ACCESSING DIVINE POWER AND STATUS
Introduction
I have chosen the phrase “accessing power” as a neutral descriptor for the ritualized actions I want to discuss (by contrast, see the issue of “magic” discussed later in this Introduction). Accessing divine power is a broad category. Each of the chapters in the first section of this book deals with aspects of accessing such power. Chapter 1 focuses on human actions to honor and please the gods and thereby access divine benefits. Chapter 3 examines a particular type of sought-for benefit: knowledge (usually of the future, though it could be of esoteric or mysterious aspects of existence). This chapter investigates accessing divine power through a detailed case study of an issue discussed in two Pauline texts. The intent of this case study is to demonstrate the utility of ritual theory and analysis to raise questions about a poorly understood ritual activity in Pauline communities, and to find significant grounds to propose that Paul’s adoption theology arose as a response to that ritual activity and kept it under control.
Chapters in this book position early Christianity entirely within a Greco–Roman cultural context. Earlier scholarship often made incorrect assumptions about early Christians: that they saw themselves as citizens of heaven more than earth, that they avoided “magical” practices and only engaged in spiritual activities, thus that they were quite unlike their polytheist neighbors. This book generally and this chapter in particular challenge that assumption. Roman rituals were largely oriented towards benefits in this world. Thus, the focus of benefits sought by early Christians in accessing divine power will be considered from a this-world perspective, in other words, tangible rewards in this life.
Some scholars, especially those writing scripture commentaries, have a preconceived notion of what is theologically “true,” and therefore either ignore or fail to take seriously other perspectives. Successful New Testament interpretation necessitates developing a healthy imagination and the ability to put oneself in a variety of ancient shoes. It also requires putting aside a desire to shoehorn texts into an overall systematic theological framework which might screen out very real anomalies, experiments, and divergent practices. People in the ancient world did not seek to be “heretical.” That is a label employed in a polemical sense by their opponents, who sought to marginalize them. “Wise, fearless, inspired” – that is how people would have characterized themselves. I have not approached the data by asking, “How were these people wrong?” but rather “What were these sincerely religious people doing, why were they doing it, and in particular how did they do it?”
Some of the rituals considered under the heading “accessing divine power” might be called “magic” in older scholarship. Many scholars working in the study of ancient texts have come to recognize that terms such as “magic” or “miracle” involve subjective assessments of value (i.e., “we” do miracle, “they” do magic; “we” are good people and “they” are bad). I avoid ascribing any good/bad, correct/incorrect, orthodox/heretical assessment to the actions in view. While such evaluations may be useful in a theological framework, they are unhelpful in digging out the issues which lie behind New Testament texts. Thus, as noted above, the more neutral phrase “accessing divine power” is used here. That being said, while I have tried to avoid labeling the ritual activity I am assessing as “magic,” I find that I cannot entirely avoid use of the term, because it is in data labeled as “magical practices” that we may find analogues to the ritual I am examining.
In addition to the emphasis on considering this-world benefits, two other points should be mentioned at the outset. These are determinative in the argumentation of this chapter. First, we need to consider the issue that action often precedes thought; experience and feeling often come before interpretation. This is a point raised by the theory of Clifford Geertz. Second and related to this point is that we need to consider that ritualized experiences of an unusual nature (dramatic, emotional, exhilarating, empowering, visionary) may have been prized as benefits in and of themselves – apart from any other result – and may have been a catalyst for later interpretation.
The thesis of the case study
I estimate that in some early Jesus assemblies known to Paul, members are performing ritual actions involving deep breathing or inarticulate sighs and moans which produce powerful emotional reactions. At first, the exhilaration or deep feelings resulting from these rituals is pleasurable in itself. Later, group members propose that they had achieved divine power or had become divinized (god-like). I suggest that the experience came first, and interpretation followed.
These actions are happening at two centers: Rome (Romans 8, especially 8:14–17) and Galatia (Galatians 4, especially 4:6). The issue in those two centers is the same – a ritual cry of “Abba” – as is the result – Paul’s adoption theology. Paul wants to manage and control these situations. He views them as problematic or having the potential to be problematic, since they involve people seizing divine power through their own efforts rather than receiving it as a gift from God (as Paul would want them to think). I assert that Paul’s statements and theology arise in response to these situations. He wants to domesticate the issue, do damage control, and helpfully explain the situation in ways that will shape the behavior. This thesis is a new way to understand Paul’s adoption theology.
Here are the specifics of the thesis. I find two phases of a ritual. Phase 1 involves deep breathing by group members, perhaps in an attempt to take in the spirit of God (see discussion of this point in the “we are sons and background” sections). There are no specific words at this point, though there are sighs or groans and an emotional release. We see evidence of this stage in Romans 8:23 “we … groan inwardly” and 8:26 “sighs too deep for words.” The result of this ritualized activity is exhilaration and a feeling of power. I estimate that the ritual at this point is entirely or at least largely experiential and non-cognitive. It may involve manipulation of autonomic nervous systems through ritual and meditation (see discussion on breathwork in the “ritual theory” section). The experience is distinct, and it is valued.
