The American ascendancy in the political and cultural arena is reflected in biblical studies. Germany is no longer the center of NT research. European scholars have joined the Society of Biblical Literature and cross the sea to participate in the annual meetings. American graduate students no longer assume that at least a year of study at Göttingen, Heidelberg, or Tübingen is necessary. Graduate schools in America—notably at Harvard, Yale, and Chicago (and Princeton Theological Seminary and Duke and others) with fine faculties and superb libraries—have made notable advances, often assisted by scholars imported from Germany, Great Britain, and Scandinavia. This shift from east to west is not necessarily salutary. American students, by and large, are not rigorously trained in the classical languages; some do not study Greek until seminary, and that restricted to Koinē. Also, by missing the opportunity to study abroad, many do not gain competence in the European languages so essential for the understanding of the history and current state of the discipline. Anyone who supposes that NT research has withered in Germany need only peruse the catalogues from Mohr Siebeck and Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.
The arrangement of material in this chapter follows the order of the historical development of NT research in America. The work was accomplished primarily (not exclusively) in academic centers, in the order: Harvard, Yale, and Chicago. The scholars reviewed, then, are associated in some way, as professors or students, with these universities. It is important to note that two of the scholars reviewed are Germans who migrated to America, and that the other three all studied in Germany.
Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza is unique in this volume.[1] She attacks the historical critical method; she reflects the variety of new methods that emerged in the last half of the century; she represents feminist biblical criticism, an approach that has become increasingly important. Elisabeth Schüssler was born into a Catholic family in a village of a German section of Romania. Since Romania had sided with Russia, her family fled to Hungary, later to Austria, and finally settled in central Germany.[2] She remembers the privations of war: begging for food, witnessing the devastation of Würzburg. After graduating from the classical gymnasium—exceptional for a girl from the working class—Schüssler entered the University of Würzburg (1958); she was the first woman to enroll in the course in theological studies there. She graduated summa cum laude with the licentiate in theology in 1963.[3] Schüssler began doctoral studies at Würzburg under Rudolf Schnackenburg, who refused to award her a scholarship because “as a woman you have no future in theology.”[4] Nevertheless, she was granted a research assistantship at the University of Münster, and Schnackenburg continued as her dissertation advisor. Since she had no chance for a theological teaching position in Germany, Schüssler Fiorenza moved with her husband Francis Fiorenza to the US (1970), where she was appointed to the faculty at Notre Dame, eventually was granted tenure (1975), and was promoted to full professor in 1980. At Notre Dame her avowal of a feminist theology of liberation was not adequately appreciated, so she moved to the Episcopal Divinity School in Cambridge (1984) and later to Harvard (1988). About her experience at Harvard, Schüssler Fiorenza has reflected, “Ironically, of all the faculty here, besides Harvey Cox, I am probably best known around the world, yet I have very much been relegated to the sidelines by the politics of the school.”[5] Nevertheless, at Harvard Divinity School Schüssler Fiorenza was named Krister Stendahl Professor of Divinity. She served as visiting professor at, among other places, Union Theological Seminary (New York), the University of Tübingen, and the University of Heidelberg. She was the first woman to be elected president of the SBL. At age 65 she characterized her role in America as that of a “resident alien,” a “migrant worker.”[6]
Before the development of her distinctive feminist hermeneutic, Schüssler Fiorenza’s work exemplifies her training and skill in historical-critical NT research.[7] But even there, hints of things to come were already evident. In her thesis for the licentiate Schüssler Fiorenza investigated the role of women in the pastoral work of the church and engaged in exegesis from her own perspective. Also, her doctoral dissertation demonstrates a concern with the implicit democracy of the concept of the priesthood of believers. At the same time, the dissertation offers a brilliant display of historical-critical analysis of texts from the book of Revelation.
The dissertation, Priester für Gott, begins with a review of research on the problem of the understanding of the priesthood in the NT.[8] The main section of the dissertation is devoted to the interpretation of the concept of the priesthood of the redeemed as presented in the Apocalypse. In the first part of this section Schüssler Fiorenza investigates the texts of Rev 1:6; 5:10; and 20:6 and their background in the OT. She begins with a text-critical analysis of these texts and their relation to Exod 19:6. She proceeds to a discussion of the ideas of the priestly kingdom and the eschatological people of God in Exod 19:4-6 and Isa 61:6. In the second part of the main section she investigates the idea of the priesthood and the royal rule (Königsherrschaft) of the redeemed in the present. Here she presents a form-critical and tradition-historical analysis of Rev 1:4-8 and an investigation of the author’s redactional reworking of the traditional baptismal confession. In the third part Schüssler Fiorenza investigates the priesthood and rule of the redeemed in the eschatological future. This involves the messianic rule of the priests of God as seen in Rev 20:4-6 and the eschatological reign of the servants of God and their eschatological worship of God (Rev 22:3-5).
The dissertation concludes with a summary of the results. According to Schüssler Fiorenza’s research, the author of Revelation has reworked the early Christian tradition concerning the royal priesthood. This reworking, she believes, is shaped by the cultic and lordship ideas of the author’s own time. The author warns against an enthusiastic misunderstanding that salvation is already realized, and admonishes the Christians of Asia Minor to worship God and the Lord Jesus Christ in face of the imperial cult and pagan syncretism. According to Schüssler Fiorenza, the author, by reworking the tradition of the baptismal confession, views the redeemed as already appointed priests who will function in the eschatological future. Schüssler Fiorenza anticipates later themes of her work when she says that “the author of Rev in his argument seeks to present more strongly the ruling-political rather than the priestly-cultic element.”[9]
Schüssler Fiorenza’s most important work is In Memory of Her, first published in 1983 and eventually translated into at least ten languages.[10] The title is inspired by the story of the woman who anointed Jesus. Although her name has been forgotten, “what she has done will be told in remembrance of her” (Mark 14:9). In the introduction Schüssler Fiorenza sets forth her purpose. “The explorations of this book have two goals: they attempt to reconstruct early Christian history as women’s history not only to restore women’s stories to early Christian history but also to reclaim this history as the history of women and men.”[11] Schüssler Fiorenza also stresses the importance of methodological issues. She calls for a paradigm shift in biblical interpretation from the androcentric, male-dominated reading to a feminist perspective that can reclaim the role of women in the history of early Christianity.
The first part of the book is devoted to the explication of this methodological shift. Schüssler Fiorenza proposes a critical feminist hermeneutics. She begins with an analysis of current models: the doctrinal, the positivist historical, the dialogical-hermeneutical, and liberation hermeneutics. She points out that already in the nineteenth century Elizabeth Cady Stanton had recognized biblical interpretation as a political act.[12] Schüssler Fiorenza also reviews varieties of feminist hermeneutics she finds inadequate, for example, those who follow a neo-orthodox model (Letty Russell, Rosemary Radford Ruether, and Phyllis Trible). This model, according to Schüssler Fiorenza, fails to confront the religious-political legitimization of patriarchal oppressions and tends to use the feminist perspective to rehabilitate the authority of the Bible. Instead, Schüssler Fiorenza calls for a hermeneutics that recognizes that the Bible itself is androcentric—a hermeneutics that counters the oppression of women and recognizes the socio-political context of biblical study. “A feminist critical hermeneutics must therefore move from androcentric texts to their social-historical contexts.”[13]
In response to this demand, Schüssler Fiorenza promotes her own methodology. “If the locus of revelation is not the androcentric text but the life and ministry of Jesus and the movement of women and men called forth by him, then we must develop critical-historical methods for feminist readings of the biblical texts.”[14] These methods must be sensitive to the “silence” of the texts—the silence about woman that has been perpetuated by androcentric translations and interpretations. “A theoretical model for the reconstruction of women’s early Christian history, therefore, must do justice to the fact that early Christian women, as women, were part of a submerged group, and as Christians they were part of an emergent group that was not yet recognized by the dominant patriarchal society and culture.”[15]
In the second part of In Memory of Her, Schüssler Fiorenza turns to the NT texts and interprets early Christian history as “the History of Discipleship of Equals.” This history begins with the Jesus movement, which Schüssler Fiorenza identifies as a renewal movement within Judaism. All Jewish people, according to Schüssler Fiorenza, were concerned with the reign of God and the hope of liberation from Rome. Within this setting, Jesus had a vision of the basileia as the praxis of inclusive wholeness. Schüssler Fiorenza believes that Jesus stressed the idea of the kingdom as present, celebrated at the festive table to which all (including women) were invited. The basileia came to tax collectors, sinners, and prostitutes, that is, women of low social status. Schüssler Fiorenza characterizes the God of Jesus as the Divine Sophia, the God of goodness and unlimited grace. “To sum up, the Palestinian Jesus movement understands the ministry and mission of Jesus as the prophet and child of Sophia sent to announce that God is the God of the poor and heavy laden, of the outcasts and those who suffer injustice.”[16]
Like the woman looking eagerly for the lost coin, Schüssler Fiorenza searches the androcentric texts for signs of liberation from patriarchal structures. She sees in the mention of “mother” and “sisters” in Mark 3:31-35 the implication that women were followers of Jesus. She hears in Matt 23:9 (“call no one your father on earth”) a rejection of patriarchal power. “Thus liberation from patriarchal structures is not only explicitly articulated by Jesus but is in fact at the heart of the proclamation of the basileia of God.”[17] Schüssler Fiorenza extols the importance of women as witnesses to the empty tomb and the resurrection of Jesus.
Turning to the early Christian missionary movement, Schüssler Fiorenza believes the importance of women can be detected in the Pauline epistles. Paul refers to women as his coworkers. Phoebe is a diakonos (Rom 16:1) and Junia is recognized as an apostle (Rom 16:7).
The Pauline literature and Acts still allow us to recognize that women were among the most prominent missionaries and leaders in the early Christian movement. They were apostles and ministers like Paul, and some were his co-workers. They were teachers, preachers, and competitors in the race for the gospel. They founded house churches and, as prominent patrons, used their influence for other missionaries and Christians.[18]
Schüssler Fiorenza believes that the importance of women is also seen in the theological self-understanding of the early Christian movement. She thinks the early Christians identified the risen Lord with the Sophia of God, and she sees Wisdom Christology reflected in the pre-Pauline hymn of Phil 2:6-11. The understanding of the Spirit, according to Schüssler Fiorenza, presumes a sense of equality among the members of the new community. “They are all equal, because they all share in the Spirit, God’s power; they are all called elect and holy because they are adopted by God, all without exception: Jews, pagans, women, men, slaves, free poor, rich, those with high status and those who are ‘nothing’ in the eyes of the world.”[19] It is no surprise that Schüssler Fiorenza values the baptismal confession quoted in Gal 3:28. “It proclaims that in the Christian community all distinctions of religion, race, class, nationality, and gender are insignificant.”[20] However, Paul, according to Schüssler Fiorenza, compromises the confession and its meaning. On the one hand he affirms the equality and freedom of women, but on the other he advocates their subordination. He uses the imagery of “father” to confirm his authority (1 Cor 4:15) and insists that wives should be silent in the churches (1 Cor 14:34).In the third part of the book Schüssler Fiorenza investigates post-Pauline texts, with attention to the household codes. In Colossians the ethic of the Greco-Roman patriarchal household code is adopted. In 1 Peter the household code deals primarily with the subordination of slaves and wives. In Ephesians the code is understood in relation to the household of God. The subordination of wives to husbands is defended on the analogy of the relation of Christ and the church. Schüssler Fiorenza concludes that “Ephesians christologically cements the inferior position of the wife in the marriage relationship.”[21] Although the post-Pauline literature displays the increasing patriarchalization of the church and the genderization of its ministry, Schüssler Fiorenza sees glimmers of light in the Gospels of Mark and John. She notes that in John the male disciples flee from the crucifixion while the women follow Jesus to the cross. Similarly, the Fourth Gospel accents the role of women: the mother of Jesus, the woman of Samaria, and Mary Magdalene (first witness of the resurrection). “While—for apologetic reasons—the post-Pauline and post-Petrine writers seek to limit women’s leadership roles in the Christian community to roles which are culturally and religiously acceptable, the evangelists called Mark and John highlight the alternative character of the Christian community, and therefore accord women apostolic and ministerial leadership.”[22]
In the epilogue Schüssler Fiorenza issues a summons to action: “A feminist Christian spirituality, therefore, calls us to gather together as the ekklēsia of women who, in the angry power of the Spirit, are sent forth to feed, heal, and liberate our own people who are women.”[23]
Next to In Memory of Her, Schüssler Fiorenza’s Jesus: Miriam’s Child, Sophia’s Prophet is most important for the history of NT research.[24] As in the earlier book, the first part is preoccupied with hermeneutics and methodology, issues that have been more fully explicated in the meantime in Schüssler Fiorenza’s works on hermeneutics (reviewed below). She writes, “I seek to employ a critical feminist hermeneutics in order to explore the theoretical frameworks of various discourses about Jesus the Christ, and I do so from the social location of a biblical scholar who works from within the critical interpretive discourses of a critical feminist theology of liberation.”[25] In the current situation of “malestream” economic and political domination Schüssler Fiorenza declares that feminist liberation theology must move to the center of academy and religion. “The image I want to suggest is that of the feminist theologian as troublemaker, as resident alien, who constantly seeks to destabilize the centers, both the value-free, ostensibly neutral research ethos of the academy and the dogmatic authoritarian stance of patriarchal religion.”[26] In this book she is particularly concerned to dismantle to the “kryriarchal” domination of orthodox Christology. “In short, the form and shape of feminist christological inquiry has been conditioned not only by its biblical-dogmatic location but also by its rhetorical-theological location within the preconstructed modern frame of the sex/gender system.”[27] Schüssler Fiorenza proceeds to investigate various efforts by feminist theologians to grapple with the problem of the maleness of Jesus. One of the strategies is to argue that the humanity of Jesus, not his maleness, is primary. Other feminists propose a shift from the concept of Jesus as heroic individual to the view of Jesus in relationship to others, providing a relational Christology. However, Schüssler Fiorenza believes these efforts assume and perpetuate the sex/gender system.
In the second part of the book Schüssler Fiorenza investigates various approaches to the interpretation of Jesus. She identifies three major methods: the doctrinal-historical (a method that employs historical criticism but fails to assess the social-cultural structure), the liberal psychological-anthropological (a method that uses historical imagination to enrich spiritual Christianity but also assumes the kyriarchal, sex/gender system), and the social-rhetorical (a method that is concerned with the linguistic and symbolic worlds of the biblical texts but also adopts a kyriocentric framework). Schüssler Fiorenza also reviews the quests of the historical Jesus. In the old quest (chronicled by Schweitzer), Jesus was envisioned as the liberal, male hero. In the kerygmatic quest (Kähler and Bultmann) a Christ of faith was found who had little interest in feminist concerns. In the “new quest” (identified by James Robinson) excessive use of the criterion of dissimilarity led to an anti-Jewish Jesus. In the “newest quest” (e.g., the Jesus Seminar), the scientific objective method of malestream biblical studies was exclusively embraced with no sensitivity to the socio-political-cultural context.
In reaction, Schüssler Fiorenza asserts that: “a critical feminist theology of liberation has to challenge the notion that Christian identity must remain contingent upon scientific reconstructions of the historical Jesus as founding father, feminist hero, or divine man, since such kyriocentric scientific reconstructions reproduce not only androcentrism but also anti-Judaism in Christian historical-theological terms.”[28] Positively, Schüssler Fiorenza reaffirms her argument in In Memory of Her: the Jesus movement should be recognized as a Jewish emancipatory movement of wo/men.
Since this process of kyriarchal reinterpretation of the gospel has produced the reconstructed, by now “common sense” frame of meaning that marginalizes women and vilifies Jews, it is necessary to dislodge our readings from such a preconstructed frame of reference and to reconfigure the Christian testament discourses about Jesus not as “scientific” but as rhetorical. The reconstruction of the Jesus movement as an emancipatory basileia movement, I suggest, provides such a different historical frame of reference.[29]
In this reconstruction Schüssler Fiorenza focuses on the execution of Jesus and the theology of the cross. Like the maleness of Jesus, the idea of Jesus’ death as atonement or as necessary for salvation is troublesome for feminists. Various feminist theologians respond in various ways, running all the way from the charge that the doctrine of atonement promotes suffering (e.g., child abuse) to the belief that the crucified Jesus shares in the suffering of oppressed women. Schüssler Fiorenza believes these solutions continue to imply the support of the sex/gender system of domination. She says that “to willingly suffer violence always serves kyriarchal interests, even when such suffering is understood as redemptive.”[30] In her view, the Sophia-God of Jesus does not need atonement or require sacrifices. “A theology that is silent about the sociopolitical causes of Jesus’ execution and stylizes him as the paradigmatic sacrificial victim whose death was either willed by God or was necessary to propitiate God continues the kyriarchal cycle of violence and victimization instead of empowering believers to resist and transform it.”[31] Schüssler Fiorenza calls for a reinterpretation of the theology of the cross in terms of a different politics of meaning. She points out that Jesus was executed as “King of the Jews,” that is, as a political criminal; Jesus was executed by the Roman imperial, kyriarchal system.In the third part of her Jesus book Schüssler Fiorenza sounds a favorite theme: the importance of the concept of Wisdom for feminist Christology. She begins this exposition with a review of the development of Wisdom theology in Judaism. Schüssler Fiorenza believes that after the exile the concept of Wisdom replaced the role of the king. According to Schüssler Fiorenza’s reading of Jewish theology, God is present in Israel as a female personification of Divine Wisdom. Turning to early Christian sources, Schüssler Fiorenza thinks that the earliest tradition embedded in the Q document presents Jesus as the prophet of Sophia. She also detects the witness to Sophia in the pre-Markan tradition. This is especially seen in the story of the baptism, where Jesus is depicted as empowered with the Spirit as messenger of Sophia. As in In Memory of Her, Schüssler Fiorenza sees the Sophia-Christ in the pre-Pauline hymn of Phil 2:6-11; like Isis, the Sophia-Christ is praised as ruler over the cosmic powers. She also finds reference to Sophia in Matt 11:19—Sophia vindicated by her deeds. The Gospel of John, according to Schüssler Fiorenza, implies a theology of Wisdom incarnate but subsumes this concept to the idea of Father/Son, resulting in anti-Judaism and kyriarchal domination. She concludes: “Feminist theology must rearticulate the symbols, images, and names of Divine Sophia in the context of our own experiences and theological struggles in such a way that the ossified and absolutized masculine language about G*d and Christ is radically questioned and undermined and the Western cultural sex/gender system is radically deconstructed.”[32]
The final chapter of Jesus: Miriam’s Child, Sophia’s Prophet investigates mariology—a concept important in Schüssler Fiorenza’s own Roman Catholic tradition. Her intent is to deconstruct Mary, the mother of Jesus. She believes that malestream mariology was developed by the early church fathers in support of the kyriachal system and the subordination of women. In post-Vatican II Roman Catholic biblical scholarship the excesses of the Marian cult have been eliminated, while the subordination of women has been continued. With her typical sensitivity to symbolic expression, Schüssler Fiorenza reflects on the story of Mary’s visit to Elizabeth (Luke 1:39-56): “Rather it is the young pregnant woman, living in occupied territory and struggling against victimization and for survival and dignity. It is she who holds out the offer of untold possibilities for a different christology and theology.”[33] The final sentence in Schüssler Fiorenza’s captivating drama reads, “Jesus, Miriam’s child and Sophia’s prophet, goes ahead of us on the open-road to Galilee signifying the beginnings of the still-to-be-realized basileia discipleship of equals.”[34]
Schüssler Fiorenza later published another book on Jesus that focuses on the methods of historical Jesus research: Jesus and the Politics of Interpretation.[35] “In short, in this book I seek to inquire into the rhetoricity and politics of Historical-Jesus interpretation as a rhetorical process of meaning making.”[36] In the introduction she delineates two dominant types of research on the historical Jesus: conservative biblicist reconstruction, and historical-critical reconstruction. In regard to the latter, Schüssler Fiorenza renders a devastating indictment: “Thus Historical-Jesus research as a scientific discourse shares in the dualistic rhetoric of the discourses of prejudice, racism, sexism, heterosexism, elitism, ethnocentrism, and other discourses of domination.”[37] As an alternative she again proposes a paradigm shift. “Historical-Jesus research, I argue throughout, must engage in a progressive emancipatory politics of interpretation that ceases to maintain scientific discourses of domination.”[38]
After the introduction Schüssler Fiorenza again reviews the quests of the historical Jesus and charges that they uniformly fail to acknowledge the socio-political location of the discussion. She writes that feminist research on the historical Jesus—notably her own—has largely been ignored by the academy. Schüssler Fiorenza also assails the split between the historical-critical and the theological investigation of Jesus. She finds evidence of this split in the work of such heavyweights as John Dominic Crossan and John Meier. In contrast, “[A] feminist reconstruction must adopt both a sociopolitical frame of conflict and struggle and a theological-inclusive frame of radical equality and well-being as its reconstructive framework of interpretation.”[39]
Schüssler Fiorenza proceeds to investigate the social-scientific quest for the historical Jesus. Although she believes this approach makes advances over the historical-critical method, it, too, is dominated by elite white males and presupposes the sex/gender dualism. In Schüssler Fiorenza’s view most methods of historical Jesus research are plagued by anti-Judaism and antifeminism. She believes the remedy is to be found in her own particular formulation of a feminist hermeneutic. “In short, only an emancipatory feminist model of historical and theological reconstruction can do justice both to our common struggles for transforming religious kyriarchy and to our particular historical struggles and religious identity formations that are different.”[40] This model assumes that the Jesus movement can only be understood as a first-century Jewish movement, one that views itself as a prophetic movement of Divine Sophia-Wisdom.
As well as these major books, Schüssler Fiorenza has published works that can be classified under the general rubric of hermeneutics. Her views are expounded in three books: Bread Not Stone; But She Said; and Rhetoric and Ethic.[41] Since much of the content of these books is repetitious, this review will order the material according to common themes.
In explicating her hermeneutics Schüssler Fiorenza creates an idiosyncratic terminology. Most of the terms are listed and defined in the preface of Rhetoric and Ethic. The term “ekklēsia” is the Greek word for “assembly” or “church”; in Schüssler Fiorenza’s usage it designates the radical equality of the religious community and democratic society. Schüssler Fiorenza uses the designation “Christian Testament” (CT) rather than “New Testament” (NT) to avoid any taint of Christian supersessionism. Similar to Jewish practice, Schüssler Fiorenza employs the spelling “G*d” (in earlier publications “G-d”) in order to acknowledge the inadequacy of language to speak of the divine; in later works she reflects this concern in terms like “the*logy.” The term “kyriarchal/kyrocentric” is derived from the Greek word for “lord”; Schüssler Fiorenza uses this term to depict the patriarchal and hierarchal structures of domination and oppression; the same concept is conveyed by the adjective “androcentric.” The words “wo/man” and “wo/men” are used to avoid an essentialist view that defines woman exclusively by gender; “wo/men” is inclusive and is often used as the equivalent of “people.” Not listed in this preface, but used elsewhere, is the term “phallocentrism,” a term that emphasizes the sexual aspect of male domination.[42] Used throughout Schüssler Fiorenza’s publications is the word “malestream,” a word that characterizes the mainstream of political-cultural-religious domination as male.
Schüssler Fiorenza heralds a militant hermeneutic—a call to battle. The object of her attack is the all-pervasive, systemic domination that rules culture, politics, society, and religion. This system of oppression she characterizes as patriarchal or kyriarchal. The system was already present in the Greek ideal of “democracy,” which Schüssler Fiorenza views “as a complex pyramidal political structure of dominance and subordination, stratified by gender, race, class, religious and cultural taxonomies and other historical formations of domination.”[43] Schüssler Fiorenza sees the same structure of domination mirrored in modern capitalistic patriarchy, a system that confirms white, Euro-American supremacy.
As a biblical scholar Schüssler Fiorenza is especially alarmed by the kyriarchal system dominant in the Bible and in biblical studies. The Bible, she points out, is written in androcentric language and promotes systems of suppression. The canon of Scripture was formalized by the male-dominated, politically-motivated orthodox church. Biblical scholars follow the malestream methods of biblical interpretation, and in this Schüssler Fiorenza finds the devotees of the “scientific” positivist paradigm no better than the advocates of the doctrinal-fundamentalist approach.[44] The system of oppression reaches its nadir in antifeminism. Schüssler Fiorenza finds this explicit or implicit in all aspects of the patriarchal and kyriarchal systems. According to her, antifeminism is more fundamental than colonialism and the oppression opposed by liberation theology; all oppressed people include women, and women, she believes, are paradigmatic for the whole concept of oppression.
Against this massive system of domination Schüssler Fiorenza calls for a counterattack: a hermeneutics of feminist liberation. “In short, a critical model of feminist interpretation for liberation seeks to articulate a rhetorical practice that can displace objectivist and depoliticized academic practices of biblical interpretation—practices which at present seem to be gaining ground in biblical women’s studies.”[45] Schüssler Fiorenza subdivides feminist hermeneutics into various types.[46] Most important is the hermeneutics of suspicion. According to this approach interpretation must be alert to the androcentric language of the Bible and wary of the malestream methods of biblical interpretation. A hermeneutics of remembrance recalls the role of women in the Jesus movement and in the early church. “A feminist hermeneutics of remembrance proposes theoretical models for historical reconstructions that place women in the center of biblical community and theology.”[47] A hermeneutics of evaluation and proclamation affirms the importance of women as interpreters of Scripture and participants in ministry. Schüssler Fiorenza insists that “ministry should be understood as ‘equality from below,’ as a democratic practice of solidarity with all those who struggle for survival, self-love, and justice.”[48] A hermeneutics of imagination indicates that the text should be approached with openness to new, wider meanings.
