Power in the New Testament (Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology, 107) 9789042947054, 9789042946767, 9042947055

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C O N T R I BU T I O N S TO

BIBLICAL EXEGESIS & THEOLOGY

107

Pieter G.R. de Villiers Annette B. Merz (eds.)

Power in the New Testament

PEETERS

POWER IN THE NEW TESTAMENT

CONTRIBUTIONS TO BIBLICAL EXEGESIS AND THEOLOGY SERIES EDITORS K. De Troyer (Salzburg) G. Van Oyen (Louvain-la-Neuve) ADVISORY BOARD Reimund Bieringer (Leuven) Lutz Doering (Münster) Mark Goodacre (Duke) Bas ter Haar Romeny (Amsterdam) Annette Merz (Groningen) Madhavi Nevader (St Andrews) Thomas Römer (Lausanne) Jack Sasson (Nashville) Tammi Schneider (Claremont)

Pieter G.R. de Villiers Annette B. Merz

POWER IN THE NEW TESTAMENT

PEETERS leuven – paris – bristol, 2021

ct

A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. © 2021 — Peeters, Bondgenotenlaan 153, B-3000 Leuven ISBN 978-90-429-4705-4 eISBN 978-90-429-4676-7 D/2021/0602/179 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechan­ ical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

CONTENT Content . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

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Pieter G.R. de Villiers and Annette B. Merz – Preface . . . . . 

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List of Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

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Part 1:  General Contributions  1.  Jan Willem van Henten – Perspectives on Power and the New Testament . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3  2.  Wim J.C. Weren – The Might of Death and the Power of God: Some Biblical Perspectives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21   3. Johan C. Thom – Cosmic Power in Pseudo-Aristotle’s De Mundo and the New Testament . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Part 2:  Early Christian Writings on Power  4. Mark R.C. Grundeken – Compromising between Two Powers: the Sayings Source Q and the Roman Empire . . . . . . . . . 61  5. Francois P. Viljoen – The Authority with Which Jesus Taught according to Matthew 7:29 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77  6. Hermie C. Van Zyl – Authority as Service: The Role of the Disciples in the Gospel According to Matthew . . . . . . . . 95  7. Jeremy Punt – Paul and Power: Grids for Framing Claims . 117  8. Jacobus (Kobus) Kok – The Nexus between Power, Mission and Implicit Ethics in 1 Thessalonians . . . . . . . . . . . . 147  9. Annette B. Merz – Gendered Power and the Power of Genre in the Debate about Women’s Roles in the Pastoral Letters and the Acts of Paul . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173 10. Rob van Houwelingen – Power, Powerlessness, and Authorised Power in 1 Timothy 2:8–15 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195 11. Paul B. Decock – The Apocalypse of John: Power, Patience, and Prophetic Witness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223 12. Pieter G.R. de Villiers – Powerful Prophets Who Stop the Rain, Turn Water into Blood and Strike with Plagues (Rev 11). Perspectives on Power in Revelation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 243

PREFACE Pieter G.R.

de

Villiers and Annette B. Merz (editors)

This publication is the result of a conference on the notion of power in the New Testament and early Christian texts that took place in Stellenbosch, South Africa, from 16-18 January, 2011. This followed the earlier conference on Violence in the New Testament, held in Stellenbosch from 21-23 January, 2008. Scholars from The Netherlands, Belgium, Germany and South Africa participated in both meetings. As there is an inherent link between the two meetings, it was agreed after the first meeting on violence that the notion of power required attention, because violence is integrally related to the exercise and abuse of power. The papers at both meetings were originally published in Dutch, Flemish, German and Afrikaans, but it was agreed that they should also be published in English to make the research available to a larger audience. The first meeting resulted in the publication, Coping with Violence in the New Testament (with Pieter G.R. de Villiers and Jan Willem van Henten as editors), in the series Studies in Theology and Religion (Boston: Brill, 2012). This second volume comprises translations into English of the papers that appeared in the original languages in HTS 68 (2012). All articles have been reworked and updated, and some have been expanded considerably. The project has continued with a third meeting on peace in the New Testament that took place in January 2015. The presentations of that meeting were published in HTS. In the first introductory essay in this volume, “Perspectives on Power and the New Testament”, Jan Willem van Henten analyses the concept of power. He underlines, for example, how publications by Hannah Arendt and Michel Foucault draw attention to the importance of power as a theme in academic discourse and to the need to promote further research on power. In his overview, he delineates important theoretical approaches to power and to the nexus between power and religion before finally suggesting possible avenues for analysing power dynamics in early Christian texts: (1) studying the vocabulary of power, (2) focussing on the networks and actors involved in the execution of diverse forms of power (including transformative power), (3) investigating

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power relationships within a postcolonial methodological framework, and (4) using barbarism as a lens. The first three topics are taken up by other contributions to this volume either separately or in combination. All authors indicate their own theoretical framework at the beginning of their essays. The other two more general contributions in the introductory section are those of Weren and Thom. Wim J.C. Weren focuses on the power of death in biblical texts generally and its implications for understanding the power of God and Jesus. He investigates four of the various biblical images for the relationship of the power of death and the power of God. Firstly, in many texts there is no belief in an afterlife and God’s power is limited so that God cannot save people who have died. Secondly, others believe in the hope, based on God’s power, that other possibilities are open for those who are faithful to God and his Torah. Thirdly, there is the concept of resurrection which originated in Judaism. Fourthly, this model has been applied to Jesus, who, having been rescued from death by God, has been placed in a position similar to God’s. Johan C. Thom integrates the motif of power within an even wider context. He considers cosmic power relationships in early Christian texts within a wider range of material from Hellenistic Judaism, especially philosophical, including texts like De Mundo from the Peripatetic tradition, in order to contribute to understanding the way God acted upon the world by means of divine power. In this text, the power of God functions as a demiurgic principle that serves to maintain his transcendence. This is comparable to the mediating role played by Christ in some New Testament texts. The essays in the main body of this volume are concerned with specific early Christian texts or authors and are presented in canonical order, starting with a contribution on the Saying Source. Mark R.C. Grundeken argues that Q’s implied views on Roman power are a compromise between idealism and realism. The text takes up a hostile attitude towards Roman power (Q 4:5–8; 11:18, 20). It does not, however, promote active resistance to it, but rather calls for passive dissidence (Q 6:22–23, 27–32; 12:4–5). Realism about power relations determines the attitude of the community and, as a relatively small community (Q 10:2), the Q people seem to have realized that the only option within the context of the Roman Empire was to be realists and not revolutionaries. Two contributions investigate power in Matthew’s gospel. Francois P. Viljoen focuses on the concluding statement in the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew (7:29) that Jesus preached with unparalleled authority



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as a powerful teacher. His authority relates to the authority of powerful imperial and Jewish figures of his time. Matthew confirms the conviction of his community that Jesus is the Messiah and authoritative interpreter of the Law. As the church enjoys a privileged position in the kingdom of God, it has the credibility and the authority to execute the commandments of Jesus. Hermie C. Van Zyl explains the nature of power by juxtaposing authority and service in the Gospel of Matthew. He investigates the transfer of authority from Jesus to the disciples for their teaching which includes the authority to forgive sins. Their authority is not granted for lording it over people, but for serving the believers in humility. Within the context of the struggle of the first century Matthean community to find its place within formative Judaism, Matthew propounds a voluntary marginality, according to which the reader should take upon himself or herself the position of the poor. There are four articles on Pauline texts and traditions. Jeremy Punt investigates Paul’s relation to power, including his leadership and exercise of power in his communities. Though Roman power was not the only power grid in the imperial first century, Punt sees it as being indicative of, and instrumental in, an understanding of the construction and regulation of power in the Pauline letters. Paul’s rhetoric of weakness as an expression of power suggests that postcolonial biblical criticism is the best hermeneutical approach for dealing with the complexities and ambiguities of power in Paul. Kobus Kok focuses on the First Epistle to the Thessalonians and investigates how the early Christian ethics of mission created the space within which traditional imperial ideas on dominance, gender, race and ethnicity were transformed into an alternative symbolic universe which resulted from a reconceptualisation of power (or empowerment) and loving service from a Christological perspective. Annette B. Merz investigates 1 Timothy and the Acts of Thecla as two texts that contributed to the discussion on gender roles in emerging Christianity, with an emphasis on the much-disputed role of women. She analyses power on different levels. On the one hand power relations between the sexes (“gendered power”) are depicted or directly addressed by the texts, while on the other the power of persuasion is brought to bear on both male and female readers to legitimize the patriarchal, videlicet, the encratitic model of gender. This is done by rhetorical means that are text-specific, but also make use of genre-specific persuasion strategies. This “power of genre” is still mostly uncharted territory in exegetical discussions. Especially important in both genres (epistles and praxeis)

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are intertextual allusions to authoritative texts. Fictive self-references, which enable the pseudepigraphic author (“Paul”) to correct earlier statements by the original author and install more restrictive gender rules, are one focus of interest (1 Tim 2:9–15). Narrative strategies like character and plot development which also have an intertextual dimension are a second focal point. In the Acts of Thecla, Paul’s taking over of the role of Peter as the one who denies Jesus and repents turns out to be of major rhetorical significance for the empowering message it provided for female ascetics (“Go and teach the word of God”). Rob van Houwelingen reflects on power, powerlessness and autho­ rised power in his interpretation of 1 Timothy 2:8−15, noting the use of the story of Adam and Eve in this Pauline text. According to his analysis, the male/female relationship in the Ephesian congregation threatened to degenerate into a power struggle. Apostolic authority was used to introduce “authorised power” as the means of regulating the situation in Ephesus in order to create space for the trustworthy word. While Paul’s instructions about the behaviour of women could nowadays easily be considered a kind of misogynistic power play (and is analysed as such in Merz’s article), Van Houwelingen considers that the apostle should be interpreted on his own terms. There are two contributions on Revelation. In his general survey, Paul B. Decock reflects on power in the Book of Revelation within its imperial context. Although he considers power to be a social phenomenon, it should also be considered from an individual perspective, since human actions either endorse the social powers and their institutions or undermine them, as happens when the author of Revelation uses prophetic authority and action to undermine and resist the power of the evil Roman Empire. Although the faithful may appear to be powerless victims, they are in fact “agents” who prepare for, and anticipate, the new heaven and the new earth. According to Pieter G.R. de Villiers, Revelation illustrates both positive and negative power: It portrays the power of the Empire as abusive because of its relentless consumerism and self-enrichment that harm creation, its intolerance of dissenters that evokes extreme forms of persecution, and its pursuit of slavery that dehumanises people by objectifying them as merchandise (Rev. 17-18). Faith communities are encouraged not to retaliate but to recognise true power in their message of reconciliation and justice. Ironically, though, this positive view of power stands in tension with the negative power that Revelation itself shows in the extreme language with which it vilifies its opponents.



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The volume indicates how the investigation of power in the New Testament is challenging and complicated. This is amply illustrated by the diverse understandings and evaluations of power that are presupposed and explored in the contributions. Van Henten, for example, contrasts Arendt’s political perspective of power as a positive and collective notion that empowers people to act together in harmony with that of Foucault who regards power as an ambivalent notion that can be positive, but that can also have an abusive and threatening character. As is often noted in other contributions, power is to be seen in structural, social and religious contexts and actions. It has a communal nature, but, as Decock points out in his contribution on power in Revelation, it also assumes human agency, so that one cannot too easily hide from one’s responsibility for one’s role in power relations and actions. In their power language, religious texts have the potential to transform and inspire, but such language can also have destructive consequences and outcomes when it takes on a negative and life-destroying nature. At the same time, the danger of power becoming abusive and corrupt requires from all actors in relationships to understand that it is positive only when it is used to serve others. Given the central role of religion in contemporary contexts, all this confirms the urgent need to reflect in more depth on the notion of power and its use in formative religious settings. We hope the present volume will have made a significant contribution to this important scholarly task. We want to thank those who have helped to make this volume possible: Alastair Henderson for his work in editing the English translations, Jelle Verbrug, Mark de Jager and Emmanuel Oliveiro who worked diligently as research assistants on the bibliographies, unified the abbreviations according to the SBL handbook of style and proofread the articles. We thank Kristin De Troyer and Geert Van Oyen for accepting the volume in the series, Contributions to Biblical Exegesis & Theology, and the staff at Peeters who finally made a book out of a series of fine essays. We are especially grateful for the way in which Paul Peeters accompanied and supported the preparation of this volume for publication with his characteristically reassuring and friendly manner. His untimely passing is truly an enormous loss. We honour his contribution to the academic discourse and theological research through his publishing of research.

LIST OF AUTHORS Prof. dr. Paul B. Decock, Biblical and Patristic Studies, University of KwaZulu Natal and St. Joseph’s Theological Institute, Private Bag 6004, Hilton, 3245, South Africa. Email: [email protected]; [email protected]. ORCID 0000-0002-6724-9420 Prof. dr. Pieter G.R. de Villiers, University of the Free State, Bloemfontein, South Africa. Email: [email protected]. ORCID 0000-00027047-299x Prof. dr. Mark R.C. Grundeken, University of Freiburg, Faculty of Theology, Department of Biblical and Historical Theology, AB New Testament Literature and Exegesis, 79085 Freiburg im Breisgau, Germany. Email: [email protected] Prof. dr. dr. Jacobus (Kobus) Kok, Department of New Testament Studies, Evangelische Theologische Faculteit Leuven, Belgium; Professor Extraordinarius, Department of New Testament and Related Literature, University of Pretoria, South Africa. Address: Sint Jansbergsesteenweg 97, Heverlee, 3060, Belgium. Email: [email protected]. ORCID 0000-00021538-3089 Prof. dr. Annette B. Merz, Protestant Theological University, Oude Ebbingestraat 25, 9712 HA Groningen, The Netherlands. Email: [email protected] Prof. dr. Jeremy Punt, Old & New Testament, University of Stellenbosch, Private Bag X1, Matieland 7602, South Africa. Email: [email protected]. ORCID 0000-0001-9488-7850 Prof. dr. P.H.R. (Rob) van Houwelingen, Theologische Universiteit Kampen, Broederweg 15, 8261 GS Kampen, The Netherlands. Website: https://www.tukampen.nl/. ORCID 0000-0001-7942-7725 Prof. dr. Johan C. Thom, Ancient Studies, University of Stellenbosch, Private Bag X1, Matieland 7602, South Africa. Email: [email protected]. ORCID 0000-0002-5900-8969

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Prof. dr. Jan Willem van Henten, Universiteit van Amsterdam and Stellenbosch University, Troubadoursborch 19, 3992 BE Houten, The Netherlands. Email: [email protected]. ORCID 0000-0001-7633-009 Prof. dr. Hermie C. van Zyl, Professor-emeritus, Department of Old and New Testament Studies, Faculty of Theology, University of the Free State, Bloemfontein, South Africa. Email: [email protected] Prof. dr. Francois P. Viljoen, North-West University, Private Bag x6001, Potchefstroom, 2520, South Africa. Email: [email protected]. ORCID 0000-0001-8251-4539 Prof. dr. Wim J.C. Weren, Biblical Studies, Tilburg University, Hertog Hendriklaan 23, 5062 CJ Oisterwijk, The Netherlands. Email: [email protected]. ORCID 0000-0002-9632-8005

PART I

GENERAL CONTRIBUTIONS

CHAPTER 1

PERSPECTIVES ON POWER AND THE NEW TESTAMENT Jan Willem van Henten1 Indeed, the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And before him no creature is hidden, but all are naked and laid bare to the eyes of the one whom we must render an account. (Heb 4:12‒13)2

1. Introduction The superscription to this contribution focuses upon divine power, and, more precisely, upon the power of the Word of God. The powerful quotation from Hebrews implies that the effectiveness of the Word of God is partly dependent on human beings, which may be given a neat contemporary illustration through the Hollywood comedy Bruce Almighty.3 This film visualizes what might happen if a human being temporarily takes over God’s job, and shows how religion is inextricably bound up with power. The human being in this case, Bruce Nolan (Jim Carrey), a local TV reporter, is very unsuccessful as God, which constitutes the main theme of the film. Bruce is portrayed at the beginning of the film as a loser and a cynic, but taking over God’s role becomes a spiritual journey for him, during which he learns, with God’s help, to become a responsible human being. Bruce Almighty shows clearly that religion and power go hand in hand and that there is no human action in which power does not play a role. Power occurs at every imaginable level, from the micro-level of This article is based on Van Henten (2012). Quotations from the Bible and apocryphal/deuterocanonical literature derive from NRSV unless stated otherwise. 3 Directed by Tom Shadyac (2003). Screenplay by Steve Koren, Mark O’Keefe, and Steve Oedekerk. Spyglass Entertainment/Universal. 1 2

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individual lives to the macro-level of society. Power is articulated in very different ways, depending on the given context. It can be quite substantial and obvious, as in military force or terrorist deeds, but it can also be implicit or invisible. Power is not necessarily related to institutions, and can thus be present at various levels of society simultaneously. There is institutionalized power, for example the political and economic power of the state, but at the same time there are unofficial manifestations of power, which occur more or less covertly. This insight implies that scholars of religion should look at informal as well as formal power structures. A representative picture of reality can only be given by studying both. Marxist and Structuralist theories led in the second half of the previous century to the insight that the exercise of power is a structural characteristic of society. The persons who are supposed to be in power are not the ones who actually exercise that power. Instead, the structures or networks or vocabularies in which these persons are involved exercise power over them. But how is it possible for a structure or a network to act and to exercise power? This question led to the insight that everybody within a network exercises power over the others, using the power capital available. If this is the case, power should be described in terms of the actors, and an obvious next step leads to the notion of the empowerment of the actors. The nexus of power and religion is also prominent in the New Testament, the relevant corpus for this volume. What should be our focus when we analyse power in the New Testament? Should it be on networks or actors? How should or can we define power? Which avenues can be imagined if we aim at studying the dynamics of power in the New Testament? The first part of this contribution offers a discussion of the concept of power and some of the theoretical approaches to power. It further deals with the nexus of religion and power, the Post-colonial approach and the concept of barbarism. In a second section, possible avenues for analysing power dynamics in the New Testament and some examples from ongoing research projects connected with these avenues are being discussed. 2.  Definitions and Theories of Power A quick look at some contemporary dictionaries shows already that the word “power” has a wide range of meanings. The Merriam-Webster’s Online Dictionary gives nine meanings, including the following: “possession of control, authority, or influence over others; one having such