Phase 2 involves interpretation by group members, and then adaptation of the ritual in light of their experience and their explanation of its significance. The experience is interpreted as being filled with God or becoming god-like, achieving divinization, or becoming a son of God. Thus, we see that ritual is not static but can be responsive to ideas and values of the community. On the dynamic nature of ritual, see Hüsken and Neubert 2012, 2, and Lamoreaux Forthcoming, 3. As I will demonstrate, divinization or claims to divine sonship were part of the conceptual landscape in the first century, so it is legitimate to investigate such claims here. The first step of this second phase may have been vocalization of the Aramaic word “Abba” (Father). Whether this step was stand-alone, or whether the word “Abba” was immediately joined with the Greek phrase ho patēr (“Father”, essentially an explanation of the Aramaic), is open to conjecture. A case can be made from a ritual studies perspective that the Aramaic “Abba” came first, and then the saying was expanded to include the Greek. I will offer rationales for that scenario below. What we can say conclusively is that in Rom 8:15 and also Gal 4:6 we see the fully-developed version of the ritual – “we cry Abba! Father!”
Ritual theory
First, we consider the following issue noted in ritual studies: at times, ritual action may precede concept. The American anthropologist Clifford Geertz estimates that “it is out of the context of concrete acts of religious observance that religious conviction emerges on the human plane” (Geertz 1966, 28–29). Here, Geertz suggests that we should not assume that a ritual always is an expression of previously existing concepts or beliefs of a community. Geertz allows for the possibility that ritual comes first, shaping ideas and creating new concepts. Geertz urges us to take seriously the experiential aspect of ritual. From a psychological perspective, experience is pre-cognitive, and experience may generate any number of interpretations. The theory of Geertz also suggests that the ideas or rationales behind actions, particularly ritual actions, may be inchoate or not well defined conceptually at first.
Ritual is a complex phenomenon. In ritual studies, there is a growing appreciation of that complexity and a view that no one explanation or function of ritual will suffice. Ronald Grimes 1992 has a nuanced review of the questions “are ritualists necessarily pre-critical?” (1992, 28–35) and “is ritual necessarily meaningful?” (1992, 35–38). The answers to these questions are debated in the academy. That being said, several scholars of ritual theory are in line with the assessment of Geertz. Claude Lévi-Strauss defined ritual as, “words uttered, gestures performed and objects manipulated, independently of any gloss or commentary that might be authorized or prompted by these three forms of activity” (1981, 671). Fritz Staal estimates that ritual is best understood in terms of action rather than interpretation, going so far as to assert, “ritual is pure activity, without meaning or goal” and has intrinsic value in and of itself among its practitioners (1979, 9). Dan Sperber calls ritual “evocative” and “stimulative,” in an experiential rather than cognitive way (1975, 118). Gilbert Lewis notes that:
it may be more helpful to think generally of what happens in ritual in terms of stimulation rather than communication … we do not “decode” it to make sense of it or understand it. We are affected by it.
(Lewis 1980, 34)
Grimes labels ritual knowledge “tacit” (rather than cognitive) and describes it as “preconscious, implicit and embodied” (1992, 37). Frank Gorman notes that “ritual may generate narrative and story” (1994, 23). Richard DeMaris similarly asserts that rites can be “generative and creative” (2008, 8). Here we may also consider the ineffable (non-verbal) quality of mystical experience and the related field of ritual experience. William James provided the classic statement on the issue in 1902 and it remains a widely accepted assessment:
The handiest of the marks by which I classify a state of mind as mystical is negative. The subject of it immediately says that it defies expression; that no adequate report of its contents can be given in words. It follows from this that its quality must be directly experienced.
(1902, 538)
On this, see also Staal: “mysticism … points to a pre-linguistic state which can be induced by ritual, by recitation, by silent meditation on mantras, or by other means” (1979, 20).
Next, we turn to the fields of psychology and physiology. Human consciousness is a complex network of conscious and autonomic systems. These systems are distinct but work together in a variety of feedback loops. Studies on mysticism or ecstatic states find that intentional (i.e., conscious) actions such as meditation or ritual can push the autonomic systems beyond their usual thresholds. Out of these intense experiences (either hyperarousal or hyperquiescence) may arise feelings of exhilaration, loss of sense of bounded self, and/or unity with something higher or with everything. Here, see Eugene G. D’Aquili and Andrew B. Newberg 1999, and their earlier works of 1993a and 1993b. It is worth noting that the autonomic systems are pre-cognitive and experiential, whereas the central and frontal brain areas are the seats of cognition. Thus, we see an interplay between experience and interpretation. For a ground-breaking use of psychological theories of ecstatic states in Pauline studies, see Shantz 2009.
