It would be difficult to overestimate the influence of Romans on Christianity. Of all the books of the Bible, none has left its mark on the theology and language of the Christian faith like this magisterial epistle. “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus” (3:23–24)—here is the heart of the gospel, salvation by grace through the sacrifice of Christ. “For we maintain that a man is justified by faith apart from observing the law” (3:28)—here is the doctrine of reconciliation, accomplished not by human achievement, but by faith alone. “I urge you, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—which is your spiritual worship” (12:1, paraphrase)—here is the rock of Christian ethics, the sublime understanding that morality is ultimately a sacrifice of gratitude for God’s unmerited favor.
Whenever the church has experienced the winds of reform, the Bible has been the source of renewal, and more often than not, Paul’s letter to Rome has played a crucial role. In the fourth century a young professor of rhetoric in Milan, after years of struggling with lust and pride, sensed a divine command to open the Bible and read the first passage he came to. His eyes fell upon the following passage from Romans:
Not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and debauchery, not in dissension and jealousy. Rather, clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ, and do not think about how to gratify the desires of the sinful nature (13:13–14).
“In an instant,” writes St. Augustine, “the light of confidence flooded into my heart and all the darkness of doubt was dispelled.”
More than a millennium later a young German—a monk of the Augustinian order in fact—wrestled in the depths of his soul with his sense of sin and God’s wrath. Out of compassion the vicar of the monastery in Erfurt sent him to the newly established University of Wittenberg to lecture on the Epistle to the Romans. The discovery that “The righteous will live by faith” (Rom. 1:17) propelled the monk, Martin Luther, to launch the greatest reform the church has ever known.
Luther’s commentary on Romans played in turn a decisive role in the great Methodist revival in England in the eighteenth century. Although John Wesley had been raised in a devout home and had even traveled as a missionary to Georgia in the New World, the twenty-one-year old Oxford graduate could find within himself no assurance of salvation. “In the evening [of May 24, 1738] I went very unwillingly to a society in Aldersgate Street,” writes Wesley, “where one was reading Luther’s preface to the Epistle to the Romans. About a quarter before nine, while he was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He has taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death.”
In the twentieth century, in the shattering aftermath of World War I, a young pastor in Safenwil, Switzerland, found in Romans an affirmation of the unique revelation of God in Jesus Christ, a revelation which surpasses all ideas of religion as an expression of feelings, or trust in human capabilities, reason, or culture. Karl Barth’s Römerbrief fell, in the words of Karl Adam, “like a bombshell on the playground of the theologians.” Describing the role which his commentary played in recalling Protestantism away from its alliance with culture and back to a biblical basis, Barth spoke of himself as a man
ascending a dark staircase of a church tower and trying to steady himself, reached for the bannister, but got hold of the bell rope instead. To his horror, he had then to listen to what the great bell had sounded over him and not over him alone.[1]
What is said of the word of God in Hebrews 4:12 is true of Romans: it is “alive, powerful, and effective,” to paraphrase the Greek. Romans has a proven record in the history of Christianity—and it will again awaken faith whenever people discover in it the transforming message of the gospel.
In the NT Paul’s epistles are arranged according to length, the longest coming first and the shortest last. Romans stands at the head of the list because it is the longest, but it is also Paul’s most important epistle. It contains the most formal and systematic development of the apostle’s understanding of the gospel. The driving concern throughout is salvation—that righteousness comes as a free gift of God and is received by faith alone.
The epistle can be divided into two parts, a longer, predominantly doctrinal section in chapters 1–8, and a section of more practical application in chapters 12–16. In between, in chapters 9–11, is an excursus, a special consideration in which Paul struggles to understand why the gospel, which was intended for the Jews, has on the whole been rejected by them.
In the opening chapter Paul scales to the height of his argument that the gospel is the power of salvation for everyone who believes (1:16–17). He sets this theme temporarily aside, however, in order to demonstrate the need of all humanity for salvation. In the case of Gentiles the need is apparent, for they have transgressed the law of conscience, and “the wrath of God is being revealed … against all the godlessness and wickedness of men” (1:18–32). But Jews, even though they pride themselves on their righteousness, are equally guilty before God for failing to live by the law of Moses (2:1–3:20). Once Paul demonstrates that both Gentiles and Jews are guilty before God, deserving God’s wrath and judgment, he then returns to the opening theme of salvation. In a passage loaded with theological ammunition (3:21–31), Paul lets loose a volley of high caliber terminology—righteousness, faith, law, grace, redemption, atonement, sin—to attest that humanity is made right with God not by its supposed merits, but by squarely facing its faults and appealing to God’s grace in the saving work of Jesus Christ. Paul substantiates this in chapter 4 by citing the example of Abraham to show that the promise of God is realized by faith, not by law. The consequence of justification by faith is a life of peace and confidence before God (5:1–11). If in chapter 4 Abraham exemplifies the life of faith, in the latter half of chapter 5 Adam exemplifies life held hostage to sin (5:12–21). But Jesus Christ overcomes Adam’s sin. To paraphrase John Calvin, Christ’s ability to save is greater than Adam’s ability to corrupt.