Schüssler Fiorenza investigates methods of biblical criticism and interpretation in the light of the various types of hermeneutics. She detects a crisis in biblical scholarship. She proposes that the dominant model of objective, value-neutral research is no longer viable; it is not really objective and its demise is heralded by a variety of new methods; it creates a chasm between what the text meant and what it means. Above all, Schüssler Fiorenza charges that the old method fails to recognize the socio-political location of biblical research. Although the “scientific” positivistic paradigm claims objectivity, its focus on the “facts” makes it, like the doctrinal-fundamentalist, literalistic. The (post-) modern cultural paradigm has spawned a host of new methods and recognizes a wide range of social worlds. In place of these, Schüssler Fiorenza promotes the rhetorical emancipatory method. “The transformation of biblical studies into such a theo-ethics of interpretation calls for a rhetorical method of analysis that is able to articulate the power of relations and radical democratic visions of well-being inscribed in biblical texts.”[49]
The main sources to which this method is to be applied are found in the Bible, especially the CT, and in the Jewish wisdom literature. Using the historical critical method she claims to abhor, Schüssler Fiorenza gives careful attention to the early stratum of Q, the pre-Markan tradition, and the pre-Pauline tradition. Following the course launched in the Reformation, she views the succeeding historical tradition as decline, flowing into the malestream of biblical interpretation. In But She Said, Schüssler Fiorenza addresses the problem of biblical authority.[50] She contends that authority is not located in the canon of Scripture, the historical Jesus, or the earliest Christian witness. Instead, authority has its locus in the ekklēsia of women inspired by the Sophia-Spirit. “A critical feminist hermeneutics that articulates itself within the logic of democracy must be grounded in a spirituality of vision and imagination.”[51]
Two other books illustrate the application of Schüssler Fiorenza’s feminist hermeneutics to particular topics. In The Power of the Word: Scripture and the Rhetoric of Empire she explores the relationship of her feminist hermeneutics of liberation to the recent interest of biblical research in empire (seen, for example, in the work of Neil Elliott and Warren Carter).[52] This approach, of course, fits hand in glove with Schüssler Fiorenza’s idea of kyriarchy. In the main she argues that these studies are not sufficiently radical. They continue to work with the antiquated paradigm of positivistic historical criticism, and they fail to adopt the feminist hermeneutic that exposes the kryriarchal function of the Scriptures themselves. Schüssler Fiorenza concludes, “The arguments of . . . [this] whole book are framed toward nurturing scholars, preachers, and Christian readers who are able to identify the rhetoric of empire inscribed in scripture and to make the connections between the rhetoric of scripture and contemporary global struggles for justice and well-being.”[53] In Democratizing Biblical Studies: Toward an Emancipatory Educational Space Schüssler Fiorenza explicates the implication of her hermeneutic for programs of education in biblical studies.[54] She calls for a radical democratic pedagogy for the study of the Bible.
The application of Schüssler Fiorenza’s hermeneutics is demonstrated in her exegetical and critical work. An example is provided by her research on the Apocalypse: The Book of Revelation: Justice and Judgment, originally published in 1985.[55] In the original Prologue she writes, “I propose to look for the integrating center, that is, the distinct historical-social-religious experience and resulting theological perspective that have generated the particular form-content figuration (Gestalt) of Rev.”[56] In the introduction Schüssler Fiorenza reviews earlier research on the book of Revelation. She concludes that the document is a Christian prophetic-apocalyptic work, written in Asia Minor at the end of the first century. More important, according to Schüssler Fiorenza, is the literary-functional interpretation. This approach recognizes the poetic character of the language and the document’s preoccupation with the problem of power. Thus, she says, Revelation must be read politically.
In Part 1, Schüssler Fiorenza investigates “Theological Perspectives and Frameworks.” She surmises that Revelation does not present a sequence of events, but rather pieces of a mosaic to describe the imminent eschatological event. The present suffering of the community is understood in relation to the future of the coming kingdom. Schüssler Fiorenza does not believe the author holds a spiritual or individualistic view of redemption. “Instead, he conceives of redemption and salvation in political terms and in socio-economic categories.”[57] Although salvation is present, it is not fully realized; the community lives now under the domination of the Roman empire.
In Part 2, Schüssler Fiorenza discusses “Revelation in the Context of Early Christianity in Asia Minor.” She believes that the author was the leader of a prophetic-apocalyptic school, and that he was opposed a gnostic-libertine faction within the church. “In conclusion,” she writes, “I have attempted to argue that Rev. must be understood as a literary product of early Christian prophecy. As such it must be situated within the theological context of Asia Minor which was greatly determined by Pauline and post-Pauline theology.”[58]
In Part 3, Schüssler Fiorenza investigates the “Literary Vision and Composition of the Apocalypse.” She reviews various theories about the sources, genre, and literary form of the document. She concludes that Revelation has the frame of a early Christian apostolic letter to which the author has added visions, images, and symbols; the result is a “prophetic-apostolic letter.”[59] Schüssler Fiorenza contends that the language of Revelation is not only mythopoeic but also rhetorical and political. The author calls for radical resistance to Satanic power, the power of Rome.
In the Epilogue, Schüssler Fiorenza critiques the reading of Revelation according to a dualism of gender, seen, for instance, in the contrast between the bad woman (Babylon) and the good woman (Jerusalem). “I have tried to show, therefore, that a reading of Revelation in terms of a dualistic gender framework inscribes or reinscribes the Western sex/gender system, whereas a rhetorical-political reading is able to underscore the sociopolitical-religious power of Roman imperialism that affects wo/men differently.”[60]
In the history of NT research, Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza is without parallel. She is an evangelist of a distinctive hermeneutics, a particular methodology, and an uncommon theology. She presents her views in vivid, dramatic prose. Schüssler Fiorenza calls for a rhetoric of power and she herself writes powerful rhetoric. As a biblical scholar she is vitally concerned with what the Bible means—a meaning directed to the social and political problems of today’s world. In all of this Schüssler Fiorenza displays keen intellect and command of a broad spectrum of research in the historical and social sciences.
Fundamentally, Schüssler Fiorenza advocates an approach to biblical studies that is grounded in the experience of the interpreter. While this appears vulnerable to the charge of subjectivism, Schüssler Fiorenza embraces subjectivity and intentionally puts the interpreter in the center. Moreover, hers is not an arbitrary, egoistic subjectivism but one based on a larger, broadly conceived worldview. Surely liberation, freedom, and democracy are universal values, shared with the majority of humanity.
Much of the substance of Schüssler Fiorenza’s work is negative: an attack on the dominant socio-cultural-political structures, which she so graphically depicts as kyriarchy. Nevertheless, Schüssler Fiorenza, as Ng points out, is an “insider-outsider.”[61] As a professor at Harvard, the recipient of honorary degrees, the publisher of “best-sellers,” a star on the lecture circuit, Schüssler Fiorenza belongs to and is supported by the “kyriarchal” system. While this may provide her with a firsthand perspective, it does not protect her from the fallout from her own charges.
Schüssler Fiorenza has a mixed view of the Bible. On the one hand she decries its androcentric language and its affirmation of patriarchy. On the other she detects, beneath the debris of suppression, treasures of inspiration, glimpses of the role and importance of women in the early Christian movement. Schüssler Fiorenza claims that the authority of the Bible is not located in the canon but in the experience of the feminist interpreter. But why this book? Surely a feminist hermeneutic of liberation can be readily found in a variety of less oppressive sources. The observer is tempted to conclude that Schüssler Fiorenza puts more stock in the biblical tradition than her rhetoric appears to warrant.
Most important for the history of NT research is Schüssler Fiorenza’s critique of the historical critical method. Her argument is given considerable force by her own command of historical criticism. She is not an untutored critic from the outside but a master of the method. The most telling feature of her criticism is her attack on the pretended objectivity of some critics—a pretense that many recent historical critics have renounced. However, despite Schüssler Fiorenza’s attack on the critical method, she continues to use it, tacitly acknowledging that it still has an important role to play in the interpretation of Scripture. The dramatic change in biblical methodology she has championed through the years has not come to pass. “Although this paradigm shift has been underway for quite some time and has brought ferment and upheaval . . . to the once stable field of biblical and religious studies, it has not been able to unseat the positivist scientific, supposedly disinterested, ethos of the discipline.”[62]
The scene in biblical studies, of course, has changed since Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza was denied a stipend and when, without hope of a position in Germany, she had to flee to America. In the meantime women have been appointed to positions of prominence in academia. One thinks of Adela Yarbro Collins (Yale), Beverly Roberts Gaventa (Princeton Seminary), Margaret M. Mitchell (Chicago), Judith Lieu (Cambridge), Barbara Aland (Münster), Oda Wischmeyer (Erlangen)—all doing research according to the methods of historical criticism, though with insights from the feminist perspective.[63] Has Schüssler Fiorenza’s vision of liberation and freedom become reality? No, that will have to await a future eschatology she tends to ignore. Her vision with its imperfections, nonetheless, has pointed the way to an open road ahead—a space where a renewed and relevant biblical research can flourish.
Born in Dallas, Texas, Martyn was reared a Southern Baptist.[64] He was educated at Texas A&M, a university noted for football and the military corps, not for theologians. After graduating (BS 1946), Martyn followed his girlfriend to Andover Newton Theological School (BD 1953). At Andover Newton he met two individuals who were decisive for his career: Professor Paul Minear and fellow student Leander Keck. Minear sent them to Yale (MA 1956; PhD 1957).[65] There they worked side by side under the tutelage of Paul Schubert and submitted their completed dissertations on exactly the same day. After graduation from Yale, Martyn received a Fulbright Fellowship to the University of Göttingen (1957–58), where he studied with Joachim Jeremias and Ernst Käsemann. Later (1963–64) he was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship that supported a leave in Tübingen, where he carried on the conversation with Käsemann.
Martyn began his teaching career at Wellesley College (1958–59). He soon moved to Union Theological Seminary in New York, where he advanced from assistant to associate professor (1959–67) to Edward Robinson Professor of Biblical Theology (1967–87). His role as colleague and teacher was praised by faculty and students. The distinguished Raymond E. Brown, who came to Union in 1971, observed how Martyn’s decisions were determined by the Bible. “No one who has dealt with Lou Martyn long can doubt that he is a man who lives by what he teaches.”[66] Beverly Gaventa, a student, later to become an important NT scholar in her own right, was inspired by Martyn’s scholarly focus. “His attention was unabashedly riveted to the text—to every letter and each nuance.”[67]
Lou Martyn is recognized primarily for his work on John and Paul, essentially encapsulated in four major books. He is known not for the quantity of his work but for its quality. His research on John is presented in History and Theology in the Fourth Gospel.[68] According to most scholars, research on the Fourth Gospel during the twentieth century can be characterized as “before Bultmann” and “after Bultmann.” John Ashton, an important Johannine scholar, wrote of Martyn’s book that “for all its brevity it is probably the most important single work on the Gospel since Bultmann’s commentary.”[69] First published in 1968, Martyn’s book was revised and published again in 1979. The third edition of 2003 is a paperback reprint of the second: proof of the ongoing significance of Martyn’s work.
In the introduction Martyn calls attention to the problem of the historical setting. “Our first task, however, is to say something as specific as possible about the actual circumstances in which John wrote his Gospel.”[70] Fond of imagery drawn from the theater, Martyn begins Part I with a depiction of “A Synagogue-Church Drama: Erecting a Wall of Separation.” He plunges immediately into the text with a careful analysis of the story of the blind beggar who receives his sight (John 9). Martyn detects the transposition to dramatic form in v. 4: it is “we” who do the works of him who sent “me.” Thus, there are two levels of witness: the event of Jesus (“me”) and the later witness of the church (“we”). Martyn presents the narratives of the chapter in a series of scenes. These scenes, according to Martyn, reveal that the Fourth Gospel presents a drama on two levels: the level of the time of Jesus (the einmalig time), and the level of the time of John and his church. A decisive element in the drama at the second level is the expulsion of persons from the synagogue. Martyn points out that that the decision to put people out had previously had been made. When, asks Martyn, had that been done? He observes that the term ἀποσυνάγωγος is found exclusively in the Fourth Gospel; it is a distinctive Johannine term, used three times, that relates to a particular action.
At some time prior to John’s writing an authoritative body within Judaism reached a formal decision regarding messianic faith in Jesus. Henceforth whoever confessed such faith was to be separated from the synagogue. Many Jews, even rulers, did in fact believe, but they managed somehow to conceal their faith lest they be excluded from the company of their brethren.[71]
Martyn explores various possibilities as to when and how this was done, and concludes that the formal decision and action were related to the Jewish benediction against heretics. During the time he was head of the Jamnia Academy (ca. 80–ca. 115 CE), Rabban Gamaliel requested a reformulation of the twelfth of the Eighteen Benedictions: the Benediction Against Heretics (Birkath ha Minim). This, says Martyn, is the decision that has already been made (9:22); the “Pharisees” are the messengers who deliver the newly formulated Benediction to the members of the Gerousia, who enforce it (12:42); this is the instrument by which they will put members of John’s community out of the synagogues.
Part II continues the exposition of the drama, “After the Wall is Erected.” The stage is set for the conflict between John’s church and the neighboring Jewish community: Christian missionaries arrive, proclaiming that Jesus was the messiah. The authorities of the Jewish community view this with alarm and officials come from Jamnia with the reworded Benediction Against Heretics in hand. The resulting expulsion from the synagogue narrowed the stream of converts to the Christian movement but did not end it. More drastic action was needed; the heretics had to be destroyed—a second-level drama parallel to the first (the execution of Jesus).
Martyn turns to the unfolding drama as enacted in John 5 and 7. Again a traditional miracle story, the healing of a crippled man, has been expanded. John 5:1-18 includes a series of dramatic scenes. Martyn notes the action of the drama is set in the einmalig frame of the life of Jesus, as indicated in the charge that Jesus healed on the Sabbath (v. 16). In this drama the Jewish Christian (speaking through Jesus) does not lead the healed man to confession (as in 9:35-38) but warns that something worse might happen to him (5:14). Thus threat of expulsion is not enough; something more dire is threatened.
Martyn points out that in John 7 a controversy erupts in Jerusalem in regard to Jesus, who is threatened with arrest for being a deceiver. Martyn sees this drama unfolding on the second level. The idea of the arrest of Jesus is based on the Synoptic tradition (Mark 12:12), but John revises the tradition. In the Synoptics Jesus’ popularity with the crowd is the reason for the failure to arrest him; in John the popularity with the crowd is the reason for the arrest—a clear sign of the second level of the drama. Martyn also sees evidence of the two-level drama in the identification and action of the authorities. In chapter 7 they are described as “chief priests” and “Pharisees” (vv. 32, 45). The chief priests belong to the first level drama, the einmalig of Jesus. The Pharisees, on the other hand, represent the authorities of Jamnia in the second level.
In Part III, Martyn investigates the “Major Theological Terms of the Conversation.” In the Fourth Gospel the “Jews” have much to say about Moses: God spoke to Moses; we are disciples of Moses; Moses gave the Law; the common people (am ha’arets) do not know the Law. In Jewish expectation a key concept is the coming of a prophet like Moses (Deut 18:15, 18), the Mosaic Prophet-Messiah who would perform signs. According to Martyn’s reconstruction there was within the Jewish community of John’s city the hope for a Mosaic prophet. In the latter part of the first century some Jewish Christians arrived and persuaded some of the members of the synagogue that Jesus was the Prophet-Messiah like Moses. This success provoked official resistance from the Jamnia loyalists. John believed that the theology of the Jewish Christian group was not adequate for the situation. In developing his own theology, John, according to Martyn, could either enter the exegetical arena and try to convince the common folk by exegesis or he could take a totally different tack. John chose the latter, and developed a Christology of polarity: “Just as (καθώς) Moses lifted up the serpent . . . so (οὕτως) must the Son of man be lifted up” (3:14). John acknowledges that Jesus is a prophet and the Messiah (4:19, 25-26) but denies that the Moses/Messiah typology has dogmatic force. In 7:15 the Jews assert that Jesus has never studied; Jesus declares that the issue is not a matter of midrash but of dualism of decision: anyone who decides to do the will of God will know whether Jesus’ teaching is from God.
Martyn points out that, in major texts where he speaks of the Mosaic Prophet-Messiah, John moves to the affirmation of Jesus as the Son of Man. For instance, in the dialogue with Nicodemus (3:1-21) attention is drawn to Jesus’ signs; the text also declares, “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up” (3:14). Martyn believes that the source for John’s identification of Jesus as Mosaic Prophet-Messiah is the miracle tradition. However, John transforms this einmalig tradition into the two-level drama of Jesus as the Son of Man. Martyn observes that John did not invent the framework of the two-level drama but found it in apocalyptic: the dual drama of heavenly/earthly, future/present. John, however, reconstructs the framework: both stages are on earth, and the stages are past and present. But the plot thickens: the Son of Man is an actor right out of the apocalyptic drama. According to John, Jesus is to be identified with this apocalyptic figure. Nowhere else in the gospel tradition, except in John 9:35, does Jesus request someone to confess him as Son of Man. As Son of Man, Jesus plays the major role in both levels of the drama. In his conversation with Nicodemus, Jesus says that no one has ascended, as if that might have happened in the past (3:13), but in 14:12 Jesus says that he will ascend to the Father in the future.
Martyn finds the resolution of this paradox in John’s figure of the Paraclete. John’s account depicts the essential task of the Paraclete: to bring the disciples to remembrance of what Jesus said, to bear witness to Jesus, to glorify Jesus, and to continue Jesus’ “suit with the world.” “The Paraclete,” says Martyn, “makes Jesus present on earth as the Son of Man who binds together heaven and earth (1:51). Therefore the Son of Man cannot be located exclusively either in heaven or on earth.”[72] In face of the departure of Jesus, says Martyn, the theologian can either promise a place in heaven or speak of a mystical presence. Jesus appears to do both: he goes to prepare rooms (14:2) and he promises his continual presence. But John, according to Martyn, has modified the picture: instead of “rooms” he speaks of a room—not in heaven but on earth. This is accomplished by the Paraclete. “It is, therefore, precisely the Paraclete who creates the two-level drama.”[73] Martyn concludes:
The two-level drama makes clear that the Word’s dwelling among us and our beholding his glory are not events which transpired in the past. They do not constitute an ideal period when the kingdom of God was on earth, a period to which one looks back with the knowledge that it has now drawn to a close with Jesus’ ascension to heaven as the Son of Man. These events to which John bears witness transpire on both the einmalig and the contemporary levels of the drama, or they do not transpire at all. In John’s view, their transpiring on both levels of the drama is, to a large extent, the good news itself.[74]
The second edition of History and Theology in the Fourth Gospel includes a final chapter, “Glimpses into the History of the Johannine Community: From Its Origin through the Period of Its Life in Which the Fourth Gospel Was Composed.”[75] This is not the typical historical reconstruction with speculation about the Beloved Disciple and the growth of a community in Ephesus (or elsewhere), but a history reconstructed exclusively from the Gospel itself. To facilitate this reconstruction Martyn views the Gospel of John as an archaeological site with different strata of tradition. In the early period (from before 70 to the 80s) Martyn detects a messianic group within the community of the synagogue. In time, the message of this group came to include pieces of the Jesus tradition: elements of the passion-resurrection and miracles seen as signs. Later the preachers of this messianic group produced a rudimentary document, similar to the Signs Source (identified by Bultmann, Robert Fortna, and others). Their missionary activity had considerable success; they had a simple understanding of faith. The members of the group observed the Torah and had little sense of alienation from the synagogue; they were Christian Jews.
In the middle period Martyn sees the emergence of a part of this messianic group as a separate community that had experienced two traumas: expulsion from the synagogue and the threat of execution. According to Martyn the leaders of this group developed a dualistic theology according to the above/below pattern. They believed the Messiah was the Sophia-Logos through whom God created the world, but in view of their earthly traumas they came to perceive the Messiah as one who came into his world as a stranger from above. They developed a theological geography in which they, like their Christ, were “not of the world.”
In the late period, when the Gospel of John was being written, the Jewish Christians were moving toward firm social and theological configurations. In the course of this development the Jewish Christians of John’s community reached the decision that they were disciples of Jesus, not Moses (9:28). They came to reject the view of some Jews who believed in Jesus (8:31) but tried to hold a dual alliance to the synagogue and to the Christ of the new community; the possibility of remaining a secret disciple no longer existed. Thus, Martyn concludes, this community was sharply differentiated from the parent synagogue and it was clearly differentiated from Christian Jews who remained in the synagogue.[76]
Along with his seminal contribution to the study of the Gospel of John, Martyn is recognized for his work on Paul. Here his major contribution is his monumental commentary on Galatians, one of the great commentaries of the twentieth century.[77] He begins with an introduction, written in his usual lively style. Again drawing imagery from the theater, Martyn depicts Galatians as a drama. The dramatis personae include three main actors: the messenger (who brought and read the letter from Paul), the catechetical instructors (who had been trained by Paul), and the Teachers and their followers (traveling evangelists who have introduced a different gospel to Galatia). Martyn proceeds to recount the birth and early life of the Galatian churches. They received the gospel when, on the way to the cities of the Aegean region, Paul stopped off because of an illness.
At this point Martyn tackles the notorious question: Where were the Galatian churches located? On the basis of Paul’s address to his hearers as “Galatians” (3:1), which he reads as an ethnic designation, Martyn concludes that the recipients of the letter were descendants of the original Celts of the north. The membership of these churches, according to Martyn, was exclusively Gentile. Indeed, he believes there is no evidence for Jewish communities in the northern, Celtic kingdom in the mid-first century. As to date, Martyn concludes that the Galatian churches were founded shortly after Paul’s break with Barnabas and the churches of Jerusalem and Antioch, which occurred around 48–49 CE. After Paul’s departure, the Teachers, a group of Jewish Christian evangelists, invaded Galatia. This group, which Martyn does not label as “opponents” or “Judaizers,” made two claims: they were in some way connected with the Jerusalem church; they centered their message on the covenantal Sinaitic Law. The bad news about these Teachers and their inroads on the Galatian churches was carried to Paul while he was working in Macedonia or Achaia.
The Epistle to the Galatians is Paul’s response. The date of the letter Martyn calculates according to the order of the Pauline letters, seen in their relationship to the offering Paul had agreed at the Jerusalem conference to collect. This means that Galatians should be dated after 1 Thessalonians and earlier than the Corinthian correspondence. As to the structure of the epistle, Martyn rejects the theory that Galatians is ordered according to the model of classical rhetoric (à la Betz). Instead, he characterizes it as a “situational sermon.” “Rhetorically, the body of the letter is a sermon centered on factual and thus indicative answers to two questions, ‘What time is it?’ and ‘In what cosmos do we actually live?’”[78] Martyn proceeds to present his understanding of the structure, based on his analysis of the content of the epistle. To summarize his result in oversimplified form, Martyn identifies the Prescript (1:1-5) followed by the Theme (1:6-9). The balance of the letter he designates as “Theses and Supporting Arguments” (1:10—6:10). Within this main body of the letter Martyn identifies two major exegetical arguments: 3:6—4:7 and 4:21—5:1. The last part of the letter includes a section on “Pastoral Guidance” (5:13—6:10). The epistle concludes with an “Autobiographical Subscript” (6:11-18).
In the Introduction, Martyn also reviews the history of the interpretation of Galatians. The earliest interpreters, the Teachers, rejected Paul’s view of Jerusalem, the Law, and the Israel of God; Martyn thinks they probably won the day. Especially interesting is Martyn’s view of Paul’s interpretation of his own letter. Paul wrote to the Romans, probably concerned about how his letter to the Galatians might have influenced the acceptance of the offering by the Jerusalem church. As a result, Paul, in Romans, presented a nuanced view of the Law and a theology that affirmed the election of Israel. Martyn’s history of interpretation also recounts the opposition to Paul in second-century Jewish Christianity and Marcion’s misguided appropriation of Paulinism. Luther embraced Galatians as his favorite epistle but misshaped it into a weapon to support his anti-Judaism. In the current scene some Jewish scholars misread Galatians as attacking Judaism. To interpret the epistle properly, Martyn writes, “it becomes doubly important . . . for the modern interpreter to take a seat in one of the Galatian congregations, in order—as far as possible—to listen to the letter with Galatian ears.”[79]
The bulk of the commentary, “Translation, Notes, and Comments,” is presented on pages 81 to 577. The material is divided into short sections according to the arrangement of the letter. Each section includes Martyn’s translation, an analysis of the Literary Structure, and a Synopsis, Notes, and Comments. The Notes deal with every important term and phrase of the text, verse by verse. The result is a literary-historical-critical analysis of the Epistle to the Galatians. The Comments are presented throughout the sections of the commentary, numbered from 1 to 52. These Comments, incorporating the results of the critical work in the Notes, function as brief exegetical essays on the major historical and theological issues in the epistle. In overview, two features dominate Martyn’s commentary: the role of the Teachers as key to the analysis of the historical situation and exegetical investigation, and the importance of apocalyptic for the polemical theology of Paul. The breadth and depth of this magisterial work defies any attempt at an adequate review within limited space. At best, a few examples can be offered in illustration.
We may take some examples of features of the section beginning with the “Prescript” (1:1-5). In Martyn’s translation(v. 1) he includes a phrase explaining the meaning of “apostle”: “that is to say a person who has been sent on a mission.” Regarding literary structure and synopsis, Martyn observes that Paul usually follows the conventional epistolary form: author, addressee, greeting. In Galatians 1, Paul transforms the greeting into a prayer of blessing (vv. 3-4) and doxology (v. 5). The Notes (ten pages on this section) comment on the term apostle, pointing out that it is a verbal adjective referring to the effect of the action denoted by the verb apostellō. Martyn notes various uses in the early church according to which a person is given a task by God and sent to carry out the task. Martyn also observes that the person who was sent carried not only the message but also the authority of the sender. Martyn’s note on v. 4, “who gave up his very life for our sins,” puts the phrase in quotation marks to indicate that Paul is recalling an early Christian hymn or confession.
