Chapter One: Jesus Then and Now

[This is an ongoing project that is analyzing N.T. Wright’s 5 volume series, Christian Origins and the Question of God. This series is widely read and bridges the gap between the academic and devotional world. It is therefore worthy to be carefully analyzed so that all readers can understand his key points while at the same time gaining a critical eye to some of his rather bold claims. This series of posts are concerning volume 2 – Jesus and the Victory of God.]

This second volume of N.T. Wright’s as yet 5 volume series (which is not fully complete) in the Christian Origins and the Question of God series considers the question of the historical Jesus. Wright is once again a very helpful case study because he shows a learned, but very typical presentation of Christian origins. Wright is not only nearly revered in devotional circles (seemingly taking the place that Raymond Brown once held), but also he presents views that are very common. Wright’s value then is that while he presents common views, he presents them in an intelligent manner and explains their ramifications. This was true of his reconstruction of the earliest readers of the New Testament in the previous volume and remains true on his study of the historical Jesus in this volume. Here in this first chapter, Wright presents the necessity of the study of the historical Jesus and is a case study for its extreme difficulty.

First, Wright, in his series about the first followers of Jesus, Jesus himself, and the New Testament rightly argues that among all the diversity of Christianity, the one thing that is consistent is that they all referred back to the historical figure of Jesus. He argues this in his preface:

The study of first-century Judaism and first-century Christianity forces us to realize certain specific questions about Jesus: who was he? What were his aims? Why did he die? And why did early Christianity begin in the way that it died? The present book is my attempt to answer to the first of these three questions, and to point towards an answer for the fourth.[1]

Wright is certainly correct that speculation about Jesus is necessary to understand the earliest Christians. If one can know who Jesus actually was, then it should logically be easier to see how alternate mythoi about Jesus could be developed – assuming that later authors did know at least something about the historical Jesus themselves. It is likely that at least the earliest gospels were familiar enough with the historical Jesus that we should not tacitly assume that they were simply making elements up whole cloth. Instead, one should assume at the very least (and some would argue far more than that) that the basic framework for the gospels is based upon some key historical events in the life of Jesus. At the very least, it is surely fair to say that at least the earliest Christians were trying to present the historical figure of Jesus – even if one would argue that these authors got it wrong. All of this validates the study Wright is attempting to address.

Wright then considers scholars who have looked at this question. He begins a historical analysis with the reformation. He argues that until that time, there really was very little discussion of the historical Jesus at all – in ecclesiastical circles, everyone assumed that everything the gospels presented was historical and the question was not raised. Whether this is true or not is up for at least some debate, but what is accurate is that the scope or concern about this topic certainly was not as wide as it became in the post-reformation/renaissance world.

The two scholars that Wright dialogues with carefully are Albert Schweitzer and Rudolf Bultmann. He calls these two the “giants” that have set the agenda for later discussion of the historical Jesus. He argues that they have created a kind of negative view of the historical Jesus – not negative in the sense that they saw him as somehow “bad,” but negative in the sense of “reductive” – that they have eliminated much of the data that we have as unreliable:

In their place, we have seen a new kind of via negativa…they cannot be dismissed as the products merely of cynical unbelief. They appear to possess the proper, indeed reverent, caution of the angel rather than the blundering haste of the fool (in this case, the heavy-handed historian).[2]

Here Wright does a good job – he points out that while Bultmann and Schweitzer were very critical of the sources, they did not do this out of some kind of scholarly conspiracy to destroy faith. Rather, they did this because they revered the text so carefully. Had they not done so, they would have simply slopped together the data and not asked the texts hard questions.

Wright then remarks that while many disagree with these two “giants” now (and nearly everyone does – both the devotional and the secular scholar), these two set the agenda for most all later studies. Most will view Schweitzer and Bultmann as having all the wrong answers to all the right questions:

Schweitzer and Bultmann are of vital, if negative, importance to the contemporary work on the New Testament. This is not merely because of their direct influence….Schweitzer and Bultmann are important because they saw, arguable more clearly than anyone else in this century, the fundamental shape of the New Testament jigsaw, and the nature of the problems involved in trying to put it together.[3]

Both figures looked very deeply into the New Testament texts (our vast majority of data for the study of the historical Jesus) in order to understand some key points about it. They rightly realized that the texts themselves could not simply be placed on top of each other to create a historical picture. Instead, the data has to be critically examined. Using the metaphor of the jigsaw, Wright explains this phenomenon:

The jigsaw they perceived is first and foremost an historical one. The oddity of this particular puzzle consists in the fact that the shape of the pieces is indeterminate: each must be cut and trimmed to fit with the others, with none being automatically exempt from the process.[4]

Wright is correct that the data is shaped. In fact, there are few studies where one’s hermeneutic so clearly mandates a result as the study of the historical Jesus. If one considers Jesus as an apocalyptic prophet (as Wright does) or if one views Jesus as a radical social reformer (as J.D. Crossan does) governs how one “shapes” the data to fit that particular mold.