Paul then turns to the problem of sin in the Christian life. Some may assert that since salvation comes by grace rather than works, believers are free to do as they please. Paul vigorously denies this. Grace can never be regarded as a stimulus to sin; rather, it draws believers into a loyal union with Christ (6:1–14). Christ has freed believers from slavery to sin so that they may become, so to speak, slaves to righteousness (6:15–23). But if justification comes through faith, what is the role of the law? Using an analogy from marriage in 7:1–6, Paul declares that the cross has transferred believers from the principle of law to the person of Christ. Paul concedes that one (although not the only) function of the law is to convict Christians of sin by bringing it to light. The straightedge of the law graphically convinces humanity of its need for a savior (7:7–25). Paul concludes the first part of the epistle by one of the most triumphant chapters in the Bible. Believers are not condemned by God because of the poverty of their moral and spiritual lives, but are raised by the power of the Holy Spirit to face all adversity through the costly and redeeming love of God in Jesus Christ (8:1–39).
In chapters 9–11 Paul devotes a lengthy and ardent excursus to a theme he introduced as early as 1:16–17, i.e., the relationship of Israel to the gospel. Along with many early Christians, Paul was deeply perplexed concerning why the gospel had fared worse among Jews for whom it was intended than among Gentiles for whom it was not. In broad outline, Paul’s discussion of the problem falls into three parts. First, he vindicates the faithfulness and justice of God in chapter 9. He then shows in chapter 10 that although Israel knew the gospel, Israel rejected it. Finally, in chapter 11, Paul testifies that the remnant of Jews who had accepted Jesus as Messiah, along with the more numerous Gentiles, were a foreshadowing that “all Israel will be saved” (11:26).
Chapters 12–16 comprise the second major division of the epistle and introduce several practical ramifications of the gospel which Paul developed in the first eight chapters. There can be only one proper response to the liberating love of God in Jesus Christ, and that is to present oneself as a living sacrifice to God (12:1–2). In addition to bestowing life to believers, God’s grace bestows gifts for living. The gifts of the Spirit are given not to compete with others, nor to conform to others, but to complement the gifts of others in the church (12:3–8). This is followed by a series of instructions for Christian behavior in society (12:9–21). Chapter 13 broaches the question of Christian attitudes toward government (1–7), neighbors (8–10), and the second coming (11–14). This is followed by the problem of judging others (14:1–12) and cooperation (14:13–15:13). Paul concludes the epistle with his travel plans to Spain (15:14–33) and a surprisingly long list of warm and personal greetings (16:1–27).
Readers of a document are usually curious about the circumstances which brought it into existence. This is no less true of an ancient document like Romans, although it may be more difficult to supply the information. Who wrote it, and what do we know of its author? When was it written and from where? Who were its recipients and what problems did they face which occasioned the letter?
Such questions are called introductory matters. They are not matters of concern only to ministers and scholars. The first minutes of a conversation between two strangers will invariably take up such things. Job applications, résumés, and personnel files are filled with all kinds of information that individuals deem relevant to a proper understanding of themselves. Such information is not a substitute for the individual, nor is it a complete biography, but it offers a background or context in which to become acquainted with someone’s character.
The problem with Romans—indeed with all the books of the Bible—is that much of the information we are curious about is missing—or it takes some detective work to uncover it. Our discussion of the historical background of Romans will, therefore, necessitate some pick and shovel work in matters of authorship, place and date, and the purpose of the epistle. In the former matters a few turns of the spade will uncover relatively certain information; but much digging on the purpose and occasion of Romans has yielded less certain results, and our conclusions there remain more tentative.
The author of Romans is named in the first word of the epistle, “Paul.” Although it has been fashionable in the last century and a half to challenge the traditional authorship of many books of the Bible, there has never been any serious doubt about the authorship of this epistle. Hence, the Pauline authenticity of Romans remains a matter of virtual certainty. There are, to be sure, only two autobiographical sections of the letter (1:8–15; 15:22–33), but that is understandable in light of the fact that Romans is Paul’s most reasoned, consistent, and systematic presentation of the gospel. The historical circumstances behind Romans accord well with what we know of Paul from Acts, and in style and theology Romans is unassailably Pauline. Justification, grace, faith and law, Jew and Gentile, sin as slavery, the Holy Spirit, the church as the body of Christ, the sovereignty of God, the return of Christ—these are vintage Paul, and all are present in Romans.
Where and when the epistle was written are also reasonably certain. The circumstances of writing in Romans 15:22–32 correspond favorably with what Luke reports in Acts 19:21–20:6. Paul has completed his third missionary journey to Asia Minor and Greece (ca. A.D. 54–58, see Acts 18:23–21:15). At the end of his three-year stay in Ephesus he made a brief trip overland to Corinth, where he stayed three months (Acts 20:2–3). This must have been in late winter or spring since Paul left Corinth after Passover, hoping to make it to Jerusalem for Pentecost (late May-early June). Paul planned to go to Jerusalem to deliver a collection for the needy Jewish Christians there, after which he hoped to travel to Rome, and from there to Spain. Exactly what year it was we cannot say. We know that Paul was in Corinth on the second missionary journey when Gallio was proconsul of Achaia from the spring of A.D. 51 to the spring of 52 (Acts 18:12–17). Our best reckoning indicates Paul was again in Corinth some six years later. Thus, with Rome on his mind, it appears that Paul wrote Romans from Corinth in the spring of perhaps A.D. 57 in preparation for his anticipated visit to the capital.[2]
Most scholars agree more or less with these data, and there is no serious evidence to challenge them. But when we venture beyond the beaten path of the above conclusions and inquire into the beginnings of Christianity in Rome, or the nature and problems of the church there, or the reasons why Paul wrote this particular letter to the Roman Christians, the way is much less clear. The remaining discussion, therefore, requires that we think of ourselves more as explorers with crude maps than as tourists to familiar sites.
