Nothing in the early Jesus Movement prepares us for Paul. Written in the mid 50s, Paul’s Letter to the Galatians was a “bombshell” document. While intended to settle a dispute within one of the communities he founded, its impact has extended far beyond the mere arbitration of a local and temporary dispute. It laid out the main tenets of Paul’s radical Christ Movement, which is considerably different from both Judaism and the earlier Jesus Movement centered in Jerusalem. Galatians remains one of the most influential documents ever written within Christianity, for its views represent the underpinnings of a new religion.
So who was Paul? What do we reliably know of his career and message? Probably born in the first few years A.D., Paul grew up in the Jewish Diaspora. Paul himself does not indicate where he was born. The later Book of Acts claims that it was in the city of Tarsus located in what is modern-day southeastern Turkey. Paul was a Hellenized Jew, living and working in the Greek language. Somehow his family had achieved prominence and even acquired Roman citizenship in the process. How Jewish was he? Did he come from a Torah-observant home? As an adult, did he follow the law? Did he know Hebrew, the language of the ancient scrolls? Did he understand Aramaic, the language of Jesus and his disciples? What was his education like? We do not know the answers to these questions. We can surmise, however, that like all Jews living in the Diaspora, he would undoubtedly have shared at least some beliefs and values with his non-Jewish counterparts. This would have included some knowledge of Greek drama and philosophy as well as familiarity with the beliefs and practices of the Roman mystery religions, whose temples were everywhere.
At some point, he moved to the center of Jewish life, Jerusalem. A few decades before Paul arrived there, Herod the Great had built up this city as a showcase center with its vastly extended Temple Mount area, huge retaining walls, majestic entrances that paid careful attention to crowd control, and, of course, the magnificently restored Temple itself that shone like the sun. That towering edifice formed the heart and soul of Jewish life. It was the nation’s hub of culture and commerce, encompassing far more than a place of worship. Jerusalem itself supported tourism from all over the Roman Empire, especially on the three pilgrimage festivals when devout Jews would “come up” to Jerusalem from the Galilee and from all around the Mediterranean. Larger than the Acropolis in Athens, Temple Mount in Jerusalem had also become a must-see destination for wealthy first-century Romans who could afford to tour. The sight of the Temple would have impressed Paul as he first arrived.
The Temple was also the center of government, with its judges, law courts, scribes, and the archives. The Sanhedrin met on Temple Mount, the Jewish high council composed of Sadducees and Pharisees who helped guide the nation’s affairs. All this was presided over by Roman troops stationed not too far off in the distance to handle any disturbance that might occur. For the most part, however, there was relative peace between the Jews and the Romans in the first few decades of the first century.
Paul talks about his past in several of his writings. In his Letter to the Galatians, he indicates that he underwent a dramatic mystical experience of “the Christ,” perhaps, as the Book of Acts says, on his way to Damascus (Acts 9:3; 22:6; 26:12). He doesn’t tell us much about this life-changing experience. Later accounts in the Book of Acts will depict it dramatically: a bolt of light from heaven, a voice confronting him about his persecution of people in the Jesus Movement, and temporary blindness.1 Paul himself did not provide these details. Instead he chose to emphasize that he did not discuss his experience with anyone. Rather than returning to Jerusalem, he headed off “to Arabia” for a period of time.
At that time, “Arabia” was different from what we know today as Saudi Arabia. It encompassed Damascus in modern-day Syria, parts of western Jordan along the Jordan River, and much of the Arabian Peninsula. Arabia also included the fabulous Nabatean city of Petra, whose beautiful buildings were carved into the face of mountains. These remain impressive today, providing the breathtaking background for parts of the 1980s movie Raiders of the Lost Ark. The nearby endless red sands of Wadi Rum that look like the red rock area of Sedona, Arizona, form the impressive backdrop to the film Lawrence of Arabia.
The Nabateans were the wealthy traders of the Roman world, controlling the lucrative trade routes between the Mediterranean and the Indian Ocean. Goods would be unloaded from ships in Gaza and taken by camel across southern Israel, where today tourists can trek along the old Nabatean “spice route.” The caravans then headed toward Petra in modern-day Jordan. Petra was the center of the trade, the world’s first megawarehouse for raw and manufactured goods traveling between Roman cities and other cultures. Spices, woven cloth, exotic animals, pottery, and jewelry all passed along this route, as well as people unfortunate enough to have been captured in the high-profit slave trade. From Petra, the bundles were transported by camels across the Arabian Peninsula into Yemen, where they were loaded onto ships bound for India, the east coast of Africa, and probably even more distant lands. Where Paul went in Arabia, or why he went, we do not know.
It is significant, however, that Paul never met the Jesus of history, that charismatic rabbi who gathered disciples around himself and taught and practiced Judaism during the 20s. By his own admission, he never conferred with Jesus’ successors, the senior members of the Jesus Movement in Jerusalem, until at least three years after his dramatic experience, and even then only briefly. Paul remained curiously detached from those who knew what Jesus stood for and represented. In his writings, he constantly positioned his Christ Movement as separate and distinct from the Jesus Movement. This is considerably different from the picture the Book of Acts will paint some fifty or so years later. This latter work tried to fuse the two movements together, but it is likely this is more revisionist history than actual fact in the midfirst century.
During the late 40s, 50s, and early 60s, Paul traveled throughout the Diaspora—what we know of as Turkey, Greece, and Italy—formed congregations, taught, and wrote letters. We are fortunate to have his letters, for they give us firsthand insight into his thinking. His message emphasized freedom from the Jewish law. Moreover, he urged believers to undergo the same kind of mystical experience of “the Christ” that he himself had had years before on his journey to Damascus. Much of Paul’s thought paralleled that of the Roman mystery religions familiar from his youth growing up in the Diaspora. The belief structure is the same in both religions. Both portray a dying-rising savior God-human who comes to rescue humanity from its plight. Paul’s views would have shocked anyone who was Jewish: his was a thoroughly Hellenized religion. Any member of the Pharisaic movement, for instance, or, for that matter, anyone in the Jesus Movement in Jerusalem would have seen this non-Torah-observant movement focused on a dying-rising savior figure as a separate religion from Judaism. They would have regarded these views as utter nonsense and blasphemy, to be avoided at any cost. This view was, in their opinion, just as wrong as the religions of Mithras, Isis, or Dionysus with their savior figures.
