Robinson adopting Paul’s style?

I may be completely alone in this, but I find humor in Paul’s remarks in 1 Cor 1.14-16:

I thank God that I baptized none of you except Cripus and Gaius, so that no one would say you were baptized in my name. Now I did baptize also the household of Stephanas; beyond that, I do not know whether I baptized any other.

Every time I read this passage I hear the first bit (“I thank God . . .”) spoken with passion and definiteness. And then I imagine Paul thinking, “Oh crap, that’s not right”, before–under his breath, maybe or in hushed tones–mentioning the first half of the second bit (“Now I did . . .”), and then resuming the original passion and definiteness for the final claim, “beyond that . . .”.  It’s almost as though Paul’s desire to make a point got the better of him and he suddenly realized it, thus requiring some self-correction. (Or maybe Sosthenes chimed in and reminded Paul of what happened).

But there is something else about this passage that I appreciate, and that is Paul’s decision to leave the self-correction in the text for everyone to see. Sure, since this comment was early on the in letter, Paul could have said, “Scrap that and let’s start again.” But he doesn’t. It’s almost as though he’s saying: “See, I’m not perfect; I screw up from time to time. But I’m willing to own up to it.” Could this be a part (or an illustration) of the wider argument he is making to the Corinthians? Maybe.

However, answering that question is not the point of this post. This post is about something I noticed this morning while reading a little handbook on Romans. I found what looks to be John Robinson adopting Paul’s style:

Perhaps the easiest way to picture the progress of the epistle is as though you were making a journey by canal across an isthmus. You could imagine the epistle going from Corinth to Rome across the isthmus of Corinth, though the first canal was not in fact begun until about ten years after Paul was writing. It was started by the emperor Nero in 66-67 with a work-force largely composed of indentured Jewish slaves, and then abandoned unfinished. Until that time, smaller vessels were apparently dragged over bodily on some sort of slipway. But imagine, for the sake of the exercise . . .

–J.A.T. Robinson, Wrestling with Romans (1979), 9

It’s as though Robinson realizes, as soon as he writes it, that his analogy is crap–or at least historically inappropriate–and has to correct himself. Hence the over-qualification. As with Paul, what’s interesting in this case is that Robinson retains the analogy for the sake of his argument (which is quite good, by the way) and we get to see it–despite its inappropriateness. Any other writer today would rework the argument or come up with a different analogy for the final manuscript so as to avoid embarrassment. Not Robinson. And that’s commendable.

be careful in polemics . . .

because (apparently) it might cause forgetfulness, misrepresentation or an uncontrollable urge to speak untruths. One example comes from the always feisty Thomas Ice, an ardent mouthpiece for (Classical) Dispensationalism.

The topic of discussion is the (rather untenable) notion of a secret pre-tribulation rapture of the saints as the first stage of Christ’s second coming–i.e. what Classical Dispensationalists (mis)label the parousia.[1] Ice’s beef is not necessarily with the teaching itself but with the qualifying term “secret” being attached to it.[2] Expressing his angst with those who (wrongly–in his view) describe the pre-tribulation as “secret”, Ice says the following:

Sorry, but this is another mistake, another myth. In all my reading of pretribulationism and discussion with pretribulationists, I have never, that I can recall, heard a pre-trib rapturist use the nomenclature of “secret” to describe our view. I have only heard the phrase “secret” rapture as a pejorative term used exclusively by anti-pretribulationists. Why. Apparently they enjoy fighting a straw man.

T. Ice, “Rapture Myths” (accessed, 25-Dec-12);
cf. also the same article, yet posted here.[3]

Ice then pins the blame for this “myth” on Dave MacPherson, a staunch critic of both Ice and (Classical) Dispensationalism, and asserts that MacPherson misrepresented the truth in order to fuel his criticisms. However, it is in voicing his animosity against using “secret” and his railing against MacPherson that Ice slides into trouble in a number of ways.

First, it is simply not the case that MacPherson (or anyone else) created the description for (Classical) Dispensationalism’s understanding of the (supposed) first-stage in order to mock it. Dispensationalists long before and after MacPherson’s book (The Rapture Plot [1994]) regularly employed the term. For example:

• Clarence Larkin, Dispensational Truth (1918), 13-14
• Michael Baxter, Forty Prophetic Wonders (1918), 153
• Hal Lindsey, Late Great Planet Earth (1970), 142-43
• Robert Gundry, Church and the Tribulation (1974), 104
• Warren Wiersbe, Be Ready (1984), 19, 144
• Tim LaHaye, Prophecy Study Bible (2004), note on 1Thess 4.13
• Norman Geisler, Systematic Theology (2005), 4:623
• cf. also Charles Feinberg, Millennialism: Two Major Views (1985), 287

This raises the second problem: not one of the sources just listed uses the term “secret” in a negative way–contrary to what Ice boldly claims. In fact, not once in these works is “secret” used in any way other than an axiomatic description for the (so-called) pretribulation rapture. Thus, in this case, it would seem that it is Ice who has created the straw man argument, not the so-called anti-pretribulationists (e.g. MacPherson, Ken Gentry).