First, a word about Rome in Paul’s day. Unlike modern empires which are named after nations, the Roman Empire took its name from a single city. Rome was the capital of an empire equal in geographical size to the United States of America, and the population of the empire was about the same as that of America in 1880—some 50 million people. Rome’s dimensions were as majestic as its imperial status. Its streets were paved, there were bridges over the Tiber River, temples and marketplaces abounded, and there were at least some sections where population densities forced high rise apartments up several floors. Both Juvenal and Martial, complaining of narrow stairways leading to fourth floor apartments and streets choked with noise and commotion, offer a glimpse into the seamier side of inner-city Rome.[3] Rome’s water supply was sluiced along aqueducts from the Sabine hills nearly fifty miles away. The city could boast of a municipal sewer system the equal of any modern Western metropolis. The Roman Forum, suggestive even today of Rome’s impressive grandeur, was only one of four different Forums in the history of the city. Dio Cassius reports that at the end of the first century the Emperor Trajan rebuilt and enlarged the imperial race course, the Circus Maximus, to a seating capacity of some 100,000 people—an arena that would rival the Rose Bowl today.[4]
Rome’s visitors were more eloquent of its grandeur, however, than factual about its population. Augustus and Claudius took the last censuses of Roman citizens (as distinct from the total number of people under Roman occupation) and found between four and six million people.[5] There are no exact figures on the population of the city of Rome itself, and estimates vary depending on the criteria used to determine them. Writing about A.D. 75, Pliny the Elder gave as the circumference of Rome the exact distance of the Aurelian walls some two centuries later, an area just shy of 1000 hectares of living space.[6] If one multiplies this figure by 200 persons per hectare—a relatively high figure by medieval standards—Rome’s urban population (not including suburbs) would total some 200,000 persons. It is likely, however, that Rome’s population exceeded that. In the Monumentum Ancyranum Augustus states that he paid a gratuity to 320,000 of the urban plebs in 5 B.C., and this figure seems to be corroborated by estimates derived from Rome’s grain supplies and bakery capacities.[7] We do not know, of course, the number and sizes of Rome’s suburbs, but the common estimate that Rome’s population in the first century A.D. was around a million seems somewhat inflated.[8] The above data (if they are at all accurate) suggest a population of perhaps a half-million people.[9]
The Beginnings of Christianity in Rome. Romans was written to a church which Paul had neither founded nor visited. In introducing the epistle, Paul writes, “I pray that now at last by God’s will the way may be opened for me to come to you” (1:10). Who did found the church we do not know. Some four centuries after Paul, Ambrosiaster wrote in his commentary on Romans, “The Romans had embraced the faith of Christ, albeit according to the Jewish rite, although they saw no sign of mighty works nor any of the apostles.”[10] Traditionally, Peter is thought to have brought Christianity to Rome, but it is reasonably certain that he did not reach Rome before the 50s at the earliest, and the church had already existed there some time before that. It is highly likely that Christianity grew out of the Jewish synagogues in Rome. Acts 2:10–11 records that there were at Pentecost in Jerusalem “visitors from Rome (both Jews and converts to Judaism).” It is not improbable that such converts, returning to Rome, brought the gospel to the imperial city shortly after the resurrection of Jesus sometime in the early 30s.
There are indications of an impressive Jewish community in Rome as early as 62 B.C. when Pompey, after subjugating Judea under the Roman eagle, brought Jewish captives back to the capital. These Jews were subsequently freed and increased in number. Already in 59 B.C. Cicero mentions a large crowd of Jews at the trial of Flaccus. “You know,” said Cicero to the jury, “how numerous they are and how clannish, and how they can make their influence felt.”[11] In 4 B.C. a delegation of 50 Jews traveled from Judea to Rome to plead for the recall of the tyrant Archelaus. Josephus tells us that the Jewish deputies “were joined by more than 8,000 of the Jews in Rome.”[12] The numerical growth of Jews in Rome was evidently matched by proselytizing efforts. When Fulvia, a woman of high rank, was converted to Judaism in A.D. 19, Tiberius, the Roman Emperor, “ordered the whole Jewish community to leave Rome,” according to Josephus. The Romans then conscripted some 4,000 Jewish youth for military service.[13] How long Tiberius’s expulsion lasted we cannot say, but the Jews returned in greater numbers, thus provoking a second expulsion under Claudius some 30 years later—an event which doubtlessly bears on our epistle.
