a modicum of solace

Yesterday The Guardian provided the results of an American-based survey on various conspiracy theories. Interestingly, the headline focused only on one of the 26 questions: Obama as the Antichrist. Two things–one about the headline, and one about the survey–and then a third, which is less troubling.

With regard to the headline, it’s a bit misleading. According to the numbers in the results (the full break-down is here), only 13% believe Obama is the Antichrist. That’s hardly “one in four Americans.” The only way you can get close to a “one in four” charge (i.e. 25%) is if you lump the 13% from the “not sure” category, which is what Paul Harris does in the article. He does this on the basis that “not sure” = “possibly so” or “I could be convinced”. A bit shady on the method, but understandable. “One in four” sounds better and (slightly) more widespread than “one in seven(ish)”.

With regard to the survey, it too is a bit misleading. If we went on the title alone, we get the impression that 25% of (all) Americans believe Obama is the Antichrist. Given the population of the US (315,610,625, as of 8.30 this morning), that would mean something around 78,902,656.25. (Who is the .25 of a person!?). But that can’t be right. Outside of Garnier, who would survey that many people? Harris does explain that the survey involved only “a sample of American voters”. Okie dokie. According to this site, last year there were 146,311,000 registered voters in the US (a number that seems too clean for my taste, but no matter). So if we use that number, then, according to Harris’ “one in four” charge, that would mean 36,577,750 people surveyed believe Obama to be the Antichrist. (Thankfully, no fractions of people this time). But that can’t be right either.

Conveniently (or smartly), Harris leaves out the exact size of the sample, and he suspiciously leaves out any links to survey itself. Again, it sounds so much better and more–dare I say–condemning to say “one in four Americans” and let people assume that the number is huge. But what about facts? If you were to take the 12 seconds to do your own search and locate the survey in question (or just use the link I supplied–you’re welcome), you would see that the sample-size is . . . get ready for this . . . 1247. I didn’t leave out any numbers. 1,2,4,7. That’s all. Seriously, Harris: Asda’s got more stuff on sale.

Accordingly, if we use Harris’ bold figure of 25%, that would mean only 311.75 people believe Obama is the Antichrist. That’s not “one in four”. That’s like one in a million (I think; my maths are a little rusty this morning). But no one is going to care if Harris says that figure, so it’s no wonder that his misleadingly says, “one in four”. Things get uglier if we use the solid number of 13%, which would bring the total to a whopping 162.11 people. That’s just under one in every two million (again, I think). Seriously, Harris: you’re going to paint 1/4 of Americans with a brush admittedly used by only 162.11 people? Tsk! Tsk!

The third thing, and this is the modicum of solace: only 162.11 people admit to believing Obama to be the Antichrist. I don’t mean to sound crass, but it’s comforting to know that only 162.11 people have a faulty understanding of the Antichrist. If we follow what the Johannine Epistles say, the “antichrist” (ἀντιχριστος) is anyone who “denies the Father and the Son” (1Jn 2.22) and/or denies “Jesus Christ as coming in the flesh” (2Jn 1.7). While the Johannine Epistle seem to suggest a solitary figure–i.e. the Antichrist–appearing in the last days (cf. 1Jn 2.18; 4.3), nothing definite is said about him (or her–sorry, I have to be PC these days). However, since the language of the Epistles on this matter is apocalyptic, we can safely assume that this solitary figure is understood in apocalyptic terms–i.e. he (or she) ain’t human. And if he (or she) ain’t human, then Obama can’t be the Antichrist. Same goes for the new Pope–contra this guy–or any other person.

just a hunch

Wondering about recent “street-level” books on Paul (just something I do from time to time; not sure why), I decided to check Christianbook.com–a book distributor that this guy thinks is absolutely wicked–to see if anything new has emerged. While I did find a couple that looked rather interesting, I was immediately struck by a book on the front-page:

I remember hearing about and seeing this book when it first came out, and I remember thinking/hoping that it wouldn’t last. Partly because it follows a similar paradigm used in many “church growth” books–i.e. the system is shot, people have tried other ways to fix it and failed, they don’t know what else to do; I have a “new way” [nb: usually presented as "never-been-tried-before"], and if you use it in your church it will work wonders, etc. (Don’t writers of these kinds of books see that that paradigm/system is shot?) Moreover, the thrust of The Circle Maker, despite appearances, is not about God; it’s about self-interest and the delusion of entitlement. I figured (=hoped) it wouldn’t take long for people to see through the façade.

