more likely that the author of the Longer Ending took this trait from the canonical Gospels than that it is an independent rendering of a traditional motif. The incredulity of the Eleven---or rather of some of them-is referred to in Matt. 28:17, and, as we have seen, it may be taken to be implied in the tendering of proofs in Jn. 20:20. But nowhere else does Christ, instead of greeting His disciples, reproach them. Thomas indeed is reproached, by implication, in Jn. 20:26-27, and the two companions in Lk. 24:25, but the (rest of the) Eleven are not implicated. Thus it is not improbable that we have, here again, a generalized trait in the current tradition finding independent expression in a particular formulation of the tradition. In short, it appears reasonably likely that Mk. 16:14-15 is to be added to Class I, as another example of the formulation of tradition in a 'concise' narrative. In that sense it would be a 'genuine' record, in spite of its dubious credentials, since it adheres closely to the general traditional pattern without slavishly following any other written account known to us. 2. Lk. 24:36-49. We have here a pericope of mixed character. The main items in the pattern of 'concise' narratives re-appear, though much modified: A. B. C. D.
They were talking together. Jesus stood in the midst (cf. Jn. 20:19). [He said 'Peace to you', as in Jn. 20:19; but not in the 'Western Text'.] The process of recognition is greatly spun out: at first the disciples are terrified (cf. Matt. 28:10), and think they are seeing a ghost: Jesus tenders proof by pointing to His hands and feet (cf. Jn. 20:20) and 299
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invites them to touch Him (cf. Jn. 20:27). They are still incredulous, and He tenders final proof by eating in their presence. E. The concluding word of command is here replaced by a longish address consisting of (a) instruction regarding the use of testimonies from the Old Testament (cf. Lk. 24:26-27), (b) a commission to preach (cf. Matt. 28:19), and (c) the assurance of the help of the Spirit (cf. Jn. 20:22-23, Matt. 28:20, where the presence of Christ is equivalent). It is clear that we have here an extensive working-over of the common pattern. In most of the pericopae that we have studied, the proofs of identity are hardly more than hinted at. Only in Jn. 20:20 are we explicitly told that Christ pointed to His wounds. In the present pericope the corresponding statement (Lk. 24:40) is not certainly part of the original text, but there is a formal pronouncement of Christ which makes the point far more emphatic: 'Look at my hands and feet [and convince yourselves] that it is I myself'. And whereas in Matt. 28:9 the women clasp the Lord's feet in a spontaneous gesture of devotion, here He bids them 'Feel me, and look; a ghost has not flesh and bones, as you see that I have'. Again, whereas in the 'Longer Ending' of Mark the Lord appears to the Eleven at table, and in the Emmaus story and the Appendix to the Fourth Gospel He is known to His followers in the breaking of bread, here He asks for food, and clinches the proof that a real Person is before them by actually eating broiled fish in their presence-a unique feature in the Gospel narratives, though it may be intended by the not quite clear statements of Acts 1:4, 10:41. The pericope is thus no longer a simple, traditional story of the appearance of the Lord: it is a piece of controversial apologetic set in the framework of such a story. The simpler narratives conveyed something of the naive, spontaneous sense of the primitive believers that something almost too good to be true has happened. Here we are aware of something different: the faith must be defended by argument, not against the natural doubts of simple people, but against a reflective and sophisticated scepticism. Yet it would not be right to class this pericope with the 'Tales'. There is no detail in the narrative (with one exception) which is not strictly necessary to it as a piece justificatif The one exception is the statement that the Lord ate broiled fish. 6 It would have been sufficient for the narrator's immediate purpose to affirm that Christ ate food in the presence of His disciples. The added detail is the kind of trait that marks the storyteller. For the rest, it is enough to compare the details of this pericope with those of the Walk to Emmaus and the Appearance by the Sea of Galilee to be convinced that it does not belong to Class 11. It may perhaps best be characterized as an example of the 'concise' type of narrative in which apologetic motives have caused everything else to be subordinated to an elaborate presentation, not indeed of the avayvroptm.~ itself, but of the
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grounds upon which such recognition was based. 7 It is certainly more remote from the original tradition, orally handed down, than the typical narratives of Class I, but the obvious work of an author has not altogether disguised the form of the tradition which underlies. 3. Jn. 20:11-17. The story of the appearance of Christ to Mary Magdalen at the Tomb on Easter morning is told briefly and with great economy of words. So far it would seem natural to include it among the 'concise' narratives of Class I. The evangelist has indeed so woven the theme of the appearance with that of the angelic announcement that the kind of opening which is normal in narratives of this class is obscured, but apart from this, it is easy enough to recognize the typical pattern. A. B. C. D. E.
Mary stood by the Tomb. Jesus appeared. He greeted her. She recognized Him. He gave her a command.
But when we have said this, it is obvious that we have something very different from the regular examples of 'concise' narrative. In spite of all the brevity and economy, the narrator has succeeded in conveying, not so much incidents as psychological traits, which are not necessary to the presentation of the main theme, but appeal to the imagination. Mary stood weeping. She turned suddenly round and saw a Figure whom she took for the gardener. The reader's attention is at once arrested. There follows a dialogue as richly suggestive as it is brief. The two speeches with which it ends, one from each of the interlocutors, consist of one word each: 'Mary'-'Rabbuni!' Yet they are laden with meaning. The words which Christ then utters have the character of Johannine theology, as the distinctive use of the verb avaJXxivEtV' sufficiently indicates. In their present form, at least, they are no doubt the composition of the evangelist. But in this John has done no differently from the other evangelists, who, as we have seen, hold themselves free to expand or develop the concluding utterance of the Lord, in order to make it a vehicle for some significant summary of His purpose for His Church. Yet even so, the 'Touch me not!' has a dramatic value in the story quite independent of its theological import. These features all tend to associate the present pericope with the 'circumstantial' narratives of Class 11. They are quite alien from the ethos of folk-tradition, to which belongs a certain naivete evident in all our 'concise' narratives. There is nothing nai've here, but a reflective, subtle, most delicate approach to the depths of human experience. This story never came out of any common stock of tradition; it has an arresting individuality. We seem to be shut up to two alternatives. Either we have here a free, imaginative composition based upon the bare tradition of an 301
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appearance to Mary Magdalen, akin to that represented by Matt. 28:9-10, or else the story came through some highly individual channel directly from the source, and the narrator stood near enough to catch the nuances of the original experience. It would be hazardous to dogmatize. The power to render psychological traits imaginatively, with convincing insight, cannot be denied to a writer to whom we owe the masterly character-parts of Pontius Pilate and the Woman of Samaria. Yet I confess that I cannot for long rid myself of the feeling (it can be no more than a feeling) that this pericope has something indefinably first-hand about it. It stands in any case alone. There is nothing quite like it in the Gospels. Is there anything quite like it in all ancient literature? 4. Jn. 20:26-29. The story of Doubting Thomas is a pendant to the 'concise' narrative of the appearance to the Disciples in 20:19-21 (see pp. 11-13 above). It hardly fom1s a separable pericope, for it is not fully intelligible without the connecting narrative of 20:24-25. Its theological and apologetic motives are obvious. Its broad pattern scarcely differs from that of our typical 'concise' narratives of Class I, and there is little in the way of picturesque detail (not directly demanded by the main motive) to associate it with the 'circumstantial' narratives of Class II. Thomas is hardly an individual as Mary Magdalen is; he is a type of the 'some' who 'doubted', according to Matt. 28:17. We should not be far wrong in saying that John has chosen to split up the composite traditional picture of a group, some of whom recognize the Lord while others doubt, and to give contrasting pictures of the believers and the doubter, in order to make a point which is essentially theological. The Thomas-pericope has its nearest analogue in Lk. 24:36-43, but it is at once farther removed in character from the primitive tradition and far more delicate and perceptive in approach. We have now surveyed all the narratives of appearances of the Lord in the canonical Gospels, which seem to have any claim to be treated as separate units of tradition, whether they belong to the class of 'concise' narratives reflecting directly the corporate tradition of the primitive Church, or to the class of 'circumstantial' narratives allowing more scope to the individual author, or whether they diverge in various ways from both types. Outside the canonical Gospels there is little that we can bring into comparison. We have three accounts of the appearance of Christ to Paul, but none of the three constitutes a narrative unit comparable with those which provide the material of the Gospels. The narrative, in all its forms, resembles those of the Gospels in so far that the word of Christ initiates the transaction, that the recognition is the central feature, and that the scene ends with a command of Christ. But the whole situation is so differene that the comparison is of little significance. In Rev. 1:10-18 we have an 'appearance' of Christ to John in Patmos 302
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described in apocalyptic terms, with all the usual imagery. Comparison with the Gospel narratives is not profitable, except to underline the fact that the latter are entirely free from these apocalyptic traits. Even where, as in Matt. 28:16-20, the intention is clearly to introduce the risen Christ as King of the World, seated upon the throne of His glory (cf. Matt. 25:31-34), there is no attempt to suggest that glory through the conventional symbolism of apocalypse. The Gospel narratives, indeed, are notably sober and almost matter-of-fact in tone. Outside the New Testament there is little of which we need take note. The Gospel according to the Hebrews, so Jerome informs us, contained an account of an appearance to James. The fragments he quotes are not sufficient for any complete reconstruction of the narrative. The situation presupposed appears to be different from anything contemplated in the canonical Gospels, for the first fragment reads, 'When the Lord had given the linen cloth to the servant of the priest, He went and appeared to James'. It is then explained that James had taken a vow not to eat bread until he should have seen Jesus risen from the dead, and the narrative goes on to tell how the Lord 'took bread and broke and gave it to J ames the Just; and said to him "Eat your bread, my brother, for the Son of Man has risen from them that sleep" '. The association of the appearance of the Lord with a meal, and in particular with the breaking of bread, we have already noted as a feature of several of the canonical narratives, but for the rest this narrative has little in common with them. Clearly it had more of the character of a 'tale' than of the 'concise' type of narrative drawn from the common oral tradition. The Gospel of Peter evidently contained at least one narrative of an appearance of the risen Lord. The longest extant fragment (in the Akhmim MS.) ends with what was clearly the beginning of a story about an appearance to Peter and others, who have taken their nets and gone to the sea. We can only conjecture that something similar to Jn. 21 followed, but to which type of narrative it would conform we have no means of knowing. The material outside the canonical Gospels, then, whether in the New Testament or in apocryphal gospels, is of no great importance for our purpose, but it does give a little help, by comparison and contrast, towards defining the forms in which the tradition of appearances of the risen Lord was preserved. We should now have a fairly clear idea of these forms-of the two main types and of the range of variation from them. It should have become clear that the skeleton outline which we noted for the 'concise' narratives of Class I remains valid, on the whole, for all the varieties: the 'orphaned' disciples (cf. Jn. 14:18); the appearance of the Lord, usually with some word of greeting; the process of recognition; the final word of command. All the additional material in the narratives of Class 11 is little more than expansion of this general outline. The 303
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expansion is usually related either to the plight of the disciples, or to the process of recognition, or to the content of the final word of command, or to two or all three of these. Of actually extraneous matter there is little or nothing. By this I do not mean that we are to suppose the writers of the 'circumstantial' narratives to have had before them as sources existing narratives of the 'concise' type, which they set about elaborating. To attempt to extract from the story of the Walk to Emmaus or the Appearance by the Sea some original nucleus which would conform to the pattern of Class I would be an unprofitable task. I conceive Class I to represent the 'formed' tradition, stereotyped through relatively long transmission within a community, and Class 11 to represent a freer and more individual treatment of the still 'unforn1ed' tradition consisting, we may suppose, of things that various people remembered to have seen or to have been told, and in their turn related in a spontaneous and unconstrained fashion. Comparison with material outside the Gospels has tended-for what it is worth when there is so little such material-to emphasize by contrast the broad, basic similarity of the Gospel narratives among themselves. There are no further such narratives to be examined. But there are certain pericopae, incorporated in the portions of the Gospel dealing with the Ministry of Jesus, which have been more or less widely regarded as representing traditions referring originally to post-resurrection appearances of the Lord. It will be of interest to test such pericopae by the standard of the established scheme which we have recognized. 1. Lk. 5:1-11: the miraculous Draught of Fishes and the Call of Peter. The resemblance of this whole pericope to Jn. 21 has led many critics to suggest that it was originally a post-resurrection narrative, as it is in the Fourth Gospel, and that Luke (or his inlmediate authority) transplanted the incident into the context of the Ministry-as others have suggested that John transplanted it in the opposite direction. There is certainly a problem here, but it is one which our form-critical study of the postresurrection appearances does not greatly help to solve. For supposing the story to have referred, in the original tradition, to the period after the resurrection, practically every formal feature of post-resurrection narratives has been eliminated. There is no initial separation between Christ and His disciples, no unexpected appearance, no recognition: only the commission to Peter remains as representing the word of command with which such narratives commonly close. The features which are common to Lk. 5 and Jn. 21 (with this one exception) are those which, even as they occur in John, are not characteristic of post-resurrection appearances. The problem, therefore, of the true relation between these two narratives must be solved, if at all, by different methods. 304
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2. Jn. 6:16-21, Mk. 6:45-51: the Walking on the Water. This pericope, in its Johannine form, shows many of the features of post-resurrection narratives, as will be clear if we try to apply to it our formal scheme.
A. B. C. D.
The disciples were at sea and Jesus was not with them. They saw Jesus walking on the sea. (They were afraid, but) Jesus hailed them with a word of reassurance. They were willing to receive Him into the boat (i.e. they recognized Him). E. (The word of command is missing: instead, the voyage ends.)
What we have to observe is that this narrative, just as it stands, could have occurred among the narratives of the appearances of the risen Christ. It has some similarities to the story in Jn. 21: the disciples are at sea without Jesus; the reunion takes place (apparently) on shore-assuming, that is, that the words ilOEA.ov A.*'iv ainov Eic; to 1ti..owv imply that their intention to take Jesus on board was not fulfilled because they found that they were already in a position to disembark. 10 Nor is there any feature which would necessarily be out of place in a post-resurrection narrative-unless we are to understand that the disciples actually did receive the Lord into the boat; but John does not in any case say so. So far, therefore, as the formal character of the pericope goes, it would be possible to regard it as a post-resurrection narrative displaced. It conforms in the main to the type of Class I of such narratives, but the description of the violence of the wind, and the measurement of the distance from shore (cf. Jn. 21:8), might be regarded as approximating to the form of the 'circumstantial' narratives. It is, however, to be observed that the Marcan rendering of this incident is farther away from the type of the post-resurrection narratives. In Mark we are not presented at the beginning with the picture of the 'orphaned' disciples. Instead, we are told that Jesus took leave of them and went to the mountain, from which point He saw them in trouble, and so went to meet them and proposed to pass them by. So far the whole story is told from the side of Jesus, as it is in no post-resurrection narrative except that of the appearance to James in the Gospel according to the Hebrews. Again, Mark says definitely that He entered the boat, as John does not, and this would be a trait alien from the general character of the postresurrection narratives. If we are to assume that Mark represents the earlier stage of this narrative, we should be disposed to infer that John had assimilated it to the form of the post-resurrection narratives. But does Mark, necessarily, in every case, represent a more primitive stage of tradition than John? I doubt it. There are in this case some grounds (which I will not here discuss) for believing that John is following an independent tradition which is in some respects more original than Mark's. 305
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The conclusion we should draw, it appears, is that there is so striking a similarity between this pericope and the general type of post-resurrection narrative that it may well be either (a) that a traditional narrative originally referring to an appearance of the risen Lord has been transplanted, whether intentionally or not, into a different context, or (b) that an incident which originally belonged to the Galilaean Ministry of Jesus has been influenced by the post-resurrection narratives, and has been, particularly in the Fourth Gospel, assimilated in large measure to their form. In coming to a decision between these alternatives, we should have regard to the fact that in Mark and John alike (though in different ways) the incident is firmly welded into its context, more firmly, indeed, than most of the pericopae belonging to the Galilaean Ministry. 3. Mk. 9:2-8, and parallels. The Transfiguration. Among critics of a certain school it has become a dogma that this is an antedated postresurrection appearance of the Lord. On formal grounds this theory has no support whatever. On the contrary the pericope in question contrasts with the general type of post-resurrection narrative in almost every particular. Let us go through it point by point. (To save space, I shall use the symbols 'T', for the Transfiguration-pericope, and 'R' for the general type of postresurrection narrative.) (i) Whereas R invariably starts with the disciples 'orphaned' of the Lord and records a reunion, in T they are together throughout. If the Evangelists were making use of a fom1 of tradition which began with a separation, it would have been easy enough to contrive a setting for it (cf. Jn. 6:15-16, Mk. 6:45). (ii) In R, a word of Jesus always has a significant place, either as greeting, or as reproach, or as command, or as any two or all three of these. In T, He is silent throughout. (iii) In T, a voice from heaven proclaims the status and dignity of Christ. There is no voice from heaven in R. Only in Rev. 1:10--11 is there a voice (apparently) from heaven, drawing the seer's attention to the vision which he is to see. In the accounts of the appearance to Paul the voice from heaven is that of Christ Himself. (iv) In T, Christ is accompanied by Moses and Elijah; in fact the 'appearance'(~ au·toU;!) is that of the two personages of antiquity and not of Christ Himself (who is there all along). In R, Christ always appears alone (never accompanied, e.g., by the angels who figure as heralds of the resurrection). (v) In T, Christ is seen by His disciples clothed in visible glory. This trait is conspicuously absent from R in the Gospels. Only in Rev. 1:16 is He described as 'shining like the sun in his power', and this, as we have seen, stands quite apart from the Gospel tradition. Its absence is perhaps the more remarkable because a dazzling light provides the visible form in which Christ appeared to Paul according to Acts; and since Paul himself 306
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includes his own experience in the list of appearances of the risen Lord, there may well have been a temptation to colour other forms of R accordingly. If so, the evangelists have resisted the temptation. To set over against these points of difference I cannot find a single point of resemblance. If the theory of a displaced post-resurrection appearance is to be evoked for the understanding of this difficult pericope, it must be without any support from form-criticism, and indeed in the teeth of the presumption which formal analysis establishes. 4. Some critics have proposed to interpret the story of the Stilling of the Storm in Mk. 4:35---41 and parallels by a similar hypothesis, but once again the hypothesis finds no support in form-criticism. It might be held that, since the raging ocean out of all control is a symbol of primaeval chaos, and so of returning chaos at the end (cf. Lk. 21:25), and 'the voice of the Lord upon the waters' (Ps. 29:3) is a symbol of the divine sovereignty asserted over all rebellious powers, a scene in which Christ reduces the raging sea to submission by His word is a kind of 'parusia'-scene; and if it be true (as Dr. Lightfoot has taught us, and as I believe) that Matt. 28:16-20 is a kind of parusia-scene, it might be argued that the two scenes are in some sort equipollent. But it is precisely the apocalyptic imagery associated with the parusia-idea that is absent from Matt. 28 and present (on this hypothesis) in the Storm-pericope. There is therefore no probability in the view that the Stilling of the Storm was in the original tradition a post-resurrection narrative. We may, however, reckon with the possibility that the tradition which underlies this pericope had at some stage been influenced by apocalyptic conceptions, and had absorbed some of their imagery. We have now exhausted all the passages in the Gospels where the traditions regarding the appearance of Christ to His followers after His resurrection have been formed into narratives of the event, concise or circumstantial. 11 But there is another form in which such traditions were handed down, containing no such description of any single incident, but either offering a list of such incidents, or else summarizing the whole series in a comprehensive statement. We must now turn to passages of this kind.
Summaries and lists 1. In Acts 1:3---4 we have a comprehensive summary of all that followed the resurrection of Christ. It runs as follows: 'He presented himself to the apostles alive after his Passion by means of many proofs,'2 appearing to them over a period of forty days, and speaking about the Kingdom of God; and then, while he was eating with them (?), 13 he instructed them not to depart from Jerusalem, but to await the promise of the Father... .' We are here at a wide remove from the living tradition. The summary is a 307
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
literary composition by an author who looks back to what he has himself written in the first volume of his work (Lk. 24). 2. It is otherwise with the summary statements contained in the outline fom1 of apostolic kerygma given in certain chapters of Acts. In chapters 2, 3, and 5 we are told no more than the bare fact that the apostles are witnesses to the resurrection of Christ. But the form of kerygma attributed to Peter in 10:34--43 is rather more explicit: 'God raised him up on the third day, and permitted him to become visible, not to all the people, but to witnesses previously chosen by God, namely to us, who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead; and he instructed us to proclaim to the people ... .' Similarly in the kerygma attributed to Paul in 13:16-41 we read, 'God raised him from the dead, and he appeared for several days to those who had accompanied him from Galilee to Jerusalem, and who are now his witnesses to the people'. (The change from 'us' to 'those who accompanied him' is dictated by the fact that this speech is assigned to Paul and not to any of the original apostles.) If these forms of kerygma in Acts may be accepted as representing with reasonable fidelity the general type of early preaching, as I believe they may, then the Gospel narratives which we have been examining would readily serve the purpose of exemplifying or illustrating the statements made in general terms in the kerygma. The 'concise' narratives would be precisely (in Dibelius's sense of the term) 'paradigms' for the use of the preacher. 3. In I Cor. 15:3---8 we have something still more particular. After reporting the death, burial and resurrection of Christ, Paul adds a formal list of appearances of the risen Lord to various persons: 'He appeared to Cephas, then to the Twelve. After that he appeared to more than 500 brethren at once. After that he appeared to James, then to all the apostles. Last of all he appeared to me.' This list of Christophanies Paul declares to form part of the kerygma, as it was set forth by all Christian missionaries of whatever rank or tendency (15:11), part of the 'tradition' which he had received (15:3), part of the 'Gospel' which the Corinthians had accepted when he evangelized Achaia (15:1). No statement could be more emphatic or unambiguous. In making it Paul is exposing himself to the criticism of resolute opponents, who would have been ready to point to any flaw in his credentials or in his presentation of the common tradition. Exactly how much of the list comes directly out of the common form of kerygma is not quite clear. The appearance to Paul himself is obviously not part of what he 'received'. The
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parenthetic remark that most of the 500 are still alive may well be an addition to the received formula, since it refers to a definite point of timethat, no doubt, at which the apostle was writing. The rest of the list, it appears, we must accept as part of the common and primitive tradition. 14 We seem to have a further trace of the same formula in Lk. 24:34. Luke intends here, as we have seen, to present a kind of comprehensive 'Gospel of the Resurrection' within the framework of a single narrative. In pursuance of this intention he makes 'the Eleven and those who were with them' cap the remarkable news which Cleopas and his companion have brought from Emmaus by announcing, 'The Lord has indeed risen, and he appeared to Simon'. It is impossible to miss the close parallel with I Cor. 15:4-5. Lk.
I Cor.
on OV't~ ll'YEp9T] 6 KUP\0~
on E'Yll'YEpta\ tflTtJ..I.EP«;t tfl tpi.tTI 15 Ka\. on cilq>OT] K T]{P(i.
Ka\. IDcpel] C\.J..I.(I)V\
It is hardly doubtful that the evangelist was familiar with a formula
practically identical with that which Paul 'received' and 'transmitted'. We should not miss the significance of the fact that he is content to report the appearance to Peter in this jejune kerygmatic form. However ready he may have been to 'write up' traditional material which had reached him, and however great the skill he displays in doing so, he was clearly not willing to create a whole story out of a bare statement like this: otherwise, what a story we might have had of the appearance of Christ which was (to judge from various indications) crucial for the whole history of the Church, but which has inexplicably failed to enter into the Gospels! It is indeed a remarkable fact that the narratives in the Gospels are far from covering the whole ground of the list given in the Pauline kerygma. We might regard Matt. 28:16-20, Lk. 24:36-43, Jn. 20:19-21, Mk. 16:15-14, as representing the appearances to 'the Twelve' and to 'all the apostles', without being in a position to distinguish precisely which is which. It has been suggested that Jn. 21 represents the appearance 'to Cephas', but it is certainly not an appearance to Peter alone, perhaps not chiefly to Peter, since it is the beloved disciple who first recognizes the Lord. The appearance 'to James' appears only in an apocryphal gospel. That the appearance 'to above 500 brethren at once' may be represented by the account of Pentecost in Acts 2, the descent of the Spirit being a surrogate for the presence of the Lord (perhaps in the sense of Jn. 14:16-19, or even of 11 Cor. 3:17), was a suggestion which at one time commanded some favour, but it remains a pure speculation. It appears, then, that the narratives in the Gospels were not produced as expansion, by way of commentary or 'midrash', of the list of appearances in the primitive tradition; while it is quite certain that the list was not 309
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compiled out of the Gospels. We must conclude that the list of successive appearances on the one hand, as we have it in I Cor. 15, and as it is implied in Lk. 24:33-34, and on the other hand the different types of narrative in the Gospels, are independent of one another, and represent alternative methods of supplementing the simple statements of the kerygma in its baldest form, that Christ rose from the dead and that the apostles were witnesses to the fact, since He appeared to them after His Passion. The motives underlying the two different methods may perhaps be distinguished by examining the forms. In the Gospel narratives of Class I, which, we have reason to suppose, represent most closely the corporate oral tradition of the primitive Church, the witnesses are usually the apostolic body as a whole (whether identified as 'the Eleven', or 'the Eleven and those with them', or in other ways). Names of individuals are not mentioned. An apparent exception is Matt. 28:9-10, where, in view of 28:1, the reader identifies the women as Mary Magdalen and 'the other Mary' (whoever she may have been). But if we were right in isolating 28:9-10 as an independent pericope, the individual names may not have been present originally. In any case, the intention in general seems to be to present the facts as attested corporately by the apostolic body (using that term in the widest sense), in the spirit of I Jn. 1:1-3. Credence is invited, not on the testimony of a given witness, but on the authority of the apostolic tradition embodied in the Church. Where we have apologetic expansions of the narrative, they are directed towards meeting the objection that the apostles themselves may have had insufficient grounds for making the claims they do make. Various 'tEK~ftpta are adduced, but these still rest upon the corporate testimony of the apostolic body. In the end it all goes back to the affim1ation of that authoritative group, who say, in answer to questions raised, 'That which we have seen, that which we have heard with our ears and our hands have handled, we declare to you'. Either their word is to be accepted, upon the whole matter, or there is nothing further to be done. In the formula of I Cor. 15, on the contrary, there seems to be an attempt to meet a possible objector to some extent by defining more precisely the source of infom1ation, so as to put him (in theory at least) in a position to question the witness. There can hardly be any purpose in mentioning the fact that most of the 500 are still alive, unless Paul is saying, in effect, 'the witnesses are there to be questioned'. And it is not the same thing to appeal to the authority of 'the Eleven and those with them' or the like, and to mention Cephas and James as individuals. Cephas was wellknown to the Corinthians, whether directly or not; James was a name to conjure with among many who belittled Paul himself. Certainly Paul appeals to the consensus of all Christian missionaries: this is the same appeal to a generalized apostolic authority that underlies the forms of 'concise' narrative in the Gospels. But it is of advantage to him that he can adduce an agreed statement which particularizes the authorities. 310
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In the 'circumstantial' narratives of the Gospels also individual names are introduced; but the motive here is the enrichment of the story rather than the strengthening of the evidence. The introduction of names into a story which was originally anonymous is noted by the form-critics in general as a feature of 'legend'. It by no means follows that the names are unhistorical, but it is probably true, here as in analogous cases, that the main reason why the names are given is that they lend greater interest and vividness to the narrative. To recognize this is to underline the entirely different purpose of the mention of names in the kerygmatic formula of I Cor. 15. 4. There is one more passage which should be placed alongside Paul's list for comparison-the 'Longer Ending' of Mark, part of which we have already considered. Mk. 16:14-15 seemed on examination to be a fairly typical example of a 'concise' narrative based upon the common oral tradition. Yet it appears here as the climax of what looks like a list not altogether dissimilar from that of I Cor. 15: 'He appeared first to Mary Magdalen ... After this he appeared to two of them as they were journeying into the country ... Later, he appeared to the Eleven themselves as they sat at table ... The sequence, 1tprotov ... J..I.Eta ~E ta'i>ta ... OOtEpov, recalls the dta ... E1tE\'ta ... E1tEna ... dta ... EO"X,atov mxvtrov of I Cor. 15:3---8. We must therefore examine the passage more closely. If this was a list analogous to that of I Cor. 15, it must have had a rather fuller form, since in each case we are told something more than the bare fact that the Lord appeared to such-and-such a person. But apart from that, the list does not seem calculated to serve the precise purpose which we inferred to have been in view in the construction of the Pauline list. The latter, as we saw, reinforces the statements of the kerygma by particularizing the sources of evidence, especially by singling out the great names of Peter and James. In Mk. 16 the appearance to 'the Eleven' may be taken to represent what I have called the generalized authority of apostolic tradition. It goes no further. The appearance to two unidentified persons on a journey to some unnamed place adds nothing to the evidence, for the purpose in view. Only Mary Magdalen is specified by name. It is doubtful whether for the wider public her name would carry much weight. Indeed the writer himself goes on to say that 'those who had been with Him' did not believe a word she said. There would seem to have been some reluctance on the part of the Church or its spokesmen, to place much weight upon her evidence. That is perhaps why her name does not figure in the official list adopted, as Paul declares, by all Christian missionaries. It 311
JESUS' MISSION, DEATH, AND RESURRECTION
does not appear, then, that the list in Mk. 16 was shaped by the same motives as that given by Paul. Then should we conclude that the appearances to Mary Magdalen in 16:9-11 and to the two companions in 12-13 are, like the appearance to the Eleven in 16:14-15, forms of 'concise' narrative in a highly concentrated form (though scarcely more concentrated than Matt. 28:9-10)? Against that view there are the following considerations: (a) the narratives, though extremely brief, contain details not essential to the main theme, similar in character to those which appear in the 'circumstantial' narratives: the description of Mary Magdalen as one 'out of whom he had cast seven devils'; the Eleven 'lamenting and weeping' (an unparalleled trait); the appearance of the Lord 'in another fom1'; (b) the longest and most emphatic parts of these little stories are those which describe, not the appearance of the Lord itself, nor the recognition of Him by His followers, but the reporting of the incident to others and its unfavourable reception (16:10-11,13). There is therefore no such specific formative motive at work as we can recognize elsewhere. It is only when we look at the list as a whole that a possible guiding idea may be discerned. The whole stress is laid upon the appearance to the Eleven, which serves to introduce the Lord's command to His Church (which in some MSS. is greatly expanded), His ascension, and the summary of the early Christian mission which concludes the passage. The two incidents briefly touched upon in 16:9-13 serve only to introduce the main incident, and to exhibit the unbelief with which the reports of Mary Magdalen and the two companions are received, as a foil to the faith of the Church. The contrast of belief and unbelief is in fact a prominent theme of 16:14-20. While we saw no definite reason to conclude that the narrative in 16:14-15 was derived from any of our canonical gospels, it does appear that verses 9-13 may be derivative. Mary Magdalen 'out of whom he had cast seven devils', is almost verbally after Lk. 8:2. The reception of her report recalls the statement of Lk. 24:11 that the report which she and other women brought about the empty Tomb was similarly received: 'They thought they were talking nonsense, and disbelieved them' (iJ1t\.a'touv au'ta~ in Lk., TJ1ttO'tl]Oav in Mk.). With these echoes in mind, we shall be disposed to think that the appearance to the two companions came out of Lk. 24 rather than directly out of oral tradition. The appearance to Mary Magdalen however cannot itself have come from Luke. It may have been derived from John or from Matthew (by singling out one of the two women of whom Matthew speaks). The 'Longer Ending' does not otherwise show any clear mark of dependence on John, while the command to go and preach to all the world, and the institution of baptism (16:15-16), resemble Matt. 28:19 fairly closely. The record of the ascension, on the other hand (16:19), being entirely in biblical language (11 Kgs. 2:11 LXX+ Ps. 110:1), does not appear to depend on Acts 1:9. 312
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The most probable conclusion seems to be that the author of the 'Longer Ending' is in the main composing freely out of current tradition, but drawing upon Matthew and Luke for part of his material. 16 As a summary of what happened after the discovery of the empty Tomb it carries no independent authority. We may now summarize the conclusions to which the investigation seems to have led, and draw some corollaries. 1. The earliest extant form in which the appearances of the risen Lord are reported is an ordered list of such appearances to specified individuals and groups, which was included in the kerygma of the early Church as it was communicated to Paul. Its purpose seems to have been to provide interested enquirers with a guaranteed statement of the sources of evidence upon which the affirmations of the kerygma were grounded. 2. Perhaps equally early in origin, though transmitted to us in a later document, are the bare statements contained in other forms of the kerygma, to the effect that the apostles are witnesses to the resurrection, inasmuch as Christ appeared to them alive after death. Here there is no attempt to deploy the sources of evidence: the statement is made, like the kerygma as a whole, upon the collective authority of the apostolic body. 3. In the Gospels there is a series of concise pericopae, bearing the marks of a corporate oral tradition, in which the appearances of Christ to individuals and groups are briefly described. The points upon which emphasis is laid are (a) the recognition of the Lord by His disciples, almost always with the implication that such recognition was neither immediate nor inevitable; and (b) the word of command given by Christ to His followers. These two elements are apt to be expanded in more-developed examples of this type of pericope, (a) by the tender of proofs of the reality of the Person who appeared, and of His identity with the Crucified, and (b) by the introduction of further material appropriate as a final charge to the apostles. These pericopae do not mention individual names. They put forward their statements, like the forms of kerygma under 2, upon the collective authority of the apostolic body, and may well have served as 'paradigms' or illustrative examples for preachers. They show no sign of having been derived from the authorized list of appearances under 1. Their formative idea we may take to be: The Christ who died is the living Guide and Ruler of His Church; Matthew adds, the Lord of heaven and earth. 4. There are other pericopae in the Gospels which give a more circumstantial narrative of the appearances. The added matter is almost entirely of the nature of dramatic or picturesque detail, especially in the presentation of the recognition of the Lord by His disciples. A marked feature is the introduction of a common meal at which the risen Lord 'breaks bread' for His disciples. The resurrection is thus associated with the eucharistic 313
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ideas and practice of the early Church. For the rest, it cannot be said that these circumstantial narratives alter the perspective or the implications of the briefer type of narrative. 5. Negatively, the Gospel narratives, of whatever type, are entirely free from the conventional apparatus of apocalypse. There are no supernatural signs accompanying the appearances, 17 and the risen Christ communicates no revelations of the secrets of the other world as He is often made to do in later apocryphal works. Even though in Matthew Christ appears as Lord of heaven and earth, His lordship is not signified by any kind of portent: His word is sufficient. 6. For some other forms of tradition which enter into the Gospels the form-critics have been able to adduce analogies from other fields, as, for instance, the Epidaurus inscriptions for some of the healing-stories, and rabbinic aphorisms and dialogues for didactic pericopae. It is more difficult to find any such analogies for the post-resurrection narratives. In certain respects the more circumstantial narratives recall accounts of theophanies in the Old Testament and in profane literature, especially those in which at first the Visitant is not recognized for what He is, but when recognized imparts some solemn instruction, promise or command (e.g. Gen. 18, Jud. 6, 13). But the points of difference are more numerous and striking than the points of resemblance. In particular, in theophany-stories proof is usually offered of the supernatural or divine character of the Visitant: in the Gospel stories the proofs tend to show His real humanity (He has flesh and blood, bears wounds in His body, even eats human food). In some ways we might find a nearer analogy in the avayvci>p\Cnc;-scenes of Greek drama, but again the analogy is by no means close. 7. It has been not unusual to apply the term 'myth' somewhat loosely to the resurrection-narratives of the Gospels as a whole. The foregoing investigation will have shown that, so far as the narratives of the appearances of the risen Christ are concerned, form-criticism offers no ground to justify the use of the term. The more circumstantial narratives certainly include traits properly described as Iegendary, 18 but 'legend' and 'myth' are different categories, and should not be confused. Formally, there is nothing to distinguish the narratives we have been examining from the 'Paradigms' and other concise narratives on the one hand, and the 'Novellen', or 'Tales', on the other, which occur in other parts of the Gospels, and they merit the same degree of critical consideration, not only in their aspect as witnesses to the faith of the early Church, but also as ostensible records of things that happened.
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Notes 1 Contrast the relatively 'concise' narratives of Matt. 8:28-34, 9:18-26, with the 'circumstantial' narratives of Mk. 5:1-20, 21-43. Few critics would assign the former to an earlier date. If Matthew, in 9:27-31 and 20:29-34, has taken over two forms of a story, the one more 'concise' and the other more 'circumstantial', there is no ground for making either the one or the other 'primary' or 'secondary': they are simply variant forms which the tradition assumed. 2 XatpEtE is the normal, everyday, greeting in Greek; Eipi]v11 UJ.Li:v represents the normal greeting in Hebrew or Aramaic. If we may suppose an Aramaic tradition underlying, the word might well be the same in both. 3 Cf. 24:46-47, Acts 26:22-23, where we have a primitive scheme for biblical research. It is scarcely accidental that Cleopas is represented as having sought in Jesus the fulfilment of the (political) hope of the anoA.utpoxnc; of Israel, and that he learns instead that it is through suffering that the Messiah must enter into a glory which is clearly not of this world. 4 See the admirable discussion of forms of avayvroptatc; in Aristotle, De Ane Poetica, 16, pp. 1454b 19-1455" 21. Aristotle's distinctions of various methods of recognition may be aptly applied to the New Testament material. 5 Fantastic applications of gematrw to the number are out of place, but it is probably significant that some zoologists of the period computed the number of species of fishes as 153. 6 Some MSS, entering into the spirit of the scene, add 'and honeycomb'. 7 The production of multiple proofs of identity is a familiar accompaniment of the avayroptatc; motive in Greek drama, both tragic and comic. 8 This verb has a special significance in the vocabulary of the Fourth Gospel, e.g. 3:13-17, 6:62-63. So pregnant is it that there is reason to suspect that even where, ostensibly, it means no more than the journey of a pilgrim to the Holy City, it is intended to carry overtones. If so, then it is not altogether unlikely that the message to the 'brothers' of Jesus here intentionally alludes to what He is recorded to have said to His 'brothers' in 7:3-8. They have urged Him to go to Jerusalem to make a public appeal. He replies, 'My time is not yet here .... I am not "going up"--{)i'rtc (or (?) oi'mro) avafkxiv(J}-tO this feast, because my time is not yet ripe'. With that in mind, we might read the message which Mary is to carry to the 'brothers' as meaning, 'My time is now ripe; I am "going up"-not to Jerusalem, but to my Father'. It is perhaps significant that it is only in the accounts of the appearance to Mary Magdalen here, and to the women (one of whom, at least editorially, is Mary Magdalen) in Matt. 28:9-10, that account is taken of the 'brothers' of Christ in recounting His resurrection. In Mk. 16:7 the message is sent to 'His disciples and Peter'. In Lk. 24:33-35 the news is given to the Eleven and those with them'. In Lk. 24:22 the 'we' who receive the angelic announcement from the women are indeterminate, and equally indeterminate are the expressions used in the 'Longer Ending' of Mk. 16:10, 13. Now in the early Church the 'brothers' of Jesus were a wellrecognized group (cf. I Cor. 9:5), who long enjoyed a special position in the Church as Founder's kin. The leading member of the group was James. We know from I Cor. 15:7 that an appearance of the Lord to James was affirmed in the primitive tradition, though it is nowhere recorded in the canonical Gospels. Is it possible (this is pure speculation) that the report of an appearance to Mary Magdalen and other women was especially associated with the tradition of James and his circle, and that this tradition was largely eclipsed by the tradition preserved in the circle of Peter and the Twelve? Cf. also Ac. 1:14. 9 The story of the conversion of Paul is avowedly an episode in the life of an
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10
11
12
13 14
15 16
17
18
individual who has a biography of his own. Of the persons recorded as having followed Jesus in His lifetime, the only one who is (in even approximately the same sense) an individual with a biography is Peter, and the appearance to Peter is nowhere described. If it were legitimate to bring Matthew into the comparison, we should observe that in both stories Peter plunges into the sea to join the Lord, Matt. 14:28-31, Jn. 21:7. The reason why he failed (in Matthew) is that he 'doubted', for Jesus asks, Eic; -ci £oicnaaac;; cf. Matt. 28:17 (of the Eleven after the resurrection) oi o£ Eliia-caaav. It is difficult not to suspect that there had been some obscure kind of contact between the two traditions at an early stage. I have not included the story of the ascension, which is of a different character. In the 'Longer Ending' of Mark (16:19) and the Received Text of Lk. 24:51, it is scarcely more than an editorial winding-up of the series of incidents following the resurrection. In Acts 1:9-11 alone it is shaped into a real narrative, the main motive of which seems to be given in the concluding words of the angelic pronouncement. 'Ev 1toUoii; "tElCJllpimc;: cf. Aristotle's category of recognition oux 01lJ.I.Eirov (proofs of identity) (De Art. Poet, 1. 1). Aristotle might have said that Luke used the term loosely, since he elsewhere distinguishes "tE'ICJlTptOv from OlliJ.ElDV (e.g. Anal. Pr. xxvii, especially p. 70b2). But Luke perhaps knew what he was about: a "tElCJlTptOV, in the Aristotelian use of terms, is a more certain kind of proof. The meaning of the word auvaA.t~OJlEVo<; is very uncertain. See Cadbury's excellent note ad foe. It has been suggested, and not without some plausibility, that the balanced statements, OxpeTJ KTJCP(X, Ei-ca -cote; ocOOE'ICa· C\)
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IS THE RESURRECTION AN 'HISTORICAL' EVENT? 1 G. G. O'Collins Source: Heythrop Journal, 8, 1967, pp. 381-387.
There is no end to the literature dealing with the resurrection of Christ. Last year the dialogue between Professors Lampe and MacKinnon, The Resurrection, appeared. Already this yearS. H. Hooke's The Resurrection of Christ and N. Clark's Interpreting the Resurrection have been published. In July the SCM Press put out their translation of Jiirgen Moltmann's Theology of Hope, a work of systematic theology in which the resurrection plays a vital role. In May Harper and Row has published as volume three of New Frontiers in Theology a discussion of the controversial views on revelation and history recently put forward by Wolfhart Pannenberg, for whom the reality of Christ's resurrection is as important as it is for Moltmann, even if it is understood in a different way. 2 This is a mere sample from current writings on the resurrection. The literature is vast and the issues are many. 3 I wish to confine myself to one question: should we describe the resurrection as an historical event? I will be arguing from the position that the resurrection is a real, bodily event involving the person of Jesus of Nazareth. Speaking on the basis of this supposition I am putting one question: is it appropriate to call the resurrection historical? Many writers do describe the resurrection in that way. Pannenberg, for example, calls the resurrection 'an historical event'4 and is satisfied that an historian, using the usual methods of historical verification, can investigate5 and establish the reality of the resurrection. 6 H. F. von Campenhausen, Pannenberg's teacher at Heidelberg, writes in a somewhat similar way: 'For all its contemporary, vivifying reality, the resurrection is still an actual event of the historical past, and as such it was handed down, proclaimed and believed. And so the proclamation of it cannot evade the historical question, and cannot in any circumstances be withdrawn from the task of historical investigation. ' 7 In his Bampton Lectures Alan Richardson shows much the same attitude when he asks: 'What sort of evidence might lead to the judgement that the resurrection of 317
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Christ was an event of history?'8 For 'whether, in fact, Christ rose from the dead, is an historical question and one which involves the assessment of historical evidence'. 9 Professor Lampe agrees that the resurrection is an event to be dealt with by the historian. For, although the historian 'cannot pronounce upon the significance which faith discerns in what happened at Easter' he has 'every right to investigate the records of these happenings and to pronounce upon the probability or otherwise that they did in fact occur'. 10 It would be easy to go on adding examples of theologians who-often in very different ways-will speak of the resurrection as an historical event or the object of historical research. One reaction to such talk about the resurrection is the position Emst Fuchs takes up. He draws attention to such passages as Rom 10:9 ff. and 2 Cor 4:13 ff., where the resurrection is presented as an object of faith and confessionY Fuchs's point is that the resurrection cannot be both the object of faith and something to be investigated and verified by historians. But is that so obvious? Is believing incompatible with historical investigation and proof? A second objection from Fuchs has more immediate force. If Jesus' resurrection is an historically verifiable event, surely those whose profession it is to deal with history should be obviously the first to recognize it as such? Historians as a class should be pre-eminent among believers. 12 Yet I think we can leave aside the question of whether believing in the resurrection excludes proving it and the incidence of acceptance of the resurrection among historians. The heart of the matter seems to me: is the resurrection of Christ of such a nature that it can properly be called historical? We can, of course, produce a more or less elaborate account of what it takes to be an historical happening and then declare that the resurrection fails to verify our description. We could, for example, demand three things: (1) that the causality at work, or rather the whole chain of cause and effect constituting the alleged event, should be at least in principle open to examination; (2) that the alleged event should be witnessed to by impartial observers and not merely by highly committed friends of the one involved in it; and (3) that the alleged event should bear some analogy to the kind of happenings we commonly experience. 13 Before admitting anything as an historical event we could postulate such requirements and then point out that the resurrection fails to meet our tests. First, we cannot investigate the causality involved. While claiming that Jesus was raised by the power of God, the canonical scriptures make no attempt to give an account-let alone a precise and detailed account--of how it occurred. 14 Second, only believers testified to the appearances of the risen Lord. Finally, the resurrection bears no analogy to our common experience. Thus the resurrection would fail to qualify as an historical event. But clearly there is danger of pre-judging the issue by multiplying the requirements for what it takes to make an historical happening. 318
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Some writers, on the other hand, seem to minimize the requirements by using 'historical' as if it were just about synonymous with 'what has happened'. Pannenberg, for example, writes: 'There is no justification for affirming the resurrection of Jesus to be an event that really happened, if it cannot be affirmed historically as such.' 15 For Professor Lampe the object of historian's research is what has 'actually happened'. 16 But is something that has 'happened' to be described automatically as 'historical'? Take, for example, the creation of the world or the coming of Christ to presence in the Eucharist. We could recognize such things as significant events that have happened and do happen, yet few would be willing to call them 'historical' .17 Eventually I must face the question and take responsibility for some working account of what the 'historical' is. I suggest that we should require an historical occurrence to be something significant that is known to have happened in our space-time continuum. The last element is important. Historians deal with things that are localizable in space and datable time. It is interesting to find Richardson insisting that 'the resurrection of Christ' is 'to be assessed one way or the other by the historian just like any other event in space or time' (italics mine). 18 While agreeing that historians do deal with events in space and time, I would like to argue that the resurrection is not an event in space and time and hence should not be called historical. Through the resurrection Christ passes out of the empirical sphere of this world to a new mode of existence in the 'other' world of God. He moves outside the world and its history, outside the ordinary datable, localizable conditions of our experience-to become an 'otherworldly' reality. The time in which our history takes place lasted for Christ up to the last moment in which his body lay dead in the tomb, still part of our world. The three days specify the last moments of his pre-risen existence, his last moments in human history. 19 The resurrection meant that Christ entered on the new mode of existence of the glorified body, a 'pneumatic', Spirit-filled existence in which he is the source of life for mankind (2 Cor 3:17; 1 Cor 15:43 ff.). For the most part his glorified existence is only to be described in negatives-as immortal, impassible, etc. Now historians deal with bodily human existences under the ordinary space-time conditions of our world. The risen Christ does not belong to this mode of human existence. If in fact Christ on the far side of the resurrection continued to exist under the bodily conditions which we experience and within which the historian operates, he would not be the risen Christ. It is instructive to contrast Christ's resurrection with the raisings from the dead mentioned in the Gospels, viz. those of the young man from Nairn (Lk 7:11-17), Jairus' daughter (Mk 5:35-43 and parallels) and Lazarus (Jn eh. 11). Leaving aside the question of the factuality of these accounts, we can recognize that what is presented here is clearly quite
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different from the resurrection of Jesus. It is not merely that the events themselves are described, whereas the resurrection of Jesus took place 'in the silence of God' .20 Nor is the vital point of difference the fact that there is no problem of identification, no difficulty whatsoever, for example, in recognizing the daughter of Jairus after the event, whereas in the resurrection narratives there is the recurrent motif of men who had known the earthly Jesus failing to identify the risen Lord. The major contrast lies in the fact that the daughter of Jairus and the others resume life under normal bodily conditions and will presumably die again. Their space-time lives continue; the material for their biographies begins once again to mount up for some future historian. They had not entered yet into their final state of existence. 21 Jesus, on the other hand, does not return to life in our space-time continuum. With his death and burial his biographical achievement for the historian is complete; he has moved into his final state of existence. To argue that the resurrection of Christ is not appropriately described as an historical event is not to assert that historical evidence and inquiry are irrelevantY The Easter confession of the apostles understood itself to be derived from and concerned with Jesus' resurrection. This proclaiming faith can be investigated by historians; it is historically ascertainable. Moreover, behind this confession lay the fact that the risen Christ appeared at definite times and places to a particular number of persons. Christ in his risen state is connected with a series of this-worldly events. These appearances are historical from the side of those who encountered the risen Lord, but not from the side of Christ himself. These episodes do not occur at a certain time and place in his risen life. His glorified existence is not localizable and datable for the historian. Against this Pannenberg argues that precisely because the risen Christ became known at a quite definite time, in a limited number of events and to a particular number of men we should call the resurrection an historical eventY Yet surely we could make a rather similar point about the encounters with Yahweh recorded in the Old Testament? God is described as entering dramatically at certain times into the lives of a particular set of menAbraham, Moses, Isaiah and others. But such encounters do not make God's existence historical. Likewise the appearances of the risen Jesus are not historical from his side, even if they do form part of the history of Peter, Paul and the other witnesses of the risen Lord. History concerns the resurrection in other ways too, for example, from the side of the historical Jesus. Without his life and death we would not have the resurrection. Even if the resurrection is not reducible to history, it would not have happened without the prior historical existence of the one raised from the dead. To conclude. Even if historical investigation has a certain relevance, it seems inappropriate to describe the resurrection as an historical event. A great deal has not even been mentioned in this paper, for example, the 320
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question of the empty tomb. 24 But I hope enough has been said to recommend the position of those who want to accept the resurrection as a real, bodily event, but would hesitate to call it historical. At the same time, as I have said, my argument has developed from the position that the resurrection was a real, bodily event involving the person of Jesus of Nazareth.
Notes 1 This article is a slightly abbreviated version of a paper originally delivered to the Theological Society in Queens' College, Cambridge, on March 9th, 1%7. Some footnotes have been added. 2 Recent literature dealing with the resurrection includes also, for example, C. F. D. Moule, The Phenomenon of the New Testament. Studies in Biblical Theology. Second Series (London, 1%7), esp. eh. 1; F. Viering (ed.), Die Bedeutung der Auferstehungsbotschaft fiir den Glauben an Jesus Christus ( Giitersloh, 1%6); B. Klappert (ed.), Diskussion urn Kreuz und Auferstehung (Wuppertal, 1967). 3 Klappert supplies a useful outline of most of the important issues ( op. cit., pp. 10--52). 4 Grundziige der Christologie (Giitersloh, 1964), p. 95. 5 'Whether or not Jesus was raised from the dead is a historical question insofar as it is an inquiry into what did or did not happen at a certain time' (New Frontiers in Theology, Vol. 3, Theology as History, ed. J. M. Robinson and J. B. Cobb [New York, 1967], 128). 6 Grundziige der Christologie, pp. 85-103. 7 'Der Ablauf der Osterereignisse und das leere Grab', trans. from S. Neill, The Interpretation of the New Testament 1861-1961 (London, 1964), p. 287 (italics mine). J. M. Robinson remarks that 'in his programmatic essay' ('Heilsgeschehen und Geschichte', Kerygma und Dogma 5 (1959), pp. 218-37, 259--88) 'Pannenberg is arguing in defense of von Campenhausen's approach to Jesus' resurrection' (Theology as History, p. 32, n. 92). Klappert points out how Pannenberg-at least by the time he published Offenbarung als Geschichte in 1961-goes beyond von Campenhausen in the role he attributes to historical investigation in our understanding of the resurrection (Diskussion urn Kreuz und Auferstehung, pp. 21-3). 8 History Sacred and Profane (London, 1964), p. 195. 9 Ibid., p. 190. 10 The Resurrection, p. 33. Pannenberg complains that 'such a splitting up of historical consciousness into a detection of facts and an evaluation of them ... is intolerable to Christian faith, not only because the message of the resurrection of Jesus and of God's revelation in him necessarily becomes merely subjective interpretation, but also because it is the reflection of an outmoded and questionable historical method. It is based on the futile aim of the positivist historians to ascertain bare facts without meaning in history' (Theology as History, pp. 126 ff.). 11 'Die Spannung im neutestamentlichen Christusglauben', Glaube und Erfahrung (Tiibingen, 1965), pp. 292 ff. 12 'Theologie oder ldeologie?', Theologische Literaturzeitung, 88 (1%3), col. 259. 13 This requirement was emphasized above all by E. Troeltsch, for whom comparison with what is already known should provide our touchstone for assessing the probability that a reported incident actually occurred. Pannenberg
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14 15
16 17 18 19 20 21
22
23
24
(Kerygma und Dogma 5 (1959), pp. 264-7) and Moltmann (Theologie der Hoffnung [Munich, 19655), pp. 158 ff.) refer to the relevant sections in Troeltsch's writings and make valuable criticisms of his demand. J. M. Robinson summarizes Pannenberg's comment: 'Comparison is for the sake of establishing that which is individual and distinctive about the phenomenon under consideration. Hence such comparison may not be used to obscure that which is distinctive, by classifying it as just another instance of a given category. The result of this corrective is that the lack of historical analogy loses any decisive role in determining the historicity of an event' (Theology as History, p. 31); cf. Pannenberg's remarks, ibid., p. 264, n. 75. As K. Grobel points out, even the Gospel of Peter does not describe the resurrection; ibid., pp. 171 ff. Grundziige der Christologie, p. 96; in response to Grobel's position, however, Pannenberg wants to take 'historical' in the stronger sense in which I want to use it: 'I am', he writes, 'like Grobel of the opinion that historical events must be locatable in time and space' (Theology as History, p. 265, n. 76). The Resurrection, p. 33. The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin is also something significant which has happened. Yet would we speak of it as an historical event? Op. cit., p. 210. Hence I disagree with Grobel who holds that, while the resurrection does not qualify as an event in space, it has 'a locus in time' (Theology as History, p. 171; cf. pp. 171-5). Ignatius of Antioch, Eph. 19, 1. Pannenberg himself draws attention to the great difference between these raisings from the dead and Jesus' resurrection, but does not feel that this tells against his description of the resurrection as an historical event ( Grundziige der Christologie, p. 73). C. E. Braaten writes: 'Would not the denial of the resurrection as an historical event seriously call into question the basis from which we could judge it to be real in any significant sense whatsoever? What kind of reality would the resurrection event be if it would lie wholly outside the bounds of what we experience as history?' (New Directions in Theology Today, Vol. 2, History and Hermeneutics [Philadelphia, 1966], p. 80). Notice the implicit shift in the argument: to deny 'the resurrection as an historical event' is to suggest that 'it would lie wholly outside the bounds of what we experience as history'. Obviously unless the resurrection in some way enters our experience, we cannot call it reaL But must everything which we judge to be real lie itself wholly within the bounds of what we experience as history? 'If we were here to renounce the concept of an historical event, then it could not at all be maintained any longer that the raising of Christ or the appearances of the risen Lord have really happened at a definite time in this world of ours' ( Grundziige der Christologie, p. 96). Over this issue Klappert writes similarly: 'The resurrection of Jesus Christ ... is an actual event in history, insofar as the risen Lord has made himself known at a quite definite time, in a limited number of events and in relation to a quite definite set of people' (Diskussion um Kreuz und Auferstehung, p. 13). Obviously historical inquiry is relevant to the resurrection in that the empty tomb can be the object of investigation by the historian. The absence of the corpse is verifiable in principle; its transformation to a glorified mode of existence is not. I disagree with Grobel's admission that, if the resurrection involved an empty tomb, the resurrection would qualify as a spatial event
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(Theology as History, p. 175; cf. J. B. Cobb's comments, ibid., pp. 204 ff.). Pannenberg, who unlike Grobel accepts the empty tomb, agrees that, 'presupposing the tradition of the empty tomb, the relationship of the resurrection to space is already given'. He continues: 'The event of the resurrection of Jesus ... has to do with the transition from our earthly reality to that resurrectionreality which is no longer locatable in space. Thus at least its initial point must be sought in the historical Jesus which was located in space, and thus far at least it is itself related to space. If it really took place, it took place in Palestine and not for instance in America' (ibid., p. 265, n. 76). It seems odd, however, to speak of a transition 'out of space, viz. to a reality not locatable in space, taking place in space, viz. in Palestine. For even if 'the initial point' of this transition were located in space, this would not justify us in concluding that the transition 'took place' in space. Besides it seems preferable to talk of the tomb containing the body of the historical Jesus not as 'the initial point' of the transition, but as being the last place where Jesus in the normal historical sense was locatable. The tomb specifies the last place of Jesus' pre-risen existence. While the empty tomb of a Lazarus can indicate a raising from the dead that would be a spatial event, the resurrection of Christ does not; his resurrection is no mere resuscitation of a corpse.
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WAS THE TOMB REALLY EMPTY? Robert H. Stein Source: Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society, 20, lfJ77, pp. 23-29.
"If Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain" (I Cor 15:14). For Christians the resurrection of Jesus constitutes the foundation stone of faith. Apart from the resurrection there is no gospel, no "good news," for apart from Easter there is no hope but, as witnessed to by the first disciples, only despair. Yet the resurrection turned fearful and despondent men into men of courage and confidence, men who believed that the resurrection not only verified all that Jesus had said and taught but assured them of the defeat of death and the guarantee that they would share in this great victory of their Lord (John 14:19). Evangelical apologetics has sought to support the historicity, the "facticity," of the resurrection by means of several arguments. The most important of these arguments in the NT is the resurrection appearances. (Note the pre-Pauline creedal formula in 1 Corinthians 15:3-11, especially vv 5-8.) Attempts to explain these appearances by means of apostolic fraud, hallucinations and visions, or parapsychology have never been convincing, and evangelicals have been quick to point out the inadequacy of such rationalistic attempts. 1 A second argument in support of the resurrection is the existence of the Church. How does one explain such a phenomenon as the Church? Apart from the resurrection it is perhaps conceivable that a "memorial society" might have arisen to commemorate the death of a much-loved teacher, but there certainly would not have been a Church meeting daily to celebrate the breaking of bread "with glad and generous hearts" (Acts 2:46). The very existence of the Church witnesses to the fact of the resurrection. A third witness to the resurrection is the existential experience of the risen Christ in the heart of the believer. As one familiar hymn states it, "You ask me how I know He lives? He lives within my heart." To those who would minimize this argument and reject it as unscientific and subjective, the evangelical would point out that millions of Christians have
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for nearly two thousand years made this very claim. It is a simple fact that throughout the history of the Church the single most important witness to the resurrection of Jesus has been the witness of the risen Christ within the heart of the believer! A fourth argument for the resurrection is the witness of the empty tomb. If every effect has a cause, how does one explain the empty tomb (the effect) apart from the resurrection (the cause)? If one denies the resurrection, what other cause can one suggest to explain the empty tomb? Many scholars who do not believe in the resurrection have nevertheless felt compelled to explain this "effect" by means of a rationalistic cause. Some of these attempts are: the theory that the women went to the wrong tomb;2 the theory that Joseph of Arimathea stole the body of Jesus;3 the theory that Jesus did not really die on the cross but merely "swooned";4 the theory that the disciples stole the body of Jesus; 5 the theory that the gardener of the tomb removed the body of Jesus and placed it elsewhere to protect his lettuce from the spectators.6 There have been other theories as well (such as the theory that the body of Jesus completely decomposed or "evanesced" within thirty-six hours!), 7 but all such rationalistic attempts to explain the empty tomb have only served to confirm the conviction of the evangelical that the only satisfactory explanation of the fact of the empty tomb is the resurrection of Jesus from the dead. This fourth witness to the resurrection has been challenged in recent years by the claim that the account of the empty tomb is a late tradition created by the early Church to help explain the resurrection appearances. According to this view it was the resurrection appearances that led to the view that the tomb must have been empty, not vice versa. The account of the empty tomb is therefore seen as completely secondary, an apologetic legend, unknown to Paul and of no significance in the apostolic preaching.8 It must be acknowledged that the main witness to the resurrection was the appearances of the risen Lord, not the empty tomb, for the empty tomb by itself did not lead to faith in the resurrection (cf. Luke 24:21-24; John 20:13). It was therefore primarily the positive witness of the resurrection appearances rather than the negative witness of the empty tomb that led to faith in the risen Lord. Yet even if the emptiness of the tomb does not prove that Jesus has risen, in conjunction with the other evidence it is nevertheless a witness to the resurrection. 9 Furthermore, if the tomb was not empty, it would rule out the Christian claim that Jesus rose from the dead, for if someone in Jerusalem could have produced the body of Jesus, 325
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no manner of witness to the resurrection of Jesus would have been convincing. There are, however, several powerful arguments that can be raised to support the fact that the Christian tradition of the empty tomb is very early and that the tomb in which the body of Jesus was placed was indeed empty. These are: 1. The story of the empty tomb is found in all four gospels and in at least three of the gospel strata: Mark, M (Matthew's special material), and John. The very variation in the different narratives of the empty tomb, which are in one sense embarrassing, argues that these accounts stem from separate and independent traditions, all of which witness to the tomb's being empty. 2. The presence of the various Semitisms and Semitic customs in the gospel accounts of the empty tomb indicates that these accounts were early and originated most probably in a Palestinian setting. (Cf. "on the first day of the week" [Mark 16:2]; "angel of the Lord" [Matt 28:2]; "Miriam" [Matt 28:1 ]; "[answering] said" [Matt 28:5]; "bowed their faces to the ground" [Luke 24:5]; etc.) 10 3. Jewish belief in the resurrection necessitated an empty tomb. Whereas ideas of immortality among the Greeks and certain Jews were divorced from, and even antagonistic to, the idea of bodily resurrection, the Jews in Jerusalem, especially the Pharisees and those influenced by Pharisaic teaching, would associate the idea of a resurrection with the physical resurrection of the body. In Jerusalem, therefore, there could be no apostolic preaching of the resurrection of Jesus unless the tomb was in fact empty.U Furthermore, it is difficult to believe that the opponents of Jesus would not have investigated the place of burial to see if indeed the tomb was empty, for the display of the body of Jesus would be a simple way of refuting the claim of his resurrection. 4. The fact that the witnesses to the empty tomb were women whose witness was disallowed by the Jews makes an apologetic fabrication of the account unlikely. It is most difficult to understand why the Church would have created a legend of an empty tomb in which the chief witnesses were women, since women were invalid witnesses according to Jewish principles of evidence. 12 If the account of the empty tomb were simply a legend, why not make the witnesses men? It would appear more reasonable to conclude that the reason the Church did not make the witnesses to the empty tomb men was simply because the witnesses to the empty tomb on that Easter morning were in fact not men but women. 5. It is difficult to understand why a Jewish polemic against the empty tomb would have arisen if the account of the empty tomb had developed as late as the critics claim. Later there would have been no point in arguing against this "legend" since so many things could have happened in 326
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the intervening years to nullify its validity. The development of such a polemic and the fact that it admitted the emptiness of the tomb indicates that the account of the empty tomb had from the very beginning an important place in the early Church's proclamation of the resurrectionY 6. The reference to Joseph of Arimathea indicates that the tomb in which Jesus was buried was well known, for the name of Joseph of Arimathea is firmly fixed to the traditions of both how and where Jesus was buried (cf. Mark 15:43--46; Matt 27:57-60; Luke 23:50-53; John 19:38-42). The historicity of the empty tomb is supported by the fact that a specific tomb, which was known in Jerusalem as Joseph of Arimathea's tomb, was associated with the burial of Jesus. The fact that Joseph of Arimathea did not hold any particular position of authority or fame in the early Church also argues in favor of the historicity of this tradition. 14 7. The traditions of the empty tomb all place the incident as occurring on the first day of the week. What major event took place on this day that would cause so momentous a change in the religious life of the early Church as to explain why the day of worship was transferred from the Sabbath to Sunday? The only event (in the NT) associated with the first day of the week is the discovery of the empty tomb. The resurrection appearances, on the other hand, were associated with the "third day" (cf. Mark 8:31; 9:31; 10:34; 14:58; 15:29; Matt 12:40; 27:63-64; Luke 13:32; 24:7; 21; John 2:19; I Cor 15:4). The empty tomb tradition, however, is dated on the first day of the week, and the practice of the early Church in worshiping on Sunday (cf. Acts 20:7; 1 Cor 16:2; Rev 1:10) is best explained by the tradition that on the first day of the week the followers of Jesus discovered the empty tomb. It is also clear that while a resurrection on the first day of the week could take place on the "third day," since by Jewish reckoning any part of a day equaled one day, it is not so certain that, given a resurrection on the third day, the resurrection would have been dated on a Sunday apart from the existence of a first-day empty tomb tradition. 15 8. The earliest tradition we possess that speaks of the resurrection is probably 1 Corinthians 15:3-4. It is a common consensus today among scholars that Paul here is quoting a confession of the early Church. This confession, which should probably be dated before A. D. 40, 16 specifically states that Christ died and that he was buried. But what does "being buried" refer to? Some have argued that "he died" and "was buried" go together and that the latter phrase simply emphasizes the conclusive reality of Jesus' death. 17 Yet is this all that the tradition is saying? The words "died," "buried," and "was raised" are unintelligible unless what "died and was buried" was in fact "raised." While Paul does not anywhere specifically state that the tomb was empty, it would appear that in 1 Corinthians 15:3-4 this is clearly implied. For Paul as a Pharisee, and no doubt for the Jerusalem Church also (which had a strong Pharisaic element; cf. Acts 15:5), the death-burial-resurrection of Jesus would have demanded an empty tomb. 327
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In Romans 6:4 and Colossians 2:12 Paul uses the same expressions ("buried" and "raised") that we find in 1 Corinthians 15:4. There is good reason to believe that the idea of being "buried" and "raised" with Christ in baptism as it is found in these two verses is traditional, for Paul introduces his discussion of this theme in Romans 6:3 with "Do you not know ... ," implying that what he is saying is established doctrine not only in his own churches but also in a church that he did not found-the church in Rome. 18 It was traditional, therefore, to understand the baptism of the believer as in some way reflecting or re-enacting the resurrection of Jesus. 19 If the believer was reminded in his baptism of the burial of his Lord, it seems most likely that he would compare his burial and resurrection with Jesus' burial and resurrection. Furthermore, the burial of the believer while related to his "death" to sin is nevertheless distinct from that death (cf. Rom 6:4). As a result it would be likely that in the analogy the "burial" of Christ would be considered not simply as a synonym for the death of Christ but as in some way distinct from, although of course related to, his death. Yet in the burial of the believer what was buried did not remain buried but was transformed and raised. The death-burialresurrection of the Christian in baptism, therefore, while not proving that early Christians would of necessity believe that the tomb of Jesus must have been empty, would likely have been compared to the death-burialresurrection of Jesus, so that with Jesus, as with the believer, that which was buried rose transformed leaving nothing behind. Two other arguments can be listed to support the view that "dead, buried, raised" would at least imply that the tomb was empty. The first involves the terms used to describe the resurrection of Jesus. One of those terms is "raised" (egeiro). 20 He who died and was buried was raised. This would imply, at least to most, that "what" was buried was raised and that the tomb as a result was empty. A second argument that can be mentioned is found in Acts 2:29-31, where Peter contrasts the experience of David who died, was buried, and saw corruption with Jesus who was crucified and killed (v 23) but whose flesh, unlike David's, saw no corruption because God raised him up. The difference between David and Jesus lies in the fact that the tomb of David was still occupied by the bones of David, for he saw corruption. The tomb of Jesus, on the other hand, was empty, for he saw no corruption. It is true that we have here Luke's account of Peter's pentecostal address, but it would appear that Luke has either used early tradition to formulate Peter's sermon or at least witnesses to an early tradition in which the tomb of Jesus was acknowledged as empty. This same comparison between David and Jesus is also found on the lips of Paul in Acts 13:29-37. 21 It may be that the lack of a specific reference to the empty tomb by Paul stems from an apologetic motive rather than from ignorance. When it came to the resurrection appearances, the apostle could argue on equal 328
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terms with the other disciples. He, too, had seen the Lord! He could not, however, say the same about the empty tomb. Perhaps this is the reason why he does not refer to it specifically in his letters. If the empty tomb tradition arose from the experience of the early followers of Jesus on that first Easter morning and was from the beginning part and parcel of early Christian preaching, the question remains, "What caused the tomb to be empty on that first Easter morning?" What "cause" brought about this "effect"? Evangelicals still find the simplest and easiest explanation the testimony of the NT writers. Christ has risen from the dead! The tomb could not hold him, for "in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep" (1 Cor 15:20).
Notes 1 For a concise survey of some of these views see G. E. Ladd, I Believe in the Resurrection of Jesus (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1975) 136-142. For an older but still useful discussion of some of these theories see W. M. Smith, Therefore Stand (Boston: Wilde, 1945) 393-398. 2 See K. Lake, The Historical Evidence for the Resurrection of Jesus Christ (New York: Putnam, 1907) 251-252; P. Gardner-Smith, The Narratives of the Ressurection (London: Methuen, 1926) 134--139. 3 See J. K.lausner, Jesus of Nazareth (Boston: Beacon, 1925) 357. Klausner was not by any means the first to suggest this explanation. As early as the eighteenth century K. F. Bahrdt portrayed Joseph of Arimathea as stealing the body of Jesus from the cave, but in Bahrdt's portrayal Jesus was revived and continued his ministry secretly via various "resurrection" appearances. So A. Schweitzer, The Quest of the Historical Jesus (New York: Macmillan, 1966) 43-44. More recently G. Baldensperger, "Le tombeau vide," RHPR 12 (1932) 413-43; 13 (1933) 105-44; 14 (1934) 97-125 set forth a somewhat similar theory. According to Baldensperger, although Jesus was buried in a common grave by the Jews, Joseph of Arimathea received permission from Pilate to transfer the body and rebury it in his own tomb. The women, who had seen the first burial, however, returned to the original burial place and finding it empty assumed that Jesus was raised from the dead. Despite the later proclamation of the resurrection of Jesus and the empty tomb, they kept this secret until his death. Cf. also R. Pesch, "Zur Entstehung des Glaubens an die Auferstehung Jesu," TQ 153 (1973) 206. 4 This theory is one of the oldest rationalistic explanations of the resurrection and was suggested already in the eighteenth century by K. F. Bahrdt and in the early nineteenth century by K. H. Venturini and H. E. G. Paulus. So Schweitzer, Quest, pp. 43-44,46-47,54--55. 5 See Matthew 28:11-15. 6 This rather strange "theory" is found in Tertullian, De Spectaculis, 30. 7 So L. D. Weatherhead, The Resurrection of Christ (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1959) 43-45. 8 a. R. Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition (New York: Harper, 1968) 290, who states, "The Story of the empty tomb is completely secondary.... The story is an apologetic legend as Mk. 168 • • • clearly shows. Paul knows nothing about the empty tomb." So also G. W. H. Lampe and D. M. 329
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9 10 11
12
13 14
15 16 17
MacKinnon, The Resurrection (London: Mowbray, 1966) 46-48: H.-W. Bartsch, Das Auferstehungszeugnis (Hamburg: Herbert Reich, 1965) 22; H. Grass, Ostergeschehen und Osterberichte (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1%2) 93. Yet P. Althaus, Die Wahrheit des kirchlichen Osterglaubens (Giitersloh: Bertelsmann, 1941) 26, has pointed out that if the story of the empty tomb arose as an apology for the resurrection, it is most strange that it does not serve this function in the accounts themselves (cf. Mark 16:8; Luke 24:22-24; John 20:11-15). In this regard see also X. Leon-Dufour, Resurrection and the Message of Easter (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1971) 210. So H. Schlier, Ober die Auferstehung Jesu Christi (Einsiedeln: Johannes, 1%8) 28; F. Mussner, Die Auferstehung Jesu (Miinchen: Kosel, 1%9) 69; G. O'Collins, The Resurrection of Jesus Christ (Valley Forge: Judson, 1973) 93. For a discussion of the Semitisms in the gospel accounts of the empty tomb see E. L. Bode, The First Easter Morning (Rome: Biblical Institute, 1970) 6, 58, 71. Cf. W. Pannenberg, "Did Jesus Really Rise from the Dead," Dialog 4 (1965) 134; O'Collins, Resurrection, p. 43; Bode, First Easter, p. 177; Althaus, Wahrheit, p. 26; W. Kiinneth, The Theology of the Resurrection (St. Louis: Concordia, 1965), p. 92 n. 52. The latter is an excellent concise summary of this argument. It has been claimed that Mark 6:14, 16 refutes this claim, since some people thought Jesus might have been John the Baptist raised from the dead even though no claim was made that John's grave was empty. Yet such thinking in Tiberias by Herod Antipas, a patron of Hellenistic culture, was not possible with Pharisees in Jerusalem. For the Jew in Jerusalem, especially for a hostile and skeptical Pharisee, any claim of resurrection would require an empty tomb. C. F. D. Moule in his editor's introduction to The Significance of the Message of the Resurrection for Faith in Jesus Christ (London: SCM, 1968) 9 states that "it is difficult to explain how a story that [supposedly] grew up late and took shape merely in accord with the supposed demands of apologetic came to be framed in terms almost exclusively of women witnesses, who, as such, were notoriously invalid witnesses according to Jewish principles of evidence. The later and the more fictitious the story, the harder it is to explain why the apostles are not brought to the forefront as witnesses." See also Bode, First Easter, p. 158. Bode, First Easter, p. 163. SoP. Benoit, The Passion and Resurrection of Jesus (New York: Herder, 1970) 228--229; Bode, First Easter, p. 160. It is interesting to note that some scholars who believe that the story of the empty tomb is a late apologetical addition to the resurrection accounts maintain that Joseph of Arimathea is nevertheless somehow connected historically to the story of the burial. See Pesch, "Entstehung," p. 206. Bode, First Easter, argues this point in a most persuasive and convincing manner. For a summary of his argument see pp. 179-182. See R. H. Fuller, The Formation of the Resurrection Narratives (New York: Macmillan, 1971) 10, and Bode, First Easter, pp. 91-93, for a discussion of the date of this tradition. So H. Conzelmann, A Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975) 255; Fuller, Formation, pp. 15-16. For the opposing view see U. Wilckens, Auferstehung (Berlin: Kreuz, 1970) 20-22; A. Oepke, "egeir6," TDNT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964) II, 335. R. E. Brown, The Virginal Conception and Bodily Resurrection of Jesus (New York: Paulist,
330
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18 19
20 21
1973), while denying on pp. 83--84 that the term "buried" implies that the tomb was empty, believes that the expression "raised on the third day" probably implies this. See p. 124. In Colossians 2:6 we should also note that the passage is introduced by "As therefore you received Christ Jesus the Lord" (italics mine), which is the same term that introduces the tradition found in 1 Corinthians 15:3--4. The author is well aware of the difficulty involved in knowing what "likeness" in Romans 6:5 means and with what it is associated, but it is clear, at least to him, that regardless of how these questions are answered the baptism of the believer in some way recalls the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus. SeeR. C. Tannehill, Dying and Rising with Christ (Berlin: Topelmann, 1966) 30-39, for an excellent discussion of the various ways "likeness" has been interpreted. Matthew 16:21; 17:9, 23; 20:19; Mark 14:28; 16:6; John 21:14; Acts 3:15; etc. For a more detailed discussion of the implications of these passages see J. Manek, "The Apostle Paul and the Empty Tomb," NovT2 (1957) 276-280.
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61 RESURRECTION Fact or illusion? Eduard Schweizer Source: Horizons in Biblical Theology, 1, 1980, pp. 137-159.
1. The problem In a modem drama we find a very remarkable scene: A priest is discussing the problem of death with his pupils. After a while, one of the pupils, when his obvious reluctance to speak about such a topic has been overcome by his teacher, says that death is, in his view, something like birth. Before birth, he explains, the child is totally surrounded by and gets all its life from its mother, but it does not see its mother. Birth, the student thinks, must be something of a shock for the child, but it is only after birth that it will be able to see its mother. Thus, in our life on earth we are totally surrounded by and are getting our lives from God, but he remains invisible for us. Only after the shock of death we shall see him. 1 This is, indeed, exactly what 1 John 3:2 expresses: "Beloved, we are God's children now; it does not yet appear what we shall be, but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is." Rudolf Bultmann has, in a private letter, written this very verse to one of his students who was dying, and it is for me one of the most important sentences of the Bible. It reminds us of the fact of which a modem scientist is often more aware than we are: how tiny the area is in which we may move with real knowledge, compared with the immense areas of riddles and mysteries of which we have but a vague notion. 2 We are learning something about the macro- and the microcosms, but we are learning at the same time how much the laws that rule these worlds surpass all our concepts. Even there, we are no longer able to "see" what is actually going on, and we have to take refuge with abstract formulas and models that are no longer imaginable. Would this not be, in an even higher degree, true for all our speaking of God, of resurrection and of the life to come? Would it not mean that we are certainly allowed, even encouraged, by our Bible to think about God, resurrection and a life to come, but that we are not able 332
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to "see" all this in concepts as we are able to form them in our earthly life? Does 1 John 3:2 not say that the life to come will be a life in other dimensions, in which we shall become able to see God as he is, while, in this life, we are only able to hear him, called to listen to him and to let us be guided by his word? Now, the imagery of that pupil comparing death with birth is quite fine, and perhaps even suggestive of a new understanding of this mystery. But is it true? How should we verify such a view? Who has come back from that other dimension, from that life beyond death? To be sure, there are reports of people who have been dead in a clinical sense and have been restored to life by medical treatment, and what they tell about their experiences seems to suggest rather wide agreement. But is it more than the experience of a very last period of human life, in which the psyche experiences in an even higher degree the freedom it experiences also in dreams or on drug trips? Who knows? Might it not be that all this is merely a projection of our psyche?
2. The message of the Old Testament This harrassing question goes even deeper. Since Ludwig Feuerbach3 we cannot escape from the problem whether all beliefs in God, all religion might not be merely a projection of the human psyche. If resurrection, if God himself were but an illusion? An illusion of man who is too weak to face the reality of his death, of his definite and unavoidable end? If the human mind had merely invented an eternal life, a heaven with its God as a comfort against the fear of death, because it could not endure its transitoriness? There is one very interesting fact which clearly speaks against such an hypothesis: the fact of the Old Testament. Old Testament faith is, I think, unique among religions insofar as it does not reckon with a life beyond death that would merit the name of life. This is certainly true for all the ancient layers of the Old Testament, doubtless for the preexilic strata, but actually also for those of the period of the exile and after it up to the very last parts of the second century B.C. 1 Sam 15:32 mentions the "bitterness of death"; "abyss" and "death" are brothers according to Job 28:22; in Jer 9:21f death comes as the "reaper," as he does on medieval paintings; men are appointed for the abyss like sheep, says Ps 49:14. And, what is more, this abyss is separated from God. "The dead do not praise the Lord" (Ps 115:17); for "Sheol cannot thank thee, death cannot praise thee; those who go down to the pit cannot hope for thy faithfulness; the living, the living, he thanks thee" (Isa 38:18f). "Like one forsaken among the dead, ... like those whom thou dost remember no more, for they are cut off from thy hand," is the man who is to die (Ps 88:5). If ever there was a religion which was not the mere psychic projection of human longing for bliss, it was the 333
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Old Testament faith of Israel. Here we find a people that lives with its God, and lives with him in an extraordinary intensity, without any idea of an eternal life which would one day solve all the problems which remain unsolved on earth. Here we find a people that obeys its God, and obeys him in the wholeness of life, without any expectation of a reward in a future life. And yet, I think that it is exactly this Israel, as it is described in the Old Testament, that opens our eyes to what belief in the resurrection is. Isolated in a strange way among all nations of which the comparative history of religions tells us, Israel warns us against any cheap concept of resurrection which might prove to be nothing else than a dream of a perfection that is lacking on earth. The Israel of the Old Testament experiences its God within this world and within the life on this earth. There are no dreams of another world and another time; there are no projections of our wishes, so that what we wish to be appears projected to heaven as a kind of super-life that we expect from the future. Israel is living with its God on this earth, in the history of its time, in an existence which is time and again limited by birth and death. This is not different from what Hannah sings according to 1 Sam 2:6-8: The Lord kills and brings to life; he brings down to Sheol and raises up. The Lord makes poor and makes rich; he brings low, he also exalts. He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes and inherit a seat ofhonor. 4 This also is an experience within this earthly life. God's is the power to let one die and to let another be born. God's is the power to lead one to wealth and another to poverty. God's is the power to honor one and to humiliate another. It is the experience of the ups and downs of human lives that speaks here. And yet the end of this passage shows that there is more than this. The singer of this hymn knows that all this is not simply blind fate, but that there is the one who is Lord over the ups and the downs. And this is not merely a balanced statement of fact. The power and the activity of this Lord shows a clear trend. The last verse which we have quoted speaks only of the poor whom this Lord will raise up. The one who first created this hymn has experienced the power of his God when he himself was lying in the dust and in the pit. This Lord is, first of all, present with his power and his help when man is totally at the end of his own power and sees no help any more. There is a definite trend in the history of Israel and its experiences with God, the trend towards help out of need, salvation out of danger, life out of death. Killing, bringing down, making poor is not God's true aim; he wants to raise the poor from the dust, to lift the needy from the ash. And this is exactly what Israel has experienced time and again. Whenever it was at its end, whenever all its hopes had 334
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collapsed, God was ready, more so than ever, to help his people through. Much later, this will be formulated in Deut 7:7-8: It was not because you were more in number than any other people that the Lord set his love upon you, for you were the fewest of all peoples; but it is because the Lord loves you ... that he has brought you out with a mighty hand and redeemed you from the house of bondage.
"The Lord kills and brings to life"-would it not be consistent to hope that the one who was always ready whenever man was low in his life, would be ready even more when man would be at the lowest point of all, at the total end of life, in death? 1 Samuel does not yet draw such consequences, but the question remains open whether the experience within this earthly life of the Lord who is not limited by it and its powers would lead to an experience which would not be limited by the boundaries of human life. During the exile, the prophet Ezekiel has a vision. He sees a valley full of dry bones. Then, the Lord God speaks to them, a noise arises and a rattling, and the bones come together, bone to bone. Sinews grow and flesh and skin. Finally, the Spirit of God comes like a breath upon them and they live and stand up, "an exceedingly great host," as the Bible puts it (Ezek 37:1-10). Again, this is not a doctrine of resurrection, because this vision was to tell Ezekiel and the whole people of the exiles about the future restitution of Israel, a restitution which would come off within the earthly history of the nation. This chapter does not contain the message of an individual life of man after his physical death; it prophesies the change in the destiny of Israel as a whole by new historic developments. And yet, the imagery which forces itself upon the prophet's mind is the imagery of a God whose power is not at its end even if he finds nothing but dry, definitely and totally dry, bones. Thus, the idea of something like a resurrection of the dead enters the thinking of Israel first on the occasion of an experience of God's help within the area of world history. It is not yet the answer to the question of human destiny after death. This problem, the eternal wish of humankind for eternity, is still far away from the prophet's preaching. What he wants--<>r rather: what he is forced-to proclaim is the character of the God of Israel. It is the limitless power of this God that manifests itself in this vision. It certainly includes God's future plans with his people, but at the same time, it certainly does not include bliss of the individual believer in a life after death. At about the same time, the second Isaiah goes even one step further. If God has accepted Israel as his people, not out of its merits or its greatness, but out of his own compassion, and if there are no limits to God's power, then the ups and downs of Israel's history are not the last word of God. His goal still lies in the future; it is a renewed world in which he will be the 335
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only Lord (Isa 43:18-21; 45:21-25; 54-55, etc.). Isa 25:8-we do not know in which period this apocalyptic passage has been written-goes even further: there will come a time in which God "will swallow up death for ever and will wipe away tears from all faces." Even this is not the proclamation of resurrection, but the hope for a coming time in which those who will then be living will no longer endure death. But it is the testimony to a final victory of God over death. Again, the writer of this verse does not reckon with the possibility that he himself would be part of this world to come. Again, it is not a personal wish for an eternal life which is simply projected into a belief in resurrection. Again, it is but the praise of God's power which cannot be annihilated, not even by the fact of death. It is probably after the exile that Deut 32:39 takes up the verses of the hymn of Hannah: "I, even I, am he, and there is no god beside me; I kill and I make alive, I wound and I heal, and there is none that can deliver out of my hand." Perhaps, even clearer than in the more ancient formula of 1 Samuel 2, the total emphasis lies upon God's uniqueness. Nothing is said about the problems and wishes of the believer; it is enough for him to know that this is the God into whose hands his life is committed. The man who wrote this passage has understood that life and death are not mere chance but come from the hand of this God. It is not merely a doctrinal statement that he has somewhere learned and now repeats. He is satisfied with confessing what God has been in his earthly life and in the earthly history of the whole people. He does not yet ask what this means for his individual lot. There is some promise of a development of faith which would go in that direction. Gen 5:24 and 2 Kgs 2:11 tell of at least two persons who have not endured death, but have been exalted to God. This is certainly no doctrine of a general resurrection. On the contrary, their destiny is an exclusive exception and contrasted as such with the normal destiny of man. However, the conviction that God is not limited at all by human mortality takes shape, perhaps for the first time, as the belief in the salvation of an individual mortal even from death. There is a hunch of what such a God may mean for every believer in Ps 73:23--26: "Nevertheless I am continually with thee; thou dost hold my right hand. Thou dost guide me with thy counsel, and afterward thou wilt receive me to glory .... My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion for ever." It is not a clear-cut statement about a belief in resurrection; we do not know what "afterward" or "for ever" really mean, but the author of this psalm knows that God who is reality now will be reality for him always. This is enough for him. Again, he does not start from his problems or dreams, he starts from the real life of God as it makes itself manifest in his life, and goes on from there to the certainty that the same God who has proved himself living now will remain the living God on and on. This leads to that remarkable connection of the first and second line: he, the singer of this psalm, will stay 336
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continually with his God, not because he, the author, is so pious and so believing, but because God is holding and will be holding his right hand. It is the truth and faithfulness of God alone which is essential for his future life. God held his right hand especially when he was weak and low in his life; God will go on holding his right hand, even when his weakness and lowliness will go to its extreme. Some similar statement is probably to be found in Job 19:25-27, although the translation of these verses is extremely difficult and uncertain: "For I know that my redeemer lives, and at last he will stand upon the earth; and after my skin has thus been destroyed, then, without my flesh, I shall see God." Whatever these sentences really mean, they express the belief of a man who, in all the ups and downs of his life, in all the various experiences, has been convinced that God will be the last reality, the one who will remain his God when his whole human life will dwindle away. When we come to Daniel, the book that has been added last to the Old Testament canon, the clear statement of a two-fold resurrection "to everlasting life" and "to everlasting contempt" (12:2) may be due, in this detailed formulation, to some influence from Persian views. Yet, it is the last step, consistent with the many testimonies to the faithfulness of God that we found long before the time of the book of Daniel. It is not simply a new belief taken over from a foreign religion; it is the final step in a long history in which Israel learned to trust more and more in its God and to take him more seriously than all the other facts of life. It is still rather the conviction that Israel's God will remain victor in spite of whatever may seem to contradict his lordship than an answer to human yearning for eternity.
3.Jesus What we have read for the first time in Daniel has been developed in the two centuries which lie between that time and the coming of Jesus. It is, perhaps, not necessary to follow that process in all its details. It becomes clear that, in the time of Jesus, most Israelites believed in a life after death, although it was not certain whether this life would begin immediately after death or only after the last judgment, whether it was resurrection or rather exaltation to heaven or perhaps even a continuing life of the soul, and whether this was true for all people or only for believers. For the New Testament, the decisive event is the coming of Jesus. What does it mean for our question? There is, in the Synoptic tradition, but one pericope in which Jesus deals explicitly with the problem of the general resurrection. According to Mark 12:18-27, Jesus was asked by the Sadducees what it would be like at the resurrection, if a wife had been married successively to seven brothers; 337
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would she then belong to the first one, to the last one, or to all of them? Now, of course, this is a rather silly question, and it is the kind of problem a Pharisee would put forward for discussion. Thus, it may be that Mark refers to two different occasions, and that the first part of Jesus' answer was originally given to some Pharisaic questioners; for, he answers, as a Pharisee would easily understand, that "when they rise from the dead they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven." This means that life after the resurrection surpasses by far all our imagination, because it will be a life in other dimensions. This is certainly true, but it does not answer the main question whether there is a resurrection or not. In our gospel Jesus continues: "And as for the dead being raised, have you not read in the book of Moses ... , how God said to him, 'I am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob?' He is not God of the dead, but of the living." This, I think, is the answer to all our doubts. This, I think, is exactly the summary of all the Old Testament experiences. Jesus does not speak of man, of his soul, of his ability to transcend himself, of his dreams or his longing for final justice. Jesus speaks of God. God is not a God of death but a God of life. This is the trend in God's acting which Israel has learned to see: God's aim is to help, to save, to bring to life. But there is something more in the short Old Testament phrase which Jesus quotes. This God is also the God of Abraham, Isaac and J acob. He is not God in general, God in and of himself. He is a God who gives himself to man, even to this and to that specific man. If this is true, if God binds himself to Abraham or to John Miller or to Mary Smith, it is not only true as long as this individual will be strong and good; it will also be true when he or she will be weak and low. Israel even realized time and again how very true that was exactly in the times of weakness and lowliness; then, God's presence was even more manifest than in times of strength and superiority. Where are the limits to this presence of God? Is there any weakness, any lowliness which would become stronger than the faithfulness of this Lord? If, on the one hand, God is really the God of the living and not of the dead, and if, on the other hand, God is the God of Abraham- and not only in the moments of Abraham's strength- would this become untrue in the moment of Abraham's extreme weakness, of his death? Not because Abraham or a part of Abraham is eternal, but because God's yes to him cannot fail. If God gives himself to a person, this means life and not death. He does not elect anybody in order to throw him finally into the trash can. As God's presence with me does not cease when I am sleeping or dreaming or irresponsible in a fever or unconscious, it will not cease when death overcomes me. If God did not forsake Israel, even when it turned away from him, how should he leave the individual in death? To be sure, all this is no proof in the sense of a mathematical proof, it is the experience of thousands and thousands of people, which is summarized in 338
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the answer of Jesus: God has indeed given himself to Abraham, to Isaac, to Jacob and to myself, and God proved always himself to be the God of life, not of death, leading his people through all kinds of lowliness and weakness and death to life. Thus, it is not a new anthropology from which Jesus starts; it is the theology of the Old Testament, its view of God, as we find it from the beginning, which is seen by Jesus in all its implicit truth.
4. The resurrection of Jesus The teaching of Jesus about resurrection was not the final stage. The definite answer was given by the event of his own resurrection. He had actually lived what he had taught. He knew that God was his God, his father, and that he was a God of life, not of death. He knew this in spite of all contrary evidence. He experienced this contrary evidence as no man ever had or will have to experience it. It was not only the fact that he himself seemed to be totally forsaken by his God when hanging on the cross. It was much more the inconceivable catastrophe that all he had been living for (and this was nothing less than God's own cause) was seemingly lost. The official authorities of God's people had sentenced him to death, to the death of which the law of God said: "Cursed be every one who hangs on a tree" (Gal 3:13); the whole population of Jerusalem was jeering at him; his disciples had fled. There was nobody who could have gone on; nobody by whom his whole life could have become meaningful. This was the total, hopeless rout of God and his cause: "Why hast thou forsaken me?" But in the midst of this experience of being totally abandoned, Jesus held fast to his God and father: "My God, my God ... " (Mark 15:34). But it would not be enough to see Jesus just as one of the many faithful Israelites who held fast to their God in times of predicament. The New Testament knows that in him God himself went through human predicament and death and overcame all predicament and death, because he is the God of life and not of death. The life exterminated death. 5 This is what the resurrection of Jesus means. What do we know about this event? The first report that we find in the New Testament is the credal formula in 1 Cor 15:3-5.6 The formula certainly goes back to the congregation of either Antioch or Jerusalem. Since Paul has visited Peter and the Christian community in Jerusalem about five to six years after the crucifixion of Jesus, the tradition which he reports in 1 Cor 15:3-5 can, at least, not contradict what he has heard then. It says "that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve." Paul adds another list of witnesses to the appearances of the risen Lord, namely the more than five hundred brethren, who have seen him at one time, lames, all the apostles (who, obviously, are not identical with the twelve mentioned before) and finally 339
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himself. Paul had spent fifteen days in Jerusalem, when he was there first, and had seen at least Peter and lames. He had been there fourteen years later and mentions explicitly John beside Peter and lames (Gal 1:18--19; 2:1, 9). For years he had worked together with men from Jerusalem (Bamabas, Mark), and of the more than five hundred brethren, he must have known quite a number, because he knows that "most of them are still alive, though some have fallen asleep" (1 Cor 15:6). Thus, I think, there is no doubt that the convictions of these witnesses to have seen the risen Lord is a historic fact. Some scholars have tried to reduce the statement of 1 Cor 15:3--8 to a mere legitimation of apostolic authority/ in which the seeing of the risen Lord would mean no more than the conversion to a belief that his cause was still going on and was not lost. But this seems to be impossible;8 for, on the one hand, the only parallels to the phrase "he appeared" (literally: "he was seen by"), as used in 1 Cor 15:5-8, also in Luke 24:34; Acts 9:17; 13:31; 26:16, are to be found in the theophanies of the Old Testament (not connected with the legitimation of an envoy of God); on the other hand, the phrase which, in the Old Testament, might not always imply a real seeing, is employed by use of the same verb in references to visions of the risen Lord: "I have seen the Lord" (John 20:18, 25, 29; 1 Cor 9:1; similarly Mark 16:7 and Matt 28:10). Also, all the reports of appearances of the resurrected Jesus speak of a real seeing. Therefore, the persons mentioned in 1 Cor 15:5-8, most of whom Paul knows personally, were without any doubt convinced that they had seen the risen Lord. But does this prove anything, except the fact that some people had some visions, or - which seems to be psychologically better fitting - hallucinations?9 Whether these images had been created by their own psyches or by an "object" located outside themselves is not yet decided. In the latter case we might even admit that God was the subject that gave them these images and still deny that there was a risen Lord standing over against them. It is certainly not impossible to explain the appearances by an intrapsychic process - therefore, the fact of these appearances itself proves nothing - but it is difficult. For these disciples, the crucifixion of Jesus was indeed the absolute end of all their dreams and hopes. One should not try to explain this away. In the Synoptic tradition no disciple is present on the scene of Jesus' execution. More than that: no one is there to fulfill the most important duty of reverence and piety, namely, to care for Jesus' burial. It is someone outside of the group of followers of Jesus who has to do this, Joseph of Arimathea (Mark 15:43, also John 19:38). The disciples had probably fled in total despair to Galilee, and only the appearance of the risen Lord there (Matt 28:16--20, also Mark 16:7) brought them back to Jerusalem. Something must have happened which changed them to disciples being ready to proclaim their risen Lord in the very city of Jerusalem and to go to prison, to tortures and to death for him. This could have been a vision which could be explained psychologically, but such a vision would 340
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be extremely improbable in view of the hopelessness of Good Friday. There is, perhaps, one more reason to consider such an explanation very improbable. For a Jew of that time a crucified one was cursed by God (Deut 21:23; temple scroll 64:11f). How should they overcome this scandal, if not by a new act of God? How should that happen to more than five hundred at one time? Mass-ecstasies do happen, but then, they are in some way prepared, and this seems not to have been the case after the death of Jesus. There is even more. All the witnesses, be it Paul, be it the unknown persons behind the Synoptic and Johannine tradition, agree in their pointing away from themselves to the Lord himself whom to have seen they are convinced. There is not a trace of a description of the psychic state of those who have seen the Lord. There is not the slightest resemblance to stories of conversions, not a hint to the turmoil they had to go through in their souls, not a hint either to the glorious experience of an inner illumination by God's grace. Not one of them tells us about how desperate he had been, how miraculously he had been converted to the truth, and how courageously he then was able to serve his Lord. All they say is that he, Jesus himself, rose from the dead and appeared to them, let himself be seen by them. No doubt, all of them may have been deceived, but this seems to be a rather far-fetched interpretation. Is not the empty tomb a tangible proof for Jesus' resurrection? We find the story in all four gospels. Paul does not seem to know it, though; for the phrase "that he was buried" in 1 Cor 15:4 merely confirms, as it seems, the real death of Jesus, just as the last line "that he appeared to Cephas ... " confirms the real resurrection. One used to interpret the story of the empty tomb as a late legend, invented to secure a rough understanding of a bodily resurrection, which would imply a recreation of all the bones and muscles of Jesus. This is out of the question, because such a legend would, in that time, by no means list female witnesses only, of whom, by the way, only one name is consistent so that, perhaps, the earliest version of the story knew only of Mary of Magdala. I know that women are, by and large, much better observers than men, but in Judaism of Jesus' time a woman was not even accepted as a witness in court, because women were considered to be tending to fantasies. If a Jew had invented that story in order to prove the bodily resurrection of Jesus, he would have invented some well known men and, if possible, a whole crowd in addition to them, all of them witnessing to the fact of the empty tomb. This is what we find in all the miracle stories of the gospels. Again, this does not prove that the tomb of Jesus was actually empty. One could explain the form of the story by the interest of the evangelist in the message of the angel, which points to a tradition of the appearances, as we find it in 1 Corinthians 15. Mark would not have known details of these appearances, but he would have known the credal formula of 1 Cor 15:5 or a similar one, and he would 341
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have wanted to point to it at the end of his gospel. This is, for instance, the interpretation of R. Pesch. 10 The most probable solution to the riddle of this story is, however, the hypothesis that it is a very good and ancient tradition which simply tells what historically happened. To me it seems to be one of the most reliable pieces of infom1ation about the historical course of events that we possess. To be sure, even if this is so, it is far from being an undeniable proof; for, who knows whether the women went to the right place - they had seen the burial only from far away - or whether somebody had not removed the body of Jesus to another place, be it to a dumping place, be it to an even more honorable grave? Even friendship among men can never be based on proofs; if I ask for proofs of the love of the other, it is the end of friendship, or if I am not ready to trust someone, although I have no preliminary proof that it will always go smoothly, I shall never be able to find a friend. Much more is this true for faith. Faith is trusting God, even when nothing of his help is visible. But there are signs of love in every friendship, which do not prove beyond any possible doubt. They are never totally unambiguous, but they point to the love of the other. There are also signs of God's love and power for the faithful. They can always be explained otherwise, but for faith they become signs of what God is doing. In this sense, the empty tomb is a sign for me. However, I have to add at once that, according to the testimony of the New Testament, the discovery of the open tomb did not create faith, 11 it is only the word of the risen Lord addressing his disciples which does so. It is, therefore, not essential whether our concept of the resurrection of Jesus implies the disappearance of his body from the tomb or not. The only essential point is whether or not the risen Lord gets through to us in his word. When we turn to the reports of the appearances of the risen Lord in our gospels, 12 we realize that they cannot be ham1onized. According to Luke 24, the resurrected Christ appeared on Easter Sunday to his disciples in Jerusalem, first on the way to Emmaus, then - it seems that this took place on the same evening - to the twelve in Jerusalem. He told them to stay there and not to leave the city till Pentecost. According to Matthew, the first appearance - the only one of which he knows - happened in Galilee on a mountain. Since some of the disciples are still doubting, it must have been the first one. This fits into what Mark tells us; the angel ordered the disciples to go to Galilee where they should see him, although, in this gospel, the women do not obey but refrain from bringing this message to the disciples, whereas according to Matthew Jesus himself induces the women to inform the twelve about his order. It becomes even more difficult when we compare John. Chapter 20 reports the appearances to Mary of Magdala, to the disciples without Thomas and, a week later, to Thomas. The first two are dated on Easter Sunday. Chapter 21, which is something like a post-script, starts with a new appearance at the shore of the lake of 342
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Galilee. The disciples are fishing, as if nothing had happened since the death of Jesus. This shows how little we know about the details of these events. Either Jesus appeared to his disciples first in Galilee, as Mark and Matthew think, or in Jerusalem, as Luke and John tell us; we cannot have it both ways. After what had happened to Thomas in Jerusalem according to John 20, the doubting of some, of which Matt 28:17 tells, would be totally impossible. At any rate, the message of the angel was, according to this gospel, delivered on Easter Sunday; would they have waited for a full week, as John presupposes, before going to Galilee? And, if we listen to Luke, would they have disobeyed the commandment of Jesus to stay in Jerusalem up to the descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost? Again, there is no indubitable historical basis of facts which would prove the resurrection of Jesus. The most probable hypothesis is that Jesus appeared to his disciples both in Galilee and in Jerusalem, presumably first in Galilee. This would have induced them to move with their families definitely to Jerusalem, and Jesus would have appeared to them again in the city. That they had been in Galilee between Good Friday and the beginning of their activity in Jerusalem is certain, because after that they lived there with their families; they, therefore, must have brought them up to Jerusalem sometime in between. One stream of tradition was only interested in the first appearance, so to say in the birthday of Christian faith; this is the tradition which leads to Mark and Matthew. Another one was merely interested in Jerusalem and the events which led to a Christian church there; this is the background of the Lukan and the first Johannine stratum. Be this as it may, we certainly do not have clear reports of the Easter events, which are historically accurate beyond any reasonable doubts. What then is the foundation of our belief in the resurrection of Jesus and also in the general resurrection?
S. Some difficulties Before we try to answer this central question, we should discuss two specific problems of a modem reader of the New Testament. The resurrection of Jesus is seen as an exaltation to heaven, and this is what we combine with the concept of resurrection; this is what all the famous paintings of this event show us; this is what is deeply embedded in our conscious and unconscious thinking about this topic. For the New Testament, it was a matter of course that God was living in heaven, "above" the earth. This imagery remains important insofar as it distinguishes the resurrection of Jesus from what is told about the daughter of Jairus or the son of the widow in Nain or of Lazarus. The former is not a mere return to earthly life, as it is the case in the latter events; it is "exaltation" into the area of God himself. A topographic location of heaven somewhere above and outside of the world that we know, is, of course, no longer possible. 343
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Nonetheless a clear distinction between resurrection and return to a prolonged earthly life must certainly be retained. Thus, avoiding the local terminology of "ascension" or "exaltation," we should rather speak of a step into a totally different kind of life which transcends all human life as known on earth. In the passage which has been quoted above, Jesus speaks of living like the angels in heaven (Mark 12:25), but his emphasis lies exclusively on the othemess of the resurrection life (in which marrying or being married has ceased to exist). The topographic phrase "in heaven" merely serves to stress this total difference to anything we know. Therefore spatial and temporal imagery are interchangeable (cf., for instance, Gal 4:25-26). Much the same is true for Paul's discussion of how the dead will rise. He uses the terms "earthly" and "heavenly man" as a matter of course, but, again, his sole interest lies in the othemess of the resurrected body, the "heavenly man" (1 Cor 15:35--41, 48--49). This makes it equally difficult to speak of the "resurrection of the flesh," as the apostolic creed puts it. If Jesus speaks of a life without marriage, if Paul speaks of a body as different from an earthly body as the body of the sun from that of a star or from those which characterize human or animal bodies, then "flesh" is certainly no longer flesh in the resurrection. Paul therefore states explicitly that "flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God" (1 Cor 15:50). When using the tem1 "body" he does not think of the organism of bones and muscles, sinews and skin, but rather of what we call the ego or, perhaps, the person, although understood in its (actively or passively) dynamic openness towards God and fellow men. "Body" can be seen as restricted to itself; in that case we can measure it and define exactly from where to where it expands. But "body" can also be seen as having eyes to see the neighbor, feet to go to visit him, hands to help him or to receive help from him, ears to hear him, etc. It is in this second sense that Paul understands "body." His speech of a resurrected body therefore implies a life of total openness to God and to those who will share that life with us. 13 But it does not imply that this body is a replica of our flesh and blood, bones and muscles. Paul's use of "body" in his chapter on the resurrection does not try to describe what is not imaginable for human beings, but it does say that man will remain himself, although his way of life will be totally different from anything he knows. This is exactly what Jesus stresses when pointing to the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob, who as the God of the living and not of the dead guarantees that Abraham will remain Abraham, and Isaac lsaac and Jacob Jacob, also in the life to come. The name that distinguishes one from the other will not disappear, since God called each by name. If this is true, it is equally true that the life to come will not merely be an individual life secluded in its own bliss. If "body" is, first of all, a means 344
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of communication, then the life of each individual, without ceasing to remain his or her life, will be woven into a fabric of a corporate life. And if it is true that "they will neither marry nor be given in marriage," as Jesus told his questioners, then obviously there will be "neither male nor female," and we may add with Paul also, "neither Jew nor Greek, neither slave nor free" (Gal 3: 28). Hence, the life to come will be characterized by the disappearance of all unquestioned supremacy and of all unquestioned submission. In the letter to the Galatians, this is a description of the church, which forecasts the coming kingdom of God, and we shall ask ourselves later on what this will mean for our life here on this earth.
6. A safe foundation of faith? All this leads us back to the decisive question: Why do we believe in resurrection? There is no historical security that what the first disciples experienced on Easter Sunday or soon after was not merely a vision or hallucination which had grown out of their own psyches. There is no definite answer to what the detection of the open tomb really meant. There is no agreement between the different reports of the appearances of the risen Lord. Why do we believe in the resurrection of Jesus and, therefore, also in that ofthe dead? There is a section of the fourth gospel which became more and more important for my thinking. It is the dialogue between Martha and Jesus in the story of the resurrection of Lazarus in chapter 11:23-28. Lazarus has died, and Jesus comes to Bethany, where the bereaved family is living. Thus, the dialogue starts from the fact of death and grief, and it starts in a way which is typical: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." This is what people usually think and say: "If ... ; if my father had not died so early; if I had been allowed to go to university; if I had not married then; if ... , if ... " But all these ifs have not become true; therefore, nobody can help me. And yet, Martha is a believer, and therefore she adds one more sentence: "And even now, I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you." This is certainly her honest belief, but it is a more or less general belief, which she does not connect with a concrete idea of what this could be. Again, this is typically human: we do believe, but we do not expect that what we believe will really happen here and now. Into this believing in general, which remains a bit colorless, Jesus' word breaks in: "Your brother will rise again." Martha accepts this promise in the way she has learned to reckon with the promise of God: "I know that he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day." She accepts the promise, and she believes in it, but still the fulfillment is far away; in a time of which no human being can really conceive, it will come true. However, she is able to say, "I know." Wherefrom does she know this? Very probably from her religious instruction. Obviously she must 345
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have had an orthodox Pharisaic teacher, who told her that there will be a resurrection of the dead at the end of time. If she had gone to the instruction of a liberal, Sadducean teacher, she would have answered: "The ancient scriptures know nothing about resurrection, and therefore it is wiser to content oneself with this life and God's guidance in it, since nobody can know whether there is anything beyond it." Can such a conviction be the basis of faith when we face death in our family? Does faith depend on the chance of having had an orthodox teacher? Is it possible to live and to die one day by simply repeating a statement that we have heard once from our teacher and that we take for granted? Perhaps this is possible but probably only in the case that this teacher was so convincing that he was able to convey his faith to his pupils. In that case, it is not only a theorem like that of Pythagoras which we learn, the validity of which goes without saying. In that case it is rather the example of a whole human life with its experience of ups and downs which convinced us. Even this does not suffice, because we always may be deceived by such an exemplary life, and detect later on that it was quite different from what it seemed to be. According to John, Jesus went on and "said to her: 'I am the resurrection and the life'." Suddenly, her convictions about a future life after death or her doubts about the possibility of such a life to come, are no longer of first importance. Whether she is an orthodox believer or an agnostic sceptic with regard to eschatology is no longer essential, because it is the present Jesus, here and now, who claims to be the decisive factor, and an orthodox Jewish belief might prove a bigger obstacle to listen to that sentence than agnosticism. The "I" in that saying of Jesus is very much stressed in the Greek text. This is the pivotal point in the dialogue. In a surprising way we are back to what the Old Testament has taught us. The Old Testament did not accept a doctrine about another world which would appear in the future, without any visible connection with this world and its experiences. The Old Testament certainly knew of revelations, of a God who revealed himself to his prophets. But revelation was never merely a divine inforn1ation about facts or events outside of this world. God revealed himself in the history of Israel, and Israel believed in God's faithfulness within its earthly history. It was never an unambiguous experience. One time a defeat was a sign of God's curse (Joshua 7), another time it was the sign of God's gracious guidance (Jeremiah 29). Thus, it was always the word of God which interpreted history, and history did not speak without this word. But there were always men called by their God to proclaim his lordship over Israel's history. The word of God came over them, as they themselves put it, and they could not get rid of this God and his word, even if they wanted to. In much the same way Jesus is now standing opposite Martha and calls her to see God acting here and now in her situation, in which she can see but death and the end of all hopes. There is, at the moment, no question of 346
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her eschatological concepts and convictions; she is called to realize that God is coming now in this Jesus who speaks to her. In him it will become true that God is creating life and being the true life. This means that the life of resurrection starts now, within her earthly life. This is indeed how Jesus interprets his shocking "I am": "Whoever lives and believes in me shall never die." Either it is not true that God's own life manifests itself in Jesus' words and deeds; then, death remains death, and nothing is changed. Or it is true; then, a new form of life enters the human life of one who has been enabled to believe, a life which is stronger than all the weakness, even all the rebellion of man and therefore also stronger than death. And this is true in spite of man and his persistent inclination to unbelief: "He who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live." Man has to die indeed with his doubts, his rebellion, his unbelief, his superstition, but there is, side by side with all this another life: "Martha shall live, though she die." Again, we are back to the Old Testament. Through centuries, Israel has experienced the often strange guidance of its God, in victory and in defeat, in visible manifestations of his affection and in dreadful loneliness, in obvious relief and in hopeless forsakenness. More and more it learned that there were no limits to God's lordship. Also gentile nations belonged to his kingdom. Even a rebellious Israel could not definitely limit the power of his love. Finally, the insight dawned that even death was no limit to God and his affection for man. It was not so much a new concept of resurrection which was taken over from other sources; it was much more the fact that Israel had learned to take its belief in a God who acted time and again in its earthly history so seriously that neither the fact of a defeat nor the difficulty to understand God's plans nor Israel's own reluctance to accept God's will nor death itself could blot out his promise. This indeed is the safe foundation of faith: God himself, as he manifested himself in Israel's history and in the fulfillment of this history in the life, the death and the resurrection of its son Jesus. And Jesus asked Martha: "Do you believe this?" But Martha had understood that it was not simply a "this," something like a new dogma that she had to accept in addition to the dogmas which she had learned at school; therefore, she answered and said to him: "Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, he who is coming into the world." It is this "you," it is the one who is coming into her world, in whom the new life, the life of the resurrection is to be found. She knows that God has entered her life as a reality, and that this reality will be stronger than she herself and all that rebels against her belief. Therefore she knows that there is a life which will go on in spite of her and of everything which will try to separate her from her God, in spite also of her dying. This life came to her through Jesus, who spoke to her. She shows how well she has understood what Jesus wanted to convey to her. "When she had said this, she
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went and called her sister Mary, saying quietly: 'The teacher is here and is calling for you'." What Martha has learned from Jesus is not a dogma which she could adopt and simply possess; it is a new life which must manifest itself. It does so in urging her to go to her sister. And even now, she cannot simply bring her "this," a new addition to all the other items of doctrine which Mary already possesses. She can only call her to Jesus himself, to that life itself, which wants to come into the life of Mary as it had come into that of Martha.
7. What is resurrection? Jesus said,"/ am the resurrection and the life." Martha could never say,"/ am the resurrection and the life." She says, "I believe that you are the Christ." Thus, we have to distinguish clearly between the resurrection of Jesus himself and the resurrection of the dead. This is emphasized by the fact (surprising in and of itself) that the idea of Jesus' resurrection being the beginning of the general resurrection, the initial event which would cause others to happen, is not to be found outside of the Pauline tradition. For Paul, Jesus is "the first-born among many brethren" (Rom 8:29), but not so for the gospels or the tradition behind them. 14 It may be that, in the very first period of the church, there was an apocalyptic hope that the end itself, the resurrection of all dead, would follow the resurrection of Jesus almost immediately. Perhaps, when they realized that this was not so, they stressed the time-difference and therefore also the qualitative difference between the two events even more. Be this as it may, there is no doubt that the New Testament distinguishes clearly between the final resurrection of the dead and that of Jesus, which is not only an anticipation of the former, but also its cause. In Jesus, God's love has become flesh. God has given himself into earthly life, earthly transitoriness and earthly death, and he has overcome it. Therefore, Jesus' death and resurrection has been considered as something like the act of creation at the beginning of this world, in which God's love has become manifest for the first time in this material world. 15 Therefore, the resurrection of Jesus is, in the New Testament, also his exaltation to God and his world, or-without using the imagery of a heaven above the earth-his installment as Lord of the new creation. Something of this new creation is to be manifested in his reign on earth. There is, among those who follow him, no longer Jew or Greek, slave and free, male and female (Gal 3:28); there is an end of all unquestioned supremacy and of all unquestioned submission, as we tried to say above. This life of the church must become a kind of gern1inating plasma. As in the Old Testament, the Lordship of God over Israel became more and more recognized as his Lordship over all nations, even over nature in its totality, so the Lordship of Christ is, in the New Testament, first the area 348
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into which those are brought who, in baptism, have "put on Christ" and are now "one man in Christ Jesus" (Gal3:27-28). But this Lordship wants to expand not only within the life of the individual believer, not only in the corporate life of the church, but also in the common life of all, of believers and unbelievers, of Christians and other believers and atheists. It will certainly reach its goal only in the resurrection of the dead at the last day, but it wills to be attested even in this earthly life. The hope for a risen body cannot but put its stamp on this earthly body, opening it for real communication with God and with our neighbors. The hope for an eternal life with Christ, where there will be neither Jew nor Greek, neither slave nor free, neither male nor female, cannot but put its stamp on this earthly life in its whole social context. It is the risen Lord who wants to rule over the individual believer, over the church and over humankind in its totality. What, then, is resurrection of the dead, as it will come to each individual believer? In the case of Martha, it is a life which has begun since Jesus had really entered her earthly, human life. We remember, it manifested itself from the very beginning as a life open to God's word, as it came to her through and in Jesus, and, at the same time, open to her neighbors, first of all to her sister to whom she runs at once to invite her to join this new life. It is not her own life, it is what he has started in her. And yet, it has become part of her own life, because it is living in all the joys and sorrows, the difficulties and the succour, the good and the bad adventures which form her life on this earth. The answer to the tantalizing question about the resurrection becomes clearer, I think, when we ask: Who is Martha now? Well, Martha is a woman with all her natural characteristics, with all her virtues and vices, her joyful and depressing experiences; but she is, at the same time, more than that, she is a woman whose life Christ has entered and with him a new way of life. If Martha will die one day, who will she be? Is she, then, the body which is lying in the coffin? Certainly not; this becomes undeniable within a few days. Is she what the rabbi or some friend of the family will say in his farewell speech at the grave? Well, we know how far orations like that often are from truth. Is she what lives on in the remembrance of her sister and her brother? This may be a bit closer to the truth; and yet, how often are we totally misled in our estimation of somebody, even of ourselves. Thus, Martha is still somebody other than what the rabbi and the friends and even her nearest relatives think about her. Who is she? She is, I should say, first of all what God had created in her life. Since that day of which John 11 tells us, God has built up a kind of new life in her, a life which is not at its end now, when physical death has come over her. On the contrary, all the fragments of this life, often hidden under doubts and misunderstandings, often fighting for survival in the midst of temptations and rebellions, are now brought home to their creator. He is now bringing them to the goal that he intended when building them up in Martha's life. This is resurrection.
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Thus, resurrection as the New Testament understands it does not mean that some part of man which is more divine than others will live on. The human soul is not less human than the body. If what psychologists show us in the unconscious layers of our psyche is true, and I do not doubt its being true, it would be easier to live on after death with toothaches and the like than with all the complexes of our psychic life. On the other hand, the new life of resurrection, the new "body," as Paul puts it, is not totally unconnected with our earthly life and body. It is the "other," the "alien" life that Jesus Christ starts within our earthly and human life, and which will be brought to its perfection by God's raising us from the dead. Again, this does not mean that our "religious" life, our piety simply goes on after death. Martha, even the religious Martha, has to die and to "live though she die." For, what we believe and what we act as believers is always a strange mixture of God's own life in us and our misunderstandings and even our disobedience. Thus, resurrection means that God brings usreally us, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Martha or whatever our specific name is-to that perfection that he intended when creating his own life within our earthly life. Therefore, the resurrection and the life is Jesus himself who enters our human lives and remains in them that dynamic power of a new life, the fragmentary state of which will be ended by our physical death and brought to its fulfillment by God's creative act in the resurrection of the dead at the end of earthly time and at the beginning of God's eternal kingdom. Thus, resurrection is certainly no illusion. It is no fact either in the sense of an event which could be proved objectively without our getting involved. It is a living reality which starts at the moment in which God's life-power enters the life of mortals.
Notes 1 C. Zuckmayer, Der Rattenfiinger (id., Stticke 4, Frankfurt/Main, 1976) 317. 2 A. Portmann, in Basler Stadtbuch (1965) 188, also in Die Emte (1965) 160-171, especially 162, 164, 166. For more recent references, cf. H. Kting, Existien Gott? (Mtinchen: R. Piper, 1978) esp. 201-219, 531-560, 583-606, 686-721 (B Ill 2; F I, Ill; G II 2). 3 For L. Feuerbach, cf. E. Jtingel, Gott als Geheimnis der Welt (Ttibingen: Mohr, 1977) 188-195; Kting, Existien Gott?, 223-250 (C I). 4 I follow here P. Stuhlmacher, "Das Bekenntnis zur Auferweckung Jesu von den Toten und die biblische Theologie," ZThK 10 (1973) esp 383-385. 5 Cf. Jtingel, Gott als Geheimnis, 495-491, 501. 6 Cf. my essay, "Two New Testament Creeds Compared, I Cor 15:3-5 and I Tim 3:16," in Current Issues in New Testament Interpretation (New York: Harper, 1962) 166-177, 291-293; reprinted in E. Schweizer, Neotestamentica (ZUrich: Zwingli Verlag, 1963) 122-135. For a more recent discussion, cf. K. Lehmann, Auferweckt am dritten Tag (Freiburg: Herder, 1968) esp. 17-157; A. Vogtle/R. Pesch, Wie kam es zum Osterglauben? (Dilsseldorf: Patmos Verlag, 1975) esp. 37-59, 136-156. 7 Cf. R. Pesch, "Zur Entstehung des Glaubens an die Auferstehung Jesu," in
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8 9 10
11 12 13
14
15
ThQ 153 (1973) 212-218, and particularly K. Berger, Die Auferstehung des Propheten und die Erhohung des Menschensohns, SUNT 13 (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1976) esp. 173-201, 213-221. Cf. my review of K. Berger in TLZ 103 (1978) 874--878. His references to a Jewish belief in a resurrection before the end of the world seem to be misinterpretations. R. Pesch, Wie kam es zum Osterglauben?, 145. R. Pesch, "Der Schluss der vormarkinischen Passionsgeschichte und das Markusevangelium," in L'evangile de Marc, ed. M. Sabbe (Gembloux, 1974) 365-409. Cf. my essay, "Towards a Christology of Mark," in God's Christ and His People, Festschrift N. A. Dahl (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1977) 36-39. With the possible exception of John 20:8, if this verse does not merely refer to the fact of the empty tomb in and of itself. Cf. J. E. Alsup, The Post-Resurrection Appearance Stories of the Gospel Tradition (Stuttgart: Calwer-Verlag, 1975) esp 144-213. E. Kasemann, "Anliegen und Eigenart der paulinischen Abendmahlslehre," in Exegetische Versuche und Besinnungen I (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1960} 29-33; cf. E. Schweizer in Theol. Wonerbuch zum Neuen Testament (ed. Kittei-Friedrich) VII, 1063f. H.-P. Hasenfratz, Die Rede von der Auferstehung Jesu Christi (Bonn, 1975) 170-179. However, this cannot be expected, since the Synoptists scarcely speak of resurrection outside of the stories of the appearances (in which the problem of human death and resurrection is not raised). This is emphasized by K. Rahner, Grundkurs des Glaubens (Freiburg: Herder, 1976) esp. 85-88, 123-130, 180-195.
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62 LUMINOUS APPEARANCES OF THE RISEN CHRIST Gerald O'Collins Source: Catholic Biblical Quarterly, 46, 1984, pp. 247-254.
Views that the transfiguration story in Mark 9:2-8 derives from a retrojected Easter appearance associate luminous elements with resurrection traditions-a case which has been argued recently by James M. Robinson. He has served historians of Christianity by his work in organizing the publication of the Nag Hammadi papyrus codices (3d to 5th century A.D.). But not all the conclusions which Robinson has reached on the basis of his study of gnosticism seem thoroughly convincing. In particular, he argues that even at the time Mark composed his Gospel, a gnosticizing trajectory had already begun and was in conflict with an orthodox trajectory. Mark initiated a process of correcting original traditions about Easter, in which "real bodiliness became increasingly prominent, no doubt at the expense of ... glorious appearance." Once Mark started the process, later NT writings followed suit: The blinding light of the Damascus road gave way to a resurrected Christ who resembled a gardener, a tourist on the way to Emmaus, or a fisherman by the sea, and whose mode of existence was still bodily in that he could eat, be touched, and resume life on earth. 1 According to Robinson, Mark had included no resurrection appearances, "perhaps because those available were so luminous as to seem disembodied. " 2 The later evangelists provided resurrection appearances, but continued the process of blunting the gnosticizing quality of the Easter traditions by ending their Gospels with bodily as opposed to luminous appearances. Admittedly Luke included in Acts the Pauline tradition of an appearance in light from heaven, but he played it down "as hardly more than a conversion story." 3 Robinson proposes then the following hypothesis. An early Christian tradition, which was not exclusively gnostic but which was to be suppres352
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sed by emerging orthodoxy, told of the risen Christ's appearance in light on a mountain. This original luminous visualization of Christ's appearance(s) survived at "mislocated" places: the transfiguration story in Mark 9:2--8; Paul's conversion as "an encounter with a blinding light, which according to Luke's chronology falls outside the period of resurrection appearances"; and the appearance to Peter which ... because of its luminosity, ceded its position within the accepted period of resurrection appearances, and, rather than being simply lost, found a new location as the transfiguration story, which is clearly the same scene as that to which 2 Peter 1:16--18 refers. 4 At the start of Christianity, however, were the appearances of the resurrected Christ understood to be (a) luminous (disembodied?) appearances of (b) a gnostic, albeit not exclusively gnostic, kind? Apropos of (b) others have rightly doubted whether the alleged gnostic trajectory began so early. 5 What Robinson calls a trajectory looks more like scholarly retrojection, or reading later documents too far back into earlier history. But in this note I want to discuss his case for (a). To begin with, Robinson himself is tentative about several pieces of evidence he lines up. The assessment of Mark's transfiguration story as originally a luminous resurrection appearance to Peter he admits to be "contested."6 The claim that the earliest evangelist, Mark, included no resurrection appearances because the only appearance stories available to him were luminous, disembodied ones is qualified with a "perhaps." Further, Robinson recognizes that a Pauline understanding of the resurrection body makes "it possible to affirm the bodiliness of a luminous appearance." 7 An appearance in light did not necessarily entail the resurrected Christ being in a disembodied state. Yet despite this admission, Robinson seems in places to suppose that in the Easter tradition a "religious experience" could not have been an experience of something or rather someone bodily. He argues, for instance, that "the narrations of the empty tomb in the gospels tend to emphasize the continuity of the same body, lest the luminousness of the appearances suggest that it was just a ghost, just religious experience."8 Certainly the Gospels tend to highlight such a continuity,9 while Paul in 1 Cor 15:42-51 brings out the discontinuity between the physical, earthly body and the spiritual, risen body. But must "religious experience" be an experience of something or someone who is ghostly and disembodied? Just as on the side of the object (the resurrected Jesus) an appearance in light did not automatically mean that he could only be in a disembodied state, so on the side of the subjects (the disciples) such a luminous appearance did not automatically mean that their religious experience could only be one of someone ghostly and disembodied. 353
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As part of his argument Robinson appeals to Rev 1:13-16, "the only resurrection appearance in the NT that is described in any detail, though it is usually overlooked due to not being placed at the end of a gospel." This appearance which "took place in the 90s" has ... in common with Paul's much earlier but equally uninhibited luminous visualization of the resurrection in the 30s the fact that these are the only two resurrection appearances recorded by persons who themselves received the appearances, Paul and John of Patmos-and both these authenticated visualizations of a resurrection appearance were of a luminous kind! The testimony of Paul and John of Patmos allows Robinson to conclude that "the original visualizations of resurrection appearances had been luminous, the experiencing of a blinding light, a heavenly body such as Luke reports Stephen saw (Acts 7:55-56)." 10 All of this seems dubious. First, in Revelation the opening vision (presented with apocalyptic motifs which prepare the reader for the rich imagery to follow) is not a resurrection appearance in the sense of making the visionary into an apostle-that is to say, an official eyewitness to the risen Lord and a founder of Christianity. Elsewhere Robinson himself notes that "being a witness to the resurrection" was "the basic qualification for apostleship." 11 In Revelation there is no suggestion whatsoever that John of Patmos is now becoming "an eyewitness to the ... appearance of the resurrected Christ,'m and so receiving this basic qualification for apostolic ministry. The vision functions in a quite different way-to introduce and communicate messages to seven churches of Asia Minor (Rev 1:17-3:22). The Book of Revelation does not attempt to describe the making of an apostle; in fact, it looks back to the apostles who have already done their work as founders (Rev 22:14). Hence to maintain that Rev 1:13-16 describes one of the "resurrection appearances" both slips over the function within the book itself of that vision in apocalyptic glory and ignores the link between such appearances of the risen Christ and apostolic qualifications (as recognized, in their somewhat differing ways, by Paul, Luke, Matthew, and John). Furthermore, what we find in Rev 1:13-16 is not a description in the ordinary sense, but rather a comparison, in which "the feel or value, the effect or impression of one thing is compared with that of another." John of Patmos is "not giving a visual image which a skilful painter might reproduce." Rather, ... he is telling his readers that if, for example, they will think of the feelings they have before a torrent in spate or beneath the brilliance of the midday sun, they will have some inkling of the 354
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sense of majesty and sublimity which he experienced in the presence of the heavenly Christ. In short, Rev 1:13-16 does not purport to describe in detail the Lord's appearance, but uses traditional imagery to provide an "affective comparison" expressing the visionary's reaction to Christ's presenceY What of Robinson's second authority? Paul hardly supports the attempt to set an experience which "took place in the 90s" on the same level as his own encounter with the risen Lord in the 30s. Paul differentiates between the fundamental post-resurrection encounters and all later experiences of the risen Jesus: "Last of all" Christ "appeared also to me" (1 Cor 15:8). With that appearance the series of meetings which qualified the recipient for apostleship was closed. Then Paul's "uninhibited luminous visualization of the resurrection [=of the resurrected Christ's appearance, presumably] in the 30s" does not come directly from the apostle himself. We simply do not have such direct reports from Paul as "an eyewitness" to a "luminous appearance of the resurrected Christ." 14 Where Paul himself writes of his encounter with the risen Jesus (1 Cor 9:1; 15:8; Gal 1:12,16; and possibly Phil 3:8), he never visualizes it in an "uninhibited" way. Just possibly 2 Cor 4:6, which speaks of God shining "in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ," may also refer to Paul's apostolic call-experience (as well as to general Christian experience). But Robinson does not invoke this passage. Rather, what he has in mind are some details in the three accounts of the appearance to Paul given by Acts (see 9:3; 22:6; 26:13). Certainly Luke does present that appearance as a luminous one "from heaven." But we are dealing there with three somewhat different versions which seemingly were in circulation in the early Church, not with a "visualization" of the appearance recorded and reported directly by Paul himself. Then there is the third authority to whom Robinson appeals. What the dying Stephen is described as having seen of God's heavenly glory and of Jesus "standing at the right hand of God" was not a resurrection appearance which made him an apostle. Luke never claims that. Paul does not include Stephen when, on the basis of traditional material and his own experience, he lists witnesses to the resurrection (1 Cor 15:5--8). Whatever we are to make of Stephen's experience, like the vision reported at the beginning of Revelation it is not on a par with the appearances to Peter, Paul, etc., and hence no guide to what "the original visualizations of resurrection appearances" were like. What I miss in Robinson's presentation is a clear sense of the difference between the foundational post-resurrection appearances and other kinds of religious experiences. He assures us that "the luminous visualization of resurrection appearances may be the kind of experience that in that day would have been considered a vision. " 15 Such a remark passes over the fact that, 355
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although the NT calls certain phenomena "visions," apart from one passage (Acts 26:19) it never uses that term of a resurrection appearance. Robinson himself observes that Luke summarizes the meeting with "two men in dazzling apparel" (24:4) as "a vision of angels" (24:23). That makes it all the more significant that Luke (except for Acts 26:19) nowhere applies the word to a resurrection appearance. In the same context Robinson cites Paul who writes of "visions and revelations of the Lord" (2 Cor 12:1). 16 But these later ecstatic episodes, which took place "fourteen years ago" (2 Cor 12:2), i.e., ea. A.D. 42 and so long after his initial call-experience (A.D. 33/35), are not invoked by Paul to validate his fundamental role as apostolic witness to the risen Christ. In the face of troublesome opponents who boast of their high spiritual experiences. Paul refers (among other things) to some extraordinary experiences of a "heavenly" nature which had happened to him. But he does not put these "visions and revelations of the Lord" on the same level as the once-and-for-all post-resurrection appearance which made him one of those who through their public witness to the risen Christ founded the Church. Of course, Paul offers practically no details about the nature of such an appearance, but he is clear about its special function in establishing him and others as apostles. In developing his hypothesis about luminous appearances of the resurrected Christ, Robinson claims that in the case of two eyewitnesses (Paul and John of Patmos) the identification of such an appearance "as the Spirit seems near at hand." He supports this claim by calling attention to 1 Cor 15:44-45 and 2 Cor 3:17-18Y But none of these passages refers as such to the historical appearance of the risen Christ to Paul. 1 Cor 15:44 speaks in general of the "spiritual" nature of risen bodily existence as opposed to the physical nature of earthly bodily existence. When 1 Cor 15:45 calls Christ "the last Adam" and "a life-giving Spirit," it indicates that spiritual state in which his risen humanity confers life by communicating to others the Holy Spirit (see Rom 1:3-4). Neither verse intends to describe a particular appearance of the risen Lord, let alone identify that appearance in terms of the Spirit. Nor does 2 Cor 3:17-18 have anything to say about such an appearance. When Paul states that "the Lord is the Spirit," he does so in a passage (2 Cor 3:1-18) where he makes an elaborate comparison and contrast between the old and the new covenants (the dead letter and the life-giving Spirit; the fading glory of Moses and his dispensation as over against the lasting glory of Christ and his dispensation, etc.), and emphasizes the liberating, transforming influence of the risen Christ here and now on believers: "the Lord is the Spirit." He neither says that "the Lord was the Spirit," nor in any other way testifies as an eyewitness that his encounter with the resurrected Christ was to be identified as an appearance of the Spirit. As regards Revelation, we have already seen that its opening vision is not a resurrection appearance which qualified the recipient to be an 356
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apostle. Further, when John of Patmos recalls being "in the Spirit" and ends his seven letters with the exhortation, "He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches" (2:7, 11, 17, 29; 3:6, 13, 22), he is not describing and identifying some appearance of the risen Christ. Rather, the visionary knows that the Spirit who comes from the exalted Lord is working and speaking in and through him. In that sense what "the Spirit says to the churches" is what the exalted Lord wants to say to the churches. To clinch his case for a primary identification of the appearance of the resurrected Christ with the Spirit, Robinson turns to Luke 24:37 ("they thought they were seeing a ghost"). He argues that here Luke rejects an identification of the risen Christ with the Spirit (to which Paul and John of Patmos are supposed to bear witness) and represents the Spirit as coming on the scene only fifty days later at Pentecost. 18 There seems to be some confusion here between the ongoing spiritual power of the risen Lord (to which Paul and John of Patmos refer) and his bodily reality experienced by those to whom he appeared at the outset of Christianity. In 24:37 and 39 Luke is rejecting, not some attempt to identify an appearance of the risen Christ with an appearance of the Spirit, but late first-century scepticism (from whatever quarter) about the factuality of the resurrection and the bodily reality of the risen Christ. Finally, in line with his thesis Robinson detects various "vestiges" of the luminous visualization of the resurrected Jesus "in the otherwise very human appearances at the end of the canonical gospels." For instance, the failure to recognize at once the risen Lord (Luke 24:16,31; John 20:14-15; 21:4) may also derive "from the luminous visualization," in which "it is quite understandable that one would not recognize a blinding light (Acts 9:5; 22:8; 26:15)." 19 Undoubtedly the appearances of the risen Christ were not and were not understood to be "a matter of normal vision, catching sight of a recognizable human companion."20 However, this motif could well derive from another source (the initial failure of the disciples to recognize the risen Jesus whom they were not expecting to rise from the dead), and could have been used by Luke and John to express two things: the transformation involved in Jesus' resurrection and the fact that seeing him risen to new life required more than ordinary human vision. Robinson also takes "the sudden appearance and disappearance of Jesus" to be another motif (preserved at the end of Luke and John), which "originally developed in connection with luminous visualizations of the resurrected Christ." 21 Really? Could it be possible that it simply was like that-the risen Christ appeared and disappeared at will? Two evangelists have maintained this motif which indicated so well that everything depended on the risen Jesus, who could not be sought out and observed like any ordinary person on the face of the earth but disclosed himself when and to whom he wished. 357
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To conclude. If Robinson is correct and a tradition of luminous appearances of the risen Christ was primary, then Matthew, Luke, and John did a remarkably good job in purging the tradition of that incipient gnosticism. What has struck most commentators about the Easter appearances in the Gospels is not the "vestiges" of luminous visualization of the resurrected Jesus which still remained, but rather the way these stories lack such traits (which most scholars would describe as apocalyptic glory rather than gnostic light). C. F. Evans's observation on the Emmaus encounter is typical: "The story is the furthest possible remove from the category of heavenly vision of the Lord in glory." 22 Robinson's hard evidence for original luminous appearances of the resurrected Lord comes from gnostic sources.23 This evidence is not only late, but may in fact derive (as a kind of decadent spin-off) from the earlier gospel tradition rather than provide us with any independent information about the ambient in which Paul's letters, Mark, Luke, Acts, Revelation, and even John were written.
Notes 1 The Problem of History in Mark and other Marcan Studies (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982) 8; hereafter Problem. 2 "Jesus: From Easter to Valentinus (or to the Apostles' Creed)," JBL 101 (1982) 10; hereafter Jesus. 3 Problem, 9. 4 Ibid., 30-31. 5 See, for example, Joseph A. Fitzmyer, A Christological Catechism: New Testament Answers (Ramsey, NJ: Paulist, 1982) 12-14. 6 Problem, 29. 7 Jesus, 10. 8 Ibid., 10; italics mine. 9 In their realistic and bodily presentation of the risen Christ's appearance Luke and John clearly want to guard against errors. Robinson rightly observes their "apologetic" against "spiritualizing the resurrection away" (Jesus, 12). At the same time, these two evangelists also qualify their presentation by including details which indicate the transformed existence of the risen Lord. Closed doors do not prevent his coming (John 20:19,26); he suddenly appears and disappears (Luke 24:31-36) etc. See my What Are They Saying about the Resurrection? (New York: Paulist, 1978) 48-51. 10 Jesus, 10. 11 Problem, 30. 12 Jesus, 13. 13 G. B. Caird, The Language and Imagery of the Bible (London: Duckworth, 1980) 147. 14 Jesus, 13. 15 Ibid., 11; italics mine. 16 Ibid. 17 Ibid., 13. 18 Ibid. 19 Ibid., 15.
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20 21 22 23
Ibid. Ibid., 15-16. Resurrection and the New Testament (London: SCM, 1970) 105. Robinson is not the first to propose that the appearances of the risen Christ were or at least were understood to be of luminous nature. For example, in The Formation of the Resurrection Narratives (New York: Macmillan, 1971), R. H. Fuller concluded that the Easter appearances "involved visionary experiences of light, combined with a communication of meaning" (p. 48). In reaching this conclusion, however, Fuller did not appeal to gnostic sources, and his reconstruction of the nature and function of the appearances in the earliest Christian traditions (pp. 47-49) differs markedly from Robinson's version.
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63 THE ESSENTIAL PHYSICALITY OF JESUS' RESURRECTION ACCORDING TO THE NEW TESTAMENT Robert H. Gundry Source: J. B. Green and M. Turner (eds), Jesus of Nazareth: Lord and Christ: Essays on the Historical Jesus and New Testament Christology (Carlisle: Paternoster; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), pp. 204-219.
The present essay, which supplements a somewhat more narrowly focussed one by W. L. Craig,1 deals with the nature of Jesus' resurrection as the NT presents it. Many believers in the resurrection understand it as a more or less spiritual phenomenon. Some of them say that the story of the empty tomb is unhistorical, the corpse of Jesus having suffered the normal fate of corpses, but that he himself enjoyed resurrection in the form of disembodied exaltation to heavenly existence. 2 Others, putting more trust in the story of the empty tomb, say that the tomb was empty because the corpse of Jesus evaporated, so to speak, and that thus the risen Jesus is nonphysicaV or that Jesus' corpse metamorphosed into a living but essentially nonphysical body which took on physical characteristics only as the occasion of earthly appearances demanded. 4 Some but not all who hold these views do so to insulate Jesus' resurrection from the rigors, vagaries, and fluctuations of historical inquiry,5 perhaps also to soften the supernatural element and thereby avoid sacrificing their intellects, though under the latter motive it is puzzling why the sudden evaporation or metamorphosis of a corpse should be thought very much easier to believe in than the raising of one. But motivation of belief is beside the points of truth or falsity and of significance. If Jesus' corpse suffered the normal fate of corpses, a spiritual resurrection of him is minimally open to historical investigation; for only the claim that the risen Jesus made a number of appearances needs explanation. The evaporation or metamorphosis of a corpse so as to leave an empty tomb leaves the door somewhat more open to historical inquiry; for the emptiness of the 360
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tomb, or at least the claim that it was empty, needs to be explained along with the claim that the risen Jesus made a number of appearances. But whatever the fate of his corpse, a Jesus risen only or at least essentially in spiritual form tends to give more explanatory room to psychology and sociology than to history. 6 I will try to show that the NT presents the resurrection of Jesus in a way that leaves it more open to historical inquiry. My attempt does not imply that brute facts carry their own interpretation, or that we have direct access to the brute facts concerning the historical Jesus, or even that there are such items as brute facts. Those questions remain open in this essay, as do also philosophical questions of material and personal identity and such like. Nor will I discuss the historicity of Jesus' resurrection. That would require a further effort. I want to find out what the NT means when it talks about Jesus' resurrection. Only then will we discover the degree to which historical inquiry may apply to it, and only then will we be able to decide the degree to which dematerializing views represent the NT itself or represent efforts at a cultural translation of it. My position is threefold: (1) the NT presents a unified view of the nature of Jesus' resurrection; (2) according to that view, he rose from the dead in a physical body; and (3) the physicality of that body forms an essential element of his risen being. The first part of my position disagrees with the view that the NT presents conflicting versions of Jesus' resurrection, such as one version that he rose spiritually to appear luminously and another version that he rose bodily to appear physically.7 The second part of my position disagrees with the view that the NT presents the risen Jesus as nonphysical. The third part of my position disagrees with the view that though the NT portrays him as occasionally appearing in a physical form, it does not portray that form as essential to his risen being.
1. A presentation of arguments for the essential physicality of Jesus' resurrection according to the New Testament We find the earliest literary references to Jesus' resurrection in the epistles of Paul. By his own account, Paul had been a Pharisee (Phil 3:5). According to Josephus J. W. 2.8.14 §163, the Pharisees held that the incorruptible (i.e., immortal) soul of a good person passes into another body whereas the incorruptible souls of wicked people suffer eternal punishment. Granted, Josephus used phraseology that reflects Hellenistic dualistic language concerning body and soul rather than the language which Pharisees might have used among themselves. But the really significant point is that he should have mentioned the Pharisees' belief in corporeal immortality at all, and this despite two competing considerations: (1) that his GrecoRoman readers were liable to find the belief reprehensible or foolish 361
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(witness the Athenian reaction to Paul's preaching of the resurrection in Acts 17:32 - this point stands whether or not we regard the account as historical) and (2) that throughout his book Josephus was trying to make the Pharisees look good in the eyes of his Greco-Roman readers. The Pharisees- among whom Josephus counted himself; so he should have known about their belief - must have held to physical resurrection for him to have attributed to them a Hellenistically phrased position that ran counter to his purpose in writing. At Acts 23:6-8 the Pharisees' belief in resurrection is distinguished from belief in angels and spirits. The distinction implies belief in the physicality of resurrection. This belief shows up in later rabbinic literature, too.s The rabbis even debated whether dead bodies will rise wearing the same clothes in which they were buried.9 Paul's having been "a Pharisee of the Pharisees" therefore creates the presumption that unless strong evidence to the contrary comes forward, we may assume that his vocabulary of resurrection carries the Pharisaical connotation of physicality. And the theory that physical portrayals of Jesus' resurrection arose later, out of antidocetic tendencies in the early church, will be preempted. Whether Paul thought of the reanimation of the whole person, including the body, or of the reunion of the old but reanimated body with the preserved soul, or of the union with the preserved soul of a new body raised out of the old one (and there may be other possibilities) 10 does not matter a great deal so far as the point of physicality as such is concerned. In 1 Cor 15:3-4; Acts 13:29-30 Paul's juxtaposing not only Jesus' death but also his burial with his resurrection, the last of which means "raising," entails that the resurrection means the raising of Jesus' buried body.U Further description of the resurrected bodies of believers will add glorification, immortalization, and other enhancements (1 Cor 15:42-44); but the raising of Jesus' buried body provides the physical starting point and sine qua non of resurrection. Since Paul is citing tradition, this entailment represents a common, pre-Pauline Christian view, that is, a very early traditional view. Since Paul is citing tradition agreeably, it represents his own view as well as that of Christians before him. And since Paul is citing tradition that provides common ground on which both he and his Corinthian readers stand, it represents a view of Jesus' resurrection that even those at Corinth who denied the future resurrection of believers, and supposedly inclined toward docetism, adhered to. In the further part of 1 Corinthians 15 Paul writes about the future resurrection of believers after the pattern and on the ground of Jesus' resurrection. His use of the Greek word criOJ.W. in this discussion therefore says something about the nature of Jesus' resurrection. If the future resurrection of believers will be somatic, so also was Jesus' resurrection, as is only natural to deduce from the aforementioned juxtaposition of burial and raising. Now cr&Jla means the physical body. Even as a metaphor it means 362
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the physical body, but the physical body as an analogy for something else. Here in 1 Corinthians, for example, Paul's famous metaphor of the body for the church goes down to the physical details of different bodily parts head, eyes, ears, nose, hands, feet, genitals (12:12-27). The evidence is massive that aro~n means a physical body, not a person without reference to the physical body (though by synecdoche it may represent the rest of the person as well). 12 But particularly pertinent to our present topic is Paul's interchanging of aro~n. "body," and aaps, "flesh," in his argument for the resurrection (1 Cor 15:35-40). He does not speak of the resurrection of the flesh, probably because in other associations the word "flesh" connotes weakness and sinfulness; but he does use body and flesh without fundamental distinction in his drawing of analogies to the resurrection. And he even uses the phrase "flesh of human beings" (v 39), which comes as close as possible to equating resurrection of the body with resurrection of the flesh without falling prey to the negative connotations that the word "flesh" carries elsewhereY Paul speaks of earthly bodies as well as of heavenly bodies. He speaks of flesh of birds as well as of flesh of earthbound creatures. The order of the overall analogy does not seem to ascend from flesh to body; for though he moves from flesh (v 39) to body (v 40), he started with body (vv 37-38). Nor does the order of the particular analogies seem to ascend from earth to heaven or from low grade to high grade; for though he moves from seeds up to human beings, he then meanders through beasts, birds, fish, heavenly bodies, earthly bodies, sun, moon, and stars. He stresses differences by saying that we do not sow the seed-like body that will be, by listing widely varying kinds of flesh, and by calling attention to varying degrees of glory. But none of these differences have to do with materiality versus immateriality, just as later the heavenly human being is a human being originating "from heaven" (Paul's own phrase), not a human being made out of heaven as though heaven were an ethereal substance (so we should interpret the earthy human being as originating "from earth" [again Paul's own phrase], not as made of earth- vv 47-48). Also pertinent is Paul's use of oiKooo~ftv, "building," and oiKo'tftptov, "house," terms that connote greater solidity than does it ... oiKin 'toil aKftvo~. which means a house that is comparatively unsubstantial, like a tent (2 Cor 5:1-2). C. S. Lewis was following a biblical instinct when in The Great Divorce he portrayed heaven and its inhabitants as possessing greater physical density, not less physical density, let alone ethereality. Moving to the Gospels and Acts, let us note the conjunction of Jesus' empty tomb, the statement "He is risen," and the reported bodily manifestations of the risen Jesus. This conjunction indicates that the Gospels present Jesus' resurrection as physical, even essentially so. Matthew 28:9 reports that women grasped the risen Jesus' feet, John 20:17 that he told Mary Magdalene to stop touching his feet, Luke 24:39-40 that he showed 363
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the disciples his hands and feet and invited the disciples to handle him and see, John 20:20 that he showed the disciples his hands and side, and John 20:24-29 that he invited Thomas to feel the scars of crucifixion that remained on his risen body. 14 Luke 24:42-43 reports that the risen Jesus ate food in front of the disciples as part of a demonstration that he was not a spirit. 15 Acts 1:4;16 10:41 add that the disciples ate and drank with the risen Jesus. 17 And in Acts 2:26b the citation of Ps 16:9b, "Moreover, my flesh will dwell in hope," with reference to Jesus' resurrection puts a fleshly stamp on it. It has been said that Jesus reportedly presented himself in material fashion, not to prove that he was physical, but to prove that he was real. But a real what? A real person? That would require only an overpowering vision. Old Testament theophanies, which are sometimes put forward as models of the culturally appropriate way that early Christians used for expressing their experience of the risen Jesus 18 - these theophanies may have portrayed God in human guise, but they fell far short of having him invite his human subjects to handle a body that he had put on just for the human needs of the occasion. And in the NT, the association of Jesus' appearances with his death, burial, and resurrection disfavors OT theophanies as the generative force behind the tradition of his appearances; for OT theophanies had no similar associations with death, burial, and resurrection. The only suitable matrix for the tradition of the appearances is the companion tradition of death, burial, and reversal of death and burial by resurrection. Similarly, the only suitable matrix for the tradition of the risen Jesus' invitation to feel his scars is the desire to prove his physical continuity with the Jesus who had died on a cross. We may say the same with regard to his eating of food. Whether Jesus' body is portrayed as requiring food is beside the point that at least part of his essential being is portrayed as a resurrected physical body. The implication is not so strong in Mark, because we do not have there a text-critically accepted account of an appearance by the risen Jesus. But the conjunction of the women's coming to anoint his corpse, the young man's reference to him as "the crucified one," his announcement that Jesus "has been raised, he is not here. Look! The place where they laid him," and his reminder that the disciples will see Jesus in Galilee because Jesus is preceding them there all point in the same direction of a physical resurrection. Further factors in Matthew also point in this direction: the conjunction of Jesus' resurrection with the resurrection of saints' bodies (aroJ.la'ta) that came out of tombs after Jesus' resurrection, entered Jerusalem, and appeared to many (Matt 27:51b-53); also the connection between Jesus' resurrection and the rumor that his disciples had stolen his body - plus an actual appearance in Galilee. These can hardly be understood in any way but physical.
