Review of Lourdes Garcia Urena, “Colour Adjectives in the New Testament” New Testament Studies, 61, 219-238.

This brief article points out the important understanding of color in the New Testament based upon the concept of color in the ancient world basing the discussion particularly on Greek concepts of color. The value of this article is that it points out something that is usually not considered particularly important in New Testament studies and shows how color terms should be taken more seriously – particularly in the gospels and letters.

The most important argument that this article presents is precisely how rare color terms are used in the gospels and letters. Whenever something is so rare, when it is used, it ought to be considered carefully. Further, this is nuanced because colors in antiquity are used so differently than colors are used now. Very rarely are colors simply used to provide descriptive detail of a scene in the way of some modern literature. Instead, color is used to suggest a different aspect. Garcia Urena calls this a different ‘reality:’

From this study, it can be deduced that colour is used in the gospels and the letters not so much to allude to the denoted colour of an object, but more to express another reality that transcends literal meaning. Hence, colours are not used with a merely descriptive function, but as a way of connoting another reality characterized by that colour. One could, therefore, suggest that colours in the gospels and the letters play an informative role, telling the listeners/readers about an individual’s rank, his condition or nature, his age; even providing chronological information or conveying a symbolic meaning, since the colour word can denote a different reality.[1]

Color is used to nuance a topic to bring in an entire spectrum of meaning that would be absent without it.

Take, for example, the feeding of the 5000 scene in the Gospel of Mark. In Mark 6:39 reads “He directed them all to sit down in the green (Chloros) grass.” Why does the author include the color here? What does it help to know that the grass is green? The base level would simply suggest it provides a side detail, or that it tells us the time of the year. However, if the goal was simply to be descriptive, the rest of the Gospel of Mark would struggle in that this type of needless side detail to present us a picture is not characteristic of the Gospel. Further, if the author wanted to provide the time of the year, telling us the grass is green is perhaps the most roundabout way of doing that. Instead, something else must be going on. The green grass could be a deliberate allusion to Psalm 23, showing Christ as the good shepherd who provides for his sheep (this being directly before he actually feeds them all). Another possible meaning is that it is an allusion to the eschatological banquet from Isaiah 35 where the desert has been made into green pastures. In some way both of these meanings seem very probable.[2] The color is used to stop and make us think – the Gospel of Mark does not use unnecessary details – it is done to prove a point. On this point, Garcia Urena’s work is an important contribution and a very helpful read.

Where Garcia Urena could have aided his reader is in the way color was expressed in the ancient world. Color in the ancient world was very different from color from today. The palette of  colors was different and the way colors were presented was fundamentally different. There was fundamental similarity between black-red, light-white, blue-green, and yellow-green. There really was not a good sense of terms for other colors and they were most all defined by how much or how little translucent they were.[3] Garcia Urena certainly knows this and applies this concept, but for the audience, it would have been helpful to explain it. For example, Garcia Urena’s very good discussion of “white” (leukos), particularly as it is used to describe the transfiguration scene and the angels/young man at the tomb, it would have helped to explain that the concept of “white” is equally the concept of “bright” – note the language of Jesus’s garment in Matthew 17:2 after the transfiguration: “He was transfigured before them and his face shone like the sun and his garments became white like light.”[4] Here, the author emphasizes how incredibly bright this white garment was. However, the term itself – leukos – already has that idea in it. The author uses the term to imply that was the kind of color it was – a “bright white.” Again, Garcia Urena clearly knows this and applies this good concept, but it could have been helpful to make this aspect clear.

The second half of the article focuses on the Apocalypse of John wherein color is used more frequently than any other place in the New Testament. Garcia Urena argue that on the whole, the color is used for a different purpose. In the Apocalypse, it seems that color is used in order to provide the kind of detail and nuance details so that a clear and vivid picture can be created in the mind from an aural presentation of the text:

In view of this study, it can be concluded that the author of the Apocalypse uses colour adjectives for their denotation: their colour. They are used to describe characters, objects and events in a vivid and real way, achieving one of the effects of descrition ut pictura poiesis. The extent of this is such that sometimes the seer recreates scenes in which colour is the predominant element, either through the accumulation of colour adjectives (Rev 6.2-8), or by addition of lexemes which, by nature, express colour (Rev 6.12; 8.7). However, the function of colour adjectives in the Apocalypse goes farther than this. Since this is a text to be read aloud, the repeated and systematic use of colour creates an aural effect in the listeners/readers that gives extra information to help identify the characters, making it easier for them to follow the story.[5]

Here Garcia Urena makes two conclusions – that color is used systematically and idiosyncratically in the Apocalypse. The argument is that in contrast to the other books of the New Testament, color is used here far more in the manner that modern readers are familiar with – color is used to “paint a picture” in the mind of the hearer. This view is not entirely convincing. Ancient authors rarely write in this way concerning color. However, the second point is convincing – that the text uses color systematically. There certainly seem to be clear patterns – different colors are paired with different concepts and ideas systematically throughout. Therefore, whether or not this is specific to an aural culture so the people could have a vivid image in their mind, the far simpler solution is clearly the case – that certain colors anticipate meaning and do so in the same way throughout the Apocalypse so that readers can have a narrative “nod and wink” toward how they are supposed to judge an event that is occurring.

In all, this is a wonderful little article that deserves to be read. Color is one of the seeming “throw away” details that are too often just skipped over. This article reminds us to avoid doing that. In the New Testament there are no throw away details – there are literary nuances that deserve to be considered. What is more, those things that seem unusually unimportant are precisely the things that need further exploration. This article is a nice example of why that is so true.

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[1] Garcia Lourdes, “Color Words,” 232.

[2] Ibid., 229-232.