Third, Ice’s adamant assertion that in all his reading he has not encountered the term “secret” used for the pretribulation view of the rapture is untenable. (Admittedly, he supplies his own escape-hatch with the qualifier: “that I can recall”). With someone as entrenched in Dispensationalism as Ice is, one would think that he’s read the likes of Larkin, Lindsey, Feinberg; and with LaHaye being his colleague at the “Pre-Trib Research Center”, it would safe to assume that Ice has read LaHaye’s stuff.

Even if we can’t assume that, let’s go on what we can know. In his 1990 article, “Why the Doctrine of the Pretribulation Rapture Did Not Begin with Margaret MacDonald,” Ice quotes directly from John Walvoord’s book, The Blessed Hope and Tribulation (1979). I mention this because Ice’s quotation ends on the same page where Walvoord mentions the secret rapture (i.e. p. 43). And since Ice later quotes from p. 44 of Walvoord’s book, we can be reasonably sure he noticed the reference to a “secret” rapture–that is unless Ice is reading selectively.

This is not just a one-off. In the same 1990 article, Ice refers to two other works that make explicit mention of a “secret rapture” (Timothy Weber, Living in the Shadow of the Second Coming  [1984], 21; Harold Rowdon, The Origins of the Brethren 1825-1850 [1967], 231-32), and in both cases the tone is no where close to being pejorative. I have not had the opportunity to check other Ice articles to see if a similar phenomenon occurs. But on the basis of this 1990 article alone, I’m having a hard time believing Ice when he says he’s never heard or read pre-trib rapturists use the term “secret” to describe the event in question.

Now, Ice might play his “I don’t recall” card on these occasions, and if we’re in a decent mood we might let it slide. Maybe. But there is one final problem for Ice when he blasts “anti-pretribulationists” for misrepresenting his view, and it is a problem that his trusty trump card cannot settle. In 2001, a book misleadingly called, Charting the End Times: A Visual Guide to Bible Prophecy & Its Fulfillment,[4] asserts the following (p.112):

When examining Scripture, the honest seeker after truth must face the fact that there are 15 differences between the two phases of Christ’s coming that cannot reconciled. This alone makes it impossible for them to be the same event. One is a secret coming, the other is public for all to see. One will cause participants to rejoice, and the other will cause people to mourn. [emphasis added]

Notice that the statement is not pejorative, misrepresenting or even anti-pretribulationist. It specifically refers to a “secret coming” [i.e. rapture] of Christ as nearly axiomatic of “biblical” prophecy, and something that is a positive find for “the honest seeker after truth.” The authors of this book? Tim LaHaye and Thomas Ice.

It would seem that in his haste to ridicule those who disagree with him, Ice has wrongly accused his opponents of crimes they did not commit; he has not accurately represented what other Dispensationalists are saying; and he has apparently forgotten his own contribution to the problem he seeks to eradicate. But it is often the case that when anger sets in, the mouth opens and the eyes shut.

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[1] For now I will side-step the discussion on how Classical Dispensationalists argue for a two-stage return of Christ and how the term “parousia” (supposedly) refers to the first stage.
[2] In some ways, Ice’s argument resembles John Walvoord’s attempt to avoid the term “secret” and yet accept the idea (cf. Church in Prophecy [1964], 83, 136-37).
[3] I have taken screenshots of both sites, just in case Ice wants to erase alter retract his original statement.
[4] The sub-title should read, “A Visual Guide to Dispensational Prophecy & Its Fulfillment”.

disparate observations*

One
Last week, the story of a Georgia House Representative’s views on creation hit the news. The underlying tone of the article seems to be one of poking fun at people who happen to hold a “young Earth” view of creation, or at least paint all Christians Broun. The structure of the article and the nature of some of the comments bear this out. However, in all the fun-poking, the writer’s eagerness produced a couple of flaws–one less severe than the other.

The minor flaw is the assertion that “Broun advanced his own theory of life on Earth” (emphasis added), one that adheres to a literal reading of the text. Yet a tad later the same writer claims: “Broun is far from the only believer in a literal, or Biblical, creation.” Well, which is it? Is it Broun’s own theory, or one shared by others? You can’t have it both ways. I guess the escape hatch here is Broun’s 9000-year-old suggestion, which is a bit odd.

The bigger flaw, however, is that in attempting to paint Christians with the same brush, the writer fails to recognize the basic problem of appointing someone with extreme anti-Science views to be the Chair of the House Committee on Science, Space, and Technology. (I owe this observation to Robert Cargill). Hey Stephanie: If you wanted a real opportunity to criticize, or at least focus on something more controversial, you missed it.