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power; specifically: a sovereign state … a controlling group; physical might …”4 The meaning “dominion” or “control over others” links with the classic definition of power by Max Weber (1922, §§16, 28): “Power means every opportunity within a social relationship to assert one’s will, even against opposition.”5 A recent contribution on religion and power by André Droogers also builds on this definition: “the capacity to influence other people’s behaviour, even against their will” (Droogers 2010, 23‒38, 26). The Concise Oxford English Dictionary offers eight meanings and lists “the ability to do something or act in a particular way” as the first meaning (Soanes and Stevenson 2008, 1125). The second meaning (“the capacity to influence the behaviour of others, the emotions, or the course of events”) is strongly reminiscent of Max Weber’s definition of power. Other meanings listed focus, among other things, upon physical strength, energy produced by a device, countries viewed in political or military contexts or political authority and control. Clearly, this variety of meanings offered by dictionaries shows their dependence on specific social contexts. Several philosophers have reflected extensively on power. Hannah Arendt, for example, taking a political perspective, points out that power is always connected with groups: it is “never the property of an individual; it belongs to a group and remains in existence only as long as the group keeps together” (Arendt 1970, 44). In her On Violence, written in the 1960s, Arendt criticizes philosophers and political scientists for using the terms “power” and “violence” often uncritically, and hardly distinguishing between concepts (Arendt 1970; see Achterhuis 2008, 134‒79). She argues that violence has an instrumental character and always needs some sort of power base. Power is a positive and collective notion for Arendt, who challenges perceptions of power as dominating and controlling forces. For her power is communicative action, the human capability to act together in harmony, which empowers people (Arendt 1970, 44).6 Individual power cannot exist because it is singular and should rather be Online: http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/power?show=0&t=1293466349. Cited 27 December 2010. The classical Dutch Van Dale dictionary offers thirteen different meanings, including physical force, dominion over persons or objects, legal authority, a person or object that has power, and the state (Kruyskamp 1976, 1:1410–11). 5 See Weber’s later definition (1957, 152): “the probability that one actor within a social relationship will be in a position to carry out his own will despite resistance, regardless of the basis on which this probability rests.” See Ehrensperger (2007, 17). 6 Habermas (1986, 75–93, esp. 83–85) criticizes Arendt for neglecting the aspects of dominion over others and strategy in communicative action in her treatment of power. See also Ehrensperger (2007, 24–26). 4

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called “strength”.7 An individual cannot have power because he or she lacks a power base provided by a group. Power happens where people come together and act together in fruitful cooperation. Violence occurs when power is threatened; it is an instrument to maintain or enhance power. A power structure is the precondition that allows a group of people to think and act according to a means-goal category (Arendt 1970, 51). Power, therefore, becomes real because of collective acts, and is something dynamic, a potential that exists only through its actualization (Arendt 1958, 200). Arendt further emphasizes that plurality and difference are important notions for her view of power as communicative action, because communication presupposes difference and plurality among human beings (Ehrensperger 2007, 23‒24, 30‒33). Several of Hannah Arendt’s points are elaborated on by Michel Foucault, who is probably the most influential theorist on power at this time. In several works Foucault deals with three interrelated classical philosophical problems connected with the truism “knowledge is power” (Foucault 1969; 1975; 1980, 109–33; Van der Walt 2010, 170–87).8 The first problem concerns knowledge and the question of how knowledge relates individuals to truth. The second problem concerns power and deals with the relationships between human beings on the basis of their specific knowledge.9 The third problem has to do with the self, i.e., how individuals come to understand themselves and how they speak about themselves in relation to knowledge and power (George 2000, 91–98, esp. 92). The interaction between knowledge and power is, therefore, a characteristic aspect of Foucault’s philosophy: knowledge enables power See further Arendt (1970, 35–56, 84–86). Arendt’s approach is almost the opposite of John Stuart Mill’s, who argues that humankind’s inclination leads to two contrasting characteristics: one is the desire to exercise power over others, the other is the resistance to others who exercise power over oneself, see Mill (1851, 59, 65); Arendt (1970, 39–40). See Arendt (1970, 104): “monopolization of power causes the drying up or oozing away of all authentic power sources in the country.” 8 The statement “knowledge is power” (scientia potentia est) is often attributed to Francis Bacon (1561–1626), but it does not occur literally in his works. 9 See the approach to ideology of John Thompson, which is closely connected to power (1990, 131): “to study ideology is to study the ways in which meaning (signification) serves to sustain relations of domination”. See also Smit (2007, 287–308, esp. 293); Van der Walt (2010, 159–70). Thompson’s definition of power focuses upon individual humans in their contexts (1990, 151): “In the most general sense, ‘power’ is the ability to act in pursuit of one’s aims and interests: an individual has the power to act, the power to intervene in the sequence of events and to alter their course. In so acting, an individual draws upon and employs the resources available to him or her. Hence the ability to act in pursuit of one’s aims and interests is dependent on one’s position within a field or institution”. 7



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and power is effective through knowledge and vice versa, they are inextricably linked:10 “… power produces knowledge … there is no power relation without the correlative constitution of a field of knowledge, nor any knowledge that does not presuppose and constitute at the same time power relations” (Foucault 1995, 27). Foucault’s approach to power elaborates three points: (1) that power is relational, (2) that it always functions within a specific social context, and (3) that it has a strategic aspect. Crucial to Foucault’s understanding of power is that it is not inherent in an individual or in something that an organization possesses: power is the outcome of specific social and political circumstances. Because of its connection with knowledge it is a force present in all people throughout the world (Flaskas and Humphreys 1993, 35–47, esp. 36, 40; George 2000, 92). Power is, therefore, not the privilege of the dominant class or the state; those dominated by others also have power. Contrary to Arendt, Foucault argues that individuals are vehicles of power, because power depends on social networks, from the nuclear family and neighbourhoods to larger networks like institutions, churches, authorities etcetera. Power is dynamic; it runs through networks and brings about effects. It can be conceived as a strategy: the effects of power result “not from appropriation and deployment by a subject, but from manoeuvres, tactics, techniques, functionings …” (Smart 1985, 77). Inherent to power is also that it tends to increase, which leads to manifold interactions and competing forces of power and negotiation. Power processes, therefore, constantly evoke resistance. Again, in contrast with Arendt, Foucault argues that power is fundamentally ambivalent. Power can be misused and be repressive, but it also has great positive potential: “… it traverses and produces things, it induces pressure, forms of knowledge, produces discourse. It needs to be considered as a productive network, which runs through the whole social body, much more than as a negative instance whose function is repression” (Foucault 1980, 119; Flaskas and Humphreys 1993, 40). The implications of Foucault’s theory of power for our theme seem to be that the analysis of power in the New Testament should focus on the techniques of power as embodied by the social networks involved, on the Smart (1985, 64); McNeil (1993, 147–79, esp. 149). See Smart (1985, 64): “Knowledge is inextricably entwined with relations of power and advances in knowledge are associated with advances and developments in the exercise of power. Thus for Foucault there is no disinterested knowledge; knowledge and power are mutually and inextricably interdependent. A site where power is exercised is also a place where knowledge is produced.”

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power dynamics and the exercise of power within these networks and not on the individuals or groups who possess power (Smart 1985, 79; Van der Walt 2010, 186–87).11 3.  Religion and Power The theoretical approaches discussed so far concern power per se and do not focus on the nexus of power and religion. A recent volume on power and religion attempts to identify power with its manifold interconnections with religion, but it refrains from offering a definition because power is such a complex concept (Ter Borg and Van Henten 2010). Religion and power are both fundamentally ambiguous, as Scott Appleby emphasizes: “Within its realm [i.e. the realm of the sacred] power is undifferentiated, neither creative nor destructive in itself, but capable both of generating and extinguishing life” (Appleby 2000, 28). This view implies that mani­ festations of the sacred are neither good nor bad in themselves. Positive or destructive actions following the encounter with the sacred depend on specific interpretations by the religious actors. Whether religion empowers or dis-empowers people depends on the specific case discussed. How this ambivalence turns out is a principally subjective matter, it depends on the interpretations of the religious persons themselves, and on the scholars who observe and interpret their actions. We can then conclude that power can be positive, because it can empower people by enhancing their power in a power struggle or improving their status and position. At the same time it can also dis-empower people, when, for example, it empowers one person at the expense of others (e.g. Morgan 2010, 81–102; Van der Veer 2010, 103–15). Religion has the capacity to strengthen power relations and empower people, but it also has the potential to question power relations. The capability to legitimize power relations also implies a capability to perceive them as illegitimate. This capacity can have various consequences; any of the following, for instance. Believers can reject claims to power on the basis of religion. Competing believers can attempt to improve their position on the basis of shared religious convictions. Religion can be used to perpetuate power relations, but also to change them. Believers may inspire uprisings against what are perceived as unfair power relations from the perspective of their religious convictions. Different religious views can 11

Polaski (1999, 11–22) uses especially Foucault’s theoretical framework as a point of departure.



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ultimately cause power struggles in which all means are allowed in the attempt to achieve justice – after all, they might argue, the struggle is divinely sanctioned. There are many situations where the issue is not the struggle for power and where religion does not play a role as a means of enhancing one’s power. In these cases, the role of religion is merely to express feelings of loss, pain and powerlessness, or to provide ways of release, healing and making sense of experiences of injustice and suffering. Thus, besides a function of religion as a means of expressing, interpreting and enhancing power in social and political contexts, it can also help to give feelings of powerlessness a place and a meaning. This can be described as the consolatory function of religion. Even if, however, religion as an expression of feelings of powerlessness may seem to be “power neutral,” it often still possesses a covert power function. With their famous phrase “religion is the opium of the people,” Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels argued that the consoling function of religion can also be a cause of strengthening communal relationships (Marx and Engels 1998). And when the reality of a situation is accepted for religious reasons, a stoic attitude may remain as a silent protest against what should not have been. The power dynamics involved in religious cults are particularly relevant for the topic of this volume. André Droogers’s analysis of his imaginary cult of St Esteban, describes how religion begins and how religious experiences empower people (Droogers 2010, 23–38). Droogers sees any cult as having three dimensions related to religion: (1) a transcendental dimension of the experience with the sacred; (2) an internal dimension of the organization of the cult and the religious group; (3) an external dimension of the relationship with the rest of society (Droogers 2010, 27). Power constellations and power processes are connected with all three dimensions, although in different ways. The believers are influenced by the sacred powers, and, in turn, seek to exercise power over them. As soon as others share the sacred experience, power mechanisms become activated. The cult has to be organized, and this calls for leaders and professionals. The power dynamics within the religious group of the cult also result from the fact that religious virtuosos are usually scarce. This implies that they have power over others, especially when communicating their experience as a message, directly or through spokespersons. One of their tools of power is language, particularly metaphor, which is a key trope of religion (i.e. bread as Christ’s body). Playfulness and the creative interaction with religious experience are reduced as religious leaders try to control what challenges their power structures. The third dimension

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includes relationships with the larger bodies of society, not least because cults often have a blueprint for a better society. If we apply Droogers’s analysis to the New Testament, we can distinguish between three types of power relationships: (1) those of the believers and their leaders with the divine, i.e. God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit and other superhuman powers, (2) the relationships within the communities and their leaders, and (3) the relationships of the communities with external groups and institutions. By implication, New Testament scholarship about power should focus on the actors who are involved in the experience of the sacred and on their networks of relationships. 4.  Post-Colonialism and Barbarism Droogers’s third category of power relationships can be easily connected with Post-colonialist approaches, which are prominent in biblical scholarship, especially since the works of Homi Bhabha and Rasiah Sugirtharajah have become well known (Bhabha 1994; Sugirtharajah 2001; 2002; Punt 2015). Post-colonialism focuses upon colonial relationships and practices, including power symbolism and the asymmetric relations between dominators and oppressed. Power is the central concept in Postcolonial theory, but Post-colonialists argue that hybridity characterizes the power relations between colonizers and colonized. The cultures and traditions of both sides mix, which implies that the colonized subject needs to negotiate between the two cultures. The subordinate culture of the colonized redeploys the norms of the dominant culture for its own ends. The colonial authorities, however, also embrace part of the culture of the colonized. The interactions in colonial contexts imply, therefore, that both the subjection of the colonized and the authority of the colonizers are compromised (Bhabha 1994). The recent monograph of David van Reybrouck (2010) about the Congo provides many examples of this process. Post-colonialism may thus be seen as one way of bridging the gap between the Bible in its original contexts and the situation of the current readers in their social and cultural settings. Jeremy Punt states that the history of the interpretation of the Bible is also closely connected with the power processes between the elite and the repressed: The history of the interpretation of the Bible is a history of power and control … Attempts to say what the Bible “really means”, to get the meaning, always stood in service of purposes determined by ecclesial, socio-political, ethical, nationalistic or other such concerns. Attempts to subvert existing claims to the Bible and its meaning often served similar, if opposing, interests … (Punt 2002, 410–42, esp. 425).



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The context of the readers is a crucial factor in Post-colonial interpretations because biblical themes or passages are connected in these interpretations with indigenous traditions and the socio-cultural context of the readers. There is now a rich collection of relevant studies for the African context, including the work of Musa Dube, Gerald West and Jeremy Punt (Dube 2000; 2001; West 1996, 21–41; 1997, 332–42; 1999; Punt 2002; 2015). Another useful lens for looking into the power relations in the New Testament is the concept of barbarism, which originated as a Greek notion that highlights foreignness by focusing on the language of the foreigners, and the power dynamics involved in communication processes, including the dynamics of communication in literary texts (Hall 1989; Harrison 2002). In classical Greek literature “barbarians” do not speak Greek or they speak broken Greek; they are not understood because of their language, and they have, therefore, an inferior status as foreigners (Lévy 1984, 5–14).12 Scholars of literature and philosophers have developed the concept of barbarism as a tool for analysing power dynamics in texts, being inspired also by two famous literary works with the same title, “Waiting for the Barbarians”: a poem by the Greek poet Constantine P. Cavafy (1864–1933) from 1904 and J.M. Coetzee’s more recent novel from 1980.13 In both works, the civilized are waiting for the arrival of the barbarians in an unidentified city. The barbarians turn out to be a projection of the non-barbarians. In Cavafy’s poem the barbarians never come, and the resulting non-communication is exactly what barbarism is about, in modern times as well as in antiquity (Boletsi 2007, 67–96). Coetzee’s book is even more disturbing than Cavafy’s poem. The novel’s main character is a magistrate in one of the towns of an unspecified empire. He is confronted by the secret service because the barbarians are on the verge of rebellion. An expedition of the secret service, led by a Colonel Joll, leads to the arrest and punishment of some of the barbarians. The magistrate tries to stay away from the brutal methods of the secret service, but he is arrested for treason and tortured. The magistrate rescues a barbarian girl and helps her recover, but he also sleeps with her. It is difficult to say who the real barbarians are in Coetzee’s novel; the roles of victims and perpetrators seem to overlap. The power dynamics between A famous passage in Herodotus about the origin of the Oracles of Dodona in Greece and Ammon in Libya demonstrates this core meaning (Herodotus, Hist. 2.54–57). This passage combines the phrases βάρβαρος (“not speaking Greek”, “non-Greek”, “barbarian”) and βαρβαρίζω (“speak non-Greek”, “speak like a barbarian”). 13 Cavafy’s poem (entitled Περιμένοντας τους βαρβάρους) was originally published in 1904 in a pamphlet along with thirteen other poems. For an English translation, see Cavafy (1976, 18–19); Coetzee (1980).