Thus, I must admit my surprise seeing that The Circle Maker has hung around this long. But then again, it has been significantly reduced in price. There might be a (really good) reason why it’s been reduced 67%: the premise and ultimate focus of the book (i.e. the self) are crappy. At the same time, there might be a reason why the book is radically reduced rather than completely pulled: it maintains the cash-flow for the publisher rather than stopping it. This is the same reason why publishers and book sellers still put out (failed) doomsday/end-time books (e.g. this drivel by Hal Lindsey). That reason is not about endorsing content; it’s about making money. Just a hunch.

asking for trouble

My day typically begins c. 6.45am; 7.00am if I’m feeling lazy. By 7.15am/7.30am the first round of coffee is about to be consumed, and I start my search for mental jolt. (For some reason, for me, coffee fails in the jolting business). This usually means finding a book or article that I know will bug me and put me on the defensive. The sooner I’m kicked into critical thinking mode the better. This morning, the chosen jolt was an article with the prickly title, “Who Is Wrong? A Review of John Gerstner’s Wrongly Dividing the Word of Truth” (R.L. Mayhue in The Master’s Seminary Journal 3.1 [1992]: 73-94).

To clarify the basic tension of the article (for those who are unaware): Gerstner’s book, as the tagline reveals, is a “Critique of Dispensationalism”, and his chosen adverbiage, “Wrongly” indicates where he comes down on that critique.¹ He ain’t in favor of it (at least its particular hermeneutic). The Master’s Seminary Journal is produced and disseminated by none other than The Master’s Seminary (California), and TMS, as their statement of faith indicates (briefly here and especially here), is an advocate of Dispensationalism. Since Mayhue is on staff at TMS, we can safely guess where his “review” of Gerstner’s critique is headed. (The implied either-or of his title and the choice to use TMS’s journal to offer the “review” are telling clues).

Here’s what bugged me about the article, and it’s something Mayhue said quite early in his discussion/monologue. Mayhue states (more or less; more on the less side) one of Gerstner’s key problems with Dispensationalism–i.e. it fails to do proper justice to biblical soteriology, ecclesiology, and eschatology, and the necessary links between them. Mayhue accuses (albeit in subtle ways) Gerstner of allowing his Reformed tradition (i.e. Calvinism, specifically) to govern his interpretation of both the biblical doctrines in view and Dispensationalism. The implication is that Mayhue see such allowance as inappropriate. Then Mayhue asserts:

[Gerstner] seems to debate from the following basic syllogism, though he never states it so succinctly as this:

Premise 1: Calvinism is central to all true theology
Premise 2: Dispensationalism does not embrace Calvinism
Conclusion: Dispensationalism is a ‘spurious’ and ‘dubious’ expression of true theology (p. 2).

Thus, he strongly calls for dispensationalism’s quick surrender.

–Mayhue, “Who Is Wrong?,” 75.

The reason this bugged me has three parts. First, Mayhue (subtly) criticizes Gerstner for allowing his theological tradition (i.e. Calvinism) to dictate his interpretation. On this point, Mayhue (rightly) states: “Presuppositions and assumptions undergird all reasoned thought” (81). However, Mayhue does not acknowledge (or recognize) that Dispensationalism must necessarily be included in that truth. He overlooks the fact that Dispensationalism has its own presuppositions and assumptions and they necessarily govern the interpretative process. In fact, Classical and Modified (or Revised) Dispensationalism² essentially require loyalty to the interpretative system they establish in order to understand properly the theological conclusions they find.

Second, Mayhue’s “review” (=polemic) operates on the basis of the suggested syllogism, which Mayhue acknowledges as never clearly articulated as he gives it. This means Mayhue’s criticisms focus on Mayhue’s interpretation of Gerstner’s logic as though that interpretation is an accurate reflection of what Gerstner clearly argues. (Admittedly I have not read Gerstner’s book, so I do not know for sure how accurate Mayhue’s interpretation is).

Third, Mayhue’s own argument in particular and Dispensationalism in general are not exempt from the charges of the suggested syllogism. To say this differently: the same argument Mayhue uses against Gerstner can be turned around and used against Mayhue. In effect it would go something like this:

Premise 1: Dispensationalism is central to all true interpretation of Bible (i.e. “rightly dividing the word of truth”)³
Premise 2: Non-Dispensationalists do not embrace the hermeneutical system of Dispensationalism
Conclusion: Non-Dispensationalist readings do not represent true interpretations of the Bible; they are all ill-informed, dubious, spurious, liberal, and unorthodox.