Two
Two days ago, I read an article by W.O. Fitch, entitled, “Paul, Apollos, Cephas, Christ” (Theology 74.607 [1971]: 18-24). Anyone with a basic knowledge of NT scholarship in general and the Corinthian letters in particular will conclude the article is about the issue of “parties” or “factions” (or “cliques”) in Corinth. In fact, this conclusion would seem to follow from what Fitch argues in the bulk of the article.

However, when we come to the end of the article we discover that dealing with issue of “parties” or “factions” (or “cliques”) in Corinth, and how we might understand them, are not a part of Fitch’s agenda. His final sentence reveals that he has something completely different in mind. Fitch says: “All of this point to the early date for Galatians: and also suggests that Acts, while it is eirenic, is not as tendentious as some current writing assumes” (24).

Three
This morning I started reading B.F. Westcott’s, A General View of the History of the English Bible (1868)–as you do on a Tuesday.  Throughout the first 70 or so pages, I noticed something: there is a striking (and scary) similarity between 1) the opponents of both Wycliffe and Tyndale and 2) the “King James Only” advocates of today.

Particularly, the two groups share the same animosity and  indignation toward their chosen “enemies.” Even the kinds of arguments marshaled (or at least the reasons behind them) have frightening parallels. The only notable difference is that the KJO crowd isn’t burning their “enemies” at the stake–although, I wouldn’t say that option has gone without consideration.

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* A couple of these will likely get me into trouble, or at least ruffle some feathers. Sorry.

confusion about “confusion” (2)

In the first part of this discussion, I noted the various ways in which 1Cor 14.33 is interpreted and/or applied. Throughout the discussion, I stressed the point that all of the interpretations and/or applications given rely on a particular definition of “confusion”–i.e. the presence of obscurity or lack of knowledge. In other words, “confusion” relates to one’s cognitive faculties (or some type of breakdown therein).

To show my cards: I think the definition and reliance are incorrect–or at least incomplete. However, this represents only one side of the dilemma, which I will address by recognizing an alternate reading not only for 1Cor 14.33 (one that makes better sense of Paul’s terminology) but also “confusion.” The other side of the dilemma, as I mentioned at the end of the first post, deals with Paul’s specific claim and its meaning in the light of the surrounding context. (We might need a third installment to wrap this up).

For the sake of clarity (and to avoid confusion!), let’s look again at Paul’s statement in 1Cor 14.33: οὐ γάρ ἐστιν ἀκαταστασίας ὁ θεὸς ἀλλὰ εἰρήνης. Initially, we recognized two possible translations of this passage: 1) “God is not a God of confusion”, and 2) “God is not the author of confusion”. If we know anything about Bible translations, it should be obvious that my previous sampling hardly represents all possible renderings. So let’s consider a few more.

A fair number of English translations read: “God is not a God of disorder but of peace” (CEB, DARBY, GW,¹ HCSB, PHILLIPS,² LEB, NIV, NIrV, NIVUK, NIV84, NLT, NRSV, TNIV). One translation (overly) sharpens the reading: “because God does not want us to be in disorder but in harmony and peace” (GNT cf WE), while another softens the blow: “God wants everything done peacefully and in order” (CEV). Moreover, “God is not a God of disorder but of peace” is the preferred reading in the German (HOF, LUTH, NGU, SCH51, SCH2000) and French (BDS, LSG, NEG79, SG21).

Here we find that by simply translating ἀκαταστασία as “disorder” rather than “confusion”, the passage has a different feel. Instead of dealing with a state of (personal) obfuscation, we see Paul addressing a general state of unrest in the community. In fact, on this reading, the idea of “disorder” sits in better balance with “peace”, for the two are natural antonyms; “confusion” and “peace” do not seem to relate so evenly (or appropriately). This is especially the case if “confusion” is related primarily to cognitive faculties.

So if the terms are so different in meaning, why do some translations have “confusion” for ἀκαταστασία while others have “disorder”? One possible solution is that the translations supporting “confusion” use the term in accordance with its (much) older definition. In Middle English, “confuse” carried the sense of to “rout” or “disrupt” that which was already ordered (or peaceful). Only later did the term become descriptive of mental faculties.

Thus, because of this semantic shift, other translations opted for “disorder” in an effort to retain the meaning of the text. It is therefore possible (and likely) that those who read “confusion” in 1Cor 14.33 as a state of (personal) obfuscation are simply unaware of the older definition. Doesn’t this create confusion in how 1Cor 14.33 is understood? Yep. As Blaise Pascal opined: “Words differently arranged have different meanings, and meanings differently arranged have different effects” (Pensées, 1.23). So what do we do?

First, we need to set aside English (German, and French) translations for the moment and pay exclusive attention to Paul’s terminology. In other words, forget the translations and focus on the Greek. I have already mentioned it in passing, but the word causing the problem is, ἀκαταστασία, which is a rather unique term. It appears roughly 15 times in the whole of ancient Greek literature outside of the Bible and only 5 times in the NT. (Its cognate, ἀκατάστατος doesn’t fare much better: 14 times in Greek literature and 2 in the NT. The verb, ἀκαταστατέω is even worse: 5 in Greek literature and 0 in the NT).