Paul did manage to shock people. He was a feisty, fiery teacher who had tremendous success with Gentiles in the Jewish Diaspora. He typically went into Jewish synagogues where he was invited to speak. His message resonated with one particular constituency found within Hellenistic synagogues, the “God-fearers.” We don’t normally think of non-Jews frequenting Jewish synagogues on a regular basis, but that was an important phenomenon of the Roman world.2 The God-fearers were Gentiles who liked the ethics and monotheistic beliefs of Judaism. They valued its antiquity. They found that these writings, discussions, and intellectual debates represented a sober contrast to the enthusiastic and orgiastic celebrations of the Roman mystery religions. They did not want, however, to convert to Judaism, being content to be associated on the periphery of Judaism. The God-fearers attended the services, participated in the discussions, supported it financially, and shared in the study of the sacred texts… but they were not converts and not Jewish.
There was one major barrier to conversion to Judaism and that was adult male circumcision. All forms of Judaism required circumcision as a sign of fidelity to the covenant with God. This applied equally to all expressions of Judaism, whether the Jesus Movement, Pharisees, Zealots, Sadducees, or Essenes. It was a nonnegotiable requirement of Torah, going back to the time of Abraham, likely some eighteen hundred years earlier.
There were other requirements, too, but these would have presented less of an impediment. There was immersion in a ritual bath, a mikvah, a ceremony that Christians would later come to call baptism. That experience was rooted in Judaism. Then, too, there were the obligations of the Jewish law, the 613 commandments observed by all Jews everywhere including not only Sabbath observance and high ethical demands but also dietary laws, festivals, and male circumcision. The Torah was a prescription for a lifestyle and demanded commitment to all facets of life.
The practical problems this raised for the observant Jew in the Diaspora were enormous. Keeping the Sabbath as a day of rest from creative activity was only one problem, for not everybody within the ancient Roman world took Friday night through to Saturday evening off. Most likely, however, the dietary laws posed even larger problems. In Judaism, the dietary laws reflect the view that eating is a spiritual act and has to be treated as such. Meat had to be slaughtered in the appropriate manner, in the Temple, by experts who knew how to minimize suffering to the animal and drain off as much blood as possible.
Eating meat, for instance, would have been problematic for Jews in the Diaspora. As in all ancient societies, meat was only available through the temples, as a sacrifice. There were no convenience or grocery stores around the corner selling meat. If someone wanted a meat meal, they would have to take an animal to a temple to be sacrificed. The problem for Jews living in the Diaspora was that the only nearby shrines were those dedicated to Roman, Persian, or Egyptian gods, notably to Dionysus, Mithras, and Isis, among a host of other lesser-known divine beings. Eating meat from these sources would involve these deities in the dinner, and this would be idolatrous. In practice, therefore, most observant Jews in the Diaspora would have been vegetarian.
So God-fearers remained on the margins of Jewish society—admirers of the religion, but remaining as Gentiles.
No Torah observance did away with the necessity for adult male circumcision. This subtext underlay the enormous attractiveness of Paul’s message, and he appealed to it time and time again. Paul was obsessed with the foreskin, its removal being symbolic for him of all that Torah observance demanded. He called his opponents members “of the circumcision faction” (Galatians 2:12). He hoped that they would all drop the knife and castrate themselves (Galatians 5:12). Judaism demanded circumcision; Paul’s movement removed the requirement.
Paul’s dispensing with Torah obligations represented a major religious breakthrough, something new on the horizon of the first century A.D. It offered enormous advantages: an expanded dietary menu, for one thing, and a welcoming stance for the God-fearers who no longer had to become Jewish to gain access to the promised Kingdom. It had major disadvantages as well. Paul’s views created massive dissension. Not everyone was in agreement, certainly not the members of the Jesus Movement who considered Paul’s position anathema.
Paul’s Christ Movement differed considerably in origin, beliefs, and practices from the Jesus Movement and from other Judaisms of the time. It owed its origin, for instance, not to the historical Jesus who was a teacher and Messiah claimant, but to Paul’s personal experience of the mystical Christ. Paul himself rarely referred to the teachings of the Jesus of history. That just wasn’t his focus. This differs significantly from the Jesus Movement, that group of observant Jews in Jerusalem who were faithful to the teachings and practices of the historical Jesus, their rabbi. Under the leadership of James, Peter, and John, these individuals knew the Jesus of the 20s, walked with him, saw him killed, and understood what he represented.
Paul’s beliefs were also distinctive, conceiving of Christ as a savior, not the political Messiah come to reestablish the David throne and do away with Hellenization. Not for Paul was the Kingdom of God message with its subversive anti-Roman slant. His practices, moreover, differed fundamentally, denying the legitimacy of keeping the law. So Paul’s movement bypassed both Jesus’ challenge of Torah and promise of the Kingdom—the two pillars of Jesus’ thought and his bulwark against Hellenization.
Moreover, according to the later Book of Acts, Paul got into confrontations with “the Jews” everywhere, in Damascus, in Jerusalem, and in the Diaspora, in a way that members of the Jesus Movement did not. Things Paul said and did aroused tremendous anger wherever he went. Historians, clergy, and biblical scholars have for centuries failed to realize the radical nature of Paul’s message and why it engendered such hostility. There are a number of reasons for this.
For one thing, we automatically link Paul’s teachings with those of the Jesus Movement, although, in fact, they were drastically different. The Jesus Movement was part of Judaism; Paul’s enterprise was not. The Jesus Movement was Torah-observant; Paul’s wasn’t. The Jesus Movement was led by people who knew the historical Jesus; Paul’s movement wasn’t. Jesus and his early followers were anti-Roman and anti-Hellenistic; Paul’s movement wasn’t.
Joining the two movements together was not something that happened at the time of Paul. In his letters, Paul was extremely insistent that he had only minimal contact with the leaders of the Jesus Movement. He was very clear that his movement was separate and different. The synthesis was only created some forty to sixty years after the death of Paul and James, by the author of the Book of Acts. Acts’ splicing together the two movements—Paul’s Christ Movement with James’s Jesus Movement—was so successful, however, that we now tend to think of Paul’s Movement as just another form of the early Christianity. It wasn’t. It was a brand-new religion entirely. The Christ and Jesus Movements are in fact, different religions, not rival interpretations of the same religion.