The implication of this argument is that if one does not embrace Dispensationalism, then one does not embrace the true meaning of the Bible; and if one does not embrace that true meaning, then one cannot be faithful to its message; and if one is not faithful to its message, then how can that person truly claim to be evangelical? The trouble is that the Dispensational hermeneutic and its particular emphases are what need to be embraced, and they tend to be prioritized over core tenets of historic Christian orthodoxy. In the words of Levar Burton: “You don’t have to take my word for it.” Here is a confession from a former Dispensationalist named, Clarence Bass (in the 1960s):

Even today some of my dearest friends are convinced that I have departed from the evangelical faith. No affirmation of my belief in the cardinal doctrines of faith–the virgin birth, the efficaciousness of Christ’s death, the historicity of the resurrection, the necessity of the new birth, even the fervent expectancy of the person, literal, actual bodily return of the Lord to earth–will convince them, because I have ceased to ‘rightly divide the word of truth’.

–quoted in S.J. Grenz, The Millennial Maze (1992), 92–emphasis original.

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¹ Also, for those who don’t know, Gerstner’s title takes a not-so-subtle jab at an earlier work called, Rightly Dividing the Word of Truth (1896) by C.I. Scofield–the champion of Dispensationalism in the US.
² While I am generally not a fan of Classical and Modified (or Revised) Dispensationalism (and its proponents), I am more appreciative of so-called Progressive Dispensationalism (and its advocates). However, please do not mistake appreciation for acceptance.
³ What Scofield meant by this phrase (taken from 2Tim 2.15) is not what Paul meant by that phrase. In fact, how Scofield uses that passage to construct and justify his Dispensational interpretation reveals his ignorance of Paul’s meaning.

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.

quote of the morning

When F.H. Elpis argued that in baptism, believers are united with the second person of the Godhead (i.e. Jesus), yet confirmation is the necessary second-stage for receiving the indwelling presence of the third person (i.e. the Spirit), G.W.H. Lampe ably retorts:

This is wholly false. The Church was not told to await the Paraclete after being already united with the Second Person of the Trinity; the disciples were promised the coming of the Paraclete to be the mediator to them of the glorified Christ: to make them Christian believers, united with the Lord and receiving new life through him. The idea that we can be Christians, united by faith with Christ, and yet be without the indwelling of the Spirit, is a basic Trinitarian error, resting on a tritheistic theology.

–G.W.H. Lampe, The Seal of the Spirit (1967), xxiii-xiv

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.

cephas and the via egnatia

I’ve been reading outside my specific and current research interests, not only to keep the juices flowing but also to see where I might like to go next (i.e. post-PhD). On a whim I picked up Peter H. Davids‘ 1990 commentary on 1 Peter, mainly because I enjoy Davids’ work and writing style but also because the Petrine epistles have always interested me, especially 1 Peter.

To date my only struggle has been I just never knew where to go with the Petrine epistles, in terms of specific research.¹ However, a few important questions raised in Davids’ commentary (at least those I’ve seen in a day’s worth of reading) have suggested some possible entry-points. We’ll see what happens. For now I want to focus one incidental detail that Davids notes in his commentary, a detail that has some connections with my present work.

In his introduction (which can be mostly read using the above link), Davids signals the curious detail about “how Peter came in contact with the Christians in the provinces named in 1 Pet 1:1″ (p.5)²–i.e. Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia and Bithynia. (For you visually-orientated people, see here). For Davids, the slight trouble is not so much the possibility of Peter overlapping with Paul’s mission-field (based on a certain assumption about Paul’s Galatian churches), but rather the lack of information regarding the more general question of Peter’s travel habits.  As Davids puts it (p.5):

Acts places Peter in Judea and Samaria, although he probably also visited his native Galilee. Paul mentions that Peter visited Syria (Gal 2.11 [specifically Syria-Antioch]). Tradition connects Peter with Rome, where he was said to have been executed, and a journey there would be one explanation of the Petrine party in Corinth (1 Cor 1:12).