Before turning to the edict of Claudius, we may say three things of the Jewish community in ancient Rome: it was large, it was diverse, and it was influential. We must think of the Jewish minority divided among many synagogues in Rome, some guarding their Jewishness zealously, others adopting Roman names for their children and adapting in varying degrees to Roman norms. Some ten to fifteen different synagogues have been identified from the walls of the catacombs, and there were doubtlessly many more. Commentators estimate that perhaps as many as 50,000 Jews lived in Rome in Paul’s day, and from them we may rightly expect Christianity to have been introduced to the capital.[14]
The Edict of Claudius. Claudius, who ruled Rome from A.D. 41 to 54, found the Pax Romana threatened by Jewish disturbances from Rome to distant Egypt. In his first year of office he imposed a restraining order on the Jews, “forbidding them to meet together in accordance with their ancestral way of life.”[15] Eight years later, in A.D. 49, he cracked down on foreigners in general. The Roman historian Suetonius says, “Since the Jews constantly made disturbances at the instigation of Chrestus, [Claudius] expelled them from Rome.”[16] It is virtually certain that this is the same event referred to in Acts 18:2 when Paul teamed up in Corinth with Aquila “who had recently come from Italy with his wife Priscilla, because Claudius had ordered all the Jews to leave Rome.” Moreover, it is likely that Aquila and Priscilla had brought their Christianity with them from Rome, since in reviewing his converts and baptisms in Corinth Paul nowhere mentions their names (1 Cor. 1:14ff.; 16:15).
Although “Chrestus” was a common enough slave name, we may assume that Suetonius, writing 70 years after the event and himself a less reputable historian than his contemporary Tacitus in matters pertaining to Christianity, confused “Chrestus” for “Christus,” the Latin name for “Christ.” Behind the reference to “persistent rioting of the Jews in Rome” we have a momentous social history which likely bears on the writing of Romans. A plausible reconstruction of the events before and after the edict of Claudius is offered in the following.
In the first three decades or so of the Christian movement evangelism followed a definite pattern: Christian missionaries and evangelists began in the Jewish synagogues and later branched out (or were forced out because of Jewish antagonism) to the Gentiles. This was the natural course for a movement which regarded itself, as did the earliest church, as a form of Judaism. The Book of Acts records this pattern beginning in Jerusalem (Acts 3–10), continuing in the Pauline missionary expansion (Acts 13–14; 17–18), and ending in Rome (Acts 28:17–31). Whoever the first Christian missionaries to Rome were, they undoubtedly began their witness in Jewish synagogues. But Rome’s Jewish scene was larger and more diverse than the smaller, more homogeneous situations which Paul, for instance, had encountered in Philippi, Thessalonica, or Galatia. Some of Rome’s synagogues may have incorporated the Christian message readily, but others—the majority, we suspect—surely followed the pattern we see in Acts, in which the newly proclaimed gospel first caused a period of strife, after which it was rejected. Into an already diverse and perhaps divided Jewish minority in Rome the introduction of Christianity injected another destabilizing force, resulting in disturbances and rioting among Roman Jews. Claudius responded by expelling the Jews from Rome, Aquila and Priscilla among them.
The expulsion of Jews from Rome dramatically changed the constituency of the fledgling Christian communities there. A movement that from its inception had identified more or less with Judaism was now confronted with a predominantly, if not exclusively, Gentile Christian membership. Freed from the influence of scrupulous Jewish Christians, particularly in dietary matters, the Gentile Christian communities would have grown numerically stronger. But more importantly, they more than likely developed a distinctly antinomian consciousness during the absence of their Jewish Christian counterparts. How long this situation lasted we cannot say, but the five years between the proclamation of the edict in A.D. 49 and Claudius’ death in A.D. 54 is a reasonable guess.
This changed when Claudius died and the edict lapsed. It is not difficult to imagine the difficulties which must have ensued when Jewish Christians returning from exile tried to reestablish themselves in Christian communities that had since matured in Gentile character, especially regarding laxness toward the Torah. Paul’s greetings at the end of Romans seem directed to several different (house) churches (see 16:5, 14, 15), the existence of which may be evidence of tensions between Jewish and Gentile Christians. If our dating of Romans is correct—and the date cannot not have been more than a year or two away from A.D. 57—then Romans was written only a few years after the onset of this social and religious maelstrom.[17]
The Debate Over the Purpose of Romans
In the wake of Luther’s and Calvin’s commentaries in the post-Reformation period, Romans was regarded, in the words of Luther’s protégé, Philip Melanchthon, as “a compendium of the Christian religion.” Whatever social or historical concerns lay behind the epistle were unknown or unimportant. In Melanchthon’s judgment, Romans was a crystalline formulation of the gospel, universal in scope and timeless in extent. This remained the dominant understanding of Romans until the dawn of the historical-critical method under Ferdinand Christian Baur in the mid-nineteenth century. Many commentators, however, still belong to this school of interpretation.[18]
More recently there has been a growing interest among NT scholars to relate Romans either to the life of Paul or to circumstances at Rome. A surprising number of propositions has been advanced, many of them speculative and experimental. The various views can be assigned to three general categories. First, some propose that Romans is a summary or recapitulation of Paul’s theology, which was then employed for various purposes. This may be termed the theological purpose of Romans. Another view is that Romans was directed to specific problems at Rome, especially the friction between Jews and Gentiles, and that its intent, like that of other Pauline letters, was to address the gospel to pressing concerns of a real congregation, albeit one Paul had not visited. This may be called the pastoral interpretation of Romans. A third view is to regard Romans primarily as an advance emissary to Rome in preparation for Paul’s impending visit there on his way to Spain. We may call this the missionary purpose of Romans.[19] Each of these positions deserves further discussion.