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“civilized” and “barbarians” show multiple corruptions, but also reversals of power (Atwell 1993; James 1996, 141–49; Van Zanten Gallagher 1988, 277–85). The scholarly debate about barbarism as a concept can be summarized in three points (Neilson 1999, 75–91; Boletsi 2007; 2013): (1)  Problematic communication: barbarism implies a lack of understanding between the civilized and the barbarians. The language of the other is perceived as meaningless sounds, an iterative disturbance that interrupts the usual linear flow of language. This can go hand in hand with an unwillingness to understand the other’s language and to make the encounter with the other into a communicative occasion (Neilson 1999, 83; Boletsi 2007, 68). (2)  Changing of power relations: the failure of communication destabilizes the positions of both sides and leads to changes in the power relations between the civilized and the barbarians.14 This invalidates the “other” because he or she can never speak back and question his or her identity as constructed by the other (Neilson 1999, 86–87; Boletsi 2007, 68; see also Deleuze and Guattari 1982, 192–217). (3)  Ambiguous roles and identities: the binary opposition between the civilized and the barbarians is disrupted by the failed communication because of barbarism. The confrontation with the barbarians affects the self-image and the roles of the civilized even if the barbarians do not communicate with the civilized (Boletsi 2007, 71). The barbaric qualities projected on the barbaric “other” by the civilized are reflected in their construction of their own identity.15

Barbarism can function in this way as a critical tool for analysing New Testament passages in order to see how a communication process can lead to changes of the power relations and unsettle predetermined binary oppositions between the supposedly civilized and barbarian, thus reinterpreting the roles and identities of the characters in the text. 5.  Avenues for Analysing Power in the New Testament Although I have hardly discussed this so far, a first avenue for exploring the significance of power in the New Testament concerns the explicit This aspect of barbarism is articulated in various ways. According to Lyotard’s concept of the différend, barbarism would imply a situation in which the regulation of a conflict between two parties fails because of a mismatch of language: the regulation is formulated in the idiom of one of the parties while the wrong suffered by the other cannot be expressed in that idiom (Lyotard 1983, 9–55; Neilson 1999, 84). 15 This is also the disturbing crux of Coetzee’s novel (1980, 78, 85, 129): The “security officers” or the “colonialists” of the empire appear to be the “new barbarians” (Boletsi 2007, 71, 77–80). 14



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vocabulary of power in terms such as ἐξουσία, δύναμις, βασιλεία, δόξα, παντοκράτωρ or ἀρχή. We could study these and other key words that function in New Testament power discourse in specific contexts and the semantic fields related to them. We could add key terms deriving from the authorities that were dealing with Jesus’s followers, like auctoritas (“authority”), potestas (“power, legal power”) or imperium (“rule, authority of officials”). We should be aware that all of these terms have a wide variety of meanings, which do not always match the concept of power (Ehrensperger 2007, 12). Examples of such studies are to be found in the work of Klaus Scholtissek (1992), who studies the ἐξουσία vocabulary in Mark, of Johannes Krug (2001), who analyses Paul’s vocabulary of power (δύναμις) and weakness (ἀσθένεια) in connection with his apostleship, and several studies by Richard Horsley (2000; 2004a; 2004b). If we undertake this kind of research, we become aware of two important insights resulting from theoretical discussions of power: power is dynamic and it is relational. New Testament passages confirm this, as is apparent, for example, from Mark’s use of ἐξουσία in the pericope about Jesus’s first public appearance (Mark 1:21‒28). Mark describes how Jesus had a unique relationship with God, because his proclamation and deeds were based on God’s mandate or authority (ἐξουσία).16 The story in Mark 1:21‒28 about Jesus’s actions in the synagogue of Capernaum, with its repetitive use of ἐξουσία, exemplifies this. Jesus’s power or authority is compared to that of the scribes: “… for he taught them as one having authority (ἐξουσία), and not as the scribes.” (Mark 1:22). Moreover, Mark does not describe Jesus’s instruction, which is highlighted by the key-word ἐξουσία. Instead, we read about a powerful exorcism that illustrates Jesus’s teaching and leaves the audience flabbergasted and wondering, “What is this? A new teaching with authority (διδαχὴ καινὴ κατ᾽ ἐξουσίαν)!” (Mark 1:27). We could further broaden this avenue by including symbols of power or metaphors, like the two-edged sword mentioned in the superscription of this contribution (Hebr. 4:12‒13) or the eagle as the symbol of the power of Rome and Herod the Great.17 A second avenue, building on several theorists discussed above, would focus on the networks and actors involved. This is basically the approach of Kathy Ehrensperger, one of the few scholars who has analysed power dynamics in New Testament passages, in her Paul and the Dynamics of Power (2007). Her analytical framework is eclectic (Ehrensperger 2007, Mark 1:22, 27; 2:9-12; 6:2; 11:28, details in Scholtissek (1992). See about the latter Van Henten (2006, 257–86).

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16‒34). Building on Arendt, Foucault, Amy Allen and Thomas Wartenberg, among others, she differentiates between several notions of power, which she summarizes as strategic power (“power-over”), communicating power (“power-to”) and transformative power (“power-with”).18 The third aspect of power, its transformative potential, is inspired by Thomas Wartenberg’s work, who emphasizes that the effects of power are not necessarily destructive. Persons over whom power is exercised can benefit from a power process, as the power relationships between parents and children show (Wartenberg 1990; Ehrensperger 2007, 27–29). Ehrensperger focuses upon power dynamics and networks of power, more precisely on how the early followers of Christ dealt with issues of power within their movement with its various relationships.19 Her source material is the Pauline corpus. She does not offer a historical assessment of the power relationships in the first century C.E., but a re-reading of Paul’s letters as discourse “in the light of and in conversation with contemporary theories of power” (Ehrensperger 2007, 17). Ehrensperger analyses how the power dynamics within the various communities of the Christ movement developed, focusing upon the relationships of the apostles and their fellow-workers with each other and with the communities of Jesus followers. These relationships create and sustain networks of communities. Ehrensperger studies the relationships of the members within those communities and the Pauline perceptions of the function of apostleship within the Jesus movement, which imply a radical re-assessment of the value system of the Mediterranean society under Roman rule.20 She uses this background to analyse Paul’s application of transformative power, i.e. his attempts to socialize communities into a new value system that is based on the reality of Jesus Christ and the Kingdom of God. Paul acts See for these three aspects of power already Allen (1999), who defines “power-with” as “the ability of a collectivity to act together for the attainment of an agreed-upon end or series of ends” (Allen 1999, 126–27). 19 See Talbott (2010), who considers the application of Michel Foucault’s work on power to the New Testament problematic as long as it is not combined with other methodologies that are congenial to the biblical world. His reading of Foucault may be somewhat simplistic when he summarizes it as dealing with “forms of resistance against different forms of power” (105). 20 See also Talbott (2010), who analyses selected passages from the Synoptic Gospels and the authentic letters of Paul, using an eclectic methodological approach. He coins the new phrase “kyridoularchy” by building on the term “kyriarchy” of Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, which concerns the power used by males or females over others in concert with the prevailing and intersecting social systems; “kyridoularchy” is the use of any form of power to serve others after the example of Christ or Paul, implying to give honor to lower-status kinship members who would not receive honor according to ancient Mediterranean conventions. 18



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therefore as a teacher who exercises power and presents himself as a trustworthy messenger of the gospel he preaches, as it were embodying the message he proclaims. This transformative power can only succeed if it is based on trust from both parties. Paul’s addresses urge his audience to respond to God’s call, which is articulated by Paul’s phrases, by embracing and embodying the call in their lives. Post-colonial analysis, a third avenue, elaborates the power relationships between the believers and the external world, Jewish institutions, Jewish and non-Jewish elites and the political and economic powers associated with the Roman Empire (Punt 2012, 23–39). It focuses on the hybridity of these relationships. I will be brief about this approach, because other contributions in this volume may elaborate on it.21 I would like to mention just one aspect of Post-colonialism here, which is emphasized by John Marshall: the role of women as an example of argumentation in colonial settings, which is important for the interpretation of the roles of women in the New Testament. In a “colonial economy of representation”, women can be presented by men “as the bearers of subaltern purity and authenticity” as part of anti-colonial discourse (Marshall 2005, 35–50, esp. 44). A good example of this is 1 Tim 5:14, where Paul says: “So I would have younger widows marry, bear children, and manage their households, so as to give the adversary no occasion to revile us” (my emphasis; Marshall 2005, 45; see Klinker-de Klerck 2013). Finally, a fourth avenue, barbarism, may add to the analysis of the power dynamics within early Christian texts. Barbarism is a useful lens for studying the processes of communication, which are so prominent in martyrdoms and the Passion Narratives. It allows us to analyse the communication between the martyrs and their opponents or Jesus and his adversaries in detail (Van Henten 2009, 239–64; see Binder 2005). The perspective of barbarism helps us to understand, for example, why Jesus’s responses to his opponents in Matthew and Luke are so evasive: “You have said so …” (Matt 26:64), “If I tell you, you will not believe; and if I question you, you will not answer …” (Luke 22:67-8), “You say that I am” (Luke 22:70), or “You say so” (Luke 23:3; see 23:9: no answer).22 Such responses do not contradict the import of the opponents’ questions, though the narrative sequence implies, of course, that for the readers the answer is “yes”. Nevertheless, Jesus’s responses in Matthew and Luke See especially the contribution by Jeremy Punt in this volume. See Luke 22:63–64 during the mockery before Jesus’s interrogation: no response to the question. See also John 19:9–10.

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imply that Jesus evades communication or even refuses to communicate with his opponents. Jesus’s dialogues with his opponents are, as a matter of fact, non-dialogues of two diametrically opposed views that exclude communication and mediation. Jesus’s response to the Sanhedrin in Luke 22:68‒70 is a good example. First Jesus ridicules his interrogators and then identifies himself as Son of Man, announcing with sovereign authority that this Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the power of God “from now on” (Soards 1987, 81, 95).23 Here we see a change of roles of the civilized and the barbarians and the reversal of the power relations highlighted by the concept of barbarism. This aspect of barbarism is especially prominent in the Gospel of John. John highlights the antithesis of the earthly powers and Jesus’s authority by presenting a self-confident Jesus, who demolishes his opponent in verbal debate, as the Maccabean martyrs do (John 18:19-23; see 18:33-8; 19:9-11).24 Jesus’s brief dialogues with Pilate about his kingdom, which is “not from this world” (18:34-7), and about Pilate’s power (ἐξουσία, 19:10-1), echo the antithesis of secular rule and God’s power described in accounts of Jewish martyrdoms. 6. Conclusion This contribution has offered a selective survey of relevant theoretical studies of the concept of power and the nexus of power and religion. Among the attempts to define power, Max Weber’s definition of 1922 (“Power means every opportunity within a social relationship to assert one’s will even against opposition”) stands out, also because several recent scholars working on power revert to it. From a political perspective, Hannah Arendt argues that power is a positive concept: it is a potential that becomes real through collective acts. Michel Foucault’s multifaceted analysis of power points to the interconnections between knowledge and power and to the importance of the networks, techniques and strategies of power. Following Foucault and Scott Appleby, and in contrast with Arendt, it should be acknowledged that power, whether or not connected with religion, can function as a positive or a negative force. Power can empower people by, for example, enhancing their power in a struggle, but it can also dis-empower people by empowering some at the expense of others. André Droogers argues that power constellations and power See for another reversal of authority Luke 22:25–30. See 2 Macc. 7; 4 Macc. 5; 8:1-9:9.

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processes in religious cults are connected with three dimensions of the sacred (transcendental, internal and external). These imply that in the context of early Christianity three types of power relationships should be studied: (1) those of the believers with the divine, i.e. God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and other superhuman powers, (2) the relationships within the communities and their leaders, and (3) the relationships of the communities with external groups and institutions. Post-colonialism is another important theoretical contribution to the study of power in early Christian documents, because it enables us to analyse the hybridity of power relations between the colonialists and the colonized. Finally barbarism is a relevant concept, because it helps to bring the interconnections between power and communication to the fore. All of these theoretical approaches have already been applied to the study of power in early Christian literature. The second section of my contribution connects these approaches with biblical scholarship and briefly points to a few possible avenues for analysing the theme of power in the New Testament and related literature. Lexicographical studies are certainly relevant, but they should implement two important insights resulting from theoretical discussions of power: (1) power is dynamic, and (2) power is relational. A second avenue may concern the networks and actors involved in power relations, which is exemplified by Kathy Ehrensperger’s analysis of the power dynamics in Paul’s letters. A third avenue is the Post-colonial approach, which can elaborate the power relationships between the believers and the external world, i.e. Jewish institutions, Jewish and non-Jewish elites and the political and economic powers associated with the Roman Empire. Post-colonialism is also a useful tool to analyse the economy of representation of women in early Christian literature. Barbarism, a fourth avenue, contributes to the study of the processes of communication that are going on in the texts and helps to uncover the power dynamics that underlie this communication. Bibliography Achterhuis, H. 2008. Met alle geweld: Een filosofische zoektocht. Rotterdam: Lemniscaat. Allen, A. 1999. The Power of Feminist Theory: Domination, Resistance, Solidarity. Boulder, CO: Westview. Arendt, H. 1958. The Human Condition. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. —. 1970. On Violence. New York, NY: Harcourt, Brace & World. Atwell, D. 1993. J.M. Coetzee: South Africa and the Politics of Writing. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

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Bhabha, H.K. 1994. The Location of Culture. London: Routledge. Binder, T. 2005. Semen est sanguis Christianorum: Literarische Inszenierungen von Macht und Herrschaft in frühchristlicher Passionsliteratur. Berlin: Logos. Boletsi, M. 2007. “Barbaric Encounters: Rethinking Barbarism” in C.P. Cavafy’s and J.M. Coetzee’s Waiting for the Barbarians.” Comparative Literature Studies 44:67–96. —. 2013. Barbarism and Its Discontents. Cultural Memory in the Present. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Borg, M.B. ter, and J.W. van Henten. 2010. “Introduction. The Future of the Religious Past.” Pages 1–19 in Powers: Religion as a Social and Spiritual Force. The Future of the Religious Past. New York, NY: Fordham University Press. Cavafy, C.P. 1976. The Complete Poems of Cavafy. Translated by R. Dalven. Expanded. San Diego, CA: Harcourt, Bracer & Company. Coetzee, J.M. 1980. Waiting for the Barbarians. London: Secker & Warburg. Deleuze, G., and F. Guattari. 1982. Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Translated by R. Hurley, M. Seem, and H.R. Lane. New York, NY: Viking. Droogers, A. 2010. “The Recovery of Perverted Religion: Internal Power ­Processes and the Vicissitudes of Religious Experience.” Pages 23–38 in Powers: Religion as a Social and Spiritual Force. Edited by M.B. Borg and J.W. van Henten. New York, NY: Fordham University Press. Dube, M.W. 2000. Other Ways of Reading: African Women and the Bible. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature. —. 2001. Postcolonial Feminist Interpretation of the Bible. St. Louis, MO: Chalice. —, ed. 2002. Reading the Bible in the Global Village: Cape Town. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature. Ehrensperger, K. 2007. Paul and the Dynamics of Power: Communication and Interaction in the Early Christ-Movement. London: T&T Clark. Flaskas, C. and C. Humphreys. 1993. “Theorizing about Power: Intersecting the Ideas of Foucault with the ‘Problem’ of Power in Family Therapy.” Family Process 32:35–47. Foucault, M. 1974. The Archaeology of Knowledge. Translated by A.M. Sheridan Smith. London: Tavistock Publications. —. 1980. “Truth and Power.” Pages 109–33 in Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings. Edited by C. Gordon. Sussex: Harvest. —. 1995. Discipline and Punish: the Birth of the Prison. Translated by A.M. Sheridan Smith. New York, NY: Vintage Books. Gallagher Zanten, S. 1988. “Torture and the Novel.” Contemporary Literature 29:277–85. George, M.K. 2000. “Foucault.” Pages 91–98 in Handbook of Postmodern Biblical Interpretation. Edited by A.K.M. Adam. St. Louis, MO: Chalice. Habermas, J. 1986. “Hannah Arendt’s Communications Concept of Power.” Pages 75–93 in Power. Edited by S. Lukes. Oxford: Blackwell. Hall, E. 1989. Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition through Tragedy. Oxford: Clarendon. Harrison, T., ed. 2002. Greeks and Barbarians. Edinburgh Readings on the Ancient World. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.



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Henten, J.W. van. 2006. “Playing God in the Movies: Bruce Almighty and the Preposterous History of Genesis 1:26‒27.” Pages 125–41 in Creation and Creativity: From Genesis to Genetics and Back. Edited by A. Hunter and C. Vander Stichele. Sheffield: Phoenix. —. 2006b. “Ruler Or God? The Demolition Of Herod’s Eagle.” Pages 257–86 in The New Testament and Early Christian Literature in Greco-Roman Context. Leiden, Brill. —. 2009. “Martyrdom, Jesus’s Passion and Barbarism.” Biblical Interpretation 17:239–64. —. 2012. “Religie en macht: Theoretische invalshoeken in verband met het Nieuwe Testament.” HTS Teologiese Studies / Theological Studies 68. Horsley, R.A., ed. 2000. Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation: Essays in Honour of Krister Stendahl. Harrisberg, PA: Trinity Press International. —. 2004a. Hidden Transcripts and the Arts of Resistance: Applying the Work of James C. Scott to Jesus and Paul. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature. —. 2004b. Paul and the Roman Imperial Order. Harrisberg, PA: Trinity Press International. James, T., 1996. Locating the Sacred. Edited by J.S. Scott. Amsterdam: Rodopi. Klinker-De Klerck, M.G.P. 2013. Herderlijke regel of inburgeringscursus? Een bijdrage aan het onderzoek naar de ethische richtlijnen in 1 Timoteüs en Titus. Zoetermeer: Boekencentrum. Krug, J. 2001. Die Kraft des Schwachen: Ein Beitrag zur paulinischen Apostolatstheologie. Tübingen: Francke. Kruyskamp, C., ed. 1976. Van Dale: Groot Woordenboek der Nederlandse Taal. 10th revised. Vol. 2. ’s-Gravenhage: Martinus Nijhoff. Lévy, E. 1984. “Naissance du concept de barbare.” Ktema 9:5–14. Lyotard, J.-F. 1983. Le différend. Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit. Marshall, J.W. 2005. “Collateral Damage: Jesus and Jezebel in the Jewish War.” Pages 35–50 in Violence in the New Testament. Edited by S. Matthews and E.L. Gibson. New York, NY: T&T Clark International. Marx, K., and F. Engels. 1998. The Communist Manifesto. New York. NY: Penguin. McNeil, M. 1993. “Dancing with Foucault: Feminism and Power-Knowledge.” Pages 147–79 in Up against Foucault: Explorations of Some Tensions between Foucault and Feminism. Edited by C. Ramazanoglu. London: Routledge. Mill, J.S. 1861. Considerations on Representative Government. London: Parker, Son & Bourn. Morgan, D. 2010. “Seeing Nationhood: Images of American Identity.” Pages 81-102 in Powers: Religion as a Social and Spiritual Force. The Future of the Religious Past. Edited by M.B. Borg and J.W. van Henten. New York, NY: Fordham University Press. Neilson, B. 1999. “Barbarism/Modernity: Notes on Barbarism.” Textual Practice 13:75–91. O’Keefe, M., and S. Oedekerk. 2003. Bruce Almighty. Directed by Tom Shadyac. Screenplay by Steve Koren.

