Religion in Antiquity read in the modern world

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Chapter 6 – Stories of the Kingdom (1): Announcement

[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.]

Wright’s analysis of the historical Jesus places him firmly in the fold of an apocalyptic prophet. The role of such a prophet is the announcement of the kingdom of God. Wright therefore focuses this chapter on the announcement and its basic message. Wright argues that Jesus’ message was one that announced that Israel had returned from exile and that God had become king, but that this return entailed an implicit judgment as well as final vindication. This argument has much merit, but in it he displays Wright’s recurring issue – he has a good insight, but he overreaches to try and create a picture of Jesus which fits what later Christian authors would desire.

First, Wright applies his hermeneutic which he has presented earlier. He argues that any explanation about Jesus’ kingdom language must fit with both Jewish ideals and explain what came following in early Christianity:

The recognition of the nature of the kingdom announcement as part of an assumed larger story enables us to make a preliminary assessment of historicity. We may remind ourselves that if Jesus’ announcement of the kingdom is to make historical sense it must make sense both as something that would be clearly understood within its Jewish context and as the presupposition for the significantly different resonances of ‘kingdom’ in the early church. At the same time it would clearly both challenge some prevailing assumptions with that Jewish context and retain a special focus which would be characteristic only of Jesus’ career, not of the work of his post-Easter followers.[1]

He argues that the concept of kingdom that Jesus proclaimed must have been clear to his Jewish audience. Further, it could not be so foreign to a later Christian audience that they could include this teaching in their writings. However, such a strict hermeneutic has serious limits – how many things can reasonably qualify under these categories are relatively limited. Wright falls into the trap of using this criterion as a way of explaining stories of Jesus rather than good historical analysis of using this hermeneutic to test data in the gospels for its historical veracity. It well could explain the stories – but that does not necessarily mean that it is historical.

Wright’s analysis though, is certainly correct on some points. First, that Jesus’ message concerning the kingdom of God had to make some kind of sense to a Jewish audience is convincing. Wright argues that Jesus changed the story line that was expected, but the story line itself was certainly comprehensible:

In particular, I intend to demonstrate two things: first, that when Jesus spoke of the ‘reign’ or ‘kingdom’ of Israel’s god, he was deliberately evoking an entire story-line that he and his hearers knew quite well; second, that he was retelling this familiar story in such a way as to subvert and redirect its normal plot…Israel’s true god was becoming king; Jesus claimed to be his true prophet. Though this claim was no doubt bold (most who made it did not live very long afterwards), it was not in any way bizarre or incomprehensible.[2]

Wright is certainly correct here. He does not cite the most striking evidence that is available to him, however. One should take special note that in every conversation Jesus has about the kingdom of god, at not one point (in the synoptic gospels, the Gospel of Thomas, or any other source I am aware of), does he have to define what the kingdom of God is. The audience seems to fully know. He often challenges how it is going to appear and who can be included, but the actual discussion of it did make sense to a Jewish audience. Wright explains this in relationship to a “story” or narrative, which is certainly one way that this could be understood. In any sense, though, it is certainly accurate that first century Jews did understand Jesus when he made his claims about the kingdom of God.

Where Wright is less on sure ground is that he considers that first century Judaism saw the kingdom of God as a place where God would be king. While this is technically correct, it can lead one to a mistake in understanding. First, consider Wright’s comment about expectation:

The most important thing to recognize about the first-century Jewish use of kingdom language is that it was bound up with the hopes and expectations of Israel. ‘Kingdom of god’ was not a vague phrase, or a cipher with a general religious aura. It had nothing much, at least in the first instance, to do with what happened to human being after they died…it was simply a Jewish way of talking about Israel’s god becoming king.[3]

While this certainly can be said to be accurate, one should recognize what that expectation was. God’s becoming king was a restorative act to bring the line of David back upon the throne. Most readers will be shocked by this – how could the restoration of David (clearly not God) upon the throne to establish Israel as a political entity be “god becoming king?” Here, Wright has not presented the entire story. There was a way in which Israel’s human king and God were in cahoots in the monarchy. There was not a seeming contradiction between Psalm 2:

“I have set my king on Zion, my holy hill”[4] with Psalm 93:

The LORD is king, he is robed in majesty; the Lord is robed, he is girded with strength. He has established the world; it shall never be moved; your throne is established from of old; you are from everlasting.[5]

In what sense could these two things be united? Because there was an essential link between the human king and God working from Zion as depicted in Psalm 20:

The LORD answer you in the day of trouble! The name of the God of Jacob protect you! May he send you help from the sanctuary, and give you support from Zion…Now I know that the Lord will help his anointed…Give victory to the king, Or LORD; answer us when we call.”[6]

The kingship was established beginning with David of uniting the “political” with the “religious.” This is why David brings the Ark to Jerusalem, and why Solomon builds the temple there. The entire city of Jerusalem is the sanctuary, and just as the temple is forever, so also is the king. The two are in essential continuity and are expected to always be in tandem.[7] The problem with Wright’s presentation is he seems to want to affirm a different way that God would become king. He wants to seemingly make it sound as if God himself would be king and have no human counterpart at all. While this would fit very well with Christian belief in Christ, it is very difficult to argue that this would have been standard expectation for first century Jews. They certainly thought that God would become king – but only in the way that he had previously been king – through the means of David’s (very human) line.

Wright’s emphasis on “story” causes him to emphasize Jesus’ “stories” – namely his parables. Parables are something that are very much affirmed as historically accurate. The problem is that parables are precisely those things that defy easy explanation – and according to some – expressed particularly well by John Dominic Crossan – there may not have been one interpretation. One of the values of a parable are that there can be many interpretations and it is probably that there is not a “right” one – instead, they are meant to foment disagreement among the group. Wright presents this half way by showing that parables are meant be challenges:

The parables offer not only information, but challenge; they are stories designed to evoke fresh praxis, to reorder the symbolic world, to break open current understandings and inculcate fresh ones…They are stories which both affirm the Jewish expectation and declare that it is being fulfilled in a radically new fashion.[8]

Jesus did want to challenge people. However, it is far less clear that this said challenge was only in the very clear content. Instead, he had unclear content that caused people to stop and question. He himself says in Mark 4:10-12 that he speaks in parables so that the outsiders would not understand. He wanted the secrecy and the intrigue about himself. Wright struggles to address this issue:

This suggests aw ay through the puzzle of the apparently predestinarian passage in Mark 4.10-12, which seems to say that Jesus told parables so that people would not understand him. The problem only arises, in fact, when the historical context is not taken seriously, and when the vacuum thus created is filled with a generalized ‘theology’ in which Jesus is either the teacher of timeless truths or the announcer of impenetrable enigmas. Parables are neither of these. ‘If you have ears, then hear’; if too many people understood too well, the prophet’s liberty of movement, and perhaps life, may be cut short. Jesus knew his kingdom-announcement was subversive.[9]

This argument that Jesus spoke in parables simply because he was concerned about the political consequences does not make much sense. If Jesus was overly concerned with that problem, he would not have done hardly any of the things that he did. Instead, the genre should be taken more seriously as a genre itself that has its own power and potential.