The Theological Purpose. The main contention of the theological theory is that “the topic of the letter is … [the] gospel, not the person of the apostle,” to quote Helmut Koester.[20] This is corroborated by the fact that only at the beginning (1:8–15) and end (15:22–33) does Paul break into the letter in the first person. Otherwise Romans can be read as a sustained theological treatise, developing the themes of sin, justification, faith and sanctification, and the practical application of these to everyday life. In this respect the theological interpretation of Romans agrees with the traditional view of Melanchthon, that Romans is “a compendium of the Christian religion.”
Modern scholars have attempted to associate this theory with Paul’s missionary career. Noting that a few manuscripts omit “Rome” in 1:7 and 1:15, and that some ancient versions of Romans circulated without the final chapter (16), T. W. Manson argued that Romans was actually a manifesto of Paul’s deepest convictions in search of the widest publicity. Hence, Paul sent it not only to Rome, but to Syria and Palestine, and above all to Ephesus, for which chapter 16 served as a cover letter.[21]
In a similar vein, Jacob Jervell argues that we know virtually nothing about problems at Rome (and Paul knew little more). In his opinion Romans is rather a summary of Paul’s theology, written as a defense for his upcoming appearance in Jerusalem. Aware that he would be opposed in Jerusalem by legalistic Jewish Christians on the one hand and by libertarian Gentile Christians on the other, Paul wrote Romans in hope that it would enable believers in Jerusalem to accept him as well as his financial collection for the mother church (see 15:25–28).[22]
Another exponent of the theological purpose is Günther Bornkamm. Like Manson, Jervell, and others, Bornkamm concedes that we know precious little about conditions in Rome which might have occasioned the epistle, but unlike them he refrains from positing a non-Roman destination for it. He argues that Romans owes its existence not to a church still before Paul, but to the congregations now behind him. That is, Romans is a summary or restatement of Paul’s theology which had been hammered out on the anvil of the Gentile mission—a last will or final testament, to use Bornkamm’s words.[23]
The strength of the theological position is that it recognizes the thoroughgoing theological nature of Romans. This position, however, and others like it, implies that Paul is writing less to Rome than to himself.[24] Correctly admitting that we know little for certain about the Roman situation, the above position concludes that we know nothing about it and neglects what certain information Paul does provide (e.g., 1:8–15; 15:22–33), as well as additional clues behind Paul’s arguments. Moreover, arguments that Romans was actually written for another destination raise questions about Paul’s integrity, suggesting that he wrote with ulterior motives and at some variance from his stated purpose.
The Pastoral Purpose. Until recently Romans scholarship has been characterized by the assumption that little, if anything, can be known of the conditions in Rome which occasioned Paul’s letter. Consequently, unlike Paul’s other letters which were addressed to specific situations, Romans has been regarded as the magnum opus of Paul’s theological expression. In other words, it was believed to owe its existence to circumstances in Paul’s experience, not to conditions at Rome.
We have already considered the likelihood that the edict of Claudius may have been evoked by the friction between Jews and Gentiles, which was caused, in part at least, by the preaching of Christianity in Roman synagogues. Moreover, although it is true that Paul had not visited Rome, he can hardly have been ignorant of affairs there. It was his day, after all, that coined the expression, “all roads lead to Rome.” Aquila and Priscilla had traveled those roads after their expulsion from Rome, and they would have informed Paul of the latest events as the threesome practiced tent-making together. If, as we argue in our commentary on Romans 16, the final chapter originally belonged to the epistle, it would be odd for Paul to know some thirty individuals in Rome by name and yet know nothing of their circumstances. Paul expressly acknowledges that “your faith is being reported all over the world” (1:8) and congratulates the Romans on their goodness, knowledge, and instruction (15:14). These are rather hollow eulogies if Paul did not know what was happening in Rome.
Moreover, Romans is not devoid of clues regarding its provenance. The sustained discussion concerning Jews and Gentiles (chs. 1–4; 7; 9–11) makes sense, of course, when read in light of Paul’s missionary experiences described in Acts. But it makes better sense when read against the background of friction between Jewish and Gentile Christians in Rome after the edict of Claudius. The discussion of the “strong” and “weak” in chapters 14 and 15 is surely a tactful and charitable way of addressing the judgments traded between libertarian Gentile believers and more legalistic Jewish believers. The reference to paying taxes in 13:6–7 may be more than a striking coincidence in light of Tacitus’ note about complaints in Rome over payment of taxes (ca. A.D. 58).[25] Moreover, Paul’s greetings in chapter 16 include at least three different house-churches.
In short, Paul was far from ignorant about events in Rome.[26] Like other Pauline letters, Romans was drafted with an awareness of certain basic needs of the Christian congregations addressed. It thus owes at least some of its form and content to conditions in Rome and is scarcely the pure summary of Paul’s theology, divorced from the pains and joys of real congregations, that scholars once thought it was.