In reference to particular ritual activities, what is known as “breathwork” is a recognized technique which can lead to altered states of consciousness, and it involves controlled breathing either of a slow and deep or a rapid and rhythmic kind. See Kathryn Lee and Patricia Speier 1996; J. Scott Young, Craig S. Cashwell, and Amanda L. Giorando 2010; and Kylea Taylor 1994. Lee and Speier note that breathwork is a pan-cultural phenomenon, used by North and South American and African shamans, the Kalahari !Kung Bushmen, Zen and other Buddhist traditions, and yogis in the Pranayama school in India (1996, 336–37). Young, Cashwell, and Giorando add Chinese chi and Japanese ki work (2010, 113). They also state “sustained conscious breathing provided a bridge between the conscious and the unconscious,” freeing up repressed emotions and facilitating altered states of consciousness (2010, 115). I suggest that the ubiquity of this phenomenon gives us a legitimate point of comparison with and possible explanation of the inarticulate groans mentioned by Paul, and any deep emotions or experiences of unitary state resulting from such acts.
A brief observation about Pauline studies
Some commentators (often operating from a theological perspective) give Paul a privileged or authoritative status. They assume that Paul is correct in his statements of religious matters, and in fact through alleged divine inspiration he has been granted a firm grasp of transcendent truths. This a priori assumption makes it difficult for those scholars to recognize weaknesses in Paul’s arguments. Commentators may fail to take seriously the issues behind Paul’s letters or the actions of Paul’s opponents. It is commonly accepted by scholars that Paul’s letters are “occasional” – that is, they arise in response to specific issues in particular communities. Yet, in some analyses, the occasion has been lost in the result as all attention is focused on Paul’s response. I push the analysis back to the occasion itself – prior to whatever answer(s) Paul comes up with. And I see the occasion as a legitimate phase in itself, regardless of what Paul may think about it. As I suggest below, a shaky and convoluted argument by Paul may give us reason to see that he rather desperately is seeking to control a situation by whatever means he can muster.
To assist in the task of re-conceptualizing our understanding of Paul’s role, I propose another model – that of the bricoleur. This charming French term came into English usage by the French anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss (1966, 16–22; cf. discussion in Derrida 1978, 284–87). Here is a definition of bricoleur, an appropriate description of Paul:
the bricoleur (a handyman, jack-of-all trades and professions) exemplifies an approach to problem-solving in which each problem occasion is negotiated in situ. What is in each case addressed is not strictly predefined, even though a general objective (e.g., unlock a door, fix a broken machine) may provide the context for the undertaking. Through playful exploration (rather than deductive/analytic reasoning) of what is possible, the bricoleur adjusts past solutions, reframes, or manipulates technical memories of past events and projects to make them bear upon or even redefine the problem at hand.
(Kallinikos 2012, 75)
I am not the first to apply the bricoleur interpretive label to Paul. My Canadian colleague William Arnal notes the following (though Bill and I arrived at this estimation independently):
Paul, now, is understood not as a purveyor of ideas whose content he has received from others and passes along, but as a bricoleur, who uses mythic content, forms, and fragments as he encounters them, to construct novel notions that address his own problems, issues, and circumstances.
(Arnal 2011, 79–80)
What the above suggests is that in analyzing the writings of Paul, we may consider the very real possibility that his words are creative and ad hoc responses to current issues. He may not always have had a pre-existent or over-arching theological point – in fact, I will argue that in his epistles to the Romans and Galatians, previously existing ritual actions shaped Paul’s adoption theology and that his theological concepts arose in response to the situation. In other words, ritual experimentation may have been the catalyst for Paul’s theology, and Paul’s explanations and statements were strategies to deal with these situations.
We are sons – ritual experiments in Rome and Galatia and Paul’s response
As I noted above, some members of Jesus assemblies in Roman and Galatia have been engaging in ritual acts. We see evidence of the ritual in its developed phase, a deeply emotional group prayer resulting in a cry of “Abba!” or “Abba, Father!” We speculate (based on Paul’s reference to sighs and groans) that there had been an earlier, non-verbalized phase of the ritual.
Paul refers to this act in two letters, Romans and Galatians (usually dated to the mid-50s ce). In each case, the way he refers to the act suggests a phenomenon which predates his letter and which is well known in the assemblies. Further, whereas the assembly in Galatia was established by Paul, the one in Rome was in operation apart from Paul, and in fact he reveals that he has not yet visited the group (Rom 1:11). The city of Rome was the capital and center of the Roman Empire, and Galatia was a region in the east Roman province of Asia Minor (modern Turkey). Thus, we have in view a phenomenon which is relatively dispersed and not limited to Pauline-founded assemblies. Perhaps this is a grassroots sort of activity.
The section in Romans dealing with the Abba cry is midpoint in the epistle. It is sandwiched by two largely cohesive and interrelated sections: an extended discussion of judgment and law (Torah) versus faith, grace, and righteousness (chapters 1–7) and a shorter discussion of the role and fate of Israel and the Gentiles (chapters 9–11). The epistle concludes with a section treating a variety of community issues (chapters 12–16). A number of distinctive features are evident in chapter 8: a rich and varied discussion of “spirit” issues, the introduction of a distinctly Pauline concept (assembly members have been adopted by God), and a heavy emphasis on the end-times. While chapter 8 is somewhat integrated into the surrounding discussions, its distinctive features suggest that a particular issue has provoked Paul’s discussion, and been the catalyst for his statements.