Wright presents his argument as a kind of middle ground. He wants to argue that while the gospels are not first and foremost historical, they still present historical information. Wright is correct that the gospels are not necessarily historical; they are theological. Many historical Jesus scholars have seen these two sides in competition. The idea being that the gospels were happy to sacrifice historical accuracy for theological clarity. At least in some sense, this is accurate – the Gospel of John, for instance, is infamous for simply changing the nature or sequence of events in order to make theological points (e.g. changing the day on which Jesus was crucified in order that Jesus could be the symbolic Passover lamb that was slaughtered). Wright; however, argues generally in contrast to this. He argues that there can be a historically accurate picture that is not in necessary competition with theology: 

It is a measure of the extent to which the split between history and theology has dominated recent western Christian thought that writers of all shades of opinion, from extreme orthodox to extreme radical, have tacitly affirmed that it is difficult, if not impossible, to hold the two together, especially in talking about Jesus….The underlying argument of this book is that the split is not warranted: that rigorous history (i.e. open-ended investigation of actual events in first-century Palestine) and rigorous theology (i.e. open-ended investigation of what the word ‘god’, and hence the adjective ‘divine’, might actually refer to) belong together, and never more so than in the discussion of Jesus. If this means that we end up needing a new metaphysic, so be it. It would be pleasant if, for once, the historians and the theologians could set the agenda for philosophers, instead of vice versa.[5]

Wright here is very much like many Christian thinkers who at the very least want such a thing to be the case. They want their theological picture to be the historical picture. Wright in a lucid way suggests the same.

The problem with Wright’s argument is how narrowly he defines theology. He seems to define it based upon whether Jesus was divine or not. While that is certainly an issue for theology, it is not the only issue for theology. While that one issue is not  necessarily mutually exclusive – it is surely historically possible that Jesus was divine even if it is not provable – there are other issues which are not so certain. “Theology” is a very large swath of issues that cannot be defined by a single point. What Wright has done is tried to encapsulate what will be at most variance and in so doing has diminutized this dichotomy. Likely, he will deal with some of the more minor issues while going through this book, but the initial presentation is troubling.

Wright then provides a brief survey of the development of the study of the historical Jesus over the course of the past two centuries. Some criticisms could be made as to what he includes or excludes; however, as he notes this story is told often and his conversation is not meant to be exhaustive. His conclusion, though is telling. He argues that the quest is no easier now than it ever has been. The sources have not changed nor have they been amazingly clarified:

Two hundred years, then – surveyed swiftly here, because the story has been told so often – have demonstrated that the Quest is vital, but difficult. The sources are no less tricky to use now than the y were at the start. The questions are no less pressing. From time to time one hopes that a few false trails may have been closed off for good, but, just when one allows oneself a sigh of relief at the thought, there arises another cunning variation on an old theme. From time to time one believes that some aspect of first-century Jewish history is now firmly established, so that it can be used as a fixed point in future work; but there always seems to be enough scope within the complex sources for strikingly different interpretations to emerge.[6]

Here Wright is certainly correct – the sources are the same sources (with slight additions here or there) and that the data always has an am amount of variety in it. Very little of the first century can be known with the pinpoint accuracy we would like and as a result, data always can be interpreted widely.

Here Wright is a good case study of the challenge of the historical Jesus. My graduate mentor always said that in the study of the historical Jesus, there are rarely new ideas, just new authors. While this is an exaggeration, it is a helpful one. Wright has pointed out the reason – the data does not change. Further, the data is so governed by one’s interpretation, that the interpretation creates the picture. This is always true of historical inquiry, but in the study of the historical Jesus, it is abundantly true. Further, the study of the historical Jesus has become an industry. There are so many books written on the topic that nearly every opinion has been expressed multiple times. Wright’s discussion is worthwhile because it is so common – not because it is unique. Wright presents in an academic way the general argument made by most Protestants (and possibly also Roman Catholics – but I lack the knowledge of that particular group).

This is the challenge of the study of the historical Jesus. Wright is correct that it is necessary, but also correct that it is uncertain and likely will remain so. Wright presents a worldview that he explores to its logical end. This upcoming analysis then will be more about the logical end of that worldview than about the data of the historical Jesus, which always is indeterminate.

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[1] N.T. Wright Jesus and the Victory of God (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996), xiii.

[2] JVG, 3-4.

[3] JVG, 5.

[4] Ibid., 5.

[5] Ibid., 7-8.

[6] Ibid., 26-27.