Only in a small number of instances does ἀκαταστασία refer to mental faculties (see Diogenes Laertius, Vit. 7.110; Polybius, Hist. 7.4.6; Epictetus, Disc. 3.19.3). But even then the focus is not on levels or degrees of knowledge; rather, it emphases an instability of mind–caused either by disease, madness, or something evil. And in one case, Claudius Ptolemy uses ἀκαταστασία to describe physical convulsions brought on by madness or (epileptic) seizures (see Tetra. 3.14.170). While there is a slight shift in focus, moving from the mind to the body, the force of the term remains unchanged–i.e. that which was originally stable (or peaceful) has entered into a state of instability or chaos.³

In the majority of cases, ἀκαταστασία describes the state of a body (or group) of people, and that state is one of unrest or instability–caused either by political means or military conflicts (see Dionysius Halicarnassus, Rom.Ant. 6.31 [cf. 6.74]; Polybius, Hist. 1.70.1 [cf. 14.9.6]; Eusebius, H.E. 5.16.18; Basil of Caesarea, Epist. 70). Given the context, this appears to be the way Jesus uses the term in Lk 21.9. For what it’s worth: the state of unrest of instability tends to be generated in response to decisions made by those in power. Based on all of this, and at the risk of exaggeration, we could say ἀκαταστασία refers to a state of socio-political dissension or even anarchy.

Since ἀκαταστασία is the specific term Paul uses in 1Cor 14.33, and given its particular semantic range; two basic questions emerge: 1) is ἀκαταστασία an appropriate description of the situation in chapter 14, which deals with the exercise of “tongues” and “prophecy” in worship, and 2) what is Paul ultimately doing when he declares, οὐ γάρ ἐστιν ἀκαταστασίας ὁ θεὸς ἀλλὰ εἰρήνης? That’s the subject of the final post.

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¹ This translation balances the claim by adding, “. . . but a God of peace” (emphasis added). Cf. NGU; NIrV, which (strangely) also breaks up the single claim into two.
² NB: Phillips replaces “peace” with “harmony”, and I think he has good reason for doing so.
³ On another occasion, Claudius Ptolemy employs ἀκαταστασία to describe the torrent of winds that precede a storm (see Claudius Ptolemy, Tetra. 2.13.102).

confusion about “confusion” (1)

Near the end of his letter to the problem-laden Corinthian church, Paul declares: οὐ γάρ ἐστιν ἀκαταστασίας ὁ θεὸς ἀλλὰ εἰρήνης (1Cor 14.33), which some English translations render as: “For God is not a God of confusion but of peace” (ASV, ERV,¹ ESV, ESVUK, MOUNCE,² NASB, NCV, RSV). The King James tradition intensifies the situation by adding, “For God is not the author of confusion but of peace” (KJV, KJ21, NKJV–emphasis added). The difference is subtle, yet profound.

This passage has been used in various ways, but each use relies on a particular assumption: “confusion” means either the presence of obscurity or a lack of understanding (and the two tend to feed each other). Usually the focus falls on the Bible itself, specifically its reliability or truthfulness. One writer sees not only the existence of multiple translations as the cause for the confusion, but also the presence of (supposed) contradictions throughout the Bible, which create further confusion, as proof that the Bible is man’s idea and not God’s, since God is not a God of confusion.

Similarly, one vlogger reads 1Cor 14.33 as a clear-cut contradiction of Gen 11.1-7. In other words, God is described in 1Cor 14.33 as “not the author of confusion” (clearly relying on the KJV), while in Gen 11.1-7 God is portrayed as the one who confuses (or confounds) the people by jacking with their language.³ Therefore, since “A” and “non-A” cannot be true of the same thing at the same time, we as readers are left confused (or confounded) by how the Bible describes God; and since the Bible creates this confusion and yet God is not the author of confusion, the Bible cannot be of God.

Other times the passage is used in connection with particular theological concepts or doctrines.  For example, Jehovah’s Witnesses appeal to 1Cor 14.33 in their (attempted) refutation of the Trinity. Their argument here is twofold. On the one hand, God (or as they painfully and regrettably insist, “Jehovah”) would not reveal himself to believers in ways beyond their comprehension; and what (according to JWs) is more incomprehensible than a single God being three persons? On the other hand, God would not leave it to scholars/theologians alone as the ones who are able to wrestle with the mysteries of divinity; God has made himself clearly and easily known to all.

This type of argument, however, is not limited to groups like JWs; I have heard it on many occasions from well-meaning and devout church-goers. Specifically, when discussing the (exciting) complexity of biblical interpretation or even differences in theological views, someone will inevitably say to me: “But the Bible says that ‘God is not a God of confusion’; thus, the Bible should be clear, and things should not be this difficult.” While I have no major problems with either the basic principle about God or the stated ideal, I do have concerns with the passage being applied to situations like these.