Another reason why we miss the radical nature of Paul’s message has to do with the order in which documents are listed in today’s New Testament. When we open up this section of the Bible, we first encounter the four canonical gospels presented in the following order: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. These tell the story of Jesus’ sayings and doings, each one from a somewhat different perspective. Then we come across a history book, the Book of Acts, which is really a continuation of Luke’s Gospel. Only after five books into the New Testament do we finally arrive at Paul’s writings. The order in which all these documents are presented is strategic. By placing Paul’s letters after the first five books of the New Testament, including the four gospels, the impression is created that, of course, people in Paul’s time knew all that information about the sayings and doings of the historical Jesus. That was not the case, however. In the 50s, the gospels had yet to be produced. All of Paul’s letters had been written, and Paul had died, before the first gospel was written.
We often assume that the writings in the New Testament are arranged chronologically. They aren’t. The gospels are not presented in the order in which they were likely written. Modern scholars would list the gospels in the following order: Mark first (70s), then Matthew (80s). The last two would be John (90s) and Luke (90s—125). Paul’s letters are not arranged chronologically either, being presented in our Bibles in descending order of length, from longest to shortest.
So, in reading Paul today, we should bear in mind that the first recipients of his letters did not have any gospel documents in front of them. We do not know what people understood of the traditions reflected in these later gospel writings. They would only likely know what Jesus taught, observed, and did from what they had been told by their leaders. We have no way of knowing how much—or how little—this was.
Judging from his letters, Paul would have conveyed very little about the historical Jesus. He rarely quoted him and seldom referred to his teachings. He typically did not use Jesus as an authority to back up his preaching. Surprisingly, he seemed totally indifferent to the Jesus of history. Unlike contemporary Christian preachers who often appeal to the words of Jesus to support a point of view in the course of giving a sermon, Paul didn’t do so. Paul usually appealed to his mystical experience and to “the Christ” who spoke through him.
The issue Paul addressed in his famous Letter to the Galatians concerns the relationship of his religion to Torah. His arguments are radical as he tries to sweep away Torah observance, by everyone, everywhere—all Jews everywhere, including members of the Jesus Movement. Paul envisaged a religion that was devoid of Torah, based not on the teachings and practices of the historical Jesus but rather on insights he gleaned from the mystical Christ. This had massive repercussions. Paul’s teachings wrecked havoc in Jewish and Jesus Movement communities around the eastern Mediterranean. They recognized the radical import of his message and they reacted swiftly, reporting his views promptly to James in Jerusalem. Paul’s views also quickly resulted in the formation of a new religion, one that, by removing all the Jewish boundary markers, made it fundamentally Hellenistic in nature. This was not, in any sense, a continuation of Judaism—not a “reform” Judaism, nor a “Judaism light.” It really wasn’t a Judaism at all. Nor was it an extension of the religion founded by Jesus. It was radically different from both. Paul accomplished by argument what Antiochus Epiphanes had tried to achieve by force: a religion detached from Torah, assimilated into common Hellenistic culture.
It’s time now to look at Paul’s arguments for getting rid of Torah observance. We will see how truly flimsy some of them were. Others were far-reaching, for the considerations Paul advanced apply equally to Jews as to Gentiles. This has not always been fully appreciated. The rumors that swirled around Paul and were reported to James in Jerusalem were, in fact, very well founded. Paul was actually teaching the abandonment of the traditions of Torah and, in so doing, was laying the groundwork for the creation of an entirely new religion. Along the way, we will also note the most important consideration he might have used—but couldn’t.
The circumstances that prompted Paul to write the Letter to the Galatians were straightforward. Paul had made many converts to the Christ Movement in the area of Galatia, now part of midcentral Turkey. They were from a Gentile background, most likely God-fearers from local synagogues. While Paul was away from this region, he learned that rival teachers had come into this part of the world, telling his Gentile converts that they needed to observe the law. Paul did not identify who these individuals were. He did not say that they were emissaries from James in Jerusalem. Nor did he identify them as members of the Jesus Movement.3
Paul used very strong language to denounce these other leaders: they were presenting a “different gospel” (Galatians 1:6). They were “confusing you” (Galatians 1:7). He ascribed a negative motivation to them—they wanted “to pervert the gospel of Christ.” (Galatians 1:7). He cursed them (Galatians 1:9) and then crudely added, “I wish those who unsettle you would castrate themselves” (Galatians 5:12). Moreover they had been “bewitching” these new members within Galatia (Galatians 3:1). Rather than engaging in dialogue with their understanding of the movement’s tenets, he simply rejected and vilified them.
The immediate issue faced by Paul was this: should Gentile converts to his Christ Movement be made to follow the entire Jewish law, including circumcision? That is, expressed in modern terms, must they become Jewish in order to become Christian? Certainly the Jesus Movement would have demanded that. For them, to become a member of their movement, Gentiles would have had to convert to Judaism. The Jesus Movement was, after all, a form of Judaism. In this it was no different from other Jewish movements of the time. The Pharisees agreed. For them, Gentiles who wished to become members of their group had to undergo the conversion process.
Paul was clear that his opponents insisted that Gentiles had to follow Torah to be part of the new movement. He appears to have understood his opponents to be claiming much more, however—that Torah observance was necessary for salvation. This interpretation goes far beyond typical Jewish teaching. From the standpoint of Judaism, the righteous of all religious traditions may be saved, that is, they would have a share in the world to come when God transforms the earth and establishes his Kingdom. The only requirement for righteous Gentiles was that they observe what became known as the Seven Noahide Laws binding on all humanity.4 These laws derive from the covenant between God and Noah, who represented all humanity after the flood. These laws include abstaining from: food sacrificed to idols, illicit sexuality, eating meat from animals that have not been properly killed, and murder. They also include not stealing or cursing God as well as the injunction to be just. Noahide Laws prescribe basic human behavior and morality, what is expected of all humans, whatever their culture and whatever their religion. Unlike the requirement for Jews, there is absolutely no need for Gentiles to observe all 613 laws of Torah to achieve salvation. So Paul may be overstating his opponents’ case. All they may have been claiming is what all Jews of the time would have insisted upon: if you wish to become Jewish, you have to convert. And that applied to the Jesus Movement as much as to the Pharisees.