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Polaski, S.H. 1999. Paul and the Discourse of Power. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Punt, J. 2002. “From Re-Writing to Re-Reading the Bible in Post-Colonial Africa: Considering the Options and Implications.” Missionalia 30:410–42. —. 2012. “Violence in the New Testament and the Roman Empire: Ambivalence, Othering, Agency.” Pages 23–39 in Coping with Violence in the New Testament. Edited by P.G.R. de Villiers and J.W. van Henten. Leiden: Brill. —. 2015. “Postcolonial Biblical Interpretation: Reframing Paul.” Studies in Theology and Religion 20. Leiden: Brill. Reybrouck, D.G. van. 2010. Congo: Een geschiedenis. Amsterdam: De Bezige Bij. Scholtissek, K. 1992. Die Vollmacht Jesu. Traditions- und redaktionsgeschicht­ liche Analysen zu einem Leitmotiv markinischer Christologie. Münster: Aschendorff. Scott Appleby, R. 2000. The Ambivalence of the Sacred: Religion, Violence, and Reconciliation. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Smart, B. 1985. Michel Foucault. London: Tavistock. Smit, D.J. 2007. “The Symbol of Reconciliation and Ideological Conflict in South-Africa”. Pages 287–308 in Essays in Public Theology: Collected Essays I. Edited by E. M. Conradie. Stellenbosch: Sun. Soanes, C., and A. Stevenson, eds. 2008. Concise Oxford English Dictionary. 11th revised. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Soards, M.L. 1987. The Passion According to Luke: The Special Material of Luke 22. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Sugirtharajah, R.S. 2001. The Bible and the Third World: Precolonial, Colonial and Postcolonial Encounters. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —. 2002. Postcolonial Criticism and Biblical Interpretation. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Talbott, R.F. 2010. Jesus, Paul, and Power: Rhetoric, Ritual, and Metaphor in Ancient Mediterranean Christianity. Eugene, OR: Cascade. Thompson, J.B. 1990. Ideology and Modern Culture. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Veer, P. van der. 2010. “The Visible and the Invisible in South Asia.” Pages 103– 15 in Powers: Religion as a Social and Spiritual Force. The Future of the Religious Past. Edited by M.B. Borg and J.W. van Henten. New York, NY: Fordham University Press. Walt, C. van der. 2010. “Ideologie en mag in Bybelinterpretasie: Op weg na ’n kommunale lees van 2 Samuel 13.” Ph.D. diss., Stellenbosch University. Wartenberg, T.E. 1990. The Forms of Power: From Domination to Transformation. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Weber, M. 1922. “The Theory of Social and Economic Organization.” Grund­ riss der verstehenden Soziologie. Glencoe, IL: The Free Press. West, G.O. 1996. “Reading the Bible Differently: Giving Shape to the Discourses of the Dominated.” Semeia 73:21–41. —. 1997. “Finding a Place among the Posts for Post-Colonial Criticism in Biblical Studies in South Africa.” Old Testament Essays 10:322–42. —. 1999. Biblical Hermeneutics of Liberation: Modes of Reading the Bible in the South African Context. Pietermaritzburg: Cluster.

CHAPTER 2

THE MIGHT OF DEATH AND THE POWER OF GOD: SOME BIBLICAL PERSPECTIVES Wim J.C. Weren1 In his discussion with the Sadducees on the resurrection of the dead, Jesus reproaches them that they know neither the Scriptures nor the power of God (Mark 12:24; Matt 22:29). It is interesting to note that knowledge of the Scriptures and knowledge of God’s power over death are connected here. This raises a number of questions: ● What image does the Bible present of the might of death? ● Are death and God presented in the Bible as two powers that are both

lord and master over their own domains?

● In his response to the Sadducees, Jesus assumes that God is able to raise

the dead. What is this hope based on and what is the substance of this expectation? ● How does God relate to Jesus, and what is Jesus’s position in relation to God with regard to their roles in the fight against death?

I will start this contribution by exploring some Old Testament images of the relationship between God and death (sections 1–3). In that context, it will be shown that God’s power over death has been increasingly extended and has been elaborated along various lines. In section 4, I will discuss the phenomenon that early Christian religious communities began to perceive Jesus, after he had been raised from the dead by God, as someone who shares God’s power over death. An intriguing question is how, in his post-paschal role of “the one who guides people to life” (Acts 3:15), he relates to “the God of life” or “the living God”. This article is an English translation of my article written in Dutch: Weren (2012). Biblical texts are quoted from the New Revised Standard Version. In this contribution, “power” refers to “the ability to do something” or to “authority over or control of people or things”. Cf. Van Henten (2012).

1

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1.  The Might of Death and the Powerlessness of God 1.1.  Death Sweeps People Away That human existence is finite is a matter of course in the Bible.2 This does not become a problem until life is disrupted by sudden and early death, that catches a person off guard and treacherously falls on him like a net (Eccl 9:12). At such a moment, the overwhelming might of death makes itself felt. Many Biblical texts do not contain the comfort that there is light at the end of the dark tunnel of death. On the contrary, death is a black hole, in which all life disappears sooner or later, and there is no going back (e.g., Isa 38; Ps 102; Sir 41; Eccl 3:18–22; 9:4–6). In the Bible, believers of all kinds sometimes consider death to be a severe crisis that sweeps away the whole person. Once death has occurred, even God can no longer offer any comfort (Ps 6:6; 30:10; 115:17–18; Sir 17:27–28). Dying means being cut off, not only from the world of the living, but also from the living God (Ps 88:6; Ezek 37:11; see Olyan 2003). Death is personified because of its great power, (e.g., Isa 5:14; Jer 9:20; Hos 13:14; Job 18:13–14) but it is not explicitly presented anywhere in the Bible as a god or goddess, on a par with Israel’s God. In the Biblical underworld, referred to in Hebrew as Sheol ‫ׁשאול‬,3 there are no gods, and Israel’s God has no business there either. This is completely different in other Ancient Eastern cultures and religions, in which the underworld is dominated by gods and goddesses. Even if death in the Bible is not a god (this could be referred to as demythologization), it still has a status in its own right, next to God, and holds sway over a domain of its own that does not seem to be accessible even to God. For instance, it appears from Psalm 88 that there are limits to God’s power to save. He can save someone before death, but if a person has definitively descended into the prison of death, even God can no longer liberate him.4 A good overview of Biblical perspectives on death is provided by Richards (1992, 108–10); Wright (2003); Segal (2004); Fischer (2005). 3 The word ‫ ׁשאול‬is similar in form to the infinitivus constructus of the verb ‫ׁשאל‬, that means “to ask” or “to make a request,” but it remains unclear who asks what from whom. Various options have been discussed and assessed by Jarick (1993); See also Walton (2006, 313–29); Liess (2009). 4 According to Psalm 88, God does not have access to the dead or power over Sheol. This is disputed by Noort (2001) and by Crüsemann (2003): “Die Fragen im Zentrum von Psalm 88 reden von so etwas wie Auferstehung”; ibid.: “die späteren Vorstellungen [liegen] ansatzweise schon in Psalm 88 vor, als Möglichkeiten Gottes” (356). 2



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1.2.  World View: Death Also Manifests Itself in the Midst of Life Within the Ancient Near Eastern world view, death has its own domain, Sheol, the abode of the dead. This domain is represented as a hollow place under the earth or at the bottom of the ocean (Isa 14:15; Job 26:5; 38:16–18; Jonah 2:4–7). Within this view, Sheol is the opposite of Heaven, the dwelling place where God has established his throne above the highest waters (Ps 103:19), but the underworld is also the antithesis of God’s house on Mount Zion, the temple of Jerusalem. Sheol is also sometimes situated at the end of the earth, where the sun goes down (e.g. Ps 42–43; 61:2–3; 63:1–3; 107:4–7). The dwelling place of human beings is in the fertile centre of the earth, separated from the domain of death by deserts and wasteland, which are barren and dry. In both views, Sheol is a delineated space located far away from the world of God and of people. There is a great distance between the “God of life”5 and the dead, who are considered to be unclean. After their death, people do not go to the heavens where God dwells, but to a place under the earth or at the end of the world. There they are detained as if in a prison, behind locked doors, where they gradually sink into oblivion. Although the underworld was a closed-off space in Ancient Near Eastern cosmology, the might of death is not limited to its delineated domain. Death is a dynamic power that manifests itself in numerous ways in peoples’ lives long before their own demise. Its power reaches into the Diesseits, where death shows its grim face when people are ill or lonely, overtaken by disaster or surrounded by enemies. The underworld is wherever death exercises its dominion. Or in the words of an old Latin antiphon: Media vita in morte sumus. This theme is found in various psalms (e.g. Ps 22:15; 31:13; 42:2; 107:18) and can refer to the experiences of individuals with death and to crisis situations in which the survival of an entire community is at stake (Isa 38:10; Jonah 2:7; Sir 51:6).6 1.3.  Conclusion The conclusion of this section is that the Bible leaves room for the idea that death ends all relationships, even the relationship with God. This representation is a model of thought and a faith paradigm rather than an account of empirical facts. In its most outspoken form, this model entails The designation “God of life” (‫ )אלהים חיים‬can be found in Deut 5:26; 1 Sam 17:26, 36; Jer 10:10; 23:36. 6 This dynamic view of the power of Sheol has been aptly described by Barth (1947). 5

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that God is not able to break the might of death. Death belongs to a world in which God is absent. Within the Scripture, this model is not a relic from a dim and distant past, but also features in younger writings, like Job and Ecclesiastes. In our modern Western culture, this model is still very much alive. Although our world view is totally different from that of the Ancient Near East, we still attribute the same significance to death. On the one hand, we try to push death away as much as possible, to the sidelines of life. Modern developments in medical science allow us to do. At present, the average life expectancy is much higher than it was in Biblical times. Death nonetheless continues to strike in the midst of life. This experience easily gives rise to the question of how an untimely death can be reconciled with God’s benevolence to people. This question does not necessarily lead to the radical claim that there is no God, but times of loss and emptiness are often periods of Gottesfinsternis for believers. In their lives, too, there may be long periods in which God seems to hide his face. 2.  The Strength of God’s Love and Faithfulness 2.1.  Trusting in God’s Faithfulness Experiences of God’s love and faithfulness led early on to the development of a more hopeful model of thought that allows for a perspective of a life that reaches beyond death, though without this perspective being expressed in terms of the resurrection belief that emerged later.7 At the centre of this model is the idea that God never relinquishes his relationship with the people who have attached themselves to him and abide by the Torah. Death may be an inevitable boundary for all mortals, but, for God, the boundary that people come up against is not a barrier at all. God is a source of enduring life for all who trust in him and are faithful to the Torah (Ps 36:5–6.10). The idea that a pious life has a future does not spring from blind faith in one’s own human ability, but is deeply rooted in the faith that God will never relinquish his relationship with such a devout person. This is succinctly expressed in Psalm 73:26: “My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” The road to “life” is always open because God is there, even after death, without This fact is completely ignored by Martin-Archard (1992): “When one reads the OT, one fact is striking: that Israel is attached to life – to this life – and in no way dreams of a marvellous life hereafter” (680).

7



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the exact nature of that life being clear. What is remarkable about this model is that the hope of lasting life is founded on a particular view of God. In human beings themselves, there is nothing that can survive death; no soul, no higher consciousness, no deepest Self. Those are concepts that presuppose a different view of human beings than the one that is central in the Bible. 2.2.  “Life” in Psalm 16 I will illustrate this model of thought and the way(s) in which it has been put into words, on the basis of Psalm 16. This psalm originated in an environment in which people devoted to JHWH were surrounded by people worshiping other gods. The speaker may even have recently converted to Israel’s God. He claims that the servants of other gods are in for much grief and that they are already, during their lives, constantly prey to the sorrows of death. By contrast, those who follow the One can expect a safe and happy life. The psalmist expresses this as follows: For you do not give me up to Sheol, or let your faithful one see the Pit. You show me the path of life. In your presence there is fullness of joy; in your right hand are pleasures forevermore. (Ps 16:10–11)

The concept of “life” (in Hebrew: ‫ )חיים‬is characterized here by a certain semantic indeterminateness. As a result, there are in principle two possible interpretations. The first is that the psalmist is referring to a long and happy life on this side of the grave, a life that is not prematurely affected by the powers of evil. This diesseitige interpretation can be found in many exegetical studies that consider the hope of a life at God’s side at best as an intermediate stage on the way to the resurrection belief that developed later (see Liess 2004). The second interpretation goes one step further. A close relationship with God and fidelity to the Torah bring life-long happiness and joy, but this does not completely cover the concept of “life”. This is clear from Psalm 16:11: this verse refers to “fullness of joy” and “pleasures for­ evermore” which will be the share of God’s faithful servants who focus on God (16:8). They may cherish the hope that their lives will not irrevocably end in biological death. Both interpretations are founded on good arguments, but given the semantic indeterminateness of the terms used, I prefer the second option. It may, however, be even better not to try at all to give a clear-cut definition

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of this God-given life. In many texts, the nature of this life remains vague, indefinite and open (Deut 30:19–20; Lev 18:5; Ps 119:1,77, 93, 159; Ezek 18:9, 17, 19, 21–22, 29; Amos 5:4; Prov 3:1–2, 13–18; 4:20–22; Sir 17:11; 45:5). “Life”, therefore, must not be restricted to the concrete blessings of health, prosperity, a happy marriage, or numerous offspring, nor should this inconclusiveness be removed by simply interpreting “life” here as eternal and immortal life. 2.3.  JHWH’s Growing Competence The idea that life is open-ended emerged in circles of adherents of JHWH who claimed that their God was the only God who really mattered. They saw no place for any other gods or powers, and gradually shifted the functions and competences of these other gods to Israel’s God. As a result, authority in increasingly many areas of life was attributed to God. The German exegetes Gönke Eberhardt and Bernd Janowski call this gradual broadening of JHWH’s functions and his ability to act JHWH’s Kompetenzausweitung (Eberhardt 2007, 2009; Janowski 2009). The process they describe is supported by results of recent research in the field of Israel’s religious history (Van der Toorn 1995; Mettinger 1995; Dietrich and Klopfenstein 1994; Armstrong 1993; Oeming and Schmidt 2003). Texts from the Hebrew Bible create the impression that the belief that JHWH is the only God goes back to Moses’ time. Archaeological evidence, however, and new insights into the history of Israel and of the religions and cultures of the Ancient Near East have persuaded many that, in Israel, monolatrism (the exclusive worship of one god without excluding the existence of others) and monotheism (recognition of the existence of only one God) were not adopted until between 800 and 600 B.C.E. Originally JHWH was a local deity with power over certain natural phenomena. In the kingdoms of Israel and Judah, he developed into the national god, to whom the creation of the nation was attributed and who showed his power not only in nature but also in history. The fall of the dynasty of King David and the Babylonian Captivity (586–539 B.C.E.) brought on a severe crisis. Israel had to redefine its own identity as a nation among other peoples. In that context, new images of JHWH needed to be developed. Two movements emerged: a) a more narrow one that wanted to maintain the difference of Israel’s culture and religion as much as possible and preferred to see JHWH as their own private God; b) a more broad-minded movement that was open to other nations and, in that context, developed a more universalist image of God: JHWH was



THE MIGHT OF DEATH AND THE POWER OF GOD

27

perceived as the ruler of all nations and as the creator of heaven and earth. Following the gradual extension of JHWH’s functions, more power over death and the Sheol was increasingly attributed to him. Eberhardt and Janowski mention various texts in their publications which support this process of Kompetenzausweitung. They date these texts in a timeframe of approximately 600 years. In this context, Eberhardt distinguishes between the levels of cosmology and of soteriology:8 800–700 B.C.E. 700–600

600–500

500–400

400–300

Amos 9:2–4a

Job 14: 13–17; 38:17

Ps 139:8 Job 25:5–6

cosmology

Prov 15:11

soteriology individual psalms; Hos 6:1–3; 13:14

individual individual 1 Sam 2:6; psalms; psalms 2 Kgs 5:7 Ps 68:20–21

Deut 32:39

300–200

Job 33– 37

At the cosmology level, the texts in the scheme above show that also the Sheol is accessible to JHWH. At the soteriological level, the texts reflect that Israel’s God can save from death and that both life and death are in his hands. The de-deification of other gods and the transfer of their competences to JHWH culminated in the confession that JHWH is Israel’s one and only God (Deut 6:4; see Exod 20:2–6; Deut 5:6–10). This monotheistic image of God implies that God has the power to curb the might of death. 2.4.  Conclusion In this section, a Biblical model of thought has been described in which passing through death can be discussed without the use of the terminology that is characteristic of the later resurrection belief. In this model, God is represented as a God who is near to his faithful followers and who protects them always, also in their hour of death. This model is not based on the faith that the believers have in God, but on God’s faithfulness to those who believe in him. In this model, life is open-ended, without this open end being described in concrete terms. This overview was taken from Eberhardt (2007, 401) and Eberhardt (2009, 292). More extensive variants can be found in Janowski (2009, 50, 469) and Leuenberger (2009, 171).

8

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3.  The Resurrection Belief and God’s Creative Power 3.1.  Historical Context In this third section, I will discuss the resurrection belief that emerged in Jewish circles. Resurrection is a layered concept that may refer, among other things, to the rebirth of Israel as a nation after a deep crisis, to recovery after a serious illness, to liberation from social isolation or to the revival of the dead.9 The last meaning did not arise until the second quarter of the second century B.C.E. What kind of period was this? In the year 198 B.C.E. the Seleucids (Syria) succeeded the Ptolemies (Egypt) as the rulers of Palestine. Initially the new regime did not interfere with the temple cult in Jerusalem and the Jewish laws, but this changed when the Seleucid king Antiochus IV took office in 175. He wanted to impose a far-reaching form of Hellenization on Jewish religion and culture. Jews and Jewesses who considered their faith to be compatible with Greek thought and lifestyle supported him. Other Jews and Jewesses, however, were more orthodox and were of the opinion that the Hellenistic ideas and practices were incompatible with their loyalty to JHWH and to the Jewish rules of life. They took their resistance against Antiochus and his Jewish supporters so seriously that they allowed themselves to be martyred rather than break with the Torah. The traditional Deuteronomistic retribution theology foundered in these new circumstances. This theology is described in Deut 28: those who observe God’s commands will be richly blessed with prosperity and happiness (28:1– 14), but those who do not will be struck by all kinds of disasters (28:15–68). Exactly the opposite happened under Antiochus IV’s regime. Pious and virtuous Jews and Jewesses met their deaths because they abided by the Torah, whereas renouncing the Torah led to a comfortable life. In this difficult situation, a new model of thought and faith had to be created that would provide for God to be able to rescue martyrs faithful to him also after their death, and to grant them justice after they had become victims of cruel injustice. 3.2.  Raising up the Dead I will discuss this model on the basis of the legendary story about a mother and her seven sons in 2 Macc 7. In this story, various terms are Charlesworth (2006), classifies the various meanings into sixteen categories. Number fifteen on his list is “the belief in the resurrection of the person, in the body … at some future day … with some continuity between the person who lived, died, and was raised again by God … to everlasting life” (12).