The more troubling side of Wright’s analysis is that he might be using parables because of their fluidity. They are a perfect forum for his “double similarity criterion” – they certainly can be understood in a Jewish milieu as well as leading toward a later development of “kingdom of God” as expressed in the early Christian church. Because parables can have more than one meaning, it makes it far easier to satisfy both criteria. The problem here is precisely what was presented earlier – it is possible to use that model to explain a parable so it could mean that, but this is not a good historical analysis that this was the historically verified meaning that hearers would have heard.

Wright’s interest is clear – he wants to present a Jesus who presents a kingdom language of a return from exile and that God is now again king. This alone would not be a major problem, the way he does it through parables, though, can be questioned. He argues that the parable of the sower presents this clearly:

“The ‘mystery’, the whole secret plan of Israel’s god, is that this was how his purpose for Israel is to be worked out. He would come to rescue his people, not in a blaze of triumphant glory, but in the sowing of seed, the long promised prophetic ‘word’, the god-sent agency though which Israel and the world would be renewed.[10]

This idea of Israel’s renewal in a new way is what he sees as the fundamental announcement of Jesus’ proclamation as the kingdom of God:

Jesus, as we have seen, claimed in word and deed that the traditional expectation was not being fulfilled. The new exodus was under way: Israel was not at last returning from her long exile. All this was happening in and through his own work. Jesus enacted this announcement in terms of welcome and warning. He welcomed those in any kind of need, thereby enacting the story of the return from exile, of repentance and restoration. All were summoned to celebrate the great restoration. At the same time, he warned those who presumed upon their ancestral heritage, and who supposed that the coming kingdom would automatically vindicate them. If the true Israel was returning from exile, some might resist. If YHWH was returning to Zion, he would judge those who refused his rule. The major kingdom-theme of the defeat of evil, of paganism, of Babylon, is to be located here within Jesus’ proclamation, with a typically prophetic twist: the critique is sharpest when aimed, not at pagans, but at Israel herself.[11]

Here Wright has some good points and in some ways, I do not disagree with much of his reconstruction. What I do not care for, however, is his methodology which seems to be only presenting portions of the account in order to make an argument which is, in some senses, overly amenable to later Christian writings.

[1] JVG, 226.

[2] Ibid., 199-200.

[3] Ibid., 202-203.

[4] Ps. 2:6.

[5] Ps. 93:1-2.

[6] Ps. 20:1-2,6,9.

[7] See Jon D. Levenson, Sinai & Zion: An Entry Into the Jewish Bible (San Francisco: Harper SanFrancisco, 1985) for a clear and accessible approach to this concept.

[8] JVG, 229-230.

[9] Ibid., 237.

[10] Ibid., 238.

[11] Ibid., 243.

Wednesday, October 8, 2014

Chapter Five: The Praxis of a Prophet

N.T. Wright here gives in brief the role of Jesus as an apocalyptic Jewish prophet. He argues that Jesus was best understood by Jews in first century Israel as an apocalyptic prophet which then led to a variety of expectations for Jesus as they would expect any apocalyptic prophet. Wright argues that Jesus then largely fulfilled these expectations – though in surprising ways. Wright’s analysis is helpful because it places the historical Jesus in his context – among the peasants of the Galilee. It can be challenged that he has allowed later expectation to govern his categories, but his basic ideas are sound.

First, Wright argues that any discussion one should have about the historical Jesus should be what the public saw of Jesus. History always can speculate about what one was considering, but that will always remain speculative. Better history emphasizes actions done and the general expectation/worldview in which those actions were completed. Wright properly focuses on this aspect by framing the question in that sense:

What would the average Galilean have perceived as Jesus came through the village? What categories would have been available for understanding what was going on? How did Jesus himself regard these basic categories? Only when we have asked these questions is it safe, historically speaking, to work forwards and ask about the other aspects of his mindset, and hence also about his beliefs and his aims.[1]

Wright argues that one should carefully examine the categories that the general populace would have used to understand Jesus. This is a helpful approach because one has to expect that Jesus knew his own audience, so therefore if one can reconstruct their worldview, one can at least know that Jesus had these particular figures in mind when he acted in a variety of ways (and therefore ought to give us a window into his strategy – even if he had a different ultimate plan in mind).

For the audience of the larger world to be helpful, however, one must hypothesize that Jesus was a popular figure. Wright presents Jesus fundamentally as a “popular prophet” who spoke to the masses a message that would have fallen in line with prophets of old:

Retelling, or re-enacting, the story of the exodus, then, was a classic and obvious way of pre-telling, or pre-enacting, the great liberation, the great ‘return from exile’, for which Israel had long. Moreover, the ‘popular’ prophets in particular seem to have been informed by the memory of the great classical prophets, not least the prophetic ministry of Moses and Joshua. We are here in touch with part of what we will later see to be bedrock within the Jesus-tradition. It was as a prophet in this basic mould, acting symbolically in ways that would be understood, and were designed to be understood, according to this basic meta-narrative, that Jesus made his decisive impact on his contemporaries.[2]

Jesus used the category of a prophet which stretched back into the Hebrew Bible to his present day so that he could be best understood. It is clear that Jesus had a very public ministry and this ministry called for a clear message that fulfilled the expectations many Jews held at this time period.