It is interesting to note what Paul did not do in forming his response to the members of the movement in Galatia. Paul did not say, for instance, that “it’s all a misunderstanding.” If the account of his career in the Book of Acts were correct, then Paul could have clarified the situation easily and simply. He could have pointed out that the whole issue rested upon a mistake. This is getting somewhat ahead of our story, for we have yet to evaluate the Book of Acts as a source of information about Paul. For our purposes here, however, we need to note that Acts mentions that an important conference had been held in Jerusalem. This would have occurred in the late 40s, a few years prior to the Letter to the Galatians. There it was decided, according to Acts, that Gentiles who wished to be part of the new movement would be required only to observe the Seven Noahide Laws, whereas Jews are required to observe the whole Torah.
Paul, writing to the Galatians a few years later in the 50s, could easily have appealed to this authoritative decision—if it had occurred at all. As we shall see, there is good reason to believe that this conference never happened and that it formed part of Luke’s agenda in writing the Book of Acts to graft Paul’s Christ Movement on to the earlier Jesus Movement. For the moment, let us note that Paul seems to know nothing about any such decisive decision. If he had, he could have told his rival teachers upfront that he was simply honoring the decision coming from none other than James, the authoritative head of the Jesus Movement. That would have silenced them.
Instead, Paul threw a very angry fit. He launched a detailed attack upon Torah observance while defending his own credentials. In so doing, he did not argue that whereas Jewish members were obliged to continue to keep Torah, Gentiles were not. His point was much more radical: no one should observe Torah. It is wrong to heed the requirements of Torah. Observing Torah reveals a fundamental misunderstanding. These are strong contentions.
Paul’s arguments against Torah observance are stated in rather terse terms in the third chapter of Galatians. Later commentators might very well wish that Paul had taken the time to spell out his arguments in detail. They were written in a “heated moment” and a lot of ideas are jumbled together. Paul himself would probably be surprised that some two thousand years later, people are still discussing his ideas. Had he known that, he might have taken time to step back from his anger, clarifying key points in his highly contentious diatribe.
Paul started off by appealing to the example of Abraham, an ancient patriarch who probably lived some eighteen hundred years prior to the time of Paul. Abraham had been a nomad, living in what is modern-day Iraq. Called by God, he left his ancient roots behind and emigrated northwest, up the Euphrates River to Haran. There he received a remarkable promise that if he were to go to the land God would show him, he would possess this land and become a great nation. Moreover, through Abraham, “all the families of the earth” would be eventually blessed (Genesis 12:1—3). So Abraham went. Along the way, God makes a formal agreement with him. In one version of the covenant (Genesis 15), Abraham is told that he shall have descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky, a promise he is skeptical of at the time since he was well on in years without any children. He is also told that God would give his descendants the land of Canaan (Israel). In another version of the agreement (Genesis 17), God made “an everlasting covenant” with Abraham. He was to be the ancestor of a multitude of nations. He and his offspring would be granted the land of Canaan (Israel) as “a perpetual holding.” The sign of this covenant was circumcision. Abraham is told that this is to be kept throughout the generations as an everlasting covenant. On either version of the covenant, Abraham clearly is a person promised an exciting future: land, many children, and a role as a blessing to all the families of the earth.
Let’s see what use Paul makes of Abraham. In Galatians, he noted that Abraham believed in God and that he was deemed righteous as a result (Galatians 3:6, referring to Genesis 15:6). So, he concluded, those who believe in Christ are the real descendants of Abraham. They share in the promises God made to him, that through him, all the nations of the world will be blessed. So Paul’s argument reaches way back into Jewish history. Abraham was judged to be righteous because of faith or trust in God, not by observing Torah. The Torah came later, given through Moses some five hundred years or so after the time of Abraham. This represents an important detail in Paul’s argument. While dates vary, most scholars date Moses to around 1280 B.C. or possibly somewhat earlier.5 The Torah was given to the people of Israel on Mount Sinai during the Exodus from Egypt. Wandering for forty years in the wilderness, they finally entered the Promised Land, Canaan (Israel). Meanwhile, they had formed a nation, with a constitution, the Torah, which provided a framework for religious and civil life. So, by the time of Paul, Torah had been around for some thirteen hundred years. It was the permanent backbone of Judaism.
Paul jumped back to the example of Abraham and his faith, ignoring all of Jewish history between Moses and his own era. In effect, Paul leapfrogged over a span of some thirteen centuries back to the one figure in Jewish history he thought would clinch his case. The whole course of history from Moses to himself was to be set aside, nullified, and discarded. By going back to the example of Abraham, Paul thought that he could demonstrate that belief was sufficient for righteousness, not works of the law. Consequently, he argued, members of his Christ Movement should focus their efforts on belief in Christ, not observing Torah.
It is not known, of course, how his initial readers or listeners in Galatia interpreted his missive. It would have been instructive to learn what these other leaders would have made of his remarks. There are major flaws in his argument, as any astute reader in Galatia or these critics of Paul would have noticed. Paul’s argument made an all-too-easy transference from belief or trust in God (as Abraham did) to belief in Christ. Rival teachers might very well have asked, What justifies this leap, from God to Christ?
Moreover, they would have charged, who had the authority to unilaterally change the terms of the contract? The covenant, after all, was a contract, a mutual agreement, made by two parties. In the case of the Torah, the “signatories” were God and the people of Israel. It was a document that was ratified. Could such an agreement be set aside by an outside third party, whether Paul or Christ? They weren’t, after all, the parties to this agreement. Moreover, could it be nullified without the consent of both parties, the signatories to the agreement? Why was Paul, an outsider, tampering with the deal? What status did he have in interfering with contract law? Questions like these may have occurred to Paul’s rival teachers as they grappled with the implications of his position. They might very well have suspected that Paul was setting up a covert comparison between Christ and God. They would have sensed that Paul’s way of putting the matter came very close to contending that Christ was divine. After all, if God gave the Torah, then surely only God could take it away. So what was Paul claiming about the status of the Christ? they might very well have inquired. Was he, in some sense, claiming Christ was God?