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used to express this new belief: “God will have compassion on his servants” (7:6, 33); he will raise these champions of faith up “to an everlasting renewal of life” (7:9, 14); the martyrs hope that God will give them back their hands that were hacked off by their torturers (7:11); according to the mother, the creator of the world, who gave her children the breath of life, will give it back to them after they die (7:22–23);10 the brothers “after enduring a brief suffering have drunk of ever-flowing life” (7:36). These statements affirm the active role of God. The martyrs cannot wake themselves from the sleep of death; only God can save them after their death. God does not do so by letting them return to the lives they lived before their death, but by giving them a new life. The text of 2 Macc 7 does not suggest the idea of a continued existence of the immortal soul. If anything, the story pays much attention to the body. Since the heroes of faith have had to endure severe physical mutilation, their resurrection from the dead is represented as the restoration of their entire person, including their broken bodies. They expressed their religious and cultural identity with those bodies, so it is not surprising that the body should share in the future restoration. 3.3.  Resurrection Belief and Creation Belief The idea that martyrs are revived by God after their death is embedded in 2 Macc 7 in the belief that God is the creator of the world, as the mother of the seven boys calls him in 7:23. She says that God was there at the origin of humankind and devised the origin of all things, which links with Gen 1–2.11 The woman argues on the basis of a double analogy:12 a) If God was able to make her children grow in her womb and gave them the breath of life (see Gen 2:7), then God is also able to recreate them by giving them back the breath of life after it returned to God when they died. The Greek has a hendiadys here, πνεύμα καὶ ζωή (“breath and life”) meaning “breath of life” (see also 2 Macc 14:46). In the Hebrew Bible, various words are used for the breath of life: ‫נשמח‬, ‫נפש‬, and ‫ררח‬. None of these words should be translated as “soul”. 11 In addition, the woman uses technical terms from Greek philosophy in 7:22–23 and in 7:27–29 (see Weren 2010, 127–30). In 4 Macc 8–17, the story of the seven brothers and their mother is retold, but now in the language of Greek philosophy; the future resurrection from the dead is replaced there by concepts like immortality and eternity. See Nickelsburg (1992) 12 This was pointed out by my colleague Jan Willem van Henten (University of Amsterdam) during the conference “Macht in het Nieuwe Testament” [Power in the New Testament] in Stellenbosch, 17–19 January, 2011, after my presentation entitled “De macht van de dood en de kracht van God: Enkele Bijbelse perspectieven”.

10

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b) If God is able to create the entire cosmos, God is also able to resurrect the dead. It is not clear whether or not this implies that the cosmos was created out of nothing (creatio ex nihilo) and that God can resurrect out of nothing. Another possibility is that, given God’s power to effect order as creator, it is assumed he must be able to create order out of the chaos of death. Resurrecting the dead is perceived as an action by God, by analogy with his creative powers. The woman’s argument departs from the image of God that developed only during or shortly after the Babylonian Captivity. In this critical period, the question arose whether JHWH was also present outside the country of Israel and outside the temple of Jerusalem. The former state god, the creator of Israel, then grew into a God with control over the entire cosmos and all peoples. The universal creator-God can raise the dead by recreating them from dust and ashes. Because JHWH takes up a unique and absolute position as “the King of the universe” (2 Macc 7:9) and the only God (and there is no other god), he alone takes life and gives life (Deut 32:39). It also emerges from the story of the mother and her seven sons that God not only can save individuals and groups from death, but also punish them by bringing ruin. The threatening words with which the heroes of faith address King Antiochus shortly before they die (7:14, 17, 19, 31, 36) assert that God is capable of doing so. Their threatening predictions are fulfilled in the story of the painful end of Antiochus’s life in 2 Macc 9. If the power to kill was not also in God’s hand, an opposing power who brings death would have to exist, but such a dual system would be incompatible with the monotheistic image of God that was pursued with increasingly farreaching ardour. 3.4.  Conclusion I end this section with three conclusions. (1) The idea that Israel’s God has the power to resurrect the dead was first mentioned in stories about martyrs (e.g. 2 Macc 7) and in apocalyptic texts (e.g. Dan 12:1–3) which show that God can and will do justice to martyrs for their faith. (2) God’s ability to resurrect is connected to the idea that, in his role as creator, he is constantly taking care that the cosmos does not revert to chaos. (3) Resurrection is an event that was not initially associated with the survival of a spirit or soul, but encompassed the whole person, including bodily existence.



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4.  God’s Abiding Bond with the Crucified Jesus Sections 2 and 3 explained how God never ends his relationship with martyrs and the righteous. In certain Jewish circles, their concept of life after death was expressed in terms of resurrection, revival and resuscitation. As the underlying thought is that God resurrects the dead, the existence of an indestructible core in the human being is not required. The concept of resurrection is based exclusively on God’s abiding relationship with his faithful followers and on his creative power. 4.1.  Jesus Was Resurrected by God Extending this argument to the New Testament, it is remarkable how all the writings agree that the crucified Jesus was resurrected by God almost immediately or, in any case, shortly after his death (“on the third day”). In the Greek text, this event is usually formulated in such a way that it is clear that Jesus did not rise or come out of his tomb by his own power, but that it was God who gave him new and everlasting life. Passages in the New Testament where the Greek terms ἐγείρω (“to raise”) and ἀνίστημι (“to rise”) refer to the raising or rising of Jesus can be divided into three categories:13 1. God is the active subject of the verb “to raise”: he raised Jesus from the dead (e.g., Acts 3:15; 18 times in total in the New Testament) or he causes Jesus to rise (e.g., Acts 2:24; 6 times in total in the New Testament). 2. There are also texts in which passive forms of “to raise” are used and which do not explicitly state who the acting subject is; it is usually assumed that the action is also performed by God (exegetes call this a passivum divinum): Jesus is/has been raised (e.g., Matt 16:21; 31 times in total in the New Testament). 3. Jesus himself is the active subject: Jesus will raise up the temple (John 2:19, 20; “this temple” is Jesus himself; see 2:21) or Jesus rises again (e.g., Mark 8:31; 12 times in total in the New Testament). In categories 1 and 2, it is explicitly or implicitly God who raises the crucified Jesus; only in the texts from category 3 is it assumed that Jesus himself has the power to rise from the dead. With this division, I challenge Hofius (2002, 105, 106) who argues that ἐγείρομαι, the passive form of ἐγείρω, can sometimes also have a reflexive and even an active meaning and could be then be translated as “he has risen”. An argument for a more nuanced contextual analysis can be found in O’Donnell (1999). My division of the relevant passages into three categories is a variation on his diagram on p. 160.

13

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The fundamental change after Jesus’s death is not only described in terms of rising or raising. There are various other formulas, as will be clear from the following, non-exhaustive, overview (Geysels 1996, 26): ● God highly exalted him (Acts 2:33; 5:31; Phil 2:9); ● God has glorified him (Acts 3:13); ● God seated him at his right hand (Eph 1:20; see also Acts 2:33; 5:31); ● God has made him both Lord and Messiah (Acts 2:36); ● He was declared to be Son of God (Rom 1:4); ● God gave him the name that is above every name (Phil 2:9); ● He was taken up in glory (1 Tim 3:16).

These formulas confirm or assume that God has effected a fundamental change after Jesus’s death on the cross. The nature of this change would be inadequately expressed if it was limited to the statement that Jesus continues to live in memory or that God has confirmed the lasting importance of his way of life or that Jesus’s cause is continued by his disciples. The formulas listed above express that the event must also have affected Jesus himself. The event can be described as follows: through the agency of God, Jesus has come to share, in his own person, in a life that is no longer limited by death. He is permanently safe with God and, from this position, he remains actively involved in the fortunes of those belonging to him. What is the basis of the belief that Jesus lives again? This belief is the product of a complex interaction between three factors: 1) memories of Jesus’s public ministry; 2) new experiences of his continued presence by his followers after his death; 3) interpretations in the light of Scripture texts of these memories and new experiences. I will first set out this interaction in an overview and then briefly explain it. 3. Various Scripture texts reflect the hope that God never gives up his relationship with the wise, the righteous, and the martyred; not even after their (violent) death.

↓

1. Jesus was a rightGod has permanently 2. After Jesus’s death eous man, who devoted saved his faithful servon the cross, his discihis life to God and his ples have experienced ant Jesus, who was cru→ cified, from the might of ← his renewed presence Torah and thus gave in their midst as well death. expression to God’s as the driving force of coming kingdom. his Spirit.



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One of the most indisputable historical facts about Jesus is that he was experienced as one who was full of God and of his Spirit. In all that he said and did, he was guided by God, with whom he had a unique relationship. He stated that God’s kingdom of peace and justice was near and that it had already materialized when he healed the sick and cast out demons (Matt 12:28; Luke 11:20). He gave an innovative interpretation of the Torah on the basis of key values like justice, mercy, and faith (Matt 23:23). By applying the Torah in practice, he glorified God’s name. He saw God as a God of the living, who remains faithful to his relationship, based on his covenant, with individuals and groups (Mark 12:27 and parallels). Shortly before his death, he said that he trusted he would one day share in the blessings that would ensue when God’s kingdom was established once and for all (Mark 14:25 and parallels). His life was marked by God to such an extent that authoritative Scripture texts on the righteous and the martyrs, who were saved and rehabilitated by God after death, would inevitably be applied also to him. The various New Testament formulas describing God’s response to Jesus’s death on the cross, are almost exclusively rooted in Old Testament texts. It could even be said that all faith paradigms and models of thought described in sections 1–3 culminated in him. This applies most clearly to the third model. The blood of the martyrs reconciled God and his people (2 Macc 7:33, 37), and Jesus’s blood had a similar reconciliatory effect: through his death, he took away the sin of the world (e.g., John 1:29). The insight that Jesus is now “the Living One” is, therefore, a fruit of the exegesis of Scripture, and his suffering and death must be understood in the light of what was written in the books of Moses, the Prophets, and the Psalms (Luke 24:27, 44). The ability to apply these texts to Jesus is not the effect of a gradual and difficult learning process that the disciples have gone through by their own power. They are convinced it was Jesus himself who, after his death, opened their eyes and minds and made them realize that he lives again. This firm belief was reinforced by new and surprising developments in their own circles which they experienced as proof of Jesus’s renewed presence in their midst. The constant factor here is that they expressed Jesus’s new existence in relational terms (he is again present in their midst, he has an active impact on them) and that, as a result of these experiences, they themselves have come into a new life. Sanders includes the emergence of vigorous religious communities shortly after Jesus’s death in his list of facts from Jesus’s life which he considers to be historically reliable (Sanders 1993, 276–81). In his opinion, it is an undeniable historical fact that, after Jesus’s death, his disciples

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had special experiences from which they inferred that he had been resurrected by God. 4.2.  The Broadening of Jesus’s Competence My analysis of Biblical images of God’s relationship with the dead has shown that Israel’s faith became increasingly centred on JHWH and that his authority was gradually extended to all peoples. In the course of this process, powers and functions from other gods were transferred to JHWH, so that he developed into the One and the Only. In the early Christian religious communities, a similar development took place. Jesus’s disciples increasingly placed him at the centre of their faith and life, and competences and functions that used to be ascribed exclusively to JHWH, were now attributed to Jesus. This process of competence-shifting from the many gods to the one JHWH was now continued by the phenomenon that Jesus began to share the functions that used to be limited to the one and only God. Strictly speaking, it was not a transfer of functions from God to Jesus, which would have led to Jesus taking over God’s position in the end, but participation by Jesus in God’s redeeming work. I will explain this process with a few examples. The most prominent aspect of this phenomenon is that Jesus is given a number of titles that are also used for God. They include the name “Lord” that is above every name (Phil 2:9), but also designations like king, warrior, shepherd, and judge of the living and the dead. It is interesting that the statement “I am the first and the last” in the Old Testament is only made by God (Isa 41:4; 44:6; 48:12) but, in the last book of the Bible, it refers to Jesus (Rev 1:17; 2:8.13). God is the Alpha and the Omega (Rev 1:8; 21:6), but so is Christ (Rev 22:13). God eventually gained access to Sheol, and likewise Jesus holds the keys of death and of Hades (Rev 1:18). “The living God” is flanked by Jesus as “the living one” (Luke 24:5; Rev 1:18). God can restore life to the dead (1 Kgs 17:22) and so can Jesus (Luke 8:55). According to Isa 25:7, God can destroy death; in 1 Cor 15:26.54–58 this action is attributed to Jesus. As a result of this extension of Jesus’s competences and functions, the ability to rise from the dead is attributed to him. The Greek New Testament already contains examples of this development (see the third category in my overview at the beginning of this section). In the Vulgate, their number is considerably larger. All the passive forms of έγείρω from my second category are interpreted as activities performed by Jesus himself;



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the Greek passives have been rendered by active forms of the verbs surgere and resurgere in the Latin translation, with Jesus as the acting subject. The same Latin verbs are used in the Vulgate in third-category cases where the Greek has a term meaning “to rise”. This shows that the fundamental change after Jesus’s death is increasingly perceived as an act performed by Jesus himself and that his ability to do so is increasingly emphasized. That he himself has the power to rise and that the initiative is in his own hands is expressed in very Johannine terms in the Greek text of John 10:17–18: For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father.

This formulation fits the belief of the fourth evangelist that the Father and the Son can, desire and do the same things, but there is not a total fusion as, also in the Fourth Gospel, God remains the source of the power and authority which Jesus has been given (5:19, 27; 17:2). Thus there is a limit to the extension of Jesus’s competences and functions. His position is not magnified to such an extent in the New Testament that he would become a second God, and certainly not the only God.14 At the end of the age, he will hand over his power to the Father, who will then be all in all (1 Cor 15:28). How can the New Testament image of the relationship between Jesus and God best be defined? An apt description is that Jesus is “the image of the invisible God” (Col 1:15; 2 Cor 4:4). This does not mean that Jesus is merely a vague reflection of God: he, in fact, fully represents God. Jesus as an icon of the invisible God shows how benevolent God is, that he brings justice, that he is full of compassion and solicitude and that he fills everyone with the creative energy of his Spirit. Jesus, who was resurrected through the power of God (2 Cor 13:4), has himself become the power of God (1 Cor 1:24). Therefore, those who follow Jesus cannot speak about God without speaking about Jesus, but the reverse is also true: for them, speaking about Jesus is also speaking about God.

This also goes for the eight New Testament texts in which Jesus is called “God”: John 1:1, 18; 20:28; Rom 9:5; Titus 2:13; Heb 1:8–9; 2 Pet 1:1; 1 John 5:20. See Weren (1999, 33–35).

14

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4.3.  Jesus’s Abiding Bond with His Disciples Jesus’s resurrection from the dead offers hope for his disciples: they too will overcome death at the end of the age. Jesus’s resurrection is based on his intimate bond with God; similarly, the expectation that his disciples will also rise is founded on their relationship with Jesus. He is the first to rise from the dead (Acts 26:23), the guide on the road to life (John 14:6; Acts 3:15), the firstborn within a large family of brothers and sisters (Rom 8:29), the firstborn of all creation (Col 1:15), the firstborn from the dead (Col 1:18; Rev 1:5), the first fruits of those who have died (1 Cor 15:20). The future that is in store for believers is described in relational terms: they will be “with Christ” or “in Christ” (e.g., Phil 1:23; 1 Thess 4:17; 5:10), they will make their home with the Lord (2 Cor 5:8) or be with him in paradise (Luke 23:43). 5. Conclusion In this paper, I have shown that the people of Israel succeeded in putting the might of death into perspective on the basis of their growing consciousness of the strength of JHWH, and that Jesus’s disciples increasingly attributed to him competences and functions that used to be ascribed exclusively to JHWH, including his participation in God’s power over death. Biblical views of life and death are always linked to images of God and his power over life and death. A central proposition of my paper is that, in Scripture, faith in God is the only foundation for the hope of a life beyond death. This hope is not based on an indestructible core in the human being himself. Without the God of Israel and his work in Jesus, death would become a god. God is not only the giver of life, but neither does death happen without his notice. It is not always evident to believers that God has power over death. It is by no means easy to discover God’s presence in times of grief and loss, and even then to surrender oneself into the hands of the One in whom it may be hoped and believed that fulfilment and perfection can be found. Bibliography Armstrong, K. 1995. A History of God: The 4,000-Year Quest of Judaism, Christianity and Islam. New York, NY: Ballantine Books. Barth, C. 1947. Die Errettung vom Tode in den individuellen Klage- und Dankliedern des Alten Testamentes. Zürich: Zollikon.



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Charlesworth, J.H., ed. 2006. Where Does the Concept of Resurrection Appear and How Do We Know That? New York: T&T Clark. Crüsemann, F. 2003. “Rhetorische Fragen? Eine Aufkündigung des Konsenses über Psalm 88:11–13 und seine Bedeutung für das alttestamentliche Reden von Gott und Tod.” Biblical Interpretation 11:345–60. Dietrich, W. and M.A. Klopfenstein, eds. 1994. Ein Gott allein? JHWH-Verehrung und biblischer Monotheismus im Kontext der israelitischen und altorientalischen Religionsgeschichte. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 139. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg/Schweiz. Eberhardt, G. 2007. JHWH und die Unterwelt: Spuren einer Kompetenzausweitung JHWHs im Alten Testament. Forschungen zum Alten Testament 23. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Eberhardt, G. 2009. “Die Gottesferne der Unterwelt in der JHWH-Religion.” Pages 373-395 in Tod und Jenseits im alten Israel und in seiner Umwelt: Theologische, religionsgeschichtliche, archäologische und ikonographische Aspekte. Edited by A. Berlejung and B. Janowski. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Fischer, A.A. 2005. Tod und Jenseits im Alten Orient und Alten Testament. Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag. Geysels, L. 1996. Tot leven gewekt: Verrijzenisgeloof bijbels beleden. Tielt: Lannoo. Henten, J.W. van. 2012. “Religie en Macht: Theoretische Invalshoeken in verband met het Nieuwe Testament.” HTS Teologiese Studies / Theological Studies 68:1–8. Hofius, O. 2002. “‘Am dritten Tage auferstanden von den Toten’: Erwägungen zum Passiv EGEIRESTHAI in christologischen Aussagen des Neuen Tes­ taments.” Pages 93-106 in Resurrection in the New Testament. Edited by R. Bieringer, V. Koperski and B. Lataire. Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium, 165. Leuven: University Press – Peeters. Janowski, B. 2009. “JHWH und die Toten: Zur Geschichte des Todes im Alten Israel.” Pages 447-477 in Tod und Jenseits im alten Israel und in seiner Umwelt: Theologische, religionsgeschichtliche, archäologische und ikono­ graphische Aspekte. Edited by A. Berlejung and B. Janowski. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Jarick, J. 1999. “Questioning Sheol.” Pages 22-32 in Resurrection. Edited by S.E. Porter, M.A. Hayes and D. Tombs. Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series, 186. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Leuenberger, M. 2009. “Das Problem des vorzeitigen Todes in der israelitischen Religions- und Theologiegeschichte.” Pages 151-176 in Tod und Jenseits im alten Israel und in seiner Umwelt: Theologische, religionsgeschichtliche, archäologische und ikonographische Aspekte. Edited by A. Berlejung and B. Janowski. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Liess, K. 2004. Der Weg des Lebens: Psalm 16 und das Lebens- und Todesverständnis der Individualpsalmen. Forschungen zum Alten Testament 5. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Liess, K. 2009. “‘Hast du die Tore der Finsternis gesehen?’ (Ijob 38,17): Zur Lokalisierung des Totenreiches im Alten Testament.” Pages 397-422 in Tod und Jenseits im alten Israel und in seiner Umwelt: Theologische, religions­ geschichtliche, archäologische und ikonographische Aspekte. Edited by A. Berlejung and B. Janowski. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.