[3] Eleanor Irwin, Colour Terms in Greek Poetry (Toronto: Hakkert, 1974).

[4] Garcia Urena, “Colour Terms,” 221.

[5] Ibid., 237.

Metaphors that need to be retired from scholarly discourse – Candidate number one: “Parasite.”

In scholarship, we need to use constructed categories and metaphors – they are simply how one thing can be translated – using the unknown to express the known. However, one needs to be careful how metaphors are used. While we can hide behind the idea that metaphor is the best way to communicate an idea, data does not really show that. In most cases, metaphor is unnecessary for understanding. It is usually not too difficult to simply state an idea in direct language without the use of a metaphor. Metaphor, instead, has a completely different purpose of a mnemonic device. It is usually easier to recall a particular metaphor rather than a robust idea. However, many modern scholars have made this mistake – they somehow think that a metaphor can make a complex thing simple. Something that is complex is complex – no way of translating it differently will make it less complex. In fact, in their attempt to do so, they frequently state things in ways that are foreign to the idea they are expressing. What is worse, it often occurs that the metaphor becomes a “controlling metaphor” and starts to define the points they are trying to express. I argue that just such a controlling metaphor has been used and needs to be abandoned – that of the metaphor of a “parasite” in the realm of ideas and practice. What is meant in the metaphor of a parasite very rarely illustrates the data that it is applied toward, and instead controls and even creates a negative judgment on the material it describes.

To illustrate this point I present the first example of the use of this term from Michael Allen Gillespie discussing post-enlightenment thinking that sought to stray from nominalism, scholasticism, and humanism. Rather, he argues that two seemingly atheistic ideas were presented to solve the problem of free will with a transcendent God – most notably by eliminating the transcendent God. He argues, however, that these views are not actually atheistic at all and are in fact “parasitic” upon religious tradition. Consider his view:

While these strains [i.e. of one group who argued that both natural motion and human motion would spring from a common source and therefore free expression of the will would be driven by an overarching world-spirit that unites all things of the other group of natural scientists who argue that motion of matter as an interplay of natural forces thus predetermining cause and will within that naturalistic framework]of post-Enlightenment thought thus offer different answers to the problem of the antinomy, neither offers (nor can offer) an account of the whole that is both consistent and complete. Each thus produces a partial explanation that achieves coherence by sacrifices completeness or achieves completeness by sacrificing consistency. While both are generally considered to be atheistic from a traditional Christian point of view, each is in fact parasitic on the Christian worldview. This is obvious in the case of the idea of a world-spirit, but it is equally true of the notion of natural causality that derives the certainty of the necessary concatenation of events from the notion of divine predetermination.[1]

Note how Gillespie uses the term “parasitic” here. He argues that because these secular positions – namely positions that are developed from Christian ideas – are parasitic. He argues this because he sees connective tissue not just from the idea that there is a purpose in the world, but that there is actually connection between these solutions and the two Christian positions of humanism and nominalism.

The question, though, is whether this is truly “parasitic.” When the “parasite” metaphor is used, it implies that a view cannot exist without the other view to feed upon (like unto a parasite does a host). Further, it suggests that the view feeds off of the nutrition and body of the previous idea – much like a parasite with a host. What is more, the view can never exist independently – all parasites must have a host – they therefore will either transfer from host to host or keep the host alive enough to use it as a continued source of sustenance. Finally, a parasite is something that is foreign to the host and is introduced from the outside world – suggesting that this view is separate from the original view but somehow subjected itself into the view and exists based upon that original idea.

I do not believe that Gillespie meant to include all of these above points. For instance, the final one is exactly opposite his point – rather than suggesting that post enlightenment views were separate from Christian reformation views, he argues that they were fundamentally the same and came from the same source. Second, it is nowhere clear that the post-enlightenment views could not stand on their own. What is more, it is not at all clear that these post-enlightenment views needed the previous views of nominalism, scholasticism, or humanism to be simultaneously present (as would a parasite) to exist. In fact, Gillespie’s whole point is that they have replaced those views.

When one looks carefully at Gillespie, the only thing that really fits with the “parasite” idea is that it took the ideas from a previous idea (the way a parasite takes nutrition from a host). However, that is where the analogy stops. Gillespie then argues that post-enlightenment views took the ideas and then moved on to be independent ideas – even though they always were indebted to that original group. This is exactly what a parasite does not do. A parasite does not exist on its own. That something has a source which borrows from something previous does not imply a parasite. That simply implies borrowing.

A second example of how this metaphor is used inappropriately is constructive. Consider Christian Smith’s view of how Moralistic Therapeutic Deism (the idea that religion is encapsulated in basic ethics and feeling good)[2] is a parasite upon standard Christian traditions. Smith, to his credit, tries to take the metaphor more seriously and does describe why he bothers to bring it up. Consider the way it is used:

Indeed, this religious creed appears to operate as a parasitic faith. It cannot sustain its own integral, independent life; rather it must attach itself like an incubus to established historical religious traditions, feeding on their doctrines and sensibilities, and expanding by mutating their theological substance to resemble its own distinctive image…These may be either devout followers or mere nominal believers of their respective traditional faiths, but they often have some connection to an established historical faith tradition that this alternative faith feeds on and gradually co-opts if not devours. Believers in each larger tradition practice their own versions of this otherwise common parasitic religion…Each of the believers then can think of themselves as belonging to the specific religious tradition they name as their own – Catholic, Baptist, Jewish, Mormon, whatever – while simultaneously sharing the cross-cutting, core beliefs of their de facto common Moralistic Therapeutic Deist faith. In effect, these believers get to enjoy whatever particulars of their own faith heritages that appeal to them, while also reaping the benefits of this shared, harmonizing, interfaith religion.[3]

Here, Smith tries to be responsible with his metaphor. However, serious questions need to be asked as to whether or not this is appropriate. First, nowhere in Smith’s book does he show that MTD cannot exist without traditional faith. In fact, he himself cites a fascinating article on the “paradoxical growth of the liberal church” by Jay Demerath.[4]  Demerath argues that the liberal church’s membership is waning precisely because their worldview is being accepted. People are able to hold their worldview without identifying with the church any longer. MTD then, is no parasite – it clearly can and is standing alone. Second, much like Gillespie, Smith does not take seriously that parasites are from without and work their way into a group. Smith, much like Gillespie, argues that MTD developed precisely from within liberal Protestantism’s attitudes about how God interacts with the world.