Chapter 15: The Early Christians: A Preliminary Sketch, Chapter 16: The New Testament and the People of God (Conclusion)

[This is an ongoing project that is analyzing N.T. Wright’s 5 volume series, Christian Origins and the Question of God. This series is widely read and bridges the gap between the academic and devotional world. It is therefore worthy to be carefully analyzed so that all readers can understand his key points while at the same time gaining a critical eye to some of his rather bold claims. This series of posts are concerning volume 1 – The New Testament and the People of God.]

This essay focuses on the final two chapters of N.T. Wright’s New Testament and the People of God. As such, this is a summative discussion of the values and challenges of the text as a whole. The value arises in Wright’s insistence on the continuity between Judaism and early Christianity. This is a valuable assertion and helps to understand Christianity in a reasonable setting. This therefore challenges the rather wild assertions that Christianity was amazingly unique, fell from heaven, and is somehow different from all other religions on earth. This view is commonly held these days arguing that Christianity is not a “religion” – despite the fact that the term “religion” was developed from the framework of Christianity. Wright’s emphasis on Jewish roots challenges that. However, Wright’s emphasis on those Jewish roots can limit the comprehension of the complex relationships with the Greco-Roman world that were separate from Judaism.

N.T. Wright argues that Christianity survived and persisted because it was in continuity with the Judaic worldview. He argues that Christianity uniquely grew in its pace and form:

This sums up two fundamental things about early Christianity. It spread like wildfire: as religions and philosophies go, it was exceedingly quick off the starting-line. And it soon made inroads into cultures quite different from that of its birth: the Greco-Roman world was forced to come to terms with what was originally a Jewish message.[1]

While it is not quite true that Christianity’s growth rate was unique,[2] it is true that unlike most new religious movements, Christianity did succeed and was very viable early on. Wright argues that this occurred precisely because of its relationship with Judaism:

The stories we have examined, and the praxis and symbol that went so closely with them, only make sense if the story-tellers believed that the great Jewish story had reached its long-awaited fulfillment, and that now world history had entered a new phase, the final phase in the drama of which the Jewish story itself was only one part...the widespread Christian impetus towards what was often as risky and costly mission can only be explained in terms of the belief that Israel had now been redeemed, and that the time for the Gentiles had therefore come.[3]

Here Wright places his central argument – it is the hope of Israel fulfilled which made the “story” of Christianity so compelling.

The value to Wright’s message is that it is a helpful corrective to many historians of early Christianity in the 1880s-1960s who viewed Christianity nearly outside its Jewish confines and instead only in terms of the Greco-Roman world.[4] However, there is concern that he has overcorrected to make his point too robust.

Wright is certainly correct that Christianity developed out of Judaism – it certainly did. Further, he is willing to make a bold claim which can be helpful – that all of early Christianity can be helpfully characterized as “Jewish” Christianity given that this was its direct source. Therefore, he opposed the distinction between “Jewish” and “Gentile” Christianity which is often presented:

For a start, all early Christianity was Jewish Christianity. All early missionary work among Gentiles was undertaken by Jewish Christians. The decision not to require circumcision of Gentile converts has as much right to be labeled ‘Jewish Christians’ as does the position of those who bitterly opposed it. Every single document in the New Testament is in some sense ‘Jewish Christian’; the fact that Matthew, for instance, acquiesces in the abolition of the Jewish dietary regulations does not make his work any less ‘Jeiwsh.’ Paul’s theology, in which the Jewish worldview he had embraces as a Pharisee is systematically rethought and remade, only makes sense if it is still seen nevertheless as Jewish theology. It is emphatically not a variant of paganism.[5]

While this can be challenged, it is important to recognize that Wright shows some essential continuity. It is surely true that any view developed in first century Palestine has to, in some way, be consistent with Judaism.

The challenge is that such a view makes “Judaism” into such a wide umbrella, that little can be said of it. For instance, if one is to seriously argue that Hebrews is consistent with Judaism has to argue that a theology of the replacement of Judaism is in fact “Jewish.” This is where Wright’s understanding limits his creativity. He is so interested in the relationship of Judaism with Christianity that he ends up deemphasizing some of the Greco-Roman interests (particularly Platonic philosophy) expressed by some early Christians. While it is certainly true that there was room in Judaism for Platonism, the primary interest of some early Christians were Platonists and Judaism was really secondary. Therefore, while they remained “Jewish” in some sense, what motivated them was something different. This calls into question the helpfulness of arguing that this was the essential relationship for all early Christians.