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Martin-Archard, R. 1992. “Resurrection (OT).” Pages 680–84 in The Anchor Bible. Edited by D.N. Freedman. Vol. 5. New York, NY: Doubleday. Mettinger, T.N.D. 1995. “Yahweh Zebaoth.” Columns 1730-1740 in Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible. Edited by K. van der Toorn, B. Becking and P.W. van der Horst. Leiden – New York – Köln: Brill. Nickelsburg, G.W.E. 1992. “Resurrection (Early Judaism and Christianity).” Pages 684–91 in The Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by D.N. Freedman. Vol. 5. New York, NY: Doubleday. Noort, E. 2001. “Tod und Zukunft: Das Wagnis des Ezechiel: Ez 37,1-14 und die eschatologische Hoffnung.” Pages 7-16 in Hoffnung für die Zukunft. Modelle eschatologischen und apokalyptischen Denkens. Edited by E. Noort and M. Popovic. Groningen: Universiteitsdrukkerij Rijksuniversiteit Gro­ ningen. O’Donnell, M.B. 1999. “Some New Testament Words for Resurrection and the Company They Keep.” Pages 136-163 in Resurrection. S.E. Porter, M.A. Hayes and D. Tombs. Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series, 186. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Oeming, M., and K. Schmid. 2003. Der eine Gott und die Götter Polytheismus und Monotheismus im antiken Israel. Zürich: Theologischer Verlag Zürich. Olyan, S.M. 2003. “We Are Utterly Cut Off”: Some Possible Nuances of ‫נבזדנו‬ ‫ לנו‬in Ezek 37:11.” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 65:43–51. Richards, K.H. 1992. “Death: Old Testament.” Pages 107–10 in The Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by D.N. Freedman. Vol. 2. New York, NY: Doubleday. Sanders, E.P. 1993. The Historical Figure of Jesus. London: Allen Lane The Penguin Press. Segal, A.F. 2004. Life after Death: A History of the Afterlife in the Religions of the West. New York, NY: Doubleday. Van der Toorn, K. 1995. “Yahweh.” Columns 1711-1730 in Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible. Edited by K. van der Toorn, B. Becking and P.W. van der Horst. Leiden – New York – Köln: Brill. Walton, J.H. 2006. Ancient Near Eastern Thought and the Old Testament: Introducing the Conceptual World of the Hebrew Bible. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. Weren, W. 1999. Vier vensters op Jezus, de Zoon van God. Edited by W. Weren, H. Kuitert, and N. Schreurs. Zoetermeer: Meinema. —. 2010. Dood, en dan? Stemmen uit de Bijbel, echo’s in onze cultuur. Zoetermeer/Kapellen: Meinema/Pelckmans. —. 2012. “De macht van de dood en de kracht van God: Enkele Bijbelse per­­s­pectieven.” HTS Teologiese Studies / Theological Studies 68:49–57. Wright, N.T. 2003. The Resurrection of the Son of God. Christian Origins and the Question of God 3. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress.

CHAPTER 3

COSMIC POWER IN PSEUDO-ARISTOTLE’S DE MUNDO AND THE NEW TESTAMENT Johan C. Thom1 In recent New Testament scholarship there is an increasing interest in cosmology (see e.g. Adams 2000; Van Kooten 2003; Engberg-Pedersen 2010). In order to locate the cosmological views underlying the writings of the New Testament within their historical contexts, it is necessary to compare them with other contemporary worldviews. Such cosmologies are especially found in philosophical texts of the period, and New Testament research has thus far concentrated on Stoicism and Middle Platonism, the most popular and influential philosophical traditions of New Testament times. Texts from other traditions may, however, also offer valuable insights into the conceptual world of the period in which the NT has its origin.2 One such text which thus far has not received enough attention, is the short treatise De mundo (Περὶ κόσμου [On the Cosmos]) which, though ascribed to Aristotle, should probably be dated around the turn of the era. The author attempts to provide a Peripatetic solution to the problem of divine involvement in the sublunary world (usually called providence).3 The question he tries to answer is how it is possible for God to be responsible for the order and preservation of the world without giving up his This contribution is a translated and revised version of Thom (2012a). See Malherbe (1989, 16): “More attention should be given to entire traditions, traced in some detail, with which Christianity might have come into contact. But the net should be cast even wider. The concern not only should be to find points of contact but should also include traditions that offered dissimilar or even antithetic views of God, humanity, and the world. Only when we are fully aware of all the options that were available, including those Christianity did not assimilate, shall we attain a firm grasp on the place of early Christianity in its intellectual environment. Thus conceived, the enterprise may theoretically even include the Peripatetics and the Skeptics.” 3 According to Sharples (2002, 25, 30), it is a matter of debate “whether the mere presence of order deriving from a divine principle is sufficient to justify application of the term ‘providence’ at all.” He also refers to Alexander of Aphrodisias’s insistence that it is not possible to talk of providence where an effect is entirely accidental. 1 2

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self-sufficiency and independence, i.e. the problem normally described as transcendence versus immanence.4 His own solution to the problem is to devolve such immanent involvement to God’s δύναμις (power). In doing so the author of the De mundo appears to respond to Stoic notions of causation and immanence, while taking the first steps towards a splitting of the demiurgic principle that we later find in Middle Platonic and Neopythagorean texts. In this article I will therefore give an overview of the relevant aspects of the cosmology of the De mundo. A brief discussion of introductory matters (author and date, genre and function, composition and content) will be followed by a description of the cosmotheology of the text, focusing on God and the power he exercises over the world. I conclude with a few tentative remarks pointing to possible connections between the De mundo and New Testament texts.5 1. Introduction6 1.1.  Author and Date The authenticity of the De mundo remains a contentious issue.7 The text is indeed attributed to Aristotle in the extant manuscripts, but it is transmitted In the De mundo God is not strictly speaking located “outside” the world, but rather in the highest point of the heavens (397b24–27; 398b7). According to Besnier (2003, 479– 80), the opposition in the De mundo is not between transcendence and immanence, but between God’s autarchy and his demiurgic activity. For Opsomer (2005, 61 n. 47), also, “the issue seems to be not so much that of transcendence, but rather one of activity and causation.” Sharples (2002, 15 with n. 69) maintains that the description in the De mundo does not necessarily imply a distinction between God and the heavens, but he also suggests that “whether we are then to think of a soul within the heavens moving them, or a transcendent deity causing the movement of an otherwise inanimate heaven, is perhaps relatively unimportant.” In what follows I will continue to use the term transcendence for the sake of convenience, but this should not be taken to imply an absolute separation between God and the world. 5 This article is based on research done for a volume on the De mundo (Thom 2014). This volume includes an introduction, text and translation, notes, and interpretive essays by various scholars. 6 The issues in the following section are discussed in more detail in Thom (2014, 3–17). 7 Although most ancient testimonies accept that the text was written by Aristotle, Proclus (5th cent. C.E.) already expressed some doubt about the Aristotelian authorship; see Comm. in Tim. 3, p. 272.20–21 Diehl: οὔτε [εἱμαρμένη] ὁ νοῦς τοῦ παντός, ὥς πού φησι πάλιν Ἀριστοτέλης, εἴπερ ἐκείνου τὸ Περὶ κόσμου βιβλίον (“The mind of the universe is also not destiny, as Aristotle contends somewhere, if the book On the Cosmos indeed belongs to him”). As Mansfeld (1992, 403 n. 4) points out, however, Proclus’s reference to the nous as destiny is not found anywhere in the De mundo. The problem of authenticity was heavily debated during the Renaissance and early modern period (Kraye 2014). 4



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on its own in the oldest manuscripts of Aristotle and probably did not form part of Andronicus of Rhodes’s edition of Aristotelian texts that was published around the middle of the first century B.C.E. (see Besnier 2003, 475; Flashar 2004, 271).8 Despite some recent attempts by a few scholars to argue for authenticity (see e.g. Gohlke 1936; 1968; Reale 1974; Bos 1989; 1990; Reale and Bos 1995), the current consensus is that the treatise was not written by Aristotle. Arguments against authenticity include the doctrine found in the text regarding God’s involvement in the world;9 possible Stoic influence;10 the type of argumentation used (a description without substantiation instead of the typically Aristotelian syllogistic argumentation); meteorological and geographical details that are based on post-Aristotelian developments;11 comparisons in the text (e.g. the description of the King of Persia and of Phidias’s statue of Athena) that would not have been used by someone in Aristotle’s time (see Moraux 1984, 66; Mansfeld 1991, 541–43); and linguistic evidence pointing to a date later than the 4th century B.C.E.12 If Aristotle did not write the De mundo, the author remains unknown. It is however clear that the author identifies with the Aristotelian tradition, for example from his acceptance of aither as the fifth element, in addition to fire, air, water, and earth. The earliest ancient testimonium is a paraphrastic translation of the De mundo ascribed to Apuleius of Madaura (born c. 125 C.E.), which provides a terminus ante quem of the middle of the second century C.E., but the terminus a quo remains uncertain. Recent proposals vary considerably, from c. 200 B.C.E. to the first half of the second century C.E.13 For the text tradition of the De mundo see Lorimer (1924). The best critical text of the De mundo is by the same scholar (1933). For the date of Andronicus’s edition of Aristotle’s school treatises, see Gottschalk (1987, 1095–96).  9 See the discussion below. 10 E.g. the definition of κόσμος in Mund. 391b9-12 and the phrase συνεκτικὴ αἰτία in 397b9. See Duhot (1990); Mansfeld (1992, 401, 405 n. 24); and for the anti-Stoic tendency of De mundo’s theology, Gottschalk (1987, 1137). 11 See Moraux (1984, 16–20); Dihle (1997). Eratosthenes (3rd cent. B.C.E.) was probably used as (indirect) source. 12 See Barnes (1977); Boot (1981) (but see the criticism of Moraux 1984, 82 n. 266); Schenkeveld (1991) (with the observation of Mansfeld 1992, 403 n. 3); Dihle (1997, 8). 13 See e.g. Runia (2002, 305): 200 B.C.E. (based on linguistic evidence and resemblances to the theology and cosmology of Theophrastus); Riedweg (1993, 94): first half of 2nd cent. BCE (Aristobulus made use of the De mundo); Mansfeld (1992, esp. 391): not before the end of the 1st cent. BCE (Philodemus was unaware of the De mundo or did not believe it was written by Aristotle); Gottschalk (1987, 1138): after 60 B.C.E. (the publication of Andronicus of Rhodes’s edition of Aristotle’s school treatises); Pohlenz (1965, 382–83) and Moraux (1984, 6–7, 77, 81–82): a date near the time of Philo of

 8

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Since the treatise displays tendencies similar to Middle Platonism (i.e. the combination of Platonic, Aristotelian, and Stoic ideas),14 a dating around the turn of the era seems reasonable, although an earlier dating cannot be ruled out. 1.2.  Genre and Function De mundo has very little in common with the school treatises of Aristotle. It tries to convey insights about the cosmos in a simple manner, using images and comparisons instead of syllogistic proofs. It also does not enter into the various contemporary polemics regarding the topics treated in the work (e.g. on aither as fifth element or on the eternity of the world). Its intended audience is clearly not scientifically or philosophically trained, but rather one with a general education (see Moraux 1984, 57). Although “Alexander” (probably the Great) is directly addressed in the first chapter, the fiction of a letter is dropped from the second chapter onwards (see Moraux 1984, 59).15 Alexander (as a person reputed to have had a good general education), however, may represent the ideal audience. The De mundo instead shares many of the characteristics of a handbook,16 but it goes beyond the dry and sober style of a mere handbook (see Moraux 1984, 58):17 it tries to make the exposition of rather dry material more attractive with various stylistic and artistic devices such as poetic or rare words, literary quotations, rhetorical questions, ornamental epithets, elaboration, vivid descriptions, digressions, images, and comparisons (see Moraux 1984, 61–62; Chandler 2014). Such literary elaboration, the use of the arguments of beauty, possibility and usefulness, and of encomium, together with the Alexandria; Strohm (1970, 268): a date between the time of Plutarch (c. 45 C.E. – before 125 C.E.) and that of Apuleius (because of the close relationship to Plutarch). 14 See also Mansfeld (1992, 400): “In my view, a Peripatetic philosopher of Platonic leanings using a Stoic book-title can hardly be dated earlier than the late first cent. B.C.E.” 15 Stobaeus refers to this work in each of his excerpts as “from the letter of Aristoteles to Alexander” (Ecl. vol. 1, pp. 43.15–16, 82.24–25, 255.10–11 Wachsmuth), but Philoponus and David refer to it as “treatise” (λόγος, πραγματεία) or “book” (βίβλιον); see Mansfeld (1992, 396–97). 16 Festugière (1949, 479–501) contends that it is an introduction (εἰσαγωγή); so also Furley (1955, 334). 17 Moraux (1984, 78, with n. 263) suggests that the author used a Stoic handbook and elaborated it with the addition of Aristotelian material. Gottschalk’s (1987, 1132) description of the De mundo as a compendium does not do justice to the literary character of the work.



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exhortation to Alexander to study philosophy, point towards the genre of protreptic (Moraux 1984, 60–61). The author describes what he does as “theologizing,” θεολογεῖν (Mund. 391b4), and this may also indicate the function of the De mundo: to move beyond a description of the world to an understanding of the God who sustains the cosmos (see Moraux 1984, 77).18 1.3.  Composition and Content The De mundo consists of three main parts: (1) an introduction (ch. 1, 391a‒b8); (2) a description of the cosmos (chs. 2‒4, 391b9‒396a32); and (3) an explanation of cosmic harmony and of God’s role in the cosmos (chs. 5‒7, 396a32‒401b29). Chapter 1 provides an introduction in which philosophy is praised as the contemplation of all that exists. Through the mind the soul can journey even to the heavens, discover large-scale relationships, and comprehend and interpret “the divine things” (τὰ θεῖα). Such large-scale philosophical investigations, which the author calls “theologizing” (θεολογεῖν), are contrasted with the examination and description of small-scale phenomena. It concludes by exhorting the addressee, Alexander, to study philosophy. The second part, chs. 2–4, entails a description of the cosmos, including geography and meteorology. Although it contains much detail, the emphasis is not on phenomena taken singly, but on providing an allencompassing view of the world, a view from above (Strohm 1970, 265). It begins with a definition of “cosmos” and then describes the cosmos in terms of the five elements, aither, fire, air, water, and earth, each occupying a region above the next element in sequence. This is followed by a section focusing on the last two elements, water and earth, which thus contains a geographical description of Okeanos with its various embayments into the inhabited world, the location of major islands, and the division of the three continents, Europe, Libya, and Asia. The third section deals with meteorological and other phenomena of the air, earth, and sea. These phenomena are mostly attributed either to the wet or the dry exhalation, i.e. exhalations of the sea or of the earth. From the wet exhalation come phenomena like mist, clouds, rain, and snow; from the See Runia (2002, 305): “He [sc. the author] is not attempting to give a scientific account of the universe, but works his way towards an explanation of its features in theological terms.”

18

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dry exhalation winds and phenomena associated with thunder and lightning. The author also distinguishes between phenomena in the air that are real and those that have only an apparent existence, i.e. optical phenomena. The latter phenomena include halos around stars, and rainbows; real phenomena are meteors and comets.19 Next, the author describes phenomena in the earth that are formed by water, wind and fire, such as volcanoes, vapours emitted from chasms, and earthquakes. Similar phenomena occur in the sea: chasms, tidal waves and volcanoes. In the third part of the De mundo (chs. 5‒7) the author tries to explain why the various tensions and opposing principles in the cosmos have not long ago led to its destruction. He begins (ch. 5, 396a33‒397b8) by stating that nature creates harmony and concord from opposites. The cosmos as a whole has been created as a composition and mixture of opposing elements and principles. By being held within the confines of a sphere, the various opposing elements are forced into an equilibrium, which constitutes an agreement between them. This concord is the cause of the preservation of the cosmos, because, through it and despite the cataclysmic forces at work in the world, the whole is kept indestructible. In the next section (ch. 6, 397b9‒401a11) God is explicitly identified as the cause of the cohesion of the cosmos and as the “begetter”20 of everything that comes into existence. He does not act directly, however, but through his power (δύναμις). God himself is based in the highest point in heaven, but his power is at work by first acting on the immediately adjacent region and then on the next, and so on, until it reaches the earth. The precise mechanism of how this works is not explained, but the author tries to show by means of extensive examples how it is possible to influence events at a distance without any direct physical contact or involvement; how a single movement can result in diverse effects; and how it is possible for an invisible initial impulse to give rise to so many subsequent events. The final section (ch. 7, 401a12‒b29) shows how the various names given to God are based on the effects he causes; the variety of effects does not negate the fact that he is one. This also applies to the various names given to Destiny and Fate: God is the one who causes what we ascribe to fate.