Smith does do one thing well – he does try to address the problem of how a parasite feeds off of the host and thereby affects the host. However, his metaphor struggles – how is it that a parasite changes the host and makes it something different? The whole point of a parasite is that it is not the host and does not change the character of the host. That would be less a parasite and more a skin graft – something that was not part of a being which has now become and changed the identity of that being.

It appears that both Smith and Gillespie use the metaphor with the primary purpose of saying that these independent ideas were secondary and their original source was clearly from a previous idea – they simply have been separated so long that people no longer recognize them as such. However, that is precisely what a parasite cannot do.

The problem, here, is one of metaphor. Metaphors can be quite helpful. In fact, they are nearly necessary in good communication. Ellen Muehlenberger shows this clearly in her review of Boin’s Coming Out Christian:

Metaphors are excellent tools for comprehension, to be sure. Seeing a familiar pattern in what is unfamiliar is often the first step toward understanding something new; that pattern can be a handle to hold on to as we explore new and unpredictable territory. Metaphors are able to do this work because they are similar to the target to be explained, but they are by design not identical. Two things are compared, but the two are never a perfect match. Every metaphor comes with limits, places where it stops yielding information, and that is just a feature of the tool: no metaphor can truly account for the thing it is said to be like.[5]

Here this is the reality of every metaphor.

It could be argued that I am being too harsh here; however, the problem is not that the metaphor has limits, it is that the concept of “parasite” has taken over understanding and is controlling the idea rather than illustrating it. Muehlenberger argues this same idea when critiquing Boin’s metaphor of Christians in the Roman Empire being like homosexuals in the modern world “coming out”:

One could think of all of these as just instances of the author being clever — oh, the satire, or even the camp, that lies latent in describing ancient Christians as if they were twentieth-century homosexuals! — but Boin clearly means to do more than just provoke. The concept of “coming out” is necessary to his argument, as it provides the solution to the unresolved historical problem that sits uncomfortably at the center of the book. That problem is simple: if quieter Christians did exist, they left very little evidence of their carefully-calibrated lives. In fact, evidence of Christianity of any sort, strident or respectable, is rather thin for the first three centuries of the common era. But, if there were masses of Christians who simply chose not to be public about their identities — that is, Christians were careful about when and whether they “came out” — then that problem goes away.[6]

Here is what has happened with the “parasite” – it controls the rhetoric. It suggests that the problem of understanding the motivation for a phenomenon is over. Rather than suggesting that the rise of an idea came from varied sources and is using legitimized ideas in a dynamic way, it simply states that a precedent in the past created this thing in the present. This now is no longer illustrating, it is now constraining.

The problem with this is that this type of metaphor reflects a more unsettling attitude. It is the idea that a complex idea can become very simple if we simple view it from the proper angle. Muehlenberger summarizes the issue:

All metaphors have their limits. What, then, is the harm if this one does not live up to its hype? In its reliance on a single, uncomplicated move — applying the language of a modern phenomenon to an ancient one — Coming Out Christian bears a resemblance to a genre of writing that, to my knowledge, has not yet been named but is ubiquitous, especially in new media journalism. This genre depends on the belief that subjects that appear difficult to understand are not, in reality, difficult at all. They simply require a shift in perspective, a tip, a tiny key to unlock them.[7]

This is magic bullet thinking at its worst. It is the idea that if we look hard enough at a complex idea, we will find a particular metaphor that explains it all very simply. It is something that is at best lazy – rather than working hard and challenging ourselves to find new understandings, we can simply find some small little avenue to find understanding without having to go to all the work of understanding. One is essentially asking to gain understanding without learning.

Finally, metaphors have connotations. I have stated above all of the denotations of what a parasite consists of. The connotation, however, is that parasites are “bad.” This connotation is almost certainly what both Gillespie and Smith are hoping for when they use the metaphor. They think that post enlightenment atheistic thought and Moralistic Therapeutic Deism, respectively, are negative things that should be avoided – much like parasites. This is the most troubling of the use of the metaphor. It is a way for scholars – who are supposed to approach everything with both a hermeneutic of respect and suspicion – to denigrate something while not actually denigrating it. It is a very clever approach of condemning a practice while claiming to be objectively analyzing it. I am not opposed to scholars taking positions on topics – I think scholarship could use more of that, not less; however, if one is going to make a statement, it is absolutely necessary to actually make the statement. If Christian Smith wants to argue that MTD is a problem, that is fine – but have the courage to actually say that and subsequently own it. Don’t allow a metaphor to provide nods and winks about what is intended.

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[1] Michael Allen Gillespie, The Theological Origins of Modernity (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2008), 280.

[2] Smith provides five characteristics of MTD:

1. God exists who created and orders the world and watches over human life on earth.

2. God wants people to be good, nice, and fair to each other, as taught in the Bible and by most world religions.

3. The central goal of life is to be happy and to feel good about oneself.

4. God does not need to be particularly involved in one’s life except when God is needed to resolve a problem.

5. Good people go to heaven when they die

See Christian Smith, Soul Searching: the Religion and Spiritual Lives of American Teenagers (Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 162-163.