Within the section “Prescript,” Martyn includes four Comments. Comment 3, “Apocalyptic Theology in Galatians,” is one of the most important in the entire commentary.[80] This Comment is sparked by Paul’s reference to the present evil age in v. 4. Martyn observes that the reference to the present age implies the existence of another age, thereby displaying the framework of the apocalyptic concept of two ages. He proceeds through the epistle, noting and exegeting texts—a total of ten—in which apocalyptic thought is expressed or implied. Crucial, for example, is Paul’s declaration of God’s apocalyptic revelation in Jesus Christ (1:12). Martyn sees in this verse the genesis of Paul’s “christological apocalyptic.”[81] According to Martyn the typical lexicographical translation of apokaluptō as “to reveal” (something that is hidden) is not adequate for Paul’s usage. “The genesis of Paul’s apocalyptic—as seen in Galatians—lies in the apostle’s certainty that God has invaded the present evil age by sending Christ and his Spirit into it.”[82] This invasion has provoked an apocalyptic warfare, a battle between the flesh and the spirit. Indeed, these two powers constitute a pair of opposites at war with one another (5:17). In the thick of the battle stands the cross of Christ; “the cross is the foundation of Paul’s apocalyptic theology.”[83] As Martyn points out, Paul does not understand the crucifixion as an isolated event of the past but as paradigm for the life of all Christians. Paul can say I have been crucified with Christ (2:19), and that those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the Flesh, together with its passions and desires (5:24). In summarizing the result of his review of these texts Martyn observes that Paul makes no reference in Galatians to the future coming of Christ. He points out that Paul’s apocalyptic in Galatians stresses Christ’s advent in the past and the present war against the powers of evil. Christ’s advent is already the victory, but that victory can only be seen in the bifocal vision of apocalyptic.
It is this apocalyptic vision, then, that has given Paul his perception of the nature of the human plight. God has invaded the world in order to bring it under his liberating control. From that deed of God a conclusion is to be drawn, and the conclusion is decidedly apocalyptic: God would not have to carry out an invasion in order merely to forgive erring human beings. The root trouble lies deeper than human guilt and is more sinister. The whole of humanity—indeed, the whole of creation (3:22)—is, in fact, enslaved under the power of the present evil age.[84]
In the section “The Letter’s Theme”(1:6-9) Martyn includes another Comment that is decisive for his exegesis of the epistle: Comment 6: “The Teachers.”[85] Martyn begins with data from Galatians, citing texts (e.g., 1:6-9; 3:1-2) in which the Teachers are clearly in view, along with numerous allusions to them and their work. He proceeds to describe them and their message in detail. In sum, the Teachers are outsiders who have invaded the Galatian churches: Christian-Jewish evangelists who declare that the Law is good news for all people, including Gentiles. Acceptance of the Law, they claim, requires circumcision as a requirement for Gentiles to receive salvation. The Teachers view Christ as the savior who will complete the ministry of Moses, but in truth their Christ is secondary to the law. They see themselves as the true descendants of Abraham, the true Israel. They hail Jerusalem as their mother, probably posing as representatives of the Jerusalem church. Responding to the Gentile style of life, the Teachers promise that keeping the Law is the antidote for falling prey to the desires of the flesh.
In the section “Paul and the Jerusalem Apostles” (1:17-24) Martyn presents Comment 17: “Chronology and Geography: Paul’s Labors Prior to the Meeting in the Jerusalem Church.”[86]In regard to chronology, Martyn notes three uses of the adverb “then”: “then” after three years I went to Jerusalem (1:18); “then” I went to Syria and Cilicia (1:21); “then” after fourteen years I went again to Jerusalem (2:1). Martyn believes that all these “thens” refer back to the time of Paul’s call, not to the immediate previous event. Martyn also notes that within this chronological narrative Paul makes no mention of the Antioch church or of the founding of the Galatian churches. As Martyn points out, Paul must have journeyed to Antioch after his visit with Peter but he avoids mentioning these matters because of his subsequent painful break with the Antioch church. Regarding the founding of the Galatian churches, Martyn marshals weighty evidence in support of his conclusion that this was not accomplished until after Paul’s break with Barnabas; the Galatian churches were not (e.g., contra Dunn) daughter churches of Antioch.[87]
Also important for the understanding of Galatians is Paul’s account of “A Conference Involving Two Churches” (2:1-10). Two of the extensive Notes deserve attention. In regard to the phrase lest it should somehow turn out that in my work I was running or had run in vain (2:2), Martyn argues that Paul is in no way putting his call in question but is worried that the Jerusalem leaders would fail to see God’s work in his mission to the Gentiles. Martyn identifies the false brothers with the “circumcision faction” within the Jerusalem church (2:12). In regard to Paul’s claim that those leaders did not add anything to my gospel, Martyn says that “Paul denies that the leaders of the Jerusalem church gave him instruction of any kind.”[88]
In this section Martyn includes Comment 18: “The Conference Held in Jerusalem by the Churches of Jerusalem and Antioch Narrated as a Two-Level Drama.”[89] He notes the use of “we” and “they” in the narrative, indicating two negotiating parties: “they” represent the church of Jerusalem, “we” the church in Antioch. Using one of his favorite metaphors, Martyn envisages two levels of action: the first (historical) level is the conference at Jerusalem; the second level is the situation of the Galatian churches. The common theme of both dramatic levels is the truth of the gospel. Martyn believes that Paul’s account is shaped by the question, “What was God doing in Jerusalem that is revealing as to what God is now doing in Galatia?”[90]
The section “An Incident in the Antioch Church” (2:11-14) is fraught with exegetical problems. In investigating the literary structure and writing the synopsis Martyn addresses the debated question of where Paul’s address to Peter comes to an end. He perceives that this difficulty is intentional: Paul deliberately moves from the historical level of address to Peter to the second level of address to the Teachers of Galatia. In his Notes Martyn explicates the implication of the expression Cephas ate regularly with Gentile members of the Antioch church (v. 12). He believes this implies that the meals of the Antioch church, including the Eucharist, were held without observance of Jewish food laws. The messengers from James, says Martyn, represent an official delegation from the leader of the Jerusalem church. Under pressure from the Jerusalem delegation and the hypocritical example of Peter, the Gentile members of the Antioch church concede and agree to participate in common meals prepared according to Jewish regulations. What Peter is doing, according to Paul, is compelling Gentile Christians to live in a Jewish manner (v. 14).
In Comment 26 in this section, “Peter in Antioch and Infidelity to the Truth of the Gospel,”Martyn points out that the bone of contention between Paul and the Jerusalem leaders has shifted from circumcision to common meals.[91] Martyn believes the shift is the result of changed leadership in the Jerusalem church and the concern of James about Peter’s leadership of the Jewish mission (2:7-8). For Paul the issue is the truth of the gospel, something about which he would not compromise. “To compel the Gentile members to observe even a part of the Law was to imply that the Law, rather than Christ’s atoning death, was God’s appointed means of salvation for the whole of humanity.”[92]
The section, “Making Right What Is Wrong” (2:15-21) is important for Martyn’s view of the theology of Galatians. In his Notes he wrestles with the difficult problem of translating dikaioō; he (like Keck) chooses “to rectify,” a verb that describes God’s action of making right what has gone wrong. Martyn notes how important this concept is in Philippians and Romans and contends that it was formulated here in Paul’s struggle with the Teachers. He observes that the antinomy observance of the law / faith of Christ is repeated three times in this text. He argues that the phrase pistis Christou Iēsou should be translated “faith of (not faith in) Jesus Christ.”
All this is brought into focus in Comment 28: “God’s Making Things Right by the Faith of Christ.”[93] Martyn believes that Paul and the Teachers share the Jewish-Christian tradition about rectification: rectification is an action that sets right what has gone wrong; what has gone wrong is transgression against God’s covenant; what has made things right is God’s forgiveness accomplished by God’s sacrificial action in Christ; God’s rectifying forgiveness is confessed without explicit reference to faith. Martyn believes, however, that the Teachers have given this shared tradition their special spin: they contend that when Gentiles enter the people of God they acknowledge the authority of the Law; Gentiles transfer from pagan existence into God’s Law-observant people. Martyn believes that Paul interprets the shared tradition in the light of developments in Galatia. He now hears the tradition in a new context, one in which God is creating churches apart from observance of the Law. Paul notes that although the tradition is largely silent about the Law, it is eloquent about Christ. This, says Martyn, alerts Paul to a new antinomy: observance of the Law / faith of Christ. This emphasis on the faith of Christ is, according to Martyn, crucial for Paul’s whole theology: the radical contrast between the action of humans and the apocalyptic act of God in the faithful Christ.
The section “Descent from Faithful Abraham” (3:6-9) introduces the first of Paul’s extensive exegetical arguments (3:6—4:7). The main issues of the first section are explored in Comment 33: “The Teachers’ Sermon on Descent from Abraham and Paul’s Modulation of That Theme into Descent from God.”[94]Martyn begins with his reconstruction of the sermon of the Teachers. They announce to the Galatian Gentile Christians: As children of Ishmael, you can become children of Abraham by accepting the Law, submitting to circumcision, and following the prescriptions of the Law. Paul, according to Martyn, modulates the theme of Abrahamic descent into descent from God. Paul agrees that they become children of Abraham but contends that this relationship is accomplished through identity with Abraham’s singular seed (3:16), that is, through Christ. As a result, the descent from Abraham becomes secondary to the vastly more important descent from God; they become children of God through baptism into Christ (3:26-28).
Paul’s exegetical dexterity is further displayed in the section, “The Law’s Curse and the End of That Curse” (3:10-14). In the Notes Martyn investigates v. 10, which includes a quotation from Deut 27:26: For those whose identity is derived from observance of the Law are under the power of a curse, because it stands written, “Cursed is everyone who is not steadfast in observing all of the things written in the book of the Law, so as to do them.” Martyn reviews various efforts to interpret this text and rejects, in particular, the popular notion that Paul is arguing that those who claim to observe the Law are under a curse because observing all that is in the Law is impossible. Martyn believes that Paul interprets the Deuteronomy text in the light of his gospel: law does not have the power to bless; its business is to curse, and its curse falls both on those who are observant and on those who are not. In the development of his argument Paul cites another text: for it stands written, “Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree.” This text (Deut 21:23) ordered that the corpse of a criminal who had been hanged on a tree should not be left overnight. Paul quotes only part of the verse in order to make it refer to the crucifixion. Martyn points out that Paul uses ἐπικατάρατος for “cursed”—the same word he used in quoting Deut 27:26, so that there is a link between the crucified Christ and the curse that the Law pronounced on all human beings.
Martyn unravels these complications in Comment 34: “The Blessing of God, the Cursing of the Law, and the Cross.”[95] The Teachers, according to Martyn, present the blessing and the curse in the framework of the ancient doctrine of the two ways. The Galatians are confronted with a choice between the way of obedience to the Law and receiving the blessing, or the way of nonobservance of the Law and suffering the curse. Paul, according to Martyn, understands the blessing and the curse in a radically different way. Paul believes that God blesses, while the Law curses. Although God’s blessing antedated the Law’s curse, the blessing is waiting in the wings. The promissory blessing met the curse of the Law for the first time in the Crucified One, so that the one cursed was Christ. But this apparent defeat, says Martyn, expressed the paradox of power in weakness. “It is indeed typical of Paul’s theology that the true meaning of things emerges only in the light of God’s act in Christ.”[96] In contrast with the Teachers, Paul believes the curse not to be exclusively on the nonbelievers but on all humanity; Christ’s act was liberation for all.
Another notable section of chapter 3 is “Baptism Into Christ Who Is Neither Jew Nor Gentile” (3:26-29). Regarding the Literary Structure and Synopsis, Martyn observes that Paul is quoting and interpreting an early liturgical tradition used in baptism. In the Notes he discusses the phrase youwere baptized into Christ, you put on Christ as though he were your clothing (v. 27). Martyn assumes that the baptismal liturgy involved removal of clothing, signifying separation from the old existence. He believes that Paul uses the clothing imagery to depict the equipping of the baptizand for apocalyptic warfare. In this section he includes Comment 40: “Not Jew and Gentile, but One in Christ.”[97] In this Comment he points out that Paul’s interpretation of the baptismal formula is not concerned with the individual but with the corporate entity of the church. Paul’s main interest is in the dichotomy, Jew and Greek, and the unity of the people of God in the new creation.
Thus this corporate people is determined to no degree at all by the religious and ethnic factors that characterized the old creation (5:6; 6:15). This people is determined solely by incorporation into the Christ in whom those factors have no real existence.[98]
Paul presents his second exegetical argument in the section “Two Gentile Missions” (4:21—5:1), which includes Comment 45: “The Covenant of Hagar and Sarah: Two Covenants and Two Gentile Missions.”[99] Paul is interpreting the stories of Genesis 16–21. In his exegesis Paul distinguishes two begettings: Ishmael was begotten by the power of the flesh; Isaac was begotten by the power of the Spirit. Martyn believes Paul sees parallels to these two begettings in the contemporary scene: the begetting of Isaac represents the original birth of the Galatian churches; the begetting of Ishmael represents the birth of slavery initiated by the Teachers. Martyn also detects in Paul’s exegesis the identification of two covenants. According to the Genesis account there was only one covenant, and as sign of the covenant Abraham circumcised every male of his household, including Ishmael. However, as Martyn points out, God established his covenant not with Ishmael but with Isaac. Thus there are two covenants: the covenant of Hagar and the covenant of Sarah. “In short, Paul identifies the two women as two covenants, in order to speak of two missions.”[100]
The main discussion of ethics in Galatians is found in 5:13-24, “Pastoral Guidance”; the major themes are explicated in Comment 48: “The Law and Daily Life in the Church of God.”[101] Martyn observes that in view of his negative presentation of the Law, Paul’s positive understanding of the Law in relation to the life of the church is astonishing. In two verses in Galatians 5, Paul refers to the “whole law.” In 5:3 he speaks of the Sinaitic Law that is linked to the works of the Law—the Law that pronounces a curse on humanity. Martyn believes that in 5:14 Paul hears a voice of the Law that is different from the Sinaitic Law. Paul, in this verse, says that the Law is brought to completion in one “sentence” (logos). This indicates to Martyn that Paul does not see the Law as a collection of commands, but as singular. “Whereas Paul refers in 5:3 to the voice of the Sinaitic Law that curses and enslaves (3:10, 13, 19; 4:3-5, 21a, 24-25), he speaks in 5:14 of the voice of the original, pre-Sinaitic law that articulates God’s own mind (3:8; 4:21b).”[102] Thus Martyn detects in Paul’s understanding of the Law two voices: the cursing Law and the promising Law. He also discovers a relation between these two voices and Christ; the Law did something to Christ and Christ did something to the Law. As to what the Law did to Christ, he was born into the state of enslavement under the power of the Law; as he hung on the cross, the Law pronounced a curse on him. As to what Christ did to the Law, he silenced the cursing voice of the Law and echoed the Law’s original voice: the imperative that provides guidance for the everyday life of the church. The imperative, says Martyn, is expressed in Lev 19:18—love your neighbor—which is not a command but a sentence, a word from the pre-Sinaitic Law.
To recapitulate, then, in Galatians the promise of Gen 12:3 (Gal 3:8) and the imperative of Lev 19:18 (Gal 5:14) constitute the voice of the original Law of God. As accents of that voice, this promise and this imperative have waited, so to speak, for the time when Christ would decisively differentiate them from the accents of the cursing voice of the Sinaitic Law. And when Christ carried out that differentiation he brought the Law to completion, restoring the promissory and guiding accents of the Law to their original singularity, indeed to their original unity.[103]
Paul’s ethic is further explicated in the next Comment, 49: “The Galatians’ Role in the Spirit’s War of Liberation,” one of the longest in the commentary.[104] In providing guidance for the church’s daily life, Paul, according to Martyn, could have reverted to the Law or drawn various commandments from the law of love. Martyn believes he does neither. Instead, Paul makes four major moves. First, he focuses on the Spirit instead of the Law. This, according to Martyn, is contrary to the instruction of the Teachers, who promise that if the Galatians keep the Law they will not fall prey to the desires of the flesh. Second, Paul depicts the Spirit and the flesh as combatants in a war. Martyn notes that Gal 5:13-24 is the first place in the epistle where Paul presents the flesh as actor, a force that can only be overcome by the Spirit. Third, Paul provides a description of the war. According to Martyn the war is an apocalyptic battle, the result an invasion: God has sent the Spirit into the territory of the flesh. The Galatians are not observers but participants in the war, soldiers in the Spirit’s army, equipped by the Spirit itself. Finally, Paul announces an imperative, according to Martyn’s translation: Lead your daily life guided by the Spirit.
Other examples of Martyn’s work on Paul can be found in a collection of his essays, Theological Issues in the Letters of Paul.[105] Important for his understanding of Judaism is the essay, “Galatians, An Anti-Judaic Book?”[106] At the outset he notes that recent studies by Jewish scholars have served to advance the understanding of Paul. However, Martyn believes that some texts in Galatians have been misread as anti-Jewish. To the contrary, he argues that Paul does not present an antithesis to Judaism but an antithesis between God’s apocalyptic act and religion as a human enterprise. He explicates this antithesis according to four themes. First, Paul’s references to “Jews”: when Paul uses the term Ioudaios (“Jew”) in Galatians he is referring to Christian Jews, not to Jews. The conflicts of Galatians are within the church. Second, the opposition among religions: the polarity between apocalypse and religion brings to an end all forms of opposition among religions (Gal 3:28). “With the advent of Christ, then, the antinomy between apocalypse and religion has been enacted by God once for all.”[107] This antinomy militates against the emergence of religion within the church; Christianity is not a new religion set over against the old, Judaism. Third, turning to religion after the apocalypse of Christ, Martyn declares that the observance of the Law by Gentiles is nothing other than religion. Fourth, the horizon of Galatians: the epistle is concerned about two conflicting Gentile missions; no Jews are addressed in Galatians and no Jews are spoken about in the letter.
Also important is Martyn’s essay, “Epistemology at the Turn of the Ages: 2 Corinthians 5:16-17.”[108] He begins by answering three initial exegetical questions. First, what is the meaning of “from now on” and “no longer” in 2 Cor 5:16? Answer: these phrases refer to the turn of the ages, accomplished by the death/resurrection of Christ, an event of apocalyptic, cosmic dimensions. Second, what is the role of v. 16 in context? Answer: the verse is not a digression or insertion but the explicit expression of the epistemological concern that is related to Paul’s eschatology from 2 Cor 2:14 onward. Third, how is kata sarka to be understood? Is it adjectival, modifying “Christ,” or is it adverbial, modifying the verb “know”? Answer: the phrase is adverbial, indicating two ways of knowing, that is, before and after the apocalyptic event. Martyn believes these answers give rise to two further questions: What does Paul mean by the old way of knowing; what is the meaning of the new way of knowing for Paul’s epistemology? As to the old way of knowing, Martyn believes Paul is referring to knowing “according to the flesh.” Martyn proceeds to investigate how 2 Cor 5:16 would have been heard by the “enthusiasts” within the Corinthian church. He then asks how 2 Cor 5:16 would have been understood by the “the pseudo-apostles” who had invaded the Corinthian church (2 Cor 11:13). Martyn believes that this group claimed to have experienced a vision of God that literally changed their faces. Turning to the Paul’s intention in 2 Cor 5:16, Martyn believes the apostle is announcing a wake-up call to the enthusiasts, since they, dazzled by the faces of the pseudo-apostles, are still knowing according to the flesh. For his own part, however, Paul does not say that the true way of knowing is by the Spirit. Instead, according to Martyn, Paul insists that the true way of knowing is knowing at the juncture of the two ages—knowing according to the cross. Paul’s epistemology is christological. “That is to say, together with the community that is being formed in him, Christ defines the difference between the two ways of knowing, doing that precisely in his cross.”[109]
Martyn’s essay, “The Abrahamic Covenant, Christ, and the Church,” includes a section in which he identifies theological motifs that are wrongly attributed to Paul.[110] Among these is “covenantal nomism,” the motif popular with the advocates of the “new perspective.”[111] According to Martyn, Paul strongly stresses the divorce between the covenant and the law. Another motif wrongly attributed to Paul, and repeatedly rejected throughout Martyn’s work, is the theology of redemptive history or Heilsgeschichte. According to Martyn, Paul does not conceive the idea of the seed of Abraham extending from generation to generation; instead, Paul’s idea of redemption is not linear but punctiliar. This essay also discusses Paul’s idea of God’s non-ethnic election of ancient Israel. In this discussion Martyn asks: Does Paul, in Galatians, deny God’s election of Israel and rescind that denial in Romans? He observes that in Galatians Paul uses the term kaleō exclusively for the call of Christians. As to the concept of “promise,” Paul, according to Martyn, believes that the promise to Abraham remained un-embodied until the advent of Christ. In Romans 9–11, however, Paul emphasizes the election of Israel. Consequently, Martyn concludes that Paul did rescind his earlier implied denial of the election of Israel. He believes this shift is to be explained in terms of the different setting. In Romans, Paul reflects on the massive rejection of the gospel by the Jewish people and the charge that he is responsible for it; he has come to recognize the great significance of the Jewish Christians. In Galatians, Paul is engaged in a battle in regard to the Gentile mission. In this context Paul is reacting to the claim of the Teachers that Gentiles are moving into the ethnically distinctive people of God. Martyn concludes: Paul contends that neither the promise to Abraham nor the Sinaitic Law was an act of ethnic election.
Martyn’s essay, “John and Paul on the Subject of Gospel and Scripture,” is one of the most important in the collection for understanding his method and thought.[112] The essay is based on a lecture presented at the meeting of the SBL in 1990 in the series, “How My Mind Has Changed.” Martyn begins by recalling his sojourn in Göttingen (1957–58), where Walter Bauer was still alive in retirement. This contact called to mind Bauer’s advice that to understand a document the interpreter first had to ask how the original readers (or hearers) understood it. This method of reading as listening, according to Martyn, was also informed by F. C. Baur’s conviction that one had to hear the text within the context of the strains and stresses of early Christian theology. Martyn proceeds to illustrate this approach by listening to John and Paul. According to Martyn, many of John’s references to Scripture are spoken in a polemical voice. Within John’s audience are some whom Martyn characterizes as “simple exegetes.” They believe that whenever God acts, he does so in relation to Scripture; they see a trajectory from Scripture to the figure of the Messiah. John, according to Martyn, has a different view; he finds radical disjunctions in the landscape of the gospel that are evident in the relation between Scripture and Christ (John 5:39-40). John rejects the notion that a linear sacred history flows out of Scripture into the gospel. For John, says Martyn, the Logos is the only exegete of the Father; nothing other can provide a criterion against which God can be measured, not even Scripture.
Martyn turns to the understanding of gospel and Scripture in Paul. In listening to Paul’s description of the gospel in 1 Cor 1:17-24, the Corinthians might suppose it suggests a two-step dance: the apostle serves up the gospel, and the human hearer assesses the message. According to Paul, however, the gospel is God’s advent. Those who are being redeemed, says Martyn, discover that the event of the gospel changes the foundations of their existence. Paul’s hermeneutic does not proceed from Scripture to gospel but from the foolish gospel of the cross to the previously misunderstood Scripture. “But one finds this testifying voice—the voice of God in scripture—only because one already hears God’s voice in the gospel, that is to say in the story of the cross, the story, therefore, that brings its own criteria of perception, the story, therefore, that brings its own criteria of exegesis.”[113]
In view of the quality of J. Louis Martyn’s research, criticism seems presumptuous, almost irreverent. His intense focus on two main areas—John and Paul—has resulted in superb contributions to both. His vivid depiction of John as a two-level drama reflects Martyn’s creative imagination. To be sure, questions have been raised about his use and dating of the Benediction Against Heretics, but quite apart from that, Martyn’s bifocal vision has provided a compelling hermeneutic for the Fourth Gospel: John’s twofold concern with the historical tradition and his proclamation of the present Christ. Martyn provides a fundamental explanation of the reason why John did not write a treatise on Christology, but instead proclaimed a christological gospel.
As to Martyn’s magisterial commentary on Galatians, the extensive research, the exegetical rigor, and the perceptive reconstruction—all in lively, eloquent style—constitute a remarkable accomplishment. He may be faulted, and rightly so, for his decision to view the Pauline corpus through the lens of Galatians. He presents the polemical, indeed, the angry Paul. Nevertheless, Martyn’s sorties into the Corinthian correspondence and Romans provide adequate evidence for the apocalyptic Paul in those epistles as well. Martyn is probably right that Paul first formulated his apocalyptic theology in his battle with the Galatian Teachers, but surely that perspective was already visible in the “apocalypse of Jesus Christ” (Gal 1:12). And surely Martyn has provided the key for unlocking the mystery of Galatians, that most difficult of the Pauline letters: the battle with the invading Teachers. At the same time, Martyn’s understanding of this battle provides compelling answers to the charge of anti-Judaism.
Martyn is a biblical theologian, indeed, an apocalyptic Johannine-Pauline theologian. It is of utmost importance to grasp how he understands apocalyptic: not as failed prophecy, not as calculated determinism, not as futuristic escapism, but as declaration of the action of God in history, calling for enlistment in a battle of cosmic dimensions. As to the support of this conviction—the exegetical detail, the complexity of argument—is this “too good”? Could the Galatians have understood Martyn’s complex explanation? Regardless of the response, one thing is certain: Martyn offers no easy answers for questions that are profoundly difficult. What is significant for the history of NT research, above all, is Martyn’s relentless attention to he text. His is a biblical theology grounded in solid historical-critical research.
Leander Keck was born in Washburn, North Dakota.[114] He was reared in a family of German Baptists who in winter rode to a small church on the windswept prairie in a horse-drawn sleigh. During the Depression the Kecks moved to western Washington, where young Lee did farm work and lumbering. He attended Linfield College in Oregon (BA 1949), where he majored in sociology and religion, preached, managed a choir, and worked in the wheat harvest. As a student, he met Nels Ferré, who influenced him to attend Andover Newton Theological School in distant Massachusetts. At Andover, Keck began his lifelong friendship with J. Louis Martyn and came under the spell of Paul S. Minear, who urged him to pursue graduate study at Yale. There he studied with Erich Dinkler (of the Bultmann school) and the perceptive Paul Schubert. Before completing his dissertation, Keck received a grant for study at Kiel and Göttingen. He returned to Yale and received his PhD in 1957.