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2. A refutation of arguments against the essential physicality of Jesus' resurrection according to the New Testament But what of arguments that at least in part the NT portrays Jesus' resurrection as nonphysical? This time I begin with the Gospels and Acts and work backward to Paul. It is often argued that the mysterious abilities of the risen Jesus to appear and disappear suddenly, even to pass through closed doors (Luke 24:31, 36, 44; Acts 1:3; 10:40-41; John 20:19, 26), portray him as essentially nonphysical even though able to project himself occasionally in physical form for the purpose of accommodating himself to the disciples' need of physical verification. 19 If so, however, the Evangelists portray a risen Jesus who deliberately misled his disciples not only by projecting himself physically for the sake of visual verification, but also by leaving the impression of essential physicality through eating food, drinking liquid, subjecting himself to physical contact, and inviting such contact with the scars that he had suffered before his resurrection. The statement attributed to him in Luke 24:39, "A spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have," sounds like a description of essential nature, not like a description of passing accommodation. 20 Admittedly, there is eating of a meal in the theophany at Gen 18:1-8, but nothing like the risen Jesus' eating and drinking for the express purpose of proving his physicality. It is true that some of the eleven disciples doubted, according to Matt 28:17. But the text does not tell what they doubted or why; so it is reading a lot into the text to say they doubted that the risen Jesus was physical or because there was so much visual ambiguity that they could not be sure of his physicality. The text localizes the event on an appointed mountain in Galilee. The text says that the disciples saw Jesus. The text says that they prostrated themselves before him. Earlier in his Gospel Matthew stressed their little faith (6:30; 8:26; 14:31; 16:8; 17:20). It was an emphasis peculiar to his Gospel (with the sole exception of 6:30 par. Luke 12:28) and of course had nothing to do with visual ambiguity, since Jesus had not yet died and risen. So it does not seem likely that the doubt in eh. 28 had anything to do with the composition of Jesus' risen body. It probably had to do quite simply with doubt that Jesus could have risen despite the physical evidence standing before them. 21 Likewise, the variety which we see in the evangelistic accounts of Jesus' appearances is due to different theological concerns and to multiplicity of sources, not to any ambiguity in what the women and the disciples saw. The Evangelists who describe the mysterious abilities of the risen Jesus-namely, Luke and John-are none other than the Evangelists who most emphasize his physicality. 22 By twice narrating a visible ascension of Jesus "into heaven" (Luke 24:50-51; Acts 1:9-11; cf. the catching up of Elijah to heaven without death and resurrection or any other 365
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transformation according to 2 Kgs 2:1-12), Luke implies that this physicality was not unessential and occasional, but essential and pennanent-and Luke is the only NT writer to provide a narrative of the ascension, a fact that strengthens the physical implication over against a false deduction of nonphysicality from Jesus' ability to appear and disappear in Luke's Gospel. John does not provide a narrative of Jesus' ascension, but he does refer to the ascension by quoting Jesus as saying to Mary Magdalene, "for I have not yet ascended to the Father" (John 20:17). The immediately preceding words, on which the just-quoted "for"-clause depends, read, "Stop touching me." It is hard not to understand John as saying that the risen Jesus not only appeared physically to Mary, but also ascended to appear physically before God his Father. Sometimes Jesus' command to stop touching him is taken as an indication of his essential nonphysicality, as though he meant to say that Mary should learn to think of him from then on in different terms. But he gave the reason why Mary should stop touching him. It was not that he did not want to be thought of as physical. It was that he now needed to ascend to the Father. And when he came back that evening to breathe the Holy Spirit on the disciples he showed them his scars, and a week later invited Thomas to feel them. Apparently ascending to the Father changed nothing with regard to his physicality. Thomas did not feel the scars, not because he could not have done so or because Jesus did not want him to, but because the physical reality was so visually unambiguous, after the ascension as before, that he did not need to (see John 7:37-39 for the necessity that Jesus ascend to the Father between appearances so as to give the Spirit in the second appearance). So also Revelation 5 portrays Jesus as the lamb in the presence of God. As "standing," Jesus the lamb is risen rather than lying on an altar dead. "As slain" he bears the scars of crucifixion on his physical body in heaven just as he bore them on earth when he showed them to his disciples and invited Thomas to feel themY These two items of description-as standing and as slain-show that the risen Jesus is physical in heaven as well as on earth (cf. Paul's contemplation in 2 Cor 12:2-4 of the possibility that he may have been caught up into the third heaven "in the body," that is, in his present body of flesh and blood-a possibility that demonstrates the compatibility of physicality and heavenliness). 24 The physicality of Jesus' resurrection appearances on earth does not seem to have been a passing accommodation to the needs of his earthbound disciples. Common authorship of the Fourth Gospel and Revelation would make this argument stronger. But the mere origin of the two books in the same Johannine school (the least that can be said in view of the many interrelationships between John and Revelation) makes the argument strong enough. We can hardly think that in Revelation the risen Jesus is portrayed as physical in heaven simply to accommodate John's need to see and recognize him for who he is, for John portrays himself in 6:9 as quite capable of seeing 366
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and recognizing the souls of martyrs for who they are prior to their resurrection. And it is not advisable to think that the Fourth Gospel and Revelation offer competing traditions of nonphysical and physical versions of Jesus' resurrection, perhaps offering the nonphysical for the purpose of negating it with the physical; for the textual evidence favoring a nonphysical version lacks the strength to convince us that there ever was such a version. An essentially nonphysical resurrection does not necessarily follow from sudden appearance, from sudden disappearance, or from luminosity of appearance. If the shining of Moses' face when he came down from Mt. Sinai did not imply essential nonphysicality, neither does it follow that the shining of the face of the risen Jesus in Rev 1:16 implies his essential nonphysicality. The risen Jesus looks luminous only after his earthly appearances to the disciples have ceased and therefore falls due to his heavenly exaltation. No inference concerning nonphysicality can legitimately be drawn. If the sudden transportation of Philip from the desert road near Gaza to Azotus, so that he disappeared suddenly from one locality and appeared suddenly in another, does not imply his essential nonphysicality (Acts 8:39-40), neither do the sudden appearances and disappearances of the risen Jesus carry such an implication. In other words, sudden appearance on a scene does not imply nonphysicality away from the scene, much less nonphysicality at the scene. The text does not say that the risen Jesus passed through a closed door. So under the assumption of a physical resurrection we need not imagine that John wanted us to suppose that one physical body, that of Jesus, passed through another physical body, that of a closed door. All John says is that "Jesus came and stood in the midst" (20:19, 26; similarly, Luke 24:36). We do not know whether John wanted his readers to understand that Jesus' risen body passed through a closed door, or that he gained entry by virtue of the disciples' opening it for him when he came, or that the door did not need to be opened because he came by translation from heaven or elsewhere on earth directly into their midst. Since John relates the closed door to the disciples' fear of the Jews and mentions neither a passing through the closed door nor an opening of it, the last possibility seems the most likely. It also seems to fit best John's phraseology of "coming" and "standing in the midst," as though Jesus appeared out of the blue rather than passing through anything. In any case, we do know that John stresses Jesus' physicality once the risen Jesus stood in the midst of his disciples. So also does Luke stress the physicality of the risen Jesus, only without reference to a closed door. Thus we can hardly say that in Luke's Book of Acts Paul heard Jesus speaking but saw only a blinding light because Jesus' post-resurrection physicality lasted only until the ascension and was therefore unessential. The function of the blinding light was not to 367
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dematerialize the exalted Jesus; it was rather to strike Paul down and bring him to conversion. Besides, Acts 9:3; 22:6-11 do not say that Paul saw only a blinding light; they say that a blinding light flashed around him, and Acts 26:16 should make us wary of thinking that on the Damascus road Paul did not see the risen Jesus: "For to this end I have appeared [c0$011v] to you." The beginning of the risen Jesus' appearances are invariably mentioned, but rarely his disappearances (only in Luke 24:31, apart from the ascension). This textual phenomenon suggests, it has been argued, that after his resurrection Jesus' essential state was one of invisible nonphysicality. 25 Not only does this argument leave the exceptions unaccounted for. It also offers us a non sequitur: emphasis on the appearances does not necessarily imply an essential state of invisible nonphysicality. Take the more obvious implication: emphasis falls on the appearances to stress evidence of resurrection. Equal emphasis on the disappearances would be counterproductive in this respect. Moreover, given the strong emphasis on indications of physicality, the appearances imply more naturally that the risen Jesus was not usually with his disciples than that he was essentially nonphysical. To say that the risen Jesus is portrayed as having the ability to "materialize" and thereby "localize" himself assumes his essential nonphysicality rather than argues for it. The physicality of his body when he appears may equally well imply coming rather than materialization-more naturally, in fact, because the Gospels actually use verbs of coming, going ahead into Galilee, and ascending into heaven for the actions of the risen Jesus. These common verbs favor shifts in location rather than shifts in modes of being. Unless all unmarried people are ghosts, the abolition of the institution of marriage in the resurrection does not imply nonphysicality (Mark 12:25; Matt 22:30; Luke 20:35). Nor does the angel-likeness of resurrected people imply it, for there is more than one possible likeness between them and angels. Luke 20:36 makes it out to be immortality. We might also think of non-marrying as such. 26 Paul's claim that he has "seen" the Lord (1 Cor 9:1) forestalls interpreting his reference to God's revealing his Son "in" him (Gal 1:16) as an inward experience that excludes an objective vision of physical realityY Paul writes that God will destroy the belly and the foods that we eat to fill it (1 Cor 6:13). But Paul also and immediately writes that the body-that is, the present physical body-is for the Lord and the Lord for it, that it is a "member" of Christ and the "temple" of the Holy Spirit, and later that it will be raised (eh. 15). So we dare not conclude that coming destruction for the belly and its foods implies an essential nonphysicality in the resurrection. By dealing only with the present belly and its foods, this destruction in no way reflects on the makeup of the resurrected body. 28 The argument that Paul nowhere uses the phrase "the resurrection of the body" stumbles over his writing that the body is raised (1 Cor 15:44). 368
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The retort that it is a spiritual body, not a physical body, which is raised mistakes the meaning of "spiritual." Earlier, in 1 Cor 2:13, 15; 3:1, Paul used the word to describe a certain class of Christians as different from fleshly ones. He certainly was not contrasting ghostly Christians with physical Christians, and nobody understands him thus. As he himself said, spiritual Christians are those who are informed by the Holy Spirit (see the whole of 1 Cor 2:10-16). Similarly, in Col 1:9 "spiritual" describes understanding as given by the Holy Spirit, and in Gal6:1; 1 Cor 14:37 persons as filled with the Holy Spirit. Elsewhere in Paul, "spiritual" describes gifts as given by the Holy Spirit (1 Cor 12:1; 14:1; Rom 1:11); a blessing as given by the Holy Spirit (Eph 1:3; cf. vv 13-14); songs as inspired by the Holy Spirit (Eph 5:19; Col 3:16); the manna, the water-supplying rock, and the law as given by the Holy Spirit (1 Cor 10:3, 4; Rom 7:14, respectively); and the gospel ("spiritual things" in contrast with financial and other support, "fleshly things") as given by the Holy Spirit (1 Cor 9:11; Rom 15:27). Only Eph 6:12 forms an exception by putting "the spiritual things of evil" (tO: 1tVEUJ.lattK0: t'i'j~ 1tOV1lpia~) side by side with "rulerships," "authorities," and "the cosmic rulers of this darkness," all of which stand in contrast with "blood and flesh." But the contrast does not thus lie between immateriality and materiality; rather, between the weakness of human beings and the strength of superhuman beings. 29 Since throughout his letters Paul uses the word "spiritual" not for immateriality but in reference to various activities of the Holy Spirit, we should understand that the spiritual body of resurrection is brought into being by the activity of the Holy Spirit rather than by natural generation. Paul himself goes on to say as much: "the last Adam became a lifeproducing Spirit" (1 Cor 15:45)--this with specific reference to resurrection of the body, not just to eternal life in general.30 The statement that the last Adam became a life-producing Spirit links up with "the Lord is the Spirit ... the Spirit of the Lord ... from [the) Lord [the) Spirit" (2 Cor 3:17-18) to confirm a reference to the divine Spirit in a "spiritual body." "But the one joining himself to the Lord is one spirit" (1 Cor 6:17) shows that in 1 Cor 15:45 the risen Jesus' having become a spirit does not entail an essential nonphysicality, for in 1 Cor 6:17 Paul is speaking of a human being who exists in an essentially physical body. 31 So we must not infer an essential nonphysicality for the risen Jesus from the spirituality of the bodies of raised believers.32 Nor must we infer the nonphysicality of the risen Jesus from his having become a life-producing Spirit any more than in the same verse we infer the nonphysicality of the first human being Adam from his having become a living soul. True, "flesh and blood will not inherit the kingdom of God" (1 Cor 15:50). But "flesh and blood" connotes the frailty of the present mortal body, as Paul's next, synonymously parallel clause indicates: "neither does corruption inherit incorruption." He simply means that the present mortal, 369
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corruptible body will not inherit God's kingdom; and he goes on to say that this present mortal, corruptible body will put on incorruption and immortality (1 Cor 15:51-55; n.b. the neuter gender's referring to the body in v 53, and cf. Rom 8:23). This statement sounds not at all like an exchange of physicality for nonphysicality, but like an exchange of inferior physicality for superior physicality-a physicality so superior, in fact, that in 2 Cor 5:1-4 Paul will come to speak not merely of an exchange of bodily characteristics, but of putting on a new, more substantial body over the old, less substantial one. (He mixes the metaphors of dwellings and garments.) So once again we must not infer an essential nonphysicality for the risen Jesus from the incorruptibility and immortality of the bodies of raised believers. Quite the opposite! By the same token, the glory of Christ's risen body does not exclude physicality, but adorns it. 33 It is argued to the contrary that the contrast between "the body of his glory" (Phil3:21) and "the body of his flesh" (Col 1:22) shows the resurrected Jesus to be essentially unfleshly even though he might appear on occasion as having flesh and bones. 34 But this argument overlooks that in Phil 3:21 "glory" contrasts with "humiliation" and therefore does not in the least denote an unfleshly material out of which the resurrected body is made. In Col 1:22, conversely, "flesh" does identify the material out of which the crucified body of Jesus was made. Perhaps this identification militates against an incipiently gnostic denial of the incarnation (cf. 2:9). Almost certainly it distinguishes the crucified body of Jesus from his metaphorical body, the church, mentioned both before and after in the context (1:18, 24; 2:17, 19; 3:15). There is no contextual reason to think that Paul means to distinguish between the crucified and resurrected bodies of Jesus with respect to essential materiality versus essential immateriality. Paul's description of the resurrected body as axetpo1toirrrov, "not handmade," does not deny physicality,35 but denies human origin. God brings the resurrected body into being; the present mortal body is procreated humanly. Similarly, the temple not handmade (Mark 14:58) is a work of divine rather than human artisanship (cf. Acts 7:48; 17:24); the circumcision not handmade (Col 2:11) is divinely performed rather than humanly performed; the tabernacle not handmade (Heb 9:11) is divinely constructed rather than humanly constructed (cf. Heb 9:24); the stone cut out of a mountain without hands (Dan 2:34, 45) represents the kingdom of God as opposed to a human kingdom. Since this stone smites an image and breaks in pieces its iron, brass, clay, silver, and gold, the description of the stone as cut without hands cannot point to immateriality. If circumcision not handmade is nonphysical, it is so because of the description "in the divestment of the body of the flesh" (cf. Eph 2:11), not because of the description "not handmade." This latter description does not touch the question of materiality or physicality. 36 The argument that the earliest layers of the NT portrayed Jesus as per370
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sonally exalted but not as bodily resurrected, and that only later layers portrayed him as also bodily resurrected because people could not conceive of disembodied existence-this argument rests on a failure of observation and a mistaken presupposition. It fails to observe that the earliest datable tradition of what happened to Jesus after his death and burial speaks of his resurrection, not of his exaltation; and it is pre-Pauline, which makes it as early as anything we have in the NT (1 Cor 15:3-7). The argument falsely presupposes that first-century Jews-in particular, those who resisted Hellenism-found it difficult or impossible to conceive of disembodied existence. But Paul had grown up "a Hebrew of the Hebrews" (Phil 3:5), yet spoke of being away from the body and out of the body in a conscious state (2 Cor 5:6-10; 12:2-4; Phil 1:20-24). According to Matthew, the most Jewish of the Gospels, Jesus spoke of those who can "kill the body but cannot kill the soul" (10:28). According to 1 Enoch 9:3, 10 the souls of righteous martyrs make suit to God; and in 22:3 we read that certain "hollow places have been created ... that the spirits of the souls of the dead should assemble therein." According to 2 Esdr 7:75-101, at death the soul of the wicked wanders in torture and grief. Apocalypse of Moses 32:4 tells Eve that her husband Adam "has gone out of his body" and that she should "rise up and behold his spirit borne aloft to his Maker." And so on and on in non-Hellenistic as well as Hellenistic Jewish literature. 37 And we are supposed to believe that the first Jewish Christians could not conceive of a personally exalted Jesus without inventing the story of his resurrection and an empty tomb? It seems then that the NT presents us with a view of Jesus' resurrection that some people would describe, have described, as "crass" and "crude." 38 The NT may be swimming against a strong Platonic current in the stream of Western culture; but we may well hesitate to describe as crass and crude a portrayal concrete enough to examine from a historical standpoint. For historiography, too, has now become deeply embedded in Western culture-and increasingly elsewhere as well.
Notes 1 W. L. Craig, "The Bodily Resurrection of Jesus," in Gospel Perspectives, vol. 1: Studies of History and Theology in the Four Gospels, ed. R. T. France and D. Wenham (Sheffield: JSOT, 1980) 47-74. My thanks to Craig for a number of suggestions adopted here. 2 Though she does not deny the emptiness of Jesus' tomb, P. Perkins (Resurrection: New Testament Witness and Contemporary Reflection [Garden City, New York: Doubleday, 1984] 84) argues: "Nor ... can one insist that if a tomb containing the body of Jesus were to be found by archaeologists, the Christian proclamation of Jesus as the one who has been raised and exalted by God would be destroyed and with it the Christian claims about Jesus' place in salvation." Cf. the very influential book by H. Grass, Ostergeschehen und Osterberichte, 3d ed. (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1970).
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3 Cf. L. D. Weatherhead, The Resurrection of Christ in the Light of Modem Science and Psychical Research (London: Hodder, 1959) 43-57; S. H. Hooke, The Resurrection of Christ (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1967) 128-33; W. Pannenberg, Jesus-God and Man (London: SCM, 1968) 88-106 with 74-88; C. F. D. Moule, "Introduction," in The Significance of the Message of the Resurrection for Faith in Jesus Christ, ed. C. F. D. Moule, SBT (London: SCM, 1968) 9-10. Moule thinks of Jesus' material remains as being "taken up into and superseded by" a new and different mode of existence, "rather as fuel is used up into energy." This view of the resurrection then allows him to suggest elsewhere that in his preexistence Jesus had, or was, a "spiritual body" (The Origin ofChristology [New York: Cambridge University, 1977] 139-40). 4 M. J. Harris, Raised Immortal: Resurrection and Immortality in the New Testament (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1983) passim; idem, From Grave to Glory: Resurrection in the New Testament (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zondervan, 1990} passim. 5 Cf. the biblical theological description of Jesus' resurrection as eschatological and therefore as not subject, or only restrictedly subject, to the canons of historical research (so, e.g., Perkins [Resurrection, 29-30], who infers from the eschatological character of Jesus' resurrection that "the 'bodily' reality involved is discontinuous with the material reality we experience" and thus not "a miraculous intervention in the natural order, such as the revival of a corpse," and F. Mussner [Die Auferstehung Jesu, BH 7 (Miinchen: Kosel, 1969) 123-27], who goes on to weaken the connection with historical inquiry; also R. H. Fuller, The Fomzation of the Resurrection Narratives [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980] ix-x, 22-23). But why should an eschatological event be considered beyond the pale or at the fringe of historical inquiry if the event is purported to have taken place in time and space and to have provided observable evidence of its occurrence? And it takes more than an obiter dictum to establish that eschatology implies discontinuity with present materiality. See H. Harris, The Tubingen School: A Historical and Theological Investigation of the School of F. C. Baur (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker, 1990} 179-80. 6 Correctly, Harris (From Grave to Glory, 103-4) allows historical inquiry to the extent that he sees the tomb of Jesus as empty and his appearances as physical, but disallows historical inquiry to the extent that "there were no witnesses of the Resurrection itself, and in his resurrected state Jesus was normally not visible to the human eye." But the denial that Jesus' resurrection was "even an incident that could have been observed by mortal gaze" (italics added) arises out of Harris's definition of resurrection as essentially nonphysical and thereby destabilizes the basis on which he himself argues for openness to historical inquiry. In no way is the present essay intended to comment on the ecclesiastical troubles encountered by him because of the definition. Antisupematuralism does not characterize his view. 7 J. M. Robinson, "Jesus: From Easter to Valentinus (or to the Apostles' Creed}," JBL 101 (1982) 7-17; idem, Trajectories through Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971) 48-49 n. 43; Fuller, Fomzation, 45-49; cf. 32-34. J. D. G. Dunn (Jesus and the Spirit [Philadelphia: Westminster, 1975] 115-22) canvasses other views that see disparity. In Dunn's own view, the first Jewish Christians believed in a physical resurrection of Jesus; Paul substituted a nonphysical resurrection; and Luke and perhaps John reacted against Paul with a return to physical resurrection. In general against Robinson, see G. O'Collins, "Luminous Appearances of the Risen Christ," CBQ 46 (1984) 247-54; and W. L. Craig, "A Critical Examination of James Robinson's Proposed Trajectories
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14
from Easter to Valentinus and to the Apostles' Creed with Respect to the Resurrection Appearances of Christ," JSNT (forthcoming). Str-B 3:473-74,481: 4/2:815-16. Str-B 2:551; 3:475. P. Volz, Die Eschato/ogie der jildischen Gemeinde (Tiibingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1934) 249-55. Some have thought that the mention of Jesus' burial does not prepare for the raising of his physical body, but insures the reality of his physical death (see, e.g., Grass, Ostergeschehen und Osterberichte, 146-47). It is true, of course, that burial is often associated with death- but not for insurance of death; rather, as a usual consequence thereof (see the list of references provided by Grass himself). If death leads to burial, resurrection leads to a reversal of burial (cf. Ezek 37:13: "when I open your graves and bring you up from them"). And where in pre-Pauline Christianity do we find evidence of a need to insure the death of Jesus? Later, in Mark 15:44, the question is not whether Jesus has died, but whether he has died already. The later Gospels ignore this question. In 1 John 5:6-7, which does not, the coming of Jesus Christ in blood as well as water probably denies the Cerinthian or pre-Cerinthian separation of a nondying spiritual Christ from a dying physical Jesus, so that the resurrection of the indivisible Jesus Christ - if it were in view - would include the physical body. In 1 Cor 15:4 the second on disengages Jesus' resurrection from his burial no more than the first on disengages his burial from his death, and no more than the on in v 5 disengages his appearances from his resurrection. In Acts 13:30 an adversative oe, "but," forges an adversative link between the entombment of Jesus and his being raised. SeeR. H. Gundry, Soma in Biblical Theology, SNTSMS 29 (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1976; reprint ed., Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zondervan, 1987]). The criticism of this book by J. D. G. Dunn (in SIT 31 [1978] 290-91} that it proceeds on "an intention to push a line" has no argumentative value. Intentions do not determine the validity or invalidity of arguments. The second, "more serious" criticism that the book wrongly poses the issue "as a sharp either-or between soma = 'the whole person' and soma = 'the physical body alone' " stumbles over the scriptural passages cited by Dunn as undermining this either-or. One might have thought that the first one, for example, favors the either-or in that it takes a mention of the mind as well as of the body to encompass the whole person (Rom 12:1-2). Similarly, one might have thought that the future making alive of believers' mortal bodies in Rom 8:11 favors an understanding of Rom 8:10, "The body [is] dead," in terms of physical mortality, that is, proleptic death (cf. 7:25; 2 Cor 4:10-12), over Dunn's vague understanding in terms of death "in one dimension of his [the believer's] relationships" (Rom 8:10-11). This dimension would have to exclude all physicality if Dunn were to maintain his argument, "Paul can hardly mean that the physical body is dead here and now." Against Harris, From Grave to Glory, 388, where "bodily" is set against "fleshly," as though in Col 2:9 Paul means to imply that though the fullness of deity dwelt in the fleshly body of Jesus during his earthly ministry, that fullness no longer does so because Jesus now has an unfleshly body. J. M. Robinson ("Jesus: From Easter to Valentinus," 12) sees the following beatitude on those who have not seen yet believe as correcting the materialism of the risen Jesus' appearances earlier in John 20. On the contrary, by compensating for the lack of material evidence once the risen Jesus stopped appearing, the beatitude protects the materiality of his appearances.
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15 See Grass, Ostergeschehen und Osterberichte, 40-41, on the escalation of evidences for physicality in Luke 24:36--43. 16 Reading cruva/..t~OIJ.EVO<; instead of the very weakly supported cruvau/..t~OIJ.EVO<;. 17 According to G. O'Collins (Interpreting the Resurrection: Examining the Major Problems in the Stories of Jesus' Resu"ection [New York/Mahwah, New Jersey: Paulist] 47--48), Luke mitigates an excessive realism in 24:42--43 by saying in Acts 1:4 that the apostles ate with the risen Jesus, and in Acts 10:41 that they both ate and drank in his company. But Acts 1:4 says that he ate with them, not they with him, so that far from mitigating an excessive realism in Jesus' eating with the apostles, Luke has doubled his emphasis on realism; and after two statements that the risen Jesus ate, the further statement in Acts 10:41 naturally means that the apostles joined him in eating and, as to be expected, that drinking accompanied the eating. O'Collins (40-43) also considers it a problem that if the risen Jesus ate food, "We must face the questions: What happened to the food taken by the risen Jesus? Can a risen body digest food and grow?" Taking a biblical rather than systematic theological or philosophical standpoint (as throughout the present essay), we may ask for evidence that Luke and John would not have answered affirmatively these questions of digestion and elimination. It is another matter whether Paul would have so answered (see the comments below on 1 Cor 6:13, however). 18 J. E. Alsup, The Post-Resurrection Appearance Stories of the Gospel-Tradition, CThM A 5 (Stuttgart: Calwer, 1975) 239-74. 19 See, e.g., Harris, Raised Immortal, 53-51. 20 According to Harris, From Grave to Glory, 404--5, the resurrected body of Jesus "was 'customarily immaterial' in the sense that in his customary mode of existence during the forty days [of post-resurrection appearances], he did not have a material body of 'flesh and bones' .... But when, on occasion, he chose to appear to various persons in a material form, this was just as really the 'spiritual body' of Jesus as when he was not visible or tangible." So then Jesus' statement in Luke 24:39 must mean that he has flesh and bones only at the moment and that when not appearing to people, as he usually is not, he is a spirit who though having a body does not have flesh and bones. Apart from his misleading the disciples if such was the meaning, we need to ask whether under this view he got a fresh set of flesh and bones every time he appeared to people and, if not (cf. 388: "But these resurrection appearances were certainly not successive reincarnations of Christ"), where the single set was stored and how it managed to stay alive, if it did, during the longer periods of his customary immateriality, and what has happened to those flesh and bones now that he has altogether ceased appearing. Surely these questions are more telling than the question concerning the whereabouts of the risen Jesus' physical body when he was not appearing to the disciples - to which question the answer is easy: if not in heaven, incommunicado on earth. The defense that though turning into flesh and bones under earthly conditions but not under other conditions, the present body of Jesus is the same body under all conditions (392-94 [with appeals to B. F. Westcott and W. J. Sparrow-Simpson], 404--5)- this defense entails the difficulty of having flesh and bones which under unearthly conditions exist but do not exist as flesh and bones. Otherwise, we are back to the earlier questions of freshness, storage, preservation, and continuance. I regard the observation that neither the disciples nor the women who out of their means ministered to them and to Jesus are said to have offered provisions for his ordinary human need of shelter and food once he had risen (391) as a particularly weak argument from silence for the risen Jesus' essential immateriality, especially in view
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21
22
23 24
25 26
27
28 29
of his asking for food and in view of the rarity with which this sort of service to him is mentioned prior to the resurrection. Against Dunn (Jesus and the Spirit, 123-28, 131, 133), who makes Matt 28:17 his parade example of the ambiguity on the basis of which he casts doubt on the physicality of Jesus' resurrection. Harris (Raised Immortal, 20-21) suggests that some of the eleven failed to recognize Jesus because they remained at some distance from him (cf. 7tpOO'E/..9<0v in v 18a). But he appeared to all the eleven; so they all seem to have been at the same distance from him. Additionally, my colleague M. McC!ymond points out in private communication that "sudden translation of a corporeal body is no more mysterious than a sudden transformation of an incorporeal Jesus from an invisible into a visible state." We are not meant to think that John saw the physical form of a lamb, but that he saw Jesus in the physical form of a human being and described him in terms of a sacrificed lamb brought back to life with visible scars remaining. Against Harris (Raised Immortal, 121), who equates earthliness with physical decay, and heavenliness with immortality. Besides, we should avoid the assumption that resurrected saints will dwell with God and Christ forever in heaven. Establishing an earthly locale for eternal life are the doctrines of the second coming (a descent from heaven to earth -see esp. 1 Thess 4:16-17; R. H. Gundry, "The Hellenization of Dominica! Tradition and Christianization of Jewish Tradition in the Eschatology of 1-2 Thessalonians," NTS 33 [1987] 161--69 and esp. 175 n. 29, and other literature cited there against the notion that the catching up of saints to meet the Lord in the air entails a taking to heaven) and of the new creation, in which the New Jerusalem, indwelt by God and Christ, comes down out of heaven to earth (see esp. Revelation 21-22; cf. the description of the "eternal not-handmade house in the heavens," i.e., the new body, as "our building from heaven"-2 Cor 5:1-2; against Harris, Raised Immortal, 124-25; idem, From Grave to Glory, 425). To the physicality of a renewed earth is matched the physicality of resurrected saints and their resurrected Lord (cf. R. H. Gundry, "The New Jerusalem: People as Place, Not Place for People," NovT29 [1987] 254--64). Harris, Raised Immortal, 53. Against Perkins (Resurrection, 21), who thinks that the Sadducees "mock a literalist version of resurrection" and that Jesus' answer "has already accepted a hellenized spiritualizing of resurrection." On the contrary, the Sadducees mock resurrection as such, because resurrection was understood only in literalistic terms; and nonmarriage does not equate with Hellenistic spiritualization. Also against J. R. Donahue, "A Neglected Factor in the Theology of Mark," JBL 101 (1982) 574-78, from which Perkins draws; and Harris, Raised Immortal, 123-24, though on 210 Harris interprets Jesus as referring to "the angelic property of deathlessness." In Gal1:16 tv EIJ.Oi means "in my case," not "inside me." Paul is presenting the revelation as an argument that the Galatians can see personified in his experience. Dunn's explanation of Ev EIJ.Oi in terms of subjectivity (Jesus and the Spirit, 105--6, 115) slights the element of physical objectivity. Against Harris (Raised Immortal, 124), who writes," ... Paul hints that the resurrection body will not have the anatomy or physiology of the earthly body." Even R. E. Brown (The Virginal Conception and Bodily Resurrection of Jesus [New York: Paulist, 1973] 85-92), who speaks of the resurrected body as only "less physical" (italics added), succumbs somewhat to a false understanding of "spiritual" and "flesh and blood." Harris (From Grave to Glory, 195, 401-2;
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30
31 32 33 34 35 36
37 38
idem, Raised Immortal, 120-21) inclines to a definition of the spiritual body as a body animated by the human spirit which has been transfom1ed by the Holy Spirit. In support of this definition he cites the parallel with cr&IJ.a 'l'uxuc6v, a body animated by the human soul. But this definition is unnecessarily complicated. The parallel carries a contrast favoring the divine Spirit instead of, rather than in addition to, the human spirit. Any reference to the human spirit would make Paul uncharacteristically contrast the human spirit with the human soul. And we have just seen that with only a single exception, and that one having to do with superhuman rather than human spirits, his other uses of 7tVEUIJ.attJC6l; have to do solely with the Holy Spirit. Harris (From Grave to Glory, 198) sees a "potential difficulty" in saying that "the spiritual body is simply a body of flesh totally under the control of the Spirit," for then "Jesus had a spiritual body before his resurrection." But here "spiritual" means "made alive by the Spirit," not "controlled by the Spirit." So also in Rom 8:11: "And if the Spirit of the one who raised Jesus from [the] dead dwells in you, the one who raised Christ from [the] dead will make alive also your mortal bodies through his Spirit that indwells you." Against Harris, From Grave to Glory, 404. Also against Hooke, Resurrection, 55; Perkins, Resurrection, 21. Against Hooke, Resurrection, 55-56. Harris, From Grave to Glory, 387--88. As thought by Harris, Raised Immortal, 114; idem, From Grave to Glory, 195. Harris (Raised Immortal, 234} tries to steer a middle course between materiality and incorporeality, as though the resurrected body is immaterial yet corporeal: "Paul was implicitly rejecting not only a materialistic view of immortality (since it was a spiritual body) but also a spiritualistic view of immortality (since it was a spiritual body)." But what makes up the resurrected body if it is neither materialistic (made up of flesh and bones) nor spiritualistic (made up of spirit), both of which descriptions Harris rejects? His definition of "spiritual" as "animated or controlled by the spirit" does not answer this question of constitution. In the absence of an answer, one wonders whether the denial of essential materiality, i.e., essential physicality, may not derive from an assumption that an essential materiality or physicality would entail corruptibility. Harris seems to assume so, for he characterizes a physical body as corruptible and a spiritual body as incorruptible without considering the possibility of a difference between the present physical body as corruptible and a future physical body as incorruptible (121}. We need to think temporally and ethically as well as constitutionally. In the Pauline and generally biblical view, corruptibility stems from evil, not from materiality or physicality. See Gundry, Soma, 87-109. See, e.g., Perkins, Resurrection, 74 ("crudely materialistic images of resurrection"); D. E. Nineham, The Gospel of St. Mark, PGC (Baltimore: Penguin, 1963) 321 ("crudely materialistic traits").
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64 THE RESURRECTION OF JESUS OF NAZARETH Pheme Perkins Source: B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Studying the Historical Jesus: Evaluations of the State of Cu"ent Research (New Testament Tools and Studies 19; l..eiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 423-442.
Resurrection and "life of Jesus" research Schooled by the social sciences, contemporary exegetes no longer approach the question of the historical Jesus with the rationalist presuppositions of historical positivism. Consequently, Jesus as miracle-worker and charismatic eschatological prophet is well-established in scholarly reconstructions of the life of Jesus. 1 However, as John Meier rightly points out, the "historical Jesus" cannot be mistaken for the "real Jesus of Nazareth." 2 Scholars remain deeply divided over what constitutes an appropriate framework for analyzing the gospel materials and reconstructing the social and religious worlds of second temple Judaism. Even though there is widespread agreement that claims about Jesus must be plausible within the context of Palestinian Judaism, reconstructions vary so widely that even scholars who share similar methodological and theological concerns come to conflicting conclusions.3 Recent furor over the Dead Sea Scrolls has reminded the academic community of how much of that material remains to be assimilated in any understanding of Jesus of Nazareth. 4 Since our evidence for first century Jewish use of resurrection language is deeply embedded in eschatological scenarios of judgment, vindication of the righteous, a messianic age and the end of the world, evidence for first century apocalyptic imagery and the significance of human or angelic figures in the end-time plays a crucial role in any reconstruction of the earliest resurrection traditions. 5 If one insists that historical events must be intelligible as elements in a construction of Jesus of Nazareth the resurrection as such cannot be so construed.6 The continuity between the individual who died on the cross, Jesus of Nazareth, and the risen Lord, known to the community of believers as exalted with God, requires a minimal historical assertion. Resurrection language does refer to the 377
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person of Jesus of Nazareth, not merely to the subsequent experiences of his disciples. 7 The strong associations between resurrection or exaltation language and "vindication of the righteous" in Jewish sources makes the conviction "God raised Jesus from the dead," which appears to be the primitive fom1 of the confession,8 vulnerable to historical disconfirmation. Were there to be evidence that Jesus of Nazareth had been rightly executed as a blasphemer or one who betrayed his people,9 then the confession conflicts with substantive beliefs about God. From an historical point of view, such disconfirmation would leave intact most reconstructions of early Christian belief. That early Christians believed Jesus of Nazareth to have been raised up or exalted by God is not at issue. Even gnostics and others who denied the appropriateness of a bodily resurrection, presume that the heavenly revealer was temporarily associated with Jesus of Nazareth. Resurrection, indeed, applies to the revealer, which crucifixion does not. 10 If, on the other hand, one assumes with Marcion and some gnostics that Jesus intends to destroy the hegemony of the God of Israel, then crucifixion as an opponent of that god and of his worshippers would not disqualify an interpretation of resurrection as Jesus' exaltation to divine status. It would require negating other fundamental convictions such as the claim that the God of Israel raised Jesus or that Jesus' resurrection fulfils a divine plan predicted in the prophets (1 Cor 15:4a).U Noting that the resurrection of Jesus grounds the christological claim that he is exalted at God's right hand as Son of God and Lord (e.g. Rom 1:3-4: Phil 2:9-11), 12 many interpreters assume that "resurrection" refers to the post-Easter significance of Jesus. However, as James Dunn has observed in reference to Phil 2:6-8, such christological claims imply that Jesus' life reflected faithfulness to GodY To claim that "resurrection" can be described as an "eschatological event" highlights the distinction between the ordinary historical sequences of events and Christian claims that the death and resurrection of Jesus constitute God's unique gift of salvation to humanity. Only the response of faith to the preached message grasps the revelatory and salvific effect of the death and resurrection of Jesus. 14 However, some scholars have challenged the assumption that the "preached message" always invoked the saving significance of the cross and resurrection. Studies of the sayings material (Q) highlight the fact that neither the cross nor resurrection figure in the collection. Earlier scholars had assumed that the sayings collection served paraenetic ends and was always connected with some form of the passion and resurrection kerygma. More recently, scholars have insisted that the "sayings gospel" (Q) stands on its own as testimony to the living embodiment of Wisdom in Jesus. Salvation does not come through the death and exaltation of Jesus as suffering servant. Rather, salvation depends upon the transforming 378
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effect of Wisdom. 15 Even the combination of wisdom sayings material with the apocalyptic Son of Man tradition in the final redaction of Q shows no evidence of the passion/resurrection kerygma. 16
Resurrection as heavenly exaltation The earliest affirmations about the resurrection of Jesus presume that hearers are able to supply a broader context for the claim that God raised Jesus from the dead. Use of the term "appeared" with reference to particular witnesses in 1 Cor 15:3b-5 suggests that the post-resurrection appearance stories used established genres of angelophany and epiphany to externalize this primitive tradition in narrative. 17 Other scholars argue that the appearance tradition enables assimilation of the figure of Jesus to Jewish traditions about angelic, heavenly mediators. 18 Identification of the crucified and risen Jesus with the angelic Son of Man of Dan 7:13-1419 makes the risen Lord an agent of vindication both for himself (Mark 14:62) and for his persecuted followers (Mark 8:34-38).20 Some of the fragmentary texts from Qumran contribute to the catalogue of angelic mediator figures as well as to the apocalyptic practice of visionary ascent to take one's place among the angels. 21 The Transfiguration story (Mark 9:2-8 par) attributes a vision of the glorified Jesus to Peter, James and John. The episode may be a symbolic evocation of the Sinai theophany to exalt Jesus' divine sonship over Elijah and Moses. However, some interpreters suggest that the transfigured appearance and the presence of two figures widely held to have been taken up into God's presence, Moses and Elijah,22 make better sense if the scene originally referred to the risen Lord. However, the narrative context in Mark, at least, suggests an association between this passage and the coming of the Son of Man in glory. 23 The connection between the Transfiguration scene and the coming of the Son of Man is maintained by its earliest interpreter, 2 Peter (2 Pet 1:16--18). The episode as it stands does not describe Moses and Elijah as either transfigured or "translated to the divine," one cannot use the Transfiguration as evidence for a practice of apocalyptic, visionary ascent to the divine world on the part of Jesus and his disciples. 24 However, the question of apocalyptic ascent as a possible link between the historical Jesus and the early Christian identification of the risen Jesus as Son of Man does not stand or fall with the tradition-history of the Transfiguration story. Daniel12:1-3 promises that those who taught others righteousness will be exalted to angelic status at the resurrection. 25 Segal understands the identification of Enoch with the enthroned Son of Man in 1 Enoch 70-71 as a version of the transformation of such a visionary. Other passages in the Enoch material also speak of the angelic existence of the righteous (1 Enoch 104:2-4). Other Qumran texts suggest that 379
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identification with the heavenly hosts played a significant role in the piety and speculation of the sect. 26 If Jesus' death was understood as the martyrdom of a "righteous one," exaltation to heavenly status may have been a plausible conclusion in some circles of first century Judaism. Paul's discussions of the believer's transformation in the image of the risen Christ seems to be dependent upon such mystical traditions. 27 If Jesus, himself, used the symbolic language of Dan 7:13-14 or related Son of Man traditions, then he may have anticipated some form of divine vindication. 28 The current state of research on the relevant Qumran materials does not permit more than speculative proposals about possible connections between apocalyptic angelology and the Jesus tradition. However, this proposal points out the difficulty of divorcing early Christianity from the speculative world of apocalyptic eschatology. "Resurrection" as such is only a minor player in the larger system of symbolic statements about God's relationship to the suffering righteous. Their heavenly exaltation, glorious transformation or ongoing life in the presence of God as well as the scenario of a divine judgment rendered against the persecutors or the wicked are the structurally significant elements in such discourse. Christian understanding of the exalted Jesus as Lord with the associated communal practices of worship, individual transformation into the likeness of Christ and the ongoing experience of the presence of the Lord transformed a minor symbol of vindication into the crucial hinge of christology and soteriology.29 Since the question posed for this essay was resurrection and the "historical Jesus," we are asking what preceded the Christian kerygma. Many theologians today would reject such a question. One may provide speculative reconstructions about the mental state of Jesus' disciples during and after the crucifixion and their subsequent experience of a healing conversion.30 One may even insist that such conversion could not have resulted merely from an inner-psychic process by which the disciples rearticulated their pre-Easter experiences with Jesus as one who made God's Rule present and effective. 31 The interpretations given in both visions and accounts of the tomb indicate that Jesus' followers were met by a Jesus whom they did not expect and whose post-mortem existence was more than the vindication of his personal witness to God. As the Transfiguration story suggested, this Jesus has a final, decisive role in God's plan. The exchange between Jesus and the disciples which Mark attaches to the scene (Mark 9:9-13) associates that position with the cross and resurrection.32 How might the connection between the death of Jesus and his resurrection be construed prior to this soteriological interpretation? We have noted that scholars who reconstruct a primitive stratum of the sayings tradition which eliminates all apocalyptic speculation about the Son of Man propose a primitive soteriology which has nothing to do with either the
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death or resurrection of Jesus. Identified with Wisdom as her spokesperson, Jesus mediates salvation to those who hear and are transformed by his word. The immortality of a non-apocalyptic Jesus is guaranteed by his identification with Wisdom. 33 The other side, which we find more plausible,34 holds that the historical Jesus used the apocalyptic imagery of his time to describe both God's present and future rule. Such teaching must address the suffering, marginal status of the "righteous" whose fidelity to God's plan set them at odds with the dominant powers of the age. Did Jesus also anticipate his own or a communal vindication as enthronement with an angelic figure like the "son of Man" in Dan 7:13-14? A preMarkan tradition behind the reply to the High Priest in Mark 14:62 might suggest that he did. Craig Evans has suggested that the plausibility of Jesus' condemnation on charges of blasphemy requires some identification with a heavenly figure that could be seen as equivalent to selfdivinization.35 Further evidence of vindication by exaltation to the divine throne of judgment appears in the Q saying that designates the disciples as judges over Israel (Matt 19:28 =Luke 22:28-30). 36 Although it has become customary to treat the resurrection from a Pauline perspective that assumes the crucifixion of Jesus to be a scandal which must be overcome, the exaltation of the persecuted Righteous One can easily accommodate the crucifixion. Though attempts to read a "crucified teacher" back into the Qumran material 37 remain unconvincing, persecution and vindication of the righteous and their Teacher is wellestablished. The Qumran texts do provide evidence that crucifixion was used against their own people by Jewish leaders to whom the sect is opposed.38 Sectarian legal ordinances seek to specify those crimes for which the penalty of Deut 21:22-23 is appropriate: betraying Israel to a foreign power or blaspheming/cursing God. John 11:45-53 assimilates the high priest's decision to execute Jesus to the charge of handing Israel over to a foreign power. Left unchecked, Jesus' activities would lead the Romans to destroy the Temple and the nation. Jesus' public opposition to the established authorities in the Jerusalem Temple provides sufficient motive for religious officials to seek his execution. 39 Recent sociological studies of the ruling authorities and the power structure in first century Judea have shown that the legitimacy of both the civic and religious leadership among the Jews was very weak. Herod's rise to power and the civil strife that followed his death had demonlished the plausible claimants to legitimacy among the aristocracy and substituted a class whose claims were based on wealth, loyalty to particular Herodian rulers and the pleasure of Rome. 40 Executions for political expediency were as much a fact of life in first century Palestine as they are in many Latin American countries today. The mode of Jesus' death reflects his lack of social standing, not the particular gravity of the crime. 41 Judgments passed by authorities whose popular legitimacy is weak and explicitly 381
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challenged by the condemned do not discredit the victim. If the predictions of suffering and death are derived from sayings of the historical Jesus, 42 his death at the hands of the "wicked" might be seen as confirming his teaching. The difficulty with interpreting Jesus as one of the suffering righteous, who anticipated his own suffering and entrusted his vindication to God, lies in the gospel account of Jesus' followers. Betrayal, denial and flight implicate them in the "handing over" of their Teacher. We customarily excuse the flight and denial by assuming that had the disciples remained they would have been executed along with Jesus. Perhaps. However, the brief notice in Mark 6:29 raises a question about that conviction. Mark notes that the disciples of John the Baptist retrieved his body for burial. And relatives retrieved and buried the body of another first century victim of crucifixion, Jehohanan. 43 Both examples suggest that the bodies of executed persons could be turned over to disciples or family. Rounding up the disciples of a charismatic leader may not have been common. Whether or not Jesus' disciples could have retrieved his body, may have more to do with social status than personal danger. Such a request would have to be made on their behalf by someone with access to Pilate. The socioeconomic turmoil of the period had destroyed the traditional aristocracy who would nonnally serve as intermediaries between the populace and governing authorities. The gospel narratives "fill in" the missing aristocratic patron in the persons of Joseph of Arimathea, who obtains the body of Jesus (Mark 15:42-45), and the disciple known to the High Priest, who secures Peter's admission to the courtyard (John 18:16). Would Jesus' disciples have been in such total disarray if Jesus' teaching had prepared them for persecution and martyrdom? Some interpreters think that this fact provides a strong piece of evidence against the proposal that Jesus anticipated his own suffering and vindication. A social sciences approach to the evidence suggests otherwise. As we have noted, Jesus and his followers lacked suitable patrons among the Jerusalem aristocracy. Since patronage relationships were critical to all dealings with officials, persons without such access had little hope of fair treatment. A second line of argument can be developed from studies of charismatic leaders and their disciples.44 The charismatic leader must constantly legitimate his or her claim to obedience in confrontations or tests that demonstrate effective spiritual power. The followers of a charismatic leader may become dependent upon that individual's ability to orchestrate new experiences of the divine: ... charisma, despite its initial successes and promises to enhance the power of the followers of endowed leader, tends to leave individuals in a state of helplessness as they wait for fresh infusions of divine grace: for parousias and apocalypses and the return of magical endowments. 45 382
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The dependence of Jesus' disciples on their leader provides an explanation for the confusion which attended his arrest and execution. At the same time, the analysis of charismatic leaders and their followers raises questions about the subsequent conversion of the disciples as evidence for the objective reality of the resurrection. C. E. B. Cranfield cites the transformation of the frightened disciples into fearless witnesses as first in his list of events which serve as evidence for the truth of the resurrection. He comments, "This astounding transformation of the disciples presupposes a sufficient cause, something which was enough to convince them that Jesus was alive." 46 On the contrary, the dynamics of charismatic leadership focuses the experience of divine grace in the individual. Consequently, Jesus' presence is a condition for the disciples' experience of God's effective power, even if Jesus, himself, resisted the authoritarian dynamic associated with charismatic leaders. 47 Given a religious symbol system which provided for the possibility of a post-mortem translation into the presence of God, the disciples could have experienced the renewal of their faith as conclusive evidence that Jesus lives, exalted in God's presence. Cranfield points to a more difficult problem for understanding "resurrection" solely from the perspective of the disciples' experience in the question of its eschatological timing. 48 Jewish accounts of the resurrection of the righteous like that in Dan 12:1-3 presume that it represents the endtime manifestation of God's justice. With the entire world remaining the same and the "wicked" secure in their positions of power, what possible sense could it make for the followers of Jesus to allege that God had raised him from the dead? Only an experience that carried with it powerful evidence that Jesus of Nazareth indeed lives could generate such a counterintuitive message. Similarly, in Paul's case, the appearance of the risen Jesus had to overcome strong, well-articulated resistance to such a belief. 49 Though the argument from eschatological implausibility seems to weigh in strongly on the side of the resurrection of Jesus as pointing to "objective experiences" on the part of those who claimed to have seen the Lord, we must admit that the traditions of heavenly ascent and angelic identification weaken its significance. End-time judgment does not form a strong element in these traditions. Ascent into the presence of the angelic host whether through mystical experiences in this life or after death in the next points to an immediately realized eschatology rather than an extended delay. Within an apocalyptic scenario like Dan 12:1-3, the righteous who now "sleep in the earth" will soon be awakened when Michael has defeated the oppressors of Israel.
Resurrection from the grave The Dan 12:1-3 example highlights one reason for the eschatological delay, the link between "resurrection" language and raising persons from 383
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the grave. The body sleeps in the dust. Only God's end-time act of redemption overcomes the conditions of physical mortality. T. Judah 25:4, like Daniel 12, anticipates a selective resurrection of those who have died for the Lord's sake along with the patriarchs. Their return to life reconstitutes the tribes of Israel. 50 Jubilees 23:30-31 reflects some ambiguity over the fates of the bodies and spirit of the righteous: And then the Lord will heal his servants, and they will rise up and see great peace. And they will drive out their enemies, and the righteous ones will see and give praise, and rejoice forever and ever with joy; and they will see all of their judgments and their curses among their enemies. And their bones will rest in the earth, and their spirits will increase in joy, and they will know that the Lord is an executor of judgment; but he will show mercy to hundreds and thousands, to all who love himY The passage does not indicate whether or not the spirits of those resting in the tombs have ascended to God's presence at death or only rejoice at the end-time judgment. 52 The universalizing of God's judgment in 4 Ezra contains similar perplexities. In 4 Ezra 7:32-34 the seven day return of creation to primeval silence precedes the judgment. Somehow the "bodies" which rest in the earth persist through that period. 53 The souls are stored separately in the "chambers" to which they go after death. 4 Ezra 4:34-35 speaks of the souls of the righteous preserved in such chambers. Some passages like 4 Ezra 7:32 and 101 seem to assume that all souls go to "chambers" after death while others suggest that only the righteous exist there. The uncertainties in Jubilees and 4 Ezra suggest that in some circles the righteous may assume a quasi-heavenly existence after their death. Resurrection "from the tomb," that is of the bones which rest there, is more tightly bound to the eschatology of end-time judgment than the fate of an individual's spirit. Paul's discussion of resurrection in 1 Cor 15:42-50 suggests that he presumes that Jesus' resurrection was not merely the heavenly ascent of his spirit similar to the apostle's own experience (2 Cor 12:2-4). Had he any reason to assume that Jesus' bones remained "sleeping in the earth" Paul would hardly have made this argument. Therefore, it seems reasonable to agree that omission of a reference to the "empty tomb" in 1 Cor 15:3b-5 does not imply that Paul was unaware of such a tradition. 54 But the uncertainty in our other examples makes it less evident that the earliest believers would have concluded that Jesus' ascent to heavenly glory required that his body no longer remained in the tomb. In order to reach that conclusion, further affirmations about Jesus' personal identity seem to be required. The Transfiguration story associated Jesus with Elijah and Moses. In both instances, first century traditions speak of a figure being "taken up to God." Both Enoch (Gen 5:24) and
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Elijah (2 Kgs 2:11) were said to have been taken up bodily in Scripture. Although Moses is said to have been buried by God in an unknown location (Deut 34:5-6), a similar ascent is presumed for Moses. Philo's account treats the death of Moses as a divinizing identification with the mind and complete disentanglement from the elements. Unlike the patriarchs, Moses was not "added to" his ancestors (Sac. 8--10).55 In all of these cases, no known tomb exists. Even though Moses was said to have been buried by God, the later tradition treats him like Enoch and Elijah. There is no "body" to be found resting in the earth. These examples suggest that any christological affirmation which exalts Jesus over these figures would carry an associated conviction that his body could not be found in a tomb. The christological developments reflected in the Pauline epistles and in the Transfiguration would be disrupted by the discovery of Jesus' bones resting in the tomb. However, we cannot agree that such a development would have conclusively disconfirmed all Christian proclamation of the exalted/risen Lord. 56 Identification of the exalted Jesus with an angelic mediator to the point of declaring that he is appropriately worshipped as the one who bears the divine name would seem to conflict with evidence that Jesus' post-mortem fate remained that of the patriarchs and other "righteous ones." But some form of spiritual exaltation and transformation through association with the angels would have remained a possibility. If the symbolic constraints of resurrection language in first century Judaism are weighted toward but do not absolutely require absence of physical remains, then we cannot assume that the tradition of an empty tomb was a late tradition formulated to support the resurrection kerygrna. We would agree with those scholars who insist that the resurrection kerygma found in the canonical texts would not have assumed its present shape without the belief that Jesus' body was no longer in the grave. Consideration of the empty tomb brings us to the event, which many interpreters consider to be the one plausible "historical fact" associated with the resurrection of Jesus. 57 Of itself, an empty tomb proves nothing. Inscriptions consistently warn would-be tomb robbers, apparently with little effect. A body newly buried in a carved rock tomb, which clearly indicates that its occupant was a person of some wealth, would be a potential target. 58 Although Mark appears dependent upon an earlier account of the tomb story, the extensive verbal links between Mark 16:1-8 and the preceding passion narrative make it difficult to argue that it ever constituted an independent tradition. 59 As we have already seen, the conviction that Jesus had been raised and exalted to divine glory might suggest to a first century Jewish audience that there was no body to be found. The angel's words to the women seem to underline that point. Even nonJewish readers would be familiar with the apotheosis of figures like Hercules and the assertions that the emperor's spirit ascended from the 385
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funeral pyre to be with the gods. 60 The reader knows that Jesus has been raised (Mark 9:9) and that he was anointed for burial prior to the passion (Mark 14:8). The women's gesture in Mark's account focuses attention on the fact that the body is not present. 61 Certainly the weight of early Christian tradition held that Jesus' body did not remain in the grave. Those hints in the gospels which appear to answer objections also presume that what must be explained is the missing body. Guards are posted to keep disciples from stealing the body (Matt 27:62-66).62 Jesus' appearance relieves Mary Magdalene's suspicion that someone might have taken the body (John 20:2, 15). All surviving accounts of the empty tomb are integrated into the passion narrative of their respective gospels and are interpreted by a revelation of the Easter kerygma.
The burial of Jesus However, other questions might be put to the gospel reports concerning the burial of Jesus. We have already noted the peculiar circumstances that Jesus' corpse was turned over to a stranger for burial. Betz has pointed out that the motivation attributed to Joseph in John 19:31, preventing the bodies from remaining on the cross during the Sabbath, can be understood in the light of the Essene adoption of Deut 21:23b to apply to crucifixion. Deuteronomy forbids leaving the bodies of those hanged overnight lest they defile the land. Since Joseph is alleged to be a pious member of the Sanhedrin (Mark 15:43) the motive for such an action should be read as concern for the Law, not particular regard for Jesus. However, the Johannine version highlights an element already present in the newly hewn tomb and the new linen shroud of the Johannine account, Jesus was buried with the honor accorded a person of status, not as a criminal or even as a common person. John 19:39-41 alludes to an excessive amount of spices, clearly suitable to a royal burial.63 The motive supplied by llQTemple 64:11-13 does not require "honored burial," and the historian should be cautious about crediting the details of the gospel account without additional evidence. Studies of Roman evidence indicate that family tombs frequently do not contain more than two generations. An individual's tomb was usually constructed by a close relative designated to see to commemorating the deceased. Even in burial associations, commemorators left evidence of their endeavors. The detailed rules for such associations also provided payment for others when they could provide proof of having buried members, who had died at too great a distance to be returned home. 64 Joseph of Arimathea has been assimilated to the model of the close kin commemorator for an individual wealthy enough to have a free standing tomb. However, the facts of Jesus' case are closer to the situation which afflicted many Roman 386
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families, death and burial so far from home that the actual disposition of a person's remains was unknown. Many died while on military service and were not commemorated with a family memorial. 65 Similar anxieties may have afflicted Jewish families. A section ofT. Job, which Pesch uses to illustrate the link between heavenly life and lack of earthly remains,66 illustrates this point. When Job's wife wants to dig out the remains of her children buried under their collapsed house, her husband refuses. Job insists that no bones can be found, since their children were taken directly to heaven. In order to persuade mocking bystanders that he is telling the truth, Job asks God to intervene. A vision of the children crowned in heaven demonstrates the point (T. Job 39). When Job's wife dies, she is buried near her children. At that, bystanders comment on the fact that she has not received a decent burial (T. Job 40). Both examples involve instances of death and burial in which the normal social conventions could not be observed. In the first, the mother is consoled over the disastrous loss of her children with the assurance that they are living in heaven. In the second, her choice of burial apparently outside an appropriate family tomb appears dishonorable to outsiders. Gundry reads Mark's depiction of the burial of Jesus as a dignified burial designed to overcome the shame of the crossY We have already questioned the assumption that Jesus' execution would have automatically been considered shameful. Jesus' death is no more disgraceful than that of John the Baptist. The dilemma is in the burial-or rather the failure of relatives, friends or disciples to take such action on Jesus' behalf. Like Job's wife, the women who come to the tomb after the fact are attempting to undo what cannot be reversed. Like the rest of Jesus' disciples, the women flee from the tomb in uncomprehending silence.68 Since the angel directs the reader's attention away from the tomb to Jesus' promised reunion with his disciples in Galilee (16:7; 14:28), the "empty tomb" story in Mark can be understood as an "apology" for the failure of Jesus' relatives, friends and disciples to bury him. Mark provides a further "apologetic" note when he underlines the "daring" ('toA.~flcra~) shown by Joseph when he requested the body from Pilate. 69 Just as Job's wife is excused from excavating the "non-existent" corpses of her children, so Jesus' disciples had no pressing obligation to bury their master. 70 The sayings tradition which has no direct concern with the cross or resurrection of Jesus does address the issue of burial. It preserves Jesus' word to a would-be disciple that excuses failure to perform the most solemn obligation of a son, to bury one's father (Luke 9:59--60 = Matt 8:21-22). The "Q" saying may reflect a challenge to the willingness of the individual to follow Jesus since it is not clear whether an actual burial is at stake or merely a play for time, that is, the son will return when he no longer has filial obligations to his father because he has buried him. 71 However, the break with firmly established piety in both Greco-Roman and Jewish 387
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tradition envisaged by the saying may have also applied to the case of Jesus. The urgent task of preaching the message of God's Reign before the coming of the Son of Man in judgment leaves no place for their pieties of burial--{}r interest in Jesus' tomb. Social historians emphasize the significance of burial rituals in the ongoing transmission of authority from one generation to the next. Roman aristocratic funerals with the procession of ancestral funeral masks and recital of the place of the deceased among illustrious ancestors played a crucial role in preserving social order and civic values. 72 Fenn has suggested that the impiety of the Herodian monarchs reflects the crises over succession in Palestinian society. Herod, desperate for cash, violated the tomb of David (Josephus, Ant. 16.7.1 §179-181). In order for life to continue from one generation to the next, the dead must be treated properly.73 After Herod's bodyguards were burned in their attempt to enter the chamber, Herod decorates the entrance with a memorial of white marble. Josephus alleges that his source reported Herod's decoration of David's tomb without referring to the impiety which preceded it. This omission was attributed to Nicolas' need to curry favor with the Herodian monarch. Josephus insists that because he comes from a family that is truly descended from kings and priests he has no need to make such accommodation. He will honor truth more than the ruling kings. Herod Antipas' willingness to build the city of Tiberias over a cemetery (Ant. 18.2.3 §36-38) evidences continued disregard for the dead in the Herodian family. 74 Despite the magnificence of the new city, only impoverished Jews could be compelled to live there. Another Q saying attacks Jesus' generation for being like white-washed tombs, beautiful to look at but full of decay (Matt 23:27-28) and claiming that it would never have killed the prophets whose tombs it now decorates (Matt 23:29-40 = Luke 11:47-48). Both sayings reflect the ambiguities of the Herodian period. A society which has lost its traditional sources of legitimacy shores up what it can by building monuments. Josephus appealed to his Roman audience by citing his distinguished ancestry to prove that he would tell the truth about the illegitimate rulers of Judea. Jesus, on the other hand, redefines all ties to family in terms of the Kingdom. Only those who "do the will of God" count as his kin (Mark 3:31-35). Jesus' attack on family piety stood as a direct threat to society's task of reproducing itself from one generation to the next. 75 The obligations associated with burial and honors paid the deceased tied each generation to its roots in the family and society.
Resurrection as the foundation of the Jesus movement The Jesus movement broke all such bonds in the name of the coming reign of God. Fenn observes that the "empty tomb of Jesus" is the most radical expression of the dissolution of social ties: 388
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For the living, however, to pay one's dues to the dead is to own up to one's obligations to one's society for life itself.... To "let the dead bury the dead" or to believe in an empty tomb would be to cut one's ties with the community of origin once and for all. 76 Indeed, the living presence of the risen Jesus made it unnecessary for the early community to resolve the problem of succession by discovering a disciple to whom its leader's charisma had passed. The source of life is not found in ancestral and social ties. Though less frequently commented upon, Jesus' attack on the tomb is no less radical than his critique of the Temple. From the social-sciences perspective, the empty tomb is the only possible "monument" for a charismatic leader who rejected the claims of the past in the name of the Reign of God. Our brief survey demonstrates that there is no element of early Christian belief in Jesus of Nazareth that is not marked by the "resurrection." Even the radical discipleship depicted in the sayings source (0) depends upon Jesus' challenge to social and familial ties, a challenge which culminates in his own empty tomb. We have also seen that to say what the confession that "God raised Jesus from the dead" meant to those who first used it requires a reconstruction of the teaching and ministry of Jesus. Jesus as the one who suffers for leading others to God may well anticipate vindication as exaltation in the presence of God. The plausibility of claims about Jesus' resurrection depends upon how his life and ministry are evaluated. There is no "non-partisan" statement about the resurrection of Jesus. Only those who are convinced that a special revelation of God occurred in the life and teaching of Jesus of Nazareth can be persuaded that God raised Jesus of Nazareth from the dead. The entire weight of early tradition shows that both the teaching of Jesus, himself, and the earliest understanding of "resurrection" suggests that there should be a genuinely empty tomb. No bones. Indeed, no monument. As St. Paul put it in his attempt to grasp the significance of Christian transformation in the risen Christ, "For it is the God who said, 'Let light shine out of darkness,' who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ" (2 Cor 4:6).
Notes 1 See Craig A. Evans. "Life-of-Jesus Research and the Eclipse of Mythology," TS 54 (1993) 3-36; for a defense of the possibility of making claims about the "historical Jesus" on the basis of historical critical methods applied to canonical traditions, see John P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (ABRL; Garden City: Doubleday, 1991) 21-40, 165-201. 2 Meier, Marginal Jew, 24-26. 3 See the dispute over whether or not Jesus' teaching about "love of enemy" is to be applied to the larger political turmoil of first century Palestine or was
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4
5
6
7 8 9 10 11
12
13 14 15 16 17 18
formulated with the tensions of peasant villagers in mind between Waiter Wink and Richard Horsley in Willard Swartley (ed.), The Love of Enemy and Nonretaliation in the New Testament (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1992) 72-136. Cf. James H. Charlesworth (ed.), Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls (ABRL; Garden City: Doubleday, 1992); though both the transcriptions and translations are problematic and will have to be revised in the course of scholarly debate, a provisional account of the newer material can be found in Robert Eisenman and Michael Wise, The Dead Sea Scrolls Uncovered (Rockport: Element, 1992). See George W. E. Nickelsburg, Resurrection, Immortality and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism (HTS 26; Cambridge: Harvard University, 1972); H. C. C. Cavallin, Life After Death: Paul's Argument for the Resurrection of the Dead in I Cor I5. Part I: An Enquiry into the Jewish Background (Lund: Gleerup, 1974); Pheme Perkins, Resurrection. New Testament Witness and Contemporary Reflection (Garden City: Doubleday, 1984) 37-69. So Gerald O'Collins, "Is the Resurrection an 'Historical' Event?" Hey] 8 (1967) 381-87; Peter Camley, The Structure of Resurrection Belief (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987) 29-95; K. M. Worschitz, "Ostererscheinungen-Grundlage des Glaubens," Diakonia 22 (1991) 6-17; Donald J. Goergen, The Death and Resurrection of Jesus (Wilmington: Michael Glazier, 1988) 71-158. E.g. Goergen, Death and Resurrection, 130. Cf. Paul-Gerhard Klumbies, "'Ostem' als Gottesbekenntnis und der Wandel zur Christusverkiindigung," ZNW 83 (1992) 163-64. The cases for which the Temple Scroll saw crucifixion as legitimate punishment (see Otto Betz, "Jesus and the Temple Scroll," in Charlesworth [ed.], Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 80-83). On resurrection in Gnostic accounts, see Perkins, Resurrection, 343-62. The phrase, "on the third day," may be the tag which directed believers to the fulfilment of Scripture. The best solution to the origins of that expression as an allusion to Scripture remains Hos 6:2 LXX. However, that link may be too weak to support the claim that the detail was generated by the Old Testament text, since Hosea does not appear in connection with the resurrection in early sources (soW. L. Craig, "The Historicity of the Empty Tomb of Jesus," NTS 31 [1985] 39-67, esp. 45). The primitive, pre-Pauline formulae in these passages attach the christological titles to the exalted Jesus rather than to the historical ministry; cf. lames D. G. Dunn, Christology in the Making (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1980) 33-35, 118-19. Dunn, Christology, 121: "In other words, Phi! 2.6-8 is probably intended to affirm that Christ's earthly life was an embodiment of grace from beginning to end, of giving away in contrast to the selfish grasping of Adam's sin.... " Cf. the discussion of resurrection as an eschatological event in Carnley, Resurrection Belief, 96-147. Cf. John S. Kloppenborg, "Easter-Faith and the Sayings Gospel Q," Semeia 49 (1990) 77-90. Kloppenborg, "Easter-Faith," 88. Salvation comes to those who suffer for the sake of the Son of Man. Cf. John E. Alsup, The Post-Resurrection Appearance Stories of the Gospel Tradition (London: SPCK, 1975); Perkins, Resurrection, 88-90. Cf. Alan Segal, "The Risen Christ and the Angelic Mediator Figures," m Charlesworth ( ed. ), Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 302-28.
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19 On the Son of Man in Dan 7 as an angelic figure, see John J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Vision of the Book of Daniel (HSM 16; Missoula: Scholars, 1977) 123-52. John E. Goldingay agrees that some angelic figure is probably intended but notes the deliberate opacity of the vision in Daniel 7 which makes any certain identification problematic (Daniel [WBC 30; Dallas: Word, 1989) 167-72). He rejects Collins's method of reading details from later chapters back into chapter 7 (p. 172). 20 Vindication of the persecuted links these Son of Man sayings with the context of Daniel 7. There the enthronement of the Son of Man as judge and ruler over the nations serves as vindication for the persecuted of Israel; cf. Nickelsburg, Resurrection, 76-77. 21 E.g. 4049111 i 12-19; Morton Smith emphasizes the possibility that this fragment does not refer to an angelic being ascending to his seat as the original editor thought but to the praxis of visionary ascent ("Two Ascended to Heaven-Jesus and the Author of 40491," in Charlesworth (ed.), Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 296-98). 22 Cf. James D. Tabor," 'Returning to the Divinity': Josephus's Portrayal of the Disappearances of Enoch, Elijah and Moses." JBL 108 (1989) 225-38. 23 Cf. Robert H. Gundry, Mark: A Commentary on His Apology for the Cross (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993) 458-59. 24 See Gundry, Mark, 466-81; Smith (Two Ascended," 291-94) has used evidence from a second century apocryphal Mark fragment and the various references to the "mystery" and presence of the Kingdom of God to argue that Jesus founded a movement centered on baptismal initiation and heavenly ascent. 25 Cf. Nickelsburg, Resurrection, 24. 26 Se gal, "Angelic Mediator Figures," 304-308. 27 Cf. 2 Cor 3:18-4:6; Phil3:10, 20--21: 1 Cor 15:42-51; so Segal, "Angelic Mediator Figures," 314-18. 28 Though many interpreters remain firmly oposed to attributing such apocalyptic imagery to Jesus, himself, that hypothesis coheres with the early use of a symbolic identification which does not appear outside the gospels. For an argument that Jesus must have introduced speculation on the Son of Man into the tradition see Adela Yarbro Collins, "The Origin and Designation of Jesus as 'Son of Man'," HTR 80 (1987) 391--407. 29 Camley (Resurrection Belief, 184-85) rightly emphasizes the importance of faith as present experience of the risen Lord. Modem theological discussion has been kidnapped by the historicity question to focusing on the status of resurrection as "past event." The presence of the risen Lord is the dominant category in the New Testament witness; cf. Perkins, Resurrection, 257-91. 30 As Edward Schillebeeckx has done in his attempt to ground Christology in the historical Jesus as eschatological prophet (Jesus: An Experiment in Christology (trans. Hubert Hoskins: New York: Seabury, 1979)320--97). 31 As Schillebeeckx has rightly insisted against those who reduce "resurrection" to the emergence offaith in the disciples (cf. Jesus, 394-97). 32 Gundry, Mark, 462-63. 33 This primitive Wisdom Christology has become a prominent feature in feminist reinterpretation of early Christianity. See e.g. Gail Corrington, Her Image of Salvation: Female Saviors and Formative Christianity (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1992) 118-39. 34 For an argument with regard to the style of Jesus' teaching, see Pheme Perkins, Jesus as Teacher (UJT: Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1990) 38-61. 35 Craig A. Evans, "In What Sense 'Blasphemy'? Jesus before Caiaphas in Mark
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36 37 38 39 40
41
42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57
14:61--64," in E. H. Lovering (ed.), Society of Biblical Literature 1991 Seminar Papers (SBLSP 30; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991) 215-34. Evans, "In What Sense," 228-29. Evans also points to the request by the sons of Zebedee for places at Jesus' right and left hands (Mark 10:37-40 par). E.g. Eisenman and Wise, Dead Sea Scrolls, 29, on 40285. llQTemple 64:6-13; 4QpNah 1:7--8; Betz, "Jesus and the Temple Scroll," 81--85. Cf. Craig A. Evans, "Opposition to the Temple: Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls," in Charlesworth (ed.), Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 235-53. See Marvin Goodman, The Ruling Class of Judea: The Origins of the Jewish Revolt against Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1987); Richard Fenn, The Death of Herod: An Essay in the Sociology of Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1992). Since similar crises of social legitimacy did not exist elsewhere in the empire, the gravity of Jesus' crucifixion and its potential for "scandal" may have been much higher as Paul's treatment suggests. The association between the cross and God's "curse" in Gal 3:13 appears to have been created by Paul on exegetical grounds. Betz ("Jesus and the Temple Scroll," 90-91) suggests that Paul read Isa 53:5 to assert that the suffering servant was "cursed" for our transgressions. llQTemple 64:12 describes those who are legally crucified as "cursed" by God. The combination of suffering discipleship, possible death and vindication in Mark 8:34-38 could reflect authentic Jesus traditions (so Gundry, Mark, 434-39, 448-56). See the discussion of this find in Joe Zias and James H. Charlesworth, "CRUCIFIXION: Archaeology, Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls," in Charlesworth (ed.), Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 279--85. Cf. Fenn, Death of Herod, 145-56. Fenn, Death of Herod, 147-48. C. E. B. Cranfield, "The Resurrection of Jesus Christ," ExpTim 101 (1990) 169. As Fenn (Death of Herod, 148) argues that he did. Cranfield, "Resurrection," 169. Cranfield, "Resurrection," 169. Nickelsburg, Resurrection, 34-35. Translated by O.S. Wintermute, "Jubilees," in James H. Charlesworth (ed.), The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (2 vols., Garden City: Doubleday, 1985) 2.102. Nickelsburg, Resurrection, 32-33. Cf. Michael Stone, Fourth Ezra (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990) 217. Cf. Gordon D. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians (NIC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987) 725-26. Cf. Tabor, "Returning to the Divinity," 227, 235-36. Contrary to Cranfield's confident assertion ("Resurrection," 171-72). See the defense of the historicity of the empty tomb tradition by Craig, "The Historicity of the Empty Tomb," 39--67. Craig not only argues for the historicity of the empty tomb itself, he also defends the historical veracity of most of the details associated with the story. In order to do so, he invokes the authority of the Beloved Disciple for the divergent elements in the Johannine tradition (p. 55). We do not think that such a harmonizing selection of details provides access to the pre-Markan tradition which recounted the discovery that Jesus' tomb was empty (cf. Perkins, Resurrection, 91-95). One line of tradition claims an angelophany or a christophany as the source of the women's conviction that
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58
59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68
69
70 71 72 73 74
Jesus is not to be found in the tomb. Actual inspection of the tomb may have been a subsequent development in the tradition. See Pheme Perkins, " 'I Have Seen the Lord' (John 20:18): Women Witnesses to the Resurrection," Int 46 (1992) 38---41. For a discussion of social class and Roman tomb construction, see Keith Hopkins, Death and Renewal (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1983) 205--17; a "free-standing" carved tomb appears to be what is implied by Mark's description, which would have been a clear indication of high social status (so Gundry, Mark, 982). Cf. Rudolf Pesch, Das Markusevangelium. II Teil Kommentar zu Kap. 8,27-I6,20 (HTKNT 2.2; Freiburg: Herder, 1977) 518-21. Pesch, Markusevangelium, 522-25. Pesch, Markusevangelium, 527. Each section of the chapter describes their actions in relationship to the grave. A tradition that has been formulated after the Easter kerygma was wellestablished as the reference to the "third day" in 27:64 indicates. Cf. Betz, "Jesus and the Temple Scroll," 90-91. Hopkins, Death, 205-207,216-17. Hopkins, Death, 207. Pesch, Markusevangelium, 525. Gundry, Mark, 930. Perkins, Resurrection, 114-24; also see Andrew T. Lincoln, "The Promise and the Failure: Mark 16:7-8," JBL 108 (1989) 283-300. There is no reason to supply an additional ending to Mark; nor does his portrayal of the women's flight suggest any positive reason for their actions. The negative associations which the Markan narrative has established around flight and fear are highlighted. Lincoln suggests that the narrative deliberately downplays resurrection. The suffering Christians among Mark's readers will recognize that Jesus' promise holds despite failure (whether of the disciples or their own). Consequently, they can anticipate vindication from the exalted Son of Man at the Parousia (pp. 298-300). Cf. Gundry, Mark, 980. Within the broader context of the narrative pattern of vindication of the righteous sufferer which shaped much of the Jewish resurrection tradition, Joseph's behavior may have expressed another element, the "enemies" are shown up. E. Best (The Temptation and Passion: The Markan Soteriology [SNTSMS 2; 2nd ed., Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1990] xlvii) points out that the centurion's confession (Mark 15:39) fills the role of "conversion of the torturers" in the martyr schema. By making the pious Joseph a "respected councilor" (i.e. member of the Sanhedrin), Mark completes the "reversal of enemies" schema. As we have already noted, social prominence would be required of anyone who would gain access to Pilate. Given such status, an individual would not necessarily have reason to "fear" making the request. The element of courage is probably a Markan addition in view of the situation of his own community. This reading of the Markan empty tomb story makes it highly unlikely that the episode was formulated to provide the aetiology for early Christian rites at the tomb of Jesus. See the discussion of the saying in Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I-IX (AB 28; Garden City: Doubleday, 1981) 835-36. Cf. Hopkins, Death, 201-202. Fenn, Death of Herod, 36. Fenn (Death of Herod, 41) considers this episode a provocation to insurrection.
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75 So Fenn, Death of Herod, 40. 76 Fenn, Death of Herod, 46.
Abbreviations AB ABRL ExpTim Heyl HSM HTKNT HTR HTS Int JBL NIC NTS SBLSP SNTSMS TS UJT WBC ZNW
Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Reference Library Expository Times Heythrop Journal Harvard Semitic Monographs Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Harvard Theological Review Harvard Theological Studies Interpretation Journal of Biblical Literature New International Commentary New Testament Studies Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series Theological Studies Understanding Jesus Today Word Biblical Commentary Zeitschrift fUr die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft
394
65
THE RESURRECTION OF JESUS CHRIST C. E. B. Cranfield Source: On Romans and Other New Testament Essays (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1998), pp. 137-150.
About the importance accorded to the resurrection of Jesus Christ in the New Testament there can hardly be any doubt. It is referred to explicitly and with emphasis in seventeen of the twenty-seven books. These seventeen include all four Gospels, the Acts of the Apostles, Romans and 1 and 2 Corinthians, 1 while the ten which do not explicitly mention it include the seven shortest and slightest books. 2 And those New Testament books, which contain no explicit reference to the Resurrection, may anyway be said to imply it. It may truly be said that they 'breathe the Resurrection'. 3 Without the existence of belief in Jesus as risen from the dead, their existence is hardly explicable. Many passages indicate very clearly the centrality of the Resurrection. One of the most striking is Romans 10.9 ('Because if thou shalt confess with thy mouth Jesus as Lord, and shalt believe in thy heart that God raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved'); for it makes it abundantly clear that, for Paul, belief that God has raised Jesus from the dead is the decisive and characteristic belief of Christians. Similarly clear is his statement in 1 Corinthians 15.14 that 'if Christ bath not been raised, then is our preaching vain, your faith also is vain'. We may set beside these Pauline examples the words of 1 Peter 1.3 ('Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to his great mercy begat us again unto a living hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead') and the characterization by the author of Acts of the apostles' preaching as 'their witness of the resurrection of the Lord Jesus'. 4 If then the Resurrection is so central to the faith of the New Testament, it clearly matters tremendously whether the affirmation that Jesus was raised from the dead is true or not. If our study of the New Testament is serious, we are bound sooner or later to ask, 'Was Jesus of Nazareth really raised from the dead?' Can we, or can we not, respond to the Easter greeting, 395
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'Christ is risen', with our own 'He is risen indeed', with intellectual and moral integrity? I shall attempt here, first, to consider the main objections urged against the truth of the affirmation that Jesus was raised from the dead; secondly, to set out the main arguments which may be brought in support of it; and, thirdly, to indicate the conclusion to which I personally come.
I 1. The New Testament contains no narrative of the actual raising of Jesus (according to the New Testament that was an event which no moral eye saw), but it does contain several accounts of incidents associated with it, namely, the discovery of the empty tomb and the resurrection appearances. The first of the objections which have to be considered is that there are a number of apparent discrepancies between these accounts. (i)
(ii)
(iii)
(iv)
(v)
Luke 23.56 seems to indicate that it was before the sabbath began that the women prepared their spices and ointments, whereas according to Mark 16.1 they waited till the sabbath was over before buying their spices. As to the time when the women came to the tomb on the first day of the week, Mark surprisingly qualifies his 'very early' by 'when the sun was risen', which seems to contradict it (the Western variant which gives the sense 'as the sun was rising' looks like an attempt to remove the difficulty). The 'at early dawn' of Luke 24.1 and 'while it was yet dark' of John 20.1 agree with Mark's 'very early', but not with his 'when the sun was risen'. Matthew's 'late on the sabbath day, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week' (28.1) would seem to indicate Saturday evening after sundown, when (according to Jewish reckoning) the first day of the week was beginning. According to Mark 16.1 (compare Luke 24.1) the women's purpose was to anoint the body; but Matthew 28.1 gives as their intention simply 'to see the sepulchre'. As to the number and names of the women who came to the tomb there is a puzzling variation. According to Mark there were three, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome; according to Matthew 28.1 there were two, Mary Magdalene and 'the other Mary'. Luke 24.10 names three women, two of whom are the same as in Mark, while Joanna replaces Salome (there is also a reference to 'the other women with them'). According to John 20.1, 11 and 18, Mary Magdalene was apparently alone. 5 According to Mark 16.5 and Matthew 28.5, one angel appears to the women: in Luke 24.4 (compare v. 23) and John 20.12 two angels are seen. 396
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(vi)
The effect of the angel's (or angels') words on the women is variously represented. Mark 16.8 tells us that the women 'went out, and fled from the tomb; for trembling and astonishment had come upon them: and they said nothing to any one; for they were afraid'. Matthew also mentions their fear, but couples with it 'great joy', and adds that they 'ran to bring his disciples word' (28.8). Luke says that they returned from the tomb, and told all these things to the eleven, and to all the rest' (24.9). In John the angels do not give the command, but Jesus himself gives it and Mary obeys. (vii) In contrast with all four Gospels, Paul says nothing of any visit of women (or of a woman) to the tomb. (viii) While all four Gospels testify to the tomb's being empty, Paul does not mention the tomb at all. (ix) 1 Corinthians 15.5 seems to imply that the first person to see the risen Lord was Peter. Luke 24.34 agrees with this. But Matthew 28.9 (compare 28.1), John 20.14-17 and the Markan appendix (Mark 16.9) agree that Jesus appeared first either to Mary Magdalene alone or to her and 'the other Mary'. Mark 16.1-8 says nothing about an appearance of Jesus himself to the women. (x) Mark 14.28 and 16.7 point to a resurrection appearance in Galilee, though Mark's own text stops at 16.8 without any appearance's having been related. Matthew does record such an appearance (28.16ff), preceded by one to the women in Jerusalem (28.9f). John 20 relates appearances in Jerusalem, John 21 appearances in Galilee. Luke stands apart somewhat awkwardly, in that he not only records appearances only in Jerusalem and its neighbourhood, but also by his omission of any parallel to Mark 14.28, his pointed alteration of Mark 16.7 (Luke 24.6f) and his inclusion of the command to tarry in Jerusalem in 24.49 (compare Acts 1.4) seems to be deliberately ruling out the possibility of a Galilean appearance. Some further discrepancies can be discerned; but these which have been listed would seem to be the most significant. Of these the first six are not, I think, particularly serious. Differences between the accounts of eyewitnesses of quite ordinary events are a common enough phenomenon. And, if the Resurrection really did happen, the incidents associated with it were certainly not just ordinary events. That there should be signs of disturbance and strain in the human testimony would not be surprising. With regard to (vii), we need not infer that Paul did not know of the part played by the women. His omission of them in 1 Corinthians 15.4ff is adequately explained on the assumption that he specially wanted to cite witnesses who would be as generally acceptable as possible. In Jewish legal practice women were not accepted as credible witnesses except in certain limited areas of life, and in Gentile society too their position in regard to the law was inferior 397
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to that of men.6 With regard to (viii), Paul's omission of any reference to the tomb goes naturally with his not mentioning the women as witnesses. To conclude from it that Paul and the earliest tradition must have known nothing of the empty tomb is quite unjustifiable. The emptiness of the tomb is almost certainly implied by the mention of burial between 'died' and 'hath been raised' in 1 Corinthians 15.4. With regard to (ix), the disagreement as to who was the first to see the risen Lord, the part played by concern that the testimony should be generally acceptable is to be recognized. With regard to (x), it is to be noted that Luke, who appears to be intent on excluding the tradition of appearances in Galilee, is also the one who, by specifying forty days as the period between the resurrection and the ascension, underlines the fact that there was ample time to allow for appearances both in Jerusalem and its neighbourhood and also in Galilee. 2. The presence of an angel or angels in the Gospel Easter narratives is probably for a good many people an additional reason for doubting the truth of the Resurrection. On this it may simply be said that, while angels as generally depicted in Christian art are indeed incredible, the possibility that the angels of the Bible may be a quite different matter should not be ignored. It would be wise at least to consider Karl Barth's discussion of the angels in Church Dogmatics 111/3, pp. 369-519/ before we decide either to dismiss the Easter angel as a legendary accretion or to appeal to his presence in the story as a reason for rejecting the truth of the Resurrection itself. 3. But the most important objection of all is, without doubt, simply the apparent sheer, stark, utter impossibility of the thing. For Jews of New Testament times, who believed in the final, eschatological resurrection, the idea that that final resurrection had, in the case of one man, been accomplished already was unthinkable. For the vast multitudes of modem men and women, to whom it seems perfectly obvious that death is the end, the manifest, incontrovertible, irreversible termination of a human life, the claim that Jesus was raised from the dead is nonsense, its folly apparent as soon as it is uttered. And this conviction that death is the end does seem to give modem man a certain sense of security. At least, when things are going well for him, he can enjoy his brittle triumphs, strut a while in pride and forget about his limits. But the message of the Resurrection threatens even this illusory sense of security. It opens up a vast vista of the unknown, mocking man's self-importance. To entertain the thought of it is to suffer all one's ordinary preconceptions to be called in question. No wonder it is so earnestly resisted. Whether this third and strongest objection is outweighed by what will be set out below remains to be seen.
n The main things which may be said in support of the truth of the Resurrection must now be indicated. 398
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1. The transformation of the disciples may be mentioned first. There is no reason to question the historicity of their frightened and dejected condition at the time of the death of Jesus, as portrayed in the Gospels (e.g. Mark 14.50, 66--72; John 20.19). It is not something which the early church would have been inclined to invent. Besides, it is something we could safely have taken for granted, even without the testimony of the Gospels, as the natural, the inevitable, consequence of what they had experienced. But it is evident that within a few weeks of the Crucifixion these same disciples had become bold and energetic witnesses of a risen Christ. Leaving aside the testimony of the early chapters of Acts, we have firm enough evidence of this transformation in what Paul says of his own persecution of the church (1 Cor. 15.9; Gal. 1.13). Already within - at the very most - five or six years of the Crucifixion so many had been won by the disciples' witness, that the young Pharisee was moved to mount a strenuous and energetic campaign against the followers of Jesus. This astounding transformation of the disciples presupposes a sufficient cause, something which was enough to convince them that Jesus was alive. 2. The second piece of evidence is the conversion and subsequent life and work of the apostle Paul. His most extended testimony to the fact of the Resurrection is in 1 Corinthians 15. Here, writing in AD 53 or 54 (more than a decade before the earliest of the Gospels), he reminds the Corinthian Christians of the tradition which he had passed on to them when he was in Corinth (probably in AD 50-51). As he indicates that the tradition he passed on he had himself received, the implication would seem to be that what is said in the latter part of v. 3 and in vv. 4-7 is the church's basic tradition which he had received in the earliest days of his Christian life. In v. 8 he adds his personal testimony: 'And last of all, as unto one born out of due time,8 he appeared also to me.' In connection with Paul's conversion a number of points must be made. (i)
(ii)
(iii)
It cannot be maintained at all plausibly that this zealous persecutor of the disciples was in any way predisposed to accept the truth of the Resurrection. Having committed himself so publicly to the attempt to root out the new movement as something mischievous, he had a personal interest in not believing. For him to accept that Jesus had been raised from the dead was a volte-face involving a high degree of personal humiliation. As one who had been working in conjunction with the Jewish authorities, he is likely to have been well acquainted with their views on the ministry of Jesus and subsequent events. He must surely have known what answer or answers they were giving to the claim that he was risen. His unquestionable intellectual power (about which no one who has been at all seriously engaged in the study of the Epistle to the Romans is likely to have any doubts) must be taken into account. 399
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(iv)
He was clearly a deeply religious man, fully aware how serious a thing it would be to bear false witness about God by proclaiming that God raised Jesus from the dead, if in fact he did not raise him (compare 1 Cor. 15.15). The testimony of this man, with his background, his qualities, his character, with his mind which has left us so much authentic evidence of its workings (in -at the very least- 1 and 2 Corinthians, Galatians and Romans), I personally find extraordinarily convincing.
3. A third thing to mention is the striking prominence of women in the Gospel Easter narratives. Reference has already been made, in connection with Paul's omitting female witnesses in 1 Corinthians 15.4ff, to the fact that women were not acceptable witnesses in Jewish legal practice. It made sense to cite only those whose testimony stood a real chance of being taken seriously. The fact that these traditions, in which women featured so prominently, were nevertheless preserved would seem to indicate the presence of a high regard for historical truthfulness. That such traditions could be inventions of the community seems inconceivable, since they flouted accepted ideas about credible witness, were liable to attract ridicule 9 and, furthermore, ran counter to the natural tendency to magnify the apostles (since they represent the women as receiving the news of the Resurrection before them). This third thing, then, which is inexplicable except as genuine historical reminiscence, would seem to be a further pointer to the truth of the Resurrection. 4. The undisputed fact that, in spite of all that the sabbath meant to Jews and although Jesus himself had loyally observed it all his life (even if not always in such a way as to satisfy his critics), Jewish as well as Gentile Christians soon came to regard the first day of the week as the special day for Christian worship 10 is highly significant. The replacement of sabbath by Lord's day presupposes a sufficient cause - nothing less than, at the very least, an extraordinarily strong conviction of an event's having taken place on the first day of the week which could be seen as transcending in importance even God's 'rest' after completing his work of creation. 5. Another thing to be said in support of the truth of the Resurrection is that, before the event, neither the women nor the disciples had the slightest expectation of their Master's being raised from the dead before the general eschatological resurrection. The early church, convinced that Jesus had been raised, certainly searched the Old Testament for passages which could be taken to foretell the Resurrection: but there is no reason to believe that the Old Testament had suggested to the disciples, before the first Easter Day, any hope of this sort. That the various predictions of the Passion (in particular, Mark 8.31; 9.31; 10.32-34), if in their present form made by Jesus himself (something which is, of course, strongly denied by many), were not understood by the disciples at the time, seems clear enough. 400
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6. There is also the highly significant fact that neither the Jewish nor the Roman authorities ever produced evidence to disprove the claim that Jesus had been raised. The Jewish authorities, in particular, had every reason to want to do so, and they must surely have been in a position to interrogate and search thoroughly. Rumours of what the disciples were saying can scarcely have failed to get to the ears of authority within a few days of the Crucifixion, even if the audacious public proclamation of the Resurrection did not start till Pentecost. The chances of finding the body, if the claim that Jesus was risen was not true, must surely at that early date have been quite good. The Sanhedrin must have known that the most effective way to be rid of what they regarded as a dangerous movement would be to produce the body, and knowing this they must surely have instituted an energetic search. The fact that with the will and the powers and resources they surely had, they never produced the body must count as a significant consideration in favour of the truth of the Resurrection. 7. Last of all must be mentioned the continuance of the Christian church through nineteen and a half centuries, in spite of bitter and often prolonged persecution, in spite of all its own terrible unworthiness and incredible follies, in spite of its divisions, and in spite of all the changes which the passing years and centuries have brought. The fact that the church still produces today (as it has produced in all the past centuries of its existence) human beings, who, trusting in Jesus Christ crucified, risen and exalted, show in their lives, for all their frailty, a recognizable beginning of being freed from self for God and neighbour, is a not unimpressive pointer to the truth of the Resurrection.
ID It will, I think, be helpful at this point to attempt some clarification of the two basic alternatives between which we have to choose: (a) Jesus was raised from the dead; and (b) Jesus was not raised from the dead. With regard to (a), it must be said that we are concerned with the affirmation of
the New Testament and of the church's creeds that Jesus was raised. We must therefore put aside two views of the Resurrection which are sometimes proposed: first, that according to which it is possible to believe in the Resurrection without believing that the crucified body was raised; and, secondly, that which insists that the risen body is simply the crucified body resuscitated, possessed of exactly the same properties as it had before death. Both these views must, I believe, be rejected as inconsistent with the witness of the New Testament. In support of the former, appeal is made to Paul's failure to mention the empty tomb; but the sequence 'died ... was buried ... hath been raised' in 1 Corinthians 15.3f surely implies it, as does Paul's use of the language of 'raising' here and elsewhere. It would seem that there never was in the early church a belief in the Resurrection which did not involve belief 401
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that the tomb was empty. A supposed belief in the Resurrection without belief that the tomb was empty must surely be classified as acceptance of basic alternative (b), not as acceptance of basic alternative (a). As to the latter view, it is contradicted by the way the New Testament represents the risen Jesus as appearing and vanishing, becoming less or more recognizable (e.g. Luke 24.16, 31; John 20.14-16), and passing through closed doors (John 20.19, 26; cf. vv. 6 and 7, in which it seems to be suggested that the body had been mysteriously withdrawn from the cloths, leaving them collapsed where they were). The New Testament attests the risen body's being the same body as was crucified (Luke 24.39-40; John 20.27), but the same body wonderfully changed, transfornted into a glorious body, no longer subject to the limitations of Jesus' historicallife.U With regard to basic alternative (b), clarification is achieved when we recognize that to accept it means coming to one of three conclusions: either, the church's belief that Jesus was raised from the dead is based on a fraud; or, it is based on a mistake; or, it is based on some combination of fraud and mistake. It would seem, then, that there are, in all, four alternatives from which we have to choose: (i) (ii) (iii) (iv)
The Christian affinnation of the Resurrection has its origin in a fraud; It has its origin in a mistake; It has its origin in some sort of combination of fraud and mistake; It is true.
With regard to (i), Matthew 27.62-66 and 28.11-15 are evidence that the explanation of the Resurrection as a fraud perpetrated by the disciples, who had stolen the body of Jesus and then announced that he had been raised from the dead, was current among the Jews at the time of the composition of Matthew. We may accept that, were a fraud really at the bottom of the matter, the disciples (and the women) would be the only - even remotely - likely perpetrators of it. No one else is at all likely to have had an interest in the propagation of such a falsehood. The Jewish and Roman authorities had, in fact, a very strong interest in Jesus's being securely dead. But the objections to this first alternative are formidable indeed. What motive could the disciples have had for embarking upon such a fraud? Is it really likely that they would have succeeded not only in disposing of the body (in the circumstances, perhaps itself not a very easy task) but also in convincing a large number of people that they had seen the risen Jesus (1 Cor. 15.5-8)? Do not the discrepancies and unevennesses between the various accounts of the visits to the tomb and of the Resurrection appearances weigh against the credibility of such a theory (one would have expected the perpetrators of a concerted deception to have taken more care to make their stories agree)? Would such a fraud account for that transformation of the disciples to which reference has already been made? And, last and most telling of all, is it possible to reconcile responsibility for 402
THE RESURRECTION OF JESUS CHRIST
the conception and carrying out of such a fraud with what we know of the character and conduct of the earliest Christians? 12 Alternative (ii) can take more than one form. There is the explanation of the Resurrection appearances as hallucinatory experiences. But there is no evidence to suggest that the disciples or the women were in such a state of mind as would have made them liable to this sort of hallucination. They were not expecting any resurrection before the final one at the end of history (the reflection attributed to the chief priests and Pharisees in Matthew 27.63 hardly accords with the disciples' understanding of Jesus' teaching during his ministry); and their Jewish background would hardly have made them susceptible to such hallucinations. Moreover, the experiencing of hallucinations by so many different individuals and groups as are listed in 1 Corinthians 15.5-8 or are represented in the Gospels as seeing the risen Jesus, and in such varied situations, is hard to envisage. There is also the suggestion that the women went to the wrong tomb by mistake. But it is extremely difficult to imagine how the mistake would not have been quickly corrected. Is it really plausible to maintain that the transformation of the disciples was simply the result of a misunderstanding or of an illusion born of hallucination? Does such an explanation of belief in the Resurrection do justice to the fact that the earliest church included at any rate one or two people of the intellectual calibre of the apostle Paul? With regard to (iii). it is possible to imagine various combinations of mistake and deception: for example, a mistake about the identity of the tomb combined with the invention of appearances, or a stealing and secretly disposing of the body combined with hallucinatory appearances, but none seems at all plausible. In fact, alternative (iii) seems even less convincing than (i) or (ii). Would not such a mixture of mistake and deceit have had even less chance of being sustained for long than either the one thing or the other? It seems to me that alternative (iv), hard to accept though it undoubtedly is, is the least incredible of the four- by a long way. The position seems. then. to be that, while the discovery of the dead bones of Jesus would indeed. as C. K. Barrett has rightly maintained,B conclusively disprove the church"s doctrine of the Resurrection and utterly destroy Christian faith. no amount of scientific, historical-critical or other scholarly activity can prove conclusively that the Resurrection is true. A positive proof of its truth is just not to be had by such means. Certainty with regard to it can come to us only by the work of the Holy Spirit making us free to belie\e. But it seems to me that the evidence available to us- and I have tried now a good many times to weigh it as carefully and honestly and objectively as I can - is such that, though I cannot prove by historical-critical methods that God raised Jesus from the dead, I can believe it without in any way violating my intellectual or moral integrity. For myself. I must declare that I do indeed confidently believe it. 403
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Notes 1 The rest of the seventeen are Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, 1 Thessalonians, 2 Timothy, Hebrews, 1 Peter and Revelation. (On the fact that the only direct reference to the Resurrection of Christ in Hebrews is in 13.20 see C. E. B. Cranfield, The Bible and Christian Life, Edinburgh, 1985, p. 146.) 2 Namely, 2 Thessalonians, Titus, Philemon, 2 Peter, 2 and 3 John and Jude. 3 The Epistle of James might seem to be an exception; but on it see Cranfield, op. cit., pp. 151ff. 4 Acts 4.33; cf. 1.22; 2.32; 3.15; 5.32; 10.41; 13.31. 5 Though the first person plural in John 20.2 ('we know not') is possibly a trace of the involvement of more than one woman. 6 That Paul's not mentioning the women here was due to a personal antipathy to women is disproved by, among other things, the notable prominence of female names in Romans 16. 7 For a brief account of this, reference may be made toW. A. Whitehouse, The Authority of Grace, Edinburgh, 1981, pp. 47-52. 8 The sense of 'as unto one born out of due time' is uncertain. Is Paul alluding to the difference between his seeing the risen Lord after the Ascension and the preAscension Resurrection appearances? But the natural significance of ektroma has to do not with unduly late, but with unduly early, birth, denoting that which is not yet properly formed and ready to be born. C. K. Barrett, A Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians, London, 1968, p. 344, suggests that it could be said that 'in comparison with other apostles who had accompanied Jesus during his ministry he had been born without the due period of gestation'. Could it perhaps be that Paul's thought is rather of the fact that he was still a furious persecutor of the disciples when he was apprehended by Christ - so in a real sense extremely unprepared, something not properly formed, an ugly thing? The way Paul continues in v. 9 (note the 'For') might seem to support this suggestion: 'For I am the least of the apostles, that am not worthy to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.' This seems preferable both to the suggestion that Paul is taking up a reproach levelled against him by his opponents and also to the suggestion that Paul means 'that he has seen by anticipation the glory of Christ as that will be manifest in the Parousia' (S. Neill and T. Wright, The Interpretation of the New Testament 1861-1986, Oxford, 1988, p. 308, n. 1). 9 We catch a glimpse in the New Testament itself of the sort of ridicule which could have been expected, in the reference to 'old wives' fables' in 1 Timothy 4.7 and in what is said about the fecklessness of 'silly women' and the ease with which they can be led astray in 2 Timothy 3.6f. For material illustrative of ancient Jewish, Greek and Roman attitudes to women reference may be made to the article on yuvfl in G. Kittel and G. Friedrich (ed.), TWNT, Stuttgart, 1933--79, Vol. 1 (Eng. tr. by G. W. Bromiley, TDNT, 1964ff). 10 Cf. Acts 20.7; 1 Corinthians 16.2; Revelation 1.10 (perhaps); Didache 14.1. 11 It is scarcely fair to press Luke 24.42f and Acts 10.41 as proof that the author of Luke and Acts must have entertained a different view. Why should we assume that he could not have thought that the risen Jesus could partake of earthly food and drink, not because his risen body needed them, but for the sake of his disciples? 12 The suggestion, which has been made, that Jesus was not really dead, but mistaken for dead, and revived in the tomb, does indeed offer a motive for the disciples' deception (to protect Jesus); but otherwise it is exposed to all the objections to alternative (i), and to others besides. 13 Barrett, op. cit., p. 349.
404
THE HISTORICAL JESUS
THE HISTORICAL JESUS Critical Concepts in Religious Studies
Edited by Craig A. Evans
Volume IV Lives of Jesus and Jesus Outside the Bible
!1 Routledge !~ Taylor &. Francls Group LONDON AND NEW YORK
First published 2004 by Routledge 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 Rout/edge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group
Editorial matter and selection © 2004 Craig A. Evans; individual owners retain copyright in their own material Typeset in Times by Wearset Ltd, Boldon, Tyne and Wear Printed and bound in Great Britain by MPG Books Ltd, Bodmin, Cornwall All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested.
ISBN 0-415-32750-4 (Set) ISBN 0-415-32754-7 (Volume IV) Publisher's Note References within each chapter are as they appear in the original complete work.
CONTENTS
VOLUME IV
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
Acknowledgements
IX
1
Introduction to volume IV PARTl
Lives of Jesus
3
66 Chapters VIII-XII from The Life of Jesus
5
ERNEST RENAN
67 The public life of Christ to the time of his arrest
31
F. E. D. SCHLEIERMACHER
57
68 A great day in the life of Jesus F. W. FARRAR
69 The healing of the woman - Christ's personal appearance the raising of Jairus' daughter ALFRED EDERSHEIM
•
67
85
70 Jesus and the Messiahship WILHELM BOUSSET
71 The crisis in Galilee
90
MAURICE GOGUEL
72 The recognition of Jesus by men
122
WILLIAM BARCLAY
V
CONTENTS
73 Discipleship and the Kingdom
130
E. W. SAUNDERS
149
74 The upper room EVERETT F. HARRISON
PART2
Jesus Outside tbe Bible
161
Jesus in the Agrapha and Extracanonical Gospels
161
75 'Unwritten' sayings and Apocryphal Gospels
163
F. F. BRUCE
76 Extracanonical parables and the historical Jesus
186
WILLIAM D. STROKER
77 Jesus in the agrapha and apocryphal gospels
210
JAMES H. CHARLESWORTH AND CRAIG A. EVANS
Gospel of Peter
263
78 The Gospel of Peter and canonical Gospel priority
265
RA YMOND E. BROWN
Gospel of Thomas
289
79 The Gospel of Thomas: a secondary Gospel
291
KLYNE R. SNODGRASS
Papyrus Egerton 2
309
80 Papyrus Egerton 2 (the Unknown Gospel) -part of the Gospel of Peter?
311
DAVID F. WRIGHT
Secret Gospel of Mark
331
81 The relation of "The Secret Gospel of Mark" to the Fourth Gospel
333
RAYMOND E. BROWN
vi
CONTENTS
Jesus in non-Christian Sources
353
82 Research on the historical Jesus today: Jesus and the Pseudepigrapha, the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Nag Hammadi Codices, Josephus, and archaeology
355
JAMES H. CHARLESWORTH
83 Jesus in non-Christian sources
375
CRAIG A. EVANS
409
Index
vii
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Volume IV
Thee publishers would like to thank the following for permission to reprint their material: Random House for permission to reprint Ernest Renan, Chapters VIII-XII from The Life of Jesus (New York: Random, 1955), pp. 84-130.
F. E. D. Schleiermacher, "The public life of Christ to the time of his arrest", in J. C. Verheyden (ed.), The Life of Jesus, translated by S. Maclean Gilmour (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975), pp. 156--188. Copyright© 19R5 Fortress Press (www.fortresspress.com). Used by permission of Augsburg Fortress. Penguin for permission to reprint F. W. Farrar, "A great day in the life of Jesus", in Life of Christ (New York: Dutton, 1874), pp. 227-243. Prcntice Hall for permission to reprint E. W. Saunders, "Discipleship and the Kingdom", in Jesus in the Gospels (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: PrenticeHall, 1967), pp. 184-204. Everett F. Harrison, "The upper room", in A Short Life of Christ,© 1968 Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co. (Grand Rapids, MI, USA). Used by permission. Hodder & Stoughton for permission to reprint F. F. Bruce, "'Unwritten' Sayings and Apocryphal Gospels", in Jesus and Christian Origins Outside the New Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974), pp. 82-109. Brill Academic Publishers for permission to reprint James H. Charlesworth and Craig A. Evans, "Jesus in the agrapha and apocryphal gospels", in B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Studying the Historical Jesus: Evaluations of the State of Current Research (New Testament Tools and Studies li.J; Lciden: Brill, 1994), pp. 479-533. Raymond E. Brown, "The Gospel of Peter and canonical Gospel priority", New Testament Studies, 33, 1987, pp. 321-343. © Cambridge University Press, reprinted with permission. ix
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Klyne R. Snodgrass, "The Gospel of Thomas: a secondary Gospel", Second Century, 7, 1989, pp. 19-30. Copyright© The Johns Hopkins University Press. Reprinted with permission of The Johns Hopkins University Press. David F. Wright, "Papyrus Egerton 2 (the Unknown Gospel)- part of the Gospel of Peter?", Second Century, 5, 1985-1986, pp. 129-150. Copyright ©The Johns Hopkins University Press. Reprinted with permission of The Johns Hopkins University Press. The Catholic Biblical Association of America for permission to reprint Raymond E. Brown, "The relation of 'The Secret Gospel of Mark' to the Fourth Gospel", Catholic Biblical Quarterly, 36,1974, pp. 466--485. Princeton Seminary Bulletin for permission to reprint James H. Charlesworth, "Research on the historical Jesus today: Jesus and the Pseudepigrapha, the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Nag Hammadi Codices, Josephus, and archaeology", Princeton Seminary Bulletin, 6, 1985, pp. 98-115. Brill Academic Publishers for permission to reprint Craig A. Evans, "Jesus in non-Christian sources", in B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Studying the Historical Jesus: Evaluations of the State of Current Research (New Testament Tools and Studies 19; Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 443-478.
Disclaimer The publishers have made every effort to contact authors/copyright holders of works reprinted in The Historical Jesus: Critical Concepts in Religious Studies. This has not been possible in every case, however, and we would welcome correspondence from those individuals/companies who we have been unable to trace.
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INTRODUCTION TO VOLUME IV Lives of Jesus and Jesus outside the Bible
The nineteenth-century quest for the historical Jesus largely consists of a great number of books that constructed lives of Jesus. In this volume are excerpts from some of the classic attempts to do just that. Although it is no longer fashionable to write lives of Jesus, in essence that is the goal of Jesus research, which hopes ultimately to describe and appreciate the life of Jesus. Many of the old lives of Jesus were little more than syntheses of the portraits of Jesus offered by the New Testament Gospels, with some ingredients added from later Church tradition. In more recent years it has become fashionable to explore the less conventional and less known portraits· of Jesus found in sources outside the Bible, and in some instances, outside of the Christian sphere itself.
Part 1: Lives of Jesus The goal of a life of Jesus is to trace the development of Jesus' life, teaching, and ministry, from the beginning of his public ministry (perhaps even from his childhood) to his death in Jerusalem. Most of these lives assume that the materials in the Gospels are in chronological order. Accordingly, writers of these lives believed that they could infer the very mind of Jesus, as his ministry unfolded. Scholars today are less sanguine about these attempts. It is recognized that the Gospel materials are seldom in chronological order (except perhaps in the most general terms) and that the logical progression of the narratives has more to do with the respective evangelists than with eyewitness recollection. Moreover, it is also recognized that the Gospels do not provide us with the kind of information that is needed if one is to trace the development of Jesus' thinking. Often what happens is that the scholar writing a life of Jesus imposes upon the sources his or her an own perspective, values, and preferences. Nevertheless, the lives of Jesus are worthy of study, for in them scholars struggled to make sense of the narratives, to find coherence and
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meaningful development. In criticizing these efforts we are able to appreciate more fully how challenging the task is and how limited our sources of information really are.
Part 2: Jesus outside the Bible Finally, sources outside the Bible should be taken into account. Some of these sources are Christian. These include Gospels and Gospel-like sources. Some of these are preserved as quotations in Christian writing. In writers such as Jerome, Clement of Alexandria, Origen, and others we hear of the Gospel of the Nazarenes, the Gospel of the Hebrews, the Gospel of the Ebionites, and so forth. The extra-canonical Gospels that scholars today regard as most important are the Gospel of Thomas, the Gospel of Peter, the Egerton Gospel (or Papyrus Egerton 2), and the Secret Gospel of Mark. These latter four sources are treated in Chapters reprinted in this volume. The so-called Secret Gospel of Mark is an interesting case, for it may well be a modern forgery. Some suspect this, not only because no one besides the late Morton Smith has actually seen it (written in the back of an old book, "discovered" by Smith in the Mar Saba Monastery in Israel in 1958), but the discovery itself bears an uncanny resemblance to a fictional work published in 1940, in which a long-lost extra-canonical Gospel source -embarrassing to Christianity- is discovered at Mar Saba (cf. James Hogg Hunter, The Mystery of Mar Saba [New York and Toronto: Evangelical Publishers, 1940]). There also is a host of sayings of Jesus, called agrapha (because they are "not written" in the New Testament Gospels) found in a variety of sources, Christian and otherwise. And of course, there were non-Christian writers, like Josephus, Suetonius, Tacitus, Lucian, and Pliny, who refer to Jesus and/or to his followers. These isolated sayings and related traditions are also treated in chapters in this volume. The principal value of this extra-canonical material is the perspective that it offers. It gives the historian the opportunity to compare the New Testament Gospels - which the Christian Church included in its canon of Scripture - with those sources, which either the Christian Church rejected or which were written by people outside the Church. Often these sources in various ways shed light on or lend nuance to our understanding of the biblical sources.
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Part 1 LIVES OF JESUS
66 CHAPTERS VIII-XII FROM THE LIFE OF JESUS Ernest Renan Source: The Life of Jesus (New York: Random, 1955), pp. 84-130. (Originally published as /.11 Vie de Jesus, Paris: Michel Levy Freres, 1R63.)
Jesus at Capernaum We shall find that Jesus, possessed by an idea that gradually grows more and more imperiously exclusive, will proceed henceforth with a kind of fatal impassibility along the path marked out by his astonishing genius and the extraordinary circumstances in which he lived. Hitherto he had only confided his thoughts to a few persons secretly attracted to him; henceforward his teaching was given in public and drew popular attention. He was about thirty years of age. The little group of hearers which had accompanied him to John the Baptist had increased no doubt, and perhaps some of John's disciples had attached themselves to him. It was with this first nucleus of a Church that he boldly announced, on his return to Galilee, the ''good tidings of the kingdom of God." This kingdom was at hand, and it was he, Jesus, who was that "Son of Man" whom Daniel in his vision had beheld as the divine herald of the last and supreme revelation. It must be remembered that in Jewish ideas, which were opposed to art and mythology, the simple form of man had a superiority over those of the Cherubim and fantastic animals which the imagination of the people, since it had been under Assyrian influence, had ranged around the Divine Majesty. Already, in Ezekiel, the Being seated on the supreme throne, far above the monsters of the mysterious chariot, the great revealer of prophetic visions, has the figure of a man. In the book of Daniel, in the midst of the vision of the empires, represented by animals, at the moment when the great judgment begins and the books are being opened, a Being "like unto a Son of man" advances towards the Ancient of Days, who bestows on him power to judge the world and govern it for eternity. "Son of man," in the Semitic languages, especially in the Aramean dialects, is a simple synonym of "man.'' But this important passage in Daniel impressed men's minds; the words, "Son of man," became, at least in certain schools
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of thought, one of the titles of the Messiah, regarded as judge of the world, and king of the new era about to be inaugurated. The application which Jesus made of it to himself was therefore the proclamation of his Messiahship, and the affirmation of the coming catastrophe in which he was to act as judge, clad with the full powers delegated to him by the Ancient of Days. The success of the new prophet's teaching was now decisive. A group of men and women, all characterised by the same spirit of childish frankness and simple innocence, adhered to him, and said, "Thou art the Messiah." As the Messiah was to be the son of David, they naturally endowed him with this title, which was synonymous with the former. Jesus willingly allowed it to be given to him, although it might cause him some embarrassment, his birth being well known. The name which he himself preferred was that of"Son of man," an apparently humble title, but one directly connected with Messianic hopes. It was by this title that he designated himself, to such an extent indeed that on his lips "Son of man" was synonymous with the pronoun I, the use of which he avoided. But he was never thus addressed, doubtless because the name in question was destined to be fully applicable to him only on the day of his future appearance. The centre of his operations at this epoch of his life was the little town of Capernaum, situated on the shore of the Lake of Genesareth. The name of Capernaum, of which the word caphar, "village," forms a part, seems to designate a small old-fashioned town, as opposed to the large towns built on the Roman system, like Tiberias. Its name was so little known, that Josephus, in one passage in his writings, takes it for the name of a fountain, the fountain being of greater celebrity than the village standing near it. Like Nazareth, Capernaum had no history, and had in no way participated in the profane movement favoured by the Herods. Jesus was much attached to the town and made it a second home. Soon after his return he had attempted to begin his work at Nazareth, but without success. He could not perform any miracle there, as one of his biographers na'ively remarks. The fact that his family, which was of humble rank, was known in the district lessened his authority too much. People could not regard as the son of David one whose brother, sister, and brother-in-law they saw every day; and it is moreover remarkable that his family were strongly opposed to him, and flatly declined to believe in his mission. On one occasion his mother and his brothers maintained that he was out of his mind, and sought to arrest him by force. The Nazarenes, who were still more violent, wished, it is said, to kill him by throwing him from a steep cliff. Jesus aptly remarked that this treatment was the common fate of all great men, and applied to himself the proverb, "No man is a prophet in his own country." This check far from discouraged him. He returned to Capernaum, where he was much more favourably received, and from there he organised a series of missions among the little towns in the neighbourhood. The 6
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people of this beautiful and fertile country scarcely ever assembled together except on the Sabbath. This was the day which he chose for his teaching. At that time each town had its synagogue, or place of meeting. This was a rather small rectangular room, with a portico, decorated in the Greek style. The Jews, having no distinctive architecture of their own, never troubled to give these edifices an original style. The remains of many ancient synagogues still exist in Galilee. They are all constructed of large and good materials; but their style is somewhat tawdry, in consequence of the profusion of floral ornaments, foliage, and twisted decorative work which characterises Jewish buildings. In the interior there were seats, a pulpit for public reading, and a closet to contain the sacred rolls. These edifices, which had none of the characteristics of a temple, were the centres of the whole of Jewish life. There the people gathered together on the Sabbath for prayer, and the reading of the Law and the Prophets. As Judaism, except in Jerusalem, had, properly speaking, no clergy, the first corner stood up and read the lessons of the day (parasha and haphtara), adding thereto a midrash, or entirely personal commentary, in which he unfolded his own ideas. This was the origin of the "homily," the finished model of which we find in the short treatises of Philo. Those present had the right of raising objections and putting questions to the reader; so that the meeting soon degenerated into a kind of free assembly. It had a president, "elders," a hassan-that is a recognised reader or apparitor"delegates," who were secretaries or messengers, to conduct the correspondence between one synagogue and another, and a shammash or sacristan. Thus the synagogues were really little independent republics, which had an extensive jurisdiction, undertook the responsibility of enfranchisement, and supervised those enfranchised. Like all municipal corporations, up to an advanced period of the Roman Empire, they issued honorary decrees, voted resolutions, which had legal force for the community, and ordained corporal punishments, which were generally carried out by the hassan. With the extreme activity of mind which has always characterised the Jews, such an institution, despite the arbitrary rigours it tolerated, could not fail to give rise to very lively discussions. Thanks to the synagogues, .ludaism has been able to maintain its integrity through eighteen centuries of persecution. They were like so many little worlds apart, which preserved the national spirit and offered a field for intestine struggles. A large amount of passion was expended in them; quarrels for precedence were hotly contested. To have a seat of honour in the front row was the reward of great piety, or the most envied privilege of wealth. On the other hand, the liberty, accorded to every one who cared to have it, of instituting himself reader and commentator of the sacred text, afforded marvellous facilities for the propagation of new ideas. This was one of the great instruments of power wielded by Jesus, and his most customary method of 7
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propounding his doctrinal instruction. He entered the synagogue and stood up to read; the hassan offered him the book, he unrolled it, and reading the parasha, or haphtara of the day, he drew from this reading some development in harmony with his own ideas. As there were few Pharisees in Galilee, the discussion did not assume that degree of intensity and tone of acrimony against him which at Jerusalem would have arrested his progress at the outset. These good Galileans had never heard preaching so well adapted to their cheerful imaginations. They admired him, they encouraged him, they found that he spoke well and that his reasons were convincing. He confidently answered the most difficult objections; the almost poetical harmony of his discourses won the affections of those people, whose simple minds had not yet been withered by the pedantry of the doctors. The authority of the young master thus continued to increase day by day, and naturally the more that people believed in him, the more he believed in himself. His sphere of action was very narrow. It was wholly confined to the valley of the Lake of Tiberias; and even in this valley there was one region which he preferred. The Lake is fifteen or sixteen miles long and nine or ten broad. Although it presents the appearance of an almost perfect oval, it forms a kind of gulf commencing from Tiberias up to the entrance of the Jordan, the curve of which measures about nine miles. Such was the field in which the seed sown by Jesus at last found a well-prepared soil. Let us go over it step by step, and try to imagine how it looked before it was covered with the mantle of aridity and mourning cast upon it by the evil spirit of lslamism. On leaving Tiberias, we at first find steep cliffs forming a mountain which seems to plunge into the sea. Then the mountains gradually recede; a plain (El Ghoueir) opens almost on a level with the Lake. It is a delightful wood of rich verdure, furrowed by numerous streams which partly flow from a great round basin of ancient construction (Ain-Medawara). On the border of this plain, which is, properly speaking, the country of Genesareth, is the miserable village of Medjdel. At the other end of the plain, still following the coast-line, we come upon the site of a town (Khan-Minyeh), with very beautiful streams (Ain-et-Tin), and a pretty road, narrow and deep, cut out of the rock, which Jesus must often have trod, serving as a passage between the plain of Genesareth and the northern slopes of the lake. A quarter of an hour's journey from here we cross a stream of salt water (Ain-Tabiga) issuing from the earth by several large springs at a little distance from the lake, and flowing into it in the midst of a dense mass of verdure. At last, after forty minutes' further walking, we find upon the arid declivity which extends from Ain-Tabiga to the mouth of the Jordan, a few huts and a collection of monumental ruins, called Tell-Houm. Five little towns, the names of which mankind will remember as long as those of Rome and Athens, were standing in the time of Jesus, in the dis-
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trict which extends from the village of Medjdel to Tell-Houm. Of these five towns, Magdala, Dalmanutha, Capernaum, Bethsaida, and Chorazin, the first alone can be identified at the present time with any certainty. The repulsive village of Medjdel has no doubt kept the name and site of the little town which gave to Jesus his most faithful woman friend. The site of Dalmanutha is quite unknown. It is possible that Chorazin was a little further inland, to the north of the Lake. As to Bethsaida and Capemaum, it is in truth almost at hazard that they have been placed at Tell-Houm, Ain-et-Tin, Khan-Minyeh, or Ain-Medawara. We might imagine that in topography, as well as in history, there has been some profound design purposely concealing the traces of the great founder. It is doubtful whether we shall ever succeed throughout this district of utter devastation in ascertaining the places to which mankind would gladly come to kiss the imprint of his feet. The Lake, the horizon, the shrubs, the flowers, are all that remain of the little district, three or four leagues in extent, where Jesus initiated his divine work. The trees have totally disappeared. In this country, in which vegetation was formerly so luxuriant that Josephus saw in it a kind of miracle-nature, according to him, being pleased to bring hither, side by side, the plants of cold countries, the growths of the torrid zone, and the trees of temperate climates, laden all the year with flowers and fruits-in this country travellers are now obliged to calculate a day beforehand the spot where they are next to find a shady resting-place. The lake has hecome deserted. A single craft in the most miserable condition now crosses the waves that were once so rich in life and joy. But the waters are still clear and transparent. The shore, composed of rocks and pebbles, is that of a little sea, not that of a pond, like the shores of Lake Huleh. It is clean, dainty, free from mud, and always beaten in the same place by the light movement of the waves. Small promontories, covered with roselaurels, tamarisks, and thorny caper bushes, are to be seen; in two places especially, at the mouth of the Jordan, near Tarichea, and on the border of the plain of Genesareth, there are beautiful gardens where the waves ebb and flow through masses of turf and flowers. The rivulet of A in-Tabiga makes a little estuary, full of pretty shells. Bevies of aquatic birds cover the lake. The horison dazzles one with its intense light. The waters, of an empyrean blue, deeply imbedded amid burning rocks, seem, when viewed from the height of the mountains of Safed, to lie at the bottom of a golden cup. On the north, the snowy ravines of Hermon stretch in white lines along the sky; on the west, the high undulating plateaus of Gaulonitis and Pcrea, absolutely barren and clad by the sun with a kind of soft haze, form one compact mountain, or rather a long and very lofty ridge, which from Cresarea Philippi runs indefinitely towards the south. The heat on the shore is now very oppressive. The lake lies in a hollow six hundred and fifty feet below the level of the Mediterranean, and thus l)
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
shares the torrid conditions of the Dead Sea. An abundant vegetation formerly tempered this excessive heat; it would be difficult to understand how a furnace, such as the whole lake valley is at the present day, from the beginning of the month of May, can have ever been the scene of great activity. Josephus however considered the country very temperate. There can be no doubt that here, as in the Campagna of Rome, there has been a change of climate brought about by historical causes. It is Islamism, and especially the Mussulman reaction against the Crusades, which has withered as with a blast of death the land beloved by Jesus. The people of this beautiful country of Genesareth never suspected that behind the brow of this peaceful wayfarer its highest destinies were being determined. Jesus was a dangerous fellow-countryman; for he was fatal to the land which had the portentous glory of bearing him. Having become the object of universal love or hate, coveted by two rival fanaticisms, Galilee, as the price of its fame, has been transformed into a desert. But who would say that Jesus would have been happier had he lived a life of obscurity in his village to the full age of man? And who would bestow a thought on these ungrateful Nazarenes, had not one of them, at the risk of compromising the future of their town, recognised his Father and proclaimed himself the Son of God? Four of five large villages, lying at half-an-hour's journey from one another, formed the little world of Jesus at the time of which we speak. He does not appear to have ever visited Tiberias, a city inhabited for the most part by Pagans, and the usual residence of Antipas. Sometimes, however, he wandered beyond his favourite region. He went by boat to the eastern shore, to Gergesa for instance. Towards the north we see him at Paneas or Cresarea Philippi, at the foot of Mount Hermon. And lastly, he journeyed once in the direction of Tyre and Sidon, a country which must have been marvellously prosperous at that time. In all these districts he was in the midst of paganism. At Cresarea he saw the celebrated grotto of Panium, thought to be the source of the Jordan, and associated in popular belief with weird legends; he could admire the marble temple which Herod had erected near there in honour of Augustus; he probably paused before the numerous votive statues to Pan, to the Nymphs, to the Echo of the Grotto, which piety had already begun to accumulate in this beautiful place. A rationalistic Jew, accustomed to take strange gods for deified men or for demons, must have considered all these figurative representations as idols. The charm of nature worship, which seduced more sensitive nations, never affected him. He was doubtless ignorant of what traces of a primitive worship, more or less analogous to that of the Jews, the ancient sanctuary of Melkarth, at Tyre, might still contain. The paganism which, in Phrenicia, had raised on every hill a temple and a sacred grove, and the general aspect of great industry and profane wealth, must have had little charm in his eyes. Monotheism deprives men of all appreciation of the pagan religions; the Mussulman, who visits polytheistic countries, seems to have no 10
CHAPTERS VIII-XII FROM THE LIFE OF JESUS
eyes. Jesus assuredly learnt nothing in these journeys. He returned always to his well-beloved shore of Genesareth. The mother-land of his thoughts was there; there he found faith and love.
The disciples of Jesus In this eathly paradise, which the great revolutions of history had, up to that period, scarcely touched, lived a population in perfect harmony with the land itself, active, honest, joyous, and tender of heart. As regards fish, the Lake of Tiberias is one of the richest lakes in the world; very productive fisheries had been established, especially at Bethsaida and Capernaum, and had produced a certain degree of wealth. The fishermen and their families formed a population of gentle and peaceable folk, extending hy numerous ties of relationship through the whole lake district which we have described. Their comparatively easy life left entire freedom to their imagination. Ideas about the kingdom of God found in these small communities of worthy people more credence than anywhere else. Nothing of what is called civilisation, in the Greek and worldly sense, had reached them. Neither was there any of our Teutonic and Celtic earnestness; but, although goodness amongst them was often superficial and without depth, they were quiet in their habits and had a certain intelligence and shrewdness. We may imagine them as somewhat similar to the better parts of the population of the Lebanon, but with the gift, which the latter do not possess, of producing great men. Here Jesus found his true family. He settled in their midst as one of them; Capernaum became "his own city"; in the centre of the little circle which adored him, his sceptical brothers and ungrateful Nazareth, with its mocking incredulity, were forgotten. One house above all at Capernaum offered him a pleasant refuge and devoted disciples. It was that of two brothers, both sons of a certain Jonas, who probably was dead at the time when Jesus came to live on the shores of the 1ake. These two brothers were Simon, surnamed Cephas, in Greek Perms, "stone," and Andrew. Born at Bethsaida, they were settled at Capemaum when Jesus began his public life. Peter was married and had children; his mother-in-law lived with him. Jesus loved his house and dwelt in it habitually. Andrew appears to have been a disciple of John the Baptist, and Jesus may possibly have known him on the banks of the Jordan. The two brothers always continued, even during the period in which apparently they must have been most occupied with their Master, to follow their employment as fishermen. Jesus, who was fond of playing upon words, said at times that he would make them fishers of men. Amongst all his disciples indeed he had none more devotedly attached to him. Another family, that of Zabdia or Zebedee, a well-to-do fisherman and owner of several boats, gave Jesus a warm welcome. Zebedee had two 11
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
sons: the elder was James, the younger, John, who later was destined to play a very prominent part in the history of infant Christianity. Both were zealous disciples. From certain indications, it would seem that John, like Andrew, had known Jesus when in company with John the Baptist. In any case the two families of Jonas and Zebedee appear to have been closely united. Salome, wife of Zebedee, was also greatly attached to Jesus, and accompanied him until his death. Women, in fact, received him eagerly. He manifested towards them the reserved manners which make a very sweet union of ideas possible between the two sexes. The separation of men from women, which has precluded all progress in refinement among the Semitic peoples, was no doubt then, as in our own days, much less rigorous in the rural districts and villages than in the large towns. Three or four devoted Galilean women always accompanied the young Master, and disputed among themselves the pleasure of listening to him and tending him in turn. They brought into the new sect an element of enthusiasm and taste for the marvellous, the importance of which had already begun to be understood. One of them, Mary of Magdala, who has given such a world-wide celebrity to that poor town, appears to have been of a very ardent temperament. According to the language of the time, she had been possessed by seven demons-that is, she had suffered from nervous and apparently inexplicable maladies. Jesus, by his pure and sweet beauty, calmed her troubled nature. The Magdalene was faithful to him, even unto Golgotha, and on the day but one after his death played a leading part; for, as we shall see later, she was the principal agent by which faith in the resurrection was established. Joanna, wife of Chuza one of the stewards of Antipas, Susanna, and others who have remained unknown, followed him constantly and ministered to his wants. Some were rich, and by their wealth enabled the young prophet to live without following the trade which, until then, he had practised. Many others made a practice of following him about, and acknowledged him as their Master;-a certain Philip of Bethsaida; Nathanael, son of Tolmai' or Ptolemy, of Cana, a disciple of the first period; and Matthew, probably to be identified with the Matthew who was the Xenophon of infant Christianity. He had been a publican, and as such doubtless handled the Kalam more easily than the others. Perhaps it was this that suggested to him the idea of writing the Logia, which form the basis of what we know of the teachings of Jesus. Among the disciples are also mentioned Thomas or Didymus, who was sometimes sceptical, but apparently a man of warm heart and of generous impulses; one Lebbreus or Thaddeus; Simon Zelotes, who was perhaps a disciple of Judas the Gaulonite, and belonged to the party of the Kenaim, which was formed about that time and was soon to play so great a part in the movements of the Jewish people; Joseph Barsabas, surnamed "the Just"; Matthias; a problematical 12
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person called Aristion; and lastly, Judas, son of Simon, of the town of Kerioth, who was the exception in the faithful flock, and drew upon himself so terrible a notoriety. He was the only one who was not a Galilean. Kerioth was a town at the extreme south of the tribe of Judah, a day's journey beyond Hebron. We have seen that on the whole the family of Jesus had little affection for him. James and Jude, however, his cousins by Mary Cleophas, became his disciples henceforth, and Mary Cleophas herself was one of those friends who followed him to Calvary. At this period we do not see his mother beside him. It was only after the death of Jesus that Mary acquired great importance, and that the disciples sought to attach her to them. It was then, too, that the members of the founder's family, under the name of "brothers of the Lord," formed an influential group, which for a long time headed the Church of Jerusalem, and, after the sack of the city, took refuge in Batanea. The simple fact of having been familiar with him became a marked advantage, in the same manner as, after the death of Mahomet, the wives and daughters of the prophet, who had had no importance in his lifetime, became great authorities. In this friendly group Jesus evidently had his favourites, and, so to speak, an inner circle. The two sons of Zebedee, James and John, seem to have been in the front rank. They were full of fire and passion. Jesus had aptly surnamed them "sons of thunder," on account of their excessive zeal, which, had it controlled the thunder, would have made use of it too often. John especially appears to have been on familiar terms with Jesus. It may be that the disciples who gradually grouped themselves around the second son of Zebedee, and apparently wrote his memoirs in a manner that scarcely dissimulates the interests of the school, have exaggerated the warm affection which Jesus bore him. The most significant fact however is that, in the synoptic Gospels, Simon Bar-Jonah or Peter, James son of Zebedee, and John his brother, form a sort of privy council, which Jesus summons at certain times, when he suspects the faith and intelligence of the others. It seems, moreover, that they were all three associated in their trade as fishermen. The affection of Jesus for Peter was very deep. The character of the latter-straightforward, sincere, impulsive-pleased Jesus, who at times permitted himself to smile at his headstrong manner. Peter, who was little of a mystic, told the master his simple doubts, his prejudices, and his entirely human weaknesses, with an honest frankness which recalls that of Joinville towards St. Louis. Jesus reproved him in a friendly way that showed his confidence and esteem. As to John, his youth, his enthusiasm, and his vivid imagination, must have had great charm. The personality of this extraordinary man, who exerted so strong an influence on infant Christianity, only developed itself later. If he were not the author of the strange Gospel which bears his name, and, despite its erroneous ideas on many points in the character of Jesus, contains such priceless 13
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information, it is at least possible that he may have influenced its production. He was the biographer of Jesus, as Plato was of Socrates. Accustomed to shuffle his recollections with the fevered disquietude of an ecstatic soul, he transformed his Master while he believed he was describing him, thus furnishing clever forgers with the pretext of an alleged document, in the composition of which perfect good faith has apparently not been shown. No hierarchy, properly speaking, existed in the new sect. They had all to call each other "brothers"; and Jesus absolutely forbade titles of superior rank, such as rabbi, master, father-he alone being Master, and God alone being Father. The greatest among them ought to be the servant of the others. Simon Bar-Jonah, however, was distinguished amongst his fellows by a peculiar degree of importance. Jesus lived in his house and taught in his boat; his home was the centre of Gospel preaching. By outsiders he was regarded as the chief of the flock; and it was to him that the overseers of the tolls applied for the taxes which were due from the community. He had been the first to recognise Jesus as the Messiah. In a moment of unpopularity, Jesus asking of his disciples, "Would ye also go away?" Simon answered, "Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of etemallife.'' 1 Jesus at various times granted him a certain priority in his Church, and gave him the Syrian surname of Kepha (stone), by which he wished to signify that he made him the corner-stone of the edifice. At one time he seems even to promise him "the keys of the kingdom of heaven," and to grant him the right of pronouncing upon earth decisions which should always be ratified in eternity. There can be no doubt that this priority of Peter excited a little jealousy. Jealousy was especially kindled in view of the future, and of that kingdom of God in which all the disciples would be seated upon thrones, on the right and left of the Master, to judge the twelve tribes of Israel. They asked themselves who would then be nearest to the Son of man, and act, so to speak, as his prime minister and assessor. The two sons of Zebedee aspired to this rank. Brooding over thoughts of this kind, they prompted their mother Salome, who one day took Jesus aside and asked him for the two places of honour for her sons. Jesus evaded the request by his habitual maxim that he who exalted himself should be humbled, and that the kingdom of heaven would be possessed by the lowly. This occasioned some talk in the community; and there was great murmuring against James and John. The same rivalry seems to show itself in the Gospel of John, where the supposed narrator unceasingly declares himself to have been "the disciple whom Jesus loved," to whom the Master in dying confided his mother, and where he seeks to place himself near Simon Peter-at times to put himself before him on important occasions, in narrating which the older evangelists had omitted to mention his name. Among the preceding persons, all those of whom we know anything 14
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had begun by being fishermen. In a country of simple habits where every one worked, this employment was not of so extremely humble a nature as the rhetoric of preachers would make it, the better to display the miraculous origin of Christianity. But at all events, none of the disciples belonged to a high social class. Only a certain Levi, son of Alpheus, and perhaps the apostle Matthew, had been publicans. But those to whom this name was given in Judrea were not the farmers-general of taxes, men of high rank (always Roman patricians) who were called at Rome publicani. They were the agents of these farmers-general, employes of low rank, simply officers of the customs. The great route from Acre to Damascus, one of the most ancient trade routes of the world, which crossed Galilee, skirting the lake, made employes of this kind very numerous there. At Capernaum, which was perhaps on the highroad, there was a numerous staff. This profession is never popular, but among the Jews it was considered quite criminal. Taxation, being new to them, was the sign of their subjection; one party, that of Judas the Gaulonite, maintained that to pay it was an act of paganism. So too the customs officers were abhorred by the zealots of the Law. They were only classed with assassins, highway robbers, and men of infamous life. Jews who accepted such offices were excommunicated, and deprived of the right to make a will; their property was accursed, and the casuists forbade the changing of money with them. These poor men, outcasts of society, had no social intercourse outside their own class. Jesus accepted a dinner offered him by Levi, at which there were, according to the language of the time, "many publicans and sinners." This caused grave scandal. In these houses of ill-repute there was a risk of meeting bad society. We shall often see him thus, caring little if he shocked the prejudices of respectable people, seeking to raise the classes humiliated by the orthodox, and thus exposing himself to the most scathing reproaches of the devotees. The Pharisees had made endless observances and a species of external "respectability" the price of salvation. The true moralist who came proclaiming that God cares for one thing alone-righteousness in feeling, must of necessity have been welcomed with blessings by all souls that had escaped the corruption of official hypocrisy. Jesus owed these numerous conquests to the infinite charm of his personality and speech. A searching phrase, a glance cast upon a simple conscience which only needed awakening, gave him an ardent disciple. Sometimes Jesus employed an innocent artifice which was also used by Joan of Arc: he affected to know something of the inner life of him whom he wished to gain, or else he would remind him of some circumstance dear to his heart. It was thus that he is said to have attracted Nathanael, Peter, and the woman of Samaria. Concealing the true source of his power-his superiority over all those who surrounded him-he permitted people to believe (in order to satisfy the ideas of the time, ideas in which moreover he himself fully shared) that a revelation from on high revealed all secrets 15
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to him and laid open all hearts. Every one thought that Jesus lived in a sphere higher than that of humanity. It was said that he conversed on the mountains with Moses and Elias; it was believed that in his moments of solitude the angels came to give him homage, and establish a supernatural intercourse between him and heaven.
Preaching by the lake Such was the group which gathered around Jesus on the shores of the lake of Tiberias. In it the aristocracy was represented by a customs-officer and by the wife of one of Herod's stewards. The rest were fishermen and common folk. Their ignorance was extreme, their intelligence feeble; they believed in apparitions and spirits. Not one element of Greek culture had reached this first assembly of the saints, and they were but little instructed in Jewish learning; but warmth of heart and good-will overflowed. The beautiful climate of Galilee made the life of these honest fishermen a constant delight. Simple, good, and happy as they were, they truly preluded the kingdom of God-rocked gently on their delightful little sea, or at night sleeping on its shores. We do not realise for ourselves the charm of a life which thus glides away under the open sky-the sweet and strong love given by this perpetual contact with nature, and the dreams of nights passed thus in the clear starlight under an azure dome of limitless expanse. It was on such a night that Jacob, with his head resting upon a stone, saw in the stars the promise of an innumerable posterity, and the mysterious ladder by which the Elohim came and went from heaven to earth. At the time of Jesus the heavens were not shut nor was the earth grown cold. The clouds still opened over the Son of man; the angels ascended and descended above his head; vision of the kingdom of God was vouchsafed everywhere, for man carried it in his heart. These simple souls contemplated with clear and gentle gaze the universe in its ideal source. It may be that the world unveiled its secret to the divinely lucid conscience of these happy children, who by their purity of heart deserved one day to stand in God's presence. Jesus lived with his disciples almost always in the open air. Sometimes he got into a boat, and from it taught his hearers, who were crowded upon the shore. Sometimes he sat upon the mountains which border on the lake, where the air is pure and the horizon luminous. Thus the faithful band led a joyous wandering life, gathering the inspirations of the Master in their first bloom. Sometimes an innocent doubt was raised, a mildly sceptical question put; but Jesus, with a smile or a look, silenced the objection. At every step-in the passing cloud, the germinating seed, the ripening corn-they saw a sign of the kingdom drawing nigh, they believed themselves on the eve of seeing God, of being masters of the world; tears were turned into joy; it was the advent upon earth of universal consolation. 16
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"Blessed," said the master, "are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. "Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. "Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. "Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled. "Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. "Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. "Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called sons of God. "Blessed are they that have been persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. "2 His preaching was soft and gentle, inspired with a feeling for nature and the perfume of the fields. He loved flowers, and based on them his most charming lessons. The birds of the air, the sea, the mountains, and the games of children were in turn touched on in his teaching. There was no trace of Greek influence in his style; it approached much more nearly to that of the Hebrew parabolists, and especially of the aphorisms of the Jewish doctors, his contemporaries, such as we read in the Pirke Aboth. His teachings were not developed very far, and formed a species of propositions in the style of the Koran, which, pieced together, afterwards went to form the long discourses written by Matthew. No transition united these diverse fragments; generally however the same inspiration breathed through them and gave them their unity. It was above all in parable that the Master excelled. There was nothing in Judaism to give him a model for this delightful feature. He created it. It is true that in the Buddhist books we find parables of exactly the same tone and construction as the Gospel parables; but it is difficult to admit that a Buddhist influence has been exercised in the latter. The spirit of mildness and depth of feeling which animated nascent Christianity and Buddhism alike, perhaps suffice to explain these similarities. A total indifference to external life and the vain superfluous luxuries in furniture and dress, which our drearier countries make necessary to us, was the consequence of the sweet and simple life lived in Galilee. Cold climates, by compelling man to a perpetual conflict with external nature, cause him to attach much importance to the quest of comfort. On the other hand, lands that awaken few desires are lands of idealism and of poesy. In such countries the accessories of life are insignificant compared with the pleasure of being alive. The embellishment of the house is superfluous, for it is inhabited as little as possible. The abundant and regular food of less generous climates would be considered heavy and disagreeable. And as to luxury in dress, what can rival that which God has given to the earth and the birds of the air? Labour in climates of this kind seems useless; its return is not worth the expenditure of energy it requires. The beasts of the field are better clad than the richest of men, and they do 17
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nothing. This disdain which, when it has not idleness as its motive, greatly tends to loftiness of soul, inspired Jesus with some charming apologues:"Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth," said he, "where moth and rust doth consume, and where thieves break through and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth consume, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: for where thy treasure is, there will thy heart be also .... No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one and love the other; or else he will hold to one and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon. Therefore I say unto you, Be not anxious for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than the food, and the body than the raiment? Behold the birds of the heaven, that they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; and your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are not ye of much more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add one cubit unto his stature? And why are ye anxious concerning raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God doth so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, 0 ye of little faith? Be not therefore anxious, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? For after all these things do the Gentiles seek; for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first his kingdom, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. Be not therefore anxious for the morrow: for the morrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. "3 This essentially Galilean feeling had an important influence on the destiny of the infant sect. The happy flock, trusting to the heavenly Father for the satisfaction of its needs as its first principle, looked upon the cares of life as an evil which stifles in man the germ of all good. Each day they asked of God the bread for the morrow. Why lay up treasure? The kingdom of God was at hand. "Sell that ye have and give alms," said the Master. "Make for yourselves purses which wax not old, a treasure in the heavens that faileth not." 4 What more foolish than to heap up treasures for heirs whom thou wilt never behold? As an example of human folly, Jesus loved to quote the case of a man who, after having enlarged his barns and amassed wealth for long years, died before having enjoyed it. The brigandage, which was deeply rooted in Galilee, gave much force to views of this kind. The poor man who did not suffer from his poverty should regard himself as favoured by God; whilst the rich man, having a less sure possession, was the true pauper. In our societies, founded on a very rigorous conception of private property, the position of the poor is horrible; they have literally no place under the sun. There are no flowers,
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no grass, no shade, except for him who possesses the earth. In the East, these are gifts of God which belong to no man. The proprietor has but a slender privilege; nature is the inheritance of all. In this, moreover, infant Christianity only followed in the footsteps of the Jewish sects which practised a monastic life. A communistic element entered into these sects, Essenes and Therapeutre, which were held in equal disfavour by Pharisees and Sadducees. The Messianic doctrine, an ~:ntirely political question among the orthodox Jews, was with them an entirely social question. By means of a gentle, disciplined, contemplative existence, the liberty of the individual had full scope, and these little churches in which, not without reason perhaps, some imitation of neoPythagorean institutions has been suspected, believed they were inaugurating the heavenly kingdom upon earth. The thought of Utopias of hlessed life, founded on the brotherhood of men and pure worship of the true God, haunted lofty souls, and on all sides produced bold and sincere hut short-lived attempts at realisation. Jesus, whose relations with the Essenes are difficult to determine exactly (resemblances in history not always implying relations), was certainly on this point their brother. Community of goods was for some time the rule in the new society. Covetousness was the cardinal sin; but care must be taken to note that the sin of covetousness, against which Christian morality has been so severe, was then simple attachment to private property. The first condition of becoming a disciple of Jesus was to sell one's goods and to give the proceeds to the poor. Those who drew back from this extreme measure were not permitted to enter the community. Jesus often repeated that he who has found the kingdom of God ought to buy it at the price of all his possessions, and that, in so doing, he still makes an advantageous bargain. "The kingdom of heaven is like unto a treasure hidden in the field; which a man found and hid; and in his joy he goeth and sdleth all that he bath, and buyeth that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a man that is a merchant seeking goodly pearls; and having found one pearl of great price, he went and sold all that he had and bought it."5 Alas! the practical drawbacks of the theory were not long in making themselves felt. A treasurer was required, and Judas of Kerioth was chosen for that office. Rightly or wrongly, he was accused of stealing from the common purse; a heavy burden of hatred accumulated on his head. Sometimes the Master, more versed in things of heaven than those of earth, taught a still more singular political economy. In a strange parable, a steward is praised for having made himself friends among the poor at the <:xpense of his master, in order that the poor in their turn might secure his entrance into the kingdom of heaven. The poor in fact, necessarily being the almoners of this kingdom, will only receive those who have given alms to them. A prudent man, who takes thought of the future, ought therefore 19
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to seek to gain their favour. "And the Pharisees," says the Evangelist, "who were lovers of money, heard all these things; and they scoffed at him. " 6 Did they also hear the formidable parable which follows? "Now there was a certain rich man, and he was clothed in purple and fine linen, faring sumptuously every day: and a certain beggar named Lazarus was laid at his gate, full of sores, and desiring to be fed with the crumbs that fell from the rich man's table; yea, even the dogs came and licked his sores. And it came to pass, that the beggar died, and that he was carried away by the angels into Abraham's bosom: and the rich man also died, and was buried. And in Hades he lifted up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. And he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am in anguish in this flame. But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things: but now here he is comforted and thou art in anguish." 7 What could be more just! Later, this parable was called that of the "wicked rich man." But it is purely and simply the parable of the "rich man." He is in hell because he is rich, because he does not give his wealth to the poor, because he dines well, while other men at his door dine badly. Latterly, taking a less exaggerated view for the moment, Jesus does not make it obligatory to sell one's goods, and give them to the poor save as a counsel of perfection; but he still makes the terrible declaration: "It is easier for a camel to go through a needle's eye, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God." 8 In all this an admirable idea of profound import governed Jesus, as well as the band of joyous children his followers, and made him for eternity the true creator of the peace of the soul, the great consoler of life. In freeing man from what he called "the cares of this world," Jesus might go to excess and injure the essential conditions of human society; but he founded that spiritual exaltation which for centuries has filled souls with joy in the midst of this vale of tears. He saw with perfect clarity of vision that man's recklessness, his lack of philosophy and morality, most often proceed from the distractions which he permits himself, and the cares, multiplied beyond measure by civilisation, which harass him. The Gospel has thus been the supreme remedy for the dull weariness of common life, a perpetual sursum corda, a powerful agent in making men forget the miserable cares of earth, a gentle appeal like that which Jesus whispered in the ear of Martha, "Martha, Martha, thou art anxious and troubled about many things; but one thing is needful." 9 Thanks to Jesus, the dullest existence, that most absorbed by sad or humiliating duties, has had its glimpse of heaven. In our busy civilisation the memory of the free life of Galilee has been like perfume from another world, like the "dew of Hermon," which has kept drought and grossness from entirely invading the fields of God.
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The Kingdom of God conceived as the accession to power of the poor These maxims, good for a land where life is nourished by the air and the light, and this subtle communism of a band of God's children resting in faith on the bosom of their Father, might be fitted for a simple sect, upheld by the constant expectation that its Utopia was about to be realised. But it is clear that they could not be attractive to society as a whole. Jesus, indeed, very soon understood that the official world of his time would by no means lend its support to his kingdom. He took his resolution with extreme daring. Leaving the world, with its hard heart and narrow prejudices, on one side, he turned towards the simple. A vast rearrangement of classes was to take place. The Kingdom of God was made-(1) for children and those like them; (2) for the world's outcasts, victims of that social arrogance which repulses the good but humble man; (3) for heretics and schismatics, publicans, Samaritans, and the pagans of Tyre and Sidon. A vigorously conceived parable explained this appeal to the people and justified it. A king has prepared a wedding feast, and sends his servants to seek those who have been invited. Each one excuses himself; some even maltreat the messengers. Then the king takes a decisive step. The people of rank have not accepted his invitation. Be it so; his guests shall be the firstcorners-the people gathered from the highways and byways, the poor, the beggars, the lame; it matters not who, for the room must be filled. "For I say unto you," said he, "that none of those men which were bidden shall • taste of my supper. " 10 Pure Ebionism then-the doctrine that the poor (ebionim) alone will be saved, that the reign of the poor is at hand-was the doctrine of Jesus. ··woe unto you that are rich," he said, "for ye have received your consolation. Woe unto you, ye that are full now! for ye shall hunger. Woe unto you, ye that laugh now! for ye shall mourn and weep." 11 "And he said to him also that had bidden him, When thou makest a dinner or a supper, call not thy friends, nor thy brethren, nor thy kinsmen, nor rich neighbours, lest haply they also bid thee again, and a recompense be made thee. But when thou makest a feast, bid the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind; and thou shalt be blessed; because they have not wherewith to recompense thee; for thou shalt be recompensed in the resurrection of the just." 12 It was perhaps in a like sense that he often repeated, "Be good bankers," 13that is to say, make good investments for the Kingdom of God by giving your wealth to the poor in conformity with the old proverb, "He that hath pity upon the poor, lendeth unto the Lord." 14 There was nothing new indeed in all this. The most exalted democratic movement in human annals (and too the only one which has succeeded, tor it alone has maintained its position in the domain of pure thought) had long agitated the Jewish race. The thought that God is the avenger of the 21
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poor and weak against the rich and powerful is to be found on every page of the writings of the Old Testament. The history of Israel is, of all histories, that in which the popular spirit has been most constantly in power. Prophets, true, and, in one sense, the boldest of tribunes, thundered without ceasing against the great, and established a close connection, on the one hand, between the words "rich, impious, violent, wicked," on the other, between the words "poor, gentle, humble, pious." Under the Seleucidre, the aristocrats, having almost all apostatised and gone over to Hellenism, such associations of ideas only became stronger. The Book of Enoch contains maledictions still more violent than those of the Gospel against the worldly, the wealthy, and the powerful. In it luxury is depicted as a crime. The "Son of man," in this strange apocalypse, dethrones kings, tears them from their voluptuous life, and casts them into hell. The initiation of Judrea to secular life, and the recent introduction of an entirely worldly element of luxury and comfort, provoked a furious reaction in favour of patriarchal simplicity. "Woe unto you who despise the humble dwelling and inheritance of your fathers! Woe unto you who build your palaces with the sweat of others! Each stone, each brick of which it is built, is a sin." 15 The name of "poor" (ebion) became a synonym of saint, of "friend of God." It was the name by which the Galilean disciples of Jesus loved to call themselves; for a long time it was the name of the Judaising Christians of Batanea and the Hauran (Nazarenes, Hebrews) who remained faithful to the language, as well as to the primitive teaching of Jesus, and boasted that they had in their midst the descendants of his family. At the close of the second century these good sectaries, having remained outside the great current which had carried away all the other churches, were treated as heretics (Ebionites) and a pretended founder of their heresy (Ebion) was invented to explain their name. It might have been easily foreseen that this exaggerated taste for poverty could not last very long. It was one of those Utopian elements, always to be found mingled in the beginnings of great movements, which time rectifies. Cast into the midst of human society, Christianity could not fail to consent very easily to the reception of rich men into her bosom, just as Buddhism, in its origin exclusively monastic, soon began, as conversions multiplied, to admit the laity. But a birthmark is always kept. Although it quickly passed away and was forgotten, Ebionism left, in the whole history of Christian institutions, a leaven which has not been lost. The collection of the Logia, or discourses of Jesus, was formed, or at least completed, in the Ebionite centre of Batanea. "Poverty" remained an ideal from which true descendants of Jesus were never afterwards separated. To possess nothing was the true evangelical state; mendicancy became a virtue, a state of holiness. The great Umbrian movement of the thirteenth century, which, of all attempts at religious construction, most resembles the Galilean movement, was entirely carried through in the name of poverty.
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Francis of Assisi, the one man who, by his exquisite goodness, by his delicate, pure, and tender communion with the life of the universe, beyond all others approached most closely to Jesus, was a poor man. The mendicant orders, and the innumerable communistic sects of the Middle Ages (Pauvres de Lyon, Begards, Bons-Hommes, Fratricelles, Humilies, Pauvres Evangeliques, Votaries of the Eternal Gospel), claimed to be, and in fact were, the true disciples of Jesus. But, in this case too, the most impracticable dreams of the new religion were fruitful in results. Pious mendicity, of which our industrial and highly organised communities are so impatient, was, in its day and in a suitable climate, full of charm. To a multitude of mild and contemplative souls it offered the only fitting condition. To have made poverty an object of love and desire, to have exalted the beggar to the altar, and to have sanctified the garment of the poor man, was a master-touch which political economy may not appreciate, but in face of which no true moralist can remain indifferent. Mankind, in order to bear its burden, must needs believe that it is not paid entirely by wages. The greatest service that can be rendered it is to repeat often that it lives not by bread alone. Like all great men, Jesus was fond of common folk, and felt at his ease with them. To his mind the Gospel was made for the poor; it was to them that he brought the good tidings of salvation. He particularly esteemed all those whom orthodox Judaism disdained. Love of the people, pity for its powerlessness-the feeling of the democratic leader who feels the spirit of the multitude quick within him, and knows himself to be its natural interpreter-reveal themselves at every instant in his acts and sayings. The chosen flock in fact presented somewhat mingled characteristics, likely to astonish the rigorous moralist. It counted amongst its number people with whom a Jew who had any respect for himself would have refused to associate. It may be that Jesus found in this society, unaffected hy ordinary conventions, more distinction of intellect and goodness of heart than he would have done in a pedantic and narrow-minded middle class, priding itself on its outward morality. The Pharisees, exaggerating the Mosaic injunctions, had come to believe themselves defiled by contact with men less strict than themselves; with regard to their meals, they almost rivalled the puerile distinctions of caste in India. Despising such miserable aberrations of religious feeling, Jesus loved to eat with those who were its victims; by his side at table were seen persons reputed to be of evil life, owing their reputation perhaps to the fact that they did not share the follies of the false devotees. The Pharisees and doctors protested against the scandal. "See," said they, "with what men he eats!" Jesus returned subtle answers which exasperated the hypocrites. "They that are whole have no need of a physician;" 16 or again: "What man of you, having a hundred sheep, and having lost one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost until he find it?
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And when he bath found it, he Jayeth it on his shoulders rejoicing." 17 Or again: "The Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost. " 18 Or again: "I came not to caJI the righteous, but sinners." 19 Lastly, there is the beautiful parable of the prodigal son, in which he who has faJien is represented as having a kind of right to be loved above him who has always been righteous. Weak or guilty women, carried away with such charms, and realising, for the first time, the pleasures of contact with virtue, freely approached him. People were surprised that he did not repulse them. "Now when the Pharisee which had bidden him saw it, he spake within himself, saying, This man, if he were a prophet, would have perceived who and what manner of woman this is which toucheth him, that she is a sinner." 20 Jesus replied by the parable of the creditor who forgives his debtors' unequal debts, in which he did not hesitate to prefer the lot of him to whom the greatest debt was remitted. He appreciated states of soul only in proportion as they were inspired by love. Women with tearful hearts, through their sins inclined to feelings of humility, were nearer his kingdom than people of commonplace nature, who frequently have little merit in not having faJien. We may understand, on the other hand, how these tender souls, finding in their conversion to the sect an easy means of retrieving character, would passionately attach themselves to him. Far from seeking to soothe the murmurings stirred up by his contempt for the social susceptibilities of the time, he seemed to find pleasure in exciting them. Never did any one more loftily avow that disdain of the "world" which is the essential condition of great things and great originality. He forgave the rich man, but only when the rich man, owing to some prejudice, was held in disfavour by society. He greatly preferred men of dubiously respectable life and of small consideration in the eyes of the orthodox leaders. "Verily I say unto you that the publicans and the harlots go into the kingdom of God before you. For John came unto you in the way of righteousness and ye believed him not: but the publicans and the harlots believed him." 21 One can imagine how galling the reproach of not having followed the good example set by prostitutes must have been to men who made a profession of seriousness and rigid morality. He had no external affectation, and made no display of austerity. He did not shun pleasure; he willingly went to marriage feasts. One of his miracles was performed, it is said, to enliven a wedding in a small town. In the East weddings take place in the evening. Each of the guests carries a lamp; the lights, coming and going, give a charming effect. Jesus liked such a gay and animated scene and drew parables from it. Such conduct, compared with that of John the Baptist, gave offence. One day, when the disciples of John and the Pharisees were keeping the fast, it was asked, "Why do John's disciples and the disciples of the Pharisees fast, but thy disciples fast not? And Jesus said unto them, Can the sons of the bridechamber fast, 24
CHAPTERS VIII-XII FROM THE LIFE OF JESUS
while the bridegroom is with them? As long as they have the bridegroom with them, they cannot fast. But the days will come when the bridegroom shall be taken away from them, and then will they fast in that day." 22 His gentle gaiety found constant expression in vivid ideas and amiable pleasantries. "Whereunto then," said he, "shall I liken the men of this generation, and to what are they like? They are like unto children that sit in the market-place and call one to another; which say, We piped unto you, and ye did not dance; we wailed, and ye did not weep. For John the Baptist is come, eating no bread nor drinking wine, and ye say, He bath a devil. The Son of man is come eating and drinking, and ye say, Behold a gluttonous man and a wine-bibber, a friend of publicans and sinners. And wisdom is justified of all her children." 23 He thus journeyed through Galilee in the midst of continual festivities. He rode on a mule. In the East this is a good and safe method of travelling. The large black eyes of the animal, shaded by long eyelashes, give it a very gentle aspect. His disciples sometimes surrounded him with a kind of rustic pomp, at the expense of their garments which they used as carpets. They put them on the mule which carried him, or spread them on the ground in his path. When he entered a house it was considered a joy and a blessing. He stopped in villages and large farms, where he received warm hospitality. In the East, the house into which a stranger enters immediately becomes a public place. The whole village assembles in it, the children invade it, and, though driven away by the servants, always return. Jesus could not suffer these gentle hearers to be harshly treated. He had them brought to him and took them in his arms. Mothers, encouraged by such a reception, used to bring him their little ones, that he might touch them. Women came to pour oil upon his head and perfumes on his feet. His disciples would sometimes repulse them as troublesome; but Jesus, who loved ancient usages and all that showed simplicity of heart, made reparation for the unkindness done by his too zealous friends. He protected those who desired to do him honour. So it was that children and women adored him. The reproach of alienating from their families these gentle, easily led creatures was one of the charges most frequently brought against him by his enemies. The new religion was thus, in many respects, a women's and children's movement. The latter were like a young guard about Jesus for the inauguration of his innocent kingship, and gave him little ovations which pleased him much, calling him. "Son of David," crying Hosanna, and bearing palms around him. Jesus, like Savonarola, perhaps made them serve as instruments for pious missions; he was very glad to see these young apostles, who did not compromise him, rush to the front and give him titles which he did not dare to take himself. He let them speak, and, when he was asked if he heard, he evasively answered that the praise that comes lrom young lips is the most pleasing to God.
25
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He lost no occasion of repeating that the little ones are sacred beings, that the kingdom of God belongs to children, that one must become a child to enter therein, that one ought to receive it as a child, that the heavenly Father hides his secrets from the wise and reveals them to little ones. In his mind the idea of disciples is almost synonymous with that of children. On one occasion when they had one of those quarrels for precedence which were not rare amongst them, Jesus took a little child, put him in their midst, and said to them, "Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven." 24 It was childhood, in fact, in its divine spontaneity, in its simple bewilderment of joy, that took possession of the earth. Every man, at every moment, believed that the kingdom so greatly desired was at hand. Each one already saw himself seated on a throne at the side of the Master. They divided amongst themselves the places of honour in the new kingdom, and sought to calculate the precise date of its coming. The new doctrine was called the "Good Tidings"; it had no other name. An old word, paradise, which Hebrew, like all the languages of the East, had borrowed from the Persian, in which it originally designated the parks of the Achremenidre, summed up the general dream,-a beautiful garden where the delightful life here below would be eternally prolonged. How long did this intoxication last? We cannot tell. No one during the course of these enchanted visions, measured time any more than we measure a dream. Time was suspended in duration; a week was as an age. But, whether it filled years or months, the dream was so beautiful that humanity has lived upon it ever since, and it is stiU our consolation to gather its weakened perfume. Never did so much gladness fill the heart of man. For a moment humanity, in this, its most vigorous effort to soar above the world, forgot the leaden weight which binds it to earth, forgot the sorrows of the life below. Happy he to whom it has been granted to behold with his own eyes this divine blossoming, and to share, if but for a day, the incomparable illusion! But yet more happy, Jesus would tell us, shall he be who, freed from all illusion, shall conjure up within himself the celestial vision, and, with no millenarian dreams, no chimerical paradise, no signs in the heavens, but by the uprightness of his will and the poetry of his soul, shall be able to create anew in his own heart the true kingdom of God!