Moreover, Paul’s argument ignored the whole development of biblical thought up until his time, which included the centrality of Torah observance, at least for Jews. One cannot read any work of the Old Testament without being struck by this fact. It consistently hammers away at the need for members of the covenant to keep the law, faithfully. As we have seen, this means keeping all of the law all of the time, not some of the law some of the time. For biblical writers, much was at stake in this. Without fidelity to the law, the community would forfeit the land of Israel, and individuals would lose blessings such as long life and good health. How did Paul think he could pass over everything in the Bible from Genesis chapter 25, which concludes the saga of Abraham, to the time when he produced his own letter? This cuts out the rest of the Torah, all of the Prophets and the Writings. It skips over the Book of Exodus, which talks about the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai, the whole history of occupying the land of Israel, all of the deep insights of the prophets, the Psalms, the Book of Job, and all of Judaism after the Babylonian Exile. What could justify this gigantic leap across history? It reduces Paul’s entire bible to just fifteen chapters, from Genesis 11 to 25. That’s all that would be relevant if one were to take Paul at his word. Paul’s position was tremendously destructive, and it was perceived that way by his critics.
Anyone familiar with the story of Abraham would immediately have recognized that Paul appealed very selectively to the text of Genesis. Had he cited the covenant with Abraham outlined in Genesis 17, mentioned, rather than Genesis 15, he would have arrived at a very different conclusion. That formulation of the covenant agreement promised Abraham that he would be the ancestor of many nations. The details of this agreement, however, included observance of an “everlasting covenant” (Genesis 17:7) of which the rite of circumcision was an integral part. In fact, in this passage, male circumcision is spoken of as a practice throughout the generations. It requires every male to be circumcised as symbolic of the human portion of the contract with God. This gives a very different impression of Abraham than does the selective reading from Genesis 15.
This represents a very strange part of Paul’s argument, and it raises more questions than it solves. Paul’s intent was clear: he tried to show that the law cannot bring about divine acceptance, because anyone who follows it is “under a curse.” In making this claim, Paul appealed to a variety of Old Testament texts. Each reference, however, distorts the clear sense of these writings. They are piled one on top of another, like a stack of cards on the theme of curses. Readers who are not careful to look at the original texts and their contexts may be taken in. If you look carefully, the whole house of cards collapses.
In Galatians 3:10, he quoted, for instance, from a curse made originally in Deuteronomy 27:26. This passage cursed everyone who fails to keep all the requirements of Torah. So people who murder, cheat, or steal or who fail to observe the Sabbath, male circumcision, or Passover would be said to be “under the curse of God.” That’s consistent with Old Testament teaching. The problem, however, is this: Paul quoted the passage correctly, but it makes the opposite point to the one he wishes to affirm. Paul wanted to claim that anyone who follows the law is cursed. That’s consistent with his objective to reject Torah. The passage in question, however, curses those who do not keep the law. In other words, Deuteronomy curses the very position Paul is advocating. Clearly the Bible does not endorse Paul’s position but its exact opposite. Anyone trained in Pharisaic schools would have known this, and Paul’s misuse of a fundamental scripture belies the claim that others would later make on his behalf that he had studied with the most famous of Pharisaic leaders of the time, Gamaliel. Likely he had no such education.
Paul then proceeded to quote from the Hebrew prophet Habakkuk, to the effect that the righteous shall live by faith (Galatians 3:11). This would appear to support Paul’s position, that only faith in Christ counts, not doing the works of the law. Paul’s point here, however, fares no better than the first one. He distorted the meaning of Habakkuk’s message. Some six hundred years earlier than Paul, Habakkuk had tried to rally his fellow Jews. He wrote just as the Babylonians were about to invade Judea and Jerusalem. He knew the horrors that attended warfare: destruction, death, exile, rape, looting, and devastation. He urged them to hold fast to their traditional teachings, to be faithful to the teachings and practices of the law. He did so because that is the covenant with God. God will keep Israel safe and secure in the land of Israel provided they honor the covenant through the keeping of the law.
Habakkuk saw “the wicked” surrounding “the righteous.” “The wicked” would have consisted of not only the invading Babylonians, but also fellow Jewish citizens of Jerusalem who failed to follow the Torah. “The righteous,” conversely, were those who did follow the law. He predicted the temporary triumph of the wicked but also envisaged their eventual downfall. God’s word is sure. Habakkuk urged the Judeans to stand firm, to resist the temptation to abandon Torah observance in light of an imminent invasion by a vastly superior force. So, yes, the righteous will live, by being faithful to the law. The emphasis on “faith” is not having beliefs about a religious figure but on being faithful to the law. Paul’s argument is way off the mark. He has completely misrepresented the meaning of the passage and substituted a different meaning for what the original text means by “faith.” Paul’s opponents would have undoubtedly been able to point out this flaw quickly.
Undeterred, Paul went on to quote from Leviticus 18:5 that whoever does the works of the law will live by them (Galatians 3:12). The point of Leviticus, and the Books of the Torah generally, was that Torah observance produces life. The Torah itself is sometimes referred to as “the tree of life” (Proverbs 3:18). The law itself rests on a covenant or agreement made between God and Israel: Torah represents the responsibilities of the Jewish people. The terms of the covenant rely on Jewish faith that God will honor his part of the agreement if they honor theirs.
Paul continued on with the theme of curses. He contended that Christ saves humanity from the curse of the law by becoming himself a curse. As we have seen, the curse of the law applies only to those who do not keep the law. But let’s move on to what Paul said about Christ becoming “a curse for us” and so removing the curse of the law. Here Paul quoted Deuteronomy 21:22, 23. This passage mandates that if someone is convicted of a capital crime and is executed by being hanged upon a tree, his corpse cannot remain there overnight. The Torah requirement is to bury an executed criminal the same day as he is killed. It represents an act of compassion, so that the executed criminal is not left to rot on the tree for days on end, a spectacle for other people to see and a source of food for scavenger birds. The passage says that anyone who is hanged on a tree is under a divine curse, that is, disgraced.