In Mund. 392b2–5, however, meteors and comets are located in the fire. The only term used here and elsewhere for God’s creative activity is γενέτωρ; κτίστης or δημιούργος is not used.

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2.  Cosmotheology and Cosmic Power in the De mundo21 Although the title Περὶ κόσμου suggests that the treatise will provide a physical description of the world,22 it is already evident from the introduction that the text intends to do more than that. In ch. 1 the author makes it clear that he is not simply going to give a description of the physical world: his interest is in “the heavenly place” and “the sacred region” which “the soul … by means of philosophy, taking the mind as its guide,” is able to visit. From this heavenly perspective, philosophy is able to discern various relationships and to comprehend and interpret “the divine things” (τὰ θεῖα) with the divine eye of the soul.23 The act of interpretation itself is called προφητεύειν (391a8–16). Further on in the passage he describes what he does in the De mundo as “theologizing” (θεολογῶμεν) about “the greatest things in the cosmos” (391a25–26, b3–5). This “journey through the cosmos” which affords the soul insight into the nature of the world is a topos with strong Platonic roots.24 In the beginning of ch. 2, Pseudo-Aristotle first defines “cosmos” as “a system of heaven and earth and the entities contained within them” (σύστημα ἐξ οὐρανοῦ καὶ γῆς καὶ τῶν ἐν τούτοις περιεχομένων φύσεων, 391b9–10). This is the normal Stoic definition found in Chrysippus and repeated by Posidonius;25 it describes the cosmos as a selfcontained system, which, in Chrysippus, is even identified with God, who thus ensures its coherence.26 Pseudo-Aristotle, however, also gives a second definition for cosmos: “the arrangement and order of the universe, preserved by God and because of God” (ἡ τῶν ὅλων τάξις τε καὶ διακόσμησις, ὑπὸ θεοῦ τε καὶ διὰ θεὸν φυλαττομένη, 391b10–12); here God is separate from and transcendent to the world. In what follows the author first concentrates on the first definition, but in the second half of The cosmotheology of the text is discussed in more detail in Thom (2014, 107–20). Mansfeld (1992) contends that the author composed his work as an Aristotelian alternative to Stoic texts with the same kind of title. 23 The phrase τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς ὄμμα (“the eye of the soul”) occurs for the first time in Plato (Resp. 533d2), while the phrase τὸ θεῖον ὄμμα (“the divine eye”) is first used by the Neoplatonists (see Porphyry, Vit. Pyth. 10.29; Iamblichus, Vit. Pyth. 16.70). The combined phrase “the divine eye of the soul” is only found here. 24 See for the topos Jones (1926); Festugière (1946); Koller (1973); for the Platonic background of this passage see Strohm (1970, 265, 274–75); Mansfeld (1992, 410 n. 63). 25 See Chrysippus, SVF 527.1–3 (in Arius Didymus, frg. 31.1–2), 529.3–4; Posidonius frg. 334 Theiler (in Diogenes Laertius 7.138). See also Pohlenz (1965, 377); Duhot (1990, 194). 26 Λέγεται δ’ ἑτέρως κόσμος ὁ θεός, καθ’ ὃν ἡ διακόσμησις γίνεται καὶ τελειοῦται. 21 22

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the work, from ch. 5 onwards, he shifts his focus to the second. The ultimate aim of the De mundo is not simply to provide a description of the cosmos as a system, but to explain God’s involvement in the order and preservation of the world. Such involvement by God is of course by no means conventional Aristotelian doctrine. According to Aristotle, God is turned away from the world; he is pure thought contemplating himself; “his thinking is a thinking of thinking” (ἔστιν ἡ νόησις νοήσεως νόησις; Metaph. 12.9, 1074b34–35; see Gottschalk 1987, 1134–35). As the first Unmoved Mover, he is the final cause influencing the heavens to move in a cyclical movement as the object of their desire, but he is not in any way concerned with what happens in the sublunary world. The Aristotelian god is therefore transcendent, unlike the demiurge of Plato’s Timaeus, who is ultimately responsible for the creation of the world and its continued existence. Like Plato, the author of the De mundo wants to show that God is directly responsible for acting on and maintaining this world, but without giving up his transcendence. He attempts to provide explanations for two problems in particular. (a) The first is how it is possible that the world is preserved despite the many opposing and conflicting elements that he described in chs. 2–4. Why do these elements not annihilate one another, thus causing the destruction of the world? (b) The second problem is how it is possible for God to act on the world if he is separate from the world. The author begins to address the first problem in ch. 5 (396a33–b8) by suggesting that nature itself needs opposites and creates consonance (τὸ σύμφωνον, i.e. harmony) between them – just like the concord (ὁμόνοια) established between different interest groups in a city (396a33–b8). Harmony between conflicting principles thus appears to result from the constitution of nature. A little further on (396b23–397a5), however, harmony (ἁρμονία) is depicted not as a product of something else (e.g. the constitution of nature or some action) but as an active force that “has arranged the composition of the universe” (τὴν τῶν ὅλων σύστασιν … διεκόσμησεν) from opposite principles. It is described as a power (δύναμις) pervading all things, a power that sets everything in order, that has created (δημιουργήσασα)27 the whole cosmos from diverse elements and compelled them into agreement and thus ensured preservation (σωτηρία) This is a problematic statement for an Aristotelian author because Aristotle taught that the world is uncreated and eternal (see Cael. 1.10; 3.2, 301b31–302a9), as opposed to the Platonists who supported the notion of a created world.

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for the whole.28 The agreement (ὁμολογία) or concord (ὁμόνοια) results from the equality or equilibrium enforced by the cosmic power. The author again uses Stoic formulations, especially the idea of “a single power pervading all things” (μία ἡ διὰ πάντων διήκουσα δύναμις).29 The coherence is not, however, caused by a divine immanent pneuma permeating all things, but results from the (mechanical) equilibrium brought about by the cosmic power between opposing principles: the equilibrium itself is a balance of forces within an enclosed space (see also Duhot 1990, 195–96). Despite the change and destruction of individual parts, the principle of preservation keeps the whole indestructible (397b2–8). At the beginning of ch. 6 (397b9–13) the author says that he will now speak about that which is most important (κυριώτατον) in the cosmos. He uses the expression περὶ κόσμου λέγοντας, “when speaking about the cosmos,” in this introductory statement, which is clearly the passage from which the title was derived, since the phrase περὶ κόσμου is not used anywhere else in the treatise.30 This is therefore a crucial passage indicating the main theme of the work, namely the cause of the preservation of the cosmos. While in ch. 5 the power of harmony and preservation seems like a force of nature, in ch. 6 it is explicitly identified with the power of God. God is “the cause holding the universe together” (ἡ τῶν ὅλων συνεκτικὴ αἰτία), that is, preserving it from the forces of chaos. The notion that there is a divine force holding the world together, and thus preserving it from chaos, was already present in the time of Plato and Aristotle,31 but the phrase συνεκτικὴ αἰτία seems to be a direct reaction to Stoic doctrine because it is a variant of the formula συνεκτικὸν αἴτιον coined by the Stoics (see Duhot 1990, 197–98; Mansfeld 1992, 401). The transcendent Aristotelian god is thus put in place of the immanent Stoic pneuma as cohesive cause of the cosmos. The author refers to “an ancient account” (397b13–20) with which he apparently agrees, according to which everything owes its existence and continued preservation to God; all things have come to be “from God For the key role of σωτηρία in this treatise see also Pohlenz (1965, 377) and Thom (2019, 93–97) and the references in n. 35 below. 29 For the notion of a divine power pervading all things in Stoic authors see SVF 1.158, 161, 533, 537.12–13; 2.323a, 442, 473, 946, 1040; 3.4, etc. For a discussion see Thom (2005, 87–88). 30 It indeed occurs nowhere else in the corpus of Aristotle’s works; see Mansfeld (1992, 401–2). 31 See Aristotle, Pol. 7.4, 1326a32–33; Xenophon, Mem. 4.3.13. See also Reale and Bos (1995, 313 n. 233); Duhot (1990, 195). 28

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and because of God” (ἐκ θεοῦ πάντα καὶ διὰ θεόν, 397b13–15).32 Nothing is self-sufficient (αὐτάρκης), i.e. can exist in and of itself, if deprived of God’s preservation (397b15-16). The author immediately corrects the wrong inference by “some of the ancients” that this means that everything is full of God,33 i.e. that God himself is immanently present in the world. The author again takes up a position against Stoic immanentism and pantheism.34 According to the author, one should instead distinguish between God’s essence (οὐσία) and his power (δύναμις): God is really the preserver (σωτήρ) of all things and the begetter (γενέτωρ) of everything however it is brought about in this cosmos, without indeed enduring the hardship of a creature hard at work for itself, but by making use of an untiring power, by means of which he prevails even over things that seem to be far away. (397b20-24) God himself is established in the highest region and does not do any work himself because it would not be appropriate for him to do so, but his beneficial influence penetrates to the lowest level (397b24–398a1).

The concept of σωτηρία evidently plays a crucial role in the De mundo.35 The cosmos needs to be preserved and sustained to keep it from destruction. What is significant is that this role is ultimately assigned to God who is the “saviour” (σωτήρ) of all things. He is at the same time called the “begetter” (γενέτωρ)36 of all things, which is reminiscent of Plato’s demiurge.37 The statement that all things have come to be “from God and because of God” (ἐκ θεοῦ πάντα καὶ διὰ θεόν) furthermore identifies God as efficient cause of the cosmos (see Opsomer 2006, 8). God effects all of this without having to act directly himself, however; active involvement in the world is relegated to the power of God instead.38 See Mund. 391b12: ὑπὸ θεοῦ τε καὶ διὰ θεόν. This view may refer to Thales; see Thales 11 A 22 Diels-Kranz = Aristotle, De an. 411a7. 34 Pohlenz (1965, 377–78) even speaks of a “Kampfansage” against Stoicism. See also Moraux (1984, 39). 35 See 396b33–34; 397a31, b5, 16; 398a4, b10; 400a4 (σωτηρία); 397b20, 401a24 (σωτήρ); see also 391b12, 396a32, 397b7 (φυλάττω). 36 The term γενέτωρ is used twice in the treatise for God (397b21; 399a31), and the term “parent” (γενετήρ) once for the cosmos (397a4). These are not used elsewhere in Aristotle as description of God (γενέτωρ only in frg. 489.9, 11 as epithet of Apollo). 37 See also the use of δημιουργήσασα in 396b31; see n. 27 above. For the Platonic connection see Opsomer (2006, 11). 38 There is some confusion between God and his power in 398a1–6, but it is clear from texts like 398b6–10 that God’s power penetrates through the whole cosmos. On the confusion between these passages, see also Duhot (1990, 203–4). 32 33



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This distinction between a transcendent god and an immanent divine power is similar to a tendency found in Platonic and Neopythagorean texts of the early Imperial period to split the demiurge god into two (or more) principles: a fully transcendent god and a lower principle (variously identified as the world soul, the cosmic intellect, a second or third demiurge, etc.) on which the demiurgic functions devolved (see Opsomer 2005).39 In these texts, as in the De mundo, the distinction between different divine principles (in the De mundo between God’s essence and his power) serves to maintain God’s transcendence, while at the same time explaining how it is possible that he can be active in the world. There is however an important difference: the De mundo is more strictly monotheistic than the Platonic and Neopythagorean texts; in the De mundo everything is ultimately derived from one God (see Festugière 1949, 515–16; Gottschalk 1987, 1136, 1138).40 The way God’s power is transmitted through the cosmos is described in subsequent passages. The author says initially that the power is physically transmitted from one body to the next, gradually weakening in proportion to the distance from its origin until it reaches earth. God’s preservative and beneficial influence (ὠφέλεια) nevertheless penetrates even the lowest level (397b27–35). A formulation such as “in as far as the divine naturally penetrates to everything” (καθ’ ὅσον ἐπὶ πᾶν διικνεῖσθαι πέφυκε τὸ θεῖον) again sounds Stoic, but the gradual, physical transmission of power envisaged here is very different from the Stoic pneuma that permeates everything equally. The concept of a physical transmission of power is picked up again in Mund. 398b19–27: an initial first movement leads to a chain reaction by means of which the power is transferred from one region to the next, and so on until it reaches the whole cosmos. The activity of the δύναμις itself is described as nothing other than movement (Moraux 1984, 39–40). God is compared to a chorus leader who gives the keynote, which is then taken up by the chorus of various celestial bodies, whose revolutions again cause seasonal and other changes on earth (398b26–27; 399a12–21). Several other comparisons are used to explain God’s influence on the world, and indeed, the use of such comparisons is one of the striking features of the De mundo. Such comparisons include the rapid communication between the Persian king and his empire, despite his physical Opsomer (2006, 10) suggests that the beginning of this process is found in the De mundo. 40 For the polytheism of the Platonists, see. Gottschalk (1987, 1138): “[T]he Platonists, while monotheists with their heads, remained polytheists with their hearts.” 39

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isolation, by means of a system of signal beacons (398a11–35); the dramatic effects produced when the trigger of a war machine (a catapult) is released (398b13–16); the ability of puppeteers to affect different motions in the puppet by pulling a single string (398b16–22); the different results produced when throwing differently formed objects with the same action (398b27-29); the various movements executed by animals from land, water, and air when they are set free by one and the same action (398b3035); the different effects produced by the same trumpet signal during a war (399a35–b10); and a single keystone holding together the vault of a vast building (399b28–32). These comparisons are used to illustrate either the diverse and multitudinous effects arising from a single impulse from God or his ability to have effect over a distance.41 The fact that the initial impulse is invisible, but still able to stir all things into action, is explained by comparing it to the actions performed by the soul: the soul is also invisible but it has far-reaching effects on households and cities and even beyond the city borders (399b10–15). In the same way, God is invisible, but all works (ἔργα) that take place in the world are in fact his; he can therefore be seen from the works themselves (399b19–25). In Mund. 400b11–15 God is explicitly said to lead and move all things with his power where and how he wills, although he himself remains immovable. God is like the immovable law in the souls of citizens, which, though fixed and unchangeable, has many administrative consequences. God is in fact the law administering the whole cosmos in an unmoved and harmonious manner (400b26–33).42 A God that wills is, however, also a God that can change, which is very different from Aristotle’s Unmoved Mover (see Opsomer 2006, 15). In the preceding passage (400a33–b6) the author even refers to an example of episodic intervention into the world: God (τὸ δαιμόνιον) saved two young men and their parents from the lava during an eruption of Aetna because of their piety.43 We see here a

For this complex of metaphors, see Betegh and Gregoric (2014). For a critique of the effectiveness of this comparison see Duhot (1990, 216–19). 43 According to Opsomer (2006, 11), episodic intervention entails an intervention in the world that adapts itself to the ever-changing circumstances and particularities. For a different perspective on this episode see Duhot (1990, 215): “Dieu a ainsi pu ne pas avoir à enfreindre l’ordre naturel des choses. L’‘intervention’ divine donc susceptible de n’être qu’une image exprimant une organisation préalable: Dieu, prévoyant le courage des jeunes gens, aurait ordonné les événements, et en particulier leur fuite, de telle manière qu’ils fussent sauvés sans que le fonctionnement normal de la nature fût modifié.” 41 42



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move away from the god of philosophy towards the god of popular philosophical religion.44 In ch. 7 the plurality of effects brought about by God is emphasized by all the names attributed to him, but these all derive from the one God (401a12-27). God as the law of the world is therefore also identical with Fate (401b7–22). To summarize this survey: the author wants to maintain the transcendence of God, but at the same time allow for his involvement in the cosmos. On the one hand, God is described as the creator and preserver of the world, the cohesive cause of the universe, the leader and commander of the cosmos. Everything that happens in the world is his work. God’s activity is therefore immanently present in this world: the world depends on God, is ordered by him and receives its existence from him. On the other hand, God is in essence absolutely transcendent, established above this world in the highest region. He does not perform any action himself, because it would be inappropriate to his dignity. To reconcile these extremes, the author introduces the notion of God’s power. The exact relationship between God and his power is not made clear,45 but the power in any case transmits or mediates God’s will to the lower regions. At times the active force of God’s power is explained in a mechanistic, physical manner, e.g. it is set in motion by a single trigger or impulse and moves from one body to the next in a wave-like motion or with a domino effect; at other times a more intelligible explanation is given, e.g. it affects its environment as the soul or the law do theirs.46 The power itself is, however, never personified as a second deity; in this respect the De mundo remains strictly monotheistic. 3.  Cosmic Power in the New Testament When we consider the New Testament, it is of considerable interest that the notion of the power (δύναμις) of God, by means of which he acts on the world, first appears in Hellenistic-Jewish authors. It occurs in the Letter of Aristeas (132)47 in the second century B.C.E. and more or less See Furley (1955, 334–36); Gottschalk (1987, 1134–35): “The god of the De mundo … is an Unmoved Mover with a human face”; also Duhot (1990, 220, 224–25): “Le Ps.-Aristote a aussi la piété en commun avec le Portique …” 45 According to Moraux (1984, 40) the author is not a deep-thinking metaphysician or theologian. 46 The latter two comparisons are reminiscent of the role of the world soul in Platonism or of fate as nexus of causality in Stoicism, but neither comparison is explored in any detail. 47 See also Let.Aris. 143, 157, 236, etc.; see Moraux (1984, 41). 44