The embassy from John in prison to Jesus-death of John-relations of his school with that of Jesus Whilst joyous Galilee was celebrating with feasting the coming of the Well-beloved, the sorrowful John, in his prison of Machero, was pining away with yearning and desire. The successes of the young Master, whom he had seen for some months among his followers, reached his ears. It was 2fi
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said that the Messiah predicted by the prophets, he who was to set up the kingdom of Israel once more, had come and was proving his presence in Galilee by marvellous works. John wished to inquire into the truth of this rumour, and, as he was in free communication with his disciples, he chose two of them to go to Jesus in Galilee. The two disciples found Jesus at the height of his fame. The atmosphere of joyfulness around him filled them with surprise. Accustomed to fasting, to incessant prayer, and to a life full of aspiration, they were astonished at finding themselves suddenly brought into the midst of the joys attending the welcome of the Messiah. They gave Jesus their message: "Art thou he that cometh? Or look we for another?" 25 Jesus, who, from that time forth, had no longer any doubt with respect to his own position as the Messiah, enumerated to them the works which ought to characterise the coming of the kingdom of God-such as the healing of the sick, and the good tidings of speedy salvation preached to the poor. All these works he himself did. "And blessed is he," added Jesus, "whosoever shall find none occasion of stumbling in me." 26 Whether this answer reached John the Baptist before his death, or what effect it had on the austere ascetic, is not known. Did he die consoled in the certainty that he whom he had announced was already living, or did he remain dubious as to the mission of Jesus? There is nothing to inform us. Seeing, however, that his school continued to exist for a considerable time contemporaneously with the Christian churches, there is reason to suppose that, notwithstanding his regard for Jesus, John did not look upon him as having realised the divine promises. Death moreover came to cut short his perplexities. The invincible freedom of the lonely ascetic was to crown his restless career of persecution with the only end which was worthy of it. The leniency which Antipas had at first shown towards John was not to last long. In the conversations which, according to Christian tradition, John had had with the tetrarch, he never ceased to tell him that his marriage was unlawful and that he ought to send Herodias away. It is easy to imagine the hatred which the grand-daughter of Herod the Great must necessarily have had for this importunate counsellor. She only waited an opportunity to ruin him. Her daughter, Salome, born of her first marriage, and, like herself, ambitious and dissolute, aided her in her designs. In that year (probably the year 30) Antipas was at Machero on the anniversary of his birthday. Herod the Great had had constructed in the interior of the fortress a magnilicent palace, where the tetrarch frequently resided. There he gave a great feast, during which Salome performed one of those characteristic dances which, in Syria, were not considered as unbecoming a lady of distinction. Antipas being much pleased, asked the dancer what she most Jesired, and she replied, at her mother's instigation: "I will that thou forthwith give me in a charger the head of John the Baptiast."27 Antipas was
27
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
sorry, but he did not care to refuse. A guard took the dish, went and cut off the prisoner's head, and brought it in. The disciples of the Baptist obtained his body and laid it in a tomb, but the people were much displeased. Six years after, Hareth, having attacked Antipas, in order to recover Machero and avenge his daughter's dishonour, Antipas was vanquished; and his defeat was generally looked upon as being a punishment for the murder of John. The news of John's death was carried to Jesus by the disciples of the Baptist. The last step taken by John with regard to Jesus had effectually united the two schools in the closest bonds. Jesus, fearing an increase of ill-will on the part of Antipas, took precautions and retired into the desert, where many people followed him. By the exercise of extreme frugality, the holy company found it possible to live there; and in this a miracle was naturally seen. From this time Jesus always spoke of John with redoubled admiration. He declared without hesitation that he was more than a prophet, that the Law and the ancient prophets had had their force only until his coming, that he had abrogated them, but that the kingdom of heaven would abrogate him in turn. In short, he attributed to him a special place in the scheme of the Christian mystery, which constituted him the link of union between the reign of the ancient covenant and that of the new kingdom. The prophet Malachi, whose opinion in this matter was eagerly cited, had with much force announced a precursor of the Messiah, who was to prepare men for the final regeneration, a messenger who should come to make straight the ways before the chosen one of God. This messenger was none other than the prophet Elias, who, according to a widely-spread belief, was soon to descend from heaven, whither he had been borne, that he might prepare men by repentance for the great advent, and reconcile God with his people. Sometimes with Elias was associated either the patriarch Enoch, to whom for one or two centuries high sanctity had been attributed, or Jeremiah, who was regarded as a kind of tutelary genius of the people, constantly engaged in praying for them before the throne of God. This idea of the imminent resurrection of two ancient prophets to serve as heralds of the Messiah is also to be discovered in so striking a form in the doctrine of the Parsees, that we feel much inclined to believe that it came from Persia. However this may be, it formed at the time of Jesus an integral part of the Jewish theories about the Messiah. It was admitted that the appearance of "two faithful witnesses," clad in garments of repentance, would be the prologue of the great drama which was about to be unfolded to the amazement of the universe. That, with these ideas, Jesus and his disciples could have no doubt as to the mission of John the Baptist is easily understood. When the Scribes raised the objection that it was still a question whether the Messiah could really have come, since Elias had not yet appeared, they replied that Elias 2R
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had come, that John was Elias raised from the dead. By his manner of life, by his opposition to the political authorities in power, John in fact recalled that strange figure in the ancient history of Israel. Jesus was not silent on the merits and excellences of his forerunner. He said that no greater man had been born amongst the children of men. He forcibly rebuked the Pharisees and the doctors for not having accepted his baptism, and for not being converted at his voice. The disciples of Jesus were faithful to these principles of their Master. Respect for John was a constant tradition during the first Christian generation. He was reputed to be a relative of Jesus. In order to establish the latter's mission upon universally accepted testimony, it was asserted that John, when he first saw Jesus, proclaimed him the Messiah; that he recognised himself to be his inferior, unworthy to loosen the latchets of his shoes; that at first he declined to baptise him, maintaining that it was he who ought to be baptised by Jesus. These were exaggerations which are sufficiently refuted by the dubious form of John's last message. But, in a more general sense, John remains in the Christian legend what, in reality, he was-the austere harbinger, the gloomy preacher of repentance before the joy of the bridegroom's coming, the prophet who announces the kingdom of God and dies without beholding it. This giant of the early history of Christianity, this eater of locusts and wild honey, this fierce redresser of wrongs, was the bitter wormwood which prepared the lips for the sweetness of the kingdom of God. His execution by Herodias inaugurated the era of Christian martyrs; he was the first witness for the new faith. The worldly, who in him recognised their true foe, could not suffer him to live; his mutilated corpse stretched on the threshold of Christianity, showed the bloody path in which so many others were to follow after him. The school of John did not die with its founder. For some time it survived in a form distinct from that of Jesus and at first the two were on good terms. Several years after the death of both masters, people were haptised with the baptism of John. Certain persons belonged to both schools at the same time, for example, the celebrated Apollos, the rival of St. Paul (about the year 54), and a large number of the Christians in Ephesus. Josephus, in the year 53 listened to the teaching of an ascetic called Banou, who greatly resembled John the Baptist, and was perhaps of his school. This Banou dwelt in the desert and clothed himself with the leaves of trees; he lived on nothing but wild plants and fruits, and baptised himself frequently, both day and night, in order to purify himself. James, he who was called the "brother of the Lord," practised similar asceticism. Later, about the end of the first century, Baptism was at enmity with Christianity, especially in Asia Minor. The author of the writings attrihuted to John the evangelist appears to combat it in an indirect way. One of the Sibylline poems seems to emanate from this school. As to the sects of Hemerobaptists, Baptists, and Elchasites (Sabiens and Mogtasila of the 21.)
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
Arabian writers), representatives of which still survive under the name of Mendaites, or "Christians of St. John," they have the name origin as the movement of John the Baptist rather than an authentic descent from John. The actual school of the latter, partly mingled with Christianity, became a small Christian heresy and died out in obscurity. John had as it were a presentiment of the future. Had he yielded to a mean rivalry, he would now be forgotten in the multitude of sectaries of his time. By his selfabnegation he has attained a glorious and a unique position in the religious pantheon of humanity.
Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
John vi. 67, 68. Matt. v. 3-10. Matt. vi. 19-21,24--34. Luke xii. 33, 34. Matt. xiii. 44, 46. Luke xvi. 14. Luke xvi. 19-25. Matt. xix. 24. Luke x. 41, 42. Luke xiv. 24. Luke vi. 24, 25. Luke xiv. 12-14. A saying preserved by very ancient tradition, and often quoted (Clement of Alexandria, Stromi, i. 28). It is also found in Origen, St. Jerome, and a great number of the Fathers of the Church. Proverbs xix. 17. Enoch xcix. 13, 14. Matt. ix. 12. Luke xv. 3-5. Luke xix. 10. Matt. ix. 13. Luke vii. 39. Matt. xxi. 31, 32. Mark ii. 18. Luke vii. 31 and following. Matt. xviii. 4. Luke vii. 20. Luke vii. 23. Mark vi. 25.
30
67
THE PUBLIC LIFE OF CHRIST TO THE TIME OF HIS ARREST F. E. D. Schleiermacher Source: J. C. Verheyden (ed.), The Life of Jesus, translated by S. Maclean Gilmour (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975), pp. 156-188. (Originally published inK. A. Riltenik (ed.), Das Leben ./e.~u. Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1864.)
Lecture 24 (June 22). Since the state of the material does not permit a coherent presentation within the limits of this period, it appears appropriate to deal with the main natural points of view of an account of the life of Christ. We distinguish between the outer and the inner side. To the first belong locality and external relationships, as well as also the external arrangement of life. To the inner side belong teaching and the foundation of a community. The national relationships and the miracles are ambiguous. We reckon the former as belonging to the inner side, for they form the counterpart of the foundation of a community, while we place the latter among those that are related to the outer side, for they are always performed on specific occasions. We do not view the baptism as the beginning of Christ's public ministry. There remain, however, thirty years of general usus. If the age relationship between John and Christ that is specified by Luke is historical, then both men were about the same age. If Jesus had submitted to baptism as soon as John appeared, less would be known of the fact and it would have exercised less influence. So we accept the estimate that Christ was thirty years of age when he began his ministry, for he would not have spent more time than was necessary in education. We also must think of him as imparting much as a preliminary exercise, although not under the guise of public teaching. We regard his arrest as the end of this period. From that point on everything constitutes one act, and the source material we have has a different form. Without attempting to define the point at which Christ's public life began - I cannot accept the idea that Christ's baptism by John had any 31
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special significance for him - we can only hold fast to what Luke tells us and what corresponds to the custom of the time. It was the custom that no one should appear as a public teacher before his thirtieth year, and Luke designates Christ's age as thirty years. John's baptism can hardly have been administered only to people who had reached a certain age, and therefore we cannot maintain that Christ did not permit himself to be baptized until he had attained the age of thirty years. Let me note another circumstance. For the relationship between Christ and John we have no other authority than the account in Luke which, in light of its whole composition, is not easy to accept as a historical witness. The same Lukan narrative is also our only authority for the age relationship between John and Christ -information that we also cannot accept as a historical datum. Were we to regard it as historical we should also have to accept the general view, namely, that if John were only six months older than Christ, he could not have appeared and would not have begun to baptize before he had reached his thirtieth year. But we cannot assume that Christ was among the first who accepted John's baptism. Only after this baptism had become something public could it have been worth John's trouble to protest Christ's coming to him for baptism, etc. So then, if we accept the Lukan narrative as historical, the baptism of Christ and the beginning of his public life must have virtually coincided. However, if we doubt the historicity of that account, such a conclusion also becomes doubtful. Once we think of Christ's public appearance as the result of an inner urge to communicate himself, we think of it as a gradual process. To the extent that his outer perception of the state of his people became complete, to that extent the inner urge to communicate himself must have become stronger and have expressed itself in an outer act. Having said this, however, it does not follow that Christ had to restrain himself and repress this urge without expression until he was thirty years of age. On the contrary, it is possible to think of many forms of communication that do not correspond to the actual type of public appearance and that could have preceded that public appearance, in the first instance as practice, and secondly as the satisfaction of his inner urge. Only his actual public teaching cannot be thought of as beginning earlier than this point of time. In this connection, however, it is uncertain whether Christ had not already engaged in public teaching before he accepted baptism. I myself regard it as possible that he did, for only then can the act of accepting John's baptism take on significance. I am also driven to this conclusion because of the statement in the Gospel of John that presupposes that Christ had disciples before anything could have been known of his baptism. 1 So far as the conclusion of this second part of Christ's ministry is concerned, it is inevitable that we should regard the end of his public ministry as coinciding with his arrest and the beginning of his sufferings. To be sure, Christ was a public person also during this time of his life, but the ministry
32
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that was characteristic of this earlier period no longer is pursued. In addition, the material that is introduced from the moment that the sufferings begin is different from what precedes it. Prior to the passion story the material is disconnected and the individual narratives are beset with contradictions. The passion story, on the other hand, appears in all the Gospels as a connected account and, although even here apparent contradictions are not lacking, such contradictions are of quite a different character. The passion story is concerned with a judicial process and the contradictions are related only to individual elements in the same whole, whereas the individual elements from the actual life of Christ are isolated and the connection of events can be viewed much more variously. 2 Therefore it is desirable to make the division as we have suggested and to give a separate treatment of that part of the life of Christ that begins with his arrest. Now the question arises: How are we actually to proceed in this section? If our task were to deal with all the narratives of the four Gospels in general and in the same way, since they form an unconnected collection of material we should have to abandon all attempts at giving a connected presentation, and then we should be necessarily compelled to follow a different procedure. To be sure, all the Gospels are not equally composed of disconnected material. There is a significant difference in this respect between the first three Gospels and the Gospel of John. The first three are so unmistakably an account composed of originally separate narratives that, even if the composition were complete and without a gap, the problem would remain the same and no account of the life of Christ as a unity could be discovered in them. That, however, is not the case with the .Johannine Gospel, for such a composition from earlier unconnected details cannot be observed there. On the contrary, the Gospel of John reveals one and the same tendency from beginning to end. It evidently comes from one who narrates what he himself had experienced. However, because it has a definite tendency, what it narrates as the content of a period is just as full of gaps as the other Gospel accounts. The periods which John skips he specifies, and he skips them because they contain nothing of interest to his special tendency. The tendency of this Gospel can be described as follows: The author wishes to make understandable the disaster in Christ's destiny together with the authentic nature of his activity, while- regarding the matter from John's own standpoint- the two conflicted with one another. Everyone who had, like John, won through to faith, had to expect that Christ would be recognized by all in the same way, and the catastrophe had therefore to be viewed in general as something that appeared unexpectedly. However, he wishes to make it comprehensible, and consequently everything is set forth in order to give a clear picture, in the first place of the actual nature of Christ's activity, and in the second place of the development of his relationship to the people
33
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and to the authorities among the people, and to make both comprehensible side by side with one another. A relationship exists, but only in this particular connection. For those, however, who undertake the task of viewing the life of Jesus in its continuity, the Evangelist John is just as unsatisfactory as the others. For our task, then, the difference is not as great as if we were to compare the Gospels in and for themselves with one another. Therefore John does not ease our task as we might actually expect in view of the significant difference between him and the other three. If we ask what would be the essential points for viewing the life of Christ, (or add: in its continuity) we are reminded here in every respect of the relative contrast in every individual life between its inner unity and the limitation placed on its appearance by the external relationships. If one is to be able completely to carry out the task of giving an account of a life, both must be kept in view in their connection and interconnection with each other. If one has therefore reached such a point as that on which we now stand, the task is: If one has reached the point in the development of a life where the public, connected influential activity (or: spontaneity) of the man begins in the world, then a certain view of his internal side already exists because of what has gone before, and also a knowledge of the totality of his external relationships. We have attempted to achieve the former by means of our common presupposition and from what we were able to reconstruct from the few notices that were at our disposal. Assuming that Christ was such a one as he appears to be by reason of the historical connection of his entire ministry, how did he gradually develop in this period of his life, if we regard that life purely as a human one? We have solved this problem. We have also tried to acquire knowledge of his external relationships, but that knowledge has been very incomplete, and putting it all together we find that there emerges (followsJ no sure and certain picture of the way Christ occupied himself during this period of his life. We have only picked out certain points and have said: That must have happened, and that cannot have happened. But we lack all source materials for understanding how Christ behaved in the totality of his external life relationships during this period. For example, if we were to say that Christ acquired, more or less by the employment of available helps, a knowledge of the Old Testament writings and of the history of his people such as was necessary for him as a public teacher, or if we were to say that it is not certain where he stayed throughout this whole period, but it is improbable that he spent the whole time with his family in Nazareth, significant gaps in our knowledge of his life would still remain. These gaps cannot have been filled entirely with studies, but if we do not know his social relationships with his people (or: his interests in his people), we have to leave these gaps blank. If we ask whether Christ followed the custom of the day and engaged in some 34
THE PUBLIC LIFE OF CHRIST
business in addition to his studies, as Paul, for example, did, it would not be unnatural or improbable that, if Joseph had lived on until late in this period, Christ was a partner with him in his business and was helpful to him in it, as the apocryphal gospels distinctly report. But we have no knowledge of all this. Such activity on Christ's part would have been in accordance with custom, but it is certain that the more the whole time in this period was filled with the activity of instruction and the more he became attached to this profession, the more the other subordinate element disappeared. There is no reason to believe that Christ carried on any business activity during the period of his public ministry, but for the preceding period there is a significant gap in our knowledge. We should have to repeat here a survey of the period during which his inner life developed, as well as of the totality of his relationships, if we were to be able to pursue any further the reciprocal effect of each on the other. But both were so little connected in our source material concerning the public life of Christ that we cannot pursue this reciprocal effect with any assurance. So then, in light of the state of our source material, I know of no other way to proceed than to divide the task and pursue the individual parts for themselves. Then it wiU become clear of itself how important for the whole task are the unavoidable gaps, or how far we can get a coherent picture to some extent of the whole appearance of Christ. Obviously everything that belongs to the outer side constitutes as it were only the framework, but it puts a limit to the inner side of Christ's life, his spiritual activity. Our main task would be to seek to inform ourselves first of the external life of Christ for this period and to present it as fully and clearly as possible, and then to take into consideration his actual spiritual influential activity, which forms the inner side of his life. However, the fact remains that both aspects of the task cannot be completely separated. On the contrary, there are important points which belong as well to the one as to the other. For example, if we are to have a clear picture of the appearance of Christ as a connected whole, it is necessary for that picture that we know, on the one hand, what was Christ's relationship at various times to those whom he attracted to himself, his relationship to his pupils in the widest sense of the word, increasing and proceeding in an unbroken line, or composed of different movements. Viewed in and for itself, that is an external relationship, but it is connected in the closest possible way with Christ's inner activity, and one cannot easily be separated from the other. The same thing is true of that part of his contemporary world that was opposed to him. This outer relationship had such an important influence on the inner that it is impossible to keep them separate. Consequently their separation presents some difficulty. It is inherent in the state of the source material, but we could wish that it were not necessary, for it interferes with a full understanding. As things are, however, we must submit to this necessity. 35
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Two things in the main belong to the outer life of Christ: in the first place, the determination of the locality in the widest sense of the word, the where of the life of Christ, viewed in the different points of this period; and secondly, the way and manner in which he filled in the time with respect to the more external parts of his life, to which, therefore, belongs his condition with respect to all external relationships of life. Both these things taken together constitute the outer side. To be sure, the inner side also consists of two essential parts. The first is the self-communication of Christ under the form of teaching, and in this connection we should have to observe how this, if we can describe it, took one form and another at different times and under different circumstances and in what way it developed. The second main part is then the self-communication of Christ under the form of attraction. This latter element was an important part of Christ's vocation, the task of founding a community (or: fellowship) bound to himself and subordinated to himself. We must seek to understand what he did to accomplish this and its result. It will probably occur to all that something else must necessarily be included in our presentation, something which is difficult to classify in one category or the other, namely, those expressions of Christ's life that we are accustomed to call his miracles. Do they belong to the inner or to the outer side? If we were to think of them independently of what distinguishes Christ inwardly from all other men, they would have no interest at all for us, except that of external facts that are difficult to explain, for they would have no relation to what makes Christ the object of our faith. If they are therefore to have a place in our account, they must have a connection with the specific dignity of Christ. However, they do not belong to the inner side of his life because they are always individual acts that are related to external matters, and proceed from and depend on Christ's external relationship to men. In this connection we see the difficulty of separating one aspect of Christ's life from the other, but we shall have to reckon the miracles, nevertheless, to the outer life, because, as they are connected, they coincide wholly with the external relationships. 3
Lecture 25 (June 25). Locus 1. The locality. Lack of agreement in the first instance between Matthew and John, not only with reference to Jerusalem, but also with reference to the view of his homeland. John always makes excuses for a departure from Judea, whereas Matthew presupposes a domicile in Galilee, especially in Capernaum. In addition, a special disagreement with respect to the way Jesus comes for the final Passover festival. According to Matthew, from Galilee through Perea by way of Jericho. According to John, no definite indication of absence from the time of the Feast of the Tabernacles to that of the Feast of the Dedication of the Temple. After the Feast of Dedication Christ 36
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goes to Perea to an area in which John had at first baptized, returns for the raising of Lazarus, goes from there to the town of Ephraim near the wilderness, and proceeds from there to Bethany for the Feast of the Passover. These contradictions cannot be explained if all our Gospels are equally close to Jesus. If the other Gospels are more remote, we find the key to the solution of the difficulties in the fact that John also records it as the prevailing opinion in Jerusalem that Jesus was a Galilean. Luke, after passages that betray artistic combination and that have been correlated by reason of the similarity of content, presents everything in the course of a narrative of travel toward Jerusalem. According to this analogy, overlooking the fact that Jesus must often have had yearly reasons for going to Jerusalem, what must have happened there was gathered together in one collection. Only Hellenists could have done this.
The external aspect of Christ's activity The locality However, here we run into very serious difficulties. It is impossible to harmonize the reports of the various Evangelists. I do not mean the differences that are to be found within the three Gospels themselves, but the great gulf that separates the first three from the Johannine Gospel. In the first place, all three of our first Gospels know of no stay on Christ's part in Jerusalem during his public life, with the exception of the one that brings his life to an end, the one that followed upon a journey hy Jesus to attend the Feast of the Passover and that resulted in his arrest, whereas John has Jesus go to Jerusalem soon after his ministry hcgan, and then often at later times. Secondly, the way in which Jesus comes to Jerusalem to this last Passover festival is quite different in the other Gospels than it is in John. Another circumstance is closely connected with this, namely, that in Matthew, the representative Gospel of the first three, the prevailing point of view is that Christ made his home in Galilee. Whenever he left Galilee a special reason for so doing is given or the absence appears as something temporary or accidental. In John, on the other hand, a different point of view is to be found. It would appear that John assumed that Jesus belonged to Judea and, whenever he leaves that territory, John gives special reasons for his doing so. In Mntthew Capernaum is represented as actually Christ's usual place of residence, but of that John appears to know nothing. These differences are so important that we scarcely know how to explain them, at least if all the authors are equally close to Christ. I can explain them only on the assumption that the various apostles stood at various distances from him, 37
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a fact that accords with the nature of the Gospels. If I am compelled to adhere to the belief that our Gospel of Matthew comes from the apostle whose name it bears and if I am to assume that Mark was written as a record of the memories of Peter, I am wholly at a loss to explain how such extraordinarily different views could have arisen. We shall be in a better position to view these difficulties after we have gone into them in detail and have examined the references to localities that are made in the various Gospels. According to Matthew, after the temptation Jesus heard that John had been put into prison, and then he returned to Galilee, that is, from the place where he had been exposed to temptation. 4 At this point Matthew's connected account of Christ's ministry begins for the first time. Many have claimed to have found in this the key to the whole apparent difference between Matthew and John. Matthew overlooks everything that had preceded John's arrest. 5 But it is by no means the case that the key is to be found here, for it is impossible that all the occasions on which the accounts of John and Matthew differ could fall into this period. If we only recall that in Matthew we have the first example of Christ's public teaching in the Sermon on the Mount, it is quite impossible that all else could be compressed into this period after John's arrest. 6 Jesus then settled in Capernaum, and the Matthean narrative implies that it was there that he made the acquaintance for the first time of Andrew and Peter. In John, on the other hand, the relationship with these first disciples begins immediately after Christ's baptism and, if we accept the usual view, we should have to assume that Christ had no companions, no apostles, prior to John's arrest. Then we are told in Matthew 4:23 ff. that Christ went about all Galilee, teaching in the synagogues and healing every disease and infirmity, so that his fame spread throughout all Syria. This presupposes, to be sure, a lengthy ministry on Christ's part, which could be the cause of this fame, but we cannot explain how it happens that Matthew doesn't tell us of it. All that happens in Galilee is presented according to this pattern of travel from one place to another, although Capernaum is regarded as the actual base of operations. The account in chapter 8 forms an interlude. Christ crosses over the Sea of Galilee by boat to Perea, and then returns by the same means "to his own city", that is, to Capernaum as his place of actual residence. Then, rather unexpectedly, we are told in chapter 10 that Christ empowered and sent out his twelve disciples. We are given the names of the apostles but are not told how these twelve had been assembled. Then Christ gives the disciples his instructions, and at the beginning of chapter 11 we are told that he left them in order to teach "in their cities," etc. This implies that Christ was quite separated from his disciples. That is a very peculiar passage and one that has no parallel elsewhere. And then comes the story of John's embassy from prison. This visit provides the occasion for a curse that Christ lays upon Chorazin and Bethsaida, towns in which 38
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he had done great deeds without result. But, we are not told previously of any visit to these towns, and we can only assume that such a visit was included in the course of one of the many journeys Christ took. In chapter 13 we are told that Christ suddenly came to Nazareth. That visit was one part of his journeyings about Galilee, so that the pattern is constant in this section of the Gospel. In chapter 14 we are told that Christ received news of John's beheading and that he withdrew to a lonely place. The feeding of the five thousand follows upon this withdrawal, and then a journey into Phoenicia, which bordered on Galilee. All that follows, the journey to Magdala [textus receptus] on the Sea of Galilee and to Caesarea Philippi, are only separate journeys within Galilee. Then follows the story of the transfiguration, and finally the journey to Jerusalem by way of Perea in chapter 19. In Matthew, then, the actual site of Christ's ministry from the beginning was Galilee, and this Gospel says nothing of Jerusalem until Christ goes there for the Feast of the Passover. If we reflect on the fact that Christ was obligated to attend the national festivals, especially since he had no fixed place of residence, we should have to conclude that all that Matthew recounts falls within the confines of a single year and that the Passover which preceded that on which he was arrested must have occurred before Matthew begins his account. 7 But there were many other great festivals in addition to the Passover, and Christ must have had the urge to journey to Jerusalem for them, or have been hindered from doing so in some special way. John, on the other hand, tells us that Christ journeyed to Jerusalem for the Feast of Tabernacles and did not return thereafter to Galilee. Localities as they appear in the Gospel of John. John knows nothing of the temptation story. After the baptism John has Christ go from the place where he had been with John by way of Cana and Capernaum, but in company with his mother and brothers. He remained there only a few days. This appears to have been a sort of family visit, but not the assumption of residence, "he dwelt", as in Matthew. Now the Passover was near, and therefore Christ and his disciples went to Jerusalem. Then comes the story of Nicodemus, and then (John 3:22) we are told that Jesus and his disciples went into the land of Judea. Here Jesus baptized, and John was also baptizing there at the same time. Christ learned that the Pharisees had heard that he had been making more disciples than John, and then he left Judea for these definite reasons. Otherwise he would have remained. Then he takes the road through Samaria, and then comes the story of the Samaritan woman. At the beginning of chapter 5 we are told: "After this there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem." This is the second time after the baptism that John conducts Jesus to Jerusalem. Whether John the Baptist had already been put in prison at this time does not directly emerge from the J ohannine text, but in the course of chapter 5 John is regarded as having withdrawn from the scene (v. 33: "You sent to 39
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John ... "), and that is a visit to Jerusalem that Matthew also ought to have told about, since he began his account with John's arrest. From chapter 6: After this Jesus went to the other side of the Galilean sea, and the Passover feast was at hand. This indicates that the first feast that had been mentioned was another. Now the story of the feeding of the multitude is introduced, Christ goes to Capernaum, and afterward he went about in Galilee (John 7:1) and would not go into Judea, because the Jews had sought to kill him. He had therefore to absent himself from the Passover Feast that followed upon the feeding of the multitude, but thereafter he went to Jerusalem for the Feast of Tabernacles, a journey of which Matthew knows nothing. It follows that from the time of the feeding of the multitude John and Matthew each locate Christ's activity in different areas. The fact that Matthew records two feedings of multitudes does not alter the situation, since we can regard the account of the feeding in John as identical with either the first or the second in Matthew. Jesus therefore goes to Jerusalem for the Feast of Tabernacles. To be sure, there are places in John where we learn that Christ was regarded as a Galilean, but by others than the Evangelist. If John had held that view it would be difficult to understand why he gives a special reason every time for Christ's departure to Galilee. Toward the end of chapter 7 we find discourses that Christ delivered on the final day of the Feast of Tabernacles. In chapter 8 other discourses of Christ are introduced with the adverb "again," a fact that indicates that Christ tarried in Jerusalem after the feast was over. Then we have the story of Christ and the adulterous woman-a story that has probably been interpolated into the Gospel. At the beginning of chapter 9 the Johannine account gives the impression that Jesus had left Jerusalem, but the locality of the incident narrated there is obscure, and we cannot be sure that Christ had actually departed from the city. In John 10:22, however, we are told that the Feast of the Dedication of the Temple was celebrated in Jerusalem and that Jesus walked at that time in the temple. It follows, then, that either he had spent the whole time between the Feast of Tabernacles and the Feast of the Dedication of the Temple in Jerusalem, or that he had returned to the city for the Feast of Dedication. Since nothing is said of any absence, the most probable assumption is that he had spent all this time in the neighborhood of Jerusalem. Then, toward the end of chapter 10, we are told that, as a result of antagonism on the part of the Jews, Christ went to Perea, and from there he returned to the vicinity of Jerusalem (the raising of Lazarus). Then he goes to Ephraim, a place that has not hitherto been mentioned, and then on to Bethany. From the time of the feeding of the multitude there is no agreement between the accounts in John and in Matthew. It is worthy of note that the two other Gospels also represent Christ as not coming to Jerusalem before the occasion of the last Passover. Mark is the Gospel that can always be shoved into the background, since it is not comprehensible 40
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apart from comparison with Matthew or Luke. In the Gospel of Luke we run across a very peculiar phenomenon, namely, the intentionally artistic composition of the various elements that occurs as early as the birth narratives and that is evident to a striking extent in the narratives that follow, which are combined in groups and aggregations (see my essay on Luke). 8 fn chapter 9 Christ says that he and his disciples should now go to Jerusalem, and all that follows (an enormous mass of narratives) is represented as having taken place on this journey to Jerusalem, a representation that agrees neither with that in John nor with that in Matthew. This representation can probably be explained if 9 we reflect that it was an idea that somehow had come to be accepted that Christ had maintained his residence in Galilee during the period of his public life and that he had only gone to Jerusalem as it were for the purpose of his passion, a prevailing opinion that is set forth in Luke. So it appears that individual events that had not been precisely located were connected with one another in the form of a narrative of the journey to Jerusalem. This leaves only the question: How can this idea of a predominantly Galilean ministry have arisen at that time, although the apostles, Christ's immediate companions, must have known that Jesus spent most of his time in .Judea? The key to the solution of the problem is to be found in John. It was the prevailing opinion that Jesus was a Galilean. If the narrator did not know that Christ had a strong motive to be in Jerusalem, he could easily have compressed everything that happened outside Galilee into the course of this single journey that he knew about. This, however, could not have been the work of an apostle. Lecture 26 (June 26). Therefore only John can be made basic, since, in the form in which we have it, Matthew's Gospel ... 10 ever more clearly is not the work of an apostle. John himself did not regard Galilee as the main seat of Christ's activities, but he puts that notion into the mouth of others as the prevailing idea in Jerusalem. 11 This belief can have arisen very probably as a result of the Galilean idiom or accent that Christ acquired [by] his education in Nazareth and that a large part of his constant companions had from birth. There were two ways by which Christ could fulfill his vocation to spread his message as widely as possible in Palestine: in part by a constant residence in Jerusalem, and in part by repeated journeyings in the different territories that comprised the country. His journeyings would not have taken him to Jews in the Dispersion, in addition legal custom drew him to Jerusalem. Christ made use of both methods and himself laid the foundation for the spread of the gospel in Samaria. Also, by means of his attendance at festivals, he was able to draw himself to the attention of Hellenists. 41
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We know little of Christ's personal acquaintances in Jerusalem (only the host at the Passover meal}, but we do know of some in the vicinity of the city, for example, the family with many branches with which he stayed in Bethany in order that he might daily come into Jerusalem. John speaks only of one stay in Samaria and has nothing definite to say of any in Perea. We must always keep in mind the high regard in which members of the teaching profession were held and the respectful hospitality extended to them. Homes were readily opened to them. In Galilee, Capernaum was Christ's most important center of activity, in part because of family connections there that we have to assume because his mother and sisters accompanied him thither, and in part because Peter's residence was there, although he had originally come from Bethsaida. It is very probable that Jesus resided with Peter. (That Peter was a householder is evident from the reference to Peter's wife's mother and from the story of finding a stater in the fish's mouth.) Luke 8:1-3 can be regarded as a general pattern of the frequent journeys, although the number of Jesus' companions may not always have been so large. Indeed, even the twelve may not always have been present for many a one could be kept away by his business duties.
If we wish to avoid unrewarding conjectures, we can only conclude from this contradiction that our Gospels have different relationships to the facts. In this connection we should not overlook the excellent character of the Gospel of John, which everywhere gives evidence of having come from an immediate eyewitness, whereas the character of the others as composites of originally separate elements is just as apparent, and all the Gospels except John must be viewed as having come down to us second hand. Although the one bears the name of an apostle, doubt has recently been cast by several persons on the tradition that the Gospel in its present form really is the work of an apostle, and I am convinced that the question of Matthew's apostolic authorship will increasingly be answered in the negative. We must, therefore, make the Gospel of John basic to our studies, and if we view the relationship of Christ to localities in light of this Gospel, this is what we see: According to John it was not the prevailing opinion that Jesus' homeland during his public ministry was Galilee, the way Capernaum is expressly designated Christ's "own city" in Matthew. John actually regards Judea as the site of Christ's public ministry, and Christ goes elsewhere only temporarily and for definite reasons. The question, then, arises: How can the view have arisen that Galilee was the site of Christ's public ministry? Even in John Jesus is referred to in Jerusalem as a Galilean, but only by others, never by the Evangelist himself. What was the reason for that? We can make the following suggestions: (1) Before he 42
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began his public ministry Jesus received his education in Galilee. If there were certain differences of idiom in Palestine -Peter, in fact, was recognized by his speech as a Galilean- it can have been that Christ's ordinary speech betrayed Galilean characteristics. (2) The majority of Christ's pupils that were in constant attendance on him was made up of Galileans. This we know was true of the two pairs of brothers, of Nathanael, of Matthew, and, to judge from their nicknames, also of several others. These were reasons enough for the idea to win acceptance among those who did not belong to Christ's immediate entourage and to become the one generally held in Judea, and in this way it found its way into our Gospels. If we now take a look at all the local relationships and ask how the public life of Jesus was related to the totality of the Jewish country, since he himself considered his vocation as limited to Palestine, this is the way things appear: At that time Judea was a Roman province and the other parts of the country were sometimes under various members of the Herodian family and sometimes united, but the terms that were in common use were Judea, Galilee, Samaria, and Perea. If we now have to say that Christ thought of himself as called to proclaim the kingdom of God and to establish it among his people by that proclamation, this fact explains why he put himself as much as possible into contact with them. That could happen only in two ways. One method would be to stay continually in Jerusalem, for that city was the center of the land, partly because great crowds from all parts of the country came there at the time of the festivals, and partly because many were in the city from all the different districts of Palestine for business reasons. At the same time this was the means by which attention could be called to Christ on the part of those members of the Jewish people who lived in the dispersion, that is, outside of Palestine. The other method would have been a constant journeying in order to visit all parts of the country. We find that Christ combined both methods. In John we see that the occurrence of one of the great festivals was the occasion of a journey to Jerusalem. Then Christ spent some time in the vicinity of Jerusalem, or in Perea, or he went for a while to Galilee, but in John such a departure from Judea is always given some motivation. To be sure, it cannot be demonstrated that Christ could not have achieved his purpose by remaining constantly in Jerusalem. However, it must be clear to everyone that he would not have achieved it by avoiding Jerusalem and employing only the other method of journeying hither and yon. If he had not come to Jerusalem he would at least have been unable to attract attention from those sections of the Jewish people who lived outside Palestine, for such people had no concern for Palestinian affairs outside the capital city. Just as there were synagogues of Hellenists in Jerusalem, so foreign Jews also came to the city because of the great festivals. However, even if we left this factor out of consideration, Jesus could not have avoided Jerusalem. He stood under the law, and that compelled 43
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him to celebrate the festivals as far as possible in Jerusalem. Jesus had certain family connections in Galilee, and also connections with earlier acquaintances. Samaria was of least importance for the task he had assumed, for the Samaritans, strictly speaking, were not members in the same way of the Jewish people. The Samaritans were a mixed race of Jews and others, and, so far as the cult was concerned, a separate people. However, there were two roads from Jerusalem to Galilee. The one went to the west of the Jordan river through Samaria, while the other went to the east of the river through Perea. For most people the former route was the more direct, but the latter was preferred because people wished to avoid coming into contact with Samaritans, who were regarded as ritually unclean. Very early in the book of the Acts of the Apostles we hear of a great advance of the gospel in Samaria, which was associated with the preaching of Philip. In John we learn that Christ also traveled through Samaria. We see, then, that Christ did not observe the custom of avoiding the route through Samaria, and by his presence in Samaria he prepared the way for the later spread of Christianity in that land. The synoptic Evangelists represent Christ as crossing the Galilean lake from Galilee to make a brief visit to Perea on the other shore and as traveling through Perea on the journey from Galilee to Jerusalem, and John makes him take an intentional route (or, journey) to Samaria. We see, then, that Christ neglected no part of the Jewish land and excluded no part of it from the scene of his personal ministry. To be sure, he had special points of contact in Galilee. The fact that he had earlier been educated there seems to retreat into the background. Matthew (4:13) begins his story with the statement that Christ, "leaving Nazareth," went and dwelt in Capernaum, and speaks only of a single visit at a later time to Nazareth. We learn from John, however, from the story of the marriage at Cana, that Christ also had family connections in Capernaum. Peter and Andrew had their residence in Capernaum, and Christ found the two sons of Zebedee, James and John, in a business partnership with them at Capernaum. From the statement in John 1 we learn that Bethsaida was regarded as the original home of Andrew and Peter. Since Andrew is mentioned first, we may perhaps conclude that he was the elder of the two brothers. This may also emerge from the fact that he and John had been disciples of the Baptist. Bethsaida, then, is designated as their actual native town, as it was also, according to the same verse, of Philip. But Matthew declares distinctly that Peter had a house establishment in Capernaum, and the other Evangelists agree with him on this point. In this way, then, Christ had a double interest in Capernaum, and it is probable that, when he settled in Capernaum, he was a member of Peter's household. We see, then, how this could easily give rise to the statement that he took up residence in Capernaum and that Capernaum was his "own city," that is, his usual domicile. There is little reference to Christ's special rela44
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tionships in Jerusalem, with the exception of that implied in the story of the preparation for the final Passover, where Christ refers his disciples to one to whom he has them say that he wishes to celebrate the Passover in his house. Such a request could only have been made of one with whom Christ was already well acquainted. In John special emphasis is laid on Christ's relationship with the family in Bethany, of which Lazarus and his two sisters are named. This relationship was not limited to the time of the last Passover. John tells us that on an earlier occasion Christ left the city at evening time and took the road from Jerusalem to Bethany as far as the Mount of Olives, at whose foot lay the town of Bethany. Definite relationships of this sort in other parts of the country are not mentioned, and we know nothing of how Christ lived in Perea. Only one stay in Samaria is referred to- one during which Christ was welcomed as a guest in the city where the event took place. In this way we can form a picture, although an imperfect one, of Christ's outer existence. This was related to the households of his disciples in various Galilean towns and, in the vicinity of Jerusalem, to the households of those who either recognized the Messiah in him, or at least honored him as a prophet. Relationships in other localities remain in the dark. However, we know in general that the profession of the scribes and of those who were entitled to engage in public teaching was a highly honored one and that everyone made a point of showing courtesy to anyone who belonged to it. Because he had no special means of subsistence, the support of a person of this profession was often dependent on the respect in which his profession was held and on the hospitality extended to him as a member of it. When we are told that Christ journeyed hither and yon and we ask, How did this happen, and on what did his subsistence depend? we find a passage that bears on the question, although we cannot be sure whether it refers only to a specific journey or to the sources of Christ's subsistence in general. At the beginning of chapter 8 of Luke's Gospel we are told that Christ went through cities and villages, preaching the kingdom of God, and that the twelve were with him, as well as some women, etc. These women are named: Mary Magdalcne and two others, as well as many others who are unnamed. Then we a re told that they provided for Jesus and his disciples out of their means. The picture we get is that of a rather large company of travelers. The disciples had their professions and their income, and there were others who gave practical expression to their thankfulness to Christ, and Christ's subsistence was provided for in these ways. It is probable that we can regard this single instance as illustrative of what happened in general. Lecture 27 (June 27). In this way we can account at the same time for the problem of the nature of Christ's outer subsistence during this period. The usual idea of an actual poverty that contributed 45
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significantly to his lowly estate is indefensible. The saying that he knew not where to lay his head refers more to the fact that he had no settled home than to the lack of a lodging, which was certainly always at his disposal. The statement that Judas carried what was thrown into the money box (John 12:5-6) would have no connection with what precedes it if it had not been a fact that what was intended for the poor passed through Judas's hands. So the society, which often had occasion to use them, was entrusted with charitable gifts. But also gifts of love to a teacher, and especially hospitality to traveling teachers, were quite in the spirit of the time and the people. Christ retained no close connection with his family, and it is unlikely that he obtained any of his subsistence from its members. On one occasion his brothers wanted him to go to Judea rather than to stay in Galilee (John 7:3), and at another time (Matt. 12:45-50; Mark 3:31-35; Luke 8:19-21) they wished to have him by themselves. In this latter instance Christ's mother was also with his brothers. This does not mean that she shared their unbelieving conviction, but only that she stood with them. His mother does not accompany him on his journeys. She was not even with him on his last journey, but came to the festival in some other way. Although Christ did not have his own dwelling, he certainly shared Peter's house in Capernaum. Our information is insufficient to say that this was the reason for Peter's status in relation to the other apostles, a status that can scarcely be explained by his personal character, especially after the denial, and in light of the preferential relationship John enjoyed, although this last was purely personal. The earnings of the apostles, whatever profession they may have followed, went into the common fund. Then we have to keep in mind the hospitality and the love gifts. In this connection we have to reflect on the activities of Christ and the way he occupied his time. Public instruction in a specific form was restricted to the days on which there were synagogue assemblies. In addition great numbers of people collected only on journeys to the festivals or on the marketplaces. Assemblies at marketplaces were not adapted to teaching but were often used for that purpose. Since people suffering from disease are not easily moved, we cannot think that many people gathered about him with sick friends or relatives. The Gospel of Matthew often gives us the impression that they did, but this is due to the method of narrating events employed by this Evangelist, a method that has not yet been wholly clarified. The general discussion of the localities involved in Christ's public ministry enables us to conclude that we cannot specify a definite residence to
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which Christ always would have returned. To be sure, in Matthew's Gospel this is the prevailing idea, but in John we do not find it at all, and this fact is all the more significant since John himself stood very close to what was Christ's point of contact in Capernaum. Apart from Christ's family connections in Capernaum, it was Peter's house that could attach him to that town. John and his brother were in some business partnership with Peter. They are represented as carrying on the business of fishing together with him. Such business had to do with trade in dried fish at the outlet of the Sea of Galilee, and this business could lead to a comfortable living. In the Gospels we see the two pairs of brothers in partnership, engaged together in the business of fishing. Consequently John could have been inclined to lay a certain stress on Christ's connection with Capernaum, but actually there is no trace of it. So the emphasis on Capernaum in the other Gospels is not due to accurate recollection of facts but to the view of the matter that developed later and at a distance from events. This is connected with another point that is of very great importance. The idea runs through all the narratives of the Gospels, and to a still greater extent through those of the book of the Acts of the Apostles, that Peter held a unique position among the disciples. Even while they were still with Christ, Peter appears in individual instances as the spokesman, the foreman as it were of the apostles, and in the book of the Acts he is often the foremost among the company, the one who speaks for all. How can we account for this preeminence? Was it just the result of his personal character? To be sure, Christ emphasizes this character in a special way in the familiar passage, but the story of Peter's so-called denial (I do not value it as highly as is often the case) could detract from this impression of a dominant strength and power of character. Even after the story of the denial we find that Peter occupies the same leading position among the disciples as before, and that could scarcely have been due to the fact that Christ after the resurrection restored him to a place of trust and affection. An explanation of Peter's role is to be found in Matthew's Gospel. Peter had a house in Capernaum, and whenever Jesus was in Capernaum he stayed with Peter. This led to a special relationship of Peter to Christ by which Peter obtained an ascendancy over the others, and in this way we can account for the role he played. However, if we cannot share Matthew's point of view and if Capernaum cannot be regarded as Christ's actual hometown, this idea loses its importance. Nevertheless, the role Peter played is most easily explained in this way. It is apparent that this relationship to the other apostles that Peter enjoyed is not stressed as much in John's narrative as in those of the first three Gospels. For the book of the Acts of the Apostles we have no such counterweight as the Gospel of John for the other three Gospels, and in the book of the Acts the relationship of Peter as the spokesman and foreman of the apostles is very prominent. In the Gospel of John, on the other hand, it is a special relationship of the
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apostle John to Christ that is emphasized, but this has a purely personal character and was of no influence on the apostle's profession. Another question concerns the way and means by which Christ obtained external subsistence. If a person has a definite residence, this question is not urgent, for such possession presupposes a source of help for outer subsistence. However, if we have to deny such a permanent residence to Christ we must ask: How did Christ actually obtain subsistence? It is very doubtful that he spent the whole time until his thirtieth year with his family in Nazareth. That becomes quite improbable if you think in an unprejudiced way of the account of his appearance in Nazareth. That story indicates that Christ's family was well known in Nazareth, that his sisters lived there, but if he himself had lived there, the story would have been told differently. His relationship to the other members of the family, regarded as the basis of his external support, must have ceased at a much earlier date. However, we cannot venture to advance hypotheses with respect to ways in which he may have supported himself prior to the beginning of his public ministry in the absence of any source material on which to base them. Christ's mother disappears almost completely from our Gospels, and appears again only at the very end. John tells us that Christ was invited together with his mother and brothers to the marriage at Cana and that he went with them from there to Capemaum. However, even there he seems to have separated from them. What really is meant by the term "his brothers" is still the subject of dispute. The Gospels do not tell us in what sense they are called his brothers. Were they younger brothers, or older brothers from an earlier marriage of J oseph, or were they called his brothers although they were actually his cousins? These questions are still debated. Whatever the term may mean, his brothers appear in the Gospel of John specifically as not sharing the idea of himself and his vocation that Christ set forth and as lacking belief in his messianic dignity. In John 7 we are told that they asked him, when he on one occasion had spent some time in Galilee, to go to the festival, and they asked him in such a way as to suggest that they would rather have him in Judea than in Galilee. Consequently we cannot think of a close relationship as existing between Christ and his brothers. In the other Gospels there is an account which makes one suspect that for a long time Christ's mother had been with his brothers. That does not mean that she shared their conviction, that she had no faith in him, but only that she took part formally in what they did. Whereas in John 7 we are told that his brothers wanted him to leave Galilee so that they might not be confused with him, in these other passages (Mark 3:21, 31) we are told that they wanted to seize him and remove him from public life, as though he were one who had lost control of his senses, as though he were mad. They had heard this report and regarded it as better to keep him at home. From all this it is apparent that 4R
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Jesus had no close connection with other members of his family. Similarly we have no reason to believe that his mother stood in any close relationship to him during his stay in Galilee, whether he spent the time in Capernaum or in traveling about. In his detailed enumeration of Christ's traveling companions, Luke does not mention Christ's mother, and even when Christ made his last journey to Jerusalem to attend the Feast of the Passover, she did not accompany him, although she later was in the city. The other Evangelists would have had occasion to mention Christ's mother as a member of his entourage if she had been with him, for they have him go directly from Galilee to Jerusalem. This is not the case in John's Gospel, where Christ at first lived in Jerusalem and its environs, then went to Perea, then to Lazarus, then to the wilderness to Ephraim, and from Ephraim to the festival. His mother could not have been with him on those travels. Only later, after Christ's death, does his mother appear in close relationship to John and the apostles, and not his mother alone, but also his brothers, who therefore must have changed their attitude. This later relationship, however, does not seem to have existed during the period of his public ministry. How are we to think of Christ as supporting himself? It is generally held that Christ lived in a state of acute poverty, but there is no evidence to support such a belief. When Christ says that the Son of man has nowhere to lay his head, we do not have to explain that saying in the sense that he was poor. It means only that he had no definite home, but that he was always compelled by circumstances to wander to and fro. If Christ was recognized as a public teacher, we cannot think of him as poor. Teachers were the objects of respect and the recipients of hospitality. We have every reason to believe that this was so to a high degree at all times and in all places. The difference between teachers and others cannot be regarded as a contrast between poverty and affluence. In the first place, the satisfaction of a teacher's essential needs was something exceptionally easy, and in this respect we cannot speak of poverty. When we recall that Christ lived at times in Peter's house, that at times he was on journeys to areas where he would receive hospitality when he appeared as a teacher, and that he attracted more and more pupils and adherents, the question of how he obtained his subsistence ceases to require an answer. At the same time we have to give up the idea that he was especially poor, for there is no reason to hold it. To be sure, one passage, that in John 12, seems to support this idea, but the interpretation of that passage is very difficult. This is the passage in which John tells of the anointing in Bethany. He says that Judas Iscariot complains of the waste. The ointment should have been sold and the money given to the poor. At this point John remarks that Judas had not said what he did out of concern for the poor, but because he had always carried the money box and looked after what was put into it as gifts. That gives the impression of a common fund that was used for the 49
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direct support of Christ and his company, to which each contributed. This presupposes that each of Christ's disciples had his income, income not earned personally but by members of his family, and that each received what was necessary and shared it with others. The other expression, "he used to take what was put into it," is explained as meaning that those who honored Christ had made contributions to his support. I have no intention of denying that. It was the way the Jews of the day treated traveling teachers. After they had delivered lectures in the synagogues they received their support in this way. But the passage does not have to be interpreted after this fashion, for such an interpretation does not explain how Judas could have said what he did. If there is to be a connection here, we must assume that in this "money box" there was also something for the poor. The passage means that contributions were made to Christ and his company to be distributed by them to the poor. That is the natural explanation of the passage, for the Gospels plainly tell us that there were often beggars who sought support from passersby, and Christ must often have had such requests, for he was regularly engaged in travels. The more we think of Christ as constantly in the company of several people, whether in one place where he had those who honored him, or in travels, the less we can accept the idea of a poverty on his part that required the receipt of alms. He did not lead a lonely existence. We would have to say that Christ's whole company was in a state of poverty, but in that case he would not have been able to hold it together, for its very existence would have depended on external circumstances. Consequently we conclude that he obtained his subsistence in part from the pooling of the resources of those who belonged to his immediate entourage and in part from contributions that others made to this common life. But these latter are only to be considered as support for his undertaking, (or: his affairs) as contributions to assure the continuance of Christ's company, on whose existence the whole ministry of Christ primarily depended, not as charity that Christ personally received. Let us turn now to another question. If we now know in what area Christ moved about and in which he stayed here and there for a shorter or longer time, usually teaching and surrounded most of the time by at least the majority of the twelve, how did he occupy the whole time? It could not have been taken up only with teaching. Public instruction was limited to the time that was set apart for rest from work. In other words, it was associated with the day on which the synagogue assembled. This, then, was essentially the time during which Christ exercised his public ministry. To be sure, there are narratives in the Gospels that represent Christ as teaching at times on a mountain, at times by the lake in the presence of a crowd, at times on journeys, with people following him. These pictures are more difficult to verify. They are dependent on two facts. In the first place, crowds of people were engaged at the time of the great festivals in 50
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journeying to Jerusalem, and at such times Christ would have masses of people near him and there would be times when he could teach. In the second place, his miracles, his extension of help to people in dire need, would be responsible for gathering crowds about him. This latter fact presents some difficulties, however. We cannot easily think of Christ as constantly surrounded by sick, helpless people and at the same time by many others. This could happen only in especially favorable circumstances, and we cannot think of this as occurring very often. This, to be sure, is the impression we get from Matthew's Gospel, but it is due to the special point of view that is characteristic of that Gospel. Lecture 28 (June 28). Christ's use of his time involves two factors, the daily ordering of his life and a ministry that differed according to place and time. The time set aside for prayer was only a brief period, for it was at the same time the beginning of the day's work. The disciples pursued their ordinary tasks, sometimes with Christ accompanying them without taking part in their activities. This was also the time of his meditation and his study of the Scriptures. Then came their social assembly, which would be occupied with instruction whenever they were by themselves and with inspiring teaching when they were surrounded by others. The disciples had many prejudices that had to be overcome, and the foundations of the Christian church had to be laid in them. This, then, was the simple form of the ordinary order of Christ's life, which was enriched on sabbaths by public teaching, more rest from regular work, and greater companionableness. So far as the other factor is concerned, our source materials are unevenly divided, and in this unevenness Matthew and John differ greatly from each other. The latter passes frequently from one activity to another, although he at least fills in the gaps by commencing each new account with some reference to the passage of time. Matthew only introduces separate accounts and general descriptions and lumps everything into them in such a way that they lack any indication of the passage of time. In this fashion Matthew's Gospel gives the impression of days in Christ's ministry that were filled to the full, but this impression is usually not defensible. I cite the Sermon on the Mount and the various collections of parables as examples.
We have a large number of narratives from this period of the life of Christ, but we are still faced with serious problems. If we ask how much lime Christ spent in public teaching, which would ordinarily be teaching in l he synagogues, we have to answer that this would be limited to the sabhaths. In addition it is natural to assume that Christ could find great
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crowds of people together only insofar as they assembled in caravans to journey to Jerusalem, and that was limited to certain times of the year. In addition we can also assume that there was a definite place (forum) in centers that had no synagogue where people could assemble at definite times for prayer. In Jerusalem these took place in the temple, at the place where offerings were made, but such assemblies were only brief, and each attendant soon scattered to fulfill his special duties. Accordingly, there was not much time in the course of an ordinary day, except under unusual circumstances, when Christ could count on listeners. To be sure, in Matthew's Gospel we find accounts of large crowds of people which assembled about Christ. At times these Matthean reports give the impression that there were rather remote places to which people brought their sick folk for Christ to heal. This is difficult to imagine. Preparations would have to be made for such occasions, and the place where Christ would be at the time would have to be known, as well as how long he intended to remain there. An assembly of large numbers of people under such circumstances can only be regarded as accidental. It does not fit into the picture of a regular day's activities, and we may well ask whether the references of this sort that Matthew makes are not to be regarded more as summaries by which the Evangelist seeks to fill in gaps in his narrative rather than as indications of separate, specific assemblies. There are two parts to our task. In the first place, if we regard the day as an individual, recurring occasion, we have to ask: How did Christ ordinarily occupy himself during such a day? In the second place, with reference to the whole period, can we form a clear picture of the continuity of Christ's activities? 1) An ordinary day in the life of Christ during his public ministryY (a) We can only think of the sabbath as the day when as a rule Christ could make any significant use of his teaching ministry and on which it occupied any considerable amount of time. On all other days we can assume only social activity on Christ's part. This, however, took many forms and was in every respect unique. Those who made up his regular entourage had to pursue their professional tasks, and we run across occasional instances of this. The disciples attended to their occupational duties, for example, those of fishing on the Sea of Galilee, and Christ accompanied them to their tasks, simultaneously exercising his unique activity, for that was the time available to him for meditation. (b) Then there was social activity, partly in the circle of his disciples and partly in a wider relation to others. We are particularly concerned in this connection with whether we may assume that Christ carried on any kind of regular activity within the narrower assembly of his disciples for the purpose of instructing them, correcting their ideas, and preparing them for their future ministry. We have no definite reports concerning such activity. The discourses of Christ to his disciples have a definite occasion and do not appear to conform to a specific teaching pattern. On the contrary, they appear to have been 52
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occasional. However, we have to assume without question that Christ was regularly in the company of a number of his disciples. The number was limited at times when the disciples pursued their professions and more extended when they gathered for social purposes, but the fact of such gatherings cannot be denied. After Christ had finally departed, we see the disciples appearing, filled with assurance and certainty. They knew what they wanted with respect to their task of founding and ordering the Christian fellowship as the externalization of the kingdom of God, and having abandoned all earlier ideas of a politically oriented theocracy, they were agreed on appealing to God's earlier revelation. This was the fruit of their common life with Christ, not just of Christ's public teaching, which they shared with others. Christ had exercised a special ministry to them. So then, Christ's daily life was occupied with meditation and study of the Scriptures by himself, with public teaching, and in general with a social life which was especially filled with instructing the narrower circle of his disciples and with whatever else was opportune. 2) The whole time of Christ's public life, considered as a continuum. The task of forming a picture of this in accordance with the available material is very difficult. Comparing the two Gospels, John and Matthew, we find both a great similarity and a great difference. There are large gaps, periods of which nothing is recounted. John notes these gaps largely with references to time, for example, at Christ's baptism. At the beginning he is very specific as to the passage of time. He tells of the day on which John gave his witness to Christ before the deputation from Jerusalem. Then in 1:29 we are told that "on the next day" John saw Jesus, and then follows the account of Christ's baptism. Then again on the following day (v. 35) John was standing with two of his disciples, Andrew and Peter, who left him and went to Jesus. On the following day (v. 43) Jesus found Philip and Nathanael. On the third day (2:1) he went to the marriage feast at Cana, etc. Here the references to time are so exact because they had to do with the beginnings of the relationship between Jesus and John, and in this connection even the slightest detail was noteworthy. Gaps show up later which, however, John does not indicate. After the account of the marriage at Cana, the Evangelist tells us that Christ found his way to Capernaum, where he spent "not many days", [i.e., a few days], and then went to .Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover. Then come the accounts of what he did in Jerusalem. Then we are told in chapter 3:22 that he went into the land of Judea, where his disciples baptized. News of this reached .Jerusalem and made quite a stir. Then Christ went to Galilee by way of the road through Samaria to the west of the Jordan. The stay in Samaria lasted only for a few days. In 4:43 we are told that "after two days" he resumed his journey and came to Galilee, and then there is no further specification of the passage of time. Then in 5:1 we are told that a feast of the Jews was at hand and that Jesus went to Jerusalem to attend it. At the
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beginning of John 6 the Evangelist proceeds: After this Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, and then there follows the story of the feeding of the multitude. In this way John summarizes a considerable period of time. At the end of chapter 6 he says that many of Jesus' disciples began to draw back. In chapter 7 we are told that Christ stayed in Galilee until the time of the Feast of Tabernacles and that at the time this feast began he went to Jerusalem. In this way John's account clearly reveals gaps and fails to fill them in with information as to how Jesus used the time. How does Matthew represent Christ as occupying his time? We start with Christ's assumption of residence at Capernaum. There Jesus began to proclaim (4:17): "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand." He meets the two pairs of brothers. Then we are given a general description: Christ went about all Galilee, teaching in the synagogues and healing (4:23). Then reference is made to an indefinite period: Christ's fame spread throughout all Syria, and people brought him all their sick and he healed them (4:24-25). 13 There is here no mention of a passage of time or of a definite locality, and to this general notice chapter 5:1 is attached: "Seeing the crowds, he went up on the mountain," etc. Then follows the Sermon on the Mount. So a specific detail is linked directly with an indefinite account, for which there is no note of the passage of time. At the end of the Sermon on the Mount we read: "And when Jesus finished these sayings, the crowds were astonished at his teaching." There is no account of Christ's activity as a healer among the people. Only an isolated story of the healing of a leper and another of the healing of a servant of a centurion are attached, and then that of the healing of Peter's mother-in-law. Then we read (8:16): "That evening they brought to him many who were possessed," etc. It is assumed, then, that all that had previously happened had been done on one day. Christ then withdraws from the crowd by crossing over the lake in a boat. There follows a storm, the incident of the Gergesenes [textus receptus], the return voyage, and then (9:2) the healing of the paralytic. In all this we have on the one hand a general description without reference to the passage of time, and on the other hand a mass of separate events compressed into a brief period. If we are to take this literally and are to regard Matthew's Gospel as our primary source, then we get the picture as it is painted by Dr. Paulus in his commentary and in his Life of Jesus, a picture of separate days, filled to the full with events. In the course of this, however, the whole rest of the time would remain in the dark. We should know nothing of it except what is given in the indefinite generalizations, and points become evident where we see clearly that it is impossible to take Matthew literally. For example, chapter 12 begins with a general reference: "at that time" Christ went through the grainfields on the sabbath. Then in v. 9 we are told that he went on from there into the synagogue, where he healed a man that had a withered hand. Then we are 54
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told very vaguely that the Pharisees took counsel against him, how to destroy him, and then Jesus withdrew from there. In v. 22 we are told that a "demoniac" was brought to him, and the healing of this sick man is the occasion for a long discourse by Christ, and, while he is still speaking, his mother appears outside, and so on till we come to chapter 13. We get the impression that all this took place on the same day, as well as the delivery of a parable to the assembled crowd. Then his disciples came to him and asked him why he spoke to the people in parables, and he answered by explaining one of the parables. Then comes still another parable, and then still another, and so on. By this time it must have grown late. How can we possibly think of all this as a continuum! And yet Dr. Paulus speaks of it as a day that was particularly rich in events. We see that there is still need for a closer examination of the actual character of Matthew's Gospel. In comparison with Matthew, we have no choice but to make John's Gospel oasic. The Gospel of Luke presents still other difficulties in connection with the continuum of time, for it includes small collections of narratives of separate events which are assembled because of their similar character. Then follows a similar collection, and toward the end of chapter 9 we are told that the journey to Jerusalem begins, and then everything that is recounted is represented as having happened in the course of this one journey. We cannot use Luke to get an idea of the way Christ occupied his Lime during this period of his life. John is the only Gospel that can give us that, although even in John the picture is incomplete.
Notes 2 3
4 .S
t. 7 X
lJ
or add: and only so could disciples of Jesus have been invited to Galilee before anything was known there of his baptism. or add: On the other hand, contradictions in unconnected narratives are much more difficult. or add: because they can only be understood in terms of the external relationships. We must therefore begin with the outer side of Christ's life as the limitation and condition of the inner, "because they [the miracles] always issue from special occasions." apparently from the area where the temptation had taken place, and that cannot have been an exact location . <~nd abandoning Nazareth, Christ took up his residence in Capernaum. <~11 Johannine material cannot fall into the period between the Baptist's arrest <~nd the Sermon on the Mount. and the Passover before the last had already occurred before the beginning of Matthew's narrative of Christ's public ministry. This work is found in Schleiermacher's Siimmtliche Werke (Berlin: G. Reimer, I X36), I, 2:1-220. There is an English translation by Connop Thirlwall, A Critical Essay on the Gospel of Luke (London, 1825). Cf. above, Introduction, pp. xxix-xxxi. if one recalls that Luke, unlike Matthew, does not carry the name of an
55
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10 11
12 13
apostle, and that Mark reports indirectly. Therefore these Gospels can be regarded as being second or third hand. We should also recall that it was a generally accepted idea that Christ had lived in Galilee until the time of the final Passover, etc. reveals itself, or can be seen to be? RUtenik is evidently unable to decipher Schleiermacher's note. [LEK] Paulus also takes the temporal ordering of the Gospel of John as basic; Das Leben Jesu als Grundlage einer reinen Geschichte des Urchristentums. 2 vols (Heidelberg, 1828), 1 154. This is worthy of note because Paul us was known as an extreme version of an Enlightenment rationalism and a thoroughly moral approach to the message of Jesus, a very different theological perspective than that of Schleiermacher. Paul us shared much with the Kantian influenced school of theology, one of whose members, Karl Bretschneider, had seriously challenged the Gospel of John as a historical source in 1820. The fact that Paulus takes John as basic is indicative that there is more than Schleiermacher's theological propensities involved in his adherence to the Fourth Gospel. Such a basic reliance upon John, of course, is virtually no longer extant in New Testament research. The subhead titles for this and the following section have been supplied by the translator. or add: for which he required a lengthy period of travel round about.
68 A GREAT DAY IN THE LIFE OF JESUS F. W. Farrar Source: Life o[Chrisl (New York: Dutton, 1874), pp. 227-243.
The sequence of events in the narrative on which we are now about to enter is nearly the same in the first three Gospels. Without neglecting any dear indications given by the other Evangelists, we shall, in this part of the life of Jesus, mainly follow the chronological guidance of St. Luke. The order of St. Matthew and St. Mark appears to be much guided by subjective considerations. Events in their Gospels are sometimes grouped together by their moral or religious bearings. St. Luke, as is evident, pays more attention to the natural sequence, although he also occasionally allows a unity of subject to supersede in his arrangement the order of time. Immediately after the missionary journey which we have described, St. Luke adds that when Jesus saw Himself surrounded by a great multitude out of every city, He spake by a parable. We learn from the two other Evangelists the interesting circumstance that this was the first occasion on which He taught in parables, and that they were spoken to the multitude who lined the shore while our Lord sat in His favourite pulpit, the boat which was kept for Him on the Lake. We might infer from St. Mark that this teaching was delivered on the afternoon of the day on which he healed the paralytic, but the inference is too precarious to be relied on. All that we can see is that this new form of teaching was felt to be necessary in consequence of the state of mind which had been produced in some, at least, of the hearers among the multitude. The one emphatic word "hearken!" with which He prefaced his address prepared them for something unusual and memorable in what He was going to say. The great mass of hearers must now have been aware of the general features in the new Gospel which Jesus preached. Some self-examination, some earnest careful thought of their own was now requisite, if they were indeed sincere in their desire to profit by His words. "Take heed how ye hear" was the great lesson which He would now impress. He would warn 57
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them against the otiose attention of curiosity or mere intellectual interest, and would fix upon their minds a sense of their moral responsibility for the effects produced by what they heard. He would teach them in such a way that the extent of each hearer's profit should depend largely upon his own faithfulness. And, therefore, to show them that the only true fruit of good teaching is holiness of life, and that there were many dangers which might prevent its growth, He told them His first parable, the Parable of the Sower. The imagery of it was derived, as usual, from the objects immediately before his eyes-the sown fields of Gennesareth; the springing corn in them; the hard-trodden paths which ran through them, on which no corn could grow; the innumerable birds which fluttered over them ready to feed upon the grain; the weak and withering struggle for life on the stony places; the tangling growth of luxuriant thistles in neglected corners; the deep loam of the general soil, on which already the golden ears stood thick and strong, giving promise of a sixty and hundredfold return as they rippled under the balmy wind. To us, who from infancy have read the parable side by side with Christ's own interpretation of it, the meaning is singularly clear and plain, and we see in it the liveliest images of the danger incurred by the cold and indifferent, by the impulsive and shallow, by the worldly and ambitious, by the preoccupied and the luxurious, as they listen to the Word of God. But it was not so easy to those who heard it. Even the disciples failed to catch its full significance, although they reserved their request for an explanation till they and their Master should be alone. It is clear that parables like this, so luminous to us, but so difficult to these simple listeners, suggested thoughts which to them were wholly unfamiliar. It seems clear that our Lord did not on this occasion deliver all of those seven parables-the parable of the tares of the field, of the grain of mustard-seed, of the leaven, of the hid treasure, of the pearl, and of the net-which, from a certain resemblance in their subjects and consecutiveness in their teaching, are here grouped together by St. Matthew. Seven parables delivered at once, and delivered without interpretation, to a promiscuous multitude which He was for the first time addressing in this form of teaching, would have only tended to bewilder and to distract. Indeed, the expression of St. Mark-"as they were able to hear it"-seems distinctly to imply a gradual and non-continuous course of teaching, which would have lost its value if it had given to the listeners more than they were able to remember and to understand. We may rather conclude, from a comparison of St. Mark and St. Luke, that the teaching of this particular afternoon contained no other parables, except perhaps the simple and closely analogous ones of the grain of mustard-seed, and of the blade, the ear, and the full corn in the ear, which might serve to encourage into patience those who were expecting too rapid a revelation of the kingdom of God in their own lives and in the world; and perhaps, with these, the
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similitude of the candle to warn them not to stifle the light they had received, but to remember that Great Light which should one day reveal all things, and so to let their light shine as to illuminate both their own paths in life, and to shed radiance on the souls of all around. A method of instruction so rare, so stimulating, so full of interest-a method which, in its unapproachable beauty and finish, stands unrivalled in the annals of human speech-would doubtless tend to increase beyond measure the crowds that thronged to listen. And through the sultry afternoon He continued to teach them, barely succeeding in dismissing them when the evening was come. A sense of complete weariness and deep unspeakable longing for repose, and solitude, and sleep, seems then to have come over our Lord's spirit. Possibly the desire for rest and quiet may have been accelerated by one more ill-judged endeavour of His mother and His brethren to assert a claim upon His actions. They had not indeed been able "to come at Him for the press," but their attempt to do so may have been one more reason for a desire to get away, and be free for a time from this incessant publicity, from these irreverent interferences. At any rate, one little touch, preserved for us as usual by the graphic pen of the Evangelist St. Mark, shows that there was a certain eagerness and urgency in His departure, as though in His weariness, and in that oppression of mind which results from the wearing contact with numbers, He could not return to Capernaum, but suddenly determined on a change of plan. After dismissing the crowd, the disciples took Him, "as He was," in the boat, no time being left, in the urgency of His spirit, for preparation of any kind. He yearned for the quiet and deserted loneliness of the eastern shore. The western shore also is lonely now, and the traveller will meet no human being there but a few careworn Fellahin, or a kw from Tiberias, or some Arab fishermen, or an armed and mounted Sheykh of some tribe of Bedawin. But the eastern shore is loneliness itself; not a tree, not a village, not a human being, not a single habitation is visible; nothing but the low range of hills, scarred with rocky fissures, and sweeping down to a narrow and barren strip which forms the margin of the Lake. In our Lord's time the contrast of this thinly-inhabited region with the busy and populous towns that lay close together on the Plain of Genncsareth must have been very striking; and though the scattered population of Perrea was partly Gentile, we shall find Him not unfrequently seeking to recover the tone and calm of His burdened soul by putting I hose six miles of water between Himself and the crowds He taught. Rut before the boat could be pushed off, another remarkable interrupt ion occurred. Three of His listeners in succession-struck perhaps by the depth and power of this His new method of teaching, dazzled too by this l.cnith of His popularity--desired or fancied that they desired to attach themselves to Him as permanent disciples. The first was a Scribe, who, thinking no doubt that his official rank would make him a most acceptable 59
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disciple, exclaimed with confident asseveration, "Lord, I will follow Thee whithersoever Thou goest." But in spite of the man's high position, in spite of His glowing promises, He who cared less than nothing for lip-service, and who preferred "the modesty of fearful duty" to the "rattling tongue of audacious eloquence," coldly checked His would-be follower. He who had called the hated publican gave no encouragement to the reputable scribe. He did not reject the proffered service, but neither did He accept it. Perhaps "in the man's flaring enthusiasm, he saw the smoke of egotistical self-deceit." He pointed out that His service was not one of wealth, or honour, or delight; not one in which any could hope for earthly gain. "The foxes," He said, "have holes, and the birds of the air have resting-places, but the Son of Man hath not where to lay His head." The second was already a partial disciple, but wished to become an entire follower, with the reservation that he might first be permitted to bury his father. "Follow me!" was the thrilling answer, "and let the dead bury their dead;" that is, leave the world and the things of the world to mind themselves. He who would follow Christ must in comparison hate even father and mother. He must leave the spiritually dead to attend to their physically dead. The answer to the third aspirant was not dissimilar. He too pleaded for delay-wished not to join Christ immediately in His voyage, but first of all to bid farewell to his friends at home. "No man," was the reply-which has become proverbial for all time-"No man having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of heaven." To use the fine image of St. Augustine, "the East was calling him, he must turn his thoughts from the fading West." It was in this spirit that the loving souls of St. Thomas of Aquino, St. Francis of Assisi, St. Francis Xavier, and so many more of the great saints in the Church's history consoled and fortified themselves, when forced to resign every family affection, and for Christ's sake to abandon every earthly tie. So, then, at last, these fresh delays were over, and the little vessel could spread her sails for the voyage. Yet even now Jesus was, as it were, pursued by followers, for, as St. Mark again tells us, "other little ships were with Him." But they, in all probability-since we are not told of their reaching the other shore-were soon scattered or frightened back by the signs of a gathering storm. At any rate, in His own boat, and among His own trusted disciples, Jesus could rest undisturbed, and long before they were far from shore, had lain His weary head on the leather cushion of the steersman, and was sleeping the deep sleep of the worn and weary-the calm sleep of those who are at peace with God. Even that sleep, so sorely needed, was destined to speedy and violent disturbance. One of the fierce storms peculiar to that deep hollow in the earth's surface, swept down with sudden fury on the little inland sea. With scarcely a moment's notice, the air was filled with whirlwind and the sea fiO
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buffeted into tempest. The danger was extreme. The boat was again and again buried amid the foam of the breakers which burst over it; yet though they must have covered Him with their dashing spray as He lay on the open deck at the stern, He was calmly sleeping on-undisturbed, so deep was his fatigue, by the tempestuous darkness-and as yet no one ventured to awake Him. But now the billows were actually breaking into the boat itself, which was beginning to be filled and to sink. Then, with sudden and vehement cries of excitement and terror, the disciples woke Him. "Lord! Master! Master! save! we perish!" Such were the wild sounds which, mingled with the howling of the winds and the dash of the mastering waves, broke confusedly upon his half-awakened ear. It is such crises as these-crises of sudden unexpected terror, met without a moment of preparation, which test a man, what spirit he is of-which show not only his nerve, but the grandeur and purity of his whole nature. The hurricane which shook the tried courage and baffled the utmost skill of the hardy fishermen, did not ruffle for one instant the deep inward serenity of the Son of Man. Without one sign of confusion, without one tremor of alarm, Jesus simply raised Himself on His elbow from the dripping stern of the labouring and half-sinking vessel, and, without further movement, stilled the tempest of their souls by the quiet words, "Why so cowardly, 0 ye of little faith?" And then rising up, standing in all the calm of a natural majesty on the lofty stern, while the hurricane tossed, for a moment only, His fluttering garments and streaming hair, He gazed forth into the darkness, and His voice was heard amid the roaring of the troubled elements, saying, "Peace, be still!" And instantly the wind dropped, and there was a great calm. And as they watched the starlight reflected on the now unrippled water, not the disciples only but even the sailors whispered to one another, "What manner of man is this?" This is a stupendous miracle, one of those which test whether we indeed oelieve in the credibility of the miraculous or not; one of those miracles of power which cannot, like many of the miracles of healing, be explained away by existing laws. It is not my object in this book to convince the unbeliever, or hold controversy with the doubter. Something of what I had to say on this subject I have done my little best to say in my Lectures on /he Witness of History to Christ; and yet, perhaps, a few words may here he pardoned. Some, and they neither irreverent nor unfaithful men, have asked whether the reality may not have been somewhat different? whether we may not understand this narrative in a sense like that in which we should understand it if we found it in the reasonably-attested legend of some medireval saint-a St. Nicholas or a St. Brandan? whether we may not suppose that the fact which underlies the narrative was in reality not a miraculous exercise of power over those elements which are most beyond the reach of man, but that Christ's calm communicated itself by immediate and subtle influence to His terrified companions, and that the hurricane, 61
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from natural causes, sank as rapidly as it had arisen? I reply, that if this were the only miracle in the life of Christ; if the Gospels were indeed the loose, exaggerated, inaccurate, credulous narratives which such an interpretation would suppose; if there were something antecedently incredible in the supernatural; if there were in the spiritual world no transcendant facts which lie far beyond the comprehension of those who would bid us see nothing in the universe but the action of material laws; if there were no providences of God during these nineteen centuries to attest the work and the divinity of Christ-then indeed there would be no difficulty in such an interpretation. But if we believe that God rules; if we believe that Christ rose; if we have reason to hold, among the deepest convictions of our being, the certainty that God has not delegated His sovereignty or His providence to the final, unintelligent, pitiless, inevitable working of material forces; if we see on every page of the Evangelists the quiet simplicity of truthful and faithful witnesses; if we see in every year of succeeding history, and in every experience of individual life, a confirmation of the testimony which they delivered-then we shall neither clutch at rationalistic interpretations, nor be much troubled if others adopt them. He who believes, he who knows, the efficacy of prayer, in what other men may regard as the inevitable certainties or blindly-directed accidents of life-he who has felt how the voice of a Saviour, heard across the long generations, can calm wilder storms than ever buffeted into fury the bosom of the inland lake-he who sees in the person of his Redeemer a fact more stupendous and more majestic than all those observed sequences which men endow with an imaginary omnipotence, and worship under the name of Law-to him, at least, there will be neither difficulty nor hesitation in supposing that Christ, on board that half-wrecked fishing-boat, did utter His mandate, and that the wind and the sea obeyed; that His woRD was indeed more potent among the cosmic forces than miles of agitated water or leagues of rushing air. Not even on the farther shore was Jesus to find peace or rest. On the contrary, no sooner had He reached that part of Perrea which is called by St. Matthew the "country of the Gergesenes," than He was met by an exhibition of human fury, and madness, and degradation, even more terrible and startling than the rage of the troubled sea. Barely had He landed when, from among the rocky cavern-tombs of the Wady Semakh, there burst into His presence a man troubled with the most exaggerated form of that raging madness which was universally attributed to demoniacal possession. Amid all the boasted civilisation of antiquity, there existed no hospitals, no penitentiaries, no asylums; and unfortunates of this class, being too dangerous and desperate for human intercourse, could only be driven forth from among their fellow-men, and restrained from mischief by measures at once inadequate and cruel. Under such circumstances they could, if irreclaimable, only take refuge in those holes along the rocky hill-sides 62
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which abound in Palestine, and which were used by the Jews as tombs. It is clear that the foul and polluted nature of such dwelling-places, with all their associations of ghastliness and terror, would tend to aggravate the nature of the malady; and this man, who had long been afflicted, was oeyond even the possibility of control. Attempts had been made to bind him, but in the paroxysms of his mania he had exerted that apparently supernatural strength which is often noticed in such forms of mental excitement, and had always succeeded in rending off his fetters and twisting away or shattering his chains; and now he had been abandoned to the lonely hills and unclean solitudes which, night and day, rang with his yells as he wandered among them, dangerous to himself and to others, raving, and gashing himself with stones. lt was the frightful figure of this naked and homicidal maniac that burst upon our Lord almost as soon as He had landed at early dawn; and perhaps another demoniac, who was not a Gadarene, and who was less grievously afflicted, may have hovered about at no great distance, although, oeyond this allusion to his presence, he plays no part in the narrative. The presence, the look, the voice of Christ, even before He addressed these sufferers, seems always to have calmed and overawed them, and this demoniac of Gergesa was no exception. Instead of falling upon the disciples, he ran to Jesus from a distance, and fell down before Him in an attitude of worship. Mingling his own perturbed individuality with that of the multitude of unclean spirits which he believed to be in possession of His soul, he entreated the Lord, in loud and terrified accents, not to torment him before the time. It is well known that to recall a maniac's attention to his name, to awake his memory, to touch his sympathies by past association, often produces a lucid interval, and perhaps this may have been the reason why Jesus said to the man, "What is thy name?" But this question only receives the wild answer, "My name is Legion, for we are many." The man had, as il were, lost his own name; it was absorbed in the hideous tyranny of that multitude of demons under whose influence his own personality was destroyed. The presence of Roman armies in Palestine had rendered him familiar with that title of multitude, and as though six thousand evil spirits were in him he answers by the Latin word which had now become so familiar to every Jew. And still agitated by his own perturbed fancies, he entreats, as though the thousands of demons were speaking by his mouth, that they might not be driven into the abyss, but be suffered to take refuge in the swine. The narrative which follows is to us difficult of comprehension, and one which, however literally accepted, touches upon regions so wholly mysterious and unknown that we have no clue to its real significance, and can gain nothing by speculating upon it. The narrative in St. Luke runs as follows:63
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"And there was an herd of many swine feeding upon the mountain; and they besought Him that He would suffer them to enter into them. And He suffered them. Then went the devils out of the man, and entered into the swine; and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the lake, and were choked." That the demoniac was healed-that in the terrible final paroxysm which usually accompanied the deliverance from this strange and awful malady, a herd of swine was in some way affected with such wild terror as to rush headlong in large numbers over a steep hill-side into the waters of the lake-and that, in the minds of all who were present, including that of the sufferer himself, this precipitate rushing of the swine was connected with the man's release from his demoniac thraldom-thus much is clear. And indeed, so far, there is no difficulty whatever. Any one who believes in the Gospels, and believes that the Son of God did work on earth deeds which far surpass mere human power, must believe that among the most frequent of His cures were those of the distressing forms of mental and nervous malady which we ascribe to purely natural causes, but which the ancient Jews, like all Orientals, attribute to direct supernatural agency. And knowing to how singular an extent the mental impressions of man affect by some unknown electric influence the lower animals-knowing, for instance, that man's cowardice and exultation, and even his superstitious terrors, do communicate themselves to the dog which accompanies him, or the horse on which he rides-there can be little or no difficulty in understanding that the shrieks and gesticulations of a powerful lunatic might strike uncontrollable terror into a herd of swine. We know further that the spasm of deliverance was often attended with fearful convulsions, sometimes perhaps with an effusion of blood; and we know that the sight and smell of human blood produces strange effects in many animals. May there not have been something of this kind at work in this singular event? It is true that the Evangelists (as their language clearly shows) held, in all its simplicity, the belief that actual devils passed in multitudes out of the man and into the swine. But is it not allowable here to make a distinction between actual facts and that which was the mere conjecture and inference of the spectators from whom the three Evangelists heard the tale? If we are not bound to believe the man's hallucination that six thousand devils were in possession of his soul, are we bound to believe the possibility, suggested by his perturbed intellect, that the unclean spirits should pass from him into the swine? If indeed we could be sure that Jesus directly encouraged or sanctioned in the man's mind the belief that the swine were indeed driven wild by the unclean spirits which passed objectively from the body of the Gergesene into the bodies of these dumb beasts, then we could, without hesitation, believe as a literal truth, however incomprehensible, that so it was. But this by no means follows indisputably from what we know of the method of the Evangelists. Let all
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who will, hold fast to the conviction that men and beasts may be quite literally possessed of devils; only let them beware of confusing their own convictions, which are binding on themselves alone, with those absolute and eternal certainties which cannot be rejected without moral blindness by others. Let them remember that a hard and denunciative dogmatism approaches more nearly than anything else to that Pharisaic want of charity which the Lord whom they love and worship visited with His most scathing anger and rebuke. The literal reality of demoniac possession is a belief for which more may perhaps be said than is admitted by the purely physical science of the present day, but it is not a necessary article of the Christian creed; and if any reader imagines that in this brief narrative, to a greater extent than in any other, there are certain nuances of expression in which subjective inferences are confused with exact realities, he is holding a view which has the sanction of many wise and thoughtful Churchmen, and has a right to do so without the slightest imputation on the orthodoxy of his belief. That the whole scene was violent and startling appears in the fact that the keepers of the swine "fled and told it in the city and in the country." The people of Gergesa, and the Gadarenes and Gerasenes of all the neighhouring district, flocked out to see the Mighty Stranger who had thus visited their coasts. What livelier or more decisive proof of His power and His beneficence could they have had than the sight which met their eyes? The filthy and frantic demoniac who had been the terror of the country, so that none could pass that way-the wild-eyed dweller in the tombs who had been accustomed to gash himself with cries of rage, and whose untamed fierceness broke away all fetters-was now calm as a child. Some charitable hand had flung an outer robe over his naked figure, and he was sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed, and in his right mind. "And they were afraid"-more afraid of that Holy Presence than of the previous furies of the possessed. The man indeed was saved; but what of that, considering that some of their two thousand unclean beasts had perished! Their precious swine were evidently in danger; the greed and gluttony of every apostate Jew and low-bred Gentile in the place were clearly imperilled by receiving such a one as they saw that Jesus was. With disgraceful and urgent unanimity they entreated and implored Him to leave their coasts. Both heathens and Jews had recognised already the great truth that God sometimes answers bad prayers in His deepest anger. Jesus Himself had taught His disciples not to give that which was holy to the dogs, neither to cast their pearls before swine, "lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you." He had gone across the lake for quiet and rest, desiring, though among lesser multitudes, to extend to these semi-heathens also the blessings of the kingdom of God. But they loved their sins and their swine, and with a perfect energy of deliberate preference for all that was base and mean, rejected such blessings, and 65
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entreated Him to go away. Sadly, but at once, He turned and left them. Gergesa was no place for Him; better the lonely hill-tops to the north of it; better the crowded strand on the other side. And yet He did not leave them in anger. One deed of mercy had been done there; one sinner had been saved; from one soul the unclean spirits had been cast out. And just as the united multitude of the Gadarenes had entreated for His absence, so the poor saved demoniac entreated henceforth to be with Him. But Jesus would fain leave one more, one least opportunity for those who had rejected Him. On others for whose sake miracles had been performed He had enjoined silence; on this man-since He was now leaving the place-he enjoined publicity. "Go home," He said, "to thy friends, and tell them how great things the Lord hath done for thee, and hath had compassion on thee." And so the demoniac of Gergesa became the first great missionary to the region of Decapolis, bearing in his own person the confirmation of his words; and Jesus, as His little vessel left the inhospitable shore, might still hope that the day might not be far distant-might come, at any rate, before over that ill-fated district burst the storm of sword and fire-when "E'en the witless Gadarene, Preferring Christ to swine, would feel That life is sweetest when 'tis clean."
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69 THE HEALING OF THE WOMAN-CHRIST'S PERSONAL APPEARANCE-THE RAISING OF JAIRUS' DAUGHTER (St. Matt. ix. 18-26; St. Mark v. 21-43; St. Luke viii. 40-56) A. Edersheim Source: The Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah (New York: Randolph; London: Longmans, I HK3), pp. 616--634.
There seems remarkable correspondence between the two miracles which Jesus had wrought on leaving Capernaum and those which He did on His return. In one sense they are complementary to each other. The stilling of the storm and the healing of the demonised were manifestations of the absolute power inherent in Christ; the recovery of the woman and the raising of Jairus' daughter, evidence of the absolute efficacy of faith. The unlikeliness of dominion over the storm, and of command over a legion of demons, answers to that of recovery obtained in such a manner, and of restoration when disease had passed into actual death. Even the circumstances seem to correspond, though at opposite poles; in the one case, the Word spoken to the unconscious element, in the other the touch of the unconscious Christ; in the one case the absolute command of Christ over a world of resisting demons, in the other absolute certainty of faith as against the hostile element of actual fact. Thus the Divine Character of the Saviour appears in the absoluteness of His Omnipotence, and the Divine Character of His Mission in the all-powerfulness of faith which it called forth. On the shore at Capernaum many were gathered on the morning after the storm. It may have been, that the boats which had accompanied His had returned to friendly shelter, ere the storm had risen to full fury, and had brought anxious tidings of the storm out on the Lake. There they were gathered now in the calm morning, friends eagerly looking out for the 67
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well-known boat that bore the Master and His disciples. And as it came in sight, making again for Capernaum, the multitude also would gather in waiting for the return of Him, Whose words and deeds were indeed mysteries, but mysteries of the Kingdom. And quickly, as He again stepped on the well-known shore, was He welcomed, surrounded, soon 'thronged,' inconveniently pressed upon, 1 by the crowd, eager, curious, expectant. It seemed as if they had been all 'waiting for Him,' and He had been away all too long for their impatience. The tidings rapidly spread, and reached two homes where His help was needed; where, indeed, it alone could now be of possible avail. The two most nearly concerned must have gone to seek that help about the same time, and prompted by the same feelings of expectancy. Both Jairus, the Ruler of the Synagogue, and the woman suffering these many years from disease, had faith. But the weakness of the one arose from excess, and threatened to merge into superstition, while the weakness of the other was due to defect, and threatened to end in despair. In both cases faith had to be called out, tried, purified, and so perfected; in both the thing sought for was, humanly speaking, unattainable, and the means employed seemingly powerless; yet, in both, the outward and inward results required were obtained through the power of Christ, and by the peculiar discipline to which, in His all-wise arranging, faith was subjected. It sounds almost like a confession of absolute defeat, when negative critics (such as Keim) have to ground their mythical explanation of this history on the supposed symbolical meaning of what they designate as the fictitious name of the Ruler of the Synagogue-lair, 'he will give light'•and when theyb further appeal to the correspondence between the age of the maiden and the years (twelve) during which the woman had suffered from the bloody flux. This coincidence is, indeed, so trivial as not to deserve serious notice; since there can be no conceivable connection between the age of the child and the duration of the woman's disease, nor, indeed, between the two cases, except in this, that both appealed to Jesus. As regards the name Jairus, the supposed symbolism is inapt; while internal reasons are opposed to the hypothesis of its fictitiousness. For, it seems most unlikely that St. Mark and St. Luke would have rendered the discovery of 'a myth' easy by needlessly breaking the silence of St. Matthew, and giving the name of so well-known a person as a Synagogueruler of Capernaum. And this the more readily, that the name, though occurring in the Old Testament, and in the ranks of the Nationalist party in the last Jewish War,c was apparently not a common one. 2 But these are comparatively small difficulties in the way of the mythical interpretation. a Jesu V.
Nazar. ii. 2, p. 472 Strauss, Leben Jesu ii. p. 135 <Jos. Jewish War vi.l. 8, close b
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Jairus, one of the Synagogue-rulers3 of Capernaum, had an only daughter,4 who at the time of this narrative had just passed childhood, and reached the period when Jewish Law declared a woman of age. 5 Although St. Matthew, contracting the whole narrative into briefest summary, speaks of her as dead at the time of Jairus' application to Jesus, the other two Evangelists, giving fuller details, describe her as on the point of the death, literally, 'at the last breath' (in extremis). 6 Unless her disease had been both sudden and exceedingly rapid, which is barely possible, it is difficult to understand why her father had not on the previous day applied to Jesus, if his faith had been such as is generally supposed. But if, as the whole tenour of the history shows, his faith had been only general and scarcely formed, we can account the more easily for the delay. Only in the hour of supreme need, when his only child lay dying, did he resort to Jesus. There was need to perfect such faith, on the one side into perserverance of assurance, and on the other into energy of trustfulness. The one was accomplished through the delay caused by the application of the woman, the other by the supervention of death during this interval. There was nothing unnatural or un-Jewish in the application of this Ruler to Jesus. He must have known of the healing of the son of the Courtofficial, and of the servant of the Centurion, there or in the immediate neighbourhood-as it was said, by the mere word of Christ. For there had heen no imposition of silence in regard to them, even had such been possible. Yet in both cases the recovery might be ascribed by some to coincidence, by others to answer of prayer. And perhaps this may help us to understand one of the reasons for the prohibition of telling what had been done by Jesus, while in other instances silence was not enjoined. Of course, there were occasions-such as the raising of the young man at Nain and of Lazarus-when the miracle was done so publicly, that a command of this kind would have been impossible. But in other cases may this not be the line of demarcation, that silence was not enjoined when a result was achieved which, according to the notions of the time, might have been attrihuted to other than direct Divine Power, while in the latter cases 7 publicity was (whenever possible) forbidden? And this for the twofold reason, that Christ's Miracles were intended to aid, not to supersede, faith; to direct to the Person and Teaching of Christ, as that which proved the benefit to be reCll
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applied to Him, can the less surprise us, when we remember how often Jesus must, with consent and by invitation of this Ruler, have spoken in the Synagogue; and what irresistible impression His words had made. It is not necessary to suppose, that Jairus was among those elders of the Jews who interceded for the Centurion; the form of his present application seems rather opposed to it. But after all, there was nothing in what he said which a Jew in those days might not have spoken to a Rabbi, who was regarded as Jesus must have been by all in Capernaum who believed not the horrible charge, which the Judrean Pharisees had just raised. Though we cannot point to any instance where the laying on of a great Rabbi's hands was sought for healing, such, combined with prayer, would certainly be in entire accordance with Jewish views at the time. The confidence in the result, expressed by the father in the accounts of St. Mark and St. Matthew, is not mentioned by St. Luke. And perhaps, as being the language of an Eastern, it should not be taken in its strict literality as indicating actual conviction on the part of Jairus, that the laying on of Christ's Hands would certainly restore the maiden. Be this as it may, when Jesus followed the Ruler to his house, the multitude 'thronging Him' in eager curiosity, another approached Him from out that crowd, whose inner history was far different from that of Jairus. The disease from which this woman had suffered for twelve years would render her Levitically 'unclean.' It must have been not unfrequent in Palestine, and proved as intractable as modern science has found it, to judge by the number and variety of remedies prescribed, and by their character. On one leaf of the Talmud• not less than eleven different remedies are proposed, of which at most only six can possibly be regarded as astringents or tonics, while the rest are merely the outcome of superstition, to which resort is had in the absence of knowledge. 9 But what possesses real interest is, that, in all cases where astringents or tonics are prescribed, it is ordered, that, while the woman takes the remedy, she is to be addressed in the words: 'Arise (Qum) from the flux.' It is not only that psychical means are apparently to accompany the therapeutical in this disease, but the coincidence in the command, Arise (Qum), with the words used by Christ in raising Jairus' daughter is striking. But here also we mark only contrast to the magical cures of the Rabbis. For Jesus neither used remedies, nor spoke the word Qum to her who had come 'in the press behind' to touch for her healing 'the fringe of His outer garment.' As this is almost the only occasion on which we can obtain a glimpse of Christ's outward appearance and garb, it may be well to form such accurate conception of it, as is afforded by a knowledge of the dress of the ancient Hebrews. The Rabbis laid it down as a rule, that the learned ought to be most careful in their dress. It was a disgrace if a scholar walked • Shabb. 110 a and b
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abroad with clouted shoes; 10 to wear dirty clothes deserved death;• for 'the glory of God was man, and the glory of man was his dress. •h This held specially true of the Rabbi, whose appearance might otherwise reflect on the theological profession. It was the general rule to eat and drink below (or else according to) a man's means, but to dress and lodge above them.< 11 For, in these four things a man's character might be learned: at his cups, in money matters, when he was angry, and by his ragged dress.d Nay, 'The dress of the wife of a Chabher (learned associate) is of greater importance than the life of the ignorant (rustic), for the sake of the dignity of the learned.'• Accordingly, the Rabbis were wont to wear such dress by which they might be distinguished. At a later period they seem at their ordination to have been occasionally arrayed in a mantle of gold-stuff.! Perhaps a distinctive garment, most likely a head-gear, was worn, even by 'rulers' ('the elder,' 1Pt), at their ordinationY The Palestinian Nasi, or President of the Sanhedrin, also had a distinctive dress, 8 and the head of the Jewish community in Babylon a distinctive girdle.h 13 In referring to the dress which may on a Sabbath be saved from a huming house-not, indeed, by carrying it, but by successively putting it on, no fewer than eighteen articles are mentioned.i If the meaning of all the terms could be accurately ascertained, we should know precisely what the Jews in the second century, and presumably earlier, wore, from the shoes and stockings on their feet to the gloves 14 on their hands. Unfortunately, many of these designations are in dispute. Nor must it be thought that, because there are eighteen names, the dress of an Israelite consisted of so many separate pieces. Several of them apply to different shapes or kinds of the same under or upper garments, while the list indicates their extreme number and variety rather than the ordinary dress worn. The latter consisted, to judge by the directions given for undressing and dressing in the bathroom, of six, or perhaps more generally, of five articles: the shoes, the head-covering, the Tallith or upper cloak, the girdle, the Chaluq or under-dress, and the Aphqarsin or innermost covering} As regarded shoes, a man should sell his very roof-tree for them, 15 although he might have to part with them for food, if he were in a weak condition through hlood-letting.k But it was not the practice to provide more than one pair of ·' Shabb. 114 a " Dcrekh Erets S. x. towards the end ' Bahha Mez. 52 a; Chull. 84 b d Eruh. 65 b '.I er. Horay, 48 a, 4lines from bottom Bahha Mez. 85 a ,. Ber. 28 a 11 Horay. 13 b 'Shabb. 120 a; Jer. Shabb. 15 d Dcrekh Erets R. x. p. 33 d 'Shabb. 129 a; comp. Pes. 112 a 1
1
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shoes,• and to this may have referred the injunctionb of Christ to the Apostles not to provide shoes for their journey, or else to the well-known distinction between shoes (Manalim) and sandals (Sandalim). The former, which were sometimes made of very coarse material, covered the whole foot, and were specially intended for winter or rainy weather; while the sandals, which only protected the soles and sides of the feet, were specially for summer use.c In regard to the covering of the head, it was deemed a mark of disrespect to walk abroad, or to pass a person, with bared head. 16 Slaves covered their heads in presence of their masters, and the Targum Onkelos indicates Israel's freedom by paraphrasing the expression they 'went out with a high hand'd by 'with uncovered head.' 17 The ordinary covering of the head was the so-called Sudar (or Sudarium), a kerchief twisted into a turban, and which might also be worn round the neck. A kind of hat was also in use, either of light material or of felt (Aphilyon she/ rash, or Philyon)! The Sudar was twisted by Rabbis in a peculiar manner to distinguish them from others. 1 We read besides of a sort of cap or hood attached to some kinds of outer or of inner garments. Three, or else four articles commonly constituted the dress of the body. First came the under-garment, commonly the Chaluq or the Kittuna 18 (the Biblical Kethoneth), from which latter some have derived the word 'cotton.' The Chaluq might be of linen or of wool.g The sages wore it down to the feet. It was covered by the upper garment or Tallith to within about a handbreadth.h The Chaluq lay close to the body, and had no other opening than that round the neck and for the arms. At the bottom it had a kind of hem. To possess only one such 'coat' or inner garment was a mark of poverty.; Hence, when the Apostles were sent on their temporary mission, they were directed not to take 'two coats.'i Closely similar to, if not identical with, the Chaluq, was the ancient garment mentioned in the Old Testament as Kethoneth, to which the Greek 'Chiton' (xnrov) corresponds. As the garment which our Lord wore,k 19 and those of which He spoke to His Apostles are designated by that name, we conclude that it represents the well-known Kethoneth or Rabbinic Kittuna. This might be • Jer. Shabb. vi. 2 b St. Matt. x. 10 c B. Bathra 58 a, lines 2 and 3 from top d Exod. xiv. 8 • Kel. xxix. 1 1 Pes. 111 b. See also the somewhat profane etymology of
'n ,,c
'\~,·~
8 Jer.
Sanh. 20 c, bottom Babha B. 57 b iMoedK.14a i St. Matt. x. 10, and parallels k St. John xix. 23 h
72
N,,,c in Shabb. 77 b,
THE HEALING OF THE WOMAN
of aJmost any material, even leather, though it was generally of wool or flax. It was sleeved, close-fitting, reached to the ankles, and was fastened round the loins, or just under the breast," by a girdle. One kind of the latter, the Pundah or Aphundah,Z0 was provided with pockets or other receptacles,21 and hence might not be worn outside by those who went into the Temple,b probably to indicate that he who went to worship should not be engaged in, nor bear mark of, any other occupation. Of the two other garments mentioned as parts of a man's toilette, the Aphqarsin or Aphikarsus seems to have been an article of luxury rather than of necessity. Its precise purpose is difficult to determine. A comparison of the passages in which the term occurs conveys the impression, that it was a large kerchief used partly as a head-gear, and which hung down and was fastened under the right arm.c 22 Probably it was also used for the upper part of the body. But the circumstance that, unlike the other articles of dress, it need not be rent in mourning,ct and that, when worn by females, it was regarded as a mark of wealth; shows that it was not a necessary <~rticle of dress, and hence that, in all likelihood, it was not worn by Christ. 1t was otherwise with the upper garment. Various shapes and kinds of such were in use, from the coarser Boresin and Bardesin-the modern Rumoose-upwards. The Gelima was a cloak of which 'the border,' or 'hem,' is specially mentioned (KO'~l '~lD't;').r The Gunda was a peculiarly Pharisaic garb.g But the upper garment which Jesus wore would be either the so-called Go/tha, or, most likely, the Tallith. Both the Golthah and the Tallith; were provided, on the four borders, with the so-called Tsitsith, or 'fringes.' These were attached to the four corners of the outer dress, in supposed fulfilment of the command, Numb. xv. 38-41; Deut. xxii. 12. At first, this observance seems to have been comparatively simple. The question as to the number of filaments on these 'fringes' was settled in accordance with the teaching of the School of Shammai. Four filaments (not three, as the Hillelites proposed), each of four finger-lengths (these, as later tradition put it, doubled), and attached to the four corners of what must be a strictly square garment-such were the earliest rules on the suhject.i The Mishnah leaves it still a comparatively open question, 'Comp. Rev. i. 13 Ber. 14 c, top 'Kd. xxix.1: Ber. 23 b; 24 b, in the sense of kerchief worn in an accessible position; Pesiqt. 15 b, as lying close to the body and yet contracting dust; Jer. Ber. 4 c,line 14 from top, as used for wrapping the upper part of the body <~ kr. Moed K. 83 d 'Nidd. 48 b 'San h. 102 b, and often ,. Sot. 22 b " J er. Sanh. 28 c ' Mcnach. 37 b 'Siphre, ed. Friedmann, p. 117 a ~> .h.:r.
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whether these filaments were to be blue or white.• But the Targum makes a strong point of it as between Moses and Korah, that there was to be a filament of hyacinth colour among four of white.b It seems even to imply the peculiar symbolical mode of knotting them at present in use. c Further symbolic details were, of course, added in the course of timeY As these fringes were attached to the corners of any square garment, the question, whether the upper garment which Jesus wore was the Go/tha or the Tallith, is of secondary importance. But as all that concerns His Sacred Person is of deepest interest, we may be allowed to state our belief in favour of the Tallith. Both are mentioned as distinctive dresses of teachers, but the Go/tha (so far as it differed from the Tallith) seems the more peculiarly Rabbinic. We can now form an approximate idea of the outward appearance of Jesus on that spring-morning amidst the throng at Capernaum. He would, we may safely assume, go about in the ordinary, although not in the more ostentatious, dress, worn by the Jewish teachers of Galilee. His head-gear would probably be the Sudar (Sudarium) wound into a kind of turban, or perhaps the Maaphoreth, 24 which seems to have served as a covering for the head, and to have descended over the back of the neck and shoulders, somewhat like the Indian pugaree. His feet were probably shod with sandals. The Chaluq, or more probably the Kittuna, which formed His inner garment, must have been close-fitting, and descended to His feet, since it was not only so worn by teachers, but was regarded as absolutely necessary for any one who would publicly read or 'Targum' the Scriptures, or exercise any function in the Synagogue.ct As we know, it 'was without seam, woven from the top throughout;'• and this closely accords with the texture of these garments. Round the middle it would be fastened with a girdle. 25 Over this inner, He would most probably wear the square outer garment, or Tallith, with the customary fringes of four long white threads with one of hyacinth knotted together on each of the four corners. There is reason to believe, that three square garments were made with these 'fringes,' although, by way of ostentation, the Pharisees made them particularly wide so as to attract attention, just as they made their phylacteries broad. 1 Although Christ only denounced the latter practice, not the phylacteries themselves, it is impossible to believe that Himself ever wore them, either on the forehead or the arm. 26 There was certainly no warrant for them in Holy Scripture, and only Pharisaic externalism could represent their use as fulfilling the import of Exod. xiii. 9, 16; Deut. vi. 8; xi. 18. The • Menach. iv. 1 bTarg. Ps. Jon. on Numb. xvi. 2 c u. s. on Numb. xv. 38 d Tos. Me gill, iv. p. 45 b, lines 17 and 16 from bottom c St. John xix. 23 1 St. Matt. xxiii. 5
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admission that neither the officiating priests, nor the representatives of the people, wore them in the Temple," seems to imply that this practice was not quite universal. For our part, we refuse to believe that Jesus, like the Pharisees, appeared wearing phylacteries every day and all day long, or at least a great part of the day. For such was the ancient custom, and not merely, as the modem practice, to wear them only at prayer. 27 One further remark may be allowed before dismissing this subject. Our inquiries enable us in this matter also to confirm the accuracy of the Fourth Gospel. We readb that the quatemion of soldiers who crucified Christ made division of the riches of His poverty, taking each one part of His dress, while for the fifth, which, if divided, would have had to be rent in pieces, they cast lots. This incidental remark carries evidence of the Judrean authorship of the Gospel in the accurate knowledge which it displays. The four pieces of dress to be divided would be the head-gear, the more expensive sandals or shoes, the long girdle, and the coarse Tallithall about equal in value. 28 And the fifth undivided and, comparatively, most expensive garment, 'without seam, woven from the top throughout,' probably of wool, as befitted the season of the year, was the Kittuna, or inner garment. How strange, that, what would have been of such priceless value to Christendom, should have been divided as the poor booty of a rough, unappreciative soldiery! Yet how well for us, since not even the sternest warning could have kept within the bounds of mere reverence the veneration with which we should have viewed and handled that which He wore, Who died for us on the Cross. Can we, then, wonder that this Jewish woman, 'having heard the things concerning Jesus,' with her imperfect knowledge, in the weakness of her strong faith, thought that, if she might but touch His garment, she would he made whole? It is but what we ourselves might think, if He were still walking on earth among men; it is but what, in some form or other, we still feel when in the weakness-the rebound or diastole-of our faith it seems to us, as if the want of this touch in not outwardly-perceived help or Presence left us miserable and sick, while even one real touch, if it were only of His garment, one real act of contact, however mediate, would bring us perfect healing. And in some sense it really is so. For, assuredly, the Lord cannot be touched by disease and misery, without healing coming from Him, for He is the God-Man. And He is also the loving, pitying Saviour, Who disdains not, nor turns from our weakness in the manifestation of our faith, even as He turned not from hers who touched His garment for her healing. We can picture her to our minds as, mingling with those who thronged 1:1nd pressed upon the Lord, she put forth her hand and 'touched the 'Zchhach. 19 a,b "St. John xix. 23 7S
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
border of His garment,' most probably29 the long Tsitsith of one of the corners of the Tallith. We can understand how, with a disease which not only rendered her Levitically defiling, but where womanly shamefacedness would make public speech so difficult, she, thinking of Him Whose Word, spoken at a distance, had brought healing, might thus seek to have her heart's desire. What strong faith to expect help where all human help, so long and earnestly sought, had so signally failed! And what strong faith to expect, that even contact with Him, the bare touch of His garment, would carry such Divine Power as to make her 'whole.' Yet in this very strength lay also its weakness. She believed so much in Him, that she felt as if it needed not personal appeal to Him; she felt so deeply the hindrances to her making request of Himself, that, believing so strongly in Him, she deemed it sufficient to touch, not even Himself, but that which in itself had no power nor value, except as it was in contact with His Divine Person. But it is here that her faith was beset by twofold danger. In its excess it might degenerate into superstition, as trees in their vigour put forth shoots which, unless they be cut off, will prevent the fruit-bearing, and even exhaust the life of the tree. Not the garments in which He appeared among men, and which touched His Sacred Body, nor even that Body, but Himself brings healing. Again, there was the danger of losing sight of that which, as the moral element, is necessary in faith: personal application to, and personal contact with, Christ. And so it is to us also. As we realise the Mystery of the Incarnation, His love towards, and His Presence with, His own, and the Divine Power of the Christ, we cannot think too highly of all that is, or brings, in contact with Him. The Church, the Sacraments, the Apostolic Ministry of His Institution-in a word, the grand historic Church, which is alike His Dwelling-place, His Witness, and His Representative on earth, ever since He instituted it, endowed it with the gift of the Holy Spirit, and hallowed it by the fulfilled promise of His Eternal Presence, is to us what the garment He wore was to her who touched Him. We shall think highly of all this in measure as we consciously think highly of Him. His Bride the Church; the Sacraments which are the fellowship of His Body and Blood, of His Crucifixion and Resurrection; the Ministry and Embassy of Him, committed to the Apostles, and ever since continued with such direction and promise, cannot be of secondary importance-must be very real and full of power, since they are so connected, and bring us into such connection with Him: the spirituo-physical points of contact between Him, Who is the God-Man, and those who, being men, are also the children of God. Yet in this strength of our faith may also lie its danger, if not its weakness. Through excess it may pass into superstition, which is the attachment of power to anything other than the Living God; or else, in the consciousness of our great disease, want of courage might deprive faith of its moral element in personal dealing and personal contact with Christ. 7(,
THE HEALING OF THE WOMAN
Very significantly to us who, in our foolish judging and merciless condemning of one another, ever re-enact the Parable of the Two Debtors, the Lord did not, as Pseudo-orthodoxy would prescribe it, disappoint her faith for the weakness of its manifestation. To have disappointed her faith, which was born of such high thoughts of Him, would have been to deny Himself-and He cannot deny Himself. But very significantly, also, while He disappointed not her faith, He corrected the error of its direction and manifestation. And to this His subsequent bearing towards her was directed. No sooner had she so touched the border of His garment than 'she knew in the body that she was healed of the scourge. '30 No sooner, also, had she so touched the border of His garment than He knew, 'perceived in Himself,' what had taken place: the forthgoing of the Power that is from out of Him. 31 Taking this narrative in its true literality, there is no reason to overweight and mar it by adding what is not conveyed in the text. There is nothing in the language of St. Mark 32 (as correctly rendered), nor of St. Luke, to oblige us to conclude that this forthgoing of Power, which He perceived in Himself, had been through an act, of the full meaning of which Christ was unconscious-in other words, that He was ignorant of the person who, and the reason why, she had touched Him. In short, 'the l"orthgoing of the Power that is out of Him' was neither unconscious nor unwilled on His part. It was caused by her faith, not by her touch. 'Thy faith bath made thee whole.' And the question of Jesus could not have been misleading, when 'straightway' 33 He 'turned Him about in the crowd and said, Who touched My garments?' That He knew who had done it, and only wished, through self-confession, to bring her to clearuess in the exercise of her faith, appears from what is immediately added: 'And He looked round about,' not to see who had done it, but 'to see her that had done this thing.' And as His look of unspoken appeal was at last fixed on her alone in all that crowd, which, as Peter rightly said, was thronging and pressing Him, 'the woman saw that she was not hid,'" and came forward to make full confession. Thus, while in His mercy He had borne with her weakness, and in His faithfulness not disappointed her faith, its twofold error was also corrected. She learned that it was not from the garment, but from the Saviour, that the Power proceeded; she learned also, that it was not the touch of it, but the faith in Him, that made whole-and such faith must ever be of personal dealing with Him. And so He spoke to her the Word of twofold help and assurance: 'Thy faith bath made thee whole-go forth into peace,34 and be healed of thy scourge.' Brief as is the record of this occurrence, it must have caused considerable delay in the progress of our Lord to the house of Jairus. For in the interval the maiden, who had been at the last gasp when her father went to " St. Luke viii. 47
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entreat the help of Jesus, had not only died, but the house of mourning was already filled with relatives, hired mourners, wailing women, and musicians, in preparation for the funeral. The intentional delay of Jesus when summoned to Lazarus• leads us to ask, whether similar purpose may not have influenced His conduct in the present instance. But even were it otherwise, no outcome of God's Providence is of chance, but each is designed. The circumstances, which in their concun·ence make up an event, may all be of natural occurrence, but their conjunction is of Divine ordering and to a higher purpose, and this constitutes Divine Providence. It was in the interval of this delay that the messengers came, who informed Jairus of the actual death of his child. Jesus overheard35 it, as they whispered to the Ruler not to trouble the Rabbi any further ,36 but He heeded it not, save so far as it affected the father. The emphatic admonition, not to fear, only to believe, gives us an insight into the threatening failure of the Ruler's faith; perhaps, also, into the motive which prompted the delay of Christ. The utmost need, which would henceforth require the utmost faith on the part of Jairus, had now come. But into that, which was to pass within the house, no stranger must intrude. Even of the Apostles only those, who now for the first time became, and henceforth continued, the innermost circle,37 might witness, without present danger to themselves or others, what was about to take place. How Jesus dismissed the multitude, or else kept them at bay, or where He parted from all His disciples except Peter, James, and John, does not clearly appear, and, indeed, is of no importance. He may have left the nine Apostles with the people, or outside the house, or parted from them in the courtyard of Jairus' house before he entered the inner apartments. 38 Within, 'the tumult' and weeping, the wail of the mourners, real or hired, and the melancholy sound of the mourning ftutes39-sad preparation for, and pageantry of, an Eastern funeral-broke with dismal discord on the majestic calm of assured victory over death, with which Jesus had entered the house of mourning. But even so He would tell it them, as so often in like circumstances He tells it to us, that the damsel was not dead, but only sleeping. The Rabbis also frequently have the expression 'to sleep' (demakh 101, or ,,,,,when the sleep is overpowering and oppressive), instead of 'to die.' It may well have been that Jesus made use of this word of double meaning in some such manner as this: Talyetha dimkhath, 'the maiden sleepeth.' And they understood Him well in their own way, yet understood Him not at all. As so many of those who now hear this word, they to whom it was then spoken, in their coarse realism, laughed Him to scorn. For did they not verily know that she had actually died, even before the messengers had been despatched to prevent the needless trouble of His coming? Yet even • St. John xi. 6
7R
THE HEALING OF THE WOMAN
this their scorn served a higher purpose. For it showed these two things: that to the certain belief of those in the house the maiden was really dead, and that the Gospel-writers regarded the raising of the dead as not only beyond the ordinary range of Messianic activity, but as something miraculous even among the miracles of Christ. And this also is evidential, at least so far as to prove that the writers recorded the event not lightly, but with full knowledge of the demand which it makes on our faith. The first thing to be done by Christ was to 'put out' the mourners, whose proper place this house no longer was, and who by their conduct had proved themselves unfit to be witnesses of Christ's great manifestation. The impression which the narrative leaves on the mind is, that all this while the father of the maiden was stupefied, passive, rather than active in the matter. The great fear, which had come upon him when the messengers apprised him of his only child's death, seemed still to numb his faith. He followed Christ without taking any part in what happened; he witnessed the pageantry of the approaching obsequies in his house without interfering; he heard the scorn which Christ's majestic declaration of the victory over death provoked, without checking it. The fire of his faith was that of 'dimly burning flax.'" But 'He wilJ not quench' it. He now led the father and the mother into the chamber where the dead maiden lay, followed by the three Apostles, witnesses of His chiefest working and of His utmost earthly glory, but also of His inmost sufferings. Without doubt or hesitation He took her by the hand, and spoke only these two words: Talyetha Qum [Kum] (C~i' KQ,'?~ 40 ), Maiden, arise! 'And straightway the damsel arose.' But the great astonishment which came upon them, as well as the 'strait charge' that no man should know it, are further evidence, if such were required, how little their faith had been prepared for that which, in its weakness was granted to it. And thus Jesus, as He had formerly corrected in the woman that weakness of faith which came through very excess, so now in the Ruler of the Synagogue the weakness which was by failure. And so 'He bath done all things well: He maketh even the deaf to hear, and the dumb to speak.•b How Jesus conveyed Himself away, whether through another entrance into the house, or by 'the road of the roofs,' we are not told. But, assuredly, He must have avoided the multitude. Presently we find Him far from Capernaum. Probably He had left it immediately on quitting the house of Jairus. But what of that multitude? The tidings must have speedily reached them, that the daughter of the Synagogue-Ruler was not dead. Yet it had been straitly charged that none of them should be informed, how it had come to pass that she lived. They were then with this intended mystery before them. She was not dead: thus much was certain. The Christ 'Is. xlii. 3 'St.
Mark vii. 37. 79
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had, ere leaving that chamber, given command that meat should be brought her; and, as that direction must have been carried out by one of the attendants, this would become immediately known to all that household. Had she then not really died, but only been sleeping? Did Christ's words of double meaning refer to literal sleep? Here then was another Parable of twofold different bearing: to them that had hearts to understand, and to them who understood not. In any case, their former scorn had been misplaced; in any case, the Teacher of Nazareth was far other than all the Rabbis. In what Name, and by what Power, did He come and act? Who was He really? Had they but known of the 'Talyetha Qum,' and how these two words had burst open the two-leaved doors of death and Hades! Nay, but it would have only ended in utter excitement and complete misunderstanding, to the final impossibility of the carrying out of Christ's Mission. For, the full as well as the true knowledge, that He was the Son of God, could only come after His contest and suffering. And our faith also in Him is first of the suffering Saviour, and then of the Son of God. Thus was it also from the first. It was through what He did for them, that they learned Who He was. Had it been otherwise, the full blaze of the Sun's glory would have so dazzled them, that they could not have seen the Cross. Yet to all time has this question engaged the minds of men: Was the maiden really dead, or did she only sleep? With it this other and kindred one is connected: Was the healing of the woman miraculous, or only caused by the influence of mind over body, such as is not unfrequently witnessed, and such as explains modern so-called miraculous cures, where only superstition perceives supernatural agency? But these very words, 'influence of mind over body,' with which we are so familiar, are they not, so to speak, symbolic and typical? Do they not point to the possibility, and, beyond it, to the fact of such influence of the God-Man, of the command which He wielded over the body? May not command of soul over body be part of unfallen Man's original inheritance; all most fully realised in the Perfect Man, the God-Man, to Whom has been given the absolute rule of all things, and Who has it in virtue of His Nature? These are only dim feelings after possible higher truths. No one who carefully reads this history can doubt, that the Evangelists, at least, viewed this healing as a real miracle, and intended to tell it as such. Even the statement of Christ, that by the forthgoing of Power He knew the moment when the woman touched the hem of His garment, would render impossible the view of certain critics (Keim and others), that the cure was the effect of natural canses: expectation acting through the i'magination on the nervous system, and so producing the physical results. But even so, and while these writers reiterate certain old cavils41 propounded by Strauss, and by him often derived from the ancient armoury of our own Deists (such as Woolston), they admit being so impressed with RO
THE HEALING OF THE WOMAN
the 'simple,' 'natural,' and 'life-like' cast of the narrative, that they contend for its historic truth. But the great leader of negativism, Strauss, has shown that any natural explanation of the event is opposed to the whole tenour of the narrative, indeed of the Gospel-history; so that the alternative is its simple acceptance or its rejection. Strauss boldly decides for the latter, but in so doing is met by the obvious objection, that his denial does not rest on any historical foundation. We can understand, how a legend could gather around historical facts and embellish them, but not how a narrative so entirely without precedent in the Old Testament, and so opposed, not only to the common Messianic expectation, but to Jewish thought, could have been invented to glorify a Jewish Messiah. 42 As regards the restoration to life of Jairus' daughter, there is a like difference in the negative school (between Keim and Strauss). One party insists that the maiden only seemed, but was not really dead, a view open also to this objection, that it is manifestly impossible by such devices to account for the raising of the young man at Nain, or that of Lazarus. On the other hand, Strauss treats the whole as a myth. It is well, that in this case he should have condescended to argument in support of his view, appealing to the expectancy created by like miracles of Elijah and Elisha, and to the general belief at the time, that the Messiah would raise the dead. For, the admitted differences between the recorded circumstances of the miracles of Elijah and Elisha and those of Christ are so great, that another negative critic (Keim) finds proof of imitation in their contrasts!• But the appeal to Jewish belief at the time tells, if possible, even more strongly against the hypothesis in question (of Keim and Strauss). It is, to say the least, doubtful whether Jewish theology generally ascribed to the Messiah the raising of the dead. 43 There are isolated statements to that effect, but the majority of opinions is, that God would Himself raise the dead. But even those passages in which this is attributed to the Messiah tell against the assertions of Strauss. For, the resurrection to which they refer is that of all the dead (whether at the end of the present age, or of the world), and not of single individuals. To the latter there is not the faintest allusion in Jewish writings, and it may be safely asserted that such a dogma would have been foreign, even incongruous, to Jewish theology. The unpleasant task of stating and refuting these objections seemed necessary, if only to show that, as of old so now, this history cannot be either explained or accounted for. It must be accepted or rejected, according as we think of Christ. Admittedly, it formed part of the original tradition and belief of the Church. And it is recorded with such details of names, circumstances, time, and place, as almost to court inquiry, and to render fraud well-nigh impossible. And it is so recorded by all the three hangelists, with such variations, or rather, additions, of details as only to ·• .Jcsu v. Nazar. ii. 2, p. 475 XI
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
confirm the credibility of the narrators, by showing their independence of each other. Lastly, it fits into the whole history of the Christ, and into this special period of it; and it sets before us the Christ and His bearing in a manner, which we instinctively feel to be accordant with what we know and expect. Assuredly, it implies determined rejection of the claims of the Christ, and that on grounds, not of this history, but of preconceived opinions hostile to the Gospel, not to see and adore in it the full manifestation of the Divine Saviour of the world, 'Who hath abolished death, and hath brought life and immortality to light through the Gospel.'" And with this belief our highest thoughts of the potential for humanity, and our dearest hopes for ourselves and those we love, are inseparably connected.
Notes 1 Comp. St. Luke viii. 45; St. Mark v. 31. 2 The name, a well-known O.T. one (Numb. xxxii. 41; Judg. x. 3), does not occur in Rabbinic literature till after the Middle Ages. 3 Keim starts the theory that, according to St. Matthew, Jairus was an apxwv in the sense of a civil magistrate. This, in order to make St. Matthew contradict St. Mark and St. Luke, as if apxwv were not one of the most common designations of Synagogue-rulers. 4 The particulars of her history must be gathered from a comparison of the three Gospels. 5 A woman came of age at twelve years and one day, boys at thirteen years and one day. 6 Godet points out a like summarisation in St. Matthew's account of the healing of the Centurion's servant. 7 The following are the instances in which silence was enjoined:-St. Matt. viii. 4 (St. Mark i. 44; St. Luke v. 14); St. Matt. ix. 30; xii. 16; St. Mark iii. 12; v. 43 (St. Luke viii. 56); St. Mark vii. 36; viii. 26. 8 In general, we would once more thus formulate our views: In the Days of Christ men learned first to believe in His Person, and then in His Word; in the Dispensation of the Holy Spirit we learn first to believe in His Word, and then in His Person.
9 Such as the ashes of an Ostrich-egg, carried in summer in a linen, in winter in a cotton rag; or a barley-corn found in the dung of a white she-ass, &c. 10 In Ber. 43 b, it is explained to refer to such shoes as had 'clouts on the top of clouts.' 11 Accordingly, when a person applied for relief in food, inquiry was to be made as to his means, but not if he applied for raiment (Babha B. 9 a). 12 But I admit that the passage (Vayyik. R. 2) is not quite clear. The Maaphoreth there mentioned may not have been an official dress, but one which the man otherwise used, and which was only specially endeared to him by the recollection that he had worn it at his ordination. 13 In general, I would here acknowledge my indebtedness on the very difficult subject of dress to Sachs, Beitrage z. Sprach-u. Alterth.-Forsch.; to the Articles in Lery's Dictionaries; and especially to Brilll, Trachten d. Juden. The Article in Hamburger's Real-Encykl. is little more than a repetition of BrUll's. From other writers I have not been able to derive any help. •2 Tim. i.10 R2
THE HEALING OF THE WOMAN
14 So Landau renders one of the words in Shabb. 120 a. I need scarcely say that the rendering is very doubtful. 15 Brii.ll regards this as controversial to the practices of the early Christians. But he confounds sects with the Church. 16 On the other hand, to walk about with shoes loosed was regarded as a mark of pride. 17 The like expression occurs in the Targum on Judg. v. 9. 1H Also, Kittanitha, and Kittunitha. \9 As to the mode of weaving such garments, see the pictorial illustration in Braunius, Vest. Sacerd. Hebrreor., which is reproduced, with full details from various other works, in Hartmann's Hebr. am Putzt., vol. i., explanatory notes being added at the beginning of vol. iii. Sammter's note in his edition of B. Mezia, p. 151 a, is only a reproduction of Hartmann's remarks. 20 lt was worn outside (Jer. Ber. 14 c, top). This is the girdle which was not to be worn in the Temple, probably as being that of a person engaged in business. 21 This is the explanation of the Aruch ( ed. Landau, i. p. 157 b). 22 This passage is both curious and difficult. It seems to imply that the Aphqarsin was a garment worn in summer, close to the body, and having sleeves. 23 The number of knots and threads at present counted are, of course, later additions. The little tractate Tsitsith (Kirchheim, Septem Libri Talm. P. pp. 22-24) is merely a summary. The various authorities on the subject-and not a few have been consulted-are more or less wanting in clearness and defective. Comp. p. 277, note 2, of this volume. 24 The difference between it and the Aphgarsin seems to be, that the latter was worn and fastened inside the dress. The Maaphoreth would in some measure combine the uses of the Sudar and the Aphqarsin. 25 Canon Westcott (Speaker's Comment. on St. John xix. 23) seems to imply that the girdle was worn outside the loose outer garment. This was not the case. 2(1 On this subject I must take leave to refer to the Bibl. Cyclopredias and to 'Sketches of Jewish Social Life,' pp. 220-224. 27 As the question is of considerable practical importance, the following, as hearing upon it, may be noticed. From Jer. Ber. 4 c, we gather: 1. That at one time it was the practice to wear the phylacteries all day long, in order to pass as rious. This is denounced as a mark of hypocrisy. 2. That it was settled, that phylacteries should be worn during a considerable part of the day, but not the whole day. [In Ber. 23 a to 24 a we have rules and discussions about depositing them under certain circumstances, and where to place them at night.] 3. That it was deemed objectionable to wear them only during prayer. 4. That celebrated Rabbis did not deem it necessary always to wear the phylacteries both on the head and on the arm. This seems to prove that their obligation could not have been regarded as absolutely binding. Thus, R. Jochanan wore those for the head only in winter, but not in summer, because then he did not wear a headgear. As another illustration, that the wearing of phylacteries was not deemed absolutely requisite, the following passage may be quoted (Sanh. xi. 3): 'It is more culpable to transgress the words of the Scribes than those of the Torah. He that says, There are no phylacteries, transgresses the word of the Torah, and is not to be regarded as a rebel (literally, is free); but he who says, There are five compartments (instead of four), to add to the words of the Scribes, he is guilty.' :!K I lind that the lowest price mentioned for an upper garment was 7! dinars, or about 4s. 7d. (Jer. Kilay. ix. 1). The more common price, however, seems to have been 12 dinars, or about 7s. 6d. The cost of making seems to have been 8 dinars, or about Ss. (Jer. Babha Mets. vi. 1 ). lc!lving 4 dinars, or 2s. 6d., for the
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29 30 31 32
33 34 35 36 37 38
39 40
41 42
43
material. Of course, the latter might be much more expensive, and the cost of the garment increased accordingly. This, however, does not necessarily follow, although in New Testament language Kpc'lu7tEiiov seems to bear that meaning. Comp. the excellent work of Braunius (Vest. Sac. Heb. pp. 72, 73-not p. 55, as Schleusner notes). So literally in St. Mark's Gospel. This gives the full meaning-but it is difficult to give a literal translation which would give the entire meaning of the original. The Revised Version renders it: 'And straightway Jesus, perceiving in Himself that the power proceeding from Him had gone forth, turned Him about.' Mark the position of the first comma. In the Speaker's Commentary it is rendered: 'And immediately Jesus, having perceived in Himself that the virtue had gone forth from Him.' Dean Plumptre translates: 'Knowing fully in Himself the virtue that had gone out from Him.' The arrangement of the words in the A.V. is entirely misleading. The word 'immediately' refers to His turning round, not to His perceiving in Himself. So literally. I adopt the reading 7tapaKouua~. which seems to me better rendered by 'overhearing' than by 'not heeding,' as in the Revised Version. The word unquestionably means, literally, Teacher-but in the sense of Rabbi, or Master. Those who believe in an 'anti-Petrine' tendency in the Gospel by St. Luke must find it difficult to account for the prominence given to him in the Third Gospel. I confess myself unable to see any real discrepancy between the accounts of St. Mark and St. Luke, such as Strauss, Keim, and others have tried to establish. In St. Mark it is: 'He suffered no man to accompany Him' (whither?); in St. Luke: 'He suffered not any man to enter in with Him.' They are specially called 'flutes for the dead' (B. Mez. vi. 1): ne~ O'~?n. The reading which accordingly seems best is that adopted by Westcott and Hort, Ta1..Et9c'l KOUf!. The Aramaic or Rabbinic for maiden is either Talyetha or Talyutha (tt~;~•·~). In the second Targum on Esther ii. 7,8, the reading is ttr;n~ (Talutha), where Lery conjectures the reading tcJ::"~ (Talitha), or else Talyetha. The latter seems also the proper equivalent of ta1..Et9c'l, while the reading 'Talitha' is very uncertain. As regards the second word, qum [pronounced kum], most writers have, without difficulty shown that it should be qumi, not qum. Nevertheless, the same command is spelt 010 in the Talmud (as it is pronounced in the Syriac) when a woman is addressed. In Shabb. 110 b, the command qum, as addressed to a woman suffering from a bloody flux, occurs not less than seven times in that one page (1'lUC 01p ). We cannot call the trivial objections urged other than 'cavils.' According to Eusebius (Hist. Eccl. vii. 18) there was a statue in Paneas in commemoration of this event, which was said to have been erected by this woman to Christ. The passage which Strauss quotes from Bertholdt (Christol. Jud. p. 179), is from a later Midrash, that on Proverbs. No one would think of deriving purely Jewish doctrine either from the Sohar or from IV. Esdras, which is of postChristian date, and strongly tinged with Christian elements. Other passages, however, might be quoted in favour of this view (comp. Weber, Altsynagog. Theol. pp. 351, 352), and on the other side Hamburger, Real-Encykl. (11. Abth. 'Belebung der Todten'). The matter will be discussed in the sequel.
70 JESUS AND THE MESSIAHSHIP W. Bousset Source: Jesus, translated by Janet Penrose Trevelyan (Crown Theological Library 14; New York: Putnam; London: Williams and Norgate, 1906), pp. 166--180. (Originally published in .ft·.ms, Halle: Gebauer-Schwetschke, 1904.)
Who was Jesus himself, and who did he believe himself to be? These are the last questions that remain: the last and the hardest. For if we have felt some confidence till now that on the whole we were standing on firm ground, in spite of many uncertainties of detail, and in spite of the fact that our reports of the sayings of Jesus are only at second hand, at this point the ground begins to give way beneath our feet. In the reports of our first three Gospels, we shall only be able to distinguish with difficulty, and perhaps often not at all, between what was the belief and conviction of the Christian community on this point, and what was the opinion of Jesus himself. At any rate we have definite proof that here too the faith of his followers gilded and coloured the real image of Jesus. For the point of view from which they painted it was throughout that of faith, and not that of historical accuracy. All that can be attempted here is to sum up the few fairly wellestablished conclusions which have been reached as the result of long and laborious investigation. In so doing we must expect to be accused by the one side of accepting too much, and by the other of accepting too little as satisfactorily established. Nevertheless the attempt must be made. One of these conclusions, which seems now to be definitely assured, in spite of continual discussions in which it is still frequently disputed, is that .Jesus considered himself to be the Messiah of his people. For the Gospels this assumption is of course self-evident. But that is not enough to secure the position. Every one of the Messianic utterances of Jesus in our ( iospels is disputed on critical grounds, and many of them with good reason. But there is a better starting-point for our contention than any to he obtained by citing individual passages of the tradition. We have certain know ledge that the belief existed from the very beginning among the ( 'hristian community that Jesus was Messiah, and, arguing backwards, we can assert that the rise of such a belief would be absolutely inexplicable if
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Jesus had not declared to his disciples in his lifetime that he was Messiah. It is quite conceivable that the first disciples of Jesus, who by his death and burial had seen all their hopes shattered and their belief in his Messiahship destroyed, might have returned to that belief under the influence of their resurrection experiences, if they had formerly possessed it on the ground of the utterances and general conduct of Jesus. But it would be wholly incomprehensible that that belief should have originated in their hearts after the catastrophe, for in that case we must assume that those marvellous experiences of the Easter days produced something completely new in the disciples' souls by a process of sheer magic, and without any psychological preparation. And that we are unable to assume precisely on the ground of our strictly historical point of view. From such a retrospective survey we conclude, then, that Jesus must have regarded himself in some form or other as the Messiah, and must have imparted that conviction to his disciples. On this assumption we shall have no objections to make against a series of otherwise unimpeachable testimonies of our Gospels to the public assertion by Jesus of his Messianic claims. It seems then to be established, notwithstanding many arguments which have been urged to the contrary, that at the end of his life Jesus made his entry into Jerusalem as Messiah, that in his public trial before the high priest he solemnly acknowledged himself to be Messiah, 1 and that Pi late caused the words, "This is the King of the Jews," to be inscribed upon his cross. By far the best explanation of the proceedings taken against him is that he was regarded as a false Messiah. It will be recognised more and more clearly as time goes on that the criticism which attempts to shake these well-established points of the tradition merely succeeds in overreaching itself. Our Gospel narratives also give us an exceedingly valuable piece of evidence as to when Jesus first spoke of his Messiahship to the disciples. They tell us-probably without themselves realising the profound significance of the event they narrate-that at Cresarea Philippi, towards the end of his Galilean ministry, Jesus put the question, "Who say ye that I am?" to his disciples, and that Peter answered with the confession, "Thou art the Christ." Jesus thereupon charged them strictly to keep their knowledge to themselves. 2 This solemn and significant account can originally-even if the fact was already obscured at the time the Gospels were written-have meant nothing else than that Jesus was here speaking to his disciples for the first time about the secret of his person, and that they on their side acknowledged his Messiahship now for the first time. Moreover we have every right to regard this story as historically trustworthy. It is one of the few narratives of the Synoptists in which the indications of place, and even to a certain extent those of time,3 are given. It was from the outset so valuable to the community that even the indifferent outward circumstances of R6
JESUS AND THE MESSIAHSHIP
time and place were preserved. It relates something which could not possibly have been invented by, and was even opposed to the sense of, the later community. For the latter the Messiahship of Jesus was the surest, most self-evident, and most precious thing about him. How then could he have fore borne to speak of it till towards the end of his life? Wherever the community forged the tradition out of its own consciousness, it naturally made Jesus testify to his Messiahship from the beginning. Witness the consistent representation of the fourth Gospel,4 and also occasional statements of the first three Evangelists, including Mark, according to which Messianic utterances on Jesus' part already occur at the beginning of his ministry, in contradiction to the scene at Cresarea Philippi. 5 This paradoxical character of the scene, when compared with the faith of the community, is indeed the best guarantee of its genuineness.6 But it also confronts us with new problems. Why did Jesus delay so long in speaking of his Messiahship to the disciples? Why did he then charge them so peremptorily to keep it secret? And why did he to all appearance refrain from urging his claims in public until the very end of his life, i.e. probably until his entry into Jerusalem? We can scarcely assume that the conviction of his Messiahship only gradually dawned in his own mind towards the end of his life. In days when failure followed hard on failure, when his soul was filled with forebodings of suffering, death and disaster, no room can be found for the growth of such a consciousness. Then all the force of his personality was needed to enable him to cling to the idea, for the Messiahship and suffering, the Messiahship and defeat or even death, were mutually irreconcilable propositions to the ordinary mind. In any case he must already have been sustained by the conviction that he was Messiah by the time he had reached the height of his success. The question as to when it first arose in his mind-whether before or during the course of his ministry-may be left undecided, though it seems to us highly probable that the tradition is right in dating Jesus' awakening to the Messianic consciousness from the moment of his baptism, that is, before the opening of his ministry. For, when we are told that at his baptism by John, Jesus saw in spirit the heavens open and heard a voice crying, "Thou art my son," the original meaning of the passage-although possibly the Evangelists themselves may not have realised its full bearing-was that this was the first awakening of Jesus to the sense that he was the Son of God, or rather the Messiah. Since we can discover no other point in his life at which the Messianic consciousness first made itself felt, we shall provisionally accept the tradition and assume that the Messianic idea filled his soul from the beginning of his activity, even if it were only in the form of a bold intuition. But why then this profound and almost timorous reserve? In my opinion the answer to this question lies only in one direction. Jesus himself laboured under an insuperable inward difficulty in the matter. He must
X7
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have been dominated by a deep and direct sense of the inadequacy of the Messianic title for that which he felt himself by his innermost convictions to be. The Messianic idea was part of the national hopes and the national religion of Israel. The popular expectation was of a heaven-sent king of the line of David, who should come as a mighty ruler, sword in hand, to shatter the Gentile nations, to annihilate Rome, and to set up his universal dominion in Jerusalem, whence he would then rule in wisdom and mercy, filled with the spirit of God, over the righteous and over the prostrate Gentiles. Even when the figure of this king was painted in supernatural colours, and the Messiah was no longer expected as the Son of David, but as a miraculous apparition descending from heaven, the Judge of the world clothed in God-like majesty, he still remained the national king who was to destroy the Gentiles. It is easy to see how foreign this figure, glowing with the passions of national fanaticism, must have been to the whole nature and being of Jesus, and how far from Messianic in this sense was his life and work. Just as the popular ideas of the Kingdom of God and of the Judgment were found inadequate, when closely examined, as expressions of the message which Jesus brought, so the Messianic title was inadequate and even dangerous as an expression of the true character of his personality. While Jesus could still speak freely of the Kingdom of God and of the Judgment, and could pour the new wine into the old skins, he found himself in an altogether different position in adopting the title of Messiah. The Kingdom and the Judgment were still things of the future. But from the moment that Jesus publicly assumed the name of Messiah, he turned the future into the present, and, as indeed history has shown, ushered in the decisive final hour. The objection that under these conditions Jesus might have adopted a better method than mere silence, by instructing his hearers openly in the manner in which he wished his Messiahship understood, shows a failure to appreciate the inward delicacy and tenderness of his perplexed self-consciousness, and, above all, the volcanic nature of the ground on which he stood. An open claim to the Messiahship on Jesus' part would have brought all the explosive material which had gradually been fermenting in the hearts of the expectant people to the point of combustion, and must have banded his opponents together in deadly enmity to his pretensions. And when once the fanatic spirit of the mob was roused on one side or the other, who could have arrested its mad career? This view, however, is certainly open to one objection. Why did Jesus associate himself at all with Messianic hopes which were so foreign to his inmost being; why did he not shun them altogether? The answer is that in another direction they were absolutely necessary to him. Just as he could not dispense with the ideas of the Kingdom and the Judgment if he wished to make himself intelligible to his countrymen, so he could not dispense with the Messianic idea if he wished to be intelligible to himself. One thing
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that stands out in the personality of Jesus is the fact that he wished to be more than a mere member of a band, even if the band were that of the prophets. He felt himself irresistibly drawn towards the extraordinary and the unique. And, as we know, he announced the approach of the Kingdom of Heaven. According to the popular ideal, however, this was inconceivable without the Messiah, and thus he found his position decided for him. For he could not be content with the role of a forerunner. He felt that he stood in such closeness of communion with God the Father as belonged to none before or after him. He was conscious of speaking the last and decisive word; he felt that what he did was final and that no one would come after him. The certainty and simple force of his work, the sunshine, clearness, and freshness of his whole attitude rest upon this foundation. We cannot eliminate from his personality without destroying it the trait of superprophetic consciousness, the consciousness of the accomplisher to whose person the flight of the ages and the whole destiny of his followers is linked. And when Jesus wished to give form and expression to this consciousness, and thereby to lift it from its state of fermentation into one of clearness and stability, the only possibility that presented itself to him was that of the Messianic idea,-of that figure of the kingly consummator standing at the end of time, as popular imagination had painted it with its earthly colours. Thus the Messianic idea was the only possible form in which Jesus could clothe his inner consciousness, and yet an inadequate form; it was a necessity, hut also a heavy burden which he bore in silence almost to the end of his life; it was a conviction which he could never enjoy with a whole heart.
Notes 2 J
4 ~
h
For the historical objections to this seene, see above, p. 16. Mark viii. 27. Thl: story is connected, at any rate in one direction, by Mark ix. 2 ("after six days") with the transfiguration episode. According to the fourth Gospel, John the Baptist is already aware that he is Messiah, as also are the first disciples at their calling: i. 29, 45, 49 ff. Mark ii. 10, 19 f., 28. I have not discussed W. Wrede's ingenious repudiation of these views in Das Messiasgeheimnis in den Evangelien (1901 ), because I do not consider his position tenable. The essential point of his argument is that he seeks to discover a consistent tendency in our Gospels according to which Jesus intentionally concealed his Messiahship during his lifetime,-a tendency resting perhaps upon the historical fact that Jesus never wished to be Messiah. The best refutation of Wrede is to be found in J. Weiss's Das iilteste Evangelium (1903).
71
THE CRISIS IN GALILEE M. Goguel Source: The Life of Jesus, translated by Olive Wyon (New York: Macmillan, 1933), pp. 359-385. (Originally published as La Vie de Jesus, Paris: Payot, 1925.)
I. The record in the Gospels Herod's decision to kill Jesus makes a break in the story of the Galilean ministry. From that time forward Jesus was obliged to flee from place to place and sometimes to conceal himself altogether. This explains the comings and goings which Mark reports from vi. 30 onwards. The evangelist does not explain them, but the actual situation to which the story refers becomes plain when we examine its structure in detail, and compare it with the parallel passages in Luke. The first fact which strikes us when we read the group of stories which extends from the return of the disciples to the Messianic confession of Peter, is that in this section we find two stories of a miraculous feeding of the multitudes (Mark vi. 30-44, viii. 1-9). They are so close to one another and reveal such typical similarities that it is impossible to regard them as two independent stories of the same incident; nor can we regard them as distinct though similar incidents. They are two variants of the same story; 1 indeed, we may even say that Mark has placed two parallel cycles of tradition side by side, since there are some very striking analogies in the arrangement of the episodes which follow the two stories of the feeding of the multitudes. 2 In the Fourth Gospel the feeding of the five thousand (vi. 1-15) is followed, as in Mark, by a return of Jesus to the western side of the Lake (vi. 16-21), then by a discourse which causes opposition to break out between the Jews and himself (vi. 22--66). The fact that the Johannine narrative contains some important elements, to which we shall have to return presently, which are not found in Mark, prevents us from thinking that here John is directly dependent on the Synoptic tradition. The three stories of the feeding of the people, of the crossing of the Lake, and of the conflict which ensued, must therefore, before Mark's time, have been grouped together in a tradition which was very widespread, since we have two forms of the story in Mark and a third in John. 90
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Luke has not preserved any trace of this grouping. According to his account, when the disciples returned from their missionary tour, Jesus takes them to Bethsaida (ix. 10), where they are joined by the crowd. It is there that the feeding of the multitudes takes place (ix. 11-17). The account in Luke's Gospel, when it is compared with that of the first feeding of the multitudes in Mark, only gives a few variations, which, save in one instance,3 are only of secondary importance. In it we find none of the details which belong to the story of the second feeding of the multitudes. Thus here Luke is using Mark as his source; like him, he groups the series of incidents together: the sending of the disciples out on their mission, the perplexity of Herod, the return of the disciples, the departure of Jesus with them for the eastern shore of the Lake, and the feeding of the multitudes. When he reaches this point he leaves the thread of Mark's narrative behind, in order to narrate immediately the incident of Peter's Confession; this account differs very slightly from the account given by Mark; there are a few insignificant variant readings and the introduction and setting are different (ix. 19ff.). Has Luke omitted, as a whole, the group of stories which in Mark separate the first feeding of the crowds from the Confession of Peter? or has he been influenced, as Spitta suggcsts,4 by a source which would establish an organic connexion between the return of the disciples and Peter's Confession? He might easily have recognized that the two stories of the feeding of the people referred to the same incident; in that case the fact that he only reports one version of this incident might be assigned to critical reasons. Rut this theory does not take into account the omission of all the stories which follow the first feeding of the multitudes. In Mark's account of the feeding of the multitudes the geographical indications are very obscure. Jesus is rejoined by his disciples at a place which must have been on the western shore of the Lake, probably at Capernaum or in its neighbourhood; then he goes with them5 into a desert place, very probably in the direction of Bethsaida (vi. 31). 6 After the feeding of the multitudes, instead of letting his disciples have a rest as he had intended, .Jesus makes them embark in haste, and then he sets out with them on a period of wandering which was to prove very full of movement and change. This leads us to wonder whether after all Jesus had really taken his disciples to the eastern side of the Lake for rest at all? Mark does not usually give the motives for the changes from place to place which Jesus makes. Although in this instance he gives the reasons for which Jesus had left Capemaum, reasons which, as we have seen, do not correspond with the reality of the situation, we may infer that he did so in order to replace something else which was in the source, which he did not reproduce because it did not harmonize with his own view of the course of events. After the feeding of the people, Jesus returns in passing to the plain of 91
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Gennesaree (vi. 53-56). Then a discussion arises between him and the Pharisees on the question of eating with unwashen hands (vii. 1-23). Then he goes away secretly into the far north, into the region of Tyre. 8 It is at this point that the incident takes place of the Canaanitish woman who comes to Jesus and beseeches him to heal her daughter. At first he refuses her request because he has only been sent to the "lost sheep of the house of Israel," then, yielding to the persistence of the unhappy mother, he grants her what she asks (vii. 24-30). This incident shows that Jesus did not go into the region round Tyre in order to preach the Gospel, but solely in order to get away from Galilee. At the end of a certain period of time (to the length of which the story gives no clue) Jesus comes back from the region of Tyre, through Sidon9 into Decapolis by the Sea of Galilee ( vii. 31). 10 The second incident of the feeding of the multitudes which is then described (viii. 1-9*) takes place-we do not know where-on the eastern shore of the Lake. After he has sent the multitudes away, Jesus enters the boat 11 with his disciples and returns to Galilee at a spot which Mark (viii. 10) calls Dalmanutha and Matthew (xv. 39) Magadan. 12 There Jesus has a brief encounter with the Pharisees to whom he refuses to show a sign from heaven (viii. 11-12*); then he again crosses the Lake (vii. 14-21 *) and arrives at Bethsaida, where he cures a blind man (viii. 22-26). Thence he goes towards the North, in the direction of Caesarea Philippi, and it was during this journey that the Confession of Peter took place (viii. 27* ff.). These perpetual changes of place can only be explained for two reasons. Either we have before us a series of independent incidents which Mark has placed side by side for editorial reasons, without taking into account the geographical confusion to which this might lead, or Mark (or the tradition which he follows) has preserved the recollection of the comings and goings of Jesus, but was ignorant of or did not mention the circumstances which would explain them. The second hypothesis seems the more convincing of the two. In the only incidents which are said to have taken place on the western side of the Lake, Jesus is represented as one who is making a hurried journey. At Gennesaret the sick are brought to him in haste, as if people had a feeling that this was an opportunity which might never occur again. The second time he passes that way is just after his refusal to give the Pharisees the satisfaction of seeing him work a sign from heaven; immediately after this he embarked for the other side of the Lake; his saying about the "leaven of the Pharisees and the Herodians" 13 shows that he is dominated by the thought of the dangers which menace him. It is because he feels himself a hunted man that Jesus only appears again in Galilee as a passer-by and leads a wandering life. This leads us to think that Luke, who did not understand the reason for all these comings and goings, gave up the 92
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attempt to disentangle the geographical confusion of this part of the story, and has omitted all that followed the first feeding of the multitudes. This has made his narrative very coherent. In Mark's account there is no organic connexion between the cycle of the feeding of the multitudes and the conversation of Jesus with his disciples on the subject of the various opinions abroad among the people concerning the riddle of his personality. Nor is there any link in the Fourth Gospel, where the opposition aroused by the discourse at Capernaum on the Bread from heaven leads many of those who have followed Jesus up to that time to leave him and "go no more with him"; this leads Jesus to ask those who remain whether they also wish to go away. Peter then declares, in the name of the Twelve: "Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life; and we believe and are sure that thou art that Christ, the Son of the living God" (John vi. 66--69). This is the equivalent of the Messianic Confession of Peter as it is reported in the Synoptic Gospels. In .John's account, the feeding of the multitudes provokes a crisis, at the close of which the Twelve, by the mouth of Peter, declare that they wish to remain loyal to Jesus. Has John here used a tradition of the real course of events? or is there here only an ingenious combination of incidents? It will not be possible to examine this question in a useful way until later.