Wright shows this interest by suggesting that Jews and Christians, after the temple was destroyed, were making a similar claim:

At the end of the day, we are confronted with a striking fact: towards the end of the first century there were two recognizably distinct communities [Jews and Christians], each making more or less the same claim [That they were the heirs of the covenant].[6]

Here Wright is correct only in its widest terms – yes, it is certainly true that both communities did see themselves as the heirs of the same covenant. However, Wright’s further claims that this created a “double community” of two groups makes it sound as if there was far more universal agreement and dialogue than there often was. There are certainly clear examples of strife between Jews and Christians in the first several centuries of Christianity (one might note Augustine, Chrystostom, or Justin Martyr’s argument with Jews); however, there were long periods where Jews were not in any real relationship with Christian churches. There certainly was a “sense” of them as a logical construct, but that should not always be misunderstood to imply an actual dialogue with actual Jews.

Eventually, Wright’s first book is valuable for its emphasis on the relationship between Judaism and Christianity. Its weakness is that it does this – which is a very good thing to be doing – monothetically. It looks so carefully at this one relationship that other relationships are not considered as carefully. Because I happen to have interest in more Greco-Roman philosophy, I am sensitive to that area. However, one could argue similarly about Roman politics, social networking, or Greco-Roman religion.

Wright’s view is once again, fundamentally important because it provides an excellent case study for what many Protestant Christians hold – indeed many Protestants read Wright himself as a primary source. Therefore, this entire series has not been an attempt to destroy the terrible N.T. Wright. Instead, it is using Wright as a case study. We do so because Wright expresses his ideas so well – not so poorly. Therefore, this should not be misunderstood as an expose.

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[1] NTPG, 444.

[2] See Rodney Stark The Rise of Christianity: How the Obscure, Marginal Jesus Movement Became the Dominant Religious Force in the Western World in a Few Centuries (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996).

[3] NTPG, 445.

[4] Perhaps most notably in the work of R.P.C. Hanson and Adolf von Harnack.

[5] Ibid., 453.

[6] Ibid., 467.

Chapters 13 and 14 – Stories in Early Christianity (I-II)

[This is an ongoing project that is analyzing N.T. Wright’s 5 volume series, Christian Origins and the Question of God. This series is widely read and bridges the gap between the academic and devotional world. It is therefore worthy to be carefully analyzed so that all readers can understand his key points while at the same time gaining a critical eye to some of his rather bold claims. This series of posts are concerning volume 1 – The New Testament and the People of God.]

N.T. Wright argues that there was essential continuity among early Jesus stories. He argues that there was a central narrative mythos that early Christians held. He further argues that this narrative, despite diversity in communities, was largely the same. He argues that early Christians unanimously saw Jesus as the fulfillment and climax of the story of Israel’s history of salvation. He does this in large swaths by discussion first the “basic narratives” of the New Testament itself in chapter 13 and form critically into pre-gospel material in chapter 14. The value in these chapters is that it shows how fluid such a picture can be presented given the content of material for the early Church. The challenge is that this picture, like all pictures like it, bring a necessary level of ambiguity that balances on the fringe between the blatantly obvious and the wild speculation. Wright is a wonderful case study as he does both of those things. To argue that Jesus was considered a turning point in Jewish history is blatantly obvious; however, to argue that such an obvious fact was the single cord that united all Jesus groups to be essentially “the same” moves into the wild speculation.

Wright rightly suggests that one thing early Christians did was to create and repeat stories. Wright also correctly points out that plenty of religious and philosophical groups did not do this in the first century:

The early Christians were story-tellers. There were plenty of philosophies on offer in the ancient world whose commitment to stories was less obvious than theirs (though no doubt equally capable of being teased out by a persistent modern narratologist). The writings of the Stoics, for example, consist far more of maxims and isolated obiter dicta, with only the occasional short story, either anecdote or parable, thrown in by way of illustration. With the early Christians, I shall argue throughout this and the next chapter, stories were visibly and obviously an essential part of what they were and did.[1]

Wright, as one might recall, has seen the issue of “story” or what in religious studies circles is better known as mythos as fundamental to the early Jesus movement and its worldview.

Given that the early Christians used mythos in order to establish identity, Wright, in these two chapters, attempts to ask the fundamental question – if they told stories, what was the “essential story” that they told? Wright is attempting to discover the “heart” of the Jesus movement. Wright, much like many Christians, is happy to admit that there is diversity, but still amidst this diversity, wants to suggest a kind of unity. He wants there to be an essential “story” that overrides all the differences and makes the early movement one thing. He can be found doing this by using a term I try to avoid – early “Christians.” In the earliest going, it is usually assumed that there is not one organized religious center, but instead there are a variety of Christianities that were at least independent of one another and probably competing with one another.

To Wright’s credit, when he searches for this unity, he recognizes that the sources we have are biased and suggest variety rather than unity. He admits that to understand that story one needs to consider the early Christian sources. These sources require interpretation:

We need to study the early Christian stories in themselves in order to find out about Jesus; but only when we presuppose something about Jesus can we study those stories in their full depth.[2]

Wright is admirably honest – he agrees that the sources we have for Jesus and the early church are “insider” documents that one needs to interpret with a hermeneutic to understand them.