[3] Smith, Soul Searching, 166.

[4] N. Jay Demerath, “Cultural Victory and Organizational Defeat in the Paradoxical Decline of Liberal Protestantism” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 34.4 (1995): 458-69.

[5] Ellen Muehlenberger “Metaphor and Its Limits: on Douglas Boin Coming Out Christian in the Roman World” Book Review. Marginalia Review of Books (http://marginalia.lareviewofbooks.org/metaphor-and-its-limits-by-ellen-muehlberger/).

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid.

Chapter Six: Resurrection in Corinth (1): Introduction

 [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 3 – The Resurrection of the Son of God.]

N.T. Wright’s discussion of Resurrection in Paul continues in this chapter which is his first concerning first and second Corinthians. Here, Wright presents a remarkably convincing depiction of resurrection in the books. The only real problem with his work is that is that he overstates his case to make resurrection the “magic bullet” by which the rest of the books are understood. This is a natural danger to all of us in the academy who are studying a particular topic and is somewhat understandable; however, it still does need to be addressed.

First, Wright correctly asserts that resurrection is a rather important topic in the Corinthian correspondence. Indeed, with 1 Thessalonians 4, it is the standard place wherein readers have found Paul’s message of resurrection. The problem, of course, is trying to untangle what Paul says about resurrection from the sundry items he address in 1 and 2 Corinthians. Wright explains this problem well:

The resurrection – that of Jesus, and that of Jesus’ people – dominates the Corinthian correspondence. Discussion of such a central topic inevitably becomes entangled in all kinds of other issues, some of which are as complex and unresolved today as they were when critical scholarship first began to investigate them.[1]

The key question, that Wright never addresses, is whether one should untangle resurrection from these other issues. His topic is to understand “what Paul thought of Resurrection” though this is a fundamentally difficult task. Wright here seems to fall into the common trap of recognizing that Paul is not a systematic theologian, but then going farther to create a systematic theology for him! If Paul is truly not a systematic theologian, but instead his arguments are occasional, then why are we trying to create a systematic theology for him? Why are we not simply keeping his views in their own situations? Wright should not be castigated too highly for this – he mostly does keep the conversation about the resurrection in the context of the books; however, it is unavoidable that when one asks what did Paul think about (insert topic here), it will result in trying to mash together his various books and take them out of their situations.

 Wright’s focus on resurrection in the Corinthian correspondence shows this focus. He argues that resurrection was the key issue in the Corinthian correspondence. This is a problem. Whenever one says that there was a key issue, then it suggests all the other issues from which one has “untangled” resurrection are somehow less dynamic, or less important. To show the situation, Wright presents a classic view of resurrection and then the critique of it in 1 Corinthians. Note in his presentation how he argues resurrection – one way or another – is the key issue at hand:

A major proposal was made some years ago to address this: that the Corinthians held some form of over-realized eschatology, and were inclined to believe that they were already ‘raised’ in all the senses they ever needed to be. This was then advanced to explain such passages as 4.8 (“Already you’re filled! Already your rich! Without us, you are kings!”), and several other parts of the text. Chapter 15 was written, according to this theory, to put the record straight, and to argue at length for a future resurrection which would show up the present posturing of super-spiritual Corinthians as such ‘puffed up’ boasting.[2]

Many scholars have come round to the view argued by Richard Hays that the problem at Corinth was not too much eschatology but not nearly enough. The Corinthians were attempting to produce a mixture of Christianity and paganism; their ‘puffed up’ posturing came not from believing that a Jewish-style eschatology had already brought them to God’s final future, but from putting together their beliefs about themselves as Christians with ideas from pagan philosophy, not least the kind of popular-level Stoicism which taught that all who truly understand the world and themselves are kings. Paul urgently wanted to teach them to think of themselves, corporately, individually and cosmically, in a more thoroughly Jewish fashion, in terms of the great Jewish stories of God, Israel and the world.[3]

Note that in both cases, arguing for or against this position, he presents resurrection as the key issue which is dividing the community. He argues that the Bultmannian hypothesis that some felt the resurrection was a present rather than future reality is out of date and instead, it is instead the view that many were not taking resurrection seriously enough. In both cases, he sees the major controversy surrounding resurrection.

The problem, of course, with this view is that if there is any particular issue that dominates 1 Corinthians, it is clearly the divided community as the introduction to the letter proclaims “For it has been reported to me by Chloe’s people that there are quarrels among you, my brothers and sisters. What I mean is that each of you says “I belong to Paul,” or “I belong to Apollos,” or “I belong to Cephas,” or “I belong to Christ.”[4]  Margaret Mitchell has convincingly shown that the primary issue of the letter was a lack of unity and Paul uses Greek deliberative rhetoric to address that problem.[5] I do not believe Wright disagrees with this, but he certainly does not emphasize it. Instead, he seems to want to argue that the primary reason for the lack of unity is resurrection. Here, he stretches the evidence too far. A cursory reading will show that there were a variety of reasons for the lack of unity within the group.