And finally in some instances, the passage is used to support distinct life applications for believers. Most often the passage is related to personal and/or spiritual struggles within the Christian life. For example, one individual expresses her anxiety cause by the tension between her knowledge that God is not a God of confusion and her inability to escape that which is preventing spiritual peace. Similarly, Joyce Meyer rambles on about “confusion” being the lack of peace we feel in our lives because of the uncertainty in our knowledge of what God is doing or planning to do. (There’s 4 minutes I’ll never get back). And on the somewhat extreme side of things, this site defines “confusion” as not only the work of Satan but also that which hinders us from having (or experiencing) true peace in Christ as defined in the Bible.

What are we to do with this? Doesn’t this multitude of interpretations simply perpetuate the confusion? Yep. So which one of these interpretations/applications of 1Cor 14.33 is correct? In one sense, none of them. I say that because each one operates on an assumed definition of “confusion” and each one seems to ignore the immediate and surrounding context of Paul’s argument. And ignoring the original meaning of the text leads to misinterpretations and misapplications of that text to current situations. Therefore, I think the more appropriate question to ask is: which one reflects Paul’s statement and meaning? To answer this question, we need to consider a few additional details. And that is the substance of the next post.

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¹ This translation has apparently been around since 2006. Either I’m way behind in things, or this particular translation did not become very popular.
² This translation emerged in 2011, and looks to be quite useful.
³ Here is a fair response to this apparent contradiction, which is nothing new. However, I think the response overlooks a vital point, one that has to do with the specific (and distinct) terminology used in both passages.

branch out, people

J.P. Moreland recounts a time when, during his doctoral program, he encountered a man in the library reading the Septuagint (LXX). In the original language. Because he wanted to. Moreland, naturally intrigued, struck up a conversation with the man only to learn that he was a specialist in ancient Greek mythology. Not only that, but the man was a recent convert from Judaism to Christianity. Intrigued by this, Moreland asked the man about his conversion. The man says:

Dr Moreland, I have studied myth most of my education. I know the earmarks of myth; that’s all I study. My undergraduate training was in mythology; my graduate training has been in mythology. And I was practicing Koine Greek reading the Gospel of Luke, and I got half way through it, and as a Jew, I said, ‘My God, this man really did these things. What am I going to do?’ This is history. It reads likes history. It doesn’t read like myth. I know what myth tastes like because all I do is read it, and this is not myth.

–J.P. Moreland & Kai Nielsen, Does God Exist? (1993), 60

This morning, while doing my pre-study study, I heard Robert Cara (rightly) profess:

One reason (multiple reasons, really)–One reason most of you [have trouble] reading Revelation is: you pretty much never read another Apocalypse. [Revelation] is the only one you’re reading, so you don’t know what’s normal; the whole book seems un-normal–except for the seven letters.

–Robert Cara, “Pauline Letter Format”, lecture 1 of Pauline Epistles

I cannot begin to agree more with Cara’s diagnosis. Even taking into account texts like Daniel 9-12, Mark 13 and Matthew 24, as Christians we are largely unfamiliar with the basic genre of apocalypse (and the basics of that genre). I might dare say that this unfamiliarity tends to haunt our steps as we read Revelation, causing us to adopt a simple hermeneutic and run straight through the book screaming, “This means X, and that must refer to Y, and I see no other explanation for Z.”

This sort of approach is not only unhelpful but also inappropriate. It fails to do justice to the nature and genre of the book. It fails to wrestle with the complexity of the imagery and the beauty of the book’s construction. It fails to allow strange things to be strange, to let profound mysteries be profound and mysterious, and to recognize the intentionality and purpose of ambiguity. Moreover, and more basically, it fails to take into consideration the theological and social function of (Jewish) apocalyptic literature.

These failures can only be spotted by being familiar with what Revelation is, and being familiar means a willingness (and readiness) to branch out and read more apocalypses. I’m not saying accept other (Jewish) apocalyptic texts as canonical; I’m simply suggesting that we give Revelation the respect it deserves as both an apocalyptic text and a canonical book. Moreover, by being familiar with the apocalyptic genre, we will be able to notice not only where Revelation is similar (e.g. style, structure, function) but also steps outside of the “norm” (of apocalyptic writing), doing exciting and creative things.

Reicke on the Jerusalem Council and the Antioch “incident”

Thursday evening, while waiting on my lovely wife to come home from work, I moseyed through Bo Reicke’s insightful essay on the background to the Jerusalem Council and the Antioch “incident” noted in Gal 2.1-14. This essay comes from Reicke’s book, Re-examining Paul’s Letters: The History of the Pauline Correspondence (2001), 16-25. Given the date of the book, we might be allured into thinking that Reicke’s take on this issue is relatively new and thus relevant for current scholarly discussions. In truth, however, this essay is merely a translated reprint of the German original which was a part of a Festschrift in 1953,¹ and it has received minimal attention since then.