This text would only apply to Jesus if Paul thought that Christ was guilty of an exceptionally serious crime, so severe that it would place him under “God’s curse” as a disgraced criminal. Accusing Christ of committing such a heinous crime that would merit this ignominious death sentence was probably not what Paul intended. There is no suggestion in Paul that Jesus deserved his death, let alone that he committed a capital offense.
So far, Paul has only succeeded in misapplying texts that fail to support the point he wished to make, that Torah observers are somehow “under a curse.” But there is more, and this takes us into the heart of Paul’s radical message.
Paul’s next contention was that there is a direct connection between Abraham and the Christ. In advancing this line of thought, Paul relied on a semantic twist, interpreting a collective noun for a singular one. He noted that the promises to Abraham in Genesis were to his “offspring,” not “offsprings” (Genesis 12:7; Genesis 22:17, 18). So the link between Abraham and the Gentiles, he said, was to one individual, Christ, not to a collective or a group such as Jews generally. Why he made this quick identification of “offspring” with “Christ” is not clear.
The strength of Paul’s argument lies in the collective use of the word “offspring.” A natural reading would be that Gentiles are eventually to be blessed from the offspring of Abraham, that is, from his descendants, the Jewish people. Judaism envisaged that when God transforms the world to correspond to his will, Judaism would be shared with all the families of the earth and the one God would be worshipped by all humanity, living in peace and harmony with one another. In other words, the promises to Abraham will come about at the end-time. Gentiles would then be blessed through the offspring of Abraham, the Jewish people. This is the most plausible reading of the passage in Genesis.
The word “offspring” is a collective noun. In fact, the original context makes this clear. Genesis 22:17 depicts God as indicating to Abraham that his offspring will be as numerous as the stars in the sky and sand on the seashore. In interpreting this collective noun as referring to a specific individual, Paul was offering us an extremely narrow and forced interpretation of the text.
In leaping back from Christ to the example of Abraham, Paul attempted to bypass hundreds of years of Jewish history. He was distancing the Christ Movement from anything that is Jewish. So he rewrote history. Having made the move from Christ back to Abraham, skipping over the whole time of Torah, Paul had to answer the question that any Jewish person of the time, including members of the Jesus Movement, would have raised: If what you’re saying is correct, Paul, why then did God give Torah? Why was it necessary?
Paul’s answer was as straightforward as it was radical. He contended that the time of Torah was over. He said that “before faith came” (Galatians 3:23), we were under the law. He likened this to a prison experience, being confined and restricted in our movements. In effect, the Torah functioned as a disciplinary measure, to curb our behavior “until Christ came” (Galatians 3:24). Henceforth, he contended, we are all made righteous not by Torah, but by faith. He confidently asserted that we are all one in Christ Jesus. In one grand often-quoted sweeping statement, he claimed that distinctions such as gender, ethnicity, and status no longer have any relevance.
Here Paul has developed his own theology of history, and it’s a powerful one. There are three phases to history, says Paul. First there was the time of faith: from Abraham to Moses. Next there was the period of Torah: from Moses to Christ. Finally there has appeared another time of faith—faith in Christ—the period of human history from Christ onward. Now that Christ has come, Paul said, there is simply no need to observe Torah. This “Torah bypass” position of Paul has far-reaching consequences. If Paul were right that the time of Torah is over, then this argument would apply not only to Gentiles but also to Jews generally, including all the members of the Jesus Movement.
This argument would have caused deep concern among members of the Jesus Movement who, quite correctly, would have interpreted Paul as teaching the abolition of Torah observance for anyone, whether a member of his own movement, the Jesus Movement, or any form of Judaism. Years later, the Book of Acts would record how rumors reached James in Jerusalem to the effect that Paul was teaching that the laws of Moses were no longer applicable (Acts 21:20, 21). Those reports were correct.
An argument abolishing Torah observance for all time requires much greater justification. Paul presented no biblical or other justification for contending that the time of Torah observance was over: he simply asserted that it was. Why the appearance of the Christ rules out Torah was never made clear. There was no appeal at all to what the Jesus of history said or did. There was no mention of any prophet. There was no reference to any saying of Jesus. It just rested on Paul’s saying that it was so. There was nothing in prior Jewish tradition to lead anyone to suppose that Torah was temporary. To say that the argument is “flimsy” is to be kind: it is simply expedient and self-serving. It’s an attempt to change the terms of the contract unilaterally, by an outside party. Paul’s saying that the Jewish charter agreement with God has been terminated is analogous to some outside party, say the United Nations or the French Parliament, declaring the U.S. Constitution null and void. Just not credible.
It is abundantly clear, then, that Paul did not link his Christ Movement to Judaism as it was known and practiced in his day. He did attempt to relate it, however, to an ancient Jewish patriarch, Abraham, who lived centuries before Moses. Why he felt compelled to link his movement at all to Jewish sources, especially when he wished to deny the validity of Torah observance, is a mystery. What was his motivation? Did he, perhaps, wish to create a sense of antiquity for his Christ Movement, a prized value in Roman eyes? The Roman mind-set detested novelty, valuing ancient Greek, Egyptian, and Persian philosophies and ideas. Without an ancient pedigree, a religion would have minimal appeal. Moreover, the religions that competed with Paul’s movement—the cults of Dionysus, Isis, and Mithras—all had impressive ancient roots that helped attract members. So perhaps the example of Abraham, an ancient Jewish hero, would have served his need to position his movement as the outcome of a lengthy and honorable heritage.
Was he also driven by practical considerations? Probably the best way to reach his target audience, the God-fearers, was through the synagogue. And the way into the synagogue was through appeal to Jewish roots. In this case, appealing to Abraham would have been an effective ruse to get into the one distribution network that would help him succeed with his enterprise. Unlike the run-of-the-mill Gentile audience, God-fearers would likely have been familiar with the figure of Abraham from readings from the Jewish scrolls. Thus God-fearers would have been impressed with Paul and pleased that they could inherit the promises to Abraham without having to undergo the onerous conversion process to Judaism. Here they could have all Judaism’s benefits, with none of the responsibility. Perhaps Paul found in Abraham just the linchpin he needed to detach the God-fearers from the synagogue and recruit them for his own enterprise.