11. The feeding of the multitudes The episode of Gennesaret (Mark vi. 53-56*) shows that at the moment when. after the first feeding of the multitudes, Jesus appears in Galilee, his appearance there was regarded as quite exceptional and an occasion of which full advantage should be taken. The accounts of the feeding of the multitudes give the same impression. It is not easy to understand why those who wished to hear Jesus made such efforts to rejoin him in the neighbourhood of Bethsaida, unless they had the feeling that he would not return to them. The crowd therefore had understood that Jesus had not gone away simply on a preaching tour, as he had often done before, after which he would return to them, but that he had gone away for a quite different reason. There is one statement which appears to belong to the same period (in its present position it does not harmonize with its context): this is the conclusion to the story of the healing of the leper as it is given in the Marcan narrative. At the close of this story, it is said that Jesus told the leper to speak to no one, but to go and show himself to the priest, and thus to accomplish the rites prescribed by the Law of Moses for the readmission uf lepers into society (i. 44). The positive command which accompanies the prohibition of all publicity makes it clear that Jesus does not wish him to depart from the rules of the Law. In i. 45 Mark says that the leper goes away and begins to talk about the matter so much and so widely that Jesus 93
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can no longer enter publicly into any town or village but that he "was without in desert places; and they came to him from every quarter." This conclusion does not agree with what precedes it. The subject of the ritual purification of the leper, to which Jesus wished the healed man to submit, seems to have dropped out of the story, and the expression "to speak to no one" has come to mean something quite different from its original meaning in the story itself. It implies that Jesus wanted to keep the healing of the man a secret. It is the transposition of an entirely different idea, which we find, for instance, in Mark iii. 11-12 and Luke iv. 41. There it is said that the demons, when they saw Jesus, prostrated themselves before him, crying out: "Thou art the Son of God," but Jesus forbids them to make him known (cf. Mark i. 23-24). The evangelist thinks that the demons see and know that which is hidden from men. When they see Jesus they perceive that he is the Messiah. But Jesus, who does not wish to be presented to the masses as the Messiah, tells them to hold their peace. Wrede, 14 who believes that Jesus did not feel he was the Messiah, regards the theory of the Messianic secret as an artifice intended to reconcile the Messianic faith of Primitive Christianity with the fact that Jesus was not the Messiah. We shall see that there are very solid reasons for thinking that, in one sense at least, Jesus did believe that he was the Messiah. But, save when he was before the Sanhedrin, he never openly proclaimed his Messiahship, He only allowed it to be divined by his intimate friends. Wrede's theory, however, contains a great deal of truth, for this reserve of Jesus did constitute a problem for the Early Church, a problem which she solved by the idea that it was only the Resurrection which proclaimed publicly the Messiahship of Jesus. The discreet character of the Messianic affirmations reported in the Gospels may be explained by the fact that Jesus possessed the conviction, not that he was actually the Messiah, but that he was destined to be manifested as Messiah, at the moment of the establishment of the Kingdom of GodY Further, the term "Messiah" aroused in the minds of the majority of his hearers, and even, doubtless, in the minds of his most intimate disciples, a world of ideas and feelings which Jesus did not himself share, and which he felt he ought to discourage as definitely as possible. This is why he was so restrained in his statements about the Messiahship, and why he seems to have preferred to use the term "Son of Man," which was of more recent origin, at least in Jewish circles; this term, which was not burdened with a long history, still preserved a certain elasticity. Thus the transference of the commandment to keep silence, originally addressed to the demons, to the healings, is a secondary phenomenon. 16 In the particular instance before us we ought to add that a command given by Jesus to keep secret the healing that had just been accomplished, would have been in direct opposition to his intention (to which this story bears witness), which was this: by telling the leper to go and show himself to the priest he made it quite clear that he had no 94
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intention of rebelling against the legal regulations. The conclusion of the episode of the healing of the leper is not connected with the narrative; further, it does not say merely that the healing which had been accomplished is known, but that Jesus can no longer show himself in any town, and has to remain in desert places. As it is also stated that people come to see him from all quarters, this retreat cannot be explained by the fear that his presence would provoke a movement which would soon get beyond his control. The situation which is here assumed is quite different; it is similar to that which lies behind the stories of the feeding of the multitudes: Jesus cannot show himself in public any longer because if he were to do so Herod's emissaries would immediately arrest him. His influence over the people is still strong, since they flock to him, whether he is in desert places or even outside Galilean territory. At first, the hostility of Herod, far from injuring the influence of Jesus over the people, may have even strengthened it. Since the development of events had brought Jesus into opposition to the semi-pagan Tetrarch, people may have thought that this was the sign that Jesus was the One whom God had ordained to restore the pure theocracy. They may have hoped that he would prove to be a second Maccabaeus, who would defeat another Antiochus. Thoughts like these may have been seething, in a confused way, in the minds of the people, when Jesus fled from Capernaum to take refuge in the neighbourhood of Bethsaida. This was why they set out to find him. It is impossible to estimate, even approximately, the importance of the group which gathered there. The records speak of three thousand men or of five thousand; one account even adds that these figures do not include the women or the children. These variations show how easily the numbers may have been exaggerated by tradition. The story in the Gospel is too well known to be repeated in detail. Having made the people sit down, Jesus takes some bread, breaks it, pronounces a blessing upon it, 17 then gives it to the disciples to distribute to the crowd. Everyone is satisfied, and after the meal several baskets are filled with the broken fragments which are left. What exactly did take place? Are we to suppose, as a good many interpreters have suggested, that Jesus, by distributing the few provisions which he possessed, gave such an example of faith and confidence that all those who had their food with them imitated his example, and shared what they had with others who had not thought of bringing food with them? This explanation is plausible, but it is a mere hypothesis. In any case, the evangelists themselves regard the incident as a miracle; and it seems extremely probable that those who helped to serve, and those who partook of the meal. and Jesus himself, felt the same. But the narrators have not laid a great deal of emphasis upon the actual miraculous element. In their minds 95
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the central point of interest in the story was not the multiplication of the food but its distribution. The story is repeated twice by Mark and Matthew; it occurs also in John; hence in the eyes of the early tradition it was of particular importance. The Early Church interpreted it in the sense of the Eucharist. 18 This interpretation occurs first of all in the Fourth Gospel, as is shown very plainly in the discourse on the Bread of Life which Jesus gave on the following day (vi. 25-59). This interpretation of the incident is quite natural. People would spontaneously link the meal at Bethsaida with that which Jesus took with his disciples some hours before his arrest. The Last Supper of Jesus-even if it had been no more than that-was, through the words which accompanied the distribution of the Cup, an evocation and an anticipation of the Messianic Feast. The idea of this Feast was so widespread in the Judaism of that day 19 that it is quite natural to think that Jesus may have had it in mind when he invited the multitude, to whom he had just been speaking about the Kingdom of God, to sit down to this meal. To him also the distribution of the loaves was a symbol of the Messianic Feast. By such a gesture, made at the very moment when Herod's attitude threatens to interrupt his activity, Jesus proclaims that he is neither discouraged nor defeated, that his faith in the speedy realization of the Kingdom of God is inviolate. By the frugal impromptu repast taken together in a desert place, he suggests the splendours of the Messianic Feast. His thought seems to become more definite. By presiding over the meal in the desert, does he not mean that he also will preside at the Messianic Feast? The purely conjectural element in this interpretation soon disappears when we consider what followed the feeding of the multitudes. As we read the Synoptic narrative we feel that something must have happened at this point which Mark has not mentioned, and that this unknown element has exercised a direct influence on the following course of events. After the feeding of the multitudes, according to Mark, Jesus seems to have turned away from the masses. Although he may have spent some further time in Galilee, under conditions which it is impossible to define more closely, most of the time he went about alone with his disciples, and spoke to them of the lot which would befall the Son of Man, and of the sufferings which they themselves would have to undergo. In the mind of the evangelists the change was more on the side of the disciples than on the side of Jesus. The allusion to the days when the bridegroom will no longer be with his friends (Mark ii. 20) in an incident which the evangelist places at the very beginning of the ministry of Jesus, shows that although, according to their account, Jesus did not speak of the necessity for his death from the outset of his ministry, this was because the disciples were not yet prepared to understand what he had to tell them. It was not until
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the moment of the Messianic Confession of Peter, when they understood that Jesus was the Christ,20 that he was able to reveal to them the destiny which awaited the Son of Man. This theory of the Gospel story does not correspond with the facts. The disciples were so little ready to receive teaching about the sufferings of the Son of Man that, according to the evangelists themselves, every time that .Jesus spoke to them on this subject they did not understand what he meant. They were so little prepared for the events of the Passion that they were absolutely dumbfounded when their Master was arrested. Thus the fact that after the Galilean crisis Jesus set his mind in a fresh direction cannot be explained by saying that from this time forward Jesus had a group of people round him who, at least in part, could understand ideas which until that time they had been unable to grasp. The Marcan narrative also suggests that after the feeding of the multitudes, Jesus preached the Gospel to the people less regularly than before, although he did not give it up entirely. A critical analysis of the narrative suggests that a certain number of the scenes in the second part of the Marcan narrative, which place Jesus in the presence of the people, may have been inserted in the story at this point because, in the sources from which they were taken, they were connected with sections which reported some private teaching given by Jesus to his closest friends among the disciples. The Gospel tradition has preserved a somewhat confused recollection or a conflict which took place between Jesus and the Jews after the feeding of the multitudes. This comes out quite plainly in the Johannine narrative, where it is said that after the discourse in Capernaum Jesus was abandoned by a section of his followers who until then had stood by him (vi. 66). We must make a distinction between the fact to which the record bears witness and the explanation, given by the evangelist, of the fact. According to John, many of the disciples of Jesus, after they had heard the discourse on the Divine Bread, said: "This is an hard saying: who can bear it?" To those to whom this discourse was addressed, however, "hard" scarcely seems the right word to use to describe their sensations. It seems far more likely that they found the whole discourse unintelligible. This disharmony between the fact and its explanation leads us to believe that here the evangelist has been tempted to explain, in his own way, a fact which had been handed down by tradition. In Mark's account, after each incident of the feeding of the multitudes, we find an account of a conflict between Jesus and the representatives of the Jewish religious tradition. After the first of these incidents comes the dispute about the washing of hands (vii. 1-23): Mark here introduces the intervention of the Pharisees and scribes who had come from Jerusalem, as in iii. 22. We ought not to accept, save with the very greatest caution, 97
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the idea that during the Galilean ministry of Jesus the religious authorities at Jerusalem were concerned with his doings in the North, or that they would have sent a delegation of Pharisees and Scribes to investigate his activity and discuss certain questions with him. This, however, gives still more point to the detail recorded by the evangelists. It shows that in their opinion this was not one of those occasional controversies which arose constantly between rabbis of different schools of thought. In their minds this was actually a challenge thrown down by the Jews to Jesus, and an assertion that the difference between them is irreconcilable. Certain differences of form and arrangement in the text of Matthew and Mark lead us to think that Matthew has not only retouched the text of Mark, but that he has also used the source from which Mark drew his material. This fact, combined with the character of the section, justifies us in seeking for its origin in the Logia. The fact that Luke has omitted this fragment is due to the fact that he was writing for Gentile-Christian readers, for whom the discussion about ceremonial purity would have no interest. The refusal to give a sign from heaven (Mark viii. 11-13*) also comes from the Logia, since this saying also occurs in Matthew (xii. 38-39) and in Luke (xi. 29). Mark gives this section in a more primitive form than the other evangelists, since in his text the refusal of Jesus is more absolute. 21 Mark may here have followed the tradition of the Logia more faithfully than Matthew and Luke, or he may have known a more ancient version, but it is also possible that the whole section means something other than would appear at a first reading. This is suggested by a passage in the Jewish Antiquities relating to Theudas. Josephus says that "While Fadus was Procurator of Judaea, a magician named Theudas persuaded a great multitude of people to follow him, carrying their goods down to the Jordan, which, said he, at his command would divide and allow them to pass over dry shod. By these sayings he led many astray. But Fadus did not leave them to their folly. He sent out a detachment of cavalry against them, who surprised them, killed many, and captured many prisoners. As for Theudas, having taken him prisoner, the soldiers cut off his head and brought it to Jerusalem." (A. J., XX, 5, 1,11 97-99) The intervention of Fadus shows that Theudas was not a magician but an aspirant to the Messiahship. The miracle which he had promised to work was doubtless to be the proof of his divine mission, and the sign for the opening of a campaign against Rome. May we not then suppose that the miracle asked from Jesus 22 may also have been the sign for the rallying of his followers and the signal for the beginning of a Messianic revolt? This would explain the formal refusal of 9R
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Jesus, which was unaccompanied by any explanation or instruction, even for the use of the disciples, and that immediately after it had been formulated Jesus left the place which he had only just reached, as if the fact of having been the object of such a request made his activity in Galilee either useless or impossible. It is not difficult to discern the thought that Mark wished to express by his arrangement of the double cycle of the feeding of the multitudes. In his mind, the event that happened in the solitary place where Jesus was alone with the multitudes constitutes the culminating point in his preaching of the Kingdom of God. At this critical moment, when Jesus is threatened by Herod, and when the question is whether he will yield to the menaces of the Tetrarch and give up his work, his gesture is an evocation and anticipation of the Messianic Feast. It is thus a proclamation of the Kingdom of God, so living, so direct, and so earnest, that if those who heard it remain untouched, this means that the work of Jesus cannot be fulfilled by preaching, and he will have to tread another road, a road which will lead to Calvary. The fact that Mark places an incident which shows Jesus in conflict with the Pharisees after each account of the feeding of the multitudes shows that he wants to emphasize the failure of the Galilean ministry. Here, as in the Johannine narrative, we must make a distinction between the fact which Mark knew by tradition and his explanation, an explanation whose artificial character is the result of the combination of materials (whose origin was different) by which it is expressed. In the narrative which follows the first feeding of the multitudes there is a detail which is organically connected with it, a detail which needs to be examined very closely. Immediately after the people had been fed, Jesus urged his disciples to get into the boat and go off before him to Bethsaida where he was to rejoin them. He waited behind to send the people away, and then he went up into the mountain to pray (Mark vi. 45-46*). Thus Jesus seems to have been anxious that there should be no prolongation of the contact between the people and his disciples. It is not forcing the meaning too much to suggest that Jesus may have had some difficulty in persuading the people to depart, since, once they had gone, he went away to renew his strength in solitary prayer. Mark is remarkably restrained in all he says about the interior life of Jesus. He does not speak of his meditations and reflexions and rarely mentions his prayers. The fact is not at all surprising; in the mind of the evangelist, it is not possible to regard Jesus as a man whose mental evolution can be studied, or whose actions can be explained by examining the interior movements of his soul. Jesus is the hearer of a divine message, the agent of divine action; this message and this action can no more be explained than we can explain God Himself. Hence the rare occasions on which Mark does mention the prayers of Jesus are all the more significant. He does this in three places only. The 99
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first time is when, after the long day in Capernaum (related in chapter i), Jesus leaves the town very early in order to go away and pray in a solitary place. Simon and his companions search for him; when they find Jesus they tell him that everyone is looking for him. He replies that he must go on to the neighbouring towns, and that this is why he went forth (i. 35-38). Mark also records the prayer in Gethsemane (xiv. 32-42). These two prayers form a kind of framework for the whole of the active ministry of Jesus. The first prepares Jesus for his work of preaching; in the second he is preparing himself for his Passion. Is it audacious to suggest that when Mark shows us Jesus in prayer on the night after the feeding of the multitudes he wished to make it plain that this day had marked a turning-point in his ministry? But what had actually happened Mark does not say. The information which Mark does not disclose we find in John, who expresses himself thus: Then those men, when they had seen the miracle which Jesus did, said, This is of a truth that prophet which should come into the world. 23 When Jesus therefore perceived that they would come and take him by force, to make him a king, he departed again into a mountain by himself alone. And when even was now come, his disciples went down unto the sea, and entered into a ship, and went over the sea toward Capernaum. (John vi. 14-17) After this, as in Mark, Jesus rejoins his disciples by walking on the water. Just when they were prepared to receive him into the boat they reached the place to which they wished to go (vi. 18-21). At this point John's narrative is rather confused; he says that the crowds, having looked for Jesus in vain, decide to go to Capernaum by water, some boats having just arrived, very opportunely, from Tiberias (vi. 22-24). The confusion of the narrative, the improbability of transporting a crowd of five thousand men to Capernaum in a few boats, shows that we are here dealing with an editorial combination of a rather unfortunate kind. Having returned to Capernaum the crowd continues to search for Jesus; finally, they find him in the synagogue 24 and ask him: "Rabbi, when earnest thou hither?" (vi. 25); Jesus replies with a long discourse on the Bread of Life (vi. 25-59). This discourse reflects the theology of a much later period; it is most important for an analysis of Johannine thought, but it does not help us to understand the thought of Jesus. All we can learn from it is the way in which the evangelist interpreted the feeding of the multitudes. At first Jesus reproaches his hearers for seeking him merely because they have seen a miracle, and have been satisfied by the loaves with which he has fed them. He urges them to seek rather for the food which abides 100
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unto life eternal, which the Son of Man will give them (vi. 26-27). In answer to a question, he says that to work the works of God is to believe on Him who sent him (vi. 28-29). Then they ask for a "sign," that is, a miracle which would support this faith which he demands: "What sign showest thou then? ... Our fathers did eat manna in the desert" (vi. 10-31). This request, when Jesus had actually just worked a miracle which had filled the people with enthusiasm, and also a miracle which is exactly like the one which they suggest as an example, shows that in writing out the discourse at Capernaum the evangelist has lost sight of the circumstances, which, according to his story, were the occasion of this discourse. All the rest of the discourse may be summed up in this formula, which Jesus uses after the Jews have declared that his words are too hard for them, and that they cannot bear them: "It is the spirit that quickeneth; the flesh profiteth nothing." This means that the distribution of the loaves to the multitudes is the symbol of the gift which by his death Jesus will make of himself to his own, and through which they will have life. The Jews, who have been merely impressed by the miracle and want to see others like it, have not understood the true meaning of the feeding of the multitudes. In this act, which was intended to show them the doctrine of the gift of his life, they have merely seen something marvellous. To John the feeding of the multitudes is the occasion which brings to light a latent misunderstanding between Jesus and the people, and shows that the Jews were incapable of understanding the gift of life through Christ. This is a theological explanation, but it points to a fact which was supported by tradition. Alongside of this explanation we find another, or at least an attempt at another. The way in which, after the feeding of the people, Jesus evades a Messianic demonstration on the part of the crowd explains the cooling of the popular enthusiasm quite differently from the discourse in Capernaum; it also explains the fact that Jesus was deserted hy those who had seemed disposed to follow him if he would have consented to be their leader. The evangelist shows that he has not understood that the disappointment of the people explains the rejection of Jesus, since hy giving the discourse at Capernaum he has suggested a quite different reason for the defection of the people. What is said of the attitude of the people after Jesus went away from them has been altered and explained in such a way that the text has become almost unintelligible, so that it now conveys only a general sense of its meaning. This is what usually happens when an editor uses a tradition which he does not understand or in which he thinks or wishes to find something other than what it says. This also explains why the conclusion of the story has disappeared. The crowd always returns to Capernaum to look for Jesus (vi. 29). The fact that Jesus had evaded a Messianic ovation on the previous evening would not have been sufficient to cause the popular enthusiasm to cool down. In this narrative, however, all traces of popular enthusiasm have disappeared, and 101
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at Capemaum Jesus is faced by an audience of people who want to see him work marvels, but who are quite persuaded that in the religion handed down to them by their fathers they possess the truth, and nothing but the truth. Thus the fragment which speaks of the intention of the people to take Jesus by force and make him a king cannot have been invented by the evangelist. There is no trace in the Synoptic Gospels of this detail which is preserved by the Johannine record. It must, however, have been present in the source which Mark used, and the reason why the second evangelist has not introduced it must be either because he did not understand how an enthusiasm which was so ardent could have faded so swiftly or, still more probably, because, in order to avoid creating difficulties for Christian missionaries among loyal Roman subjects, and also because he considered that such a thing was impossible, he did not wish to say that Jesus, at a certain point in his career, was on the point of being proclaimed King by his followers; that is, he wished to avoid representing Jesus as in any way an enemy of Rome. It is obvious that there is a gap in the Marcan narrative because it does not explain why Jesus is so anxious to separate his disciples from the crowd as quickly as possible. The tradition reported by John fills this gap exactly. It is because he dreads that the disciples may become infected with the enthusiasm of a political Messianism that Jesus makes them embark so hastily. In the second cycle the refusal of Jesus to accept the ideas of political Messianism has left a trace in the section on the "sign from heaven," to which Mark has given a very different meaning from that which it seems to have had originally. It is now possible to reconstruct what took place at the moment of the feeding of the multitudes. The Galilean masses, which until then had been greatly impressed by Jesus and his preaching, and were expecting the imminent advent of the Kingdom of God, then began to wonder how Jesus would act now that he was in open conflict with Herod. Would he go away and give up his preaching? or would he take up the challenge, throw himself into the struggle, and gather his followers around him in order to lead a campaign against the Tetrarch? The teaching Jesus gave to the crowds when they sought him outside the borders of Galilee convinced them that he would not give up his work. Through all his utterances there rings more clearly than ever his certainty of the speedy realization of the Kingdom of God. At once the mind of the people turns more and more in the direction of the expectation of a political movement. In their eyes there are only two possible ways out of the situation: either to give up and retire altogether from the scene or to fight. The refusal of Jesus to accept the title of king, and to use the force supplied by his followers, coupled with the supernatural power which God would give him to overthrow the 102
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Tetrarch, led to the immediate collapse of his influence over the masses. At the beginning he was regarded as a prophet, circumstances forced him to play the part of Messiah. This he refused to do. To the masses of the people this was a confession of impotence, and they turned their backs upon him in disgust.
Ill. The conversation at Caesarea PhiHppi At the moment when the Messianic enthusiasm of the masses was at its height the primary concern of Jesus had been to preserve his disciples from the contagion; hence he must have known or believed that they were open to the seductions of political Messianism. For them also Herod's hostility to Jesus ushered in a critical period. In which direction would they go? Would they be discouraged and return to their boats and their nets? nr to the office, or to their fields or their homes? Or would their aggressive spirit awaken and would they attempt to drag Jesus into a Messianic armed revolt? Or, finally, were they sufficiently permeated by his spirit to follow him along the obscure path which he must now follow, when the vision of the realization of the Kingdom of God, without becoming less certain, receded and gave way to dark views of the future? Jesus had to ask his disciples some questions in order to find out where they stood. Two independent accounts have been preserved of his conversation with them on this subject, one from the Synoptic Gospels and the other from John. The Synoptists certainly regarded the conversation at Caesarea Philippi as very important. It was directly after it, and in close connexion with it, that there appeared the necessity for the sufferings of the Son of Man, an idea which was henceforth to dominate the Gospel story to the very end. The conversation itself (Mark viii. 27-30*) is presented in the Synoptic Ciospels in the same way. Here is the text of Mark: And by the way he asked his disciples, saying unto them, Whom do men say that I am? And they answered, John the Baptist: but some say Elias, and others, One of the prophets. And he saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am? And Peter answereth and saith unto him, Thou art the Christ. And he charged them that they should tell no man of him. 25 The narrative which follows is also arranged in the same way in the three Synoptic Gospels. After Peter's Confession comes the first announcement of the sufferings (Mark viii. 31-32*) which is logically attached to it, for the statement that the Son of Man must suffer can only mean something to the disciples when they have understood that their master is the Messiah, 103
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the Son of Man. Luke says nothing of the effect produced by the declaration of Jesus. Mark (viii. 32b-33) and Matthew (xvi. 22-23) place here a protest of Peter which Jesus repels as a suggestion of Satan. The severity of the rebuke addressed to the apostle explains why it is omitted in the Third Gospel. The section which follows (Mark viii. 34-ix. i*) is directly connected with the idea of the sufferings of the Son of Man, since it deals with the sufferings which the disciples will have to undergo, and the reward which is promised to those who sacrifice their lives.26 Then comes the account of the Transfiguration (Mark ix. 2-8*), which to the evangelists is the divine confirmation of the Messianic Confession of PeterY This grouping of incidents shows that, in the view of the evangelists, the conversation at Caesarea Philippi marks the moment when the Messiahship of Jesus becomes more definite and clear to the disciples, making them able to receive fresh teaching from the lips of Jesus. The linking up of this episode with that which precedes it is less clear in Luke; above all, it is rather different from the arrangement in Mark and Matthew. In Mark, after Jesus has cured a blind man at Bethsaida, he turns his steps, with his disciples, towards the villages of Caesarea Philippi, that is, doubtless, towards the villages situated in the neighbourhood of that town. It is while they are on the road that Jesus asks them what the people are saying about him (viii. 27).2:d He is seeking a refuge outside Galilee, in the territory of the Tetrarch Philip. Nowhere else in the Gospels is Caesarea Philippi mentioned, and it is difficult to see what interest there could be for Mark to introduce the name of this town to which no particular memories are attached. From the geographical point of view this incident connects very well with that section in the narrative which deals with the feeding of the multitudes. The fact that Caesarea Philippi is mentioned may, therefore, be regarded as a proof that it belongs to the primitive tradition. In Luke, the conversation with the disciples follows the feeding of the multitudes, and ought to be placed, like it, at Bethsaida. There is no suggestion of Caesarea Philippi. Luke says that one day, while Jesus was praying alone, his disciples gathered round him, and it was then that he questioned them (ix. 22). Spitta29 argues, with much ingenuity, that Luke has here reproduced, with more exactitude than Mark, the fundamental common source of the Synoptic Gospels ( Grundschrift), and that if Mark has substituted Caesarea Philippi for Bethsaida, this is because, having added the secondary account of the healing of the blind man, in which it is said that Jesus was "going out of the village," he had to give the incident which followed a local habitation and a name in a different district. Spitta thinks that the account of the feeding of the multitudes was not included in the Grundschrift. In ix. 10 it is said that Jesus "went aside privately (that 104
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is, far from Galilee) into a desert place belonging to the city called Bethsaida"; now, Spitta thinks that it is as impossible to localize the feeding of the multitudes in a town as to take "at Bethsaida" to mean "in the neighbourhood of Bethsaida." In order to express this idea Luke had at his disposal the usual expression in the Gospels: Eic; 'ta J.LEPTJ BT]9oatoa, "in the region of Bethsaida." 30 In his opinion, in the Grundschrift, Peter's Confession was directly connected with the journey of Jesus to the eastern shore of the Lake, after the return of the disciples, at the moment when Herod had just declared his hostility towards Jesus. This leads Spitta to interpret this incident in a manner which differs greatly from the usual point of view. His suggestion is this: Jesus, rendered uneasy by the threats of the Tetrarch, is anxious to know what the people are saying about him. He asks his disciples what they have heard in their wanderings amongst the villages of Galilee; then he asks them what they themselves have said about him, and urges them henceforth to tell no one that he is the Messiah. The silence which he imposes on them thus becomes a measure of precaution. If Herod came to hear that Jesus called himself the Messiah, and was represented as such by his disciples, his enmity would only be increased. There are some conclusive objections to Spitta's reconstruction of the Grundschrift. If Luke had known of the existence of a connexion between the menace of the attitude of Herod towards Jesus and the questions he was asking his disciples about what people were saying about him and about what they themselves had said in their preaching, it is difficult to understand why he should have interposed the feeding of the multitudes between the two sections, or why he should have given such an insignificant ending to the section on Herod, by saying simply that the Tetrarch wanted to see Jesus. This simple curiosity does not seem to fit well with the idea that, after Herod began to notice him, Jesus should have taken the precaution to leave Galilee, and have charged his disciples to conceal the fact that he is the Christ. Hence we must conclude: either Luke knew that the Grundschrift (in the sense in which it is reconstituted by Spitta) was right in establishing an organic relation between the episode of Herod and the conversation of Jesus with his disciples, and if this is right we cannot understand why he has weakened the ending of the Herod episode as he has done, or he did not know it; and then we do not understand why he has only added to the content of the Grundschrift the first feeding of the multitudes, and not all the other sections which follow it in Mark. Spitta is right in thinking that the feeding of the multitudes cannot be localized at Bethsaida, but the text of Luke does not say this. It says that Jesus comes to Bethsaida, that the crowds follow him, and that after he had welcomed them he spoke to them of the Kingdom of God, and that after he had healed some sick folk he fed the multitudes who had followed 105
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him; there is nothing to indicate that Jesus stayed at Bethsaida from the moment he reached it until he fed the hungry people. Even if Jesus had been rejoined by the crowds at Bethsaida he would have had to take them aside in order to be able to speak to them privately, which he could not do in a pagan city. This is so obvious that it would be useless to say so explicitly, especially as the evangelists took no trouble to place the incidents which they narrated in their right setting. If the account of the feeding of the multitudes is not a section foreign to the Grundschrift, and even if we admit, contrary to our previous conclusions, that Luke has preserved the primitive arrangement of the source in not bringing Jesus back into Galilee after the feeding of the people, the link which Spitta has thought he could perceive between the return of the disciples and the question which Jesus addressed to them becomes so slight that it practically disappears. If Jesus had been dominated by the preoccupation which Spitta suggests, how is it that while they were crossing the Lake, or before the arrival of the crowd, Jesus did not make an opportunity to sound them on this subject? Further, what we know of the first preaching of Jesus, and of the instructions he gave his disciples, does not allow us to believe that they could have had the idea of presenting their master as the Messiah. The introduction to the account of this conversation is as unnatural in Luke as it is natural in Mark and in Matthew. At a moment when Jesus is alone in prayer his disciples gather round him (ix. 18). This would seem to suggest that the disciples were about to ask Jesus a question and make some request of him. On the contrary, it is he who questions them. Thus evidently this introduction is purely editorial. Further, Luke has not composed it entirely himself, and this is why it does not blend very well with the narrative. He has reproduced material which, in the source which he was using, belonged to another section. Here it is, in xi. 1-2: And it came to pass that, as he was praying in a certain place, when he ceased, one of his disciples said unto him, Lord, teach us to pray, as John also taught his disciples. And he said unto them, When ye pray, say, Father ... 31 This introduction to the teaching of the Lord's Prayer is as suitable as it is unsuitable as an introduction to the conversation with the disciples. Thus we must reject the theory of Spitta, and admit that, in the source which Mark followed, the conversation at Caesarea Philippi followed the cycle of the feeding of the multitudes, and that Luke, who does not give this group of incidents, has been obliged to invent an artificial introduction to the account of Peter's Confession. Although the preceding observations make it seem probable that in the source which Mark followed the conversation at Caesarea Philippi was 106
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placed after the cycle of the feeding of the multitudes, and even that this interview may be placed in the period which followed immediately that of the feeding of the multitudes, still this does not prove that there is an organic connexion between the two incidents. In the Johannine record this connexion comes out quite clearly. After Jesus had uttered in the synagogue at Capemaum the discourse which had offended the Jews, the evangelist says: From that time many of his disciples went back, and walked no more with him. Then said Jesus unto the Twelve, will ye also go away? Then Simon Peter answered him, Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life. And we believe and are sure that Thou art that Christ, the Holy One of God. (vi. 66--ti9 )32 There is a direct connexion between this passage and the Synoptic narrative. Even when we allow for such Johannine expressions as "words of eternal life" or "we have believed and are sure," it is impossible to admit that the Johannine passage is derived from the Synoptic narrative. It is impossible to understand why the Fourth Gospel should not have reproduced the term "Christ," which it found in its source, in such a way that the Christological statement of its text would remain rather nearer to the Synoptic Gospels, nor why it should have sacrificed the antithesis hetween the faith of the Twelve and the opinions which were current among the people on the subject of Jesus, and should have reduced it to a simple opposition between those who remained faithful to Jesus and those who deserted him. Thus in John vi. 66--ti9 we have a tradition which is independent of the Synoptic record of Peter's Confession, but is parallel to it and refers to the same incident. Thus the declaration which the apostle makes in the name of the Twelve, while it appears to be a statement of belief in Jesus, is really and mainly a declaration of personal attachment and loyalty. So at the very moment when Jesus is being pursued by Herod, and deserted by many of his disciples, Peter proclaims the undying attachment and loyalty of the Twelve. Thus the result of the Cialilean crisis was that Jesus was left with a very small group of loyal and faithful disciples.
IV. The influence of the Galilean crisis on the thought of Jesus The declaration of Peter permits us to assume that a process of evolution has taken place in the thought of Jesus since the moment when he sent his disciples out on their first missionary journey. He now asks for attachment to his person, and not only for the acceptance of his message. 107
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A message like that of Jesus could not have an effect on the souls of the hearers save in so far as the personality of the preacher inspired confidence. The more such a message penetrates into the hearts of those who hear, the greater is the influence of the messenger. From the very beginning of his ministry people were forced to regard Jesus in one of two ways. He might be regarded as a dreamer, a visionary, or an impostor, whose word commanded no respect, or, if people recognized in his word a divine message, they would have to admit that he was a messenger of God, at the very least a prophet. Those who gathered round him must have become quite as attached to his person as to his message. Then when Jesus called certain men to follow him, with the idea that he would make them eo-workers in his cause and preachers of the Gospel, the impossibility of distinguishing clearly between attachment to his message and attachment to his person was merely increased. As time went on circumstances strengthened the link between Jesus and the Gospel. When he became the object of the opposition of the Pharisees, to accept or to refuse his message meant deciding for or against him, and when Herod wished to kill him this necessity became still more evident. Thus it was no longer a question of taking a side in a theological controversy but of throwing oneself wholly on the side of Jesus or of denying him. Hence from that moment Jesus laid great emphasis on the importance of confessing him before men, and the seriousness of denying him (Matt. x. 32-33; Luke xii. &-9; Mark viii. 38*). This also is why he felt that his ministry brought division among the people. Luke has preserved this saying: I am come to send fire on the earth; and what will I, if it be already kindled? But I have a baptism to be baptized with; and how am I straitened till it be accomplished! Suppose ye that I am come to give peace on the earth? I tell you, Nay, but rather division: For from henceforth there shall be five in one house divided, three against two, and two against three. The father shall be divided against the son, and the son against the father; the mother against the daughter, and the daughter against the mother; the mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law, and the daughter-inlaw against her mother-in-law. (xii. 49-53) Matthew gives the same passage in a rather more condensed form: Think not that I am come to send peace on the earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. And a man's foes shall be those of his own household. (x. 34-36) 33 10R
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The phrase about baptism is peculiar to Luke and is suspect, especially if it be compared with the expression about baptism referring to the Passion in Mark x. 38. It seems to be an editorial addition. But verse 49 in Luke: "I am come to send fire on the earth ... " seems to be primitive, for it is necessary in order to explain the expression, which sounds a little strange at first, about "not peace but a sword" in Matthew. We might therefore reconstruct this passage thus, which seems as though it may very well be authentic: I am come to cast fire upon the earth and much I wish it were already alight. Do not think I am come to cast peace on the earth. I am come not to cast peace but the sword ... This saying refers to the situation which arose at the moment that the determination of Herod to kill Jesus forced his disciples to be opposed if necessary even to the members of their own families. Jesus said: "He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me" (Matt. x. 37). In speaking thus, Jesus was not condemning natural feeling. Could one who, in order to express the infinite love of ( iod, could find no better image than that of the heavenly Father, have asked his disciples to kill their human affections? What Jesus meant to say, in a paradoxical form perhaps/ 4 was that in the present crisis they must be ready to sacrifice all for him, or else they must leave him altogether. We must therefore conclude that when Jesus required his followers to sacrifice everything for his sake, his own sense of vocation must have been not merely maintained but deepened during this crisis in his life. External circumstances alone do not explain how it was that Jesus came to place his own person in the very centre of the Gospel, and to declare that at his glorious advent the Son of Man would treat people according to their attitude towards himself, denying before God those who were ashamed of him, and on the other hand confessing those who had confessed him before men (Matt. x. 32-33*; Mark viii. 38*). The link thus established between the Son of Man and Jesus implies, even if it does not directly state it, the feeling that Jesus knows that he is the Messiah for whom men were waiting. These words seem most relevant if we assume that they belong to a moment when Jesus is being pursued, and when, as a result, it comprolllises anyone to declare himself on his side; that is, the moment of the
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human personality, from those depths of consciousness of which the individual himself is often unconscious, in which the personality grows and takes shape. Whether such forces may be explained as the phenomena of auto-suggestion, or as the expression of the aspirations of the human conscience, or as intuitions which lie outside the usual ways of feeling and thinking, or again, as phenomena which can only be explained by that witness of the Spirit of God to the spirit of man of which the Epistle to the Romans speaks (viii. 16), is not a matter of great moment, for this question lies outside the province of the historian. We must leave the task of its solution to the psychologists and philosophers, although it is doubtful whether they can do this in a purely objective manner. All we can do here is to try to understand what took place in the soul of Jesus. At the very beginning the Gospel brought with it a discovery of a moral order. The Kingdom of God, the condition in which the sovereignty of God wiiJ be unhindered by any obstacle, either in men or in things, is so precious that no one, even by the most thorough and logical repentance, could ever earn the right of admission. The entrance to the Kingdom can only be a gift of the love of this God whom Jesus conceives-without in any way denying or weakening in any degree his holiness and righteousness-in such a way that his most essential attributes are those of love and mercy. Jesus feels that he has been sent to bring the message of divine forgiveness to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. In order that men may receive this forgiveness they must repent and look for the Kingdom by realizing, henceforth, in their lives the divine perfection. At the outset, Jesus evidently thought that this liberating message, accompanied as it was by a display of saving power (like that of casting out the demons), would be welcomed with enthusiasm; the way in which he was welcomed at the beginning of his ministry encouraged this expectation. But soon difficulties arose, opposition began to gather strength, and even among those who had been attracted and won by his message he had to admit that the spirit of the Kingdom of God was very far from being the dominant factor. This experience reinforced and accentuated his sense of vocation and led him to think that his vocation was unique. As he watched his disciples he had to admit that even the best and the most convinced of them was not wholly dominated by the desire to obey God. People whose ideals are high are sometimes tempted to see reality only in the light of these ideals. But it was not so with Jesus. This idealist, who conceived human life as a realization of the divine perfection, was also a realist. He saw men as they were and judged them without leniency. He saw that evil lay not in external circumstances, but in the heart of man, whence come all sins and evil thoughts (Mark vii. 21-23). Yet in his own heart Jesus could find nothing of this kind. In his words there is nothing which could possibly be interpreted as a sense of sin or repentance. It is, of course, true that from the historical point of view we cannot assert the holiness of Jesus, primarily 110
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because this would not be a statement of fact but an affirmation of principle. Also we must remember that all the documents which we possess were compiled by men who believed in the holiness of Jesus. It is, however, significant that, although on some other points the words of Jesus present certain inconsistencies, in none of those which have come down to us can we find anything at all which can be construed as an expression of a sense of sin or penitence. When we remember that the moral consciousness of Jesus was extremely fine and sensitive, this statement assumes a very special importance. It is impossible that Jesus could not have known of the moral superiority which he possessed. This sense of moral purity must have helped him to believe in his unique vocation; and this must have led him to feel that he was not merely one of the children and messengers of God among many others, but that in a more absolute sense he was His Son and His messenger. This seems to be the first germ of his Messianic consciousness. Although the forms which it adopted and the formulas by which it was expressed may have been conditioned and determined by the ideas and conceptions of the time, it did nevertheless issue from the depths of his soul. Although Jesus realized that he was not the only one to will the Kingdom of God, he felt that he alone willed it absolutely, accepting all the conditions it imposed, and that he alone subordinated everything else to it. When circumstances showed him that he could not for ever evade his enemies, and that the sufferings which formed part of his ministry were rerhaps only the prelude and presage of sufferings far greater still, his faith in himself and his confidence in the fulfilment of the Kingdom of God were not diminished. He then realized that he could not attain his end as he had still believed he would when he sent out his disciples on their first mission, and he knew in the depths of his soul that he himself must pass through a period of desertion, humiliation, and suffering. Though we may have to admit that the triple announcement of the suffering, death, and resurrection of the Son of Man, which forms the outline of the second section of the Gospel story, has a certain theological bias, the declaration of Jesus in which, after having spoken of the Day of the Son of Man, he says: "But first must he suffer many things, and be rejected of this generation" (Luke xvii. 25), falls into an entirely different category. This saying cannot have been invented by tradition, for it does not mention death or resurrection. We do not know when it was uttered, but it does not seem rrobable that it could have been pronounced before the Galilean crisis. It exrresses the result of the meditations of Jesus on the experience which hcgan at the moment when he was hunted down by Herod, and deserted hy many of his disciples. To regard this statement as something theoretical and purely ideological would be a very serious misunderstanding of the nature of the thought of Jesus. All that it affirms is that his sufferings will Ill
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be efficacious. This statement is not an explanation like "The Son of Man is not come to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many" (Mark x. 45*), or the giving of the broken bread as the symbol of the body of Jesus (Mark xiv. 22*). We have no right to introduce at this point doctrines of redemption which were only developed much later, from the point of view of belief in the Resurrection. Either we must regard these passages as non-authentic, which would be an arbitrary proceeding, or we must regard them simply as figures of speech. The affirmation of the necessity for the sufferings of the Son of Man is a statement of fact and not of principle; this is why it is not accompanied by any kind of explanation. At the beginning of his ministry Jesus did not think that he would have to suffer and die. It was only during the course of the last evening, and at Gethsemane, that death, which many a time, doubtless, he had looked in the face, appeared inevitable. When he met suffering in the course of his life he accepted it from the hand of God. He did not believe that anything could happen apart from His will. Believing, as he did, that the hairs of our heads are all numbered, and that not a sparrow can fall to the ground apart from the Will of God (Matt. x. 29-30), he was still more sure that if he had to suffer, he, the Son of God, it was because God Himself willed it so. To him acceptance of suffering was an act of that obedience to God which summed up his whole conception of religion. At the same time, however, Jesus believed in the absolute wisdom of God, and, without knowing how, and even without needing to try to imagine it, he had the assurance that his sufferings formed part of the plan which God, in his infinite wisdom, had designed for the establishment of his Kingdom. This is something very different from a doctrine of redemption; this is not a theological system but simply a directly religious affirmation. Jesus might have evaded persecution and death. It would have been enough for him to retire to some remote village and keep quiet. This he did not do because he desired to remain faithful to his mission and to obey God. Thus the sacrifice which Jesus accepted out of fidelity to his vocation reinforced the sense of vocation itself. So long as he believed that to be Messiah simply meant presiding over the glorious establishment of the Kingdom of God, he did not claim the title of Messiah. But from the moment when he realized that the Messiah must suffer, be humiliated, and rejected, he claimed the title of the Son of Man. The only honour he desired was that of being the suffering Messiah. Thus in his mind the mystery of the Messiahship and the mystery of suffering were indissolubly connected. It is not difficult to understand why this was so. At the outset, when Jesus did not foresee that a tragic crisis would precede the coming of the Kingdom of God, he simply felt that he was called to prepare men for its coming; he did not realize that he himself was called to work for its 112
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coming. When obstacles began to block his way and he realized that it was part of his mission to be rejected, he did not despair of the fulfilment of God's purpose; he did not think that it would be realized in spite of his failure and in spite of his rejection, but by his sufferings and by his rejection. This was a direct result of his faith in the omnipotence of God. Through the idea that his sufferings were necessary for the coming of the Kingdom of God, Jesus was led beyond the sense of a simple prophetic vocation and to regard himself, no longer simply as the herald of the Kingdom of God, but as the one who was to realize it himself, who, after having been humiliated and rejected, would appear as the glorious Son of Man. Thus this Messianic consciousness of Jesus appears as the triumph of faith over experience, of the ideal over reality; it was a faith which surged up from the depths of his being. This is why, as the human outlook became darker, this consciousness increased in force and certainty; this is why he declared it publicly and unequivocally before the Sanhedrin at the very moment when it was evident that his position was desperate. Jesus did not believe that he was the Messiah although he had to suffer; he believed that he was the Messiah because he had to suffer. This is the great paradox, the great originality, of his Gospel.
V. The departure for Jerusalem The Synoptic Gospels do not give a clear account of the conditions under which Jesus left Galilee in order to go to Judaea. This is not due to the fact that the tradition has not preserved some clear recollection of this detail. Luke, in the central section peculiar to his Gospel, mentions this departure several times. But, very early, these memories became, if not effaced, at least confused and scattered, under the influence of the idea that Jesus wt.:nt up to Jerusalem in order to accomplish the divine plan of his death. Even in Luke's time there was no homogeneous tradition, for the accounts which we find in his record of the departure of Jesus for Judaea are scattered throughout the narrative, and it is impossible to weld them into a coherent unity. We must gather up these relics of the ancient tradition before we analyse the manner in which the evangelists represented to themselves the coming of Jesus to Jerusalem. In Luke ix. 51-53 we read: And it came to pass, when the time was come that he should be received up, 35 he steadfastly set his face to go to Jerusalem, and sent messengers before his face: and they went, and entered into a village of the Samaritans, to make ready for him. And they did not receive him, because his face was as though he would go to Jerusalem. Ill
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We must make a distinction between the incident itself and the way in which it is introduced. The latter is obviously due to the work of an editor; it gives a dogmatic reason for the journey to Jerusalem. The episode which is narrated implies that Jesus was going up to Jerusalem by way of Samaria. He is alone with his disciples, and the journey is not in the nature of a missionary tour. This aspect is not due to Luke himself, who considers-( the incidents which follow show this36 )-that Jesus had not then given up, even for a time, the work of preaching the Gospel, and was to be accompanied, up to the moment of his arrival in Jerusalem, by a crowd of hearers. His passage through Samaria does not seem to contradict the principle to which Jesus seems to have remained faithful to the very end of his ministry-that his message was addressed solely to Jews-because he is only passing through the country without stopping to work there. Jesus may have done this because if he had remained in Peraea he would have been exposed to the enmity of Herod. Further on (xiii. 31-32) there comes an incident which has already been mentioned, 37 that of the Pharisees who counsel Jesus to depart because Herod intends to kill him. When he received this warning, Jesus was carrying on his ministry in Galilee; Luke has forgotten that he has already mentioned his departure for Jerusalem, due, as he says, to the fact that the time of his death was drawing near. Is it perhaps possible that Luke has not quite caught the meaning of this incident? It looks rather like it, for he gives it in a series of incidents which show Jesus peacefully pursuing his ministry in Galilee, without any hint of danger or of the need for precaution. It is only in chapter xvii, in the account of the healing of the ten lepers (xvii. 11-19), that he seems to be once more on the road towards Jerusalem, but it is not certain that at that moment he had definitely left Galilee; he seems to be only on the borders of that province and of Samaria, and nearer Galilee than Samaria, since, of the lepers who were healed, there were nine Jews and only one Samaritan. Luke does not seem to have considered the departure for Jerusalem (mentioned at the beginning of the account of the healing of the ten lepers) to be very important, since, directly afterwards, in xvii. 20 ff., he represents Jesus in conversation with the Pharisees. The incident might just as well have taken place in Judaea as in Galilee; it would have been impossible during the journey through Samaria. Finally, at the beginning of the third prophecy of suffering, after he has taken up the thread of Mark's narrative once more, Luke reports this word of Jesus to his disciples: "Behold, we go up to Jerusalem" (xviii. 31). Thus Luke knew some narratives which related either to the departure from Galilee or to the journey from Galilee to Jerusalem, through Samaria, but he has taken no trouble to connect them with each other. What he has preserved, however, is valuable, because it gives us some idea of the state of the early tradition before the Gospels were compiled. 114
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The section of Mark's narrative which refers to the period in which Jesus left Galilee represents a grouping of incidents arranged in accordance with the system in the mind of the editor. We have already noted this fact in connexion with the way in which (in viii. 34) Jesus addresses the multitude, when he is supposed to be alone with his disciples on the road to Caesarea Philippi. After speaking to the crowd comes the incident of the Transfiguration (ix. 2-8), which, in order to be inserted at this point, has been detached from a cycle of incidents enclosed within a definite chronological setting. Although a return of Jesus into Galilee has not been reported since the moment when he was in the region of Caesarea Philippi, the healing of the boy who was possessed with an unclean spirit (ix. 14-29) is scarcely conceivable save in Galilee, at a spot where Jesus was carrying on a settled work. There follows a very brief allusion to a journey in Galilee, in the course of which Jesus did not wish to be recognized (ix. 30). What follows does not suggest a wandering ministry; here, therefore, this element is not due to the hand of an editor. The situation which is implied by this statement is exactly that which we found at the close of the cycle of the feeding of the multitudes, at the moment when Jesus was in danger owing to Herod's threats against his life. After the second prophecy of suffering, Mark brings Jesus back to Capernaum (ix. 33) and reports a series of teachings which show that there he exercised a ministry of some duration. He tells of his departure, in Vl:rse 1 of chapter x, in the following terms: And he arose from thence, and cometh into the coasts of Judaea by the farther side of Jordan: 38 and the people resort unto him again; and, as he was wont, he taught them again. The contrast is striking between ix. 30, where Jesus is travelling about in
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And they were in the way going up to Jerusalem; and Jesus went before them: and they were amazed; and as they followed, they were afraid. And he took again the twelve, and began to tell them what things should happen unto him. Here the journey up to Jerusalem is represented as a march to execution. Thus through the narrative in the Synoptic Gospels we can trace three layers of tradition. According to the first tradition, in order to escape more quickly from Herod, Jesus, in spite of the reserve which he exercised towards those who were not Jews, went through Samaria.40 While he thought that it would be sufficient for him to leave Galilee for a short time he was able to find a refuge in the regions of the North. Then, when he knew that his native province was definitely closed to him, he felt that he must go to Judaea, in order to preach the Gospel in another district. Another tradition represents Jesus as leaving Galilee without being forced to do so, simply because he wishes to extend his work. A third tradition, finally, represents him as going up to Jerusalem to die, because it thus became him to fulfil the plan of God. Thus he went thither freely of his own accord to meet the destiny which he knew in advance would be his lot. Alongside of these traditions we must place that which is attested by the source followed by John in chapter vii.: 41 Jesus, who is asked to go up to Jerusalem in order to make a Messianic demonstration, refuses, but goes up to Jerusalem later, in secret, ou l)>avEp~ f:J.'),)..,i:J. ~ f.v x:pu7tttj), says the text, which does not mean concealing himself, since, although he left after the pilgrims who were going up to the Feast of Tabernacles, the moment he arrived in Jerusalem he began to preach in the Temple. In the Johannine narrative, the departure for Judaea is not connected with the crisis provoked by the feeding of the multitudes. Although, according to John (who on this point does not seem to have exactly understood what the source has said), the suggestion to go and work miracles at Jerusalem was made to Jesus by people who did not believe in his divine mission, this could only have taken place at a moment when Jesus had achieved a measure of success. Otherwise why should he be told that he cannot go on manifesting himself in secret, that is, in a remote province, but that he ought to go to Jerusalem in order that the disciples who are there may see the works which he does? But in the source the account of the departure of Jesus for Jerusalem may have been of a quite different character. The proposal to go to Jerusalem may have been made, not in a spirit of ironic hostility, but with the desire to see his work extended, and to summon him to a brilliant manifestation at Jerusalem which would efface the sense of defeat, or partial defeat, caused by his experience in Galilee. Understood in this sense, the content of the source would connect 116
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well with the situation created by the feeding of the multitudes and the events which followed. The handful of disciples which has remained faithful to Jesus has been somewhat affected by the events which have taken place. Peter and his companions are not beyond being attracted by the ideal of a victorious Messianism. Jesus knew this, since, at the moment when, after the feeding of the multitudes, the popular enthusiasm rose to fever heat, his first care was to send them away. Disappointed by the defeat suffered by their master, they desired to be reassured and confirmed in the confidence which they had in him, by a triumphant manifestation which they could no longer expect in Galilee but which they might yet hope to see in Jerusalem. The source followed by John expresses definitely the idea that although Jesus obeyed, or appeared to obey, the suggestion which had been made to him, the reasons which caused him to accept this suggestion were quite different from those which had been put forward by the disciples. Jesus went up to Jerusalem, not in order to arouse a striking public manifestation, but simply in order to teach. The account in John says nothing more than that. In the phrase, "He went up ... not openly, but as it were in st.:cret" (vii. 10), we may perhaps recognize the relic of a tradition which had already been transposed in the source which John used. Originally Jesus may have had to leave secretly for the reasons which forced him to go away or conceal himself many a time during the last part of his ministry in Galilee when he was being hunted down by Herod. A comparison of the various data which we have tried to discover by the analysis of the Gospel narratives relating to the departure of Jesus from <~alilce enables us to discover the development of tradition on this point. <>riginally, people thought that Jesus had left Galilee owing to the hostility or Herod, and because the precautions which he had taken in order to be ahlc to carry on his work proved insufficient. Soon, however, the Early Church could not be satisfied with this manner of presenting events; the Christians felt that something as important as going up to Jerusalem could not have been imposed upon Jesus by external constraint, and they felt unt.:asy at the suggestion that he had yielded to the threats of Herod. So they came to the conclusion that Jesus went up to Jerusalem either in order to continue his work of preaching in a more important sphere (this is .John's account), or, in order to give himself up to a Messianic manifestation, to make a triumphal entry into the city, and to be welcomed there as the One who "cometh in the Name of the Lord." At the third stage, linally, it seemed that, in going up to Jerusalem, Jesus could not have been ignorant of what was going to happen there. Thus he left Galilee knowing that he would meet the Cross in the Holy City, and in consequence that in going up to Judaea he would fulfil the divine purpose. The triumphal march was then transformed into a march to execution; at the same time, 117
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all the details in the story which represent him as hoping that his message would win the hearts of the people of Jerusalem, or even as fleeing from Herod, have not been entirely effaced from the record.
Notes When we compare the two accounts we gain the impression that chapter vi is the more recent. It is fuller, and it gives the highest number of figures. 2 The parallel passages are arranged thus: vi. 30-44. The feeding of the multitude. vi. 45-56. Return to the western shore. vii. 1-23. Dispute with the Pharisees (washing of hands). vii. 24-30. The Canaanitish woman. vii. 31-37. Cure of a deaf-mute. viii. 1-9. The feeding of the multitude. viii. 10. Return to the western shore. viii. 11-13. Dispute with the Pharisees (request for a sign from heaven). viii. 14-21. Leaven of the Pharisees. viii. 22-26. Cure of the blind man of Bethsaida.
3
4 5 6 7
8
In Matthew the arrangement is the same, save that instead of the healing of the deaf-mute there is a general statement about several healings, and the cure of the blind man of Bethsaida is omitted (on the other hand, further on, at the arrival at Jericho, where Mark (x. 46-52) places the healing of the blind man Bartimaeus, he reports the cure of two blind men (xx. 29-34)). The two accounts of Mark (vii. 31-37, and viii. 22-26) are fairly circumstantial, in the sense that instead of saying that Jesus healed by a word he heals by a gesture, and that instead of being instantaneous cures, they are gradual and, we might even say, a little laboured. It is doubtless for this reason that Matthew has not reproduced these incidents, but has given the numerical equivalent instead. This concerns the localization of the incident in the region round Bethsaida (Luke ix. 10). This detail may have been in the primitive tradition and have been omitted by Mark because he tells how after the people had been fed Jesus and his disciples left for Bethsaida. On this, see page 326, n. 4. See pp. 381 ff. In a boat, since the boat is mentioned in iv. 22. Cf. Mark vi. 32. Seep. 326, n. 4. Concerning the coming of Jesus into the plain of Gennesaret there is a considerable difference between the accounts of Matthew (xiv. 34-36) and of Mark (vi. 53-56). Matthew tells how people hastily gathered the sick of the district together that Jesus might heal them. This assumes that there was something exceptional in his presence in the district. Mark (vi. 56a) adds that wherever Jesus went, into villages or towns or rural districts or market-places, the sick were brought to him that he might heal them, which suggests that at that moment he was engaged on a missionary tour. This note, which betrays by its character (which is quite general) its editorial origin, directly contradicts the beginning of the story where it is said, as in Matthew, that people were hastily gathering together the sick of the district. In verse 56b, therefore, we have reason to believe that there is a secondary addition from the hand of Mark. Matthew (xv. 21) mentions Tyre and Si don. We shall have to return to this point a little further on.
11 R
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9 We follow the text of the MSS. M. B. D., etc. Others (A. N. X.) read "of the country of Tyre and Sidon," which is evidently a correction. 10 This note is curious. Si don is about twenty miles north of Tyre in the opposite direction from the road which leads towards the Sea of Galilee. Matthew (xv. 29) seems to have noticed this difficulty, for he says that Jesus returns to the Sea of Galilee. It is probably owing to the mention of Sidon by Mark that this town is mentioned in xv. 21. WELLHAUSEN (Einl.\ p. 38) has suggested that in the Aramaic source there was 1"1'V:l , which was translated by l>ux l:tooov~ (by way of Sidon), when it should have been translated by BT)aaatoav (at Bessalda). This form, which Wellhausen regards as primitive, is found in Mark vi. 45, in MS. D. This hypothesis, which is quite attractive in itself, and which would have the additional advantage of making the first cycle of the feeding of the people occur at the same place as the second, breaks down at one point, the difficulty, namely, that Bethsaida is not a city of the Decapolis. Whatever we may think about this detail, the story itself places Jesus on the eastern shore of the Lake of Gennesaret. 11 The mention of the boat, at a place where jesus arrives, coming from Tyre, shows the artificial character of the link by which the two stories of the feeding of the crowds have been attached to one another. 12 Neither of these two places can be identified. It seems probable that Matthew has substituted Magadan, a name which he might know, for Dalmanutha, which he did not know. It is possible that the name which was originally in the text of Mark or in the source may have been altered by the mistake of some scribe in copying the MS. 11 See pp. 349 ff. 14 WREDE: Messiasgeheimnis. 15 Again, he did not have this feeling from the beginning of his ministry. 16 A typical example of this is furnished by Matt. xii. 15-16, that is, in the passage parallel with Mark iii. 11-12, where the sick are mentioned, and not the demoniacs, as in Mark. 17 The one which the Jews pronounced every time they took food. IX On this point, see MAUR!CE GoGUEL: L'Evangile de Marc, Paris, 1909, p. 160, n. I: Eucharistie, p. 285, n. 1. I') See Eucharistie, pp. 54 ff. 20 Matthew (xvi. 17) brings out the nature of this Confession of Peter as a revelation more clearly than Mark by the declaration of Jesus to Peter: "Flesh and hlood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven." 21 Seep. 219. 22 In that case he would not have been asked for this by Pharisees who wished to entrap him, but by his own followers, who wanted to see him lead them against Herod. The mention of the Pharisees would be determined by the meaning given to the episode by the Gospel tradition. 23 That is, the Messiah. 24 This detail is not given in vi. 24; it comes from vi. 59. 25 The chief features peculiar to the account in Matthew are the following: First of all, Jesus does not ask, "Whom do men say that I am?" but, "Whom do men say that I the Son of Man am?" which destroys in advance all the interest of Peter's statement. Then the words which in verse 28 in Mark we have placed within brackets, and which are implied in his narrative, are expressed in Matthew, which makes the passage clearer. To the hypotheses reported by Mark, Matthew adds another: some say that Jesus is Jeremiah. In the reply of Peter, instead of, "Thou art the Christ," Matthew reads, "Thou art the Christ, 119
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26
27 28
29
30
31
32
the Son of the Living God." Finally, the last admonition of Jesus is more precise in Matthew: Jesus does not forbid his disciples to mention him, but to "tell no man that he was Jesus the Christ." As a reminder, we should recall the fact that Matthew mentions a special declaration to Peter: "Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-Jona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven; and I say unto thee that thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church ... "The text of Matthew is certainly secondary to that of Mark. There are only three peculiarities in the text of Luke which need be mentioned. They make the passage clearer and more precise. Instead of "one of the prophets" Luke has: "that one of the old prophets was risen again." Instead of "the Christ" he has "the Christ of God"; and in the conclusion Jesus forbids his disciples to tell this to anyone. On this last point Luke departs from the text of Mark in the same direction as Matthew, but as he does not do it in the same way, and as he and Matthew have in common only one word which is also in Mark, there must be here two corrections independent of each other. Logical though the connexion may be, it does not, however, come from the source; it has been realized by Mark because, in his account and in that of Luke (Matthew omits this detail), the words about the sufferings of the disciples are addressed to the multitude as well as to the disciples, while the preceding section was placed at a moment when Jesus was alone on the road with his disciples. For the origin and the real character of this incident, see above, p. 343, n. 1. In Matthew it is almost the same, but the expression is simpler. The conversation is placed at the moment when Jesus has arrived in the country round Caesarea Philippi (xvi. 13). In Matthew the connexion with that which precedes it is less satisfactory than in Mark. In xvi. 5 it is said that after having refused to give a sign from heaven, Jesus embarks in order to cross over the Lake. Between the embarkation and the arrival in the region of Caesarea Philippi, which is far from the Lake, something is missing; we ought to have been told that Jesus disembarked and then set out for Caesarea. This gap may be explained by noting that Matthew has omitted the archaic account of the healing of the blind man of Bethsaida because it contained features which were too much opposed to his way of conceiving the healings of Jesus. SPITTA: Das Gesprlich Jesu mit seinen JUngem in Bethsai'da, in Streitfragen der Geschichte Jesu, pp. 85-143. Die synoptische Grundschrift in ihrer Ueberlieferung durch das Lukasevangelium, Liepzig, 1912, pp. 214-228. In order to buttress his point of view, Spitta asserts that it is that of numerous scribes, who, instead of the most certain reading, "in a town named Bethsaida," have placed something else, as, for example, "at the gate of a town called Bethsaida" (sy-l). "In a desert place" (M. 69, etc.), "in the desert place of a town called Bethsaida" (A. C. D.), "in a desert place which is Bethsaida (fat.)", "in a village called Bethsaida, in a desert place" (0). The care which has been taken by tradition to avoid anything which would make Jesus look like a disciple of John the Baptist, and to declare his complete independence, guarantees the historicity of an incident in which Jesus is represented as consciously imitating an example given by John. Instead of "the Holy One of God," which is the best attested reading (M. B. C*. D. L.), the received text has: "the Christ, the Son of God" (C\ r. !1. A., etc.); sy2., vg., arm., eth., etc. Tertullian confirms the reading "Christ"; band syc have "The Son of God." All the secondary readings may be explained by the desire to bring the passage in John into agreement with the statement of Peter 120
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33
34
35 Jo
37 JX
Jl)
40
41
in the Synoptic Gospels, as well as with the usual formulas of the Christian faith. In Luke this declaration occurs in a group of sayings which have no obvious connexion with each other. In Matthew they form part of the missionary instructions, which, as we know, are considerably more developed in the first Gospel than in the others. It may come from the Logia, which would doubtless have preserved it as an isolated saying. Luke (xiv. 26) gives this saying in this form: "If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple." We cannot tell whether he has forced the terms which Jesus used or whether he has preserved the paradoxical form which Matthew may have weakened. That is to say, the moment when, according to the Divine plan, Jesus must die, was approaching. These are, first of all, the episodes relating to the disciple who wished to follow Jesus, but whom he rejected as being incapable of bearing the sacrifices which this vocation involves, and also to those whom Jesus called but who found excuses for refusing to obey (ix. 57-62). Then follows the sending out of the Seventy (x. 1-16). These two sections come from the Logia. The first has a parallel in Matt. viii. 19-22, the second is a doublet of the sending of the Twelve. See p. 350 ff. We follow the reading of 1t. C., etc. The received text reads, with A. N. X., and the majority of the MSS.: "by the other bank of Jordan," thus Jesus would have avoided Samaria and have passed by way of Peraea. The reading of the received text is a correction of that of 1t. C., etc., which is difficult to understand, since it seems to place Judaea on the left bank of the Jordan. WELLIIAUSEN (Mk., p. 83) retains the reading of C2, D. G. W. ~.e., which have: "the Judaea of the other side of the Jordan," and thinks that this may be a description of the Peraea. But this expression does not occur elsewhere. Doubtless the text has been altered. It is probable that in a form which we cannot now reconstruct, Peraea was named in connexion with the departure of Jesus for Judaea. Jesus must, indeed, have reached Jerusalem by way of Peraea, since he passes through Jericho and Bethany. This feature is still more accentuated in the Lucan narrative. Luke places the healing of the blind man at the arrival at Jericho, and at the moment when Jesus leaves the town he places the story of Zacchaeus, who, because he was a short man and the crowd was dense, had to climb up into a sycamore-tree in order to see Jesus (xix. 3-4). There is no irreconcilable difficulty between the passage by Samaria mentioned by Luke (ix. 52) and the arrival in Peraea implied by him (xviii. 35), as hy the two other Synoptists (Mark x. 46*). Jesus, dogged by the agents of Herod, may have gone into the Samaritan territory and then have passed along the left bank of the Jordan after he had thrown his pursuers off the scent. Mark may have omitted the passing through Samaria, which gave to the departure of Jesus the air of a flight, and not of a proceeding undertaken deliberately, of his own free will. Sec pp. 233 ff.
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Jesus was well aware of the opposition which was gathering against him, and of the atmosphere of hatred with which he was surrounded, and he knew that, humanly speaking, in the end his enemies would take his life away. He saw ahead, not the possibility, but the certainty of the Cross. This situation confronted Jesus with a question which demanded an answer. Was there anyone who had recognized him? Was there anyone who knew, however dimly and imperfectly, who and what he was? His Kingdom was a kingdom within the hearts of men, and, if there was no one who had enthroned him within his heart, then his Kingdom would have ended before it ever began. But if there was some one who had recognized him and who understood him, even if as yet inadequately, then his work was safe. To this question Jesus had to find an answer. To find that answer he had for a brief time to disengage and disentangle himself and his little company from the tensions and threats which surrounded them, so that he could be alone with them. To that end he set out for the territory away to the north of Galilee to an area ruled not by Herod Antipas but by Philip the Tetrarch. On the road there was plenty of time for talk in which Jesus could open his heart and mind to the men into whose hands he must commit his work, when the arms of the Cross claimed him. So they came to Caesarea Philippi, and it was against the background of Caesarea Philippi that Jesus asked the most important of all questions and received the greatest of all answers. That background makes the question of Jesus and the answer of Peter all the more astonishing. There could have been few areas with more vivid associations than the area around Caesarea Philippi. (i) In the ancient days the whole area had been intimately connected with the worship of Baal. It had been, as Sir George Adam Smith says in The Historical Geography of the Holy Land, one of the chief dwellings of 122
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the Baalim, and may well have been the Baal-gad of which Joshua speaks (Josh. 11.17; 12.7; 13.5). Thomson in The Land and the Book enumerates no fewer than fourteen sites of ancient temples of Baal in the near neighbourhood of Caesarea Philippi. Caesarea Philippi was a place where the memory of the ancient gods of Canaan brooded over the scene. (ii) In Caesarea Philippi the ancient gods of Greece also had their dwelling place. On the hillside there was a grotto or cave with a fountain of waters within it which was said to have been the birthplace of Pan, the god of nature. To this day the inscription 'To Pan and the Nymphs' can be traced in the stone of the grotto. So closely associated was this place with the worship of Pan that its ancient name was Panias, which still survives in the name Banias which is the modern name for the area. The hill, the grotto and the fountain of waters were called Paneion, which means the shrine of Pan. Even to this day the atmosphere of the old Greek gods broods over the place, so that the modern traveller H. V. Morton speaks of 'the eerie grotto'. Sir George Adam Smith describes the place: 'You come to the edge of a deep gorge through which there roars a headlong stream, half stifled by bush. An old Roman bridge takes you over, and then through a tangle of trees, brushwood and fern you break into sight of a high cliff of limestone, reddened by the water that oozes over its face from the iron soil above. In the cliff is a cavern ... The place is a very sanctuary of waters, and from time immemorial men have drawn near it to worship. As you stand within the charm of it ... you understand why the early Semites adored the Baalim of the subterranean waters even before they raised their gods to heaven, and thanked them for the rain.' Around Caesarea Philippi there gathered the mystery of the old Greek gods of nature, who were still revered and worshipped when Jesus and his disciples came there. (iii) Still further, it was within this cavern that the River Jordan was said to have its source and origin. Josephus describes it: 'There is a very fine cave in a mountain, under which there is a great cavity in the earth; and the cavern is abrupt, and prodigiously deep, and full of still water. Over it hnngs a vast mountain, and under the cavern arise the springs of the River Jordan.' 1 Much of the history of Israel centered round the Jordan and the Jordan valley, and, therefore, Caesarea Philippi was compassed about with memories of the great things which God had done for his people Israel. (iv) But there was something even more impressive yet at Caesarea Philippi. In the time of Jesus Caesarea Philippi was one of the most beautiful cities in the East. In 20 BC Augustus had given it as a gift to Herod the Great; and Herod had built on the hill-top a great white temple of gleaming marble with the bust of Caesar in it for the worship of Caesar. 'Herod,' says Josephus in the passage which we have already quoted in part, 'adorned this place, which was already a very remarkable one, still further hy the erection of this temple which he dedicated to Caesar.' In another 123
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place Josephus again describes the temple and the cave: 'When Caesar had further bestowed on Herod another country, he built there also a temple of white marble, hard by the fountains of Jordan. The place is called Paneion, where there is the top of a mountain which is raised to an immense height, and, at its side, beneath, or at its bottom a dark cave opens itself, within which there is a horrible precipice that descends abruptly to a vast depth. It contains a mighty quantity of water, which is immovable, and when anyone lets down anything to measure the depth of earth beneath the water, no length of cord is sufficient to reach it.' In due time Herod's son Philip inherited the area and the city. He further beautified the already lovely city and the temple, and he changed the name from Panias to Caesarea, 'the City of Caesar', and to the name Caesarea he added his own name Philippi, 'Philip's City of Caesar', to distinguish it from the other Caesarea in the south, which was the seat of the government of Judaea, and where Paul was imprisoned. So, then, at Caesarea all the majesty of imperial Rome and the worship of the Emperor looked down on Jesus and his men. Still later Herod Agrippa was to call Caesarea Philippi by the name Neroneas in honour of the Emperor Nero. (v) There remains one strange fact to add. It seems that Caesarea Philippi possessed the right of asylum; it was a place where the fugitive could find shelter and be safe. An inscription describes it as: 'August, sacred, with the rights of sanctuary, under Paneion.' In its history Caesarea Philippi must have sheltered many a fugitive, and it was there that Jesus went for shelter before the breaking of the gathering storm. The history of Caesarea Philippi is written in the changes of its name. Originally it was Balinas, for it was the centre of the worship of Baal; then it became Panias, for men regarded it as the birthplace of the Greek god Pan; then it became Caesarea, because it was the city where Caesar was worshipped; later it was to become Neroneas, named in honour of Nero; today it has reverted to its ancient name, for it is called Banias, which is the Arabic form of Panias, since Arabic does not have the sound of the letter p. It was here that Jesus asked his greatest question and flung down his greatest challenge, and surely there could be no more dramatic set of circumstances. Here was a wandering Galilaean preacher, who had begun as a carpenter in Nazareth and who had now no place to lay his head. With him there was a little company of men without education, without money and without prestige. At that very moment the orthodox religious authorities were resolved on his death as a dangerous heretic, and he was well on the way to being an outlaw for whom a cross was waiting. He stood in a place surrounded by the memories of the ancient gods of Canaan, a place where men worshipped the gods of Greece, a place around which the memories of the history of Israel gathered, a place where the eye could not miss the white splendour of the temple where men worshipped the majesty 124
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of imperial Rome; and there against the back-cloth of the world's religions, the world's history and the world's power, Jesus asked the question which demanded the answer that he was the Son of God. It sounds like preposterous madness. But the fact remains that the ancient gods are but a memory. Great Pan is dead. The Empire of Rome is dust. As H. V. Morton says, the great white marble stones of the imperial temple have become building material for the house of an Arab sheik. But Jesus Christ is still gloriously and triumphantly alive. The old faiths died; the old kingdoms fell; but the Kingdom of the homeless Gatilaean still stands and still enlarges its borders throughout the world. So, then, it was here that Jesus asked his all-important question. He began by asking what people were commonly saying about him, and the disciples told him that he was being identified with certain great figures. Some said that he was John the Baptizer come back to life again. That was what Herod Antipas had already surmised (Matt. 14.2). John had made such an impact of greatness upon men that there were still those who felt that death could not have finally defeated him and could not hold him, and that in Jesus he had come again. Some said that he was Elijah. This in its own way was high praise. To the Jewish mind Elijah had two distinctions. First, he was always regarded as supreme among the prophets. Even after the later great prophets had come Elijah was considered as supreme among the prophets as Moses was among the lawgivers. Second, it was the Jewish belief, and it still is, that Elijah would return to earth to be the herald and fore-runner of the Messiah. 'Behold,' Malachi heard God say, 'I will send you Elijah before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes' (Mal. 4.5). If Jesus was to be expressed in human terms at all, he could not have been expressed in higher terms than in terms of Elijah. Some said that he was Jeremiah. It was the belief that, before the Jewish people went into exile, Jeremiah had taken the ark of the covenant and the altar of incense out of the Temple, and had hidden them in a lonely and secret place on Mount Nebo, and that, before the coming of the Messiah, he would return and produce those treasures, and the glory of Clod would come back to his people (II Mace. 2.1-8). In one of the Old Testament apocryphal books God is represented as saying: 'For thy help I will send my servants Isaiah and Jeremiah' (11 Esdras 2.18). Jeremiah was regarded as the forerunner of the Messiah and the champion of the people when they were in need. Some said he was one of the prophets. Even if the people did not identify Jesus with a figure so great as Elijah or Jeremiah, at the very least they regarded him as a prophet, and, therefore, as a man within the confidence of God (Amos 3.7). Then Jesus asked the crucial question. 'You,' he said, "who do you say that I am?" And it was then that Peter made his great discovery and 125
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affirmed his faith that Jesus was none other than the Messiah and nothing less than the Son of God. The fact that Jesus did not accept the verdicts of the crowd, and that he pressed for a still deeper answer, tells us certain things about his conception of himself. (i) It shows us that human terms, even the highest human terms, are inadequate to describe him. To call him Elijah or Jeremiah come back was great, but nevertheless it was not enough. 'I know men,' said Napoleon, 'and Jesus Christ is more than a man.' (ii) It shows that to Jesus compliments are not enough. When men called Jesus John the Baptizer, or Elijah, or Jeremiah come back to life, they believed that they were paying him a compliment; they intended it as praise. To compliment Jesus and to praise him is not enough; nothing is enough except to worship and adore. (iii) It shows that the only adequate way in which to think of Jesus is to think of him in terms of God. To say that Jesus is the Son of God is to say that there exists between him and God a relationship which is unique, a relationship which is such that it has never existed, and never will exist, between God and any other person. (iv) It shows that all this must be a personal discovery. Jesus did not tell his disciples who he was; he encouraged, and even compelled, them to discover it for themselves. True knowledge of Jesus comes not from a textbook, and not even from another person, but from personal confrontation with him. No sooner had Peter made his great discovery than Jesus made to him a great series of promises. These promises have been the subject of much and embittered controversy, and we must seek to find the mind of Jesus in them. (i) There is the promise to Peter: 'You are Peter and on this rock I will build my church' (Matt. 16.18). Two things are to be noted. First, here there is a play on names, not reproducible in English. The Greek for 'Peter' is petros, and the Greek for rock is petra; in Greek there is a change in gender and therefore a change in the ending of the words; but in Aramaic the word play would be even more perfect, for Peter's Aramaic name was Cephas, and cephas is the word for 'a rock'. Second, whatever the meaning of this is, there is no doubt that it was a very great compliment to Peter. To call a man 'a rock' was high praise. A rabbinic saying says that God said of Abraham: 'Lo, I have discovered a rock on which to found the world.' Abraham, so the rabbis said, was the rock on which the nation was founded, and the rock from which the nation was hewn. The word 'rock', this time in Hebrew sur, is again and again applied to God in the Old Testament. 'Who is a rock, except our God?' (Ps. 18.31; ll Sam. 22.32). 'The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer' (Ps. 18.2; II Sam. 22.2). There can be no higher tribute than to call a man a rock. To whom, then, or to what does the phrase 'this rock' refer in the saying of 12ti
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Jesus to Peter? Four main suggestions have been made. (a) Augustine suggested that the rock in question is Jesus himself, and that Jesus is saying that the Church is founded on him, and that Peter will be honoured in it. (b) It is suggested that the rock is Peter's faith, that, to change the metaphor, Peter's initial faith is the spark which kindled the flame and fire of faith which was ultimately to burn in the world-wide Church. (c) It is suggested that the rock is the truth that Jesus Christ is the Son of the living God, that this is the bedrock of truth on which the very existence of the Church is founded. (d) While we agree that there is truth in all these suggestions, we feel certain that the rock is none other than Peter himself. It is perfectly true that in the ultimate and eternal sense God is the rock on wltom the Church is founded; but it is also true that Peter was the first man to discover and publicly to confess who Jesus was; and, therefore, Peter was the first member of the Church of Christ, and, therefore, on him the Church is founded. The meaning is not that the Church depends on Peter; the idea is, to use a modern metaphor from the same realm of thought, that Peter is the founder member of the Church, because he was the first to experience and to confess the Church's faith in Jesus. rt may be that we will get a better understanding of this saying of Jesus if we in fact avoid the word 'church'; in modern times it has the ideas of denomination, organization, administration, Protestant, Roman Catholic attached to it. It is true that in Greek the word is ekkli!sia, but in the Greek Old Testament ekklesia regularly translates the Hebrew word qahal, which is the word for the congregation, the assembly of the people of Israel, assembled before God and in his presence. The idea then is that Peter is the founder member of the new Israel, the new people of God, whom Jesus came to create, the company of men and women everywhere who confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. Nothing can take from Peter the honour of being the first stone in the edifice of the new people of God. (ii) It is then said by Jesus to Peter: 'I wiH give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven' (Matt. 16.19). The possession of keys always implies very special authority and power. The rabbis for instance had a saying that the keys of birth, and death, and the rain, and the resurrection from the dead belong to God and to God alone. In the New Testament the keys are specially connected with Jesus. It is the Risen Christ who has the keys of death and Hades (Rev. 1.18). It is Jesus who has the key of David and who opens and no man shuts, and shuts and no man opens (Rev. 3.7). These sayings all have a common background. They all go back to Isaiah's picture of the faithful Eliakim who had the key of the house of David on his shoulder, and who alone opened and shut (Isa. 22.22). Now Eliakim was the steward of the house of David; he was the door-keeper who brought people into the presence of the king. So, then, Jesus is saying that Peter is to be the steward of the Kinf(dom. If that be so, the whole emphasis is on the opening of the door, for the steward is the person who answers 127
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and who opens the door. Peter was to be the man who opened the door of the Kingdom, and indeed he did. At Pentecost it was the preaching of Peter which opened the door to three thousand souls (Acts 2.41). It was Peter who adventurously opened the door of the Kingdom to the Gentile centurion Comelius (Acts 10). It was Peter who at the Council of Jerusalem gave the decisive witness which flung open the door of the Church to the Gentiles at large (Acts 15.14). The last thing that Jesus meant when he said that Peter would have the keys of the Kingdom was that Peter would have either the right or the duty to close the door; Jesus meant that in the days to come Peter would be like a faithful steward opening the door of the Kingdom to those who were seeking the King. (iii) It is then said by Jesus to Peter: 'Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven' (Matt. 16.19). Here we must note two things First, we must note that it is whatever you bind and loose, not whomever you bind or loose. This has clearly nothing to do with binding or loosing people. Second, the phrase binding and loosing was very common in Jewish language in regard to rabbinic and scribal decisions about the Law. To bind something was to declare it forbidden; to loose something was to declare it allowed. In this context this is the only meaning which these two words can have. Jesus was saying to Peter: 'Peter, in the days to come heavy responsibilities will be laid upon you. You, as leader of the Church, will have to take grave decisions. The guidance and the direction of the young Church is going to fall on you. Will you always remember that the decisions you will be called on to make will affect the lives and souls of men in time and in eternity?' Jesus was not giving Peter some special privilege; he was giving him a grave warning of the almost unbearable responsibility that was going to be laid upon him for the welfare of the Church in the days to come. Jesus was saying to Peter, and saying with joy: 'Peter, you are the foundation stone of the new community which I came to found, for you are the first man to know me and to confess me. In the days to come you will be the steward of my Kingdom, opening the door to those who seek my presence. In the days to come you will have grave decisions to make, decisions which will affect men's souls. Always remember the duty laid upon you, and your responsibility to men and to me.' This is the natural and inevitable outcome of this whole incident. Jesus took his disciples apart for the all-important purpose of finding out if there was any who understood him. To his joy one man did understand, and Jesus was committing his work into the hands of that man, for that was the very thing he had set out to do. But there is still something to add to this incident. No sooner had Peter made his great discovery and his great confession than Jesus began to tell his disciples of the suffering, the death, the Cross that lay ahead. And 12R
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immediately Peter broke out with violence: 'God forbid, Lord! This shall never happen to you!' (Matt. 16.22). Peter's violence was due to two things. First, it is a desperate thing to hear the one you love more than anything else in the world saying that he is going to a cross. Here is the stuff of broken hearts. Second, Peter had just made the great discovery that Jesus was the Messiah, and the one thing of which the mind of Peter was totally incapable was to connect Messiahship with suffering and death. He had been taught and trained from his earliest days to think of Messiahship in terms of victory, triumph, glory, conquest, power. A Suffering Messiah was something which had never entered into his mind. Peter's heart had gone out in devotion to Jesus, but Peter had still much to learn, and Jesus had still much to teach. And here is the explanation to two further things in this incident. First, this is the explanation of why Jesus instructed his disciples to tell no man that he was the Christ (Matt. 16.20). At that moment they were all still thinking in terms of a conquering, fighting, nationalistic Messiah, and, if they had gone out to proclaim Jesus as such, all that would have happened would have been the tragedy of another disastrous and bloody and abortive rising against Rome. They had made the discovery; as yet they did not know what it meant; they must be silent until Jesus could lead them further into the truth that suffering love can do what conquering might can never do. Second, this is the explanation of Jesus' violent rebuke of Peter. 'Get behind me, Satan, you are a hindrance to me; for you are not on the side of God, but of men' (Matt. 16.23). The truth was that in that moment Peter confronted his Lord with the very same temptation as that with which Satan had confronted him in the wilderness. Jesus too knew the traditional idea of the conquering Messiah; Jesus too had considered that way. No one wishes to die on a cross in agony; but Jesus had deliberately put aside the way of power, which he might well have taken, and had chosen the way of the Cross. Peter in his mistaken love was facing Jesus again with the temptation to take the wrong way, and the temptation was this time all the stronger because it came from the voice of love. At Caesarea Philippi Jesus had the joy of knowing that his work was safe because there was at least one who understood; but at Caesarea Philippi Jesus knew that he still had the problem of making those who loved him fully understand. But now the way to the Cross was clear, because there was at least one human heart in which he was enthroned.
Note Antiquities 15.10.3.
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Draw near to me, you who are untaught, and lodge in my school. Put your neck under the yoke, and let your souls receive instruction; it is to be bound close by. See with your eyes that I have labored little and found for myself much rest. [Wisdom of Sirach 51:23, 26f.] I am learning to see. I don't know why it is, but everything penetrates more deeply into me and does not stop at the place where until now it always used to finish. I have an inner self of which I was ignorant. Everything goes thither now. What happens there I do not know.*
"Follow me" Of those who listened with interest to Jesus' message of the approaching rule and realm of God, there were some who attached themselves to him as sympathizers and followers. The gathering of a group of loyal adherents about a teacher of acknowledged learning in the rules of Jewish life and faith was common enough. The men of the Great Synagogue were reported to have said, "Be deliberate in judgment, raise up many disciples, and make a fence around the Law" (Aboth 1.1). In Jesus' day, the rabbinical school under the leadership of Shammai was dominant in Galilee, in sharp contention at many points of interpreting the oral and the written law with the more liberal school of Hillel. The community at Qumran was pledged to a common way of life and the strict rule of the new covenant under the leadership of their beloved teacher and his priestly associates and successors. John the Baptist, while attracting large 130
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audiences, had a smaller band of companions who shared with him an ascetic life of prayer and fasting (Luke 5:33). Jesus too, while devoting himself to preaching the message of the Kingdom to the common people and helping the sick and needy, gathered about him a circle of men and women, committed to a discipline of preparation for the event of the Kingdom's arrival. It was from this larger group of disciples that the twelve were to be chosen. The call for associates
In all probability the account of the call of the first disciples (Mark 1: 16-20 par.) is an idealized scene, though it may be based on actual reminiscences. Through constant retelling in Christian preaching and teaching, the story has been compacted into a form that omits mention of any previous relationship between the Galilean teacher and the Gennesaret fishermen. John's Gospel adds certain details that may well be historical. Here we are told that two of these men, Andrew and presumably John, had previously been disciples of John the Baptist. Together with Simon, Andrew's hrother, they had allied themselves as talmidim or disciples of Jesus during John's ministry at Bethany beyond the Jordan (John 1:35ff.). All these stories bring into clear focus the two essentials of discipleship: the call and the obedient response, Jeremiah had spoken of fishermen from beyond Israel who would be sent in divine judgment to "catch" these rebellious people who had forsaken the covenant (Jer. 16:16). 1 But Jesus' men were to be sent in the interests of the divine salvation. He even appealed to some people whose occupations were of questionable status according to a strict interpretation of the Torah, inviting them to join with him in recruiting men for the Kingdom of God. Whole-hearted commitment was required, but no attempt was made to build a holy community as at Qumran. He summoned them much as any rabbi might receive an application and invite a candidate to join his band of talmidim. 2 But there are significant differences. His mission is already announced to prepare people of the entire nation for the reign of God which is at hand. Attachment to him, therefore, could not mean matriculation in a rabbinical school, assembled daily in an appointed study center to engage in discussions on the teaching of the Torah according to the traditions of the elders. Some of the people were asked to travel with him as he acted as God's courier of the good tidings of salvation to everyone, from the learned doctor of the law to the hopeless sinner, including even the Greek and Roman aliens in the land. Those who shared that task with him engaged in more advanced discussions and practice of his way in order to be trained for the same service of preaching and healing. This teaching presented Jesus' own requirements of the New Age as he saw its relationship to the present situation of men.
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Those who worked with him must want to do the King's will with eager and passionate devotion. Jesus was convinced that their "redemption is no longer a question of pursuit but of surrender to Him who is always and everywhere present. " 3 The membership
Equally unparalleled was the character of the group Jesus gathered together. They were selected from the ranks of those whom Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes would have regarded as under divine condemnation because they neither knew nor dutifully practiced the law (John 7:49). Fishermen, tax collectors, lepers, prostitutes, shepherds, and peddlers, even Roman centurions and Canaanite women-all were confronted by the call to repentance and the demand to live in the light of the coming Kingdom. They were the sick who knew their need to be healed (Mark 2:17). They were the hungry sheep who must be fed (Mark 6:34; Matt. 10:6; Luke 12:32). They represented the harvest to be reaped for God's use (Q Matt. 9:37; John 4:35; Thomas, Saying 73). They were the "little ones," a term of tender affection, who were the object of the Father's loving concern. "Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him if a great millstone were hung around his neck and he were thrown into the sea" (Mark 9:42). 4 The Gospels refute the popular assumption that Jesus' disciples numbered only twelve. 5 The call went out to all Israel, impelled by their desperate need, to run toward the God of forgiving love and to begin now to prepare themselves for family fellowship in the Father's house. Many responded. Both the righteous according to the law and sinners were addressed with the word of invitation. But the former were seldom willing to be torn loose from their familiar ways and follow this unfamiliar way. Even more surprising from the standpoint of Jewish amenities was Jesus' conversations with and acceptance of women into the fellowship of those preparing for the onset of God's New Age. 6 This was no conventional rabbi, this Galilean who urged all sorts of people to follow him and who claimed to possess the authentic truth about God and the approaching judgmenC Only a few of those who heeded his call were remembered by name in the Church's tradition, and there is confusion about their identities. The rest remain anonymous. Those who responded to his invitation as the Father's messenger were to constitute a different kind of Israel than the sanctimonious brotherhoods who rebuked Jesus for offering the good news to the unwashed multitudes. But these decisions took no single form. Some people were called to accompany him on his tours throughout the province, leaving behind their families and giving up their possessions and trades (Mark 10:28-30 par.). Another, perhaps a Gentile, was 132
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told to go home to his friends and tell them about the greatness of God's kindness toward him (Mark 5:19). One was advised to put his loyalty to a supreme test by giving away all his property and joining the little band (Mark 10:21). But Zacchaeus was commended for promising to make legal restitution for his frauds (Luke 19:8f.) without disposing of his entire estate. Certain women of private means helped to finance the little company in its work, presumably without becoming bankrupt (Luke 8: 1-3; cf. 16:9-12). For all, however, discipleship was a sign of the approaching reign of God. The movement cannot be regarded as a group with a fixed membership. During the main period of Jesus' mission in Galilee there were crowds who followed him to hear him speak and to solicit his help. Obviously they did not really belong to him. 8 We hear of other acknowledged disciples who were offended at certain words of the Teacher about the bread of life and who severed their relationship with him from that point on (John 6:60, 66). The parables of the wheat and the weeds and the seine-net emphasize that there can be no superfine separation of the true sons of the Kingdom from the sons of darkness until the End. 9 Then it became God's exclusive prerogative. The twelve From the larger group of his apprentices, Jesus made a selection of twelve who were to accompany him on his evangelistic travels. After training they were to be sent out as sh•tuchim, or envoys, bearing the good news of the Kingdom and manifesting its healing power (Mark 3:14f.). Luke reports that this was a solemn, deliberative moment in Jesus' mission, faced after an all-night vigil of prayer (Luke 6:21). The earliest reference in Christian literature to this special group is to be found in Paul's writings. He understands that Jesus appeared in risen form to the twelve, following the initial manifestation to Peter (I Cor. 15:5). There is no substantial reason to doubt this selection of an inner group, for they play a larger part in the tradition of the earthly ministry of Jesus than they do in the actual life of the primitive community. 10 The frank recognition of a traitor within the group is hardly credible if the list is simply a predating of the role they played in the post-Easter community. But we may ask what the special purpose was in the choice of this smaller group. Professor Taylor has proposed to find the answer in a Galilean mission in which they were sent out two by two to proclaim the coming of the Kingdom of God and to heal the sick (Mark 6:6-13). Before and after this mission they are merged in the larger group of "the disciples" ... The conclusion to be drawn is that the appointment of "the Twelve" was of the things that pass, because its original purpose was fulfillcd. 11 LB
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Yet Paul refers to the twelve as witnesses to the resurrection, as we have just noted, and Luke's history of the primitive Jerusalem congregation describes the otherwise puzzling insistence on choosing a successor to the traitorous Judas to complete the original number (Acts 1:15-26). 12 Clearly something more than an ad hoc appointment is understood. It seems that the choice of twelve men was just as deliberate an act on Jesus' part as the appointment of the same number of laymen at Qumran, who with three priests composed the Community Council. 13 In both instances there was a symbolic intention of specifying the true Israel that would become the nucleus of the new humanity of the Kingdom of God. These men were the representatives of the twelve-tribed nation who were sent out to gather in the lost sheep of the house of Israel, and who would exercise prominent roles of leadership in the New Age (Matt. 19:28; cf. Luke 22:29f.). Immediately we are confronted by the nettlesome problem of Simon Peter's position within the inner circle of Jesus' disciples. Centuries-old disputes about the primacy of Peter arise to haunt the Christian, inflame prejudice, and make difficult an honest interpretation of the biblical sources. There can be no question, however, quite apart from the controversial passage in Matthew 16:18, of Peter's prominence among the twelve. Paul makes special mention of him. 14 He may be offering his own comment on the tradition of Peter's special appointment by the Lord when he observes to the Corinthians, "No other foundation can any one lay than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ" (I Cor. 3:11). 15 The appendix to John's Gospel similarly reflects a tradition of Peter's rehabilitation after the crucifixion and resurrection, based upon the prediction that Peter would become the great evangelist-pastor to Israel before his death as a martyr. 16 Luke, too, knows of such a responsibility vested in the "Rock-man," for he reports a prayer of Jesus anticipating Peter's leadership. "Simon, Simon, behold, Satan demanded to have you, that he might sift you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail; and when you have turned again, strengthen your brethren" (Luke 22: 31-32). 17 It is evident, however, that Peter is not "appointed" to a position of superiority over his brethren. Any notion of such unrivaled primary and exclusive authority, let alone its transfer in some sort of apostolic succession, is foreign to the teaching of Jesus and the realities of early Church life. It is significant that the Evangelist does not quote Jesus as saying, "You are Peter, and upon you, Peter, I will build my Church," an exact transliteration of the kephii-kephii that would be susceptible to strongly monarchic meaning. 18 Instead he gives the real sense of the play on the Aramaic word by the translation "Peter-rock" (Petros-petra). Thus Peter is not primus super alios but rather primus inter pares, the spokesman and representative of the entire feiJowship of the disciples. This is seen in the way the authority given to Peter according to Matthew 16:19-"I will give 134
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you [singular] the keys of the kingdom, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven"-is subsequently assigned to the whole body of disciples, not simply to the twelve (Matt. 18:18; cf. John 20:23). "Binding and loosing," that is to say, declaring the word of judgment and forgiveness, are tasks shared with the whole group, though Peter will be a special guide and stay. Elsewhere, too, the foundation rock of the Church is identified not simply with Peter, but with the apostles and other leaders 19 and pre-eminently with Christ himself. 20 As Origen would put it later, "Every Christian can and ought to be Peter. " 21 Though little enough is known of the other disciples, it is certain that they too were chosen by Jesus from the common people whom he describes as the lost sheep of Israel. Galileans all, 22 with the possible exception of Iscariot, five of them receive some attention in the record with respect to their call, which might explain the curious Talmudic note that Jesus had only five disciples. 23 By the time the earliest Gospel was written there was already some haziness of memory concerning the precise identification and special function of the twelve. Differences may be observed in the four listings of the disciples. 24 The brothers of a fisherman named Zebedee, like Simon Peter, are given a byname, the meaning and spelling of which is quite uncertain. But in view of Old Testament and Ugaritic references to thunder as the utterance of the divine voice, it is likely that the obscure word Boanerges, which Mark translates "sons of thunder" (Mark 3:17 par.), means, "men who hear and declare the heavenly voice, the Bath Qol. " 25 They are, so to say, spokesmen of the Almighty God. The Johannine tradition says that the brothers Simon and Andrew as well as Philip came from Bethsaida, "Fisher-home," a city lying on the eastern shore of the mouth of the Jordan as it empties into the lake of Gennesaret. 26 Established as his capital by the tetrarch Philip shortly after his accession to rule, the city, along with the neighboring towns of Capernaum and Chorazin, was one whose obstinate refusal to hear the call to repentance wrung from Jesus a prophetic commination (Q Luke 10:13). Bartholomew is actually a patronymic, like Bar-Jonah; hence it is often conjectured that this is the Nathanael named by John, his full name being Nathanael bar-Ptolemy. It may have been on a visit to Nathanael's village of Cana in Galilee that Jesus first met this "Israelite in whom is no guile" (John 2:47, 21:2). The confused manuscript tradition testifies to the uncertainty of the Gospel tradition about the disciple named Thaddeus by Matthew and Mark, for the name sometimes is given as Lebbaeus. It is a common speculation to identify him with Judas, son of James, mentioned in Luke 6:16, but there is no real evidence to support it. According to the Gospel of Matthew, a tax collector named Matthew once heard Jesus' challenge "Follow me" as he was engaged in his daily 135
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routine (Matt. 9:9). Pushing the ledger aside he rose and went after him. This identification may represent an early copyist's gloss, since Mark and Luke speak of a publicanus named Levi but fail to include him within Jesus' inner circleY John's Gospel reminds us that the name Thomas is not a proper name at all, but rather the Aramaic word for twin (thoma), for he translates it into the Greek equivalent didymos (John 11:16, 20:24, 21:1). Who is this twin who plays a much more prominent role in this Gospel than in the Synoptics? Syriac-speaking Christianity early identified him with Judas, the brother of Jesus (Mark 6:3). 28 The second-century apocryphal Gospel of Thomas begins with the words, "These are the secret words which the Living Jesus spoke and Didymos Judas Thomas wrote." Luke's list makes mention of a Judas who might be understood to be the brother of James, hence one of the Nazareth family, 29 but he clearly distinguishes this Judas from Thomas (Luke 6:16). Sometimes a man is remembered by the very special company he keeps. This appears to be the case with a second Simon numbered in the private circle of Jesus. Matthew and Mark refer to him as Simon the Kananaios, a Greek transliteration of an Aramaic word that Luke preferred to translate into Greek as "zealot" or enthusiast. We have already learned of an extremist political party that played an incendiary role in the uprising of the Jews against Roman suzerainty in A.D. 66. That Jesus' disciples probably included even political hot-heads is further evidence of what a nondescript cross-section they were of the conflicting sympathies and points of view represented in Jewish society of the day. Each Evangelist reserves the last and the least position in his survey to that disciple who became a symbol of apostasy in the Church. His full name is given by John as Judas the son of Simon lscariot (6:7, 13:2, 26), and he refers to him contemptuously as diabolos, Satan's ally (6:70, 13:2). The meaning of the surname is uncertain, and various guesses have been made about it. Since the Greek word may signify a compound of two Hebrew words, it is sometimes held that the reference is to a Judean village of Kerioth (Josh. 15:25) or to a town in Moab (Jer. 48:24, 41; Amos 2:2). The meaning then would be "a man of Kerioth ('ish q•riyyoth)." Others hold that Iscariot is a corruption of sicarius and refers to the band of assassins or extremist Zealots who are mentioned by Josephus in connection with a later messianic uprising. 30 Again, it is argued that it is a corrupted form of an Aramaic word meaning "false one" or "liar." Of these possibilities, the first seems most plausible. Such then was the motley crew of talmidim that Rabbi Jesus called to himself to announce the acceptable year of the Lord. Rough fishermen, who knew more about hauling nets than about rhetoric, an internal revenue agent who had turned his tax farming into personal profit, a model Israelite who was an earnest student of the Torah, 31 an enthusiast 136
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who may have had subversive sympathies, and a keeper of the purse who may have displayed that common haughty superiority that marked the Judean's attitude toward his countrymen from the north. From the standpoint of the political authorities, it is not surprising that this band of wandering Evangelists appeared to be a peasants' revolt. To the priest, the theologian, and the holy man, as to Saul the Tarsian Pharisee, they made claims both ridiculous and blasphemous when they charged God's rejection of the national leadership and announced the promise of messianic salvation upon them and their ilk. But to their teacher, this little coterie of followers had the makings of true Israel; they were destined to exercise governing roles in the fulfilled Kingdom of God. They and the wider company of his disciples, God's beggars,32 were the long-suffering dispossessed who were to inherit the vineyard of God now despoiled by the leaders of the people (Mark 12:1-9). They were the terrible meek who were to inherit the whole earth under the fatherly judgment of the God who abased the proud and exalted those of low degree (Matt. 5:5; Luke I:52)_33
The Galilean mission of Jesus' disciples The training and activity of the disciples is presented in some detail in the story of an evangelistic mission that they carry on in the cities and towns of Ualilee. Varied versions of this missionary enterprise are to be found in all four of our basic sources, Mark, Q, M, and L. 34 It is, therefore, one of the hest attested narratives in early Christian tradition. No doubt it has been enlarged and adapted to fit the needs of the burgeoning missionary program of the early Church. 35 The very fact that early Christians believed that there was authority in Jesus' own teaching and in actual journeys of the disciples to proclaim the coming Kingdom of God for their own missionary work in the empire is significant, however. We shall want to consider whether this later extension of a preaching mission into the Gentile world is likely to have been part of Jesus' own instructions to his disciples. At what point in his Galilean ministry the mission of the twelve occurred is beyond identification. Mark certainly understands that it has something to do with attracting the unwelcome notice of the political authorities to the work of Jesus. He connects the story with a report that Herod Antipas, evidently alarmed at the growing popularity of the movement, was convinced that his old foe John the Baptist had returned from the dead to make his life miserable (Mark 6:14-16). Other than that, Mark regards the mission simply as an extension of the teaching ministry of .Jesus. The mission story probably details a representative situation, one of several occasions in which the disciples were sent out as accredited envoys of Jesus. The narrative of one such expedition, perhaps the first, provided an 137
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appropriate setting for the Evangelist to gather together a number of mission charge sayings that were preserved in the community tradition. In this sense Luke may possibly reflect a memory of several evangelistic forays. On a later occasion he repeats essentially the same mission charge delivered to the twelve, involving a larger group of seventy-two missioners. 36 The charge
These apprentices of the Kingdom were sent out in pairs after their preliminary training, perhaps on the Torah principle that a testimony is sustained only on the evidence of two or three witnesses (Deut. 19:15). The workers were all too few. "The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; pray therefore the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest" (Q Luke 10:2). Their task was identical with his task: to preach the Kingdom of God and to heal the sick. As they themselves were awakened and forgiven men, so they were freely to share with others what they had received (Matt. 10:8). The specific instructions recorded in the several accounts eloquently reflect the crisis that Jesus believed confronted men. They go, as T. W. Manson says, like an invading army, prepared to live a hand-to-mouth existence from house to house, town to town. 37 Under the conviction that this gospel must first be offered to the people of Israel, who would become finally the rallying center of all the nations of the earth, the disciples are enjoined to go only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. 38 "Heal the sick ... and say to them, 'The Kingdom of God has come near to you'" (Q Luke 10:9; cf. Mark 6:7 par.). The disciples were asked to see this task as a holy mission of great urgency. The devout Jew refrained from carrying a staff or sandals or a wallet into the temple precinct or walking with dirty feet on those sacred pavements out of respect for that meeting place of God and man. 39 So also the eager herald of God's salvation would take with him nothing that would signify disrespect for his mission or convey anything less than that the divine judgment was imminent. They must depend for their food and lodging40 upon the hospitality of friendly homes upon which they will invoke a shalom benediction, "for the la borer deserves his wages. "41 These messengers of the Kingdom take their lives in their hands. So their enthusiasm must be tempered with a cold, sober realism about the deceptions and the difficulties they will encounter among a people who may stubbornly refuse to believe they are on the King's business. "Lo, I send you out as sheep in the midst of wolves," to which Matthew appends a bit of proverbial advice, "So be wise as serpents and innocent as doves" (10:16). 42 Even as Jesus has reminded them that he meets them in the poor and needy,43 so now he speaks of his identification with the disciples in their missionary task. Together they are bound in an indissoluble triangular unity. "He who hears you hears me, and he who rejects you rejects me,
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and he who rejects me rejects him who sent me" (Q Luke 10:16). As Jesus has been sent from the Father, so these disciples, trained and commissioned, have been deputized for service (John 17:18). And the divine intention behind this chain of relationships is to one end: that men may be called back, turned from their flight into a far country, and encouraged to start the long trip home to the waiting Father. Of a rabbi's official delegate on a mission it was said: "A man's shaliach is as the man himself."44 As the sh•fuchim of Christ, the disciples were empowered to act on his behalf, not only to bear witness to the approaching reign of God, but in some real sense to exemplify that blessed rule. They were plenipotentiaries whose credentials bore the seals of the seeking and waiting Father. The return of the missioners
We cannot be certain about the original setting of the saying of Jesus that Luke represents as spoken upon the return of the seventy-two missioners (Luke 10:17-20). He draws upon his own special source to preserve a saying of Jesus certainly spoken in some situation involving the work of his disciples as exorcists. The preliminary conquest of Satan is signified by the words, "I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven" (10:18). In some visionary experience Jesus saw the one who is man's fateful accusor before God already condemned and banished from the heavenly court, as indeed he would be forever at the End (Rev 12:10). As unclean spirits were yielding now to the work of Jesus and his colleagues, the powers of the New Age were already affecting the tyranny of Satan in the present order (Q Luke 8:20). The point of special interest here is that it is this and only this realization, Jesus contends, that ought to be the source of the disciples' joy. Pridefully, they reveled in the power at their command to sway others with their words and to exert authority over the evil spirits. But if it is the humble and not the aggrandizers who are to inherit the earth, they must continually resist the temptation to revert in attitude from "thine be the glory" to "mine be the glory." The disciples are not to rejoice in their curative power over disease and suffering. Rather they are to rejoice that Ahba-God cares for them and for the sick and the outcast. They are not nameless nobodies; they are known to him by name (Luke 10:20). Discipleship means mission. And mission is one of the Father's sons saying to another, "Come behold the wonderful works of God; let us rejoice and be glad in them."
The scope of the mission What was the scope of the mission planned and carried on by Jesus and his disciples? The answer is by no means simple. The tradition that has been LW
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filtered through the life and experience of the primitive Christian communities was surely not impervious to the reality of the Gentile mission developed early in the Church. By the time the first of the Gospel writers was collecting and combining his material, the Church was predominantly a Gentile movement, with both Jewish Christianity and the mission to the Diaspora rapidly fading into the background.45 Jewish Christianity survived as a minority group within the churches, becoming increasingly reactionary and isolated. Believing that the Messiah had come to affirm the Torah and to expound it more fully, not to abrogate it, its members continued to abide by all the ritual requirements. They considered Paul an apostate because he refused to make these rules prerequisite for the acceptance of Gentiles into the synagogue of the Messiah Jesus. They bitterly denounced the scribes and Pharisees who refused to believe that the messianic promises had been fulfilled in Jesus of Nazareth, and hence that the days of the Messiah preparatory to the New Age were shortly to dawn. In view of this turn of events it would be understandable if the writers of the Gospels identified Jesus' movement, not with his own people who spurned him and his message, but with the non-Jewish world that entered the fellowship of the Church. They may have rationalized the historical fact of Gentile Christianity as the intention of Jesus to have his followers preach the gospel to all the nations. But this matter may not have been within the original plan of Jesus. It is the measured judgment of a number of modem interpreters of the Gospels that Jesus never intended that he or his disciples would ever extend their mission on a worldwide basis. 46 To be sure they believe that Jesus anticipated the eventual inclusion of the Gentiles in the Kingdom, but this would result, not from missionary preaching, but by an eschatological act of God who would gather them by his holy angels. Such sayings as Mark 13:10 and 14:9, which allude to a missionary program of universal dimension, may have developed from the missionary activity of the early Church. But this does not mean that Jesus excluded from consideration the peoples outside the national boundaries of Judaism. Far from it, for he renounced unequivocally any chauvinistic understanding of the Kingdom and confirmed the Old Testament promise to the nations that they too would participate in the New Age God was preparing to begin. 47 But with such a view, the development of a mission to both Jews and Gentiles by the post-Easter community is left completely unexplained. A review of Jesus' activities and preaching will suggest another understanding about the scope of his mission. The Church and the nations
Although we cannot be certain what was in the mind of Jesus in restricting his ministry to the Jewish people,48 it is important to recognize that this 140
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order of mission, "to the Jew first and also to the Greek," was the firm conviction of the preachers and teachers of the early Church. First Israel must hear the message and then become the bearer of good tidings to all the peoples of the earth, a position that even the great Apostle to the Gentiles held at first. Such a proclamation to the Gentiles was understood as a stage in the eschatological program which began with Jesus' suffering, death, and resurrection. In Jesus' earlier work in Judea, Samaria, and Galilee, John emphasizes in his Gospel, he was aware that his words and signs were preparatory to the crucial event of his suffering and death. "My hour has not yet come," he reminds his mother at Cana (2:4) and the Evangelist repeats this observation on several other occasions.49 It is only when Andrew and Philip inform Jesus at the Passover feast about a group of Greeks who are anxious to meet him that Jesus announces solemnly, "The hour has come for the Son of man to be glorified" (12:23). Then referring to his forthcoming death and exaltation he declares, "1, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men to myself" (vs. 32). The hour of his death will be the hour of his glorification as the Son of God and the removal of all hindrances to the full manifestation of his glory to men everywhere (13:1, 17:1). Both John and Luke recognized in the traditional story about a miraculous catch of fish by Jesus' disciples an allegory of the coming of the Gentiles into the Kingdom of God in the last times. 50 Until then, Israel must be brought to repentance and the accomplishment of her divine vocation in the world. Jt is even possible that the references by Mark to Galilee in relationship to the resurrection appearances presume that Galilee of the Nations, as it was called, would be the chosen place of eschatological fulfillment, the symbol of the salvation which was to extend into all the world. 5 1 The Evangelists and the early churches that stand behind them interpreted the significance of the Easter event as the risen Christ's commission of his followers to preach the gospel of salvation throughout the world. Matthew states it most directly and convincingly in his account of the great commission (Matt. 28:16-20), but the charge to make disciples of all the nations is repeated in several forms in each of the other Gospels. 52 There is no doubt that the Church recognized its task to extend the mission of Jesus beyond his Jewish homeland into the nations of the world. Jesus and the nations Since the middle of the third century B.C. Judaism had carried on a missionary activity that reached a peak in the time of Jesus and the apostles, a period that has been described as "par excellence the missionary age of Jewish history." 53 Jesus' bitter reproach of the intensive proselyting activities of the Pharisaic Haber'im (Matt. 23:15) finds corroboration in Paul's 141
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own words about a missionary zeal more intent on converting others than in correcting the self (Rom. 2:17-23). A sizeable missionary and apologetic literature of Hellenistic Judaism bears testimony to Josephus' word, "There is not one city, Greek or barbarian, nor a single nation, to which our custom of abstaining from work on the seventh day has not spread . • • • " 54 Jesus' proclamation of the comprehensive salvation of the Kingdom could not ignore this zealous missionary universalism. Although the explicit command to evangelize the Gentiles, as it is formulated in Mark 13:10 and 14:9, may well have been sharpened after the early Church decided about the Gentile mission, we may doubt the categorical rejection of such a mission in Jesus' mind. It would be strange indeed for Jesus to have read in Isaiah about Israel as a light to the nations and then to call his disciples to be light and salt to a world that was restricted to the national boundaries! There is some evidence for the view that the reception of the Gentiles into the Kingdom would come about wholly as an eschatological act of God without any human proclamation. But the extensive Jewish missionary literature of the time and the remarkable success of the proselyte movement in the Roman world surely mean that the mission was not left entirely in God's hands. Judaism, in any event, insisted that propaganda and preaching among the Gentiles prepared the way for the establishment of the Kingdom of God. If the impending catastrophe of the Judgment Day did not vitiate preaching to Israel by Jesus' disciples, it is improbable that it excluded the word spoken to the Diaspora and even beyond Israe1.55 To be sure Jesus does not undertake any deliberate missionary work among the Gentile peoples, but he does not turn aside from appeals for help raised by a Roman centurion or a Phoenician woman (Matt. 8:5-13 par.; Mark 7:24-30 par.). We have already seen the unconventional attitude he assumed toward the heretic Jews who lived in Samaria, attacking deeply ingrained Jewish prejudices by introducing a Samaritan as the hero of a tale about true neighborliness (Luke 10:30-37), and describing another as the only one in a crowd of Jews who gave thanks to God for an act of mercy (Luke 17:12-19; cf. John 4:1ff.). His parables of the wheat and the weeds (Matt. 13:24-30) and the seine-net (Matt. 13:47) emphasized that the new community was not meant to be an association of the ritually pure and the cultic undefiled but one that admitted into its life all sorts of people. To a serious practitioner of the law, such Jews in name only were not far removed from the condition of despised foreigners. Although Jesus predicted the vindication of God's elect over their oppressors, the prospect of the eschatological destruction of the Gentiles finds no place in his teaching. A study of late Jewish literature dealing with the Last Judgment reveals a recurrent emphasis on God's vengeance upon the heathen in the final assessment of the nations. The dominant popular expectation was that either they were to be made the slaves of the elect or 142
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they were to be utterly destroyed. 56 It is surely significant that the teaching of Jesus is unmarked by any expression of hatred toward the foreign lords who controlled the land or by any threat of divine retaliation visited upon them in the great Assize. Perhaps the surprise and annoyance of the Nazareth townsmen at Jesus' exposition of the passage from the prophet Isaiah in his synagogue sermon was precipitated by the omission of the dark words about the day of vengeance that follow in the prophetic Jection. 57 These townsmen were further provoked when Jesus appealed to the historic stories of two foreigners, the widow of Zarephath and Naaman the Syrian, to demonstrate the deliberate visitation of God's mercy upon Gentiles in the past. If they had their way they would have hurled him to his death then and there (Luke 4:28--30). Jesus replies to the inquiry of the disciples of John the Baptist about the significance of his work by drawing upon several scriptural texts, but in each instance the texts are quoted freely and partially. The original mentions of divine vengeance have disappeared. 58 Professor Jeremias has proposed that the concluding admonition, "Blessed is he who takes no offense at me" (Q Luke 7:23) may mean, "Happy is the man who is not offended because the messianic age wears a different aspect from that which he had expected, and that, instead of God's vengeance, it promises God's tender mercy for the poor. " 59 In flat contradiction to the Jewish expectation that the Gentiles, especially the Romans, would experience the full fury of God's wrath in the Last Judgment, Jesus exceeded John the Baptist in his bitter reproaches of Jewish pride in blood and soil. Such heathen peoples as those of Sodom, Gomorrah, Tyre, Sidon, Nineveh, and Sheba will fare better in the final Judgment than unrepentant, cocksure Israel (Q Matt. 10:15, 11:21-22, 12:41-42). In the apocalyptic vision of Matt. 25:31-46, "all the nations" appear for judgment before the throne of the Son of Man and listen to some shocking decisions. No discrimination is made here between Jew and Gentile or heathen and Christian. Those anywhere and everywhere who have shown merciful love toward the Son of Man, who has met them in every sufferer and needy person, hear the welcome invitation. But a denial of compassion and acts of mercy toward the "least of the brethren" by anyone, including his own followers, is a denial that results in banishment from the heavenly fellowship. 60 Like the leading prophets, Jesus rejoiced in the prospect of the gathering in of all the nations, and he reminded unrepentant Israel that the privilege of being A bra ham's children was without benefit apart from wholehearted contrition, submission to God, and indiscriminate acts of love without respect to frontiers. Nowhere does Jesus attack national snobbery more daringly than in his claim that the Gentiles would precede the children of Abraham into the Father's house and take their places at the messianic banquet. An anonymous apocalypse of the third century B.C. had given voice to this promise 14J
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of the full fellowship between God and man that would mark the life of the Kingdom. On this mountain the Lord of lords will make for all peoples a feast of fat things, a feast of wine on the lees, of fat things full of narrow, of wine on the lees well refined. [Isa. 25:6] Confronted by the stubborn obstinacy of those who were the spiritual leaders of the people, Jesus boldly declared, "Many will come from east and west, and sit at table with Abraham, Isaac, and J acob in the kingdom of heaven, while the sons of the kingdom will be thrown out into the outer darkness; there men will weep and gnash their teeth" (Q Matt. 8:11f.). 61 Although no specific mention is made of the Gentiles in the parable of the great supper (Luke 14:16-24), they are probably to be identified with the poor, the suffering, and the outsiders who take the places reserved for the original guests at the festive board. From the standpoint of a religious particularism, these latecomers would be considered no more fit than goyim to share in that blessed eschatological feast. Without denying Israel's great heritage, Jesus viewed its historic election as defining the possibilities for serving God, but never as a guarantee of salvation nor a substitution for a direct and decisive meeting with the living God. It is especially significant that Jesus describes the Court of the Gentiles in the holy temple as having been converted into a den of robbers by the merchants who served the worshipping pilgrims. In a fury of indignation he reminds them of the prophet's words, "My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples" (Isa. 56:7c). The New Temple of God's coming Age will receive those within Israel as well as those in the nations of the world who were now excluded by cultic law from appearing before God in his sanctuary. Jesus devoted his energies and those of his disciples to the announcement of the imminent onset of the reign of God among his own people, believing that the people of Sinai must first be prepared to meet this crisis. Through them, the peoples of the world would hear the gospel, for the righteous among the Gentiles as among the Jews would be gathered in at the Last Judgment to share the joys and responsibilities of obedience to the divine rule. The oldest tradition in the Gospels contains no mandate of Jesus for a mission to the Gentiles by his disciples. But that mission was the consequence of his rejection of Israel's claim to priority in the Kingdom and of his understanding that a new day was dawning for all men, including the Gentiles. 62 It was not the right to preach salvation to the Gentiles that constituted the nettlesome problem dividing the early Church. It was rather a question of the terms on which Gentile converts might be received into the Chris144
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tian community. Ultra-conservative members insisted that full proselytism to Judaism or at least circumcision was a sine qua non. Others like Paul insisted that the law no longer could be made conditional for salvation, only complementary at most (I Cor. 7:18-20). But it was true missionary obedience to what the disciples remembered as Jesus' own words and behavior that led them to inaugurate a mission to Samaria and to the Dispersion, refusing to turn away from the Gentiles who were attracted to their word. Struggle though it surely was, the inclusion of the Gentiles into the early Church represented the inescapable conclusion to Jesus' concern that all Israel, not just the spiritually elite, must be confronted with the claim of God's kingship.
Notes
* 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 H lJ
10 11 12
13
14 15
Rainer Maria Rilke, The Notebooks of Matte Laurids Brigge (New York: Capricorn Books, 1958), pp. 14f. Cf. Amos 2:2; Hab. 1:14-17; 1QpHab vi. lf. In rabbinical usage, the expression "follow me" meant literally the act of the pupil in walking at a respectful distance behind his teacher. Cf. Mark 10:32. W. H. Auden, "For the Time Being," The Collected Poetry of W. H. Auden (New York: Random House, Inc., 1945), p. 454. Originally, perhaps, this saying and its Q parallel in Luke referred actually to children, though Jesus certainly did speak of penitent sinners as children; cf. Matt. 18:10-14; and probably Mark 9:37; Matt. 10:42 and 25:40, 45. Mark 3:13f., 35; 4:10; Matt. 8:21, 10:42; Luke 6:13; John 6:60, 66. Mark 3:35, 15:40f.; Luke 8:1-3, 10:38-42; John ll:lff.; Aboth 1.5. Matt. 23:8-12; Q Luke 6:39f.; Matt. 10:24-25a, 15:14. Mark 3:7f., 11:8f.; John 6:2, 25f. Matt. 13:24-30; Thomas, Saying 57; Matt. 13:47f.; contra the holy community at Qumran, CD xv.l5-17, xx(ii). 13ff. For a later sarcastic criticism of the social make-up of the early Church in the empire as rabble, see Origen, Contra Celsum 111.44, 59; Lucian, The Death of Proteus Peregrinus 13. Contra J. Weiss, The History of Primitive Christianity, I, trans. Frederick C. Grant, ed. (New York: Wilson-Erikson, Inc., 1937), 47f.; Maurice Goguel, Life of Jesus, trans. Olive Wyon (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1949), p. 341. Vincent Taylor, The Life and Ministry of Jesus (New York: Abingdon Press, 1955), p. 99. Luke's restriction of the number of apostolic leaders to that of the former twelve disciples and his presentation of them as the official rulers of the community may be questioned in view of Paul's wider usage of the term apostle. 1 QS viii. lf. The text is ambiguous and may mean a total college of fifteen or even of twelve. In any event the twelve undoubtedly represent the twelve tribes of Israel. Gal. 1:18, 2:7ff.; I Cor. 1:12, 9:5. The story of Jesus' reproof of the ambitious designs of the Zebedee brothers (Mark 10:35-45 par.) may reflect the position of the partisans of Peter in tensions over leadership in the early Church. Note the prominence of James and Thomas over Peter in the Gospel of Thomas (Sayings 12, 13) and generally in the Jewish-Christian tradition. 14:)
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16 See Gal. 2:7f, where Paul compares his commission to the Gentiles to Peter's appointment to work among the Jews. 17 Cf. also Luke 5:1-11, 8:45,9:32, 12:41, 22:8, 61; 24:34. 18 Henri Clavier, "Petros kai Petra" in Neutestamentliche Studien fiir Rudolf Bultmann (Berlin: Alfred Topelmann, 1957), p. 108. 19 Gal. 2:9; Eph. 2:20; I Pet. 2:5; Rev. 21:14. 20 Mark 12:10; Acts 4:11; I Cor. 10:4; Eph. 2:20; I Pet. 2:4. Cf. Shepherd of Hermas, Simil. ix, 12:1. See Oscar Cullmann, Peter: Disciple, Apostle, Martyr, 2nd ed., trans. Floyd V. Filson (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1962). 21 Origen, Comm. on Matt. XII. 10-11. 22 The famed Stoic teacher Epictetus is quoted by Arrian as saying that the followers of Jesus were Galileans (Epic., Disc. IV.7.6; cf.II.9.19ff.). 23 B. Sanh. 43a, bottom. 24 Matt. 10:2-4; Mark 3:16-19; Luke 6:14-16; Acts 1:13. 25 Cf. Pss. 18:13, 29:3ff., 68:33; Job 37:1-5; IV Ezra 13:4, 11, 27, 37; Aqhat 1.1.46; Baal II.v.8. 26 Mark, however, relates Simon and Andrew to Capernaum (1:29). 27 Several ancient manuscripts read "James the son of Alphaeus" in Mark 2:14, a conjecture that may have given rise first to the (mistaken) insertion of the occupation in Matt. 10:3 before the name of James, and a subsequent alteration of that name to Matthew in 9:9 to correspond with 10:3. 28 See, e.g., Acts of Thomas 1, 10, 11, 31, 39, 47, 78; and cf. Euseb., Hist. 1.13.11. 29 The Greek "Judas of James" permits a relationship of either son or brother. 30 Jos., Antiq. XX.8.10; War 11.13.3. Cf. Acts 21:38. 31 Jesus observes Nathanael sitting under a fig tree (John 1:48), the place and posture the rabbis recommend for studying the Torah. 32 The phrase is Jeremias' (The Parables of Jesus, 6th ed., trans. S. H. Hooke (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1963], p. 209). 33 Cf. Matt. 18:4, 23:12; Luke 18:14. 34 Mark 6:6b-13 par.; Matt. 9:35-11:1 (M and Q); Luke 10:1-16 (Land Q). S. E. Johnson believes that the Lucan form (10:1-16) is the earliest form of the mission charge, preserving a more Semitic tlavor than Mark's (Sherman Eldridge Johnson, The Gospel of Mark (Harper & Row, Publishers, 1960], pp. 114f.), F. Hahn regards Luke 10:8-11 as closest to the intention of Jesus (Mission in the New Testament, trans. Frank Clarke [Naperville, Ill.: Alec R. Allenson, Inc., 1965], p. 46). 35 Against the skeptical judgments of those who consider this simply an assignment to Jesus' program of the first Christian missionary work in Palestine is the multiple evidence in the Gospels. Furthermore, passages such as Matt. 10:23 were certainly not constructions of the early community. Compare the directions for traveling apostles and prophets in Didache 11:3-13:5. 36 Luke 10:1-9. The manuscripts variously cite the number of missioners as 70 and 72. The evidence, with the support now of P75 , seems to indicate that 72 is the earlier reading. Seventy nations of the earth were traditionally counted from the Hebrew catalog of Gen. 10. The Septuagint lists 72. 37 Thomas Waiter Manson, The Sayings of Jesus (London: SCM Press, Ltd., 1961), p. 181. 38 Matt. 10:5; cf. 15:24. The firm conviction, too, of the early Church; see Acts 3:26, 13:46, 15:16f.; Rom. 1:16, 2:9, 10. 39 Berakoth 9.5; Herbert Danby, trans., The Mishnah (London: Oxford University Press, 1958), p. 10. Mark 6:8f., probably a later form (see vs. 13), does permit both sandals and staff. 146
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40 Cf. Thomas, Saying 14, which twists this saying to an antiritualistic purpose. 41 Luke 10:6--7; Matt. 10:10b, a saying known to Paul (I Cor. 9:14; cf. Gal. 6:6); referred to as Scripture in I Tim. 5:18 and quoted in Didache 13:1. 42 The Gospel of Thomas combines this saying with Jesus' condemnation of the Pharisees, Saying 39. 43 Cf. Mark 9:37 par.; John 13:20. 44 Berakoth 5.5; Danby, The Mishnah, p. 6. 45 A large-scale mission to the Gentiles in the fifties resulted in the development of a Gentile Christianity that eclipsed the Jewish-Christian mission to the Dispersion. 46 See, e.g., J. Jeremias, Jesus' Promise to the Nations (Naperville, Ill.: Alec R. Allenson, Inc., 1958), pp. 19-39; W. G. Kilmmel, Promise and Fulfilment, trans. Dorothea M. Barton (Naperville, Ill.: Alec R. Allenson, 1957), pp. 84f.; R. K. Bultmann, Jesus and the Word, trans. Louise Pettibone Smith and Ermine Huntress (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1934), pp. 46f.; David Bosch, Die Heidenmission in der Zukunftsschau Jesu (ZUrich: Zwingli Verlag, 1959), pp. 97-200. 47 Matt. 8:11, 25:31ff.; John 11 :51f. 4X See Matt. 10:5, 15:24; Luke 13:28, 19:9; John 4:22. Only a few specific instances of Jesus' engagements with proselytes and foreigners are known to the Evangelists: a Roman centurion (Q Luke 7:1-10; cf. John 4:46--53), a Phoenician woman (Mark 7:24-30 par.), and perhaps the Gergesene demoniac (Mark 5:1-20 par.). 49 Cf. John 7:6,30, 39; 8:20. 50 Luke 5:1-11; John 21:1-14. 51 Mark 14:28, 16:7. The mention of the peoples from Tyre and Sidon in Mark 3:8; 7:24, 31, may signify the prefiguration of the Gentile mission to the Evangelist. 52 Mark 13:10, 14:9; Luke 24:47-48; Acts 1:8; John 20:21-23; cf. 10:16. 53 Jeremias, Jesus' Promise to the Nations, p. 12. 54 Against Apion 11. 282. Cf. W. G. Braude, Jewish Prose/yting in the First Five Centuries of the Common Era (Providence, R.I.: Brown University Press, 1940). 55 It may be argued that Jesus believed that at his death the Kingdom of God would be established in power; hence there would be no time to extend the mission beyond Israel. But there are hints in Jesus' sayings that he did not regard his death and the Parousia to be simultaneous events. He anticipated persecutions and trials for his disciples and evidently belived that they would continue their fellowship together after his death (Mark 14:25). In the interval, the mission he had begun would be carried on by his followers. 56 Isa. 61:5f.; I Enoch 91:12; 1QS ii.5-9, viii.6f., 10f., ix.23; lQpHab v.3-5; lQM passim; etc. "No Gentile will have a part in the world to come," avowed R. Eliezer ben Hyrcanus (ea. A.D. 90). T. Sanh. 13.2. 57 Isa. 61:2b; Luke 4:16-30. 5R Cf. Isa. 29: 20, 35:4, 61: 2. 59 Jeremias, Jesus' Promise to the Nations, p. 46. K. Schubert proposes to interpret the saying on the love of enemies (Matt. 5:43f.) as a reference to eschatological powers of evil and the Gentiles ("The Sermon on the Mount and the Qumran Texts," in Krister Stendahl, ed., The Scrolls and the New Testament [New York: Harper & Row, Publishers,1957], p. 121). h() This Judgment scene has been considerably colored by the Christological views of the early Church, but the nature of the judgments rendered corresponds to 147
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the position Jesus takes in his teaching. Cf. Luke 10:30ff. where he emphasizes the duty of helping everyone who is in need. Ktimmel, Promise and Fulfilment, pp. 92-95. 61 Cf. Isa. 49:12. By contrast, as Jeremias points out, the rabbinic interpretation of Isa. 25:6 emphasized the wrath and sufferings destined for the Gentiles (Jesus' Promise to the Nations, p. 62). 62 Cf. F. Hahn, Mission in the New Testament, Chap. ii.
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74 THE UPPER ROOM Everett F. Harrison Source: A Short Life of Christ (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans,1968), pp. 176-188.
"He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love." -Song of Solomon
After several days of teaching in the temple, interspersrd with controversy as he was challenged by various groups, Jesus sought a place of quiet where he might be alone with the disciples before his passion. All the Evangelists report the meeting in the upper room; but whereas the Synoptists describe the institution of the Lord's Supper, John omits this 1 and devotes considerable space to a farewell discourse in which the Master unburdened his heart to his own.
Setting Luke notes that with the approach of the Passover the chief priests and scribes were seeking a way to put Jesus to death, when unexpectedly they found an ally in one of the apostolic band. Judas was ready to betray his Lord for an agreed sum of money, and began looking for a favorable opportunity to carry out his bargain (Lk. 22:1-6). Under these circumstances, any private meeting of a prolonged nature hetween Jesus and his disciples would have to be set up without the knowledge of Judas and be convened with great care, for Jesus was aware of his intentions. Peter and John were delegated to make the arrangements. They were to go into the city (during holy week the group spent the night on the Mount of Olives) and look for a man carrying a jar of water (Lk. 22: 10). This apparently slender clue was quite adequate, because men did not ordinarily assume such a chore. Following their man, the two disciples located the house where Jesus was to eat the Passover with his followers. Their assignment was to make ready for the feast. The friend who had made space available for this purpose remains unnamed, one of those obscure figures who rendered valuable service to 149
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our Lord during his earthly ministry and found satisfaction in doing so. To such the service carried its own reward. That room would be a hallowed spot from that day forth. Jesus had been there. Speaking of living quarters in Jerusalem, Dalman observes, "The upper stories of the houses, especially the rooms erected on the flat roofs, are the 'upper rooms' of which the New Testament speaks .... They were not used as the usual family dwelling-rooms and could quickly be turned into guestrooms."2 The owner provided the space, the disciples brought the items needed for the feast, but it was Jesus who contributed most. His presence and instruction turned a routine observance into an unforgettable experience (cf. Lk. 24:35). It was a foretaste of heaven (Lk. 22:16). John tells us that when the group assembled, Jesus was gripped by the knowledge that his hour had come, the season for his departure from the world and his return to the Father. Yet he was not so preoccupied with this realization as to be oblivious to the men before him. Rather, his love for these who must remain in the world surged to a new height. 3
Structure Although the discourse is central to John's presentation, it is preceded by an account of the washing of the disciples' feet by the Savior (13:2-17) and is in turn followed by the great prayer of chapter 17. The order is suggestive. First the disciples are cleansed, then instructed, then prayed for. It may be that the pattern for these things was seen to reside in the arrangement of the ancient tabernacle in the wilderness. As one entered the enclosure he would encounter the brazen altar of sacrifice (cf. Jn. 1:29). As he moved toward the tabernacle building, he would come to the Iaver, where the priests washed themselves before going into the holy place to perform their ministrations (cf. the footwashing in Jn. 13). The holy place with its three objects presents correspondences to the upper room. In the table of the loaves of presentation one may see an adumbration of the Lord's Supper; in the golden candelabrum an intimation of the promised Holy Spirit in his capacity as Enlightener or Counselor; in the altar of incense a foregleam of the teaching on prayer conveyed by Jesus on this occasion. As a climax the most holy place, which admitted the high priest only, and that once a year, can be said to answer to the great intercessory prayer of our Lord on this occasion. What commends the credibility of this pattern is the large place given to Jewish matters in the Fourth Gospel, including the record of Jesus' frequent use of the temple, especially at festival time. Furthermore, the reader is given advance notice in 1:14 (literally, "and tabernacled among us") that this motif is likely to be amplified as the Gospel unfolds. As to the discourse proper (Jn. 14-16), it has much in common with other farewell messages. Probably the most important of these outside the 1."i0
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Scriptures is The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, modeled on the aged Jacob's words to his sons prior to his death (Gen. 49). In these testaments each of the twelve sons of Jacob is represented as gathering his sons about him and addressing them by reviewing his life, adding items of counsel and warning, and concluding with predictions about the future. The same threefold pattern may be seen in Paul's address to the Ephesian elders (Acts 20), wherein he reviews his manner of life in their midst, encourages them to attend to the ministry given to them, and concludes with predictions about the worsening of conditions facing the church. These same three strands are observable in the upper-room discourse, though they do not follow each other systematically as in The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, but are intermingled. Jesus cites his own ministry in terms of his coming forth from the Father (Jn. 16:28), his example of love (15:12), his teaching (15:20, 22), his works (14:11; 15:24), and his rejection by the world (15:20, 23-24). His words of instruction and admonition fill much of the discourse, but it will be sufficient to allude to the new commandment of love (13:34), the necessity of abiding in him in order to have fruit (15:1-11), and the warning against failure in the time of testing (16:1, 4). His predictions on this occasion are numerous, including the treachery of Judas (13:21), the act of Peter in denying the Lord (13:38), desertion by the disciples (16:32), the coming of the evil one (14:30), persecution (16:2), the future ministry of the Spirit (14:26; 15:26; 16:7-11), his own death (15:13), his departure from the world to the Father (16:5, 28), and his return (14:3). Farewell discourses do not ordinarily involve much interruption from those who are being addressed, but on this occasion there were factors such as the predictions regarding Judas and Peter, awareness of the sinister threat of action by the Jewish authorities against Jesus, his enigmatical way of speaking, and the disciples' feeling of apprehension as they faced the future without the immediate presence of their Leader. So they broke in on him repeatedly, no less than seven times, as follows: the beloved disciple (13:25), Peter (13:36-37), Thomas (14:5), Philip (14:8), Judas not lscariot (14:22), some of the disciples (16:17-18), and the disciples as a group (16:29). In this respect the upper-room discourse is akin to some of the others in this Gospel. Jesus was plagued by questions during his discourse on the Bread of life (eh. 6), his teaching at the feast of tabernacles (eh. 7), his address recorded in chapter 8 and the one associated with the feast of dedication (eh. 10).4 Still another observation on structure is in order, derived from C. H. Dodd's study of the discourse. He notes that there are two basic elements here, one of which is the employment of sayings by Jesus that are reported in the Synoptics, especially in teaching situations that arose shortly before the passion, which are presented in John's own fashion in his account. An example is the help to be expected from the Holy Spirit (Lk. 12:12; Jn. IS!
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15:26-27). The other is the recapitulation of themes already touched on in the course of the Fourth GospeJ.5 The body of this Gospel is composed in the main of signs followed by discourses calculated to explain the signs. It is true that there is no sign performed in the upper room, for it is withdrawn from the world; but possibly we are intended to see something approaching a sign in the footwashing. Certainly it is followed by interpretation, as are the signs in the rest of the Gospel. There are several references to the works that Jesus had previously performed among the people, which would include the signs (14:10--12; 15:24; 17:4).
The washing of the disciples' feet During the meal Jesus rose to perform a service for his followers that was wholly unexpected on their part. The men had walked through the streets of the city, which meant that their sandaled feet were dirty. Judging from Jesus' attitude toward externals, this in itself would not unduly concern him (cf. Mt. 15:20). But he was concerned with the spiritual condition of his followers. According to Luke 22:24, this time of holy fellowship was marred by disputation among them as to which of them should be regarded as the greatest. Jesus saw an opportunity of dealing with the problem in a way that they could never forget. The owner of the house, out of respect for Jesus' wish for privacy, had not only absented himself but also kept any servant from disturbing the gathering. A basin of water and a towel had thoughtfully been provided, but they remained unused. Men who are obsessed with a sense of superiority do not readily take the role of a servant. But the one who had taken the form of a Servant under God (Phil. 2:7) was quite prepared to take that same station in relation to men. He had been doing it, in fact, all along (Lk. 22:27). Out of a sublime consciousness that he was nearing the nadir of his majestic condescension and would then return to the Father (Jn. 13:3), he knew that he need not fear that the execution of a menial task would ruin his true dignity. And so he girded himself and began to make the rounds of his astonished followers. From his own statements on this occasion the conclusion can be drawn that his act had both a theological and a practical significance. Peter, rebelling at first against the thought of accepting such a service from his Master, went to the opposite extreme of asking that his hand and head be included in the ablution, only to be told that one who had been bathed all over needed only to have his feet washed. Peter was clean in the sense that he had received the bath of regeneration (cf. Tit. 3:5; I Cor. 6:11). He learned that only his "walk" needed to be cleansed; his standing was not involved. His life had already felt the cleansing power of salvation (13:10). Had Jesus stopped here, the most pressing need for the act would not be pointed out. So, on resuming his seat, he expounded this aspect, indicating that in washing the disciples' feet he had given them an example 152
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for ministering to one another in this way (13:14-15). To think of footwashing as a perpetual obligation for the church of all times and in all places is surely to miss the point. Such service is appropriate only where the actual physical need exists (I Tim. 5:10). The enduring obligation is that of mutual service among the saints whatever be its form. Footwashing is not something to be elevated into an ordinance alongside baptism and the Lord's Supper, for it does not point directly to Christ and his salvation as these do.
The expulsion of Judas While talking to Peter about this matter of footwashing, Jesus included the rest of the company as clean, but with one exception (13:10-11). The presence of Judas made the Savior troubled in spirit, and he went so far as to say to the group that one of their number would betray him (13:21 ). Consternation gripped the circle, as they looked at one another in dismay. At that moment Judas' face must have been a study. Perhaps he found it convenient to reach down and pick something off the floor. He was in a dangerous spot and knew he must remain cool. Jesus himself provided the way of escape for him by speaking to him before the others of a mission he must fulfill with all speed. Since this task was not specified, the company assumed that it had something to do with his duties as treasurer (13:29). John's comment that it was night when the betrayer set out is freighted with meaning, for his Gospel makes much of the contrast between light and darkness (1:5; 3:19; 8:12). Judas indeed was unclean, for he was still of the darkness, having refused to come to the light even though it was shining about him all the while.
The new commandment Relieved by the departure of Judas, Jesus was now free in spirit to speak of the things that were upon his heart. He could not proceed in an atmosphere of treachery. Now he turns to instruct his own, and begins with the primacy of love as a new commandment (13:34). The Israelite had been charged to love his neighbor as himself (Lev. 19:18), so the command of Jesus was not new in every respect. But it had a new frame of reference, as fellow believer now takes the place of neighbor, not in the sense of supplanting the old obligation but rather of extending it to all who share the faith. By limiting the sphere to believers, Jesus is not excluding love for all men, hut is simply stressing what must prevail among his followers. The commandment is new also in that it has a new standard by which to measure itself-"as I have loved you." By demanding the love of neighbor as one loved himself, the old commandment moved in line with the spirit of the Golden Rule. However, the love of Christ goes beyond this, for it is 153
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a self-sacrificing love (15:12-14). It actually puts the good of another before consideration of self (Rom. 12:10). Remarkable is Jesus' observation that all men will recognize those who have love for one another as his disciples (13:35). It seems to tell us that despite his rejection, he had left an unforgettable deposit of love with the common people. They had seen it in his look. They had felt it when his hand rested on their diseased or twisted bodies. They had sensed it in his unftagging labors to reach the multitude and minister to the needs of men wherever he went. Such love cannot be successfully imitated. It must be imparted. The divine love must operate in the disciples of Jesus, not some pale reflection of it (17:26). And since the world will be able to recognize this love, clearly it must be love in action rather than a sentiment carried in the heart.
The new provision We have seen what Christ expects. Now it is in order to examine what he provides. Various things enter into this legacy, the first of which is the promise that the disciples will have an abode in the Father's house (14:2). The Master knows that these men are distraught. They have heard that one of their number will turn out to be a denier, another a betrayer of the Lord. Their world seems in danger of falling apart. Jesus bids them anchor their hope to the glorious future. Whatever happens to them here cannot affect their title to that heavenly home. The place where they were sitting had been prepared for their coming by two of their number. Now Jesus is about to depart to prepare that other "upper room" for their arrival. From this one they will soon be leaving, but from that one th.ere will be no going out. Yet even that place of blessing is not the real magnet, but rather the assurance that the Lord himself will be there. A second provision follows logically. Jesus is the way to the Father (14:6). "No man cometh to the Father but by me." The wording is significant-"cometh," not "goeth." Jesus stands with the Father. That is his native right. He is the eternal Son, the one wh.o alone is able to bring us to God (I Pet. 3:18). Third, there is a special provision made available to the disciples when their Master is taken from them and they must carry on without him. It is the promise th.at if they will ask anything in his name, he will do it (14:13-14). He had made some great pronouncements on prayer before, but now he introduces a special basis for encouragement in the prayer life. Prayer made in the name of Jesus is the new norm. Their Lord and Master has the ear of the Father. They can have the same open reception if they will come in his name, by his authority, praying as he would pray, guided by the will of God and the desire to glorify him. Only on the basis of such praying can the greater works be expected to follow, performed through them by the one who has gone to be with the Father (14:12). 154
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Fourth, the departure of the Son of God will not mean such a loss as the disciples imagine, for it will open the way for him to send that other Counselor, the Holy Spirit, to be in them and abide with them. Jesus goes so far as to say that his departure is to their advantage, since the Spirit cannot come unless he goes (16:7). Two special ministries are cited here, connected with the two titles Paraclete and Spirit of truth (14:16-17). The former has the meaning of Advocate (cf. I Jn. 2:1) and fits admirably with the emphasis on witness found here. As the disciples bear their witness to Christ they will have the powerful support and advocacy of the Spirit (15:26-27). Allied to this is the Spirit's ministry toward the world. As Dodd puts it, "The Advocate becomes a prosecuting counsel, and 'convicts' the world" 6 (16:8--11). As the Spirit of truth this divine Helper will bring to remembrance the things Jesus has said (14:26), guide into all the truth, and show things to come (16:13). These elements of instruction, when fulfilled, were destined to play a crucial part in the framing of the New Testament. Fifth, the Lord bestowed the legacy of his peace (14:27). Who can fail to marvel at that peace, maintained without nervousness or wavering at the most trying period of his life? Yet it was not something artificial, a sort of insulation that sheltered him from troubles. He was able to maintain his serenity despite a troubled spirit (13:21 ), however paradoxical that may seem. Sixth, the disciples learned that their sojourn in the world could be an experience of bringing forth fruit unto God, even though their Master was no longer with them in the flesh (15:1-11). So far they had done little more than sit at his feet. Now they were to have the opportunity of showing themselves useful. While the specific nature of the fruit is not stated in so many words, it is hinted at by the fact that Jesus alternates the command to abide in him with the injunction to abide in his love (15:9). This may serve to bring the thought into line with Paul's teaching in Galatians 5:22, where he declares that the fruit of the Spirit is love. If this is correct, then this passage on fruitbearing is intended to be linked to the teaching on the new commandment, and it is no mere happenstance that in this same paragraph Jesus speaks about keeping his commandments (15:10). More than love may be in view; but if this is central, other fruitage will result (cf. I Cor. 13:4-7).
Seventh, the Lord sought to prepare his own for the tribulations that lay ahead of them (16:1-4). These men are to face persecution with their eyes open, not counting it a strange thing that they should be called on to suffer for Christ's sake. The hatred of the world could be expected to make them its target. Nothing more was needed for this than continued loyalty to him against whom the hatred and violence had first of all been directed (15: li{-.25). The servant is not greater than his Master. Yet these men could face this prospect of stern opposition with cheerfulness, for their Lord had IS5
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overcome the world (16:33). He could speak of ultimate victory with entire confidence even before the final storm broke around his head. It would be wrong to see in the teaching of these chapters only a series of provisions by which the disciples, soon to find themselves bereft of their master, can manage to get along in his absence. Underscoring and penetrating everything else is the most dynamic factor of all-the sharing of the life of the Son, who in turn shares the life of the Father. It is first expressed here in the words, "In that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you" (14:20); but the truth is repeated many times, especially in the great prayer of chapter 17. Father and Son come and make their abode with the believer during his earthly pilgrimage when he has not yet reached that abode set aside for him in the Father's house (14:23). Now we are in a better position to grasp the significance of Jesus' language when he speaks of his love, his joy, and his peace as given to his own. If these men are partakers of his life they are partakers of all that belongs to him, apart from his sinlessness. It remains to appropriate these gifts by faith.
The great prayer Having opened his heart to his little company, Jesus now does the same to his Father in heaven. Several of the basic truths taught in the upper room now reappear clothed in the accents of prayer, including his relation to the Father, the relation of the disciples to him and to the Father, the character of the world and his triumph over it, and the need of realizing love and unity among the followers of the Son even as these qualities abound between the Father and the Son. Though prayer is never a proper medium for preaching or for commenting on people's shortcomings, it is a fitting vehicle for instruction in the sense that much can be learned from it. Westcott is surely right when he says, "At the supreme crisis of the Lord's work they [the disciples] were allowed to listen to the interpretation of its course and issue, and to learn the nature of the office they had themselves to fulfill. "7 The Lord Jesus prays for himself (17:1-5), asking that the Father will glorify him, for he has glorified the Father on the earth. This requested glorification is twofold, encompassing both the successful endurance of the cross and then exaltation to the Father's presence. Both aspects are seen as phases of glory (cf. Jn. 12:23-24). As he goes on to pray for his people, Jesus has in view first his immediate followers (17:6-19), then future believers (17:20-26). His favorite description of the apostles recurs here-"those whom thou hast given me." When he spent a night in prayer before selecting this band of men, he was seeking to make sure that he had those whom the Father had chosen to give him. To these Jesus had manifested the Father, and they in turn 156
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had kept the word they received. No complaint is made about their dullness of comprehension or their littleness of faith, or their resistance to the teaching about the necessity of the passion. Jesus counted it a great thing that in contrast to their countrymen they had been willing to follow him. Furthermore, they are the Father's gift. Will the Son complain about the Father's choice? They believed the crucial item that Jesus was actually the Son of God who had come forth from the Father. They believed it when the nation refused to do so. In praying for these men Jesus expressly excludes the world from his intercession (17:9). It would be a gross mistake to assume that this is a reaction against the world because of its rejection of him. Jesus is not showing resentment by this limitation. His coming had the world in view (Jn. 3:16-17). In a very real sense the world is in the background here, for the Master is confining his petition to the disciples because they are the means of reaching the world with the message of the gospel. The prayer is one-third completed and still there are no actual petitions for his own, but now at length these begin to emerge. His first request is that the Father would keep (preserve) them (17:11). He himself had kept them during the days of the ministry (17:12), extending to them his shepherd care. Now he looks to the Father for the continuance of this oversight. Two reasons dictate the necessity for protection. One is the hatred of the world (17:14), of which Jesus had already spoken in the discourse. To endure this, the disciples will need the constant overshadowing of divine love and care. The other is the opposition of the evil one (17:15), which is a still greater menace because of his invisibility and subtlety. Jesus is careful to note that he is not asking the Father to take these men out of the world. Such a course would leave the world without the witness it sorely needed. They must stay, but they can have the assurance of divine help in the midst of their difficult task. In this connection one may recall Jesus' forecasts about the trouble Peter was going to have (Jn. 1J:38). He went so far as to say that Satan had asked for this leading discirlc that he might sift him as wheat. The Master did nothing to insure that Peter would not be exposed to the situation that would bring about his downfall. Instead, he assured the disciple of his prayer to the end that Peter's faith would not fail (Lk. 22:32). "Kept by the power of God through faith"-that is the divine plan. A second petition asks that the Father would sanctify the disciples in the truth (17:17). To insist that this means a request to make them holy men is to miss the force of the language. Certainly Jesus was desirous that they be holy men, but his prayer at this point looks to something that is fundamental to holiness. The meaning of the word sanctify must be gleaned from its use in verse 19, where "consecrate" is clearly the idea. Jesus did not say that he made himself holy, for he was that already. But .iust as he made sure that his own life was kept in line with the purpose of 157
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his coming into the world, so he prays that his followers will be set apart for their task of making him known. The word sanctify, then, does not stand in contrast to what is impure, but to what is natural or common. These men have been chosen and called. Their commission must be kept inviolate. It needs to be renewed in them constantly as a result of the Savior's prayer. In the third petition the Lord prays that his own may be one (17:21-23; cf. v. 11). The nature of this unity is clearly indicated-"even as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee." Jesus was on earth and the Father was in heaven (which does not deny his omnipresence). Likewise believers may be separated by great distances from one another and may belong to different branches of the church, but these factors need not disturb their essential unity in the Spirit (cf. Eph. 4:3). Yet the very fact that Jesus prayed such a prayer shows that the unity cannot be assumed to take care of itself. It needs cultivation by the saints. The final request is that the men who are the Father's gift to the Son may be with him to behold his glory (17:24). It was essential to their call that they should be with him (Mk. 3:14). They were not always completely with him in spirit or understanding, but they continued with him in his testings (Lk. 22:28). They are the firstfruits of his mission in the world, and he insists that they belong with him in the life to come. Here we catch a glimpse of the warmth and depth of the Savior's love for the redeemed. He cannot bear to be without them, even though he will have the fellowship of the Father and the adoration of the angelic hosts (cf. Rev. 3:21 ). To his beloved followers he will show his glory. What they discerned of it on earth arrested and thrilled them (Jn. 1:14). But they could hardly take in all the facets of that glory. This must wait until they are like him (I Jn. 3:2).
A study of the prayer reveals that the correspondences between the ministry of Jesus Christ and that of his servants are many and striking. Both are divinely sent, both are bearers of the word, both are set apart to manifest the name of God. The ministry is one, for it is his through theirs; and the goal is one, that the world may believe (17:21), and thereby the Father may be glorified.
Notes 1
2 3
He has already given the essence of its meaning in connection with the discourse on the Bread of life (eh. 6). Jeremias explains the omission as part of a developing tendency in the early church to keep from unbelievers the secret and precious things that belonged only to the saints (The Eucharistic Words of Jesus (1955], pp. 72-87). Sacred Sites and Ways (1935), p. 281. The words "He loved them to the end" (Jn. 13:1) can equally well be rendered, "He loved them to the utmost" (cf. the use of the same expression at the conclusion of I Thess. 2:16). 15R
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4
5 6 7
C. H. Dodd notes a similarity between the upper-room discourse and those in the Hermetic literature, where oracular utterances by the teacher are followed by lack of comprehension and therefore by questioning from the pupil, which in turn leads to explication by the teacher (Historical Tradition in the Fourth Gospel [1963], pp. 319-320). The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel (1953), p. 390. Ibid., p. 414. B. F. Westcott, The Gospel According to St. John (1896), p. 236b.
Bibliography T. D. Bernard. The Central Teaching of Jesus Christ. New York: Macmillan, 1892. A. B. Bruce. The Training of the Twelve. New York: Richard R. Smith, 1930. C. H. Dodd. The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel. Cambridge, Eng.: Cambridge University Press, 1953. Pp. 390--423. A. E. Garvie. Studies in the Inner Life of Jesus. New York: Armstrong, 1907. Pp. 350-373. F. B. Meyer. Love to the Uttermost. New York: Revel!, 1888. H. C. G. Moule. The High Priestly Prayer. London: Religious Tract Society, 1908. Johannes Munck, "Discours d'adieu dans le Nouveau Testament et dans la litterature biblique," Aux sources de la tradition chretienne (Melanges offerts a M. Maurice Goguel). Neuchatel: Delachaux et Niestle S. A., 1950. H. Leonard Pass. The Glory of the Father. London: Mowbray, 1935. Marcus Rainsford. Our Lord Prays for His Own. Chicago: Moody,1950. David Smith. The Days of His Flesh. New York: Doran, n.d. Pp. 435--451. H. B. Swete. The Last Discourse and Prayer. London: Macmillan, 1913. John Watson. The Upper Room. New York: Dodds, Mead,1892. B. F. Westcott. Peterborough Sermons. London: Macmillan, 1904. Pp. 3-127.
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Part 2
JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE Jesus in the Agrapha and Extracanonical Gospels
75
'UNWRITTEN' SAYINGS AND APOCRYPHAL GOSPELS F. F. Bruce Source: Jesus and Christian Origins Outside the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974), pp. 82-109.