To address this issue, he first marches through the main sources of early Christianity. He begins with the Gospel of Luke (by comparing it to Josephus) and argues that at its heart, the gospel presents a story of the fulfillment of the Jewish worldview (albeit in the form of a Hellenistic biography):

And in both [Luke and Josephus] there is a longer purpose waiting to be uncovered, a purpose which encompasses the message of judgment and salvation for Israel.[3]

Luke is telling the story of Jesus as the fulfillment, the completion, of the story of David and his kingdom.[4]

Whether this is the precise theme of Luke or not can be disputed, however, that one of the key themes of Luke is the fulfillment of Israel’s hopes is certainly accurate. Wright further shows that Matthew’s interest could be characterized in a similar way:

It is therefore vital that we recognize Matthew’s blend of genres, as we recognized Luke’s earlier. There is, once more, no doubt that Matthew has written the story of Jesus as a Hellenistic-style bios, a biography. But that the same time he has told it as the continuation and climax of the story of Israel, with the implicit understanding that this story is the close to the story of the world. And if this is so, there can be no doubt, either, that he intends it to be read both as instruction for this church of his day and as history.[5]

Here Wright suggests that both Matthew and Luke have essential continuity on this point. He argues that Mark has this same idea with essential continuity:

All three synoptic gospels, we have seen, share a common pattern behind their wide divergences. All tell the story of Jesus, and especially that of his cross, not as an oddity, a one-off biography of strange doings, or a sudden irruption of divine power into history, but as the end of a much longer story, the story of Israel, which in turn is the focal point of the story of the creator and the world. What is more, they are telling this complex story, not simply for antiquarian or theological interest, but in such a way as to make it the foundation-story, the historical ‘founding myth,’ for their communities, communities whose very existence depended on their being called by the same god to carry on the same story in its new phase.[6]

The continuity present between the Jewish worldview of Matthew, Mark, and Luke could be challenged, but it certainly is something that could be argued.

Where Wright begins to stretch the concept is when he applies the same to Paul, Hebrews, and the Gospel of John. Consider the following three passages where Wright presents Paul, Hebrews, and John in continuity with the synoptics:

This survey of Paul is, of course, woefully incomplete. There is much which is here left for another occasion. But I hope it is sufficient to demonstrate at least a strong case for saying that, at one fixed point in the early years of Christianity, the story which was being told has substantially the same shape as the story which we observed in Luke, Matthew and Mark. It is the Israel-story, fulfilled, subverted and transformed by the Jesus-story, and now subverting the world’s stories. In its new form, it generates and sustains a symbolic universe, in which the writers of epistles and gospels alike understand themselves and their readers as living: the world in which this fulfilled Israel-drama is now moving toward its closure, its still unreaching ending.[7]

Hebrews focuses on the Temple cult rather than on more general theological or practical issues, but the underlying story corresponds to what we found in the synoptics and Paul. Jesus has brought Israel’s story to its paradoxical climax.[8]

This is the story of Jesus told as the true, and redeeming, story of the creator and the cosmos. John’s gospel, through and through, tells the recognizably Jewish story of Israel and the world, but, like Paul and the synoptics in their diverse ways, draws the eye onto Jesus as the fulfillment, and hence the subversion, of that story.[9]

Very few scholars of early Christianity would agree that Paul, Hebrews, and John had the same fundamental theology as the synoptics.

The argument that their theology is different but their essential “story” is the same can create a sense of continuity, but only in the most vague terms possible. The idea that followers of the Jesus movement considered Jesus as having been (even if it is unimportant now) the Jewish Messiah is simply to suggest that the groups following Jesus were actually following Jesus. What each figure believes about the significance of Jesus’ actions as the messiah are vastly different. Wright’s presentation here is quite helpful because it presents a common motif that is found within Christian interpretation of the developing Jesus movements – the grasp for continuity by means of making such a wide ranging vague theme that most all texts could agree in some sense.

Wright then goes one step farther and attempts to perform form-critical studies of the New Testament texts to identify earlier stages of the Jesus movement. Wright accurately points out the challenges of form criticism but the essential necessity of it. While form criticism can surely be challenged for its inherent ambiguity (which things are forms and which are not?), Wright suggests that at this point, there have not been sufficient alternate explanations and form criticism is the best method we have available: “The critics of form criticism have not, to my knowledge, offered a serious alternative model of how the early church told its stories.”[10] While Wright could be criticized for using form criticism, for this paper, it is a helpful enough category to allow his argument to continue.