That the message was apocalyptic is not at all surprising. Jesus was calling for the expectation that the kingdom of God was at hand and would be revealed (apocalypsis) very soon. This was not only not surprising, but would have been very clear to his audience:

If it was heard that someone was proclaiming that Israel’s god was at last becoming king, it makes no sense at all to imagine the average Palestinian Jew, of whatever locality, enquiring diligently what manner of movement this might be. If the kingdom was really coming, it makes sense to join in.[3]

Jesus’ proclamation of the “kingdom of God” alone clearly shows that Jesus fit within the fold of the “apocalyptic” prophet which had anticipated Israel being reestablished with God as king. The populace with any knowledge of the Hebrew Bible at all, would not have a hard time understanding this. Further, it is clear that Jesus wanted people to hear his message clearly. Wright explains this by calling Jesus an oracular prophet:

Jesus’ public career was that of an ‘oracular’ prophet. As soon as we develop the picture, however, we see that he also clearly belongs in the other category of ‘popular’ prophets. He gathered around him a group of followers, and acted in various symbolic ways which indicated, for those with eyes to see, that the great exodus, the real return from exile, was at last on its way. Israel’s god would act powerfully within history, and Jesus would lead his people to salvation.[4]

Wright is therefore fully on the side of Jesus as an apocalyptic prophet (rather than other figures – such as John Dominic Crossan who see Jesus primarily as a social reformer). What he argues Jesus did in surprising ways was a matter of inclusion – who and what Israel was and who could be included. This did not challenge the apocalyptic nature of Jesus’ message – it instead was precisely how Jesus argued the apocalyptic expectations were being fulfilled.

Wright uses his criterion of double similarity to prove his argument about the general practice of Jesus. He claims that his perspectives make sense in context while still allowing for the later development of Christianity:

At each point the double criteria of similarity and dissimilarity can be invoked. This outline of Jesus’ praxis is thoroughly credible within a first-century Jewish context, and makes good sense as part of the presuppositions of the early church; at the same time, this praxis breaks the moulds of the Jewish context, and is, in detail, significantly unlike the characteristic activity of most of the early Christians.[5]

He argues (as per the last chapter) that one should be able to see something distinctive about Jesus that was different than later church practice, but could logically lead to the same. For example, while later church practice did not create (for the most part) further parables, it is clear that they used Jesus’ parables to develop their theology.

Through his double similarity, he focuses on Jesus’ parables, the relationship with John the Baptizer, his powerful works (“miracles” – which he rightly puts in quotes), and the nature of the kingdom of God. Rather than going through each of Wright’s points – which he will present later – this is merely a basic outline, it is far more helpful to focus on the way he considered his categories in total.

Wright’s emphasis on “miracles,” the kingdom of god, and parables to be understood though Jesus as an apocalyptic prophet have one major benefit that Crossan (and others who consider Jesus a social revolutionary) do not have – that the theology of Paul agrees with them. Paul’s theology, then, being very much apocalyptic, became the bedrock of later Christianity. While this is certainly possible, it is also strikingly convenient. It would, of course, be wonderful if Paul’s theology was precisely Jesus’ message. Wright focuses on the aspects of Jesus’ teaching that would best portray that. However, there are some other aspects of Jesus’ ministry that would less ably fit into that category. The teachings Jesus presents about social status and its need to change (particularly with the plight of the outcast – poor, orphans, widows), would not be things that would fit within Paul’s apocalyptic eschatology. Further, the social challenge of parables as fomenting unrest also would not fit as carefully. Neither of these aspects are discussed much at all.

This omission is concerning – if it were simply because Wright thinks Jesus is – above all else – an apocalyptic prophet, then the omission would not be surprising. However, it is concerning because one suspects an ulterior motive. Wright concludes the chapter with a comment on how this view of Jesus as an apocalyptic prophet would fit well with later devotional practice:

Jesus then had the public persona of a prophet, and we can understand a good deal of his ministry, at least in a preliminary fashion, simply on this basis. But this historical analysis inevitably points beyond itself. We can be sure that the early church did not invent the saying according to which John the Baptist is said to be ‘more than a prophet’; but if that is said of John, what must be said for Jesus himself? At this point some will want to jump without more ado into a full Nicene Christology, and will, not for the last time, have to be severely restrained.[6]

While there is nothing wrong with the conclusion that the early church could well have interpreted and handed down Jesus with a proper historical sense, it is concerning how quickly he wants to go there. This should not govern good history. History should occur on its own.

This is precisely the challenge with Wright’s “double similarity” which he presented in the previous chapter. For the understanding that later tradition knew accurately enough the historical Jesus is something that is difficult to claim – particularly due to how little Paul knows of the historical Jesus and his obvious influence in the early church. Wright is aware of this problem and feels it is solved through the appeal of Jesus as an itinerant prophet.

“The fact that Jesus was an itinerant prophet meant, clearly, that he went from village to village, saying substantially the same things wherever he went…Within the peasant oral culture of his day, Jesus must have left behind him, not one or two isolated traditions, but a veritable mare’s nest of anecdotes, and also sentences, aphorisms, rhythmic sayings, memorable stories with local variations, and words that were remembered because of their pithy and apposite phrasing, and because of their instantly being repeated by those who had heard them.[7]

Here, Wright seems almost defensive. He wants to continue to support his hypothesis that later tradition was developed clearly from Jesus himself. To do this, he uses the piece of good historical data that Jesus was an itinerant prophet. This, he argues, would guarantee that those in the Galilee would “know” enough about Jesus to provide the kind of “historical check” against wild stories that could develop about him. The problem is that the majority of Christian congregations from the very early going on were not in the Galilee. Christianity develops rapidly all over the empire and our best data shows that Christianity in the Galilee – after the war in 132-135 – among other Jewish sects was put down aggressively (if only temporarily).

I would point out that I do agree that Jesus is best understood as an apocalyptic Jewish prophet and that he certainly would have sounded as such to his audience. However, we have to be careful how well we can simply tacitly assume that his clear message was preserved by the church while remaining in the realm of good historiography.

[1] JVG, 147.

[2] Ibid., 155.

[3] Ibid., 159-160.

[4] Ibid., 168.

[5] Ibid., 169.

[6] Ibid., 197.

[7] Ibid., 170.

Monday, October 6, 2014

Chapter Four: Prodigals and Paradigms

This chapter of N.T. Wright’s analysis of the historical Jesus is especially important because in it he clarifies his methodology – what he calls his ‘paradigm’ - from which he builds his argument in the following book. His methodology of the “double similarity” attempts to honor the standard of the criterion of “dissimilarity” while also honoring the work of the early church. This particular methodology is important to analyze precisely because it is so common among protestant readers of the Bible today. It has its merits, but also reveals his largest presuppositions.