Agrapha Sayings or actions of Jesus not found in the authentic text of the canonical Gospels are commonly referred to as agrapha. This word, which means 'unwritten things', is not really appropriate, for if the agrapha are not written in the four Gospels, they are written elsewhere, otherwise we should not know about them. At least one saying of Jesus, not recorded in the Gospels, is preserved elsewhere in the New Testament. In Acts 20.35 Paul is said to have impressed on the elders of the Ephesian church their Christian duty to 'help the weak, remembering the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, "It is more blessed to give than to receive."' And other sayings of Jesus may be present here and there in the New Testament, not so clearly identified as such. When agrapha are defined as sayings (or actions) not found in the 'authentic' text of the canonical Gospels, it is implied that the term is applicable to material found in an unauthentic text. In the early Christian generations there were some 'floating' accounts of what Jesus said or did, not originally belonging to any Gospel, which were saved from being lost by being included by some scribe or editor in a manuscript of one of the Gospels. The best known instance of this is the story of Jesus's confrontation with the woman convicted of adultery, from which we get the immortal sentence: 'Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.' 1 The majority of later New Testament manuscripts insert this story between John 7.52 and 8.12, and that is the place which it occupies in our Authorized (King .Tames) Version. One group of manuscripts reproduces it at the end of Luke 21 (a more appropriate setting). But originally it formed part of neither of these Gospels. What is called the 'Western' edition of the four Gospels and Acts of the Apostles, principally represented by a few Greek manuscripts and some 163
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copies of the older Latin version, is marked by additions to the text. Some of these can also be recognised as pieces of floating tradition, which were 'anchored' by being included in these documents. The best known of these additions comes after Luke 6.5, immediately after the incident of Jesus and his disciples' walking in the grainfields on the sabbath day: The same day, seeing a certain man working on the sabbath, he said to him: 'Man, if indeed you know what you are doing, happy are you; but if not, you are accursed and a transgressor of the law.' The implication is that a violation of the letter of the law may be permissible, and even commendable, if it is based on principle, but not if it springs from a spirit of negligence or rebellion. Another addition follows Jesus's words in Matthew 20.28 about his coming 'not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many': But do you seek to increase from smallness, and not from the greater to become less which is then amplified by the further addition of Jesus's words in Luke 14.8-10 pointing out that it is better to take a lower place when one is guest at a feast and be invited to 'go up higher' than to take a higher place and then have to make way for someone more honourable. One Greek manuscript of the Gospels, the fifth-century Washington Codex (so called because it belongs to the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C.), makes an interesting insertion in the longer ending of the Gospel of Mark. 2 When Jesus is said to have 'appeared to the eleven themselves as they sat at table and upbraided them for their unbelief and hardness of heart, because they had not believed those who saw him after he had risen' (Mark 16.14), this manuscript goes on: And they excused themselves, saying, 'This age of lawlessness and unbelief is under Satan, who by his unclean spirits does not allow the true power of God to be comprehended. Therefore now reveal your righteousness.' So they spoke to Christ; and Christ addressed them thus: 'The limit of the years of Satan's authority has been fulfilled, but other terrible things are drawing near, even to those sinners on whose behalf I was handed over to death, that they may turn to the truth and sin no more. In order that they may inherit the spiritual and incorruptible glory of righteousness in heaven, go into all the world and preach the gospel to the whole creation'164
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and so on to the end of verse 20. Jerome knew this passage as far down as the words 'Therefore now reveal your righteousness'; he had seen it in a few Greek manuscripts. 3 Papias and oral tradition
Early in the second century A.D. a Christian leader in Asia Minor, Papias by name (bishop of Hierapolis in Phrygia) tells us of the pains he took to collect traditions of Jesus which might have been preserved among the disciples of those who actually heard him teach. He knew some, if not all four, of the Gospels which we have received as canonical, but he felt that a reliable oral tradition preserved a greater sense of authenticity than anything available only in written form. So, he says: If ever there came my way someone who had associated with the
elders, I used to enquire about the words of the elders: 'What did Andrew or Peter say, or Philip or Thomas or James, or John or Matthew or any other of the Lord's disciples? What do Aristion and the elder John, the Lord's disciples, say?' For I did not suppose that what I could get from books would be so helpful to me as what came from a living and abiding voice. 4 Papias recorded the fruits of his research in a Greek work published in five scrolls, entitled An Exposition of the Oracles of the Lord. Unfortunately, this work has been lost for centuries, apart from a few extracts (like that just quoted) preserved by early Christian writers who knew it. But to judge from what survives, the information about Jesus, not available in written form, which he was able to gather from the 'living and abiding voice' did not amount to much; he evidently had to scrape the bottom of the barrel. His most famous agraphon describes the miraculous fruitfulness which would be enjoyed in the age to come: The Lord taught about those times and said: 'The days will come in which vines will grow with 10,000 shoots each, and each shoot will bear 10,000 branches, each branch 10,000 twigs, each twig 10,000 clusters, each cluster 10,000 grapes, and each grape when pressed will yield twenty-five measures of wine. When any saint takes hold of one such cluster, another cluster will exclaim: "I am a better cluster; take me; bless the Lord through me!" Similarly a grain of wheat will produce 10,000 ears, each ear will have 10,000 grains, and each grain will yield ten pounds of fine flour, bright and pure; and the other fruit, seeds and herbs will be proportionately productive according to their nature, while all the animals which feed on these products of the soil will live in peace and 165
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agreement one with another, yielding complete subjection to men. 5 This utterance, for which Papias claimed the authority of 'John, the Lord's disciple', can be paralleled from Jewish apocalyptic literature and rabbinical tradition. 6 It is certainly consistent with the views about the glories of the resurrection age which Papias is said to have held, 'it is credible', Papias himself added, 'to those who believe'. He goes on to tell how, when Judas sceptically asked the Lord how such things could ever happen, he was curtly told: 'Those who come to those times will see.' 7 (Judas, because of his treachery, forefeited the heritage in the resurrection age which his fellow-apostles were destined to enjoy; Papias described how he swelled up to grotesque proportions8 before he 'burst open in the middle', as Luke tells us.) 9
Infancy Gospels Of the agrapha which have any claim at all to go back to the earliest days of Christianity, almost all have to do with what Jesus said, not with what he did. We have, to be sure, a number of 'Infancy Gospels' purporting to deal with his birth and childhood, but these are all fictitious compositions, published in order to satisfy their readers' curiosity about things on which the New Testament is silent. 10 There is, for example, the Protevangel of lames, which begins with an account of the birth of Mary to Joachim and Anna in their old age, when they had given up all hope of having children. Like the infant Samuel in the Old Testament, Mary was dedicated by her grateful mother to the service of God in the temple, and there she was placed in charge of the priest Zechariah. When she was twelve years old she was betrothed by her guardians to Joseph. The story of the angelic annunciation and virginal conception follows the nativity narratives of Luke and Matthew, with various embellishments: Mary's chastity is vindicated, for example, by the 'ordeal of jealousy' prescribed in Numbers 5.11-28. In a cave near Bethlehem Mary gives birth to Jesus, Salome acting as midwife.U When Herod fails to find the infant, after the visit of the wise men from the east, he tries to lay hands on the child John (later the Baptist), but when he too is not to be found (having been hidden with his mother Elizabeth in a hollow mountain) Herod has his father Zechariah put to death in the temple courtY The nativity at Bethlehem and the subsequent flight of the holy family into Egypt form the theme of the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew. The ox and ass worship the infant in the stable (in fulfilment of Isaiah 1.3: 'The ox knows its owner, and the ass its master's crib'), and the wild beasts of the desert pay him homage on the way to Egypt (in fulfilment of Isaiah 11.6f.: 166
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'the wolf shall dwell with the lamb, ... and the lion shall eat straw like the ox'); while in Egypt itself three hundred and sixty-five idols fall down and are broken in pieces before him (in fulfilment of Isaiah 19.1: 'the idols of Egypt will tremble at his presence'). Then there is the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, 13 which purports to describe the doings of Jesus in his boyhood. Jesus proves to be an infant prodigy at school, instructing his teachers in unsuspected mysteries of the alphabet; he astounds his family and playmates by the miracles which he performs. This is the document which tells for the first time the familiar tale of the twelve sparrows which Jesus, at the age of five, fashioned from clay on the sabbath day. Someone went and reported this to Joseph. When Joseph came to the place and saw it, he called out to him: 'Why are you doing these things which ought not to be done on the sabbath?' But Jesus clapped his hands and called out to the sparrows: 'Be off!' And the sparrows took wing and flew away chirping. The embellishments with which these 'Infancy Gospels' fill out the sparse details of the birth stories in Matthew and Luke are all fabricated out of whole cloth, they are not traditions of more or less dimly remembered facts; but they generated tenacious traditions of a new kind, and we shall see how greatly they have influenced the accounts of the birth of Jesus included in the Qur'an. 14
The Gospel of Peter Towards the end of the second century Serapion, bishop of Antioch, visited the neighbouring church of Rhossus and found that it held in high esteem a Gospel bearing the name and authority of the apostle Peter. To begin with, he was not greatly concerned about this, because he believed the members of the church of Rhossus to be orthodox in their belief; but subsequent reports moved him to look into the matter more closely, and he discovered that this Gospel of Peter was marked by docetic teaching (from the Greek verb dokein, 'seem') -teaching according to which the humanity of Jesus was not real but only apparent. So he sent them a letter, part of which is quoted by Eusebius, in which he pointed out the error of the work. 15 In 1886 there was discovered at Akhmim in Upper Egypt (the ancient Panopolis) a small parchment codex containing (among other documents) a substantial fragment of a Greek work which is almost certainly to be identified with the Gospel of Peter mentioned by Eusebius. The fragment relates the passion narrative and, while it may draw in part from separate traditions, it presupposes a knowledge of all four canonical Gospels. 16 The 167
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passage immediately before the beginning of the fragment must have described Pilate's washing his hands (Matthew 27.24), for it goes on: 1. But none of the Jews washed his hands, nor Herod nor any of his judges. Since they refused to wash, Pilate rose up [i.e. ended the trial]. Then King Herod commanded the Lord to be taken away, saying to them: 'Do all that I have commanded you to do to him.' 2. There stood there Joseph, the friend of Pilate and of the Lord, and knowing that they were going to crucify him, he went to Pilate and asked that he might have the Lord's body for burial. Pilate sent to Herod and asked for his body, and Herod said: 'Brother Pilate, even if no one had asked for him, we should have buried him, since the sabbath is drawing on. For it is written in the law that the sun must not set on one who has been put to death. m 3. So he handed him over to the people before the first day of unleavened bread, their festival. They took the Lord and ran, pushing him and saying: 'Let us drag the son of God, now that we have got him into our power.' They clothed him in purple, and made him sit on a judgment-seat,18 saying: 'Judge righteously, king of Israel!' One of them brought a crown of thorns and placed it on the Lord's head; others standing by spat in his eyes, and other struck his cheeks. Yet others pricked him with a reed, and some flogged him, saying: 'This is the honour with which we honour the son of God.' 4. Then they brought two criminals and crucified the Lord between them. But he remained silent, as though he felt no pain. When they had raised up the cross, they wrote on it an inscription: 'This is the King of Israel.' Laying his clothes in front of them, they shared them out, and cast lots for them. One of those criminals reproached them, saying: 'We have suffered thus because of the crimes we have committed, but as for this man, the saviour of men, what harm has he done you?' They were annoyed at him, and ordered that his legs should not be broken, so that he might die in agony. 19 5. Now it was midday, and darkness covered all Judaea. They were troubled and distressed, lest the sun should have set while he was still alive. (For it is written that the sun must not set on one who has been put to death.) One of them said: 'Give him gall with vinegar to drink.' 20 So they made the mixture and gave it to him to drink. Thus they fulfilled everything, and completed the tale of their sins on their own heads. Many went about with lamps, thinking that it was night [and some] fell down. Then the Lord cried out: 'My power, my power, you have left me!' So saying, he was taken up. The same hour the curtain of the sanctuary in Jerusalem was tom in two. 6. Then they drew out the nails from the Lord's hands and laid him on the ground. The whole earth quaked and great fear fell on 16R
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them. Then the sun shone out and it was found to be the ninth hour (3 p.m.). The Jews rejoiced, and gave his body to Joseph to be buried, since he had beheld all the good things he had done. So, taking the Lord, he washed him, wrapped him in linen and brought him into his own tomb, called Joseph's Garden. 7. Then the Jews and the elders and priests, realising what harm they had done themselves, began to beat their breasts21 and say: 'Alas for our sins! The judgment and end of Jerusalem has drawn near.' But I [Peter], with my companions, was grief-stricken; wounded in mind we hid ourselves, for they were searching for us as men that were criminals, who wished to set the sanctuary on fire. Over and above all this we fasted, and sat mourning and weeping night and day until the sabbathY 8. The scribes, Pharisees and elders came together, for they heard that all the people were murmuring and beating their breasts and saying: 'If these stupendous signs have happened at his death, see what a righteous man he must have been.' The elders were afraid, and they came to Pilate with a request: 'Give us soldiers so that we may guard his sepulchre for three days, lest his disciples come and steal him and the people suppose that he has risen from the dead and do us harm.' Pilate gave them Petronius the centurion with soldiers to guard the tomb. The elders and scribes came to the sepulchre with them, and all who were there together rolled a great stone and placed it at the door of the sepulchre, [as a precaution] against the centurion and the soldiers, and fixed seven seals on it. Then, pitching a tent there, they guarded it. Early in the morning, as the sabbath was dawning, a crowd came from Jerusalem and the surrounding area to see the sealed sepulchre. 9. On the night when the Lord's day23 was drawing on, while the soldiers were keeping watch two at a time, a great voice sounded in heaven and they saw the heavens opened and two men descend thence, with a great light, and draw near to the tomb. That stone which had been laid at the door rolled away of its own accord and allowed partial access; the tomb was opened and both the young men went in. When those soldiers saw this, they roused the centurion and the elders from sleep (for the elders were also present on guard). They described what they had seen, and then three men were seen leaving the tomb, the [first] two supporting the other, and a cross was seen foUowing them. The heads of the two reached up to heaven, but the head of him whom they led by the hand reached above the heavens. They heard a voice from the heavens saying: 'Have you preached to those who sleep?' And from the cross was heard an answer: 'Yes!' 10. So those men conferred and decided to go and report these things to Pilate. While they were still pondering it in their minds, 16l)
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they saw the heavens opened again and a man descend and enter into the sepulchre. When the centurion and his men saw this they made haste to Pilate while it was still night, leaving the tomb which they were guarding, and they related all that they had seen, greatly agitated and saying: 'Truly he was God's Son.' Pilate replied: 'I am clean from the blood of God's Son; this was your decision. ' 24 Then they all came and begged and besought him to command the centurion and soldiers not to tell anything that they had seen. 'It is more expedient', they said, 'that we should incur the utmost guilt in God's sight than that we should fall into the hands of the Jewish people and be stoned.' So Pilate commanded the centurion and soldiers not to say anything. 11. At dawn on the Lord's day Mary Magdalene, a disciple of the Lord, took her friends with her and came to the sepulchre where he had been laid. (She had not previously performed at the Lord's sepulchre the services customarily performed by women for the dead and for those whom they love, through fear of the Jews, for they were inflamed with anger.) They were afraid lest the Jews might see them, but they said: 'Even if we were unable to weep and beat our breasts on the day when he was crucified, now let us do these things at his sepulchre. But who will roll us away the stone which has been placed at the door of the sepulchre, that we may go in and sit down and perform what is proper? The stone was a great one, and we are afraid someone will see us. But even if we cannot do so, if we lay what we have brought for his memorial at the door, we will weep and beat our breasts and then go home.' So they set out and found the tomb opened. Drawing near, they bent down and looked in there, and there they saw a beautiful young man sitting in the centre of the tomb, dressed in a shining robe. 25 He said to them: 'Why have you come? Whom do you seek? Not him who was crucified? He has risen and gone away. If you do not believe, bend down and look in and see the place where he lay, for he is not there. He has risen and gone away to the place from which he was sent.' Then the women feared and fted. 26 12. Now it was the last day of unleavened bread, and many people were going out [from Jerusalem] and returning home, because the festival had come to an end. But we, the twelve disciples of the Lord, wept and mourned, and each went off to his home mourning because of what had happened. But I, Simon Peter, and Andrew my brother took our nets and set out for the seaY With us was Levi the son of Alphaeus, 28 whom the Lord ... Here the fragment breaks off, but the last sentence probably went on: 'whom the Lord had called from the tax office' (Mark 2.14). Then presum170
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ably came the account of the risen Lord's appearance to them, perhaps along the lines of the narrative in John 21. The docetic note in this narrative appears in the statement that Jesus, while being crucified, 'remained silent, as though he felt no pain', and in the account of his death. It carefully avoids saying that he died, preferring to say that he 'was taken up', as though he - or at least his soul or spiritual self- was 'assumed' direct from the cross to the presence of God. 29 (We shall see an echo of this idea in the Qur'an.)30 Then the cry of dereliction is reproduced in a form which suggests that, at that moment, his divine power3 1 left the bodily shell in which it had taken up temporary residence. Apart from its docetic tendency, the most striking feature of the narrative is its complete exoneration of Pilate from all responsibility for the crucifixion of Jesus. Pilate is here well on the way to the goal of canonisation which he was to attain in the Coptic Church. He withdraws from the trial after washing his hands, and Herod Antipas takes over from him, assuming the responsibility which, in Luke's passion narrative, he declined to accept. Roman soldiers play no part until they are sent by Pilate, at the request of the Jewish authorities, to provide the guard at the tomb of Jesus. The villains of the piece throughout are 'the Jews' -more particularly, the chief priests and the scribes. It is they who condemn Jesus to death and abuse him; it is they who crucify him and share out his clothes among themselves. Unhistorical as this representation is, it became a widely accepted tradition, calling for repudiation as recently as Vatican Council 11, and (like the docetism) influencing the Islamic account of the passion. 32
The Gospel of Nicodemus The question addressed from heaven to the risen Lord, 'Have you preached to those who are asleep?' is probably based on the Petrine literature in the New Testament- on 1 Peter 3.18-20, where Christ, 'put to death in the flesh but made alive in the spirit', is said to have gone and preached to the imprisoned spirits who were disobedient in Noah's day, 33 and 1 Peter 4.6, where the gospel is said to have been 'preached even to the dead, that though judged in the flesh like men, they might live in the spirit like God'. Such passages were greatly elaborated in the later motif of Christ's 'harrowing of hell', in which his invasion of the realm of the dead is portrayed after the fashion of Greek heroes like Theseus, Heracles and Orpheus who entered the underworld to defy its rulers or rescue its victims. The earliest literary form of this motif is appended to the work alternatively called the Gospel of Nicodemus or the Acts' of Pi/ate. Mention has heen made in an earlier chapter of the 'Acts' of Pi/ate' published in A.D. 311 hy the Emperor Maximinus II to serve as antichristian propaganda. The Christian Acts' of Pi/ate which has come down to us from the fourth century 171
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may have been published as a counterblast to this propaganda, but there is reason to think that its core goes back to the second century. 34 The main part of the Christian Acts of Pilate presents an expanded version of the trial and death of Jesus, based mainly on the narratives in Matthew and John. When Jesus is brought in before Pilate, the imperial images on the military standards bowed down and paid him homage. (Historically, indeed, out of deference to Jewish scruples and the status of Jerusalem as a holy city, the images surmounting the Roman standards were left outside the city when the military units to which they belonged entered,35 but this state of affairs came to an end in A.D. 70, and the author may not have known of it, even if he had any concern for historical accuracy.) Then, as soon as Jesus took his position before Pilate, Pilate received the warning message from his wife, recorded in Matthew 27.19. and Pilate called all the Jews to him and said to them: 'You know that my wife is a God-fearer6 and prefers Jewish ways, like yours.' 'Yes', said they, 'we know.' 'See', said Pilate to them, 'my wife has sent me a message: "Have nothing to do with that righteous man, for I have suffered much over him last night."' 'Did we not tell you that he was a sorcerer?' they replied. 'See, he has sent your wife a nightmare.' Then one witness after another comes forward to testify in Jesus's defence 37 - Nicodemus; the man whom Jesus healed of a paralysis which had lasted thirty-eight years ('Aha', said the accusers, 'but it was the sabbath day when he did it!');38 blind Bartimaeus, whose sight he restored; 39 the bent man whom he straightened;40 the leper whom he cleansed, 41 and Bernice (Veronica), whose haemorrhage ceased when she touched the hem of his garment 42 ('Our law', they protested, 'does not admit a woman's evidence'). But all this favourable testimony is in vain; the popular clamour demands Jesus's death, and Pilate gives in to it. (His exoneration has not proceeded so far in this work as in the Gospel of Peter.) He orders Jesus to be crucified in the garden where he was arrested. 43 Here the two criminals who were crucified with Jesus receive their traditional names, Dysmas (who received the assurance of Paradise) and Gestas. 44 The circumstances of Jesus's death are reported to Pilate by the centurion. And when the governor and his wife heard it, they were greatly grieved, and neither ate nor drank that day. Then Pilate sent for the Jews and said to them: 'Have you seen what has happened?' But they said: 'It was an ordinary eclipse of the sun.' 45 172
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Pilate plays no further part, but Nicodemus continues as chief narrator. Joseph of Arimathaea is arrested and sentenced to death by the Jewish authorities for paying the last respects to the body of Jesus, but when he is sought for execution on the morning after the sabbath, he is not to be found in his cell- to the consternation of all, 'because the seals were found intact and Caiaphas had the key'. Later, Joseph reveals that the newly risen Jesus appeared to him in his cell, and transferred him to his own house in Arimathaea. By this time Annas, Caiaphas and their associates are more than a little shaken, and are almost persuaded to believe in Jesus's claims, especially when three messengers arrive from Galilee and bear witness separately to the circumstances of Jesus's ascension. The priests and Levites agree that if Jesus is still remembered after a jubilee (50 years) has elapsed, 'he will have dominion for ever and will raise up for himself a new people'. When Matthew records the death of Jesus and the tearing of the temple curtain, he makes a strange addition not found in any other Gospel: 'the tombs also were opened, and many bodies of the saints which had fallen asleep were raised, and coming out of the tombs after his resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many' (27.52 f.). This enigmatic passage invited imaginative expansion, such as we find in an appendix to the Gospel of Nicodemus. According to this appendix the saints who emerged from their tombs included Simeon of Jerusalem, who once held the infant Jesus in his arms (Luke 2.25-35), and his two sons, who had recently died and been buried. The two sons were brought before the chief priests in Jerusalem and adjured to tell how they had been raised from the dead. They asked for writing materials and wrote down their testimony. The midnight darkness in Hades, they said, was suddenly dispersed by a great light, in which the prophet Isaiah, who was there with 'all those who had fallen asleep from ages past', recognised the fulfilment of his own words: 'The people that sat in darkness have seen a great light' (Isaiah 9. 2). Then John the Baptist rose and called on all who had been idolaters on earth to seize the present unrepeatable opportunity and worship the one who was about to enter, whom in his lifetime he had acclaimed as 'the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world' (John 1.29). After him Adam hade his son Seth tell them all the message he had received when he was sent to the gate of Paradise to beg some oil from the tree of life to anoint his father in his mortal sickness. 'After I had prayed', Seth told them: the angel of the Lord said to me: 'What do you want, Seth? The oil which raises up the sick, or the tree which flows with such oil, for your father's sickness? This is not now to be found. Go then and tell your father that when 5,500 years have been completed from the creation of the world,46 the only Son of God, having 173
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become man, will descend into the earth, and he will anoint him with such oil; then he will rise and wash him and his descendants with water and the Holy Spirit, and he will be healed from every disease. But at present this is impossible.' Seth 's story filled all the patriarchs and prophets with joy: now the time of their release was at hand. Meanwhile Satan and Hades (the personified lord of the realm of death) hold agitated debate about what they should do. Satan wants Hades to seize Jesus and bind him fast the moment he sets foot in his realm; but Hades, remembering how not long before Jesus had snatched Lazarus from his grasp, has no hope of being able to hold Jesus himself. While they are still arguing, a voice like thunder is heard: 'Lift up your gates, 0 rulers! 47 Be lifted up, 0 eternal doors, and the King of glory will come in' (Psalm 24.7). Satan and Hades talk ineffectively of barring the invader's path, but David tells them that he himself foretold this challenge when he lived on earth, while Isaiah adds that he too, by the Holy Spirit, prophesied: 'The dead shall rise; those who are in the tombs shall be raised up, and those who are in the earth shall rejoice' (Isaiah 25.8). Again the challenge is sounded, and when Hades- 'as if he did not know, forsooth'asks 'Who is this King of glory?' he not only receives the inevitable answer in word ('The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle') but a matching answer in deed: Immediately, with this word, the gates of bronze were broken in pieces, the bars of iron were smashed, and all the dead who were bound were set free from their chains, and we with them. Then the King of glory entered in human form, and all the dark places of Hades were illuminated. Jesus then blessed Adam and the other righteous dead with the sign of the cross on their foreheads and led them out of Hades. So he went into Paradise leading our first father Adam by the hand, and entrusted him, with all the righteous, to the care of Michael the archangel. As they went in by the door of Paradise, there met them two aged men, to whom the holy fathers said: 'Who are you, that you did not see death or go down into Hades, but have been dwelling in Paradise, body and soul together?' One of them answered: 'I am Enoch, who pleased God and was translated here by him, and this is Elijah the Tishbite. We are to live until the close of the age. Then we shall be sent by God when Antichrist arises, and we shall be killed by him, but after three
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days we shall rise again and be caught up in clouds to meet the Lord.' 48 While they were saying this, another came up, a humble man, carrying a cross on his shoulders. The holy fathers said to him: 'Who are you with the appearance of a robber, and what is the cross you are carrying on your shoulders?' 'I was indeed, as you say, a robber and a thief in the world', he replied, 'and therefore the Jews arrested me and delivered me to the cross along with our Lord Jesus Christ. While he was hanging on the cross, I believed in him, seeing the signs which took place. Then I entreated him: "Lord, when you become king, do not forget me." Immediately he said to me: "Indeed and in truth, today, I tell you, you will be with me in Paradise. "49 So I came into Paradise still carrying my cross, and finding the archangel Michael I said to him: "Our Lord Jesus, the Crucified One, has sent me here. Bring me therefore to the gate of Eden." When the flaming sword saw the sign of the cross, it opened to me and I entered in. 5° Then the archangel said to me: "Wait a little, because Adam, the first father of the human race, is coming with the righteous, that they too may enter in." And now, seeing you, I have come to meet you.' Having written their testimony and concluded it with the apostolic benediction,51 the two brothers sealed the scrolls, gave half to the chief priests and half to Joseph and Nicodemus, and disappeared from their sight.
The Gospel according to the Hebrews From this dramatic portrayal of the truth that Christ 'abolished death and brought life and immortality to death through the gospel' (2 Timothy 1. I0) we return to a document in somewhat closer touch with the historical Jesus. This is the Gospel according to the Hebrews. This appears to have been a paraphrase of the Gospel of Matthew, partly amplified and partly abridged, 52 the text of which was preserved at Caesarea and was known to Origen (c. A.D. 231) and Eusebius (c. A.D. 325). According to Eusebius it was known to Hegesippus (c. A.D. 170). 53 An unsolved problem is the relation of this work to an Aramaic Gospel which Jerome found in use among the Nazarenes (orthodox Jewish Christians) of Beroea (Aleppo) in Syria and which he claims to have translated into Greek and Latin, under the impression that it was the Aramaic original of the Gospel of Matthew. The copy at Beroea, he says, was made from a master-copy, 'the Hebrew text', in the library founded at Caesarea by Pamphilus, the teacher of Eusebius.54 The work which Jerome translated may have been an Aramaic version of the Gospel according to the Hebrews or it may have been a
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separate Jewish-Christian compilation, bearing some relation to the Gospel of Matthew. In reproducing below the principal extracts quoted in the works of Origen, Eusebius and Jerome 55 from the Gospel according to the Hebrews or the Nazarene Gospel (for which the order of the Gospel of Matthew is followed as far as possible), we make no assumption about their identity or independence, since the evidence one way or the other is not conclusive. 1. 'Let us go and be baptised' (cf Matthew 3.13-15) Behold, the mother of the Lord and his brothers said to him: 'John the Baptist is baptising for the remission of sins; let us go and be baptised by him.' But he said to them: 'What sin have I committed, that I should go and be baptised by him?- unless perchance this very thing that I have said is a sin of ignorance.'
That Jesus, who was sinless, should submit to a 'baptism of repentance for the remission of sins' constituted a problem which called for comment. According to Matthew, John demurred at Jesus's request to be baptised; 5 ~> here Jesus himself demurs at his family's proposal that he should join them in seeking baptism at John's hands. Jerome quotes this extract from 'the Gospel according to the Hebrews in Chaldaean and Syriac speech [i.e. Aramaic], written in Hebrew letters, which the Nazarenes use, also called [the Gospel] according to the Apostles or according to Matthew, which is to be seen in the library at Caesarea'. 57 2. After the baptism (cf Matthew 3.16 f) Now it happened that, when the Lord had come up out of the water, the whole fountain of the Holy Spirit came down and rested on him, and said to him: 'My son, in all the prophets I was waiting for you to come that I might rest in you. For you are my rest, you are my first-begotten Son, reigning as king for ever.'
This bears the marks of a targum or expanded paraphrase of the canonical account of the descent of the Spirit and the heavenly voice at Jesus's baptism. It reflects the words about the coming 'shoot from the stump of Jesse' in Isaiah 11.2: 'the Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him'. It is quoted by Jerome from 'the Gospel in the Hebrew speech, which the Nazarenes use'. 58 3. 'My mother the Holy Spirit' (cf Matthew 4.1f) But now my mother the Holy Spirit took me by one of my hairs and carried me off to the great mountain Tabor.
This is quoted from the Gospel according to the Hebrews both by Origen and by Jerome. 59 It is apparently a counterpart to the beginning of the 176
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temptation story, according to which 'Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil' (compare the 'very high mountain' of Matthew 4.8), but the reference to Mount Tabor is strange: Tabor is traditionally the 'high mountain' of the transfiguration narrative (Matthew 17.1). A Semitic origin for this saying is practically certain, since the word for 'Spirit' in the Semitic languages is feminine (whereas it is neuter in Greek and masculine in Latin); hence only in a Semitic context was it linguistically natural to treat the Holy Spirit as Jesus's mother. 4. The plea of the man with the withered hand (cf Matthew 12.10) 'I was a stonemason, earning my living with my hands. I pray you, Jesus, restore my health to me, so that I may not be shamefully reduced to begging my food.'
Jerome quotes this from 'the Gospel which the Nazarenes and Ebionites use, and which many regard as the original of Matthew'. 60 With this man's elaboration of his plight we may compare the leper's explanation of how he contracted his disease in Egerton Papyrus 2. 61 5. How often shall I forgive? (cf Matthew 18.15-22) (a) 'If your brother sins in word and makes amends to you, receive him', said he, 'seven times a day.' His disciple Simon said to him: 'Seven times a day?' The Lord replied: 'Yes, I tell you, and seventy times seven; for even in the prophets, after they were anointed with the Holy Spirit, sinful language was found.'
Jerome quotes this from 'the same book' as the discussion between Jesus and his family about submitting to John's baptism. 62 The reference to 'sinful language' in the prophets may have in mind Moses, who under provocation 'spoke words that were rash' (Psalm 106.33). (b) And never be joyful, unless you look on your brother in love.
In commenting on Ephesians 5.4 Jerome quotes this extract from the 'Hebrew Gospel'. (c) It is included among the greatest sins for a man to grieve his brother's spirit. This sentiment, which is quite similar to the preceding one, is said by Jerome to be found in 'the Gospel according to the Hebrews which the Nazarenes use'; 63 it is not a direct quotation, but a summary in Jerome's own words. Cf. Ephesians 4.30: 'do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God' (primarily, as the context indicates, in one's fellows).
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6. A rich man and the way to eternal life (cf Matthew 19.16-22) The other rich man said to him: 'Master, what good thing shall I do in order to have life?' He said to him: 'Man, keep the law and the prophets.' 'I have kept them', was his reply. He said to him: 'Go, sell all that you possess and share it out among the poor and come, follow me.' Then the rich man began to scratch his head: he did not like it. The Lord said to him: 'How can you say, "I have kept the law and the prophets"? It is written in the law: "You shall love your neighbour as yourself" - and look, many of your brothers, sons of Abraham, are dressed in filthy rags and dying of hunger, while your house is full of many good things, yet nothing at all goes forth from it to them.' Then he turned and said to his disciple Simon who was sitting beside him: 'Simon, son of John, it is easier for a camel to enter in through a needle's eye than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven.'
Although this incident, inserted by the Latin translator into Origen's commentary on Matthew,fi4 ostensibly concerns another rich man than the one mentioned in the canonical record, it is essentially an expansion of the canonical account of the rich young man. 65
7. The three servants and the talents (cf Matthew 25.14-30) The master left behind three servants. One of them greatly multiplied his stock-in-trade; one hid his talent, and one consumed his master's property with harlots and flute-girls. The first was warmly greeted, the second was reprehended, but the third was thrown into prison. This summary of a more diversified rendering of the parable of the talents is said by Eusebius to come from 'the Gospel written in Hebrew characters which has reached our hands', in which, he continues, the severest penalty was imposed 'not on him who hid his talent but on him who indulged in riotous living'. 66 8. The lintel of the temple (cf Matthew 27.51) The lintel of the temple, which was of immense size, was cracked in two.
According to Jerome, this statement in 'the Gospel written in Hebrew letters' replaced the canonical statement that 'the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom'. 67 Perhaps the cracking of the lintel seemed a more natural consequence of the earthquake which Matthew describes at that moment, and Old Testament precedents may have been recognised in Isaiah 6.4 and Amos 9.1.
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9. An appearance of the risen Christ When he came to Peter and his companions, he said to them: 'Take hold, feel me and see that I am not a bodiless spirit.' Immediately they touched him and believed ...
This is a parallel not to anything in the Gospel of Matthew but to Luke 24. 39, where the risen Christ appears to 'the eleven' and calms their startled apprehensions with the invitation: 'handle me, and see; for a spirit has not flesh and bones as you see that I have'. The other version, reproduced above, comes from Ignatius's Letter to the Smyrnaeans (c. A.D. 110)68 and might simply be an instance of free quotation or quotation from memory; but Jerome says that the words were taken 'from the Gospel which was lately translated by me'. 69 It would be surprising if the Gospel according to the Hebrews (or whatever document Jerome translated) should be dated as early as the time of Ignatius. 10. 'He appeared to lames' Now when the Lord had given his linen garment to the priest's servant, he went to James and appeared to him. For James had sworn that he would eat no bread from that hour when he had drunk the cup of the Lord until he saw him rising from the dead. [And again, a little later:] 'Bring a table and bread', said the Lord; [and immediately it continues:] He took bread and gave thanks and broke it, and thereafter he gave it to James the Just and said to him: 'My brother, eat your bread, because the Son of Man has risen from those who sleep.'
None of the canonical Gospels records that the risen Christ appeared to James. Paul briefly states that he did so (1 Corinthians 15.7), having probably received the information from James himself (cf. Galatians 1.19, where Paul mentions that he met 'James the Lord's brother' in Jerusalem in the third year after his conversion). If we had no reference at all to such an appearance to James, we should be compelled to postulate that something of the sort took place: otherwise it would be difficult to understand how James and other members of the holy family, who remained aloof from Jesus during his Palestinian ministry, came to be closely and prominently associated with his followers after his death and resurrection. Jerome says he derived this account of the appearance to James from 'the Gospel which is called "according to the Hebrews" and was lately translated by me into the Greek and Latin speech, of which Origen also frequently makes use'. 70
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The Ebionite Gospel Another edited text of the Gospel of Matthew was in use among the Ebionites, an important Jewish-Christian community in Transjordan and the neighbouring territories who, unlike Jerome's friends the Nazarenes of Bereca, were not orthodox according to the beliefs and practices of what had become main-line catholic Christianity, but deviated from them in several respects. Our chief informant about this edition is Epiphanius, bishop of Salamis in Cyprus (c. A.D. 375); but it has sometimes been thought that Origen and Jerome also mention it under the title the Gospel according to the Twelve or the Gospel according to the Apostles:11 this may be so, but we cannot be sure. According to Epiphanius, it was the only Gospel accepted by the Ebionites, and they called it the 'Gospel according to the Hebrews' .72 The Ebionites are said to have denied the virgin birth of Jesus and to have held that his divine sonship dated from his baptism, when the Holy Spirit entered into union with him. Accordingly, their Gospel omitted the nativity narrative/ 3 and began thus: It happened in the days of Herod, king of Judaea, that John came baptising with a baptism of repentance in the River Jordan. He was said to be of the family of Aaron the priest, the son of Zechariah and Elizabeth. All went out to him. 74
The note about John's descent and parentage is derived not from Matthew but from Luke 1.5 ff. Further details about John are given as follows: John came baptising, and Pharisees went out to him and were baptised, and so did all Jerusalem. John had a garment of camel's hair and wore a girdle of skin round his waist, and his food was wild honey, with the taste of manna, like a cake dipped in olive oil. 75 The manna in the Old Testament narrative tasted 'like wafers made with honey' (Exodus 16.31); here the comparison is reversed. John, incidentally, becomes a vegetarian by the change of akris, the Greek word for 'locust' (Matthew 3.4), to enkris, meaning 'cake'. We shall find other instances of a similar change, made for dogmatic reasons, in the canonical account of John's diet. 76 Since the play on the similar-sounding words for 'locust' and 'cake' is possible only in Greek, it may be inferred that the Ebionite Gospel was a Greek one. John's baptism of Jesus is recorded thus: When the people had been baptised, Jesus also came and was baptised by John. When he came up from the water, the heavens were 180
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opened and he saw the Holy Spirit coming down in the form of a dove and entering into him. A voice from heaven was heard: 'You are my beloved Son; in you I am well pleased.' And again: 'Today I have begotten you.' Immediately a great light shone round about the place. When John saw this, he said to him: 'Who are you?' And again a voice from heaven said to John: 'This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.' Then John fell at his feet and said: 'I pray you, Lord, do you baptise me.' But he forbade him, saying: 'Let it be: thus it is fitting that all things should be fulfilled. m The narrative is based for the most part on Matthew, but the heavenly voice speaks twice, first addressing Jesus in the language of Mark 1.11 and the Western text of Luke 3.22- 'Today I have begotten you' (from Psalm 2.7) - and then addressing John in the language of Matthew 3.17. The Holy Spirit does not merely alight on Jesus (as in Matthew 3.16) but enters into him, and John's demurrer at the idea of his baptising Jesus comes later than in Matthew (after Jesus receives the divine nature). The light which shone around at Jesus's baptism is mentioned in a couple of Old Latin Gospel texts at Matthew 3.11, and also in Tatian's Diatessaron or harmony of the four Gospels, compiled about A.D. 170. 78 The call of Jesus's disciples is recorded in their own words: There came a man named Jesus and he chose us, when he was about thirty years old. Coming to Capernaum, he entered into the house of Simon, surnamed Peter, and he opened his mouth and said: 'As I was passing along by the lake of Tiberias I chose John and James, the sons of Zebedee, and Simon and Andrew, and Thaddaeus and Simon the Zealot and Judas Iscariot. As for you, Matthew, I called you when you were sitting at the tax office, and you followed me. I want you, therefore, to be my twelve apostles to bear witness to Israel.' 79 Only eight apostles are listed; perhaps the others have dropped out in the transmission of the text. The list is basically Matthaean, but 'Simon the Zealot' (cf. Luke 6.15; Acts 1.13) replaces the synonymous 'Simon the Cananaean' of Matthew 10.4 (cf. Mark 3.18), as being more intelligible. The designation 'the lake of Tiberias' is unknown to the Synoptic Gospels; in the New Testament it is peculiar to John (6.1; 21.1). The statement that Jesus was 'about thirty years old' is derived from Luke 3.23. The Ebionites rejected the Old Testament sacrificial law as not authentic. Hence in their Gospel Jesus, who according to Matthew 5.17 came not to abolish the law and the prophets but to fulfil them, 80 declares:
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I came to abolish sacrifices, and if you do not cease from sacrificing, the wrath of God will not cease from you. 81 Perhaps this was a sharpening of the words of Hosea 6.6, 'I desire mercy, and not sacrifice', which Jesus quotes with approval in Matthew 9.13 and 12.7. Since the Passover involved a sacrifice, it met with the Ebionites' disapproval, the more so as it involved the eating of flesh, and so in their Gospel Jesus's answer to the disciples' question, 'Where will you have us prepare for you to eat the passover?' (Matthew 26.17), is: Do I desire with desire at this Passover to eat flesh with you? This is readily recognised as the turning into a question (expecting a negative answer) of Jesus's statement to the disciples in Luke 22.15: 'With desire I have desired to eat this passover with you before I suffer.'
Notes 1 John 8.7. It was the responsibility of the witnesses in an execution by stoning to throw the first stones (Deuteronomy 17.7; cf. Acts 7.58). 2 The original text of Mark is extant only as far as 16.8; whether or not the clause 'for they were afraid' was designed to be the end of the Gospel is a much disputed question. There are two later endings added to the Gospel to ease the apparent abruptness with which it ends. The longer ending appears as 16.9-20 in most of our versions; the shorter ending runs: 'But they [the women] reported briefly to Peter and those with him all that they had been told. And after this, Jesus himself sent out by means of them, from east to west, the sacred and imperishable tidings of eternal salvation.' 3 Jerome, Dialogue against the Pelagians ii. 15. 4 Quoted by Eusebius Hist. Eccl. iii, 39.3 f. 5 Quoted by Irenaeus, Heresies v. 33.3. A 'measure' of wine was equivalent to nine gallons. 6 E.g. 2 Baruch 29.5-8; TB Shabbath 30b; Kethuboth 111 b; Midrash Sifre on Deuteronomy 315, 317. Cf. discussion in J. Klausner, Jesus of Nazareth (London, 1929), pp. 400 ff. 7 Irenaeus, Heresies v. 33.4. 8 Quoted by Apollinarius of Laodicea, as reproduced in J. A. Cramer, Catena Graecorum Patrum in Novum Testamentum: Ad Acta SS Apostolorum (Oxford, 1844), on Matthew 27.5 and Acts 1.18. 9 Acts 1.18. 10 English translations of these and other uncanonical Gospels, with scholarly introductions and annotations, are provided in E. Hennecke, New Testament Apocrypha, English translation edited by R. McL. Wilson, Vol. 1: Gospels and Related Writings (London, 1963). 11 Salome, presumably the mother of the sons of Zebedee and perhaps Mary's sister (cf. Matthew 27.56 with Mark 15.40 and John 19.25), figures more prominently in uncanonicalliterature than she does in the New Testament (see pp. 137, 157).
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12 This is probably a mistaken inference from Matthew 23.35 and Luke 11.51; the Zechariah referred to there is an Old Testament character (cf. 2 Chronicles 24. 20-22). 13 A completely different work from the collection of sayings called the Gospel of Thomas which is reproduced in full in Chapter 7 below. 14 See pp. 168 ff. 15 Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. vi. 12. 2-6. Origen (Commentary on Matthew 10.17) says that the Gospel of Peter was invoked by those who held that Jesus's brothers and sisters, mentioned in the Gospels, were children of Joseph by an earlier wife than Mary, and elsewhere he shows acquaintance with elements found in the Gospel of Peter. 16 From Matthew, e.g., come Pilate's hand-washing, the mingling of 'gall' with the drink given to the crucified Jesus, the earthquake and the watch at the tomb; from Mark comes the appearance of the 'young man' to the women at the tomb and the identification of Levi as the 'son of Alphaeus'; from Luke come the involvement of Herod Anti pas in the trial of Jesus, the incident of the penitent robber and the breast-beating of the spectators at Jesus's death; from John come the nails and the leg-breaking, and the disciples' return to their fishing. 17 Deuteronomy 21.23 (cf. John 19.31). 18 This might arise from a misunderstanding of John 19.13, where Pi/ate sits on the judgment-seat. Similarly Justin Martyr (First Apology 35.6) says that, 'as the prophet said, they dragged him off and made him sit on the judgment-seat and said, "Execute judgment for us" ' - 'the prophet' being a reference to Isaiah 58.2: 'they ask of me righteous judgments'. Jl) The breaking of the legs of crucified men was designed to hasten death. 20 In fulfilment of Psalm 69.21 (cf. Matthew 27.34, where 'gall' corresponds to the stupefacient 'myrrh' of Mark 15.23). 21 Cf. Luke 23.48. 22 The mourning and weeping night and day are envisaged as beginning on the night of Jesus's arrest. The sequel makes it plain that in this record, as in the canonical Gospels, the crucifixion took place the day before the sabbath. 23 That is, Sunday ('the first day of the week' in the New Testament resurrection narratives). 24 In Matthew 27.24 Pilate's protestation of innocence accompanies his handwashing. 25 This is based on Mark 16.5: 'a young man ... dressed in a white robe'. 26 This is another instance of Markan influence: Mark's extant record breaks off at 16.8 with the women's panic-stricken flight from the tomb (cf. p. 83, n, 2). 27 Cf. John 21.3. 2H Only in Mark 2.14 is Levi (mentioned without patronymic in Luke 5.27) called 'the son of Alphaeus'. He is not listed as a member of the fishing expedition in John 21.2. 29 The expression, to be 'taken up', is used of Jesus in Luke 9.51 and Acts 1.2, but not so as to exclude the idea of his dying. 30 Seep. 174. J I Behind the repeated words 'my power' may lie some awareness that the root meaning of Hebrew 'el ('God'), found in the suffixed form 'eli ('my God') in Psalm 22.1 and so quoted in Matthew 27.46, is 'power'. 32 See pp. 175 f. 33 In fact, those spirits were not the spirits of men but fallen angels-the 'sons of God' who, according to Genesis 6.1-4, were captivated by the beauty of the 'daughters of men'.
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
34 It may have been known to Justin and Tertullian; see E. Hennecke, New Testament Apocrypha, Vol. 1, pp. 444-7 (Lutterworth Press,1963). 35 Pilate actually got into trouble when he insisted on bringing them inside the walls (Josephus, War ii. 169-74; Antiquities xviii. 55-59). 36 That is, a Gentile attached in some degree to the Jewish religion without being a full convert or proselyte. Josephus uses the same word of Nero's wife Poppaea (Antiquities xx. 195). On Pilate's wife cf. p. 45 with n. 7. 37 Curiously, the first question to be investigated in Pilate's court according to this account concerned the legitimacy of Jesus's birth (cf. pp. 57,150 f., 175). 38 The incidents of Mark 2.2-12 and John 5.2-15 are here conflated. 39 Mark 10.46 ff. 40 In Luke 13.10-17 this is related of a woman, not of a man. 41 Mark 1.40-44. 42 Mark 8.43-48. She is not named in the New Testament. 43 This is a confusion of the two quite distinct gardens of John 18.1 and 19.41. 44 The soldier who pierced Jesus's side is also named as Longinus (16.7). 45 Seep. 30. 46 Calculations based on the Hebrew text of the Old Testament make the interval from Adam to Christ 4,000 years, but the calculation here is based on the Greek (Septuagint) version, in which the chronology is expanded. 47 This is the Greek (Septuagint) rendering; the Hebrew text, of course, has 'Lift up your heads, 0 gates!' 48 Enoch and Elijah are here identified as the 'two witnesses' whose ministry, martyrdom, resurrection and ascension are described in Revelation 11.3-12. The final words, 'to meet the Lord', are derived from 1 Thessalonians 4.17. 49 Cf. Luke 23.43. 50 The 'flaming sword' was stationed at the east of Eden 'to guard the way to the tree of life' (Genesia 3.24). 51 2 Corinthiana 13.14. 52 According to the ninth-century Stichometry of Nicephorus the Gospel according to the Hebrews consisted of 2200 lines as against Matthew's 2500. 53 Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. iv. 22.8. 54 Jerome, On illustrious men 3; Commentary on Matthew 12.13. It has been pointed out that he ceases to make this claim after he wrote his Commentary on Matthew (A.D. 401); probably the detailed study of Matthew convinced him that this could not be its (hypothetical) Aramaic original. 55 For a quotation from this Gospel by Clement of Alexandria seep. 113 with n. 9. 56 Matthew 3.14. 57 Against the Pelagians iii. 2. 58 Commentary on Isaiah 11.2. 59 Origen, Commentary on John 2.6; Homilies on Jeremiah 15.4; Jerome, Commentary on Micah 7.6. In the first-named place Origen says there is no difficulty in the wording: 'if he who does the will of the Father in heaven is Christ's brother and sister and mother (Matthew 12.50), ... then there is nothing absurd in the Holy Spirit's being his mother, every one being his mother who does the will of the Father in heaven.' 60 Commentary on Matthew 12.13. 61 Seep. 162. 62 Against the Pelagians iii. 2. 63 Commentary on Ezekiel18.7. 64 Pseudo-Origen (Latin), Commentary on Matthew 15.14.
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65 Seep. 165 for an expansion of the Markan parallel. 66 Eusebius, Theophania (Syriac) iv. 12. The lesson of this parable is inculcated also by the agraphon 'Become approved money-changers', frequently quoted by Origen (e.g. on Ephesians 4.25a) and after him by Jerome (e.g. on Ephesians 4.31 f.). 67 Commentary on Matthew 27.51; Epistles 120.8 (to Hedibia). 68 Ignatius, Smyrnaeans 3.2. 69 Jerome, On illustrious men 16. 70 On illustrious men 2. 71 Seep. 100. 72 Epiphanius, Heresies 30.13. 73 An anti-Jewish counterpart is provided by Marcion's Gospel, an edition of Luke which omitted the nativity narrative and began with Luke 3.1a followed immediately by 4.31: 'In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius, Jesus came down to Capernaum, a city of Galilee' (Tertullian, Against Marcion iv. 7). 74 Epiphanius, Heresies 30.13 f. If we are to exonerate the author from a gross anachronism (since Herod, king of Judaea, died in 4 B.C. and John's ministry began in A.D. 27/28), we shall have to suppose that Herod, tetrarch of Galilee is meant, but if so, the title is inaccurate. After the reference to Herod the words 'in the high-priesthood of Caiaphas' may have been added (cf. Luke 3.2). 75 Epiphanius, Heresies 30.13. 76 Tatian, influenced by his Encratite principles, changed John's diet to one of 'milk and honey' in his Diatessaron. See pp. 47, 117. 77 Epiphanius, Heresies 30.13. 78 Cf. the tradition of the fire on Jordan at Jesus's baptism in Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho 88.3. See p. 144. 79 Epiphanius, Heresies 30.13. HO Seep. 61. Hl Epiphanius, Heresies 30.16.
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EXTRACANONICAL PARABLES AND THE HISTORICAL JESUS William D. Stroker Source: C. H. Hedrick (ed.), The Historical Jesus and the Rejected Gospels (Semeia 44; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988), pp. 95-120.
Abstract In comparison to other categories of sayings attributed to Jesus outside the canonical New Testament, extracanonical parables are rare and found only in two documents, the Gospel of Thomas and the Apocryphon of lames. The present study consists of an investigation of the eight passages which may contain parables of Jesus not found in the Synoptic Gospels. In each instance, an attempt is made to determine (1) the earliest form of the parable or extended simile, and (2) the possibility that this represents an authentic parable of Jesus.
I. Introduction Prior to about thirty years ago we had virtually no examples of extracanonical parables of Jesus. Eusebius had reported concerning a different version of the parable of the talents in the Gospel of the Nazaraeans (Hennecke-Schneemelcher: 149). This was generally viewed as secondary and dependent on the version in Matt 25:14-30. Extracanonical parables of Jesus were rare indeed, and discussions of those noncanonical sayings, which were viewed as potentially going back to Jesus, characteristically contained no parables. For example, the early editions of Joachim Jeremias' Unknown Sayings of Jesus (1958) contained no parables among those sayings Jeremias considered to be on a par with materials in the canonical gospels. Parables seemed uncharacteristic of the extracanonical traditions of Jesus' teaching. Even lengthy documents such as Pistis Sophia (Schmidt-Macdermot, 1978a) and The Two Books of feu (SchmidtMacdermot, 1978b) which cast much of their material in the form of teachings of Jesus exhibit the striking absence of parables. IXo
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The discovery of the Nag Hammadi Codices and the subsequent publication of the text and translation of the Gospel of Thomas (Guillaumont, 1959) changed the situation significantly. Though part of this gospel had been discovered among the Oxyrhynchus Papryi, numbers 1,654, and 655, and published by Grenfell and Hunt beginning in 1897, those fragments were not identified as belonging to the Gospel of Thomas (though 654 contained the incipit which mentions Thomas by name), and none of the fragments discovered and published contained parables. 1 With the publication of the full text of the Coptic Gospel of Thomas, we now have not only parallels, with varying degrees of similarity, to several of the parables preserved in the synoptic tradition but also several parables previously not known. Despite some variations in the definition of parable, there is a high degree of consensus concerning which passages in Thomas are to be so designated. The following fourteen parables occur in the Gospel of Thomas: 2 logion number 8 9
20 21a 57 63 64 65 76 96 97 98 107
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title The Wise Fisherman The Sower The Mustard Seed Little Children in a Field The Weeds The Rich Man The Banquet The Wicked Tenants The Pearl The Leaven The Woman with a Jar of Meal The Assassin The Lost Sheep The Hidden Treasure
Of these fourteen, eleven have parallels in the Synoptic Gospels. Three (21a, 97, and 98) are previously unknown parables. Two others (8 and 109) vary so significantly from their synoptic parallels that some scholars view them actually as different parables. 3 Thomas thus provides us with possibly five "new" parables of Jesus. In the Nag Hammadi treatises apart from the Gospel of Thomas few parables are found. There are, however, three passages in the Apocryphon of lames (NHC 1,2) which are frequently termed parables and which merit consideration in our context: the parables of the Date Palm, the Grain of Wheat, and the Ear of Grain (NHC 1,2:7,24-28; 8,16-23 and 12,22-27). Thus the extracanonical tradition presents us with a potential total of eight "new" parables of Jesus. IR7
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Even if one were to argue that the five parables in Thomas and the three in the Apocryphon of lames were all productions of Christian communities (which will not be the position taken here), it would still be the case that the formation of new parables of Jesus was in no sense characteristic or typical of the continuing development of the traditions of Jesus' teachings. The terse statement of Crossan is appropriate, "Put simply, the parabolic genre did not exactly grasp the tradition's imagination" (1983:viii). Crossan, to be sure, was contrasting parables with aphorisms. The situation is essentially analogous when the frequency of extracanonical parables is contrasted with those of apophthegms, prophetic sayings, I-sayings, and community rules. 4 The relative lack of extracanonical parables of Jesus is particularly striking in the context of the consensus of scholarly opinion that parables were characteristic of the teaching of the historical Jesus and that the preserved parables provide one of our best routes back to the earliest stage of the traditions of Jesus' teaching. It is understandable, then, that interest in extracanonical parables is particularly keen. And since the formation of parables is not characteristic of the sayings tradition, one must consider the possibility that these additional parables go back to very early stages of the Jesus tradition, perhaps to Jesus himself. The present study limits itself to an investigation of the eight parables deriving from the Nag Hammadi Library. Our concern will initially be to determine the earliest form of the parable and only then to raise the issue of its origin. The criteria used for determining "authenticity" are drawn from recent critical discussions, including Eugene Boring's article in this volume. 5 Though these criteria refer to matters which contain objective components, one cannot claim that they are objective in the usual sense of the term. Further, the judgment of the interpreter is inevitably involved in their application. Nonetheless, when a given parable meets the criteria, it is appropriate to conclude that it is, in one's best judgment, an actual parable of Jesus. Such a conclusion means that we view the parable itself, in essentially the form in which we have it or have reconstructed it, as going back to Jesus. The interest is not in attempting to reconstruct the actual words of Jesus but the basic dynamics or structure of the parables. In the concluding comments which follow the investigation of the eight parables, I shall venture some additional, general comments concerning the use of extracanonical parallels in comparison to synoptic parables in reconstructing the earliest form of Jesus' parables.
11. The relation of Thomas to the synoptic tradition Whether the parables in Thomas are to be viewed as potentially preserving new, authentic parables of Jesus and early, independent versions of parables already known, depends on a decision concerning the relation-
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ship of the Thomas tradition to the Synoptic Gospels. Since the discovery of the Gospel of Thomas, the question of the relative dating of its materials has been debated. This question is, of course, coupled with the question of whether Thomas is dependent literarily on the Synoptic Gospels. Unanimity is not to be expected on issues like this; nonetheless, there is a growing number of scholars who are convinced that Thomas is independent of the canonical gospels and preserves in several passages a stage of tradition earlier than the Synoptic Gospels.6 This is the position taken in the present study. The most significant considerations have to do with: (1) the very different sequence of the materials in Thomas; (2) the presence of materials which, based on form critical considerations, would be assessed as preserving an earlier stage of the tradition; and (3) the absence in Thomas of specific elements attributed to the redactional activity of the authors of the Synoptic Gospels. Of course, the inclusion of "synopticlike" materials, including parables, which are not paralleled in the Synoptic Gospels themselves would indicate access to independent tradition, at least for these materials. Were Thomas dependent on the synoptics, one would either expect to have significant traces of the order of one or more canonical gospels, or would need to explain Thomas' reordering of the materials. There is no significant common order, and attempts to give a comprehensive explanation for the reordering of materials in Thomas have not met with success. The ordering of the materials in Thomas has defied overall explanation. Principles for explaining small groupings of sayings do exist, and those employed in the grouping of parables will be pointed out. Davies' recent attempt to show a four part structure in Thomas contains many valid insights but is, by his own admission, only partly satisfactory (149-55). In addition to the general lack of evidence in Thomas of the redactional activity of the synoptic evangelists, it is striking that the versions of the parables found there have none of the allegorical interpretations associated with them in their synoptic counterparts. The allegorical interpretation of the parable of the Sower (Mark 4:13-20, Matt 13:18-23, Luke 8:11-15) has no counterpart in Thomas, nor do the interpretations of the parables of the Weeds and the Fishnet (Matt 13:36-43 and 13:49-50). Perhaps of even more significance for Thomas' independence of the synoptics is the virtual absence of allegorical features within the parables themselves, features which critical study had frequently considered to indicate a later stage of development (Jeremias, 1963:66-89). The judgment that Thomas is independent of the Synoptic Gospels allows also for the possibility that it was composed at a time earlier than the usual mid-second-century dating, i.e., 140 c.E. or later (H.-Ch. Puech, in Hennecke-Schneemelcher: 305). That same date was also indicated in the edition of the text by Guillaumont, Puech, and others (vi). Crossan has recently reminded us that Grenfell and Hunt regarded Oxyrhynchus 189
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Papyri 1 and 654 as independent of the Synoptic Gospels and as possibly coming from a work composed in the first century (1985:17, referring to Grenfell and Hunt, 1898:2). Koester has been an advocate for an early date for Thomas: "possibly as early as the second half of the first century" (Robinson, 1977:117). Davies (3) considers Thomas to date from 50-70 A.D. A first-century date is thus not to be excluded. If, however, the form in which we have the Thomas tradition were to be established as early- to mid-second century, or even later, the fact that it preserves traditions independent of the synoptics allows for the possibility that some of the parables not paralleled in the synoptic tradition may be genuine, and that others with parallels may contain elements of a stage of tradition earlier than that contained in the canonical gospels. 7 There is a definite tendency for parables to be grouped in Thomas. The two clearest groupings are of three parables each, logia 6~5 and 96--98. Stylistic similarities at the beginning of the parables seem to be the reason for grouping them rather than thematic similarities. Logia 96--98 each begin with the familiar datival formula "the kingdom is like a woman/man who ... " Logia 63--65 each begin in direct narrative style without an explicit comparison to the kingdom, "there was a rich man who ... ," "a man had guests ... ," and "a good man had a vineyard .... " Each of these also had an aphorism appended (Crossan, 1985:39). Pairs of parables, joined with other materials, are found in logia 20 and 21a, and in 8 and 9. In logia 20 and 21a Jesus responds to questions concerning what the kingdom is like, and what his disciples are like, with the parables of the Mustard Seed and Little Children in a Field. Log. 22 is joined to 21 by the catch-words "little children" and also by wording similar to the datival introduction, "these little children are like those who enter the kingdom." The parables of the Wise Fisherman (log. 8) and the Sower (log. 9) follow each other but have neither stylistic nor thematic similarities. They and log. 10 are associated by the catch-word translated "throw" or "cast." The tendency toward grouping is not carried through with consistency. This is indicated by the parables in logia 57, 76, 107, and 109 occurring without close association with other parables. Further the parables of the Wise Fisherman and the Pearl Merchant have closely parallel structures as reported in Thomas, yet they have not been brought together.
lll. New parables of Jesus in the Gospel of Thomas A. The woman with a Jar of Meal (log. 97, NHC 11, 2:49,7-15) This parable occurs in the middle of a group of three brief parables of the kingdom in log. 96--98, preceded by the parable of the Leaven and followed by the parable of the Assassin. The primary basis for the grouping is llJO
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the similar introduction: "The kingdom of the Father is like a woman/man who .... " In its present context log. 97 would seem to be a counterpart to the parable of the Leaven (Haenchen:61). Whereas the parable of the Leaven describes a change from small to large, this one deals with the full becoming empty. This observation is dependent, however, upon the juxtaposition of the two parables in Thomas and need not reflect the original thrust of the parable. There seems to be no particular connection with the parable of the Assassin other than the initial stylistic similarity. There is no synoptic parallel to log. 97, but the parable exhibits elements of synoptic-like style in its datival introduction followed by a relative clause (Jeremias, 1963:100). Montefiore (71) suggested that 49,10-12 may mirror semitic asyndeton. Higgins (304) assessed the situation described in the parable as having Palestinian color. There are no elements within the parable itself which would seem to be the result of later modification or redaction. On the basis largely of its synoptic-like characteristics, several scholars have viewed this parable as possibly being an authentic parable of Jesus. 8 Interpretation centers on the imperceptible loss of the meal. This is understood by Montefiore (71) to refer to the imperceptible coming of the kingdom; whereas, Jeremias sees it as a warning against false security (1963:175). Objections to authenticity have been expressed by Lindemann (1980:232), centering on the question of the realism of the situation depicted. Whereas the images in the parables of Jesus are viewed by Lindemann as always making sense on their own, in log. 97 they do not. A meal container which can empty completely when the handle breaks is difficult to picture, as is the total unawareness of the woman. Lindemann views this as an artificial, unrealistic narrative constructed as a warning. Knowledge of the moment is the issue. The one who does not understand the situation in which one finds oneself loses gnosis completely. Lindemann's objections to the narrative's realism have some weight, but do not seem to be determinative. While it is true that the "mechanics" of the jar with a broken handle emptying are difficult to conceive, the situation is different with regard to the unawareness of the woman. The force of the parable necessitates the contrast between "should have known but did not know," on the one hand, and "coming to know when it is already too late," on the other. The "imperceptible loss" serves to dramatize this contrast but is itself not the theme of the parable. The parable focuses on discerning and not discerning. Although these themes are very much at home in gnostic contexts, they are not limited to such and need not be viewed as originating there. In my opinion, the parable is most likely an actual parable of Jesus.
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B. The Assassin (log. 98, NHC II,2:49,21-26) Again we have a parable of the kingdom with the datival introduction followed by a relative clause. The situation employs striking, even offensive imagery. Stylistically the parable is quite comparable to those of the synoptic tradition. The parable in its present form does not contain elements which would seem to be expansions or modifications of an earlier form. The imagery of killing is not directly paralleled in the teachings of Jesus, yet the use of violence (binding and plundering) is found in the imagery employed in Mark 3:27 and parallels. Jeremias has remarked that the parable of the Assassin reflects Zealotism, a movement of considerable strength in Galilee at the time of Jesus (1963:196-97). The killing referred to is thus political assassination rather than more ordinary murder. Hunzinger (211-17) was the first to present an extended argument for the authenticity of this parable. The imagery of killing would account for the parable not becoming widespread, but it does not disqualify it as a parable of Jesus. To the contrary the use of such imagery would count against the parable's being secondarily attributed to Jesus by the community. Hunzinger notes that in the parable of the Unjust Steward (Luke 16:1-8) one finds portrayals of persons and actions of a morally questionable nature. In advocating the authenticity of this parable, Hunzinger has been followed by a variety of others, and Davies (9) indicates that a consensus of scholars now view it as authentic. My judgment is analogous. The point of the parable is determining the capacity to complete an intended action before actually beginning. There is general agreement that the dynamics are parallel to those of the Tower Builder and the Warring King (Luke 14:28-32). All three parables indicate not only firm resolve, but also the necessity of prior assessment of one's ability to accomplish the intended act. Hunzinger has not been followed, however, in viewing this parable and those in Luke, prior to their incorporation in the Lukan context, as parables indicating confidence that God can finish what he has begun (Jeremias, 1963:197, n. 23; Haenchen:60, n. 85; and Higgins:305).
C. Children in a Field (log. 2la, NHC 11,2:36,33-37,3) As it now stands log. 21 consists of six parts: (1) Mary's question; (2) the parable of the Children in a Field, as initial response to the question; (3) the saying about the coming of the thief (cf. Matt 24:4~4. Luke 12:39-40); (4) the admonition to be on guard, using imagery similar to three above (cf. Luke 12:35-36); (5) the admonition concerning understanding, partially paralleled in the parable of the Seed Growing Secretly (Mark 4:26-29); and (6) the further appeal to hearing or discernment, paralleled frequently in Thomas and in the synoptics (e.g., log. 8, 63, 65, 96; Mark 4:9, 23; 7:16; Matt 11:15; 13:9, 43; Luke 8:8; 14:35). 192
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Despite the composite nature of the logion, it is correct to view the six parts as one passage in Thomas. There is no narrative introduction to log. 22. The "therefore I say" (37,6) connects parts two and three, rather than beginning a new saying.9 The shift from the coming of the rightful owners in the parable to the coming of the thief or brigands in the next two parts presented no problem for the "composer." A threatening coming is common to all three parts. A forceful coming, though this time in a positive sense, is contained also in the exhortation concerning the man of understanding (37,15-19). A parable incorporated into a larger complex of sayings is unusual in Thomas. Six of Thomas' parables have no application at all (log. 9, 20, 57, 97, 98, 109), while an additional four (log. 8, 63, 65, 96) have only an admonition concerning "hearing." There have somewhat more specific conclusions. The parable of the Banquet in log. 64 concludes with the warning "Buyers and merchants shall not enter the places of My Father." To the parable of the Lost Sheep in log. 107, is added: "After he had exerted himself so, he said to the sheep: 'I love you more than the ninety-nine.'" The parable of the Pearl (log. 76) in 46,19-22 contains the most extensive addition: "You also seek for his treasure which does not perish, but which endures, where no moth enters to devour and no worm destroys." If we accept that log. 21 was intended to be viewed as a whole, we then have a series of three passages brought together because of similar introductions. In log. 20 the disciples ask Jesus what the kingdom of heaven is like, and he responds with the parable of the Mustard Seed. In log. 21 Mary asks 1esus whom his disciples are like, and he responds with the parable of the Children in a Field. In log. 22 Jesus sees little children being suckled and says they are like those who enter the kingdom. The concerns are what the kingdom is like, whom the disciples are like, and whom those who enter the kingdom are like. Though log. 22 is not a parable, it begins in a way analogous to the preceding two parables. Can log. 21a be viewed as a parable deriving from Jesus, a claim comparable to that argued for the parables in log. 97 and 98? Support for such a claim might initially be seen in: (1) the parable style of the logion; (2) the fact that it immediately follows the parable of the Mustard Seed (log. 20); and (3) the fact that each of the other parts of log. 21 has parallels to other sayings of Jesus. The following considerations seem more weighty, however, and lead us to conclude that log. 21a is not an authentic parable of Jesus. Though the parable (log. 21a) starts with a datival introduction and relative clause, followed by a brief narrative, its concern for what persons are like is different from other parables of the kingdom, and reflects a tendency found in other passages in Thomas. The similarity to the beginning of log. 22 has already been noted. In log. 13 Jesus says to the disciples, ''Make comparisons; tell me whom I am like." Thomas' version of the parable of 193
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the Fishnet (log. 8) begins in a similar way: "Man is like a wise fisherman . . . .'' This was originally a parable of the kingdom, and the change from kingdom to "man" (probably= believer) is frequently viewed as a scribal error; 10 the change may also be related to the concern in Thomas for what certain types of persons are like. This is not a characteristic of early stages of the parable tradition. The image of little children is used for the disciples in the synoptic tradition as well as in Thomas (e.g., Matt 18:3). The use of the image here, however, goes far beyond the traditional usage. Children dwelling in a field not theirs is not a feature of realism. It is even less realistic for them to strip off their clothes at the time they return the field to its rightful owners. In this narrative we have not a parable, but an allegory. The field is the cosmos, the owners are the "archons" or rulers of the cosmos, and the disrobing probably is to be understood as reflecting early baptismal practice, though several interpreters have viewed it as the taking off of the flesh at the time of death. 11 Thus log. 21a is not a parable that goes back to Jesus himself. D. The Wise Fisherman (log. 8, NHC 11,2:33,28-34,3)
Two parables in Thomas, the Wise Fisherman and the Hidden Treasure, have parallels in the Synoptic Gospels but have sufficiently different features to raise the question whether they are actually different parables. As has frequently been suggested, Thomas' Wise Fisherman parable was likely originally a kingdom parable (Hunzinger:218; Jeremias, 1963:102, n.56; 1964:88; Davies:154). The change from "kingdom" to "man" may have been simply a copyist's error occasioned by the occurrence of "man" four times in log. 7 (Jeremias, 1964:89). As indicated in the discussion of log. 21a above, the change could have been influenced by the concern in Thomas for whom Jesus, the disciples, and here man (the believer) are like. In addition to this change, there may be other redactional elements in log. 8. The two-fold mention of the fisherman as wise is not only redundant but also unnecessaryY The phrase "without difficulty" (34,2) might also be viewed as redactional, but this is less certain. The Coptic word translated "difficulty" ( t Ice) is used frequently in gnostic writings, but it would seem to be used here in a non-technical sense to indicate the ease with which the choice was made. The parable reflects significant differences from Matt 13:47-48, as well as obvious similarities. The application in 13:49-50 which transforms Matthew's parable into an allegory about final judgment is not considered part of the parable itself. There is one fisherman in Thomas, and more than one in Matthew. The type of net would consequently differ, not only 194
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in size but in manner of use. 13 The fish are of every kind in Matthew but are divided into two categories, good and bad (for eating). In Thomas the contrast is between one large fish and many small ones. That the one large fish is good (for eating) is a necessity for its being selected. There is no necessary implication that the small ones are inedible. These differences have been viewed as sufficient to conclude that we actually have in Matthew and Thomas two different parables, rather than two versions of the same one. Thus log. 8 is considered a recently rediscovered, authentic parable of Jesus (Hunzinger:211; Jeremias, 1963:201; 1964: 88-90; and Perrin: 89-90). Its structure and meaning are viewed as analogous to the parable of the Pearl and also to Matthew's Hidden Treasure parable. The fisherman finds the one large, good fish and, in order to acquire it, throws all the small fish back into the sea. The structure of log. 8 has also been assessed by others who find it to be a more original version of the same parable found in Matt 13:47-48 (Crossan, 1973:34 and Davies:9). 14 Matthew has not only interpreted the parable as one of eschatological judgment and added an appropriate allegorical interpretation, patterned on the one he provided for the parable of the weeds, but has also recast the parable itself. Two passages in Clement of Alexandria suggest that the version of the parable preserved in Thomas may have circulated more widely as Jesus' parable of the kingdom. For there is the one pearl among the many small pearls, and the good fish in the large catch of fish. (Strom. 1.1.16; Staehlin-Fruechtel, 1960:12) The kingdom of heaven is like a man who threw a net into the sea and from the great number of fish caught makes a selection of the better ones. (Strom. 6.11.95; Staehlin-Fruechtel, 1960:479) Neither passage fully represents the parable in Thomas, yet some of the most important differences vis-a-vis Matthew are present. The parallelism with the parable of the Pearl is clearly indicated in Strom. 1.1.16, while in Strom. 6.11.95 it is a single fisherman who casts the net and makes the selection that is compared with the kingdom. It is improbable that Clement represented the parable in these ways based solely on the version in Matthew. Familiarity with a version of the parable analogous to that in Thomas (as a parable of the kingdom) is more likely. The version of the parable in Thomas is likely to be more original than that in Matthew. This is indicated initially by the parallel structure of Thomas' version to the parables of the Pearl and the Treasure. 15 Also the version in Matthew has been influenced by the allegorical interpretation 195
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appended to it. Jeremias (1963:85) has shown that the allegorical interpretation is most likely composed by the author of Matthew. The choosing of a single fish would be incompatible with Matthew's understanding of the parable as one of eschatological judgment.
E. The Hidden Treasure (log. 109, NHC 11,2:50,31-51,3) In Matthew (13:44) the parable of the Hidden Treasure is coupled with that of the Pearl. Not only is the structure of the two identical, there are close verbal similarities as well, leading to their being referred to as twin parables (Jeremias, 1963:198). The verbal similarities are particularly striking in the finder going and selling all that he had in order to buy the field or the pearl. It has been frequently suggested that Matthew has modified the parable of the Pearl to include selling "all that he possessed" in order to make it even closer to the parable of the Treasure. The parable of the Pearl also is found in Thomas (log. 76) considerably separated from Thomas' parable of the Hidden Treasure. Thomas' parable of the Pearl has appended to it the aphorism, "You also seek for his treasure which does not perish, but which endures, where no moth enters to devour and no worm destroys," a saying paralleled in Matt 6:19-20 and Luke 12:33. The presence of the combination Treasure parable/Pearl parable in Matthew, and Pearl parable/Treasure aphorism in Thomas suggests that Treasure and Pearl were already closely associated in the tradition prior to its use both by Matthew and by Thomas. 16 It is uncertain, though perhaps a possibility, that the parables of the Treasure and Pearl were closely associated in the tradition used by Thomas. 17 In its current location log. 109 is connected to the preceding Iogion which ends with the words "the hidden things will be revealed to him" (50,30). Thus the key words hidden/revealed in log. 108 are followed by hidden/found in log. 109. Logion 110 is connected to log. 109 not only by the key word "found," but also because it offers a strong admonition to the man who found the treasure and began to lend money at will: "whoever has found the world and become rich, let him renounce the world" (log. 110). An ironic element may thereby be given to the parable in Thomas. The kingdom is compared to finding treasure in a field, yet worldly treasure must be renounced. Each of the parables in Matthew 13 has a parallel in the Gospel of Thomas. The parallels are quite close in the other instances, but in the case of the parables of the Hidden Treasure the differences are very great. The most important are the following. 1. The man buys the field before finding the treasure in Thomas, whereas the opposite is the case in Matthew. Crossan has stressed the significance of this difference in treating the structure of the two parables. 2. In Matthew the schema is finding, acting, buying; whereas, in Thomas it is buying, acting, and finding 196
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(1973:33, 83). 18 3. In Thomas the buying is routine; in Matthew the man goes and sells all he has in order to buy the field which has the treasure. 4. The emphasis is entirely on the finder in Matthew; the previous owner is not even mentioned. Thomas, however, contrasts the finder with the previous owner, who is portrayed as unaware of the treasure. This contrast is emphasized by the son's inheriting the field and selling it, also without knowing about the treasure. 5. The mode of finding the treasure is important in Thomas, whereas it is not mentioned in Matthew. 6. The use the finder makes of the treasure is treated in Thomas. No mention of use occurs in Matthew; the narrative reaches its climax with the finder acquiring it along with the field. Given these differences, the question whether one of the parables can be viewed as a modification of the other has been assessed differently. Dehandschutter has attempted to explain Thomas' parable as a gnostic reworking of the beginning of Matthew's parable. The previous owner of the field, unmentioned as far as possible in Matthew, becomes the subject of elaboration in Thomas. Thus a contrast is constructed concerning two types of persons, the gnostic and the one who lacks knowledge. The owner who doesn't work the field remains ignorant of the treasure. Thomas emphasizes the lack of knowledge by having the son, also unaware of the treasure, inherit the field and sell it. Thus a strong contrast is provided for the buyer who plows the field and thereby finds the treasure. The implication is that either of the two previous owners could have found the treasure had they worked the field (Dehandschutter: 214-15 and Lindemann: 233). More recently Hedrick has argued that Thomas has preserved an original parable of Jesus; whereas, the Treasure Parable in Matthew has been assimilated to the parable of the Pearl (1986:7). His major reasons are: (1) structural and even verbatim parallels to the parable of the Pearl, plus the presence of a very different Treasure parable in Thomas, and (2) since loaning at interest contradicts Thomas' perspective in log. 95, the parable could not be attributed to the redactional work of Thomas but is to be viewed as earlier tradition. This pre-Thomas parable then meets the standard criteria for originality, according to Hedrick. Parallels to log. 109 in other literature seem sufficient to conclude that what we really have in Thomas and Matthew are two different parables. 19 Neither is to be explained primarily as a reworking of the other. Of the many parallels assembled by Crossan (1979), the most pertinent for our considerations are Mekilta, Beshallah 2 and Song of Songs R. 4.12.1. R. Simon the son of Yohai, giving a parable, says: To what can this be compared? To a man to whom there had fallen as an inheritance a residence in a far off country which he had sold for a trifle. The buyer, however, went and discovered in it hidden 197
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treasures and stores of silver and of gold, of precious stones and pearls. The seller, seeing this, began to choke with grief. (Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael, Beshallah 2; trans. by Lauterbach, 1:198)
R. Simeon b. Yohai taught: [The Egyptians were] like a man who inherited a piece of ground used as a dunghill. Being an indolent man, he went and sold it for a trifling sum. The purchaser began working and digging it up, and he found a treasure there, out of which he built himself a fine palace, and he began going about in public followed by a retinue of servants-all out of the treasure he found in it. When the seller saw it he was ready to choke, and he exclaimed, "Alas, what have I thrown away." (Song of Songs R. 4.12.1; trans. by Simon, 9:219-20) Obviously these are two versions of the same story attributed to the same rabbi. There are several striking similarities to the parable in Thomas, especially in the version in Midrash Rabbah, Song of Songs. The person buys the property before finding the treasure. Finding is associated with working. That the previous owner, who inherited the field, did not work it is made explicit by reference to his being indolent. The finder's use of the treasure is emphasized. The major difference, apart from details, is that the rabbinic story contains the reaction of the seller to the discovery of the treasure, hence to his own loss, whereas Thomas has no counterpart to this. 20 The structure and themes of Thomas' parable are sufficiently paralleled in the rabbinic materials to conclude that Thomas has actually a different parable from that found in Matthew. 21 The presence of these same similarities would also indicate it is not likely that log. 109 can be viewed as a parable of Jesus. Rather, it has become secondarily attributed to Jesus. This is likely to have happened at a stage earlier than the composition of the Gospel of Thomas itselfY As previously indicated the conclusion of the narrative in Thomas is the lending of money at interest, a practice explicitly forbidden in log. 95. Only the association of the parable with the saying concerning renunciation in log. 110 would seem to have made it compatible with the overall thought of Thomas.
IV. New parables in the Apocryphon of lames A. The Apocryphon of James NHC 1,2:1,1-16,30
The Apocryphon of lames is one of the tractates in the Nag Hammadi corpus belonging to the genre "revelatory discourses." The materials are presented as dialogues between the resurrected Jesus and his disciples. 19R
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The dialogues themselves are best viewed as compositions of a somewhat later time,23 but within these dialogues are individual sayings and three passages often characterized as parables24 which may derive from the teachings of Jesus. The Apocryphon of lames does not seem to have a literary dependence upon the Synoptic Gospels (Koester, 1979:547) though there is knowledge of some materials found also in the Synoptic Gospels. The possibility must be considered that the parables and some of the sayings imbedded in the dialogues contain not only early tradition but perhaps even materials which go back to Jesus himself.25 The Apocryphon of lames is also familiar with several other parables, most of which, if not all, are found also in the Synoptic Gospels. Reference to these is simply by name, as if they were well known within the circles from which James derives. This passage is as follows: It was enough for some to the teaching and understand
"The Shepherds" and "The Seed" and "The Building" and "The Lamps of the Virgins" and "The Wage of the Workmen" and "The Didrachmae" and "The Woman." (NHC 1,2:8,4--10; trans. by Williams [41]) Most of these are parables contained in the synoptic tradition. There is some question concerning two of them, however. Since the parable of the Lost Sheep mentions only one shepherd, the parable of the Shepherds mentioned above may be to some parable unknown to the New Testament (Sevrin:523). Williams considers the reference to be probably to the Lost Sheep and parts of the J ohannine discourse on the Good Shepherd, especially since these two passages seem to be fused together in the Gospel of Truth, NHC 1,3:31,36-32,37. Whether "The Didrachmae" and ''The Woman" should be considered two parables or just one is also uncertain. Malinine (58) and Sevrin (523) consider it to be one parable: the Woman with the Lost Coins of Luke 15:8-10. If the reference is to two parables, then that of the Woman may be to the woman in the parable of the Leaven of Matt 13:33 and parallels, to the Woman with a Jar of Meal (Thomas log. 97:Koester, 1979:549), or to an unknown parable. Preceding the passage quoted above one finds the otherwise unattested parable of the Date Palm (7,24--28). Following the passage above one finds another otherwise unattested parable, that of the Grain of Wheat (8,16-23). Thus we have in the Apocryphon of lames a mention of six or seven parables referred to only by name as if well known. This mention is preceded and followed by two otherwise unknown parables of the Date Palm and the Grain of Wheat. The third "new" parable, that of the Ear of Grain, is found in 12,22-27. Each of the three "new" parables can be isolated form-critically from its literary context and investigated for early tradition and authenticity. 199
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B. The Date Palm (Ap. Jas. NHC 1,2:7,22-35) The Coptic text of this passage presents several difficulties, and translations vary at crucial points. My own translation, as well as comments on the major textual problems is given in the notes. 26 The passage is joined loosely to the preceding exhortations by the introductory imperative which is connected to the parable of the Date Palm by the connective Nr>. ("for"). In the text following the above section there is no direct continuation of thought, though there is the reference to the parables previously mentioned. Thus the passage containing the parable can be distinguished form-critically from its context. As it now stands 7,22-35 is not a unitary piece but consists of four component parts (Cameron:17), an initial exhortation, the parable or simile of the Date Palm, an interpretation which makes use of different botanical imagery, and a continuation of the interpretation which concludes with a personal application of uncertain meaning. The attempt to recover an earlier coherent parable, or extended simile, is impeded not only by the difficulties indicated in the notes to the translation but also by the shift in imagery in the application, which begins with the words, "so it is also .... " The application reflects the imagery of fruit produced from a single root which in turn produces more fruit, rather than continuing the imagery of the drying up of the shoot. The application, with its emphasis on the production of much fruit and new plants, does not fit the imagery of the initial simile. The connection between simile and application is based on the catch-word "fruit" and is likely secondary. Sevrin (524-26) considers this to be a second parable which now is joined to the initial simile as its application. This second parable, according to Sevrin, has a structure similar to that found in the other two parables found in the Apocryphon of lames: (1) sowing or sprouting, (2) growth and fruitbearing, and (3) new sowing. Sevrin further views this structure as likely to go back to an early oral tradition of the sayings of Jesus. It is more likely, however, that the application is an allegorical interpretation. "The 'single root' is Jesus and the 'single fruit' produced by him is the Gospel (or the Word) that is borne by 'many' (apostles), who now have power themselves to produce 'new plants' (i.e., converts), who themselves will become fruit producing 'plants' " (Hedrick, 1983:18). Cameron (25-27) views the application also as allegorical and considers the words "it put forth buds (leaves), when they sprouted," to be internal expansion. The way is thus paved for the allegorical application by the shift to growth imagery within the initial simile itself. The expansion of the interpretation is most difficult. In addition to the uncertain antecedents of the pronouns, phrases are unclear,27 and new themes are introduced, such as "finding." The initial simile thus concerns the drying up of the date palm, if its flowers are not fertilized. 28 The simile would originally have been a
r
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warning. The initial exhortation picks up on this and makes an explicit reference to the kingdom, the only clear reference to kingdom in the entire passage. Whether the simile itself was originally related to the kingdom cannot be determined with certainty, though Hedrick (1983:14) may be correct in suggesting that the word kingdom was replaced by the pronoun when the simile was connected to the initial exhortation. Viewing the kingdom as the antecedent of "it" in the last sentence is justified in the text as we have it, but is dependent on the mention of kingdom in the exhortation. Despite the difficulties, it is possible that anterior to the passage as we now have it there was an earlier coherent simile, or perhaps even a parable, to which various additions and modifications were made. This would concern a date palm whose unfertilized fruit fell off and whose shoot then withered. 29 It is also possible, though in my opinion less likely, that the comparison was made to some aspect of the kingdom. We would need far more evidence, however, to posit an actual parable of Jesus as the basis of this passage. C. The Grain of Wheat (Ap. Jas. NHC 1,2:8,10-27)
In contrast to the parable of the Date Palm, this passage does not contain significant textual problems. The passage begins with the exhortation, "Become earnest about the word," and concludes with the application containing reference to finding the kingdom, elements also found in the parable of the Date Palm. The exhortation is followed by a statement concerning the parts or characteristics of the word, rather than by the parable proper. The characteristics of the word are listed as a triad: faith, love, and works, which are considered to result in life. Similar triads are widespread in early Christianity, indicating the use of traditional elements in this passage. 30 The parable as it now stands is less a parable, or simile, of the word than it is an allegorical illustration of the characteristics of the word. An application in the second-person plural follows the simile, and not only interprets it but introduces new categories and terms. The application reflects a secondary character not only formally but also in substituting a new progression; that is, receiving or finding the kingdom through knowledge would seem to replace attaining life or salvation through faith, hope, and works. As Sevrin (525) has indicated, the application is more compatible with the thought of the Apocryphon of lames, whereas attaining life (i.e., receiving the kingdom) through faith, love, and works would indicate an earlier stage of tradition. Williams (19) holds that the paragraph concerning faith, love, and works might well have originated in a thought world foreign to the rest of the work. Sevrin (528) considers a parable of the kingdom to lie behind the passage and still to be discernible despite being secondarily applied to the logos and 201
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reworked so as to incorporate the emphasis on faith, love, and works. The schema of this parable concerns the one grain or seed which not only becomes many but also (with the reference to "some left over"), becomes the source of new sowing. That this schema was modified into an allegory of faith, love, and works at a stage earlier than the Apocryphon of lames indicates further its antiquity. Since the schema is neither that of the canonical parables nor that of the Gospel of Thomas, it may reflect a primitive form of a parable of the kingdom going back to an oral tradition of the words of Jesus. Sevrin (528) does indicate, however, that one cannot exclude the possibility of a secondary formulation inspired by the canonical parables. Cameron is less optimistic. Earlier tradition can be seen in the simile and the "catalogue" of characteristics of the word, both of which circulated independently. The simile, which did not originally concern the logos, has been thoroughly reworked by the redactor of the Apocryphon of lames so that it becomes an allegorical explication of the characteristics of the word. The catalogue and the simile now serve the application. Cameron (16) concludes: "There is little reason to think that the simile itself derives from the earliest stages of the Jesus tradition. It seems rather to provide material evidence for the early Christian practice of producing similes, parables, and allegories in Jesus' name." I share Cameron's assessment apart from his judgment concerning the traditional character and earlier independent circulation of the simile. In my opinion, it is more likely that instead of the simile's being reworked to serve the description of the characteristics of the word, it was created precisely to serve that purpose, using rather standard agricultural imagery.
D. The Ear of Grain (Ap. Jas. NHC 1,2:U,1~31) The parable of the Ear of Grain can be distinguished form-critically from its context. The introduction provides a somewhat strained transition from the preceding parts of the discourse by indicating Jesus' response to the distress of Peter and James. The artificial connection with its present literary context indicates the likelihood that it reflects an earlier unit of tradition (Sevrin:526, Hedrick, 1983:13, and Cameron:10). As Koester has indicated (1979:549) the style of the parable itself corresponds to that of synoptic parables. The parable is simple and coherent. The emphasis is on growth and natural increase in grain. The ripened wheat is scattered in the field and seeds it for the following year. There is very little evidence that the parable itself was modified in the course of transmission. "Filled the field" is likely influenced by the wording "filled with the kingdom" in the application. To be filled is a key concept in the Apocryphon of lames and is a technical term in Valentinianism. 31 The application in the imperative introduces the element of reaping which is not present in the parable itself. This feature shifts the emphasis 202
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away from growth to the mode of acquiring the kingdom. Ears of "grain" become allegorically ears of "life" to be reaped by the believer so that he may be "filled with the kingdom." The imperative has some similarities to Thomas log. 21d: "Let there be among you a prudent man. When the grain ripened, he came quickly with his sickle in his hand (and) reaped it." That the application is secondary is indicated not only formally but by its incorporation of new themes and allegorical elements. Several scholars have viewed the parable as an earlier unit of tradition. Sevrin (526) views the pattern of growth from the one to the many, which then becomes the source of new growth, as an ancient form of kingdom parable which may go back to an early, oral tradition of the parables of Jesus. Cameron (10) holds this to be "an independent, primary source of the sayings-of-Jesus tradition." Hedrick (1983:9-11) considers it also likely to be a parable of Jesus. He considers the current form of the parable to be abbreviated, however, with mention of a harvesting after the ripening of the grain to have been omitted. Further, he views the subject of the verbs "scattered" or "sowed" and "filled" to be a farmer, not explicitly mentioned, rather than the ear of grain itself. The parable is thus not one of "natural" increase but one of purposeful agriculture. With its focus on small beginnings leading to large results, the parable is judged to be similar to the parables of the Mustard Seed, the Leaven, the Sower, and the Patient Husbandman. This hypothetical expansion is not needed, however, in order for the parable or simile to make sense. Nor is the likelihood of its being a parable or simile of Jesus actually enhanced. Of the three passages treated in the Apocryphon of lames, this is the one most likely to represent not only early tradition but an actual parable of Jesus. The style is sufficiently parallel to synoptic parables. The narrative is coherent and compatible with a Palestinian environment. No significant modification seems to have occurred over the course of transmission. The point of the simile, comparison of the kingdom with the growth and increase of grain, is coherent with other parables of Jesus in the synoptic tradition.
V. Conclusions As indicated at the beginning, parables are not numerous in the extracanonical traditions of Jesus' teaching. Generalizations may be ventured only with considerable caution. Nonetheless, some conclusions are warranted, and a few tentative inferences are possible. Since parables are not characteristically generated in the later Jesus tradition, one might expect that the few parables which are found, genuine or not, are found in documents which have close contact to early tradition. It is no surprise, then, that the Gospel of Thomas, which is best assessed as 203
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being independent of the written synoptic tradition and as containing considerable amounts of early tradition, would contain not only a sizeable number of parables but also new parables that are likely genuine parables of Jesus. The Apocryphon of lames also contains early, independent tradition. This treatise would seem to be unique among revelatory discourses in containing material in parable form. Of the eight passages examined as possible new parables of Jesus one (the Wise Fisherman) was considered to be a more original version of the parable of the Seine-net reported in Matt 13:47-48. Three of the remaining seven were judged most likely to be actual parables of Jesus: the Woman with a Jar of Meal (Thomas log. 97), the Assassin (Thomas log. 98), and the Ear of Grain (Ap. Jas. 1,2:12,22-27). Though this is a relatively small number, it is still significant enough to show that genuine parables of Jesus were preserved in sources other than the Synoptic Gospels. Four of the passages treated were judged as not being actual parables of Jesus. The Treasure in a Field (Thomas log. 109) is a secondary attribution to Jesus of a different treasure parable, attested also in the rabbinic tradition. It is perhaps surprising that there are not more examples of parabolic material from the general environment becoming attributed to Jesus. Two passages are best understood as early Christian compositions. The Children in a Field (Thomas log. 21a) develops in an allegorical manner the early Christian understanding that the disciples are like little children. The Grain of Wheat (Ap. Jas. 1,2:8,16-23) seems to have been composed to illustrate the characteristics of the Word. The Date Palm (Ap. Jas. 1,2:7,24-28) may originally have been a coherent simile, but in its present form it has become subordinate to other themes, so that recovering an actual parable or simile of Jesus is impossible. The value of the extracanonical parable tradition is not limited to the preservation of additional parables, some of which have good claims to being considered as authentic parables of Jesus. The Gospel of Thomas preserves other parables with parallels in the synoptic tradition, and some of Thomas' versions are likely to be closer to the original than the synoptic versions are. This would seem to be the case particularly when the version of the parable in Thomas exhibits virtually none of the allegorical elements contained in the synoptic parallels. Montefiore (1962) was among the first to call attention to the relative lack of allegorical elements within Thomas' parables. Jeremias, who along with Dodd and others had viewed allegorical elements as secondary modifications, made extensive use of Thomas' parables in revised editions of his work on parables (1963) and in his reconstruction of the earliest versions of the parables. Among more recent scholars concerned with recovering the original form of Jesus' parables, Crossan in particular has employed Thomas' versions alongside those of the Synoptic Gospels (1973, 1979, 1985). The nonallegorical versions of Thomas' parallels to synoptic para204
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bles would thus seem to confirm earlier scholarly opinion that Jesus' parables initially were not allegorical. Allegorical elements are additions and modifications which accrued to the parables prior to their reaching the form in which they are contained in the Synoptic Gospels. Extracanonical parallels of parables thus provide additional resources for the difficult task of reconstructing the earliest possible form of Jesus' parables. In principle they are to be considered on a par with the versions contained in the canonical gospels. Assessments will of necessity be made on a case by case basis. Secondary elements will be detected among the versions of Thomas' parables, just as among their synoptic parallels. For example, in the parable of the Banquet (Thomas log. 64) the excuses offered for not accepting the invitation have taken on a more urban, commercial nature. Their number has been increased from three to four, and a secondary application has been appended, "Tradesmen and merchants will not enter the places of my Father." Yet there is the absence of some secondary elements found in the parallels in Matt 22:1-10 and Luke 14:16-24. As there should be no advance commitment to the priority of the form of the parables, for example, in Matthew over that of the ones in Mark, so also there should be no advance commitment to the priority of the form in the Synoptic Gospels over that found in Thomas.
Notes 1 For more recent reconstructions of P.Oxy. 1, 654, and 655, utilizing the parallel Coptic material, see Fitzmyer (1971:355-433) and Hofius (1960:182-92). 2 The exhortation in Thomas log. 21d contains a close parallel to the conclusion of the parable of the Seed Growing Secretly in Mark 4:26--29: "Let there be among you a prudent man. When the grain ripened, he came quickly with his sickle in his hand (and) reaped it." 3 For example, Hunzinger (217-20), Jeremias (1963:201 and 1964:88-90), and Perrin (89-90) view log. 8, the Wise Fisherman (or the Big Fish), as a new, previously unknown parable. Analogously, Jeremias (1963:32-33) and Crossan (1979:105-6) view Thomas' parable of the Hidden Treasure not as a different version of Matt 13:44 but as a different treasure parable. 4 See William D. Stroker, Extra-canonical Sayings of Jesus: Texts, Translations, and Notes (Scholars Press, forthcoming), where these categories are used to group the extracanonical sayings. 5 For a recent survey of the criteria used in attempting to determine authentic sayings of Jesus, see M. Eugene Boring, "The Historical-Critical Method's 'Criteria of Authenticity': The Beatitudes in Q and Thomas as a Test Case,'' elsewhere in this volume (an earlier version appearing in Forum 1 [1985]). The discussion by Perrin (16-49) remains one of the most helpful. For a different approach to criteria for authenticity, see John Dominic Crossan, "Divine Immediacy and Human Immediacy: Towards a New First Principle in Historical Jesus Research," elsewhere in this volume. 6 Crossan (1985:37) indicates this is now a majority. 7 James Robinson (1986) has made a recent survey of the question of the dating of Thomas, and of the relation of dating to interpretation. Robinson stresses 205
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8 9
10 11
12
13 14
15
16
17 18 19 20
the need to distinguish between a synchronic reading of Thomas, interpreting the sayings from the standpoint of one date of authorship, and a diachronic reading, "placing the individual sayings, and indeed specific traits in them along the trajectory of the life of the text" (162). The approach used in this study is consistent with Robinson's in that evidence for early, authentic parables of Jesus is treated separately from the date of the authorship or final redaction of the documents in which such parables are found. Montefiore (71), Jeremias (1963:175, n.12), Higgins (304), and Koester (1968: 220, n.56). The situation is different in log. 61. Salome's question, "Who are you, man, and whose son?" is best understood as starting a new saying, not as continuing a dialogue. The two sayings, 61a and 61b have been brought together by the catch-word "bed" or "couch." Davies (154) indicates several copyist's errors in logia 5-7. In a recent, extensive discussion of this passage and others which employ the image of children for the disciples, Davies, relying heavily on Jonathan Z. Smith's "Garments of Shame," argues for widespread use of baptismal imagery in Thomas. Menard (111) and Haenchen (51) view the disrobing as taking off the flesh at the hour of death. The same wording is used in log. 13 to characterize Jesus as a "wise" philosopher. In the parable of the Pearl (log. 76) the merchant is described with a different word, frequently translated as shrewd or clever, but which may also be translated as wise. In log. 21d the harvester is characterized as a man of "understanding." For descriptions of the different modes of fishing implied in the two passages, see Hunzinger (218), Jeremias (1 %3:201, 225-26; 1964:89-90), and the literature concerning fishing techniques in Palestine cited there. Menard (89) has a similar assessment of the structure but suggests that instead of being a more original form of the parable of the Fishnet, log. 8 may have been patterned secondarily on the parable of the Pearl. Hedrick (1986:44, n.10) views log. 8 and Matt 13:47--48 as different versions of the same parable and gives an extensive list of basic similarities. It is possible though, in my opinion, less likely that the parable in Thomas is not authentic but a secondary formulation, employing imagery drawn from the Aesopic tradition (see Perry:B-11). The major difference is that in Thomas the fisherman consciously chooses the large fish and throws the small ones back into the sea; whereas, in the Aesopic tradition the small fish, on their own, slip through the mesh in the net, while the large one is too big to slip through and is thus caught. So also Crossan (1979:105). The presence of the treasure aphorism following the parable of the Pearl in log. 76 is not sufficient to demonstrate dependence of Thomas on Matthew (with Crossan 1976:366, contrary to Dehandschutter:214). Crossan (1979:105) suggests that Thomas may have replaced the Treasure Parable with the treasure aphorism because he intended to use a much different parable of Hidden Treasure, one not closely parallel to that of the Pearl. As Hedrick (1986:44, n.9) has pointed out, Crossan does not treat the man's hiding the treasure in Matthew's version as an important structural element. Cerfaux-Garitte (1957) were the first to call attention to the rabbinic parallels to Thomas log. 109. Jeremias (1963:33) views this element, "the rage of a man who has failed to seize a unique opportunity," to be present in Thomas' parable. Such a view 206
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21 22
23
24
25 26
27 21-1
29
would seem unjustified. Crossan (1979:106) suggests there could not be a reaction to the loss in Thomas' parable, since this would indicate knowledge of the loss. So also Crossan (1979:106). Jeremias (1963:32) views the passage in Thomas to have confused the parable of Jesus with the rabbinic story, as does also Davies (10-12). Crossan's suggestion (1979:106) of a conscious replacement of Jesus' parable by Thomas log. 109 because of the immorality of the finder's act is initially attractive but not convincing. The parable of the Assassin in Thomas log. 98 would seem to indicate no such concern with the morality of the actors in Thomas' parables. Assessments of the dating of the Apocryphon of lames itself vary. Cameron views it as being from the first half of the second century (130), whereas Williams (26--27) favors a third-century date. The editio princeps had suggested the second century (Malinine:xxx). The passages are to be categorized as similitudes when the distinction between similitude and parable is strictly maintained. The three passages are most frequently referred to as parables in the critical literature (Sevrin; Hedrick, 1983; and Williams:2S). For studies which attempt to recover early tradition within this apocryphon, see Koester (1979), Sevrin, Hedrick (1983), and Cameron. Do not let the kingdom of heaven wither, for it is like a shoot• of the date palm whose fruit (pl.) poured down around it. It put forth leaves, and when they had sprouted they made the coreb dry up. So it is also with the fruit (sg.) which came forth from this single root. When it had been picked< fruits were produced by many. It (the root) was indeed good, (for) it was now possible to produce new plants (and) for you to find it (i.e., the kingdom).d • The translation assumes the correction of .t.yw.U to .&YU)~I, following Malinine (57). bLiterally, "the womb." The Greek word for womb is frequently used for the core or heart-wood of trees, and I translate the Coptic here analogo~. c Following Zandee's correction of M·T.t.,OyT.t.KN'I to iinroyT.t.KH'I (Malinine:57). d The last sentence is difficult and may be garbled. The antecedents of the pronouns are uncertain. The sentence could also be translated as a condition, "If it were possible to produce new plants now, you would find it" (Malinine:94, and Williams:39-41), or as a question, "Is it (not) possible now to produce the plants anew for you (sing.), (and) to find it (i.e., the Kingdom?" Cameron 17). The passage probably emphasizes the actual possibility of finding the kingdom, similar to the ending of the parable of the Grain of Wheat (8,10-27). For an extended discussion of several possible ways to construe the sentence, see Cameron (22-24). In this I follow the line of interpretation represented by Cameron (17-21). Hedrick (1983:18) views the parable rather differently. Instead of the fruit falling undeveloped because of not being fertilized, he views the fruit as being unusually abundant, "a one-of-a-kind yield," after which the tree dies. The parable is one of contrast between the small initial shoot and the bountiful harvest of fruit, and thus is parallel to other parables of growth, the Mustard Seed, the Leaven, etc. Cameron (25) views the reference to leaves or buds sprouting as interior expansion. He further gives a plausible account of possible stages of development from the simile to the passage as we now have it.
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30 Conzelmann (229) refers to the familiar I Cor 13:13 and to additional passages in Pauline and other New Testament writings. 31 See Malinine (41-42) and the literature cited there.
Works consulted Boring, M. Eugene 1985 "Criteria of Authenticity: The Lucan Beatitudes as a Test Case." Forum 1.4:3-38. Cameron, Ron 1984 Sayings Traditions in the Apocryphon of lames. Harvard Theological Studies 34. Philadelphia: Fortress. Cerfaux, L. & Garitte, G. 1957 "Les Paroles du Royaume dans L'Evangile de Thomas." Le Museon 70:307-27. Conzelmann, Hans 1975 I Corinthians. A Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians. Hermeneia. Philadelphia: Fortress. Crossan, John Dominic 1973 In Parables: The Challenge of the Historical Jesus. New York: Harper & Row. - - 1976 "Hidden Treasure Parables in Late Antiquity." Pp. 359-79 in SBL Seminar Papers 10. Ed. George MacRae. Missoula, MT: Scholars. - - 1979 Finding is the First Act: Trove Folktales and Jesus' Treasure Parable. Philadelphia: Fortress. --1983 In Fragments: The Aphorisms of Jesus. San Francisco: Harper & Row. - - 1985 Four Other Gospels: Shadows on the Contours of Canon. Minneapolis: Winston. Davies, Stevan 1983 The Gospel of Thomas and Christian Wisdom. New York: Sea bury. Dehandschutter, B. 1971 "Les Paraboles de I'Evangile selon Thomas. La Parabole du Tn!sor cache (log.109). EThL 47,1:199-217. Fitzmyer, Joseph A.1971 Essays on the Semitic Background of the New Testament. London: Chapman. Grenfell, Bernard P. and Hunt, Arthur S. 1897 LOG/A JESOU: Sayings of Our Lord from an Early Greek Papyrus. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. - - 1898 The Oxyrhynchus Papyri. Part I. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. --1904 The Oxyrhynchus Papyri. Part IV. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Guillaumont, A., et al. 1959 The Gospel According to Thomas. Leiden: Brill. Hedrick, Charles W. 1983 "Kingdom Sayings and Parables of Jesus in the Apocryphon of James: Tradition and Redaction." NTS 29: 1-24. --1986 "The Treasure Parable in Matthew and Thomas." Forum 2.2:41-56. Haenchen, Ernst 1%1 Die Botschaft des Thomas-Evangeliums. Berlin: Topelmann. Hennecke, Edgar and Schneemelcher, Wilhelm 1%3 New Testament Apocrypha. Vol. 1: Gospels and Related Writings. Philadelphia: Westminster. Higgins, A. J. B. 1960 "Non-Gnostic Sayings in the Gospel of Thomas." NovT 4:292-306. Hofius, Otfried 1960 "Das koptische Thomasevangelium und die OxyrhynchusPapyri Nr. 1, 654, und 655." EvTh 20:182-92. Hunzinger, Claus-Hugo 1%0 "Unbekannte Gleichnisse Jesu aus dem ThomasEvangelium." Pp. 209-20 in Judentum, Urchristentum, Kirche. Festschrift ftir Joachim Jeremias. Ed. Walther Eltester. Berlin: Topelmann. Jeremias, Joachim 1958 Unknown Sayings of Jesus. London: S.P.C.K.
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--1963 The Parables of Jesus. Rev. ed. New York: Scribners. --1964 Unknown Sayings of Jesus. London: S.P.C.K. Koester, Helmut 1968 "One Jesus and Four Primitive Gospels." HTR 61: 203-47. - - 1979 "Dialogue und SpruchOberlieferung in den gnostischen Texten von Nag Hammadi." EvTh 39:536--56. Lauterbach, Jacob 1933 Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael. 3 vols. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society. Reprinted. 1949. Lindemann, Andreas 1980 "Zur Gleichnisinterpretation im Thomas-Evangelium." ZNW71:214-43. Malinine, Michel, et al. 1968 Epistula /acobi Apocrypha. ZUrich: Rascher. Menard, Jacques-E. 1975 L' Evangile seton Thomas. NHS 5. Leiden: Brill. Montefiore, Hugh 1962 "A Comparison of the Parables of the Gospel according to Thomas and of the Synoptic Gospels." Thomas and the Evangelists. Ed. H. Montefiore and H. E. W. Turner. London: SCM. Perrin, Norman 1967 Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus. New York: Harper & Row. Perry, Ben Edwin 1965 Babrius and Phaedrus. LCL. Cambridge, MA: Harvard. Robinson, James M. 1977 The Nag Hammadi Library in English. San Francisco: Harper & Row. - - 1986 "On Bridging the Gulf from Q to the Gospel of Thomas (or Vice Versa)." Pp. 127-75 in Nag Hammadi, Gnosticism, and Early Christianity. Ed. Charles W. Hedrick and Robert Hodgson, Jr. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. Schmidt, Carl and Macdermot, Violet 1978a Pistis Sophis. NHS 9. Leiden: Brill. - - 1978b The Books of Jeu and the Untitled Text in the Bruce Codex. NHS 13. Leiden: Brill. Scvrin, Jean-Marie 1982 "Paroles et paraboles de Jesus dans des ecrits gnostiques coptes." Pp. 517-28 in Logia: Memorial Joseph Coppens. Ed. Joel Delobel. Leuven: University. Simon, Maurice 1951 Midrash Rabbah. Vol. 9: Esther, Song of Songs. 2nd ed. London: Soncino. Smith, Jonathan Z. 1965 "The Garments of Shame." HR 5:217-38. Staehlin, Otto and Fruechtel, Ludwig 1960 Clemens Alexandrinus Werke. Vol. 2: Stromata I-VI. GCS 52. 3rd ed. Berlin: Akademie. Williams, Francis E. 1985 "The Apocryphon of James: Introduction." Pp. 13-27 in Nag Hammadi: Codex I (The lung Codex). Introductions, Texts, Translations, Indices. Ed. H. W. Attridge. NHS 22. Leiden: Brill.
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JESUS IN THE AGRAPHA AND APOCRYPHAL GOSPELS lames H. Charlesworth and Craig A. Evans Source: B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds). Studying the Historical Jesus: Evaluations of the State of Current Research (New Testament Tools and Studies 19; Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 479-533.
About 1%5 there began a renewal of interest in the apocryphal gospels. The tendency to see these writings only in light of the superiority of the Christian canon began to wane. Today these writings are more appreciated, as reflected, for example, in Helmut Koester's recent introduction to the New Testament. 1 A concomitant development is the tendency now to view the New Testament writings themselves in their fuller literary context, since they really do not, as Leander Keck has argued, constitute a separate field of study. 2 We have entered into a new era, characterized by a wider appreciation of early Christian writings. 3 This new appreciation for the apocryphal gospels has generated a lively interest in assessing the value these writings may have for Jesus Research. Hardly a serious study has appeared in recent years that does not in one way or another interact with the various noncanonical gospels and other writings that purport to relate the teachings and activities of Jesus of Nazareth. In the judgment of many scholars the search for Jesus' authentic words is not futile, nor can it be limited to the canonical gospels. 4 The apocryphal gospels and fragments that are frequently given serious consideration include the following: Apocryphon of lames (preserved in Nag Hammadi Codex I) Dialogue of the Savior (preserved in Nag Hammadi Codex Ill) Gospel of the Ebionites (preserved in quotations by Epiphanius) Gospel of the Egyptians (preserved in quotations by Clement of Alexandria) Gospel of the Hebrews (preserved in quotations by various Fathers) Gospel of the Nazoreans (preserved in quotations by various Fathers) Gospel of Peter (preserved in a large fragment from Akhmim and a small fragment Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 2949 and possibly Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 4009) 210
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Gospel of Thomas (preserved in Nag Hammadi Codex 11 and Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 1, 654, and 655) Protevangelium of lames (preserved in numerous Greek MSS) Secret Gospel of Mark (preserved in a supposed letter of Clement of Alexandria) Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 840 Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 1224 Papyrus Egerton 2 (+Papyrus Koln 255) Fayyum Fragment (= Papyrus Vindobonensis Greek 2325)
In 1991 the English-speaking world was treated by the appearance of two engaging and competent studies of the life of Jesus: those by John Dominic Crossan and John P. Meier.5 One of the most remarkable discrepancies between their works is the sharp divergence of opinion with respect to the value of the New Testament apocryphal gospels for Jesus Research. In one, these writings play an important role; in the other, their role is negligible. A brief comparison of these two scholars' respective approaches and conclusions will illustrate this striking divergence, which in many ways is a characteristic of the current debate among New Testament specialists, and will serve as an appropriate point of departure for the present essay. In his reconstruction of the historical Jesus, Crossan relies heavily upon the noncanonical materials. He dates and names them as follows: 6 Gospel of Thomas (earliest edition: 50s c.E.), Egerton Gospel (i.e., Papyrus Egerton 2: 50s C.E.), Fayyum Fragment (50s c.E.), Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 1224 (50s c.E.), Gospel of the Hebrews (50s c.E.), Cross Gospel(= a pruned version of the Gospel of Peter: 50s c.E. ), Gospel of the Egyptians (earliest version: 60s C.E.),7 Secret Gospel of Mark (early 70s c.E.), Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 840 (80s C.R.), Gospel of Thomas (later draft: 60s or 70s c.E.), Dialogue Collection(= a pruned version of the Coptic Gnostic tractate Dialogue of the Savior: late !?J 70s c.E.), Apocryphon of lames (dating from first half of second century c.E., but containing tradition reaching back to the 50s c.E.), Gospel of the Nazoreans (150s c.E.), Gospel of the Ebionites (150s C.E.), and Gospel of Peter (150s C.E.). Crossan claims that the Gospel of Thomas, the Egerton Gospel, Papyrus Vindobonensis Greek 2325, Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 1224, the Gospel of the Hebrews, and the Gospel of the Egyptians, are independent of the New Testament Gospels, with the Dialogue of the Savior and the Apocryphon of lames containing independent traditions. He further concludes that the Cross Gospel, which is now imbedded in the Gospel of Peter, is the passion narrative on which all four of the New Testament Gospels are hased. 8 Given this chronological scheme, it is not surprising that Crossan often concludes that traditions contained in the apocryphal gospels that parallel those of the New Testament Gospels are more primitive and historically superior. Often he finds the earliest, most original form of Jesus' teaching in the apocryphal gospels. Crossan's source analysis contributes to 211
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his picture of the historical Jesus in significant ways. 9 Specific examples will be considered below. A more contrasting conclusion, however, could hardly have been reached than that defended by Meier. All the "noncanonical" writings, he concludes, contribute little to what can be known of the historical Jesus. His assessment of these writings is as follows: Contrary to some scholars, I do not think that the ... agrapha, the apocryphal gospels, and the Nag Hammadi codices (in particular the Gospel of Thomas) offer us reliable new information or authentic sayings that are independent of the NT. What we see in these later documents is rather ... imaginative Christians reflecting popular piety and legend, and gnostk Christians developing a mystic speculative system ... It is only natural for scholars-to say nothing of popularizers-to want more, to want other access roads to the historical Jesus. This understandable but not always critical desire is, I think, what has recently led to the high evaluation, in some quarters, of the apocryphal gospels and the Nag Hammadi codices as sources for the quest. It is a case of the wish being father to the thought, but the wish is a pipe dream. For better or for worse, in our quest for the historical Jesus, we are largely confined to the canonical Gospels; the genuine "corpus" is infuriating in its restrictions. For the historian it is a galling limitation. But to call upon the Gospel of Peter or the Gospel of Thomas to supplement our Four Gospels is to broaden out our pool of sources from the difficult to the incredible. 10 Meier suspects that far from representing independent and possibly more primitive tradition, the agrapha and apocryphal gospels ultimately derive from the New Testament Gospels, either directly or indirectly. He offers the careful qualification that this dependence is indirect. That is, the agrapha and apocryphal gospels reflect second and third-hand acquaintance with the traditions of the New Testament Gospels. Rarely did their authors quote from the intracanonical Gospels in their written form. By and large, what the authors of the apocryphal gospels knew was oral tradition, but it was an oral tradition generated by the written Gospels of the New Testament, an oral tradition which was itself edited and adapted in its transmission.U This is why, Meier explains, the noncanonical writings often contain sayings and stories that appear to be combinations of elements distinctive to two or more of the New Testament Gospels. 12 The apocryphal gospels should not be dated earlier than the second century. The importance of this debate can hardly be exaggerated. What is at stake is a considerable body of material and the question of what contribution it might make to Jesus Research. If Crossan is correct, then 212
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Jesus Research cannot make genuine and meaningful progress apart from careful study of the agrapha and apocryphal gospels. If Meier is correct, then the potential contribution of the agrapha and apocryphal gospels to Jesus Research is limited. Indeed, an overly positive assessment of their value may very well lead to a distorted picture of the historical Jesus. But are these writings, in the words of Koester, "just as important" as the New Testament writings for the study of early Christianity? Do they "contain many traditions which can be traced back to the time of the very origins of Christianity"? 13 With these questions in mind, the balance of this essay will treat the agrapha and the apocryphal gospels under separate headings.
Agrapha The so-called agrapha ("sayings" which were not written down in the oldest versions of the intracanonical Gospels) 14 were popularized in a small book by Joachim JeremiasY Of the hundreds of candidates, 16 Jeremias isolated eighteen sayings "whose authenticity admits of serious consideration." 17 But Otfried Hofius's recent critical survey is much less optimistic. 18 Some of the agrapha include the following (with Jeremias's selections marked with asterisks): "Blessed is the man who has suffered; he has found the Life." (GThom §58; cf. Matt 5:10-12 =Luke 6:22-23; Jas 1:12) "Pray for your enemies." (POxy1224 §2; cf. Matt 5:44 =Luke 6:27, 28) "He himself will give you your clothing."* (P0xy655 §1; cf. Matt 6:30) 19 "If you are in my bosom and do not the will of my Father in heaven, I will cast you out of my bosom." (Codex 1424 at Matt 7:5 = GNaz §6; cf. Matt 7:21-23; 25:12; 2 Clem 4:5)
"As you prove yourself kind, so you will experience kindness." (1 Clem 13:2; cf. Matt 7:12) "Let the one not eat who does not work; for in the sweat of your face you shall eat your bread." (Ps.-Ignatius, Magn. 9:3; cf. Gen 3:19; Matt 10:10; 2 Thess 3:10) "As often as you fall, rise up, and you will be saved." (Akoluthia of Confession; cf. Matt 10:22 par.) 20 213
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"Save yourself and your life."* (Theodotus, Excerpta ex Theodoto [according to Clement of Alexandria §2.2]; cf. Matt 10:22; 16:25; Gen 19:17) "There wiU be schisms and heresies."* (Justin, Dial. 35.3; cf. Matt 10:34; 1 Cor. 11:18-19) "I choose for myself the best; the best are they whom my Father in heaven gives me." (GNaz §23; cf. Eusebius, Theophania 4.12 [on Matt 10:34-36]; cf. Matt 10:37-38) "I have often desired to hear one of these words, but I had no one who could utter it." (Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 120.2; cf. GThom §38 =POxy655 §38; Matt 13:17"' Luke 10:24) "Also give, as though you were a stranger." (Tatian, Diatessaron [after Matt 17:26]; Codex 713)
"It is necessary for good things to come, and blessed is the one through whom they come. Likewise it is necessary that evil things come, but woe to him through whom they come." (Horn. Clem. 12.29; cf. Matt 18:7 =Luke 17:1) "The one who has not forgiven seventy times seven times is not worthy of me." (Liber Graduum 2.4.6; cf. Matt 18:21-22 =Luke 17:3-4)
"If your brother has sinned by a word and made amends, seven times in a day receive him." Simon his disciple said to him: "Seven times in a day?" The Lord answered and said to him: "Yes, I say to you, up to seventy times seven. For in the prophets also, after they were anointed by the Holy Spirit, the sinful word was found."* ( GNaz §15a; Jerome, Adv. Pelag. 3.2; cf. Matt 18:21-22 =Luke 17:3-4) "But take care lest you also suffer the same things as they; for the evil doers among men receive their reward not among the living only, but also await punishment and much torment."* (POxy840 §1; cf. Matt 18:34; 25:46) But the rich man began to scratch his head, and it pleased him not. And the Lord said to him: "How can you say, 'I have kept the 214
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law and the prophets?' For it is written in the law: You shall love your neighbor as yourself, and lo, many of your brothers, sons of Abraham, are clad in filth, dying of hunger, and your house is full of many good things, and nothing of it goes out to them."* (GNaz §16; Origen, In Matt. 15.14 [on Matt 19:16-30]) "But seek to increase from being small, not from greater to less." (D 4> it sy", after Matt 20:28; cf. Luke 14:7-11) "Woe to the Pharisees, for they are like a dog sleeping in the oxen's manger, which neither eats nor allows the oxen to eat." (GThom §102; cf. Matt 23:13 =Luke 11:52) "They who are with me have not understood me."* (AcPet §10; cf. Mark 4:13; 7:18; 8:17-21; Luke 18:34; John 14:9) "The limit of the years of Satan's authority has been fulfilled, but other fearful things are near. I was delivered to death for those who have sinned, in order that they might return to the truth and sin no more and might inherit the spiritual and incorruptible glory of righteousness which is in heaven.'' (Freer MS to Mark 16:15) "Go into all the world and preach the gospel to the whole creation. He who believes will be saved; but he who does not believe will be condemned. And these signs will accompany those who believe: in my name they will cast out demons; they will speak in new tongues; they will pick up serpents, and if they drink any deadly thing, it will not hurt them; they will lay their hands on the sick, and they will recover." (Mark 16:151>-18, according to A CD K X A en 33 et al.; cf. Matt 28:19 [commission]; John 3:18, 36 [salvation/condemnation]; Acts 2:4; 10:46 [tongues]; Acts 28:3-5 [serpents/poison]; Acts 9:17; 28:8 [laying hands on the sick]) "For he who is not [against you] is for you." (POxy 1224 §2; cf. Luke 9:50) "You do not know of what kind of spirit you are." (added to Luke 9:55b in Codex D) "You do not know of what kind of spirit you are, for the Son of Man did not come to destroy people's lives but to save them." (added to Luke 9:56a inKS I.. IT 'I' 4> 107912421546; cf. Luke 19:10; John 3:17) 215
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"Let your Holy Spirit come upon us and cleanse us." (Codex 700 to Luke 11:2; cf. John 13:10; 15:2-3; AcThom §27) "And you have been increased by my service as one who serves." (Codex D [after Luke 22:27]) "No one can obtain the kingdom of heaven who has not passed through temptation."* (Tertullian, De Baptismo 20.2; cf. Luke 22:28-29; Acts 14:22b) "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone." (John 8:7b).21 "Woman, where are they? Did no one condemn you?" (John 8:10b) "Neither do I condemn you. Go, and from now on do not sin." (John 8:llb) "He who is not like me is not like him who sent me." (Syrus Sinaiticus at John 12:44) "It is more blessed to give than to receive."
(Acts 20:35) "He who is married should not renounce his wife, and he who is unmarried should not marry." (Clement, Strom. 3.15.97; cf. 1 Cor 7:1-9, 25-38) "The Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a command, with the shout of the archangel, and with the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ shall arise first, then we are alive and remain will be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air."* (1 Thess 4:16-17a) Many of these agrapha probably represent nothing more than embellishments or variations of sayings extant in the synoptic tradition or elsewhere in the New Testament writings (as noted in the parentheses). 22 Many of them are not given serious consideration. Meier comments, moreover, that "even when all eighteen [of those defended by Jeremias] are accepted, nothing new is added to our picture. " 23 In the opinion of Hofius only nine agrapha are potentially authentic. Nevertheless, the first five, which follow, are not themselves entirely free from tradition-historical objections:24 216
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"How is it then with you? For you are here in the temple. Are you then clean? ... Woe to you blind who see not! You have washed yourself in water that is poured forth, in which dogs and swine lie night and day, and washed and scoured your outer skin, which harlots and flute girls also anoint, bathe, scour, and beautify to arouse desire in men, but inwardly they are filled with scorpions and with [all manner of ev)il. But I and [my disciples], of whom you say that we have not [bathed, have bath]ed ourselves in the liv[ing and clean] water, which comes down from [the father in heaven)"* (P0xy840 §2) "As you were found, so will you be taken away."* (Syriac Liber Graduum, Serm. 3.3; 15.4; 24.2; cf. Justin, Dial. 47.5: "In whatever things I take you, in these I shall judge you"; cf. Apoc. Ezek. §4[?]) "The kingdom is like a wise fisherman who cast his net into the sea; he drew it up from the sea full of small fish; among them he found a large (and) good fish; that wise fisherman threw all the small fish down into the sea; he chose the large fish without regret."* (GThom §8) "Ask for the great things and God will add to you the little things."* (Clement of Alexandria. Strom. 1.24.158; Origen, In Ps. 4.4; De orat. 2.2; 14.1; Eusebius, In Ps. 16.2) "Be approved money changers."* (Origen, In Joh. 19.7; Jerome, Ep. 99.11.2; Horn. Clem. 2.51: 3.50; 18.20). Although these five agrapha resemble the character and quality of the synoptic tradition, they too may very well represent no more than variations and conflations of it. For example, the first agraphon could be mode led on the woe found in Matt 23:27-28 (cf. Matt 7:6) and the sayings about living water in the Fourth Gospel (cf. John 4:10-12; 7:37).2.~ The second agraphon may represent a summary of apocalyptic warnings, such as those found in Matt 24:27, 40-41; Luke 17:24, 26-30, 34-35. The third agraphon, which speaks of the "wise fisherman," may have been modeled after the parables of the Pearl and the Dragnet, which are juxtaposed in Matt 13:45-46, 47-48. 26 The fourth agraphon may represent a variation of Matt 6:33 par. The fifth agraphon could be based on an interpretation of Paul's admonition in 1 Thess 5:21-22. Evidently Dionysius of Alexandria, one of Origen's pupils, knew of the saying; but he derived it from an "apostolic voice" and not from Jesus (cf. Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. 7.7.3). Hotius regards the authenticity of this agraphon "quite improbable.'m 217
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However, Hofius believes that "there are no well-founded objections against" the following four agrapha. For these the Greek and Latin texts are provided: 28 1.
t'fj aut'fj ilJ!Epf,X 9eacr«lJ!Ev~ tt va Epy~OJ!EVOV tQ> craj3fkxtq> Ei7tEv ai>tQ>. iiv9pro7tE, Et J!Ev oi:oa~ ti 7tOtE'i~. J!aKapt~ Ei, Ei of: Jlil oi:oa~. E.mKatapat~ Kat 1tapaj3at'Tl~ Ei tou v6J!OU (Codex D, in place of Luke 6:5). "On the same day he saw a man performing a work on the Sabbath. Then he said to him: 'Man! If you know what you are doing, you are blessed. But if you do not know, you are cursed and a transgressor of the law.'"*
2.
Qui juxta me est, juxta ignem est; qui longe est a me, longe est a regno (Origen, In Jerem. horn. lat. 20.3; cf. GThom §82). 6 E.nu~ Jlou, E.nu~ -rou 7tup6~. 6 of: Jla1Cpav a1t' E.J!ol>, JlaKpav a1to tfl~ (Didymus the Blind, In Ps. 88.8 [who is dependent upon Origen above]). "Whoever is near me is near the fire; whoever is far from me is far from the kingdom."* ~acrtA.Eia~
3.
4.
Et numquam (inquit) laeti sitis, nisi cum fratrem vestrum videritis in caritate (GHeb §5; cf. Jerome, In Eph. 3 [on Eph 5:4]). "And never be joyful, save when you look upon your brother in love.''* [6 crilJ!Epov ro ]v J!UlCpCxV aupwv [E nu~ UJ!WV 'Y ]EVTJOEtat ... (POxy1224 §2). "[He that] stands far off [today] will tomorrow be [near you]."*
None of these agrapha appears to be derivative from canonical or apocryphal sources. All have a Palestinian, or a Jewish, flavor. Nevertheless, Hofius has strong reservations about the first agraphon. 29 The second agraphon coheres with Synoptic sayings (Mark 9:49; Luke 12:49) and is reminiscent of a rabbinic saying: "Aqiba, he that separates himself from you separates himself from life" (b. Qidd. 66b; b. Zebal) 13a). However, interesting parallels can also be found in Greek literature: "He who is near Zeus is near the lightning" (Aesop); "Far from Zeus and far from the lightning" (Diogenianus). 30 The third agraphon may be no more than an adaptation of a well known proverb. The third agraphon appears to be independent of the love command (Mark 12:31), while there is no parallel to the fourth agraphon. Both the third and fourth agrapha are consistent with Jesus' teaching. From his review of the agrapha Hofius finds little evidence supporting the assumption held by some scholars that there was a substantial amount of material on a level of quality approximating that of the Synoptic tradition that survived independently of the canonical Gospels. Hofius quotes Jeremias with approval: "Our four canonical Gospels embrace with great 21R
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completeness almost all the early Church knew of the sayings and deeds of Jesus in the second half of the first century."31 Hofius further concludes that the evidence of the agrapha militates against the view that the early church freely invented dominical sayings.32 The agrapha are important for Jesus Research. When it becomes apparent that a saying of Jesus is inauthentic we are led to reconstructions of the setting and social group which would have created such a saying. We are then almost always confronted with a "Christianity" unlike any group described by the Evangelists or in which the Evangelists lived. The agrapha also help us perceive how important are the intracanonical Gospels and the other writings in the New Testament. They show that the intracanonical Gospels are not merely a depository of some of Jesus' important sayings. They enhance and do not challenge the intention of Jesus as disclosed in the sayings attributed to him by the Evangelists. Finally, the agrapha help demonstrate that the scholars of the early church were not preoccupied with fabricating sayings and attributing them to Jesus. It is apparent that the agrapha cannot be used to portray the historical Jesus as appreciably other than he is depicted according to the New Testament Gospels. Our primary sources for Jesus Research, in the attempt to reconstruct the life and times of Jesus of Nazareth, are the Gospels canonized by the church. In that sense the agrapha are of limited value for Jesus Research. Are the apocryphal gospels more promising in this area of research? Let us turn to this much more controversial question.
Apocryphal gospels Until recently the apocryphal gospels were not taken seriously as potential sources for Jesus Research. Rudolf Bultmann's assessment of these gospels as nothing more than "legendary adaptations and expansions"33 of the canonical Gospel tradition doubtless characterized the general point of view held by scholars of his generation. Today the picture is changing, and for some scholars dramatically. The parallels between the New Testament Gospels and the agrapha and apocryphal gospels34 are extensive, as the following select listing, which presupposes the Two Source Hypothesis, makes plain: 35 Mark Mark 1:4-6-GEbion §2 (Epiphanius, Pan. haer. 30.13.4-5) Mark 1:9-11-GEbion §4 (Epiphanius, Pan. haer. 30.13.7-8; cf. Matt 3:14-15; Luke 3:22); GHeb §2 (Jerome, In /sa. 4 [on Isa 11:2]); GNaz §2 (Jerome, Adv. Pelag. 3.2) Mark 1:16-20--GEbion §1 (Epiphanius, Pan. haer. 30.13.2-3) Mark 1:40-45-PEger2 §2 Mark 2:15-17-POxy 1224 §1; Justin Martyr, Apologia I 1.15.8 219
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Mark 2:18-20--GThorn §27, §104 Mark 2:21-22-GThorn §47 Mark 3:1-6--GNaz §10 (Jerome, In Matt. 2 {on Matt 12:13]) Mark 3:23-27-GThorn §35; Clement, Exc. ex Theod. 52.1 Mark 3:28--30--GThorn §44 Mark 3:31-35-GThorn §99; GEbion §5 (Epiphanius, Pan. haer. 30.13.5; 2 Clem 9:11) Mark 4:2-9-GThorn §9 (1 Clem 24:5; Just in, Dial. 125.1) Mark 4:10-12-Apoc.las {CG I, 2] 7.1-10 Mark 4:11-Clement, Strorn. 5,10; Horn. Clern. 19.20; Theodoret, In Ps. 65.16 Mark 4:13-20--Apoc.las [CG I, 2] 8.10-17 Mark 4:21-GThorn §33 Mark 4:22-P0xy654 §5; GThorn §5, §6 Mark 4:24-25-GThorn §41; ApocPet [CG VII, 3] 83.26-84.6 Mark 4:24-1 Clem 13:1-2; Polycarp, Phil. 2:3; Clement, Strorn. 2.18.91 Mark 4:26-29-GThorn §21; Apoc.las [CG I, 2] 12.22-31 Mark 4:30-32-GThorn §20 Mark 6:4-POxy1 §6; GThorn §31 Mark 7:1-5 + 11:27-28-POxy840 §2 Mark 7:6-8-PEger2 §3 Mark 7:14-15-GThorn §14 Mark 8:17-AcPet §10 Mark 8:27-30--GThorn §13 Mark 8:31-33-Apoc.las [CG I, 2] 5.31-6.11 Mark 8:31 + 9:31 + 10:33-34-Justin, Dial. 51.2; lgnatius, Srnyrn. 3:3; AposConst 6.30 Mark 8:34-GThorn §55, §101 Mark 9:1-GThorn §18b Mark 9:34 + 10:43-GThorn §12 Mark 9:40--POxy1224 §2 Mark 10:13-16--GThorn §22 Mark 10:17-22-GNaz §16 (Origen, In Matt. 15.14 [on Matt 19:16-30]) Mark 10:21-Clement of Alexandria, Strorn. 3.6.55 Mark 10:28-30--Apoc.las [CG I, 2] 4.22-37 Mark 10:31-P0xy654 §4; GThorn §4 Mark 11:22-23-GThorn §48, §106 Mark 12:1-12-GThorn §65-66 Mark 12:13-17-GThorn §100; PEger2 §3 Mark 12:31-GThorn §25 Mark 12:34-GThorn §82; Origen, In Jerern. horn. /at. 20.3 Mark 13:5-6, 21-22, 26-27 + 14:62-ApocPet §1; EpApost §9; ApocElij 31.19--32.9 Mark 13:21-GThorn §113
220
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Mark 13:28-29 + 13:22-23 + 13:6-ApocPet §2 Mark 14:12-GEbion §7 (Epiphanius, Pan. haer. 30.22.4) Mark 14:22-AposConst 8.12.37 Mark 14:27-30-Fayyum Fragment Mark 14:36-Hippolytus, Refutation 5.8.11 Mark 14:38-Tertullian, De Baptismo 20.2; Didasc. 2.8; AposConst 2.8.2 Mark 14:58-GThom §71 Mark 14:65-GPet 3.9 Mark 15:1-5-AcPilate 3:2 Mark 15:6-15-AcPilate 4:4-5; 9:4-5 Mark 15:7-GNaz §20 (Jerome, In Matt. 4 (on Matt 27:16]) Mark 15:16-20-GPet 2.5-3.9; AcPilate 10:1 Mark 15:22-32-AcPilate 10:1 Mark 15:33-39-GPet 5.15-20; AcPilate 11:1 Mark 15:38-GNaz §21 (Jerome, Ep. ad Hedybiam 120.8) Mark 15:40--41-AcPilate 11:2-3a Mark 15:42-47-GPet 2.3-5; 6.21-24; AcPilate 11:3b Mark 16:1-8-GPet 9.35-13.57; AcPilate 13:1-3 Mark 16:14-18-AcPilate 14:1 Mark 16:14-15-Codex W (Freer Logion) Mark 16:16-Clement, Strom. 6.5.43
Q (Luke= Matthew) Luke 3:7-9 =Matt 3:7-10-Apoclas (CG I, 2] 9.24-10.6 Luke 4:5 =Matt 4:8-GHeb §3 (Origen, In Joh. 2.12.87 [on John 1:3]) Luke 4:9 = Matt 4:5-GNaz §3 Luke 6:20 =Matt 5:3-GThom §54 Luke 6:21 =Matt 5:6-GThom §69b Luke 6:22 =Matt 5:11-GThom §68 Luke 6:27-28 = Matt 5:44--POxy1224 §2 Luke 6:30 = Matt 5:42-GThom §95 Luke 6:31 = Matt 7:12-POxy654 §6; GThom §6; cf. Tob 4:15 Luke 6:35 = Matt 5:44--POxy1224 §2 Luke 6:39 = Matt 15:14--GThom §34 Luke 6:41-42 =Matt 7:1-5-POxyl §1; GThom §26 Luke 6:43-45 == Matt 7:16; 12:33-35-GThom §45, §43 Luke 7:24-25 ==Matt 11:7-8-GThom §78 Luke 7:28 =Matt 11:11-GThom §46 Luke 8:16-17; 12:2 =Matt 10:26-POxy654 §5; GThom §5, §6 Luke 9:58 = Matt 8:20-GThom §86 Luke 10:2 = Matt 9:37-38-GThom §73 Luke 10:3 = Matt 10:16-POxy655 §2; GThom §39; GEgypt (?] frag. 3 Luke 10:7-8 =Matt 10:10b--11-GThom §14b Luke 10:21 =Matt 11:25-POxy654 §3; GThom §4 221
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Luke 11:3 = Matt 6:11-GNaz §5 (Jerome, In Matt. 1 [on Matt 6:11]); GHeb §4 Luke 11:9-13 =Matt 7:7-11-POxy654 §2; GThom §2, §92, §94 Luke 11:33 =Matt 5:15-GThom §33 Luke 11:34-36 =Matt 6:22-23-GThom §24 Luke 11:39-40 =Matt 23:25-26-GThom §89 Luke 12:3 = Matt 10:27-POxyl §8; GThom §33 Luke 12:12-31 =Matt 6:25-34-POxy655 §la; GThom §36 Luke 12:33 =Matt 6:19-20--GThom §76 Luke 12:39-40 =Matt 24:43-44-GThom §21, §103 Luke 12:49-53; 14:25-27 =Matt 10:34-38----GThom §10, §16, §55, §101 Luke 12:54-56 =Matt 16:2-3-GThom §91 Luke 13:20-21 = Matt 13:33-GThom §96 Luke 13:24 =Matt 7:13-14-T. Abr. (A) 11:1-12 Luke 14:15-24 =Matt 22:1-14-GThom §64 Luke 15:3-7 =Matt 18:12-14--GThom §107 Luke 16:13 = Matt 6:24--GThom §47 Luke 16:17 =Matt 5:18----GThom §11 Luke 17:3-4 =Matt 18:15, 21-22-GNaz §15 (Jerome, Adv. Pelag. 3.2) Luke 17:34-35 =Matt 24:40-41-GThom §61a Luke 19:11-27 =Matt 25:14-30--GNaz §18 (Eusebius, Theophania 22 [on Matt 25:14-15])
"M" (Material special to Matthew) Matt 1:18-25-Protlas 14:1-2 Matt 2:1-12-Protlas 21:1-4 Matt 2:13-PCairo §1, §2 Matt 2:15-GNaz §1 (Jerome, De viris inlust. 3) Matt 2:16-18----Protlas 22:1-2 Matt 2:23-GNaz §1 (Jerome, De viris inlust. 3) Matt 5:10--GThom §69a Matt 5:14--POxyl §7; GThom §32 Matt 5:17-GEbion §6 (Epiphanius, Pan. haer. 30.16.4-5) Matt 5:22-GNaz §4 Matt 6:2-4-POxy654 §6; GThom §6, §14 Matt 6:3-GThom §62 Matt 7:6-GThom §93 Matt 11:30--GThom §90 Matt 13:24-30--GThom §57 Matt 13:44--GThom §109 Matt 13:45-46-GThom §76 Matt 13:47-50--GThom §8 Matt 15:13-GThom §40 Matt 18:20--POxy1 §5; GThom §30 222
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Matt 23:13-P0xy655 §2; GThom §39, §102 Matt 27:16-GNaz §20 (Jerome, In Matt. 4 [on Matt 27:16]) Matt 27:24-25-GPet 1.1-2; AcPilate 9:4-5 Matt 27:62-66-GPet 8.28-9.34
"L" (Material special to Luke) Luke 1:5-7-GEbion §3 (Epiphanius, Pan. haer. 30.13.6) Luke 1:8-11-Prot.fas 8:3 Luke 1:20-Prot.fas 10.2 Luke 1:21-Prot.fas 23:1-24:2 Luke 1:26-38-Prot.fas 11:1-3 Luke 1:36-PCairo §2 Luke 1:39-56-Prot.fas 12:2-3 Luke 1:80-InfanThom 19:5b Luke 2:1-6--Prot.fas 17:1-3 Luke 2:7-Prot.fas 22:2 Luke 2:19-/nfanThom 11:2c Luke 2:26-Prot.fas 24:4 Luke 2:46-52-InfanThom 19:1-5 Luke 6:46-PEger2 §3 Luke 11:27-28-GThom §79 Luke 12:13-14---GThom §72 Luke 12:16-21-GThom §63 Luke 17:4---GNaz §15 (Jerome, Adv. Pelag. 3.2) Luke 17:21-POxy654 §3; GThom §3 Luke 22:43-44--GNaz §32 (Hennecke-Schneemelcher, 1.152) Luke 23:34---AcPilate 10:1b; GNaz §24 (Haimo of Auxerre, In /sa. [on Isa 53:2]); GNaz §35 (Hennecke-Schneemelcher, 1.153) Luke 23:39-43-GPet 4.10-14; AcPilate 10:2 Luke 23:46-48-AcPilate 11:1 Luke 23:48-GPet 7.25 Luke 24:30-31-GHeb §7 (Jerome, De viris inlust. 2) John John 1:9-P0xy655 §24; GThom §24 John 1:14---P0xy1 §28; GThom §28 John 4:13-15-GThom §13 John 7:32-36-POxy655 §38; GThom §38 John 8:12; 9:5-GThom §77 John 18:31-AcPilate 4:4 John 18:33-38-AcPilate 3:2 John 19:12-AcPilate 9:1b John 19:20-AcPi/ate 10:1b John 20:5, ll-12-GPet 13.55 John 20:29-ApocJas 8.3 223
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In addition to these many parallels there are numerous sayings and stories that do not parallel the material preserved in the four Gospels of the New Testament. In the balance of this study we shall review the most important and most often discussed extracanonical gospels. Gospel of Thomas36
The Gospel of Thomas survives in Coptic as the second tractate in Codex 11 of the Nag Hammadi library and partially in Greek in Oxyrhynchus Papyri 1, 654, and 655. POxy654 contains GThom Prologue, §1-7, and a portion of §30. POxy1 contains GThom §26-33. POxy655 contains GThom §24, 36-39, 77. 37 Although the point has been disputed, it appears that most scholars contend that Thomas was originally composed in Greek and that the Oxyrhynchus Papyri stand closer to the original form of the tradition. 38 Of all the apocryphal gospels the Gospel of Thomas has made the most important contributions to Gospel studies. Many scholars today are convinced that the Gospel of Thomas contains primitive, pre-Synoptic tradition.39 This may very well be true, but there are numerous difficulties that attend efforts to cull from this collection of logia (114 in the apparently complete Coptic edition) material that can with confidence be judged primitive, independent of the intracanonical Gospels, and even authentic. Quoting or alluding to more than half of the writings of the New Testament (i.e., Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Acts, Romans, 1-2 Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, Colossians, 1 Thessalonians, 1 Timothy, Hebrews, 1 John, Revelation), 40 Thomas could very well be a collage of New Testament and apocryphal materials which have been interpreted, often allegorically, in such a way as to advance second and third-century gnostic ideas. 41 Moreover, the traditions contained in Thomas hardly reflect a setting that predates the writings of the New Testament, which is why Dominic Crossan and others attempt to extract an early version of Thomas from the Coptic and Greek texts that are now extant. A major problem with viewing the Gospel of Thomas as independent of the intracanonical Gospels is the presence of a significant amount of material that is distinctive to Matthew ("M"), Luke ("L"), and John, as the following parallels suggest:
Parallels between the Gospel of Thomas and "M": Matt 5:10-GThom §69a Matt 5:14--GThom §32 ( = POxyl §7) Matt 6:2-4-GThom §6, §14 ( = POxy654 §6) Matt 6:3-GThom §62 Matt 7:6-GThom §93 Matt 10:16-GThom §39 Matt 11:30-GThom §90 224
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Matt 13:24-30-GThom §57 Matt 13:44-GThom §109 Matt 13:45-46---GThom §76 Matt 13:47-50-GThom §8 Matt 15:13-GThom §40 Matt 18:20-GThom §30 ( = POxy1 §5) Matt 23:13-GThom §39, §102 ( =P0xy655 §2)
Parallels between the Gospel of Thomas and "L": Luke 11:27-28 + 23:29-GThom §79 Luke 12:13-14-GThom §72 Luke 12:16-21-GThom §63 Luke 12:49-GThom §10 Luke 17:20-21-GThom §3 ( = POxy654 §3), §113 Parallels between the Gospel of Thomas and John: John 1:9-GThom §24 ( =P0xy655 §24) John 1:14-GThom §28 ( =P0xy1 §28) John 4:13-15-GThom §13 John 7:32-36---GThom §38 ( = POxy655 §38) John 8:12; 9:5-GThom §77 If Thomas really does represent an early, independent collection of material, then how is one to explain the presence of so much M, L, and Johannine material? Perhaps sensing this problem, Koester assigns all of the L parallels, and a few of the M parallels to Q. 42 But such a move appears gratuitous. It is much more .likely that the presence of M, L, and Johannine elements in Thomas indicates that the latter, at least in its extant Coptic form, has been influenced by the New Testament Gospels. Of course, this does not necessarily rule out the possibility that other sayings which do not parallel M, L, or Johannine material could be primitive and independent of the intracanonical Gospels. Perhaps, the most telling factor that should give us pause before assuming too quickly that Thomas offers early and independent tradition lies in the observation that features characteristic of Matthean and Lucan redaction are also found in Thomas. Two of the passages listed above as M (Matt 15:13; 13:24-30) may represent Matthean redactionY Other sayings in Thomas that parallel the triple tradition agree with Matthew's wording (cf. Matt 15:11 = GThom §34b; Matt 12:50 = GThom §99), rather than with Mark's. Matthew's unique juxtaposition of alms, prayer, and fasting (Matt 6:1-18) appears to be echoed in GThom §6 ( = POxy654 §6) and §14. In Thomas alms, prayer, and fasting are discussed in a negative light, probably reflecting gnostic antipathy toward Jewish piety, which surely argues for viewing Thomas as secondary to Matthew. All of this suggests that Thomas was influenced by the Gospel of Matthew.
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Bruno de Solages and Crossan contend that the order of pericopes in Thomas, in that it does not follow the Synoptic Gospels, is evidence that the material in this "gospel" is independent of the Synoptics. 44 However, there is evidence that many of the sayings in Thomas have been grouped together thematically, sometimes with catchwords. According to Jean-Marie Sevrin, GThom §63, §64, and §65 have been clustered as part of the writer's polemic against wealth and materialism (which may also explain the briefer form of the parables).45 Meier points out, furthermore, that eclectic grouping is common in gnostic documents. He observes that "in a single saying the Naassenes bring together John 6:53-56; Matt 5:20; John 3:5; Mark 10:38; John 8:21; 13:33."46 Further examples from Nag Hammadi might be added (cf. Dialogue of the Savior [CG Ill, 5] §53 139.9-11, where we find quoted Matt 6:34b + 10:10b + 10:25a; Interpretation of Knowledge [CG XI, 1] 9.28-35, where we find quoted Matt 23:9 + 5:14a + 12:50 + 16:26a). There is also evidence that Thomas was influenced by the Gospel of Luke. The Lucan Evangelist alters Mark's "For there is nothing hid except to be made manifest" (Mark 4:22) to "For nothing is hid that shall not be made manifest" (Luke 8:17). It is this redacted version that is found in GThom §5-6, with the Greek parallel preserved in POxy654 §5 matching Luke's text exactly, which counters any claim that Luke's text only influenced the later Coptic translation. 47 The texts read as follows:
ou yap £anv Kpu7ttov £av J.u) t:va cpavEpcoen (Mark 4:22) ou yap £attv Kpu7ttov oou cpavEpov yEvfJaEtat (Luke 8:17) ou yap £attv Kpu7ttov oou cpavE[pov yEvflaEtat] (POxy655 §5) Elsewhere there are indications that Thomas has followed Luke (GThom §10 influenced by Luke 12:49;48 GThom §14 influenced by Luke 10:8-9;49 GThom §16 influenced by Luke 12:51-53, as well as Matt 10:34-39;50 GThom §55 and §101 influenced by Luke 14:26--27, as well as Matt 10:37;51 GThom §73-75 influenced by Luke 10:252 ). Given the evidence it is not surprising that Robert Grant, Bertil Gartner, Ernst Haenchen, Andreas Lindemann, Wolfgang Schrage, and others have all concluded that Thomas has drawn upon the intracanonical Gospel. 53 Advocates of Thomas' independence of the intracanonical Gospels often point to the abbreviated form that many of the parables and sayings have in the former. One of the best known examples is the Parable of the Wicked Tenant Farmers (Matt 21:33-41 =Mark 12:1-9 = Luke 20:9-16 = GThom §65). In the opening verse of the Marcan version approximately eleven words are drawn from Isa 5:1-7 to form the backdrop of the parable. Most of these words do not appear in Thomas. For Crossan this is a telling indication that the older form of the parable has been preserved in Thomas, not in Mark. 54 However, in Luke's opening verse only two
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words (£cpi>'tEU
Gospel of Pete~ One century ago, shortly after the discovery of a large fragment of the Gospel of Peter/~) widely differing assessments of its traditions were defended. Adolf von Harnack claimed that this gospel was independent of the intracanonical Gospels. 61 Theodor Zahn replied that it was dependent on the New Testament Gospels. 62 H. B. Swete came to the same conclusion.63 Swete's and Zahn's influence notwithstanding, Percival GardnerSmith argued that the Gospel of Peter was neither dependent on nor derivative from the New Testament Gospels.64 Most scholars, however, 227
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continued to be guided by Swete and Zahn. In recent years, Koester and a circle of colleagues and students have given new life to Gardner-Smith's position. According to Koester, the Gospel of Peter's "basis must be an older text under the authority of Peter which was independent of the canonical gospels. "65 Koester's student Ron Cameron agrees, concluding that this gospel is independent of the intracanonical Gospels, may even antedate them, and "may have served as a source for their respective authors." 66 This position has been worked out in detail by John Dominic Crossan, who in a full-length study that appeared in 1985 argued that the Gospel of Peter, though in its final stages influenced by the New Testament Gospel tradition, preserves a very old tradition on which the intracanonical Gospels' passion accounts are based. Crossan has concluded as follows: This book has argued for the existence of a document which I call the Cross Gospel as the single known source for the Passion and Resurrection narrative. It flowed into Mark, flowed along with him into Matthew and Luke, flowed along with the three synoptics into John, and finally flowed along with the intracanonical tradition into the pseudepigraphical Gospel of Peter. I cannot find persuasive evidence of anything save redactional modification being added to that stream once it departs its Cross Gospel source. 67 Crossan's provocative conclusion calls for evaluation. That portion of the crucifixion account that Crossan has identified as belonging to the original Cross Gospel reads as follows: 68 The Gospel According to Peter I (1) But o[f th]e Jews none washed his hands, neither (did) Herod
nor [a]ny of [h]is judges. A[nd] as they did [not] wash (them), Pilate rose (from his seat). (2) And then Herod the king ordered that the Lord should (be ta]ken away, saying to them, "All that I have ordered you to do to him, do."
11 (5) " ... For it is written in the Law: 'The sun should not set on one that has been put to death.' " And he delivered him to the people on the day before the unleavened bread, their feast. Ill (6) But taking the Lord, they shoved him, as they ran, and said, "Let us drag the Son of God by force now that we have power over him."
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(7) And they put around him a purple robe, and set him on the seat of judgment, saying, "Judge righteously, 0 King of Israel." (8) And one of them brought a crown of thorns (and) put it on the Lord's head. (9) And others standing by spat on his face, and others slapped him on the cheeks, others stabbed him with a staff, and some scourged him, saying, "With such honor let us honor the Son of God." IV (10) And they brought two criminals and crucified the Lord between them. But he remained silent, as if having no pain. (11) And when they had set up the cross, they wrote (upon it): "This is the King of Israel." (12) And laying down his garments before him, they divided them among themselves, and cast lots upon them. (13) But one of the criminals rebuked them, saying, "We suffer because of the evils which we have done; but this (man), who has become the savior of men, what wrong has he done you?" (14) And being angry with him, they ordered that his legs should not be broken, so that he might die tormented.
(15)
(16) (17) (18) (19) (20)
V But (though) it was midday, a darkness covered all Judaea. And they (the Jews) became anxious and distressed lest the sun already (had set), since he (Jesus) was still alive. (For) it is written for them: "(The) sun should not (set) on one who has been put to death." And one of them said, "Give him to drink poison69 with sour wine. 70 And mixing it, they gave (it to him) to drink. And they fulfilled all things and completed their sins on their head. And many went about with lamps, thinking that it was night; (and some) fell. And the Lord called out, saying, "My power, (my) power, you have forsaken me." And having said (this) he was taken up. And at the same hour the veil of the Temple in Jerusalem split in two.
VI (21) And they withdrew the nails from the wrists of the Lord, and laid him on the earth. And the whole earth shook, and there was great fear. (22) Then the sun shone. and it was found (to be) the ninth hour. 229
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This passage is complex. Although it gives conflicting impressions, on the whole it suggests that the Gospel of Peter is later, not earlier than the Synoptic Gospels. The author of this writing apparently thought that "Herod the king" exercised authority in Jerusalem (1.2). 71 This is, of course, quite inaccurate. The anti-Jewish tone fits better the time after Mark than before him. 72 Indeed, the villainy of Jesus' enemies, in comparison with the intracanonical accounts, appears to be heightened. Jesus is "shoved" by the Jews, who gloat, "Let us drag the Son of God by force now that we have power over him" (3.6). The mockery that Jesus endures is evidently at the hands of the Jewish "people" (3.7-9),73 to whom Pilate had delivered him up (2.5), and not at the hands of the Romans, as in Matt 27:27-31 and Mark 15:16--20. During the crucifixion the Jews are filled with misgivings (5.15; 6.21 );74 news of the resurrection terrifies them (cf. 11.47-48 below). Furthermore, the distance from the Jewish world and religion, as reflected, for example, in the words "their feast" (2.5), and "it is written for them" (5.15), do not fit into the early Palestinian Jesus Movement that antedated Mark. 75 Finally, Jesus' Aramaic (or Hebrew) cry, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani," as in Matt 27:46 and Mark 15:34, is surely more primitive than the Greek cry recorded in the Gospel of Peter. "My power, (my) power, you have forsaken me" (5.19). 76 There are other indications that suggest that the Gospel of Peter is secondary. Running throughout this apocryphal gospel is a marked apologetic that explains away apparent difficulties (2.3-5a: how it is that the body would have been readily released to Joseph; 12.50--54: why the women did not weep for Jesus or complete his embalming, and how it was they expected to gain access to the enclosed tomb). Mark's christology appears to be highlighted by the elevation of the title "the Son of God" (3.6, 9; cf. 11.45, 46) and the frequent reference to Jesus as "the Lord" (1.2; 3.6, 8; 4.10; 5.19; 6.21).77 Indeed, the statements that Jesus felt "no pain" (4.10) and "was taken" (5.19), while yet on the cross, may reveal a docetic tendency. There are other passages that create the impression that this section of the Gospel of Peter is dependent on Mark or one of the intracanonical Gospels. Why is it only implied that Pilate apparently had washed his hands (1.1 ), as in Matt 27:24; or is this part of the Gospel of Peter that is lost? Why does the criminal in this account rebuke "the people" (4.13) and not the other criminal as in Luke 23:40-41? And most strangely, why is it recorded that this criminal's legs were not broken, rather than Jesus' (4.14), as in John 19:31-37? Crossan thinks that here the Gospel of Peter is not dependent on the Gospel of John. 78 Indeed, he says it is probably the other way around. But is it not more likely that what we have in the Gospel of Peter is a dramatic embellishment, on the one hand heightening the confession of the repentant criminal, who does not merely rebuke the other thief, but rebukes the Jews as well? The refusal to break this man's legs, on the other hand, heightens the villainy of the Jews-anyone who 230
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defends Jesus will be punished. Our suspicion that the Gospel of Peter is secondary here may be confirmed when we observe that the repentant criminal not only says that Jesus had done nothing wrong (as in Luke 23:40-41), but that "he has become the savior of men" (4.13). This is surely later confessional embellishment, not a piece of primitive tradition inexplicably omitted from the later Synoptic Gospels. Finally, the reference to the nails (oi ~A.ot) and to Jesus being "laid" (£9TIKav) on the earth (6.21) probably derives from Synoptic and Johannine details (cf. John 20:25; Matt 27:59-60 par.). 79 The next part of the putative Cross Gospel gives further indications of its secondary nature. Here is a translation of the crucifixion scene isolated by Crossan: 80 VII (25) Then the Jews and the elders and the priests, knowing what sort of harm they had done to themselves, began to lament and say: "Woe (to us) for our sins; the judgment and the end of Jerusalem have drawn near." VIII (28) But the scribes and the Pharisees and the elders, having gathered together, heard that all the people were grumbling and murmuring and beating their breasts, saying: "If at his death these great signs have happened, behold how righteous he must have been!" (29) They were afraid and went to Pilate entreating him and saying: (30) "Give us soldiers, that we might guard his tomb for three d[ays], lest his disciples come and steal him and the people suppose that he had been raised from the dead, and do us harm." (31) And Pilate gave them Peironius the centurion, with soldiers, to guard the tomb. And elders and scribes went with them to the tomb. (32) And having rolled a large stone, all who were there, with the centurion and the soldiers, place (it) at the door of the tomb (33) and put on it seven seals, and after pitching a tent they kept guard.
IX (34) Early in the morning of the Sabbath a crowd from Jerusalem and the surrounding countryside came in order to see the sealed tomb. 211
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(35) Now in the night in which the Lord's day dawned, while the soldiers kept guard in pairs in every watch, a loud voice rang out in heaven, (36) and they saw the heavens opened and two men descending from there in great brightness and drawing near to the tomb. (37) But that stone which had been placed at the door rolled by itself and withdrew to one side. The tomb opened and both of the young men entered. X
(38) Then those soldiers, observing these things, awakened the centurion and the elders (for they themselves were there on guard). (39) And while they were relating what they had seen, again they see three men coming out of the tomb--two of them supporting the one, and a cross following them(40) and the head(s) of the two reached to heaven, but (the head) of the one being led by the hand extended above the heavens. (41) And they heard a voice from heaven, saying: "Did you preach to those who sleep?" (42) And an answer was heard from the cross: "Yes." XI
(45) Having seen these things, those about the centurion hurried (that) night to Pilate, abandoning the tomb which they had been guarding, and reported everything that they had seen, being greatly disturbed and saying: "Truly he was the Son of God." (46) Pilate answered and said: "I am clean of the blood of the Son of God. To you this seemed (right)." (47) Then all came and were beseeching him and urging him to command the centurion and the soldiers to relate to no one what they had seen. (48) "For it is better," they said, "for us to be guilty of the greatest sin before God than to fall into the hands of the people of the Jews and be stoned." (49) Pi late therefore commanded the centurion and the soldiers to say nothing. The second part of Crossan's Cross Gospel contains elements that again suggest that the Gospel of Peter is posterior, not prior, to the Synoptics, particularly the Gospels of Matthew and Mark. The confession of the 232
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Jewish authorities' guilt (7.25; 11.48), which in itself lacks verisimilitude, could owe its inspiration in part to Jesus' woe and lament for Jerusalem (Luke 21:20-24; cf. 23:48) and perhaps to Caiaphas' ominous counsel (John 11:49-50). Is it really probable that the Gospel of Peter's tradition that the "Jews and elders" lamented by acknowledging their sins and the imminence of "judgment and the end of Jerusalem" is primitive, independent, and pre-Synaptic? Do not such statements reflect the relationship between "Jews" and "Christians" after 70 c.E., when the various groups and subgroups of Jews are reduced largely to two principal movements (followers of Hillel [and Shammai] and Jesus) and the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 is viewed as the result of the Jews' failure to recognize Jesus as "Messiah"? Is such a statement as "it is better to be guilty of the greatest sin before God than to fall into the hands of the people" more primitive than the Synoptic tradition? Such a statement bears the stamp of enthusiastic Christian exaggeration unrestrained by realistic knowledge of Jewish piety and sentiment. It has, moreover, an anti-Jewish ring to it as well. Similarly, the statement of the people in 8.28 (" ... all the people were grumbling and murmuring and beating their breasts, saying: 'If at his death these great signs have happened, behold how righteous [SiKcxt~] he must have been!'") surely represents an embellishment of Luke 23:47-48: "Now when the centurion saw what had taken place, he praised God, and said: 'Certainly this man was righteous [SiKcxtoc;].' And all the multitudes who assembled to see the sight, when they saw what had taken place, returned home beating their breasts." The Jewish leaders' fear of harm at the hands of the Jewish people (8.30) smacks of embellishment, if not Christian apologetic. The "seven seals" (8.33) and the "crowd from Jerusalem and the surrounding countryside" that "came in order to see the sealed tomb" (9.34) serve an apologetic interest: The resurrection story is well attested. 81 These details are probably secondary to the intracanonical tradition. 82 The appearance of the expression, "the Lord's day" (iJ teuptcxKi], 9.35), of course, is another indication of lateness (cf. Rev 1:10; lgn. Magn. 9:1), not antiquity. 83 The centurion's confession (11.45) appears to reflect Matthean influence. 84 Compare the following: A.EyovtE<;. aA. TJA&c; uioc; ~V 9wu ( G Pet 11.45b) Et7tEV. clATJA&c;. 6 av9pC1>7t~ OUt~ uioc; 9wu ilv (Mark 15:39) A.tyovtec;. cXATJA&c; 9eou uioc; ilv outoc; (Matt 27:54) A.tyrov. ovtroc; 6 av9pro7t~ out~ SiKCXt~ iiv (Luke 23:47) All of Peter's elements are found in Matthew. Other than word order and the omission of outoc; (which is found in all three Synoptics), Matthew and Peter are in agreement. Further Matthean influence is seen in Pilate's claim of innocence in the death of Jesus (11.46; cf. Matt 27:24). 85 Finally, can it be seriously maintained that the Gospel of Peter's resurrection account, complete with a talking cross and angels whose heads 233
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reach heaven, constitutes the most primitive account extant? Is this the account that the intracanonical evangelists had before them? Or, is it not more prudent to conclude what we have here is still more evidence of the secondary, fanciful nature of this apocryphal writing? Does not the evidence suggest that the Gospel of Peter is little more than a blend of details from the four intracanonical Gospels,86 especially from Matthew, that has been embellished with pious imagination, apologetic concerns, and a touch of anti-Semitism? It is difficult to conclude that this material, no matter how deftly pruned and reconstructed, could possibly constitute the primitive substratum of tradition on which the passion narratives of the New Testament Gospels are dependent. Scholars a generation ago found no independent traditions in the Gospel of Peter. 81 More recently Philip Vielhauer has found Matthean elements in 8.29-31 and 11.47-49, Lucan elements in 1.1-2.5, 4.13-14, and conftated Marcan-Matthean elements in 2.5, 4.14, and 6.21. 88 Karlmann Beyschlag, Jerry McCant, David Wright, Raymond Brown, Frans Neirynck, and Susan Schaeffer have reached similar conclusions, arguing that the Gospel of Peter is dependent on Matthew and possibly on the other New Testament Gospels as well. 89 Joel Green agrees, concluding that even Crossan's pruned version, the so-called Cross Gospel, is nothing more than an embellishment based on the Gospel of Matthew (though in places the parallels seem closest to Mark). 90 Examining the vocabulary of the Cross Gospel, Meier concurs with Green's conclusion, describing it as a second-century "pastiche of traditions from the canonical Gospels, recycled through the memory and lively imagination of Christians who have heard the Gospels read and preached upon many a time." 91 Moody Smith's rhetorical question only underscores the problematical dimension of Crossan's hypothesis: "[I]s it thinkable that the tradition began with the legendary, the mythological, the anti-Jewish, and indeed the fantastic, and moved in the direction of the historically restrained and sober?" 92 The only plausible answer to this question is "No." Waiter Rebell makes a good point that the Gospel of Peter's apparent acquaintance with 1 Peter (compare GPet 10.41 with 1 Pet 3:19) and its claim of Petrine authorship are further indications of lateness. "Durch seine Verfasserfiktion erweist sich das Petrusevangelium als relativ spates Werk ... der Verfasser des Petrusevangeliums wollte nun mit Hilfe der Autoritiit des Petrus auch fiir seine Schrift eine Leserschaft gewinnen. " 93 Crossan's proposal that the Gospel of Mark is dependent upon the Cross Gospel encounters another problem. How are we to explain why the former made use only of the latter's passion account, but not its resurrection account? It seems odd that Mark (and the other intracanonical evangelists) would make use of only a portion of the Cross Gospel. Should we not expect to find at least a few traces that indicate the Marcan evangelist's awareness of this "primitive" resurrection account? Yet we find none. The 2~4
JESUS IN THE AGRAPHA AND APOCRYPHAL GOSPELS
problem is resolved if we assume, as the other points of evidence suggest, that the Gospel of Peter (and/or the putative Cross Gospel) depended upon the Synoptic Gospels. Just as Matthew and Luke, who are dependent upon Mark, follow the evangelist's account of the passion right up to the discovery of the empty tomb (Mark 16:1-8), then go their separate ways because there is no more Mark to follow, so the Gospel of Peter follows Mark (and the other two Synoptics). The Gospel of Peter breaks away from the Marcan narrative here for the same reason that Matthew and Luke break away: There is no Marcan resurrection narrative to follow. (Mark 16:9-20 was not penned until quite some time after the publication of Matthew, Luke-Acts, and John.) But the author of Peter does pick up a few details from the other two Synoptics, particularly Matthew (such as the tradition of the guard at the tomb). This is certainly a more plausible explanation than one that would ask us to believe that Mark followed the Gospel of Peter's passion account, but not its resurrection account. There is one last point that should be considered. The recently discovered P0xy2949, a papyrus fragment that may date as early as 200 c.E.,94 parallels GPet 2.3-5 and appears to be closer to the Synoptics and more primitive than the Akhmimic text of the Gospel of Peter. Although here one must exercise caution in reaching firm conclusions, given the brevity and condition of this fragment, we probably have yet one more indication of the secondariness of the Gospel of Peter. 95 In view of P0xy2949, we must recognize that attempts to extract from the Akhmimic Gospel of Peter a text that supposedly antedates the Synoptic tradition can only be difficult and precarious. This does not, of course, categorically rule out the possibility that the Gospel of Peter may actually contain primitive material; but it does significantly increase the burden of proof upon those who make attempts to identify such material.