The challenge is not so much the fact that Wright uses form criticism, the challenge is that he seems to use it because of its inherent ambiguity. He wants to use it to apply his hypothesis to the data of the New Testament. He argues against early proponents of form criticism (particularly Bultmann) by suggesting that his hypothesis was not one that had to be accepted:

A second misunderstanding, once that one is out o the way, is the assumption that the discipline of form-criticism necessarily belongs with one particular hypothesis about the origin and development of the early church.[11]

While Wright is certainly correct that Bultmann’s hypothesis is not certain, one will note that he does not oppose the application of a hypothesis to interpret the text. Instead, he revels in it.

Wright argues that his hypothesis of the Jewish form of earliest Christianity makes the best sense to create the Christian “story:”

The case needs to be spelled out for seeing the whole of the first generation of Christianity as essentially Jewish in form, however subversive of actual Judaism it was in content. If Jesus was Jewish, and thought and acted within a world of Jewish expectations and understandings of history; if Paul did the same; if the synoptic evangelists and even John retold the Jewish story so as to bring it to its climax with Jesus; and if even in the second century, even out in the pagan world, Christianity still bore the same stamp – then it seems highly likely a priori that the early tellings of stories about Jesus would also carry the same form. What we need, and have never had in the history of the discipline, is a hypothesis that would show at least the possibility of a Jewish form-criticism of the synoptic tradition, a reading of the stories which did justice to the high probability that their earliest form was Jewish, and that Hellenistic features may be sign of later development.[12]

Here Wright has taken the opportunity to introduce his own assumptive claims into the text.

It is not surprising that Wright has used a Jewish worldview as the basis for the story of Jesus. By all rights, anyone who wants to seriously consider the historical Jesus should start from a Jewish worldview. The problem is that he has tried to do too much and in so doing does very little. Had he made this argument simply for the study of the historical Jesus in his second volume, there would be relatively little objection. The problem is that he tries to say that such a view is held in all of the earliest sources about Jesus. If there is one thing that can be known about the documents discussing Jesus is that they all do not agree on anything. The only way they could possibly agree would be if the framework provided was so vague as simply to say “Jesus was Jesus.” That is essentially what Wright has done – he has tied everything together in a way that is irrefutable, but also unremarkable. Somehow, it is true, early followers of Jesus did follow him and recognized that he lived in the first century and was considered the Jewish Messiah. However, that might be as far the congruence goes.

Wright’s analysis is remarkably common. He is so interested in harmonizing “the story” he focuses on the harmonization and what can be lost in that harmonization is the unique elements of each gospel. The books of the New Testament were not written to agree with one another. The authors of the books did not know others were being written, much less that they would be collated together. Instead, the books were written to be used independently for community members to gain meaning and identity. When these become harmonized in a “lowest common denominator” fashion, reasonable question can be asked as to the real value that is left.  

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[1] NTPG, 372.

[2] Ibid., 372.

[3] Ibid., 379.

[4] Ibid., 381.

[5] Ibid., 390.

[6] Ibid., 396.

[7] Ibid., 409.

[8] Ibid., 410.

[9] Ibid., 416-417.

[10] Ibid., 424.

[11] Ibid., 420.

[12] Ibid., 427.

Getting beyond the “problem of evil”: How Origen of Alexandria helps us rethink theodicy

Of the topics relating to religion and philosophy, the so called “problem of evil” is one of the most popular among Christians (and possibly others as well). In my classes, students often perk up whenever the topic is broached. They want to know why God could allow evil in the world. They then enjoy readings that discuss theodicy in all its forms. However, the “problem of evil” the way students often consider it is not the same thing as theodicy. Theodicy has more to do with variance than it has to do with good and evil. Origen of Alexandria’s system as presented in On First Principles is a tremendously helpful case study to illustrate this point – his argument does not solve how there could be “evil” in the world; however, it is fully a theodicy that explains why people are in different circumstances.

The “problem of evil” is a modern concept that has become very popular among (at least) Protestants. The reason it has become so central is that it is a logical problem which religious adherents attempt to solve. The problem can be presented briefly:

1.     God is all powerful

2.     God is all good

3.     God wants to be in relationship with humans

4.     God could have created a world however he chose

5.     This world is full of sin and evil and humans are not in relationship with God

This “problem of evil” then is that God could have created a world where there was no sin and evil. Further, if God is all good, he logically should have wanted that. Given that he didn’t, he either is not completely powerful and couldn’t create an alternate world; or contrarily, he could create a world where this was possible, but isn’t completely good and instead created a system where humans have to suffer (making him far closer to being cruel than good).

This problem is one that has been solved in a variety of ways. The most popular solution has been found in the pages of C.S. Lewis and reiterated throughout Christian apologetics. The essential argument as depicted in The Problem of Pain is that in order for there to be true devotion to God, there had to be a way not to be devoted to God – there had to be room to sin in order for there to be followers. This is essentially an argument for a kind of “free will.” With this understanding, then, humans did not make the right decision and humans therefore have to suffer the consequences. Further, God cannot simply change the rules of the game for individual cases, because the entire system depends upon freewill having consequences one way or another.