Nevertheless, a degree of caution is in order. Our hypothesis of conditions between Gentile Christians and Jewish Christians, plausible as it is from the sources at our disposal, remains but a tentative reconstruction. Supposing we are right about events in general, we have no way of knowing if, or to what degree, such events affected the particular congregations to which Paul wrote. The pastoral motive surely influenced the writing of Romans to some extent, but it was scarcely the only motive for the epistle. Paul’s own testimony about the purpose of Romans makes this apparent.
The Missionary Purpose. Twice in Romans Paul declares his intention in writing. “I long to see you so that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to make you strong” (1:11), he says at the outset. He expands this statement at the end of Romans where he labors to bring in “the full number of the Gentiles” (11:25–26) while the Jews delay in embracing the gospel. This ministry he has conducted “from Jerusalem all the way around to Illyricum” (15:19)—roughly from Israel to the Balkans today. But sensing that there “is no more place for me to work in these regions” (15:23), Paul set his sights on Spain. Rome, of course, was the logical stop on the way to Spain. “For many years” (1:13; 15:22–23) Paul had desired to visit the capital and establish there a base camp for his proposed westward expansion (15:24).
In the meantime Paul desired the prayers and support of the Roman Christians as he delivered the collection to Jerusalem. The collection weighed heavily on his mind (15:25–29; also 1 Cor. 16:1–4; 2 Cor. 8:1; 9:2, 12). It was far more than a charitable contribution for the financially depressed Jerusalem church. The gift of the Gentile churches was a symbolic test of the unity of the church, for the acceptance of the collection in Jerusalem would signal an endorsement of Paul’s missionary outreach and show solidarity with the Gentile churches. But, of course, there was no assurance of this. Paul’s language graphically betrays the urgency of the situation: “I urge you … to join me in my struggle by praying … that I may be rescued from the unbelievers in Judea … so that by God’s will I may come to you” (15:30–32, NIV).[27]
It should be obvious from the foregoing that Romans owes its existence to more than one impulse of the apostle. The theological, pastoral, and missionary hypotheses each claim support, though none claims total support. In what follows let us attempt a plausible reconstruction of our own.
According to Paul’s own testimony, Romans is anchored in his missionary consciousness. This is consonant with the picture of Paul from Acts as well as from his epistles. Having concluded a phase of missionary work in what is now Turkey and Greece, Paul planned to visit Jerusalem and deliver the collection to the impoverished Jewish Christians, after which he would turn west to Rome, and from there to Spain. His plan was buttressed by two resolves. First, as his “literary ambassador” Romans would provide an account of himself before his appearance in the capital (1:10; 15:23–24).[28] Second, conscious of the sensitive task of delivering the collection to Jerusalem, Paul would enlist the Romans in prayer support for his visit to the Holy City (15:30–32). Both resolves were designed to involve the Romans in Paul’s ministry.
These are Paul’s stated purposes, and we take them seriously. There is at least one other rationale, however, about which Paul, for reasons which will become obvious, was advisably reticent. When he hopes to “impart some spiritual gift to make you strong” (1:11), or to “have a harvest among you” (1:13), Paul hints at a deeper impulse in the letter. The theme of Jews and Gentiles ebbs and flows throughout the epistle. It is clear that Romans is addressed to predominantly Gentile congregations (1:5; 13–15; 11:13), though one in which a significant Jewish element was present (1:16–17; 9:11; 14:15). If our reconstruction of the background of the epistle is anywhere near accurate, then Romans is addressed to the problems which inevitably resulted when Jewish Christians began returning to Rome following the edict of Claudius. We can imagine their trials of readjusting to churches which had become increasingly Gentile in their absence. Would Gentile believers who had established their supremacy during the Jewish absence, and for whom the law was now largely irrelevant, continue to find a place within their fellowship for a Jewish Christian minority which still embraced the law? Paul cannot have been unaware of such concerns.
Paul was a veteran of two decades of Gentile-Jewish tug-of-war. If there was a champion in early Christianity to address the situation in Rome it was he. Naturally he would (and did) draw upon doctrines which had proved their mettle in previous combat. In no other Pauline letter do we hear so many echoes from earlier letters. From Galatia, where Paul had labored in a situation similar to Rome, he reintroduces justification by faith (Gal. 3–4; Rom. 1–4; 9:30–10:4), Abraham as the father of faith and nations (Gal. 3; Rom. 4), and the sending of the Son as the redeemer for sin (Gal. 4:4ff.; Rom. 8). From Corinth he repeats his analogy of the first and last Adam (1 Cor. 15:22ff.; Rom. 5:12ff.), the languishing of natural humanity under law, sin, and death (1 Cor. 15:56f.; Rom. 7:7–25), the church as the body of Christ (1 Cor. 12; Rom. 12:4ff.), and the reconciliation of dissensions between Jews and Gentiles over ethnic customs (1 Cor. 8–10; Rom. 14–15). These and other ideas from his arsenal of experience proved invaluable at Rome.