Keck began his teaching career at Wellesley College in 1957 and moved to Vanderbilt Divinity School, where he advanced from assistant professor to professor of New Testament (1959–72). In 1972 he was named professor of New Testament at Candler School of Theology and Chairman of the Division of Religion in the Graduate School of Emery University. In 1979 he moved to Yale Divinity School, where he served as Dean for ten years and continued as Winkley Professor of Biblical Theology—a chair once occupied by Paul Minear—until his retirement in 1997. As teacher, Keck inspired a coterie of excellent scholars, among them Charles H. Talbert and M. Eugene Boring. As Brevard Childs observed, “Lee Keck has long established his reputation as an eminent New Testament scholar, a brilliant teacher and lecturer, and a wise theological educator.”[115]
Leander Keck’s early works were addressed to the general reader, but they provide an overview of his understanding of the NT.[116] In Taking the Bible Seriously he writes: “This essay asserts that there is a way of reading the Bible which opens the door to vital faith without shutting the door to critical thought.”[117] Keck says that “the Bible functions as Scripture as it is brought to bear on the actual faith and life of the readers.”[118] Within the Bible there is a norm by which all else is evaluated. “Jesus as the Christ is the gauge by which every disclosure of God’s will is measured.”[119] A work that provides an overview of Keck’s understanding of early Christian history is his The New Testament Experience of Faith.[120] Keck unfolds the story of the church by means of a guided tour through cities where early Christianity flourished: Jerusalem, Antioch, Corinth, Ephesus, and Rome.[121]
Keck produced works of major significance on Paul and Jesus. First published in 1979, Paul and His Letters is widely viewed as a classic.[122] The first part of the book is devoted to “The Quest for the Historical Paul.” Keck notes that Paul is a problem in the NT (where there are different Pauls), in early Christianity (where Paul is a controversial figure), and in critical scholarship (where the question of Paul’s historical-religious background is debated). Turning to the theology of Paul as reflected in his letters, Keck notes that we do not have all his letters, and those that survive have been edited. Moreover, Paul’s letters were addressed to particular situations not fully known to the modern interpreter. The letters have their setting in Paul’s career; they are letters of a Pharisee, called by God to mission to the Gentiles. “In short, the personal background of each letter is the career of Paul up to the moment of dictation.”[123]
In the next part Keck investigates “The Gospel Paul Preached.” Paul’s gospel is the message about Christ, a message that presents the crucifixion and resurrection as God’s action for salvation from sin. Keck argues that Paul does not have extensive knowledge of the details of this pivotal event: “This means that for Paul what matters is the event as a whole, not individual segments of it, whether incidents or sayings. What is important for Paul is what God did through the event (cross/resurrection), not what Jesus himself had said or done in God’s name.”[124]
As to the shape of the event, Keck traces three main contours: preexistence, incarnation, and post-existence. Paul, Keck points out, emphasizes the salvific response to the Christ-event. “Paul’s statements about God and Christ were always worked out vis-à-vis their significance for the human condition. . . . Christology implies soteriology . . . and vice versa.”[125] Paul’s message calls for the response of faith, understood as trust, baptism into Christ, and life and worship in the new community.
Keck turns to what he calls “the deeper logic of Paul’s gospel.” Here he identifies three major motifs: first, the sovereign freedom of God. This involves the intentionality and achievement of God. According to Keck, Paul saw God as acting with a will, moving history toward a future. As to God’s achievement, Keck says that “what is commonly regarded as Paul’s doctrine of election and predestination is really his exposition of God’s sovereign freedom to achieve the divine purpose ultimately (Romans 9–11).”[126] He continues: “The sovereign freedom of God is just that—God’s innate capacity to achieve his ends without coercion.”[127] In this context a question arises: Does the newness of the gospel conflict with the constancy of God? This leads Keck into a discussion of Paul’s understanding of the Law. Paul affirms that the Law was given by God, but it was temporary. “The newness of the gospel, then, does not reflect a U-turn in God’s intent but a new time. Now the era of the law is superseded because God’s intent has been realized, inasmuch as Christ marks the time when God’s promise is kept.”[128]
The second major motif in the logic of Paul’s gospel is his understanding of creation and new creation. Paul, Keck points out, accepted the idea that the cosmos revealed the Creator, but he believed that this knowledge shows that God-forsaking humans are without excuse. Paul also accepted the apocalyptic idea of two ages. The new aeon will involve the redemption of creation and the new creation of the redeemed. The third major motif is Paul’s understanding of proclamation and anticipation. Paul, according to Keck, believes that the Christian is freed from the old participation (from sin) into a new participation in a new structure. Anticipation, says Keck, is the eschatological horizon of participation; participation in the Christ event means participation in the eschatological event. The Christian, according to Keck’s view of Paul, lives in the “already” and the “not yet”—an eschatological tension that is decisive for Paul’s ethics.
The final part of Paul and His Letters investigates “What Paul Fought For.” Fundamental to Paul’s battles is his conviction concerning the adequacy of trust/faith. This conviction is the foundation of his argument in Galatians. In conflict with the false teachers there, Paul insists that there is no additional requirement. “In other words, Paul spread the gospel and founded churches on the assumption that trust/faith, followed by baptism and the receipt of the Spirit, was the response that was wholly appropriate and fully adequate for salvation and participation in the body of Christ.”[129] Keck proceeds to argue that Paul’s stress on the adequacy of trust does not mean that the believer is without obligation. Indeed, faith’s freedom involves the obligation of love. Because of his eschatological perspective—his view of the imminence of the parousia—Paul has been charged with a “conservative ethic”; he counsels his readers to stay in the state in which they were called (1 Cor 7:2). This charge fails to recognize the eschatological horizon: God will change the present order. “Actually, then, by depriving the status quo of its divine sanction, of its inherent goodness or rightness and permanence, Paul opened the way for Christians to change the world once they ceased to rely on God’s impending act to do so.”[130]
Paul also weighs in on battles about Spirit and flesh. At Corinth the Christians were threatened by a Gnosticism that saw salvation as escape from the body. Although Paul sees the flesh as the sphere of the power of the old age, he understands “body” as the self—a self that may be raised as a “spiritual body.”
In short, because Spirit is the power-sphere of the new age, flesh is the power-sphere of the old age. The struggle between the Spirit and the flesh is not a battle between higher and lower nature, between bodily drives and our minds or spirits. Rather, the struggle is between the power of the eschatological future and the power of the empirical present.[131]
The bodies of Christians are a part of the body of Christ; their bodies are the shrine of the Spirit. Thus, Keck points out, life in the body means a life of ethical responsibility.
Paul also does battle in support of the moral integrity of God in God’s dealing with the human situation. Keck identifies Paul’s God as the rectifier of the ungodly. In view of problems related to the terms “justify” and “make righteous,” Keck, like Martyn, recommends the verb “rectify.” The rectifying action of God in Christ is necessary, according to Keck’s reading of Paul, because of the failure of the law. “For Paul, law fails, not because there is something inherently wrong with it (were that the case, the answer would be to get rid of the law) but because it is frustrated by another reality, sin.”[132] The rectifying God is the God who keeps faith: a God whose will completes what God began.
The gospel for which Paul fought so strenuously and passionately is centered in the God who liberated humanity from bondage to sin, death, and the law by sending the Son to be born under the law (Gal. 4:4), to be identified with sin (2 Cor. 5:21) and subject to death (Rom. 6:9). For those who believe this, the Christ-event strips away illusions about who God is and who they are.[133]
The appendix to the second edition, “Paul’s Theology in Historical Criticism,” is important for providing additional information about Keck’s view of Pauline theology. The first section deals with five turning points in the history of Pauline interpretation: the work of F. C. Baur, the influence of the history of religion school, the discovery of the apocalyptic factor, the contribution of Bultmann, and the disintegrating of the Bultmannian synthesis. Against this historical background Keck depicts two persistent issues: first, the problem of accounting for Paul’s thought historically; second, the problem of understanding Paul’s thought as theology. Keck notes efforts to find coherence in theology as anthropocentric (Baur, Bultmann) or as theocentric (Käsemann); Käsemann (and J. C. Beker) also recognize the integrating role of apocalyptic. In “Instead of a Conclusion,” Keck offers some general observations: the acknowledgment that Paul’s thought must be derived from his seven uncontested letters, the need for historical-critical scholars to be sufficiently self-critical about historiography, and attention to the problem of understanding Paul’s use of tradition. Keck insists that Paul’s thought should not be viewed as a disembodied set of ideas.
Rather, he and his thought were deeply rooted in a particular time and place, and he addressed readers who were also at home in a culture in many ways different from our own, yet one that faced certain issues endemic to the human condition. It is part of the genius of the historical-critical method that it has the capacity to make this concrete, even if in a limited way, and that it can be self-correcting as well. The newer literary/structuralist and sociological/anthropological approaches are supplementing it, but they will never replace it. Nor should they, for it is the historical-critical method that keeps us in touch with the unrepeatable reality of the past, and so reminds us of our own contingency as well as Paul’s.[134]
Keck’s major contribution to Pauline research is his masterful commentary on Romans.[135] In the preface he speaks of the audacity of Paul.
In the effort to convey Paul’s audacity, I have reached for that dimension of the God-reality that his assertions assume—namely, God’s otherness, expressed as God’s freedom, the unstated theme of Romans. Paul’s audacity in writing Romans, then, reflects his effort to grasp the audacity of God. The commentary reflects my effort to grasp the audacity of Paul.[136]
The commentary is dedicated to Paul Minear, whose course on Romans at Andover Newton inspired Keck for his continuing fascination with the epistle. In the introduction Keck offers an overview of the “phenomenon of Romans.” He believes Romans is a discourse presented in the form of a letter. In investigating the epistolary frame, Keck notes problems with chapter 16. He believes the letter originally included this chapter and that the various shorter texts indicate the attempt to turn Romans into a general letter. As to the historical context, Keck finds the widely accepted hypothesis to be plausible: Jewish Christians were expelled from Rome by Claudius but later returned; in the meantime Gentiles had become the majority in the church. Keck believes that Romans was written from Cenchreae around 57 CE, at a pivotal point in Paul’s career when he turned from the east to the west (to Spain). Paul, says Keck, could not count on support for his western mission as long as the Roman Christians were squabbling over dietary observations. However, Keck sees these quarrels as mere symptoms of a more serious malady: the negative attitude of Gentile Christians toward Jews. In the epistle Paul explains the meaning of the gospel in a way that emphasized God’s dealing with the human condition. Thus, surmises Keck, Paul writes his “theology of mission.”
Of major significance in this Introduction is Keck’s summary of Paul’s theology in Romans. “If one is to engage Romans, one must engage in its theology, for every line in it is affected by Paul’s theological thinking.”[137] In his theology Paul is not concerned to clarify concepts but to explicate the import of the Christ event for the human plight. As to Keck’s intention, he says: “The basic task of this commentary . . . is not to make Paul’s theology credible, but to expose that theology’s own distinct intelligibility, so that the reader can engage the apostle’s thought and so decide whether, and to what extent, Paul was right.”[138] The center of Paul’s theology, according to Keck, is the pivotal event of the death and resurrection of Christ. Keck sees this event in the light of Jewish apocalyptic eschatology: the resurrection dramatically changed the present, but it did not fully bring in the New Age. “Paul’s whole theology is marked by the tension between ‘the already’ and ‘the not yet.’”[139] “Above all, what is noteworthy about Paul’s theology in Romans is the way the pivotal significance of Jesus’ death and resurrection emphasizes the character of God. The theology of Romans is theocentric because it is christomorphic.”[140]
In regard to Paul’s use of the OT in Romans, Keck remarks that “Paul appears as the first biblical theologian in the early church. He not only reads his Bible in the light of Christ, but also reads the Christ-event in the light of his Bible.”[141]
After the introduction, Keck presents the commentary (pp. 39–385). The material is organized according to the structure of the epistle. Keck identifies six main sections: “The Messenger and the Message” (1:1-15), “The Message for the Human Plight” (1:16—8:39), “The Freedom of God’s Sovereignty” (9:1—11:36), “Daybreak Ethos” (12:1—15:13), “The Messenger: Between Past and Future” (15:14-33), and “Concluding Concerns” (16:1-27). Each of these main sections is divided into subsections, and some of the subsections are further divided into sub-subsections. The comments on sections, each section introduced by an overview and concluded with a summary, are presented as running interpretation of the text. Greek terms are transliterated and references to the work of other scholars are put in parentheses. A few selections may provide examples of Keck’s exegetical accomplishment.
Within the first main section, “The Messenger and the Message” (1:1-15), Keck presents an analysis of the “Salutation” (1:1-7). He notes that Paul modifies the conventional epistolary form by inserting an expression of Christology. This expression is joined to Paul’s presentation of himself as Christ’s slave, called by God to be an apostle, set apart for the gospel. Keck presents an explication of euaggelion, noting the background in the LXX and the importance of texts like Isa 40:9. In vv. 2-4 Paul outlines the content of the “gospel of God.” The gospel was promised beforehand and God keeps the promise; the gospel, according to Keck, is the means by which God’s fidelity to God’s promise is made known. Since it is the gospel concerning God’s Son, what Paul says in v. 3 is significant for Christology. Here Paul recalls a tradition that had been formulated, Keck believes, in Jewish Christian circles. The traditional confession includes two parallel expressions: descended from David; declared Son of God. Keck thinks this reference to the Son implies preexistence. He believes the qualifying phrases, “according to the flesh” and “according to the spirit of holiness,” do not refer to “natures” of Christ but to sequences in the status of the Son. Thus the statement asserts that the Son having occurred from the stock of David, was designated or appointed to a higher status, Son of God with power—power greater than that enjoyed as a historical figure. Now he is “Jesus Christ our Lord.” Keck concludes:
This remarkable christological statement expresses the identity and significance of the Son by concentrating on his becoming a historical figure and on his being given (by God) a new trans-historical status by the resurrection. . . . Here, what matters for Christ’s identity is his Sonship before he became “Son of David” and his present Sonship with power because (or since) he was resurrected.[142]
The first subsection of the large section “The Message for the Human Plight” (1:16—8:39) is entitled “The Gospel Stated” (1:16-17). In the opening overview Keck notes that these verses express the theme of the larger section. Paul says (v. 16) that the gospel “is the power of God for salvation,” echoing words from 1 Cor 1:18-25, but here in Romans he adds “to the Jew first.” Keck says that Paul’s term “faith” means “active trust.” In v. 17 Paul asserts that the gospel is saving power because of what is revealed in it: God’s rectifying rightness. “Taken together, verses 16-17 announce that the gospel is God’s power to save because it is the means by which God saves, disclosing God’s true character, rectitude/righteousness.”[143] To support his claim, Paul cites Hab 2:4, a quotation that bristles with problems. Keck points out that Paul’s translation does not agree with either the LXX or the Hebrew. According to Keck, Paul understood the text as a messianic promise, fulfilled in Jesus Christ. He is the promised “righteous one” who will live by faithfulness—a conviction to be explicated in 3:21-31 and 5:12-21.The central argument of this large section on the “Message for the Human Plight” is “God’s Rectifying Rectitude Apart from the Law” (3:21-31), a sub-subsection of the subsection “The Impartiality of God’s Rectifying Rectitude (3:21—5:11). In regard to this text Keck notes the possibility that Paul is using a fragment of early Christian tradition. Crucial for him is the translation of dia pisteōs Iēsou Christou (v. 22a) as “through the faithfulness of Jesus Christ.” In other words, in contrast to many interpreters Keck insists that Paul is not speaking of faith “in Jesus Christ,” but about the “faithfulness of Jesus Christ”: his fidelity, his obedience to God. According to Keck, the translation “faith in Christ” would claim that God’s rectitude is made manifest in our believing.
Paul also says that God’s righteousness is manifest through “the redemption that is in Christ Jesus,” a metaphor for the freeing of slaves. But what, asks Keck, is the basis for saying the redemption in Christ is a manifestation of God’s rectitude? The answer is provided by v. 25, “whom God put forward as hilastērion.” Keck rehearses the various meanings assigned to this term, including “Mercy Seat” (of the Ark of the Covenant), and the timeworn debate about “propitiation” vs. “expiation.” He concludes that a simple answer is not forthcoming, though he finds “propitiation” anomalous, since Paul says it is God who put forward the hilastērion. The reason is that the hilastērion is a demonstration of God’s rectitude: God’s passing over of previously committed sins. Paul expresses this by the term anochē (v. 26), which describes God’s “restraint.” But, asks Keck, does not God’s failure to punish show God’s lack of rectitude? That would be true, he answers, if rectitude were according to the Law. But the rectitude of God is revealed through Christ and is totally different from the rectitude of the Law. Keck concludes: “In short, God is never more true to God’s Godhood as the radically Other than when God rectifies the person who lives by Jesus’ faithfulness.”[144]
Later in this major section (1:16—8:39) is a controversial text that Keck titles “The Role of the Law in the Reign of Sin” (7:7-25), a sub-subsection of the subsection “Liberation from Bondage” (5:12—8:39). According to Keck, the basic questions of the text are: Why does one obey the evil powers, and why does the Law turn out to be a power from which one must be liberated? In the course of discussing these questions Keck tackles the notorious problem of the meaning of the repeated use the first person singular. He concludes the use of “I” is rhetorical, not autographical. He says that “the allusions to Genesis suggest that the ‘I’ portrays the Adamic self (not simply Adam himself), whose plight has become clear in Christ.”[145]
Keck believes that in vv. 7-12 Paul is describing the Law as the unwilling accomplice of sin. When Paul says “if it had not been for the law, I would not have known sin” (v. 7), someone might suppose he is suggesting that the “law is sin.” Paul replies, “By no means!” Instead, his argument will show the opposite: that the Law is holy (v. 12). Why, asks Keck, does Paul cite the tenth commandment of the Decalogue, “You shall not covet,” to illustrate how knowledge of sin comes through the law? Because, answers Keck, the command not to covet (or desire) is the only one among the ten that forbids an inner disposition prior to action. In v. 10, where Paul says that “the very commandment that promised life proved to be death to me,” Keck sees an allusion to Gen 3:4, where the serpent says, “you will not die”—an illustration of how sin deceived Eve into supposing that God would not inflict punishment. “In short, sin uses the law to deceive by creating the illusion the one can get away with disobedience.”[146] The culprit is not the Law, which is “holy and just and good” (v. 12), but sin, which uses the Law and makes it, according to Keck, the unwilling accomplice of sin’s destructive work.
Beginning in 7:13, Paul, according to Keck, reflects on the conflicted self. The perverse power of sin uses the Law to bring death; vv. 14-25 explain how this comes about. Keck believes v. 14 depicts the disparity between the character of the Law and the character of the self: the Law is spiritual, but I am sarkinos—the fleshliness that manifests itself in desire (or covetousness). The result is to be sold under sin. Keck believes this result has implications for the ancient argument as to whether Paul, in this section of Romans, is describing the pre-Christian or the post-Christian experience. “This explanation [“sold under sin”] is the chief reason Paul is not talking about Christian existence.”[147] Keck points out that v. 15 begins to explain how being fleshly is manifest in what one does or does not achieve. The disparity between intention (will) and actual deed is described in vv. 15-20, and the disparity between the inner self and the outer self is depicted in vv. 21-24. “For Paul, the problem is neither ignorance of the good nor lack of will to do it, but the inability to do the willed good that is known through the law.”[148] In the disparity between what is willed and what is done, Paul, according to Keck, believes the real doer is sin, which is resident in the self. Paul says that “nothing good dwells within me” (v. 18); what does dwell within him is sin (v. 20). In exegeting vv. 22-23 Keck takes up the debated question of how nomos is used in these verses. He admits that there is no easy answer, but he thinks that Paul refers to two fundamental laws in conflict: “the law of God” (= “the law of my mind”) and the law in my members (= “the law of sin,” that is, the commanding power of sin). This crippling conflict elicits Paul’s impassioned outburst “Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?” (v. 24).
In summarizing Paul’s argument in 7:7-25, Keck calls attention to what Paul does not say. He does not try to define the essence of sin, the self, or the Law; he makes no mention of Satan. Instead, Keck says that Paul depicts the human plight by showing the power of sin to enslave, the Law’s lack of power to prevent its misuse by sin, and the incapacity of the self to realize what it wills. “Here, no qualifying considerations or extenuating circumstances are allowed to mitigate the dilemma in which the self is caught, blur what caused it, or imply a spurious solution from it. The self cannot extricate itself; it can only be rescued.”[149]
In the third main section of Romans, “The Freedom of God’s Sovereignty” (9:1—11:36) Keck identifies a subsection, “God’s Freedom as Fidelity” (11:1-32); within this subsection is a sub-subsection, “The Mystery of God’s Way with All” (11:25-32). In v. 25 Paul says that he wants the Roman Christians to understand a mystery, that is, that the destined future is now disclosed. Keck believes the mystery includes four interconnected elements. First, a temporary hardening has come upon Israel until a full number of Gentiles has come in. Keck believes that what the Gentiles come into is the people of God; he says that the meaning of “full number” is not clear. Second, Paul says that this hardening has come on “part of Israel,” an expression that assumes a distinction between Christian Jews and the rest who are hardened. Third, Paul’s assertion that “all Israel will be saved” has been qualified in 9:6 (“For not all Israelites truly belong to Israel”). Nevertheless, Keck says that “it is likely that here Paul does envision ethnic Israel as a whole (not every Israelite) as destined for salvation.”[150] Fourth, Paul describes the manner in which Israel will be saved—a manner that is in accord with Scripture (Isa 59:20-21). However, Keck points out that Paul’s translation follows neither the Hebrew nor the LXX; in distinction from both, Paul says that the Deliverer will come from Zion. Keck notes that interpreters are divided as to the identity of the Deliverer: for some, the Deliverer is Christ, an interpretation that would look to salvation in the parousia; for others, the Deliverer is God, an interpretation supported by the OT idea of Zion as God’s dwelling place. Keck believes the latter interpretation is preferable, but he does not believe Paul can envisage salvation apart from the Christ event.
In v. 29 Paul says that the “gifts and call (election) of God are irrevocable.” Keck believes this statement proves how God’s self-consistency is squared with the refusal of the gospel by the majority of Jews. According to the previous verses the unbelieving Jews can be viewed from two perspectives: from the gospel perspective they are enemies of God for your sake; from the perspective of election they are beloved by God for the sake of the patriarchs (who received the promises). But how, asks Keck, can the same people be both God’s enemies and God’s beloved? The answer is provided in v. 32: “For God has imprisoned all in disobedience so that he may be merciful to all.” Paul’s point, according to Keck, is that God’s impartial justice treats Gentiles and Jews in the same way. “The identical way in which God responds to the disobedience of both Gentile and Jew disallows the much-discussed claim that Paul envisions the salvation of Israel apart from Christ.”[151] “Further,” Keck continues, “had Paul thought that all Israel would be saved apart from Christ, he would have implied that for Israel, Jesus is not the promised Messiah after all.”[152]
This third main section of the epistle concludes with the celebration of “God’s Awesome Ways” (11:33-36). In overview, Keck observes that this text “expresses his [Paul’s] keen sense that in disclosing the mystery of God’s dealings with Israel and the Gentiles he has glimpsed the magnitude of God’s awesome otherness.”[153] In a poetic benediction, Paul heralds the transcendent mystery of God and God’s action. “In a way, the whole passage is the stone against which theology stumbles when it claims too much, when it forgets that the Reality called ‘God’ is a mystery, when it neglects the task of showing why it is a mystery—one too deep to be fathomed but which must be acknowledged gratefully.”[154]
Even more important than his research on Paul, I believe, is Keck’s work on Jesus. His two major books, A Future for the Historical Jesus and Who is Jesus? are informed by his command of the history of research, seen in his editorial work on the Lives of Jesus Series and in his own contribution to the series, his edition of David Friedrich Strauss, The Christ of Faith and the Jesus of History.[155]
Keck’s A Future for the Historical Jesus is essentially an analysis of the history and methodology of the quest for the historical Jesus and a reflection on the related theological assumptions and implications.[156] He begins with a discussion of “Jesus in the hands of determined critics.” He launches this discussion with the question: Who is the “historical Jesus?” Keck proceeds to sharpen the question. “Is the historian’s Jesus, the Jesus reconstructed by critical methods, centrally significant for Christian faith and thought, or is such a Jesus irrelevant or even inimical to it?”[157] The historian’s Jesus, says Keck, is the Jesus reconstructed on the basis of a historical investigation of the sources. He recognizes the problems and presuppositions involved in the reconstruction, but concludes that the attempt is worth the effort. “While we cannot know Jesus as completely as we once may have thought, we can know important things solidly. . . . This modest result is sufficient to tell us what Jesus was like and ample enough to work with fruitfully in theology.”[158]
Keck emphasizes the theological importance of the quest for the historical Jesus. The Jesus known by historical method is essential to preaching; the historical understanding of Jesus is essential to Christology; the historicity of Jesus reflects the historicity of faith and theology as a whole. Keck contends that “the historical Jesus (the historian’s Jesus) does have a role in Christian faith.”[159] He elaborates this point by tracing contours in the history of the debate with examples from Bultmann, Jeremias, and Ebeling, none of whom provides an adequate solution. According to Keck the term “faith” is open to misunderstanding, and it better to describe the relation to Jesus as “trust.” But how does the historical Jesus relate to trust? Trust involves confidence in the historian’s work, trust in witnesses who recommend Jesus as trustworthy, and one’s own “reading” of Jesus’ trustworthiness. “One does not trust a proclamation or entrust himself to it; trust is directed toward a person and the function of the kerygma is to make it possible for trust in Jesus to commence.”[160]
Keck turns to the relation of the historical Jesus to the gospel. Fundamental is the question: What is Gospel? In answer, Keck appeals to three basic distinctions: between the formal structure of the gospel and a material statement of it; between preaching a theology of grace and communicating a grace-full event; between the gospel and propaganda, between theology and ideology. The significance of these distinctions can be summarized in the larger question:
How shall we speak of Jesus so that the formal character of the gospel can be expressed materially in a way that reaches the hearer as good news for his sake and not the church’s propaganda? Specifically, how shall one articulate the good news so that the historical Jesus comes through in a way that the hearer may trust him for his salvation?[161]
Keck continues his explication of the nature of the gospel by exploring the understanding of the gospel in the early church. In the Jewish setting the appeal to Scripture was central and Jesus was presented as the messiah. In the Hellenistic milieu Christ was depicted according to the drama of the descent of the heavenly redeemer. “In this way, the material content of the gospel was changed precisely in order to maintain the formal character—good news of God’s decisive act for mankind.”[162] This implies that we cannot adopt a particular formulation of the gospel, but we can restate it in ways that do not surrender its essential character. “The historical Jesus helps to keep the church honest through the constant pressure of having to do with a real human, historical figure.”[163] The recognition of the problematic shape of the historical Jesus is, according to Keck, an extension of the “scandal of the cross.” But a more fundamental question arises: Why Jesus? Keck answers: because the centrality of Jesus is constitutive for historical Christianity.