He argues that in 2 Corinthians he has the same point, but with a different emphasis. He suggests that rather than pushing the group to take seriously the world of the resurrection, instead, he wants to challenge them to see the issue of apostleship as related to the issue of resurrection. Wright explains:

But in much of 2 Corinthians his point, though closely related, is significantly different. Paul has not stopped looking to the future. Far from it. But now, instead of looking to the future and seeing the present as the appropriate preparation for it, he is looking to the future and discovering that it works its way back into the present in ways he had not previously explored, giving hope and strength when neither seemed available by any other means. In both letters, what mattes is the continuity between future Christian hope and present Christian experience. But whereas in 1 Corinthians the movement is primarily toward the future, straining towards the resurrection and discovering what needs to be done in the present to anticipate it, in 2 Corinthians the movement is primarily towards the present, discovering in the powerful resurrection of Jesus and the promised resurrection for all his people the secret of facing suffering and pain here and now.[6]

His issue of suffering and apostleship, are of course united, in that we participate now in the suffering and death of Christ and only in the future will we participate in his resurrection. He maps this out well as he says is a use of eschatology for a pastoral need:

It is important to spell out the logic of what he is saying, because in 2 Corinthians all this is controversial. (a) He believes, as a good Pharisaic Jew, that the creator God raises the dead, in the normal sense. (b) He believes this all the more strongly because he believes that God has already done it in the case of Jesus. (c) He believes that he is living between Jesus’ resurrection and his own future resurrection. (d) He therefore claims, and discovers in practice, that God’s power to raise the dead is at work in the present time, one of its results being that God can and sometimes does rescue his people from what had seemed imminent and certain death. This is inaugurated eschatology in the service of urgent pastoral need.[7]

He therefore suggests that the present is in a unique place.

He therefore fits his apostleship within this framework – an apostleship in which one can expect suffering as we are merely acting within the new creation now and not in the future:

Verse 10 [chapter 9] sums up not only all of 11.21-12.9, but, in a measure the entire epistle: the weakness of the apostle, seen to good effect in all the extraordinary things he has to suffer, is the very point at which he is being identified with the Messiah, and hence the very point also at which the Messiah’s resurrection power comes in the present apostolic life and work, anticipating, by the Spirit, the resurrection which still awaits him.[8]

Here, I agree with Wright in his general view – Paul does discuss the challenge of suffering as keyed to the drama of future resurrection versus present reality of the meaning of being in the new creation as opposed to the view of the superapostles who he believes have completely misunderstood this point.

In all, Wright’s discussion of Paul’s view of resurrection is generally strong. The problem is how it can be construed and strained to create monothetic thinking about Paul that is decidedly unhelpful. Further, a discussion of the “new creation” without discussing the Platonic language of participating “in Christ” seems to be a mistake. Wright nowhere discusses this important point in this chapter and it leaves the reader guessing not as to what the resurrection is, but how anyone can be part of this new creation.

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[1] RSG, 277.

[2] RSG, 279.

[3] RSG, 279-280.

[4] 1 Cor. 1:11-12.

[5] Margaret M. Mitchell Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation: An Exegetical Investigation of the Language and Composition of 1 Corinthians (Westminster John Knox Press, 1993).

[6] RSG, 300.

[7] RSG, 301.

[8] RSG, 309.

Chapter Five: Resurrection in Paul (Outside the Corinthian Correspondence)

 [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 3 – The Resurrection of the Son of God.]

N.T. Wright’s chapter discussing Paul is also his first chapter discussing Jesus movement resurrection. Therefore, he first discusses briefly his view that resurrection in the Jesus Movement was generally uniform and simultaneously different from Judaism. He then moves into the second portion of the chapter in which he discusses resurrection in Paul outside of the Corinthian correspondence which he will spend the next two chapters discussing. I argue that Wright’s general position about Paul’s presentation in 1 Thessalonians and Philippians is generally quite well done – with a few exceptions, but that his characterization of the Jesus movement’s uniformity on resurrection is rather overstated. Given that this chapter covers these two topics, I will break this down into two sections.

1.     Wright’s general views about resurrection in the early Jesus Movement

Wright argues that one of the major elements that gave the Jesus movement a clear identity was the generally uniform view of resurrection. Wright explains it as surprising given the diversity of views in the Greco-Roman world, even within Judaism:

One of the most striking features of the early Christian movement is its virtual unanimity about the future hope. We might have expected that Christians would quickly have developed a spectrum of beliefs about life after death, corresponding to the spectrums we have observed in the Judaism from within which Christianity emerged and the paganism into which it went as a missionary movement; but they did not.[1]

He argues that the views of the Jesus movement were relatively unanimous – where they would not be the same for other issues. He argues that it is amazing that it seems to be in line with the dominant Jewish view of the time. However, he notes that this is particularly surprising because Christians saw resurrection quite differently from Judaism. They used the same words, but interpreted it quite differently in the same way.

There are substantial mutations from within the ‘resurrection’ stream of Judaism. In particular, the historian must account for the fact that, with early Christianity thus being so clearly a ‘resurrection’ movement in the Jewish sense, the well-established metaphorical meanings emerge instead. How does it come about, in other words, that early Christianity located its life-after-death beliefs so firmly at the ‘resurrection’ end of the Jewish spectrum, while simultaneously giving the word a metaphorical meaning significantly different from, through in long-range continuity with, the meaning it had within Judaism? How do we account for both the strong similarity between Christianity and Judaism (there is no sign, in early Christian resurrection belief, of anything remotely like a move in a pagan direction) and the equally clear dissimilarities?[2]

Wright then argues that Christians had basically the same view of the resurrection that was dependent upon one basic stream of Judaism, but which had interpreted it in a new way. Wright presents this as quite a conundrum.

The challenge with Wright’s presentation here is that it overstates the case. He argues for “general” unanimity. The only way that early Christianity was unanimous on resurrection is if one used the word “general” quite broadly. He is certainly right that the view presented by the vast majority of the figures in the New Testament (though not all) won out, but it would take several hundred years to get there.