There were, of course, strategic interests at Rome about which Paul had been less concerned when he wrote to Galatia and Corinth. Those churches he had founded, and his jealous labors on their behalf allowed him, when necessary, to confront them head-on when his gospel was jeopardized. Paul was a man of profound territorial instincts, but such instincts had to be tempered when he wrote to Rome, for he had not founded the church there, and he was ever mindful not to build on someone else’s foundation (15:20). In Romans Paul must assume a lower profile and avoid airs of presumption. His task was to present an answer he was confident of to a situation he was familiar with, but without the benefit of a firsthand relationship. Consequently, he relies on the content of the gospel rather than on the personal influence he otherwise might have enjoyed.
To conclude our discussion: the theological, pastoral, and missionary motifs all played a role in the purpose of Romans. We may be confident of this quite apart from whatever merits our historical reconstruction possesses, for the three purposes were, always and everywhere, inextricably a part of the man Paul. Paul was an impassioned mind. He believed that the gospel of Jesus Christ held the ultimate solution to the problems of the world because it had provided the solution to the problems in his own life. The gospel was for him an objective and compelling truth. The knowledge of Christ dwarfed everything else in his life and propelled him to hazard all for regions that had not heard the name of Christ. Paul was, however, more than an impassioned mind with a profound missionary call. He was possessed by a pastor’s heart. A man with an immense capacity for human relationships, he labored, contended, and wept for his flocks scattered around the shores of the Mediterranean world, indefatigably confident that the gospel would transform them as it had him.
One point at which the Pauline landscape has seen upheaval in the past decade is in Paul’s relationship to Judaism and the law. Protestant interpreters especially have tended to place Paul’s thesis of justification by faith in antithesis to justification by works. According to this understanding, justification by faith is a gift of grace available to Jews and Gentiles, in contrast to a mistaken pursuit of justification by merit and works of law in Judaism. Faith and works are here pitted against each other as two competing means of salvation, the right one Christian, the wrong one Jewish.
In the post-Bultmannian era (beginning roughly in the mid 1970s), interest shifted away from the Hellenistic roots of Christianity to a reinvestigation of its Judaic background. Several major studies have reopened the question of Paul’s relationship to Judaism and the law.[29] Two refrains have emerged from the ensuing conversation. One is that Pauline interpreters, particularly in their reading of Paul from the perspective of Luther’s opposition to indulgences and works in medieval Catholicism, have wrongly characterized ancient Judaism as a religion of works-righteousness, merit, and legalism. Some scholars would say that Paul himself was guilty of this misunderstanding, and that he misjudged the place of law in Judaism. Sanders posits a corrective in the term “covenantal nomism,” by which he argues that the fundamental premise of Judaism was (and is) not law but covenant.
This leads to a second point on which many recent commentators agree, namely, that covenant precedes Torah, rather than the reverse. Sanders distinguishes between “getting in” and “staying in,” i.e., Jews enter the covenant by grace (e.g., Deut. 7:6–11), but they maintain their position within it by observance of the law. It might be likened to receiving a piece of property as a gift (= covenant of grace), but then being obliged to pay the property taxes on it for oneself (= Torah observance).
What is the position of this commentary on the issue? First, as for the possibility that Paul misunderstood Judaism, the strongest reservation must be registered. It is extremely improbable that one who understood Christianity better than his contemporaries did so on the basis of a misunderstanding of Judaism. It will be recalled that Paul was a Pharisee (Phil. 3:5; Acts 23:6), a pupil of Rabbi Gamaliel (Acts 22:3), who boasted of “advancing in Judaism beyond many Jews of my own age, [being] extremely zealous for the traditions of my fathers” (Gal. 1:14). We may as well suspect Shakespeare of misunderstanding drama as suspect Paul of getting his wires crossed on Judaism. The truth is that following his conversion to Christianity Paul saw Judaism in a radically new light. Should it be countered that many other Jews were converted who did not arrive at such drastic conclusions, it need only be recalled that no other Jew underwent such a momentous conversion as did Paul near Damascus. The Christophany there revolutionized his perspective on Judaism. In 2 Corinthians 3:13–18 Paul speaks of having a veil removed from his understanding of the old covenant, the result of which is evident in Galatians and Romans.
Exactly how was his perspective revolutionized? In Romans Paul makes six pronouncements about the law, the first being that it reveals sin: “through the law we become conscious of sin” (3:20). The law does not cause sin, but it does make it known. It fulfills a diagnostic function of revealing transgression against God’s will. Second, the law incites sin (5:20; 7:8). The prohibition not to do something awakens a desire for it. Paul speaks of sin seizing the occasion of the commandment and “springing to life,” thereby “increasing transgressions.” As a consequence, thirdly, the “law brings wrath” (4:15). Apart from the straightedge of the law, sin, although present in the world, was not reckoned as sin (5:13), and humanity lived in relative ignorance. The advent of law, however, revealed sin for what it is and disclosed God’s wrath and curse on it (Gal. 3:10), and on those who do it (1:18ff.). Fourth, the law is provisional and not eternal, as is evinced by Paul’s marriage analogy (Rom. 7:1–3; 1 Cor. 7:39). All four of these purposes are presented concisely and compellingly in 7:1–12.