In Galatians (probably an earlier letter),we see a similar, albeit briefer, treatment of adoption and sonship themes. As was developed more extensively in the epistle to the Romans, in Galatians we see Paul’s discussion of Judean versus Gentile, circumcision and Torah versus faith, slavery versus freedom (chapters 1–4). In chapter 4, there is a digression into the adoption motif, although Paul skillfully weaves that into the slavery/freedom dichotomy he has established earlier. Galatians concludes with a discussion of flesh versus spirit (chapter 5) and community matters (chapter 6).
Paul and his groups consider that they are living in the eschaton (the last days) prior to God’s judgment and the return of Christ (cf. Gal 6:14–15). If the book of Acts (a later New Testament document) can be allowed to provide some background, evidently some Christ-followers considered that charismatic (Spirit-prompted) activity was a sign or validation of the end-times and their status as agents of the eschaton. See Peter’s citation of Joel 2:28–29 in Acts 2:17–18. Thus, we may reasonably suppose that Paul values and wants to encourage Spirit-activity, yet at the same time he needs to manage and control it. I suggest that Paul references the Spirit of God as a rhetorical strategy, to limit the agency of the ritual actors. When Paul speaks of the gifts or manifestations of the Spirit, he is always concerned that they be used for altruistic and group-building purposes rather than self-promotion. We see this in Paul’s contrast between works of the flesh versus fruits of the Spirit in Gal 5:19–23. We see an extended discussion of this issue in 1 Cor 12–14, where Paul stresses that the gifts of the Spirit are to be used for the common good (sumpheron, 1 Cor 12:7) and the building up of the group (chapter 14) rather than the ends of individuals.
Paul, I suggest, values aspects of the ritual experience known as the Abba prayer. He probably can accept the issue of divine sonship, but he fears where the interpretation could lead – namely to self-aggrandizing claims by people that they themselves have achieved divine status. People may be so excited with the exalted experience that they have not considered how their status as sons has been achieved.
Thus, in Romans 8 Paul carefully manages the situation. He does not prohibit the Abba prayer. Rather, he applies a particular (and for Paul, a new) theological interpretation of the event which will steer the assembly into thinking about the activity in useful (that is, Pauline) ways. As Geertz suggests, ritual experience can shape and then be used to reinforce religious concepts.
In Romans 8 and Galatians 4, Paul introduces a distinctly new idea – new for Paul, and unique in the New Testament. He places the ritual within a larger conceptual framework, stating that assembly members have been adopted as sons of God by God the Father and that the prayer is the result of the Spirit of God witnessing to God’s initiative, rather than by anything the ritual actors have achieved through their own efforts.
For all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God. … You have received a spirit of adoption. When we cry, “Abba! Father!” it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ – if in fact, we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him.
(Rom 8:14–17)
When the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son … so that we might receive adoption as children. And because you are children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying “Abba! Father!” So you are no longer a slave but a child, and if a child then also an heir, through God.
(Gal 4:4–7)
These teachings work for Paul’s intention. Adoption is the initiative and prerogative of the father, not the son. This fact fits well with Paul’s theme of divine grace or the initiative of God, articulated earlier (e.g., Romans 3:24; 4:16). By emphasizing that God has adopted the faithful, Paul stresses the divine initiative and hopes to preclude claims of self-divinization.
In the Roman world, adoption had two benefits: status and inheritance (see discussion on adoption later in this section). In the above, Paul downplays the status aspect and emphasizes the inheritance aspect in the following way – “your status is only partially achieved now, it will be fully achieved in the future (the eschaton). Now you are but children, then you will be sons. Sonship will be your inheritance under the terms of adoption by God.” See Rom 8:18–30 and Gal 4:1–6. In other words, some members of the Roman and Galatian assemblies may have been quite entranced by the present sensations of power and claims to status. Paul carefully pushes the finale of the process out of the present and into the future, at the eschaton.
To review: I am proposing that Paul’s adoption theology arose in response to a pre-existent and ritualized activity, and represents Paul’s attempt to interpret and thus manage the situation. By allowing for the possibility that Paul was led (one might say forced) into this teaching by the vividness and popularity of the ritual, we can catch a glimpse of an intriguing ritual in early Christianity. How well does this thesis fit with the data, the texts of Romans and Galatians? Very well. Let us consider various points in detail.
The first point to consider is the use of the Aramaic term “Abba.” The use of Aramaic is rare in the New Testament, which is written in Greek. Paul uses very little Aramaic in his letters. One issue at stake is that Aramaic likely was the language of the historical Jesus. Some scholars suggest that the use of Aramaic terms in the New Testament reflects devotional aspirations close to the world or times of Jesus, or are the remnants of an early phase of the Jesus movement which spoke Aramaic. Perhaps early liturgies or prayers had Aramaic components arising from such a devotional intent (i.e., to re-create the time and presence of Jesus through words) or such a cultural–linguistic intent (“we” are the group closest to the life and times of Jesus). These issues, however, do not exhaust the possibilities for the use of the term.