Wright centered his focus on the unanimous view that humans believed in a bodily resurrection: “It meant bodily resurrection; and that is what the early Christians affirmed.”[3] While this is somewhat true, what it looked like and when it occurred varied quite aggressively. For example, in his discussion of Paul he includes Colossians and Ephesians as having essentially the same view as Paul.[4] However, Colossians and Ephesians (Ephesians being dependent upon Colossians) have been famously challenged as to Pauline authorship precisely because of their contrast on the doctrine of resurrection. Ephesians treats resurrection as something that has already happened:

But God who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ – by grace you have been saved – and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the ages to come he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.[5]

What is key here is that the concept of being raised is clearly in the past tense. Paul firmly opposes this and sees resurrection a thing that will happen at the end of days when it will be truly bodily resurrection from the grave. Wright argues that these are in far more continuity than discontinuity, but his discussion plays down the real tension that these two ideas propose.

Further, if one considers work that did not make the New Testament, it is clear that there was not such a unanimous view of resurrection as Wright wishes there were. For example, the question of a bodily resurrection was challenged by many thinkers. Origen of Alexandria (d. 254), for instance, argued that when we are reunited with God (he argued we all were already once), we would be, if corporeal at all, very incorporeal to a point where we can’t imagine ourselves having any real physical body. In fact, he argued that soma – the “body” can only be seen as an extension of the psyche – the soul. The actual fleshly body – sarx – passes away into the fire. This is simply one very influential figure to show that the view was not nearly as “universal” as Wright would like. There were certainly many different perspectives on the topic. Just because a number of authors in the New Testament agreed did not mean that the movement as a whole agreed.

2.     Paul (outside of the Corinthian correspondence)

For all the concern I had about Wright’s presentation of the general view of resurrection, I tended to value very much what Wright said of Paul’s view on resurrection. He overplays some elements – for instance his valuing of Romans as the key for resurrection language – but if that is the biggest problem, then I would be quite satisfied.

What Wright does, though, is focuses on the question of when the bodily resurrection will take place. He seems to want to argue that the modern concept that the people who have just died have souls who are hobnobbing in a kind of ethereal state has little grounding in Paul. Wright directs this point head on:

How does resurrection in this passage function within Paul’s larger picture? Initially, as an incentive to the right sort of grief (1 Thess. 4.13): not the kind of grief that overtakes people without hope, people in the pagan world the Thessalonians knew so well…This in, in fact, as close as we come in early Christian literature to the theme much beloved of preachers at funerals, namely the promise of a reunion beyond the grave with Christians already dead. Nothing is said, one way or the other, about such a reunion taking place before the resurrection itself; but the pastoral logic of the passage insists that an eventual reunion is what the creator God has in mind, and will accomplish at the time of Jesus’ return.[6]

Wright shows that 1 Thessalonians 4 – one of Paul’s clearest discussion of the resurrection, does not discuss any element of a current half-resurrection where those who are asleep are somehow interacting. Instead, it argues that these figures are very clearly asleep and will not rise until the day of the Lord.

Wright does a very good heuristic move, however, by showing the challenge of this view. He focuses on Philippians 1 which has his angst wherein he seems to suggest that his dying would be unity with Christ.[7] This would seem to suggest a kind of current state of being with Christ before the resurrection. Wright argues that this can be understood in context. He mentions nothing about any resurrection connected with this intermediate state. Instead, he says that it is a comment about a way in which those who have “died in Christ” are somehow united with him even though they are asleep. It is not to suggest the great value of this state, rather, it can be argued, it is to show the weakness of the current world in which we live. The argument is that our present life is so hard – not that the intermediate one before the resurrection will be so good.

What is to be appreciated in Wright’s analysis is that he is fair to those who disagree with him and shows why it is they do so. What he could have done better in 1 Thessalonians was to emphasize the communal concern of resurrection. He mentions it once in quote cited above, but on the whole, he falls into the usual trap of understanding 1 Thessalonians 4 of thinking that it was responding to those who have died and the question of if they had “missed it.” If that was the case, then verse 1 would have solved it – they did not miss it. The next 6 verses are set to explain what will happen all with the idea that the dead will be with them in the future and that there is no priority of those who have died from those who are alive. It is as if the primary problem was not the question that those who died might miss it, but whether they would really be a community in the future. This aspect seems woefully lacking in Wright’s analysis and without it, the conversation becomes too one-sided and does not explain the complexities of the text.

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[1] RSG, 209.

[2] RSG, 210

[3] RSG, 209.

[4] RSG, 237-240.

[5] Eph. 2:4-7.

[6] RSG, 217.

[7] RSG, 226.

Is Philippians 3:5-9 relevant to Paul’s “conversion?”: An argument for challenging a common reading

Very frequently in conversation about Paul’s theology in both the “New Perspective,” “Neo-Lutheran Perspective” or simply traditional readings, much is made of the nature of Paul’s “conversion” experience.[1] Indeed, much of the “New Perspective” was developed from Stendahl’s argument that we should not think of Paul’s experience as a “conversion” from one religion to another, but rather simply a “calling” to a new mission to the Gentiles. The strength of this argument is a priority of Galatians 1. Philippians 3 is then read with the understanding of Galatians. The traditional perspective reads it the opposite way – that Paul’s proclamation that he now considers his standing within Judaism as skubala and this insight should govern how we read Galatians 1. In both cases, both sides are using Philippians 3 as a fundamental text to teach us about Paul’s conversion. However, a closer look at Philippians 3 seriously questions whether such a grouping is helpful. Rather, this paper suggests that Philippians 3 should be understood as a missional strategy as expressed in 1 Corinthians 9:19-23. This would not fundamentally change which of the views one holds (New Perspective or Traditional readings). Rather, I argue we need to look more carefully at the texts and be careful as to what we they are truly expressing.