The incidental detail I want to address is twofold, although my concern is only with one half of it. First (and the half that doesn’t really concern me [too much]), there is the assumption not only of an actual Petrine party in Corinth but also that Peter’s (supposed) visit to Corinth essentially paved the way for such a party to form. This assumption is a part of a scholarly debate that has been going on for some time, and it will likely continue into the unforeseeable future. Suffice it to say, I am of the opinion that does not see actual parties in Corinth (I tend to agree with Munck’s “bickering cliques” idea)³ and I do not think there is any good, solid evidence that proves Peter/Cephas visited Corinth.

Now for the second half of the incidental detail, and thus the reason for this post. Linked with the above assumption that Peter visited Corinth is the suggestion that he would have traveled to Corinth from Bithynia on his way to Rome. Davids appears to describe this detour as though such a detour would not be out of the way or unreasonable for Peter to take. But I have some trouble agreeing with this proposal, not only because I do not see evidence or even a need for Peter to visit Pauline churches but also because such a detour seems both out of the way and unreasonable if journeying from Bithynia to Rome.

Picture time! (My apologies for the crudity of the map–it’s the best I could do on short notice):

*NB: not to scale. The actual size map would have taken up too much space.

As can be seen in map, between Asia and Italy stands the massive landmass of Greece (or, “Macedonia” and “Thrace” in ancient terms). With a desire to traverse this landmass with relative ease and speed, the industrious Romans (c. 2nd century BCE) established the Via Egnatia–noted with the blue line. (I should point out that the map does not include the numerous “stops” along the Via Egnatia; the number of yellow dots required for that would have rendered the blue line almost meaningless).

On the eastern side is the city of Byzantium, which straddles the gap between Thrace and Asia, and on the western side is the city of Dyrrhachium, which Strabo recognizes as the start of the Via Egnatia (see Geogr. 7.fr.10). According to Pliny the Elder, the distance between the two cities was 711 miles (see Nat.Hist. 4.18). From Dyrrhachium it was roughly a 150-mile swim to Brundisium (Italy), which marked the beginning of the Via Appia and where the maxim “all roads lead to Rome” finds its fulfillment. Thus it would seem that if one wanted to travel to Rome from Asia (or within Thrace and/or Macedonia), then the Via Egnatia is the route to take.

For Peter, on his journey toward Rome, to detour south (after passing through Thessalonica) for nearly 250 miles to Corinth; it just doesn’t make sense. Let me be clear: in saying that it doesn’t make sense I am not claiming that it did (or could) not happen; I certainly allow for the possibility, and I am fully aware of later traditions that place Peter in Corinth prior to Rome (e.g. Bishop Dionysius [Eusebius, HE 2.25.8]). However this tradition suggests that both Peter and Paul founded the church in Corinth, yet this suggestion creates tension (or conflicts) with the Acts narrative regarding the formation of the Corinthian church (i.e. Peter ain’t mentioned; he ain’t even there).

My trouble is with the reasons why Peter would radically alter (and extend) his journey to Rome by diverting to Corinth, only either to retrace his steps or pick up a ferry heading to where he was already going (i.e. Brundisium). What would be the need for such an out-of-the-way visit? We might be tempted to say: “Peter, as an apostle, merely wanted to check in with the churches and see how things were going.” Fair enough, but what exactly would compel Peter to do such a thing, especially since we have no evidence that he did something similar in other places for similar reasons? Moreover, given what happened in Antioch (see Gal 2.11-14), one would think that Peter might be a bit hesitant to enter Pauline territory.

However, if we’re arguing simply in terms of routes, it would make more sense for Peter to stay on the Via Egnatia, cross the Adriatic Sea, hop on the Via Appia and stroll right into Rome. Thus I do not think that saying, “He went to Corinth because it was on the way to Rome” is a reasonable conclusion; that chosen route would be both counterproductive and more expensive (i.e. a longer ship journey). Therefore we are left with the problem of “why”? While I acknowledge the impossibility of discovering the motives of ancient figures, I think that would be the only way to deal with the question of whether Peter visited Corinth.

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¹ Okay, honesty time: ignorance of research ideas is not my only struggle with the Petrine epistles. The Greek of 1 Peter is notoriously difficult and I am far from qualified to deal with its complexity. I guess I could look at it as an opportunity to refine my almost-mad Greek skills.
² And yes, Davids does allow for the likelihood that the historical Peter is in fact the author–or, at the very least, the one who dictates the letter to Silvanus (cf. 1Pt 5.12). Bravo Davids!
³ See J. Munck, Paul and the Salvation of Mankind (1959), 135-67.