Before I can develop the other possibilities for the term Abba, I need to address a longstanding misunderstanding. It is a widely held modern view, somewhat like an urban myth, that the term “Abba” is a tender, childlike expression in Aramaic for “Father.” With this interpretation, use of the term in reference to God reflects a lovely, intimate, and childlike relationship to God. We can perhaps blame the notable scholar Joachim Jeremais for this view, although finding where in Jeremais’ works this view is presented is no simple task. Regardless, that assertion was dealt a deathblow in the essay by James Barr (1988). Yet, the view lingers on in many a sentimental Fathers’ Day sermon and popular piety. Barr demonstrated conclusively that “Abba” is simply the standard way to refer to “Father” in first-century Aramaic – it did not have a particularly sentimental or informal aspect to it at that time.
In Romans 8:15 and Galatians 4:6, Paul refers to those who cry “Abba, Father.” In the Greek text, the Aramaic term Abba is transliterated and joined with a formal address in Greek, “the father” – thus “abba ho patēr.” The fact that the Greek phrase “the father” is added suggests two things. Those who are crying out are not native Aramaic speakers. For such speakers, the Greek phrase would be redundant. Thus, the Greek phrase serves as an explanation or gloss of what the Aramaic word means. Clearly, we are at the interpretative, cognitive phase of the ritual at this point.
If the assembly members crying “Abba” are not native Aramaic speakers, why would they be using the phrase? Let us look to magic chants for a clue. In that sphere, use of foreign and even nonsense words is typical. The strangeness and unfamiliarity of the term adds to perceptions of its power and efficacy. The logic of unfamiliar words is that their strangeness suggests another reality, and that those who use those words are bridging the gap between familiar and unknown realms. On this, see the nuanced discussion of sacred language, intelligibility of chants, and archaic terms in Tambiah 1985, 20–27. Thus, while much scholarship to date has seen the location of the Abba cry within Aramaic Jesus-movement communities (and thus representing a rather “safe” and conservative branch of the movement), I estimate that the cry makes more sense in experimental Greco–Roman assemblies.
Other scholars assert that the use of “Abba, Father” here and in Galatians reflects a devotional link to Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane, as recorded in Mark 14:36. This is unlikely. Paul’s texts date from the mid-50s to the early 60s ce. The Gospel of Mark probably appears in the late 60s and thus was not available to Paul. Could there be a common oral tradition of that prayer which was available to the writer of Mark and to Paul? Perhaps. The best we can suppose is that there may have been a tradition that Jesus prayed intensely and/or used the term “Abba” to refer to God. As noted above, the phrase “Abba, Father” is semantically redundant and therefore makes no sense within an Aramaic community. The way the phrase may function within the Gospel of Mark is a separate issue, one which I will not develop further, except to note that scholars who assert that the Abba cry is linked to Jesus’ prayer at Gethsemane are “domesticating” the ritual act – interpreting it as a rather safe devotional prayer rather than a more bold and inchoate phenomenon of experiencing power or asserting status.
Next, we turn to a rather unusual issue – how the Abba word is said aloud. Paul’s phrase is rendered in English as “cry.” This word is seen in Romans 8:15 and also Galatians 4:6. The Greek word is krazō, and it has onomatopoetic connotations of the croak of a crow (Grundmann 1965, 898). Some commentators find this aspect disconcerting and de-emphasize it. They portray a dignified public declaration. We would do better to retain the bold and strident sense of the term. Such sort of cries are typical of the realm of magic, where the tone and volume indicating strangeness or non-normalcy is prized. What we see is more likely a shout or shriek of power. It is noteworthy that the Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, a standard and influential resource, emphasizes the odd and magical aspects of the term, and yet most scholars either ignore that aspect or dismiss it. Grundmann cites sensational texts describing magicians uttering this sort of cry (1965, 898–99). The Roman satirist Juvenal talks of the “roaring … loud” cry of a sorcerer (Satires 13.110–14 [Braund, Loeb Classical Library]), and Lucian describes a scene where the magician “no longer muttered in a low tone but shouted as loudly as he could, invoking the spirits, one and all, at the top of his lungs” (Menippus 9 [Harmon, LCL]). The Patristic heresiologist Hippolytus (Refutation 28) says that the sorcerer “utters a loud and harsh cry.” The Roman poet Marcus Annaeus Lucanus has an extended description which suggests a scene from the witches of Macbeth:
Next, her voice, more potent than all these potions, more apt to bewitch the Gods of Lethē, pours out murmurs, a babble of sounds, a gabble unlike any human tongue; her voice simulates barking of dogs, howls of wolves, quavering horned owl’s cry and screech owl’s nighttime hoot, squeals and roars of wild animals, also the asp’s hiss. Then she mimics the thud of breakers dashing on reefs, forests’ thrashing, peals of thunder rupturing cloudrack, one voice was all of Nature.
(Pharsalia 685–93 [Joyce 1994, 162–63])
Grundmann also notes that in the New Testament this word typically is used in reference to the shrieks of demons (e.g., Mark 5:5; 9:26; Luke 9:39; Mark 1:23; Mark 3:11) and of humans in anguish (Matt 9:27; 15:22, 23; Mark 9:23–24; Matt 14:26) (1965: 900–901). Many commentators admit that there would have been a highly emotional aspect of this cry, but they do not develop the implications. Further, the verb in Rom 8:15 is the first person plural present active krazomen, “we cry” – indicating current group activity. In the earlier Galatians 4:6 it is krazon, third person singular present active participle, “he [the spirit] is crying.”