After a general search, I could only find a small number of scholars who interact (to varying degrees) with Reicke’s proposal–namely, Traugott Holtz (1974), Marcel Simon (1978), Richard Bauckham (1979), D.A. Carson (1986), Ronald Fung (1988), and Johann Kim (2009).² For whatever reason, James Dunn (1993), Paul Tarazi (1994), Kenneth Boles (1997), Roy Ciampa (1998), Philip Kern (1998), Yon-gyong Kwon (2004), Ben Witherington (2004), Atsuhiro Asano (2005), D. François Tolmie (2005), Andreas Du Toit (2007),³ Brendan Byrne (2010), Martinus de Boer (2011), and Ian Levy (2011) all say nothing, which is surprising given their respective discussions on the importance of the Antioch incident. Moreover, those who do say something about Reicke’s take do so only in passing or in a relegated footnote. This, for me, is rather unfortunate.

Reicke attempts to understand the infamous Antioch incident not primarily in terms of harmonizing Acts with Galatians but in the light of political and religious pressures in and around the time of the incident. Specifically, Reicke argues for a rise in religious fanaticism within particular sects of Judaism (i.e. the Zealots and Sicarii) in the light of political changes that seemed to threaten the integrity or sanctity of the Jewish identity.

In particular, there was a deep concern of not only Roman culture and ideology being imposed on Judaism but also Judaism being “tainted” by Gentile proselytes. Reicke contends–rightly, in my opinion–that this tension began in Judea with the appointment of the Roman procurator Ventidius Cumanus (48-52 CE) and became more acute leading up to and during the time of Antionius Felix (52-60 CE). Reicke also shows that the fervor for maintaining Jewish identity (at all costs) was not exclusive to Palestine; traces can be found in regions outside of Palestine, namely Alexandria (Egypt), Syria, and Asia-Minor (i.e. Turkey).

Vital to Reicke’s hypothesis–and again, I agree with him on this–is the assumption that the Jerusalem Council (of Acts 15) took place either on or just prior to 48 CE. This is significant because prior to 48 CE, the historical evidence suggests a relative peace or concord between Jews and Gentiles (take that Baur)–especially Gentile converts to Judaism (and the Jesus-people). Thus, the decision of the Council occurred during a time when it was “safe” to make such a decision, which, I should point out, is not to downplay the overall need for the decision.

Now, as Acts 15 tells us, both Peter and Paul were present at this Council and naturally in support of the decision to accept Gentiles into the εκκλησια (i.e. the community of Jesus-people) without needing circumcision–to which the Gentiles said, “Thank you very much!”. Thus, when we read Gal 2.11-14 we can appreciate–or at least understand–Paul’s surprise with Peter/Cephas, who is now (post-Council) apparently bowing to certain Jews demanding that Gentiles be circumcised in order to be counted as God’s people. How do we account for this (apparent) sudden shift in Peter’s commitment to the Council’s decision? Also, is Paul reacting wrongly or is there merit to his rebuke?

Reicke’s hypothesis stresses the importance of being aware of not only time lapse between the Jerusalem Council and the Antioch incident but also the religious changes that occurred during that interim. Conservative estimates place the Antioch incident shortly after Paul’s return from his so-called second missionary journey (see Acts 18.22), a return dated to c. 53 CE. As noted above, specific Jewish resistance to outsiders and Gentile influences gained momentum around this time and made itself known in regions outside of Palestine. Moreover, this resistance movement was not characterized by civil dialogue and pot-luck dinners; it was–in many cases–quick, decisive and violent, and no sending flowers afterward.

It is also vital to stress that during the period between the Council and the incident (i.e. 48-53 CE), Paul was spreading the message of the gospel in Asia-Minor, Macedonia and Achaia; Peter, on the other hand, presumably remained in Jerusalem for a time before making his way north to Syria-Antioch. In other words, Paul was on the move over vast stretches of land and usually a few steps ahead of specific Jewish opposition; Peter appears to be more confined in movements and right in the midst of the opposition. The spell in Antioch seems to be his first respite, yet it is one that fails to endure (as is the habit of respites).

In Antioch, Peter is communing with Gentiles–ostensibly in the comfort of the Council’s decision (not to mention the divine command from Acts 10)–when the opposition arrives, an arrival that causes Peter great fear, and this fear causes him to behave hypocritically, and this hypocritical behavior brings down upon him the rebuke of Paul. If Reicke’s hypothesis is true, then the specific Jewish opposition that Peter encounters at Antioch is not simply a group well-meaning of Jews wanting to debate theology; the opposition is a band of sword-wielding loyalists determined to preserve the sanctity of the Jewish identity no matter the cost.

Since these loyalists come from Jerusalem, the assumption is that they already exerted their influence in a similar manner over the εκκλησια in Jerusalem, where James (Jesus’ brother) is in charge. As a result they now carry out their wider mission ostensibly with the sanction of the Jerusalem εκκλησια. The deck certainly appears to be stacked in their favor. Reicke’s hypothesis suggests that Peter’s actions are not motivated by theological dishonesty but self-preservation–an impulse that is completely understandable in such circumstances.