It might be inferred from this that the law is sin. That is an inevitable though mistaken conclusion which Paul energetically denies (7:7). On the contrary, the law is “holy, righteous, and good” (7:12). Paul’s fifth point thus is that “the law is spiritual” (7:14) and of divine origin. Spiritual though the law is, humanity is not spiritual but sinful, and herein lies the rub. The law reflects God’s will, but the miserable infection of sin (8:3), as “another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law” (7:23), prevents humanity from even approximating the ideal.
Finally, the intent of the law is fulfilled by the indwelling of the Spirit in believers (8:4; Gal. 5:16). Paul’s radical critique of the law does not lead to antinomianism and moral anarchy. As Romans 12:9–21 demonstrates, his ethics, like those of Jesus (e.g., the Sermon on the Mount, Matt. 5–7), conformed to the moral standards in the Torah, although neither he nor Jesus grounded them in the “letter” (i.e., in the requirement), but in the inner transformation of the Spirit which recovers the original intent of the law. That intent is summed up and fulfilled in love (13:8–10).
Two questions implicit in our discussion might help to complete Paul’s perspective on Judaism and the law. Most importantly, what is the relationship of the law to Christ? The new perspective on Paul is correct in denying that Paul attacks the law as a means of salvation. Nowhere in Romans does Paul imply that Torah observance was the gateway of salvation. Righteousness, as he argues from the case of Abraham (ch. 4), was from the beginning a gift of grace received through faith. Abraham’s response of faith in Yahweh (Gen. 15:6) is the archetype of the believer’s response of faith in Jesus Christ for salvation. The law was not given until some 430 years later, and it could not therefore be a second or competing means of righteousness. Rather, in the inimitable expression of Galatians 3:24, the law was a paidagōgos, an escort or school bus perhaps, which was “put in charge to lead us to Christ,” the schoolmaster. If it did so by making humanity inescapably aware of its need for a savior, it did so nonetheless. This illustrates the provisional nature of the law, and it is surely the meaning of the much debated passage in Romans 10:4 that “Christ is the end of the law.” Christ is not the end of the law in the sense of nullifying it, but in the sense of being its proper goal and fulfillment. Other occurrences of the word “end” (Gk. telos) in Romans 2:27 and 6:21–22 concur. Christ does not put an end to the law, but is the law’s rightful end, the omega point to which God had been moving the chosen people from Abraham onward. The metaphor of the olive tree in 11:17ff. illustrates and completes this idea. Both Jews and Gentiles must be engrafted by grace onto the “root,” which culminates in Christ.
This brings us to a second and final question. If Paul does not attack the law as a means of salvation, what does he attack? Some suggest that his argument is not with the moral law, but with the cultic law, especially questions of sabbath observance, dietary regulations, circumcision, and marriage, all of which were prominent in first-century Judaism. But this is not borne out by an examination of law (Gk. nomas) in Romans, nor, for the most part, in Paul’s other letters. The guilt of humanity in 1:18–2:24, the failure of moral righteousness in 3:9ff., the discussion of law in chapter 4, and the preoccupation with law (20 times) in chapter 7 all reflect the moral covenant at Sinai, not the cultic law. The discussion of circumcision in 2:25ff. and 4:1ff. is no exception, since the problem is that of taking the sign more seriously than the reality it represents. The single reference to the cultic law in Romans is the discussion of dietary practices in 14:1–15:13, about which Paul is benignly flexible—although not about the judgments which result from such practices. Paul’s heroic (though futile) struggle in Romans 7 would be a farce had he been thinking of food laws, fat offerings, and firstfruits—and this goes for his enormous preoccupation with the law as a whole.
The law under discussion, then, was the moral law, which, in itself, was good. What was not good was the sense of pride which developed in those who held it. It was this problem which engaged Paul so vigorously. The law became for Jews a mark of distinction and superiority over against Gentiles. The conviction of being chosen by God and favored with Torah inspired in Israel a sense of privilege, which in the early days evoked both wonder and gratitude (Deut. 7). But following the exile it hardened into attitudes—and laws—of separation. Ezra’s reforms, to be sure, heightened Judah’s identity and ensured its survival amidst alien cultures. But those same reforms ran a danger of making the signs of election—Torah, circumcision, and marriage, for example—seem like the thing itself. Following the Maccabean revolt, when true believers felt compelled to separate themselves further from Gentiles and from less observant Jews, pride in Torah became a veritable trait of Judaism.
The result was an inordinate concern for distinctions which led invariably to value judgments and feelings of superiority. It would be unfair to conclude that all Jews were this way; that is a bias with a long and ugly history in Christian exegesis, and the new perspective on Paul is right in trying to uproot it. But it cannot be denied that the tendency was inherent in first-century Judaism. Paul himself had been given to it before his conversion (Gal. 1:14; Phil. 3:5), and Jesus challenged it on more than one occasion (Matt. 23; Mark 7:1–22). Paul summed up the dangers of the moral law and its signs by the word “boasting,” which occurs some 50 times in his letters (and only four times elsewhere in the NT.) Boasting and pride pit themselves against grace, and grace, which can only be received by humility and faith, sums up the gospel. The essential conflict for Paul is between boasting and grace, not law and grace. Grace teaches that there are no distinctions, for all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Where then is boasting? It is excluded on the sole basis of justification by faith (3:21–28).