Keck turns to the question of the relation of the historical Jesus and salvation. The question, he believes, needs rehabilitation. The need is apparent in the widespread notion that the problem of humanity is unrealized potential: salvation is self-fulfillment. A reformulation of the question must acknowledge that the problem is the self, the human situation at its deepest level. Since salvation is by trust, distrust is at the root of the problem. Keck proceeds to review various views of salvation through Jesus. In preparing for the exposition of his own view, he writes: “No aspect of Jesus saves us, but the whole life touches our life as a whole.”[164] For Keck, salvation is realized by trust in Jesus. He argues that we can know Jesus by historical study and reconstruction of the traditions about him. “Accordingly, one trusts a figure in the past when he trusts his integrity and the validity of what he stood for.”[165] To trust in Jesus is to trust God and to come into right relation with God. Keck also believes that trusting in Jesus produces a community of trust; those who trust in Jesus trust in others who trust in him.
Keck turns to the crucial question of the relation of the historical Jesus to the character of God. He says that “in starting with the historical Jesus to reflect on God, we are beginning at the point which for Christians has always been pivotal and where contemporary persons can more readily commence.”[166] In discussing “the God of Jesus,” Keck notes the importance of revelation. “Only when we perceive God through the prism of the event of Jesus can we justly speak of God’s revealing himself in Jesus.”[167] He cautions against the tendency to appropriate Jesus’ conceptions of God (as if he were a rational theologian) or to emphasize Jesus’ self-understanding (as if we had access to his inner life). Attention to Jesus’ understanding of God also reminds us of the Jewishness of Jesus; he was a Jew who trusted God. Jesus proclaimed the kingdom of God; he believed that God was the sovereign Creator. According to Keck, Jesus understood the kingdom as an act of God, an event of judgment and grace. Jesus believed that the kingdom had come but was not completely present. “The fact that the Jesus-event was constituted by this expectation of the impending One and that this expectation was not fulfilled as expected is not a surd to be negated but a condition to be grasped affirmatively: the impending God retains his freedom even vis-à-vis Jesus.”[168]
Keck believes the death of Jesus presents a crisis for our understanding of God. Jesus anticipated his own death and expected to be vindicated, but God did not intervene. “The only God who is trustworthy is the One who does not interfere to protect the pious but who is present in the thick of darkness, perhaps even as the thick darkness.”[169] Keck asks: What is the meaning of the resurrection for the problem of God? He answers that it “can only mean that God had not repudiated him but vindicated him.”[170] Keck points out that it is Jesus, and no one else, whom God raised. In Jewish theology God was expected to vindicate the faithful, but with Jesus the final resurrection was present proleptically. This view, according to Keck, assumes an apocalyptic theology, a recognition of the decisive act of God. “Resurrection, therefore, is grounded in the freedom and power of God to create afresh, out of death, as he originally created absolutely, ex nihilo.”[171] Keck says that the one who trusts in Jesus does not vindicate himself or demand God to vindicate him. “Instead, on the basis of Jesus he ventures to entrust himself and his vindication to God, and is prepared to receive it where Jesus did—beyond death.”[172]
Finally, Keck says that Jesus was “the parable of God.” “Jesus concentrated on parabolic speech because he himself was a parabolic event of the kingdom of God.”[173] Like the parable, Jesus points beyond himself to God and calls for relying on God. “Since his kingdom is present now only as prolepsis and as parable, we live by parable. That is, we trust the historical Jesus.”[174] In the Epilogue, Keck reiterates the major point of the book. He insists “that thorough criticism of the Gospels does provide us with sufficient data about Jesus that the contour of his life as a whole can come into view, and that this can be the core of Christian preaching and the dominant datum with which theology works.”[175]
Leander Keck’s own contribution to the quest of the historical Jesus is his remarkable book, Who is Jesus?[176] In describing the book, Keck writes: “The result is something of a hybrid, neither history nor Christology proper but rather theological reflection on history—on those aspects of the Jesus of history that are central to his continuing significance.”[177] He begins by discussing the Jesus of the past. He limits his discussion to what can be investigated historically, thus excluding the birth narratives, the miracle stories, and the accounts of the resurrection. “The goal, in short, was a chastened but accurate portrayal of the Jesus who once was, set in the context of the society that once was.”[178] Keck notes the weight that past research has placed on the criterion of dissimilarity (negative criticism). However, he believes that the Enlightenment legacy of negative criticism has overemphasized Jesus’ differences from Judaism and early Christianity. At the same time, he thinks it important to recognize that there is a difference between the historical Jesus and the Jesus presented in the Gospels.
Turning to the particularity of Jesus, Keck emphasizes the historical fact that Jesus was a Jew and proceeds to investigate what kind of a Jew Jesus was and was not. He points out that Jesus addressed Jews as part of his mission. Jesus called twelve followers, a number symbolic of Israel. He believed that when God’s kingdom would be actualized, God’s people would be Israel. As to Jesus’ view of the Gentiles, Keck observes that he did not go to Gentile cities or to Gentiles. “In short, it is altogether likely that Jesus had not one good thing to say about Gentiles as a group.”[179] Nevertheless, Keck insists that Gentiles had a stake in the Jewishness of Jesus. “It is precisely Jesus’ concentration of his mission on Israel that grounds his permanent significance for Gentiles.”[180] The promise of God to Abraham, says Keck, comes to Gentiles through Jesus. Jesus is the link for Gentiles to Israel’s Scripture.
Keck next focuses on the role of Jesus as teacher. At the center of the teachings of Jesus is proclamation of the kingdom of God. Keck describes the kingdom as God’s “rectifying power.” The kingdom is the coming reign of God, but it has not yet fully come. Keck takes up the question of the kingdom as present or future. He notes that the saying that the kingdom is present (Luke 17:20-21) is immediately followed by a saying that speaks of the apocalyptic future (Luke 17:22). According to Keck’s emphasis, Jesus brought a new situation—the situation of the relation to God, the time of salvation. When a person lives in the new situation, Jesus’ teaching of the sovereignty—the actualizing of the rule of God—is coming into view. Keck describes the kingdom as God’s “rectifying impingement.” The kingdom is coming soon, but “God’s kingdom changes things before it actually arrives. When it impinges on the present, rectification begins.”[181] “Living now by the future is what makes it truly eschatological.”[182]
Keck moves from the discussion of the kingdom of God to the God of the kingdom. Although Jesus proclaims the kingdom of God, he rarely uses the image of “king.” More frequently Jesus employs the imagery of the father. Like a father, God give good gifts to God’s children. Jesus calls the disciples to imitate the goodness of God the father, not God the king. According to Keck, Jesus does not make public claims to be the son of God. However, he notes that “the gospel traditions can portray Jesus acting as God’s son, one whose life and work are so determined by God that he replicates on earth his Father in heaven.”[183] He is the obedient son; he represented the coming of the kingdom by what he said and did.
Echoing his subtitle, Keck elaborates the meaning of the gospels’ understanding of Jesus in the “perfect tense.” By this he means that the writers of the gospels presented Jesus in terms of his ongoing significance for their communities. Mark, in chapter 13, added material relevant to his own time (the revolt against Rome) but reflected earlier teachings of Jesus. A stumbling-block of the early Christians was the failure of the promise of the future (Mark 9:1). Keck acknowledges that Jesus did expect God to act soon, but he argues that the delay did not destroy the rectifying power of the kingdom. “In short, the real question is not whether Jesus was right or wrong about the time of the kingdom but whether he was right or wrong about the God he imaged as king and father.”[184]
Keck explores the significance of the death of Jesus for the revelation of the living God: what he calls “the fractured prism.” According to Keck, the prediction of the passion indicates that Jesus anticipated his suffering and death. Jesus went to Jerusalem by his own decision. “He went to do what he had always done: embody what he knew was coming. In the temple he took the risk of symbolizing it.”[185] Keck believes the resurrection reveals the living God whom Jesus trusted. “In short, if God validated and vindicated precisely the Jesus who was executed on Golgotha, then he remains the fractured prism through which one sees into that mysterious Reality called ‘God.’”[186] In this context Keck affirms the often-neglected idea of the holiness—the radical otherness—of God. The death-resurrection of Jesus, according to Keck, shows two sides of God’s holiness: the negative side (the silence of God in response to the cry of Jesus) and the positive side (the crucifixion as expression of God’s love). “God’s radical otherness is neither remoteness nor indifference but the ground of holy love that loves the unlovable into a rectitude that enables the rectified recipient to love the other, be it neighbor or enemy.”[187]
Keck explicates his concept of “the Golgotha hermeneutic.” By this he refers to the conviction that Jesus’ death and resurrection were according to Scripture. The gospel narrators present the Golgotha event in two ways: the historical explanation of what happened and the recognition of divine necessity. “Thereby the narrator’s intelligible historical story is really the visible actualization of what God had purposed and intimated in scripture.”[188] “For Christians, Jesus is not the messiah despite Golgotha but because of it, since after Easter it was Golgotha that redefined messiah.”[189] Indeed, from Keck’s perspective the traditional view of “messianism,” with its expectation of the exercise of God’s political power, was crucified. Keck believes that to follow Jesus is to appropriate Golgotha. Jesus called his followers to take up a cross, to lose life to find it. “In short, seen as a paradigm, Jesus’ cross symbolizes a way of life marked by love free of self-regard and the need for approbation for doing good.”[190]
Keck turns to a discussion of the ethics of Jesus, “the authorizing judge.” Jesus’ stance toward the moral life was one of uncompromising absoluteness; the kingdom “requires total resolve and unhesitating commitment.”[191] In regard to the ethics of Jesus, Keck points out that Jesus does not analyze but addresses; he does not present principles or offer a system. Instead, Jesus addresses particular situations; he focuses on the deed. Jesus is prophet, not sage. Keck suggests a shift from concern with the “ethics of Jesus” to the person of Jesus. Jesus’ moral teachings are related to his person. “In short, it is Jesus’ life, captivated by the kingdom, that endows his teaching with moral power.”[192] Jesus, the historical figure, is the shaper of the moral life. The gospels “do narrate the story of Jesus’ mission and execution, thereby anchoring the sayings of Jesus in the portrayal of his life and character.”[193]
Keck observes that the gospels present Jesus as the judge who authorizes. This can be seen, for example, in his explicit commands. Keck stresses the importance of internalizing the external authorizer by “persistent appropriation of Jesus into the moral life so that he becomes the internal compass and criterion of the doer and the deed.”[194] “Finally, in authorizing the moral life Jesus evokes a commitment to what he was committed to himself—the kingdom of God and the rectifying import of its impingement.”[195] In regard to Jesus as judge, Keck emphasizes the function of the internalized authorizer. “This judge makes the doer judge oneself.”[196] Keck also stresses the accountability of the authorized self. Although accountability is often related to the future judgment, the concern here is with the accountable self in the present. Nevertheless, says Keck, the trans-historical has relevance: the future judge is none other than Jesus; this symbolizes the ultimate significance of the moral life. Mention of the future, however, raises the question of reward. Keck says that “the whole theme of reward is transposed into another key: because Jesus was vindicated beyond death, they [those whose lives are on the line] carry their crosses in confident hope that they, and what they may have to die for, too will be vindicated as he was— on the yonder side of history and by the One whose holiness unites goodness and power.”[197]
A final section of Keck’s book deals with “power of the perfect tense.” He notes common expressions: “for Jesus’ sake” (a phrase that can be “because of” or “for the benefit of”); “on account of Jesus” (a phrase that means to act in a way that finds its warrant in who Jesus was); “for the good of Jesus” (a phrase that describes the work of those who do good for Jesus, for the gospel, and for the kingdom). Keck concludes:
Nonetheless, those who respond positively to Jesus voluntarily suffer for the sake of the kingdom, whether “on account of” it, in order to grasp it and be changed by it, or to advance it. . . . Such persons usually do not talk of their own suffering but talk of others’ for whose sake they are ready to accept what may befall them. Such voluntarily accepted suffering has two names: one is love, the other is Jesus—in perfect tense.[198]
Scholars familiar with the stellar work of Leander Keck have expectantly awaited his projected book on NT christology. He presented lectures on the subject in his Shaffer Lectures at Yale (1980), but these have not appeared in print. However, hints of what Keck would do in his culminating work can be heard in his programmatic essay, “Toward a Renewal of New Testament Christology,” originally a paper presented at the General Meeting of the SNTS in 1985.[199] The burden of Keck’s paper is his conviction that much of what has been written recently under the title of Christology is actually the history of christological material, as is seen especially in the preoccupation with titles. What is needed is a thoroughly and intentionally theological approach that concentrates on the NT texts.
In sum, the work of Leander Keck has made a significant contribution to the history of NT research. Skilled in all the disciplines of historical criticism, he also has the gift of communicating in a lucid, lively style. To be sure, his style functions at two levels: that of the general reader and that of the scholar. His Romans commentary, for example, sets its sights above the intended audience of the Abingdon commentaries and is a challenge to the seasoned scholar. His books on Jesus are densely written, with a careful analysis of complex issues.
Above all, Keck is a biblical theologian. For most biblical scholars, required by the discipline to master the skills of linguistic, literary, and historical criticism, there has not been sufficient time to master the methods and insights of theology. Most are primarily historians, not theologians. Keck is an exception. He is well-read in the field, and even more, gifted with a theological sensitivity and penetrating theological mind. Of course, some may suppose that the thought of the NT cannot be that complex—that biblical theologians like Keck have imposed a theology on the NT. But any scholar who has wrestled with Romans is forced to recognize the depth of Paul’s thought. Many of the original readers would have been unable to understand Keck’s comments, but some of them sensed that Romans was important enough to save and circulate. In any case, Keck’s understanding of the theology of Romans is based on solid historical-critical exegesis.
Born in Chicago, Furnish is the son of a Methodist minister.[200] He did his undergraduate study at Cornell College (Iowa), where he majored in philosophy and graduated Phi Beta Kappa (AB 1952). In 1955 he received the BD from Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary with “highest distinction.” At Yale, where he received MA (1957) and PhD (1960) degrees, Furnish was influenced by Dinkler and Schubert. “My interest in Pauline theology,” he wrote, “was first kindled by Professor Paul Schubert at Yale, and under his guidance my doctoral dissertation—a first tentative venture into the subject of Pauline ethics—was conceived and completed.”[201] Furnish did postdoctoral study in Jerusalem and in Tübingen (1964), and, with the support of the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation, in Bonn (1965–66), Munich (1972–73), and Münster (1987).
Furnish began his teaching career at Perkins School of Theology, Southern Methodist University, where he advanced through the ranks from Instructor (1959–60) to University Distinguished Professor of New Testament (1983–2000). Although beckoned to prestigious positions, Furnish remained in the place of his original academic appointment, primarily teaching ministerial candidates. “His teaching style,” former students observed, “is a lesson in both helping and prodding students to develop capacities for interpreting the New Testament. His patient persistence with the less disciplined among his students and his challenge and encouragement to the more energetic are exemplary.”[202] Furnish’s contribution to the NT scholarly guild has been large. He has served as president of the SBL (1993) and editor of the JBL (1983–88). He has also been general editor and chair of the editorial board of the Abingdon New Testament Commentaries (1988–2011).
Furnish’s major works are in the field of NT ethics. His Theology and Ethics in Paul is hailed as a classic.[203] One perceptive observer has said that “it constitutes one of the most comprehensive and judicious assessments of Pauline ethics in the century.”[204] Like Keck’s research, Furnish’s work is solidly grounded in a comprehensive knowledge of the history of the discipline.[205] The book was first published in 1968 and had its 6th printing in 1988; the edition of 2009 is essentially a reprint.[206] In the original preface Furnish sets forth his purpose: “The thesis which finally emerges from this investigation is that the apostle’s ethical concerns are not secondary but radically integral to his basic theological convictions.”[207]
Furnish begins with an investigation of the sources of Paul’s ethical teaching. First, he notes the influence of the OT and Judaism. He observes that Paul’s ethical instruction quotes frequently from Scripture. Furnish also detects a relationship to material from the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha but finds little evidence of literary dependency. Turning to the Hellenistic sources, Furnish notes the use of philosophical terms and of the diatribe style, but he concludes that the influence flows primarily through the syncretistic culture of the day. Next, Furnish takes up the difficult question of the influence of the teachings of Jesus on Paul’s ethic. While he recognizes that Paul can quote sayings of the Lord, references to the teachings of Jesus are relatively sparse. Furnish concludes his chapter on sources with the observation that it is a mistake to place a one-sided emphasis on Paul’s Jewishness over against his “Hellenism” or vice versa; Paul is neither an ethical philosopher nor a rabbinic sage. “He writes always as an apostle, as a man in Christ.”[208]
Furnish next investigates Paul exhortations. In shaping these, Paul makes use of traditional material. His use of this material reflects his concern to be concrete and relevant. “He wishes to make it clear that the new life in Christ is not some vague experience of detachment from the world, but manifests itself in multiple and concrete engagements in and with the world.”[209] Paul is also concerned to be inclusive and persuasive. Furnish points out that Paul does not merely select traditional material but assimilates it into new contexts. For example, Paul defines the Law “solely in relation to the Christ-event.”[210] He makes use of traditional vice lists and lists of virtues and includes them in the context of the argument of his letters. Furnish observes that Paul uses a variety of modes of exhortation: questions, indicatives and imperatives, hortatory and autobiographical narratives. In regard to the understanding of kerygma and didache, Furnish rejects C. H. Dodd’s familiar distinction.[211] Paul’s exhortations involve both proclamation and moral instruction. “It is inaccurate to say,” writes Furnish, “either that his concern is primarily theological and secondarily ethical, or the reverse, that it is primarily practical, secondarily theoretical. His concern is, in a word, evangelical: to preach the gospel.”[212]
Furnish devotes a chapter to the themes of Paul’s preaching. “Just as his ethical teaching has significant theological dimensions, so do the major themes of his preaching have significant ethical dimensions.”[213] These themes, according to Furnish, are rooted in “the apostle’s eschatological perspective.”[214] Consequently a major theme, reflecting the Jewish image of two ages, is “this age and the age to come.” In analyzing this theme Furnish depicts the powers of this age (the present evil era) and the transcendent power of God that will destroy the evil forces in the future. God’s action in the death and resurrection of Christ brings salvation and “the new creation.” Yet, although total triumph of God will be in the future, God’s power is already at work. “Thus, Paul sees the ‘eschatological’ power of God as already operative and says that the man ‘in Christ’ is a ‘new creation.’ ”[215] Paul expresses this, says Furnish, with the metaphors of the “first fruits” of salvation and the “guarantee” of hope. With the coming of the Spirit the presence of God’s love becomes operative in the lives of believers. “The Spirit, then, is the presentation—construed literally, the ‘making-present’—of that which belongs to another ‘age’ and which, in spite of its ‘presentation,’ continues to belong to that age.”[216] The coming age is an apocalyptic motif, but Paul breaks the categories of apocalyptic by declaring that the eschatological power of God has broken into the present.
Another major theme for Paul is summed up in his understanding of the Law, sin, and righteousness. In discussing this theme, Furnish notes the intertwining of eschatological and anthropological categories; humanity is the focal center of the battle between the forces of evil and the power of God. Through the flesh, says Paul, sin gains entry into the human person.
Sin, therefore, is given a very radical meaning in Paul’s thought. It is not just life’s perversion, but ultimately its negation. For him sin means hostility to God’s purposes and rebellion against his rule, an alienation from God so serious and (from man’s side) so irremediable that only the concept of “death” is finally appropriate to describe it.[217]
Even more alarming, in the context of Paul’s upbringing, is his conviction that the Law is the agent of sin. Sin entered humanity through Adam, but it is not tabulated where there is no law (Rom 5:12ff.); the law brings knowledge of sin (Rom 7:7ff.); the law was added to provoke transgression (Gal 3:19ff.). According to Paul, the remedy for this fatal human situation is the righteousness of God and God’s action of justification. Furnish defines Paul’s concept of the righteousness of God as God’s covenant faithfulness and truth. The righteousness of God is seen preeminently in Christ’s death and resurrection. For Paul, the righteousness of God “stands at the very center of his gospel.”[218] To describe God’s action of justification, Furnish—to avoid problems in translating the Greek verb—uses the word “rightwised” (the term adopted from Old English by Kendrick Grobel in his translation of Bultmann’s Theology of the New Testament). To be “rightwised” means to be restored to the proper relation with God; it means to receive a verdict of acquittal in the eschatological judgment. Paul emphasizes God’s initiative and justification as an action of God’s grace, another major theme. The event of God’s grace is enacted in the death and resurrection of Christ. “Paul’s christology, like his pneumatology and doctrine of righteousness (justification), has a thoroughly eschatological orientation. . . . Jesus’ ‘historical’ activities are seen to have meaning and effect because they manifest the power of the age to come already operative in the present.”[219] As Furnish says, “It is clear beyond question that Christ’s death and resurrection represent the decisive element in the Pauline gospel.”[220] The believer participates in the death and resurrection of Christ; he or she is united with the death of Christ and will be raised in the future. “But primarily the lordship of Christ is seen as already operative, and his death and resurrection are seen to constitute the eschatological event.”[221] “In Christ, supremely in his death and resurrection, God’s sovereign love is at work making new the lives of those who ‘believe’ in him and ‘give’ themselves to him.”[222]
Furnish proceeds to discuss Paul’s concepts of faith, love, and obedience—concepts that constitute another Pauline theme. Reminiscent of Bultmann, Furnish affirms Paul’s understanding of faith as obedience. The obedience of faith means belonging radically to Christ; “the object of the Christian’s obedience is Christ himself.”[223] In regard to the will of God, Furnish observes that Paul seldom speaks of God’s will as any specific act or pattern of conduct. Instead, the apostle affirms the total claim that God lays upon the believer. Paul can speak of the “law of faith” in contrast to the written code. “The believer, because his whole life is given to God for obedience, is freed from the law’s works and for the law’s fulfillment in a new sense.”[224] Moreover, the law the believer is commanded to obey is the law of love. To obey that command is to participate in the community of the people of God, the household of faith.
Following this eloquent review of Pauline theology, Furnish proceeds to an investigation of the character of the Pauline ethic, beginning with an analysis of the theological structure of Paul’s ethic. Furnish contends that Paul did not have a system of ethics but that he was concerned with the conduct of Christians in relation to the central themes of his preaching. In regard to studying Paul’s ethic, Furnish writes: “It is the study, first of all, of the theological convictions which underlie Paul’s concrete exhortations and instructions, and, secondly, of the way those convictions shape his responses to practical questions of conduct.”[225] Paul’s ethic, according to Furnish, has three main motifs. First, the ethic is theological. “The Pauline ethic is first of all radically theological because it presupposes that man’s whole life and being is dependent upon the sovereign, creative, and redemptive power of God.”[226] Second, Paul’s ethic is eschatological. “The Pauline eschatology is not just one motif among numerous others, but helps to provide the fundamental perspective within which everything else is viewed.”[227] For Paul, eschatology is not exclusively directed to the future since it sees the power of the transcendent God already active in the present. Crucial to Paul’s ethic and his eschatology is the dialectic of the indicative and the imperative. Third, Paul’s ethic is christological. According to Paul, the believer is united with the death and resurrection of Christ, although the resurrection of the believer will be in the future. “But the resurrection power of God in Christ is already operative in the believer’s present life.”[228]
Furnish proceeds to explicate the meaning of the indicative and the imperative for Paul’s theology and ethics. He rejects the notion that the imperative is based on the indicative; instead, the two belong inseparably together. “God’s claim is regarded by the apostle as a constitutive part of God’s gift. The Pauline concept of grace is inclusive of the Pauline concept of obedience. . . . The Pauline imperative is not just the result of the indicative but fully integral to it.”[229]
Related to the imperative is the problem of ethical action. In investigating this problem Furnish notes the difficulty of discerning the will of God. Paul believes that God’s will must be perceived in the setting of the community, and that its fundamental meaning is found in the command of love.
It is, therefore, the Pauline concept of love which supplies the key to the apostle’s thinking about the discernment of the divine will in the various “normal crises” of daily conduct. God’s redemptive activity in Christ is an expression of his love, and Christ’s own act of obedience unto death for the sake of others is commended as exemplary for all who belong to Christ. To “imitate Christ” means to give one’s self in love for others as he gave himself.[230]
The application of the love command calls for discernment. “What is to be done must be discerned and decided in the individual case but always with reference to God’s gift of love as it has been met in Christ and God’s demand of love as it is repeatedly met in the neighbor.”[231]These concluding remarks from Theology and Ethics flow easily into a discussion of Furnish’s next major book on ethics, The Love Command in the New Testament.[232] In the introduction, he presents the purpose of the book. “It focuses on the love ethic, the love command, what the New Testament teaches and otherwise reflects about earliest Christianity’s view of loving one’s brother, one’s neighbor, or one’s enemy.”[233] Furnish begins with a review of the commandments to love in the teachings of Jesus. The “double command” (love of God and love of neighbor) is recorded in Mark 12:28-34. The Matthean redactor adds a point: “On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets” (22:40). In Luke (10:25-37) the double command is joined to the parable of the Good Samaritan. The parable, Furnish observes, is a dramatic presentation of what the love command means. “Thus, the parable teaches that what counts is not just knowledge of the law . . . but an obedience to the law of love, so complete that where love is operative all the artificial barriers of race, nation, and religion are broken down.”[234]
A distinctive feature of Jesus’ teaching, observes Furnish, is the command to love one’s enemies. Matthew presents this teaching as the sixth of the antitheses in the Sermon on the Mount (5:43-48), a text that culminates in the command to be perfect like God. For Luke, the command to love one’s enemies is the first direct command in his Sermon on the Plain (6:27-36). Looking back over the teachings of Jesus, Furnish concludes that the double commandment of love was probably formulated by Jesus. But, more than this, “It is Jesus’ commandment to love the enemy which most of all sets his ethic apart from other ‘love ethics’ of antiquity, and which best shows what kind of love is commanded by him.”[235]
Furnish proceeds to investigate how the command of love is understood by the gospel writers. He notes that it plays no significant role in Mark but is very important for the author of Matthew. The unique depiction of the final judgment (Matt 25:31-46) declares that those who will inherit the kingdom have done deeds of love. Furnish observes that Luke-Acts also emphasizes the love command—seen, for example, in narratives that feature acts of charity.