The letter to the Philippians is historically confusing, so much that it has led many to think that it is actually a compilation of 3 letters of Paul to the community. Paul seems to have three separate messages and settings that do not seem to completely with each other. Without going too far into this conversation, the letter is divided between Phil. 1:1-3:1; 3:2-4:1; and 4:1-23. Whether or not the book was actually a compilation of three different letters or if Paul simply wrote the letter in three sections, for the purposes of this paper, 3:2-4:1 does seem to have a fundamentally different circumstance in mind than the other sections. Most commentators – even very conservative ones who are very opposed to this division of books of the Bible in practice agree. Very few use any sections of Phil. 1-2 to understand the context in Philippians 3. Therefore, this paper will focus entirely on Philippians 3:2-4:1 as a self-enclosed unit that deserves to be studied on its own.

The use of Philippians 3 for information about Paul’s conversion is based upon the fact that Paul does discuss his “former” life and his “current” life. The text, therefore, was quite naturally read as good information about how he once lived as compared to how he lives now. The text in full is expressed here:

If anyone else has reason to be confident in the flesh, I have more: ⁵circumcised on the eighth day, a member of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; ⁶as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless.

7 Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ. ⁸More than that, I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ ⁹and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but one that comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God based on faith.[2]

Here, it can be seen why readers of Philippians have seen it as helpful information as regards to his “conversion.” It presents some kind of contrast between how he lives now and how he lived in the past. This is particularly helpful because of how rarely Paul speaks autobiographically and thus this passage would be very helpful if it was discussing this contrast. The problem, of course, is that nothing in the text itself says when this former and current life are contrasted. It is only an interpretative decision that readers take this autobiographical discussion to be the moment of his “conversion.”

The two different perspectives on Paul consider this same text and use it quite differently. The traditional “Lutheran” perspective argues that Paul’s conversion was a shift in his thinking. Smart scholars recognize that there was no such thing as “Christianity” when Paul lived, but they argue that he didn’t know what to call this new revelation, but he did see it as something aggressively different. They argue that Galatians 1 presents the event while Philippians 3 presents the content. Galatians 1 does clearly present Paul’s version of what happened:

 11 For I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that the gospel that was proclaimed by me is not of human origin; ¹²for I did not receive it from a human source, nor was I taught it, but I received it through a revelation of Jesus Christ.

13 You have heard, no doubt, of my earlier life in Judaism. I was violently persecuting the church of God and was trying to destroy it. ¹⁴I advanced in Judaism beyond many among my people of the same age, for I was far more zealous for the traditions of my ancestors. ¹⁵But when God, who had set me apart before I was born and called me through his grace, was pleased ¹⁶to reveal his Son to me, so that I might proclaim him among the Gentiles, I did not confer with any human being, ¹⁷nor did I go up to Jerusalem to those who were already apostles before me, but I went away at once into Arabia, and afterwards I returned to Damascus.[3]

Paul, therefore, describes the event as a revelation of God’s son, Jesus Christ, to him and gave him the mission of going to the Gentiles. The traditional readers then argue that Paul here does not tell us the content of the revelation. Instead, they argue that he merely discusses the event as an event. They then use Philippians 3:7-9 as the content:

7 Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ. ⁸More than that, I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ ⁹and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but one that comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God based on faith.[4]

The argument is that the content of Phil. 3 provides the means by which Paul saw his life radically differently. This was, for the traditional perspective, what the implications of the revelation of God’s son. The primary shift, then, was that Paul radically altered his life and that at that revelatory moment, he ceased his former life in Judaism and started a new one completely differently. Some would go even farther and say that he saw the error in his old life and its impossibility and that he found a new solution to this crisis. The revelation then, was primarily, and introspective psychological shift. The mission to the gentiles, then, was secondary. The fact that he went to the gentiles was really only an extrapolation from the fact that Paul has abandoned and denigrated the value of the Torah. Therefore, he can easily go to the gentiles who were, before this moment, excluded as they didn’t follow Torah.

The New Perspective, by contrast, prioritizes Galatians 1 over against Phil. 3. They interpret Galatians 1’s comment that it was “God, who had set me apart before I was born and called me through his grace” which had contacted him. Paul does not see this as a new god, a new religion, nor a new understanding of the law. Instead, he sees it as a revelation of God’s son with the primary purpose of ^“so that I might proclaim him among the Gentiles.” The mission to the Gentiles was the primary content of the message. They prove this by focusing on the same passage from Philippians, merely emphasizing Phil. 3:6 as the guide for what follows. Phil 3:6 argues that in Paul’s “former life” he had no problem following Torah: “As to righteousness under the law, [I was] blameless.” The New Perspective, then, argues that this shows us what his life was life “before” his conversion – he was someone who felt that he absolutely was following Torah and had no problem. The primary argument, of course, is that there was room for forgiveness in Torah. Paul was quite comfortable saying that both “As to righteousness under the law, [I was] blameless” and “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”[5] The New Perspective, then, argues that Philippians shows us clearly that Paul’s “conversion” was not a shift from following the law legalistically (and unsuccessfully) to abandoning it as a new covenant. Instead, they argue that Paul did not see this revelation as a functional change in his religious world, just that he received a special “calling” to go to the Gentiles. They then argue that Phil. 3:7-9 which discusses his seeing his previous merits as skubala is merely secondary to that primary mission. They argue that Paul abandon’s his perfectly good salvation he already possessed in order to reach the gentiles: “In order that I may gain Christ ⁹and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but one that comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God based on faith.”[6] The argument, then, is that at Paul’s “calling” he abandons Torah observation – which he could well have used for salvation – and now embraces Christ as if he were a gentile.

I am not particularly interested, in this article, in arguing for or against either of these previous positions; what I would like to note is that both sides implicitly assume that Philippians 3 should be interpreted as conversation about Paul’s conversion. Both sides feel that anything talking about former Torah observation with current non-observation must have been at the point of his “conversion.” That assumption is what I argue needs to be more carefully considered. First, it is necessary to look carefully at the whole text of Philippians and ask if this necessarily has anything to do with the “conversion” scene. Consider the text again with that question in mind:

 If anyone else has reason to be confident in the flesh, I have more: ⁵circumcised on the eighth day, a member of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; ⁶as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless.