Paul’s rebuke, however, seems to be aimed at Peter’s self-preservation at the expense of theological honesty. In other words, from Paul’s perspective, Peter was not behaving Christ-like. While being tried, beaten, punched, spat on, verbally abuse and mocked, and with the knowledge of death by crucifixion looming, Jesus didn’t say, “You know what guys, I was only kidding about this Messiah stuff; I’m really just an average person and I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused. What do you say we call it a day?”

Moreover–albeit to a lesser degree–after being imprisoned, beaten beyond remembrance, whipped severely (5 times), beaten some more, a storm of rocks chucked at him, shipwrecked, stalked by evil people, foodless and drinkless, and constantly chased by his opponents, Paul didn’t bend and say, “Maybe I should forget this Jesus-stuff and go back to my old ways; it would certainly make my life easier.”

Just as Christ endured what he did for the sake of the world (i.e. he remained theologically honest, which cost him his life), so too Paul endured what he did for the sake of the congregations of Jesus-followers he helped establish (i.e. he remained theologically honest, knowing that his life was at stake). Peter, on the other hand, apparently caved to external pressure and sacrificed theological honesty in order to preserve his own life.

Thus, it would seem that Paul’s frustration is not simply with Peter’s actions or even a possible shift in teaching (i.e. Peter is now saying Gentiles have to be circumcised); the frustration appears to be with the inconsistency between life and faith in the gospel, an inconsistency that can radically affect the believability of the gospel message. In other words, if those on the “inside” who proclaim this stuff don’t live by it, why should anyone else?

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¹ Bo Reicke, “Der geschichtliche Hintergrund des Apostelkonzils und der Antiochia-Episode, Gal. 2.1-14,” in Studia Paulina in honorem Johannis de Zwaan septuagenarii (Haarlem: J. Bohn, 1953), 172-87.
² Reicke’s article is mentioned first in Günter Wagner’s helpful bibliography for scholarly works on Romans and Galatians (1996: 296).
³ Admittedly, both Tolmie and Du Toit mention Reicke, but it is in reference to entirely different works and subjects.

new lecture series

Not mine, I should say.  No, this series comes from Prof Shaye J.D. Cohen and can be found in the humanities section of iTunesU. The lecture series is called, “The Hebrew Scriptures in Judaism and Christianity.” Twenty-six lectures in total (27, if you count the near 2-minute “nice to meet you, this is what we’re attempting” bit), and Prof Cohen has graciously supplied accompanying notes for the entire course.

As he states in the “Introduction” lecture, the course is not about the history of Judaism or the history of the Jewish Bible; instead this course is an investigation of truth claims about the Jewish Bible, claims made by both Jews and Christians. To paraphrase Prof Cohen: the course deals with the (apparent) problem that Jews and Christians claim the same foundational text yet each has differing–and many times contradictory–interpretations of what that text says/means. This problem raises a further historical dilemma, namely: Jews saying Christians are wrong in their interpretation, and Christians saying Jews are wrong in theirs.  Prof Cohen seeks to wrestle with these issues.

Interested yet? Head over to iTunesU and check it out.

calvin, times three

My apologies for the lack of ‘Calvin in a year’ posting; the laptop has been acting up, and I hesitate to use it for long periods of time. That being the case, while covering three specific readings, I’ll need to keep this post somewhat brief–albeit brevity times three, seeing that I’m a bit behind with the daily quotes.

1) As noted in the last post, Calvin makes a case for ‘knowledge of God [being] implanted in the human mind’ (Inst 1.3) and how some attempt to excise that knowledge from who they are–so that they can (attempt to) become who/what they desire. Next, Calvin explores more of this compulsion to separate oneself from the knowledge of God (see Inst 1.4). The result of the separation is a callousness or hardness of heart, which in turn leads to repulsion and even hatred toward God. However, Calvin notes the (unacceptable) paradox within such people when he says:

[A] sense of Deity is naturally engraven on the human heart, in the fact, that the very reprobate are forced to acknowledge it. When at their ease, they can jest about God, and talk pertly and loquaciously in disparagement of his power; but should despair, from any cause, overtake them, it will stimulate them to seek him, and dictate ejaculatory prayers, proving that they were not entirely ignorant of God, but had perversely suppressed feelings which ought to have been earlier manifested.

–Calvin, Institutes 1.4.4

2) The next reading (see Inst 1.5.1-4) continues the ‘knowledge of God’ theme, only this time Calvin’s focus is on external support for such knowledge–i.e. what we might loosely call cosmology (or, ‘natural theology’).* As he argues (and I paraphrase), a key point of this chapter is to show that while God displays his wisdom and power throughout creation, it is only by ‘extreme stupidity’ that  people continue to ask, Where is God?