Later on in Galatians, Paul continued his bypassing of Judaism. In a provocative passage, he claimed that Christians are descended from Abraham via Sarah, the free woman. Jews, however, as those who keep the law, were, he said, descended from Abraham via Hagar, the slave woman. This would have the effect of robbing Judaism of its heritage. It simply makes no sense biblically. Jewish descent is via Isaac and Sarah. It also robs Arabs of their heritage through Ishmael, but that’s another story.
This genealogy was completely wild. It is hard to imagine someone trained in Pharisaic Judaism, as Acts would have it, making this argument. It does demonstrate, however, the lengths to which Paul was prepared to go to deny Judaism its heritage and its validity. If the time of Torah is truly over, then Judaism as a religion serves no purpose.
The one really good argument that Paul could not use is this: he could have appealed to the practice and teachings of Jesus, to the effect that he did not advocate Torah observance. That would have been a legitimate appeal to authority—see what Jesus said and did. Paul could then have concluded that Torah observance should not be obligatory for any member of the Christ Movement.
This one argument would have clinched the case. He could not make this argument, however. As we have seen, the historical Jesus taught and practiced Torah observance. So, too, did his earliest followers in Jerusalem. So Paul couldn’t say that Jesus agreed with him. He didn’t. Paul’s position was at odds with what Jesus himself practiced. Moreover, what the historical Jesus did and said did not seem to matter to Paul: he focused on what the Christ figure told him and on his death and resurrection. This demonstrates clearly how much at odds Paul’s religion was with that of Jesus. His was not a continuation or reinterpretation of the religion Jesus started and did not find its point of origin in what Jesus said or did.
Paul would have had no credibility with members of the Jesus Movement in Jerusalem or any other Jewish faction of the time. They would have found his ideas totally repugnant both because he rejected Torah observance and also substituted a Roman savior Christ figure for that of a Jewish teacher and Messiah claimant. His was a Hellenistic religion, with very little—if any—Jewish content. Anyone with a Jewish background would have read his position as a capitulation to the assimilationist forces of Hellenization. Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes, Zealots, and Jesus Movement members alike would have not only rejected but also despised his views.
Did Paul have any credibility with his rivals in Galatia? Would they have been impressed by his inaccurate biblical quotations and sketchy arguments? Would they have just walked away from Torah observance? Unfortunately we don’t know their response, but judging from parts of the Jesus Movement who caught wind of Paul’s position, they likely went on the attack.
It is undeniable that Paul’s position had massive appeal, but at what cost? As Mason and Robinson point out, “Evidently Paul has been accused of perverting the (originally Jewish) gospel, by omitting the demands of the Jewish covenant, in order to please men.”6 Paul’s abolition of Torah did create a religion that was easier to follow than one that insisted on Torah observance. No wonder Paul was accused of developing positions to please people. Paul persistently had to answer the charge that he was “a liar.”7
In defense of his credibility, Paul maintained that he had his message “through a revelation of Jesus Christ” (Galatians 1:12). Through this transforming experience, Paul claimed to have had a privileged revelation from “the Christ.” The impact of that voice or vision changed his orientation in life, and out of this grew the Christ Movement.
Paul also claimed to have received his message from this experience, not from the historical Jesus or from the leaders of the Jesus Movement: “For I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that the gospel that was proclaimed by me is not of human origin; for I did not receive it from a human source, nor was I taught it, but I received it through a revelation of Jesus Christ” (Galatians 1:11, 12). There was nothing within the various accounts of his experience that would lead us to predict that he would eventually advance positions that would run counter to Judaism and the Jesus Movement. And yet he did. Whatever this experience was, it was not a “conversion” experience from one form of Judaism to another such as the Jesus Movement. This life-changing event was a conversion out of Judaism into something else—something entirely different.
Paul was killed not long after James, in the early to mid 60s, likely in Rome under Nero’s reign, confident that his new religion was gaining momentum. What Paul created was enormously successful: the religious dynamic he set in motion ultimately resulted in what eventually became Christianity.
As we have seen, Paul’s views were vastly different from those of the Jesus Movement and from Jesus himself. They rested on Paul’s mystical experience: everything flowed from that deep spiritual connection made between the Christ and Paul. Through this ongoing relationship, Paul received information that differed from the original followers of Jesus and from what the Jesus of history taught and practiced. It was a separate revelation. From this movement, and from his experience, however, emerged subsequent Christianity. It is not often noted the extent to which the foundations of Christianity depend crucially on Paul’s personal experience. That vision defined the central character of Paul’s message, the shape of his movement, and subsequent Christianity.
The contrast between the two rival movements is stark, differing in terms of origins, practices, and beliefs, as we have seen. More than that, the focal point of the two movements differed. The Jesus Movement represented the religion of Jesus. The Christ Movement, however, was a religion about the Christ. These were two separate religions.
Two traditions were born in the early decades of the first century A.D. One tradition goes from Jesus, through the Jesus Movement under James, into the Ebionites as they were later called. We have carefully profiled this movement and its subsequent history will be traced later on. The other tradition stems from Paul through the Christ Movement and then on into modern Christianity. Scholars such as Bart Ehrman refer to the Christ Movement as it moved out into the wider arena of the Roman Empire in the second through fourth centuries as Proto-Orthodoxy.8 We will use this convenient phrase rather than the more cumbersome “what eventually became Christianity.” The Proto-Orthodox represents the faction that, in time, became the dominant expression of the new faith. This tradition won out over every other form of early Christianity, the Ebionites and Gnostics included. Leading figures of early Christianity such as Ignatius of Antioch, Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, Tertullian, and Augustine were all Proto-Orthodox writers.