It is also worth examining the word Paul uses for the inarticulate sounds which accompany the Jesus prayer and which may have been at the origin of the ritual. The word is stenazō, which means “to sigh, murmur, groan or pray inaudibly” (Liddell, Scott, and Jones 1996, 1638). Paul uses this word twice in reference to the group prayers (“we pray”; Rom 8:22, 26). What is particularly noteworthy is that Paul rhetorically compares group prayer to the “groanings” of the cosmos as all things await the final days (8:22). This is a very clever move – it relativizes the group activity by placing it within a much larger, God-oriented context and thus reduces the importance of those humans doing the groaning. On the issue of the cosmic scope of the situation, see Burke 2008, 279–81.
We now consider the “adoption” term huiothesia (“son-making”), which is unique in the New Testament and appears only in Pauline material. In addition to its occurrence in Romans 8:15, 23, 9:4, and Galatians 4:5, it also is used in Ephesians 1:5. Many explanations, perhaps theologically driven, argue laboriously in favor of some Hebrew scripture/Judean background behind Paul’s thought (e.g., Scott 1992). While this background may have some currency for Paul, it has very little for his audience. The issue of adoption was rare in Judean culture, and simply not spoken of extensively in the Hebrew Scriptures. By contrast, it was common in Roman culture and Roman law (Scott 1992, 100–105; Lyall 1984, 80–88). This point is of great significance, and the arguments of this chapter (as within the book overall) position the early Christian movements within their Greco–Roman context, and take seriously the role of that context in shaping early Christian practice. By working so hard to find a “safe” Judean parallel rather than a Greco–Roman one, earlier scholars were steering the idea in tendentious and inaccurate ways. See Peppard 2011, who argues this point at length.
Earlier in this section, I noted the advantage of the concept of adoption for Paul is that adoption is the father’s initiative, not that of the son. There were two aspects in Roman law: the present status of the adoptee (Scott 1992, 9; Lindsay 2009, 98, 103, 130, 171) and the future inheritance expected by the adoptee (Lindsay 2009, 65, 79, 97; Scott 1992, 244–58; Lyall 1984, 84–88, 101–117; Burke 2008, 267). Paul’s argument qualifies the present status aspect and emphasizes the future inheritance aspect. This enables Paul to have his theological cake and eat it too. Paul affirms the present ritual experience and uses it (in fact manages it) by teaching in a particular way – a way that steers assembly members away from any possibility of self-aggrandizement and towards Paul’s divine grace theology. I will expand on these two points.
First, how does Paul qualify or downplay the present status aspect? Through a careful, subtle, yet deliberate choice of words. In Romans 8:14–21 we observe a shift in language from “sons” (huios, probably representing the current claim of ritual participants) to “children” (tekna, what Paul asserts the assembly members are now) and then back to “sons” (huios, a status which Paul says only happens at the end-times, i.e., resurrection). Scholars who estimate that Paul uses the terms interchangeably have misunderstood the subtlety of Paul’s argument. Paul uses the terms side-by-side but not interchangeably. Rather, he is pointedly asserting a substantial difference. The child is immature – the son is mature. The child does not receive the inheritance – the son can receive the inheritance.
Those scholars who claim that Paul uses the term “children” so as to be inclusive of gender (i.e., to include women in the reference, since “sons” is a gender-specific term) are working from a sincere but misguided modern desire to be inclusive. To understand Paul’s use of language, we need to understand the mind of a first-century Mediterranean male. Children are subordinate, need to be disciplined, and are under the authority of fathers and teachers. Paul uses “children” terms when he wants to control or discipline the group, even when he seems to be speaking “tenderly” to them (e.g., Gal 4:19–20). In Galatians 4:1, 5, Paul uses the Greek term nērioi, “infants,” to emphasize his claim that those who are adopted are in the family of God; they are still immature and almost like slaves (douloi), still needing guardianship and not fully autonomous. According to Gal 4:7, it is not until the future that the status as a son (huios) will be confirmed as the person becomes an heir (klēronomos).
Linked to Paul’s motif of “children” then “sons” is Paul’s present–future scenario. In Romans 8:17–25, Paul asserts that at present, assembly members are only children. They have been adopted into God’s family but have not yet received the inheritance. Only at the time of resurrection and the eschaton do they receive the inheritance, which is sonship. Until then, they are only children waiting for a gift. All of Paul’s “hope” terms and his eschatological teaching in Romans 8 make sense if we allow for the possibility that those in the assembly were claiming sonship status now. They do not want to wait for the gift – they claim it now! Paul’s scenario is a bit obscure here, an example of what might be called a partially realized eschatology. “We have something now, but we will only have it in fullness then.” The debate in the Roman assembly likely might have been, “well, what exactly do we have now?” The children and gift analogy is apt – would anyone be satisfied with a sort-of or partial gift? Some likely focused on present status rather than future inheritance. Who would want pie in the sky when you could have some pie now? The fact that Paul argues in favor of inheritance does not settle the issue – or at least it might not have for the recipients of Paul’s letters. In other words, Paul chooses to emphasize the inheritance issue because it suits his purpose. But a status issue interpretation is equally valid, given the adoption metaphor. This demonstrates that Paul’s argument is not as ironclad as some have assumed it to be. And that suggests that it is an ad hoc response by Paul to a pre-existing problem, rather than a carefully devised and systematic theological point.