Furnish moves to the function of the love command in the rest of the NT. For Paul, a distinctive idea is faith working in love. In regard to the great commandment, Furnish notes that Paul cites only Lev 19:18. Paul says that the whole law is summed up in one command, “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Rom 13:9; Gal 5:14). “Paul emphasizes the importance of love as the guiding power of the church’s life and the means by which one’s freedom in Christ is authentically realized.”[236] Love has a prominent place in the Fourth Gospel. The farewell discourses (chaps. 13–17) begin and end with an emphasis on love. The scene begins with the narrative of the footwashing (13:1-20), an enacted parable that presents the mission of love. The chapter ends with the announcement of a new commandment (13:34-35): to love one another. “Thus, the newness of the command to love one another consists in the christological-eschatological context in which it is given. The one who commands such love is the bringer of the new age which makes love possible and meaningful, so the command is that his followers should love as he has loved them (vs. 34).”[237]
The emphasis on love is continued in the Johannine epistles. “[T]he author of I John, like the Fourth Evangelist, regards God’s love as the basic fact of man’s existence.”[238] Indeed, the writer of 1 John goes beyond the Fourth Gospel in seeing love as the characteristic of the divine being: God is love.
After a review of the role of the love command in the remaining documents, Furnish summarizes the results of his research. First, the love commandment is a command to love, that is, a command to be obeyed. Second, the love commandment is the command of the sovereign Lord; it is closely related to eschatology and calls for radical obedience. Third, the love commandment created a community that is the embodiment of love. Finally, the command of love is also a call to repentance and an offer of forgiveness.[239]
Furnish’s third book on NT ethics, The Moral Teaching of Paul: Selected Issues, is aimed at the general reader.[240] The purpose of the book is to consider “how Paul’s approach to moral issues specific to his day may inform and guide us in thinking through the moral issues that are specific to our times and places.”[241] Furnish begins with a discussion of Paul’s teaching about sex, marriage, and divorce—issues primarily addressed in 1 Corinthians. Furnish believes that Paul advocates mutuality in marriage but prefers celibacy for practical reasons. In regard to divorce, Paul recalls the word of the Lord that prohibits it, but acknowledges that instances of divorce will occur. On the question of separation from a nonbelieving spouse, Paul has no word from the Lord but expresses his opinion that the marriage can be maintained.
Furnish turns his attention to homosexuality, an issue that has claimed much of his time and effort.[242] Basic to Furnish’s approach is his observation that the modern concept of “homosexuality” is not found in the Bible. He acknowledges, of course, that there are texts in the OT and NT that refer to same-sex activity. The most direct in the OT is the Levitical Rule (Lev 18:22; 20:13), a part of the Holiness Codes that explicitly opposes same-sex intercourse. In the NT, 1 Cor 6:9-10 uses two terms that describe homoerotic behavior. Romans 1:24-27 is the only text in the Bible that refers to same-sex relations between women. In context, Paul presents this activity as evidence that humanity stands under divine condemnation. Paul’s denunciation of homoerotic behavior, says Furnish, has no distinctive Christian roots. In any event, Paul knows nothing of what the modern biological, social, and behavioral sciences have taught us about sexual orientation.
Turning to the role of women in the church, Furnish attends primarily to texts in 1 Corinthians. He believes that 14:34-35 (where women are consigned to silence) is a later, non-Pauline interpolation. Paul’s positive view is expressed in Gal 3:28 (a baptismal confession) and supersedes the old distinction between male and female. Furnish notes the complexities of 1 Cor 11:2-16, where Paul does not approve the practice of women praying or prophesying in the church with uncovered heads. Paul, according to Furnish, says that the head covering shows their authority, but what this means and how the angels are involved remain a mystery. The importance of the role of women in Paul’s churches is evidenced by names of individual women who had positions of leadership in the churches, including a deacon and an apostle.
A final chapter deals with the church in the world. At the outset Furnish affirms the fact that the church is planted in the world; it does not flee from the world. Nevertheless, Christians live in the world as though not living in it (1 Cor 7:29). “It is now their belonging to Christ that defines both who they are and, no less, what it means to ‘remain with God,’ whatever the circumstances of their lives and however long this age endures.”[243] Most important is Paul’s insistence that Christians be responsible citizens, subject to the governing authorities, paying their taxes. But, above all, they owe no one anything except to obey the command of love (Rom 13.8). However, beyond their life in the world the Christians are already citizens of the heavenly commonwealth. “In short, while the apostle addressed believers as already citizens of a heavenly commonwealth and summoned them to discern and do the will of God, he also counseled them to take seriously their responsibilities as members of society.”[244]
Along with his classic, Theology and Ethics in Paul, Furnish’s masterful commentary on 2 Corinthians may be his most important work.[245] It is without peer in the second half of the twentieth century and will remain the “standard work” for years to come. He begins with an extensive critical introduction.[246] The first section reviews the history of Corinth, its political and commercial importance, its civic and cultural life. Furnish offers a vivid description of the city and its archaeological remains. Special attention is given to the religious life of Corinth: the deities and cults, the imperial cult, the presence of Judaism. Next, Furnish recounts the beginning of Christianity in Corinth, the fruit of Paul’s mission.
In the introduction, Furnish gives careful attention to the literary composition of 2 Corinthians. He observers that before the writing of 2 Corinthians, Paul had sent two letters to Corinth: Letter A (mentioned in 1 Cor 5:9) and Letter B (1 Corinthians). As Furnish points out, it is widely held that 2 Corinthians is a composite of letter fragments. He reviews some of the proposed reconstructions, notably Bornkamm’s popular thesis that 2 Corinthians is a composite of parts of five or possibly six letter fragments. Furnish finds none of these reconstructions convincing, and opts instead for the “two-letter hypothesis”—a popular theory that identifies chapters 1–9 and chapters 10–13 as separate letters. However, in contrast to many who view 10–13 as earlier (and identify them as part of the “tearful letter” mentioned in 2:4, 9; 7:8, 12), Furnish argues that 10–13 (Letter E) were written after 1–9 (Letter D). His major argument is that 10–13 do not fit the description of the letter provided in 1–9: Letter E (10–13) was not written in tears, but in anger; the major topic of the “tearful letter” was the brother who had wronged Paul (2 Cor 2:3-11; 7:8-12), a topic not noticed in 10–13. Furnish believes the “tearful letter” (Letter C) has been lost.
On the basis of this hypothesis, Furnish proceeds to present an introduction of Letter D (2 Corinthians 1–9). This letter was written, according to Furnish, shortly after Paul had received news about Corinth from Titus at their meeting in Macedonia (2:13; 7:6-7), probably in 55 CE. The purpose of the letter was to show Paul’s concern for the Corinthians (despite the severity of the “tearful letter”), to clarify his apostolic commission, and to strengthen their commitment to the gospel and encourage their cooperation with Titus on behalf of the contribution for Jerusalem.
Furnish next provides an introduction to Letter E (2 Corinthians 10–13). Paul’s purpose is primarily to respond to the claims of rival apostles who have invaded Corinth, attacking Paul’s apostleship. Furnish believes this letter was written from Macedonia, probably in 56, prior to his final visit to Corinth and his departure to Jerusalem with the offering. The crucial question of critical introduction is the identification of the opponents, variously characterized as “false apostles,” “super-apostles,” and “ministers of Satan.” Furnish reviews various theories about their identity and concludes that they have come to Corinth from outside; they have a Jewish background, but they are not “Judaizers”; they are Hellenistic Jewish Christian missionaries.
The commentary proper (Translation, Notes, and Commentary) is almost five hundred pages in length. The material is ordered according to the structure of the two letters, with main sections, subsections, and in some places sub-subsections. The format largely follows the pattern of the Anchor Bible series. Each section and subsection includes Translation (by Furnish), Notes (verse-by-verse analysis of terms and phrases), Comment: General(an overview of the following section); Comment: Detailed (running commentary on the issues of the section or subsection). In accord with other commentaries of the series, Greek terms are presented in transliteration, a bane to Greeks and a questionable blessing to the barbarians. A few examples can provide merely a glimpse of the treasures in this excellent commentary.
In the first main section (Letter Opening, 1:1-11), the second subsection analyzes the “Blessing,” 1:3-11. The Comment: Detailed takes up the question: Why, in contrast to most of his epistles, does Paul substitute a blessing in place of the usual thanksgiving? Furnish (following Paul Schubert) believes that the change is the result of the particular epistolary situation. Paul is overwhelmed by his experience of deliverance from some affliction he had recently suffered in Asia. Furnish supposes this affliction was the hypothetical imprisonment of Paul in Ephesus.
In the Letter Body (1:12—9:15) the second subsection presents Paul’s understanding of apostolic service, the heart of the epistle. The first sub-subsection provides an introduction (2:14—3:6) to the discussion. A few selections can offer examples of Furnish’s meticulous Notes. In regard to 2:14, he investigates the phrase he translates as who puts us on display (as if we were prisoners in a triumphal procession). Furnish observes that the crucial issue of the verse is the meaning of thriambeuein. Is this an allusion to the triumphal procession celebrated in Rome after military victories? Furnish presents several interpretations. Among these are speculations about the role Paul might have seen himself playing: “in triumphal progress” (assuming that Paul is identified with the victorious general), “to lead someone captive” (supposing that Paul was a captive in the procession), and interpretations that insist that the triumphal procession is nowhere in view. Furnish puts mention of the procession in parentheses, indicating a plausible but not certain reference to the procession.
In the Comment: General, Furnish deals with several topics, indicated by italics. In 2:16b—3:6, Paul discusses the Question of Adequacy. Furnish notes the change of style at v. 16b from praise to dialogue. Here Paul raises the question of the awesome responsibilities of apostleship. When he asks, who is sufficient? Paul is not, according to Furnish, implying the answer, “I am.” Instead, the apostle is stressing the futility of claiming to be adequate; one’s adequacy comes solely from God. In v. 17, Paul provides the justification for raising the question of adequacy. There are some who peddle an adulterated gospel for their own profit. Furnish observes that this is the first indication in the Corinthian correspondence that Paul is aware of the presence of rival claimants to apostolic office.
Concerning Letters of Recommendation, Paul, according to Furnish, insists that he (and his associates) need none, but implies, at the same time, that his rivals have come bearing such credentials. The notice of these letters leads Paul to develop the imagery of the letter to explicate the character of his ministry. The only letter Paul needs is the Corinthians themselves—a letter written on Paul’s heart. When he says that this is a letter of Christ, Furnish does not believe that Paul shifts his image from the letter of recommendation to the “heavenly letter” (also attested in the ancient sources), but that he continues his explication of the letter of recommendation as a letter from Christ. This letter is written by the Spirit, inscribed on our hearts—an allusion to Jer 38(31):31ff. The reference tables of stone, as Furnish notes, is reminiscent of Moses receiving the law at Sinai. In 3:4-6, Paul expresses his Apostolic Confidence. His is a confidence that comes from God, who has made him a competent minister of a new covenant—again recalling the word from Jeremiah. The mention of the Spirit in the context of the stone tablets leads Paul to reflect on the contrast between letter and Spirit. “In Paul’s view, however, what is written kills because it enslaves one to the presumption that righteousness inheres in one’s doing of the law, when it is actually the case that true righteousness comes only as a gift from God.”[247]
The second sub-subsection of this subsection (2:14—5:19) Furnish entitles “The Ministry of the New Covenant” (3:7—4:6) A few examples from the extensive Notes can be illustrative. The mention of Moses’s face (3:7) indicates that Paul is recalling the story of Exod 34:29-35, where the face of Moses, as he descended from Sinai bearing the tablets of the covenant, shone with a divine splendor. In v. 7, Paul says that that splendor was being annulled, and in v. 11 he indicates that the whole ministry of the old covenant was being annulled. Furnish notes that in these verses (8, 9, 11) Paul uses the rabbinic argument “from the lesser to the greater.” In v. 13, Paul refers to the veil that was put over the face of Moses and the end of what was being annulled. Furnish’s note on “the Lord” (v. 17) is distinctive. He puts the words in quotation marks to indicate that Paul is referring to the same Lord mentioned in the preceding verse, that is, to God.
In the Comment: Detailed, Furnish begins with a discussion of the Surpassing Splendor (3:7-11). The theme of this text is “splendor” (doxa), a term used at least once in every verse. In the text Paul presents his comments on Exod 34:29-30. He refers to the tables of stone as the ministry of death, and recalls his words from 3:6: “the letter kills.” Furnish says that the idea that the splendor on the face of Moses was being annulled has no support in Exodus 34; some rabbis imagined that the radiance continued forever. Developing his argument from the lesser to the greater, Paul declares that if the ministry of death came with splendor, the ministry of the Spirit will be accompanied by even greater splendor. Regarding v. 9, Furnish points out that Paul uses the same method of argument with different terms: the ministry of condemnation and the ministry of righteousness. Although Paul does not use the language of justification extensively in the Corinthian correspondence, Furnish observes that the concept is integral to Paul’s idea of apostleship and the gospel. He hears the rising crescendo of Paul’s argument: the Law is temporary; the splendor of the ministry of the new covenant outshines the splendor of the ministry of Moses; and finally, the whole ministry of Moses is being annulled.
Paul turns to The Boldness of the True Apostles (3:12-13). Furnish (continuing in the Comment: Detailed) observes that Paul develops the theme by contrasting apostolic boldness with the timidity of Moses, who veiled his face, aware that the splendor of his ministry was destined for destruction. Furnish does not believe that Paul suspected Moses of deception but that Moses intended to spare the Israelites the agony of witnessing the end of the splendor. Regarding 3:14-15 (Unveiling IsraeI), Furnish detects a shift in argument from attention to Moses to attention to the people of Israel. Paul wants to make the point that Israelites are responsible for their unbelief. Furnish notes that Paul accomplishes the shift by use of the metaphor of the veil; the veil is on their hearts (minds) when Moses is read; they fail to acknowledge that the whole ministry of Moses has been annulled.
In regard to The Removal of the Veil, 3:16-18, Furnish’s continuing detailed Comment observes that Paul turns from unbelieving Israel to anyone (v. 16). He is probably thinking about the situation of the Corinthians and their conversion. Furnish argues, primarily from the context, that the use of “Lord” here refers to God. He thinks this interpretation is supported by the mention of the Spirit. The last verse in this text (3:18) is expressed in confessional style. The subject is we all, meaning all believers. Furnish notes that they are described by two phrases: with unveiled face, and beholding as in a mirror. These expressions contrast the believers with Israelites who are veiled. As Furnish observes, the believers behold the glory of God and are transformed by it.
In Further Remarks on Apostolic Boldness (4:1-6), Paul declares that those who engage in apostolic ministry are recipients of God’s mercy, that is, ministry is a gift of God. Furnish believes that v. 2 implies that serious charges have been made against Paul. The charge has been made that Paul’s gospel, not the covenant of Moses, has been veiled. Paul replies that if the gospel is veiled, it is veiled to the unbelievers. They have been blinded by Satan, the god of this world—a statement in which Paul betrays the influence of Jewish apocalypticism. The paragraph ends on a climactic note: Christ, the content of Paul’s gospel, is the image of God. “The gospel is introduced as the fundamental re-presentative agency for the splendor of God. That splendor is present as Christ is proclaimed the crucified and resurrected one through the gospel.”[248] Paul declares that the apostolic preachers do not proclaim themselves, but—echoing the early Christian confession—Jesus Christ as Lord. According to Furnish, the reference to the face of Jesus Christ is not a recollection of Paul’s own conversion but is to be understood as a dramatic contrast to the blindness of the unbelievers.
The next sub-subsection of the subsection, “Comments on Apostolic Service” (2:14—5:19), is entitled “The Ministry and Mortality” (4:7—5:10). In exegeting this sub-subsection Furnish offers a distinctive interpretation of the hotly debated pericope 5:1-10. Most exegetes view these verses as taking up a new theme: death and the interim between the burial of the earthly body and the resurrection of the spiritual body. Furnish, however, understands these verses as carrying on the discussion of 4:16; he believes that our earthly, tent-like house (5:1) refers to our outer nature. As to the destruction of the earthly tent (5:1), Furnish thinks Paul is probably referring to death. However, his real concern, according to Furnish, is about suffering and mortality and not about what happens to the body. Furnish reviews various interpretations of the words a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. Whereas most interpreters understand this text anthropologically, referring to the new body that will be given to the believer, Furnish favors a reading according to Jewish and early Christian apocalyptic: the building from God is the temple of the new Jerusalem “which awaits the righteous as their proper destiny.”[249] In regard to The Sighing of the Spirit (5:2-5), Furnish interprets the phrase as depicting the suffering preliminary to the future glory (Rom 8:18-25). In 5:2, Paul shifts from the metaphor of the dwelling to the clothing metaphor. Furnish rejects the popular interpretation that sees the clothing metaphor as a reference to putting on the spiritual body (1 Cor 15:53-54). He argues that the longing of 2 Cor 5:2 is for more than a spiritual body: it is the longing for “the fulfillment of salvation.”[250]
The final sub-subsection of the subsection on “Apostolic Service” is titled “The Ministry of Reconciliation” (5:11-19). In the Comment: Detailed, Furnish investigates the major themes. His exposition of “A New Creation” (5:16-17) is noteworthy. He points out that Paul’s statement in v. 16a provides a further explication for the confessional statement in v. 14b (one has died for all). As a result, from now onwe regard no one according to worldly standards. According to Furnish, the “we” is the believing community, and the “now” is the eschatological “now” of God’s saving action in the death of Christ (vv. 14-15). Furnish rehearses the arguments about whether kata sarka is adjectival (referring to Christ) or adverbial (modifying we have regarded). His translation shows that he supports the adverbial: if indeed we have regarded Christ according to worldly standards, now we no longer regard him in that way. Furnish notes that v. 17 emphasizes in a more comprehensive way the radical newness of the eschatological existence. Those who are in Christ have not only abandoned worldly standards, they have become part of a totally new creation. Furnish believes this is one of the most significant texts in which Paul uses the expression in Christ. “To be in Christ, and thus a participant in the new creation, means to be claimed by the rule of love instituted in the cross, and to be liberated from the powers of this present age.”[251]
The final theme in Furnish’s Comment is “Reconciliation” (5:18-19). Here Paul concludes his discourse on apostleship with a description of the ministry of reconciliation. Various scholars (e.g., Käsemann) have argued that Paul is using an earlier formula or hymn. Furnish believes the traditional material includes only v. 19ab. According to him, the tradition affirms three convictions: God was reconciling the world; Christ was the agent of reconciliation; reconciliation means not charging trespasses against trespassers. Furnish notes that the theme of reconciliation is developed in Judaism, but there, for example in 2 Maccabees, God is the object of reconciliation. For Paul it is God who is reconciling the world to himself. Paul also adds the concepts of the ministry of reconciliation and the word of reconciliation. Furnish insists that the ministry of reconciliation is a constituent part of the reconciliation event. He also believes that the ministry is given to the whole Christian community, not just the apostles. The word of reconciliation is the word of the cross.
Time and space allow only one example of Furnish’s exegesis of Letter E (2 Corinthians 10–13). In the Letter Body, the second subsection is characterized as “A Fool’s Speech” (11:1—12:13). Within this section, the second sub-subsection includes “The Speech Proper” (11:21b—12:10). In Furnish’s detailed Comment on this material he discusses the topic On “Visions and Revelations,” 12:1-10. The Comment begins with an exposition of A Journey to Paradise (12:1-4). Paul presents the account of this journey under the necessity of boasting, even though nothing is to be gained by it. Furnish believes Paul is responding to the claim of his competitors that he lacks apostolic credentials such as ecstatic experience. Thus, says Furnish, Paul’s account is a “sort of parody” on the practice of his rivals. He believes Paul’s use of the third person is typical of someone who, in such ecstatic experiences, senses a kind of self-transcendence. But even more, Paul wants to distance himself from any notion that the experience would warrant any claim to apostolic credentials.
Furnish believes the notice fourteen years ago reflects ancient accounts of visions in which mention of the time of the event lends realism to the story. Assuming with Furnish that Letter E was written in 56, Paul’s dating would put the vision in 42, shortly after his escape from Damascus. Furnish insists that the journey to paradise has no relation whatsoever to Paul’s “conversion” experience. Actually, Paul provides little detail about the journey. He says, reflecting Jewish cosmology, that he was caught up to the third heaven. He also says that he heard things that must not be divulged. As Furnish observes, Paul says nothing about seeing anything, but instead focuses on the word-character of the event. Paul’s ignorance as to whether his experience was in the body or out the body is not an allusion to some Gnostic experience but, as Furnish argues, evidence that the difference is of no moment to Paul.
In the theme A Further Comment About Boasting (12:5-10) Paul continues his argument that he will boast only of his weakness. He says that to keep him from being too elated about his experiences of revelation, God has given him a thorn in the flesh. Paul also designates this thorn as an angel from Satan: as Furnish says, Satan understood as the agent of God’s purposes. Furnish summarizes the three main interpretations of the thorn: (1) it was some sort of spiritual torment; (2) it was some kind of physical malady; (3) it refers to persecution. Furnish concludes that (2) is most likely. Paul says that he appealed for relief from this affliction three times, indicating how intent he was in seeking relief. Paul proceeds to present the Lord’s response. Paul’s appeal remains unanswered, but he receives instead a word from the exalted Christ, declaring the truth that in weakness God’s powerful grace is at work. “This is why weakness is the hallmark of his apostleship, because he has been commissioned to the service of the gospel through the grace of this Christ—a grace whose power is made present in the cross.”[252]
Some years after the publication of II Corinthians, Furnish contributed the volume on the Thessalonian correspondence in the Abingdon New Testament Commentaries, the series for which he was the general editor.[253] He begins with a short, informative introduction to 1 Thessalonians. The occasion of the letter, he points out, is the report that Timothy has brought from Thessalonica. Furnish believes the purpose of the epistle is to commend the congregation for their faith and love, to motivate them to continuing fidelity to the gospel, and to send them further instruction. In discussing the historical occasion and context, he recounts the history of the city and Paul’s mission there (arriving in 49 and staying several months). He notes that the converts faced opposition from Gentile residents of the city. According to Furnish this epistle was written shortly after Paul’s departure, early in his Corinthian mission (50 CE). As to the theological and ethical orientation of the letter, Furnish notes that it includes no quotations from the OT. The major theological emphasis is on faith as acceptance of God’s election as a manifestation of God’s love.