The problem with this, is that it does not actually solve the problem. While the idea of freewill functions fine for the here and now, it does not solve the problem of why people are born into the system in the first place. If the system is dependent upon freewill and humans can make the decision to follow or not, it is logical, that humans should be on an equal playing field – for everyone to be a blank slate to make a good decision, there needs to be the opportunity to make that decision. There are several problems. First, people do not always have the same opportunity. While Paul can argue that there is the “law written on people’s hearts,” it is relatively clear that those who have actually heard the Torah have a better a chance of following it than those who have to rely completely on the arbitrary nature of their conscience – just as Paul says, “What advantage has the Jew – much in every way.” People do not have equal opportunity.

Second, for the system to be dependent upon free will, then a person should be able to opt in (or not) to the system at all. However, no one chooses to be born. Indeed, if God was truly all good and all powerful and created a system based entirely on will, his forcing people into a situation with cosmic consequences would seem beastly. Just because someone could choose to follow God rightly doesn’t mean one will. Therefore, God is forcing people into situations they did not select.

The problem with the solution is not its logical challenges, the problem is that it is a bad question. The “problem of evil” is not clearly considered. “Evil” is seen as an unambiguous entity. It is usually determined by the “absence of Good” or even stronger yet, is presented as a cosmic force (in the way that Paul could speak of Sin and Death as cosmic forces that enslave people). Whatever one thinks of the spiritual reality of these figures, how “evil” manifests itself in life is necessarily ambiguous. What is considered evil in the 6^th century – e.g. the painting of icons of Christ – is seen as not only acceptable, but religiously valuable in the 9^th century.

What is needed is to move beyond “the problem of evil” and into a full discussion of theodicy. Theodicy, in the terms of Peter Berger, is how a religious world legitimates itself. It is the thing that answers the question of “why.” Why is it that we are where we are and not somewhere else? This, of course, does include the answers to “why” some people are suffering so much. However, it would equally include the answers to why other people are suffering so little. Both sides are important, because both sides are the manifestation of the actual problem – variance.

Origen of Alexandria is famous for his speculative work, On First Principles. The text is not meant to be a systematic theology, but was read as such for many years and consequently is known by many more religious thinkers than any of Origen’s other works. It also contained controversial views that would later be challenged. Here, we consider one of those controversial views – the preexistence of souls – in order to display how theodicy is an issue of variance rather than issue of objective evil.

Origen argued that all souls were originally in right relationship with God before becoming manifest in a human body. These figures, for lack of a better term, are often called “logikons” – meaning they were in relation in the mind of God. These souls then individually chose to fall away from God. Their choice of fall, then, caused God to place them in corporeal forms in order that they might learn what it is that they particularly needed so that they could eventually return to that same place where they were as logikons. This is illustrated by a quotation of Justinian of On First Principles:

Those rational being who sinned and on that account fell form the state in which they were, in proportion to their particular sins were enveloped in bodies as a punishment; and when they are purified they rise again to the state in which they formerly were, completely putting away their evil and their bodies…Along with the falling away and the cooling form life in the spirit came what is now called soul, which is capable nevertheless of an ascent to the state in which it was in the beginning.[1]

Justinian led the church council that deposed Origen’s ideas – this one being among the ideas challenged – and so one needs to take his quotations with a grain of salt. However, the views expressed in this particular quote seem to be in close alignment of the portions of Origen that are extant, and so there is good reason to think that this is either a genuine quotation of On First Principles, or is summarizing well the ideas expressed there.

Origen’s view of this pre-existence of the soul is usually expressed in consideration of theodicy. The idea is that one of the major problems associated with the logical challenge of birth has been solved. It was above directed that no one chose to be born, so therefore, the argument of freewill is tenuous. Here, Origen argues that all people did choose to be born, therefore this problem would in theory be solved. However, Origen hasn’t actually solved that problem. Just because he argues that people did choose to fall and therefore be born, he has no argument for why they were created as logikons in the first place. All Origen has done is pushed back the problem to a new ontological level.

Origen, however, had no interest in solving the problem of will. He was interested in solving the problem of theodicy. Theodicy is more about variance than anything else. Origen was interested in why people’s births were so different. Why is it one person was born into a very wealthy family and another a very poor family. Why would one be born with a physical ailment and another healthy? The problem was not a logical one about humans in relationship to God as much as in comparison with others. Origen’s solution is set to discuss variance and why some people are born with very much and others with very little:

Now since the world is so very varied and comprises so great a diversity of rational beings, what else can we assign as the cause of its existence except the diversity in the fall of those who decline from unity in dissimilar ways?[2]

He argues the problem is a lack of unity. His solution is that some fell farther from God than others and thus are in different positions from one another. He explains that this creates very real advantages and disadvantages to different people. People are born with different abilities depending upon their original fall:

Now if this is so, it seems to me that the departure and downward course of the mind must not be thought of as equal in all cases, but as a greater or less degree of change in the soul, and that some minds retain a portion of their original vigor, while others retain none or only very little. This is the reason why some are found right from their earliest years to be of ardent keenness, while others are duller, and some and are born extremely dense and altogether unteachable.[3]

Origen argues that some are truly more gifted than others and this is best explained by the concept of the preexistence of souls and their fall.