First, Wright proposes a maximalist goal in understanding the historical Jesus. He feels that Jesus should be studied like any historical figure. Given this, he feels one should seek to identify all aspects of the figure insofar as they can be known:

The historical study of an individual such as Jesus, no different in principle from the history study of other individuals, consists of the assembly and interpretation of evidence which contributes as fully as possible to the understanding of the person at all these levels – worldview, mindset, basic beliefs, aims, consequent beliefs, and intentions.[1]

Wright correctly frames the study of the historical Jesus. One should consider the evidence available to judge it to build as much as possible of the individual. Here, he has set the bar very high in order to maximally identify Jesus and why he matters. The problem is precisely what evidence is actually there. Scholars have long held to interpreting the Christian texts with the “criterion of dissimilarity.” While Wright values this, he feels what is needed is to add to it a criterion of “double similarity.”

The standard work on the historical Jesus puts an emphasis on the “criterion of dissimilarity.” This is the idea that if the gospels present Jesus doing something that is counter to the aims of the gospel, it is relatively historically firm. The idea behind this is that a writer does not tend to invent stories that are opposed to one’s point. Much more likely, the story is included simply because it is a matter of historical fact and cannot be changed. For example, Jesus being baptized by John the Baptizer fits this criterion. John was baptizing people for repentance and remission of sin. If Jesus was not sinful, then it doesn’t make much sense for him to be baptized. What is more, the one being baptized is usually presented as the disciple and the one baptizing the master. It would not make logical sense that Jesus would be the disciple of anyone. For these reasons, it would be amazingly unlikely for the gospel writers to invent this story. Instead, it is far more likely that Mark, Luke, and Matthew include the story simply because it happened.

While Wright values the criterion of dissimilarity, he feels it is too restrictive. It surely should be possible that Jesus could have done some things that would fit within the intents of the author’s of the gospels. However, this is hard to verify historically because one does not know if it really happened or if the gospel has invented the story. Wright proposes a solution to this tension – the “double similarity”:

It is thus decisively similar to both the Jewish context and the early Christian world, and at the same time importantly dissimilar – in just that sense which we saw highlighted in some recent Third Quest work. It is vital to recognize this double movement. Without it, one is in the difficult position of working simply from later and Christianized texts, or form complex reconstructions of Judaism. Along with the much-discussed ‘criterion of dissimilarity’ must go a criterion of double similarity: when something can be seen to be credible (though perhaps deeply subversive) within first-century Judaism, and credible as the implied starting-point (though not the exact replica) of something in later Christianity, there is a strong possibility of our being in touch with the genuine history of Jesus.[2]

Wright argues that one should see in the dissimilarity, a kind of similarity – something that fits within the Judaic worldview. Something can be wildly subversive, but it still needs to be explained in the worldview of the first century. In that sense it can still be seen as “similar.” For instance, that at least some Jews were expecting a Messiah is clear. That the messiah would be one who was going to be executed as a criminal rather than reestablish Israel would have been subversive. It can be explained through the Jewish worldview and is in some sense “similar,” but at the same time would be rather “dissimilar” from the expected tradition in that it was turning the framework on its head.

This alone, however, is not sufficient – nearly all of the New Testament could be read as challenging expected norms. What Wright presents is that the “double similarity” needs to be there that these very events should also explain the later Christian development from them. Therefore, Wright is arguing that such unexpected events should be the very events that should logically proceed to what the evidence shows in the Christian texts. Consider Wright’s position about the Jewish exile. He argues that Jesus saw himself as conclusion of the return of Israel form exile:

Like a great pincer movement, therefore, we can work inwards towards Jesus, from the Jewish context of his own work and from the Christian theology of the early church. Israel has been waiting for redemption, for the return from exile. The early Christians are behaving as though it has already happened, and are justifying this by telling stories about Jesus himself.[3]

Given this, now is the time for all Israel to embrace all people and as such is now inclusive of people who could not have been included previously. It therefore is not what people were expecting the end of the exile to be (dissimilar), but can be explained in larger Jewish theology (similar). Further, it is the theology that is expressed in the later Christian gospels – notably Luke and Matthew.

Wright’s innovation is that the theological aims of the later documents should be honored as holding the logical development of the theological aims of Jesus to create historical veracity. Few scholars would suggest that it is impossible that Jesus could have had the same theology as that of the gospels. The question is only if we could historically verify it the way we would verify any figure in history – never minding the devotional benefits/challenges either way. Wright’s argument is that we can value these theologies for the purposes of historical veracity.

Wright is aware of the shocking statement he makes and knows he has to defend it. He argues that through a process of peasant orality, there is good reason to validate what was later recorded. He suggests that in the Galilee, there was a system of orality that was informal, but controlled:

[Peasant society] is the world of informal but controlled oral tradition...They are informal in that they have no set teacher and students. Anyone can join in – provided they have been part of the community for long enough to qualify. They are controlled in that the whole community knows the traditions well enough to check whether serious innovation is being smuggled in, and to object if it is.[4]

Wright is certainly correct at least at a basic level that the primary method of preservation of material in the ancient world was via orality rather than textuality. There certainly were written texts, but they were of far less significance than the oral tradition. The question is therefore not whether these communities were informally oral – they certainly were. The question lies in the latter half – whether they were controlled.

Wright argues that the communities had real ties to Jesus and his life. Therefore, if someone presented something that was too outlandish about Jesus, then the community would not accept it because they would essentially know whether that particular thing was accurate or not. This provides him a way of saying that the scriptures which were written down, did have a historiographic measure against them when they were being composed, and as such, ought to be trusted for historical veracity.

Here, Wright’s argument is relatively common – albeit better expressed than most who make it. Some of Christian apologetics depend upon this very argument. In some sense, Wright should be commended for finding a new way to try an maximalize his sources. One of the values of his method is that works in the context of the actual gospels we have and therefore increases the evidence rather than decreasing it. The challenge is simply whether we can truly trust the gospels for the reasons he supposes.

He argues that the communities themselves who used these documents would have recognized histioriographic problems within them. While this would certainly be true for some communities, would it be true for all of them? Paul’s letters show that there were Jesus movement communities founded by, and peopled by followers who never spent any time with Jesus. Further, Paul’s letters do not give us assurances that these communities were able to ferret out the “accurate” versus “inaccurate” theologies by nature of their oral culture. Further, it seems that they were told things about Jesus from some of his followers (particularly as seen in Galatians and 2 Corinthians 10-13). There seem to have been traveling missionaries who told some sort of story about Jesus, and the Galatians/Corinthians seem to have not known any better than to accept these stories or not. This challenges this assertion that all Jesus movement communities would by definition be able to discriminate that which is historically accurate versus that which was not.