Egerton Gospe/96 Papyrus Egerton 2 consists of four fragments. The fourth fragment yields nothing more than one illegible letter. The third fragment yields little more than a few scattered words. The first and second fragments offer four (or perhaps five) stories that parallel Johannine and Synoptic materials. Papyrus Koln 255 constitutes a related fragment of the text. Its lines will be inserted in italics where appropriate. The text may be translated as follows: 97 Papyrus Egerton 2 Fragment 1 verso
(§la)
[And Jesus said] to the lawyer[s: " 3Punish e]veryone who acts con[trary to 4the l]aw, but not me. Fo[r 5he knows not] what he does (or) how he does it." [But 6t]urn[ing] to [the]
2
235
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rulers of the people 7he sa[id t]his word: "Sea[rch 8t]he scriptures, in which you thi[ nk] 9you have life. Those 10 ar[ e what tes]tify about me. Do not 11 s[uppose th]at I came to accu[s]e 12[you] before my Father. 13 Moses is [the one who ac]cuses you, (the one) in whom 14you have hoped." And when th[e]y 15 s[ai]d: "We know [full] well that 16God spo[ke] to Moses, but we do not know 17 [whence you are]," answering, Jesus sa[id 18to the]m: "Now accuses (you) 19[your un]belie[f] in the things 2°written by him. For if you had 21 believed in Moses}, you would have believed 22a[in me}; for concerning me that one 23a[wrote} to your fa[th}ers." Fragment 1 recto
(§lb)
(§2)
that they] should draw together, c[arrying] 23 stones, that they might sto[ne 24 h]im. And the [rul]ers laid 2.~han[ds] upon him, 26 [th]at they should arrest (him) and hand (him) 27 [over] to the crowd; and they were not [able] to 28arrest him because 29 his hour of delivera[nce] (into their hands) had not yet c[ome]. JOBut the Lord himself, going [out from their ha]nds, 31 escaped from th[em]. 32And [be]hold a leper draw[ing near to him] 33says: "Teacher Jesus, wandering with lep[ersJ 34and eatin[g with them] 35in the inn, I also con[tracted leprosy]. 361f then [you will it], 37 I shall be cleansed." Immediately the Lord [said to him]: 38"[I] will it; be cleansed." [and immediately] 39the lep[rosy de]parted from him. 40But [said} Jesus to him, "Go, show 41yourselfto th[e priests.] 42aand offer for 43a[purjification, as Moses com[manded, and} 44asin no longer." 22 [ •••
Fragment 2 recto
(§3)
com]ing 43 to him to examine 44him they began testing him, say[ing]: 45 "Teacher Jesus, we know that [from God] 46you have come, for what you are doing tes(tifies] 47 beyond all the prophets. [Therefore, tell] 48 us: Is it proper to [give 49 payment] to the kings that which pertains to their rule? Should [we pay thJem 50or n[otJ?" But Jesus knowing th[eir 51 th]inking, becoming ang[ry], 52said to th[em]: "Why do you call me 53 '[Te]acher' [with y)our mouth, n[ot he]aring 54 what I [s]ay? Well did Is[aiah pr]ophesy [concerning 55 y]ou, saying: 'Th[is people] 56 with the[ir li]ps [honor] 57 me, [but their hea]rt is [far] 58from m[e. In v]ain [they worship me.J 59Command[ments of men .. .'"] 42 [ •••
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Fragment 2 verso
(§4)
in the place, having shut 61 ( ••• ] it had been laid beneath 62 [ ••• ] its wealth uncertain 63 [ ••• ] But while those ones were perplexed 64at this strange question, 65Jesus then walked and stood 66at the bank of the Jordan 67 River. And stretching out 68 his right hand [... ] filled 69 ( ••• ] and sowed (it) upon the 70 [rive]r (?).And then [... ] 71 the water having produced [... ] the n[ .. .] and [... ] before 73 their eyes brought forth fruit 74 [ ••• ] much[ ... ] to (their) joy(?) 75 [ ••• ]
60 ( ••• ]
Fragment 3 verso
(§5)
76 [ ••• ] 77 [ ••• ]
if 7R[ ••• ] his 79 ( ••• ]
80 ( ••• ]
knowing 81 [ ••• ]
Fragment 3 recto
(§6)
"We are one [... ] 831 abide w[ith" ... st]ones 84 to [... that they] 85should kill [him ... ] 86he says: "The one( ... ] 87 [ ••• ]
82
At many points these fragments parallel the Johannine and Synoptic Gospels. The first story is replete with apparent Johannisms. Jesus' assertion in lines 7-10 could well be drawn from John 5:39, 45. The lawyers' reply in lines 15-17 appears to be taken from John 9:29, while Jesus' rejoinder in lines 20-23a98 reflects John 5:46. The attempt to stone Jesus in lines 22-24 parallels John 10:31, while the declaration in lines 25-30 that they were unable to do so because his "hour had not yet come" echoes John 7:30 and 8:20. 99 Reference to Jesus in line 30 as "the Lord" has a secondary ring. The second story is mostly Synoptic. The opening sentence in line 32, "and behold a leper drawing near to him says," agrees with Matt 8:2a (not the parallel Mark 1:40a) nearly verbatim. The leper's petition in line 36 employs the same vocabulary, though not the forms, of that of the leper's request in Mark 1:40b par. Jesus' response in line 38 agrees with the Synoptic story exactly (Mark 1:41b par). The statement in lines 38-43a that "immediately the leprosy departed from him" agrees almost exactly with Mark 1:42 (and with Luke 5:13, but for the word order). The Egerton Papyrus has no equivalent of Mark's secrecy motif (Mark 1:43-44), which could argue for Egerton's independence, if not priority. But then most of this material has been omitted by Matthew as well (Matt 8:4). Its absence in the Egerton Papyrus may suggest nothing more than that the author had no more interest in the Marcan secrecy theme than had Matthew and Luke, who often chose to abbreviate it or expurgate it altogether. Jesus' order that the man show himself to the "priests" parallels Mark 1:44. But the plural betrays a lack of acquaintance with Jewish law and custom. The plural may have been inspired by the final part of Jesus' saying, "as a witness to them," which is found in all three Synoptics but not paralleled 237
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in the Egerton Papyrus. The final part of the admonition (line 44a) parallels John 5:14. The third story again combines Johannine and Synoptic elements. The opening statement in lines 45-47, "Teacher Jesus, we know that [from God] you have come, for what you are doing tes[tifies] beyond all the prophets," is based upon John 3:2 and 9:29 (cf. also John 1:45; Acts 3:18). Egerton's use of lhMaKaA.E is secondary to John's transliteration pa~~i, and may be due to its appearance in Mark 12:14a ("Teacher, we know that you are true"). The question put to Jesus in lines 48-50 is taken from Mark 12:14b par, but appears to have missed the original point. Jesus' emotion in line 51 recalls Mark 1:43, while his question in lines 52-54 recalls a form of the question found in Luke 6:46. The remainder of Jesus' saying, which is a paraphrase of Isa 29:13, echoes Mark 7:6-7 par. Crossan 's analysis of these fragments leads him to conclude that Papyrus Egerton 2 represents a tradition that antedates the intracanonical Gospels. He thinks that "Mark is dependent on it directly" and that it gives evidence of "a stage before the distinction of Johannine and Synoptic traditions was operative." 100 Helmut Koester agrees with Crossan's second point, saying that in Papyrus Egerton 2 we find "pre-Johannine and pre-synaptic characteristics of language [which] still existed side by side." 101 He thinks it unlikely, pace Jeremias, 102 that the author of this papyrus could have been acquainted with the intracanonical Gospels and "would have deliberately composed [it] by selecting sentences" from them. 103 Crossan and Koester could be correct in this assessment. There are, however, some problems that should give us pause before affirming it. First, it is not quite true that there are no "redactional features of any of the [G]ospels in which parallels appear." 104 Since there is no "Johannine" synoptic gospel with which comparison with the Fourth Gospel can be made, it is difficult to be certain what really is Johannine redaction. Koester observes that whereas John 5:39 reads "eternal life," PEger2 line 2 reads only "life." Since "eternal life" is thematic in John (cf. 3:15, 16, 36; 4:14, 36; 5:24; 6:27, 40, 47, 54, 68; 10:28; 12:25, 50; 17:2, 3), the simpler Egerton reading might be primary. However, in the Fourth Gospel "life" frequently occurs without the adjective "eternal" (cf. 1:4; 5:25, 29, 40; 6:33, 53; 8:12; 10:10; 20:31). Therefore, the noun "life" by itself is really no indication of priority. Koester suggests that "search" in lines 7-8 of Egerton should be understood as an imperative, while the Johannine counterpart is an indicative: "You search." He is probably correct. He suspects that again the meaning found in Papyrus Egerton 2 is more primitive than that found in the Fourth Gospel. It is interesting to observe, however, that £pauvav occurs elsewhere in John as an imperative: "Search and see that a prophet does not arise from Galilee" (7:52). The searching of Scripture plays an important role in Johannine irony in the Fourth Gospel (cf. 7:40-44). 23R
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Could the imperative in lines 7-8 reflect a meaning derived from both Johannine usages of £pcxuvav? Thus, the presence of the imperative in the Egerton Papyrus does not necessarily argue for priority. As for the idea of "searching the scriptures," which is more probable, that the Fourth Evangelist took up a primitive statement about searching the scriptures and developed it into part of his christology and apologetic, or that Papyrus Egerton 2 preserves a fragment of a tradition ultimately derived from the Fourth Gospel? Both alternatives are possible, but the second one seems more probable. The same question must be asked with respect to the statement, "to seize him, because his hour had not yet come." Not only does the idea of "the (or my/his) hour" appear numerous times in the Fourth Gospel (cf. 2:4; 4:21, 23; 5:25; 7:30; 8:20; 12:23, 27; 13:1; 16:32; 17:1 ), twice we find wording that almost exactly parallels the wording of Papyrus Egerton 2: CXUtOV 7tUXOCXt Ott OU1tCJ) e[A:rJAUSEt] CXUtOU, ropcx (lines 28-29) CXUtOV 7ttaacxt ... ott 0U1tCJ) EATJAU9Et, ropcx CXUtOU (John 7:30) 1ttaacxt cxutov, Ott OU1tCJ) EATJAU9Et, ropcx CXUtOU (John 8:20) Which is more likely, that the Fourth Evangelist, influenced by a statement such as that found in Papyrus Egerton 2, would develop a complicated and pervasive theme of the coming "hour," or that Papyrus Egerton 2 contains an echo of a Johannine motif? Koester points out that the idea of ''hour" may not be distinctly Johannine after all, since something like it is found in Mark 14:35: " ... and he prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him." 105 But is this Marcan passage truly parallel to what we find in John and in Papyrus Egerton 2? The Marcan passage says nothing about the hour "having come." The Johannine idea of hour probably is ultimately rooted in passion tradition common to the Synoptic Gospels. It is difficult to imagine that this sentence in the Egerton Papyrus points to the origin of the idea, as it came to expression in the Fourth Gospel. There is another important detail in this pericope from Papyrus Egerton 2 that should be noted. Just before the "hour" statement we are told that "the rulers laid their hands upon him," but were unable to seize him. Again we find close verbal agreement with the language of the Fourth Gospel: K:CXl E7tej3cxl..ov [ta~] xei[pcx~] cxut&v E7t'cxutov oi [apxov]tE~ (PEger 2, lines 24-26) K"cxt o'i>aet~ £7teJ3cxl..ev £7t'cxutov t'l1v xel:pcx (John 7:30) ai..A.'oMEI.~ £7t£J3cxl..ev £7t'cxutov ta~ xEI:pcx~ (John 7:44) Once more we must ask which is the most likely explanation, that the Fourth Evangelist took the material that is now extant as lines 24-29 239
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and developed it into his themes of Jesus' coming hour and of the rulers' 106 various attempts to arrest him, or that Papyrus Egerton 2 has collapsed these ideas into a single, composite pericope? Koester's proposal is possible, to be sure, but surely the latter alternative is more probable. The Synoptic material in Papyrus Egerton also exhibits the presence of the redaction of the respective evangelists. The opening line of the leper pericope is instructive: Kat [\]Sou A£1tp0~ 1tpooeM[rov au'ttp] (PEger 2, line 32) K<Xt EPX£'t<Xt1tpoc; au'tov A£1tpoc; mpaKaA.&v au'tov (Mark 1:40) ~<:al. \Sou A.e1tpoc; 1tpocreA.9rov 1tpOO£Kuvet au'ttp (Matt 8:2) Kai £A.£ve'to £v 'ttp eivat au'tov £v ~tc;i 't&v 1t6A.erov Kai iSou lxviJp 1tA.flp'Tic; A.£1tpac; (Luke 5:12)
Comparison of these four versions readily shows that Matthew and Papyrus Egerton 2 are in close agreement. Matthew has edited his Marcan source, inserting iSou and transforming the finite epxe'tat into the participle 1tpocreA9rov. Both of these features are common to the Matthean evangelist. 107 The appearance of these features in the Egerton text strongly suggests that it has been influenced by the Matthean version of the story. This in turn suggests that the concluding admonition (~TIKE'tt a~ap'tave), recovered thanks to Papyrus Koln 255, derives from John 5:14 (and/or 8:11) and not from some unknown pre-Synaptic, pre-Johannine source. Lucan redaction appears in the healing of the leper: 1topeu8el.c; £1t\.Set~ov creau'tov 'tot~ iepeucrtv (PEger 2, lines 39-41) 'i>1taye creau'tov Se\~ov 'ttpiepe\ (Mark 1:44) umye (J£(XU'tOV Set~OV 'ttpiepet (Matt 8:4) 1tOpeu9£v'tec; £mSet~a'te £au'toi>c; 'tot~ iepeucrtv (Luke 17:14)
Whereas Matthew follows Mark's text verbatim, Luke introduces several minor changes. All of these changes, in almost identical forms, appear in the Egerton papyrus. The best explanation for this is the influence of Lucan redaction, not some non- or pre-Synaptic tradition. 108 Other considerations suggest that the Egerton Papyrus is posterior to the intracanonical Gospels. Addressing Jesus as "Teacher Jesus" (line 45) probably reflects a convention that did not arise before the end of the first century and did not become commonplace until well into the second century, 109 while the plural "kings" is probably secondary to the singular "Caesar" that is found in the Synoptics (and in GThom §100).U° Finally, the flattery, "what you do bears witness beyond all the prophets," may reflect John 1:34, 45 and is again reminiscent of later pious Christian 240
JESUS IN THE AGRAPHA AND APOCRYPHAL GOSPELS
embellishment that tended to exaggerate the respect that Jesus' contemporaries showed him (see the examples in GHeb §2 and Josephus, Ant. 18.3.3 §64). A second question arises in response to Koester's statement about the improbability that the author of the Egerton Papyrus "would have deliberately composed [it] by selecting sentences" from the intracanonical Gospels. Framed that way, one would have to agree. It is not likely that someone in possession of these Gospels and quoting from them would have selected various sentences from diverse contexts.lll But is this the only alternative to Koester's position? What the evidence suggests is that the author has quoted from memory, and that many of the sentences he has quoted have common words. David Wright, responding to Koester, demonstrates just how most of the various elements that make up the Egerton Papyrus could have been drawn together by catchwords. 112 There is no need to view Egerton's posterior relationship to the intracanonical Gospels as involving deliberate patch-work selection. This is a caricature of the alternative position. Moreover, the third pericope, the one that relates the question of paying tax, lacks coherence. It is not at all obvious that the Egerton version constitutes a consistent and unified whole, which in the intracanonical Gospels has become broken up and its parts placed into new contexts. As to the role played by memory and oral transmission, one need only cite a few examples of early patristic quotations of passages from the intracanonical Gospels to appreciate the inexactitude often encountered. In Apologia I 15.1-3 Justin Martyr cites Matt 5:28, 29 (influenced by Mark 9:47), 32; and 19:12, and not one quotation is verbatim (in the extant manuscripts). A third question arises out of Koester's suggestion that the mixture of Johannine-like and Synoptic elements is primitive, while their bifurcation into the extant intracanonical forms is secondary. If Koester's suggestion is correct, then the Egerton Gospel does indeed derive from the middle of the first century, as Crossan in fact argues. It would have to be this early, if it were to be used by the Synoptic evangelists. If this is the case, then one must wonder why it is that we have no other fragment nor any other evidence of the existence of this extraordinarily primitive Gospel. How is it that we do not have other papyri, apocryphal gospels, or patristic quotations attesting this primitive pre-Synoptic, pre-Johannine unified tradition? In reference to Egerton's tax pericope, Koester says that there "are no analogies to this kind of gospel composition, because this pericope is neither a harmony of parallels from different gospels, nor is it a ftorilegium."113 On the contrary, the apocryphal gospels appear to offer just such analogies. In commenting on the Parable of the Talents (Matt 25:14-30) Eusebius tells us of a different version in what probably should he identified as the Gospel of the Nazoreans (§18): 241
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But since the Gospel (written) in Hebrew characters which has come into our hands enters the threat not against the man who had hid (the talent), but against him who had lived dissolutelyfor he (the master) had three servants: one who consumed his master's substance with harlots and ftutegirls, one who multiplied the gain, and one who hid the talent; and accordingly one was accepted (with joy), another merely rebuked, and another cast into prison-1 wonder whether in Matthew the threat which is uttered after the word against the man who did nothing may refer not to him, but by epanalepsis to the first who had feasted and drunk with the drunken. (Eusebius, Theophania 22 [on Matt 25:14--15]) Unfortunately, Eusebius does not provide us with the actual text of this version of the parable. But if we assume that his description is accurate, then the parable that at one time appeared in the Gospel of the Nazoreans was apparently made up of elements from Matthew's Parable of the Talents and Parable of the Wicked Servant (Matt 24:45-51). The three servants, including the one who hid the talent, come from the Parable of the Talents (Matt 25:15, 18), while the description of the servant "who had feasted and drunk with the drunken" comes from the Parable of the Wicked Servant (Matt 24:49). The further description of the wicked servant as one who "consumed his master's substance with harlots" may reflect the similar description of the Prodigal Son "who consumed [his father's] substance with harlots" (Luke 15:30). Should we assume that details from an early, primitive parable, preserved in the Gospel of the Nazoreans, has been broken up and scattered among the parables of the Synoptic Gospels, or should we assume that the parable described by Eusebius is a composite, deriving elements from two or three related parables of the intracanonical Gospels? Other examples can be found in Justin Martyr's quotations. As noted above, Justin's quotations are often inexact. Sometimes they combine materials from two or more Gospels. From Apologia I 15.9 we read: "If you love those who love you [cf. Matt 5:46 = Luke 6:32], what new thing do you do [unparalleled]? For even the fornicators do this [Matt 5:46: "tax collectors"; Luke 6:32, 33: "sinners"]. But I say to you [cf. Matt 5:44], pray for your enemies [cf. Matt 5:44: "love"] and love those who hate you [cf. Luke 6:27: "do good"] and bless those who curse you and pray for those who mistreat you [cf. Luke 6:28]." Later in the same chapter, Justin offers another amalgam of Synoptic tradition: And that we should contribute to the needy, and do nothing for glory, he said: "Give to him who asks, and do not turn away him who would borrow [cf. Matt 5:42). For if you lend to those from 242
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whom you hope to receive (cf. Luke 6:34], what new thing do you do [unparalleled]? Even the tax collectors do this [cf. Matt 5:46]. Do not lay up for yourselves treasure upon earth, where moth and rust corrupt, and where thieves break through; but lay up for yourselves treasure in heaven, where neither moth nor rust corrupt [cf. Matt 6:19-20]. For what does one profit, if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what shall one give in exchange for it [cf. Matt 16:26]? Lay up treasure, therefore, in heaven, where neither moth nor rust corrupt [cf. Matt 6:20]." (Apologia I 15.10-12) Nowhere does Justin tell the reader that he has combined a series of related ethical maxims. One is left with the impression that this material makes up a unified utterance. Had this dominical "saying" turned up among the Oxyrhynchus Papyri, doubtless there would be some who would claim that what we have here is a piece of primitive, pre-Synoptic tradition, perhaps from Q itself, that has not yet been broken up and scattered throughout Matthew and Luke. Another instructive example is found in the next chapter: ... for not those who make profession, but those who do the works, shall be saved, according to his word: "Not every one who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven [cf. Matt 7:21]. For whoever hears me, and does my sayings [cf. Matt 7:24 = Luke 6:47], hears him who sent me [cf. Luke 10:16 (Codex D); John 5:23-24; 13:20; 12:44-45; 14:24; cp. Apologia I 63.5]. And many will say to me, 'Lord, Lord, have we not eaten and drunk in your name, and done wonders?' And then I will say to them, 'Depart from me, you workers of lawlessness [cf. Luke 13:26-27].' Then shall there be wailing and gnashing of teeth, when the righteous shall shine as the sun, and the wicked are sent into eternal fire [cf. Matt 13:42-43]. For many shall come in my name [cf. Matt 24:5 par], clothed outwardly in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are devouring wolves (cf. Matt 7:15]. By their works you will know them [cf. Matt 7:16, 20]. And every tree that does not bring forth good fruit is cut down and cast into the fire [cf. Matt 7:19]." (Apologia I 16.9-13) Once again Justin has assembled, based on memory, a "word" of Jesus that is in reality a pastiche of Synoptic materials, which at one point may also reflect Johannine influence. Although drawn from a variety of contexts, there is nevertheless a general thematic unity that holds these materials together. With respect to composition, the sayings in PEger2 §1 and §3 241
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are quite similar to Justin's dominical "word." Indeed, examples of mixed quotations can be found in gnostic writings as well. The author of the Exegesis on the Soul strung together two beatitudes, each from a different Gospel: "Again the savior said, 'Blessed are those who mourn, for it is they who will be pitied [cf. Matt 5:4]; blessed, those who are hungry, for it is they who will be filled' [cf. Luke 6:21]" (NHC 11,6135.15-19). Another feature that tells against the antiquity and priority of the Egerton Papyrus is the story related in the badly preserved verso of fragment 2. The story is reminiscent of the kind of stories one finds in the late and fanciful apocryphal gospels. For example, in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas we are told of the boy Jesus who sowed a handful of seed that yielded a remarkable harvest: Now when it was seed-time, Joseph went forth to sow corn, and Jesus followed after him. And when Joseph began to sow, Jesus put forth his hand and took of the corn so much as he could hold in his hand, and scattered it. Joseph therefore came at the time of the harvest to reap his harvest. And Jesus also came and gathered the ears which he had sown, and they made an hundred measures of good corn: and he called the poor and the widows and fatherless and gave them the corn which he had gained, save that Joseph took a little thereof unto his house for a blessing. (lnfanThom 10:1-2 [Latin]; cf. InfanThom 12:1-2 [Greek MS A]; GPsMatt 34) 114 The relevant part of Papyrus Egerton 2 reads: "But while those ones were perplexed at this strange question, Jesus then walked and stood at the bank of the Jordan River. And stretching out his right hand [...] filled [... ] and sowed (it) upon the [rive]r (?). And then [... ] the water having produced [... ] the [... ] and [... ] before their eyes brought forth fruit [... ] much [... ] to (their) joy" (lines 63-74). Although certainty is not possible, given the condition of the text, it is possible that these lines tell a story in which by way of illustration Jesus took a handful of seed and sowed it upon the river, with the result that the water-to the astonishment of those present-produced an abundance of fruit. The reference to joy suggests that the people benefited from the miracle, much as the "poor and the widows and the fatherless" did in the light-hearted tale in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas. Whether or not these two stories derive from a common source is not important. What is important is to appreciate the presence of what appears to be a quite fanciful tale among the pericopae preserved by the Egerton papyrus. The appearance of this tale, which is like those that are all too common among the later apocryphal gospels, significantly increases the burden of proof for those who wish to argue that the Egerton traditions are primitive, even pre-Synoptic. 244
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Although the hypothesis of Crossan, Koester, and others remains a possibility, the evidence available at this time suggests that in all probability Papyrus Egerton 2 represents a second-century conflation of Synoptic and Johannine elements, rather than primitive first-century material on which the intracanonical Gospels depended. 115 The presence of at least one apocryphal tale akin to those of the least historically viable traditions only strengthens this conviction. 116 Secret Gospel of Mark117
At the 1960 annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature Morton Smith reported that he had discovered a previously unknown epistle of Clement of Alexandria, in which was imbedded two fragments of a "Secret Gospel of Mark." It was not until 1973 that the text, along with Smith's translation and notes, was finally published. 118 Smith claims that in 1958 while cataloguing the holdings of the library of the ancient monastery of Mar Saba he came upon this epistle, quite by chance, copied onto the back page and inside cover of a seventeenth-century edition of the epistles of Ignatius of Antioch. No one besides Smith has actually seen the letter, though Thomas Talley reports being told in 1980 by authorities at the monastery that the pages in question had "been removed from the printed volume [of Ignatius]" for repair. 119 No one outside of the monastery has seen these pages. The manuscript has not, therefore, been subjected to the normal and necessary rigors of scholarly and scientific verification. Consequently, some scholars doubt the authenticity of the discoveryY0 Jacob Neusner, who knew the late Professor Smith as well as anyone, has recently described this writing as "the forgery of the century." 121 That this epistle apparently (and conveniently) lends a measure of support to Smith's controversial contention that Jesus was a magician, perhaps even a homosexual, 122 only adds to the suspicion that this Clementine epistle may well be a fake. 123 Nevertheless, several learned patristics scholars (such as Henry Chadwick and G. W. H. Lampe) are satisfied that the epistle is genuine. 124 Aside from the question of whether or not the writing is a forgery (whether by Smith himself, as Neusner believes, or by someone else), there remains the important question as to Clement's credibility and the credibility of this "secret Mark" that he describes to Theodorus, the man to whom his epistle is addressed. Assuming for the moment that the epistle is genuine, why should anyone assign credibility to what Clement says about this secret edition of Mark? Clement quite gullibly accepts the Preaching of Peter and the Apocalypse of Peter as produced by the Apostle Peter (cf. Strom. 2.15.68; 6.5.39-41; Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. 6.14.1). He does not hesitate to ascribe to Jesus various sayings found in the apocryphal Gospel of the Egyptians and Gospel of the Hebrews. Thus, 245
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Clement's claims about Mark's travel and writing activities may rest on nothing more than pious legend and spurious reports, while the "secret Gospel of Mark" from which he quotes could be nothing more than a second-century apocryphon. 125 Satisfied that the document is genuine, Koester advances a complicated theory involving the Secret Gospel of Mark, Carpocratian Mark, canonical Mark, and the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, concluding that "Canonical Mark is derived from Secret Mark. " 126 Ron Cameron, also fully persuaded that the document is genuine, explains that the "Secret Gospel of Mark was probably composed around the beginning of the second century, most likely in Syria. " 127 At the outset of his analysis of the Clementine epistle, Crossan rightly states that "independent study of the original manuscript is absolutely necessary for scholarly certitude" (his emphasis). 128 But he then goes on to say (on the same page) that his "own procedure is to accept the document's authenticity as a working hypothesis and to proceed with internal study of its contents." In essential agreement with Koester, Crossan concludes that "canonical Mark is a very deliberate revision of Secret Mark." 129 There is one excerpt from Secret Mark that could be of special importance, not only for the study of canonical Mark, but also for the Fourth Gospel. Clement tells us that in Secret Mark this pericope occurs after the place in Mark where it reads: "After three days he shall arise" (Mark 10:34). Smith translates as follows: And they come into Bethany. And a certain woman whose brother had died was there. And, coming, she prostrated herself before Jesus and says to him, "Son of David, have mercy on me." But the disciples rebuked her. And Jesus, being angered, went off with her into the garden where the tomb was, and straightway a great cry was heard from the tomb. And going near Jesus rolled away the stone from the door of the tomb. And straightway, going in where the youth was, he stretched forth his hand and raised him, seizing his hand. But the youth, looking upon him, loved him and began to beseech him that he might be with him. And going out of the tomb they came into the house of the youth, for he was rich. And after six days Jesus told him what to do and in the evening the youth comes to him, wearing a linen cloth over his naked body. And he remained with him that night, for Jesus taught him the mystery of the kingdom of God. And thence, arising, he returned to the other side of the JordanY0 The first impression that one receives from this passage is that it appears to be a text made up almost entirely of Marcan vocabulary and phraseology. The story as a whole, however, is quite similar to the account 246
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of the resurrection of Lazarus in John 11. Is it then a pastiche of Marcan material, assembled on the model of the remarkable story found in the Fourth Gospel? No, it is not, according to Koester and his supporters. Secret Mark's version of the raising of the young man, Koester explains, "is a variant of John 11, in fact in a form that is free from all Johannine redactional elements. " 131 Cameron has reached the same conclusion: "On form-critical and redaction-critical grounds, the version of the story in the Secret Gospel of Mark is to be judged more primitive than the one preserved in John 11. " 132 Crossan agrees, arguing that "the full panoply of arguments from sequence, vocabulary, style, and content ... make it much more plausible that John 10:42-11:54 is a greatly expanded version" of the resurrected man. 133 This conclusion is certainly possible, but given the questionable source (i.e., Clement of Alexandria) and given the utter uncertainty of the document in question (i.e., the photographed, but lost and unexamined letter inscribed in the back of a seventeenth-century book), it is precarious to build a complicated hypothesis on such a flimsy foundation. 134 As to the analysis of its contents, it strikes us as equally plausible (and perhaps more so) to view the pericope quoted above as an artificial and secondary blend of Marcan and Johannine elements. Helmut Merkel has concluded that Secret Mark is "an apocryphon resting on the foundation of the canonical Gospels." 135 Ernest Best's detailed examination results in the interesting conclusion that Secret Mark is "too much like Mark. All this implies it was not written by Mark but by someone who knew Mark well and picked up his phrases. " 136 Furthermore, the point made about the lack of specific Johannine elements of redaction is without force. After all, the absence of such elements in a brief pericope that summarizes 55 verses of a given text should not occasion surprise, especially if the pericope in question is made up of words and phrases taken from another writing. There are, of course, examples in the New Testament (and in many other bodies of literature) of briefer writings being taken up and expanded. One immediately thinks of Colossians expanded into Ephesians or Jude expanded into 2 Peter. In Nag Hammadi one finds Eugnostos the Blessed (NHC Ill, 3) expanded into the Sophia of Jesus Christ (Ill, 4). But material is sometimes abbreviated and/or summarized. This point can be illustrated by comparing a portion of the spurious ending to Mark's Gospel (Mark 16:12-13) to the much longer description of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35). The whole Marcan passage is provided, hut only parallel fragments from Luke are provided: Mark 16:12-13 J.LEta B£ ta'Ota Buatv £~ aut&v 1tEpUta'tOUO'\V
Luke 24 I<.:at i.Bou [v 13] 5uo £~ aut&v [v 13] 7tEp\1ta'tOUV'tE<; [V 17]
247
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E!p!XV£piD911 tv E.'tEpc;t J..LOp!pf\ 7t0p£UOJ..LEvOt~ et~ aypov 1CU1C£tvot c:XtteA.96vte~ c:XttftyyetA.av -rot~ A.ot7tot~
ouot £tceivot~ E1ttO''t£UO'av.
Jlll £7ttyv&vat au-r6v [v 16] i;aav 7tOp£UOJ..L£VOl Et~ lCcOJ..l'llV [v 13) 'imea-rpt'ljfav ei.~ 'IepouaaA.itJ..L [v 33] 1ea\. eupov ... -rou~ E0£1Ca 1eat 'tO~ O'UV au-rot~ [v 33] !Cat au-rot E~11'YOUV't0 'ta tv 'tflOOCi> [v 35] c:XttftyyetA.av -rau-ra tt6.v-ra 'tOt~ £voetca [v 9; cf. Matt 28:8] ~pao£l~ -rfl 1CapOic;t -rou 7ttO''t£Uet [v 25; cf. Matt 28:17]
All of the elements in Mark 16:12-13 have their counterpart in the longer story in Luke 24. 137 Most of the vocabulary in Mark 16:12-13 is found in Luke 24. Is the Marcan passage a secondary summarizing pastiche or is it a primitive, pre-Synoptic tradition? Given the spurious status that most textual critics assign to the "longer ending" of Mark's Gospel, not too many scholars would be seriously inclined to view Mark 16:12-13 as the original form of the story and to view Luke 24:13-35 as an expanded and embellished version. Yet, in essence, with respect to Secret Mark (and Papyrus Egerton), this is what Cameron, Crossan, and Koester ask us to conclude. It is possible that such could be the case. But it seems as though the problematical nature of such a view has not been fully appreciated. If one thinks that on the basis of the available evidence a good case for the authenticity of Secret Mark can be made, then an even better case can be made for the authenticity of Mark 16:12-13. After all, in the latter case, we are in possession of bona fide MSS that date back as early as the fifth century (e.g., A CD K X A 9 n 33 et passim). All we have in the case of Secret Mark are twentieth-century photographs of a portion of an epistle purportedly penned by Clement of Alexandria, which apparently was inscribed by an eighteenth-century writer into the back of a seventeenthcentury book, which no one since (or besides?) Morton Smith and Thomas Talley have seen. On the basis of such a tenuous chain of evidence can we seriously make judgments about the origins, sources, relationships, and priority of the intracanonical Gospels? Surely we cannot. We must agree with Merkel that Secret Mark has nothing new to offer serious Jesus Research. 138
Conclusion Moody Smith has recently commented that "it is not unfair to suggest that we are seeing now a willingness or propensity to credit the independence and antiquity of the apocryphal gospels that is somewhat surprising in view of what is allowed in the case of the canonicals." 139 Smith's point is well taken. The priority that Crossan, Koester, and others have given to 248
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various agrapha and apocryphal gospels is questionable and in our estimation borders at times on being uncritical. Viewing these writings as prior to and independent of the intracanonical Gospels could very well lead to distortion. The independence of these writings, of course, is especially important for Crossan, who limits his reconstruction of the historical Jesus to multiply attested material. "My methodological discipline ... forbids the use of single attestations for reconstructing the historical Jesus. " 140 This method lends his research a measure of objectivity, to be sure. But the resulting database is narrow and very possibly skewed. When this database is broadened through the inclusion of several apocryphal gospels, it is in danger of becoming distorted. The net result could be the exchange of authentic, but singly-attested, material for inferior, secondary readings that appear to enjoy multiple attestation (i.e. because "independent" parallels are found in the Gospel of Thomas, the Egerton Papyrus, etc.). The preference for some of the readings found in the Gospel of Thomas illustrates the danger inherent in Crossan's procedure. Stripped of their Old Testament-Jewish orientation, some of these readings conveniently lend themselves to Crossan's portrait of Jesus as a "Jewish cynic," just as they conveniently lent themselves twenty-five years ago to those who were searching for an existentialist Jesus. A portion of John Meier's demurral, cited above, is worth repeating: "[T]o call upon the Gospel of Peter or the Gospel of Thomas to supplement our Four Gospels is to broaden out our pool of sources from the difficult to the incredible. " 141 Despite the wealth of materials, not a great deal can be gleaned from the agrapha and apocryphal writings that appreciably aid in the effort to construct a picture of the historical Jesus. This does not mean, however, that the noncanonical writings are of no value in Jesus Research. Their parallel readings are helpful in illustrating and clarifying the range of possibilities. Even if these writings are secondary to the intracanonical Gospels, they still could preserve a more primitive reading here and there, given the variables in the scribal transmission of the latter. Groupings of sayings, as well as their interpretation, could shed light on the composition and relationship of the intracanonical Gospels. Jesus Research should not rely heavily on these writings, but it should not proceed without their due consideration. 142
Notes H. Koester, EinfUhrung in das Neue Testament (2 vols., Berlin: de Gruyter, 1980); ET: Introduction to the New Testament (2 vols., New York: de Gruyter, 1982). See also i~.em, "Apocryphal and Canonical Gospels," HTR 73 (1980) 105-30; idem, "Uberlieferung und Geschichte der fri1hchristlichen Evangelienliteratur," ANRW 2.25.2 (1984) 1463-1542. 2 L. E. Keck, "Is the New Testament a Field of Study? or, From Outler to Overbeck and Back," SecCent 1 (1981) 19-35. 249
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3 For bibliography and a survey of the history of the discovery and evaluation of these writings, see J. H. Charlesworth, "Research on the New Testament Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha," ANRW 2.25.5 (1988) 3919-68. For further bibliography, see idem, The New Testament Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha: A Guide to Publications, with Excursuses on Apocalypses (with J. R. Mueller; ATLA Bibliography Series 17; London and Metuchen: ATLA, 1987); C. A. Evans, Life of Jesus Research: An Annotated Bibliography (NITS 13; Leiden: Brill, 1989) 168-74. 4 J. H. Charlesworth, Jesus Within Judaism: New Light from Exciting Archaeological Discoveries (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1988). 5 J. D. Crossan, The Historical Jesus: The L1fe of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1991); J. P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1991). Meier's is the first of three volumes. The first volume deals with sources and historical context. The second and third volumes will deal with the life and ministry of Jesus. 6 Crossan, The Historical Jesus, 427-34. The dates noted in the parentheses refer not to the dates of the extant MSS, but to the conjectured dates of the autographs. 7 This Gospel of the Egyptians, of which only six fragments are preserved in various patristic writings, is not to be confused with the gnostic Gospel of the Egyptians (CG Ill, 2). 8 See J. D. Crossan, The Cross that Spoke: The Origins of the Passion Narrative (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988) 404. 9 Crossan (The Historical Jesus, 434---50) isolates 180 items that enjoy multiple attestation of "independent" sources. Many of these items are multiply attested only if the apocryphal gospels are accorded independent status, as is usually accorded Mark and Q. 10 Meier, A Marginal Jew, 140-41. 11 Meier, A Marginal Jew, 131. 12 Meier,A MarginalJew,117-18. 13 Koester, Introduction to the New Testament, 2.13. 14 In place of the designation "agrapha" many scholars today prefer "extracanonical sayings"; cf. W. D. Stroker, "Agrapha," ABD 1 (1992) 92-95. By definition these sayings are usually brief and isolated, as opposed to larger noncanonical writings. This general rule is not always followed, with sayings excerpted from documents such as the Gospel of Thomas as treated as isolated units. For bibliography, see Charlesworth, The New Testament Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, 138-55. 15 J. Jeremias, Unbekannte Jesusworte (Zurich: Zwingli, 1947; 2nd ed., Giitersloh: Bertelsmann, 1951; 3rd ed., 1961); ET: The Unknown Sayings of Jesus (London: SPCK, 1957; 2nd ed., 1964). For the older classic German work, see A. Resch, Agrapha: Aussercanonische Schriftfragmente (TU 15; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1906; repr. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1967). One should also note E. Preuschen, Antilegomena: Die Reste der ausserkanonischen Evangelien und urchristlichen Oberlieferungen (2nd ed., Giessen: Topelmann, 1905); W. Bauer, Das Leben Jesu in Zeitalter der neutestamentlichen Apokryphen (TUbingen: Mohr (Siebeck], 1909; repr. 1967); E. Hennecke and W. Schneemelcher (eds.), Neutestamentliche Apokryphen in deutscher Obersetzung. I Band: Evangelien (TUbingen: Mohr (Siebeck], 1959; 6th ed. [by Schneemelcher only], 1990); ET: New Testament Apocrypha. Volume One: Gospels and Related Writings (vol. 1, revised ed., Cambridge: James Clarke;
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16 17 18 19
20 21
22
23 24 25
26 27 28
Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1991); H. Koester, Synoptische Ober/ieferung bei den Apostolischen Viitern (TV 65; Berlin: Akademie, 1957). W. D. Stroker (Extracanonical Sayings of Jesus [SBLRBS 18; Atlanta: Scholars, 1989]) provides the text of 266 sayings. Stroker makes no attempt to isolate authentic material. Jeremias, Unknown Sayings, 44-105, quotation from p. 44. 0. Hofius, "Unknown Sayings of Jesus," in P. Stuhlmacher (ed.), The Gospel and the Gospels (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991) 33(H)(). In the enumeration of the various sayings found in the Oxyrhynchus Papyri we follow R. W. Funk, New Gospel Parallels (2 vols., Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985). For line numbers and critical reconstruction of these texts, see J. A. Fitzmyer, "The Oxyrhynchus Logoi of Jesus and the Coptic Gospel According to Thomas," TS 20 (1959) 505-60; ed. and repr. in Fitzmyer, Essays on the Semitic Background of the New Testament (SBLSBS 5; London: Chapman, 1971) 355--433; 0. Hofius, "Das koptische Thomasevangelium und die Oxyrhynchus-Papyri Nr. 1, 654 und 655," EvT20 (1960) 21--42, 182-92. For reference, see Hofius, "Unknown Sayings,'' 345 n. 58. John 7:53-8:11 is found after John 7:52 in Codices D G H KM U G, as well as several minuscules and versions. Other MSS include the text, but with asterisks and obeli. The oldest MSS either omit the passage or place it elsewhere. The saying found in Acts 20:35 is the most likely authentic of the group. It is attested elsewhere as a saying of the Lord (cf. AposConst 4.2; Didasc. 4.3; and perhaps Did. 1.5; Hermas, Mand. 2.4-5). In the case of the last agraphon, only Justin Martyr attributes it to Jesus. This agraphon is quoted many times, sometimes without ascription, but often as a saying of Ezekiel or one of the other prophets. J. R. Mueller and S. E. Robinson ("Apocryphon of Ezekiel," in J. H. Charlesworth (ed.), The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha [2 vols., New York: Doubleday, 1983-85]2.488, 495) identify the agraphon as fragment 4 of the Apocryphon of Ezekiel. See also A. Baker, "Justin's Agraphon in the Dialogue with Trypho," JBL 81 (1968) 277-87. The agraphon's vague similarity to Matt 7:1-2 and John 12:47--48 may have been the reason why Justin thought it was a saying of Jesus. For comparative analysis that concludes that the agrapha are dependent on the canonical Gospels, see E. Massaux, The Influence of the Gospel of Saint Matthew on Christian Literature before Saint Irenaeus (3 vols., NGS 5.1-3; Macon: Mercer, 1990-93) 2.249-61. Meier, A Marginallew, 114. Hofius, "Unknown Sayings of Jesus," 351-55. Hofius, "Unknown Sayings of Jesus," 351-52. For arguments in favor of the authenticity of this agraphon, see J. Jeremias, "Der Zusammenstoss Jesu mit dem pharis!iischen Oberpriester auf dem Tempelplatz,'' in Coniectanea Neotestamentica in Honorem Anton Fridrichsen (ConNT 11; Lund: Gleerup, 1947) 97-108; idem, "An Unknown Gospel of Synoptic Type," in E. Hennecke and W. Schneemelcher (eds.), New Testament Apocrypha. Volume One: Gospels and Related Writings (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1963) 93: "ranks as high as the Synoptic account." This statement no longer appears in the revised edition, cf. Schneemelcher (ed.), New Testament Apocrypha (1991) 94. All other references to this work are to the 1991 edition. H. Koester (Ancient Christian Gospels: Their History and Development [London: SCM, 1990]104) thinks that GThom §8 is closer to the original form and meaning of the parable than is the version found in Matthew. Hofius, "Unknown Saying.o; of Jesus," 357. Hofius, "Unknown Sayings or Jesus." 355.
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29 Hofius, "Unknown Sayings of Jesus," 357. 30 Stroker, Extracanonical Sayings, 194. 31 Hofius, "Unknown Sayings of Jesus," 357. The quotation is from J. Jeremias, "Die ZuverHissigkeit der Evangelien-Oberiieferung," lunge Kirche 6 (1938) 572-82, here p. 580. See also R. H. Stein, "A Critique of Purportedly Authentic Agrapha," JETS 18 (1975) 29-35. 32 Hofius, "Unknown Sayings of Jesus," 358--60. This conclusion is at sharp variance with the views expressed by M. E. Boring, Sayings of the Risen Jesus: Christian Prophecy in the Synoptic Tradition (SNTSMS 46; Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1982); idem, "Christian Prophecy and the Sayings of Jesus: The State of the Question," NTS 29 (1983) 104-12; idem, The Continuing Voice of Jesus: Christian Prophecy and the Gospel Tradition (Louisville: Westminster-Knox, 1991). For more compelling assessments of this question, see F. Neugebauer, "Geistspriiche und Jesuslogien," ZNW 53 (1962) 218-28; D. Hill, "On the Evidence for the Creative Role of Christian Prophets," NTS 20 (1974) 262-74; J. D. G. Dunn, "Prophetic 'I'-sayings and the Jesus Tradition: The Importance of Testing Prophetic Utterances in Early Christianity," NTS 24 (1978) 175-98; D. E. Aune, Prophecy in Early Christianity and the Ancient Mediterranean World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983) 153-88. 33 R. Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition (Oxford: Black well, 1968) 374. 34 The designation, "apocryphal gospel," like "agrapha," has also become problematic, especially if by its use the lateness, secondariness, and spuriousness of these writings are presupposed. Some scholars, such as Crossan (Historical Jesus, xxxi), prefer to speak of "extracanonical" and "intracanonical" writings and by this try to avoid literary and historical prejudice. Where appropriate this terminology will be employed. 35 This list of parallels is adapted from C. A. Evans, Noncanonical Writings and New Testament Interpretation (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1992) 220-24. 36 For bibliography, see Schneemelcher (ed.), New Testament Apocrypha, 110; Charlesworth, The New Testament Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, 374-402. 37 For a critical edition that compares the Coptic and Greek texts, see J.-E. Menard, L'Evangile seton Thomas (NHS 5; Leiden: Brill. 1975). For an edition with Coptic and English on facing pages, see A. Guillaumont et al., The Gospel According to Thomas: Coptic Text, Established and Translated (2nd ed., Leiden: Brill, 1976). For the Greek texts, plus plates, see B. P. Grenfell and A. S. Hunt, The Oxyrhynchus Papyri, Edited with Translations and Notes (London: Egypt Exploration Fund, 1891) 1-3 [= POxy1]; idem, AOriA IHCOY: Sayings of Our Lord (London: Frowde, 1897) [= POxy1]; idem, New Sayings of Jesus and a Fragment of a Lost Gospel from Oxyrhynchus (London: Frowde, 1904) [ = POxy654]; idem, The Oxyrhynchus Papyri: Part IV (London: Egypt Exploration Fund, 1904) 1-22 [= POxy654], 22-28 [= POxy655]. 38 G. Garitte ("Les 'logoi' d'Oxyrhynque et l'apocryphe copte dit 'Evangile de Thomas'," Mus 73 [1960] 151-72) has argued that the Oxyrhynchus logia are based on the Coptic. 39 G. Quispel, "The Gospel of Thomas and the New Testament," VC 11 (1957) 189-207; C.-H. Hunzinger, "Unbekannte Gleichnisse Jesu aus dem Thomasevangelium," in W. Eltester (ed.), Judentum-Urchristentum-Kirche (J. Jeremias Festschrift; BZNW 26; Berlin: Tt>pelmann, 1960) 209-20; H.-W. Bartsch, "Das Thomas-Evangelium und die synoptische Evangelien," NTS 16 (1965) 449-54; Koester, "Uberlieferung und Geschichte," 1490--95 [on POxy1, 654, 655], 1515-18 [on Coptic Thomas]; idem, "Q and Its Relatives," in J. E.
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40 41
42 43 44
Goehring et al. (eds.), Gospel Origins & Christian Beginnings (J. M. Robinson Festschrift; Sonoma: Polebridge, 1990) 49-63, esp. 61-63 [for "original readings of Q" in Thomas]; J. H. Sieber, "The Gospel of Thomas and the New Testament," in Goehring et al. (eds.), Gospel Origins & Christian Beginnings, 64-73; R. D. Cameron, "The Gospel of Thomas: A Forschungsbericht and Analysis," ANRW 2.25.6 (1988) 4195-251. S. L. Davies ("Thomas: The Fourth Synoptic Gospel," BA 46 [1983] 6-9, 12-14, with quotation from p. 9) exaggerates when he claims that the Gospel of Thomas "may be our best source for Jesus's teachings." See also idem, "A Cycle of Jesus's Parables," BA 46 (1983) 15-17; idem, The Gospel of Thomas and Christian Wisdom (New York: Seabury, 1983). Davies dismisses too quickly the possible gnostic orientation of many of the sayings; it is surely inaccurate to report that scholars have concluded that the Gospel of Thomas is gnostic only because it was found among gnostic documents. Most scholars are persuaded that the Gospel of Thomas is gnostic in its final form, though to what degree continues to be debated; cf. Charlesworth, "Jesus, the Nag Hammadi Codices, and Josephus," in Jesus Within Judaism, 77-102. Cf. C. A. Evans, R. L. Webb, and R. A. Wiebe, Nag Hammadi Texts and the Bible: A Synopsis and Index (NTTS 18; Leiden: Brill, 1993) 88-144. C. L. Blomberg, "Tradition and Redaction in the Parables of the Gospel of Thomas," in D. Wenham (ed.), The Jesus Tradition Outside the Gospels (Gospel Perspectives 5. Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1984) 177-205; R. E. Brown, "The Gospel of Thomas and St John's Gospel," NTS 9 (1962-63) 155-77; Dehandschutter, "L'evangile de Thomas comme collection de paroles de Jesus," in J. Delobel (ed.), Logia. Les Paroles de Usus-The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Peeters, 1982) 507-15; idem, "Recent Research on the Gospel of Thomas," in F. Van Segbroeck et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (F. Neirynck Festschrift; BETL 100; Leuven: Peeters, 1992) 2257-62; M. Fieger, Das Thomasevangelium: Einleitung, Kommentar und Systematik (NTAbh 22; Miinster: Aschendorff, 1991). S. L. Davies (Gospel of Thomas, 5; "The Christology and Protology of the Gospel of Thomas," JBL 111 [1992] 663-82, here p. 663) overstates the case when he claims that a "consensus is emerging in American scholarship that the Gospel of Thomas is a text independent of the Synoptics and that it was compiled in the mid to late first century." To document this assertion he cites studies by R. D. Cameron, C. W. Hedrick, S. Patterson, and J. H. Sieber, all of whom are students of either Helmut Koester or James M. Robinson. All we know is that the view that Thomas is early and independent has been a consensus for some time at Claremont and Harvard. Outside of these two schools there are many American Gospels scholars (such as C. L. Blomberg, R. E. Brown, C. E. Carlston, B. D. Chilton, C. A. Evans, J. A. Fitzmyer, J. P. Meier, and K. R. Snodgrass) who have grave reservations about such claims. Many European scholars (such as M. Hengel) have as well. Nevertheless, the Claremont-Harvard axis, with creative input from J. D. Crossan, is working hard to convince the scholarly community that its views really do form the basis of an emerging consensus. Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels, 86-107. R. H. Gundry, Matthew: A Commentary on His Literary and Theological Art (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982) 261-62, 306-7. B. de Solages, "L'evangile de Thomas et les evangiles canoniques: L'ordre des pericopes," BLR 80 (1979) 102-108; J. D. Crossan, Four Other Gospels: Shadows on the Contour.~ nf Canon (Minneapolis: Seabury, 1985) 35-36.
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45 J.-M. Sevrin, "Un groupement de trois paraboles contre les richesses dans l'Evangile selon Thomas. EvTh 63, 64, 65," in J. Delorme (ed.), Les paraboles evangeliques: Perspectives nouvelles (Paris: Cerf, 1989) 425-39, esp. 438-39. 46 Meier, Marginal Jew, 161 n. 116. 47 Meier, A Marginal Jew, 136; C. M. Tuckett, "Thomas and the Synoptics," NovT30 (1988) 132-57, esp. 146. 48 J. A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke (2 vols., AB 28 and 28A; Garden City: Doubleday, 1981-85) 2.994. 49 Blomberg, "Tradition and Redaction," 181. 50 J.-E. Menard, L'Evangile seton Thomas (NHS 5; Leiden: Brill, 1975) 94--95, 103; W. Schrage, Das Verhiiltnis des Thomas-Evangeliums zur synoptischen Tradition und zu den koptischen Evangelienubersetzungen (BZNW 29; Berlin: Topelmann, 1964) 58-59. 51 Fitzmyer, Luke, 2.1061; Menard, L'Evangile seton Thomas, 157; Schrage, Das Verhiiltnis des Thomas-Evangeliums, 120. 52 Blomberg, "Tradition and Redaction," 181. 53 R. M. Grant, The Secret Sayings of Jesus (Garden City: Doubleday, 1960) 113; B. Gartner, The Theology of the Gospel according to Thomas (New York: Harper, 1961) 26-27, 34, 42-43; E. Haenchen, Die Botschaft des ThomasEvangeliums (Berlin: Tl>pelmann, 1961) 67--68; A. Lindemann, "Zur Gleichnisinterpretation im Thomas-Evangelium," ZNW 71 (1980) 214-43; Schrage, Das Verhiiltnis des Thomas-Evangeliums, 1-11. Similar conclusions have been reached by H. K. McArthur, "The Dependence of the Gospel of Thomas on the Synoptics," ExpTim 71 (1959--60) 286-87; W. R. Schoedel, "Parables in the Gospel of Thomas," CTM 43 (1972) 548--60; K. R. Snodgrass, "The Gospel of Thomas: A Secondary Gospel," SecCent 7 (1989-90) 19-38; Tuckett, "Thomas and the Synoptics," 157; Meier, A Marginal Jew, 130-39. According to C. E. Carlston (The Parables of the Triple Tradition [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975] xiii), "many readings of the Gospel of Thomas and a considerable amount of time spent with the secondary literature ... have not yet convinced me that any of the parabolic material in Thomas is clearly independent of the Synoptic Gospels." 54 J. D. Crossan, "The Parable of the Wicked Husbandmen," JBL 90 (1971) 451-65; idem, Historical Jesus, 351-52. Charlesworth (Jesus Within Judaism, 148) views the Thomas form of the parable as the "least developed" of the various versions found in the Gospels. Nevertheless, he does not think that Thomas has preserved "the original form of the parable." 55 B. Dehandschutter, "La parabole des vignerons homicides (Me., XII, 1-12) et l'evangile selon Thomas," in M. Sabbe (ed.), L'Evangile seton Marc: Tradition et redaction (BETL 34; Leuven: Peeters, 1974) 203-19; J.-M. Sevrin, "Un groupement de trois paraboles," 433-34. 56 Charlesworth and Evans are not in complete agreement on this point. The former concludes that GThom §65 is primitive and independent of the Synoptic Gospels (cf. Jesus Within Judaism, 139-53). The latter is convinced that the Coptic form of the tradition is secondary and probably dependent upon the Lucan version of the parable. Charlesworth and Evans further disagree in their respective assessments of the antiquity and independence of the material in Thomas in general. The former is more optimistic than is the latter that primitive and independent material can be found in Thomas (cf. Jesus Within Judaism, 83-90, 100 n. 21). 57 B. D. Chilton, "The Gospel According to Thomas as a Source of Jesus' Teaching," in D. Wenham (ed.), The Jesus Tradition Outside the Gospels
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(Gospel Perspectives 5; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1984) 155-75. For further examples of cautious utilization of Thomas, see Chilton, The Temple of Jesus: His Sacrificial Program Within a Cultural History of Sacrifice (University Park: Penn State Press, 1992) 116-19. 58 Tuckett ("Thomas and the Synoptics," 132-57) also is open to the possible presence of superior readings, and perhaps authentic materials, may be found in Thomas. See also H. W. Attridge, "Gospel of Thomas," HBD (1985) 355-56. Blomberg ("Tradition and Redaction," 195-96), however, remains quite skeptical. See also the discussion in Charlesworth, Jesus Within Judaism, 84-89, which treats GThom §55 and §101. 59 For bibliography, see Schneemelcher (ed.), New Testament Apocrypha, 216; Charlesworth, The New Testament Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, 321-27. 60 Until the winter of 1886-87 the Gospel of Peter was known only through one clear reference in Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. 6.12.2-6 (toil A.t:YOJ.lEVou "Kata ll£tpov t:i>ayyt:A.iou"). The ninth-century Akhmimic Greek text was published five years later in U. Bouriant, "Fragments du texte grec du livre d'Enoch et de quelques ecrits attribues a Saint Pierre," in Memoires publies par les membres de la Mission archeologique franr;aise au Caire 9.1 (Paris: Libraire de la Societe asiatique, 1892) 137-42. Edited and corrected editions of the text can also be found in J. A. Robinson and M. R. James, The Gospel According to Peter, and The Revelation of Peter (London: C. J. Clay, 1892); H. von Schubert, Die Composition des Pseudo-petrinischen Evangelien-Fragments (Berlin: Reuther & Reichard, 1893); idem, The Gospel of St. Petf!r (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1893); H. B. Swete, EYArrEAION KATA nETPON: The Akhmfm Fragment of the Gospel of St Peter (London and New York: Macmillan, 1893); and more recently in M. G. Mara, Evangile de Pierre (Sources chretiennes 201; Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1973). The Greek text of the Gospel of Peter is also found in K. Aland (ed.), Synopsis Quattuor Evangeliorum (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1985) 479-80, 484, 489, 493-94, 498, 500, 507. For the Greek text of GPet 1.1-6.24, also see Charlesworth, "New Testament Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha," 3936-38. For reconstruction of POxy2949, see R. A. Coles, "Fragments of an Apocryphal Gospel(?)," in G. M. Browne et al. (eds.), The Oxyrhynchus Papyri (vol. 41; London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1972) 15-16 (+pi. 11). See also D. Ltlhrmann, "POx 2949: EvPt 3-5 in einer Handschrift des 2./3. Jahrhunderts," ZNW 72 (1981) 216-22. P0xy2949 may date as early as the late second century. Also to be dated to the second is P0xy4009, but it is far from certain that it belongs to the Gospel of Peter, cf. D. Ltlhrmann and P. J. Parsons, "4009. Gospel of Peter?" in Parsons et al. (eds.), The Oxyrhynchus Papyri (vol. 60; London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1993) 1-5 (+pi. I). The recto of this fragment overlaps with the unknown gospel source that is quoted in 2 Clem. 5:2-4, which makes it possible to reconstruct it. Ltlhrmann ("POx 4009: Ein neues Fragment des Petrusevangeliums?" NovT 35 [1993) 39~10) has restored the text to read: "' ... the harvest. But become innocent as doves and wise as serpents. You will be like sheep in the midst of wolves.' I said to him, 'When should we be torn asunder?' And answering he says to me, 'When the wolves have torn the sheep asunder, they are no longer able to do anything to it. Therefore I say to you, do not fear those who kill you and after killing no longer are able to do anything ... ' " Because the first person is used in GPet 14.60 ("But I Simon Peter") Ltlhrmann reasons that the appearance of the first person in POxy4009 ("I said to him ... he says to me") may suggest that this is indeed a fragment of the partially
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61 62 63 64 65 66
67 68
69 70 71 72
73 74 75 76
extant gospel ("Ein Fragment des Petrusevangeliums?" 401 ). This is a possibility to be sure, but the evidence at present does not permit firmer conclusions. A. Hamack, Bruchstiicke des Evangeliums und der Apokalypse des Petrus (TU 9; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1893); idem and H. V. Schubert, "Das Petrusevangelium," TLZ 19 (1894) 9-18. T. Zahn, Das Evangelium des Petrus (Erlangen: Deichert, 1893). Swete, Apocryphal Gospel of St Peter, xiii-xx. Robinson (Gospel According to Peter, 32-33) speaks of "the unmistakeable acquaintance of the author with our Four Evangelists .... He uses and misuses each in turn." P. Gardner-Smith, "The Gospel of Peter," ITS 27 (1925-26) 255-71; idem, "The Date of the Gospel of Peter," ITS 27 (1925-26) 401-407. Koester, Introduction to the New Testament, 2.163; cf. idem. "Uberlieferung und Geschichte," 1487-88, 1525-27. R. D. Cameron, The Other Gospels: Non-Canonical Gospel Texts (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1982) 78. Another Koester student, B. A. Johnson (The Empty Tomb Tradition in the Gospel of Peter [dissertation; Cambridge: Harvard University, 1966]), has argued that Peter's empty tomb tradition is not based on the intracanonical Gospels, but on an older tradition. J. D. Crossan, The Cross that Spoke, 404. Translation from Charlesworth, "New Testament Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha," 3937-39. The chapter numbers were introduced by J. A. Robinson. See his The Gospel According to Peter, and the Revelation of Peter (London: Clay, 1892) 82-88. Independently, verse numbers, which run consecutively throughout the document, were introduced by Hamack, Bruchstucke des Evangeliums and der Apokalypse des Petrus. Or "gall." Or "vinegar." This drink in antiquity was considered better than water for quenching thirst. K. Beyschlag, "Das Petrusevangelium," in Beyschlag, Die verborgene Oberlieferung van Christus (Munich and Hamburg: Siebenstern Taschenbuch, 1969) 27-64, here pp. 33-34, 44-45. D. R. Cartlidge and D. L. Dungan (Documents for the Study of the Gospels [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980] 83) comment that the Gospel of Peter "is significant in the way it reflects the rising tide of militant anti-Semitism in the second-century Church, as evidenced by the way in which the gospel writer systematically altered his narrative (assuming he relied on the canonical Gospels) to intensify the Jewish elders' fierce desire to exterminate Jesus, while at the same time altering Pilate's role to one of innocent helplessness." We have discerned these anti-Jewish elements in the core isolated by Crossan. R. E. Brown ("The Gospel of Peter and Canonical Gospel Priority," NTS 33 [1987] 321-43, here p. 340) has also commented on "the intense antiJewish attitude" of the Gospel of Peter. Although Brown (p. 335) does not rule out the possibility of direct literary dependence, he favors an "oral dependence of [Gospel of Peter] on some or all of the canonical Gospels." Beyschlag, "Das Petrusevangelium," 35. Beyschlag, "Das Petrusevangelium," 38-39. Beyschlag, "Das Petrusevangelium," 43-44. Beyschlag, "Das Petrusevangelium," 63. Beyschlag allows that this form of Jesus' cry of death could be an interpretation of Ps 22:1, but he suspects that a "ketzerische Auffasung" lies in the background, in which it is believed that Jesus was forsaken by the "eigentliche, rein geistige Wesen des Erl6sers."
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77 78 79 80 81 82
83 84 85 86
87
88
89
90 91 92 93 94
Beyschlag, "Das Petrusevangelium," 46-47,50--51. Crossan, Four Other Gospels, 144. Massaux, The Influence of the Gospel of Saint Matthew, 2.202. Translation by Evans. W. L. Craig, "The Guard at the Tomb," NTS 30 (1984) 273-81, esp. 278. Beyschlag, "Das Petrusevangelium," 44. On the secondary nature of the guard tradition in the Gospel of Peter, see S. E. Schaeffer, "The Guard at the Tomb (Gos. Pet. 8:28-11:49 and Matt 27:62-66; 28:2-4, 11-16): A Case of Intertextuality?" in E. H. Lovering (ed.), Society of Biblical Literature 1991 Seminar Papers (SBLSP 30; Atlanta: Scholars, 1991) 499-507; and Massaux, The Influence of the Gospel of Saint Matthew, 2.202-204. Beyschlag, "Das Petrusevangelium," 52. Massaux, The Influence of the Gospel of Saint Matthew, 2.204-205. Massaux, The Influence of the Gospel of Saint Matthew, 2.205-206. Beyschlag ("Das Petrusevangelium," 52) believes "dass dem Evangelisten mindestens die ersten drei Evangelien (Matth, Mark, Luk) sicher bekannt waren." Toward the end of his discussion, Beyschlag (pp. 62, 64) opines that the Gospel of Peter presupposes all four intracanonical Gospels. L. Vaganay, L'evangile de Pierre (EBib; Paris: Gabalda, 1930) 83-90; T. W. Manson, "The Life of Jesus: A Study of the Available Materials," BJRL 27 (1942-43) 323-37; C. H. Dodd, "A New Gospel," in Dodd, New Testament Studies (Manchester: Manchester University, 1953) 12-52. Dodd concludes that the Gospel of Peter "depends on all four canonical Gospels, and probably not on any independent tradition" (p. 46). The notable exception is Gardner-Smith. P. Vielhauer, Geschichte der urchristlichen Literatur: Einleitung in das Neue Testament, die Apokryphen und die Apostolischen Viitern (Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 1975) 645-46. Vielhauer finds Synoptic elements elsewhere in the Gospel of Peter, in the material that falls outside of the putative Cross Gospel. Beyschlag, "Das Petrusevangelium," 53-59; J. W. McCant, "Gospel of Peter: Docetism Reconsidered," NTS 30 (1984) 258-73; D. F. Wright "Apocryphal Gospels: The 'Unknown Gospel' (Pap. Egerton 2) and the Gospel of Peter," in D. Wenham (ed.), The Jesus Tradition Outside the Gospels (Gospel Perspectives 5; Sheffield: JSOT Press,1984) 207-32, esp. 221-27; Brown, "Canonical Gospel Priority," 321-43; and F. Neirynck, "The Apocryphal Gospels and the Gospel of Mark," in J.-M. Sevrin (ed.), The New Testament in Early Christianity: La reception des ecrits neotestamentaires dans le christianisme primitif (BETL 86; Leuven: Peeters, 1989) 123-75; S. E. Schaeffer, The Gospel of Peter, the Canonical Gospels, and Oral Tradition (Ph.D. dissertation; New York: Union Theological Seminary, 1991). J. B. Green, "The Gospel of Peter: Source for a Pre-Canonical Passion Narrative?" ZNW 78 (1987) 293-301. Meier, A MarginalJew, 117-18. D. M. Smith, "The Problem of John and the Synoptics in Light of the Relation between Apocryphal and Canonical Gospels," in A. Denaux (ed.), John and the Synoptics (BETL 101; Leuven: Peeters, 1992) 147-62, here p. 150. W. Rebell, Neutestamentliche Apokryphen und Apostolischen Viitern (Munich: Kaiser, 1992) 97. Browne et al. ( Oxyrhynchus Papyri, 15) date the fragments to "the early third or possibly the late second century." For critical discussion of the fragment, see LUrhmann, "POx 2949," 216-26.
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95 Wright "Apocryphal Gospels," 222-25. POxy2949 may preserve fragments of GPet 2.3-5a, that part of the text Crossan assigns to a later, redactional stage in the history of the Gospel of Peter. The fragments read: " ... the friend of Pilate ... that he commanded ... coming to Pilate ... the body for burial .. . [Hero]d requested ... saying ... they [or I] requested ... him [or it] ... that .. . Pilate ... some one [requested] it ... " 96 For bibliography, see Schneemelcher (ed.), New Testament Apocrypha, 98. 97 Translation by Evans. The Greek text of the London fragments is found in H. I. Bell and T. C. Skeat, Fragments of an Unknown Gospel and Other Early Christian Papyri (London: British Museum, 1935) 8--15, 26; idem, The New Gospel Fragments (London: British Museum, 1951) 29-33. A critical edition has been prepared by G. Mayeda, Das Leben-Jesu-Fragment Papyrus Egerton 2 und seine Stellung in der urchristlichen Literaturgeschichte (Bern: Haupt, 1946) 7-11. See also Aland (ed.), Synopsis, 60,323,332,340,422. The superscript numbers indicate approximately the line breaks. The text of the more recently discovered Koln fragment has been made available in M. Gronewald, "Unbekanntes Evangelium oder Evangelienharmonie (Fragment aus dem Evangelium Egerton)," in Kolner Papyri (P. Koln) (vol. 6, Sonderreihe Papyrologica Coloniensia 7; Cologne: Bibliotheque Bodmer, 1987) 136-45, and in D. Lilrhmann, "Das neue Fragment des PEgerton 2 (PKoln 255)," in F. Van Segbroeck et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (F. Neirynck Festschrift; 3 vols., BETL 100; Leuven: Peeters, 1992) 3.2239-55. 98 Lines 22a and 23a, which are based upon Papyrus Koln 255, are so designated, in order to distinguish them from lines 22 and 23 of Papyrus Egerton 2, fragment 1 recto. The same is done with lines 42a-44a, which also are based upon Papyrus Koln 255, at the end of the same fragment, in order to distinguish them from lines 42-44 of Papyrus Egerton 2, fragment 2 recto. 99 Massaux (The Influence of the Gospel of Saint Matthew, 2.176) points out that the closest parallel to lines 22-32, taken together, may be Luke 20:17-20. 100 Crossan, Four Other Gospels, 183. 101 Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels, 207; cf. idem, "Uberlieferung und Geschichte," 1488-90, 1522. 102 Jeremias, "Papyrus Egerton 2," in Schneemelcher (ed.), New Testament Apocrypha, 96. 103 Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels, 215. Crossan (Four Other Gospels, 86) argues that Mark is actually "directly dependent on the [Egerton] papyrus text." 104 Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels, 215. Although here Koester is referring to the pericope concerned with paying taxes, this is his position with respect to Papyrus Egerton 2 as a whole. 105 Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels, 211. 106 In the Fourth Gospel the "rulers" constitute a specific group of Jewish antagonists (cf. 7:26, 48; 12:31, 42). 107 Cf. Gundry, Matthew, 139. 108 Cf. Massaux, The Influence of the Gospel of Saint Matthew, 2.176-77. 109 Dodd, "A New Gospel," 21. 110 Mayeda, Das Leben-Jesu-Fragment, 44; Meier, A Marginal Jew, 119. 111 However, one should not forget Tatian, who in producing his Diatessaron evidently did this very thing. 112 Wright, "Apocryphal Gospels," 217-21. 113 Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels, 215. 114 Translation from M. R. James, The Apocryphal New Testament (Oxford:
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115 116
117
118
1.19 120
121
122 123
Clarendon, 1953) 63. The Infancy Gospel of Thomas may have originated as early as the second century; cf. 0. Cullmann, "Infancy Gospels," in Schneemelcher (ed.), New Testament Apocrypha, 419. Rebell (Neutestamentliche Apokryphen, 90) comments: "Die These, dass johanneische und synoptische Tradition ehemals zusammengehorten, is aber ganz unwahrscheinlich." D. F. Wright ("Papyrus Egerton 2 (the "Unknown Gospel") - Part of the Gospel of Peter?" SecCent 5 [1985--86] 129-50) suspects that Papyrus Egerton 2 might actually be part of the Gospel of Peter. If this is the case, Papyrus Egerton 2's claim to independence and antiquity is probably weakened further. For Bibliography, see Schneemelcher (ed.), New Testament Apocrypha, 106; M. Smith, "Clement of Alexandria and Secret Mark: The Score at the End of the First Decade," HTR 15 (1982) 449--61; S. Levin, "The Early History of Christianity, in Light of the 'Secret Gospel' of Mark," ANRW 2.25.6 (1988) 4270--92. M. Smith, Clement of Alexandria and a Secret Gospel of Mark (Cambridge: Harvard University, 1973); idem, The Secret Gospel: The Discovery and Interpretation of the Secret Gospel According to Mark (New York: Harper & Row, 1973). For Greek text, see Smith, Clement of Alexandria, 446-47; H. Merkel, "Auf den Spuren des Urmarkus? Ein neuer Fund und seine Beurteilung," ZTK 71 (1974) 12~4. esp. 125-26. Merkel's arrangement is easier to follow. T. J. Talley, "Liturgical Time in the Ancient Church: The State of Research," StudLit 14 (1982) 34-51, esp. 45; cf. Crossan, Four Other Gospels, 101. P. W. Skehan, [review of Smith, Clement of Alexandria] CHR 60 (1974) 451-53; R. E. Brown, "The Relation of 'The Secret Gospel of Mark' to the Fourth Gospel," CBQ 36 (1974) 466-85; Q. Quesnell, "The Mar Saba Clementine: A Question of Evidence," CBQ 37 (1975) 48--67 [Smith replies angrily in CBQ 38 (1976) 196--99, to which Quesnell offers a rejoinder in the same issue, pp. 200--203]. J. Neusner, "Who Needs 'the Historical Jesus'? An Essay-Review," in BBR 4 (1994) forthcoming. In this essay Neusner reviews Meier, A Marginal Jew, and Crossan, The Historical Jesus. See also Neusner, Are There Really Tannaitic Parallels to the Gospels? A Refutation of Morton Smith (SFSHJ 80; Atlanta: Scholars, 1993) 27-31. See M. Smith,Jesus the Magician (New York: Harper & Row, 1978). One should recall the spurious agraphon that P. R. Coleman-Norton attempted to foist on scholars in his article, "An Amusing Agraphon," CBQ 12 (1950) 439-49. Coleman-Norton claimed that while stationed at Fedhala in French Morocco in 1943 he found a page of Greek translation of the Latin Opus imperfectum in Matthaeum, in which an agraphon was found following Matt 24:51 ("men will weep and gnash their teeth"). The fragment continued with a naive disciple asking Jesus: "How can these things be, if they be toothless?" To this Jesus replied: "Let none wonder at this, even as this very ignorant disciple did not know, that God would give to sinners a third set of teeth, if from this light and to that darkness they should go toothless" (see Coleman-Norton, 443 n. 18, 446 n. 30). Coleman-Norton's study has every appearance of being a learned piece of work, complete with Greek text, philological discussion, and English translation. The only problem is that years before the "discovery," he entertained his students at Princeton University with a joke that closely paralleled this agraphon. Bruce Metzger had been one of those students; cf. B. M. Metzger, "Literary Forgeries and Canonical Pseudepigrapha," JBL 91 (1972) 3-24.
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124 See the reviews by R. M. Grant, "Morton Smith's Two Books," ATR 56 (1974) 58-64 (p. 58: "Smith definitely proves that the incomplete letter ... was written by Clement"); R. P.C. Hanson, JTS 25 (1974) 513-21 (p. 515: "Patris-
125
126
127
128 129 130
131 132 133
134 135
136
tic scholars can agree that a new letter by Clement of Alexandria has been identified"); P. Parker, "On Professor Morton Smith's Find at Mar Saba," ATR 56 (1974) 53-57, esp. 53. In 1980 Koester (Introduction to the New Testament, 2.168) concluded that the Clementine epistle is "probably genuine." A decade later he (Ancient Christian Gospels, 294) has stated that "skepticism is hard to justify." See also idem, "Uberlieferung und Geschichte," 1501-503. Recently Rebell (Neutestamentliche Apokryphen, 121) has argued that since Smith is not alone in his opinions, "sollte man vorlaufig die Arbeitshypothese aufstellen: Der Brief ist echt." Merkel, "Auf den Spuren des Urmarkus?" 136; idem, "Appendix: the 'Secret Gospel' of Mark," in Schneemelcher (ed.}, New Testament Apocrypha, 107; F. Neirynck, "La fuite du jeune homme en Me 14, 51-52," ETL 55 (1979) 43-66; E. Osborn, "Clement of Alexandria: A Review of Research, 1958-1982," SecCent 3 (1983) 219-44, esp. 223-25. H. Koester, "History and Development of Mark's Gospel: From Mark to Secret Mark and 'Canonical' Mark," in B. C. Corley (ed.), Colloquy on New Testament Studies: A Time for Reappraisal and Fresh Approaches (Macon: Mercer University, 1983) 35-58, here p. 56. Koester's proposals are pursued further by P. Sellew, "Secret Mark and the History of Canonical Mark," in B. A. Pearson (ed.), The Future of Early Christianity (H. Koester Festschrift; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991) 242-57. Cameron, The Other Gospels, 68-69. Cameron goes on to say that "Sometime thereafter our present edition of Mark, with only vestiges of the secret tradition still visible (Mark 4:11; 9:25-27; 10:21, 32, 38-39; 12:32-34; 14:51-52), took shape" (p. 69). Crossan, Four Other Gospels, 103. Crossan, Four Other Gospels, 108. Smith, Clement of Alexandria, 447; idem, The Secret Gospel, 16-17. According to Smith, in the Greek text this passage begins on the verso of page 1 and continues to the recto of page 2. For Greek text and photographs of the manuscript, see Smith, Clement of Alexandria, 448-52. Koester, Introduction to the New Testament, 2.168, cf. p. 223. Cameron, The Other Gospels, 67-68. Crossan, Four Other Gospels, 106. M. W. Meyer ("The Youth in Secret Mark and the Beloved Disciple in John," in Goehring et al. (eds.), Gospel Origins & Christian Beginnings, 94-105) thinks that Secret Mark sheds light on the role of the Beloved Disciple in the Fourth Gospel. To paraphrase Hanson's criticism (p. 517 [see n. 124 above]) of Smith, Crossan appears to be piling hypothesis upon hypothesis, theory upon theory. Merkel, "'Secret Gospel' of Mark," 107; cf. idem, "Auf den Spuren des Urmarkus?" 136. F. F. Bruce (The 'Secret' Gospel of Mark [London: Athlone, 1974] 12) agrees: "The fact that the expansion is such an obvious pastiche, with its internal contradiction and confusion, indicates that it is a thoroughly artificial composition, quite out of keeping with Mark's quality as a storyteller." Other scholars have reached similar conclusions; cf. Grant, "Morton Smith's Two Books," 61; Parker, "On Professor Smith's Find," 56; C. C. Richardson, [review of Smith], TS 35 (1974) 571-77, esp. 575. E. Best, [review of E. J. Pryke, Redactional Style in the Marcan Gospel (SNTSMS 33; Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1978)], JSNT 4 (1979)
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137
138 139 140 141 142
69-76, here pp. 75-76. For additional arguments against viewing Secret Mark as primitive, seeR. H. Gundry, Mark: A Commentary on His Apology for the Cross (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993) 603-23. Cf. R. Pesch, Das Markusevangelium: II. Teil (HTKNT 2.2; 4th ed., Freiburg: Herder, 1991) 545-46. According to Pesch, Mark 16:9-20 is "ein kompilatorisches Exzerpt von den Evangelien vorausliegenden Traditionen." One must ask if the fragment from Secret Mark does not relate to the intracanonical Gospels in a similar way. Merkel, "'Secret Gospel' of Mark," 107; idem, "Auf den Spuren des Urmarkus?" 144: "Damit wird es unmoglich, aus dem neuen Text zuslitliche Informationen liber den historischen Jesus zu erhalten." Smith, "The Problem of John and the Synoptics," 151. Crossan, Historical Jesus, 257. See similar comments on pp. xxxi-xxxiii, 410. Meier, Marginal Jew, 100---111. Although Meier (Marginal Jew, 140) concludes that the agrapha and extracanonical gospels "offer us no reliable new information or authentic sayings that are independent" of the New Testament (a conclusion with which Evans, but not Charlesworth, is inclined to agree), he has promised that in his forthcoming work he "will always keep one eye on the sayings" in the Gospel of Thomas (p. 139). It will be interesting to observe what use he will make of Thomas in the second and third volumes of A Marginal Jew.
Abbreviations AB ABD ABRL ANRW ATLA ATR BA BBR BETL BJR/
BLE BZNW CBQ CG CHR CTM Ebib ETL EvT ExpTim
Anchor Bible D. N. Freedman (ed.), Anchor Bible Dictionary (1992) Anchor Bible Reference Library W. Haase and E. Temporini (eds.), Aufstieg und Niedergang der romischen Welt (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1979-) American Theological Library Association Anglican Theological Review Biblical Archaeologist Bulletin for Biblical Research Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester Bulletin de liuerature ecclesiastique Beihefte zur Zeitschrift fur die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Catholic Biblical Quarterly Coptic Gnostic Codex Catholic Historical Review Concordia Theological Monthly Etudes bibliques Ephemerides theologicae lovanienses Evangelische Theologie Expository Times 2{)1
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
HBD HTKNT HTR JBL JSNT JTS NGS NHS NovT NTS NTTS SBLRBS SBLSBS SecCent SFSHJ SNTSMS TS TU VC ZNW ZTK
P. J. Achtemeier et al. (eds.), Harper's Bible Dictionary (1985) Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament
Harvard Theological Review Journal of Biblical Literature Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal of Theological Studies New Gospel Studies Nag Hammadi Studies Novum Testamentum New Testament Studies New Testament Tools and Studies Society of Biblical Literature Resources for Biblical Study Society of Biblical Literature Sources for Biblical Study Second Century South Florida Studies in the History of Judaism Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series Theological Studies Texte und Untersuchungen Vigiliae christianae Zeitschrift fur die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift fur Theologie und Kirche
262
Gospel of Peter
78
THE GOSPEL OF PETER AND CANONICAL GOSPEL PRIORITY* Raymond E. Brown Source: New Testament Studies, 33, 1987, pp. 321-343.
A frequent source of consolation among Christians is that, while they do not have the same attitudes towards creeds, liturgies, or church structures, they all share the same canon of the NT. That common heritage might seem to be reinforced by B. S. Childs' recent insistence, 1 or even hyperinsistence, on canonical dimensions in studying NT text questions, in interpreting individual NT books, and in evaluating the whole collection. In point of fact, despite Childs's emphasis (which, while exaggerated, makes some very important points), scholarship has gone in the opposite direction. For various reasons and from various vantage points, the validity and value of the NT canon are being seriously questioned.
I. The current challenge to the canonical writings One may group under two headings studies that have the effect of seriously challenging the canonical writings of the NT,Z and the Gospels in particular. (Please note: I speak of 'effect', without attributing intention.) One current thrust emphasizes the non-canonical writings or apocrypha: the other uses the canonical writings to reconstruct an earlier stage of Christianity preferable to that reflected in the writings themselves. In a brief overview let me begin with the latter: reconstruction of the precanonical situation through the canonical writings. I shall emphasize preGospel and preMarcan studies. It is obvious, of course, that Christianity preexisted our canonical writings; what is new is the widespread insistence that the NT writings distort what preceded. For G. Theissen,3 Paul suppressed the ethical radicalism of Jesus by not quoting his words. Paul gave up Jesus' demands against home and property because such radicalism could not survive in the organized Pauline congregations. For W. Kelber,4 the written Mark narrowed down the much wider range of oral 265
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presentation about Jesus. Inevitably, then, Mark constituted a virtual censorship of other possible views of Jesus. Indeed, Mark discredited the most plausible oral tradents of the Gospel, i.e. the disciples and the family/mother of Jesus. For Luise Schottroff, 5 the preLucan Magnificat and Beatitudes represented a theology in which the rich were truly cast down, and Jesus functioned as a would-be destroyer of the existing social order, radically reversing the inequities of wealth and power. Luke spiritualized all this. For H. D. Betz,6 Matthew thoroughly reoriented the virtually complete preMatthean Jewish-Christian form of the Sermon on the Mount which lacked christology and soteriology, and which presented Jesus as an orthodox teacher of the Law. It has also been suggested that Matthew and Luke, by incorporating Q into their own Gospel schemes, effectively got rid of that document and its theology not based on the cross and resurrection - a theology the two evangelists disliked. (Similarly some would think that Matthew's and Luke's rewriting of Mark was intended partially to eliminate that noisome Gospel with its anti-apostolic stance.) For E. Schtissler-Fiorenza/ the NT writings often represent a patriarchal and authoritarian reshaping, not to say distortion, of a Jesus movement that was much more egalitarian in its early days. Another vein of research presents a challenge to the canonical writings by appealing to extant documents and not mere reconstructions of predocumentary situations. The apocryphal writings become representative of a Christianity antedating in time or spirit what we find in the canonical writings. The canonical NT and the apostolic writings of the 2nd cent. are seen as attempting to suppress strains of Christian thought and behaviour that survived only in the apocrypha. Elaine Pagels8 has suggested that the canonical accounts of the bodily risen Jesus who appeared to attesting males had the political function of justifying a male hierarchy. Some of the gnostic works did not have this view of a bodily resurrection and accordingly were distrusted by the self-protective hierarchy. J. M. Robinson, 9 employing imaginatively some NT evidence but particularly the Gospel of Peter (henceforth GP), maintains that originally the Easter experience was a visualization of a luminous heavenly body. From that original understanding came both the gnostic presentation of a disembodied spirit, and the canonical presentation of a fleshly risen body. These were equally serious and equally worthy attempts to interpret the risen Jesus, neither of which can be taken literally today. By comparison with the Synoptics, S. Davis 10 does not hesitate to entitle the Gospel of Thomas 'the fourth gospel'. Indeed, Thomas has been placed on a trajectory directly stemming from Q, with the idea that one can construct from the ongoing sayings tradition a very early Christianity not concerned with the death of the crucified one or his second coming.U Secret Mark, with its story of how Jesus taught at night 'the mystery of the kingdom of God' to a youth who loved him and came clothed only with a linen cloth over his naked body, 266
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represents for M. Smith more closely than do the canonical Gospels the oldest detectable Christian gospel sourceY Obviously, in such a theory the earlier Christians were a more mystical, not to say licentious, group. For H. Koester, 13 Secret Mark was actually written before canonical Mark, which, when composed in the late 2nd cent. period, eliminated sections from Secret Mark that were judged unfit to read in public. H.-M. Schenke 14 would go farther by making a Carpocratian Mark precede Secret Mark which preceded canonical Mark. In the original gnostic form of this gospel, the young man who fled away naked was symbolic of the higher nature of Jesus - the Christ who would not be put to death. Koester 15 stated that at least four apocryphal gospels belonged to a very early stage in the development of gospel literature. This approach has been furthered by R. Cameron, 16 and by J. D. Crossan. The latter has devoted a book 17 to the proposal that four other gospels (Gospel of Thomas, Egerton 2, Secret Mark, and GP) are more original than the four canonical Gospels. In this paper, I plan to concentrate on GP as a way of testing the methodology and arguments behind some of these challenges to the canon. I am aware, of course, that what applies to one apocryphon may not apply to another noncanonical work. What applies to an extant apocryphon may not apply to theories based on nonextant reconstructed preGospel sources. Also, what applies to a narrative like GP may not be applicable to a collection of sayings where there are neither actions nor dramatis personae. Therefore, before I narrow the discussion to GP, let me make three general observations on challenges to the canon. (1) Some of the above-mentioned challengers have made radical claims based on rather slim evidence. Inevitably their claims have met resistance, often in terms of detailed arguments supporting the traditional priority and value of the canonical NT books. 18 Too often these objections have not been debated but dismissed with olympian scorn as biased orthodoxy or ecclesiastical prejudice. The unorthodox, however, can be just as biased as the orthodox. Those who would undermine church traditions may be furthering non-scholarly goals even as those who defend church traditions.19 Is the greatest block to an intelligent discussion of this issue stubborn conservatism or the sensationalist manipulation of the communication media through claims of a radically different Jesus unveiled in new gospels? Below I plan to debate Crossan's claim that GP presents a more original account of the passion than any canonical Gospel. I do so with a sense of risk, however, since J. M. Robinson has assured all on the jacket of the book that it 'can hardly fail to convince the open-minded'. (2) Through many challenges to the canon runs the refrain of vindicating Walter Bauer's hypothesis that orthodoxy emerged only at the end of the 2nd cent. through the victory of the politically strongest faction. The non-canonical works are said to prove the relative equality of different ideas in the earlier days of Christianity. Is it not a disservice today to 267
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repeat so simply the 'Bauer triumphant' motif without acknowledging the many scholarly studies which insist that the Bauer hypothesis is oversimplified both as to fact2° and direction? Those who trumpet 'Bauer' (in a way that might embarrass him were he alive and aware of subsequent complexities) are often slaying dead dragons. Affirmations that Christianity was not uniform at the beginning and that the christologies and ecclesiologies of the NT period differed from the full-blown theology of Irenaeus are no longer brave. They are widely accepted even by most who support the priority of the canonical Gospels over the apocryphal. What still must be argued is whether the majority of 1st-century Christians held a certain view, so that what Ignatius called 'catholic church' and Celsus called 'great church' would still have meaning. One may intelligently speak of lines of development leading from the early preaching through significant NT attestations to the sub-apostolic writings and ultimately to the church fathers - and that is what orthodoxy means, if, as R. H. Fuller 1 points out, it is seen as a direction rather than as a static datum. Gal 2. 11-14 shows that James, Peter, and Paul were not of one mind; but that such diversity did not eliminate all 'orthodoxy' is shown by 1 Cor 15. 11. There, having just mentioned these erstwhile adversaries (Cephas and James), Paul says, 'Whether then it was I or they, so we preach and so you believed.' Was what these figures preached about how Jesus died and was buried, rose and appeared, closer to what we find in the canonical Gospels with their diversity or to what we find in GP? For many that remains an important question not answered by the Bauer hypothesis. (3) Another axiom of some of the canonical challengers needs nuance, namely, that the early followers of Jesus had little interest in what had been said and done by him but were concerned only with understanding Jesus the Lord. In this thesis it was theological creativity when, beginning with Mark and in dependence on him, the canonical evangelists used the Pauline proclamation of the death and resurrection of Jesus to shape and measure the original non-biographical assemblages of the words and works of Jesus. Some of the non-canonical gospels, then, would be preserving the original non-biographical situation. P. L. Schuler2 has carefully questioned this assumption, reminding us of the (admittedly oversimplified) thesis of C. W. Votaw that there was a biographical element in the Jesus material from the beginning. Once more, there is no need to slay a dead dragon: Those who support the priority of the canonical Gospels do not claim that the early Christians wanted to compose a dispassionate account of Jesus' life, beginning with his birth and going to his death, and thus do not defend biography in a crude sense. But was there not a sense of eulogistic proclamation in the early attitude toward Jesus wanting to tell what God had actually done in and through him? Besides the pagan Hellenistic lives, did not the careers of Elijah, Elisha, and Jeremiah (as understood and narrated by the Jews of the Hellenistic world) have some force
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in shaping the Gospel genre and in giving it a partially biographical cast? As for why some non-canonical sayings collections or even Q do not feature the passion and death of Jesus, one should deal fairly with all the possibilities and not simply claim that this is a sign of the earliest Christian view. In the case of Q can one dismiss the possibility that it was the passion and resurrection which made this Jesus a uniquely significant figure, so that the author wished to collect his sayings and develop another aspect of him as teacher and man of wisdom?
11. Methodology behind attributing priority to Peter Moving from general observations to GP in particular, let me begin with a few basic presuppositions. The 8th/9th cent. codex pages discovered at Akhmim in 1886-8723 represent part of the GP that Bishop Serapion of Antioch ea. A.D. 200 found being read at nearby Rhossus (Eusebius, Hist. 6. 12). Two small fragments of P. Oxyrhynchus 2949 (with some 16 discernible words from about 20 partial lines) show the existence of GP in Egypt also ea. 200. 24 Thus the work can scarcely have been composed much after 150. Serapion's reference, parallels with Matt, and possible parallels with some other Syro-Palestinian works (Justin, Cyril of Jerusalem, Didascalia) have caused Syria to be the most frequently proposed place of composition. 25 Although Serapion seems to think GP originated among docetists, recent scholarship (Schmidt, Mara, Denker, Crossan) has explained in another way the two GP passages that might support that idea. 26 We are more likely dealing with a work in which ambiguous phraseology could be read in a docetist way - a judgment not far from that of Serapion who found most of it to contain 'the true doctrine of the Saviour'. There are some textual differences between the papyri fragments from ea. 200 and the codex pages from ea. 800. Undoubtedly there would have been scribal tamperings through the centuries, especially since the work would not have enjoyed the care lavished on the canonical Scriptures. Nevertheless, we have to work with the Akhmim text27 as if it existed exactly in its present form in the 2nd cent., but not forgetting the possibility that the few instances where it agrees in exact wording with the canonical Gospels might have resulted from later scribal harmonizing. The claim that GP is independent of all or some of the canonical Gospels is not new. 28 But now J. D. Crossan has proposed a detailed thesis that sums up the arguments of his predecessors and highlights the methodological issues. For that reason I shall concentrate on his arguments.29 There are three basic steps in his proposal. First, there was an early or original passion narrative consisting of what is preserved in GP 1. 1-6. 22 (without 2. 3-Sa) and 7. 25-11.49 (without 7. 26-27 and 9. 37; 11. 43-44). Second, all the canonical Gospels drew on that original GP passion 269
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narrative, omitting sections and rearranging. Matthew and Luke used nothing else but Mark and the original GP passion narrative, each restoring different elements omitted by Mark. John used nothing else but the three Synoptics and the original GP passion narrative. Third, a redactor produced the form of GP known to us by combining the original GP passion narrative with elements from the canonical Gospels. 30 In itself there is nothing implausible about the thesis that a work that antedated the canonical Gospels was used by them and then subsequently redacted in light of the Synoptics. (If Mark antedated Matt and Luke and was used by them, scribes sometimes edited the text of Mark in light of Matt and Luke.) The real issue is the methodology by which Crossan and others (J. M. Robinson, Denker, Cameron, Koester) have concluded that some of GP was used by the canonical Gospels rather than vice versa. 31 I plan to discuss three arguments that they use: scriptural memory, redaction, better-flowing narrative. A. The argument from scriptural memory
In an early treatment comparing GP and John, M. Dibelius 32 argued that in the earliest Christian reflections on the passion a major formative factor was scriptural memory. The influence was not so much a matter of formal citation as of implicitly shaping the narrative. This contention has been combined with the thesis that the early Christians had no biographical interest (see p. 324 above). Accordingly, Koester states with assuranceY In the beginning there was only the belief that Jesus' passion and resurrection happened according to the Scriptures (1 Cor 15. 3-5) so that 'The very first narratives of Jesus' suffering and death would not have made the attempt to remember what actually happened.' By way of general comment, let me ask whether the difference between formal fulfilment citations (seen in Matt and John) and implicit storyshaping citation is one of greater antiquity. Often could it not be simply one of ambiance: the popular vs. the scholarly and apologetic. The material in Matt and John has been shaped by debates with the Pharisees or the synagogue, and so the citations have been spelled out; but does that tell us that the basic, scripturally flavoured story they narrate is less original than the story GP narrates? As for the factual element in the passion, can anyone be definitive about the 'chicken or egg' problem of which came first: Did narrators create incidents to give scriptural flavour, or from what occurred did they select and dramatize those capable of echoing the Scripture? The study of the DSS pesharim show the latter mindset at work: Actual events in history and the life of the community (verifiable from other DSS works and elsewhere) are seen as fulfilling Scripture. The question of Crossan (Four 147), 'What ruled the creation of the passion narrative: was it historical recall or biblical prophecy?' sets the issue too 270
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narrowly, for the answer may be that the early passion narrative consisted of recalled happenings that were seen to match biblical prophecy. Let me discuss an example of scriptural usage in GP and the Synoptics. Ps 69. 22 tells of the hostile treatment of a suffering figure who was given gall for his food and vinegar for his drink. GP 5. 16 makes implicit reference to this by having Jesus given 'gall and vinegar' to drink. Crossan (Four 139) argues that the GP account is more original than that of Mark l5. 23, 36 and Matt 27. 34, 48 which diminished the scriptural resonance by splitting the twin elements into two drinks separated by hours on the cross - indeed, Mark does not even mention gall but only wine mingled with myrrh. Cannot one argue that the development went in the other direction? From a very early period Christians saw a relation between a drink offered to Jesus on the cross and Ps 69. Mark reflected that implicitly by having vinegar or harsh wine offered to Jesus just before he died. Matthew, with his love for scriptural exactitude, made the reference to the psalm clearer by splitting the parallelism 34 and having Jesus offered wine mixed with gall (instead of myrrh) 35 at the beginning of the crucifixion and vinegar or harsh wine at the end. GP made it even more explicit by simplifying the two drinks to one consisting of 'gall and vinegar'. The scriptural usage in GP here is close to that of Barn. 7. 3, 5 even as the psalm echo in GP 4. 12 is close to that of Justin, Dialogue 97. One may argue that all three works reflect pre-Gospel tradition, but is it not plausible that in GP we are close chronologically to Justin and Barnabas, and witnessing in the mid-2nd century a simplified Gospel memory? B. The argument from redaction
In a work of reasonable length it is usually possible to detect features of language and thought peculiar to an individual writer. If for purposes of brevity one can speak of an individual evangelist's peculiarities as redactional,36 two criteria for discerning the order of dependence among Gospels have been proposed on the basis of redactional features. First criterion: The presence in Gospel B of redactional features characteristic of Gospel A would normally mean that B is drawing upon A. For instance, Secret Mark speaks once of a would-be disciple loving Jesus. In the NT only John (in 6 passages) speaks of the disciple whom Jesus loved. I have offered this as a possible argument that Secret Mark drew on John. 37 However, I do not find this criterion particularly useful for discussing GP; for in the scenes shared by GP and a particular canonical Gospel it is hard to find in GP a major redactional peculiarity of that Gospel. GP and the canonical Gospels have in common the visit of Mary Magdalene to the tomb; but GP lacks the sentence proper to Mark/Matt telling the disciples that Jesus would go before them (and Peter) to Galilee, even though the GP disciples do go to the lake. GP and John share that post-resurrectional 271
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scene where the disciples go fishing, but GP with its reference to 'the twelve disciples of the Lord' (14. 59) does not mention the disciple whom Jesus loved (cf. John 21. 2, 7). Second criterion: The absence in Gospel B of redactional features found in Gospel A has sometimes been said to show that evangelist B did not know A. The idea is that if evangelist B had used A, he could scarcely have avoided copying some of the redactional features of A. Obviously this argument grows weaker when only one redactional feature is involved, for in that instance evangelist B may have had a reason for omitting the feature, or may have been quoting from another source. For instance, both GP and the canonical Gospels involve Joseph (of Arimathea) in the burial of Jesus, but only John mentions Nicodemus (in two other scenes as well}. The absence of Nicodemus in GP, in my judgment, does not tell us that GP is independent of John, or more original than John, but only that the GP author has not chosen to copy the full Johannine form of the story. A possible use of the argument against the priority of GP would be this: GP names the Roman centurion involved in the passion as Petronius (8. 31); if, as in Crossan's hypothesis, the four canonical evangelists had independent access to GP, could all four have decided not to include that name? Let me examine Crossan's use of this argument to prove the priority of GP. Mark and Matt tell us that the two robbers who were crucified with Jesus reviled him. Only Luke 23. 40-43 tells of one 'wrongdoer' who acknowledged, 'We are receiving what is due for what we have done, but this man has done nothing disorderly' - a declaration that causes Jesus to promise him a place in paradise. Luke joins this to what he finds in Mark by means of a redactional verse (23. 39) which states that (only) one of the wrongdoers who was crucified with Jesus reviled him. 38 GP 4. 13 has the story of the penitent wrongdoer who says, 'We have been made to suffer because of the wrong we have done, but this one, who has become the Saviour of men, what injustice has he done to you?' Yet GP does not have the redactional connecting verse found in Luke where the other wrongdoer reviles Jesus. Crossan (Four 142-143} claims that this absence shows that GP does not depend on Luke and is prior to Luke. Not at all! The GP author could have known Luke and decided to omit the useless reference to the one wrongdoer who did revile since the innocence of Jesus thus would become more apparent. Or both Luke and GP might be drawing independently on different forms of the same story, and the fact that Luke chose to combine it with Mark while GP did not tells us nothing about which form of the story is more original. In Luke the penitent wrongdoer rebukes his fellow wrongdoer; in GP he rebukes the Jews. A visible tendency of GP is to put all the blame on the Jews and on their leaders, 39 so the GP form of the story might be secondary and redactional. Indeed, many scholars think that there was no pre-Lucan tradition of a penitent 272
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wrongdoer and that Luke created the story to illustrate the theme of the forgiving Jesus. If that were the case, the appearance of the story in GP would be clear proof that the apocryphon depended on Luke. Again, Crossan (Four 140-41) uses a redactional argument to show Mark's dependence upon GP. According to GP 11. 45, when those who accompanied the centurion saw the astounding resurrection of Jesus and of his cross from the tomb, they abandoned the sepulchre that they were guarding to report to Pilate, 'Truly he was God's Son.' In Mark, the centurion's exclamation, 'Truly this was God's Son' follows Jesus' death on the cross (and the tearing of the Temple veil), not the resurrection. Crossan notes a Marcan redactional tendency to favour suffering and the cross over demonstrations of power. 40 Consequently, he judges the Marcan localizing of the confession of Jesus as God's Son to be the product of a redactional shift from the original locus found in GP. However, Crossan does not pay attention to the peculiar emphasis on the miraculous in GP. Might not the GP evangelist have known Mark but not have been happy with having such a majestic confession stem from the sight of how Jesus died and so have shifted it to a point after the miraculous resurrection? Luke's form of the centurion's confession following Jesus' death (23. 47) is 'Truly this man was just [S\.x:awc;].' GP 8. 28 has the people saying, 'if at his death these exceeding great signs have come to pass, behold how just he was.' Thus one could theorize that GP did know of a confession after Jesus' death and reconciled the difference between the Lucan confession of the just one and the Marcan/Matthean confession of God's Son by having two confessions: that of the 'just one' at his death and that of 'God's Son' after the resurrection. 41 The confession of God's Son by the Roman centurion's company and by Pilate after the miraculous resurrection helps the GP author to show the malevolence of the Jewish leaders who, although they saw the same miracle (cf. 10. 38}, were willing to commit the greatest sin rather than confess the truth (11. 48; see n. 39 above). Crossan (Four 141) goes on to press this passage for proof that Matthew too drew on GP. Mark's confession after Jesus' death is by a centurion; GP's confession after the resurrection is by 'those who accompanied the centurion [ol. 1tEpt 'tOV KEV'tupirova]', i.e. by those watching (cpuA.aaa£tv} the sepulchre. Matthew's confession after the death is by 'the centurion and those who were with him [oi. ~E't' au'tou] keeping guard l't"f1peiv] over Jesus'. Crossan thinks Matthew presents a conflation of Mark and GP. Again, one must look at other redactional possibilities. Matthew tends to pluralize Mark's characters (two Gadarene demoniacs vs. the Marcan one; two Jericho blind men). Toward the end of the Gospel story Matthew may have wished to have Jesus acknowledged as Son of God by plural Gentiles even as he had plural Gentile magi adore Jesus at the beginning. He has prepared for 'the centurion and those who were with
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him keeping guard over Jesus' (27. 54) by a reference just after the crucifixion (27. 36) to the soldiers who 'sat down and kept guard ['tllpEiv].' 42 Neither in vocabulary nor in setting does Matthew's plurality of confessors clearly echo GP's plurality. But this Matthean scene after Jesus' death leads us into a discussion of another criterion invoked by Crossan. C. The argument from better-flowing na"ative
When there are diverse forms of a story, judgments about which form constitutes the better narrative tend to be subjective. Nevertheless, even if one can get general agreement on which is 'the better story', is that likely to be more original than a rougher-hewn or less sequential version of the same event? The answer to that question depends so much on the skill and attention of the storyteller. If one thinks of oral transmission illustrated by humorous stories, have we not heard a joke told very smoothly, and subsequently heard one of those who were present repeating it in a confused and awkward way? On the other hand, if we have skill and have heard a badly told joke, have we not smoothed it out in retelling it? And if one is to think of dependence on a written document, does a rewriter smooth out the original account or reshuffle it in a less logical way? To answer that, one must know the purpose of the rewriting as well as the rewriter's skill. But setting aside my general scepticism in regard to this criterion, let me comment on the use made of it in reference to GP. Between the death of Jesus and the confession of him as Son of God, Matt 27. 51-52 describes a series of events absent from Mark 15. 38, which narrates only the tearing of the Temple curtain. Matthew adds in quasi-poetic format: And the earth shook, and the rocks split, and the tombs were opened, and the many bodies of the sleeping saints rose. 43 Many scholars think of this as a primitive piece of popular apocalyptic that Matthew has adapted to the Marcan sequence by adding a concluding sentence: 'And coming out of the tombs after his resurrection, they went into the holy city and appeared to many.' Crossan (Four 141-42), however, regards it as an awkward adaptation from GP 6. 21 which is a 'wellintegrated' narrative sequence: 'And then they [the Jews] drew the nails from the hands of the Lord and laid him on the earth. And the whole earth shook and there came a great fear.' In GP the earthquake produces the effect of great fear while, Crossan complains, in Matthew the eschatological phenomena 'are recorded without apparently having any effect on anyone' - a curious complaint since Matt 27. 54 records, 'And when the centurion and those who were with him ... saw the earthquake and the 274
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things that had taken place, they feared exceedingly, saying "Truly this was God's Son."' If anything, Matthew narrates more effect than does GP! But the key to Crossan's narrative argument probably lies in the earth's quaking when Jesus' body was deposed on it. That is a good storytelling element, but might it not be an 'improvement' on Matt by one who is interested precisely in a miraculous eye-catching story? As for the possibility of the Matthean form being more primitive, poetic format is often invoked as a sign of antiquity. 44 More importantly, Matthew's scene is much closer than is GP to a group of eschatological Scripture passages: Joel4. 16 has the earth shaken; Ezek 37. 12 has the graves opened, raising from the graves, and bringing people home to the land of Israel; 1 Cor 15. 20 associates Christ being raised from the dead with 'the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep', using the same term Matthew uses to describe the sleeping saints. One would be very hard pressed to show that Matthew's eschatological conception of death and resurrection is posterior to GP's interest in the miraculous power inherent in the corpse of Jesus when placed on the earth. Another instance of the argument from better-flowing narrative is found by Crossan (Four 149-52) in the GP account of the guard at the sepulchre (7. 25-9. 34) which is 'self-consistent, self-coherent, and selfcontained', so that the account in Matt 27. 62-66 is dependent on it. Even if one were to allow (datum sed non concessum) the assumption that a better story is likely to be prior and that the first followers of Jesus knew 'absolutely little' about the details of the passion, crucifixion, and sepulchre, one may wonder how coherent the story in GP really is. Those early followers of Jesus were Jews who would have known Jewish customs. Would they have fashioned the rather unlikely story that Jewish elders and scribes and the crowd from Jerusalem spent the Sabbath at a sepulchre containing a corpse? Is not Matt 27. 62-66 more coherent in terms of a story that might arise among Jewish believers in Jesus- notice I did not say historical but 'coherent'. On the Sabbath Matthew carefully involves the Jewish priests and pharisees in no more than a request to Pilate, so that only Roman guards were at the tomb. 45 In any case, two points figure large in Crossan's argument. The first is that in GP 8. 30 the request for soldiers to watch the sepulchre is more coherent and better prepared for than the request in Matt 27. 62. The request in GP is made when 'the scribes, and pharisees, and elders' have heard how 'all the people' were beating their breasts and exclaiming how righteous the dead Jesus was. Accordingly they want the sepulchre watched 'for three days lest his disciples come and steal him away and the people suppose that he has risen from the dead'. In Matt 27. 62-66 there is no sympathy on the part of all the people;46 rather the chief priests and the pharisees say, 'We remember how that deceiver said while he was still alive, "After three days I will rise again." Therefore order the sepuJchre to 275
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be made secure until the third day lest his disciples come and steal him away and tell the people, "He has been raised from the dead." ' Several observations are necessary: (1) The reference to the disciples' stealing the body and the feared report of the resurrection is phrased similarly in GP and Matt, but one should not move too rapidly to the assumption that this similarity proves direct dependence. The statement 'He has risen', 'He has been raised' was frequent in early Christian writing, and could have been known to either author independently; similarly 'three days' or 'third day'. As for 'lest his disciples come and steal him away' (a theme that comes back like a refrain in Matt 28. 13), we note that 28. 14 contends that 'this story has been spread among the Jews to this day'. Thus once more this may be a claim known widely. The rest of the two stories about guarding the sepulchre in Matt and GP is without such close vocabulary similarity. (2} Matt 27. 62-28. 15 represents the combination of two stories: one of soldiers guarding the tomb and one of women visiting the tomb. The second is clearly taken from Mark, and Matthew has effected the combination by alternating scenes - a similar alternation pattern was used in the Matthean infancy narrative. 47 Crossan is correct in judging that GP 8. 28-13. 57 represents a combination of two stories: one of soldiers guarding the sepulchre, one of women visiting the tomb. Here also the second is close to Mark,48 while the first is close to Matthew; but in GP the combination is sequential rather than intertwined. None of that tells me whether the Matthean or the Petrine form of the guard story is more primitive or whether one work is dependent on the other. The GP form is longer, more miraculous and vivid, and in many ways a 'better story' from a narrative viewpoint. Since it matches the interests and tastes evident elsewhere in GP, I have no idea how much of the GP form preexisted the apocryphon. Since aspects of the Matthean form of the story match interests evident elsewhere in Matt, I have no idea how much of the Matthean form preexisted Matthew. If Matthew knew GP, why does this evangelist who normally heightens the miraculous (the cursing of the fig tree) curtail it so drastically in this scene? Both works have the theme that the interstice between the death and resurrection of Jesus involved some action on behalf of the dead (cf. GP 10. 41 and Matt 27. 52-53), but the manner of describing it varies greatly and GP is closer to 1 Pet 3. 18-19. The idea of Crossan (following Denker and Johnson) that Matthew reshuffled elements from the GP story and dropped many of the vivid details offers little plausibility in terms of Matthew's motives.
Ill. The origins of the Gospel of Peter Moving now from challenging the methodology behind the contention that GP was antecedent to the canonical Gospels, let me treat consecutively some observations that express my own views about the relationship
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between GP and the canonical Gospels, about the kind of work GP is, and about the date and background of its provenance. A. Relationship between GP and the canonical Gospels
(1) Overall, the canonical Gospels did not depend literarily on GP. A major argument against Crossan's thesis reflects a classic argument used in Synoptic discussions. The existence of Q rests on the observation that Matt and Luke agree closely with each other in large bodies of sayings material absent in Mark. But in the passion narrative where Matt, Luke, or John have material not in Mark but found in some form in GP, they do not agree with each other. Over against Mark, GP and Man agree on the washing of the hands, Pilate's declaring himself innocent of Jesus' blood, and the guard at the tomb. None of these incidents is in John or Luke. Over against Mark, GP and Luke agree on the role of Herod, on Jesus being handed over to the Jewish leaders, on the designation of the fellowcrucified as x:ax:oupyot and one of them as being sympathetic to Jesus, and on the penitent lamentation of the people. None of these incidents is in Matt or John. Over against Mark, GP and John agree on the crucifixion date as before the feast, on not breaking the bones of one crucified figure, on a garden tomb, and on explicitly mentioning nails. None of these incidents is in Matt or Luke. 49 It is most unlikely that such exclusive selectivity could have taken place if independently Matthew, Luke, and John used GP. This phenomenon is far easier to explain if the GP author combined details from the canonical Gospels, taking the washing of the hands from Matt, the penitent wrongdoer from Luke, etc. (2) There are arguments against positing too simply GP's literary dependence on the canonical Gospels. Although GP and the canonical Gospels share many scenes, there is remarkably little exact verbal identity in word or form. 50 In my judgment, only a few instances are sufficiently long and close to offer significant vocabulary identity:51 GP 8. 30 and Matt 27. 64 share 'lest his disciples come and steal him away' (but see my remarks on p. 332 above); GP 12. 53-54 and Mark 16. 3-4 share 'Who will roll away for us the stone against/from the door of the tomb ... for it was large.' But the vocabulary identity that might help to posit literary dependence is much less than among the Synoptics. Also, Swete52 has compared GP to the reconstructed text of Tatian's Diatessaron which combines the canonical Gospels, and one does not have the same kind of literal preservation of phrases in GP. One might meet this objection by positing a more complicated theory of GP's literary dependence on the canonical Gospels with a stage of interlocking to meet every difficulty - a process somewhat similar to what Boismard has done for the canonical Gospels. 53 Or one might posit a greater freedom on the part of the GP author as he used the canonical Gospels. The early transmission of the text of the OT illustrated 277
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by Qumran shows us remarkable freedom on the part of early scribal copyists, and so J. A. Sanders has proposed an almost paradoxical rule: The older the texts, the less likely they were copied exactly. 54 Working with a suggestion of E. C. Colwell55 Sanders carries this over to the NT: This shift from fluidity to rigidity in copying the NT would have occurred after the 1st century. 56 The absence of clear quotations from the canonical Gospels from the 2nd century, instead of being explained as ignorance of the canonical Gospels (H. Koester}, might for Sanders reflect a knowledge of these Gospels but a greater freedom of adapted wording. While I find attractive elements in Sanders's position, I think there are too many other problems (see below) to posit only literary dependence of GP on the canonical Gospels. (3} There are noticeable inconsistencies in the narrative of GP, so numerous that they are not explicable even by Crossan's literary thesis of an earlier self-coherent passion and a later redaction under the influence of the canonical Gospels. Notice the following inconsistencies within Crossan's posited primitive stage of GP. In 7. 25 the Jewish elders lament over the evil they have done, while in the next verse in Crossan's sequence (8. 28) the Jewish elders are angry because the people are lamenting by beating their breasts. In 4. 14 the Jews command that the bones of the crucified should not be broken, presumably in order to prolong his death agony; but in the next verse (5. 15} they are uneasy lest the sun has set with the crucified still alive. In 3. 6 they push the Lord toward crucifixion 'in great haste', but in the next verse (3. 7-9) they take time to dress him up and mock him. The 'Jews' of 1. 1 and 7. 25 (along with the pharisees and elders) seem hostile to Jesus; yet in 11. 48 'the people of the Jews' are on Jesus' side and are feared by the elders (see 10. 38}. Within the material Crossan assigns to the redactional level there are also curiosities. In 7. 26-27 Peter and his fellow members of the Twelve disciples (see 14. 59) mourn and weep; yet on the same day the women disciples could not weep and lament (12. 50, 52). One might try other theories of designing a source and redaction, but the difficulties now to be mentioned suggest that the solution does not lie in that direction. (4) There is a massive transferral or switching of details affecting the dramatis personae when incidents in GP are compared to similar incidents in the canonical Gospels. John 20. 2 has the male disciple whom Jesus loved go to the empty tomb, but in GP 12. 50 Mary Magdalene is called a disciple (~-ta.Oi)'tpux) of the Lord who is loved (a:ya.7tro~-tevoc;) by her. John 18. 23 has Jesus state, 'If I have spoken wrongly, bear witness to the wrong', and the three Synoptics have Pilate ask, 'What wrong has he done?'; but GP 4. 13 has the crucified criminal ask, 'What injustice has he done to you?' Luke 23. 6-12 has Pilate send Jesus to Herod so that Herod and Pilate became friends; but in GP 2. 3-4, in a context where Pilate sends to Herod, Joseph (of Arimathea) is the friend of Pilate. While, 27R
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Mark, Matt, and John have Roman soldiers scourge and mock Jesus as king, putting on him a crown of thorns and a red/purple garment, GP 3. 7-9 has the Jewish people do this. While Matt 27. 19 and John 19. 13 (with an ambiguity of verb) have Pilate sitting on the ~iilla to judge Jesus, GP 3. 7 mockingly has Jesus seated on the Ka8£Spa invited to judge righteously. Luke 23. 28-31 has Jesus on the way to Calvary warn the daughters of Jerusalem of coming judgment; GP 7. 25 has the Jews, the elders, and the priests say, 'Woe on our sins; the judgment and end of Jerusalem has drawn close.' In John 19.33 we are told that the Romans did not break the bones of Jesus because he was already dead; GP 4. 14 has the Jews command that the bones of the crucified not be broken, presumably so that he will live and suffer longer. John 20. 25 has Thomas call attention to the mark of the nails in Jesus' hands; GP 6. 21 has the Jews drawing the nails from the hands of the Lord. One might explain some of these switched attributions as a redactional preference exercised by the GP author in using the written canonical Gospels, but neither deliberate redaction nor fluidity of written textual transmission in the early period plausibly explains so many transferrals. Certainly, if we consider Matthew's and Luke's dependence on Mark and Q in the 1st century or Tatian's dependence on the canonical Gospels in the 2nd century, we find no such massive tendency to switch personal attribution.57 While one cannot exclude the possibility of a literary dependence freer than that in the two examples just mentioned, the phenomena visible in GP seem to demand another solution (at least as a major component), namely, oral dependence of GP on some or all of the canonical Gospels. I would argue strongly that while scholars have discussed the influence of oral tradition on Gospel origins, there has been inadequate consideration of a second orality that must have dominated in the 2nd century when, because of a dearth of copies, most Christians' knowledge of written Gospels was through hearing and an oral communication that combined and confused details. If the objection is raised that this introduces the uncontrollable into the discussion of dependence, so be it. Too often scholars transfer their desk situation with Gospel copies propped up before them into the ancient church. Nor is the parallel of the trained bard reciting oral tradition with great exactitude appropriate. A better analogy would be that of an intelligent Christian today whose knowledge of the Gospel story does not come from reading a Bible but from hearing Sunday pericopes read in church. If asked to retell the story of the passion, such a Christian might remember a few key phrases almost exactly, but in general the vocabulary would be only an approximation. There would be confusion about who did what and in what sequence, and there would be notable inconsistencies resulting from combinations. I suggest a certain parallelism between GP and the 2nd-century Protevangelium of lames,
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which most think dependent on the canonical infancy narratives in a very free way.5!i Such works may be windows into how ordinary early Christians understood what we have preserved in a controlled literary situation in the canonical Gospels. They represent a popular harmonization while Tatian gives us a scholarly harmony. This theory of oral dependence explains several other aspects of GP that I now list. (5} There is a highly developed dramatic and imaginative tone in GP, more that of vivid storytelling than of distilled kerygma. In GP 7.26 and 14. 59 Peter and 'the twelve disciples of the Lord' speak in the first person, lending a tone of participant and eyewitness lacking in the Synoptic Gospels. When the Lord was crucified, 'He was silent as if he felt no pain' (4. 10). In the darkness that came over the land, 'Many went about with lamps' (5. 18}. Not only was the body of the Lord taken down but the Jews 'drew the nails from the hands of the Lord' (6. 21). The disciples of the Lord fasted, mourned, and wept night and day, while they were hunted 'as persons who wanted to set fire to the Temple' (7. 26-27). The name of the Roman centurion in the crucifixion is supplied as Petronius (8. 31). The great stone laid against the sepulchre has seven seals (8. 33); and when the sepulchre is opened, the stone rolls away of itself (9. 37). The three who emerge from the tomb are of a height reaching to the heavens, and the answer to the voice from heaven is given by the cross (10. 40, 42). Jewish elders confess they are willing to make themselves guilty of the greatest sin before God (11. 48). The women come to the tomb in fear of the Jews who are inflamed with wrath (12. 50). Once again, there is a similarity to GP in the way in which Prot. Jas. is a more developed and vivid story than either of the canonical infancy narratives. (6} In total content and in the vividness of special material, GP is closer to Matt than to the other Gospels. Some of the material proper to Matt among the canonical Gospels seems likely to have had popular origins different from the kerygmatic preaching. Matthew's infancy narrative and the story of Pilate's wife are the only instances of dream revelations in the Gospels. The star in the heaven marks the birth of the King of the Jews; Temple signs, earthquakes, and opening of tombs mark his death. The theme of the blood of an innocent man affects both the dramatic story of Judas' suicide and that of Pilate's washing his hands. Echoes of the blood and washing of the hands appear in GP without notable expansion and might possibly be dependent on memory of a past hearing (or reading) of Matt. But in the story of the guards at the tomb (Matt 27. 62-66; 28. 2-4, 11-15), GP 8. 28-11. 49 is notably longer and more vivid. Rather than explaining one account as directly dependent on the other, we may be dealing with another form of the same basic story. Sometime in the 80s/90s Matthew added to the tomb story he derived from Mark (involving the women) another tomb story about guards, a story that probably developed in popular circles, partially as a scripturally-nourished dramatization of the
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eschatological import of the resurrection, partly as apologetic against 'the Jews' (Matt 28. 14).59 GP may be presenting at a later period a more developed form of the story involving two angels that descend from heaven, Jesus preaching to the dead, and the ascent of Jesus with angels. We know such elements were in circulation among the early Christians from the Ascension of Isaiah, 3. 13b-18; 1 Pet 3. 19; 4. 6; and the Codex Bobiensis addition to Mark 16.3. This story GP may have drawn not only from oral memories of Matt but also from other ongoing oral traditions similar to that received in Matt in an earlier stage. Throughout much of the 2nd century the combining of canonically derived tradition with noncanonical tradition is well attested (e.g. Papias, Prot. Jas., Tatian). If the Gospel number had not yet been set at four, there would have been far less sensitivity to what was contained in the written Gospels as distinct from oral tradition of a similar nature. 60 (7) The likelihood that GP depended (mostly orally) on both canonical and ongoing non-canonical material should make us cautious about the number and extent of canonical Gospel dependency. While l am content to accept the hypothesis that GP depended on Luke, l would not be sure that every parallel between the two is so simply explained. Did GP draw the Herod story from Luke's passion narrative- for Luke (3. 1, 19; 9. 7) Herod was a tetrarch, not primarily a king, and not involved in putting Jesus to death. GP is actually closer to a different tradition attested with scriptural support in Acts 4. 25-27 where Herod is a king and conspires, along with the people of Israel, against Jesus. 61 We may see a development of that other tradition in Matt 2. 4 with its portrayal of King Herod, chief priests, and scribes of the people arrayed against Jesus to put him to death, since functionally the Matthean infancy narrative is a type of passion narrative where God ultimately makes his son victorious over the plot to kilt him. (That these were two different Herods, the Great and Antipas, may not have been clear in popular circles.) Similarly, it is difficult to be sure whether the relatively few GP parallels with John come from a memory of canonical John or from an old form of the tradition that came down to John, provided that one thinks (as I do) that John drew on an independent tradition and not simply on Mark. There could have been a passion tradition about the non-breaking of the bones of the crucified and in canonical John and in GP we may see two different forms of that same tradition.62 B. The date and locus of GP
(X) The implausibilities in GP make an early date in Palestine unlikely.6.1 I agree that a judgment that one form of a report about Jesus is historically plausible and another form is implausible tells us relatively little about the antiquity of the two forms. Laying aside the possibility of deliberate 2XJ
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deception, we must still allow the possibility of early imaginative elaboration. Yet, lack of historical plausibility can reflect on antiquity if it involves enough details external to the career of Jesus. GP has no problem attributing to Herod a kingly role in Jerusalem, so that Pilate has to make requests of him. Indeed, this Herod sentences Jesus to the Roman punishment of crucifixion. Could a story like that have developed in Palestine while there were still Roman governors with political authority over Judea? 64 Moreover, the early followers of Jesus were Jews who would have had knowledge of Jewish customs and feasts. GP 8. 31-34 seems to have no problem in placing elders and scribes and the crowd from Jerusalem at a sepulchre on the Sabbath. The GP author seems to think that the Feast of the Unleavened Bread lasted only three days; for 2. 5 makes the day before the Sabbath the first day of the feast while 14. 58 seems to consider the day after the Sabbath (the Lord's Day: 9. 35; 12. 50) the last day of the Unleavened Bread. Does the failure of GP to mention the high priest(s), so prominent in the canonical accounts of Jesus' trial, mean that the GP author no longer knew how that figure functioned before the destruction of the Temple? Does the reference to 'the twelve disciples of the Lord' after the resurrection (14. 59) mean that the GP author did not know the Judas story (cf. Matt 28. 14)? These remarks point to a date after 70 if GP was composed in Palestine. Some of the remarks to follow may help us to date the work even if it was composed outside Palestine, a likelihood favoured by GP's complete omission of the local place names that appear in the canonical passion narratives (more seldom in Luke than in the others). GP's silence about going to Galilee after the resurrection (cf. Mark 16. 7) may reflect nothing more profound than the author's disinterestedness in or ignorance of Palestinian geography and how far the fishing lake was from Jerusalem. (9) GP shows a sharp alienation from Judaism and its leaders, to the point of extreme hostility. GP regularly speaks of 'the Jews' (6 times), a frequency matched canonically only by John. (Outside the stereotyped 'King of the Jews', the only Synoptic passion usages are Matt 28. 15 [a passage with GP parallels] and Luke 23. 51 [geographic]). The GP reference to 'their feast' (2. 5) is again reminiscent of John's 'a feast of the Jews' (5. 11; 6. 4; etc.) and 'their Law' (15. 25; cf. 10. 34). The closest Synoptic parallel would be 'their synagogues' (Matt 4. 23). Such alienation65 could have arisen in many ways. In John (and perhaps in Matt) it seems to have arisen on the part of Jewish Christians who were expelled from the synagogue in the recent past but who still possessed an excellent knowledge of Jewish customs and thought so lacking in GP. In both John and GP the Jewish opponents of Jesus have explicit knowledge of his divine claims, and so the conflict has passed beyond the issue of observing details of the Law. Yet, more than John, GP (3. 6, 9; 4. 13-14; 7. 25; 8. 28-30; 11. 47-48) portrays a malevolent and unrepentant deicide, executed by 2R2
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those who chose to be guilty of the greatest sin. This is a hostility that goes beyond what is attested by NT works. (10) The christology of GP is obviously 'high' advocating acceptance of Jesus as Son of God (3. 6, 9; 11. 45, 46) and O"CO'tTJP 'tWV exvep<01tCOV (4. 13), never using the personal name Jesus but always 'the Lord' (11 times). Interestingly, the same preference for 'Lord' is attested in Didache (8. 2; 9. 5; 11. 2; 12. 1; etc.). The day after the Sabbath is the Lord's Day for GP (9. 34-35; 12. 50), a terminology also attested in Did. 14. 1 and Ignatius, Magn. 9. 1.66 There is a period of fasting attached to the day of Jesus' death (GP 7. 27), even as Did. 8. 1 inculcates fasting on Wednesday and Friday. When we put this together with parallels to Justin, Barnabas, and Protevangelium, it is understandable that Beyschlag67 speaks of the atmosphere of the 1st half of the 2nd century. Indeed, the Greek of GP has been identified as having features best attested in this period. 68 The conclusion of my study, then, is that, despite recent claims, GP does not constitute or give the earliest Christian account or thoughts about the passion. Although forewarned that a failure to agree with these claims would be interpreted to mean that one was not open-minded or that one had a fixed thesis about the historicity of the canonical Gospels,69 I hope I am not deceived in thinking that my conclusion flows from an effort to make the best sense of the evidence. (If the challenge to the canon based on GP fades, perhaps some of the other claims mentioned in the first part of this article should be examined more carefully.) I do not conclude, however, that GP is therefore without worth. If I am right, it is another window into popular Christianity of the 1st half of the 2nd century, where Jesus was honoured as Lord, where church life included the Lord's Day and fasting, where there was a knowledge of canonical Gospels ( esp. Matthew), even if that knowledge rested on having heard or once having read them, but where now they had been blended into a confused but vivacious story - one made all the more vivid by the inclusion of imaginative details and popular traditions. 70 (Is that so far from the knowledge of the passion or the infancy among many ordinary Christians today, despite our millions of printed Bibles?) The theological outlook embodied in GP is not seriously wrong, even if it is not the theology of Ignatius, or of Clement of Rome; but then has the theology of the Christian people ever been precisely that of the bishops, the presbyters, and the theologians? Eventually, such a popular theology could become heterodox (and GP does seem to have fed docetism); and that is why our oldest witness to GP, Bishop Serapion, who was clearly not inclined to suspect heresy in everything he had never heard before, decided on second thoughts that GP should not be elevated to an official church document to be read in the assembly. To some that exercise of authority will seem narrow-minded; to others, good sense and even a grace, given the intense anti-Jewish attitude of GP. 2H3
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Notes
* Presidential 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19
20
21
22 23
Address delivered at the 41st General Meeting of SNTS, held in Atlanta, GA, U.S.A., August 1986. The New Testament as Canon (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985). I use this term to describe the 1st-2nd century works ultimately accepted into the canon. The Social Setting of Pau/ine Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982) 106. A. Mayer, Der Zenzierte Jesus (Freiburg: Waiter, 1983) has carried this to the point of describing a proletarian Jesus censored by Luke and Paul. The Oral and the Written Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983). In debate with Kelber, B. Gerhardsson, The Gospel Tradition (ConBNT 15; Lund: Gleerup, 1986) integrates oral and written tradition in a more balanced way. 'Das Magnificat und die alteste Tradition Uber Jesus von Nazaret', EvT 38 (1978) 298-313. Essays on the Sermon on the Mount (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984). In Memory of Her (New York: Crossroads, 1983). The Gnostic Gospels (New York: Random, 1979). 'Jesus: From Easter to Valentinus (or to the Apostles' Creed)',JBL 101 (1982) 5-37. 'Thomas- the Fourth Gospel', BA 46 (1983) 8-17. H. Koester, 'One Jesus and Four Primitive Gospels', HTR 61 (1968) 203-47; Trajectories through Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971) 158-204. Clement of Alexandria and a Secret Gospel of Mark (Cambridge, MA: Harvard, 1973). Also the update on Secret Mark: 'The Score at the End of the First Decade', HTR 75 (1982) 449--{il. 'History and Development of Mark's Gospel (From Mark to Secret Mark and "Canonical Mark")', in Colloquy on New Testament Studies (ed. B. Corley; Macon,GA:Mercer, 1983)35-57,esp.54-57. 'The Mystery of the Gospel of Mark', The Second Century 4 (1984) 65--82. 'Apocryphal and Canonical Gospels', HTR 73 (1980) 105-30, esp. 112. The Other Gospels (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1982). Four Other Gospels (Minneapolis: Winston, 1985). E.g. F. Neirynck, 'La Fuite du Jeune Homme', ETL 55 (1979) 43-66 (with reference to Secret Mark); 'Papyrus Egerton 2 and the Healing of the Leper', ETL 61 (1985) 153--{iO. Those who think facts favour the fidelity and priority of the canonical Gospels are not uniformly church traditionalists. Nor is church tradition so simple; for where canonicity is determined by long and continuous church usage, Mark 16. 9-20 and John 7. 53-8. 12 are considered canonical even though they may postdate some of the apocrypha. E.g. on Valentinus, on Christianity in Egypt, and on Rome's role. J. F. McCue, 'Waiter Bauer and the Valentinians', VC 33 (1979) 118-30. G. T. Buke, 'Waiter Bauer and Celsus', Second Century 4 (1984) 1-7. P. Rousseau, Pachomius (Berkeley: Univ. of California, 1985) 19-23. 'New Testament Trajectories and Biblical Authority', SE VII (TU 126; Berlin, 1982) 189-99. Also D. J. Hawkin, 'A Reflective Look at the Recent Debate on Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity', Eg/ise et Theologie 7 (1976) 367-78. A Genre for the Gospels (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982). In many writings C. H. Talbert has emphasized the biographical element in the Gospels. See my 'Jesus and Elisha', Perspective 12 (Spring 1971) 85-104. The Greek/French ed. of M. G. Mara (SC 201; Paris: Cerf, 1973) contains a
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24 25 26
27
28
29
30 31 32
33 34
bibliography. J. Armitage Robinson divided the text into 14 chaps.; Harnack, into 60 vv. It is now normal to use both systems of reference simultaneously, wherein chap. 1 v. 2 is followed by chap. 2 v. 3. R. A. Coles, The Oxyrhynchus Papyri Vol. 41 (ed. G. M. Browne et al.; London: British Acad., 1972) 15-16. D. Ltihrmann, 'POx 2949: EvPt 3-5 in einer Handschrift des 2./3. Jahrhunderts', ZNW 72 (1981) 216-26. Origen ( Comm. in Matt 10. 17) mentions GP, but did he come to know this work in Alexandria or Caesarea? GP 5. 19, 'My power [Si>val!u;), 0 power, you have left me', is not plausibly an indication that the divinity left the body of Jesus before death, because GP's description of a Jesus who came forth from the tomb is supernatural and because GP implies that Jesus acted salvifically between death and resurrection (10. 40-42). GP's statement that the Lord was silent 'as he felt no pain' when he was crucified need not be an affirmation of docetic impassibility, for a similar description implies bravery and divine help in Christian martyrdom (Mart. Pol. 8. 3). I owe a debt to earlier work on GP: H. B. Swete, Euangelion kata Petron: The Akhmim Fragment of the Apocryphal Gospel of St Peter (London: Macmillan, 1893). L. Vaganay, L'Evangile de Pierre (EB; 2nd ed.; Paris: Gabalda, 1930). K. L. Schmidt, Kanonische und Apokryphe Evangelien und Apostelgeschichten (Base): Majer, 1944) 37-78. K. Beyschlag, Die verborgene Oberlieferung von Christus (Siebenstem Taschenbuch 136; Munich,1969) 27-64. A. von Harnack, Bruchstucke des Evangeliums und der Apokalypse des Petrus (2nd ed.; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1893). P. Gardner-Smith, 'The Gospel of Peter', JTS 27 (1926) 255-71; 'The Date of the Gospel of Peter', ITS 27 (1926) 401-7. B. A. Johnson, 'Empty Tomb Tradition in the Gospel of Peter' (Th.D. diss.; Cambridge, MA: Harvard Divinity, 1966). J. Denker, Die theologiegeschichtliche Stellung des Petrusevangeliums (Bern: Lang, 1975). Denker makes available a digest of Johnson. His treatment in Four ( n. 17 above) 123-81 covers both the passion and resurrection, but concerning the latter he indulges in hypotheses about Mark that would take us far afield from GP. Denker's arguments are more detailed than Crossan's but reflect much the same methodology. The redaction inserted 2. 3-5a to prepare for the addition of 6. 23-24; inserted 7. 26-27 to prepare for 14. 58-60; inserted 9. 37 and 11. 43-44 to prepare for 12. 50-13. 57. Already in 1968 Koester ('One Jesus', n. 11 above) had spelled out the presuppositions. In recent writing, however, the majority has still favoured GP dependence on the canonical Gospels (e.g. Beyschlag, Mara, Ltihrmann). 'Die alttestamentliche Motive in der Leidensgeschichte des Petrus- und des Johannes-Evangeliums', BZA W 33 (1918) 125-50; repr. in Botschaft und Geschichte (Ttibingen: Mohr, 1953-6) 1. 221-47. Although Dibelius thought GP more original than John in using the OT, he found it clearly dependent on the Synoptics (146). 'Apocryphal' (n. 15 above) 127; also Denker, Stellung 58-77; Crossan, Four 138-9. Such splitting was common in the NT and early Jewish writing as the individual lines of Scripture were seen to be fulfilled exactly. GP 4. 12 sees the parallel lines of Ps 22. 19 ('They divide my garments among them, and for my clothing they cast lots') as describing two separate actions (dividing and casting lots), even as does John 19. 23-24 which distinguishes between the garments and the clothing. 285
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35 The reference to an initial wine mixed with myrrh occurs in Mark at the beginning of the crucifixion in a list of laconic descriptions: they brought him to the place of the skull, offered him wine, and crucified him. Originally it may have had no more scriptural significance than the items before and after it. 36 One can detect the truly redactional characteristics of Matthew and Luke by seeing the changes the two evangelists made in Mark. The truly redactional characteristics of Mark and John have to be detected by comparison with nonextant reconstructed sources. These two evangelists have stylistic peculiarities, but we cannot be certain that the peculiarities have not been taken over from the sources. 37 R. E. Brown, 'The Relation of "The Secret Gospel of Mark" to the Fourth Gospel', CBQ 36 (1974) 466-85. In Mark 10.21 Jesus loved the rich young man who did not become a disciple. 38 What the impenitent wrongdoer says, 'Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us' is made up from the two previous revilings (23. 35, 37). 39 Even when others can see Jesus' innocence and when there are marvellous phenomena, the Jewish leaders are obdurate in a guilty refusal to be persuaded: GP 1. 1; 4. 13-14; 5. 15-18; 6. 21-23; 8. 28-30; 11.45-48. 40 In addition, Crossan agrees with interpreters who think Mark deleted from the tradition the appearances of the risen Jesus. Yet far from being opposed to appearances of the risen Jesus, Mark may have deemed that they belonged to the postGospel story of the church rather than to the Gospel story of Jesus' ministry. The other evangelists considered such appearances to belong to the Gospel story, although Luke recounts some of them in the Acts story of the church. 41 The pattern of preserving the two confessions which had different titles of Jesus may have been suggested to the GP author by Wis 2. 18: 'For if the just man is God's son [!li~~:at~ ul.Oc; E>Eo'i>], He will help him and deliver him.' 42 There is no parallel to this Matthean verse in the best readings of Mark 15. 24-25, but the D text has the soldiers watching Jesus [q)\)AaO"O"Etv]- the verb used in GP. 43 For the complicated issue of preMatthean tradition here, see Maria Riebl, Auferstehung Jesu in der Stunde seines Todes? Zu Botschaft von Mt 27, 5Jb-53 (SBB 8; Stuttgart: KBW, 1978); E. Fascher, Das Weib des Pilatus (Mt. 27,19). Die Auferweckung der Heiligen (Mt. 27, 51-53) (Halle: Niemeyer, 1951) 32-51. Parallels exist in the Pseudo-Clementine Recog. 41. 3: 'When he suffered, the whole world suffered with him: both the sun was darkened and the stars were disturbed; the sea was shaken and the mountains moved, and the graves opened'; and more poetically in the Paschal Homily of Melito 98: ' ... the earth trembled . . . the heavens feared . . . the angel tore his clothes . . . the Lord sounded from the heaven, and the Most High gave voice.' 44 But the fact that Melito is even more poetic in the late 2nd century warns us that this argument is unreliable. 45 Arguments advanced by a Columbia Univ. and Union Theological Seminary doctoral student, Michael Winger, have convinced me that the ambiguous £x;E"tE ~~:oucr-.rolliav in Matt 27. 65 does not mean 'You have a (Jewish) guard of your own' but 'Take a (Roman) guard (that I am giving you).' The sense of 'take' is attested for the verb (BAGD s.v. I. 7b); the form is then imperative like the following two verbal forms; the Latin loan word appropriately refers to Roman troops; and it becomes explicable why the guard would be in trouble if this came to Pilate's ears (28. 14). 46 A similar phrase occurs in Matt 27. 25: 'All the people answered, "His blood on us and on our children."'
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47 See my The Birth ofthe Messiah (Garden City: Doubleday, 1977) 105, n. 21. 48 Crossan (Four 149, 157, 160) contends that GP 12. 50-13. 57 belongs to the redactional stage which drew on the canonical Gospels, essentially Mark. P. Gardner-Smith, who argued for GP's independence of the canonical Gospels, thought the author knew an earlier form of the women's visit story than that found in Mark, even though it is in this section that GP is closest to Mark ('Gospel' [n. 28 above] 269). Also Denker, Stellung 38. 49 Luke 24. 39, 'See my hands and my feet' is parallel to John 20. 20, 'He showed them his hands and his side'; it does not mention nails as do John 20. 25 and GP6. 21. 50 In discussing Secret Mark, ('Score' [n. 12 above] 454; 'Merkel on the Longer Text of Mark', ZTK 72 [1975] 133-50, esp. 141) M. Smith is quite correct in arguing that small similarities of wording are not probative of literary dependence. For that reason I discount many of the verbal relations listed by Swete, Euangelion (n. 27 above) xviii-xx, who judges from them that GP certainly used Mark and Matt, presumably Luke, and possibly John. 51 In this GP differs from Secret Mark which has close verbal parallels throughout; see D. Schmidt in Colloquy 18 of the Center for Hermeneutical Studies (Berkeley, CA: Graduate Theological Union, 1976) 41-5. 52 Euangelion xxiii-xxv. He thought that GP might have drawn on a pre-Tatian harmony of the Passion history, of a looser type than Tatian's. That solution moves the problem earlier: How did this posited harmony relate to the canonical Gospels? 53 See CBQ 40 (1978) 624-8 for my problems with this approach. 54 'Text and Canon: Old Testament and New', in Melanges Dominique Barthe/emy (ed. P. Casetti et al.; Fribourg: Ed. Univ., 1981) 375-94, esp. 379. 55 'Studies in Methodology in Textual Criticism of the New Testament', in New Testament Tools and Studies (ed. B. M. Metzger; 9th ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1969) 164: 'The story of the manuscript tradition of the New Testament is the story of progression from a relatively uncontrolled tradition to a rigorously controlled tradition.' 56 Sanders himself relates it to the church status received under Constantine. 57 The rare instances of Matthew doing this in relation to Mark can easily be explained by redactional theological interests, e.g. switching an ambitious request from the sons of Zebedee (apostles) to their mother, or a contemptuous designation as carpenter from Jesus to his father. 5~ Origen cited GP (n. 25 above) for the thesis that Joseph had children by a previous marriage - a thesis supported by Prot. Jas. Oral dependence of Secret Mark on John was a possibility I raised previously (n. 37 above). Memory, not consultation of Gospel mss., may have been the rule rather than the exception in the late 1st and early 2nd century. 59 Similarly Matthew (chaps. 1-2) added to the beginning of Mark an infancy narrative shaped from pre-Matthean scripturally nourished traditions that had acquired an apologetic function (Birth [n. 47 above] 104-19). 60 We remember that scribes felt free to add to Mark several endings and to John (or Luke) the story of the woman caught in adultery, thus preserving accounts that in likelihood were transmitted orally for a long period of time. 61 In my judgment Denker, Stellung (n. 28 above) 48, is wrong in so simply accepting Dibelius' view that the Herod of the Lucan passion is derived from the very different Herod of Acts 4. He is much closer to the Hcrodian Agrippa of Acts 26. 30-31. Christian tradition had different images of the Herodian kings.
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62 The contention that GP could not have drawn on John because the non-breaking of the legs would never have been shifted from Jesus to a criminal, besides ignoring the possibility I have mentioned, overlooks the ambiguity of the pronoun in GP 4. 14. The last mentioned subject is the Saviour: and it would fit GP's hostility toward the Jews if because of the intercession of the wrongdoer, they punished Jesus. As for GP and John having two different forms of an earlier story, R. H. Fuller, 'Longer Mark: Forgery, Interpolation, or Oral Tradition', in the Colloquy cited in n. 51 above, maintains that Secret Mark and John may have drawn upon and developed independently an earlier raisingfrom-the-tomb story. 63 This point is well made by Mara in her translation-commentary (n. 23 above) 29-33; also F. Lambiasi, 'I criteri d'autenticita storica dei vangeli applicati ad un apocrifo: il Vangelo di Pietro', BeO 18 (1976) 151--60. 64 The verisimilitude of GP is far less than that of the Matthean infancy narrative whose tradents knew something about Herod the Great: that his rule included Judea and Bethlehem, that he was pathologically afraid of threats to his regal status, that he was capable of inhuman brutality even toward children, and that he was succeeded by Archelaus. The infancy story could have been shaped early in Palestine. 65 In the context of John and GP the use of 'the Jews' does represent alienation and not merely a distinction reflecting geographical locale, as advocated by M. Lowe (NovT 18 [1976] 101-31), who has now applied his theory to the 'IOY8AIOI of the Apocrypha' (NovT 23 [1981] 56-90) as a means of determining which works were composed in Palestine. 66 There is a dispute as to whether some of these passages refer only to Easter Sunday or to Sunday in general (W. Stott, NTS 12 [1965--66]70--75), but there can be little doubt that at the turn of the 1st century 'the Lord's Day' was becoming common for Sunday. 67 Oberlieferung (n. 27 above) 46. It is interesting that this date, so commonly advocated in the past, continues among modern investigators: Mara, Johnson, and even Denker (Stellung 86; a Jewish Christianity between the two wars). 68 F. Weissengruber in A. Fuchs, Das Petrusevangelium (SNTU B.2; Linz, 1978) 117-20, based on the use of atticisms and the optative. 69 See Crossan, Four 147. 70 B. A. Johnson, 'The Gospel of Peter: Between Apocalypse and Romance' (Studia Patristica 16; TU 129; Berlin: Akademie, 1985) 170--4, sees GP as an intermediary work between the apocalyptically viewed history of the canonical Gospels and the apocryphal romances that have no relation to actual events (e.g. Acts of Paul). See B. E. Perry, The Ancient Romances (Berkeley: Univ. of California, 1967).
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Gospel of Thomas
79
THE GOSPEL OF THOMAS A secondary Gospel Klyne R. Snodgrass Source: Second Century, 7, 1989, pp. 19-30.
One of the most embarrassing facts about New Testament studies is the almost total collapse of method by which scholars do their work. No where is this more evident than with the study of the Gospel of Thomas. In fact, the real value in studies on it may be that they will force closer attention to method. I do not claim to be more objective than everyone else studying the Gospel of Thomas, but I would like to argue that it is dependent on the canonical Gospels for some of its material. Primarily there are two reasons why I think the Gospel of Thomas is derived from the canonical tradition: 1) the weakness of the hypotheses arguing Thomas represents a completely independent tradition; 2) specific logia where contacts with the canonical Gospels can be demonstrated. The weaknesses of the hypotheses arguing independence will be addressed by a series of questions, after which attention will be given to individuallogia. The demonstration of contacts with the canonical Gospels will focus on hapax legomena and other rare words, redactional elements, and harmonizing tendencies. However, dependence on the canonical Gospels by itself will not explain the character of the Gospel of Thomas. In fact, it may explain only a relatively small portion of the collection. That Thomas is dependent in some sayings does not mean that it is dependent in all its sayings. 1 Without doubt there is in Thomas independent tradition that was unknown or left out of the canonical Gospels and possibly parallel tradition that was not derived from the canonical Gospels, however garbled or preserved it may be.
I Questions for hypotheses of independence l. What is the majority view? This question is not crucial, for no one thinks that truth is determined by democratic vote. But it does point to other questions and shows just how far our disagreement extends. Until a few 291
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years ago the acknowledged "majority" opinion was that the Gospel of Thomas was dependent on the canonical Gospels, but now there is debate about whether the "majority" opinion has shifted to belief in the independence of Thomas. 2 There are two important issues here. Do we count only those people who agree with our own position? I do think it is fair to say there has been a shift in opinion in the United States so that belief in the independence of Thomas is more popular, but whether that position is in the majority is unclear. Certainly no such claim can be made for British and European scholars. 3 More important is the question why there has been a shift of opinion in the United States. Is there new information available or has there been a convincing argumentation for the position of independence? Or have certain positions only been repeated so frequently that they have become more influential? The latter seems to me to be the case. One of the greatest dangers we face is the tendency to treat our hypotheses as if they were facts. 2. Why do people continue to use criteria that have been shown to be invalid? Frequently those who argue for the independence of Thomas do so on the grounds that the shorter, simpler account is the earlier. However, E. P. Sanders showed long ago that traditions both added and deleted material. 4 R. McL. Wilson's words on Thomas need to be heeded: ... in the development of tradition the tendency is generally towards the shortening or summarizing of a story or saying, whether in transmission by oral tradition or in transcription, except when in the latter case the document copied is being faithfully followed .... in view of this tendency these condensed sayings must be regarded with suspicion. 5 Oral tradition in particular has a tendency to become shorter. Werner Kelber's comments on oral transmission sound like a description of the Gospel of Thomas, although that was not his intention: The shrinking and condensation of an oral tradition, for example, is a known fact of oral communication. In that case, the speaker minimizes the use of stock features, shuns all frills and flourishes, and prunes the story of anything that exceeds its elementary character .... Stock features are combined and reshuffled in endless variations, one theme is substituted for another, the order of sequence is changed, features are adopted from related or unrelated materials, and variant compositions are forever in the making. 6 A second illegitimate criterion is the view that "allegorical" features are necessarily late. A Jiilicher's critique of allegorizing has resulted in the 292
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rejection of anything "allegorical" in Jesus' parables. The early church did underline the significance of certain features in the Gospel parables, but that does not mean that anything "allegorical" (i.e., with theological significance) is from the early church. All Old Testament and Jewish parables contain such features and explanations. The works of Madelaine Boucher and David Flusser require scholars to reconsider the way Jesus' parables are treated both in the canonical Gospels and in their relation to the parables in Thomas. 7 The character of oral communication described by Kelber is sufficient to account for the briefer form of most of the parables and sayings in Thomas. When we remember that the sayings of Jesus are presented as "secret" sayings in logion 1, we may have an additional reason why the material in Thomas is shorter and less nuanced. The compiler may have wanted the sayings to sound "secret" and therefore refrained from providing detail that would help in interpretation. 8 3. Why are people so credulous with regard to Thomas or their own explanations of the origin of Thomas and so suspicious with regard to the canonical Gospels? The best known hypotheses for the independence of Thomas-those of G. Quispel and H. Koester-both have been described as bold and daring. Quispel himself complains that Koester has gone too far in his theories, is too credulous concerning Thomas, and is too critical of the canonical Gospels. 9 Are we really to believe with Koester that Jesus' twin brother Judas was the apostle to Edessa, that the Gospel of Thomas is a first century eastern branch of a sayings tradition of which Q is the western branch, that such sayings circulated without any narrative material, without reference to Christology, future eschatology, cross or resurrection, and that the canonical Gospels had no impact in Edessa? 10 Quispel's own hypothesis views Thomas as an anthology based on two second-century apocryphal gospels and a Hermetic writing, but views all the sayings in common with the canonical Gospels as independent. He identifies the sources as a Jewish Christian source, an Encratite source, and a pagan gnomology, and even assigns each of the individual logia to one of these sources or the author. 11 As impressive as the theory is, too many methodological questions are raised by this type of source criticism, and too little is known about the Jewish Christian gospel traditionY That there are Jewish Christian elements and Encratite tendencies in Thomas does not prove that there were two such sources. There is one explanation for the credulity of some of those attracted to a belief in the independence of Thomas. William Farmer has charged that Koester's (and Robinson's) preference for a gospel tradition ("Q" or Thomas) that has no passion, no developed Christology, and no future eschatology is theologically motivatedP The stakes in the discussion are very high, but for those who are not sure of the existence of Q, to say nothing of a Q community, there is little attraction to a hypothesis that 293
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would view the Gospel of Thomas as a document of a primitive community that had maintained a theologically sparse and pristine collection of wisdom sayings from Jesus. The reconstruction of Jesus is unacceptable, and the history of the early church derived from nearly every other document speaks against such a view. 14 4. Why do some people not give sufficient attention to the connections between the Gospel of Thomas and Tatian 's Diatessaron and the old Syriac Gospels? Quispel has done more than anyone to call attention to the parallels between the Gospel of Thomas, the Diatessaron, and the old Syriac traditions. He explained these parallels as resulting from Tatian's use of a fifth source that was Jewish Christian in nature and which also influenced the old Syriac GospelsP Koester suggested that Tatian probably used Thomas as well as the four canonical Gospels. 16 A. F. J. Klijn, on the other hand, said that with the material available we are not justified in saying that Tatian used a fifth source. He also described Syria as a place where everything was possible with regard to the New Testament text, since it was treated very badly thereY Probably other Gospel harmonies were used before the Diatessaron. 18 T. Baarda pointed to more than 130 cases in which the text of Thomas displays a variant from the canonical Gospels which is attested in one or more of the rescensions of the Diatessaron. He suggested the possibility that the Diatessaron has influenced the text of Thomas. 19 Han Drijvers has accepted that Thomas used Tatian's Diatessaron as the more simple and satisfying explanation of the relationships and consequently has suggested a date for Thomas about A.D. 200. 20 Because of the unstable textual tradition in Syria and the fragmentary character of our knowledge of the Diatessaron, I do not think it is possible to draw firm conclusions on the relation of Tatian and Thomas. But because of the parallels with the Diatessaron and the old Syriac one has to feel awfully nervous about hypotheses advocating the independence of Thomas from the canonical Gospels tradition. 5. Is it merely coincidental that there are parallels between the Gospel of Thomas and all strata of all four canonical Gospels? Most of the research on Thomas focuses only on the Synoptic tradition, but that is unsatisfactory. R. E. Brown's analysis has underscored undeniable contacts between Thomas and the Johannine tradition, primarily in John 7-8 and the Last Supper discourse. 21 Stevan Davies granted that Thomas is replete with both Johannine language and concepts as well as Synoptic sayings and parallels, but he argued that Thomas is a sayings collection from an early stage of the Johannine communities and that Thomas may have been used in early Johannine preaching.ZZ Why is there then so little Synoptic type material in the Fourth Gospel? Granted that there is information in Thomas that is not in the canonical Gospels, it is still difficult to imagine a sayings collection that had both Synoptic and Johannine type sayings that was used by the canonical 294
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evangelists and that they separated those two types of sayings so that the Synoptic and Johannine traditions appear as independent from each other as they do. Surely the easier explanation is that the Gospel of Thomas is dependent on the canonical Gospels for part of its materialY 6. What would be convincing proof that the Gospel of Thomas is dependent on the canonical Gospels? It is only fair to say that some of the studies arguing for the dependence of Thomas have not been convincing in their arguments. The phrase "kingdom of heaven" does not necessarily come from Matthew since Thomas usually avoids reference to God. Similarity between sayings does not necessarily prove dependence, since it may be a result of the use of parallel traditions. W. Schrage's arguments, although very valuable, do seem to be an overstatement. 24 And although Schtirmann's analysis of the relation of Thomas and the special Lukan material is a significant study, his attempt to show that some of these sayings were "Q" material that Matthew left out is not persuasive. 25 Care with regard to method is required of both sides. Still, I am left with the feeling that no evidence will be sufficient for some of those who favor the hypothesis of independence. Convincing parallels or harmonizations of Matthew and Luke in Thomas are explained away as probably due to the use of an unknown source. Similarities with the Coptic Gospels are written off as later assimilations. J. M. Robinson adds "secondary accretions" to the list of escape clauses so that " ... if dependence on the canonical Gospels seems more probable to certain instances, one must weigh whether ... one has to do with isolated secondary interpolations. " 26 Explanations can be provided so that one is not forced to conclude Thomas is dependent on the canonical Gospels, but I do not find such explanations convincing. J. D. Crossan has pointed to two items that could legitimately demonstrate independence or dependence: (1) the order of the sayings; (2) redactional elements from the canonical Gospels. Since he does not find those items in Thomas, he believes it is independentY Here again, however, there are problems. In the few places where there is similarity of order, it is either ignored or explained as being the result of previous collections (e.g., logia 64--66 or 92-94). With regard to redactional elements, Crossan relies on the work of J. H. Sieber, who found little evidence for redactional elements from the canonical Gospels in Thomas. 28 The difficulty with the redactional elements is that Thomas does not have narrative material or compositional seams, the places where we would expect to find the largest concentrations of the evangelists' own wording. Even where we do encounter the evangelists' redactional material in Thomas, Sieber is reluctant to admit that these elements are not coincidental or that they were not obtained from Luke's source or one similar to it. Such explanations start to sound old very quickly. Even so, Sieber grants that several sayings may demonstrate the dependence of Thomas. 29 295
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In addition to the two items listed by Crossan-order and redactional elements from the canonical Gospels, I would suggest that the appearance of hapax /egomena or other rare words from one of the canonical Gospels in a parallel saying of Thomas should be considered as proof of dependence on the canonical Gospels. This is especially true of triple tradition sayings. Like others who have analyzed the relation of these Gospels, I would also regard convincing evidence of harmonization of two of the canonical Gospels as proof of dependence. 7. What are we trying to prove? One of the biggest problems in research into the relation of Thomas and the canonical Gospels is that scholars use methods that are unsuitable for the questions being asked. To be more precise, we use methods that are geared to show literary dependence, but we agree that the oral tradition of the Jesus material continued well into the second century alongside the written tradition and that this oral tradition stands behind Thomas. 30 Even when we affirm oral traditions, "We still manipulate such traditions as though they too were 'literary' works." 31 For example, when discussing the issue of the order in Thomas, Crossan argues that it would probably be impossible to copy sayings of Gospel texts written without verse distinctions and in margin-to-margin capitals without some copying of order as welf.3 2 But are we trying to prove that Thomas was obtained by copying from texts? If the question were "Was Thomas a literary compilation copied from the canonical Gospels?" the answer almost certainly would be "No." Any suggestion that Thomas was sitting with manuscripts of the four canonical Gospels in hand while compiling his own document is naive. The question, however, is whether Thomas is dependent on the tradition of the canonical Gospels, and an affirmative answer is much more likely. To prove that Thomas is independent of the canonical Gospels, one would have to show-not that his material was slightly different-but that his parallel material had neither derived from nor been influenced by the written Gospels at some point in the transmission by whatever means. One would have to show that the tradents of Thomas had never heard the canonical Gospels read in worship (one of the main channels of the oral tradition) or other contexts. He or she would also have to show that these tradents were not influenced by people who had read or heard the canonical Gospels. The later the date for Thomas the more difficult this is to conceive. On the usual dating of Thomas at A.D. 140, its tradition would have to be shown to be isolated from the canonical Gospels tradition for at least seventy years. That seems very unlikely. Edessa is not that far from Antioch. I would argue instead, as others have, that Thomas represents a late stage in the transmission process and that its material is determined by oral tradition that is partly dependent on the canonical Gospels, but also on other material and on various shaping processes in the circles from 296
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which the document emerged. Some of those processes show the ascetic tendencies prevalent in Syria, while others show at least "Gnostic" proclivities. Some of them reveal the harmonizing tendencies evidenced in the versions. Much of the harmonizing and restructuring and probably some of the Stichwort combinations had already taken place in the shaping of the oral transmissionY The Gospel of Thomas, then, is a witness of a "secondary orality. " 34 8. What kind of Jesus does the Gospel of Thomas reveal? The implications in this question include value judgments on my part, but the Jesus that emerges from Thomas is such a weak and enigmatic figure that I doubt he would have merited sufficient attention to cause his sayings to be remembered. I find it difficult to believe that the message of Jesu~r even a constituent part of his message-to first-century Palestinian Jews focused on knowing yourself, knowing the worthlessness of the material world, and on being "solitary." 35 Rather, these themes result from the sayings of Jesus being commandeered to express the ascetic tendencies and Gnosticizing proclivities of second-century Syrian groups.