The Proto-Orthodox did not know that they were Proto-Orthodox; that is, they were not aware, of course, that they represented the group that was destined to become Christianity. During the period of intense rivalry within the early church—the second through fourth centuries—everyone proclaimed their movement to be the true faith and denounced others. Why the Proto-Orthodox eventually won out is a complex story that Bart Ehrman traces through several chapters of his Lost Christianities.9 They include such reasons as having a superior infrastructure—a worldwide network of bishops in communication with one another—as well as a vast writing apparatus that undertook the task of producing gospels, theological and philosophical treatises, legends, romances, letters, and attacks upon every conceivable heretical position. They were driven to succeed, answering every objection and battering down every perceived heresy in a way that their rivals did not. In modern terms, they controlled the airwaves, winning what Ehrman terms “the battle over texts.”10
But there were other factors at work as well. The shape of Paul’s new religion offered immense advantages over that of the Jesus Movement. It was simpler to join. It encouraged faith in a religious figure who bore strong similarities to other saviors who were well known throughout the ancient Mediterranean world. That made it much easier than having to back up through the history of Israel to explain the necessity for a political Messiah. It offered immediate rewards: eternal life through faith in Christ. It opened up food choices, with dietary restrictions abandoned. It was easier—much easier—to follow, with none of the laws of Torah constantly on the minds of its members. In fact, like most Hellenistic religions, it made few demands on its members. Furthermore, it radically reduced the need to read and understand what we call the Old Testament since its central message, that of Torah observance, had been shattered. God-fearers no longer had to attend synagogue services. The welcome mat was out for them in the new Christ Movement, which greeted them without making them second-class members. No more were they appendages to Judaism but full-fledged members of the new movement. And it was inclusive. Everyone was welcomed on the same terms. Paul unleashed a powerful new religious dynamic within the world of his time. It was appealing and inviting.
That is not to say that Paul’s movement was not without its problems. It faced strenuous opposition. Paul was constantly attacked. Virtually every one of Paul’s letters addresses issues raised by various kinds of opponents, most of them coming from Jewish or Jesus Movement teachers. We tend to ignore the anger that Paul’s views stirred up wherever he went, but his catalogue of opposition is immense. The earliest letter of Paul (and, thus, the earliest Christian writing we possess), 1 Thessalonians, for instance, talked about being treated shamefully at Philippi and that he faced great opposition in Thessalonica. Somewhat later, in 1 Corinthians, he mentioned several rival factions at work within that congregation, one led by Apollos and another by no less a personage than Peter. In Philippians he criticized opposition leaders who, he maintained, preached out of envy or rivalry. There, too, he attacked those who practice circumcision—that is, every form of Judaism, including the Jesus Movement people—as “dogs” and “evil-workers” (Philippians 3:2). In 2 Corinthians, he denounced Judaism as a “ministry of death” (2 Corinthians 3:7) and advanced the view that whenever Torah is read by Jewish people, a veil clouds their understanding. He battled against what he sarcastically called “the super apostles,” (2 Corinthians 11:7) probably referring to the original followers of Jesus, and brands them as “false apostles,” “deceitful workers,” and agents of Satan.
In addition to being confronted with immense opposition, Paul’s religion faced other significant challenges. He had to contend with a number of major ethical questions. Letters such as 1 Corinthians testify to this, where family, sexual, and social matters dominate the discussion. Even at the end of Galatians, he cautioned his hearers that freedom from the law does not mean anarchy. In the process of abandoning Torah, however, he could not refer to these ready-made ethical principles to resolve the contentious matters that had surfaced. In practice he tended to answer these issues on a rather ad hoc, piecemeal basis.
In addition, Paul had to face problems about which we hear very little. What replaced the Sabbath? Did his members take a day off work? If so, when? How did his new converts get along with their old Jewish friends and acquaintances in the synagogues they had recently left? How much social interaction was possible between them and observant Jews? How much bitterness was present? Did Paul’s pragmatic instructions that it makes no difference what one eats, including meat from temples dedicated to idols, really persuade his membership to engage in this practice? And, apart from having faith in the Christ and waiting for his return, what else did his membership have to believe?
Moreover, without the distinctiveness of Torah, what distinguished Paul’s followers from those of the mystery religions of the time? It would appear that only the name of the dying-rising savior divine-human differs—Christ for Mithras or Dionysus, for instance.
On the other side of the fence were the members of the Jesus Movement. They were shocked by Paul’s teachings; they opposed him vigorously and were probably dismayed by his success. They viewed him as a false teacher, someone who had developed a thoroughly Hellenized religion. They thought of themselves as the true successors of Jesus, following in his footsteps and continuing his practices. Ironically, however, this did not seem to count as Paul’s religion swept through the Mediterranean. The Jesus Movement had little in common with its rival. There could have been little interaction between Paul’s group and the Jesus Movement. Everything was different: the holidays, the food they ate, the beliefs they entertained, and the practices they considered important. Outsiders, however, Jews and Gentiles alike, might make the mistake of supposing that they were similar, sharing as they did some common terminology including mention of Jesus, whom Paul typically called the Christ. No wonder outsiders were confused.
In time, Paul’s Christ Movement and its successors, the Proto-Orthodox, won out over all the alternatives. It’s difficult to date the birth of Christianity as a church, but I would date it to the fourth century. It was during this century that the Proto-Orthodox faction became favored by Constantine and subsequently decreed the official religion of the Roman Empire under Emperor Theodosius in 380. This imperial backing allowed this dominant group to do away with all their rivals, their rivals’ leadership, and their rivals’ writings—the Ebionites, Gnostics, as well as many other forms of Christianity that had emerged by this time.
The Proto-Orthodox succeeded for many reasons, some of which we have cited—imperial backing, the shape of the religion created by Paul, strong episcopal leadership, and a network of communications. In modern business terms, they occupied an enviable and strategic position. They had the product, a flexible, welcoming, easy-to-follow religion. They had the distribution network, bishops scattered around the Mediterranean in constant communication with one another. They controlled the communication process, producing endless writings that supported their own position while responding to every criticism in a way that the Ebionite and Gnostic Christians failed to do. They wrote gospels, letters, romances, fictitious histories, attacks on heretics, and defenses of the faith. They advanced an effective public relations campaign, contending that their bishops were descended from the original disciples of Jesus. They also had the branding—a modern Roman religion with some links to an ancient and respectable Jewish ancestry.
But there was another important factor at work. None of this would have happened without the Book of Acts, which glued the Christ Movement on to the Jesus Movement—at least on paper. That, of course, never happened in reality. The Jesus and Christ Movements were parallel movements, at odds with each other. But Acts tries to tell us otherwise.