In fact, a problem with Paul’s adoption metaphor is that it eventually breaks down. In inheritance, the gift is achieved when the father dies. But God the Father does not die. In Paul’s argument, it is when the children die that they achieve the inheritance. The rather convoluted logic here suggests that Paul is grasping at straws or making something up on the fly in response to a pre-existing issue.
Another weak point in Paul’s argument lies in the mechanics of adoption in the Roman world (Scott 1992, 9–16; Burke 2008, 263; Longenecker 2014, 71–72; Lindsay 2009; Lyall 1984, 81ff.). In that context, individual males were adopted as sons; there was not group or corporate adoption (Scott 1992, 10–11; Burke 2008, 265–66; Lyall 1984, 84ff.). There may be some connection in Paul’s mind to the adoption of the nation of Israel as “sons of God” – but that may not have been apparent to his Greco–Roman audience. Perhaps Paul is emphasizing the group aspect of corporate adoption (“we” cry, for example, and “we” are adopted) to diffuse individual power/status claims which could arise from ritual experimentation. Again, we look to the realm of magic as an analogue. Magicians usually operated as solo artists, and made individual claims of status as favored agents of the spirits they worked with. Paul rarely uses the term “sons of God.” This suggests that its use here arises from a pre-existent condition and that Paul uses it in Romans and Galatians from the necessity of local conditions.
Finally, we consider Paul’s rather fluid or vague “spirit” language in Romans 8. He refers to a spirit of sonship, a spirit of slavery, a spirit, and a spirit of God. How do these terms connect? Is there a connection? This imprecise or complex language suggests an experimental ritual whose explanation has not yet been fully developed. Paul throws a lot of terms into the rhetorical mix in an attempt to do damage control against those who may have made self-aggrandizing claims. Spirit is presented as a controlling agent which prompts or guides action. Paul says that it is not the participants who are acting (on their own initiative); rather, it is the Spirit of God which prompts them. The Abba cry is not an individual’s claim of status; rather, it is a Spirit-prompted initiative which affirms a present, partial reality and points to a future, fulfilled reality under God’s control. At times, the speakers either are not saying anything distinguishable or else do not know or understand what they are saying. Now that is a subtle and complex argument by Paul! Yes, “we” are praying, but we don’t really know what we are praying for, and it is not in fact we who are praying but the Spirit in/through us. If that does not undercut individual agency, then I do not know what does!
So, what has been achieved so far? We see that the hypothesis of a ritual of accessing power fits well with the details of the texts of Romans and Galatians. In fact, not only does it fit, it explains some matters in a simpler and more direct manner than has been seen in other explanations. It reveals subtleties in Paul’s argumentation that have been overlooked and sheds light on rather murky areas of Paul’s rhetoric. At this point the hypothesis is an intriguing possibility. Now, I briefly note a few background issues which lend credibility to the hypothesis.
Background to the issue
Evidence from Jewish and Jesus-assembly texts shows that the breath or spirit of God had connotations of his creative actions. The classic text is Genesis 2:7, in which God is described breathing the breath of life into man, and man became a living being. This motif is repeated in Psalm 104:30, in the Wisdom of Solomon 15:11, and dramatically serves as the key element in the prophetic vision in Ezekiel 37:5–10 of the dry bones being reanimated (Hiebert 2008). The Gospel of John 20:22–23 recounts that Jesus breathed or blew on his disciples as he transformed their status into apostolic judges (Derrett 1998). Wisdom of Solomon 7:25 says about wisdom (here, a spirit-like entity) “she is a breath of the power of God.” The prevalence of this motif makes it credible that those wishing to experience God or acquire wisdom or facilitate self-transformation might consider that deep breathing was a suitable ritual action to achieve this end.
Next, we find that the motif of acquiring the Spirit of God (often compared to breath or wind) is attested in the Hebrew Scriptures. In particular, the Judges of Israel are portrayed as receiving the Spirit as they assume office and exercise authority and power: Othniel (Judg 3:10), Gideon (6:34), Jephthah (11:29), and most notably Samson (13:25, 14:6, 14:19, 15:14). The first kings of Israel also received the spirit of God and went into frenzy or altered states of consciousness. See the accounts of Saul (1 Sam 10:5–13; 19:18–24) and David (1 Sam 16:13). The stories of Samson, Saul, and David are exciting, and we can imagine that they might grip the imagination of ritual experimenters who themselves sought to acquire God’s spirit. The Gospel of John, a spirit-focused text, asserts that believers must be “born of the Spirit” (3:5, 6, 8) and should “worship in the Spirit” (4:23–24). Perhaps the Jesus assemblies in Rome and Galatia were trying to “worship in the Spirit.” As noted above, the Acts of the Apostles (2:17–18) cites the Hebrew scriptures book of Joel (2:28–29), which speaks of the spirit of God coming to a special remnant of God’s faithful people in the last days.