11 Analysis of individuallogia No attempt will be made to deal with all the logia where a case can be made for the dependence of the Gospel of Thomas on the canonical Gospels. Instead I will focus on those texts where dependence (not just similarity) seems to be most certain. Logia 65-66. To begin with logia 65-66 may seem risky, since this parable is often considered to be better preserved by Thomas than the Synoptics. In fact, some who consider Thomas to be dependent on the canonical Gospels elsewhere think that Thomas has preserved the earliest form here. 36 The reasons for this conclusion are that Thomas has a form of the parable of the wicked tenants that does not have an allusion to Isaiah 5, lacks allegorical features such as terms showing the Christological significance of the son, has only a threefold sending (two servants and the son), and does not have the final question and judgment saying. C. H. Dodd, followed by J. Jeremias, had suggested such a reconstruction of the parable even before Thomas was discovered. 37 On the other hand, H. K. McArthur viewed these two logia as the most striking example of the dependence of Thomas, since like Luke it omits the allusion to Isaiah 5, reserves killing for the son, and quotes only Psalm 118:22. 38 For reasons McArthur did not list, I think his judgment is correct and that Dodd, Jeremias, and those following them have been led astray by the beliefs that allegorical features have to be removed and that the shorter is the earlier. There are three reasons why I would argue that Thomas is dependent on the account of this parable in the canonical Gospels: (1) verbal contacts with Luke, (2) the evidence of the old Syriac Gospels, and (3) the 297
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attachment of Psalm 118:22. Of the verbal contacts that were listed by W. Schrage, there are two that are especially important. 39 Luke apparently has smoothed the reading of 20:10 by using aroaoucnv aut(jl, and he is followed in this by Thomas. More important is the appearance of toro~ ("perhaps") in 20:13, a hapax legomenon in the New Testament probably added to make the owner's action more plausible.40 Thomas also has "perhaps" at this point,4 t which can hardly be a coincidence. The text of syr" of Mark 12:6 has also added "perhaps" under the influence of Luke. This evidence points to harmonizing efforts in Syria and to the fact that Luke stands behind Thomas, although probably at some distance. A second point of contact with the old Syriac Gospels is also significant. The text of syr" of Mark 12:4 has been omitted so that only two servants precede the "many others" and the sending of the son. The text of syr, which is not extant for Mark, has omitted the sending of the third servant in Luke 20:12. There is good evidence as well that the text of syr" at Luke 20:12 also omitted the sending of the third servant originally. 42 These Syriac texts reveal a harmonizing effort to bring the texts of Mark and Luke into line with the twofold sending of servants in Matthew. Thomas, rather than representing the earliest form, has been shaped by this harmonizing tendency in Syria. 43 If the Gospel of Thomas were the earliest, we would have to imagine that each of the evangelists or the traditions behind them expanded the parable in different directions and then that in the process of transmission the text was trimmed back to the form it has in the Syriac Gospels. It is much more likely that Thomas, which has a Syrian provenance, is dependent on the tradition of the canonical Gospels that has been abbreviated and harmonized by oral transmission. 44 The connection of Psalm 118:22 to the parable is one of the few places where Thomas has the same order as the canonical Gospels. J. D. Crossan grants that the separation but juxtaposition of logia 65 and 66 cannot be pure coincidence. He thinks that Thomas preserves the original parable, which has intended to show that the sons of the world are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the sons of light. He argues that after the crucifixion Jesus was taken to be the Son in the parable, but this could only be accepted if there was some image for the resurrection. This was accomplished by appending Psalm 118:22 to the parable, but with the result that there would always be a seam between Jesus as son and Jesus as stone. 45 This explanation of the relation between the parable and the stone citation has been around for over a century. Crossan admits that "this compound came to Thomas so juxtaposed, but he either did not see the connection or did not want to use it." 46 Wilson suggested that it is "possible that we have here a genuine case of material growing together in the tradition. "47 The important point for our concern with Thomas is that the compiler has two sayings in juxtaposition which he has kept together, but clearly he did not understand why they are together. It is possible to
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say they came to him from some unknown source, but that explanation begins quickly to sound like escapism. Rather than being a secondary addition to the parable, however, Psalm 118:22 was always connected to it. The quotation is the key to understanding the parable and provides a fitting conclusion to the parable because of the Semitic wordplay between J.l. ("son") and fJ.t<( ("stone"). 48 If the quotation always belonged with the parable and if Thomas does not understand the connection, it is very difficult to argue Thomas is an early account. Rather it is a late tradition that no longer understands the relation of the parable and the quotation. Any one of the three items listed would be sufficient to see Thomas as dependent on the canonical Gospels, but taken together they provide a very strong case. An explanation that would account for all three is difficult to conceive. Logia 10 and 16. These logia are a mixed text derived from Luke 12:49 and 51-53 and Matthew 10:34-35. 49 The expression "Men possibly think" in logion 16 reflects &mcE'itE in Luke 12:51. Thomas has "throw peace" as Matthew 10:34 (~aA.Eiv) whereas Luke has &ouvat. Thomas has followed Luke in the redactional change from IJ.cXXatpav (Matthew 10:34) to Bta~J,Ept (which is in Matthew and Mark) and Kat E.v tote; cruyyEvEootv auto'\> (which is in Mark). One other agreement between Thomas/OxyP 1 and Luke, which is of major significance, is the substitution of l>EJCt6c; ("acceptable") for iitt~J,oc; ("without honor") in Matthew and Mark. (Cf. John 4:44.) ~EJCt6c; is almost certainly a Lukan redaction influenced by the use of the same word in the quotation of Isaiah 61:2 in 4:19. 51 This word occurs no where else in the Gospel tradition except for these two times, and it occurs only three other times in the New Testament (Acts 10:35; 2 Corinthians 6:2, quoting Isaiah 49:8; and Philippians 4:18). This agreement of Thomas and Luke can hardly be a coincidence, and to suggest a common source appears to be grasping at a straw. 52 H. Koester, 53 however, following E. Wendling, argues that the form of the saying in OxyP 1 and Thomas is more primitive than Mark. But Wendling's argument is weak and will not stand up to investigation. His
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only proof is the parallelism in OxyP 1, which he argues is in keeping with Jesus' method, is simpler, and is unlikely to have been derived from the narrative of Mark. Mark is supposed to have known the parallelism attested in OxyP 1 and changed it into narrative. 54 However, Thomas is known to have created secondary parallelisms,55 and that seems to be the case here. The second half of the saying is probably a response to the proverb in Luke 4:23 ("Physician, heal yourself"). 56 Logion 33. Once again we encounter a saying that is a combination of elements from Matthew and Luke. The issue of order is significant, for in logion 32 there is a parallel to Matthew 5:14 and in logion 33b there is the continuation of the material that is Matthew 5:15, although Thomas is closer to Luke's version at this point. Between logia 32 and 33b, material from Matthew 10:27 has been inserted. (Logion 32 is much closer to Matthew than to the form in Luke 12:3.) The material from Matthew 10:27 was inserted because of the common themes of "light" and "hidden" and because of the Coptic catchword maaje which occurs in both 33a and 33b, but with different meanings in each part ("ear" in 33a and "measure for grain" in 33b). Since this catchword is possible only in Coptic, the insertion of 33a may have taken place at a later stage when the material was translated into Coptic. The Greek version (OxyP 1) does not have 33a, but it is fragmentary. 57 More important than the parallels with Matthew are those with Luke in 33b. Luke has two slightly different versions of this saying in 8:16 and in 11:33. Thomas is identical to the form in 11:33 except that it places "under a bushel" before "in a hidden place" and has a minor expansion in the phrase "and go out." Three agreements with Luke are important: the use of oi>Oei.c;; !va oi eimtopeu61J.evot 'to
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Logion 47. Here again is a saying in which Thomas is very likely dependent on the Synoptics, particularly Luke. The saying that no one can ride two horses or stretch two bows is without a New Testament parallel and is probably an expansion by Thomas of the statement that no servant can serve two masters (Luke 16:13//Matthew 6:24). Evidence of the influence of Luke is likely because his use of oilcE'tT(~, which appears no where else in the New Testament Gospel tradition, is reflected in Thomas. 61 Of some significance is the fact that Thomas leaves out the first of the "either ... or" (il ... il) clauses of the canonical version of the saying, but still starts the second clause with "or."62 The rest of this logion contains a form of the saying found in Luke 5:36-39 (with parallels in Matthew 9:16-17//Mark 2:21-22), but the order is reversed so that the words in Luke appear in the order 5:39, 37, 38 (in an altered form), 36. The difference in order is not an argument for an independent tradition, since, like Naassene exegesis, Thomas often reverses the canonical order of sayings.6.1 A further indication of the dependence of Thomas is the presence of the words of Luke 5:39a, which appear only in Luke. 64 Thomas does not have the words of 5:39b ("For he says, 'The old is good'"), which would not fit well with "gnosticizing" tendencies. Thomas also has what appear to be secondary additions in the statement that old wine is not put into a new wineskin and in his meaningless reversal "They do not sew an old patch on a new garment." It is significant as well that Luke alone of the Synoptics has Katv6~ with l.~Cx.twv. It is not impossible that Thomas represents a late stage of an independent tradition which had oidtTt~ and the saying in Luke 5:39, but I find little reason to accept such an explanation. Logion 55. Although Bartsch thought that this saying pointed to a tradition independent of the Synoptics,65 it seems to me that this logion, which has a parallel in logion 101, demonstrates dependence on both the forms of the saying found in Matthew 10:37-38 and Luke 14:26-27.66 In agreement with Luke, Thomas has "does not hate," "his" with father, "brothers and sisters," and "not able to be my disciple." With Matthew, Thomas has "is not worthy of me" after "does not take up his cross." J. Sieber admits that Thomas represents a very late stage in the oral tradition when several versions of the saying had been blended into an oral conflation, but he will admit only that Thomas knew both conclusions to the saying, not dependence on the Synoptics. 67 The later the stage of the oral tradition that Thomas represents, the less trustworthy it is for theories such as those of Koester and Crossan. But it is difficult to resist the conclusion that ou ouvatat Eivai ~ou ~a9TttTt~ is a Lukan expression, and therefore, that Thomas is dependent on Luke. The expression occurs three times with identical wording in Luke 14:25-33 and no where else in the New Testament. The parallel in logion 101 has this same expression and the Lukan use of "hate," and probably is merely an adaptation of logion 55.68 301
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Logion 72. Since this saying parallels special Lukan material, it is more difficult to eliminate the possibility of dependence on a pre-Lukan stage. Still the case for the dependence of Thomas is strong. The most careful and convincing analysis of this saying is that by T. Baarda, who also includes an investigation of the textual problem in Luke 12:14.69 Baarda concludes that the short reading in Thomas is a secondary development. He suggests that Thomas may be dependent on Marcion and Tatian. 70 Of primary significance is the fact that Thomas parallels Luke's use of &v9pro1tE. This vocative form occurs only in Luke in the canonical Gospel tradition (here; 5:20; 22:58, and 60). The other three occurrences appear to be Lukan additions to triple tradition material. If &v9pro1tE is Lukan, clearly Thomas is dependent on Luke. The question in Thomas that Jesus addresses to his disciples ("I am not a divider, am I?") is a secondary expansion. 71 Meptcrt'rl~ is a hapax legomenon, but no conclusion may be drawn from its parallel in Thomas, since this is special Lukan material and since the account requires some such word. Logion 76b. There are several contacts between Thomas and the canonical Gospels in this logion. Since this saying about treasure is attached to the parable of the pearl of great price, several scholars have suggested that Thomas is aware of the context of Matthew where this parable follows that of the parable of the treasure in the field (which is logion 109 in Thomas). 72 Of more importance is the fact that Thomas reflects in this one saying two rare words that are in Luke 12:33. Blloa.up6~ is qualified in Luke by avh:A.emto~, which is a hapax legomenon, and Thomas has the same qualification. (Thomas also has the word "treasure" in the singular like Luke.) The second line of this saying shows the influence of both Matthew 6:20 and Luke 12:33. Thomas does not mention a thief (or thieves) as the canonical Gospels, but it does have a parallel to the verb eyyi~EtV, as Luke. In Luke, eyyi~EtV describes the thief, but in Thomas it describes the moth. The mention in Thomas of a worm that destroys probably is derived from ~poxn~ in Matthew. 73 Thomas apparently has used both aq>a.vi~EtV (from Matthew 6:20) and Sta.q>9EipEtV (from Luke 12:33) in that it reads" ... where no moth comes near to devour and where no worm destroys." If so, dependence on Luke is made that much more likely. ~ta.q>9Eipetv occurs no where else in the Gospel tradition. 74 Wilson suggested also that John 6:27 has influenced this saying (note 'tllv j3p&mv 'tllv IJ.EVoooa.v) and suggested the saying resulted from free quotation by an author familiar with all four Gospels. 75 Logion 79. This logion has parallels with the special Lukan material in 11:27-28 and 23:29. While some have suggested that Thomas may preserve an original unity that Luke has separated,76 it seems more likely that Thomas has joined the two sayings because of the common words, a tendency that Thomas shows frequently. 77 'Ex: tou oxA.ou may be Lukan since it also occurs at 12:13 and Acts 19:33.78 Thomas does not elsewhere give the 302
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location of someone addressing Jesus. "Epxov-tat tiJ.L£pat may also be Lukan, since he has it elsewhere at 5:35 (//Mark 2:20//Matthew 9:15); 17:22; 19:43; 21:6.
m Conclusions By no means are the logia treated the only ones for which a case may be made for the dependence of the Gospel of Thomas. I have selected those where the use of rare words, harmonization, or other factors yielded a strong argument for dependence. Some of the rare words could be written off as required by the nature of the material, but certainly not all of them. Nearly all of them appear in double or triple tradition material and usually show dependence on Luke. These similarities between Thomas and the canonical Gospels could be explained as coincidence or as due to some unknown source, if there were only one or two such occurrences. But such arguments sound hollow very quickly and will not account for all the logia we have treated. The dependence of Thomas on the canonical Gospels is not, however, a direct literary dependence. Rather, it is an indirect dependence, probably at some distance and apparently mediated through oral tradition that had shaped and harmonized the canonical Gospels. The author of Thomas has also continued the redaction of the sayings.84 No doubt there is independ-
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ent tradition in Thomas as well, but the bulk of the material seems to have its origin in the canonical Gospels.
Notes 1 See Richard Bauckham, "The Study of Gospel Traditions Outside the Canonical Gospels: Problems and Prospects," Gospel Perspectives V: The Jesus Tradition Outside the Gospels, ed. David Wenham (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1985) 390. 2 On the claim that Thomas is now viewed by the majority as independent see George W. MacRae, "Nag Hammadi and the New Testament," Gnosis, ed. Barbara Aland (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978) 152. Note, however, the discussion in Craig L. Blomberg, "Tradition and Redaction in the Parables of the Gospel of Thomas," Gospel Perspectives V: The Jesus Tradition Outside the Gospels, ed. David Wenham (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1985) 178-179, who argues that Thomas is increasingly seen as dependent and is baffled by the opposite claim. 3 Representatives of the view that Thomas is independent besides MacRac would include: Gilles Quispel, "The Gospel of Thomas Revisited," Colloque International sur les Textes de Nag Hammadi, ed. Bernard Bare (Quebec: Les Presses de L'Universite Lava), 1981) 220, 234 (and several other publications); Helmut Koester, "GNOMAI DIAPHOROI: The Origin and Nature of Diversification in the History of Early Christianity," Trajectories through Early Christianity, ed. James M. Robinson and Helmut Koester (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1971) 119, 132-139 (and various other publications); John Dominic Crossan, Four Other Gospels: Shadows on the Contours of Canon (Minneapolis: Winston Press, 1985) 35-37; James M. Robinson, "On Bridging the Gulf from Q to the Gospel of Thomas (or Vice Versa)," Nag Hammadi Gnosticism and Early Christianity, ed. Charles W. Hedrick and Robert Hodgson, Jr. (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 1986) 151; Stevan L. Davies, The Gospel of Thomas and Christian Wisdom (New York: The Sea bury Press, 1983) passim. In addition to Blomberg representatives of the view that Thomas is dependent on the canonical Gospels would include: Wolfgang Schrage, Das Verhiiltnis des Thomas-Evangeliums zur synoptischen Tradition und zu den koptischen Evangelienubersetzungen (Berlin: Verlag Alfred Topelmann, 1964) passim; Heinz SchUrmann, "Das Thomasevangelium und das lukanische Sondergut," BZ 7 (1963):236--260; Boudewijn Dehandschutter, "L'Evangile de Thomas comme Collection de Paroles de Jesus," Logia, ed. Joel Delobel (Leuven: University Press, 1982) 507-515; Andreas Lindemann, "Zur Gleichnisinterpretation im Thomas-Evangelium," ZNW 71 (1980):214-243; Bruce Chilton, "The Gospel According to Thomas as a Source of Jesus' Teaching," Gospel Perspectives V: The Jesus Tradition Outside the Gospels, ed. David Wen ham (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1985) 155-175; Pheme Perkins, "Pronouncement Stories in the Gospel of Thomas," Semeia 20 (1981): 121-132; Tjitze Baarda, "Luke 12, 13-14: Text and Transmission from Marcion to Augustine," Christianity, Judaism, and Other Greco-Roman Cults, ed. Jacob Neusner (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1975) 129 and 154; and Jacques-E. Menard, L 'Evangile selon Thomas (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1975) 26. 4 E. P. Sanders, The Tendencies of the Synoptic Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969) 46f, 82f., and 183f. 5 R. McL. Wilson, Studies in the Gospel of Thomas (London: A. R. Mowbray & Co., 1960) p. 69. See also Blomberg, p. 182; Alfred B. Lord, "The Gospels as
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6 7
8
9 10
It 12 13
14
15 16 17
18
19 20
Oral Traditional Literature," The Relationships Among the Gospels, ed. William 0. Walker (San Antonio: Trinity University Press, 1978) 42; and Crossan, p. 86. Werner H. Kelber, The Oral and the Written Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983) 29. Madeleine Boucher, The Mysterious Parable (Washington: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1977); David Flusser, Die rabbinischen Gleichnisse und der Gleichniserziihler Jesus, 1. Teil: Das Wesen der Gleichnisse (Bern: Peter Lang, 1981 ); see also my The Parable of the Wicked Tenants (TUbingen: J. C. B. Mohr, Paul Siebeck, 1983) 13-30. Cyril C. Richardson, "The Gospel of Thomas: Gnostic or Encratite?" The Heritage of the Early Church, ed. David Neiman and Margaret Schatkin (Rome: Pont. Institutum Studiorum Orientalium, 1973) 69 argues that Thomas purposely obscured its meaning. "The Gospel of Thomas Revisited," pp. 222-223. See his "GNOMAI D/APHORO/," especially 133-136; also "Aprocryphal and Canonical Gospels," HTR 73 (1980): 105-119; "Three Thomas Parables," The New Testament and Gnosis, ed. A. H. B. Logan and A. J. M. Wedderburn (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1983) 195-203; "One Jesus and Four Primitive Gospels," Trajectories through Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1971) 158--204. "The Gospel of Thomas Revisited," 223-266. Do doublets (as logia 55 and 101) indicate two sources, as Quispel, "The Gospel of Thomas Revisited," p. 230, argues? He admits (p. 253) that our knowledge of the Jewish Christian gospel tradition is fragmentary. See William R. Farmer, "The Church's Stake in the Question of 'Q'," Perkins Journal39 (July, 1986):9-19. That Farmer's charge has some basis-at least for some others who seem attracted to Thomas--can be clearly seen in Robert Funk's "The Issue of Jesus," Forum 1. 1 (1985):5-6, and in Hal Taussig's "The Jesus Seminar and Its Public," Forum 2. 2 (1986):71-78. The mention of the cross in logion 55 and the Son of Man in logion 86 cannot be discounted as easily as Koester would like. These sayings betray a familiarity of Thomas with the cross as a symbol and with Son of Man as an identification of Jesus even if these terms are not developed theologically. G. Quispel, Tatian and the Gospel of Thomas (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1975) 28, 54. "GNOMA/ DIAPHOROI," p.142. "A Survey of the Researches into the Western Text of the Gospels and Acts," NovT 3 (1959):14, 166---167. See also his A Survey of the Researches into the Western Text of the Gospels and Acts: Part Two (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1969) 5f., especially, pp. 11 and 26. As several scholars have suggested, including Helmut Koster, Synoptische Oberliefering bei den apostolischen Viitern, TU 65 (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1957) 89-91, 96-97, and 265; George Howard, "Harmonistic Readings in the Old Syriac Gospels," HTR 73 (1980): 475; Schlirmann, 254-255; and A. J. Bellinzoni, The Sayings of Jesus in the Writings of Justin Martyr (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1967) 100. "Thomas and Tatian," Early Transmission of the Words of Jesus (Uitgeverij: VU Boekhandel, 1983) 37-49. Han J. W. Drijvers, "Facts and Problems in Early Syriac-Speaking Christianity," The Second Century 2 (1982):172-173. See also J. -E. Menard, "La tradition synoptique et l'Evangile seton Thomas," Oberlieferungsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen, ed. Fnmz Pasche (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1981) 411-426.
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21 R. E. Brown, "The Gospel of Thomas and St. John's Gospel," NTS 9 (1963):155-178. Note especially logia 1, 19, 24, 25, 50, 61, 77, 78, and 92. 22 The Gospel of Thomas and Christian Wisdom, pp. 107-116. 23 See the similar discussion in Blomberg, pp. 180-181, but he confines his interest to the presence of all strata of the Synoptics in Thomas. 24 Schrage, Das Verhiiltnis des Thomas-Evangeliums zur synoptischen Tradition und zu den koptischen Evangelieniibersetzungen. See the review of Schrage's book by R. McL. Wilson in VC 20 (1966):118-123. 25 E.g., SchUrmann, pp. 243 and 252. 26 "On Bridging the Gulf from Q to the Gospel of Thomas (or Vice Versa)," p. 151; see also pp. 160--161 and 164. 27 Four Other Gospels, pp. 35-36. Notice, however, that on p. 34 Crossan states that compositional order is not pertinent for the author and that "unorder" is perfect for the subject of the Gospel. 28 John Harold Sieber, "A Redactional Analysis of the Synoptic Gospels with Regard to the Question of the Sources of the Gospel According to Thomas" (Ph.D. dissertation, Claremont Graduate School, 1965). 29 For examples of his attempts to explain away evidence of dependence see pp. 23, 89-90, 99, 109, 122, and 212. Seep. 262 for his admission (unprepared for in the dissertation) that logia 31, 39a, 45, 56, 79, and 104 may betray evidence of editorial traits from the canonical Gospels. Incidentally, even though arguing that Thomas is not dependent on the canonical Gospels, Sieber sees Thomas as a late stage in the oral tradition (pp. 159-160). 30 Bauckham, pp. 370--374; Donald A. Hagner, "The Sayings of Jesus in the Apostolic Fathers and Justin Martyr," Gospel Perspectives V: The Jesus Tradition Outside the Gospels, ed. David Wenham (JSOT Press, 1985) 233-268; Koester, Synoptische Oberlieferung bei den apostolischen Viitern, pp. 257f. 31 Lou H. Silberman, "'Habent Sua Fata Libelli': The Role of Wandering Themes in Some Hellenistic Jewish and Rabbinic Literature," The Relationships Among the Gospels, ed. William 0. Walker, Jr. (San Antonio: Trinity University Press, 1978) 215. 32 Four Other Gospels, p. 35. 33 Cf. the positions of SchUrmann, pp. 254-259; Chilton, pp. 158-160. 34 The expression comes from Kelber, The Oral and the Written Gospel, p. 197. 35 Note the summary of the thought of Thomas by Wilson, Studies in the Gospel of Thomas, pp. 26--33; and note, e.g., logia 3, 4, 11, 16, 22, 27-29. 36 E.g., Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday & Company, 1983) 11. 1278; Menard, L'Evangile seton Thomas, p. 167. 37 C. H. Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom (London: Nisbet & Co., 1936) 126--130; Joachim Jeremias, Die Gleichnisse Jesu (2d Auflage; ZUrich: Zwingli Verlag, 1952) 54f. 38 Harvey K. McArthur, "The Dependence of the Gospel of Thomas on the Synoptics," ExT71 (1960):286. 39 Schrage, Das Verhiiltnis des Thomas-Evangeliums zur synoptischen Tradition und zu den koptischen Evangelieniibersetzungen, pp. 139-142. 40 Schrage, p. 140, accepts the opinion that i:crmt; was motivated by Lukan theology to prevent the misunderstanding that God made an error. 41 Note that Thomas has also added "perhaps" in the owner's explanation of why the first servant was beaten. 42 The present text does not follow the Lukan style or the Lukan sequence. 43 For a full discussion see my The Parable of the Wicked Tenants, pp. 52-54 and
306
THE GOSPEL OF THOMAS
44
45 46 47
4X 49
50
51 52 53 54
55 56 57 SX
59
"The Parable of the Wicked Tenants: Is the Gospel of Thomas Version the Original," NTS 21 (1974):142-144. Helmut Koester, in his "Three Thomas Parables," 203, n. 23, has an enigmatic response to my argument that Thomas is shown to be dependent by the Syriac Gospels. He correctly indicates that Tatian may have influenced the Syriac Gospels, but since these Gospels are fourth century, he views as anachronistic any reference to them to show Thomas is dependent. However, I did not argue that Thomas is dependent on the Syriac Gospels. I argued that it is dependent on a pre-Tatian harmonizing tradition (although I do not think one can rule out the possibility of Thomas being influenced by Tatian). (Seep. 144 of the NTS article.) The Syriac Gospels are merely the witness to this harmonizing tradition. One cannot claim the twofold sending of servants in Thomas is pre-Synaptic without dealing with the emergence of the same twofold sending at a post-Synoptic stage. As Kelber, The Oral and the Written Gospel, p. 59, points out with regard to this parable, the observation that the Thomas version appears closer to oral speech and Mark's story more fully textualized does not mean one has arrived at the original form. Crossan, Four Other Gospels, p. 60. Ibid. Wilson, Studies in the Gospel of Thomas, p. 102. Sieber, "A Redactional Analysis of the Synoptic Gospels with Regard to the Question of the Sources of the Gospel According to Thomas," p. 236, suggests logia 65 and 66 had been orally transmitted for so long that the Old Testament quotation was finally placed on Jesus' lips. Koester, "Three Thomas Parables," p. 200, says the two sayings were transmitted together, but that Mark was the one who invented the interpretation of the one by the other. See my The Parable of the Wicked Tenants, pp. 62-65,77-78, and 95-99. Schrage, pp. 58-59; Schlirmann, pp. 244-245; Robert M. Grant and David Noel Freedman, The Secret Sayings of Jesus (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday & Company, 1960) 136-137; and Wilson, Studies in the Gospel of Thomas, p. 72. Wilson adds that the end of the Lukan saying is indispensable for the understanding of the logion in Thomas. Schrage, p. 59; SchOrmann, p. 245. Note that otaf.U!pi.~etv occurs only three times outside Luke (six times) and Acts (twice), and those three occurrences are all in the passion narratives of Matthew, Mark, and John, where the word is drawn from Psalm 22:19. This suggests a Lukan redaction. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke, 1. 528; Schtirmann, pp. 237-238; Schrage, pp. 75-76; Menard, L'Evangile seton Thomas, p. 127. These are the two possibilities offered by Sieber, p. 23. GNOMAI DIAPHOROI, pp. 129-131. Emil Wendling, Die Entstehung des Marcus-Evangeliums (Ttibingen: J. C. B. Mohr, Paul Siebeck, 1908) 52-56. Wilson, Studies in the Gospel of Thomas, p. 143. Cf. Hans-Werner Bartsch, "Das Thomas-Evangelium und die synoptischen Evangelien," NTS 6 ( 1960):251-253. SchOrmann, p. 238. See Schrage, p. 82; and Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke, I. 717. Schrage, p. 83. Sieber, p. 45, will only admit that Thomas has a more developed form of the saying in Luke. On p. 47 he argues that Thomas could not be following Matthew's order, since his saying parallels Luke 11:33. But he has not con-
307
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60
61
62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71
72 73 74 75 76
77 78 79 80
81 82 83
84
sidered that the Lukan and Matthean forms have been assimilated in oral transmission. See Schrage, pp. 92-93; and Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke, 11. 944. Sieber, p. 252, will admit only that Thomas is a mosaic of traditions. Logion 45 is further evidence of the use of a harmonized text by Thomas. It has elements in common with Matthew 7:16-19; 12:33-37; and Luke 6:43-45. Like Luke it has combined Matthew's two separate sayings into one. See Schrage, pp. 101-104; Bartsch, pp. 253-255; and Menard, L'Evangile seton Thomas, p. 145. Sieber, pp. 86-90, admits that Thomas has secondary developments, but argues that Matthew and Luke used different versions of "Q" and that the sayings were combined in the tradition behind the Synoptics and that Thomas could have found the sayings somewhere other than in "Q" or in our Gospels. Elsewhere in the New Testament oilc£tn<; occurs only at Acts 10:7; Romans 14:4; and 1 Peter 2:18. Koester himself, Synoptische Oberlieferung bei den apostolischen Viitern, p. 75, says that it is likely that Luke is responsible for oilc£tll(;. See also Menard, L'Evangile seton Thomas, p. 147. Schrage, p. 111, plausibly suggests that the copyist has left out a line. R. M. Grant, "Notes on the Gospel of Thomas," VC 13 (1959): 175-177. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke, I. 596; Schrage, p. 112; SchUrmann, p. 239. "Das Thomas-Evangelium und die synoptischen Evangelien," p. 256. See also Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke, 11. 1061; and Schrage, p. 120. Sieber, p. 122. Rather than Quispel's argument ("The Gospel of Thomas Revisited," 224) that logia 55 and 101 prove the author used two sources. Tjitze Baarda, "Luke 12, 13-14; Text and Transmission from Marcion to Augustine," Christianity, Judaism and Other Greco-Roman Cults, ed. Jacob Neusner (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1975) 107-162. Ibid., pp. 139, 154, and 129. Perkins, p. 126; and Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke, 11. 968. Schrage, p. 159; Grant and Freedman, p. 177; and Lindemann, p. 220. Bpcoou; can mean "eating," but when associated with m'!t; is usually taken as "rust," but apparently can also have the meaning "worm." See Schrage, p. 160. Other than Luke 12:33, the word occurs in the New Testament only at 2 Cor. 4:16; 1 Tim. 6:5; Rev. 8:9; and 11:18. Studies in the Gospel of Thomas, p. 92. E.g. Menard, p. 180. Schrage, p. 165; Perkins, p. 126. But also at Mark 9:17; John 7:31 and 40. Cf. also ano tcri'> ox.A.ou in Luke 9:38 and 19:39. The frequencies for the Gospels and Acts are 1/1/6/3/8. Schrage, pp. 165-166. Sieber, p. 212, grants that the change is based on the context of Luke, but argues that the context cannot be attributed to Luke. Instead he suggests that the source of Thomas could be the same as Luke's or a tradition similar to it. Perkins, 126. Grant and Freedman, p. 191. On p. 33 note also the similarity of this logion to a statement from the Gospel of the Hebrews. See also Perkins, p. 127; and Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke, I. 595-596. He is hardly just a collector as suggested by Koester ("Three Thomas Parables," pp. 198 and 200) and Ron Cameron ("Parable and Interpretation in the Gospel of Thomas," Forum 11.2 (1986):6 and 19).
30R
Papyrus Egerton 2
80 PAPYRUS EGERTON 2 (THE UNKNOWN GOSPEL) Part of the Gospel of Peter?* David F. Wright Source: Second Century, 5, 1985-1986, pp. 129-150.
When the papyrus fragments of the Unknown Gospel (hereafter UG) were first published in 1935, 1 scholars naturally inquired whether they did not belong to one or other of the already known and mostly fragmentary apocryphal gospels. The question was answered in the negative on all sides. One of the gospels under consideration was the Gospel of Peter (hereafter EvP). A well-known passage in Eusebius's Church History reproduces bishop Serapion of Antioch's own account of his exposure of a Gospel of Peter as tainted by Docetism. 2 The contents of this heterodox gospel remained almost entirely unknown until the discovery in 1886-87, at Akhmim in Egypt, of a narrative of the passion and resurrection of Jesus, with Peter appearing at two points in the first person (7:26-27; 14:59--60). Virtually all scholars have agreed that the Akhmim text should be identified with the Petrin gospel unmasked by Serapion.3 This unmasking took place in the last years of the second century, so the EvP cannot have originated later than the third quarter of the century, and probably nearer the middle of the century, a date which places it close to the Egerton papyrus. 4 Nevertheless, commentators on UG gave short shrift to the possibility that it belonged to EvP. In the opinion of C. H. Dodd, "In style and language it [EvP] has nothing in common with our document," apart from its use of 1CUpto~. 5 The original editors of UG devoted a couple of pages to the question but excluded any relation between the two writings. In particular they supposed EvP to have had a very restricted circulation. "One would hardly expect ... to find it in an Egyptian papyrus of about the middle of the second century."6 The fact that just such a papyrus, or one close enough to it in date, has recently been published may in itself be held to warrant a re-opening of the question. P. Ox. 2949 comprises two papyrus fragments of the late 311
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
second or early third century, according to its first editor, the larger of which contains the clearly recognizable remains of EvP 3-5, albeit in part in a somewhat divergent text. 7 It is not our concern here to investigate the possible significance of this element of textual discrepancy. I have considered this elsewhere, with results that seem to confirm the strong likelihood that the Oxyrhynchus version of EvP is earlier than the Akhmlm one. 8 We will assume that P. Ox. 2949 is evidence for the circulation of EvP in Egypt in the later second century, but this assumption is invoked here merely as suggesting a re-examination of the relation between VG and EvP. The evidence advanced is almost entirely independent of the identification of P. Ox. 2949 with EvP. One might, however, point out that although the provenance of the Egerton fragment is not known for certain, the first editors regarded Oxyrhynchus as most likely. 9 We are dealing with two documents attested there within a half century of each other.
I Contents Although the Akhmlm MS of EvP (and P. Ox. 2949) contains only narrative material parallel to the canonical Gospels' accounts of the passion and resurrection (the Akhmlm copyist may well have had no more extensive text than he has given us), this in itself is no bar to the identification with EvP of VG, whose contents in summary terms comprise the remains of five or six pericope of different kinds but all recognizably Synoptic or Johannine in type-controversial exchanges with Jewish leaders, including an abortive attempt at stoning and arrest, the healing of a leper, and a nature miracle more apocryphal than canonical in respect of possible parallels. 10 Eusebius's account of the unmasking of EvP by Serapion of Antioch gives no hint that it was confined solely to the passion and resurrection of Jesus. At the same time, the extract from Serapion's exposure of the work provides little positive indication of what it did contain. Other noncanonical gospels, notably the Gospel of Thomas, prevent us drawing conclusions about content from the title "the euangelion of Peter," which its Syrian users clearly gave it. Serapion does, however, say that most of it belonged tou 6p9ou Myou of the Savior, although it had some 7tpoaotEO"taAIJ.EVa. 7tpoaotaat£A.A.ro is a rare verb but appears to mean "to add or insert improperly or insidiously." The import of Serapion's comment appears not to be in doubt, although it is not immediately easy to square with his earlier statement that the majority of the cppoviJ~J.ata of EvP derived from the otoaax:aA.ia of the Docetists. Does this refer to the divergent cppoviJ~J.a'ta represented in the 7tpoaotEO"taAIJ.EVa, with Myou meaning "teaching," as most translations render it? Or should Serapion's final comment be taken to mean that most of the contents of EvP corresponded to the canonical account (Myou) of Jesus' life and work but some pericope 312
PAPYRUS EGERTON 2
had been added? This interpretation would allow us to conclude that most (ta 1tA.e\.ova occurs in both statements) of EvP was like the canonical Gospels known to Serapion but that most of it was also shot through with Docetic cppovl].Lata. The relevance of this discussion for our present purposes is this: does A.Oyou mean "teaching"? If it does, does this prove that EvP indeed contained "teaching of Jesus" on the evidence of Serapion himself? It would certainly be awkward to take his phrase in the sense of "the authentic teaching about the Savior," but it may be unsafe to base any weight on its implications. The paragraph from Serapion quoted by Eusebius is less than straightforward in other respects also, but these need not delay us here.U If Eusebius's extract from Serapion, which to our frustration breaks off just as Serapion is about to append the offensive 7tpOO'OtEotaA.I!EVa, neither precludes nor securely establishes the presence of pre-passion material in EvP, does any other evidence point in this direction? The only other patristic evidence for the contents of EvP is an assertion of Origen in a work written at Caesarea that those who held the brothers of Jesus to have been children of Joseph by an earlier marriage took their stand on either the "Gospel of Peter" of the "Book of James." 12 There is no reason not to assume that the same EvP is in view here, even though Origen seems not to have known it first-hand. In addition, we may work backwards from the contents of the Akhmim MS, which "assumes an acquaintance on the part of its readers with such circumstances as the choice of the Twelve, the names and occupation of two of them, and their connexion with Galilee.'' 13 The manuscript's text breaks off in the middle of a sentence, nor can its beginning be regarded as other than an irruption into a continuous narrative in mid-course. UG 29 declares that "the hour of his [Jesus'] paradosis" had not yet come, a remark which implies that this gospel originally included an account of the passion and presumably the resurrection. Beyond this, the remains of UG contain no explicit clue to the contents of the full work. The possibility of implicit indications will be touched on later in this study. UG has no parallel to EvP's narration in the first person by Peter, but it nowhere refers explicitly to the disciples of Jesus. The only place where it has been suggested that they may be in view is the introduction to the fifth pericope, now extant only in seriously fragmentary condition. Jesus performs an apocryphal nature-miracle on the bank of the Jordan in response, it seems, to the a1topia of his interlocutors at his ~evov E7tEpcO't111!<X (lines 63-Q4). They are referred to solely as h:e\.vrov, and have usually been understood as hostile questioners: "h:e\.vrov sollen die Gegner Jesu sein, die in dem ganzen Text unseres Papyrus eine Rolle spielen" (Mayeda, p. 53). Dr. Richard Bauckham of the University of Manchester has suggested privately that the disciples may be intended. In the Gospels they are often perplexed or bewildered. At John 13.22 the same verb a7topeio'9at is used 313
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
of them (cf. Luke 24:4, of the women at the tomb). Moreover, the group here seems to be accompanying Jesus 7tEpt7ta'tti>v (line 65), which perhaps fits better with disciples than opponents. If this interpretation is adopted, it obviously counts against the identification of VG with EvP, on the assumption that Peter would have been one of the disciples on this occasion.
11 General features Both EvP and UG are closely related to both Johannine and Synoptic gospel traditions This is not the place to examine closely the question of the dependence or independence of these two gospel documents in relation to the canonical Gospels. Helmut Koester has recently argued for their independence/4 but a majority of scholars would in each case maintain their substantial dependence upon all or most of our written Gospels. A literary dependence upon all four has more often been argued for EvP, not without some possible influence from oral tradition, whereas VG may well draw on the Synoptics only by memory, but certainly shows a more direct use of Johannine material. More significant is the consensus on their undeniable close affinities with both Johannine and Synoptic gospel material. On VG, for example, Jeremias speaks of "the juxtaposition of Johannine and Synoptic material and the fact that the Johannine material is shot through with Synoptic phrases and the Synoptic with Johannine usage," while Mara argues that EvP for its narrative episodes follows the Synoptics and for its theology the Gospel and Apocalypse of John. Maurer links the two works together in their use of the canonical evangelists: "Since the 'Unknown Gospel' ... makes a similar use of the four Gospels already in the first half of the second century, the Gospel of Peter also may possibly be carried further back"-a judgment which is endorsed by R. McL. Wilson. Gallizia remarks on the fact that the two works are broadly contemporary and composed from sources at least partly the same. 15 So in the view of most researchers, we are concerned in both cases with dependence on both John's Gospel and probably two if not three of the Synoptics. Furthermore, the two texts appear to have used these sources in similar ways. When Maurer comments that in EvP "the different sources, often as far as particular expressions, are woven into one another," 16 he could as well be speaking of VG. Such is the interweaving of Johannine and Synoptic phraseology in the latter that many have concluded that its compiler must be working from memory, at least in his use of Synoptic material. The only other possibility, a skilfully contrived mosaic or literary pastiche, has generally been ruled out on the grounds of the inherent improbability 314
PAPYRUS EGERTON 2
of such a method of composition. In addition, it would be unlikely, it is often held, if a writer in the early part of the second century had in his hands all four, or three at least, of our canonical Gospels. This factor has, however, not prevented the widespread conclusion that behind UG lies a knowledge, if not direct literary use, of Synoptic Gospels as well as the Fourth Gospel. H. B. Swete's invaluable tabulation of the details of EvP's relationship to the canonical Gospels leads him to the conclusion that if its author is no mere compiler or harmonist, his harmonizing tendency is nevertheless well established. Indeed, so intermeshed is his text with that of the Gospels, in Swete's view, as to create a strong presumption that he used a pre-Tatianic gospel harmony, even if he also knew one or more single Gospels. 17 Even if such a view has not found much support,l 8 it illustrates the kind of judgment scholars have been led to in seeking to identify EvP's peculiarly close, yet selective affinities with the canonical Gospels. In this it is uncannily similar in general terms to UG. Both EvP and UG display unfamiliarity with Palestine and Palestinian Judaism
This has commonly been asserted of UG, particularly with regard to the account of the healing of a leper (lines 32-41). The leper's explanation of how he contracted the disease is not only unparalleled in the Synoptics but appears to reflect ignorance of the Palestinian situation: "wandering with lepers and eating with them in the inn I became a leper myself." Furthermore, he is instructed after being healed to show himself to the priests-in the plural, which, even if it depends on Luke 17:14, where ten lepers were involved, shows ignorance of Palestinian Judaism in using the plural with reference to a single leper. Furthermore, the composite pericope which seems to be based upon the question posed to Jesus about paying tribute to the emperor (lines 43-59) has lost its particular local color. Now Jesus is asked, "Is it permitted to render to the kings what pertains to their rule?" In addition, Dodd concluded that otoaO'lcaA.e 'Inoo\>, which occurs twice in the papyrus (33, 45), was "an imitative form arising in a circle not intimately acquainted with Jewish usages." 19 On EvP Mara records his judgment as follows: "l'auteur du fragment est inexperimente et gauche quand il touche a l'histoire de la Palestine en general, et a ce qui concerne les institutions juives et le milieu de vie du K\>pto~ en particulier." 20 Maurer's comment is to similar effect, and more specific. He speaks of EvP's "vague presentations of the circumstances obtaining in Palestine in the time of Jesus. Ignorance of the political relationships, the religious groups, the feast-calendar etc. likewise result in the real figure of Jesus being allowed to become more and more hazy." 21 Although some of these elements are obviously apologetically determined, 315
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
for example Pilate's subjection to Herod (EvP 2:3-5), others, such as the loose or inaccurate references to the Sanhedrin (1:1; 8:28-33), cannot be so explained. The author feels the need to identify the temple as that of Jerusalem (5:20), and his account of the role of the women after the death of Jesus misses the implications of the subordinate role of women in Palestinian society (12:50-13:57). 22 Ignorance or misrepresentation of religious and social life in Palestine is not a surprising characteristic of apocryphal gospels. What makes it noteworthy in these two texts is that their presentation of Johannine and Synoptic tradition is in some other respects remarkably primitive or primary. Both VG and EvP betray an anti-Jewish apologetic tendency
From the outset EvP seems determined to exonerate Pilate of responsibility for the crucifixion of Jesus and to lay the whole blame at the door of the Jews-people and leaders alike. Denker has attempted to qualify both emphases. 23 He points out that in the latter part of EvP (cf. 11:43-49) Pilate is depicted as cooperating with the Jewish leaders' scheme to ensure the silence of the eye-witnesses of the rising of Jesus, and therefore EvP cannot be regarded as philo-Roman. More persuasive is his argument that EvP is a Jewish-Christian gospel. Whereas nearly all previous commentators on the work have attributed to it an anti-Jewish animus, which has commonly been viewed as the single most determinative apologetic factor operating on the text,24 Denker denies that it is anti-Jewish as such. Rather it is "ein Bussruf an Israel," and to this end engages with Jewish anti-Christian polemic. EvP highlights Jewish responsibility for the passion of Jesus not simply in order to condemn them but rather to move them to repentance, of which some indications are evident even within the story itself (cf. 7:25; 8:28; 11:45, 48). This reading of EvP by Denker is attractive, but it is doubtful whether it does full justice to the poor light in which Jews are placed by the author of EvP (cf. 12:50, 52). Nevertheless it does call for some revision of the by-now traditional ascription of EvP of an aggressive anti-Jewish hostility. The Egerton Gospel deals with quite different subject matter, but attention has been drawn, particularly by Goro Mayeda, to the fact that all but one of its pericope (the exception is the healing of a leper) are concerned with confrontations between Jesus and critical or hostile Jews. Lawyers (2) and rulers of the people (6) are the audience in the first passage, which ends with the nearest UG comes to an agraphon, "Now your unbelief accuses you" (18-19). In the second, Jews, presumably the mob, prepare to stone Jesus. and the rulers attempt in vain to arrest him in order to hand him over to the crowd (22-27). This purpose behind the Jewish leaders' endeavor to apprehend Jesus is unparalleled in the canonical Gospels. It seems to reflect a heightened desire to discredit them. The fourth pericope is a composite one focusing on a generalized form of the trial-question :116
PAPYRUS EGERTON 2
about paying tribute to the emperor, which appears to omit any actual answer by Jesus. Instead, VG has used the question as a peg on which to hang an indictment by Jesus of his Jewish questioners for calling him ''Teacher" but refusing to heed his instruction (par. Luke 6:46 etc.), reinforced by the testimonium from Isaiah 29:13 cited in Mark 7:6-7 par. The fifth pericope (a highly fragmentary nature-miracle on the bank of the Jordan) follows upon the reduction of interlocutors (normally assumed to be hostile, but see above) to (utopia by a 1;£vov t1teprotruta of Jesus (63-64). A further piece of papyrus is a mere scrap, but the recto gives the first few letters of five lines, of which the fourth must be reconstructed as the present tense of a1tmct£tvro, to kill, and the third suggests another occurrence of "stones" (84-85). If this latter reconstruction is correct, it would give us a juxtaposition of "stones" and "kill" without parallel in the canonical Gospels. But following on ev £a~ev (82), the sequence parallels John 10:30-31, with a1tOlC't£tV(J) for John's At9cl~(J). These features led Mayeda to the conclusion, "Vor allem wird der Text in seinem ganzen Umfang von dem Thema 'Jesus und Seine Gegner' beherrscht."25 The healing of a leper cannot, however, be encompassed within this theme, nor do we know anything about the rest of the text of which VG must presumably be merely a fragment. What we may affirm, nevertheless, is that as far as our evidence goes, VG shows a marked preoccupation with conflict between Jesus and his Jewish opponents, which at two places borders on murderous violence threatened against him. To put the issue at its lowest, this is not incompatible with EvP. Indeed, it accords better with the qualified anti-Jewish concern of EvP identified by Denker than with some earlier, rather cruder assessments of its anti-Jewishness. Were more of VG to be discovered, one might find an anti-Jewish apologetic motive to have operated as a principle of selection or redaction, without determining the whole text. Gallizia suggests that UG may have served as a kind of manual for catechesis addressed to Jews. 26 Both EvP and VG have been presented as works of popular Christianity
In their editio princeps of UG, Bell and Skeat contrasted it with EvP on the grounds that the latter was a more vulgar production. Its style, they claimed, was characteristic of the naive Greek of the uneducated classes, and its tone more inclined to the marvellous, to wordiness, and to occasional extravaganceY This is broadly the impression made by EvP on most readers familiar with the canonical Gospels. We shall return shortly to the question of style. The sentiments of Ev P were similarly assessed by L. Vaganay, in 1930, as the product of popular Christianity rather than sophisticated Docetism. 211 The author was "un de ces chretiens du commun dont la foi n'est pas tou_jours guidee par une doctrine tres ferme." Vaganay 317
LIVES OF JESUS AND .JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
instances "une conception enfantine du miracle," the tendency to intensify the cruelty of the passion, an apologetic effort to guarantee details of the story and contemporary ecclesiastical customs, and above all the concern to magnify the person of "the Lord." Whereas many early commentators on EvP found its Docetism unambiguous, more recent scholarship, like Vaganay, has been less certain. Maurer, for example, speaks of "odd statements ... at most to be regarded as finger-holds upon which the Gnostic remodelling of the Gospel accounts could get a grip." 29 Vielhauer too holds that to assert its Docetic character is precarious. Which of the canonical Gospels, he asks, was not taken in their own sense by Docetists and Gnostics?30 Mara emphasizes the author's concern to exalt the divinity of "the Lord," without excluding the popular or heterodox character of his presentationY Such modern judgments link up with Serapion's obvious difficulty in recognizing heresy in EvP or the Christian community that used it. Perhaps their ~tKpmvuxi.a, as he put it, was not so much a dissenting or captious spirit as that cast of mind associated with popular or vulgar Christianity. The brief remains of UG do not at first sight support similar conclusions. Were the last pericope more complete, however, we might be able to speak of "une conception enfantine du miracle" for this text as well as for EvP. Too many evaluations of UG have ignored this final and admittedly very fragmentary section, which is nevertheless recognizable as "a bizarre story, implying a nature-miracle unknown to the other Gospels, canonical and apocryphal alike" and resting on no source known to us from gospel-literature. 32 Two points need to be stressed here. First, this part of the text requires us to posit for UG a source outside the Johannine and Synoptic traditions, whereas for all its differences in detail, there is little, if anything, in EvP "which compels us to assume the use of historical sources other than the canonical Gospels." 33 In this respect it is UG which is the more apocryphal or secondary of the two. In the second place, this section in UG is patently thaumaturgic. Hence in a lecture given a couple of years after the first publication of UG, Bell excepts this miracle-story when saying that elsewhere the new gospel is noticeably sober in style. 34 So if due account is taken of this element in UG, our two documents may no longer afford so clear a contrast between "matter-of-fact" and "extravagant." If Bell and Skeat originally found UG "sober" when compared with EvP, other scholars have asserted the comparative sobriety of EvP when set alongside "later Gnostic embellishments" and later apocryphal writings. 35 Bell also declared himself persuaded of Goro Mayeda's evaluation of the genre of UG: "er gehort zu den Schriften, die nicht offiziell und kultisch von der Gemeinde, sondern privat und hauslich gebraucht wurden." The work has "einige Ausdrticke, die zu einer nicht tief theologischen, sondern volksttimlichen und allgemein versHindlichen Erzahlung passen.... 31R
PAPYRUS EGERTON 2
Dieser Papyrus zu einer der Schriften gehort, die die ersten Christen zur hauslichen Lekti.ire besassen und auch zum Zweck der personlichen Werbung oder der christlichen Erziehung gebrauchten." 36 If this account of VG is sound, it makes VG the more "popular" of the two documents, for if anything is clear from Serapion's report it is that EvP was the church gospel-book of the congregation at Rhossus. But suggestive though it be, Mayeda's conclusion can be only provisional at best.
Ill Vocabulary and style Some readers of this study will have been champing impatiently at the bit, unimpressed perhaps by the more general similarities advanced so far and desirous to get to grips with the nuts and bolts of the two texts. Unfortunately, a comparison of their language and style encounters major limitations. They contain different kinds of material, so that we should not be surprised to find differences of the same kind as obtain between the narratives of the passion and resurrection and the accounts of the teaching and works of Jesus in the canonical Gospels, or at least in the Synoptics. Furthermore, VG is a small text, whose reconstruction is at points quite tentative. There is the added complication that the Oxyrhynchus fragment has placed a fresh question mark over the textual history of EvP. 31 Finally, assessments of style cannot avoid some element of subjectivity. With these qualifications in mind, we will first draw attention to some interesting points of connection between the two texts which, if significant, are of varying weight, before proceeding to a more systematic survey of their distinctive vocabularies and then to a consideration of stylistic features. (1) A conspicuous feature of EvP is its invariable use of (6) x:upto<; for Jesus (with which one might also connect its use of iJ x:upuxx:iJ for the first day of the week, 9:35; 12:50). All thirteen occurrences are in narrative. One of these, however, seems to be missing in the new Oxyrhynchus papyrus, which raises the possibility that this usage was not so marked in the primitive EvP as in the Akhmim MS. 38 Jesus is never addressed in EvP at all. On four occasions Jews (3:6, 9), Roman soldiers (11:45) and Pilate (11:46) refer to him as "(the) son of God," and one of the malefactors speaks of his becoming "the savior of mankind" (4:13). In VG the narrative twice refers to Jesus as 6 x:upto<; (30, 37-and reconstructed at 39)/9 and three times as "Jesus" (17, 50, 65-and reconstructed at 2). In addition, Jesus is twice addressed as "teacher Jesus" (33, 45). The canonical parallels to VG's two certain uses of 6 x:upto<; (respectively John 10:39 and Mark 1:~ par.) have no designation for Jesus at these points. It is also worthy of note that VG's parallel to Luke 6:46 (lines 52-53) has ot&lax:aA.ov instead of x:{>pote. VG's limited use of x:upto<; aligns it more with gospels like Luke, which uses it a number of times, and perhaps the Gospel of the Hebrews, 40 than with EvP's invariable use. 319
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
(2) The double vocative otMO'lccxA.e 'lllO'OU which appears twice in VG (33, 45) provokes the following comment from Mayeda: "Zum doppelten Vokativ o. '1. ist keine Parallele zu finden [in the canonical Gospels]. Hochstens konnten 'lllaou E7ttotcxtcx Lk 17,13 und 'lllaou ui£ tot> eeou Mk 5.7 par. bier genannt werden. Die Beispiele fi1r diese Ausdrucksweise sind jedoch im klass. Griech. zahlreich vorhande, z.B. A.cx4>. This is close to Mark 15:15 par. and John 19:16, although in none of the four Gospels is the precise wording found, either at this point or elsewhere. A closer parallel occurs in VG 26-27, where the rulers laid hands on Jesus in order to arrest him JCCXt 7tcxpcxoroorootv tC!> oxA.q>, which in substance is unparalleled in the canonical evangelists. The variation between A.cx6~ and oxA.~ is of no moment, for each document uses both words (VG 6-A.cx6~; EvP 9:34-oxA.~). Again we have between VG and EvP a minor verbal agreement which can carry weight only as one element in a broader argument. (5) The noun otcxvoi.cx occurs in the canonical Gospels in citations of Deuteronomy 6:5 LXX (Mk. 12:30 par.) but otherwise only in Luke 1:51 (but cf. Luke 11:17, Eio~ cxutrov t<'x otcxvoil~cxtcx). It is found, however, both in VG 50-51 (Eio~ t1lv otavotcxv-a certain reconstruction) and in EvP 7:26 (tetpro~tvot JCcxta otavmcxv). Moreover, EvP has otcxvoto~cxt at 320
PAPYRUS EGERTON 2
11:44, a verb which is found nowhere in the New Testament. But the LXX at 2 Maccabees 3:16 provides a precise parallel to EvP 7:26 (tttproO'KE0"80't ti!v Bul.votav), and the meaning of Btavota is not the same in the two texts. In designating groups of Jewish leaders, the two texts differ. Whereas UG mentions only lawyers (2) and rulers (apx.ovtEc;---6, 25-26), EvP names only priests (7:25), elders (7:25; 8:28, 29, 31; 10:38), scribes (8:28, 31) and Pharisees (8:28). It is not obvious that any significance attaches to this difference, since in this territory EvP's usage is patently ill-informed and UG's is awkward in switching rapidly from lawyers to rulers (2--6). The accident of survival may have limited the categories in UG, which also lacks any reference to "the Jews," who appear several times in EvP (1:1; 6:23; 7:25; 11:48; 12:50, 52). Distinctive vocabulary
The following lists record all words not found in any of the four Gospels at all or only in a clearly different sense. 'NT' denotes occurrence(s) elsewhere in the New Testament. Indications of other occurrences are illustrative rather than exhaustive. Unknown Gospel 1tapa1tp(xaaro (3)-not in Bauer43 ; Plutarch. [ avE~Etaatoc; ( 4-5)-uncertain reconstruction
(but cf. E~EtaO"ttKii>c; below); not in Bauer; Aquila (Prov. 25:3), Philo, Plutarch, Athenagoras, Iren.]. H.Kro (22) in sense of 'drag, haul'-NT (Jn. only in sense of 'draw, attract'). 7tap(xBootc; (29) in sense of "handing over" (in Gospels and rest of NT solely "tradition," but verb frequent with meaning "hand over")LXX, Josephus, Diodorus Siculus, Dionysius of Halicarnassus. a7tovEuro (31)-Epictetus, Justin M. (cf. EKVEUro, Jn. 5:13). auvooEuro (33-34) fairly certain reconstruction-NT (Acts 9:7), Josephus, Hellen. (Plutarch, Lucian ... ). A.£1tparo (35) if correctly reconstructed-LXX, Classical, Iren.; A.E7tptaro, which is Hellenistic, must be equally probable. aq>i.O"t'T]~t (39) in figurative sense, of an affliction-/ Clement, Hennas. E~EtaO"ttKii>c; ( 43-44 )-not in Bauer; Lucian ( -K6c;), Justin M. avriKro (49)-NT (cf. Philem. 8). U7totaaaro (61) in sense of "place under, beneath"-not in Bauer (in Lk. and rest of NT only with meaning "subject"); Plutarch. aBtiA.roc; (61) in sense of "invisibly" (different sense in 1 Cor. 9:26)Plutarch (cf. -A.oc;, Lk. 11:44, I Clement). 13(xpoc; (62) probably in sense "fullness, wealth" (in Gospels only Mt. 20:12)-NT (2 Cor. 4:17). Plutarch. 321
LlVh:S Ur
JeSUS ANU JeSUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
aa'ta't~
(62)-if correctly reconstructed-Hellen. in sense "unweighed"; cf. Mayeda, p. 52, who suggests "unweighable" here. £7tepro't'llll<X (64) in sense of "question" (in NT only 1 Pet. 3:21-? request, appeal, pledge )-LXX?, Epicurus, Hermas. Ka'taa7te\.pco (69; reconstructed at 70-71)-LXX, Plutarch. K£iAo~ (66) in sense of "bank"-NT (Heb. 11:12), Josephus, Diodorus Siclus. Gospel of Peter
[7tapa7t£j.17tCO (1:1) in the reconstruction accepted by Mara, pp. 40 (where erroneously 7tapa7t'lllle£co (3:6)-LXX, Philo, Josephus, Barnabas. O\jl£1~ (3:9) in plural probably meaning "face"-Josephus, Eusebius. jl<XO'tt~co (3:9)-NT (Acts 22:25) [ApocP]. 1t6v~ (4:10)-NT (for meaning here, cf. Mara, pp. 106-107). 6pe6co (4:11)-LXX, Philo, Lucian (cf. {mope6co below). AaX.ll~ (4:12)-Justin M. (cf. A.arx.&.vco, Jn. 19:24). OK£AOKo7t£co (4:14)-hapax leg. (-i.a occurs, late). jl£0'111l~Pta (5:1)-NT (Acts), LXX, Philo. aycovt&.co (5:15, 11:45) in sense "be anxious, fearful"-LXX, Josephus, Polybius. Kep&.vvujlt (5:16)-NT (Rev.), LXX, Philo. 1t£pt£px.ollat (5:18)-NT. eiA.£co (6:24)-Hellen. 'tl'tprooKco (7:26)-LXX, Philo, Josephus, Diodorus Sic. KpUjico (7:26)-Josephus, I Clement, papyri (Hellen. formation from aorist EX,pU~llV of KpU7t'tCO ). a
322
PAPYRUS EGERTON 2 auvaKE7tto~uxt ( 11:43 )-Symmachus, Herodian, Jus tin M. otaVOEOJlat (11:33)-LXX, Philo, Josephus. 11 eyaA.~ (11:45)-NT. Ka8apeum (11:46)-Philo, Josephus, Plutarch. o
What conclusions may be drawn from this linguistic evidence? Perhaps only that in respect of vocabulary, the two documents cannot be sharply distinguished in character. Each contains a perhaps-surprising number of words not found in the canonical Gospels. In regard to the relative lengths of the two texts, UG uses a higher proportion of terms not in the four Gospels than does EvP. On the other hand, EvP alone has words not otherwise attested, or extremely rare (u7top96m, 6c; et7t£V autoi.c;) follows an awkward genitive absolute (autrov o£ A.ey6vtmv ... ) with almost the force of a separate main clause. In addition, in its parallel to John 5:39 UG 9 omits the xai before f:KEivai. eiatv. Of the seven instances in EvP, three (6:22, 7:25, 13:57) begin with t6t£ and one (11:47) with dta-words which, as Vaganay shows,47 have lost their temporal force and function merely as terms of conjunction. Another of the seven begins with ta'ina i.Mvtt~ (11:45). Of the two cases of pure asyndeton (8:29, 11:46), the latter parallels UG 17-<x7toKpt9tl.c; 6 IT. e
323
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
more often than in any of the canonical Gospels and must represent a mark of popular speech. 48 Comparison with UG is difficult, but it is noteworthy that it used Kat most often in narrative-three times in the abortive stoning and arrest (24, 26, 27), twice at least (as conjunctions) in the healing of the leper (32, 35; cf. reconstructed 38), and four certain times in the final miracle (67, 69, 70, 72). There are two further occurrences of Kat, and another reconstruction. By comparison, UG gives five certain uses of ~£ and six reconstructions of some degree of probability. EvP has only 25 uses of~£ to 106 of KaL One feature of EvP's style which has no parallel in UG is the author's preference for simple forms of verbs. Vaganay lists eleven instances where, compared with the canonical evangelists, Ps-Peter eschews compound verbs. This he regards as an index of his poverty of vocabulary. 49 Mara draws regular attention to this feature also, but interprets it differently, as "l'indice d'une certaine recherche" in the pursuit of liveliness and immediacy suggested by simplicity of diction. 50 The range of unusual words used by EvP, according to the list above, counsels caution in speaking of the poverty of his language, not least in view of his preference in some places for Classical over Hellenistic forms, as Vaganay himself notes. 51 It was another of the initial judgments of Bell and Skeat on VG that it displayed "a far more developed construction" than EvPY Dodd agreed. Not only did its vocabulary have a closer affinity to Luke's than to any other Gospel's but if Luke was literary, the Egerton Gospel was even more so. 53 By contrast it has not been difficult to point to certain awkward or vulgar features of EvP's style. One such, identified by Bell and Skeat in their first edition, is the use of O'tt before reported direct speech. On some five occasions out of about twenty in all, EvP prefaces direct speech with on (1:2; 4:11; 8:28 bis; 10:42). UG never commits such clumsiness. On several occasions EvP adds EKEiv~ to create a clearer but less literary connection with what has gone before ( 4:13; 9:37; 10:38; 11:43; 12:52; 13:56). There is no parallel in UG. At some junctures, EvP's attempt at a more complex construction leaves the author floundering and entails crude endeavors to recover the sequence of expression. Vaganay well illustrates this at 8:28-29 and 12:50-51, concluding justifiably, "Nous nous trompons fort, si l'auteur est un ecrivain de metier." 54 A particularly maladroit sequence at 4:13-14 presents ambiguity about the subject of 4:14; 4:13 would make it the penitent malefactor, but it must in fact be Jesus. But is UG entirely flawless? In the opening lines Jesus is presented rather awkwardly as addressing some words to the voj.ttKoi. and then turning to the apxovm; of the people with an exhortation to "search the Scriptures" (2-7). The imperative £pauv~'tE 'ta<; ypacp
324
PAPYRUS EGERTON 2
calls "loose" and Lagrange "banal."55 We have earlier referred to the inconsistency of the beginning of the next pericope when, as the crowd prepared to stone Jesus, the authorities attempted to arrest him to hand him over to the crowd (22-27). The long pericope based on a developed from of the tribute-question suffers from more than one incoherence. Jesus is apparently provoked without cause into an extended rebuke of his questioners' failure to fulfill his teaching, and no answer is given to the question itself (48-59). The literary demerits are not wholly on EvP's side. Nor indeed are the literary credits all due to UG. Vaganay is able to enumerate several features in EvP which exemplify "le souci de l'elegance. "56 This author too shows a certain predilection for words or forms characteristic of the Lukan literature. At a number of places he prefers Classical to Hellenistic usages, in vocabulary, grammar, and syntax. For example, he prefers tcaSapdxo to ae~ Eijlt a1t6 (11:46, Matt. 27:42); he twice uses the good Attic construction ~v M ... tea\. to give a chronological reference-point for a main statement (5:15, 14:58), he uses oEptt with an infinitive (11:48), whereas koine normally follows it with tva. So Ps-Peter did not wholly neglect the literary aspects of his work. He had "quelque preoccupation de bien dire," even if he did not succeed to any marked degree. Mara (pp. 26ff.) regards Vaganay's judgment as unfairly negative. For him, EvP purveys "une prose apparement pauvre, mais qui, a travers ses simplifications litteraires, est essentiellement cultivee et recherchee, qui invite a la refiexion et la sugg~re par de delicats rappels de I' Ancien Testament" (p. 33). The quality of EvP's prose derives, in Mara's view, from the perspective of meditative reflection and the pursuit of "fiction dramatique et suggestion pour une reelaboration catechetique." This is not inconsistent with its being "une composition populaire, dans le meilleur sens du terme, inspiree d' une theologie simple mais profonde, qui dans son intention apologetique, didactique, et dans sa volonte d'exhorter, recherche le plaisir du beau recit, m~me au prix de colorations que nous paraissent cxagerees" (p. 29). There are strong indications that UG's material has been brought together partly by catch-words, which would be entirely natural if the author were working in part from memory of the written gospelsY Is there any evidence of a similar procedure at work in the composition of EvP? The situation is inevitably somewhat different, for in EvP the writer is following a narrative sequence already in broad terms established, while UG is clearly gathering material selectively. Nevertheless, Mara's interpretation of EvP as the fruit of meditative reflection on the passion in the light of both messianic prophecy and the four gospels (pp. 31-32) may suggest parallels. He draws attention to Herod's instruction (1:2), ocra etceM:ucra i>jliv 1totficrat ai>'tc'(l 7totftcra'tE, and notes the similarity to John 325
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
13:27, where Jesus tells Judas,~ not£~, noi.TJcrov taxwv. It iJiustrates what he calls "l'habilete de l'auteur pour utiliser a nouveau des formules familieres deja employees et pour suggerer des rapprochements ou des oppositions. 11 peut tres bien avoir mis sur les levres d'Herode, representant des Juifs et juge de perdition, !'expression employe par Jesus, juge de salut, en face du 'fils de perdition' " (p. 76). At 6:23 it is said of Joseph (of Arimathaea) that Ow.cra~ev~ ~v ooa &ya.Oa tnoi.TJ(Jev. Mara (pp. 147-148) finds a striking coincidence with John 11:45, 9eacra~evot o (v.l. ocra) £noi.TJcr£v. In justifying the concession to Joseph, Mara claims, EvP will have remembered those who believed on Jesus because they had seen the great things he had done. "Et cet 'emprunt' lui sera venu spontanement puisqu'il s'agissait la aussi de sepulture et de resurrection." There is perhaps a similar echo of John 11:50 at EvP 11:48, in both structure and subjectmatter. The latter reads: "It is better (cru~cpepet) for us to make ourselves guilty of the greatest sin before God than to fall into the hands of the Jews and be stoned." One should note that in all these three instances, the text in EvP has no parallel in the canonical passion narratives. Mara believes (p. 196) that 11:48 possibly contains Old Testament echoes (cf. Dan. 13:23, 2 Sam. 24:14), for EvP was based on reflective absorption of Old Testament material and hence included "furtifs rappels d'episodes ou de pen sees ou de personnages." Detection of such echoes and resemblances, summoned up perhaps by the memory of a mind well-versed in the Old Testament and the canonical gospels, can only too easily verge on the fanciful. In Mara's case it is all part of a suggestive overall interpretation of EvP, which at the same time rejects a rapid dismissal of EvP as the work of puerile incompetence.
This enquiry did not set out to prove the identity of UG and EvP. Only if vocabulary and style were overwhelmingly similar could one argue decisively that they are parts of one gospel. They obviously do not display such coercive similarity. Given the brief compass of UG and its difference in content from EvP, the evidence of vocabulary would not be expected to be markedly significant one way or the other. All that has been claimed here is that their distinctive vocabularies are not incompatible with the hypothesis of their identity, and would in fact in general terms accord with it. Although stylistic differences are clearly recognizable, the two texts have often been too sharply contrasted on this score. Even in this area difference of subject matter may suggest caution in drawing firm conclusions. The question must be squarely faced: is their identity excluded by variations in style and literary composition? A confidently affirmative answer is not warranted. The new Oxyrhynchus fragment of EvP counsels qualified judgments, for it patently proves that by the date of the Akhmim MS the text of EvP had undergone some development. About half a century after 326
PAPYRUS EGERTON 2
the date of the Egerton papyrus, EvP lacked, it seems, one of its two hapax legomena (cr'taupicrKEt v). The burden of this study has been that the possibility of the identity of the two writings has in the past been overhastily dismissed. A prima facie case of some plausibility exists. It would be hazardous to claim more than degrees of possibility or probability. The issue deserves reconsideration, if only because of its direct relevance to the question of the relationship of each text to the canonical gospel traditions, as weJI as to their date and place of origin. 58
Notes
*
This study has benefited from some perceptive comments by Dr. Richard Bauckham of the University of Manchester, to whom I am most grateful. H. I. Bell and T. C. Skeat, Fragments of an Unknown Gospel and other Early Christian Papyri (London, 1935). A popular version constituting in fact "an entirely new work" and incorporating revisions in text and commentary was issued the same year, likewise by the Trustees of the British Museum, with the title The New Gospel Fragments but no indication of authorship. The most substantial study of the fragments is the work of a Japanese scholar, G. Mayeda, Das Leben-Jesu-Fragment Papyrus Egerton 2 und seine Stellung in der urchristlichen Literaturgeschichte (Berne, 1946), on which see the sober assessment of Bell, "The Gospel Fragments P. Egerton 2," HTR 42 (1949): 53--63, and the more damaging critique of Ugo Gallizia, "II P. Egerton 2," Aegyptus 36 (1956) 29-72,178-234. References in this article are to Mayeda's text, pp. 7-10, by line numbers. 2 H. E. 6. 12.2--6. 3 See the edition by M. G. Mara, Evangile de Pierre (Sources Chretiennes, 201; Paris, 1973), and the monograph of JOrgen Denker, Die theologiegeschichtliche Stellung des Petrusevangeliums. Ein Beitrag zur Frllhgeschichte des Doketismus (Europiiische Hochschulschriften XXIII:36; Berne, Frankfurt, 1975), which is a dissertation presented in 1972 and hence unaware of Mara's edition. Note also C. Maurer's version in New Testament Apocrypha, ed. E. Hennecke, W. Schneemelcher and R. McL. Wilson, vol. 1 (London, 1963) 179--87, and the earlier edition by L. Vaganay, L'Evangile de Pierre (Paris, 1930). References here are to the combined section and verse divisions given in Maurer and Mara. The section divisions are different in H.B. Swete's useful edition, The Akhmim Fragment of the Apocryphal Gospel of Peter (London, 1893). Vaganay gives only verse divisions. 4 The New Gospel Fragments (n. 1 above) gives for the papyrus the range 130--65 (p. 10) or 140--60 (p. 17), and for the composition of the gospel it fragmentarily preserves c. 110-30 (p. 17) or 80/90-120 (p. 19). In citing dates, scholars have not always distinguished between that of the papyrus and the hypothetically earlier date of original composition. The first editors reasoned that if the papyrus's provenance was, as seems likely in default of firm evidence, Oxyrhynchus in Upper Egypt, some lapse of time must be supposed between its composition-in Alexandria, presumably, if in Egypt-and its transmission up country (ibid., pp. 16--17), but Bell overstates the case in claiming that "we may quite certainly assume, it is not the author's autograph but is separated from it by repeated copyings." Recent Discoveries of Biblical Papyri (Oxford, 1937) 20. 327
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5 "A New Gospel," BJRL 20 (1936) 56--92, at p. 87. Mayeda's conclusion is almost identical: "Mit unserem Papyrus hates [EvP] nichts Gemeinsames" (p. 60). 6 Fragments of an Unknown Gospel, 31-32. Cf. Swete, op. cit., xi, "It is natural to infer [from Eusebius] that the circulation of the Gospel before AD. 190 was very limited." Denker, op. cit., 9-30, surveys the possible influence and dissemination of EvP, with minimal conclusions. 7 R. A Coles in The Oxyrhynchus Papyri, vol. XLl, ed. G. M. Browne et al. (London, 1972) 15-16. The date of this publication meant that neither Mara nor Denker could take note of it; nor has it yet been made use of in any discussion of EvP apart from the article by D. Lilhrmann recorded below. In particular it is not mentioned by P. Vielhauer, Geschichte der urchristlichen Literatur: Einleitung in das Neue Testament, die Apokryphen und die Apostolischen Vater (Berlin, New York, 1975) 641-48; H. Koester, "Apocryphal and Canonical Gospels," HTR 73 (1980): 105-30 (pp. 126--30 discuss "The Gospel of Peter and the Passion Narrative"); R. McL. Wilson in TRE Ill (1978) 327, 331-32. Koester's Introduction to the New Testament, Vol. 2 History and Literature of Early Christianity (Philadelphia, 1982) 163 appears to mention it in passing in a bracket without considering its implications for his thesis about EvP. So too R. Cameron, The Other Gospels: Non-Canonical Gospel Texts (Guildford, 1983) 76--77. Coles recognized both its close resemblances to and considerable variations from EvP, while J. van Haelst, Catalogue des Papyrus Litteraires Juifs et Chretiens (Paris, 1976) 209 noted its obvious affinity to EvP. Cf. too C. H. Roberts and T. C. Skeat, The Birth of the Codex (London, 1983) 44, "now plausibly assigned to the banned Gospel of Peter." The only extended examination to date is by Dieter Ltihrrnann, "POx 2949: EvPt 3-5 in einer Handschrift des 2./3. Jahrhunderts, "ZNTW 72 (1981): 216-26. As he points out (pp. 224-25), the papyrus strengthens the case for the identity of EvP (Akhmim) with the gospel unmasked by Serapion, while at the same time suggesting that the Akhmim MS may give a somewhat developed text of the work. 8 See the essay referred to in n. 14 below, where I reach the tentative conclusions that: (a) the Oxyrhynchus text probably used less unusual vocabulary; (h) at some points it may well have been closer to the Synoptics; (c) at one point it probably made smoother sense than Akhmim; (d) at another it accorded more definitely with the apologetic thrust of EvP; (e) at one or two points its linguistic and stylistic usages may have been less distinctive than those of Akhmim. Dr. Richard Bauckham has raised the intriguing question whether a connection exists between the secondary character (if established) of the Akhmim text of EvP and the fact that the same Akhmim MS contains a text of the Apocalypse of Peter (ApocP) which is generally held to be a shorter, edited version of the work preserved more substantially and reliably in an Ethiopic translation (cf. C. Maurer in Hennecke, etc., op. cit., vol. 2, 664-66). He even speculates that the Oxyrhynchus find may occasion a fresh look at the argument of M. R. James, preceded by A. Dieterich and Th. Zahn, that the Akhmim ApocP is in reality another fragment of EvP (cf. James, "A New Text of the Apocalypse of Peter Ill," JTS 12 (1911): 573--83, at 577-82. Whereas Zahn and James held that EvP derived and adapted his material from the original ApocP, Dieterich argued that ApocP developed out of the apocalyptic section of EvP. For a critique of James see Vaganay, op. cit., 187-92. A more likely outcome of a reopening of the question of the relationship between EvP and ApocP in the Akhmim MS is confirmation of the secondary character of its text of EvP. Not only are the two texts written by the same scribe in the MS; their redaction may now more plausibly be assigned to the
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9 10 11
12 13 14
15
16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24
25 26 27
same writer. Given that the Oxyrhynchus text seems to have lacked one of the two hapax legomena in EvP (
329
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28 Op. cit., 118-22. 29 In Hennecke, etc., op. cit., vol. 1, 181. 30 Op. cit., p. 647. Jerry W. McCant, "The Gospel of Peter: Docetism Reconsidered," NTS 30 (1984): 258-73, argues for the non-Docetic character of the Akhmim Fragment. See my essay, "Apologetic and Apocalyptic: the Miraculous in the Gospel of Peter," in Gospel Perspectives, vol. 6: The Miracles of Jesus, ed. D. Wenham, C. Blomberg (Sheffield, 1986) 401-18. 31 Op. cit., 218-20. 32 Dodd, art. cit., 83, 85. 33 Swete, op. cit., xv (cf. Wilson in TRE Ill, 331). Swete held that nothing in EvP required a non-canonical source, but Dr. Richard Bauckham has pointed out that the similarity between 10:39 ("two [men] carrying another" coming out of the tomb) and Ascension of Isaiah 3:16-17 ("the Beloved" coming forth from the tomb "sitting on the shoulders of the Angel of the Holy Spirit and of Michael") can only be explained in terms of common, non-canonical tradition. 34 Recent Discoveries, 19-20. 35 Maurer in Hennecke, etc., op.cit., vol. 1, 182; Swete, op. cit., xiii; Vaganay, op. cit., 191: "11 suffit de lire le fragment evangelique pour juger de la sobriete du recit qui s'apparente beaucoup a la narration synoptique. Jusque dans les passages oi:ll'auteur se montre le plus independant, ... il garde encore une reserve remarquable aupres des autres livres apocryphes." 36 Op. cit., 77, 75, 87; Bell, art. cit., 63. 37 Cf. Lilhrmann, art.cit., and my study referred to inn. 14 above. 38 Cf. Lilhrmann, art. cit., 218, 223. 39 Mayeda, op. cit., 49, surprisingly overlooked these occurrences. 40 a. fragments. 2 and 7, ed. P. Vielhauer, in Hennecke, etc., op. cit., vol. 1, 163, 165. 41 Op. cit., 213, where references are given (but the Xenophon one is incorrect). 42 There is a useful listing in Swete, op. cit., xiii-xv. 43 A Greek-English Lexikon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature, second edition, ed. and tr. W. F. Arndt, F. W. Gingrich, F. W. Danker (Chicago and London, 1979). 44 Contra Dodd, art. cit., 61, for UG. 45 Op. cit., 141--42. 46 Fragments, 32. 47 Op. cit., 145. 48 Bell and Skeat, Fragments, 31; Vaganay, op.cit., 145. Mara, op.cit., 77, regards the frequency of Kai as a Semitism rather than a mark of popular style. On the currency of many "Semitisms" in popular Greek see V!iganay, 143--44. 49 Op. cit., 144--45. 50 Op. cit., 73. Vaganay also discerns in EvP a concern to render the narrative "plus saisissante," but finds the evidence elsewhere (146). 51 Op. cit., 146--47. 52 Fragments, 31. 53 Art. cit., 62--64. 54 Op. cit., 145--46. 55 Mayeda, op. cit., 25, citing Lagrange. 56 Op. cit., 146--47. 57 See my essay referred to inn. 14 above. 58 The most recent scholar to attempt to answer these questions places them both in the second half of the first century in Syria. See n. 15 above.
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Secret Gospel of Mark
81
THE RELATION OF "THE SECRET GOSPEL OF MARK" TO THE FOURTH GOSPEL Raymond E. Brown Source: Catholic Biblical Quarterly, 36, 1974, pp. 466-485.
The Greek quotations from "The Secret Gospel of Mark" (henceforth SGM) that I shall discuss here are those contained in part of a letter which purports to have been written by "the most holy Clement [of Alexandria], author of the Stromateis, to Theodore." The text of this letter was discovered in 1958 in the library of the monastery of Mar Saba, near Bethlehem, by Professor Morton Smith of Columbia University, who has now published it. 1 It was found copied into the last page and binding paper of a 1646 edition of I. Voss's Epistolae genuinae S. Ignatii Martyris; the handwriting has been identified as 18th-century monastic script. The letter, which, if genuine, would have been written in Alexandria ea. A.D. 200,2 describes two stages of Mark's composition of Gospel material, with the second depicted as an editorial enlargement of the first: (1) During Peter's stay in Rome, Mark wrote an account of "the acts [praxeis] of the Lord." This represented a selection of what Mark thought most useful to increase the faith of the catechumens, but it did not contain the secret (mystikai) acts (I 15-19).3 (2) After Peter's death as a martyr, Mark came to Alexandria bringing his own notes (hypomnemata) and those of Peter. From these he transferred into his first book the things suitable for those making progress in knowledge (peri ten gnosin ). He thus composed "a more spiritual gospel" (pneumatikoteron euangelion) for the use of those being brought to perfection. In this second edition Mark did not write down the sacred, mysterious teaching (hierophantike didaskalia) of the Lord and did not divulge the things not to be uttered. But to the previous "acts" (praxeis) 4 he added yet others and brought in certain sayings (logia) of which the interpretation (exegesis), like a guide to the mysteries, would lead the hearers into the inner sanctuary of the truth hidden by seven veils (I 19-26). 333
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
Clement's Quotations from The Secret Gospel* First Quotation (Plate Il,line 21, to Plate Ill, line 12): After the passage: "Now they were on the road going up to Jerusalem .... After three days he will arise," it [the Secret Gospel] adds the following verbatim: And they came* into Bethany, and a certain woman was there whose brother had died. And, having come, she bowed before Jesus and said* to him: "0 Son of David have mercy on me." But the disciples rebuked her. And Jesus, angered, went away with her into the garden where the tomb was; and immediately a loud voice was heard from the tomb. And coming forward, Jesus rolled away the stone from the door of the tomb; and immediately going in to where the youth was, he stretched out his hand and raised him up, having taken his hand. Now the youth, having looked upon him, loved him and began to beg that he might be with him. And coming out of the tomb, they came into the house of the youth, for he was wealthy. After six days Jesus commanded him; and when it was evening, the youth came* to him clothed with a linen cloth over his naked body. And he remained with him that night, for Jesus taught him the mystery of the kingdom of God. Then arising, he went from there to the other side of the Jordan.
After these words there follows the text: "And James and John came* to him." Second Quotation (Plate Ill, lines 14-16): After "And he came into Jericho," it [the Secret Gospel] introduces only: And there were present there the sister of the youth whom Jesus loved, and his mother, and Salome; and Jesus did not receive them. (*An asterisk is used to indicate the historical present tense. Italics are used to indicate passages with possible Johannine parallels.)
Clement's letter concludes its account of the two editions by telling us that Mark left his composition (the final edition) to the Alexandrian church where it was still carefully kept and read only to "those who are being initiated into the great mysteries" (I 28-11 2). Unfortunately a presbyter of the church had given to Carpocrates "a copy of the Secret Gospel" (apographon tou mystikou euangeliou), which Carpocrates had reinterpreted for the use of "his blasphemous and carnal doctrine" and to 334
"THE SECRET GOSPEL OF MARK"
which he had added lies. Clement maintains that one should refute the Carpocratians by denying the Marcan authorship of SGM; but, in order to answer Theodore's specific queries, he quotes two passages from SGM, pointing out that what the Carpocratians are saying about these passages is not true. On the previous page I give an English translation of the two passages quoted by Clement. 5 Obviously, the importance of these passages from SGM will be determined by the authenticity of the letter. If the letter were judged not to be genuine but a much later composition, the chances that it drew upon an ancient secret gospel would be greatly reduced. But, in fact, Smith has argued impressively that the letter is quite appropriate to both the style and thought of Clement,6 and most scholars thus far seem inclined to go along with the judgment that the work is genuine. Yet, even if the letter was written in Alexandria by Clement ea. 200, we are by no means compelled to accept the accuracy of his account of the origin of SGM;7 rather, what he gives us is dependable information for determining the terminus ante quem of the composition of SGM. It would seem that SGM could not have been composed later than ea. 170. Clement came to Alexandria ea. 175; and it is unlikely that SGM was composed or introduced while he was there, or he would not have told Theodore that a copy of it had been in the Alexandrian church since Mark's time. If we could be certain of the accuracy of the information in the letter that Carpocrates himself had added material to the Carpocratian copy of SGM, we would have an earlier terminus ante quem, since Carpocrates is connected with the time of Hadrian (117-138). 8 But it is almost as difficult to be certain of Clement's accuracy about the Carpocration editing of SGM as it is to be certain of his accuracy about the way SGM was edited by Mark. Clement's information on the latter point, at most, gives us a terminus post quem, since he tells us that Mark made the additions that changed his account of "the deeds of the Lord" into "a more spiritual Gospel" only after Peter had died a martyr's death. If that is even a partially correct memory, it would give an earliest possible date of ea. 70, and thus a chronological range of about one hundred years (70 to 170) for the composition of SGM. When we compare this to the chronological range usually assigned for the composition of the canonical Gospels (60 to 100), we can see the possibility of dependence or relationship in either direction. Smith would reconstruct the history of the relationship of SGM to the canonical Gospels as follows: There existed in Aramaic an esoteric common source resembling in content SGM and antedating the canonical Gospels. Then came canonical Mark which resulted from Mark's translation of the common source into Greek, abbreviating it (an abbreviation that
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
omitted certain passages dealing with resurrections and with secret teachings). SGM was produced when another editor supplemented canonical Mark with sections which he translated from the Aramaic common source, imitating Mark's Greek. 9 These sections, which had been omitted by Mark, may have been preserved in baptismal catechesis and ceremony. Matthew drew upon SGM rather than upon canonical Mark. John drew upon another translation or tradition of the common source but not upon Mark or upon SGM. The similarities between John and SGM are explicable since they both reflect indirectly the same common source. Thus, for Smith, SGM is very close to the most ancient written Christian tradition and source material about Jesus' ministry. 10 Obviously this radical theory of Gospel development places much weight on two quotations by Clement in a letter of ea. A.D. 200-much more weight than I would think they can be made to bear, since I would disagree with Smith on almost every point of his reconstructed relationships. As for the Synoptic Gospels, I would judge the pericopes of SGM to be secondary borrowing, above all, from Mark, but also from Matthew, and perhaps even from Luke. 11 (In an accompanying chart I shall point out the closest parallels between SGM and the canonical Gospels. Smith has detected even more parallels, but he interprets the parallelism as pointing in a different direction.) However, in this brief article I do not plan to discuss SGM and the Synoptic Gospels; I wish to concentrate on the relationship of SGM to the Fourth Gospel. Only in footnotes (11, 41, 42) shall I make occasional references to the problem of Synoptic relationships. Smith's thesis about how SGM and John are related may be summed up thus: The author of SGM did not draw upon John, but the two Gospels reflect diverse traditions stemming from the same remote common source; and SGM's form of that tradition is more original than John's. Smith's supporting argumentation may be grouped under ·three headings. First, sequence. Although the sequence of scenes in the second half of canonical Mark is remarkably like the sequence of scenes in John, 12 it is unlikely that one Gospel drew upon the other for this order. The presence in Mark of the SGM passages heightens the parallelism of sequence with John, and so it is probable that SGM reflects the order of the ancient common source even better than canonical Mark. Second, vocabulary and style. The parallels in wording between SGM and John are insignificant, 13 nor is there any valid evidence from style to indicate that the author of SGM had any knowledge of John. 14 Third, content. When one compares the Johannine Lazarus story with the SGM account of the raising of the youth whom Jesus loved, the material present in John and absent in SGM is all obviously secondary 336
"THE SECRET GOSPEL OF MARK"
and obviously Johannine. Smith 15 states: "Accordingly there can be no question that the story in the longer text of Mk. [SGM] is more primitive in form than the story of Lazarus in Jn. Further, it is impossible to suppose that the author of the longer text of Mk. [SGM] used, or even knew, the Johannine Lazarus story. Had he known it, his text would certainly have shown at least some of the secondary Johannine traits .... Since it has none of them, it must be completely independent of Jn." In my opinion Smith's thesis about the relationship of SGM to John is more reasonable than his theses about the relationship of SGM to the Synoptic Gospels. Nevertheless, I would still judge that it is not impossible that SGM drew upon John. True, I do not think that the evidence clearly points to the opposite conclusion, namely, dependence of SGM upon John; but I do think that a case can be made for dependence. Let me try to do this by treating Smith's three areas of argumentation. Chart of Close ParaUels Between SGM and the Canonical Gospels First Quotation (11 21 to Ill 12):
Plate 11 21-22
23
23 23-24
24
24-25
After the passage: "Now they were on the road going up to Jerusalem .... After three days he will arise," it [the Secret Gospel] adds the following verbatim: The passage mentioned is a verbatim Greek citation of Mk10: 32-34. And they came* into Bethany, "And they came* into Bethsaida" = Mk 8:22 (Healing of the blind man-"Bethany" is a Western textual variant in Mk [Smith, p. 99]). "Jesus came to Bethany where Lazarus was"= Jn 12:1. and a certain woman was there whose brother had died. "My brother would not have died" = Jn 11:32 (Mary, of Lazarus). And, having come, she bowed before Jesus and said* to him: "But, having come, she bowed before him saying" = Mt 15:25 (Canaanite woman; the parallel in Mk 7:25 has "she fell at his feet"). "When Mary came to the place where Jesus was ... she fell at his feet, saying to him"= Jn 11:32 (Lazarus story). "0 Son of David, have mercy on me." "Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David" = Mt 15:22 (Canaanite woman; no parallel in Mk). "0 Son of David, have mercy on me" = Mk 10:48 (Bartimaeus).
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25
But the disciples rebuked her. "And many rebuked him"= Mk 10:48 (Bartimaeus). "But the disciples rebuked them"= Mk 10:13 (Mt 19:13-those bringing little children). And Jesus, angered, "When Jesus saw it, he was indignant" = Mk10:14. "When Jesus saw her weeping ... he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled"= Jn 11:33 (Mary in Lazarus story). went away with her "And he went away with him" = Mk 5:24 (Jesus with Jairus to raise his daughter). into the garden where the tomb was; "There was in the place of crucifixion a garden, and in the garden a new tomb"= Jn 19:41.
25-26
26
26
Plate Ill:
1-2
2-3
3--4
and immediately a loud voice was heard from the tomb. "He cried out with a loud voice, 'Lazarus, come out' " = Jn 11:43. "He called Lazarus from the tomb"= Jn 12:17. "All those in the tombs will hear his voice and come forth"= Jn 5:28-29. "Having cried out with a loud voice"= Mk 5:7 (Gerasene demoniac who inhabited tombs). And coming forward, Jesus rolled away the stone from [apo] the door of the tomb; "Coming forward, he rolled away the stone" = Mt 28:2 (The angel at Jesus' tomb; some textual witnesses add "from [apo] the door of the tomb," probably from Mk 16:3). "Who will roll away for us the stone from [ek] the door of the tomb" = Mk 16:3 (Women at Jesus' tomb; some textual witnesses, mostly Western, have apo). and immediately going in to where the youth was, "And he entered where the child was" =.Mk 5:40 (To raise the daughter of Jairus). "And having entered the tomb, they saw a youth" = Mk 16:5 (Women at Jesus' tomb). he stretched out his hand and raised him up, having taken his hand. "And he took the hand of the child" = Mk 5:41 (To raise the daughter of Jairus). "And coming forward, he raised her up, having taken her hand" = Mk 1:31 (Peter's mother-in-law). "Having taken his hand, he raised him up" = Mk 9:27 (Boy with unclean spirit).
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"THE SECRET GOSPEL OF MARK"
4
4-5
5-6
6 6
6--7
7 7-8
8
8-9
9-10
10--11
11-12
Now the youth, having looked upon him, loved him "Jesus, having looked upon him, loved him" = Mk 10:21 (Man who observed the commandments; lacking in parallels in Lk 18:22 and Mt 19:21; but Mt 19:20,22 calls him a youth). and began to beg him that he might be with him. "And the demoniac begged him that he might be with him" = Mk 5:18 (Gerasene demoniac). And coming out of the tomb, "And coming out of the tombs" = Mt 27:53 (The Jerusalem dead after Jesus' resurrection). "The dead man came out"= Jn 11:44 (Lazarus). they came into the house of the youth, for he was wealthy. "For he was very wealthy" = Lk 18:23 (Man who observed the commandments; the parallel in Mk 10:22 is: "for he had many possessions"). And after six days "And after six days Jesus took along Peter, James, and John"= Mk 9:2 (Transfiguration). "Six days before Passover Jesus came to Bethany where Lazarus was"= Jn 12:1 (After raising Lazarus). Jesus commanded him; and when it was evening, the youth came* to him "Now when it was evening, there came a wealthy man"= Mt 27: 57 (Joseph for the body of Jesus). "He came to him at night"= Jn 3:2 (Nicodemus to Jesus). clothed with a linen cloth over his naked body. "And a certain youth followed* him, clothed with a linen cloth over his naked body"= Mk 14:51 (Gethsemane). And he remained with him that night, "And they remained with him that day" = Jn 1:39 (First disciples with Jesus). for Jesus taught him the mystery of the kingdom of God. "To you is given the mystery of the kingdom of God" = Mk 4:11 (Jesus to disciples). Then arising, he went from there to the other side of the Jordan. "And he went again beyond the Jordan" = Jn 10:40 (Jesus, before raising Lazarus). "After this, Jesus and his disciples went into the Judean region" = Jn 3:22 (After Nicodemus' visit). "They [John's disciples] came to John saying 'Rabbi, the man [Jesus] who was with you beyond the Jordan . . . is baptizing' " = Jn 3:26 After these words there follows the text: "And James and John came* to him." The passage mentioned is a verbatim Greek citation of Mk 10:35.
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Second Quotation (Ill 14-16): 14 After "And he came* into Jericho," it [the Secret Gospel] introduces only: The passage mentioned is a verbatim Greek citation of Mk 10:46 (Before the healing of Bartimaeus). 14-15 And there were present there the sister of the youth whom Jesus loved. See Marcan parallel (10:21) to Ill 4 above. "The disciple whom Jesus loved"= Jn 13:23; 19:26; 21:7,20. "Jesus loved Mart ha, and her sister, and Lazarus" = Jn 11:5. "There were present there many women"= Mt 27:55 (At crucifixion). 15-16 and his mother, and Salome: "Mary Magdalene, and Mary (the mother) of James (the Less and Joses), and Salome" = Mk 15:41 and 16:1 (At crucifixion and tomb of Jesus). "His mother and his mother's sister, Mary of Clopas and Mary Magdalene" = Jn 19:25 (At crucifixion). 16 and Jesus did not receive them. "And they did not receive him"= Lk 9:53 (Samaritans of Jesus). (*An asterisk is used to indicate the historical present tense.)
(1) The criterion of sequence. I think that this is the weakest of Smith's arguments. It is quite true that there is a geographical and chronological parallelism of sequence between canonical Mark and John; this was a common observation of commentators long before the discovery of SGM. 16 And there is no doubt that the presence in Mk 10 of the SGM story of the raising of the youth increases the parallelism. But I think the localization of the SGM story in Mk 10 can be explained more simply than by positing SGM's dependence on an ancient common source 17 similar to that on which John also depended. First, if the author of SGM knew John even by memory, he may have chosen to place the story exactly where John had placed the Lazarus story, namely, at the end of Jesus' ministry. Indeed, because of the geographical setting of the story, the author of SGM would not have been able to put it elsewhere in the Marcan outline, distant from Mk 10. Starting with Mk 1:14 until the end of eh. 9 Jesus is in the North (Galilee, Decapolis, Tyre and Sidon). Only once in the Gospel does Jesus make the journey through the Jordan/Jericho area to Jerusalem; this journey begins in 10:1 when Jesus leaves the Capernaum district to go to the region (Perea) on the other side of the Jordan opposite Judea; in 10:32 he starts up to Jerusalem; in 10:46 he comes to Jericho; in 11:1 he draws near to Jerusalem, to Bethphage and to Bethany; and he seems to make Bethany his headquarters for the action in chs. 11-14, Jiving and dining in houses there (11:11-12; 14:3); he prepares to leave 340
"THE SECRET GOSPEL OF MARK"
Bethany for what will be the last time in 14:13. If the author of SGM had a story localized in Bethany (11 23), involving Jesus' staying in a house (Ill 6, H-9), and ending with Jesus' going beyond the Jordan (Ill 10-11), where else could he insert it but in the 10:1-14:12 sequence? When Tatian was faced with the similar problem of fitting together the Johannine Lazarus story and the Synoptic sequence, according to our best evidence for the Diatessaron, he placed all the material in Jn 8-11 after Mk 12:28-31. Indeed, in the more dubious evidence of the Persian Diatessaron, Jn 11 seems to come after Mk 10:35-50. 18 One may still ask why the author of SGM would have inserted his Bethany story in the Marcan outline on Jesus' way up to Jerusalem (Mk 10:32), but before he comes to Jericho (10:46) or near to Jerusalem and Bethany (11:1). Why did he not insert it in the section in Mark that follows 11 :1? His choice here was probably determined by the information in his story that Jesus went back to the region across the Jordan. 19 As I shall point out below, this second geographical reference may stem from the fact that the SGM story has parallels not only to the Johannine Lazarus story but also to the Nicodemus story; and in the latter story, after talking with Nicodemus about the kingdom of God, Jesus goes to the Judean region which is associated with a baptizing ministry across the Jordan (Jn 3:22, 26). 20 Thus, I do not think that the localization of the SGM Bethany story at Mk 10:32-34 shows any necessary acquaintance with an ancient pre-Johannine Gospel outline. Even from another aspect Smith's argument from sequence is weak here, namely, from the aspect of whether the localization of the Lazarus scene in John is original. It is a favorite opinion in reconstructions of the pre-Johannine source that the Lazarus story once stood in a sequence different from the one in which it is now found. For instance, Fortna21 in his reconstruction would place the Lazarus story as the fifth of Jesus' signs, coming before the healing of the blind man (Jn 9) and of the lame man (Jn .'i). In my own commentary,22 I argued that, in the Johannine editing (or perhaps in the redactor's editing) of pre-Johannine material, the Lazarus story had been inserted before the passion to replace the story of the cleansing of the Temple (now found in Jn 2) which had originally stood hefore the passion, as it does in the Synoptic tradition. Of course, Smith may claim that our reconstructions of the pre-Johannine order are incorrect, hut elsewhere his argument stresses how well the SGM story corresponds with such modern critical reconstructions. Before moving on, I would like to pursue for a moment some reflections prompted by the mention of the Diatessaron above. SGM is a peculiar apocryphal gospel. It is not a collection of sayings like the Gospel of lhomas, nor a series of quasi-philosophical reflections like the Gospel of Truth; nor does it contain some new stories about Jesus like the Gospel of Peter or the infancy gospels. The main quotation from SGM contained 341
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in Clement's letter consists of stories similar to the Johannine Lazarus and Nicodemus narratives, recast in a Marcan style and combined with the Marcan reference to the young man in Gethsemane clothed in a linen cloth and with echoes from various Synoptic resurrection accounts, including the resurrection of JesusY A glance at the chart of parallels shows that in vocabulary, style, and content almost every line of SGM resembles canonical Gospel material. (The recasting of this material was almost certainly for cultic purposes.24 ) A recasting and joining of canonical material is the key to the composition of two second century works: the Diatessaron of Tatian (Rome, ea. 175?) and Papyrus Egerton 2 (the "Unknown Gospel" fragments; Egypt, ea. 150?).25 Both of these differ from SGM in that they represent the canonical material with only minor rephrasing, but SGM's thorough rephrasing of the material in Marcan style is explicable by the author's intention to present his material as a form of Mark. SGM does not combine whole blocks of material, as does Tatian;26 it is closer in technique to Egerton which weaves together into a consecutive narrative sentences and phrases from the four Gospels and an agraphon.27 Egerton, however, does not share the secret initiatory purpose of the SGM passage. Despite the fact that SGM differs from Egerton in being recast in Marcan style and serving secret purposes, I wonder if both may not reflect the clime of mid-2d-century Egypt when canonical material was being adapted to serve the interests of special groups. (2) The criterion of vocabulary and style. Smith observes that according to this criterion there is little resemblance between SGM and John; and certainly, were this the only criterion, one could not posit a dependence of SGM upon John. However, perhaps more value should be given to several points of vocabulary resemblance than Smith would allow; and also we might consider how the author of SGM may have deliberately suppressed Johannine traits. (a) Significant vocabulary resemblances between SGM and John. Our primary concern here must be with terms found in passages in the Fourth Gospel that are attributed by critics to the Johannine rather than the preJohannine level of Gospel composition. -"the youth whom Jesus loved [egapa]" (Ill 15). In an earlier passage (lll 4) we hear that "The youth, having looked upon him [Jesus], loved [egapesen] him"; and this seems to be an inversion of Mk 9:27: "Jesus, having looked upon him, loved [egapesen] him"-the man who kept the commandments, whom Matthew calls a youth. But the phrase under discussion resembles more closely John's "disciple whom Jesus loved [egapa ]. "28 There is no similar phrase in the Synoptic tradition, and there is wide agreement that the figure belongs to the Johannine level in the Fourth Gospel. Therefore the parallel between SGM and John is not easily attributable to a putative common source. To support a relationship between SGM and John as regards this phrase, we remember the relation-
342
"THE SECRET GOSPEL OF MARK"
ship between the SGM "youth whom Jesus loved" and the Johannine Lazarus; for in Jn 11:5 it is said that Jesus loved (egapa) Lazarus. 29 This is a section of Jn 11 that both Fortna and Smith would identify as Johannine rather than pre-Johannine. 30 Worthy of notice is the sequence in SGM where first it is said that the youth loved Jesus (presumably in gratitude for the resurrection from the tomb) and then he is identified as the youth whom Jesus loved. In Jn 21 the risen Jesus speaks first to Simon Peter whom he asks, "Do you love me?", and then to the figure who is identified as the disciple whom Jesus loved. Does the initiatory rite that is the presumed background for SGM bring about an identity between the two figures from Jn 21 by turning someone who in and through ordinary baptism308 is prompted to love Jesus into a special initiate whom Jesus loves? -"his mother" (Ill 16). The passage that we have just discussed in SGM, which mentions the youth whom Jesus loved, involves a list of three women: the (unnamed) sister of the youth whom Jesus loved, his mother, and Salome. The canonical parallel for such a list is found in the enumeration of women who were at the crucifixion and the empty tomb, e.g., Salome is mentioned in Mk 15:40 and 16:11. The other two women of the SGM list have a parallel in Jn 19:25. Let us begin with "the sister of the youth whom Jesus loved." Only John's enumeration of women mentions a sister, namely, "his mother's sister," perhaps identified as Mary of Clopas. 31 Could the author of SGM have confused this sister named Mary with Mary the sister of Lazarus whom Jesus loved? (Tradition confused Mary the sister of Lazarus with Mary Magdalene who appears in the Synoptic enumeration of the women.) The suggestion is not so far-fetched when we remember that John places "the disciple whom Jesus loved" in the same scene, in the next verse (19:26). 32 The designation of the third woman in the SGM list, "his mother," is also found only in the Johannine enumeration of the women at the crucifixion (although in SGM it is not very clear whether the "his mother" refers to Jesus' mother, as does John, or to the mother of the youth whom Jesus' loved). While the list of women in Jn 19:25 may be pre-Johannine, it is possible that the custom of referring to Mary simply as "his mother" is Johannine, since this is the only Gospel not to name Mary but always to speak of "Jesus' mother" (2:1, 3) or "his mother" (2:5, 12).33 -"He remained with [syn] him that night" (Ill 9). The verb menein is dominantly Johannine in use among the Gospels, as Smith recognizes (John 40 times; Mark 2; Matthew 3; Luke 7); and the idea of disciples remaining to commune with Jesus is peculiar to John. 34 A particularly good parallel is Jn 1:39: "And they remained with [para] him that day (it was about four in the aftemoon)." 35 Is it an accident that one of the two disciples of whom this is said is the unnamed disciple who has been identified since antiquity with the disciple whom Jesus Ioved? 36
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
(b) The deliberate suppression of Johannine traits. The phrases discussed above raise a serious possibility that the author of SGM knew, at least by memory, the Fourth Gospel and not simply a pre-Johannine source. But, if this were so, why are there not more Johannine traits in SGM? Smith has pointed out that the author has most skillfully imitated Mark's style, 37 and it was probably this imitation that caused him to rewrite the Johannine material by suppressing Johannine traits in favor of Marcan expressions. (In any hypothesis a remarkable knowledge of individual Gospel style[s] has to be attributed to the author of SGM.) But how does such a suggestion explain the absence in SGM of what one might call indifferent features in John, e.g., the personal names of Lazarus, Martha, Mary, 3x and Nicodemus? It would not have been a violation of Marcan style to mention such names, for Mark (alone) mentions Bartimaeus and Salome. One can only guess at possible reasons; but, since SGM was presumably used in a ritual of initiation into the mystery of the kingdom of God and the initiate was to identify himself with the youth whom Jesus loved, it may have served the author's purpose to leave that subject unnamed and thus more generally applicable. Was the omission of the women's names a reflection of hostility toward women, as illustrated by Ill 14-16 where Jesus refuses to receive three women, two of them unnamed? (And certainly the author of SGM knew that Jesus' mother was named Mary, since that fact appears in canonical Mark.) Was the author of SGM an Encratite who frowned on relations between men and women? I am not embarrassed at having to guess here; we are dealing with a Secret Gospel not meant for hoi polloi, and we must allow for more obscurity of purpose than we are accustomed to permit in exegesis of the canonical Gospels. In any case, let me go through SGM listing possible instances where the author may have dealt freely with and deliberately rewritten Johannine passages, either to make them conform to Marcan or Synoptic style, or else to make them fit into his initiatory and mystery theme. -"And they came* into Bethany and a certain woman was there" (Il 23), drawing upon Jn 12:1: "Jesus came to Bethany where Lazarus was," but rewritten to conform to Marcan style (including the historical present), as reflected in Mk 8:22: "And they came* into Bethsaida." We shall see another possible SGM echo of Jn 12:1 below when we discuss the "six days" of Ill 6-7. -"whose brother had died [hes ho adelphos autes apethanen)" (11 23-24), drawing upon Jn 11:32: "If you were here, my brother would not have died [auk an apethanen ho adelphos mou]." The SGM phrasing is close to Marcan style, especially with the verb at the end;39 and it serves to de-emphasize the role of a woman in the scene. 40 -"having come, she bowed before Jesus and said to him" (11 24), drawing again upon Jn 11:32: "When Mary came to the place where Jesus
"THE SECRET GOSPEL OF MARK"
was and saw him, she fell [epesen] at his feet, saying to him." The SGM form may have been recast in the language that the Synoptic tradition uses to describe a similar action by a woman (the Canaanite or Syro-Phoenician woman). 41 -"0 Son of David, have mercy on me" (11 24-25), echoing Mary's appeal in Jn 11:32 (= Martha's appeal in 11:21): "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died" and her confession in 11:27: "You are the Messiah, the Son of God." Once again the author of SGM may have been content to substitute the functionally equivalent appeal of the Canaanite woman, 42 recognizing that the Messiah was the Son of David. -"Jesus, angered, went away with her" (11 25-26), echoing Jn 11:33: "When Jesus saw her weeping ... he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled" and 11:38-39 where Jesus goes to the tomb of Lazarus along with Martha. The author of SGM may have recast the second part of this sentence along the lines of a similar Synoptic scene where Jesus accompanies Jairus to raise his daughter to life (Mk 5:24), a scene he comhined with Mk 10:14. The same Jairus scene supplied him details about Jesus' stretching out his hand and taking the hand of the youth in the tomb (lll2-4). -"into the garden where the tomb was" (11 26), echoing the description of Jesus' tomb in Jn 19:41. The author of SGM had no Synoptic parallel for a story in which a resuscitation took place from a tomb, and so he remained closer to John's language here, 43 but took the opportunity to associate the scene with the setting of Jesus' resurrection. -"and immediately a loud voice was heard from the tomb" (Ill 1), echoing Jn 11:43 where Jesus called forth Lazarus from the tomb with a loud voice (see also 12:17; 5:28). Although Smith44 regards SGM's attribution of the voice to (the youth within?) the tomb rather than to Jesus as more original, this may have been a deliberate change to favor the initiation rite. Certainly the lines that follow about Jesus entering the tomb seem to represent a secondary revision of the story in light of the women's entrance into Jesus' tomb. -"And after six days" (Ill 6-7), echoing a combination of John's dating of Jesus' encounter with Lazarus in 12:1 ("Six days before Passover Jesus came to Bethany where Lazarus was") 45 with Mark's dating of the Transfiguration (9:2). SGM agrees with John in having Jesus twice encounter the one whom he raised from the dead: once at the tomb and later at a house (Jn 12:3); only for SGM the date of the second encounter has been moved from six days before Passover to "after six days," namely, to Passover itself. 46 Clearly this is a secondary feature serving the purpose of having the baptismal or baptismal-like initiation take place on the paschal eve. 47 -"and when it was evening, the youth came to him" (Ill 7-8), echoing the 345
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story of Nicodemus who came to Jesus at night (Jn 3:2). It is true that one might regard "evening" as more original than "night," which has theological overtones of evil for John. However, the author of SGM may have changed the Johannine phrasing in light of the Matthean passage about Joseph of Arimathea (27:57: "Now when it was evening, there came a wealthy man"-the SGM youth is called wealthy in Ill 6). Such a phrasing would once again relate the story of the youth to the story of the tomb of Jesus. -"And he remained with him that night, for Jesus taught him the mystery of the kingdom of God" (Ill 8-10). As we have already seen, the idea of remaining with Jesus is applied to the disciples in Jn 1:39, while it is also to the disciples in Mk 4:11 that "the mystery of the kingdom of God" is given. Here once more the SGM author may be rephrasing in Marcan language information from the Johannine Nicodemus scene. Nicodemus comes to Jesus at night and calls him "teacher" (Jn 3:2), and Jesus answers him twice in terms of "the kingdom of God" (3:3, 5-the only examples of this phrase in the Fourth Gospel). -"Then arising, he went from there to the other side of the Jordan" (Ill 10-11) resembles, from the viewpoint of vocabulary, Jn 10:40 ("And he went again beyond the Jordan"), which precedes the Lazarus scene. However, granted the many references to the Nicodemus story of Jn 3, the author of SGM may well be recasting here the information from Jn 3 immediately following the Nicodemus episode, where Jesus and his disciples go into the Judean region (3:22), and while he is there the Baptist's disciples complain to their master about Jesus who was with him "beyond the Jordan" and is now baptizing (3:26). Since the secret initiation into the mystery of the kingdom of God was concerned with or in imitation of baptism, the author of SGM would have been more interested in the region beyond the Jordan than in the Judean region. When one surveys these possible allusions to John which may have been recast by the author of SGM and joins them to the clearer parallels listed at the beginning of this section, Smith's argument from vocabulary and style against SGM dependence on John is less impressive. (3) The criterion of content. Smith admits that .SGM and John have similar content, but he contends that what is found in SGM is closer to the content of the pre-Johannine source of the Fourth Gospel, minus Johannine redaction. For example, he has examined the Lazarus story and sought to remove the Johannine elements;48 the residue is quite like the story in SGM. However, since he had SGM propped up before him, there is a danger that this model may have influenced his decisions on what is pre-Johannine in Jn 11. Rather than debate every point with Smith, let me give below an English translation of Fortna's Greek reconstruction of the pre-Johannine Lazarus story49-a reconstruction made independently of SGM-and invite the reader to compare it with the translation of SGM given at the beginning of the article. ~46
"THE SECRET GOSPEL OF MARK"
Now there was a certain sick man, Lazarus from Bethany, from the village of Mary and her sister Martha. This Mary whose brother Lazarus was sick was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and dried his feet with her hair. So the sisters sent to him, saying: "Lord, see that the one whom you love is sick." But when Jesus heard it, he said* to his disciples: "Lazarus, our friend, has fallen asleep; but let us go to him." When Jesus came, he found him already four days in the tomb. Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, just under two miles; and many (from Jerusalem) had come out to offer sympathy to Mary and Martha because of their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus had come, she went to meet him, while Mary sat at home. And she went off and called Mary her sister, saying: "The teacher is here and calls for you." When Mary came to the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet. When Jesus saw her weeping and those who had accompanied her, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. "Where have you put him?" he said. "Lord, come and see," they told* him. Jesus thus came* to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across it. Jesus said,* "Take away the stone." Then Jesus raised his eyes upward and shouted in a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out!" The dead man came out, bound hand and foot with linen strips, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus told* them: "Untie him, and let him go." Those who had come to Mary and had seen what he did believed in him.
Is SGM that much closer to this reconstructed pre-Johannine Lazarus account than it is to Jn 11? In my opinion, SGM and Fortna's reconstruction are at too much distance from each other to lend any real support to Smith's thesis. And the real difficulty for Smith is that SGM is related in content not only to Jn 11 but also to Jn 12, Jn 19, and above all Jn 3, as we have seen in section (2) above. It is especially significant that SGM seems to recall the two incidents found in Jn 3, namely, the Nicodemus visit (3:1-5), followed hy the withdrawal of Jesus to the Judean region associated with his baptizing beyond the Jordan (3:22, 26). In other words, SGM is in harmony with the present order of Jn 3, and one would be hard pressed to find a reconstruction that would propose that these two incidents were consecutive in a pre-Johannine stage. Moreover, if John is secondary to SGM as a representation of the original common source on which both drew, how does one explain the logic of John's scattering items from Nicodemus' visit and the Lazarus story which are joined in SGM? I would find it far easier to suppose that the SGM account, which seems to represent an amalgam of Synoptic details, has also hrought together scattered memories gleaned from the Fourth Gospel, memories which the author retold in largely ~47
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Marcan language. Of course, it is always possible that the author of SGM drew only indirectly upon John through an intermediary work in which the Johannine stories had been rearranged in an order closer to that of the Synoptic Gospels, perhaps a liturgical work. Lest this possibility sound too fanciful, it is worth noting that in Tatian's Diatessaron the Nicodemus part of Jn 3 is brought forward to a position before the passion, placed between Mk 11:20--24 and 27-28, and made to precede the Lazarus story. 50 I do not regard my study as probative, but I hope I have made a reasonable case for maintaining that Morton Smith is wrong when he contends that the author of SGM could not have drawn upon the Fourth Gospel. l think he may well have drawn upon John, at least by memory. As for Johannine studies, if the material in SGM, with its emphasis on baptismal and initiatory symbolism, reflects the stories of Nicodemus and Lazarus, we have gained important early evidence (mid-2d-century) for the baptismal interpretation of those Johannine narratives.
Notes 1 Clement of Alexandria and a Secret Gospel of Mark (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ., 1973). The text of the letter appears on three plates, and references to it will be made by plate number (roman) and line (arabic). While I have read Smith's more popular book, The Secret Gospel: The Discovery and Interpretation of the Secret Gospel According to Mark (New York: Harper & Row, 1973), I shall make no reference to it. Hostility has marked some of the initial reactions to Smith's publication because of his debunking attitude toward Christianity and his unpleasant suggestion that Jesus engaged in homosexual practices with his disciples. I shall leave the critique of that to others and concentrate on the more technical question of Gospel relationship. I am privileged to be allowed to offer this brief study in tribute to Msgr. Patrick W. Skehan who has had a positive formative influence on my career and on that of many others. Msgr. Skehan has himself reviewed Smith's publication in the Catholic Historical Review 60 (1974-75). 2 Clement is thought to have died ea. A.D. 215, having emigrated from Alexandria ea. 202-203 and never returned. Presumably this letter would have been written while Clement still had access to the copy of SGM preserved in Alexandria. 3 This first stage of Marcan composition was presumably identical with the canonical Gospel According to Mark. 4 Clement assumes that the first edition was in public circulation since, in writing to Theodore, he gives verbatim citations of canonical Mark in Greek to indicate where the additional material of SGM is found. 5 I have made my own translation. Naturally I have consulted and, many times, followed Smith's careful translation. 6 The style is so clearly Clement's that Smith (p. 76) feels that we can rule out a mistaken attribution of another's work to Clement. It is either genuine or a deliberate imitation. I make no pretense of having evaluated Smith's arguments for Clement's authorship, but I shall base my study on the assumption that he is correct. See n. 9 below. ~48
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7 Smith, p. 78, quotes Zahn: "His (Clement's] amazingly uncritical attitude to apocryphal literature exceeds anything to be found in other Church fathers." 8 Smith, pp. 266-278, discusses Carpocrates and the Carpocratians; he uses his conclusions from this discussion to support a terminus ante quem of 125. 9 Smith, p. 194. Also, p. 131: "The imitator must have known Mk. almost by heart and deliberately told his story as much as possible in the words and phrases of the original." Thus we have the letter in perfect Clementine style (note 6 above) and the SGM fragments in perfect Marcan style. Perhaps such perfection should alert us; the possibility of a clever forgery has been suggested by H. Musurillo, Thought (Fall1973) 327-331. I 0 Smith's thesis about the antiquity of the material in SGM is related to his thesis that Jesus was a magician (p. 235) who practiced secret baptismal rites which may have involved physical union with his disciples (p. 251). Smith, p. 145, would date the writing of SGM itself to the period between the writing of canonical Mark and the writing of Matthew-presumably the last third of the first century. ll Smith recognizes that there are clear points of contact between SGM and Matthew (Ill 1-2 and Mt 28:2; II 24-25 and Mt 15:25, 22) and between SGM and Luke (Ill 6 and Lk 18:23). But on p. 135 he denies that such points of contact bear evidence on the origins of SGM-rather Clement himself probably corrupted the text of SGM by introducing phrases from the canonical Gospels. Here Smith seems determined to make the evidence fit the theory. 12 On pp. 158-160 Smith gives a table of parallels in sequence between Mk 6-14 and Jn 6-13. 13 Smith, p. 132, dismisses as insignificant the following vocabulary contacts: ek tou mnemeiou (Ill 5-6), he meter autou (Ill 16), and hopou en (II 26). I would agree that little can be based on isolated words, but below I shall discuss some more significant parallels. 14 Smith, p. 145. 15 Smith, p. 156. As an illustration, for Smith, SGM's detail that a loud voice came from the tomb (Ill 1) is more original than John's detail that Jesus cried out with a loud voice to Lazarus in the tomb-the former leaves open the possibility that the youth was not really dead, a possibility that John has excluded. SGM's detail that Jesus himself moved the stone is more likely to be primitive than John's detail that Jesus commanded others to move the stone, since it has Jesus doing hard manual labor (p. 158). I find it difficult to take seriously an argument like the latter. 16 In my own commentary, The Gospel According to John (Garden City: Doubleday, 1966) I, pp. 238, 444, I gave detailed parallels of sequence. 17 In Smith's theory canonical Mark is also dependent on the common source, hut the author of SGM, coming after Mark, has restored the original order by adding scenes that Mark omitted from the source. 18 L. Leloir has reconstructed the order of the Diatessaron in Le Temoinage d'Ephrem sur le Diatessaron (CSCO 227, Subsidia 19; Louvain, 1962). In his tables on pp. 8-11, Mk 12:28-31 is part of #60 in Ephraem's order, while Jn 7:37-11:48 appears in ##61-65; and this seems substantially to be the order in the Arabic, Latin (Fuldensis), Dutch (Liege), and Venice texts of the Diatessaron as well. However, in the Persian Diatessaron Jn 9-10 seems to come just before Mk 10:17-24 (in Leloir's table, section 2:35-38 before section 2:39-40), while Jn 11 comes after Mk 10:35-37, 46-50 (section 3:34 after sections 3:30-33). On p. 233 Leloir says that it is difficult to speak of an order in the pericopes of the Persian Diatessaron-it is more a case of disorder. And so its testimony is not particularly useful for sequence.
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19 If one reads Mk 10 with the SGM story inserted, it is now twice that Jesus crosses the Jordan and goes to Bethany, namely, after 10:32-34 plus SGM, and after 10:46. This is not the same as the Johannine order, for in John, once Jesus crosses the Jordan from the place where he was in 10:40-42 in order to come to Bethany (11:16-18), he is never said to go back across the Jordan again. Smith, in his outline on p. 160, would make a parallel between SGM's withdrawal of Jesus beyond the Jordan and the Johannine withdrawal of Jesus to Ephraim "in the region near the desert," mentioned at the end of the Lazarus chapter (11:54). But John is so specific about the region beyond the Jordan that, by this vague description of Ephraim, he can scarcely have meant to localize it in the Transjordan. By most standards of comparison, would not John's reference to Ephraim, which is otherwise unknown, be considered more primitive than SGM's reference to the oft-mentioned and theologically significant region beyond the Jordan? 20 I wonder too did the author of SGM confuse the two Johannine places named Bethany? In 1:28 John mentions a Bethany "across the Jordan where John used to baptize," and that seems to be the place he has in mind in 3:26 and 10:40 as well. Then, in 11:1ff. John has Jesus come from this Transjordan site (implicitly Bethany or its environs) to a Bethany near Jerusalem. If the author of SGM were recalling John's account by memory, he may have thought they were one and the same. Below I shall suggest the possibility of another SGM confused memory from the Fourth Gospel regarding the women named Mary. 21 In theorizing about a pre-Johannine source I shall use as a model example R. T. Fortna, The Gospel of Signs (SNTS Monograph 11: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1970)-in this instance, pp. 106-108. I do not agree with major points in Fortna's reconstruction; but if one believes that a pre-Johannine source can be reconstructed, his attempt is the most careful thus far. 22 Brown, I, pp. 118,428--430. 23 Notice that the first SGM quotation is inserted in Mark after a reference to Jesus' resurrection (10:34); the tomb of the youth is described in language evocative of John's description of Jesus' garden tomb (11 26); the rolling away of the stone from the door of the tomb is evocative of the Synoptic description of Jesus' empty tomb (Ill 1-2); there are several passages that remind us of the women at Jesus' tomb (Ill 2-3, 14-16); the coming forth of the youth from the tomb is like the coming forth of the Jerusalem dead after Jesus' resurrection (Ill 5-6). 24 One may think of an initiation rite into the mystery of the kingdom, i.e., either a (second) baptism, or, more likely, a secret rite phrased in imagery borrowed from baptismal theology: entrance into the kingdom, dying/rising, new man, white garment, paschal setting. Smith relates the linen clothing of the youth raised from the dead (Ill 8) to the linen cloth of the youth in Gethsemane (Mk 14:51-52) and the linen cloth in which Jesus was buried (15:46). Independently, this connection has been furthered by R. Scroggs and K. I. Groff, "Baptism in Mark: Dying and Rising with Christ," JBL 92 (1973) 531-548, who connect the youth of Mk 14:51-52 with the youth who appears at the empty tomb of the risen Jesus in Mk 16:5, in the context of early Christian baptismal imagery. 25 H. I. Bell and T. C. Skeats, Fragments of an Unknown Gospel (London, 1935). The Greek text is given and carefully analyzed by F. M. Braun, Jean le Theologlen (Paris: Gabalda, 1959) I, 87-94,404-406. 26 Moreover, for Tatian there is no question of fitting John into the Synoptic outline; it is almost vice versa. 27 In going down the list of parallel references that Braun, pp. 88-89, gives for Egerton, one gets this sequence: Jn 5:39, 45; 9:29; 8:59; 10:31; 7:30, 44; 10:39;
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28
29 30 Jl
31 32 33
34 35
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31) 40
Mk 1:40-44; Lk 17:14; Jn 3:2; Mk 12:15-17; 7:6; Mt 15:7; Mk 11:20-25; Mt 21:18--22 (?). Jn 13:23; 19:26; 21:7, 20. The verb philein is used of him in 20:2. Smith, pp. 119-120, argues against dependence on John for two reasons. First, there are no other traces in SGM of John's peculiar phraseology. This is uncertain, as we shall see. Second, in the SGM phrase there is a pleonastic auton (hon egapa auton ho rsous) which he identifies as a Semitism reflecting the Aramaic common source. However, there are several Semitisms in SGM (Smith, pp. 133-134); they may have been characteristic of the author's style (deliberately archaizing?); and, citing by memory, he may have instinctively rewritten John's phrase in his own style. The verb philein is used in 11:3, 36. There have been several modern scholarly attempts to identify "the disciple whom Jesus loved" as Lazarus (Brown, I, p. xcv); why not an ancient one? Smith, p. 153; Fortna, pp. 77-78. It is not impossible that Peter was seen as a symbol of the baptized-Clement maintained that Christ baptized only Peter (fragment from Hypotyposeis, taken from Johannes Moschus; GCS ed., vol. 3, p. 196, 6--I am indebted for this reference to Prof. Cyril Richardson). If the background of SGM is Encratite, the use of the traditionally celibate beloved disciple to symbolize the specially initiated is appropriate. There is a famous difficulty as to how many women Jn 19:25 mentions; see Brown, 11, pp. 904-906. Fortna, pp. 129-130, following Bultmann, attributes 19:26 to the Johannine level, but 19:25 to the pre-J ohannine. Does the SGM statement (Ill 16) that Jesus did not receive the three women reflect scenes peculiar to the Fourth Gospel where Jesus refuses intercessions made by his mother (2:2--4) and by the sister of Lazarus whom he loved (11:21-26)-scenes that Fortna (pp. 31-32, 81) attributes to the Johannine level of composition. Not really parallel are Mk 14:34 (Mt 26:38) and Lk 24:29. Note that the preposition (syn) in SGM is closer to Synoptic than to Johannine style. Fortna, p. 183, argues that Jn 1:39 may stem from the pre-Johannine source since menein does not have its typical Johannine note of indwelling. However, I find that it does reflect another typical Johannine theme, namely, a theology of discipleship through personal attachment to Jesus (Brown, I, pp. 78-79). Brown, I, pp. XCIII, 73. See n. 9 above. SGM mentions one sister of the youth whom Jesus loved; John mentions the two sisters. (See above for the possibility that the author of SGM was thinking of Mary whom he confused with another Mary at the foot of the cross.) Critical reconstructions have suggested that only one sister was involved in the original pre-Johannine narrative (Brown, I, p. 433), and so this is a point that favors Smith's thesis that SGM is closer to the pre-Johannine source. But it is possible that depending on memory for the Johannine story, the author of SGM recalled only one sister. Smith, pp. 100-101. In Ill 25-26 we shall be told that the disciples rebuked the woman and Jesus grew angry. We should probably avoid the tendency to read this on the analogy of the Synoptic passage where Jesus got angry at the disciples for
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rebuking those who brought little children to him, and rather read Jesus as being angry at the woman, complementing the rebuke of her by the disciples. 41 Why did the author of SGM choose Matthew's wording (15:25) of bowing (proskynein) before Jesus, rather than Mark's wording (7:25) of falling (prospiptein) at his feet, which would have been closer to John? Probably because proskynein, "to bow, do homage," fitted better the ritual, initiatory atmosphere of the SGM fragment. 42 And once again he follows the Matthean form of the scene (15:22), since this petition is found not here but elsewhere in Mark (10:49-SGM, however, accepts the Marcan wording of the petition). Smith, p. 102, uses these instances as indicators that Matthew copied from SGM. I am clearly proposing that the relationship is the other way around, since I cannot understand how one can posit Matthew's dependence on SGM on the basis of this resurrection scene which Matthew does not report! One has to say that Matthew read the scene, chose not to report it, but rewrote another Marcan scene on the basis of its style. See also n. 11 above. The parallel to the petition in Mk 10:48 is interesting if we remember that the SGM passages are inserted after Mk 10:32-34 and 10:46. There are many contacts between SGM passages and Mk 10: see Mk 10:13-14 for SGM 11 25-26; 10:21 for Ill 4; 10:22 for Ill 6; and 10:47-48 for 11 24-25. This means that if one reads Mk 10 with the SGM passages inserted, one finds an extraordinary number of repeated phrases. Smith, p. 139, contends that repetitions do occur in canonical Mark, e.g., 8:22-24 repeating phrases from 7:33-34; but one would be hard pressed to find in canonical Mark repetitions on the scale produced by the combination of Mk 10 and the SGM passages. This suggests to me that the author of SGM, in the process of creating a scene to be inserted in Mk 10, has found his richest mine for phrases in the immediate vicinity; it does not suggest that he was resorting here to original content that was eliminated by Mark (Smith's thesis). 43 Fortna, p. 134, accepts the description of the garden tomb as pre-Johannine; others have seen the garden motif as Johannine theology (Brown, 11, pp. 943, 960).
44 Note 15 above. The voice could be that of the demon of Death. 45 We saw a previous SGM echo of Jn 12:1 in discussing 11 23 ("And they came* into Bethany and a certain woman was there"). 46 Mark's own chronological reference to Passover (14:1: "After two days") could not have been combined by the author of SGM with the Transfiguration dating. For "after six days" as a set expression in a climactic seven-day pattern, see F. R. McCauley, Jr.,JBL 93 (1974) 67-81. 47 For the six days in the Alexandrian paschal feast, see S111ith, p. 175. 48 Smith, pp. 152-155. 49 Fortna, pp. 85-86; I have omitted his marks indicating possible omissions and additions in the Greek. 50 In the enumerations of sections that Leloir draws from Ephraem's Commentary on the Diatessaron, Mk 11:20-24 is in #55; the Nicodemus story is #56; Mk 11:27-28 is in #57; the Lazarus story is #64. Seen. 18 above.
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82 RESEARCH ON THE HISTORICAL JESUS TODAY Jesus and the Pseudepigrapha, the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Nag Hammadi Codices, J osephus, and archaeology lames H. Charlesworth Source: Princeton Seminary Bulletin, 6, 1985, pp. 98--115.
Inaugural Address, February 27, 1985 palin tina hopizei hemeran, Semeron (Hebrews 4:7) Today we are provided a special moment for reflection. Now we can pause, gather together in Miller Chapel, and consider the importance of New Testament research, and its place in the life of our community. Research on the New Testament documents and into Christian Origins is central to any endeavor of our little group, the Church universal, and the biblical Academies. Biblical research, especially the study of the New Testament, has been a hallmark of this institution. The study of earliest Christianity, its texts and languages, and its matrix within the religious phenomena of first-century cultures, especially Palestinian Judaism, has been a revered dimension of the Collord Chair, a distinction celebrated internationally and interconfessionally. And now, today, I stand humbled and honored by traditions and responsibilities. Certainly the Collord Chair, elevated by the life and career of Bruce Manning Metzger, is one of the most prestigious New Testament chairs in this country and in the world. Introspectively I am awestruck and speechless. I feel the wisest course now, today, would be to sit down and acknowledge wisdom begins with silence. The wise move is preempted by the charge to present the inaugural lecture for the Collord Chair. With your mandate must come both the understanding that all human endeavors are weak and imperfect, and the forgiveness that will enable me to state boldly what should be articulated in a significant address. 355
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What do I consider the central task of the New Testament scholar? It is to seek what can be known about the life and teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. This contention should shake loose many shelved conclusions regarding methods and sources. Few serious students still approach the gospels as if they are biographies. But in the face of what is perceived to be insensitive or too liberal criticism of the gospels, some students do tend to read the New Testament as if Jesus' actions and words are recorded without alteration. This approach has been exposed as improper by New Testament scholars for well over one hundred years. Unfortunately, many here today are confused by what they perceive to be a choice between Jesus' authentic actions and the Church's inauthentic redactions. I shall attempt to show why these are false alternatives. Some scholars will assuredly wish to ask the following question: Is it not obvious that one conclusion of New Testament research is that nothing can be known assuredly about the Jesus of history? The answer seems to be "no": not even Bultmann and Tillich espoused that utter pessimism. Their ideas are not to be confused with those of Bruno Bauer, Paul Couchoud, G. Gurev, R. Augstein, and G. A. Wells, all of whom denied the existence of Jesus. Bultmann and Tillich, as radical as they were, affirmed the existence of Jesus and the undeniable fact of his crucifixion in Jerusalem before 70 A.D. Moreover, failure to grasp the historical particularity of Jesus, and all the scandals this entails, reduces a religion to a philosophy of existence, precisely as intended by Fritz Buri in his critique of Bultmann. The major impedimenta impeding our search for the historical Jesus have lightened. First, the theological one has crumbled. It had been constructed out of a twofold claim: some critics argued that faith alone is sufficient for the Christian, others added that Jesus the Christ is known solely existentially. Now, the best minds perceive that faith without knowledge is faithless to Jesus. Only responses to him that, like the early creeds and hymns, are impregnated by historical data, are paradigmatically different from superstition, no matter how sophisticated it appears. Second, it is now obvious to the leading New Testament scholars that pre-Easter data are preserved in the gospels. If we are impeded in our search by the confessional dimension of the gospels that is because the early Christians were not crippled by the crucifixion but empowered by the resurrection. Embarrassing data, moreover, are preserved in the narratives-notably Judas' betrayal, Peter's denial, and Jesus' crucifixion. Such data shaped the Church; they were not created to serve the needs of the Church. The only persuasive explanation for Simon of Cyrene's identification as the father of Alexander and Rufus (Mark 15:21) is because of eyewitnesses and their importance, perhaps presence, in Mark's community. We must grasp that history is accessible only via tradition, and it is 356
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comprehensible only via interpretation. Redaction criticism is possible only because traditions were extant to be edited. Third, formerly we were lost in a wasteland of history, which was caused by the paucity of sources from pre-70 Judaism. Now-since the l940s-we possess hundreds of documents that are pre-70 and Jewish. Somehow in decades of confused apologetics and well-meaning attempts to refine an infallible methodology we forgot two essential dimensions of the search for Joseph's son. Historical research is scientific by method but not by conclusion; the historian at best can provide us not with irrelative certainty but with relative probability. Hence any discourse on searching for ipsissima verba Jesu (Jesus' own exact words) and absolute certainty about recovering them is imprecise, imperceptive, and impossible. The new research on Jesus will be different from and more informed than previous attempts primarily because of the increased documentary evidence and the phenomenal archaeological discoveries; hence, it is pertinent to organize an assessment of where we are according to these categories. Our discussion will focus on the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Nag Hammadi Codices, Josephus, and Archaeology. Since the field to be covered is broad and complex, the approach must be focused and selective; and this course obviously demands many personal judgments which cannot be explained here. Suffice it to state that only two questions will be addressed to each of these divisions in research: Are the data significant in our search for the Jesus of history? If so, why and in what important ways?
The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha In 1913 Clarendon published the first English edition of the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. It was selective and directed to scholars. In 1983 Doubleday published the first of two volumes of The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha; the second and final volume will appear during the summer of 1985. The first English edition contained seventeen pseudepigrapha; the new one has fifty-two documents plus thirteen writings preserved only in ancient quotations and added as a supplement to volume 2. The astronomical leap from seventeen to sixty-five documents will upset scholars who have grown content with a personal view of Early Judaism; younger scholars alive and excited by new challenges will thrive on the vast new territory for exploration. They will find that it is now even more difficult to separate Jewish from Christian writings; and they will grow to perceive what it means to state that "Christianity" for at least forty years, from 30 to 70 A.D., was a group within Judaism. In seeking to understand the Pseudepigrapha they will ultimately be forced to confront the issues related to Jesus and his place in first-century Judaism. 157
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As always with sensationally new and exciting developments, there have been misrepresentative statements. It is clear that Jesus' warning to let an answer be merely "yes, yes" or "no, no," according to Matthew, and his reference to many mansions in heaven, according to John, is paralleled impressively in one pseudepigraphon from the first century. It is called 2 Enoch. One author (C. F. Potter, in Did Jesus Write This Book? [New York, 1965], p. 27), became so excited about these parallels he claimed that "it may well be that" Jesus "wrote" 2 Enoch, "or part of it." Fortunately, no scholar has been guilty of such false claims. In assessing the significance of the Pseudepigrapha for Jesus research, one aspect is non-controversial and indeed obvious. Many of the Pseudepigrapha are roughly contemporaneous with Jesus and are Palestinian. Along with the Dead Sea Scrolls, they are our major new source for describing the religious phenomena in pre-70 Judaism. Unlike the Dead Sea Scrolls, however, the Pseudepigrapha are not primarily or merely the literary products of one small Jewish group which had withdrawn and isolated itself in the desert. The early Pseudepigrapha clarify the intellectual landscape for first-century, pre-70 Jews, like Jesus. And that is exceedingly important because creative geniuses, like Jesus, enjoy horizons that extend beyond one country. They live in an intellectual world. Merely one example can now be brought forward to illustrate some significances of the Pseudepigrapha for Jesus research. I shall emphasize here only apocalypticism and eschatology. E. Kasemann, as is well known, concluded that the mother of all Christian theology is "apocalyptic" thought. The brilliant German New Testament scholar reminisced that the study of apocalyptic thought was simply not a suitable topic during his years as a student and almost all of his long career as a professor. Today we can report that this vast field is a focal point for New Testament research. For example, here in Princeton, Professor Johan Christiaan Beker has astutely seen that the heart of Paul's theology is shaped by Jewish apocalyptic thought. In essence, the unearthly vision of the apocalyptists is that the righteous can go home again. They can return home, not into· the womb a la Freud, and not back to an esoteric world via gnosis. They can return back to paradise that is to be reopened for them (cf. esp. 2En). Then and there they shall have full and peaceful fellowship with all, especially once again with God. The Pseudepigrapha, and the apocalyptic literature collected within it, is decisive for understanding Jesus of Nazareth, but he was not one of the apocalyptists. They were repeatedly exhorted to write down what they had seen and heard. Jesus wrote nothing. The apocalyptists were often scribes, who worked in a beth midrash, and were influenced by Wisdom literature and preoccupied with encyclopedic and scientific knowledge. Jesus was an itinerant teacher, who proclaimed the nearness and importance of God's 35R
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kingdom. The apocalyptists were vengeful, often calling upon God to destroy the Jews' enemies. Jesus was more concerned with inward dispositions and an attitude of compassion and outgoing love (but see 2En 52). He even exhorted his followers to "love your enemies" (Matthew 5:43). The apocalyptists tended to denigrate the earth. Jesus celebrated God's creation, and used the lilies of the field as examples of God's concern for his people (Matthew 6:25-33). The apocalyptists talked about the future age drawing closer. Jesus-sometimes in conflicting ways, according to the evangelists-affirmed that only God really knew the time of the end (Mark 13:32), but that it appeared already to be dawning in his ministry (Mark 9:1), especially in the miracles and proclamations (Mark 1:14-15). Most importantly, the apocalyptists tended to situate God far from the living world of humanity. Jesus stressed the nearness, indeed the presence, of a compassionate Father, who should be called in pedestrian, childlike ways, Abba. Yet the apocalypses and apocalyptic literature are important for understanding Jesus. Both the apocalyptists and Jesus shared a feeling for the oppressed (cf. 1En 102-104 and 2En 63); and both uttered woes against the complacent and oppressive rich (1En 94:8--9, 96:4-8, 97:8-10; Mark 10:23-25). Both presupposed a profound dualism, especially of two categorically different ages. Both were ultimately optimistic; God's promises and the greatest of all human dreams-peace and harmony throughout the universe-would be realized by God's own actions, perhaps through an intermediary. Both transferred allegiance to another world and redefined priorities. For example, Jesus claimed the first shall be last (Mark 10:3). Both sided with the poor (Mark 10:21) against the wealthy, exhorted righteous conduct (e.g., 1En 104:6; 2En 61), uttered beatitudes (viz. 2En 42, 52; Matthew 5), and demanded purity of hearts (cf. 2En 45; Mark 7:14-23). The most surprising-and to many astounding-development in research on the Pseudepigrapha is a paradigm shift on the evaluation of the date and character of the Parables of Enoch (1En 37-71). This book is exceedingly important for New Testament scholars because it describes the heavenly Son of Man, the Messiah, the Elect One, and the Righteous One. I am convinced these are four terms for the same intermediary of God. J. T. Milik, who was responsible for publishing the Aramaic Enoch fragments found among the Dead Sea Scrolls, emphasized that this Enochic book, so clearly aligned with Jesus' reputed words, was unattested among the Aramaic fragments. He judged that it was a Christian composition from around the beginning of the third century A.D. Practically all New Testament scholars were persuaded by his judgment and refused to use 1 Enoch 37-71 to assess Jesus' life and the theology of the earliest Christians. Today, no specialist on the Parables of Enoch agrees with Milik's judgment. During international seminars in TObingen and a year later in Paris, 359
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experts on this book agreed that it is certainly a Jewish document. 1 All scholars, except one, are convinced the Jewish work must predate the destruction of Jerusalem in 70. Hence the title Son of Man was already developed by Palestinian Jews long before 70. Since the Son of Man is almost always found in the New Testament only in collections of Jesus' words, is it not possible that this phrase derives authentically from Jesus himself? Are there not some of these Son of Man sayings that may help us understand Jesus and his perception of his mission? Is it not difficult to categorize all of the Son of Man sayings either as circumlocutions for the first-person pronoun singular, or as another means of referring generically to humanity? What indeed was denoted and connoted by the title "Son of Man" during the early decades of the first century A.D.? And what did Jesus mean by these words? One additional comment should be made in passing. As is well known, Jude 14-15 contains a quotation from what was considered long ago to be-perhaps-a lost Jewish document. Now, we know the author of Jude quoted from 1 Enoch, chapter 1. And unexpectedly, the very quotation is now discovered in Aramaic on a strip of leather found among the Dead Sea Scrolls. Biblical theologians, and others, will now be forced to reassess our understanding of canon, since a book in the Christian canon quotes as prophecy a passage in a book rejected from the Protestant and Catholic canon, although it is in the Falasha canon. Obviously, in the first century there was considerable fluidity regarding the limits of canon, scripture, and inspired words.
The Dead Sea Scrolls The so-called Dead Sea Scrolls were first discovered in the late 1940s in caves just to the west of the Dead Sea. The first photographs and translations appeared shortly thereafter, but the largest Scroll was obtained by Y. Yadin in the mid-1960s and was not translated into English until 1983. A voluminous body of fragments has not yet been· published; as of the present I count more than sixty important "sectarian" Scrolls and portions of documents-less than a dozen of these are well known. No collection of ancient literature has excited the imagination of our contemporaries so fully as the Dead Sea Scrolls. This excitement has led to sensational claims and ideological counterclaims. The scholarly jargon for the exchange is the "Qumran fever." The claims about the importance of the Scrolls for Jesus research have been excessive; some critics recently revived the old justly discarded opinion that Jesus or John the Baptist is really the founder of the Qumran community, the M6reh ha~-~edek, or Righteous Teacher. Those who hold these views are writers masquerading as scholars. 360
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The Scrolls do not support the opinion that Jesus was an Essene or even significantly influenced by them. Yet, it is difficult to agree with William S. LaSor's judgment, in The Dead Sea Scrolls and The New Testament, that the Essenes and Jesus, along with the early Christians, simply represent Jewish "sectarian" movements "moving in different orbits" (p. 254). One must distinguish between what is in the New Testament from what is behind it. What is in the New Testament are the theologically edited reflections of the early Christians; what is behind the New Testament are the earliest historical individuals and communities that were created out of historical events, namely the experience and memory of Jesus' life and horrifying death, and the claim to having been confronted by a resurrected Jesus. The "in" is not a categorical antithesis to the "within," but they are distinguishable categories. The failure to perceive this distinction has invalidated much New Testament research over the last two hundred years. Jesus' death predates the first gospel by about forty years. The crucial issue is not the comparison of documents, namely the Scrolls which predate 70, and the gospels which postdate it. The critical questions concern Jesus and the Essenes and the more than forty years when the Essenes and Jesus and his followers shared the same territory, nationality, chronological period, and adversaries-namely, the Romans and Sadducees, and intermittently the Pharisees and the Zealots. Can there be no relationship between the Essenes and the Palestinian Jesus Movement when both emphasized the sinfulness of all humanity and the need for God's grace, the eschatological time, the establishment of the new covenant according to Jeremiah 39, the presence and power of Satan and the demons, and the clarion call of Isaiah 40:3? Is it not clear that both groups emphasized essentially the same hermeneutical principle: all scripture and prophecy pointed to their own time and group? Did not both groups, mutatis mutandis, exhort a sharing of possessions? Has it not become palpable lately that both groups were products, and to a certain extent examples, of Jewish apocalypticism? Can all these similarities be dismissed legitimately as mere coincidences? These reflections thrust before us one major question: What were the relationships between Jesus and the Essenes? According to both Philo and Josephus four thousand Essenes lived in Palestine. Since no more than approximately three hundred Essenes could have lived at Qumran and nearby, the vast majority, or around thirtyseven hundred, dwelt elsewhere. Philo and Josephus also stressed that the Essenes lived in villages and cities, preferring to congregate on the fringes. The reference to the Essene gate in the walls of Jerusalem by Josephus is now apparently confirmed by recent archaeological discoveries and a passage in the Temple Scroll. We must confront the growing evidence that Essenes lived in the southwestern sector of Jerusalem. 361
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These perspectives are significant. Jesus probably would have met Essenes during his itineraries, maybe he talked with many of them. Perhaps they discussed common values and the need for full dedication to God and his covenant. Four similarities between Jesus and the Essenes may be briefly sketched. First, Jesus shared with the Essenes a theology that was thoroughgoingly monotheistic and paradigmatically eschatological. The present was the end of time. He, of course, preached a somewhat more imminent eschatology, but one should talk about the difference between the Essenes and Jesus in such a way that Jesus' eschatology was more realizing in terms of degree, not kind. Second, Jesus shared the Essenes' utter dedication to God and Torah. Perhaps he was referring to the Essenes, the only celibate group known in early Judaism, when he praised the men who became eunuchs for God's kingdom (cf. Matthew 19:10-12). Third, according to Mark, Jesus proclaimed that divorce is forbidden. This apodictic statement is difficult to comprehend and so Matthew relaxed it and made it casuistic (Matthew 5:31-32, 19:9). Jesus' view on divorce, according to Mark, until recently was unparalleled in the history of Jewish thought. Now, a prohibition of divorce is found in the Temple Scroll. According to this document, the king must remain married to only one woman: "And he [the king] must not select in addition to her another woman because she, herself alone, will remain with him all the days of her life" (llQ Temple 57:17-18; translation mine). What is demanded of the king is even more stringently required of others. Only two Jews denied the possibility of divorce: Jesus, according to Mark, and the author of the Temple Scroll. Since the Temple Scroll antedates Jesus and appears to be the quintessential Torah for the Essenes, the relationships that may have existed between Jesus and the Essenes should be raised again for fresh discussion. Finally, only in the last two years have we known about a medical document preserved among the Dead Sea Scrolls. It is appropriately called 4Q Therapeia. If my transcription, translation, and exegesis are accurate, the author possessed unusual medical knowledge. 2 Since the Essenes were known as the Jewish group most interested and gifted in medical knowledge, and since Jesus certainly did perform some healing miracles, as even the most liberal critics are now willing to admit, we are thrust into reflecting upon the source of Jesus' medical knowledge. Was he in any way influenced by the Essenes? These and other questions need careful study. Any comparisons between Jesus and the Essenes must ultimately be grounded in a recognition of vast differences. The Essenes were extreme legalists and, for the sake of purity, they quarantined themselves from all 362
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others; Jesus rejected the legalistic rules that choked the Sabbath, and involved himself with all ranks of humanity. Most importantly, he emphasized the need to love others, an attitude illustrated in Luke by the Parable of the Good Samaritan, and developed into a new commandment in the Johannine writings. It is conceivable that Jesus may have been thinking about and rejecting the exhortation to hate the sons of darkness, when he stated, "You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy'" (Matthew 5:43). The best, and possibly only real Jewish paralled to the rule to hate others is found in the Dead Sea Scrolls. In fact, according to the Rule of the Community at the time of the yearly renewal, Essenes chanted curses on all the sons of darkness, specifically those who are not Essenes, including Jews who masquerade as Essenes. Without a doubt the most significant and uncontroversial importance of the Dead Sea Scrolls for Jesus research is the light they shine on a previously dark period. To enter into the world of the Dead Sea Scrolls is to become immersed in Jesus' theological environment. The Scrolls do more than either provide the ideological landscape of Jesus' life, or disclose the Zeitgeist he knew. They reveal also the social settings of pre-70 Palestinian Jews. In addition to these brief comments, the Dead Sea Scrolls-along with the Pseudepigrapha--enable us to begin to appreciate the distinctive features of Jesus' theology. These early Jewish texts supply the framework from which the theologian can evaluate the uniqueness of Jesus of Nazareth. The contours of the historical Jesus begin to appear, and it is startling to discern how true it is that the genesis and genius of earliest Christianity, and the one reason it became distinguishable from Judaism, is found in one life and one person. In summation, we can report that Ernest Renan's oft-quoted dictum, that Christianity is an Essenism that succeeded, is simplistic and distortionistic. Christianity did not evolve out of one "sect" on the fringes of a normative Judaism. Christianity developed out of many Jewish currents; there was no one source or trajectory. Jesus, of course, was not an Essene; but he may have shared more with the Essenes than the same nation, time, and place.
The Nag Hammadi Codices In the late 1940s, shortly before the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls in Jordan, an Arab peasant found in Egypt, not far from Nag Hammadi, thirteen Coptic codices that preserved ancient writings. Considerable excitement surrounded this discovery, because many of the documents were previously unknown, and because sayings of Jesus were preserved in the codices.