Wright then is faced with a challenge – were the gospels themselves produced in communities that did know the materials well (as the Jerusalem church most likely would have), or were they in communities where they did not (as Galatians most likely exemplifies)? If the documents were produced in a community with real ties to Jesus while he was alive, then Wright’s argument seems to be warranted. If, however, it was in a community without this merit, then there is real reason to question whether this methodology is sound.

The problem lies in the fact that we know for certain where none of the gospels were produced or by whom. Some value the traditional authors – but even this would call some of them into question (Mark and Luke). What is more, whether one accepts these traditional authors is dependent upon a theory of tradition. While these authors might be accurate, there is no way of knowing for sure. Therefore, we are stuck analyzing the origin of the documents from the documents themselves. In that case, we are therefore considering them and having to ask if this one developed in a community that knew well enough so that Wright’s historical argument would work or not. The only way of measuring that is from the gospel itself and we are going to be left with a preconceived notion of the gospel that will govern the data.

Wright’s theory, then, is only as strong as his hypothesis and assumption about the particular gospels themselves. He has found a way to maximalize the data, but in so doing he has caused a completely different question to arise about the veracity of the hypothetical community of each of the gospels. This is not to say that Wright’s argument is bad, but it surely does need to be taken with a serious grain of salt.

[1] JVG, 139.

[2] Ibid., 132.

[3] Ibid., 128.

[4] Ibid., 134.

Friday, October 3, 2014

Chapter Three: Back the Future: The ‘Third Quest’

Wright in his second chapter that aims to map the field of Ne Testament studies, presents an analysis of the “Third Quest.” In his analysis, however, he readly admits that he agrees with this framework and rightly does not simply map it but uses the discussion as a way of introducing his scheme that he will use throughout the book. This is a far superior chapter to the previous because he does not even try to map out “objectively” the field, but instead uses that field in order to present his own work. The value, then, is less in his discussion of the third quest in itself (in which some people might find his analysis helpful or not), but rather is very helpful as a heuristic model to introduce his basic scheme. Therefore, this analysis will be about the enquiry he agrees with rather than the more general discussion of the “Third Quest” itself.

First, Wright lauds the third quest because he sees it as taking history far more seriously than the “New Quest” from the previous chapter. He feels it places the figure of Jesus in a Jewish context and as such should be prioritized over any other analysis that does not do the same:

There is now a real attempt to do history seriously. Josephus, so long inexplicably ignored, is suddenly and happily in vogue. There is a real willingness to be guided by first-century sources, and to see the Judaism of that period in all its complex pluriformity, with the help now available from modern studies of the history and literature of the period….Certain basic questions emerge: Jesus’ message is evaluated, not for its timeless significance, but for meaning it must have had for the audience of its own day, who had their minds full of poverty and politics, and would have had little time for theological abstraction of timeless verities. The crucifixion, long recognized as an absolute bedrock in history, is now regularly mad the centre of understanding: what must Jesus have been like if he ended up on a Roman cross?[1]

Wright appreciates the perspective precisely because it focuses on the aspect of the first century that he finds most helpful – its Jewish worldview. The crucifixion is further understood in its political context of an occupied Roman Palestine. This, he sees to be helpful because it emphasizes the sources we have rather than hypothesizing sources we do not have. In this sense, the “Third Quest” can rightly be analyzed as more productive than the New Quest simply in terms of sources. However, we should be careful not to dismiss the New Quest on those grounds alone – just because we happen to have these sources does not necessarily mean that they are the best sources to understand Jesus and his message.

Wright makes what he considers a bold statement about the study of the historical Jesus – that it is less a study of evaluating sources and more a study of the structural premises. Here, not only do I agree with Wright, but I don’t think it is all that bold of a statement at all – it is apparent that one’s theory of history will define one’s sources. Wright explains:

Within the Third Quest, which is where I locate this present book, the task before the serious historian of Jesus is not in the first instance conceived as the reconstruction of traditions about Jesus, according to their place within the history of the early church, but the advancement of serious historical hypotheses – that is, the telling of large-scale narratives – about Jesus himself, and the examination of the prima facie relevant data to see how they fit.[2]

This is clearly accurate and a helpful admission. The study of the historical Jesus is firmly grounded in one’s theoretical position. The sources are such that one’s position will necessitate one’s conclusion.

The position then of Wright is found within a framework of 5 key questions that he argues ought to be asked of the text. These questions fit within a larger framework of squaring a Jewish Jesus with a movement that developed into a “world religion” (if such a term means anything) by less than 100 years after his death:

The five questions are all subdivisions of the larger question, which, I submit, all historians of the first century, no matter what their background, are bound to ask, namely: how do we account for the fact that, by AD 110, there was a large and vigorous international movement, already showing considerable diversity, whose founding myth (in a quite ‘neutral’ sense) was a story about one Jesus of Nazareth, a figure of the recent past?[3]

Wright is certainly correct that there are a few key events that we can know about Jesus’ life (crucifixion, baptism, parables, etc.); but we can know with absolute certainly what the movement became in the generations after his death. Any good historian must deal with that particular issue. Wright then sharpens this initial observation into five key questions:

So, sharpening up these issues into our five main questions: How does Jesus fit into the Judaism of his day? What were his aims? Why did he die? How did the early church come into being, and why did it take the shape it did? And Why are the gospels what they are?[4]

Here Wright squares several questions which he later elaborates. Note the two main foci – the Jewish Jesus dying on the Roman cross and the sources for his life – the later movement that followed.

Wright then discusses what he sees as the real problem – answering all of the questions. He finds it not as difficult to answer questions relating to the early church or questions relating to Judaism – the challenge is addressing both things:

It should be noted once more that the five questions fit together very closely, so that answers to any of them have repercussions elsewhere. It is comparatively easy to find an answer to one of them, but fitting it with answers to the rest is not. Together they form the jigsaw of Jesus himself, which is itself a piece in the larger jigsaw of the rise of Christianity as a whole. The five questions can, in fact, be drawn together under two headings; Jesus’ relation to Judaism on the one hand and to the early church on the other.[5]

Here Wright presents the two poles of a good historical analysis – Jesus’ life in Judaism and the early Church’s development which is not under the heading of Judaism once it becomes a worldwide phenomenon.