Origen, then, does not solve the problem of the omnipotent and all good God creating a world where people could suffer. Indeed, Origen even argues for a providence in one’s fall. It can be certainly argued that one’s station was not quite “earned” – instead, God had a hand in placing people in a position on the earth for what would best serve their salvific needs – not necessarily a one to one relationship that the farther one fell, the worse one’s estate would be on the earth. He argues that eventually God is in control and creates a functioning universe:

For there is one power which binds and holds together all the diversity of the world and guides the various motions to the accomplishment of one task, lest so immense a work as the world should be dissolved by the conflicts of souls. It is for this reason, we think, that God, the parent of all things, in providing for the salvation of his entire creation through the unspeakable plan of his word and wisdom, has so ordered everything that each spirit or soul, or whatever else rational existences ought to be called, should not be compelled by force against its free choice to any action except that which the motions of its own mind lead it, - for in that case the power of free choice would seem to be taken from them, which would certainly alter the quality of their nature itself – and at the same time the motions of their wills should work suitably and usefully together to produce the harmony of a single word, some being need of help, other as able to give help, others again to provide struggles and conflicts for those who are making progress, whose diligence will be accounted the more praiseworthy and whose rank and position recovered after their victory will be held more securely, as it has been won through difficulty and toil.[4]

Origen has not solved the “problem of evil” if anything he has intensified it. He has described the “free will” solution while at the same time arguing God is really in control.

What Origen has done beautifully, though, is truly addressed the problem of theodicy. Theodicy is not about suffering, it is about understanding why. Peter Berger describes theodicy as taking what seems anomic (disorder) and making it fit one’s nomos (accepted “order” what would be called now a “worldview”).

Theodicy directly affects the individual in his concrete life in society. A plausible theodicy (which, of course, require an appropriate plausibility structure) permits the individual to integrate the anomic experiences of his biography into the socially established nomos and its subjective correlate in his own consciousness. These experiences, however painful they may be, at least make sense now in terms that are both socially and subjectively convincing. It is important to stress that this does not necessarily mean at all that the individual is now happy or even contented as he undergoes such experiences. It is not happiness that theodicy provides but meaning.[5]

Berger argues that societies create a “nomos” or “way things are supposed to be.” Humans are satisfied so long as that nomos is established and continues to thrive. The problem arises when someone is not convinced that this nomos is accurate or if someone has an experience that does not fit this preexisting societal structure.

Theodicy, then, is the explanation – why it is that stimuli that does not seem to fit (anomic data) can be transferred to fit within the nomos. This then leads tot eh question of what is “suffering” – suffering is not an objective thing, it is completely ambiguous. Suffering is the crisis of experiencing something anomic. Why this is so significant is that the nomos may not be particularly pleasant. Suffering is not connected with pleasure, particularly. Theodicy is a problem of variance. If someone, due to a medical condition, has to sleep 12 hours per day, society would consider that a burden and a moment of suffering that would need to be explained. However, if someone has to sleep 8 hours per day, this is not considered suffering, it is good health and valuable for everyone. The only real difference is that everyone has to sleep 8 hours per day. The problem only arises when someone is different from the rest. Then it is described as suffering – some are doing poorly while others are doing well. Suffering, is therefore always a measure of variance.

Origen’s theodicy does not solve the “problem of evil.” At one level, this cannot be solved – Augustine famously quipped that attempting to find the efficient cause of evil is like trying to see darkness or hear silence. What is more, though, Origen is less interested in that logical problem and far more interested in the practical problem – why are people suffering. People suffer by comparison. Origen shows that a true theodicy doesn’t make suffering go away or justify to God, instead, Origen shows that variance makes sense. While many people will disagree with Origen (as did the second ecumenical council of Constantinople in 553), On First Principles is a very helpful example of what a theodicy should be doing and what it should not. Theodicy should explain variance and we should abandon the so called “problem of evil.”  

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[1] Justinian Ep. ad Menam cited in Butterworth, On First Principles, 126.

[2] P.A. 2.1.1. trans. Butterworth

[3] Ibid., 2.8.4.

[4] Ibid., 2.1.2.

[5] Peter Berger, The Sacred Canopy, 58.