The commentary on 1 Thessalonians (pp. 37–126) is ordered according to Furnish’s understanding of the structure of the letter. In format (largely following the pattern of the ANTC series), the main sections are introduced with an overview and concluded with a summary. The comments are presented in running paragraphs; abundant references to secondary sources are given in parentheses. Furnish’s comments on 4:13-18 provide a small sample. These verses are considered in the second major section, entitled “Pastoral Instruction and Encouragement” (4:1—5:24). In a subsection on “Matters of Special Concern” (4:1—5:11) Furnish explicates Paul’s instruction concerning Those Who Have Fallen Asleep (4:13-18). In his comment on v. 13 he notes that “falling asleep” is a common euphemism for death in Paul’s day. Those who do not have hope, according to Furnish, are unbelievers, whether Jewish or pagan. In vv. 15-17 Paul describes the return of the Lord, an event he apparently expects to happen soon. Furnish delineates three features of Paul’s description: the Lord will descend from heaven; the believers who have died will be resurrected; those resurrected and those who are still alive will be taken up together to meet the Lord. The description is decorated with apocalyptic military symbols: the shout of command, the sound of God’s trumpet. Furnish points out that the motif of being caught up (the famous “rapture”) is found in Jewish texts. He notes a distinctive Pauline feature: the meeting of the Lord “in the air,” that is, in the space just above the earth. Paul does not explain what happens after the meeting: do those who are caught up return to the earth or ascend to heaven? Paul has only one concern: those who meet the Lord will remain with the Lord forever. In the concluding summary Furnish says of Paul, “What he offers here is not a comprehensive depiction of the end-time events, but pastoral instruction and assurance on one particular issue that was troubling his congregation.”[254]
Victor Furnish’s exegetical work is always directed toward a purpose: to set forth the theological meaning of the text. Like Martyn and Keck, Furnish is a biblical theologian. This is demonstrated in his essay, “Paul the Theologian.”[255] After a review of the work of several representative scholars on the theology of Paul, Furnish raises the question: Was Paul a theologian? He answers that Paul was not a systematic theologian. However, when Christian theology is defined “as critical reflection on the beliefs and rites of the Christian tradition and on the social structures within which these beliefs and rites are continued,” then Paul is a theologian.[256] If Paul was a theologian, Furnish asks, what is required to understand his theology? He provides a lengthy list of requirements, but basically he argues that Paul’s theology is to be found by historical-critical and exegetical study of each authentic Pauline letter. Special attention should be given to passages in which Paul is intentionally explicating theological conceptions and passages in which he uses kerygmatic formulations, references to Scripture, summaries of teaching and preaching. Once the epistles have been rigorously investigated individually, theological conceptions or arguments that emerge in more than one letter should be noted and compared. The theological interpreter must be wary, however, of rushing to an easy synthesis. “No ‘synthesis’ of Pauline theology, if by that one means the construction of a comprehensive theology in the scholastic sense, can adequately represent his thought. . . . Rather, what these sources yield are comments about the meaning of the gospel as the apostle wishes that to be discerned by particular readers and acted on in their particular circumstances.”[257]
Important for Furnish as a biblical theologian is his book, The Theology of the First Letter to the Corinthians.[258] Although the epistle is much concerned with pastoral problems, Furnish believes these to be symptomatic of underlying misunderstandings of Paul’s gospel. Consequently, the gospel, according to Furnish, is the primary subject of Paul’s theological reflection and exposition. Furnish analyzes the theology of 1 Corinthians according to the theological themes in the main sections of the epistle. In chapters 1–4 the themes are “knowing God” and “belonging to Christ.” According to Paul, the wisdom of God—contrary to the wisdom of the world—is of a totally different order, the wisdom of the cross. In this foolish wisdom God’s saving power is at work. Through this wisdom humans come to know God, resulting in a new relationship. The believers belong to Christ and they belong to God. Furnish turns to the meaning of “belonging to Christ in an unbelieving society.” How, he asks, can believers be the church in pagan Corinth—the problem addressed in 1 Cor 5:1—11:1. For Paul, the primary principle is holding to the center, embracing the gospel; when this is faithfully done, the identity of the community is maintained. In dealing with the world the believers should recognize that the visible world is passing away. Moving on, Furnish explicates the meaning of belonging to Christ in the believing community (the concern of 11:1—14:40). Central to the life of the community is the observance of the Lord’s Supper. Paul understands this celebration as proclamation. His command to discern the body, according to Furnish, means to recognize that “the bread of the Lord’s supper is both ‘Christ’s body’ given for others and that the ‘many’ for whom Christ died are ‘one body’ in him.”[259]
First Corinthians 15, as Furnish notes, is a chapter in which doctrinal instruction is primary. He titles his discussion, “Hoping in God, the ‘all in all.’ ” Paul’s intent in the chapter is to argue that denial of the resurrection of the dead contradicts the truth of the gospel. In his presentation of the resurrection Paul makes use of Jewish apocalyptic imagery. He cites the resurrection of Christ (confirmed by witnesses) as proof of the resurrection. Christ is the first fruits and those who belong to Christ will be raised. At the end of the chapter Paul announces God’s final victory: Christ will overcome the evil powers and hand the kingdom over to God. In a final chapter, Furnish summarizes the significance of 1 Corinthians for theology. The center of that theology is Christology. “Yet nowhere in the New Testament is the image of the resurrected-crucified Christ so finely drawn as in 1 Corinthians.”[260]
In sum, Victor Paul Furnish is a skilled interpreter who practices exegesis in the service of theology. He is master of the methods of historical criticism and his work is informed by a comprehensive command of the secondary sources. In making exegetical decisions, Furnish does not rush to judgment; if the evidence is not adequate, he refuses to draw conclusions. He eschews overstatement. Although Furnish is viewed, and views himself, as a Pauline scholar, his competence extends to the canon and beyond.
Furnish’s research is centered in the theological ethic of Paul. He insists on the mutual interdependence of theology and ethics. Although he honors (even embraces) the theology of Paul, he does not impose a theology on Paul’s letters or construe Paul’s doctrine as dogmatics. Furnish correctly observes that Paul’s ethic is set in an eschatological context, that the central feature of his ethic is the indicative and the imperative. Central to Paul’s theological ethic is his Christology—faith in Christ that, more than a doctrine, is a way of life. This way of life is shaped in response to the command of love.
Given Furnish’s irenic spirit and the cogency of his arguments, it is difficult to sound a negative note. An extensive review and critique of his work is presented by Michael Cullinan, but his criticisms are largely based on Roman Catholic doctrine rather than on exegesis of the Pauline texts.[261] More germane is the criticism of Richard Hays, who in general applauds Furnish’s work. Negatively, Hays believes that Furnish has not adequately appreciated the “new perspective” on Paul. There is some substance in this criticism, even though the “new perspective” is no longer “new.” Although Furnish reflects nothing of the old caricature of Judaism, and although he avoids capitulation to the new perspective (à la Dunn), his work could be enhanced by more attention to Paul’s understanding of the Law in the mode of Martyn and Keck.
Hays also believes that Furnish does not adequately swear allegiance to a Pauline theological principle dear to him (i.e., Hays): the understanding of faith as the “faithfulness of Jesus Christ.” Whereas both Martyn and Keck have been converted to this interpretation of πίστις Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ, not all scholars agree (e.g., Dunn). As Furnish’s work indicates, the idea of Christ as the object of faith is appropriate in the context of Paul’s understanding of theology and ethics. To be sure, not every exegete will agree completely with Furnish’s interpretations, but all will acknowledge that his conclusions are supported by careful argument and grounded in a profound understanding of NT theology.
Born in Lemgo, Germany, Betz began theological study at the TheologischeHochschule in Bethel (1951).[262] In 1953 he moved to University of Mainz, where he studied with Herbert Braun (usually viewed as a member of the left wing of the Bultmann school). Recipient of a grant from the World Council of Churches, Betz studied at Cambridge with J. Y. Campbell and C. F. D. Moule (1955–56). He returned to Mainz to complete his doctoral dissertation, accepted in 1957. From 1961 to 1963 Betz served as pastor of a church in the lower Rhine region. In response to an invitation as visiting professor at the Graduate School and School of Theology at Claremont, Betz, along with his wife and three young children, arrived in America in 1963, where he remained for the rest of his career. At Claremont, Betz was soon appointed Professor of New Testament and Early Christian Literature. In 1978 he was invited to the faculty of the Divinity School and the Department of New Testament and Early Christian Literature at the University of Chicago.[263] At Chicago, Betz participated in interdisciplinary scholarship, for example, co-teaching with professors in the classics department. In 1990 he was named Shailer Mathews Professor of New Testament. He retired in 1999.[264] As a teacher Betz was renowned for his Friday morning seminar, reading texts ranging from Romans to the Hermetica, attended by students from throughout the university. Ministerial students cherished his course, “From Exegesis to Sermon.”
Betz has been active in the SBL and the SNTS, having served as president of both. He has been guest professor across the world: at Uppsala, Zürich, Oxford, and Jerusalem, to mention only a few. Betz is one of the four major editors of the fourth edition of the venerable multi-volume Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, now even more widely recognized in view of the English translation, Religion Past and Present.
What perhaps most distinguishes Hans Dieter Betz’s scholarship is its combination of amazing range with consistency of vision. Defying the traditional boundaries of the academy, Betz has made significant contributions in the fields of New Testament, classics, church history, theology, and history of religions. . . . Betz is the consummate humanist, schooling himself and others in the art of ancient learning.[265]
As a young man Betz had aspired to be an artist, an aspiration reflected in “his extraordinary creativity as a scholar.”[266] However, quite apart from the artistic details, the reviewer is overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of his work. The publications reviewed here are only the first fruits of an abundant harvest.[267] Betz’s early work reflects his concern with Hellenistic backgrounds and his ongoing contribution to the tradition of the history of religion school. His doctoral dissertation, Lukian von Samosata und das Neue Testament; religionsgeschichtliche und paränetische Parallelen, is essentially a collection of materials from the writings of Lucian that have parallels in the NT, especially references to the so-called “divine man.”[268]
Betz’s Habilitationsschrift, Nachfolge und Nachahmung Jesu Christi im Neuen Testament, enlists history of religion methodology in the service of theology.[269] In essence this work demonstrates that the motif of imitation of Christ, crucial for Paul, is distinctly different from the concept of following Jesus, predominant in the Gospels. In regard to the continuity between the historical Jesus and the Christ of the community, Betz notes the importance of the idea of following Jesus. In the earliest tradition, according to Betz, the idea of following is scarce. Later, independent sayings on self-denial and fulfilling the commands of Jesus are collected (e.g., Mark 10:21). According to Betz, the idea of following Jesus developed in stages in the life of the early community. In Mark, discipleship is understood as the call of the Exalted One. For Matthew, church and discipleship are one. For John, the tradition of following Jesus is understood in relation to the existence of the believer: following means participation in the drama of redemption.
In the longest section of the book (some ninety pages), Betz moves to the history of religion material, where he investigates the history and structure of the concept of mimesis. This concept, according to Betz, has its origin in Greek cults, especially that of Dionysus. Betz believes the concept then spreads to other cults: the Eleusinian, the cult of Isis and Osiris. Features of the mimesis motif are reflected in myths, ritual dramas, and cultic meals. Betz explores the larger question of the meaning of the mimesis motif in the study of the history of religions. In the myths of ancient religions, earthly religious expression is seen as the reflection of an Urbild or Urform of higher existence. Betz also investigates the interpretation of the imitation concept in ancient philosophy, where it is significant for both Plato and Aristotle.
In the final section Betz applies the results of his history of religion research to the theology of Paul. He begins with a linguistic analysis, pointing out that the Gospels use the term ἀκολουθεῖν for following the historical Jesus and the Exalted One. Paul does not use this terminology. Instead, he expresses the idea of “imitation” (usually expressed by the noun μιμηταί, “imitators”) of the risen Christ—a concept, according to Betz, influenced by the Hellenistic cultic background. Betz proceeds to exegete the major texts: 1 Thess 1:6; 2:14; Phil 3:17; 1 Cor 4:16; 11:1. He concludes: “The call to mimesis is in no way oriented to the ethical or moral example of the historical Jesus or to a pre-existent Christ-figure or of Paul, but to the Christ-myth itself.”[270]
Hans Dieter Betz’s major contribution to the history of NT research is expressed in his three remarkable commentaries—on Galatians, 2 Corinthians 8–9, and the Sermon on the Mount. Although they belong to a celebrated series (Hermeneia), the commentaries display unique features, especially in the use of history of religion materials, the concern with genre and classical rhetoric, and the interrelation of historical critical issues and exegetical research.
Betz’s commentary on Galatians begins with a historical-critical introduction.[271] Although no question about Pauline authorship has been raised, the identification of the addressees is hotly debated. Betz reviews the issues in the time-worn debate between the north Galatian (territorial) hypothesis and the south Galatian (province) hypothesis. He favors the former. More important, according to Betz, is the question of the identification of the opponents. Betz believes they had come to Galatia after Paul founded the churches there. He says that “the opponents of Paul were Jewish-Christian missionaries rivaling Paul.”[272] Betz notes the difficult problem of dating the epistle. Before its composition the Jerusalem conference had been held, a bitter conflict had erupted in Antioch, and Paul’s collection for the church in Jerusalem had been launched. Betz is wary of attempts to date Galatians in relation to data provided by Acts. The only thing that can be claimed as certain is that Galatians was written before Romans. Betz believes a date of around 50–55 is a reasonable guess. He is equally hesitant about designating the place of writing; any of the popular locations—Ephesus, Macedonia, or Corinth—is possible, as are others.
Most important and distinctive is Betz’s theory of the literary composition of the letter. Following the principles of ancient rhetoric, he classifies Galatians as an “apologetic letter,” a genre that arose as early as the fourth century BCE. On the basis of this classification Betz construes the structure of the epistle according to categories of classical rhetoric: exordium (1:6-11), narratio (1:12—2:14), propositio (2:15-21), probatio (3:1—4:31), and exortatio (5:1—6:10). These sections are set within the conventional epistolary framework: prescript (1:1-5) and postscript (6:11-18). According to Betz the apologetic letter presumes the situation of a law court: the addressees are the jury, Paul is the defendant, the opponents are the prosecutors. The purpose of the letter is to persuade, with scant concern for establishing the truth.
Betz turns to the theological argument of Galatians. In Galatia, Christianity is confronted by a crisis: a questioning of the gospel by its own converts. “Hence it [Galatians] presents the first systematic apology of Christianity, not to outsiders, but to Christians themselves.”[273] After Paul had departed, the Galatians had difficulty in coping with a question: How could spiritual people deal with the problems of the flesh? The invading opponents provided a solution: embrace the Torah and practice circumcision. Paul defends himself and his gospel, says Betz, by a defense that employs the rhetoric of his time. Betz delineates the major arguments Paul uses, including the argument from experience, proof from Scripture, and, most important, the argument from freedom.
The body of the commentary (pp. 37–325) orders the material according to Betz’s rhetorical outline of the epistle. The format follows the pattern of the Hermeneia series: Translation (by Betz), Analysis (overview of the section), Interpretation (running commentary, proceeding verse by verse). The extensive footnotes occupy, on the average, about half the page, with cross references, text-critical notes, and extensive references to secondary sources. Excursuses are introduced at appropriate places in the interpretation of the text. A few examples can provide a small sample of Betz’s virtuoso exegetical performance.
In regard to the narratio (1:12—2:14), the analysis observes that the ancient rhetoricians believed this element should be brief, clear, and plausible; the purpose of narratio is to state the facts. Betz notes that this narratio has three subjects: Paul’s life from birth (1:13-24), the apostolic council (2:1-10), and the episode at Antioch (2:11-14). The Interpretation presents a detailed exegesis. In 1:12 Paul responds to the accusation that his gospel was “according to man” (1:11). He contends that it was received δι’ ἀποκαλύψεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ. Betz interprets the genitive as objective: the revelation revealed Christ.
At this point Betz inserts an Excursus: “Conversion, Revelation, and Tradition,”[274] in which he insists that Paul’s revelatory experience should not be understood as a conversion. Instead, it was a call to ministry to the Gentiles, patterned after the call of Jeremiah. Betz sees no contradiction between this text and 1 Cor 15:1-11, where Paul says that he received the gospel by tradition: there Paul refers to his receiving of the kerygma; here he speaks of receiving a commission to Gentile mission.
In v. 13 Paul begins the narratio proper, which is intended to support his claim in v. 12. He starts with a description of his pre-Christian life. He was not merely a Jew but a zealous observer of the Jewish way of life. Paul’s transformation, he claims (v. 15), was totally the action of God. His vocation involved two stages: he was set apart from his mother’s womb; he was called through God’s grace. In regard to v. 16, Betz says it is not clear why Paul uses the title “his Son.” Also, Paul’s use of the phrase ἐν ἐμοί could simply be a dative (“to me”), or Paul may understand “in me” to reflect a visionary experience. Betz thinks the two views complement each other. “This would mean that Paul’s experience was ecstatic in nature, and that in the course of his ecstasy he had a vision (whether external or internal or both—“I do not know, God knows” [cf. 2 Cor 12:2, 3]).”[275] The purpose of the vision is Paul’s commission to preach the gospel among the Gentiles. Betz notes that the object of the verb εὐαγγελίζωμαι (“that I might preach the gospel”) is masculine (“him”) where we might have expected neuter (“it,” i.e., the gospel). This shows, Betz observes, that Paul identifies Christ and the gospel. In vv. 16c-17 Paul tells what he did not do: he did not confer with humans and he did not go to Jerusalem. This is to answer the charge of his opponents that his gospel was “from men” (v. 11) or that his apostleship was derived from the Jerusalem authorities.
After the account of his Jerusalem visit Paul recounts the Jerusalem conference (2:1-10). Betz presents an Excursus on “The Conference at Jerusalem” that addresses the major problems.[276] As to the reasons for the conference, he notes the problem created by increasing numbers of Gentiles joining the church. Concerned conservative Jewish Christians came to Antioch—a center of Gentile Christianity—and demanded circumcision of the Gentile men (Acts 15:1). In response, a delegation was sent from Antioch to Jerusalem to discuss the issue. The negotiations were carried out by three groups: the delegation from Antioch (headed by Paul and Barnabas), the leaders of the Jerusalem church (James, Cephas, and John), and the conservative Jewish Christians (the “false brothers”). The final agreement, Betz points out, affirmed the Antioch position and rejected the view of the conservatives. However, the agreement involved a compromise: there were to be two missions and two gospels; the leaders of the Gentile mission pledged to collect an offering for the poor Christians of Jerusalem.
In the Interpretation Betz comments on 2:1-10, the second part of the narratio. The phrase “after fourteen years” (2:1) he understands as referring back to Paul’s first visit to Jerusalem after his call (1:18). As Betz points out, the conference includes two events: one a presentation “to them,” and another presentation to the reputed leaders. Paul makes it clear that the issue of controversy is his gospel—a gospel that did not require circumcision of Gentile converts. Betz insists that the phrase “that perhaps I may be running or might have run in vain” does not mean that Paul was seeking approval of his gospel from the Jerusalem authorities. Instead, it reflects the present concern of the Galatians, who have been warned by the opponents that without circumcision and Torah they (the Galatians) were running in vain. Paul presents as evidence the case of Titus (v. 3), who demonstrates that Paul was “running well” (5:7).
Paul’s description of the proceedings of the conference (2:4-10) is convoluted, including an anacoluthon in v. 4. However, Betz believes the basic meaning is clear. In v. 4 Paul employs the language of political demagoguery to describe the “false brothers” who had been “secretly smuggled in” to spy out our “freedom”—the very tactics the opponents are employing in Galatia. Verses 6-10 constitute a single sentence that presents the Jerusalem authorities in analogy to the opponents in Galatia. The Jerusalem leaders were hailed as “men of eminence,” but Paul, in a parenthesis, presents his own evaluation of them: what “they were” makes no difference to him; “God shows no partiality”—an idiom widely used in the OT.
Verses 6d-10 present the outcome of the conference. Paul asserts that the Jerusalem leaders did not add anything, that is, they did not require Gentile converts to submit to the requirements of Torah and circumcision. However, as Betz points out, Paul’s argument is precarious since he wants to avoid the impression that he acknowledged the higher authority of the Jerusalem leaders. Paul implies that he did not recognize them, but that they recognized him. Betz believes the statement in parentheses (v. 8)—“for he who worked through Peter making him an apostle to the circumcised also worked through me in sending me to the Gentiles”—may be an actual quotation from the agreement formulated at the conference. The statement affirms the equality of both missions: God worked through both. Verse 9 confirms that the Jerusalem leaders, now named (James, Cephas, and John) and designated “pillars,” recognized the “grace” (a Pauline term) that had been given Paul. The agreement was confirmed by an official act: “the right hand of fellowship,” sign of an agreement between equal partners. Betz believes the description of the two missions—“to the Gentiles” and “to the circumcised”—does not represent a territorial but an ethnic division. In v. 10 Paul reports a third result of the conference: “that we should remember the poor.” He says they (the Jerusalem leaders) asked “only” one thing. His use of “only,” Betz says, indicates Paul’s effort to gloss over the inconsistency: he claimed that the leaders added nothing, but now he acknowledges that they did add something. But since Paul says that he was eager to comply, he easily dismisses his concession as immaterial. Actually, as Betz points out, the argument contributed to Paul’s case with the Galatians: they knew of the offering and had actually participated in it, making them also participants in Paul’s argument.
The third part of the section Betz has designated narratio (2:11-14) is crammed with exegetical problems. Before his interpretation of these verses Betz inserts an Excursus on “The Conflict at Antioch.”[277] Paul’s account of this event, according to Betz, brings the history of Paul’s narration into contact with the present situation in Galatia. It indicates that the good relations between Paul and the Jerusalem authorities that had been established at the conference had deteriorated. “It appears that the break between Paul and the other Jewish missionaries . . . was irreparable.”[278]
In the Interpretation Betz observes that, in keeping with the prescriptions of narratio, Paul recounts the facts. Cephas came to Antioch (v. 11) for reasons that are not explained. Apparently it had become customary there for Jewish and Gentile members of the church to share common meals including, perhaps, the Lord’s Supper. In v. 12 Paul describes the behavior of Cephas: before the arrival of the “men from James,” Cephas participated in table fellowship with the Gentile Christians; after they came, he withdrew; he was afraid of the “men of the circumcision.” Betz says Paul’s terminology is military (“withdraw”) and cultic (“separate”). The men who came, probably with the backing of James, assumed they were supporting the Jerusalem agreement. They believed that Cephas, as leader of the mission to the circumcised, should exemplify the Jewish way of life. Cephas apparently recognized the logic of their argument and withdrew.
In sum, Cephas may have concluded that, given the theological presuppositions of the Jewish Christians he was expected to represent, his table fellowship was indefensible. In Paul’s terms Cephas “feared” the “political” consequences of losing his position of power. Peter chose the position of power and denied his theological convictions.[279]
In v. 14 Paul describes his bold accusation: “If you, though a Jew, live like a Gentile and not like a Jew, how can you compel the Gentiles to live like Jews?” Betz supposes that this confrontation occurred in something like a plenary assembly of the Antioch church. Paul’s charge is that Cephas is caught in a situation of self-contradiction. Although he was a Jew, his behavior in Antioch showed that he had abandoned Jewish ritual customs (lived “like a Gentile and not like a Jew”). In withdrawing table fellowship from the Gentiles he was, in effect, compelling Gentiles to observe Jewish restrictions (“to live like Jews”).
Ironically, therefore, by attempting to preserve the integrity of the Jewish Christians as Jews, Cephas destroys the integrity of the Gentile Christians as believers in Christ. Instead of welcoming them as converts to Christianity, he wants to make them into converts of Judaism. This contradicts the principles of the doctrine of justification by faith, which had been the basis of the faith thus far.[280]
This conclusion of the narratio leads into the propositio (2:15-21), a section Betz divides into four main parts. First, Paul sets forth the point of agreement: the doctrine of justification by faith (2:15-16). In v. 16, he presents his understanding of this foundational doctrine. As Betz points out, Paul sees the distinction between Christian and Jew as a difference in theological conviction. Jews believe that humans will be justified in the eschatological judgment by observing the ordinances of Torah. Paul argues instead that justification is by faith in Christ. Betz contends that the phrase ἡμεῖς εἰς Χριστὸν Ἰησοῦν ἐπιστεύσαμεν interprets the genitive of the previous phrase (πίστεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ). “This interpretation rules out the often-proposed but false idea that the genitive refers to the faith which Jesus himself had.”[281] Next, Paul presents a point of disagreement: the consequences for Gentile Christians (2:17-18). Betz attempts to unravel the complexities of Paul’s argument. Paul begins by identifying a false argument (that of the opponents). The first part of v. 17 is true (“we are seeking to be justified in Christ”); the second part is false (“we are found to be sinners”). Betz believes that the question, “Is Christ then a servant of sin?” reflects the implicit charge of the opponents, one that is obviously false.
Next, Paul sets forth the exposition of the propositio (2:18-20). Betz believes that Paul develops the exposition by means of four theses. These are expressed in the first person singular, indicating that Paul is prototype and example for all. (1) “Through the Torah I died to the Torah in order that I might live for God.” This means that the role of Torah has come to an end. (2) “I have been crucified together with Christ.” (3) “It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me.” Betz points out that to be crucified with Christ implies not only death to the Law, but death to the “I.” (4) “What I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” Betz says that Paul further defines faith by a statement that combines a christological title (“Son of God”) with a christological formula of two expressions: “loved me” and “gave himself up for me,” showing that Christ’s death was an act of love and self-sacrifice on behalf of the Christian.
Finally, Paul presents the refutation (2:21). In this verse he denies the charge that he is nullifying the grace of God. Betz believes this may be a charge of the opponents, supposing that redemption (the grace of God) requires participation in the Torah covenant. In any case, the charge is false: justification does not come through (the works of) the Law. Betz believes Paul has turned the charge into an accusation: it is Cephas and the Galatian opponents who have rejected the grace of God.
The next main section of the letter Betz labels “probatio” (3:1—4:31). In this section he arranges the material according to a series of arguments. The sixth (4:21-31) can serve as a final example of Betz’s commentary. In the Interpretation he observes that the whole section is doctrinal in character. The opening question (v. 21) displays the use of diatribe style. In ironic tone Paul addresses the Galatians who are about to submit to Torah. The second part of Paul’s question implies that if they would really listen to the Law they would become aware of the absurdity of their intentions. To make his point, Paul turns to Scripture. Although he uses an introductory formula (“it is written”), he does not actually quote but, as Betz observes, presents a tradition that summarizes Gen 16:15; 21:2-3, 9. In v. 23 Paul advances the argument by contrasting the two sons of Abraham: one is born “according to the flesh,” the other “according to the promise.” In v. 24 he moves beyond the allegory of the two sons to another “allegory,” this time actually using the term. According to this allegory, the two mothers represent two diametrically opposed covenants. The covenant represented by Hagar is that of Sinai, and Hagar’s children are destined to slavery, that is, slavery under the Law. In v. 25 Paul’s allegory is further expanded: Hagar corresponds to “the present Jerusalem,” but the free woman corresponds to “the Jerusalem above.” As Betz observes, the image of the heavenly Jerusalem is common in both Jewish and Christian apocalyptic. Paul concludes the allegory (v. 27) by quoting Isa 54:1, a text important for Jewish eschatology. Paul interprets the text as referring to Sarah (“the barren one”), who will become the mother of many, that is, the Christians whose mother is the “heavenly Jerusalem.”
In v. 28 Paul presents the consequences of the proof from Scripture: “but you, my brothers, are children of promise, like Isaac.” He uses second person plural to address the Gentile Christians of Galatia. In v. 29 Betz indicates that Paul employs typology: “as it was then . . . so it is now.” The typology contrasts the child born “according to the flesh” and the child born “according to the Spirit.” In v. 30 Paul quotes another proof from scripture (Gen 21:10: “Cast out this slave woman with her son”). Betz believes that Paul understands this text to mean that Jews are totally excluded from the promise, a view Paul was to revise when he wrote Romans 11. Verse 31 concludes the whole argument of 3:1—4:30. Paul uses first person plural, Betz observes, so as to include himself among the Gentile Christians, children of the “free woman.”