Wright’s analysis is helpful and appreciated. However, many scholars of Jesus would challenge his conversation. Wright seems to suggest that something about Jesus allowed his message to be adapted to become a worldwide phenomenon. However, many Jesus scholars would question this assertion. Many would argue that the message of Jesus was adapted in ways he did not intend. At one level, Wright has to be correct – Jesus’ message certainly could be adapted to fit later Christianity. What is less sure is if Jesus intended it be adapted in that manner. As much as Christians would like the latter to be the case in addition to the former, if Wright intends to do true historical analysis, then he is forced to be more objective than this. He has to allow the data to suggest that Jesus’ message could include Paul’s and by extension the development beyond Paul in works such as 1 Peter which could see “Christians” as a completely separate entity beyond Jews or Greeks as a new race.[6]

[1] JVG, 84-85.

[2] Ibid., 88-89.

[3] Ibid., 90.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid., 113.

[6] See 1 Peter 2:9 and its later development in Christianity via Denise Kimber Buell Why This New Race: Ethnic Argument in Early Christianity

Thursday, October 2, 2014

David Kohl with consultation with Hank Rowold, Lutherans on the Yangtze: Hong Kong-Macau-Taiwan A Centenary Account of the Missouri Synod in Greater China 1949-2013 Portland: One Spirit Press, 2014.

This review is a follow up to my previous review of the first volume of this same title: David Kohl, Lutherans on the Yangtze: A Centenary Account of the Missouri Synod in China Volume 1: 1912-1952, Portland : One Spirit Press, 2013 found at http://bennickodemus.blogspot.com/2014/02/david-kohl-lutherans-on-yangtze.html Just as with the previous review, I consider this only insofar as my skill set is concerned. I am not an expert in China, the history of Missions (at least after the 4^th century), the LCMS, and certainly not LCMS missionaries in China. Rather, I am considering this topic only insofar as I am a historian and will be considering this history as an outsider who is analyzing how the history is presented. I leave it to those with specific knowledge in these fields to address the content for its accuracy or inaccuracy.

David Kohl’s second volume (while the book was apparently written with the consultation of Hank Rowold, I will refer to the author simply as Kohl throughout this text simply for ease of reference) improves on many of the challenges that I levied in his first volume. The merits of this book are equally presented given the merits of the first volume. The work is timely and important in that Kohl has presented here a tome of knowledge that could have soon been lost to memory. Further, the history of LCMS missions is of particular interest as worldwide foreign missions are in the long process of waning in the LCMS in order to “hand off” to local churches who develop from within rather than relying upon foreign missionaries. As such, these churches need to understand their own foundations from the perspective of the LCMS. Once again, Kohl continues his greatest merit – the hermeneutic of respect of LCMS missions that does not judge the work that was done, the causes of challenges (both political and ecclesiastical), and the consequent solutions. Once again, this is simultaneously Kohl’s greatest strength and his greatest limitation.

First, it should be noted that a historiographic account of this nature is quite different than what was considered in the first volume. The history from 1912-1952 requires less data to manage simply because there is less data. Not only are there fewer records (and far fewer living memories), but the founding of the mission was developed by a small group that is easier to follow than a true denomination of Christians (which would be developed). The history between 1949-2013 would necessarily include a glut of information. This history would include a tremendous number of resources – both in better records, a larger number of congregations and schools, and – most of all – a tremendous number of living members available for interview. Therefore, all of us should honor the work that was entered into this second volume.

While the more contemporary history presented new challenges for Kohl, the glut of information solved one of the problems in Kohl’s first volume. One of the challenges I levied was that there were simultaneously too many small details of the mission while not providing us the “large scheme” of what this Christianity looked like. This is a common problem when there is a dearth of information. It is likely Kohl presented so many fine details without always giving us the larger picture because he presented to us the details he had. Building projects and the coming and going of personnel tend to be recorded – how service was run on a Sunday morning often is not. This second volume does not have that problem. There is so much information there is not space for these catalogues of details and it pushes Kohl into a much larger scheme conversation which make very clear what the “major point” was and why these developments were important. For instance, Kohl spends a large part of chapter 12 discussing the new mission statement and larger strategy of missions developed in 1962 that showed the general interest and plan that would then be implemented by these finer details.[1] This was the kind of thing that would have been more helpful in the first volume and here is well presented.

Another value of this more complicated history is that Kohl has done a fantastic job managing very difficult chapters of history both politically and ecclesiastically by keeping focused on the history of missions. The period of 1949-2013 would have been very easy to cause political tangents that began as a history (or even expose) of the politics of China. Kohl laudably avoids that. He instead focuses on the mission and provides enough data so that an educated reader with no real knowledge of China’s political history can follow the development of the mission. Further, his discussion of politics within the Missouri Synod – particularly the fallout of the politics surrounding the 1973 “Seminex” explosion is impressive for how quickly he dealt with its implications for the China missions, but did not get bogged down into its implications for LCMS World Missions as a whole (which were vast but only related to China to a small extent). To show Kohl’s model of dealing with this problem consider his recounting of the event:

The Chinese Lutherans had plenty of their own issues to resolve. Theology was not high on the list, until stateside LCMS leadership became seriously interested in influencing local Hong Kong church politics…Theology became a smokescreen masking other divisive issues. In Hong Kong, the majority group chaired by Andrew Chiu, chose to be identified as Lutheran Church-Hong Kong Synod in its first Memorandum of Articles of Association.[2]

Kohl is able to discuss the Seminex issue without feeling the need to get bogged down into the political conversation that often comes with it. Instead, he uses it as a key event that helps shape a key development in Hong Kong – the development of their own Synod as a partner church body rather than remaining in the LCMS proper.

Like the first volume, one of the strengths of this book is the intimacy Kohl creates with the book. Like the first volume, he enjoys telling this as a story of key figures who the reader begins to get to know. The discussion of the establishment of the Hong Kong mission is a good example. It is a story of 4 displaced missionaries from mainland China who are evacuated to Hong Kong to await further reassignment. Those four figures saw an opportunity and began doing work. This then eventually led to a full mission in Hong Kong.[3] It would have been easy to avoid that story and instead just move into the hard data of the mission. Further, like the first volume, every other page is dedicated to photographs, maps, and lists which provide a sense of who these figures are and where they are located. All of this creates an intimacy less common in history books.