7 Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ. ⁸More than that, I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ ⁹and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but one that comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God based on faith.[7]

If one reads carefully, he has no conversation about the point at which, nor the motivation for his abandoning Torah observation. He certainly does narrative his change in behavior. However, it should be noted that he doesn’t say that it was at the point of revelation as depicted in Galatians 1 that he made this shift. Further, while he does say that he abandoned Torah observation so that he could be in relationship with Christ as his primary covenant, he does not say that Torah observation is necessarily in competition. He does suggest that righteousness under the Torah – which it should be noted he does imply he really did have – was different than righteousness gained by Christ, however, he never completely says they are mutually exclusive.

If we do not know when he makes this shift – the assumption that it was at his “conversion” scene is simply an assumption – then reasonable question ought to be asked why he made this shift. If he made the shift directly at his conversion, then the combining of Phil. 3 and Galatians 1 would make good sense. However, neither text suggests that as something that necessarily occurred. Galatians 1 never says anything about abandoning Torah just as Philippians 3 does not say anything about the “conversion” experience.

Further, the problem is complicated given the polemical challenge of both texts. Galatians 1 is challenging the church in Galatia that his authority is not from a human source. Philippians 3 is warning those of the “evil workers” – Jewish Christian missionaries – who are preaching circumcision. Philippians 3 then is making a strong argument that circumcision is unnecessary and to do so, he uses his own example of not following Torah. However, if the primary argument is that something is unnecessary or extraneous, that is hardly reason to suggest that it was antithetical to his gospel.

If his message is simply one that following Torah is not necessary (and given that the time is short, a general waste of time for the gentiles), then it is far more challenging for us to ask when he abandons Torah. If his message is that one can be following Torah and following Christ – it is just not necessary – there is definitely room for Paul to have made this shift at some time separate from his “conversion.”

Real question can be raised as to whether this would best be understood in regard to his missional strategy. He argues that when he tries to reach a group, he either follows Torah or not depending upon the preference of the group. Famously he argues thus in 1 Corinthians:

19 For though I am free with respect to all, I have made myself a slave to all, so that I might win more of them. ²⁰To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to win Jews. To those under the law I became as one under the law (though I myself am not under the law) so that I might win those under the law. ²¹To those outside the law I became as one outside the law (though I am not free from God’s law but am under Christ’s law) so that I might win those outside the law. ²²To the weak I became weak, so that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all people, so that I might by any means save some. ²³I do it all for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share in its blessings.[8]  

Paul clearly abandons Torah when he functions with the Gentiles. He further can follow Torah when he is with Jews. Philippians 3 then could easily be reflecting upon a missional strategy that he could have adopted at really any time – it would not necessarily have to be at his “conversion.”

Finally, if one considers Acts, there is not good reason at all to think that Acts argues that Paul abandoned Torah on the road to Damascus. While Acts is usually seen with great skepticism, one would think that this book – which traditional perspective authors claim is clearer as far as Paul changing from one religion to another – would make it clear that Paul abandons Torah observation. However, in chapter 9 on the road to Damascus, there is nothing about Torah observation. Further, Ananias makes no mention of it. In fact, Peter’s revelation that Torah observation was not always necessy will not occur until the following chapter. The text does say that Paul went in and out among the believers – and seemingly also the Gentiles, it says nothing about whether Paul actually abandoned Torah or not. In fact, there is no indication at all in Acts that Paul even preached a gospel that did not include Torah observation until Acts 15 when the Jerusalem council comes to that decision. It is later very clear that Paul does preach that Gentiles do not need to follow the Torah covenant, as Jews frequently accuse him of doing. However, when one reads it carefully, it should be noted that he is accused of telling other people not to follow Torah, not that he himself does not: “This man is persuading people to worship God in ways that are contrary to the law.”[9] Finally, Paul even follows proper temple worship in Jerusalem.[10] Of course, none of this proves Paul didn’t abandon Torah in Acts, however, the assumption that Acts agrees that Paul’s conversion included his abandonment of Torah is simply inaccurate. The conversion experience in Acts mentions nothing about Torah. In fact, Acts would suggest that this shift came later (if at all).

All of this does not end with me arguing that Philippians 3 cannot be used to interpret Galatians 1. When there is so precious little about Paul’s life, it would be a mistake to discard anything. What I am arguing however, is that the implicit assumption that these texts must be talking about the same event is incorrect. Any connection between the two texts must be proven. That his abandonment of Torah occurred at his “conversion” is a possible hypothesis – but it is only a hypothesis. I have presented another possible one – that this could have been a later development based upon his mission to the Gentiles. My hypothesis is to be viewed simply as that – another possible hypothesis. In either case, both the New Perspective and the traditional perspective would do well to be more careful with the combination of these two texts.

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[1] Throughout this essay, I will put the “conversion” in quotes merely because this provides middle ground. The New Perspective on Paul challenges whether Paul truly “converted” – i.e. changed from one religion to another whereas the traditional perspective insists upon the word. Providing the quotation marks is a way of recognizing that Paul did go through some transformative event – whether it is better construed as a “call” or a “conversion” is outside the scope of this essay. I use the term “conversion” simply because it is the most traditional naming of the event and thus the most recognizable for readers. I am not here implicitly supporting or denigrating either position.

[2] Phil. 3:4b-9.

[3] Gal. 1:11-17.

[4] Phil. 3:4b-9.

[5] Romans 7:15

[6] Phil. 3:9.

[7] Phil. 3:4b-9.

[8] 1 Cor. 9:19-23

[9] Acts 18:13; 21:21-26.

[10] Acts 24:14-18.