Betz’s second contribution to the Hermeneia series is a commentary on 2 Corinthians 8 and 9.[282] This work was, in fact, preceded by another historical-critical work on 2 Corinthians: Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition.[283] In essence this earlier book maintains that 2 Corinthians 10–13 is an “apology” in which Paul employs arguments reminiscent of the Socratic tradition. Betz begins with an investigation of the place of this section of 2 Corinthians within the Pauline letter corpus. He rehearses the history of research on the problem and agrees with scholars who identify 2 Corinthians 10–13 as a separate letter. He proceeds to discuss the “form-critical problem” of the letter. The Sitz im Leben, according to Betz, is a “trial” in the Corinthian community where the charge is made that Paul is not a legitimate apostle. Following the Socratic tradition, Paul adopts the method of the true philosophers in arguing against the sophists. He lists the charges made by the opponents against him (10:10): his letters are strong; his appearance is weak; his speech in contemptible. Betz observes that similar charges were made against Socrates by the Sophists. In 12:12 Paul refers to the “signs of the apostle,” a phrase coined by his opponents. The opponents, according to Betz, claim that they can perform such signs: wonders and mighty works. In response, Paul contends that he too can boast of such signs, but the examples he gives—parodies of a heavenly journey (12:2-4) and an oracle of “healing” (12:7-10)—actually prove Paul’s weakness. This weakness, however, is related to Paul’s basic christological argument. Paul’s weakness reflects the crucifixion of Christ, the weakness in which the power of God is at work. Looking back over the “apology,” Betz concludes that Paul argues on two levels: he employs the tradition of Socratic humanism; he affirms a christological theology. According to Betz these two approaches find a unity in the deepest experience of humanism and theology: the power of divine agape.
In the preface to his commentary on 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, Betz notes the significance of these chapters. “Here the great theologian that he was reveals himself to be involved with the toughest parts of church leadership: the raising of money for the needy; the establishing of voluntary cooperation among very different people, despite distances and fragile communication; the reconciliation between churches in different lands and cultures; and last but not least, the preservation of the church as a Christian institution.”[284] An introductory chapter rehearses the investigation of these chapters in the history of NT scholarship. In this historical account Betz reviews a variety of partition theories running all the way from J. S. Semler to Dieter Georgi. Betz reserves his own conclusion to the end of the commentary; his intention is to answer the question on the basis of thorough exegesis of the two chapters. He treats each chapter as a separate letter and considers each according to the categories of classical rhetoric. Space allows only a short survey of Betz’s detailed exegesis.
In regard to 2 Corinthians 8, Betz designates vv. 1-5 as an “advisory section” in which Paul commends the collection for the church in Jerusalem. In the exordium (8:1-5) he reminds the Corinthians of the generosity of the Macedonian churches. In 8:6, the narratio, Paul tells the Corinthians that Titus, who earlier had begun work on the collection, was coming to bring that work to completion. The propositio (8:7-8) typically sets forth agreements: in this case, the virtues of the Corinthians—faithfulness, eloquence, and knowledge. Paul also expresses his hope that they will excel in generosity in regard to the collection. In this matter Paul will not issue a command, although he does say that the collection will be a test of the genuineness of their love. The probatio (2 Cor 8:9-15) sets forth a series of proofs. The first (v. 9) is doctrinal: the Jerusalem offering presents an opportunity to respond to the example of Christ. The second proof (vv. 10-12) is an argument from expediency: it is expedient to complete what has been begun. Betz notes that in v. 11 Paul uses the word “willingness,” a business term. The third proof (vv. 13-15) is from equality: the abundance of the Corinthians can balance the poverty of Jerusalem.
Betz describes 8:16-23 as the “legal section,” one in which Paul moves from argument to official business. The significance of this section is the authorization of envoys (Titus and the two brothers) to serve in the completion of the collection. Betz observes that technical terms associated with official procedures of this sort are used. According to Betz’s reconstruction, Titus is the leader of the delegation, one of the brothers was chosen by the churches, and the second brother was selected by Paul. The letter (2 Corinthians 8) was carried to Corinth by these envoys. Verse 24 (the peroratio) presents the final appeal that summarizes the letter. Paul urges the Corinthians to give proof of their love and provide the occasion for Paul to boast about them.
Betz next presents his commentary on 2 Corinthians 9. In investigating the exordium (9:1-2) he notes that the major critical issue is the question: Is Paul beginning a new letter or is he merely moving to a new section of the same letter? Betz argues in support of the former. When Paul says (v. 2) that he has been boasting to Macedonia that Achaia has been ready for a year, Betz says that he is referring to the churches of Achaia, not to Corinth.[285] In the narratio (9:3-5a) Paul justifies the sending of the two brothers. His use of the epistolary aorist in v. 3 (ἔπεμψα), on the analogy of his use of συνεπέμψαμεν in 8:18, 22, suggests to Betz that Paul wrote two letters at about the same time: 2 Corinthians 8 to Corinth, 2 Corinthians 9 to Achaia. In the propositio (9:5bc) Paul implies that the Achaians should take responsibility for completing the collection, including encouraging the participation of the Corinthians. The probatio (9:6-14), in which Betz finds evidence of Paul’s use of “agrarian theology,” consists of a series of arguments that support the importance of giving generously. According to Betz, Paul’s purpose is to persuade the Achaians that their help is necessary for completing the collection. The letter concludes with the peroratio, which includes a prayer that sets in motion, according to Betz, a service of thanksgiving in the Achaian churches.
After the commentaries on the two letters Betz presents a chapter summarizing his understanding of their literary genre and function. He concludes that the letter of Chapter 8 is a type of official epistle: a letter of recommendation meant to accompany royal envoys. “[I]t is an official letter sent by an individual writing with an official capacity to a corporate body, the church at Corinth, along with the officially appointed envoys.”[286] The letter of Chapter 9, according to Betz, is an advisory letter of deliberative rhetoric. This is a letter sent to the Christians of Achaia, urging them to provide an example for the Corinthians in the successful completion of the offering.
Betz’s final chapter deals with the relation of the two letters to the rest of the Corinthian correspondence. First Corinthians 16:1-4 indicates that the collection had already begun in Corinth. Between the time of 1 Corinthians and the writing of 2 Corinthians 8 and 2 Corinthians 9, a crisis and its resolution have occurred. Betz believes the climax of the crisis is reflected in 2 Corinthians 10–13 (an apologetic letter). Before 2 Corinthians 10–13, according to Betz, an earlier apologetic letter (2 Cor 2:14–6:13 + 7:2-4) had been written, responding to charges against the legitimacy of Paul’s apostleship that were already evident in 1 Corinthians. The resolution of the conflict is seen in the “letter of reconciliation” (2 Cor 1:1–2:13 + 7:5-16 + 13:11-13). This letter, according to Betz, immediately precedes the two letters of 2 Corinthians 8 and 2 Corinthians 9. Thus the observer can conclude that Betz construes 2 Corinthians as a composite of five letter fragments: the first apologetic letter (2:14—6:13 + 7:2-4), the second apologetic letter (10:1—13:10), the letter of reconciliation (1:1—2:13 + 7:5-16 + 13:11-13), an official letter sent to Corinth (2 Corinthians 8), and a advisory letter sent to Achaia (2 Corinthians 9).
Hans Dieter Betz’s magnum opus is his massive commentary on the Sermon on the Mount, a pyrotechnic display of erudition.[287] In his introduction he presents a review of the history of research on the Sermon on the Mount (SM) and the Sermon on the Plain (SP) from the ancient church to the twentieth century. Historical critical work on the Sermon began with the Enlightenment. In the nineteenth century, J. G. Eichhorn believed Matthew and Luke used a common source. Betz is particularly interested in the work of C. F. Georg Heinrici, who believed the SM and the SP were two separate redactional products of pre-Synoptic origin. He observes that in the course of historical critical work on the two sermons, scholars increasingly favored Q as the underlying source. After reviewing various options, Betz concludes that the SM and the SP were formulated independently and later incorporated into Q. To explain the differences between SM and SP, Betz says that “the conclusion is most likely that Matthew as well as Luke found the SM and the SP, respectively, in their recension of Q (QMatt and QLuke).”[288]
Next Betz takes up the question of the literary compositions. He believes both the SM and the SP are the work of pre-Synoptic authors or redactors, not the compositions of Matthew and Luke. To present the structure of the composition Betz offers a very detailed (nine-page) conspectus of the SM. The Sermon has four main sections: exordium (Matt 5:3-16), the main part (Matt 5:17—7:12), the eschatological warnings (Matt 7:13-23), and peroration (Matt 7:24-27). Betz also presents a conspectus of the SP (three pages) and orders the material in three parts: exordium (Luke 6:20b-26), rules for the conduct of disciples (Luke 6:27-45), and peroration (Luke 6:46-49). In overview, Betz observes that the two sermons display great similarity and great difference. “The evidence leads me to conclude that the SM and the SP represent two separate and textually independent elaborations of a common pattern of composition.”[289] The differences are the result of different elaborations of similar material, designed for different audiences: the SM for hearers who are culturally Jewish, the SP for an audience that is culturally Greek. “These observations lead me to conclude that one must explain the compositions of the SM and the SP, their similarities and their differences, by their literary genre and function, rather than by source criticism as understood in the terms of Harnack.”[290]
In regard to the literary genre, Betz contends that each sermon should be classified as an epitome, comparable to the Encheiridion of Epictetus, which follows the prototype of the Kyriai Doxai of Epicurus. As to the literary function of the sermons, Betz believes both served as instruction for disciples. He thinks they were originally conceived as oral texts. Both sermons, Betz points out, repeat the idea of “doing”; they are intended to maintain what in Hellenistic-philosophical terms is called ἀσκεῖν (“training”) and μελετᾶν (“practicing).” “My hypothesis is, therefore, that the two epitomai of the SM and the SP were created by the early Jesus movement, one (the SM) to instruct converts from Judaism, the other (the SP) to instruct those coming from the Greek background.”[291]
Betz’s commentary on the SM is some 480 pages in length. A few examples from two of the most important sections—the beatitudes and the antitheses—can provide small samples. Betz begins his investigation of the beatitudes (5:3-12) with an introduction. As to the basic meaning of the beatitudes (or macarisms), he says that they represent a literary genre that has parallels in Greek literature. The beatitudes in the SM are declarative in nature; they express the eschatological judgment of God; they are concerned with morality and ethical action. In his interpretation Betz takes up the beatitudes one by one. In regard to the first (v. 3), he says the blessing of the “poor” is an ancient topos that assumes the human condition to be one of poverty and misery. He contends that the phrase “in spirit” does not represent a spiritualizing or softening of Jesus’ original radicalism, but instead indicates an intellectual insight into the human condition. The use of the phrase “kingdom of the heavens” reflects a worldview of multiple heavens and affirms that the realm of God is beyond earth and sky and is already present.
Betz notes that the second beatitude (v. 4) praises those who mourn. Since poverty is the human condition, grief is the expected response. Betz notes, however, that the beatitude is “unconditionally affirmative”; mourning is praised. The reason for this assessment is expressed in v. 4b: “they shall find consolation”—an idea confirmed by Scripture (Isa 61:2). Betz believes the promise of consolation is an eschatological prediction: God will provide consolation in his eternal reign of justice. In regard to the third beatitude (v. 5), Betz suggests that “meek” is a variation on “poor in spirit.” He notes that meekness was valued in Jewish piety and is a synonym for humility—a virtue, according to the Greeks. The second part of the beatitude (v. 5b) is an adaptation of Ps. 36:11 (LXX) and constitutes an eschatological promise: in the new age God will hand over the earth to the faithful. Betz believes the fourth beatitude (v. 6) is important for the theology of the SM. This beatitude assumes that the human condition is unrighteousness. Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness are seeking a way out of the world of injustice. Betz believes the SM understands “righteousness” in the Jewish sense: God represents righteousness and the kingdom of the heavens is the realm of God’s righteousness. The hunger for righteousness will not be satisfied until the eschatological future, a metaphor anticipating the eschatological banquet.
“Blessed are the merciful,” the fifth beatitude (v. 7), reflects a well-known doctrine of Jewish religion. Betz observes that Greek literature also affirms the value of mercy. The consequence of the blessing (v. 7b) is again to be understood eschatologically. Betz believes the future passive (ἐλεηθήσονται) indicates that at the last judgment God will show mercy to those who have done deeds of mercy in their lives. According to the sixth beatitude (v. 8), the “pure in heart” are blessed. In the history of religion, as Betz observes, stress is put on ritual purity. He believes the concept of purity of heart intensifies the internal aspect. The promise of seeing God implies an experience of vision—rare in the OT and NT, but common in apocalyptic. Betz believes the SM assumes that those who enter into the kingdom (7:21-23) will see God. The seventh beatitude (v. 9) presents peacemaking as a virtue. The SM sees God as the principal peacemaker and the disciples as God’s agents in making peace. As a consequence they shall be called “sons of God,” the promise of honorific titles in the eschatological future.
Betz observes that the eighth beatitude (v. 10) stands as the end of the beatitudes formulated in the third person, and that the second line (v. 10b) repeats the second line of the first beatitude (v. 3b), creating an inclusio. The theme of righteousness reaches a climax in the eighth beatitude. Betz believes the use of the perfect participle (οἱ δεδιωγμένοι) indicates that persecution has occurred in the past and continues in the present. This beatitude sums up the beatitudes of 5:3-10: the sequence of virtues in vv. 3a-9a is combined with the sequence of eschatological promises (vv. 4b-9b) and “is held together by the theme of the kingdom of the heavens, in which righteousness reigns and will ultimately prevail.”[292]
The exegesis of the antitheses can provide additional examples of Betz’s exegetical research.[293] The examples will be drawn from the first, second, and fourth antitheses, that is, those that are usually considered “original” or “authentic.” In his introduction to the antitheses Betz raises questions. What kind of argument do the antitheses present? He answers that antithesis is a rhetorical device that states an argument: a scriptural interpretation is refuted as false; the false interpretation is countered by the interpretation of Jesus. Do the antitheses imply a “higher christology”? Betz’s basic answer is “no”; the SM is not concerned with messianism. The main intent of the sermon is to present Jesus as the righteous man who teaches with authority. In regard to the controversial question of sources, Betz concludes that “the set of six antitheses are the creation of the redactor of the SM and are thus pre-Matthean.”[294]
The first antithesis in concerned with murder (Matt 5:21-26). In the Interpretation section Betz explicates the details of the antithesis. He believes it addresses the listeners in terms of their present situation; they are recipients of previous interpretation, the tradition given “to the men of old.” The SM rejects the interpretation and the claim that it represents authoritative tradition. The alleged tradition is presented in two statements: a quotation from the Decalogue (“you shall not kill”) and an interpretation of the command in the form of casuistic law (everyone who kills will be “answerable to the court”). In v. 22 Jesus is presented as contradicting the casuistic law by offering an alternative: “every one who is angry with his brother shall be answerable to the court.” According to Betz, the SM presents Jesus as changing casuistic criminal law into moral rule. Jesus supports his interpretation by two illustrations. First (v. 22c) he says, “Everyone who says to his brother ‘empty-head’ shall be answerable to the high court.” Betz interprets this as a parodistic exaggeration that ridicules the notion that moral offense is subject to court action. The second illustration (v. 22d) is even more absurd: “Everyone who says (to him) ‘fool’ shall be guilty (enough) for the Gehenna of fire.”
These illustrations are supported by two narratives. The first (vv. 23-24) depicts an episode in ritual offering, illustrating a cultic-ethical conflict. The altar, Betz believes, is the altar of burnt offering in the Jerusalem temple. At the moment of offering the gift, the one making the offering (“you”) remembers that “your brother has something against you.” Betz thinks this recalls the command of Lev 19:18 (“love your neighbor”); the gift at the altar, he believes, is an expression of love toward God. “Going ahead with the sacrifice without reconciling oneself with the brother would in effect separate love of God and love of brother.”[295] The solution is to leave the gift at the altar and go and be reconciled to your brother. Betz calls attention to the wording “go first.” “It establishes a religious priority: reconciliation must precede the sacrifice.”[296] The second illustrative narrative depicts two people on the way to obtain a decision regarding a dispute between them. They are advised to settle out of court. Betz says this advice is not merely prudence but is related to the text; the term εὐνοεῖν (“to be well disposed”) indicates that the underlying issue is anger, the subject of the whole antithesis. Jesus’ teaching calls for control over anger and changing it into friendship so that there will be no need to go to court. The conclusion of the argument of the antithesis, according to Betz, is that the root cause of murder is anger, the opposite of brotherly love. The message of the SM is that one should come to grips with anger by reconciliation and the restoration of brotherly love.
The second antithesis (Matt 5:27-30) deals with the prohibition of adultery in the Decalogue (Exod 20:14). In v. 28, the SM presents the adequate interpretation: a redefinition of adultery. “Everyone who looks at a woman with lust” has committed adultery. Betz notes the role of the eye in erotic love: to look arouses desire. The movement is from outside to inside: from the eye to the desire of the heart. Betz says the terminology indicates that the woman is married. The SM presents a shift from the physical violation of a taboo to a decision of the heart prior to the physical act. The demonstration of the validity of the interpretation (v. 29) employs two examples, one concerning the eye, the other the hand. The example of the eye presents a hypothetical situation whereby a physiological problem presents a moral example: trouble with the eye causes adultery. The cure seems absurd, but, as Betz observes, the choice is the lesser of two evils. Losing the eye is bad, but it is better than losing the whole body. The second example (v. 30) is parallel to the first. Again self-mutilation is better than loss of the whole body. As in the earlier example, the choice is put into an eschatological context: the whole body could be thrown into Gehenna. Betz sums up the SM’s understanding of Jesus’ interpretation. Adultery leads to the disruption of family relations; it begins with a man’s look at another man’s wife with desire. Prevention must begin with gaining control of the erotic process that moves from heart to eye to physical act. “Considering the overall framework of the antitheses, the point should be clear: avoidance of adultery is a special application of the love-command, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”[297]
Betz observes that the fourth antithesis (Matt 5:33-37), like the first, presents the full expression of the chain of tradition (“you have heard that it was said”) and includes the source of the tradition, “the men of old.” Verse 33 also includes the quotation “you shall not swear an oath falsely.” But, as Betz asks, what is the text to which the SM refers? He notes various suggestions, including the idea that the quotation is from Exod 20:16 (“you shall not bear false witness against your neighbor”). Betz also observes that prohibition of perjury is found in Hellenistic Judaism, especially in the wisdom literature. He believes the form of the expression suggests a religious vow; the issue is not only perjury but oaths sworn before God, constituting a debt to God. The use of ἀποδίδωμι (“giving back”), according to Betz, means making good on a religious vow. The correct interpretation is given in v. 34, “do not swear at all,” but how this relates to keeping vows (v. 33c) is not clear. In any case, vv. 34-37 present four examples of things by which one should not swear. Betz notes the progression: from heaven to earth to the center of the earth (Jerusalem) to one’s head. Swearing by heaven (“the throne of God”), according to Betz, means overstepping human limitations. The second example, “nor by the earth, for it is his footstool” (Isa 66:1) is forbidden for the same reason; the earth is not under human control but is the realm of God. Betz thinks the reference to Jerusalem may suggest that the provenance of the SM may be the early Christian community in that city. The fourth and final example is swearing by one’s head. Betz says that the idea that one cannot make one’s hair white or black is proverbial; ancient medicine and cosmetic art had developed methods of dying hair. The conclusion is expressed in v. 37: “Let your word be ‘Yes, Yes’ or ‘No, No’; anything more than this comes from the evil one.” This command, according to Betz, transcends the issue of oathtaking and makes a statement about the nature and use of language. The view of the SM is radical, prohibiting anything beyond ordinary language. “Yes, Yes” and “No, No” is not an oath, but intensified affirmation and denial.
In view of the breadth and depth of the work of Hans Dieter Betz, any attempt at critique is presumptuous. Above all, one is impressed, indeed overwhelmed, by his mastery of the material of the history of religions. Betz’s emphasis, to be sure, is on the classical and Hellenistic sources. However, he displays extensive knowledge of the Jewish sources as well. Nevertheless, one gets the impression that Betz is more at home in Athens than in Jerusalem. Also in regard to his history of research there is ongoing debate concerning the “divine man.” While Betz affirms the importance of the idea, others have argued that the whole concept is a scholarly construct. Yet, whether or not one agrees with Betz, everyone will have to acknowledge that he has collected source material essential for the discussion.
In regard to Betz’s commentaries, some reviewers have objected to his use of classical rhetoric and his identification of the genre of the texts. For instance, in the Galatians commentary objections have been raised to his identification of the epistle as an “apologetic letter.” Is it really valid to view the setting as a courtroom scene in which Paul is the defendant? Is it not equally possible to see the Galatians or the opponents as defendants and Paul as the prosecutor? But what these questions seem to suggest is that imposing rhetorical or genre patterns on the epistles is not without problems.
Despite these objections, Betz’s work proves that the study of classical rhetoric and literary genres is essential to NT research. His reconstruction in the commentary on 2 Corinthians 8 and 9 is imaginative. Here, it seems to me, his use of genre criticism is especially insightful. His detection of technical business terms in 2 Corinthians 8 is compelling, and his argument for two separate letters is impressive. However, his ingenious theory that the two letters have different recipients, Corinth and Achaia, is less than convincing. Also, Betz does not provide an adequate explanation for the redactional ordering of the five letter fragments into canonical 2 Corinthians.
As to the magisterial commentary on the Sermon on the Mount, questions have been raised concerning Betz’s source theory. Most scholars continue to suppose that the source of both the SM and the SP is to be found in Q, and that the sermons as we have them are the independent redactional work of the authors of Matthew and Luke. However, this criticism, like the criticisms of the two other commentaries, is minor in comparison with the vast contribution of Betz’s exegetical research. His work is marked by careful analysis, attention to textual and linguistic detail, theological sensitivity, and mastery of an immense number of secondary sources. Betz belongs to the venerable tradition of German scholarship, grounded in the mastery of the classical languages and skilled in the methods of historical and literary research. Let us hope he is not the last!
All that can be said in summary of the work of Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza has been said at the end of the review of her work. As a unique scholar who opposes historical critical method, she should not be compared with others who adopt it, nor would she want to be.Each of the other scholars reviewed in this chapter has some distinguishing feature: Martyn’s affirmation of apocalyptic, Keck’s perception of theology, Furnish’s emphasis on ethics, Betz’s commitment to history of religion research. To be sure, the distinguishing features are not exclusive. All four scholars recognize the importance of eschatology. All attend to ethics and all are NT theologians. All are concerned with the historical setting, but Betz gives more attention to the Hellenistic context. Martyn and Keck emphasize OT and Jewish backgrounds, but neither has adopted the “new perspective.” Furnish properly avoids an either Jewish or Hellenistic context.
The four scholars differ in their assessment of the same sources. Betz analyzes Galatians according to rubrics of classical rhetoric; Martyn rejects this approach. Furnish views 2 Corinthians as a composite of two letters; Betz identifies five. All recognize the importance of Paul but view him from different perspectives: Martyn through the lens of Galatians, Keck through Romans, Furnish through the Corinthian correspondence, and Betz from the history of religion perspective.
The Yale scholars emphasize the “Christ-event,” an expression that reflects the continuing influence of the new biblical theology (Barth and Bultmann) on the entire history of NT theology in the twentieth century. One wonders whether this terminology does justice to the understanding of Jesus as a person, an emphasis found in Keck’s early work and implicit in Furnish. Related is the ongoing, unresolved debate about faith “in Christ” or the “faithfulness of Christ.” Another feature that belongs to the legacy of Bultmann is the tendency to identify one’s own theology with the theologians of the NT. The theology of Martyn, Keck, and Furnish is the theology of their understanding of the theology of Paul.
On one point all four scholars are in total agreement: the importance, indeed, the necessity of the historical-critical method for NT research. These scholars demonstrate beyond question that historical criticism is alive and well at the beginning of the twenty-first century. The continuing value of the method is brilliantly illustrated by the excellence of research these exceptional scholars have produced. They also agree on the crucial importance of the theological understanding of the text, an understanding toward which their critical and exegetical endeavors are directed.
806-4. Quoted in “Looking Back,” 7. ↵
806-9. Priester für Gott, 418. ↵
806-13. In Memory of Her, 29. ↵
806-42. Rhetoric and Ethic, 163–65. ↵
806-44. See Rhetoric and Ethic, 39–42. ↵
806-46. See Bread Not Stone, 15–22; But She Said, 57–76. ↵
806-47. Bread Not Stone, 20. ↵
806-49. Rhetoric and Ethic, 55. ↵
806-50. But She Said, 134–63. ↵
806-56. Book of Revelation, 2. ↵
806-61. Reconstructing Christian Origins?, 9. ↵
806-62. Rhetoric and Ethic, 33. ↵
806-66. “A Personal Word,” 11. ↵
806-67. “Attentive to the Text,” 24. ↵
806-70. History and Theology, 29. ↵
806-87. See p. 546, n. 100 above. ↵
806-105. J. Louis Martyn, Theological Issues in the Letters of Paul (Nashville: Abingdon, 1997). ↵
806-111. See pp. 284–89 above. ↵
806-112. Theological Issues, 209–30. ↵
806-120. Leander E. Keck, The New Testament Experience of Faith (St. Louis: Bethany, 1976). ↵
806-122. Leander E. Keck, Paul and His Letters, 2nd ed., PC (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988). ↵
806-123. Paul and His Letters, 29. ↵
806-135. Leander E. Keck, Romans, ANTC (Nashville: Abingdon, 2005). ↵
806-201. “Acknowledgments,” in Theology and Ethics, xix. ↵
806-202. “Preface,” Essays in Honor of Victor Paul Furnish, ix. ↵
806-204. Willis, “Bibliography,” 307. ↵
806-207. Theology and Ethics, xvii. ↵
806-211. See pp. 49–50 above. ↵
806-212. Theology and Ethics, 110. ↵
806-247. II Corinthians, 201. ↵
806-253. Victor P. Furnish, 1 Thessalonians, 2 Thessalonians, ANTC (Nashville: Abingdon, 2007). ↵
806-256. “Paul the Theologian,” 26. ↵
806-261. Furnish’s Theology of Ethics, 321–42. ↵
806-265. “Editors’ Preface,” xi. ↵
806-266. Adela Yarbro Collins, “Introduction,” 3. ↵
806-284. 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, xii. ↵
806-285. This view had been proposed earlier by Günther Bornkamm; see p. 149 above. ↵