Where Kohl’s hermeneutic of respect limits him is precisely the same as it did in the first volume – it limits a hermeneutic of suspicion. One wonders about all of the data presented – what kind of development and change were present? One thing that seems to be a key issue is the development from a very foreign based mission to a far more local based one. This seems to be a turning point beginning with the conference in 1962 wherein the major emphasis was to create autonomous churches to be sister churches with the LCMS that developed their own local leadership.[4] This led to a clear development wherein a change had occurred so that the church became more autonomous:

Racial and national differences faded, as a spirit of unity in Christ dominated. Laymen and missionaries were equals, learning form each other, not shepherds leading or tending the sheep. In a spirit of unity and sharing, mutual respect grew.[5]

This seeming turning point is what would eventually lead toward the Hong Kong Synod to become an independent synod:

Local and international forces and events aligned in the late 1960s to culminate in the formation in 1976 of the Lutheran Church-Hong Kong Synod, as a sister church and partner with the LCMS. One goal of the Missionary Conference had always been to “put themselves out of a job” as foreign missionaries; they desired to establish a self-sustaining local or indigenous church that would depend minimally on the LCMS.[6]

All of this suggests that such a thing was not always the case. There seems to have been a time when the missions were run by foreigners who did not see the local population as equals (due most probably to ecclesiastical hierarchy). Kohl hints at this issue in a few places:

With additional staffing came a more defined division of responsibilities in the conference…At the time, Chinese evangelists and laymen were not included in decision-making.[7]

After two years, the BFM authorized a seminary in Hong Kong, headed by Missionary Thode. Students were designated as “Special Students of Concordia Seminary.” Called the “crash program,” candidates studied one or two days weekly while working within a local congregation full-time. Missionaries supervised these several locations, and taught various classes at the seminary.[8]

Kohl does not explain why it was that Chinese evangelists were not allowed to participate or why they needed to be supervised. It is quite possible that such was simply because of ecclesiastical authority – the lack of Chinese evangelists having been ordained. However, this is precisely a moment where a hermeneutic of suspicion would have been helpful in order to give us a clearer picture of precisely what happened and why this seeming turning point occurred. The data is implied in the text, but it could have been made explicit to present the nature of the change more clearly.

Further, Kohl could have spent more time clarifying growth patterns over time sociologically. Kohl does provide a good deal of data about the growth and declines of particular churches, and clearly has good evidence of numerical data. It might have been helpful to collate that data so that it could be easily seen. In many ways, this was probably omitted due to the data being incomplete as well as this being a history of missions rather than a history of the Hong Kong Synod – but such a chart might have been helpful if the data did exist to get a larger picture.

The final major question that the reader is interested in asking is what was the nature of the content of the missions. Kohl does an excellent job showing how the material was presented, less of a clear job of exactly what that material was. Specifically, were these churches preaching very traditional Lutheran doctrine? Was Law and Gospel the primary elements? Were there regular catechism classes? Kohl implies a fair amount of continuity between the standard practice of the LCMS and these missions via descriptions of resources – he does clearly suggest that they were able to obtain traditional Lutheran documents (catechisms, hymns, Lutheran Hour, etc.) in translation in many cases. This implies that there was an essential continuity in content; however, the reader is not sure. How much was borrowed and how much was it adapted? What did regular church look like? What was the primary message? Many answers to these questions may not have been easy to access, but it certainly would be possible to entertain them.

The final quibble is a brief one. Kohl’s analysis does a fantastic job of taking a tremendous amount of data and presenting a very clear picture. However, there is one major confusion that is presented in the book. In his conversation of Concordia Middle School in Chai Yi, he seems to have conflicting information. He argues that the school was founded on the idea of Christian example rather than specific Christian curriculum:

Concordia translates as “harmony” (Hsieh Tong) – a perfect and auspicious name for an institution bridging cultures. Implicit in plans from day one was a program of Christian exposure, without the structure of a curriculum. With no required religion classes, would all of the effort and expense yield a positive and appealing witness of the Christian beliefs of the administration and staff? [9]

This idea of exposure without curriculum is bolstered by a commentary on the later development of this same school:

Mandatory religion classes at CMS are not allowed by the Republic of China (ROC) government, but the school does have an active worship program and voluntary study programs that supplement the normal curriculum.[10]

This is then challenged by an intermediate comment he makes that suggests there are religion classes at the school:

The Christian character and context of the school remains a unique and dynamic feature of CMS, as of 2014. There has always been a missionary on staff, working with the religion department. One class period utilize a weekly curriculum developed from Scripture – Old Testament in grade 8 and New Testament in grade 9.[11]

It is quite possible that this minor confusion is simply chronological – that at certain times they had Bible study in the curriculum and at other times it was voluntary. However, this particular issue was a little confusing. This one issue should not, however, give one the impression that Kohl’s presentation is confusing or rife with problems – given the amount of data he managed in such a short space, his work is amazing.

In all, this two volume series is excellent and deserves to be read. It is accessible to a non-specialist and provides an important element of history that otherwise would have been less accessible.

[1] Kohl, Lutherans on the Yangtze, 61.

[2] Ibid., 91.

[3] Ibid., 1-20.

[4] Ibid., 61.

[5] Ibid., 63.

[6] Ibid., 83.

[7] Ibid., 53.

[8] Ibid., 55.

[9] Ibid., 163.

[10] Ibid., 203.

[11] Ibid., 165.

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Chapter Two: Heavy Traffic on the Wredebahn: The ‘New Quest’ Renewed?

This chapter and the one following both are wide ranging scholarly overviews of what Wright sees as the two sides of historical Jesus scholarship. He argues that the scholarship on Jesus up to 1996 when the book was published can be categorized (at least initially) in two groups – that which develops from William Wrede and that which develops from Albert Schweitzer. There is some reason to challenge this division, but as far as divisions are helpful, this is a heuristic category that might be useful as a way of managing the complexities of the vast material covered under “historical Jesus studies.” This chapter covers what he considers the legacy of William Wrede which is often called the “New Quest” of the historical Jesus. Wright challenges this wing of scholarship and in so doing does not give this wing its fair due – his criticism of the scholarship colors it as “incorrect” rather than a true survey which would give the reader context.