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Unfortunately, many scholars made rash and sensational claims about the importance of the Nag Hammadi Codices. Some even judged that Bultmann's historical speculations were now receiving proof. In The Promise of Bultmann (Philadelphia, 1969, reprinted 1979), Norman Perrin argued that: Bultmann's particular view of a pre-Christian Gnostic redeemer myth (the myth of a heavenly figure coming down to earth to secure salvation for men and opening a way for them into the heavenly realm) as an influence upon John has been strenuously resisted on the grounds that we have no evidence that such a myth is pre-Christian. But now recent discoveries in Egypt would seem to prove that Bultmann has been right all through the years on this matter (p. 110). In my estimation, most scholars today would agree with Perrin's statement "that we have no evidence that such a myth is pre-Christian" (cf. viz. G. Quispel, "Gnosis," Vox Theologica 39 [1969]:27-35). Critics may feel that it is unfair to cite Perrin, because his opinion may once have been valid but is obviously impossible today. Yet a revered scholar, James Robinson, has just expressed a similar evaluation. In a foreword to the recently published English translation of E. Haenchen's A Commentary on the Gospel of John (2 vols., translated R. W. Funk; Hermenia, Philadelphia, 1984), Robinson disparages W. F. Albright's claim that the Dead Sea Scrolls and not the Nag Hammadi Codices are significant for understanding the Gospel of John. Robinson announces that "Haenchen's commentary serves in a way to mark the transition from the Qumranian orientation characteristic of much Johannine study in the first decades after World War 11 to the Nag Hammadi orientation that has become increasingly prominent in recent years" (vol. 1, p. x). If this statement pictures a mass exodus of Johannine scholars from Qumran to Nag Hammadi, it is a mirage. The best Johannine scholars know we are faced not with an either/or, but with a both/and: Both collections must be studied; moreover, the Dead Sea Scrolls, unlike the Nag Hammadi Codices, are clearly Jewish and anterior to the group of Jews converted to Christianity that produced the Gospel of John. What is the significance of the Nag Hammadi Codices for Jesus research? What document can be singled out as essential in our search for the historical Jesus? The answer is clear and readily available. It is the Gospel of Thomas. The interest in this gospel by scholars is phenomenal. I have counted 397 publications on it alone. 3 Its significance for gospel research is placarded by the inclusion of translations of it inK. Aland's Synopsis. The Gospel of Thomas is significant in the search for the historical Jesus because of the following factors: (1) It is a document of Jesus' 364
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sayings reminiscent of the lost source (Q) used independently by both Matthew and Luke. (2) It contains sayings of Jesus that, at least in some passages, are independent of the so-called canonical gospels. (3) It is now becoming well recognized that it is improper to discard the Gospel of Thomas as late, derivative, and gnostic. Since the early 1960s one saying in the Gospel of Thomas has caught my eye, and I have found it difficult to shake the possibility that it may have been more accurately preserved in the Gospel of Thomas than in the corresponding pericope in Luke. The passage is in Logion 101 (cf. 55): (Jesus said), "Whoever does not hate his fath(er] and his mother in my way (entahe) will not be able to be a d(isciple] to me. And whoever does [not] love h[is father] and his mother in my way (entahe) will not be able to be a d(isciple t]o me ... " A significantly different, but better known version of this saying is found in special Luke: If anyone comes to me and does not hate (misei) his father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, and even his own soul (psuche), he is not able to be my disciple. (Luke 14:26)
Matthew has even a different version: "he who loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and he who loves a son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. And he who does not take up his cross and follow after me, is not worthy of me" (Matthew 10:37-38; Matthew is closer to a doublet in Thomas, Logion 55). The major issue concerns the appearance of "in my way" twice in Thomas and not once in Luke. It is difficult to dismiss this phrase as merely an explanatory gloss in Thomas. The logion in Thomas seems either to be an early Palestinian reflection on Jesus' way, or a statement from Jesus, perhaps somewhat altered, that is in line with his wisdom sayings. In any case, it is obvious how significant the Gospel of Thomas may be in our search for the sayings of the historical Jesus. Here we have paused briefly to look at one saying of Jesus and its transmission and redaction in the first one hundred years after his death. Before continuing it is necessary at least to stress that many other sections of Thomas deserve much more careful study than customarily given to them by New Testament scholars. For example, the study of Jesus' parahies is frustrated by a myopic focus on only Matthew and Luke. The Parable of the Great Supper is so thoroughly altered by Matthew and his school that we are left wondering about reverence for tradition and 365
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reliable transmission (cf. Matthew 22:1-14; Luke 14:15-24). The parable reappears in Thomas (Logion 64) and is not nearly so edited there as in Matthew. Most importantly, it is now relatively certain that Luke's and Thomas' parable about a supper or dinner is changed by Matthew and his school into an allegory about a king's wedding feast for his son.
Josephus Josephus' writings are well known and have been important for New Testament studies for over one thousand years. Some early Christian scholars before Chalcedon (451) revered him excessively. Jerome (c. 342-420) saluted him as "the Greek Livy" (Ep. 22 ad Eustochium 35.8). Josephus and Jesus were Palestinian Jews who were intimately linked with Galilee. Although Josephus lived later in the first century than Jesus, his early career was characterized by the struggle against, and eventually the war with, Rome. It is difficult to discern what transpired during the fifteen hours prior to the crucifixion, but it is clear that Jesus was crucified by the Romans, probably because he seemed to them a political insurrectionist; he and his followers were certainly seen as a threat to the precarious peace that existed around 30 A.D. in Palestine. The significance of Josephus for Jesus research does not reside in the man Josephus, however, it lies in his literature. He is the historian of early Judaism. He describes the turbulent times in which Jesus lived. Most significantly, he referred to Jesus. His reference to Jesus, the Testimonium Flavianum, may be translated from the Greek as follows (clearly Christian words are in italics): About this time there was Jesus, a wise man, if indeed one ought to call him a man. For he was one who performed surprising4 works (and) a teacher of people who with pleasure received the unusual. 5 He stirred up6 both many Jews and also many of the Greeks. He was the Christ. 7 And8 when Pilate condemned him to the cross, since he was accused by the first-rate· men among us, those who had been loving (him from) the first did not cease (to cause trouble), 9 for he appeared to them on the third day, having life again, as the prophets of God had foretold these and countless other marvelous 10 things about him. And until now the tribe of Christians, so named from him, is not (yet?) extinct. (Antiquities 18.63-64) The above translation attempts to bring out the meaning most likely intended by the first-century Jew. We can be assured that either a Christian scribe added this passage in toto, or that one or more Christian scribes edited and expanded it. 366
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A study of the Testimonium Flavianum leads to speculations, on either option, that ultimately fall short of convincing proof. It appears probable that Josephus referred to Jesus, but certainly not in the form preserved in the Greek manuscripts. Hence, many critics refuse to take a stand on the issue of reliable Josephus words in this section of the Antiquities. The passage is virtually ignored in research on the Jesus of history. For years I yearned for the discovery of a text of Josephus' Antiquities that would contain variants in the Testimonium Flavianum. Then perhaps we could support scholarly speculations with textual evidence. In fact, precisely this dream has been our good fortune. A tenth-century Arabic version of the Testimonium Flavianum has been discovered in Agapius' Kitiib al-'Unwiin. The translation of this passage by S. Pines, who drew attention to it (An Arabic Version of the Testimonium Flavianum and its Implications [Jerusalem, 1971 ]), is as follows: Similarly Josephus (YusfjUs), the Hebrew. For he says in the treatises that he has written on the governance (?) of the Jews: "At this time there was a wise man who was called Jesus. His conduct was good, and (he) was known to be virtuous. And many people from among the Jews and the other nations became his disciples. Pilate condemned him to be crucified and to die. But those who had become his disciples did not abandon his discipleship. They reported that he had appeared to them three days after his crucifixion, and that he was alive; accordingly he was perhaps the Messiah, concerning whom the prophets have recounted wonders. " 11 What is immediately obvious-when one compares the Arabic recension with the Greek one-is that the clearly Christian passages are conspicuously absent in the Arabic version. The two recensions of the Testimonium Flavianum should be studied by theological students, clergy, the laity, and seminary professors. The Greek recension, minus the Christian interpolations, reveals how a first-century Jew probably categorized Jesus: He was a rebellious person and disturber of the elusive peace; but he was also a wise person who performed "surprising," perhaps even wonderful, works. And he was followed by many Jews and gentiles. The Arabic version provides textual justification for excising the Christian passages and demonstrating that Josephus probably discussed Jesus in Antiquities 18; but it is certainly too favorable to Jesus. The focus of both recensions then helps shift the spotlight back on the Jesus of history, and that fact is of phenomenal importance. Our gaze is pulled away from preoccupations with ideas to confrontations with a first-century Galilean. We arc momentarily protected from the perennial
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threat of docetic dogmas and freed to reflect on the scandalous particularity of one person, Jesus. Neat paradigms are scrambled by an unnerving confrontation with realia. Historic dreams become anchored in historical drama.
Archaeology The search for the historical Jesus has been predominantly a Germancentered European concern: from Reimarus to Strauss, from Strauss to Schweitzer, from Schweitzer to Bultmann, and from Bultmann to Kiisemann and Bomkamm. This entire area of research has focused upon the New Testament writings, a study of the meaning of myth, the literary sources inherited by the evangelists, and the pre-gospel origin of the Jesus tradition. Except in the publications by J. Jeremias and M. Hengel, singularly absent has been an awareness of the importance of archaeology for a perception of Jesus' time and the early Palestinian Jesus Movement. In the last three decades spectacular discoveries are proving to be significant in our search for the historical Jesus. I shall draw attention to only two that I am personally convinced are unusually important for Jesus research. At the outset, however, I must stress that it is very difficult to move from the first-century Palestinian milieu, now being partly revealed by archaeologists, to Jesus' own thoughts and actions. A most significant archaeological discovery for Jesus research is the recovery of the bones of a man, named JehoJ:tanan, who had been crucified.12 His heels (tuber calcanei) remain attached to the wood portions of the simplex, because the spike driven through them bent when it hit a knot in the olive wood cross. His forearms-not his wrists-were nailed to the patibulum. The man was crucified in his thirties, in Jerusalem, and near the time of Jesus' own crucifixion. Previous to this archaeological find, we possessed no remains of one who had been crucified. The significance of this discovery for Jesus research is obvious. We have a grim reminder of the horrors of crucifixion. JehoJ:tanan's legs had been bent, and his torso twisted on the cross. The resulting muscular spasms would have caused excruciating pains. Death could have come far more rapidly than we had imagined. We can now better understand a report found only in Mark; this verse was not copied from Mark by either Matthew or Luke because they did not understand it or-more probably-were disturbed by the polemical use of it. Mark reported that Pilate could not believe that Jesus was "already dead" (ede tethneken, Mark 15:44). Also, the old hypothesis that Jesus' corpse must have been dumped into a pit set aside for the corpses of criminals and insurrectionists and not buried is disproved. JehoJ:tanan's bones had received a proper Jewish burial.
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As I stated twelve years ago in The Expository Times (84 [1973]:150): It is not a confession of faith to affirm that Jesus died on Golgotha that Friday afternoon; it is a probability obtained by the highest canons of scientific historical research. Before the crucifixion Jesus had been nearly beaten to death by Roman soldiers during approximately ten hours of all~night scourging. Reflections on this dark episode in history are difficult and disturbing for the Christian; but they expose the lie in the claim-revived in 1982 by G. Comfeld-that Jesus only appeared to die: "Jesus never died" (The Historical Jesus, p. 187). Such a position cannot derive from sane and critical reflection; it emanates from polemics and was promulgated in the second century by Celsus, the Roman polemist against Christianity (cf. Origen, Contra Celsus 2.56). The most significant archaeological discovery for Jesus research is the growing proof of the site for the crucifixion. Jesus was crucified around A.D. 30 just outside Jerusalem's walls, as the author of Hebrews stated (Hebrews 13:12). Today pilgrims are shown "The Garden Tomb" near Gordon's Calvary; both are just north of the present Turkish walls of the Old City. Most lay Christians choose this serene spot, clearly outside the present walls, as the location of Jesus' own burial. Calvary is assumed to be nearby. The traditional site for Calvary is not attractive. It is a noisy menagerie of competing ecclesiastical authorities within the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and within the present walls of the Old City. When I was living in Jerusalem, Kenyon discovered proof that the wall now encompassing the traditional site in places lies on a foundation that was constructed probably in 41 by Herod Agrippa. Hence, in 30 the traditional site would have been outside the city. Also, in the late 1960s Pere Charles Cotiasnon showed me in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre columns in situ from the fourth-century church of Constantine (see now Cotiasnon, The Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, p. 29, and Plates XVI, XVIII, XIX); hence, the traditional place can be traced architecturally to the early centuries of Christianity. And, moreover, prior to the last century there were no competing places for Golgotha. In the late 1970s excavators exposed part of the foundations of Hadrian's Roman Forum in which the Temple of Aphrodite was constructed around A.D. 135. This temple had buried Golgotha, and perhaps Jesus' tomb. Now, major discoveries confirm, in my opinion, that the Church of the Holy Sepulchre houses the rock on which Jesus was crucified. It is now clear, thanks to excavations in the late 1970s, that a rock inside th.e Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and traditionally called Calvary, still 369
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rises approximately thiteen meters above bedrock. The exposed rock, moreover, bears the marks of ancient quarrying: It is a rejected portion of an ancient preexilic Israelite white stone (malaki) quarry (see the photographs in G. Cornfeld [ed.], The Historical Jesus, esp. see pp. 202 and 212). By the first century B.c. this area had evolved from a seventh- or eighthcentury rock quarry, to a refuse dump, and finally to a burial site, since Jewish tombs clearly predating 70 are visible. It is possible that the final phase in the first century before 70 was a garden (cf. John 19:41). I am convinced that it is on this exposed fist of rejected rock that Jesus had been crucified. It was outside the walls and near a public road in 30; hence it fits all the Jewish (cf. Leviticus 24:14, and Mishnah Sanhedrin 6.1) and Roman requirements of a spot for executions. Perhaps the early Christians living in Jerusalem knew what archaeologists only recently have discovered. It is possible that they celebrated Jesus' crucifixion by reciting Psalm 118:22, The stone which the builders rejected; this has become the head of the corner. In fact this tradition, recorded in 1 Peter (2:7), is also attributed by Luke to Peter, when he spoke to the high priest in Jerusalem: "This is the stone which was rejected by you builders, but which has become the head of the corner" (Acts 4:11). The pronoun "this" is a double entendre for both Calvary and Jesus. Although we must not succumb to the naive fascination and lure of "the holy places," as have unenlightened pilgrims, we must not miss the significance for New Testament research of recent archaeological discoveries. These have been simply phenomenal. The foregoing discussion reveals that a purely theological and literary approach to the New Testament or Christian origins is improper and misleading, and results in unscholarly conclusions and bankrupt theology. An examination of documents roughly contemporaneous with Jesus and archaeology, of course, must never be portrayed improperly as if they can prove or support any faith or theology. Authentic faith certainly needs no such shoring up. Philologists, historians, and archaeologists cannot give Christians a risen Lord, but they can help Christians better understand Jesus' life, thought, and death.
Conclusion The search for the historical Jesus over the last two hundred years has been a rocky road with many dead ends and detours. Many scholars have served us well; and it is now obvious the journey is both possible and necessary. From D. F. Strauss we learned about the multidimensional 370
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nature of myth and the importance of honest methodology. From M. Kahler we apprehended that the gospels are post-Easter confessionals; but from P. Benoit, N. Dahl, and E. Kasemann we perceived that pre-Easter tradition did come to the post-Easter community and shaped its redaction. From A. Schweitzer we recognized that any attempt to understand Jesus must allow him to belong to the first century; we must not throw around him the garb of modern respectability. Moving away from Schweitzer's exaggerated emphasis on eschatology and confused perception of apocalyptic thought, we are on the right tract to stress, with E. Kasemann, G. Bornkamm, H. Anderson, and others, that we can know more of the historical Jesus than the form critics, especially R. Bultmann, had allowed. The search for ipsissima verba Jesu evolved from a misperception of the circumscribed arena of probabilities in which the historian works. Jesus' teaching was characterized by parables13 and the proclamation of God's rule (or the Kingdom of God}. 14 These two phenomena, and the Lord's Prayer itself, 15 however, are deeply Jewish and paralleled abundantly in literature roughly contemporaneous with Jesus. In this address I have focused on the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Pseudepigrapha. This limitation should not be taken to undermine my firm, and published, conviction that rabbinic literature preserves many of the essentials for grasping the religious life and the liturgy of first-century Jews, like Jesus. Certainly N. Perrin, and the large group of scholars who followed him, had the proper intent but the wrong perception of early Judaism, andmost importantly-a misleading methodology. Jesus' authentic words were sought within a net that released all Jesus' sayings that were paralleled either in Judaism or in the Church. A strict application of this method produces a Jesus who was not a Jew and who had no followers. Yet, if two facts are unassailable today, they are Jesus' deep Jewishness-he was a Jew-and his paradigmatic effect on Jews and gentiles. Jesus did exist. He was a real person who lived in Palestine, grew up in Galilee, had some relationship with John the Baptist-who certainly baptized him--centered his public ministry in Capernaum, healed the sick, and finally moved southward to Jerusalem, where his life ended ignominiously on a cross outside the western wall of Jerusalem in 30. This inaugural lecture leads to five exhortations and four neologisms. Past research and present data contain tacitly a demand for a renewed dedication to Jesus research, a request for· an unbiased interconfessional exploration of Jesus and his time, an appeal to be informed methodologically, textually, and archaeologically, a call to enjoy the inclusiveness and preponderance of the interrogatives within the elusive probabilities of the historian's sphere, and a plea to realize that the historian and theologian share complimentary professions. ~71
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Four neologisms may now be introduced. One of our tasks is to compare christology with Jewish concepts of the Messiah, but we have no term for the latter. "Messianism" is not attested in most unabridged dictionaries, and it is a poor parallel to christology. I propose a term constructed from two Greek words, Messias and logos: "messianology." Henceforth, we can contrast and compare messianology with christology. Since "apocalyptic" is still misused as a noun, although it is an adjective, and since "apocalypticism" denotes social phenomena and "apocalypses" signify literary works, we need a term to replace what "apocalyptic," as a noun, had provided. Two Greek nouns, apocalypse and logos, may be combined to provide the umbrella term needed: "apocalypsology." Henceforth, we can distinguish eschatology from apocalypsology. It is imperative that we reflect on the christologies and beliefs of those who knew and followed Jesus, albeit imperfectly, before Easter. Perhaps the term "pre-cross christology" is helpful. This term will help us better understand and articulate the christology of Q, which apparently had no passion narrative and contains, in contrast to Mark, no predictions of the suffering Son of Man. I am convinced that the author (or authors) of Qor the traditions recorded in it-were portraying Jesus not as the crucified one but as Wisdom's envoy and God's eschatological messenger. Although Q postdates the crucifixion, the traditions in it may antedate 30. Finally, we need a term to describe the followers of Jesus in Palestine who may have been known as members of "the Way." The descriptive term is "the Palestinian Jesus Movement." With these termini technici we can improve our penetration into the time and place from which Christians derive their essence. Linguistic precision goes hand in glove with perception. My premier task as a seminary New Testament professor is to assure the proper focus, perspective, and commitment. I must not be too long preoccupied with the latest discoveries, although they may prove to be my best teachers, or too absorbed by methodology, even though methods need constant refining. The ultimate responsibility is to focus colleagues and students on the primary sources, first the texts, then the nonliterary data, and ultimately on what lies beind the documents in the New Testament. The poetic vision must be sophisticated: the Christ who is worshipped must be anchored in the Jesus who was crucified. Without the former there is no commitment or community; without the latter there is mere docetism and dogmatism. I am not suggesting that we substitute a Jesusology for a christology; but I am insisting that we grasp the significance of the earliest kerygma and creeds, and affirm their theocentric christology and their this-worldly grounding in Jesus of Nazareth. The knight of faith committed to the source of life moves precariously close to a martyr's death. History is part of the essence of Christian 372
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theology; the historian and the theologian share the same endeavor. The search for the I esus of history does bring us closer to the historical reality of Jesus of Nazareth and does awaken us with crescending interrogatives. The search and the questions free us to perceive more clearly the mysterium Christi.
Notes 1 Unless otherwise noted, all translations are my own. See the proceedings in J. H. Charlesworth, The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha and the New Testament: Prolegomena for the Study of Christian Origins (SNTS Monograph Series 54; Cambridge, 1985). 2 The text and translation will appear in an appendix to H. C. Kee's book on medicine, miracle and magic; it is being published by Cambridge University Press. For a study see Charlesworth, The Discovery of a Dead Sea Scroll (4Q Therapeia) and Its Importance in the History of Medicine and Jesus Research, in press. 3 See Charlesworth, The New Testament Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha: A Guide to Publications with Excurses on Apocalypses (Metuchen, New Jersey, London, 1985). 4 Gk. paradoxos, "strange, surprising, wonderful." Josephus would have meant "surprising," an early Christian would have assumed he meant "wonderful." The Slavonic version mentions "astonishing and powerful miracles." 5 Following H. St. J. Thackeray's emendation, suggested in Josephus the Man and the Historian (New York, 1929) pp. 144-45, Christian scribes would have changed taethe, "unusual, strange," to talethe, "truth." 6 The Greek verb, epago, has a perjorative innuendo; however, as a strong Aorist Middle, it could have been interpreted "win over" (to himself). 7 As some scholars have speculated, something like "according to their opinion" preceded, and was deleted from, the confession, which obviously in its extant form in Greek, cannot be attributed to Josephus. Another suggestion is that the Greek legomenous, "so-called," may have been before christos, but was omitted intentionally (cf. G. C. Richards and R. J. H. Shutt, "Critical Notes on Josephus' Antiquities," Classical Quarterly 31 [1937]:176). 8 An adversative kai is possible ("but"). 9 Not "did not forsake him." One must add something to explain what Jesus' followers did not cease to do (cf. F. F. Bruce, "The Evidence of Josephus," in Jesus and Christian Origins Outside the New Testament (Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1974] esp. pp. 39-40); immediately prior to this passage Josephus discusses a riot (he stasis), immediately after it he discusses "another affliction" (heteron ti deinon). One must see the framework for the Testimonium Flavianum. LO Gk. thaumasios, "wonderful, admirable": hence probably not an assessment of Jesus by Josephus. 11 The last sentence could also be translated, "He was thought to be the Messiah, concerning whom the prophets have recorded wonders" (Pines, p. 71). I favor this rendering; it is supported by the Syriac recensions of the Testimonium Flavianum. 12 See my article in The Expository Times 84 (1973):147-50. t3 See an unexamined Jewish parable in the Apocryphon of Ezekiel; see the translation by J. R. Mueller and S. E. Robinson in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, edited by Charlesworth (Garden City, New York, 1982), vol. 1, pp. 492-95.
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14 Jewish references to "God's rule" are assembled and assessed in Charlesworth, "The Historical Jesus in Light of Writings Contemporaneous with Him," in Aufstieg und Niedergang der Romischen Welt, edited by H. Temporini and W. Hasse (Berlin, New York, 1982), vol. II, 25, 1, pp. 451-76. 15 See Charlesworth, "A Prolegomenon to a New Study of the Jewish Background of the Hymns and Prayers in the New Testament,'' in Essays in Honour of Yigael Yadin (JSJ 23.1-2; Oxford, 1982), pp. 265-85. Obviously, these footnotes are intended to draw attention to my publications in which I attempt to develop a position merely stated in the lecture.
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JESUS IN NON-CHRISTIAN SOURCES Craig A. Evans Source: B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds), Studying the Historical Jesus: Evaluations of the State of Current Research (New Testament Tools and Studies 19; Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 44~78.
Interest in Jesus traditions in non-Christian writings has had a curious history of waxing and waning. 1 At the height of the "Old Quest" for the historical Jesus there was much interest in these sources. Appealing to rabhinica, Slavonic Josephus, the Yosippon, and even to the Toledot Yeshu, some scholars claimed to have penetrated behind the accounts of the New Testament Gospels and to have discovered the "Jewish Jesus." These theories did not, however, win a significant or lasting following. Not surprisingly in recent years scholarly interest in these sources has diminished (in marked contrast to the sensationalist claims that have been and are currently being made in the popular media). Nevertheless, a few sources do offer some potentially helpful data that merit serious attention. Non-Christian sources in which reference is made to Jesus fall into three basic categories: (1) dubious sources, (2) sources of minimal value, and (3) important sources. The first category contains second and thirdhand traditions that reflect for the most part vague acquaintance with the Gospel story and controversies with Christians. These sources offer nothing independent. The second category represents sources that may represent partially independent traditions. Only two sources qualify for the third category.
Dubious sources Rabbinic traditions A major problem with the possible Jesuanic traditions in the rabbinic writings is that it is not always clear if Jesus (variously called Yeshua or Yeshu, with or without the further designation ha-No~ri) is in fact the person to whom reference is hcing made, especially when certain epithets are :175
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employed (e.g. Balaam, Ben Pandira, Ben Stada, etc.). For the classic treatments of the problem, one should see, among others, the works by Heinrich Laible, Gustav Dalman, Travers Herford, Joseph Klausner, and more recently Johann Maier. 2 Another serious problem in making use of these traditions is that it is likely that none of it is independent of Christian sources. 3 For example, the apparent reference to Mary, the mother of Jesus, who "played the harlot with carpenters" (b. Sanh. 106a), represents polemic that presupposes the Gospels of Matthew and Luke and subsequent Christian doctrine arising from them, not ancient and independent information relating to the circumstances of Jesus' conception and birth. The same should probably be said with reference to traditions about Jesus in Egypt (b. Sanh. 107b; b. Sota 47a), Jesus' "five disciples" (b. Sanh. 107b), Jesus practicing magic (b. Sanh. 107b; b. Sota 47a; t. Sabb. 11.15; b. Sabb. 104b), and various allusions to Jesus' teaching (b. Ber. 17a-17b, b. Sabb. 116b; b. Sanh. 103a, 107b). 4 Nevertheless, three of these elements within the rabbinic tradition have drawn some attention and should be considered briefly (a fourth will be discussed in the second part of this chapter). In a few places Jesus is described as a magician. Commenting on m. Sabb. 12:4 ("He who cuts [in order to write] upon his flesh"), the Gemara adds: "It is tradition that Rabbi Eliezer said to the Wise, 'Did not Ben Stada bring spells from Egypt in a cut which was upon his flesh?' They said to him, 'He was a fool, and they do not bring proof from a fool'" (b. Sabb. 104b; cf. t. Sabb. 11.15). The Gemara goes on to say that the Ben Stada's mother was "Miriam the hair-dresser of women." Because "hair-dresser" is megaddela, we could have an allusion to Mary of Magdala, who in the rabbinic materials seems to have been confused (perhaps deliberately) with Mary the mother of Jesus. Although this tradition originally may have had nothing to do with Jesus, 5 the notion that Jesus lived in Egypt and learned magic comes to expression elsewhere in the Talmud: "When king Jannai killed our rabbis. Rabbi Joshua ben Perahiah and Jesus fled to Alexandria of Egypt." There Jesus fell into idolatry and heresy. The tradition concludes with Rabbi Joshua asking Jesus to repent, to which Jesus replied: " 'Thus have I received from you, that every one who sins and causes the multitude to sin, they do not give the opportunity to repent.' And a teacher has said, 'Yeshu ha-No~ri [~~ 'IIZ1'] practiced magic, deceived and led Israel astray'" (b. Sanh. 107b).6 The charge that Jesus learned magic in Egypt goes back at least as far as the second century, as is evidenced in Origen's reply to Celsus (see texts and discussion below). Of course, in a certain sense it goes back to Jesus' ministry itself, where his opponents accuse him of casting out demons by the power of Satan (cf. Matt 12:22-24 = Luke 11:14-15; Mark 3:22). The origin of this calumny is not hard to imagine. Because Egypt was well known for its magic (where, we are told, "nine tenths" of the world's magic resided; cf. b. Qidd. 49b) 376
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and because the Gospel of Matthew actually tells of Jesus' visit to Egypt (cf. Matt 2:13-15, 19-21), it was only natural for unfriendly critics to suggest that Jesus' miracles were the products of magic learned while resident in Egypt. Some scholars attach a measure of importance to these traditions. It is pointed out, for instance, that the miracles of Jesus are not denied; they are presupposed.7 But the apologetic value of this observation is meager. Given the widespread practice of and belief in miracle and magic in the period in question, it is not surprising that claims that Jesus performed miracles would in themselves arouse little skepticism. The source of his miraculous powers was, however, another matter. This was the point of debate in antiquity; not whether or not Jesus performed miracles. The value of rabbinic tradition lies not so much in what it specifically relates about Yeshu ha-No~ri. but what it relates generally about various rabbis and holy men who effected miracles through their pious prayers and activities. Comparative study in this area has led to some insights.8 Those engaged in Jesus research today seem to be more open to the probability that Jesus did indeed perform certain acts whose effects many of his contemporaries viewed as miraculous. 9 The miracle stories are probably not, pace Rudolf Bultmann, late, hellenistic additions to the Jesus tradition. 10 Other traditions relate to Jesus' death. There are three among these that merit some attention: (1) "And it is tradition: On the eve of Passover [MC!l., :J,.U:J] they hanged Yeshu ha-No~ri. And the herald went forth before him for forty days, 'Yeshu ha-No~ri is to be stoned, because he has practiced magic and enticed and led Israel astray. Any one who knows anything in his favor, let him come and speak concerning him.' And they found nothing in his favor. And they hanged him on the eve of Passover. Ulla says, 'Would it be supposed that Yeshu ha-No~ri was one for whom anything in his favor might be said? Was he not a deceiver? And the Merciful has said, "Thou shalt not spare, neither shalt thou conceal him" [Deut 13:8]. But it was different with Yeshu ha-No~ri. for he was near to the kingdom [rro':lc~ :JT"'f',]"' (b. Sanh. 43a; cf. b. Sanh. 67a). (2) "Rabbi Meir used to say, 'What is the meaning of (the verse), "For he that is hanged is a curse of God?" [Deut 21:23]. (It is as) two twin brothers who looked alike. One ruled over the whole world, and the other took to robbery [~"oc•~]. After a time the one who took to robbery was caught, and they crucified [t•:J~] him on the cross [::11~]. And every one who passed to and fro said, "It seems that the king is crucified [ ::11~ -pc.,]'"" (t. Sanh. 9.7). (3) Agreeing with Rabbi Hanina's exegesis of Ps 55:23, a certain min is said to have commented: "You have answered well. I have seen the Chronicle of Balaam, in which it is written: 'Balaam the lame was thirtythree years old when Pin~as the Robber killed him'" (b. Sanh. 106b). 377
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The first two passages echo several Gospel details. With regard to the first passage, hanging Jesus "on the eve of Passover" agrees with the Gospel tradition that Jesus was executed during the Passover celebration in Jerusalem (esp. John 18:28; 19:14). Being "near to the kingdom" has been variously interpreted. It could reflect the tradition that Jesus was a descendant of David (cf. Matt 1:1; Mark 10:47-48); so in this sense it means that Jesus was a royal claimant of sorts. It could also be an allusion to Jesus' proclamation of the kingdom (cf. Mark 1:15).U The charge, "because he has practiced magic and enticed [rT'O"i1] and led Israel astray [IJ"Ti::]." echoes Deut 13:1-11: "If a prophet ... should arise among you and give you a sign or wonder ... saying, 'Let us go after other gods' ... that prophet ... shall be put to death, for he has preached rebellion against the Lord your God ... to lead you astray [11J'""!ij'7] ... If your brother ... or your dearest friend should entice ['Jt;l'Q~] you secretly, saying, 'Let us go and serve other gods' ... your eye shall not pity him ... you shall stone him to death because he attempted to lead you astray [WT.J'?]." The threat of stoning and the subsequent hanging probably reflects Deut 21:21-22 ("All of the men of his city shall stone him to death ... when a man has committed a sin worthy of death, and he is put to death, you shall hang him on a tree") and seems to be consistent with later mishnaic law, as seen in m. Sanh. 6:4 ("All who have been stoned must be hanged"). 12 In the second passage, reference to the crucified "king" probably is an allusion to the trial scene, the crucifixion, and the placard affixed to Jesus' cross (cf. Mark 15:2, 9, 12, 18, 26), while reference to the passerby probably is an allusion to the mockers (cf. Mark 15:32). 13 Goldstein doubts this interpretation, wondering why Jesus would have been associated with robbery. 14 This objection is not weighty, however. Reference to taking up "robbery" may very well allude to the idea of Jesus as a brigand: "Do you come to arrest me as a 'brigand'?" (cf. Mark 14:48; 15:27). The word translated "brigand" (A.ncr'tfl<;) appears in t. Sanh. 9.7 as the loanword M"OO''=', and probably has the same meaning as in Josephus (cf. Ant. 17.10.8 §285: "Judea was filled with brigandage [A.ncr'tflpwv) ... anyone might make himself king"). The second passage (t. Sanh. 9.7) leads me to suspect that in b. Sanh. 43a the phrase "near to the kingdom" should probably be understood as a sarcastic reference to the Davidic descent of Jesus. The third passage is problematic; it is not certain that it has anything to do with Jesus. With some hesitation Herford concluded that "Balaam the lame" refers to Jesus (who died probably in his mid-thirties), while "Pin~as the Robber" refers to the prefect Pontius Pilate. 15 It is possible that the passage came to be understood this way, but its original meaning probably lay elsewhere. 16 Finally, a brief word should be said concerning the Toledot Yeshu. This curious "book" dates from the Middle Ages, perhaps as early as the eighth 37R
JESUS IN NON-CHRISTIAN SOURCES
century. Its most common title seems to have been Sepher Toledot Yeshu ("The Book of the Generations of Jesus"). This title is taken from the opening words of Matt 1:1, which in Hebrew read: ~ rt'~'(r-~. 17 But the book appears under a variety of other titles, such as Ma'aseh Talui ("The Deeds of the Hanged One"), Ma'aseh de'oto we' et Beno ("The Deeds of That One and His Son"), and Ma'aseh Yeshu ("The Deeds of Jesus"). The Sepher Toledot Yeshu tells the story of how during the rule of King Janneus (ea. 90 B.C.E.!) Joseph Pandera seduced a virgin named Miriam who had been betrothed to another man, named Yohanan, of the line of David. Miriam gave birth to a boy whom she named Yehoshua, but who came to be called Yeshu. When he grew up, Yeshu was disrespectful toward the Jewish teachers; and after learning the meaning of the letters of the Divine Name, which enabled him to perform miracles, he began to attract a following. He claimed to have been born of a virgin, in fulfillment of Isa 7:14, and to be Israel's Messiah. Losing the power of the Divine Name and returning to the Temple in the hopes of regaining it, Yeshu was seized and on the eve of Passover was put to death. The story goes on to relate the discovery of the empty tomb, the eventual recovery of Yeshu's corpse, the missionary work of Yeshu's disciples, and the attempt to identify and drive out Jews who believe in Yeshu. The Sepher Toledot Yeshu is nothing more than a late collection of traditions, from Christian as well as from Jewish sources. Besides the obvious anachronisms, the account is full of fictions assembled for the primary purpose of anti-Christian polemic and propaganda. The work has nothing to offer serious Jesus research. 18
vrzr
Slavonic Josephus The Slavonic (or Old Russian) version of Josephus' Jewish War contains numerous passages not found in the extant Greek version. 19 Many of these passages refer to John the Baptist and Jesus of Nazareth. 20 They tell of Jesus' amazing deeds, of the jealousy of the Jewish leaders, of bribing Pilate, of hanging a tablet on the gate of the Temple proclaiming the charges against Jesus, and of various details pertaining to the resurrection and the empty tomb. Although some scholars have in the past argued for the authenticity of some of them/ 1 even for their historicity, 22 to my knowledge no one today believes that they contain anything of value for Jesus research. 23
Yosippon The Yosippon (or Josippon), like the Slavonic additions, has nothing to offer critical Jesus research. Although Robert Eisler tried to extract from this fourth- 24 (or tenth- 2') century Hebrew version of portions of Josephus' 379
LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
Jewish War and Jewish Antiquities traditions which he thought were primitive and of some historical value, no one today thinks the material that it contains sheds any light on the events of the first century. The Yosippon contains a few passages (almost universally regarded as late interpolations) that make references to Jesus (e.g., "Yeshu the crucified one"; "rise up, brother, and eat, for the Son of Man has risen from the dead"). To one of these passages (found in MS Hebr. 1280 fol. 123) Eisler attached importance:
In those days there was much party strife and great disputes in Judea between the Pharisees and the "robbers" in Israel who followed Yeshuah ben Pandera the Nasorean, who did great miracles in Israel until the Pharisees overpowered him and hanged him on a pole.26 Recognizing the hand of the censor, Eisler attempted to reconstruct the original reading. He thought that it read something like this: In those days there were wars and quarrels in Judaea between the Pharisees and the "robbers of our nation" who strayed after Jesus, son of Joseph. And there went out some of those robbers and wandered in the wilderness where there is no way, and made unto themselves signs and miracles through their sorceries. And there came some of the sons of the city of Edom, robbers (too), and they (all) went into the hiding-places of Edom and seduced many (saying): "In the days ... Jesus came to .. :m This passage, however, appears to be no more than a restatement of the legendary materials found scattered in the rabbinic writings. A similar tradition is credited to Hierocles (early fourth century), who, according to Lactantius, "maintained that Christus himself, after he had been put to flight by the Jews, collected a gang of nine hundred men and committed robberies [latrocinia ]" (Institutiones Divinae 5.3.4). 28 These traditions (or allegations) cannot be traced back to early sources. The passage in the Yosippon offers us no certain information, but has been subjected to a long history of censorship and redaction, with the result that reconstruction of the original is at best tenuous.
Qur'an and Islamic tradition Jesus and various New Testament personalities are referred to frequently in the Qur'an and elsewhere in Islamic literature. Jesus is called !sa ibn Maryam ("Jesus son of Mary"). In the Qur'an the births of Mary (3.35-36) and Jesus (3.42-49; cf. Luke 1:28-42) are described in miraculous terms. 380
JESUS IN NON-CHRISTIAN SOURCES
The Qur'an also offers a version of the feeding of the five thousand (5.112-115; cf. John 6:31-65) and of Jesus' ascent to heaven (4.155-158; cf. Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 1.24.4). The Qur'an, moreover, emphatically denies the divinity of Jesus and of Mary (4.171; 5.71, 75, 116). All of the Qur'anic traditions are dependent on the New Testament and/or Christian teachings (or in the example paralleled in Irenaeus, on Christian heresy). Much of it reflects Islamic ideas. Some of it may reflect aspects of Jewish-Christian polemic. None derives from early, independent sources.Z9
Sources of minimal value There are some sources that are of minimal value for life of Jesus research. These sources come from authors who are acquainted with Christianity, but whose knowledge of the new religion may not be limited to Christian sources. 30
Thallus In reference to the darkness at the time of Jesus' crucifixion (cf. Mark 15:33; Luke 23:44-45), Julius Africanus (c. 160-c. 240) refers to the opinion of one Thallus:
to
tOUtO mc6t~ EKA£tljftV tOU i]Aiou eaAA~ Cx1tOK<XA£l EV tpt'tTJ trov iatoptrov, ~ f.~ol. ooK£l aA6y~.
In the third book of his History Thallus calls this darkness, without reason in my opinion, an eclipse of the sun.31 There is uncertainty as to the identity of this Thallus. He has been identified as the wealthy Samaritan of Tiberias described in Josephus (cf. Ant. 18.6.4 §167). But the questionable identification is in part based on emending aAA~ to read ecXAA~. The text would then read: Kal. yap ~v ecXAAO<; l:a~apei>c; y£v~ ("for there also was Thallus of Samaritan extraction"). 32 According to Eusebius, this man wrote a chronicle of human history from the fall of Troy down to the first century c.E. 33 The question of identity aside, the value of this fragment is slight. At best all that it shows is that someone in the first century had learned of the tradition of the darkness at the time of Jesus' crucifixion and then attempted to explain it in natural terms. If Thallus wrote in the middle of the first century, as is thought by some,34 then we do have an early witness outside of Christian circles to this crucifixion tradition. But it does not prove that there really was darkness-however it is to be explainedduring the time of Jesus' crucifixion.
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LIVES OF JESUS AND JESUS OUTSIDE THE BIBLE
Mara bar Serapion
Years after Rome conquered Comagena and its capital Samosata in 72 C.E., one Mara bar Serapion, while in prison, wrote a letter to his son Serapion, as the greeting makes clear: "Mara, son of Serapion, to Serapion my son, greeting. "J5 William Curet on dates the letter toward the end of the first century. 36 Playing the sage, the father fires a series of rhetorical questions at his son, all of them designed to illustrate the folly of persecuting wise men: For what advantage did the Athenians gain by the murder of Socrates, the recompense of which they received in famine and pestilence? Or the people of Samos by the burning of Pythagoras, because in one hour their country was entirely covered in sand? Or the Jews by the death of their wise king, because from that same time their kingdom was taken away? God justly avenged these three wise men: the Athenians died of hunger, the Samians were overwhelmed by the sea; the Jews, ruined and driven from their land, live in complete dispersion. But Socrates did not die for good; he lived on in the the teaching of Plato. Pythagoras did not die for good; he lived on in the statue of Hera. Nor did the wise king die for good; he lived on in the teaching which he had given.J 7 The value of this curious comment lies in the apparent fact that by the end of the first century Jesus was regarded in at least some non-Christian circles as the Jews' "wise king." Mara bar Serapion's comparisons are quite interesting, for he has placed Jesus on the same footing as Socrates and Pythagoras. To what extent, if any at all, Bar Serapion's knowledge of Jesus was informed by Christians, whether directly or indirectly, is impossible to ascertain. At first reading, one could suppose that blaming the Jews for Jesus' execution points to Christian influence.J8 But this is not necessarily so, for according to Josephus Jewish men of rank handed Jesus over to Pilate (Ant. 18.3.3 §63-64). In the other two .examples Mara bar Serapion describes the actions of the men of a given city: the men of Athens who put to death Socrates and the men of Samos who put to death Pythagoras. Both cities subsequently suffered. To fit the parallel, it is necessary to single out the inhabitants of the city itself ("the Jews"), rather than the city's imperial masters (the Romans). Bar Serapion's illustration does not, therefore, necessarily reflect Christianity's tendency to blame the Jewish people for Jesus' death. Regarding Jesus as the Jews' "wise king," instead of the world's savior or God's Son, suggests that bar Serapion's impressions were probably formed more by non-Christian sources than by Christian. Indeed, both elements, "wise" and "king," cohere with the two best attested non-Christian 3R2
JESUS IN NON-CHRISTIAN SOURCES
witnesses: Josephus, who calls Jesus a crolj>~ avilp (Ant. 18.3.3 §63; cf. also Lucian, Peregrinus §13, who calls Jesus a croqncrn)~) and the Romans, who call Jesus 6 ~a.crtA.eu~ -rrov 'Iou8a.irov (as apparently the titulus over Jesus' cross read; cf. Mark 15:26 par). Admittedly, the latter witness is found in Christian sources, but there is no evidence that "king of the Jews" ever served as a Christian title for Jesus. It is probable that the wording of the titulus is genuinely Roman.w Further proof that Bar Serapion was not himself a Christian is seen in his statement that Jesus lives on in his teaching, rather than living on because of his resurrection.
Suetonius In his fifth volume of De Vita Caesarum (c. 120) the Roman historian Suetonius refers to the expulsion of the Jews from Rome in 49 c.E. during the reign of Claudius (Divus Claudius 25.4; cf. Acts 18:2). The text is of some value because of its reference to one "Chrestus": Iudaeos impu/sore Chrestos assidue tumultuantis Roma expulit.
(Claudius) expelled the Jews from Rome who, instigated by Chrestus, continuously caused unrest. This passage presents interpreters with two difficulties. 40 The first has to do with what is meant by the "Jews." The "Jews" may really refer to Christians, who in the first century were viewed as no more than a sect within Judaism itself; or the designation may refer to Jews who quarreled with Christians (along the lines of what we find in Acts). Of the two, the latter interpretation is the more probable. 41 The second difficulty concerns the name, or title, "Chrestus." It refers either to Jesus or it refers to some unknown "Chrestus" who stirred up trouble in the Roman Jewish community during the reign of Claudius. In this instance probability favors the former. The name "Chrestus" is either an error arising from confusing the common slave-name Chrestus with the title Christus, a title with which most Romans would probably not be familiar, or it is not an error at all, but a variant spelling. Tertullian comments that Christianus is sometimes mispronounced Chrestianus (Apologeticum 3.5; cf. Justin, Apologia I 4; Lactantius, Institutiones Divinae 4.7). The variation in spelling was common enough and is even documented in the best of the New Testament manuscripts (cf. Acts 11:26; 26:28: 1 Pet 4:16, where Codex Breads Xptcrna.v6~, while Codex"' reads Xp11crna.v~). Suetonius' statement presents a more serious problem in that he appears to think that "Chrestus" was himself in Rome agitating the Jews. 42 This is not in itself compelling evidence that the passage is about some otherwise unknown agitator;4J it suggests no more than that Suetonius' knowledge of Christianity was vague and imperfect. 3R3
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Pliny the Younger
Pliny the Younger, who in 110 was the governor of Bithynia, wrote to Emperor Trajan for advice in how to deal with Christians. 44 The passage that is of interest is found in his Epistles Book 10, Letter 96: Adfirmabant autem hanc fuisse summan vel culpae suae vel erroris, quod essent soliti stato die anto lucem convenire carmenque Christo quasi deo dicere secum invicem seque sacramenta non in see/us aliquod obstringere, sed ne furta, no latrocinia, ne adulteria committerent, ne fidem fallerent, ne depositum appellati abnegarent. Qui bus peractis morem sibi discedendi fuisse rursusque coeundi ad capiendum cibum, promiscuum tamen et innoxium.
They [the Christians) assured me that the sum total of their error consisted in the fact that they regularly assembled on a certain day before daybreak. They recited a hymn antiphonally to Christus as to a god and bound themselves with an oath not to commit any crime, but to abstain from theft, robbery, adultery, breach of faith, and embezzlement of property entrusted to them. After this it was their custom to separate, and then to come together again to partake of a meal, but an ordinary and innocent one. The passage tells us nothing that cannot be learned from the New Testament writings themselves. The "certain day before daybreak" is probably Sunday, in commemoration of the resurrection of Jesus. The Christian tradition of assembling on that day is quite early (cf. Acts 20:7; 1 Cor 16:2; Did. 14:1). Singing and partaking of a meal probably had to do with celebrating the eucharist (cf. Mark 14:26; 1 Cor. 11:23-26), while taking oaths not to commit various crimes is a general reflection of the ethical laws of the Old Testament, which find endorsement in dominical tradition and apostolic teaching (cf. Matt 5:27-28; Mark 10:19; Rom 13:8-10; 1 Cor 6:7-8). Singing "to Christus as to a god" could suggest that the more highly divinized christology that is expressed, for example, in the Fourth Gospel, had become fairly widespread by the first decade of the second century. None of these features, of course, add to our knowledge of the Jesus of history. Hostile witnesses also offer a modicum of information that is worth brief consideration. The two most important of these are Celsus and Lucian of Samosata. While we have the writings of the latter, for the former we have only the description of an opponent.
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Celsus One of second-century Christianity's severest critics was Celsus, whose treatise, 'AA.TJ91)~ Aoycx;, ("The True Doctrine"), survives only in the quotations found in Origen's spirited third-century rebuttal, Contra Celsum. Among other things, Celsus had charged that Jesus was a sorcerer who deceived people with magic (cf. Contra Celsum 1.6, 38, 46, 68, 71; 2.9, 14, 16; 3.1; 5.51; 6.42). The following samples (1.6, 38) should be sufficient by way of illustration: JCa:tT)yopet o' i:.v
tot~ e~fj~
Kat tou
I:rotfjp~, ~
yoT)teic;x ouvT)9£vtcx;,
EyVOOICO't£~
1tOt£tV
a eoo~e 1tapao~a 1t£1tOtT)ICEVUt, ICUt 1tpOt00V'tO<;,, O'tt IJ.EAAOUat ICUt cXAAOt
'tcl
auta
1J.U9tl1J.U'ta
'tO
auto,
ae11 vuvv61J.tvot 'tQl 9eou ouvaiJ.Et 1tot£lv· ouan va~ a1teA.auvet tfj~
eautou 1tOAtteia~ o 'IT)ao~. (PG 11.665, 668)
I)ITJal yap "autov aJC6nov, tpal)levta, IJ.ta9apvflaavta ei~ At yu1ttov, ouvaiJ.Erov nvrov 1tetpa9£vta, EIC£t9ev i:.1taveA.eeiv, 9eov Ot 'tJCei.va~ 'tcl~ OUVCtiJ.Et~ EUU'tOV avayopeuovta." (PG 11.733) Next he makes the charge of the savior that it was by magic that he was able to do the miracles which he appeared to have done, and foreseeing that others also, having learned the same lessons and being haughty to act with the power of God, are about to do the same thing, such persons Jesus would drive away from his own society. For he says, "He was brought up in secret and hired himself out as a workman in Egypt, and having tried his hand at certain magical powers he returned from there, and on account of those powers gave himself the title of God." The criticisms of Celsus cohere with those that will appear in later rabbinic sources, although this Jewish criticism also has second-century roots, as seen in Justin Martyr's Dialogue with Trypho: "But though they saw such works, they asserted it that it was magical art. For they dared to call him a magician and deceiver of the people [IJ.ay~ Kat A.ao1tA.av~)" (69.7). Justin is probably alluding to the Synoptic tradition, which has already been noted, in which Jesus is accused of casting out demons by the power of Satan. But his choice of words ("magic," "magical powers," and ''deceiver of the people") suggests that what he has heard is second and third-century criticism, not the criticism originally leveled against Jesus. 45 Charges that Jesus was a magician were commonplace. In addition to the numerous passages in Contra Celsum and in the rabbinic writings, there are references in Justin Martyr, Apologia I 30; Tertullian, Apologeticum 23.12; Lactantius, lnstitutiones Divinae 5.3.19; and Acta Pioni 10.13.8.
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Celsus offers another criticism that could be of more value. According to Contra Celsum 2.6 he claims that Jesus was an observant Jew: Kal. mxv-ra -ra Kata 'Iouoaiou~ £9TJ llEXPt Kal. -r&v 1tap' au-rot~ 9uatrov 1tE1tOtT)KEVat 'tOV 'IT)O'OUV.
Jesus kept all the Jewish customs, and even took part in their sacrifices.
The value of this statement lies in the fact that it stands somewhat in tension with the patristic denigration of J udaism. Do we have here corroboration of Synoptic traditions that suggest that Jesus held to a high view of Jewish law and customs? One thinks of Matt 5:19-20, 23-24 and portions of Matt 6:1-18. According to the Fourth Gospel, Jesus made several trips to Jerusalem in order to observe important holy days (cf. John 4:45; 5:1; 6:4; 7:2, 10; 12:12). Of course, Celsus may be referring to nothing more than the Gospel traditions themselves, but the possibility that he may have been acquainted with parallel traditions remains open.
Lucian of Samosata Another source of limited value is provided by Lucian of Samosata (c. l15-c. 200), who in his Passing of Peregrinus §11 and §13 describes the life and death of one Peregrinus, a religious-philosophical dabbler who for a time apparently was a Christian. The chief value of Lucian's comments lies in the passing reference to the crucifixion of Jesus: "0tE1tEp Kat ri)v 9aullacr-rl)v crolj)iav -r&v Xptcrnav&v e~Ejla9Ev, 1tEpl. 'tftV flaA.atO''tlVT)V 'tOt~ tEpEUO'lV Kat ypajljla'tEOOlV aU'tOOV ~unEv~Ev~. Kat. ri yap; ev ~paJCEt 1rat:oa~ au-rou~ ix1t£1j)TJVE, 1tpolj)i]'tT)~ Kat 9tacrapxTJ~ Kat ~uvayroyEu~ Kat 1tav-ra jlOV~ auto~ rov, Kat 'tOOV ~i~A.rov 'tCx~ jlEV E~TJYEt'tO Kat OlEO'alj)Et, 1tOAACx~ o£ auto~ Kat O'UVE ypalj)EV, Kat ~ 9EOV au-rov EJCEtVOl TIOOUV'tO Kat vo 11 oet-rn exprov-ro Kal. 1tpoo-ra-rT)v £1tqpaq,ov-ro, llEtCx. youv eKEtvov DV E'tl O'E~OUO'l, 'tO V iiv9pro1tOV 'tO V EV -rn flaA.atO''tl vn avaO'KOA01tt0'9EV'ta, O'ttY.atvl)v 'taU'tT)V 'tEAE'tftV ElO'llrEV £~ 'tOV ~iov. 1tE1tEiKacrt yap auto~ oi KaJCooaijlOVE~ [i.e., oi Xpwcrnavoi] -ro jlEV OAOV a9ava'tOl EO'E0'9at Kat ~lcOO'E0'9at 'tOV a£1. xp6vov, 1tap' 0 Kat Katalj)povoum V 'tOU 9ava'tOU Kat EJCOV'tE~ au-rou~ E1tlOt06acrt V oi 1tOAAOi. E1tEt'ta o£ 6 VOjl09E'tT)~ 0 1tpro-ro~ E1tEtO'EV au-rou~ ro~ aOEAij)ol. 1t(XV'tE~ EiEV aA.Ai]A.rov, E1tEt0CxV a1ta~ 1tapa~aV't£~ 9EOU~ jlEv 'tOU~ 'EAAT)VllCOU~ a1tapvi]crrov-rat, 'tOV o£ CxVEO'JCOA01tlO'jlEVOV EJCEtVOV crolj)tcrri}v au-rov 1tpooKuv&crtv Kat Ka-ra -rou~ EKE I. vou v611ou~ ~trocrtV. Ka-ralj)povoootv ouv a1tav-rrov £~ tcr~ Kat Kotva i!youv-rat, iiVEU 'tlV~ CxKpt~O~ 1tlO''t£(l)~ 'tCx 'tOtaU'ta 1tapaOE~UjlEVOt.
386
JESUS IN NON-CHRISTIAN SOURCES
It was then that he learned the marvelous wisdom of the Christians, by associating with their priests and scribes in Palestine. And-what else?-in short order he made them look like children; for he was a prophet, cult leader, head of the congregation, and everything, all by himself. He interpreted and explained some of their books, and wrote many himself. They revered him as a god, used him as a lawgiver, and set him down as a protector-to be sure, after that other whom they still worship, the man who was crucified in Palestine because he introduced this new cult into the world. For having convinced themselves that they are going to be immortal and live forever, the poor wretches despise death and most even willingly give themselves up. Furthermore, their first lawgiver persuaded them that they are all brothers of one another after they have transgressed once for all by denying the Greek gods and by worshipping that crucified sophist himself and living according to his laws. Therefore they despise all things equally and regard them common, without certain evidence accepting such things.
Lucian's mockery alludes to many Christian ideas. The reference to "immortal and live forever" not only reflects Christian (and Jewish) belief in the resurrection, but in this context may presuppose the Christian proclamation of the resurrection of Jesus. Christians worship Jesus and live "according to his laws." These laws are written in "their books." Evidently Lucian is speaking of some of the writings of the New Testament, perhaps of the Gospels themselves. More importantly, Lucian knows that the founder of this "cult" was "crucified in Palestine." His use of the word lx.va.mcoA.o1ti~EtV ("to impale") in reference to Jesus' crucifixion, instead of the common New Testament word, cr-ra.upouv, suggests that Lucian's knowledge of Jesus, "the man crucified in Palestine," may not be limited to Christian sources. Nevertheless, Lucian's references add nothing new or more primitive to what we know of Jesus from earlier and more reliable sources.
Rabbinic tradition One of the rabbinic traditions that relate to Jesus' teaching is worth brief consideration. Following his arrest for "heresy" (minuth), Rabbi Eliezer conversed with Rabbi Aqiba: R. Aqiba said to him, "Permit me to tell you one thing of what you have taught me." (Eliezer) agreed. He said, "Perhaps heresy came upon you and it pleased you and therefore you were
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arrested [Tosefta reads: Perhaps one of the heretics (i.e., Christians) said a word of heresy to you and it pleased you)." He answered, "Aqiba, you have reminded me! Once I was walking along the upper market of Sepphoris and found a man, one of the disciples of Yeshu ha-No~ri whose name was Jacob of Kefar Sekania. He said to me, 'It is written in your Law, "Thou shalt not bring the wages of a harlot, (or the wages of a dog, into the house of the Lord your God in payment for any vow)" [Deut 23:18). What may be done with it? (May) a latrine for the High Priest (be built with it)?' But I said nothing to him. He said to me, 'Thus has Yeshu ha-No~ri [Tosefta reads: Yeshu ben Pantiri) taught me, "For of the wages of a harlot has she gathered them, and to the wages of a harlot shall they return" [Mic 1:7). From the place of filth they come, and to the place of filth they shall go.' And the saying pleased me, and because of this I was arrested for heresy. I transgressed what is written in the Law: "Keep thy way far from her"-this is heresy-"and do not come near the door of her house" [Prov 5:8]-this is the (Roman) government." This passage is found in b. 'Abod. Zar. 16b-17a, with a shorter and somewhat different version in t. /full. 2.24 (cf. Eccl. Rab. 1:8 §3; Yal. Sim. on Mic 1:7 and Prov 5:8). Klausner attached importance to this tradition, arguing, contrary to Laible and Herford, 46 that Eliezer's exchange may actually have been with one of Jesus' original disciples, indeed with "James the Lord's brother," who was put to death by Ananus (cf. Josephus, Ant. 20.9.1 §197-203).47 Klausner speculated that this saying attributed to Jesus, which coheres with early tradition of James' devotion to the Temple and to Jesus' concern with purity (Mark 11:15-17),48 may be authentic and is probably related to his sayings about what defiles (cf. Matt 15:17; Mark 7:18-19). Even if this were true (and there are those who dispute it49 ), little is actually gained by way of new information about the teaching of Jesus. 5° Important sources There are two important non-Christian sources for the historical Jesus. The first is provided by the Jewish historian Josephus; the second is provided by the Roman official and historian Tacitus. The latter will be treated first and briefly; much more attention will be accorded the former. Tacitus
Cornelius Tacitus (c. 56-c. 118) was proconsul of Asia (112-113), friend of Pliny the Younger, and author of Annals and the Histories. Only portions 388
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of these works are extant. In Annals 15.44 he provides a passing reference to Jesus that is of some limited importance: Ergo abolendo rumori Nero subdidit reos et quaesitissimis poenis adfecit, quos per flagita 51 invisos vulgus Christianos appe/labat. Auctor nominis eius Christus Tiberio imperitante per procuratorem Pontium Pilatum supplicio adfectus erat,· repressaque in praesens exitiabilis superstitio rursam erumpebat, non modo per Iudaeam, originem eius mali, sed per urbem etiam, quo cuncta undique atrocia aut pudenda confluunt celebranturque.
Therefore, to squelch the rumor [that the burning of Rome had taken place by order], Nero supplied (as culprits) and punished in the most extraordinary fashion those hated for their vice, whom the crowd called "Christians." Christus, the author of their name, had suffered the death penalty during the reign of Tiberius, by sentence of the procurator Pontius Pilate. The pernicious superstition was checked for a time, only to break out once more, not merely in Judea, the origin of the evil, but in the capital itself, where all things horrible and shameful collect and are practiced. John Meier rightly remarks that the "passage is obviously genuine. Not only is it witnessed in all the manuscripts of the Annals, the very antiChristian tone of the text makes Christian origin almost impossible." 52 The hostility toward Christians in general and the failure to mention the resurrection of Jesus are strong arguments for the authenticity of the passage, as well as for its independence. 53 The reference to Pilate as "procurator" is, strictly speaking, an anachronism. Prior to Agrippa (who ruled Judea from 41 to 44), the Roman governors held the rank of "prefect." The "Pilate stone" found at Caesarea Maritima in 1961 provides physical evidence: 54 [CAESARIEN]S TIBERIEVM The Tiberieum [of the Caesareans] [ PON]TIVS PILA TVS Pontius Pilate, [ PRAEF]ECTVS IVDA [EA]E Prefect of Judea [ D]E[DIT ] [... dedicates ... ] Apparently Tacitus has made use of the title (i.e. procurator) that was more common in the time of his writing, rather than the earlier and historically correct title (i.e. praefectus). This "error" should not be taken as evidence that Tacitus' information is faulty. A similar looseness in terminology is seen in other authors. 55 The importance of the text lies in its corroboration of the Gospels' claim that Jesus died under the authority of Pontius Pilate and was the founder of the movement that had come to be called after his name. 3R9
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Josephus The most important non-Christian source for the historical Jesus is found in Josephus' Jewish Antiquities, penned sometime in the final decade of the first century. Jesus is mentioned in two passages. The first is the socalled Testimonium Flavianum. According to this controversial and disputed text Josephus describes Jesus in the following terms (Ant. 18.3.3 §63--64): rivEtat OE Katc'x 'tOU'tOV tov xpovov 'IT)CJOU~ aocllo~ avftp, dyE livopa autov A.eyetv XPTt. T\v yc'xp 1tapa06~rov epyrov 1tOtTJ't~, OtoaaKaA.~ av9pc01t(l)V t&v i]oovfi 'tcXATJ9fi OEXOIJ.EV(l)V, Kal. 1t0AAOU~ IJ.EV 'louoaiou~. 1t0AA0~ o£ Kat 'tOU 'EAAT)VtKOU E1tT)'Ya'YE'to· 6 XPtCJ'tO~ OU'tO~ T\v. Kat autov evoEi~Et t&v 1tprotrov avop&v 1tap' TJIJ.lV CJtaup
At this time there appeared Jesus, a wise man, if indeed one ought to call him a man. For he was a doer of amazing deeds, a teacher of persons who receive truth with pleasure. He won over many Jews and many of the Greeks. He was the Messiah. And when Pilate condemned him to the cross, the leading men among us having accused him, those who loved him from the first did not cease to do so. For he appeared to them the third day alive again, the divine prophets having spoken these things and a myriad of other marvels concerning him. And to the present the tribe of Christians, named after this person, has not disappeared. This passage has aroused a great deal of interest among scholars. Some have maintained that the passage is wholly authentic; 57 o.thers think that it is wholly spurious. 58 Most today regard the passage as authentic but edited. 59 Meier has argued, and I think plausibly, that the three italicized portions represent Christian interpolations. They are the only parts of the Testimonium that affirm Jesus from a Christian point of view. Their deletion, moreover, does not interrupt the flow of the passage. Meier's reconstruction may receive a measure of corroboration from the Arabic version, preserved in Agapius, Book of the Title: Similarly Josephus the Hebrew. For he says in the treatises that he has written on the governance [?]of the Jews: "At this time there was a wise man who was called Jesus. And his conduct was good,
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and [he] was known to be virtuous. And many people from among the Jews and the other nations became his disciples. Pilate condemned him to be crucified and to die. And those who had become his disciples did not abandon his discipleship. They reported that he had appeared to them three days after his crucifixion and that he was alive; accordingly he was perhaps the Messiah concerning whom the prophets have recounted wonders. "60 The first part of the Arabic version of the Testimonium lacks the three Christian interpolations identified in the Greek version above. The second and third interpolations are combined and appear at the end of the Arabic version, which suggests that they were not part of the original form of the Testimonium. The Arabic version, then, may witness an early form of the tradition, which only later, under the influence of the Christianized Greek version, was embellished-but at different points in the Testimonium. 61 Further support for the authenticity of the Testimonium is found in an analysis of its vocabulary and style. Years ago Thackeray observed: "The evidence of language, which, on the one hand, bears marks of the author's style, and on the other is not such as a Christian would have used, appears to me decisive." 62 Meier's recent study leads to the same conclusion. 63 Finally, Meier makes a very good point when he notes that the Testimonium does not exaggerate the part that the Jewish leaders played in Jesus' death. On the basis of the Gospels alone an early Christian interpolator would have in all probability portrayed the Jewish leaders as villains. If the passage were a later interpolation, say from the fourth century, then it would be hard to understand why it does not reflect the antipathy that many Christians felt toward the Jewish people. The Testimonium reads the way we should expect it to, if it were authored by a Jew before the emergence of Jewish-Christian animosities. 64 The principal support for the authenticity of the Testimonium lies in the second passage which refers to Jesus, albeit only incidently. The reference is found in Ant. 20.9.1 §200-201: Ka9i1;£t ouv£Spwv Kpt't&v Kai. 7tapayaycbv Eic; !XU'tO 'tOV aSeA.q,ov 'I llO'OU 'tou A.eyoJ.Levou Xpto'tou, 'IaKro!k>c; ovoJ.La au'tQ'>, Kai 'tt vac; E'tepouc;, ~ 7tapavOJ.lllO'av'trov KIX'tll'Yopiav 7tOtll0'6.J.lEVoc; 7tap£SroK£ AEU0'9'!10'0J.lEvOUc;. OOOt S£ £S6KOUV E7tlEtKEO''t!X't0t 'tcOV K!X'tCx 'tTJV 7t6A.tv Etvat Kat 7tEpl. 'tOi>c; V6J.Louc; aKp$Etc; fkxp£~ ijvqKav E7tl 'tOU'ttp x:at 7tEJ.l7tOUO't V 7tpQc; 'tO V fklotA.ea Kp\xjla 7tapaKaAOUV'tEc; au'tov £7ttO''tEtA.at 'tQ> 'A vavcp J.lllKE'tt 'totau'ta xpaooEt v. 65
He (Ananus) convened the council of judges and brought before it the brother of Jesus-the one called "Christ"-whose name was James, and certain others. Accusing them of transgressing the law 391
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he delivered them up for stoning. But those of the city considered to be the most fair-minded and strict concerning the laws were offended at this and sent to the king secretly urging him to order Ananus to take such actions no longer. There are no compelling reasons for rejecting this passage as inauthentic. There is nothing Christian, or positive, in the reference to James and Jesus. The whole point seems to be to explain why Ananus was deposed as High Priest. Furthermore, the designation, "brother of Jesus," contrasts with Christian practice of referring to James as the "brother of the Lord" (cf. Gal 1:19; Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. 2.23.4). It is not surprising, therefore, that, in the words of Louis Feldman, "few have doubted the genuineness of this passage on J ames. "66 The authenticity of the second, shorter passage lends support to the authenticity of the earlier passageY The reference to "Jesus the one called 'Christ' " ('llloou tou A.qoJ.Ltvou Xptotou) clearly implies a prior reference. In all probability the Testimonium is that prior reference. 68 Some scholars have argued that the Testimonium originally was sharply critical of Jesus. According to Thackeray: "we are left with the relics of what was once a fuller and more antagonistic paragraph. "69 Ernst Bammel concurs, believing that the Testimonium as a whole was negative in its portrait of Jesus. 70 Others have concluded similarly.71 Common to all of these opinions is the conclusion that it is necessary to emend the text, beyond the deletion of the sentences, such as the three identified by Meier. But these emendations may not be necessary, for the text as it reads is negative. For example, Meier translates btmayEto "he gained a following among", but G. N. Stanton rightly notes that the figurative meaning of this verb is to "bring something upon someone, mostly something bad.'m Whereas in Josephus the active form of the verb usually has a neutral meaning, the middle form often carries with it a negative connotation. For example, the Romans wish to secure the fortress of Machaerus, "lest its strength should induce [bt<xyay11tat] many to revolt" (J. W. 7.6.1 §164). Another example is seen in the description of the rivalry between Herod Antipas and Archelaus. According to Josephus, Antipas had "won over [E1tlrfEto] his mother and Ptolemy ... " (J. W. 2.2.3 §21). But the overall context of this comment is not positive. What Josephus is describing is a bitter contest between two brothers, neither of whom the people respect or wish to have as their new king (§20-22). To "win over" support or "gain a following" in this context is not neutral.7 3 Perhaps the best example concerns the false Alexander, who claimed to be Herod's son (Ant. 17.12.1 §327): (Alexander) was himself carried away by these tales and did not fail to deceive anyone he encountered, and when he landed in 392
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Crete he won the confidence [£mnayEto Eic; 1tt<1ttv] of all the Jews with whom he came into contact. 74 Josephus admits that Alexander the pretender was also successful in "winning over" people to his cause, but the language is hardly neutral. The same probably holds in the case of the Testimonium. Although Josephus offers no overt criticism of Jesus, he probably understood him as yet one more teacher and leader who attracted a following only to be destroyed by the Romans. This nuance coheres with Josephus' pejorative descriptions of Israel's other would-be deliverers, whom he regularly refers to as impostors, tyrants, and false prophets (e.g., J. W. 2.13.4 §259; Ant. 17.10.8 §285; 18.4.1 §85-87; 20.5.1 §97-98; 20.8.6 §169-170; 20.8.10 §188). But Josephus stopped short of referring to Jesus as a "false prophet" or "impostor," probably because the latter's actions had not resulted in a major disturbance and heavy loss of life. Several important inferences may be drawn from the two Josephan passages. The first has to do with Jesus' fate in Jerusalem. The sequence of events in Josephus roughly corresponds to what we find in the Gospels and Acts: Jesus is a wonder-worker and teacher who attracted a large following. The Jewish "first men" bring to Pilate charges against Jesus. The Roman governor condemns Jesus to the cross. But despite his death, the "tribe of Christians," named after Jesus (thus implying awareness that Jesus was called "Christ"), remains loyal to Jesus and his brother James, apparently a leader of the Palestinian Church, is martyred some years later. The bare outline that Josephus provides takes on added significance when it is observed that a few scholars recently have called into question the Gospels' presentation of Jesus' death as a result of his public teaching. Burton Mack has argued that the factors that led to Jesus' death are unclear and that the Marcan evangelist's linkage of Jesus' public teachings and wonders to the story of his death is narrative fiction, not history. 75 David Seeley agrees, asserting that "Mark concocted the Jewish conspiracy against Jesus for his own, redactional reasons." 76 There are many problems with Mack's and Seeley's view, most of which need not detain us here. 77 Quite apart from the obvious difficulty in the observation that a similar, yet independent, linkage occurs in the Fourth Gospel,78 we find the same linkage in J osephus. According to Josephus, Jesus was accused by "the first men among us" (t&v 1tprotrov avop&v 1tap' il~iv ). Who are these "first men among us"? The most probable candidates are Jerusalem's ruling priests and associates. First-century usage supports this suggestion. The author of Luke-Acts refers to Israel's leaders as the "first of the people": "And he was teaching daily in the Temple. The chief priests and the scribes and the principal men of the people foi 7tp(i)'tot tou A.aou] were seeking to destroy him" 393
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(Luke 19:47). Luke links these "first" ones with "the ruling priests and the scribes." Two additional examples in Acts should be cited: "And the chief priests and the principal men of the Jews [oi 7tprotot trov 'louSai.rov] informed him (i.e., Governor Festus) against Paul" (Acts 25:2); "After three days (Paul) called together the principal men of the Jews [tou~ ovta<; trov 'louSai.rov 7tprotou~]" (Acts 28:17). Examples from Josephus are instructive: "There came to (Ezra) certain men who accused some of the common people as well as Levites and priests of having violated the constitution and broken the laws of the country ... No sooner did he hear this than he rent his clothes for grief . . . because the first men among the people [tou~ xpmtou~ tou A.aou] were guilty of this charge" (Ant. 11.5.3 §140-141). Here, the "first men" are synonymous with the Levites and priests. In a text closer to the one that concerns us, Josephus describes Vitellius' movement against Aretas: "Since he had started to lead his army through the land of Judea, the Jews of the highest standing [avSpE~ oi 7tprotot] went to meet him and entreated him not to march through their land. For, they said, it was contrary to their tradition to allow images ... to be brought upon their soil" (Ant. 18.5.3 §121 ). These "first men" who are concerned that Roman icons not be allowed to pass through Judea were in all probability religious leaders. Vitellius accommodated their wishes. Accordingly, the "first men" of the Testimonium Flavianum should be understood as ruling priests and their associates. 79 If this is correct, then we have in Josephus an important point of agreement with the New Testament Gospels, which tell us that the ruling priests had Jesus arrested and handed over to Pilate. The second, shorter passage from Josephus also assumes the Jewish character of the early Christian movement. (Remember that Lucian had mentioned Christian "priests and scribes in Palestine.") In this passage we have persons, who observe the law strictly, but who do not approve of the High Priest's action in having James executed. Was the High Priest's action part of the acrimony carried over from Jesus' earlier criticisms of the ruling priests? Was early Christianity perceived as a movement rivaling the religious authority of the priestly establishment of Jerusalem? These questions cannot be answered definitively, but the second passage does offer a measure of additional support to the Gospels' portrayal of Jesus criticising the priestly establishment and then being handed over by it to the Roman governor. Together the two Josephan passages appear to corroborate the Gospels. Thus, Seeley's assertion that "Mark concocted the Jewish conspiracy against Jesus" appears to be without foundation. Finally, one wonders from what source Josephus gathered his information concerning Jesus and James. Since Josephus says nothing about Jesus' resurrection, Meier has concluded, rightly in my judgment, that Josephus probably did not learn of Jesus and James from Christian sources. 80 Because what he relates has to do with the execution of both, it is possible 394
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that his sources were official records. Feldman entertains this possibility, but it can be no more than a conjecture. 81 In any case, the source of the Testimonium was in all probability not a Christian one. There are two other passages in Josephus that have value for Jesus research, even though Jesus himself is not mentioned. The first passage concerns John the Baptist (Ant. 18.5.2 §116-119; 18.5.4 §136) and to some extent parallels the New Testament account: But to some of the Jews the destruction of Herod's army seemed to be divine vengeance, and certainly a just vengeance, for his treatment of John, surnamed the Baptist ('Icoo.vvou tou emJCaA.ou~EvOU ~1t'ttO"tou). For Herod had put him to death, though he was a good man and had exhorted the Jews to lead righteous lives, to practise justice towards their fellows and piety towards God, and so doing to join in baptism. In his view this was a necessary preliminary if baptism was to be acceptable to God. They must not employ it to gain pardon for whatever sins they committed, but as a consecration of the body implying that the soul was already thoroughly cleansed by right behaviour. When others too joined the crowds about him, because they were aroused to the highest degree by his sermons, Herod became alarmed. Eloquence that had so great an effect on mankind might lead to some form of sedition, for it looked as if they would be guided by John in everything that they did. Herod decided therefore that it would be much better to strike first and be rid of him before his work led to an uprising, than to wait for an upheaval, get involved in a difficult situation and see his mistake. Though John, because of Herod's suspicions, was brought in chains to Machaerus, the stronghold that we have previously mentioned, and there put to death, yet the verdict of the Jews was that the destruction visited upon Herod's army was a vindication of John, since God saw fit to inflict such a blow on Herod. Their sister Herodias was married to Herod (Philip), the son of Herod the Great by Mariamme, daughter of Simon the high priest. They had a daughter Salome, after whose birth Herodias, taking it into her head to flout the way of our fathers, married Herod, her husband's brother by the same father, who was tetrarch of Galilee; to do this she parted from a living husband. 82 The value of Josephus' account of John the Baptist is that it reveals the political threat that John's preaching posed to Herod Antipas. It was not simply Herod's anger over being accused of adultery (cf. Mark 6:17-29), though evidently such an accusation probably did have something to do with Herod's actions (as 18.5.4 §136 suggests). John's criticisms came at a
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time when Herod knew he would need the full support of his subjects. As a one-time follower of John, Jesus' preaching may have carried with it similar disturbing features-at least as Herod and his supporters understood it (cf. Mark 6:14-16; Luke 9:7-9; 13:31-32; 23:6-12). The deadly opposition brought against Jesus becomes more understandable. Furthermore, we may have here a clue as to the motives and actions of the otherwise mysterious persons called the "Herodians" (Mark 3:6; 12:13). The second passage in Josephus, which does not mention Jesus of Nazareth, but is important for Jesus research, concerns one Jesus ben Ananias, who uttered a prophetic oracle before and during the first great war with Rome (J. W. 6.5.3 §300-309): But a further portent was even more alarming. Four years before the war, when the city was enjoying profound peace and prosperity, there came to the feast at which it is the custom of all Jews to erect tabernacles to God, one Jesus, son of Ananias, a rude peasant, who, standing in the temple, suddenly began to cry out, "A voice from the east, a voice from the west, a voice from the four winds; a voice against Jerusalem and the sanctuary, a voice against the bridegroom and the bride, a voice against all the people." Day and night he went about all the alleys with this cry on his lips. Some of the leading citizens, incensed at these illomened words, arrested the fellow and severely chastised him. But he, without a word on his own behalf or for the private ear of those who smote him, only continued his cries as before. Thereupon, the magistrates, supposing, as was indeed the case, that the man was under some supernatural impulse, brought him before the Roman governor; therefore, although flayed to the bone with scourges, he neither sued for mercy nor shed a tear, but, merely introducing the most mournful of variations into his ejaculation, responded to each stroke with "Woe to Jerusalem!" When Albinus, the governor, asked him who and whence he was and why he uttered these cries, he answered him never a word, but unceasingly reiterated his dirge over the city, until Albinus pronounced him a maniac and let him go. During the whole period up to the outbreak of war he neither approached nor was seen talking to any of the citizens, but daily, like a prayer that he had conned, repeated his lament, "Woe to Jerusalem!" He neither cursed any of those who beat him from day to day, nor blessed those who offered him food: to all men that melancholy presage was his one reply. His cries were loudest at the festivals. So for seven years and five months the continued his wail, his voice never flagging nor his strength exhausted, until in the siege, having seen his presage verified, he found his rest. For, while going his round 3%
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and shouting in piercing tones from the wall, "Woe once more to the city and to the people and to the temple," as he added a last word, "and woe to me also," a stone hurled from the ballista struck and killed him on the spot. So with these ominous words stiU upon his lips he passed away. 83 The value of this account is that it helps us understand the sequecne of Jesus' arrest, interrogation, and execution, as well as the motives for doing so. There is a remarkable correspondence between what is related of Jesus of Nazareth and what Josephus says happened to Jesus ben Ananias. Both entered the precincts of the Temple (to iEp6v; Mark 11:11, 15, 27; 12:35; 13:1; 14:49; J. W. 6.5.3 §301) at the time of a religious festival (£opti]; Mark 14:2; 15:6; John 2:23; J. W. 6.5.3 §300). Both spoke of the doom of Jerusalem (Luke 19:41-44; 21:20-24; J. W. 6.5.3 §301), the Sanctuary (va~: Mark 13:2; 14:58; J. W. 6.5.3 §301), and the people (A.a6c;: Mark 13:17; Luke 19:44; 23:28-31; J. W. 6.5.3 §301). Both apparently alluded to Jeremiah 7, where the prophet condemned the Temple establishment of his day ("cave ofrobbers": Jer 7:11 in Mark 11:17; "the voice against the bridegroom and the bride": Jer 7:34 in J. W. 6.5.3 §301). Both were "arrested" by the authority of Jewish 84-not Roman-leaders (auA.A.aJ.L~avEtv; Mark 14:48; John 18:12; J. W. 6.5.3 §302). Both were beaten by the Jewish authorities (1tatEtv; Matt 26:68; Mark 14:65; J. W. 6.5.3 §302). Both were handed over to the Roman governor ('ftyayov autov £1tt tov TitA.atov: Luke 23:1;
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Conclusion Only a modicum of helpful information about the historical Jesus can be gleaned from non-Christian sources. But what is gleaned is not unimportant. The references found in Tacitus and Josephus provide clear evidence, outside of Christian sources and claims, of Jesus' existence and of the principal features of his life and death. Of the two, Josephus is the most important, for not only is he an early and geographically proximate witness, he has provided us with details that corroborate important elements of the Gospel accounts themselves.
Notes 1 C. A. Evans, Life of Jesus Research: An Annotated Bibliography (NITS 13; Leiden: Brill, 1989) 174-87. 2 G. H. Dalman, Was sagt der Thalmud ii.ber Jesum? (SIJB 11; Berlin: Reuther, 1891; 2nd ed., 1900); H. Laible, Jesus Christus im Thalmud (SIJB 10; Berlin: Reuther, 1891); S. Krauss, Das Leben Jesu nach jii.dischen Quel/en (Berlin: S. Calvary, 1902; repr. Hildesheim and New York: G. Olms, 1977); idem, "Jesus-Jewish Legends of," Jewish Encyclopedia 7 (1907) 170-73; R. T. Herford, Christianity in Talmud and Midrash (London: Williams & Norgate, 1903; repr. New York: Ktav, 1975); idem, "Christ in Jewish Literature," Dictionary of Christ and the Gospels 2 (1908) 876-82; idem, "Jesus in Rabbinical Literature," Universal Jewish Encyclopedia 6 (1942) 87-88; A. Meyer, "Jesus im Talmud," in E. Hennecke (ed.), Handbuch zu den neutestamentlichen Apokryphen (TUbingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1904) 47-71; W. Bacher, "Travers Herford's 'Christianity in Talmud and Midrash'," JQR 17 (1905) 171-83; H. L. Strack, Jesus, die Hiiretiker und die Christen nach den iiltesten jii.dischen Angaben (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1910); S. Zeitlin, "The Halaka in the Gospels and Its Relation to the Jewish Law at the Time of Jesus," HUCA 1 (1924) 357-73; J. Klausner, Jesus of Nazareth: His Life, Times, and Teaching (London and New York: George Alien & Unwin, 1925) 18-54. The volumes by Dalman and Laible have been combined and translated as Jesus Christ in the Talmud, Midrash, Zohar, and the Liturgy of the Synagogue (trans. A. W. Streane, with contributions by B. H. Streeter; Cambridge: Deighton, Bell, 1893; 2nd ed., 1900; repr. New York: Arno, 1973). For more recent treatments, see M. Goldstein, Jesus in the Jewish Tradition (New York: Macmillan, 1950); J. Z. Lauterbach, "Jesus in the Talmud," in Lauterbach, Rabbinic Essays (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College, 1951) 473-570; E. Bammel, "Christian Origins in Jewish Tradition," NTS 13 (1967) 317-35; repr. in Bammel, Judaica (WUNT 37; Ti.ibingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1986) 220-38; D. R. Catchpole, The Trial of Jesus: A Study in the Gospels and Jewish Historiography from 1770 to the Present Day (SPB 18; Leiden: Brill, 1971) 1-71; J. Maier,Jesus von Nazareth in der talmudischen Oberlieferung (ErFor 82; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1978); C. A. Evans, "Jesus in Non-Christian Sources," DIG (1992) 364-68. For a more popular distillation of these traditions, see F. F. Bruce, Jesus and Christian Origins Outside the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974) 54-65. 3 As was rightly recognized long ago by M. Goguel, The Life of Jesus (trans. 0. Wyon; London: George Alien & Unwin, 1933) 70-75, and more recently by
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4 5
6 7 8
9
10
11
Maier, Jesus von Nazareth, 263-75, and J. P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1991) 94-98. These materials are quoted in Evans, Life of Jesus Research, 180-82. D. Rokeach, "Ben Stada is Ben Pantera-Towards the Clarification of a Philological-Historical Problem," Tarbiz 39 (1969-70) 9-18 (Hebrew). Herford (Christianity in Talmud and Midrash, 37, 345) speculates that the Egyptian Jew who in 56 C.E. claimed to be able to command Jerusalem's walls to collapse (cf. Josephus, J. W. 2.13.5 §261-263; Ant. 20.8.6 §169-172; Acts 21:38) may have been the original Ben Stada. Later forgotten, his name and the criticisms that went with it were applied to Jesus. Klausner (Jesus, 21-22) and Goldstein (Jesus in the Jewish Tradition, 57--62) agree, believing that this identification arose late. Bringing "spells from Egypt in a cut" means smuggling magic spells out of the country by hiding them in an incision in one's flesh; cf. Herford, Christianity in Talmud and Midrash, 36. Whereas Herford (Christianity in Talmud and Midrash, 39) was convinced that Ben Pandira (or Ben Panthera) had nothing to do with ul~ ~ mxp9£vou ("son of the virgin"), Klausner (Jesus of Nazareth, 24) was equally convinced that it did. Recently W. Ziffer ("Two Epithets for Jesus of Nazareth in Talmud and Midrash," JBL 85 [1966]356--59) has speculated that Ben Stada and Ben Pandira are to be understood as Ben Satana and Ben Pandora. Klausner (Jesus of Nazareth, 20-23) argued that ben Stada originally did not refer to Jesus. Maier (Jesus von Nazareth, 243-55) agrees, arguing further that ben Pandira originally did not refer to Jesus. Meier (A Marginal Jew, 95-97) supports these conclusions. For discussion of this passage, see H. J. Zimmels, "Jesus and 'Putting Up a Brick'." JQR 43 (1952-53) 225-28; E. Bammel, "Jesus and 'Setting up a Brick'," ZRGG 20 (1968) 364--67; rept. in Bammel, Judaica, 205-208. C. C. Anderson, The Historical Jesus: A Continuing Quest (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1972) 129-30. As seen, for example, in G. Vermes, Jesus the Jew: A Historian's Reading of the Gospels (London: Collins, 1973) 58-82; but see the corrective offered by B. Chilton, The Temple of Jesus: His Sacrificial Program Within a Cultural History of Sacrifice (University Park: Pennsylvania State University, 1992) 92 n. 5, and, with more emphasis, idem, "Jesus within Judaism," forthcoming. For a compilation of the closest parallels, see C. A. Evans, Noncanonical Writings and New Testament Interpretation (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1992) 232-38. B. Chilton ("Exorcism and History: Mark 1:21-28," in D. Wenham and C. L. Blomberg [eds.], The Miracles of Jesus [Gospel Perspectives 6; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1986] 253-71, here 265) makes the pertinent observation that "The historical question centers fundamentally on what people perceived, and how they acted on their perception." For an assessment of where scholarship seems to be moving with regard to this question, see C. A. Evans, "Life-of-Jesus Research and the Eclipse of Mythology," TS 54 (1993) 3-36. For an illustration of Bultmann's view, see his The History of the Synoptic Tradition (Oxford: Blackwell, 1968) 240-41; cf. M. Dibelius, From Tradition to Gospel (Cambridge and London: James Clarke, 1971) 99, 102. For further discussion of the place of miracles in the historical Jesus, see the chapter by Barry Blackburn in the present volume. So Herford, Christianity in Talmud and Midrash, 89. Goldstein (Jesus in the Jewish Tradition, 110-11) suggests that Jesus was "near to the government" in the sense that Herod the "king" of Galilee was interested in seeing him (cf. Mark 14:1). As a political courtesy Pilate permitted Herod to interrogate Jesus (cf. Luke 23:7--R). Goldstein thinks that this may be what lies behind the 399
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12
13
14 15 16
17
18
19
20
tradition that for forty days a defense was sought. I find both aspects of this interpretation doubtful. For discussion of these points, see C. H. Dodd, "The Historical Problem of the Death of Jesus," in Dodd, More New Testament Studies (Manchester: Manchester University Press; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1968) 84-101, esp. 84-85. Dodd thinks that b. Sanh. 43a may reflect independent tradition. Herford, Christianity in Talmud and Midrash, 87. Goldstein (Jesus in the Jewish Tradition, 78) sharply disagrees with Herford, wondering why Jesus would have been associated with robbery. This objection is answered by the discussion of "brigand" above. Goldstein, Jesus in the Jewish Tradition, 78. Herford, Christianity in Talmud and Midrash, 74. Bruce (Jesus and Christian Origins, 59) is correct to question this interpretation, observing that it would have been improbable that rabbis would have given a revered name such as Pinhas (or Phineas) to a villain such as Pontius Pilate. Goldstein (Jesus in the Jewish Tradition, 63) also doubts that this passage originally had anything to do with Jesus. Klausner (Jesus of Nazareth, 32-33), in reference to m. Sanh. 10:2 and m. 'Abot 5:19, doubts that "Balaam" referred to Jesus. Note the variation in the Hebrew translation of Matthew that appears in the tenth-century Jewish polemical treatise entitled ~ l=* (Even Bohan- "The Touchstone"): ~ p m p ..,. nn7rl ~ ("These are the generations of Jesus the son of David the son of Abraham"). This variant notwithstanding, there is little reason to doubt that the opening words of Matt 1:1lie behind the title of the Toledot Yeshu. For a convenient summary and paraphrase of the Sepher Toledot Yeshu, see Goldstein, Jesus in the Jewish Tradition, 148-54. For critical study, see Klausner, Jesus of Nazareth, 47-54; Goldstein, 147-{)6; E. Bammel, "Der Tod Jesu in einer 'Toledoth Jeschu"-Oberlieferung," ASTJ 6 (1968) 124--31; repr. in Bammel, Judaica, 196--204; idem, "Christian Origins in Jewish Tradition," 325-29; repr. in Bammel, Judaica, 228-32; W. Horbury, "The Trial of Jesus in Jewish Tradition," in E. Bammel (ed.), The Trial of Jesus (C. F. D. Moule Festschrift; SBT 13; London: SCM, 1970) 103-21. As sources for Jesus traditions, the Rabbinic writings as a whole have been evaluated quite negatively by several Jewish scholars; for a sampling see Catchpole, The Trial of Jesus, 69-70. Two studies may be cited here. Years ago M. Joseph ("Jesus von Nazareth genannt Christus," JL 3 [1929]237-43) opined: "Die Erzahlungen iiber das Leben Jesu, die sich zerstreut im Talmud, und zusammenhiingend im 'Toledot Jeshu' finden, haben, die aus heidnischen und christlich-ketzerischen Kreisen, keine historische, sondem nur polemische Bedeutung" (p. 240). A similar opinion is expressed in S. Sandmel, A Jewish Understanding of the New Testament (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College, 1957) 194: "Jesus is mentioned in the Rabbinic literature but the passages are rather late retorts to postN.T. Christian claims. They are of no value for the history of Jesus." See A. Berendts and K. Grass, Flavius Josephus vom Jadischen Kriege, Buch i-iv, nach der slavischen Obersetzung (2 parts; Dorpat: Mattiesen, 1924--27); V. Istrin, La prise de Jerusalem de Josephe le Juif (2 vols.; Paris: Institut d'Etudes Slaves, 1934--38). For a selection of these "additions," see G. R. S. Mead, The Gnostic John the Baptizer (London: Watkins, 1924) 97-119; H. St. J. Thackeray, Josephus Ill (LCL 210; London: Heinemann; Cambridge: Harvard University, 1928) 635-58; Evans, Life of Jesus Research, 177-79.
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21 A. J. Berendts, Die Zeugnisse vom Christentum im slavischen "De bello judaico" des Josephus (TU 29 f = n.s. 14]; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1906); R. Dunkerley, "The Riddles of Josephus," Hibl 53 (1954-55) 127-34. 22 R. Eisler, IHIOYI BAII.AEYI OY BAil .AEYIAI: Die messianische Unabhiingigkeitsbewegung vom Auftreten Johannes des Tiiufers bis zum Untergang Jakobs des Gerechten (2 vols., Heidelberg: Winter, 1929-30); abridged ET: The Messiah Jesus and John the Baptist (trans. A. H. Krappe; London: Methuen; New York: Dial, 1931) 113-69; J. S. Kennard, "Gleanings from the Slavonic Josephus Controversy," JQR 39 (1948-49) 161-70; G. A. Williamson, The World of Josephus (Boston and Toronto: Little, Brown, 1964) 308--309. 23 J. Frey, Der slavische Josephusbericht Uber die urchristliche Geschichte nebst seinen Parallelen (Dorpat: Mattiesen, 1908); H. Lewy, DLZ 51 (1930) 481-94 (review of Eisler, Messiah Jesus and John); S. Zeitlin, "The Slavonic Josephus and its Relation to Yosippon and Hegesippus," JQR 20 (1929-30) 1-50; idem, Josephus on Jesus with Particular Reference to the Slavonic Josephus and the Hebrew Josippon (Philadelphia: Dropsie College, 1931); idem, "The Hoax of the 'Slavonic Josephus'," JQR 39 (1948-49) 171-80; J. Strugnell, "Josephus, Flavius," NCE 7 (1%7) 1120-23; E. Bammel, "The Revolution Theory from Reimarus to Brandon," in E. Bammel and C. F. D. Moule (eds.), Jesus and the Politics of His Day (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1984) 11-68, esp. 32-37; L. H. Feldman, "Flavius Josephus Revisited: The Man, His Writings, and His Significance," ANRW 2.21.2 (1984) 763-862, esp. 771-74; Meier, A Marginal Jew, 57, 71-72 n. 5. Recently an uncritical and unconvincing defense of the Slavonic additions has been offered by Williamson, The World of Josephus, 308--309. 24 Zeitlin, Josephus on Jesus, 52-60. 25 D. Flusser, "The Author of the Book of Yosippon: His Personality and His Age," Zion 18 (1953) 109-26 (Hebrew); idem, "Josippon," Enclud 10 (1971) cols. 296--98; idem, "Josippon, a Medieval Hebrew Version of Josephus," in L. H. Fieldman and G. Hata (eds.), Josephus, Judaism, and Christianity (Detroit: Wayne State University, 1987) 386--97. Recently, a late ninth-century date has been proposed by S. Bowman, "Sefer Yosippon: History and Midrash," in M. Fishbane (ed.), The Midrashic Imagination: Jewish Exegesis, Thought, and History (Albany: State University of New York, 1993) 280-94. Bowman thinks that Flusser's mid-tenth-century date applies to a later edition of the Yosippon. 26 Eisler, The Messiah Jesus, 97. 27 Eisler, The Messiah Jesus, 111. 28 For a critical assessment of the Yosippon's portrayal of Jesus as robber, see E. Bammel, "Jesus as a Political Agent in a Version of the Josippon," in Bammel and Moule (eds.), Jesus and the Politics of His Day, 197-209; repr. in Bammel, Judaica, 289-301. 29 For selections from the Qur'an and other Islamic writings, see Bruce, Jesus and Christian Origins, 167-86; Evans, Life of Jesus Research, 185-87. 30 For a survey, see M. J. Harris, "References to Jesus in Early Classical Authors," in D. Wenham (ed.), The Jesus Tradition Outside the Gospels (Gospel Perspectives 5; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1984) 343-68. 31 Taken from frag. 18 of Africanus' five-volume Chronography, which is itself preserved in Georgius Syncellus, Chronology. For text and discussion, see F. Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker Il.B (Berlin: Weidmann, 1929) 1157 §256; A. Roberts and J. Donaldson (eds.), The Ante-Nicene Fathers (10 vols., Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1951) 6.136; Harris, "References to Jesus," 343-44.
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32 E. Schtirer (The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ [3 vols., rev. and ed. G. Vermes, F. Millar, and M. Goodman; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1973-87]3.544) accepts the identification "with caution." 33 See the critical edition of the fragments of Eusebius' Chronicle in J. Karst (ed.), Eusebius Werke V. Die Chronik (GCS 20; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1911) 125. 34 Goguel, The Life of Jesus, 92-93; Bruce, Jesus and Christian Origins, 29-30; Harris, "References to Jesus," 344. 35 W. Cureton, Spicilegium Syriacum: Containing Remains of Bardesan, Meliton, Ambrose and Mara bar Serapion (London: Rivingtons, 1855) 70. 36 Cureton, Spicilegium Syriacum, xiv. Dodd ("The Historical Problem of the Death of Jesus," 86) and Bruce (Jesus and Christian Origins, 31 n. 21) date the letter to the second or third century. In favor of a second century dating is the reference to "complete dispersion," which could be a description of the Jewish condition in the aftermath of the failed Bar Kokhba revolt. But bar Serapion's language is probably hyperbolic and may, as Cureton thinks, allude to the aftermath of the first revolt. 37 Cureton, Spicilegium Syriacum, 73. The Syriac text is found, with Syriac pagination, on pp. 43-48. See also Bruce, Jesus and Christian Origins, 31. 38 This is how Bruce (Jesus and Christian Origins, 31) interprets the letter. 39 Josephus routinely refers to Herod the Great as "king of the Jews" (Ant. 15.10.5 §373; 15.11.4 §409; 16.9.3 §291; 16.10.2 §311). The title may have originated with Antony when he gave Herod a kingdom: "Antony ... determined then and there to make him king of the Jews [!XxcnA.£a JCa9lCtfiv 'Iouoairovj" (cf. J. W. 1.14.4 §282). Those who have argued for the authenticity of the tradition of the titulus attached to Jesus' cross include E. Dinkler, Signum Crucis (Ttibingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1967) 306; N. A. Dahl, 'The Crucified Messiah," in Dahl, The Crucified Messiah and Other Essays (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1974) 1-36; B. F. Meyer, The Aims of Jesus (London: SCM, 1979) 176-78; E. Bammel, "The titulus," in Bammel and C. F. D. Moule (eds.), Jesus and the Politics of His Day (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1984) 353-64; G. Schneider, "The Political Charge against Jesus (Luke 23:2)," in Bammel and Moule (eds.), Jesus and the Politics of His Day, 403-14, esp. 404. For an example of a crucifixion, complete with a description of the crime inscribed on a titulus, see Dio Cassius 54.3.6-7. 40 See E. Bammel, "Judenverfolgung und Naherwartung," ZTK 56 (1959) 294-315; F. F. Bruce, "Christianity under Claudius," BJRL 44 (1962) 309-26; S. Benko, "The Edict of Claudius of A.D. 49 and the Instigator Chrestus," TZ 25 (1969) 406-18; M. J. Borg, "A New Context for Romans xiii," NTS (1973) 205-18, esp. 211-13; G. Howard, "The Beginnings of Christianity in Rome: A Note on Suetonius, Life of Claudius XXX, 4," ResQ 24 (1981) 175-77; H. Dixon, "Suetonius Claudius 25.4 and the Account in Cassius Dio," JQR 79 (1989) 305-22. For older bibliography, see M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism (3 vols., Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities,1974-84) 2.114. 41 Bruce (Jesus and Christian Origins, 197) cites the following extract from an earlier letter of Claudius to the people of Alexandria (taken from V. Tcherikover and A. Fuks, Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum [3 vols., Cambrdige: Harvard University, 1957-64] 2.153): "Do not bring in or invite Jews who sail to Alexandria from Syria or from other parts of Egypt; this will make me suspect you the more, and I will impose severe penalties on them for fomenting a general plague throughout the whole world." Bruce wonders if these "Jews" might not in fact be Christians.
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42 For a recent treatment of the question of when the Jews were expelled from Rome, see D. Slingerland, "Suetonius Claudius 25.4, Acts 18, and Paulus Orosius' Historiarum adversum paganos libri vii: Dating the Claudian Expulsion(s) of Roman Jews," JQR 83 (1992) 127-44. Slingerland concludes that Claudius may have expelled the Roman Jews more than once. The traditional dates 41 and 49 are not well supported. There may have been several expulsions between 42 and 54 C.E. 43 Eisler's suggestion (The Messiah Jesus, 581) that "Chrestus" is none other than Simon Magus is wholly unconvincing. Elsewhere, Eisler (pp. 210, 498, 576-77, 592) suggests that Simon was the Samaritan prophet who promised deliverance (Ant. 18.4.1 §85-87), as well as the anonymous Egyptian Jew who led an uprising during the administration of Felix (Ant. 20.8.6 §169-170). These identifications are merest speculations. 44 For discussion of this letter and the strong probability of its authenticity, seeK. Linck, De antiquissimis veterum quae ad lesum Nazarenum spectant testimoniis (Giessen: Topelmann, 1913) 32-60; A. N. Sherwin-White, The Letters of Pliny (Oxford: Clarendon, 1966) 691-92. There is no compelling reason to doubt it. 45 For an assessment of the polemic that charges Jesus with sorcery, see G. N. Stanton, "Jesus of Nazareth: A Magician and a False Prophet Who Deceived God's People?" in J. B. Green and M. Turner (eds.), Jesus of Nazareth: Lord and Christ: Essays on the Historical Jesus and New Testament Christology (I. H. Marshall Festschrift; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994) 166-82. 46 Laible, Jesus Christus im Thalmud, 60-71; Herford, Christianity in Talmud and Midrash, 106, 143-45. 47 Klausner, Jesus of Nazareth, 38-46. The passage from Josephus will receive further treatment below. 48 According to Hegesippus, as reported by Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. 2.23.6-7: "(James) alone was allowed to enter into the sanctuary, for he did not wear wool but linen, and he used to enter alone into the Temple and be found kneeling and praying for forgiveness for the people, so that his knees grew hard like a camel's because of his constant worship of God, kneeling and asking forgiveness for the people. So from his excessive righteousness he was called the Just and Oblias, that is in Greek, 'Rampart of the people and righteousness,' as the prophets declare concerning him." Cf. Gal 2:9: "James and Cephas and John, who were reputed to be pillars." On the question of purity, see Chilton, The Temple of Jesus, 91-111. 49 See, for example, Goldstein, Jesus in the Jewish Tradition, 39-51. 50 For a critical discussion of this complicated and widely attested tradition, see Maier,Jesus von Nazareth, 144-81. 51 Justin Martyr, Apologia I 26 (PG 6.369): £i 1)£ JCat ta M>O"$TJJ.La he'lva J.LuEloA.oyouiJ.EVa £pya 7tpattOUO't, A.UX,Vta<; IJ.EV avatpo7tf], JCat tCx<; CxVEI>TJV IJ.ii;Et<;, !Cat av9pro1tEirov O'ap!COOV !k>paa, oi> ytVOOO'lCOIJ.EV. "But whether they practice those fabulous and shameful deeds-the upsetting of the lamp, and promiscuous intercourse, and eating human flesh-we do not know." The charge of cannibalism arose from the eucharist, while the charge of sexual promiscuity probably arose from early Christianity's emphasis on love. The charge of "upsetting the lamp" appears also in Jewi~h tradition and may have something to do with either bribery or heresy (cf. b. Sabb. 116b; Lev. Rab. 21.9 [on 16:3]). 52 Meier, A Marginal Jew, 90; cf. Harris, "References to Jesus," 349. 53 See Linck, De antiquissimis veterum, 61-103; H. Fuchs, "Tacitus tiber die Christen," VC 4 (1950) 65-93; A. Kurfess, "Tacitus llber die Christen," VC 5 (1951) 148-49: T. D. Bames, "Legislation against the Christians," JRS 58
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54
55 56 57
58
59
(1968) 32-50; E. M. Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule (SJLA 20; Leiden: Brill, 1976) 217-19. For older bibliography, see Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, 2.89--91. The writings of Tacitus betray hostility toward the Jewish people as well. Apparently Tacitus also made use of antiJewish writings; cf. F. F. Bruce, "Tacitus on Jewish History," JSS 29 (1984) 33-44. A facsimile of this stone is on display near the ancient theatre at Caesarea Maritima. The original is housed in the Israel National Museum in Jerusalem. For reconstruction and discussion, see A. Frova, "L'iscrizione di Ponzio Pilato a Cesarea," Rendiconti 95 (1%1) 419-34; J. Vardaman, "A New Inscription which Mentions Pilate as 'Prefect'," JBL 81 (1%2) 70-71; B. Lifshitz, "Inscriptions latines de Cesan!e," Latomus 22 (1%3) 783; E. Schiirer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (3 vols., rev. and ed. G. Vermes et al.; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1973-87) 1.358 n. 22; Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule, 167; L. Prandi, "Una nuova ipotesi sull'iscrizione di Ponzio Pilato," Civilta classica e cristiana 2 (1981) 25-35. See examples and discussion in Harris, "References to Jesus," 349. For text, see L. H. Feldman, Josephus IX (LCL 433; London: Heinemann; Cambridge: Harvard University, 1%5) 48, 50; B. Niese, Flavii Josephi Opera (7 vols., 2nd ed.; Berlin: Weidmann, 1955 [orig. 1885-95]) 4.150-53. F. C. Burkitt, "Josephus and Christ," TTij 41 (1913) 135-44; A. Harnack, "Der jiidische Geschichtschreiber Josephus und Jesus Christus," IMWT 7 (1913) cols. 1037-68; idem, Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur bis Eusebius (2 parts; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1893-97) 1.858-60, 2.581; W. E. Barnes, The Testimony of Josephus to Jesus Christ (London: SPCK, 1920); F. Dornseiff, "Lukas der Schriftsteller, mit einem Anhang: Josephus und Tacitus," ZNW 36 (1936) 145-48; idem, "Zum Testimonium Flavium," ZNW 46 (1955) 245-50; A. Feuillet, "Les anciens historiens profanes et la connaissance de Jesus," Esprit et Vie 87 (1977) 145-53; J. Salvador, "E Autentico o 'Testimonium Flavianum'?," RCB 2 (1978) 137-51; E. Nodet, "Jesus et Jean-Baptiste selon Josephe," RB 92 (1985) 320-48, 497-524. S. Zeitlin, "The Christ Passage in Josephus," JQR 18 (1927-28) 231-55; repr. in Zeitlin, Solomon Zeitlin's Studies in the Early History of Judaism (vol. 1; New York: Ktav, 1973) 407-31; idem, Josephus on Jesus (Philadelphia: Dropsic College, 1931); idem, "Josephus on Jesus," JQR 21 (1930-31) 377-417, esp. 392-99 (Zeitlin thinks that the passage is an interpolation supplied by Eusebius [cf. Hist. Eccl. 1.11.7-8]); L. Herrmann, Chrestos: Temoignages pai'ens et juifs sur le christianisme du premier siecle (Collection Latomus 109; Brussels: Latomus, 1970) 97-98; H. Conzelmann, Jesus (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1973) 13-14; J. N. Birdsall, "The Continuing Enigma of Josephus's Testimony about Jesus," BJRL 61 (1984-85) 609--22; E. Rivkin, What Crucified Jesus? (Nashville: Abingdon, 1984) 64-67; P. Bilde, Flavius Josephus between Jerusalem and Rome: His Life, His Works, and Their Importance (JSPSup 2; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988) 223. Klausner, Jesus of Nazareth, 55-56; H. St. J. Thackeray, Josephus, the Man and the Historian (New York: Jewish Institute of Religion, 1929) 136-49; Eisler, The Messiah Jesus, 62; F. Scheidweiler, "Das Testimonium Flavianum," ZNW 45 (1954) 230-43; A. Pelletier, "L'originalite du temoignac de Flavius Josephe sur Jesus," RSR 52 (1%4) 177-203; S. G. F. Brandon, "The Testimonium Flavium," History Today 19 (1969) 438; E. Bammel, "Zum Testimonium Flavianum (Jos Ant 18, 63-64)," in 0. Betz, K. Haacker, and M. Hengel (eds.), Josephus-Studien: Untersuchungen zu Josephus, dem antiken Judentum und 404
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60 61 62 63 64 65
66
67 68
69 70 71
72 73 74
dem Neuen Testament (0. Michel Festschrift; Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1974) 9-22; repr. in Bammel, Judaica, 177-93; Z. Baras. "Testimonium Flavium: The State of Recent Scholarship," in M. Baras and Z. Baras (eds.), Society and Religion in the Second Temple Period (Jerusalem: Masada, 1977) 303-13, 378--85; A.-M. Dubarle, "Le temoignage de Josephe sur Jesus d'apres des publications recentes," RB 84 (1977) 38-58; abbreviated version in BTS 154 (1973) 22-23; P. Bilde, "Josefus' beretning om Jesus," DTT 44 (1981) 99-135; J. H. Charlesworth, "Christian and Jewish Self-Definition in Light of the Christian Additions to the Apocryphal Writings," in E. P. Sanders et al. (eds.), Jewish and Christian Self-Definition. Volume two: Aspects of Judaism in the Graeco-Roman Period (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981) 27-55, esp. 27; L. H. Feldman, "The Testimonium Flavium: The State of the Question," in R. F. Berkey and S. A. Edwards (eds.), Christological Perspectives (H. K. McArthur Festschrift; New York: Pilgrim, 1982) 179-99, 288-93; J. P. Meier, "Jesus in Josephus: A Modest Proposal," CBQ 52 (1990) 76-103; idem, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1992) 56--69. S. Pines, An Arabic Version of the Testimonium Flavianum and Its Implications (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1971) 16. See the discussion in J. H. Charlesworth, Jesus Within Judaism (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1988) 95-96. Thackeray,Josephus: The Man and the Historian, 137. See the detailed analysis of vocabulary and style on pp. 140-48. Meier, "Jesus in Josephus," 90-92. Meier, A Marginal Jew, 65-66. For text, see Feldman, Josephus IX, 494, 496; Niese, Flavii Josephi Opera, 4.308-11. L. H. Feldman, Josephus X (LCL 456; London: Heinemann; Cambridge: Harvard University, 1%5) 108 n. a, as cited, with approval, by Meier, A Marginal Jew, 59. The story of James being thrown from the pinnacle of the Temple (from Hegesippus, as reported by Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. 2.23.11-18), although obviously legendary, appears to be based on tradition parallel to, but independent of, the story preserved in Josephus. It is also quoted by Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. 2.23.22. See the discussion in Meier, A Marginal Jew, 51-59. Referring to Jesus as "the one called 'Christ' " does support the possibility that in its original form the Testimonium said something to the effect that "he was called the Christ," which a Christian later changed to "he was the Christ." This is further supported by the Testimonium's explanation that "the tribe of Christians" are "named after this one," which seems to imply that the name "Christ" at one time appeared in the text. (The second, shorter passage may imply the same thing.) These considerations notwithstanding, I hesitate to accept the authenticity of the "Christ" clause, however revised, because of the reading preserved by Agapius. Thackeray, Josephus: The Man and the Historian, 138. Bammel, "Zum Testimonium," 9-22. C. Pharr, "The Testimony of Josephus to Christianity," AlP 48 (1927) 137-47; Eisler, The Messiah Jesus, 62. Stanton, "Jesus of Nazareth," 172; cf. BAG, 280. Which makes it unnecessary to emend t7tTJy6:y£to to cX1tTJYCxYE'tO, as, for example, Bammel ("Zum Testimonium," 20) recommends. Translation from R. Marcus and A. Wikgren, Josephus VIII (LCL 410; London: Heinemann; Cambridge: Harvard University, 1963) 523.
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75 B. L. Mack, A Myth of Innocence: Mark and Christian Origins (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988) 282. 76 D. Seeley, "Was Jesus Like a Philosopher? The Evidence of Martyrological and Wisdom Motifs in Q, Pre-Pauline Traditions, and Mark," in D. J. Lull (ed.), Society of Biblical Literature 1989 Seminar Papers (SBLSP 28; Atlanta: Scholars, 1989) 540-49, here p. 548. 77 For several criticisms, see C. A. Evans, "From Public Ministry to the Passion:
78
79
80 81 82 83 84
85
86
Can a Link Be Found between the (Galilean) Life and the (Judean) Death of Jesus?" in E. H. Lovering (ed.), Society of Biblical Literature 1993 Seminar Papers (SBLSP 32; Atlanta: Scholars, 1993) 460--72. Offering no arguments, Mack (Myth of Innocence, 225 n. 12) assumes that the Fourth Evangelist made use of Mark's passion narrative. However, many Johannine scholars believe that John is independent of Mark and the Synoptic tradition in general. For a recent assessment, see P. Borgen, "The Independence of the Gospel of John: Some Observations," in F. Van Segbroeck et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (F. Neirynck Festschrift; BETL 100; 3 vols., Leuven: Peeters, 1992) 3.1815-33. Of course, "first men" can refer to leading citizens, without necessarily implying religious leaders (as in reference to tot~ 7tprotm~ t~ raA.tA.aia~ of Mark 6:21; cf. Acts 13:50). Meier, A Marginal Jew, 67-68. Feldman, "The Testimonium Flavianum," 194-95. Translation from L. H. Feldman, Josephus IX, 81-85, 93. Translation from H. St. J. Thackeray, Josephus Ill (LCL 210; London: Heinemann; Cambridge: Harvard University, 1928) 463-67. R. A. Horsley (" 'Like One of the Prophets of Old': Two Types of Popular Prophets at the Time of Jesus," CBQ 47 [1985] 435-63, esp. 451) rightly draws our attention to the fact that it was only the priestly aristocracy that tried to silence Jesus son of Ananias. Are these verbal parallels evidence of some sort of literary relationship between J. W. 6.5.3 and the passion tradition found in the New Testament Gospels? For two reasons I think that a literary relationship is improbable. First, the "parallels" comprise no more than nouns of place and context and verbs that mark the various steps in the judicial and penal process. In other words, the parallels are precisely what one would expect in cases where routine actions are being described. Second, aside from the single parallel cluster where we have a common verbal root, preposition, and Roman governor as object, there are no instances of parallel sentences or phrases. Literary relationships are suspected when there is a high concentration of common vocabulary, especially phrases and whole sentences. In short, I think that the common vocabulary adduced above indicates common procedure, but not literary relationship. There is no indication that the story of one Jesus influenced the telling of the story of the other Jesus. For further discussion of the parallels and their implications, see C. A. Evans, "Jesus and the 'Cave of Robbers': Toward a Jewish Context for the Temple Action," BBR 3 (1993) 93-110. For a recent and compelling assessment of these traditions and others, see Chilton, The Temple of Jesus, 100--111. 1
406
JESUS IN NON-CHRISTIAN SOURCES
Abbreviations ABRL AJP ANRW ASTI BAG BBR BJRL BTS CBQ DJD DLZ DTT EncJud GCS HUCA IMWT JL JQR JRS JSPSup JSS LCL NCE NTS NITS RB RCB RestQ RSR SBLSP SIJB SPB TS TTij TU VC ZNW ZRGG ZTK
Anchor Bible Reference Library American Journal of Philology W. Haase and E. Temporini (eds.),Aufstieg und Niedergang der romischen Welt (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1979) Annual of the Swedish Theological Institute W. Bauer, W. F. Arndt, and F. W. Gingrich, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament (1957) Bulletin for Biblical Research Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester Bible et terre sainte Catholic Biblical Quarterly Discoveries in the Judaean Desert Deutsche Literaturzeitung Dansk teologisk tidsskrift C. Roth and G. Wigoder (eds.), Encyclopaedia Judaica (1971) Griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller Hebrew Union College Annual lnternationale Monatsschrift fur Wissenschaft und Technik Judisches Lexikon (1927-30) Jewish Quarterly Review Journal of Roman Studies Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha. Supplement Series Journal of Semitic Studies Loeb Classical Library M. R. P. McGuire et al. (eds.), New Catholic Encyclopedia (1967) New Testament Studies New Testament Tools and Studies Revue biblique Revista de cultura biblica Restoration Quarterly Recherches de science religieuse Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers Schriften des Institutum Judaicum in Berlin Studia postbiblica Theological Studies Theologisch Tijdschrift Texte und Untersuchungen Vigiliae christianae Zeitschrift fUr die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift fUr Religions- und Geistesgeschichte Zeitschrift fUr Theologie und Kirche 407
INDEX
Page numbers in italic show author of chapter. Sources of chapters are shown by the inclusion of author, editor(s) or translator in the heading. Abba 11294-7,111104--8, 191-2 Acts of Pi/ate IV 171-5 Acts of the Apostles I 273-4 admonitions: God the Father D 291-3 adultery 11331,332-3,342 agrapha IV 163-5, 213 aim: of Jesus m 7-22 Aim of Jesus, The Ill 7 allegorical interpretations: Origen I 238-40; of parables 11 7-9; Philo I 237-8 allegories: parables II 63--6 Allison, Dale C.ll224-6, m 163 alms-giving 11 327-9 Althaus, Paul I 214-15, 217 Amaraisms I 453-4 Amoraic period: Rabbinical literature U23-4 Ananias, Jesus ben: Josephus' account IV 396--7 Ananias and Sapphira I 24-5 Andrew: disciple IV 11, 135 Anselm, St: theory of satisfaction I 38-9, 42 anthropomorphic language n 277 Antipas IV 27-8 apocalyptists IV 358-9 apocryphal gospels IV 163-82,219-49 Apocryphon of lames IV 186, 198-205, 210 apostles: after Jesus' death I 15-30; motives I 13-15; see also disciples appearances of the risen Christ HI 291-314,342-3 applications: parables 11 74-5
Aquinas, St Thomas I 42, m 120 Aramaic forms I 453, 456 Aramaic test I 435, 447; for authenticity I 433-4 archaeological discoveries IV 368-70 asceticism 11 257 Assassin: parable IV 192 Assumption of Moses II 201 atonement I 328; doctrine of I 42-4 audience: ethical discourse II 327-34 Authenticating the Activities of Jesus B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds) m 253--68 authenticity: of Jesus' sayings I 393-8, 427-36 Balz, H. R. m 89 baptism I 131 Barclay, W. IV /22-9 Barrett, C. K. m 85, 92, 403 Bar Serapion, Mara IV 382-3 Barth, Karl I 110, 329, II 184-6 Bauckham, Richard m 104-15 Bauer, Bruno I 310 Bauer, Georg Lorenz I 250, 256, 258-9 Bauer, Waiter IV 267-8 Baur, F. C. I 309-10 Beelzebul controversy 11 168-71 ben Ananias, Jesus: Josephus' account IV396-7 benefaction: conspicuous II 327-9 Bethsaida IV 104--6, 135 Betz, Otto m 277-8 Bhagavad Gita I 396 409
INDEX
biblical mythi: classification I 251-2; see also mythi Birkitt, F. C. I 434 Black, Matthew I 403, 454 blasphemy: charge of 11 286-7, Ill 284--7 Borg, M. J. 11301-14, Ill 163 Bornkamm, Gtinther I 222,371-88, 11 161 Borsch, F. H. Ill 85, 88, 93 Bousset, W. IV 85-9 Braniss, Julius I 48 Braun, Herbert I 222-3, 224-5 Bread of Life IV 99-100 Brown, Raymond E. Ill 50-76, 118-28, 241-50, 253, 263, 273, IV 265-83, 333-48 Bruce, F. F. IV 163-82 Btichler, Adolf Ill 219-20 Bultmann, Rudolf I 121-32, 211-26, 323-56; authenticity criteria I 428, 454; beginning of Christianity I 401, 451-2, 180; developing tradition I 403-5; kingdom of God 11 210-11; 'Neues Testament und Mythologie' I 359--69, 371--6; objections to program I 376-80; on Paul I 111; preaching of Jesus I 133-4; sayings of Jesus I 393-8; Son of Man I 151-2 Bunyan, John 11 10 burial customs Ill 247-8; see also Jewish burial customs burial of Jesus Ill 253--68, 386-8; Mark's Gospel Ill 241-50 Burkitt, F. C. I 401, 453 Burney, C. F. I 454 Cadbury, H. J. Ill 7-22 Caesarea Philippi IV 122-4; conversation at IV 103-7, 124-9 Caiaphas Ill 272-8 Calvert, D. G. A. I 427-36, 459 Cameron, Ron IV 202 Campbell, J. Y. D 123, 156-7 canonical writings: challenge to IV265-9 Capernaum IV 6, 9, 36, 38, 42,47 capital jurisdiction: of the Sanhedrin Ill 230-5 Carlston, Charles Edwin I 407, 434 Carpocrates IV 334-5 Catchpole, David m 272
Celsus IV 385--6 Charlesworth, James H. IV 210-49, 355-73 children IV 25--6 Children in a Field: parable IV 192-4 Christ-event I 374-5; mythology of I 348-9, 361-2 Christianity: foundations of I 72-7; founder of I 312 Christian love I 341-2 Christ-kerygma: and the historical Jesus I 211-26 Christology I 58--60; and methodology I 418-24; of the New Testament I 383--6; objections to I 40-3; of orthodox system I 34-40; of rationalism I 43-5; speculative I 54-7, 60-4; symbolic interpretation I 51-5 Christology, Controversy and Community: New Testament Essays in Honour of David R. Catchpole D. G. Horrell and C. M. Tuckett (eds) Ill 272-87 Christology and the New Testament: Jesus and His Earliest Followers Ill 176-93 christos: title of 11 232-4 circumstantial narratives Ill 296-8 Clark, K. 11 123 Clement of Alexandria: letter of IV 333-5 clothes IV 70-5 'coherence' I 418,420-1,445,455,456 Colpe, C. Ill 87-8, 89-91 communal rules 11 342-3 communication of properties I 40-1 conception of soul I 335 concise narratives Ill 295--6 conclusion: parables n 49-56 condemnation: of Jesus 01 130-3, 199--221 Conflict, Holiness and Politics in the Teachings of Jesus D 301-14 'consistency' see 'coherence' contradictions: in narrative I 292-3; New Testament I 330-1 Conzelmann, Hans I 225 cosmology: of the New Testament I 323-4 Couchoud,M.P.I314-16,317 Cranfield, C. E. B. II1 383, 395-404
410
INDEX
criteria: for authenticity I 401-8, 427-36, 439-49, III 178-9; literary I 451-62 critical theology: modern I 179-80 Cross, the I 362, 375; demythologization of I 349-51; see also crucifixion Crossan, John Dominic 11347, Ill 162, 253,263,267,1V211,238,269-76 Cross Gospel IV 231-5 'cross section method' I 453 crucifixion I 349-51,362, 375, m 254; archaeological discoveries IV 368-70; foreknowledge of m 54-7, 134-7 Cullman, Oscar I 406, 428, 452, 111110--11 Current Issues in Biblical and Patristic Interpretation G. F. Hawthorne (ed) I 451-62 Dahl, Nils Alstrup I 411, 11 227, 232 Dalman, Gustav I 453 Danby, H. Ill /99-22/ Date Palm: parable IV 200--1 David: Son of 11 232-4 Davidic Ill 146 Day of Judgment 11 129-35 Dead Sea Scrolls I 184, 11202, Ill 277, IV 360--3 death: of Jesus, reason and purpose Ill 129-39 see also crucifixion; as punishment of sin I 327-8, 335 debt 11330--1 defilement 11 308-9 Dehandschutter, B. IV 197 deism I 241-3 Deists I 307 de Jonge, M. 11221-37 delay of the Parousia I 108-9, 110 demythologization: the Cross I 349-51; the event of Jesus Christ I 348-9; the New Testament I 331-56, 371-88; the resurrection I 351-5 'desecularization' I 373 destruction of Jerusalem: foreknowledge of Ill 58-9 de Wette, Wilhelm Martin Leberecht 153,252-4,260,267 Dialectical Theologians I 400--1 Dialogue of the Saviour IV 210 Diatessaron IV 294, 341-2 Dibelius, Martin I 452 Dilthey, Wilhelm 1223,340,400
disciples: after the resurrection Ill 399; background IV 11-16; call of IV 131-2; membership IV 132-3; mission IV 137-41; the twelve IV 133-8; see also apostles discipleship IV 130--45 display: of religion 11 283-4 dissimilarity: criterion I 418-20, 421, 442-5,454-5,456,111179 'distinctiveness' see dissimilarity divinity: of Jesus 11167-71, 113-15, 118-28 divorce 11331-4, 341-2 Docetism I 181, IV 311 Document 70, The R. Stahl I 316-17 Dodd, C. H. I 191-2,194, 195-6,402, 434, 453,11 7-18, 123, 156-7, 160--1, 228,272-87,302, m 111,291-314 Doubting Thomas Ill 302 dress: of Jesus IV 70--5 Dreyfus, Franrrois Ill 118-28 Dunn, J. D. G. 11348,350, m 105,108, 110,144-5~272-87
Duns Scotus, John I 42 Du puis, Charles Franrrois I 308-9 Early Christian Rhetoric: The Language of the Gospel 11 206 Ear of Grain: parable IV 202-3 Easter faith I 226, 354-5, 362-3 Ebeling, Gerhard I 181,221-2 Ebionism IV 21-2 Ebionites, Gospel of the IV 179-82,210 Edersheim, A. IV 67-82 Egerton Gospel IV 235-45; see also Papyros Egerton 2 Egyptians, Gospel of the IV 210 Eichhorn, Johann Gottfried I 244-8, 254,268 Eisler, Robert IV 379-80 Elijah: messianic ideas m 147 embedded religion 11 324 empty tomb tradition Ill 325-9, 341-2, 384-6,401-2 Encyclopredists I 307 Enlightenment, the I 176-7, 178,307 Enoch: Parables of IV 359-60 eschatological context I 454, 456 eschatological 'day' 11 129-35 eschatological existence I 337-8,346-7, 373 eschatological myth I 361
411
INDEX
eschatological preaching: of Jesus I 218-19 Eschatological School I 107--8 eschatologists: aim of Jesus Ill 10--11 eschatology I 107-8, 110--13, 143--4, 307, 311; mythical I 326, 386--7; realized n 156--61; unrealized 11 177 eschaton; coming of 124-35 Essays on New Testament Themes trans. W. J. Montague I 133-58 Essenes m 167-8, IV 19,361-3 eternal life m 332--4 ethical teaching ll 262-71, 278--82; of Jesus 11245-59, 262-71; Jesus' purpose m 15-16 ethics 11 320--35, 339-52 Ethics and the Gospelll 262-71 Eusebius of Caesaria IV 241-2 evangelical myth us: definition I 290 Evans, Craig A. IV 21().49, 375-98 existential interpretation I 220--1, 222-3, 361; mythology of the New Testament I 334 existentialism I 340 exorcism ll 150, 153, 168-9, 183--4 extracanonical parables IV 186-205
n
faith I 173--4, 226, 336--9; Jesus' I 221-2; Paul's I 160--5 family: of Jesus IV 6, 13, 46, 48-9 Farmer, William IV 293 Farrar, F. W. IV 57--66 fatherhood of God ll 276--7,289-97, m104-7 Fayyum Fragment IV 211 feeding of the multitudes IV 90--6 Fig Tree: parable of 11 174-5 figurative sayings: and parables n 9-10 foreknowledge Ill 53-64, 134-7 forgiveness 1345-6; of sin n 330--1 form criticism I 148-9, 184, 422-3,428, I 439--42, I 459 form critics I 400, 403--4, m 291 Forster, G. ll 326 Founder of Christianity, The 11 272--87 Fourth Gospel I 138,199,225,274-5, m 110--13, 119-20; comparison with Secret Gospel Of Mark IV 335--48; localities of Jesus' activity IV 39--45; purpose of Jesus HI 13 France: theories of non-historicity 1314-17
Freyne, Sean Ill 163 From Reimarus to Wrede I 99-100 Fuchs, Ernst I 159-74, 220--1,11 209, Ill 318 Fuller, Reginald H. I 224, 402-3, 405-6, 408,418,429,455 Gabler, Johann Philipp 1255, 256--7, 259-60; on miracles I 264 Gadarene swine IV 62-6 Galilean Aramaic I 184-5 Galilee IV 16, 38, 39; departure from IV 112-18 Garaudy, Roger 11184 garments: of Jesus IV 70--5 Genesareth IV 8-11; Lake of IV 6 Gentiles IV 142-5 George, J. F. Leopold I 261-2 Gerhardsson, Birger 11 93-104 Germany: theories of non-historicity I 314 Gita, Bhagavad I 396 Glasson, T. F. 11 213 God: the Father ll 276--7, 289--97; kingship, ancient myth ll 199-201; see also kingdom of God Gogarten, Friedrich I 109 Goguel, M. IV 90-118 'good news' 11273-5 Good Samaritan parable 11344-5; Augustine's interpretation 117--8 Gospel according to the Hebrews see Gospel of the Hebrews Gospel of Luke see Luke's gospel Gospel of Mark see Mark's gospel Gospel of Nicodemus IV 171-5 Gospel of Peter see Peter, Gospel of Gospel of the Ebionites IV 179--82, 210 Gospel of the Egyptians IV 210 Gospel of the Hebrews IV 175-9,210 Gospel of the Nazoreans IV 210, 241-2 Gospel of Thomas I 198, m 178, IV 186, 187,203--4,211,224-7,266, 291-304,364-6 gospels: challenge to IV 265-9; external evidence of authenticity I 271-7; historical element I 138-44; internal evidence of authenticity I 277--89 Grain of Wheat: parable IV 201-2 Grant, Frederick C. I 393-8 Grasser, Erich 11180-91
412
INDEX
Greek legends I 236-7 Greiling, Johann Christoph I 268-9 Grundry, Robert H. Ill 360-71 Haenchen, E. I 156 Halakha 11 250--1 Harbsmeier, GOtz I 363 Harnack, A. von I 332, 361, 372, 11291 Harrison, Everett F. IV 149-58 healing: Jairus' daughter IV 68-70, 77-9; 'Legion' IV 62-6; woman who touched Jesus' cloak IV 70-6 heathen mythology: compared to Hebrew and Christian I 277-89 Hebrews, Gospel of the IV 175-9, 210 Hebrew sacred records: interpretation I 237-8 Hedrick, Charles W. IV 197 Heidegger, Martin I 340--1,345 Hellenistic religion I 236-7 Herrmann, Wilhelm I 325 Heydenreich, August Ludwig Christian 1269 Hidden Treasure: parable IV 196-8 High Priest's question Ill 272-87 historical criticism I 148-50 historical Jesus: definition Ill 145 Historical Jesus and the Rejected Gospels, The C. H. Hedrick ( ed) IV 186-205 historical mythi I 259-61; definition I 290; see also mythi 'historification': of mythical material I 141--4 historiography: nineteenth-century 1200 History of Religions school I 333 Hofius, Otfried IV 213-18 holiness: quest for 11301-14 honour 11 332--4, 328329; concept of 11325 Hooker, M. D. I 418-24, 428, 439-49, Ill 85, 88, 89, 92 Horsley, Richard 11345 Horst, Georg Konrad I 53--4 idealism I 327-8 illustrations: parables n 62-3 inaugurated eschatology I 156 inconsistencies: in narrative I 292-3; New Testament I 330--1 indebtedness 11330--1
infancy gospels IV 166-7 infancy of Jesus I 263 Introduction: science of I 217 introductory formulae: parables 11 47-9, 73--4 Iranian eschatology 11 148-9 Jairus' daughter IV 68-70,77-9 James: disciple IV 11-12, 13, 135 Jaspers, Karl I 340 Jensen, P. I 313 Jeremias, Joachim I 176--87, 402-3,433, 447,452,454, 1145-57, Ill 86, 95, 104-5 Jerusalem IV 40--1, 43--4; destruction of D1 54--7; last journey to IV 112-18 Jesus: authenticity of sayings I 393-8, 427-36; burial Ill 241-50,253-68, 386-8; as communicator Ill 164--5; conduct of I 167-8; definition of historical Ill 145; demythologization I 348-9, 361-2, 374--5; ethical teaching 11245-59, 262-71; his message I 181-3, 186-7; infancy I 263; knowledge Ill 50--76; knowledge of his divinity Ill 118-28; knowledge of the future Ill 53-64; as the Messiah Ill 64--7; as a prophet I 154, 180, 11 273--4, Ill 53, 186-8; as a rabbi I 153--4; Son of God 11 235-7, III67-71, 104-15, 191-2,272; suffering ofl 170--1, Ill 187, IV 111-12; as a teacher 11 272-87 Jesus, the Servant-Messiah 11 221-37 Jesus and Christian Origins Outside the New Testament IV 163-82 Jesus and the Word trans. Louise Pettibone Smith and Erminie Huntress Lantero I 121-32 Jesus in the Gospels IV 130--45 Jesus of Nazareth: His Life, Times and Teaching 11 245-59 Jesus of Nazareth: Lord and Christ J. B. Green and M. Turner (eds) Ill 360--71 Jesus of Nazareth- Christ of Faith trans. Seigfried Schatzman Ill 129-39 Jesus' Proclamation of the Kingdom of God Richard Hyde Hiers and David Larrimore Holland (eds) 11 107-16 Jesus savait-il qu'il etait Dieu? Ill 118-28
413
INDEX
Jesus the Nazarene: Myth or History? trans. Frederick Stephens 1306-18 Jesus the Saviour: Studies in New Testament Theology 0183-96 Jesus trans. Janet Penrose Trevelyan IV 85-9 Jewish burial customs m 257-60; see also burial customs Jewish War: Slavonic version IV 379 John: disciple IV 11-12, 13-14 John's gospel: comparison with Secret Gospel Of Mark IV 335--48; Dreyfus's views 01119-20; historicity 1199, Dlll0-13; Jesus' knowledge Dl13; kerygma 1225; localities of Jesus' activity IV 39-45; origins 1274-5; symbolism 1146-7 John the Baptist I 130-2, 155, Dl169-70, IV 26-30; Josephus' account IV 395-6 de Jonge, M. 11221-37 Joseph of Arimathea Ill 245-50, 264, 327,386 Josephus IV 366--8, 390-7; Jewish War, Slavonic version IV 379 Judaism I 213, II 252-3, 254-5, 256-8, Dl19; God as Father II 290-1; influence on Christianity I 77; national solidarity II 286 Judas Iscariot IV 13, 136, 149, 153 judgment, the 11 133-5 Jtilicher, Adolf I 156, 11 8, 10, 66 Juster, Jean 111230-5 justification Ill 08 Justin Martyr 1272-3, IV 385 Kaddish prayer 11202-3, 250 Kahler, Martin 180-94, 178-9, 400 Kaiser, Gottlieb Philipp Christian 1259 Kalthoff, Albert I 313 Kamlah, Wilhelm 1341-2 Kant, Imanuel I 104--5, 248-50; Christology I 51-3 Kasemann, Ernst I 133-58, 222, 405, 452,1V 358 Kaspar, Waiter Ill114 Keim, Theodor IV 81 Kelber, Werner IV 292 kerygma Ill 308, 313; C. H. Dodd I 191-6; explanation of 1188; and mythology I 359-69; theology of
1176-81; unity with the historical Jesus 1211-26 Kerygma and History: A symposium on the Theology of Rudolf Bultmann C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville (eds) I 371-88 Kerygma and Myth: A Theological Debate Hans-Werner Bartsch (ed) 1323-56 Kierkegaard, S~ren I 340 Kingdom of God 11107-9, 113-16, 213-19, 273-5, DI180-2, IV 21-6, 110-11; apocalyptic concept 11213; evaluation of sources 11 109-11; imminence of n 120-35, 156-67; Jesus as inaugurator n 221-37; language of 11 199-211; miracles 11 167-73; parables 11 173-7; in the proclamation of Jesus n 167-77; repentance 11 111-12; sayings about 11 124-35; symbol of 11204-6; understanding 11180-91; victory over Satan ll 147-54 Kingdom of God and the Son of Man, The: A Study in the History of Religion trans. Floyd V. Filson and Bertram Lee Woolf ll 147-54 Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus, The B. D. Chilton (ed) 11 180-91, 199-211 Kingdom of Heaven II 31-40 kingship of God: ancient myth 11199-201 Kittel, Gerhard DI 85 Klausner, J. II 245-59 Kloppenborg, John S. 11320-35 knowledge: of the future m 53-64; Jesus' m 50-76; of Jesus' death m 134-7; of Jes1,1s' divinity m 118-28; of Messiahship m 64-7; Son of God m 67-71; see also self-understanding Knox, John I 427 Koester, Helmut IV 202,238, 241,246, 293 Kllmmel, Werner Georg 1379, 11120-35 Lake of Genesareth IV 6 Lake ofTiberias IV 8-10,11 'language event': parables 1187-9 language research 1184-5 Last Supper IV 149-58
414
INDEX
Latter Prophets Targums 11213-19 law of purification I 152 laws of transformation 1156-7 legend: George's view I 261-2 legends: Greek I 236-7 'Legion': healing of IV 62-6 Leitzmann, Hans Ill 228-30 Le Mystere de Jesus M. P. Couchoud I 316 Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim I 307 Levi: disciple IV 15 liberalism I 332 life after death Ill 332-4 Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah, The IV 67-82 Life of Christ IV 57-66 life of faith I 336-9 Life of Jesus, Critically Examined, The trans. George Eliot I 32-64, 235 Life of Jesus, The Ernest Renan I 72-9 Life of Jesus, The J. C. Verheyden (ed) IV 31-55 Life of Jesus, The trans. Olive Wyon IV 90-118 Life of Jesus D. F. Strauss I 309 Life-of-Jesus movement: criticism of I 80-94 Lightfoot, R. H. I 439 limited good 11326-7 Lindemann, Andreas IV 191 Linnemann, E. 11 20-43 literary criticism I 183-4,451-62,11206-9 localities: of Jesus' activity IV 36-45; John's gospel IV 39-45 Logia 10 and 16 IV 299 Logia 33 and 39a IV 300 Logia 47 and 55 IV 301 Logia 65-66 IV 297-9 Logia 72, 76b and 79 IV 302 Logia Q I 310 Logion 31 IV 299-300 Logion 104 IV 303 logos: Plato I 380 Lohmeyer, Ernst I 364,379-80 Longenecker, Richard N. I 451--62 Lord's Prayer 11 249-50 Lord's Supper IV 149-58 Lorenzmeier, Theodor: essay 11 182 love 11305-8, 344-6, IV 153-4; Christian I 341-2; of God 11278-81 Lucian of Samosata IV 386-7 Luke's gospel I 199; origin I 273-4;
salvation history I 143-4; speaking in tongues I 26, 28-9; theology I 199 luminous appearances: of the risen Christ Ill 352-8 Luther, Martin 11 321 Lutheran churches: Christology I 39,40 Mack, Burton L. Ill 162 Magdalen, Mary Ill 301-2, 312, IV 12 Mandrean Gnostic sect I 131 Manson, T. W. I 433, 11228,262-71, Ill 108,166 Mara bar Serapion IV 382-3 Marcan order I 195-6 Marcus Aurelius I 75-6 marital ethics 11331-4 Mark: messiahship Ill 272-87 Mark's gospel I 310; Bruno Bauer's view I 310; burial of Jesus Ill 241-50; Son of God I 138-9, 143 marriage 11322-3,331--4, 341-2 Marshall, Howard 11 343, Ill 83-96 Martha: resurrection of Lazarus m 345-8 Marxsen, Willi 11 339, 340 Mary: mother of Jesus IV 13, 46, 48-9 Mary Magdalen see Magdalen, Mary mashal (parable) 11 20-1 Masoretic Text 11213-19 Matthew: disciple IV 12, 135-6 Matthew's gospel: eschatology I 142-3; historification of mythical material I 142; infancy narrative I 141-2; origin I 272-3 Maurer, Christian IV 314 Mayeda, Goro IV 316-17 McArthur, Harvey K. I 402,404 McCane, Byron R. Ill 253-68 Meier, John P. IV 211, 212, 3R9, 391 Menenius Agrippa: parable of 11 7P,..9 mercy 11 301-8; consequences of 11309-11 Merklein, Helm ut ll 222-3. 230 meshalim: narrative 11 'J0-1 04 message: of Jesus IIHI-3, IH6-7 Messiah, The: Deve/optnC'nts in Early Judaism and Christianity .1. H. Charlesworth (ell) Ill 144-59 messiahship 11231~5.1111HJ--6, 272~H7, IV 85-9,94. 109; foreknowledge of Ill 64-7; nineteenth century discussion I 31 I~ 12 Messianic feast IV %
415
INDEX
messianic ideas: definition Ill 145; influence of Ill 144-59; source of mythus I 290; at the time of Jesus Ill 146-50 messianic king 11 35-7 messianic mission Ill 133--4 messianic movements I 129-30 messianic secret I 106-7, 124, 155--6, 218-19,312, Ill 12,64-7,164-6, 183--6 Messianic Torah I 142 Messianism: political IV 102-3 metaphors: and parables 119-10 methodology I 400--12 Meyer, Ben F. Ill 161-73 Meyer, Heinrich August Wilhelm I 267-8 Midrash 11 248 Milik, J. T. IV 359 Mind ofJesus, The IV 122-9 ministry: of Jesus Ill 161-73 miracles I 264, 268-9; Dr Paulus I 307; feeding of the multitudes IV 90--6; Gadarene swine IV 62--6; Jairus' daughter IV 68-70, 77-9; Kingdom of God 11 167-73; modern view of I 326; mythical interpretation I 259; speaking in tongues I 25-9; stilling of the tempest IV 60-2; woman who touched Jesus' cloak IV 70--6 Mishna 1123, Ill 201-2, 210--19; burial customs Ill 247,248 mission: of the disciples IV 137--41; of Jesus Ill 167-73 missionary aspects IV 141-5 modern critical theology I 179-80 modern man: outlook of I 326-7, 360 modern world view I 325--6 Mommsen, Theodor III 226-7 monasticism 11 257 Money in Trust parable 11 10 moral imperative: Kant's opinion I 248-50 moral standards 11255-7 mortality I 327-8 Moses: authority of I 151-3 motive: for Jesus' life III 7-22 Moule, Charles F. D. I 432, 452, 460 mourning III 261, 265; see also burial customs MUller, Otfried I 284--6 multiple attestation I 453, 456, Ill 179
multitudes: feeding of IV 90--6 Mustard Seed: parable of 11 174 myth: ancient kingship of God 11 199-201; and gospel I 371-88; nature of I 330 mythi: application to sacred histories I 235-96; definition I 251; recognition of I 291--6 mythical cosmology I 323--4 mythical mode of interpretation: New Testament I 256-8; Old Testament I 250--5 mythology: of the New Testament I 323-56, 359--69 myth us: definition of the evangelical 1289-91 Naassene Gnostics I 313-14 Nag Hammadi Codices IV 187,363--6 narrative laws: parables n 66-73 narrative meshalim 1196-104 narrative types Ill 291-2 national solidarity 11 286 naturalism I 327 naturalists I 241-3 Nazarene Gospel IV 175-9 Nazarenes I 313--14, IV 6 Nazoreans, Gospel of the IV 210, 241-2 negative criteria: for authenticity I 429-31 neighbour: love of 11 278--81 'Neues Testament und Mythologie' Rudolf Bultman I 359--69, 371--6 Neutestamentliche Studien fiir Rudolf Bultmann W. Eltester (ed) I 393-8 'new quest' I 401,409 New Quest of the Historical Jesus, A I 191-203 New Testament: contradictions I 330--1; cosmology I 323--4; demythologization I 371-88; mythology of I 323-56; parables 1126-31; scholarship 1193--4; world picture of I 323--4, 360 New Testament Theology Ethelbert Stauffer I 383--4 Nicodemus: Gospel oflV 171-5 Nineham, D. E. I 433, 439 nineteenth-century research: either-or decisions I 100--7 non-historicity: theories of I 306-18
41o
INDEX
objectives: of Jesus' life m 7-22 O'Collins, G. G. m 317-21,352--8 Oesterley, W. 0. E. 1161-90 'old quest' I 400 Old Testament: Christian interpretations I 238-40; God as Father 11 290-1; parables 1120--6 Old Testament Pseudepigrapha IV 357-60 On Romans and Other New Testament Essays Ill 395-404 Oral Law 11 23 Origen: allegorical interpretations I 238-40 original sin I 328 Otto, Rudolf 11 147-54 paganism IV 10 Pannenberg, Wolfhart Ill 317 Papias, Bishop of Hierapolis I 272, 273, IV 165--6 Papyrus Egerton 2 IV 211, 235-45, 311-27; see also Egerton Gospel Papyrus Oxyrhynchus: 840 and 1224 IV211 Papyrus Vindobonensis Greek 2325 IV211 parables: allegories 11 63--6; applications 11 74-5; audience 11 266-70; categorization 11 95; as communication 11 76--80; of decision 11 176; extracanonical IV 186--205; illustrations 11 62-3; introductory formulae 11 73-4; as Jesus' sayings 11 89-90; as 'language event' 11 87-9; literary form 11 206--9; meaning and nature 11 20-43; narrative 11 96--104; narrative laws 11 67-73; nature and purpose 11 7-18; realised eschatology 11 173-7; of rejection 11 176; research 11 94; settings 1145-57, 97, 265-70; similitudes 11 61-2; structure 11 80-7 parables: stories: the Assassin IV 192; the Children in a Field IV 192-4; the Date Palm IV 200-1; the Ear of Grain IV 202-3; the Grain of Wheat IV 201-2; the Hidden Treasure IV 196--8; the Kingdom of God 11 115; the Prodigal Son I 166; the Sower IV 58; the Unmerciful Servant 11 302-3; the Wise Fishermen IV 194--6; the Woman with a Jar of Meal IV 190-1
Parables of Enoch IV 359-60 Parables of Jesus: Introduction and Exposition 11 20-43 Parables of Jesus: Introduction and Exposition trans. John Sturdy 1161-90 Parables of Jesus, The trans. S. H. Hooke 11 45-57 Parables of the Kingdom, The 117-18 parabolic teaching 11 265-70 Parousia I 326; delay ofl108-9, 110; foreknowledge of Ill 59--64 Passion: foreknowledge of Ill 54-7, 134-7 Paul: companion of I 273-4; conversion m 399-400; faith I 160-5; before the high council I 22-3; meaning of 'flesh' I 335--6; ministry of the word I 225; redemption I 384--6; resurrection I 19-20, 172, 386--7; the Spirit I 337-8; Stahl's view I 317 Pauline epistles I 314-16,11224-5 Paulus, Dr I 246--7,307 Pentateuch I 252 Pentecost I 25-9 Perkins, Pheme 11 339-52, III377--89 Perrin, N. I 418, 422-3, 11 199-211, Ill 84-5, 89, 91-2, 283, IV 364 Peter: background IV 11; confession IV 107, 125--6; Jesus' promises to IV 126--9; preeminence IV 13, 14, 47, 134-5 Peter, Gospel ofiV 167-72,210,227-35, 265-83,311-27 Pharisees 11 312-14, m 131, IV 23-4 Philo I 237-8 philological research I 184-5 philosophical mythi I 259--61 philosophy: Bultmann's view of I 374 piety 11312 Pilate, Pontius m 131, 136,224-5 Pilgrim's Progress 11 10 'pillar passages' I 395, 446 Pliny the Younger IV 384 Pokorny, Petr 11223-4 political interpretation: aim of Jesus III11-12 positive criteria: for authenticity 14.11-5 possession: by demons IV 62-6 poverty IV 21-.1 prayers: of Jesus IV lJlJ-100; Last Supper IV 156-~
417
INDEX
preaching: eschatological I 218--19; at Galilee IV 16-20; of Jesus I 156-7 pre-Christian Jesus: theory of I 313-14 Prenter, Regin I 365 pretentiousness 11 284-5 priest messiah 111146, 151 primitive Christianity I 141, 147-8, 211-26 Problem of Historical Jesus, The I 176-87 'proleptic' eschatology I 454 Promise and Fulfilment trans. D. M. Barton 11120--35 prophets I 129-30; Jesus as I 154, 180, 11 273--4, Ill 53, 186-8; messianic ideas Ill 146-7, 154 Protestant Reformation 11 257 Protevangelium of lames IV 211 Pseudepigrapha IV 357-60 public life: of Jesus IV 31-53; as a continuum IV 53-5 pure mythus: definition I 290 purification: law of I 152 purpose: in Jesus' life Ill 7-22 Q (the Logia) I 310 quest, new I 401,409 Quest of the Historical Jesus: A critical study of its progress from Reimarus to Wrede Albert Schweitzer I 99-114 Quispel, G. IV 293 Qur'an I 396, IV 380--1 Rabbinical criminal code: and the trial narratives Ill 199-221 Rabbinical literature: parables 11 23-6 rabbinic writings: Jesuanic traditions IV 375-9, 387-8 rabbis Ill 9 rationalists I 136; communication of properties I 41; French eighteenth century I 308--9; natural explanation I 244-8, 268; Paul us I 307 Rauschenbusch, Waiter 11210 realized eschatology 11 156-61 reciprocity 11326-7, 328--9 redactional criticism I 459 Reformed Church: Christology I 40--1 Reimarus: Fragments C. H. Talbert ( ed) I 13-30 Reimarus, Hermann Samuel I 13-30, 176-7,307
Reinach, Salomon I 314-15 religion: embedded 11 324 religious authorities: conflict with IV 97-8 religious etiquette 11 282-4 remarriage 11331-4 Renan, Joseph Ernest I 72-9, 310 repentance 11275; Kingdom of God 11111-12 reply to John 11 167-8 research: c. 1985 IV 355-73; language I 184-5; nineteenth-century I 100-7; parables 11 94; philological I 184-5; resurrection Ill 377-9 resurrection Ill 332-50, 377-89, 395-404; Allison 's view 11 224-6; apostles' role I 18--30; Bultmann's view I 362-3, 375; Dahl's view 11 223; demythologization of I 351-5; empty tomb tradition Ill 324-9; foreknowledge of Ill 54-7; 'historical' event Ill 317-21; Merklein's view 11 222-3; modern meaning I 328; narratives Ill 291-314; objections to truth Ill 396-8; Paul's view I 387; physicality 111360--71; proclamation I 171-4; support of truth Ill 399-401 Resurrection of the Dead, The Karl Barth I 329 Richardson, Alan 111317-18 Ricoeur, Paul 11203--4,289 Riesenfeld, Harald I 452 risen Christ: appearances of HI 291-314, 342-3; luminous appearances Ill 352-8 Robertson, J. M. I 313 Robinson, James M. I 99-114, 191-203, 223,224,427,434,455, 111352-8 Roman criminal procedure Ill 224-5 Roman customs: burial of criminals Ill 241-3, 254-7 Roman Society and Roman Law in the New Testament Ill 224-37 royal messiah 111146, 151-4, 183--4 sabbath: commandment I 151, Ill 131; observance 11 282-3; replacement by Lord's day 111400 Salome, daughter of Herodias IV 26-7 Salome, wife of Zebedee IV 12, 14
41R
INDEX
salvation I 360, 374, 384; as Jesus' purpose m 9-10 Samaria IV 44 Sanders, E. P. D 347-8 Sapphira and Ananias 124-5 Sasse, Hermann I 377 Satan 11 147-54 satisfaction: theory of I 38-9 Saunders, E. W. IV 130-45 saving event I 362, 374, 381-2 sayings: God the Father 11 291-3; of Jesus I 393-8, 11 89-90 Schleiermacher, Freidrich Daniel Ernst I 41, 60, IV 31-55; Christology I 45-51 Schlink, Edmund I 377 Schmeidel, Paul I 395, 432, 446 Schmid, Heinrich I 48 Schmidt, Ludwig I 195-6 Schrage, Wolfgang 11344 Schubert, Wilhelm 11 153 Schulz, S. 11 181 Schumann, Friedrich Karl I 380 Schweitzer, Albert: abandonment of the 'old quest' I 400; dogma m 281; eschatology I 454,11 321; psychological reconstruction I 178; From Reimarus to Wrede I 99-114; study of the life of Jesus I 185 Schweizer, Eduard 111281,332-50 secondary context: parables 11 45--6 Second Coming see Parousia Secret Gospel of Mark IV 211,245-8, 266-7,333--48 Seed Growing Secretly: parable of 11174 self-commitment I 341-2,343-5 self-righteousness 11284-5 self-understanding Ill 161-73, 176-93; see also knowledge semi tic features I 453, 456 Serapion, Mara bar IV 382-3 Serapion of Antioch IV 311, 312-13 Sermon on the Mount I 150-1, 11245--6 settings: of parables 11 45-57 Sevrin, Jean-Marie IV 201-2, 203 shame: concept of 11325 Sherwin-White, A. N. 111224-37 Short Life of Christ, A IV 149-58 signs: of the coming Kingdom 11 167-73; of Messiahship 11 169-70 similitudes 11 10, 61-2; narrative laws 11 6fr-7
Simon Peter see Peter sin I 345--6 Slavonic version: Josephus' Jewish War IV379 Smalley, S. S. m 93 Smith, Morton IV 333, 335--43 Smith, William Benjamin I 313-14 Snodgrass, Klyne R. IV 291-304 So-Called Historical Jesus and the Historic, Biblical Christ, The Car! E. Braaten (ed) I 80-94 social activity IV 51-3 Socinians: communication of properties I 41 Socinus, Laelius I 42 Son of David 11232--4, Ill 151-2 Son of God 11 235-7, Ill 67-71, 104-15, 191-2,272 Son of Man 11 41-3, 263, III188-91, 281-2, IV 5-6, 360; debate Ill 83-96 son of the Blessed Ill 278 sources: Ethelbert Stauffer I 196-8; Jesus' self-understanding Ill 176-8; Synoptic Gospels I 165; see also individual titles Sower: parable of 11 8-9, 173--4, IV 58 Spanish Inquisition 11 255 speaking in tongues I 25-9 Spinoza, Benedict I 51,75 Spitta, Friedrich IV 104--6 Stahl, R. I 316-17 standards: ethical 11255-7 Standing Before God: Studies on Prayer in Scripture and in Tradition A. Finkel (ed) 11289-97 state of union I 39 Stauffer, Ethelbert I 196, 384-5, Ill X9 Stein, Robert H. Ill 324-9 Strauss, David F. I 32-64, 235-<Jo. 309, IV 81 Stroker, William D. IV /R6-205 structure: parables D 80-7 Studies in the Gospels: Essays in Memory of R. H. U~lttfiwt D. E. Nineham Ill 291-314 Studies of the Historical.lf'sus l rans. Andrew Scobie I 159-74 Studying the Historical k.ms: Evaluations of the State of Current Research B. D. Chilton and C. A. Evans (eds) Ill Hi1-73. 377-XlJ. IV 375-98
419
INDEX
Stuhlmacher, P. Ill 129-39 subsistence: during his ministry IV 48-50 Suetonius IV 383 suffering 11264, Ill 155--8; anticipation Ill 382; of Jesus I 170-1, Ill 187, IV 111-12; Son of Man Ill 189-90 Supernaturalism I 136 Supranaturalism I 282 Swete, H. B. IV 315 Symbolism of Evil, The 11203--4 symbols: definition 11 203--4 synagogues IV 7 Synoptic Gospels I 165-6, 214-15; see also individual gospels Synoptists I 146-7 Syriac Gospels IV 294, 298 Tacitus, Cornelius IV 388-9 Talmud 11248, 250, 258 Tanna 11248-9, 250 Tannaitic period: Rabbinical literature 1123--4 Tannehill, Richard 11 328 Targums 11213-19 Tatian's Diatessaron IV 294,341-2 taxation IV 15 teaching: ethical 11245-59, 262-71; of Jesus 11 272--87; public IV 31-55; upper room discourse IV 152-6 tempest: miracle of IV 60-2 Testimonium Flavianum IV 366-8, 390-5 Thallus IV 381 theories: non-historicity I 306-18; preChristian Jesus I 313-14 theory of satisfaction I 38-9 Therapeutre IV 19 Thielicke, T. I 364-5 'Third Quest' Ill 176 Thomas: disciple IV 136; doubting Ill 302; Gospel of see Gospel of Thomas Thomas Aquinas, St see Aquinas, St Thomas 'thoroughgoing eschatology' I 107-9, 454 Tiberias, Lake of IV 8-10, 11 Tieftrunk, Johann Heinrich I 53 Toledot Yeshu IV 378-9 tomb, empty Ill 325-9, 341-2, 384-6, 401-2
Torrey, C. C. I 454 Tract Sanhedrin Ill 201-2, 210-19 'traditio-historical' method I 418 Transfiguration Ill 306, 379 transformation: laws of 1156-7 trial of Jesus: before Jewish authorities Ill 200-1, 206-10; judicial fairness Ill 200, 201-6; Lietzmann 's view Ill 228-30, 235; Mishna (Tract Sanhedrin) Ill 210-13; before Pilate Ill 224-8; Sanhedrin Ill 213-21; capital jurisdiction Ill 230-5; timetable Ill 235-6 Tuckett, C. M. Ill 176--93 Turner, H. E. W. I 432 Two Document Hypothesis I 102, 103-4 Umbrian movement IV 22 uncleanness 11 308-9 unio personalis I 39 unity: of God and man I 55-7 Unjust Seward: parable of 11 16-17 Unknown Gospel see Papyrus Egerton 2 'unwritten' sayings IV 163--82 upper room discourse IV 149-52, 153-6 Usteri, J. M. I 257,260 Vater, J. S. I 252 Vermes, G.III 86, 105 Vie de Jesus Renan I 310 visions: resurrection appearances Ill 355-6 vocabulary: of Gospel of Peter IV 322-3; of Papyrus Egerton 2 IV 319-22 Volney, Constantin Franrrois I 308-9 Voltaire I 308 Wartenburg, Yorck von, Count I 340 washing the disciples' feet IV 152-3 Washington Codex IV 164-5 Watts, Alan 11 200 wealth 11 349, IV 20; displays of 11 328; see also poverty Weiss, Johannes I 107--8, 311,454, 11 107-16, 210, 321-2 Wellhausen, Julius I 316 Wheelwright, Philip 11 203-4 Whitsun I 25-9 Wilder, Amos 11 202, 206-9, 322 Windisch, Hans I 105 Wink, Waiter 11345
420
INDEX
Wrede, William I 102, 312 Wright, David IV 311-27
Wise Fishermen: parable IV 194-6 WolfenbUttel Fragments I 242-3 Woman with a Jar of Meal: parable IV 190--1 women IV 25; disciples IV 12 Woolston, Thomas I 242 world-picture I 371; of New Testament I 323-4,360
Yosippon IV 379-80 Zealots I 130 Zeller, Dieter 11289-97
421