Moreover, below the surface of the argument, I almost hear Calvin saying: God is not some vicious tyrant demanding loyalty without just cause (as tyrants do); instead God has lovingly and patiently gone out of his way not only to reveal his existence by also show himself worthy of respect.** Two examples of this are: the innate knowledge of God, given by God himself; and the external reality of creation, which he made. Specifically thinking of the wonders and depths of the cosmos, Calvin says:

none who have the use of their eyes can be ignorant of the divine skill manifested so conspicuously in the endless variety, yet distinct and well-ordered array, of the heavenly host; and, therefore, it is plain that the Lord has furnished every man with abundant proofs of his wisdom. The same is true in regard to the structure of the human frame. To determine the connection of its parts, its symmetry and beauty, with the skill of a Galen . . . requires singular acuteness; and yet all men acknowledge that the human body bears on its face such proofs of ingenious contrivance as are sufficient to proclaim the admirable wisdom of its Maker.

–Calvin, Institutes 1.5.2

3) The final reading related to this post (see Inst 1.5.5-8) seems to respond to the explanations given by those who not only suppress (or even excise) innate knowledge of God but also deny God as Creator. In other words, Calvin appears to confronting those who wish to say, ‘By my own skill and knowledge, I can define life and existence apart from God.’ To which Calvin rightly says:

Nothing, indeed, can be more preposterous than to enjoy those nobel endowments which bespeak the divine presence within us, and to neglect him who, of his own good pleasure, bestows them upon us.

–Calvin, Institutes 1.5.6

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* While Calvin divides this chapter into two parts (i.e. 1.5.1-10 and 1.5.11-15), the reading plan I’m following divides it into four parts.
** Cue the criticism of Bertrand Russell.

‘example’ in what way?

Now for something slightly different, in the sense that I ordinary refrain from this sort of post but I’m feeling compelled to do it.* I will have to come back to the details of this later, but I wanted to throw out the basics now and see what you think.  And by ‘come back to this later’ I mean, write something proper–with footnotes and everything. This also means I’m not interacting with any scholarship at this point; this is just me.

Last night, while doing my evening read of the Greek NT (as you do), I came to the following passage and became curious about a seemingly incidental detail. Here’s the passage (1 Thess 1.6-7):

καὶ υ͑μεῖς μιμηταὶ η͑μῶν ε͗γενήθητε καὶ τοῦ κυρίου, δεξάμενοι τὸν λόγον ε͗ν θλίψει πολλῇ μετὰ χαρᾶς πνεύματος α͑γίου, ὥστε γενέσθαι υ͑μᾶς τύπον πᾶσιν τοῖς πιστεύουσιν ε͗ν τῇ Μακεδονία καὶ ε͗ν τῇ Αχαϊᾳ.

[6]and you became imitators of us and of the Lord, having taken hold of [or received] the word amongst great tribulation with [the] joy of the Holy Spirit, [7]so that you yourselves became an example for all the faithful in Macedonia and in Achaia.

For this post, I’m leaving aside the textual issues in order to focus on other things.** Let’s begin with a question: is the result clause of 1.7 linked with the participial phrase of 1.6b, the main clause of 1.6a or the whole of 1.6? Now let’s see what happens when we focus on each one.

If it is linked with1.6b, then it seems as though the example set refers to the circumstances–and especially the manner–in which the Thessalonians received the word (i.e. the gospel). Thus, the example to others reveals how one behaves or responds in the face of affliction or persecution (i.e. ‘with the joy of the Holy Spirit]). If linked with 1.6a, then it would seem as though the example refers to the solidarity between the Thessalonians believers, the apostles (i.e. the ‘us’) and the Lord (i.e. Jesus). In other words: the Thessalonians are examples to others because they imitate (i.e. reflect) the apostles, who in turn reflect Christ.

However if the result clause of 1.7 is linked with the whole of 1.6 (which is what I think), the emphasis would seem to fall on the logical (if not necessary) connection between the ideas of relationship (or, identity) and response (or, behaviour).  In other words: like Christ and the apostles, the Thessalonians endure persecution (or, ‘great tribulation’) with joy; they neither complain, retaliate nor run into hiding; and that sort of steadfastness is not only commendable but worthy of respect (cf. 1 Pt 3). As a result, in imitating Christ and the apostles in how they respond to affliction, they become an example for other who might also be experience similar pains.

One final point that leads me to think 1.7 refers to the whole of 1.6 is the seemingly incidental mention of the Holy Spirit. As far as I can tell, for Paul the Spirit is not only the means by which believers are identified with Christ but also the agent through whom believers receive strength to endure trials and tribulations.

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* My hesitance is linked with my lack of confidence.
** For those curious, by ‘textual issues’ I mean: 1) the two witness that insert a καὶ between χαρᾶς and πνεύματος, thus giving the reading: ‘with joy and by [the] Holy Spirit’. And 2) the singular use of τύπον instead of the expected τύπους, in the light of the plural personal pronoun associated with it. In other words, it just seems strange for Paul to say, ‘you [plural] became an example [singular]‘; it would be better to say, ‘you [plural] became examples [plural].’