First, Wright properly admits that he feels that this wing of scholarship is more incorrect than its inverse. He hardly completely agrees with the “Third Quest” (to be discussed in the next chapter), but does agree with it far more than he agrees with this “New Quest.” Wright explains:

I still believe that the future of a serious Jesus research lies with what I have called the ‘Third Quest,’ within a broadly post-Schweitzerian frame of reference, and to this we must presently turn.[1]

Wright here admits that the “New Quest” is not something he particularly values – he finds that in the “Third Quest.” While it is no problem for a scholar to make clear which side he values, his supposed goal in the chapter is to give readers a sense of scholarship on the subject. Given that, it would be prudent to attempt to avoid such biases.

Wright’s biases are shown in his justification of discussing the “New Quest” at all. Instead, he argues that it should be discussed precisely for its not being followed. He argues that many figures in this “New Quest” do not actually hold the views of the New Quest and as a result, are of value:

But these artificial distinctions do not do justice to the manysidedness of contemporary scholarship. It is increasingly clear that there are cross-over points between different schools, and that those who immerse themselves most thoroughly in the material, especially the historical sources, are mostly likely to move to and fro across what had seemed a firm Green Line into what some of their colleagues may still regard as no-go areas.[2]

While Wright is certainly correct that no firm distinctions ever hold up given scrutiny, what is more concerning is why he inserts this particular passage. He seems to suggest this, not so that people can understand the complexity of the issue, but far more because this is where the “New Quest” can have any value at all. He seems to suggest this in regard to validity rather than understanding. That alone illustrates the problem.

He therefore argues that the New Quest’s value can only be understood if the categories fall apart and the failures of the New Quest is revealed. Wright explains, “If the categories crumble in the next decade or so, that will be an excellent thing for the discipline…But that will only happen if the residual weaknesses in the New Quest are seriously addressed.”[3] Here Wright argues that the only productive way that the New Quest can be used is if the “categories crumble.” While I would generally agree that his categories aren’t that helpful, I am not sure I would agree that the way for the categories to crumble are necessarily for everyone to agree with Wright. He seems to feel that the “weaknesses” of the New Quest need to be abandoned which translate into Wright’s own conclusions.

Wright argues that the first thing the “New Quest” needs to do is to be card carrying about their premises. He feels that all work on the historical Jesus is governed by its premises. After this, these unprovable premises then govern the scarce data that we have:

First, there is the continued Bultmannian reliance on the sayings of Jesus as the primary material…This reliance on sayings leads, second, to a spurious idea that history can be done by assessing these sayings through ‘criteria’ of various sorts…Both, as we saw, are extremely difficult to assess, despite the confident feel of Crossan’s inventory, and are open to the charge that they simply reflect decisions reached on quite other grounds. All the current New Questers point, despite themselves, to a correct solution: the scholar must work with a large hypothesis, and must appeal, ultimately, to the large picture of how everything fits together as justification for smaller-scale decisions.[4]

Here, at least on a logical level, Wright is certainly accurate. That one’s epistemology (what he is here calling a “large hypothesis”) governs one’s conclusions is not surprising. It is, after all, one of the fundamental tenets of philosophy. The problem is that he seems to suggest that the New Quest movement has not done this. While certain figures certainly have not, better scholars have. Crossan’s work – however one feels about it – should not be criticized for its lack of rigor or its clarity of its epistemology.

The real problem Wright has with the New Quest is not that the premises aren’t defined. His real problem is that he doesn’t like their premises. He feels that the presentation does not take seriously enough Jesus’ Jewish origins and that it creates a Hellenistic figure in a world where a better explanation would have him in a fully Jewish contour:

The renewed New Quest works, third, with an overall picture of Christian origins that ought now to be abandoned. It is the Bultmannian picture, with variations: a deJudaized Jesus preaching a demythologized, ‘vertical’ eschatology; a crucifixion with no early theological interpretation; a ‘resurrection’ consisting of the coming to faith, some time later, of a particular group of Christians; an early sapiential/gnostic group, retelling the master’s aphorisms but uninterested in his life story; a Paul who invented a Hellenistic Christ-cult; a synoptic tradition in which rolling aphorisms, as they slowed down, gathered the moss of narrative structure about themselves, and gradually congealed into gospels in which the initial force of Jesus’ challenge was muted or lost altogether within a fictitious pseudo-historical framework.[5]

Here Wright comes clean – his problem is not really in method, it is in conclusion. He feels that this picture of Jesus in its epistemological model is flawed. Wright instead feels that whatever conclusion about Jesus needs to be a Jewish Jesus that works in a Jewish Christian framework. He explains:

I have already argued in some detail that when we find solid historical ground under our feet in the first century of Christianity, we find ourselves still in a very Jewish world, even if transplanted to Rome, Smyrna, or Thessalonica. There is one true god who challenges all the other gods, and those who worship this one true god must offer allegiance to no others.[6]

Wright correctly wants Jesus to fit a Jewish worldview and that in that Jewish worldview Christians remained – even to the extent that it included gentiles who were unfamiliar with Jewish tradition.

Wright’s argument that the premise should be challenged for its “Jewishness” should be reconsidered. There certainly is good reason to question how “Hellenistic” Judaism was in Palestine as the work of Mark Chancey has shown.[7] However, there is equal reason to challenge how non-Hellenic it was as expressed by Martin Hengel.[8] There was far less a “different type” of Judaism in Palestine than in other areas of the Roman Empire. The old distinction between the Hellenistic diaspora and the traditional Israel is less sure. There seems to be far more intermingling of ideas. It was certainly possible that one could hold Stoic theology while at the same time holding to Jewish tradition. After all, a good argument can be made that Paul himself had an idea very much like this as expressed by Stanley Stowers.[9]

All of this does not suggest that Wright was wrong with his conclusion – I myself would agree more with Schweitzer than Wrede - but it does show the challenge of being able to create a reasonable survey without inherently judging it. I am not arguing that Wright should have created such a unbiased survey – such a thing is difficult if not impossible – but it then raises the question why he bothered to discuss this at all. If his goal were simply to dismiss counter-opinions, would it not have been easier to do this after presenting his clear thesis? In all, more work could have been done to clarify key questions.

[1] JVG, 78.

[2] Ibid., 78.

[3] Ibid., 79.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid., 79-80.

[6] Ibid., 71.

[7] Mark Chancey Greco-Roman Culture and the Galilee of Jesus (Cambridge: CUP, 2005).

[8] Martin Hengel Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in their encounter in Palestine during the early Hellenistic Period 2 vols. (Philadelphia, Fortress Press, 1974).

[9] Stanley Kent Stowers Rereading Romans: Justice, Jews, and Gentiles (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994).