Turning to another issue, we know that the theme of human divinization or becoming god-like was a feature of the Greco–Roman world. See Lanziollotta 2013 for a full discussion. Plato often refers to the process of achieving likeness to god (homoiosis theo), presenting it as an aim of Socrates: “to become like God is to become righteous and holy and wise” (Theaetetus 176A-B [Fowler, LCL]). From Plato, the concept passes through various forms, into Middle Platonism of the first century and then Neo-Platonism and Gnosticism of the second and following centuries. In some texts of the Jesus movement, becoming god-like is held to be a possibility. Notable in the following examples is that this process of deification is presented as happening now, in this life, rather than only in the next life. Note the present tense of the verbs as Paul speaks of transformation happening in the present life of believers: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has passed away, behold, the new has come,” (2 Cor 5:17) and “And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another” (2 Cor 3:18). Similarly, the assertion in 2 Peter 1:4, “[you] may become participants [koinōnoi, “sharers”] of the divine nature,” is framed within a discussion of earthly life and piety (1:3, eusebeian, godliness) and virtues of this life (1:5–7).
A variety of texts and issues in the Greco–Roman period demonstrate that claims to divine sonship were part of the milieu. Paul’s communities may have been part of a larger trend. For example, we note the growing tendency in the Roman Empire for emperors to take the title “son of god.” The use of the term starts with Julius Caesar, is enthusiastically continued by Octavian/Augustus, becomes standard within the Julian–Claudian dynasty (Nero in particular) and continues with Vespasian and the Flavians (Peppard 2011, 46–49). An interesting issue is the claim of Alexander the Great to divine sonship. In the Hellenistic and Roman periods, a series of accounts emerged which spoke of Alexander’s claim of adoption by the god Ammon/Zeus, rather than earlier accounts of divine “biological” parentage (Scott 1992, 16–19, 56).
The epistle 1 John provides interesting points of comparison to Paul’s teachings about Spirit and adoption. In 1 John, we see a similar use of child terms (“little children,” teknia, 2:1, 12, 28; 3:18; 4:4; 5:21; and “children,” tekna, 3:1–2). As with the case of Paul, it is important for us not to sentimentalize these terms; we should recognize that the author uses them strategically to stake his claim as an authority figure over the group (like a father). The Johannine author may have inherited the child terminology from practices in the group relating to statements of group identity when he says, “we are called children of God” (tekna theou, 3:1–2). As is the case with Paul’s groups in Galatia and Rome, it is possible that the group also has gone further and claimed actual sonship, and thus the author may deliberately avoid using the term “son.” Children yes, sons no. Further, the author handles the situation in a way similar to Paul’s teaching in Romans and Galatians on partially realized eschatology (“we are God’s children now, what we will be has not yet been revealed,” 3:2).
To see explicit evidence of the use of slogans such as “we are sons of God” or “we are children of God,” we turn to the next case, the text known as Wisdom of Solomon. It is a mid–second-century bce Hellenistic Jewish book and part of the Septuagint (Greek edition of the Hebrew Scriptures). The author writes within the wisdom tradition of the ancient near east, valorizing those who seek wisdom and castigating the foolish and unenlightened. On several occasions, the author proudly characterizes those in the wisdom camp as “sons of God” (huios theou, 2:16, 18; 5:5; 12:19, 21) or his “children” (paidōn, 2:10; 12:21). Of particular relevance to my thesis is the polemic nature of the title as recorded in one passage. The author gives voice to his opponents, the godless and unjust men. He says that they say (concerning the just man), he “boasts that God is his father” (2:16; italics added). The Greek term for boast is alazoneuetai (make false pretensions, brag) and comes from alazoneia (false pretension, imposture; LSJ 59–60). What is fascinating is that this claim is classified as “boasting,” and it produces a harsh social reaction from outsiders, namely persecution and oppression. This reaction demonstrates the social jockeying associated with the claim.
Conclusion to the case study
This case study has produced a new way of understanding Paul’s adoption theology: as a response to a powerful ritual. Paul interprets the ritual in such a way as to steer it away from what he views as a problematic self-aggrandizement and towards a humble acceptance of God’s grace. I have used ritual theory, in particular the insight of Geertz. Geertz alerts us to the fact that ritual experience can precede religious concept and also reinforce or teach it. I have also used insights from psychology and physiology about the pre-cognitive nature of experience, and ways that ritual and meditation can facilitate altered states of consciousness. These theories from ritual studies have given us new questions to pose to New Testament data. Finally, I have de-privileged Paul in order to give scope for a developed understanding of the ritual which he mentions, a ritual which I suggest is the catalyst for his teaching.
The utility of any thesis is how well it (1) thoroughly explains data, (2) answers tricky or obscure features of data, and (3) plausibly links previously unconnected data into a new and coherent pattern. My thesis does all three, and thus demonstrates the value of applying a ritual studies perspective to the New Testament texts – texts which, despite 2,000 years of analysis, still have new information to yield and possibilities to suggest.
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