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at the same time in Aristobulus. Aristobulus (frg. 4 in Eusebius, Praep. ev. 13.12.4, 7) introduces a lengthy quotation from an Orphic hymn with the words “Orpheus … thus makes clear that all things are ruled by the divine power and come into existence and that God is over everything.” After the quotation he concludes: “I think it has been clearly shown that the power of God is through everything.” The Orphic text itself does not use the phrase ‘power of God’, so that it must come from Aristobulus himself (see Moraux 1984, 41–42; Sterling 2009, 77–78). In frg. 2 Aristobulus tries to preserve God’s transcendence by giving an anti-anthropomorphic interpretation of the limbs of God: they are symbols of the divine power (θεῖα δύναμις), but they do not represent God’s essence.48 Philo of Alexandria also uses the concept of divine powers (δυνάμεις) as mediating agencies between God and the world in order to ensure that the transcendent God does not come in contact with matter.49 It is difficult to say whether or not these Hellenistic-Jewish authors and the author of the De mundo influenced one another; more probably they separately represent a development of the time to bridge the divide between God’s transcendence and his immanence. Turning to the New Testament, it is highly unlikely that the De mundo directly influenced any New Testament author or vice versa. It may nevertheless be fruitful to investigate possible structural similarities between the world view of the De mundo and that of New Testament texts. One obvious avenue to explore is, for example, to what extent the frequent occurrence of δύναμις τοῦ θεοῦ and related phrases throughout the New Testament50 represents the same strategy to preserve God’s transcendence that we find in the De mundo and in the Hellenistic-Jewish texts just mentioned. Despite clear differences between the cosmologies of the De mundo and of New Testament texts, there is in both a separation between God and the world that can only be overcome by some form of mediator who has a close relationship to God. Both the De mundo and the New Testament exhibit the sort of decoupling of the transcendent principle and the demiurgic principle that come to the fore more prominently in Platonic and Neopythagorean texts of the period (see Opsomer 2005). In the De mundo, the mediating demiurgic principle is the δύναμις τοῦ θεοῦ, In Eusebius, Praep. ev. 8.9.38–8.10.17, esp. 8.10.1; see Sterling (2009, 78); TzvetkovaGlaser (2014). 49 E.g. Abr. 121, 143–44; Mut. 5, 28; Spec. 1, 32–35; Deus 62; extensive references in Moraux (1984, 42–44). 50 E.g. Mark 12:24; Luke 22:69; Acts 8:10; Rom 1:20; 1 Cor 1:18, 2:5, 6:14; 2 Cor 4:7, 6:7, 13:4; Eph 1:19, 3:7; 2 Tim 1:8; Heb 1:3; 1 Pet 1:5; 2 Pet 1:3. 48



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while in the New Testament it is, e.g., the λόγος in John 1;51 Christ as the “image of God” (εἰκὼν τοῦ θεοῦ) in 2 Cor 4:4 and Col 1:15; the Son in Heb 1:3, “who is the radiance (ἀπαύγασμα) of the glory of God and the exact imprint (χαρακτήρ) of his essence (ὑπόστασις), who upholds the universe by the word of his power (φέρων τε τὰ πάντα τῷ ῥήματι τῆς δυνάμεως αὐτοῦ)” (ESV, slightly adapted) (see Thom 2015, 70–73).52 I will consider only one of these examples here, namely the Christ of the hymnic section in Col 1:15-20. Both the De mundo and Colossians work with a basically two-part cosmology consisting of heaven and earth (see Col. 1:16, 20). We find a reference in the De mundo to different levels related to the different elements, but, in typically Aristotelian fashion, there is an essential distinction between the superlunary and the sublunary worlds, and our text focuses on the latter. In both cosmologies, God is situated in heaven; the De mundo explicitly states that he dwells in the highest region (397b24‒25, 398b6‒10). God is therefore invisible to human beings on earth, but both texts assume that he may be seen and known from what he does on earth. The De mundo states that the invisible God may be seen from his works (399b19‒25), a notion also found elsewhere in the New Testament (see Rom 1:19‒20). According to Col 1:15 the invisible God (see also 1 Tim 1:17) becomes visible in Christ who is his image. Christ is God’s most excellent work on earth and is therefore also called the firstborn of the whole creation. God is present in his fullness in Christ (Col 1:19; 2:9); in the De mundo, God fills the world through his δύναμις (397b16‒20). According to the De mundo, God is the begetter or creator of everything in the cosmos, but he accomplishes this by means of his divine See esp. John 1:2–3: οὗτος ἦν ἐν ἀρχῇ πρὸς τὸν θεόν. πάντα δι’ αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο, καὶ χωρὶς αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο οὐδὲ ἕν. 52 A similar tendency to decouple the demiurgic function may be observed in Hellenistic Jewish texts such as Wis 7:24–27: πάσης γὰρ κινήσεως κινητικώτερον σοφία, διήκει δὲ καὶ χωρεῖ διὰ πάντων διὰ τὴν καθαρότητα· ἀτμὶς γάρ ἐστιν τῆς τοῦ θεοῦ δυνάμεως καὶ ἀπόρροια τῆς τοῦ παντοκράτορος δόξης εἰλικρινής· διὰ τοῦτο οὐδὲν μεμιαμμένον εἰς αὐτὴν παρεμπίπτει. ἀπαύγασμα γάρ ἐστιν φωτὸς ἀιδίου καὶ ἔσοπτρον ἀκηλίδωτον τῆς τοῦ θεοῦ ἐνεργείας καὶ εἰκὼν τῆς ἀγαθότητος αὐτοῦ. μία δὲ οὖσα πάντα δύναται καὶ μένουσα ἐν αὑτῇ τὰ πάντα καινίζει (“For wisdom is more mobile than any motion; because of her pureness she pervades and penetrates all things. For she is a breath of the power of God, and a pure emanation of the glory of the Almighty; therefore nothing defiled gains entrance into her. For she is a reflection of eternal light, a spotless mirror of the working of God, and an image of his goodness. Although she is but one, she can do all things, and while remaining in herself, she renews all things”; NRSV). 51

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power acting as demiurgic principle in the world (see e.g. 398b6‒10). In Col 1:16‒17, Christ performs this role. God is identified in the De mundo as source and cause of all things through the prepositional formula “all things have come into existence from God and because of God” (ἐκ θεοῦ πάντα καὶ διὰ θεὸν συνέστηκεν, 397b14–15; see ὑπὸ θεοῦ τε καὶ διὰ θεόν, 391b11–12). In Col 1:16‒17, very similar formulae are used, although they are here related to Christ’s mediating role in creation: ἐν αὐτῷ ἐκτίσθη τὰ πάντα; τὰ πάντα δι’ αὐτοῦ καὶ εἰς αὐτὸν ἔκτισται; and τὰ πάντα ἐν αὐτῷ συνέστηκεν.53 A final noteworthy connection between our two texts is the existence of a cosmic conflict that has to be resolved. According to the De mundo there are conflicting elements in the cosmos which, if left to themselves, will destroy one another and thus the cosmos as a whole (396a33–b8; 396b23– 397a5). God, however, preserves the cosmos from destruction by holding it together (397b9–398a6) and by creating harmony and concord between the conflicting elements (396a33–b8; 396b23–397a5; 397b2–8). He does not, however, achieve this harmony directly, but by means of the divine δύναμις (397b9–398a6).54 According to Col 1:20, God brings about reconciliation and peace between all things in the cosmos through Christ. This evidently includes the heavenly powers referred to in v. 16. Although not made explicit, the need for reconciliation and peace assumes a conflict between the cosmic powers that has to be overcome. There are, of course, fundamental differences between the cosmologies of the De mundo and Colossians. In the De mundo personal characteristics are ascribed only to God. The δύναμις remains impersonal, an extension of the transcendent God, although it assumes an independent character at times. The conflict that has to be overcome in the De mundo is likewise on an impersonal level, between elements of nature rather than between personified powers. The De mundo remains strictly monotheistic, even more so than is the case in Aristotle. In Colossians, on the other hand, Christ acts as an independent person next to God, which obviously creates problems for a monotheistic view. The heavenly powers also appear to have personal characteristics, i.e. they are presented as individual agents (cf., however, the στοιχεῖα τοῦ κόσμου in Col 2:8). The cosmology of Elsewhere in the New Testament we find similar formulations referring to God; see Rom 11:36: ἐξ αὐτοῦ καὶ δι’ αὐτοῦ καὶ εἰς αὐτὸν τὰ πάντα; see also 1 Cor 8:6; Heb 2:10. This type of prepositional formulae was commonly used in Hellenistic philosophical texts and in the Hellenistic-Jewish wisdom tradition; see Dunn (1996, 91); Sterling (1997); Thom (2015, 65–70). 54 Cosmic harmony is a topic found in several Hellenistic authors; see Breytenbach (2010).

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Colossians may therefore more easily be reconciled with a Middle Platonism which can accommodate a variety of cosmic powers and principles. Nonetheless, we encounter a few significant connections between the cosmologies of the two texts. There is in both a tension between transcendence and immanence that has to be overcome, and a cosmic conflict caused by chaotic elements that has to be resolved. In both texts these problems are solved by the introduction of a second demiurgic principle. 4. Conclusion In order to understand cosmic power relationships in New Testament texts, one has to investigate a wider range of material than just the immediately relevant texts, such as those from Hellenistic Judaism. Only by studying and comparing all the relevant cosmologies of the period does it become possible to construe the way (educated) Christians of the New Testament period and their non-Christian contemporaries made sense of the relationship between God and the world.55 Bibliography Adams, E. 2000. Constructing the World: A Study in Paul’s Cosmological Language. Studies of the New Testament and Its World. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Barnes, J. 1977. “Review of Giovanni Reale, Aristotele: Trattato sul Cosmo per Alessandro.” Classical Review 27:40–43. Besnier, B. 2003. “De mundo: Tradition grecque.” Pages 475–80 in Dictionnaire des philosophes antiques. Supplément. Edited by R. Goulet. Paris: CNRS. Betegh, Gábor, and Pavel Gregoric. 2014. “Multiple Analogy in Ps.-Aristotle, De Mundo 6.” The Classical Quarterly 64:574–91. Boot, P. 1981. “An Indication for the Date of the Pseudo-Aristotelian Treatise De Mundo.” Mnemosyne 34:139–40. Bos, A.P. 1989. Aristoteles: Over de kosmos. Boom klassiek. Meppel: Boom. —. 1990. “Considerazioni sul De mundo e analisi critica delle tesi di Paul Moraux.” Rivista di filosofia neoscolastica 82:587–606. Breytenbach, C. 2010. “Civic Concord and Cosmic Harmony: Sources of Metaphoric Mapping in 1 Clement 20:3.” Pages 297–311 in Grace, Reconciliation, Concord: The Death of Christ in Graeco-Roman Metaphors. Supplements to Novum Testamentum 135. Leiden: Brill. Chandler, C. 2014. “Didactic Purpose and Discursive Strategies in On the Cosmos.” Pages 69–88 in Cosmic Order and Divine Power: Pseudo-Aristotle, On the Cosmos. Edited by J.C. Thom. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Dihle, A. 1997. “Die Geographie der Schrift vom Kosmos.” Geographia Antiqua 6:5–12. See, e.g., how this topic is treated in the texts discussed in Thom (2012b).

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Duhot, J.-J. 1990. “Aristotélisme et Stoïcisme dans le peri kosmou pseudoaristotélicien.” Revue de philosophie ancienne 8:191–228. Dunn, J.D.G. 1996. The Epistles to Colossians and to Philemon: A Commentary on the Greek Text. New International Greek Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Engberg-Pedersen, T. 2010. Cosmology and Self in the Apostle Paul: The Material Spirit. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Festugière, A.-J. 1946. “Les thèmes du Songe de Scipion.” Eranos 44:370–88. Festugière, A.M.J. 1898-1982. 1981. La révélation d’Hermes Trismégiste / vol. II, Le dieu cosmique. 3. tirage. Collection d’études anciennes. Études bibliques. Paris: Société d’édition “Les belles lettres.” Flashar, H. 2004. “Aristoteles.” Pages 167–492 in Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie: Die Philosophie der Antike. Edited by H. Flashar. 2nd ed. Vol. 3. Basel: Schwabe. Furley, D.J. 1955. [Aristotle] On the Cosmos. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Gohlke, P. 1936. “Aristoteles an Alexander über das Weltall.” Neue Jahrbücher für Wissenschaft und Jugendbildung 12:323–35. —. 1968. “Aristoteles an König Alexander über die Welt.” Aristoteles: Die Lehrschriften 4.4. 3rd ed. Paderborn: Schöningh. Gottschalk, H.B. 1987. “Aristotelian Philosophy in the Roman World from the Time of Cicero to the End of the Second Century AD.” Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt 36:1079–1174. Jones, R.M. 1926. “Posidonius and the Flight of the Mind through the Universe.” Classical Philology 21:97–113. Koller, H. 1973. “Jenseitsreise des Philosophen.” Asiatische Studien 27:35–57. Kooten, G.H. van. 2003. Cosmic Christology in Paul and the Pauline School: Colossians and Ephesians in the Context of Graeco-Roman Cosmology, with a New Synopsis of the Greek Texts. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Kraye, J. 2014. “Disputes over the Authorship of De Mundo between Humanism and Altertumswissenschaft.” Pages 181–98 in Cosmic Order and Divine Power: Pseudo-Aristotle, On the Cosmos. Edited by Johan C. Thom. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Lorimer, W.L. 1924. The Text Tradition of Pseudo-Aristotle ‘De Mundo’: Together with an Appendix Containing the Text of the Medieval Latin Versions. London: St. Andrews University Publications. —. ed. 1933. Aristotelis qui fertur libellus De mundo. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Malherbe, A.J. 1989. “Greco-Roman Religion and Philosophy and the New Testament.” Pages 3–26 in The New Testament and Its Modern Interpreters. Edited by Eldon Jay Epp and George W. MacRae. Bible and Its Modern Interpreters 3. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press. Mansfeld, J. 1991. “Two Attributions.” Classical Quarterly 41:541–44. —. 1992. “ΠΕΡΙ ΚΟΣΜΟΥ: A Note on the History of a Title.” Vigiliae Christianae 46:391–411. Moraux, P. 1984. Der Aristotelismus im I. und II. Berlin: De Gruyter. Opsomer, J. 2005. “Demiurges in Early Imperial Platonism.” Pages 51-99 in Gott und Götter bei Plutarch: Götterbilder – Gottesbilder – Weltbilder. Edited by R. Hirsch-Luipold. Berlin: de Gruyter.



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—. 2006. “Over de wereld en haar bestuur.” Paper presented at the Free University, Amsterdam during a symposium “Over de kosmos” in honour of Prof. Dr. A. P. Bos. Free University, Amsterdam, April 28. Pohlenz, M. 1965. “Philon von Alexandreia.” Pages 305–83 in Kleine Schriften. Edited by H. Dörrie. Hildesheim: Olms. Reale, G. 1974. Aristotele: Trattato sul cosmo per Alessandro. Naples: Loffredo. Reale, G., and A.P. Bos. 1995. Il trattato sul cosmo per Alessandro attribuito ad Aristotele. 2nd ed. Milan: Vita e Pensiero. Riedweg, Christoph. 1993. Jüdisch-hellenistische Imitation eines orphischen Hieros Logos: Beobachtungen zu OF 245 und 247 (sog. Testament des Orpheus). Tübingen: Gunter Narr Verlag. Runia, D.T. 2002. “The Beginnings of the End: Philo of Alexandria and Hellenistic Theology.” Pages 281–316 in Traditions of Theology. Edited by D. Frede and A. Laks. Leiden: Brill. Schenkeveld, D.M. 1991. “Language and Style of the Aristotelian De mundo in Relation to the Question of Its Inauthenticity.” Elenchos 2:221–55. Sharples, R.W. 2002. “Aristotelian Theology after Aristotle.” Pages 1–40 in Traditions of Theology. Edited by D. Frede and A. Laks. Leiden: Brill. Sterling, G.E. 1997. “Prepositional Metaphysics in Jewish Wisdom Speculation and Early Christological Hymns.” Pages 219–38 in Wisdom and Logos: Studies in Jewish Thought in Honor of David Winston. Edited by D.T. Runia and G.E. Sterling. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press. —. 2009. “Philosophy as the Handmaid of Wisdom: Philosophy in the Exegetical Traditions of Alexandrian Jews.” Pages 67–98 in Religiöse Philosophie und philosophische Religion der frühen Kaiserzeit: Literaturgeschichtliche Perspektiven. Ratio Religionis Studien 1. Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 51. Edited by R. Hirsch-Luipold et al. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Strohm, H. 1970. “Aristoteles: Meteorologie; Über die Welt.” Aristoteles Werke in deutscher Übersetzung 12. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesell­ schaft. Thom, J.C. 2006. Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus. Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum / Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity 33. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. —. 2012a. “Kosmiese Mag in Pseudo-Aristoteles, De mundo, en die Nuwe Testament.” HTS Teologiese Studies / Theological Studies 68: art. #1102. —. 2012b. “Popular Philosophy in the Hellenistic-Roman World.” Early Christianity 3:279–95. —. ed. 2014. Cosmic Order and Divine Power. Pseudo-Aristotle, On the Cosmos. Edited by J.C. Thom. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. —. 2015. “Paul and Popular Philosophy.” Pages 47–74 in Paul’s Graeco–Roman Context. Edited by C. Breytenbach. Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium 277. Leuven: Peeters. —. 2019. “God the Saviour in Greco-Roman Popular Philosophy.” Pages 86–100 in Sōtēria: Salvation in Early Christianity and Antiquity. Leiden: Brill. Tzvetkova-Glaser, A. 2014. “The Concepts of Οὐσία and Δύναμις in De Mundo and Their Parallels in Hellenistic-Jewish and Christian Texts.” Pages 133– 52 in Cosmic Order and Divine Power: Pseudo-Aristotle, On the Cosmos. Edited by J.C. Thom. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.

PART II

EARLY CHRISTIAN WRITINGS ON POWER

CHAPTER 4

COMPROMISING BETWEEN TWO POWERS: THE SAYINGS SOURCE Q AND THE ROMAN EMPIRE Mark R.C. Grundeken1 1. Introduction Religion has the power to empower people to cope with feelings of power­lessness. This perspective of religious coping forms the basis of the present article on the notion of power in The Sayings Source Q. The article investigates how Q copes with the power of the Roman authorities and their representatives, that is to say, their “power-over”2: their control, or dominion over the citizens in the Roman Empire in the first century C.E. Q does not directly or explicitly expound its views on the Roman Empire or the emperor cult. Yet, just as power can be invisible, critique (the power of the word) can be hidden. Some passages in Q seem to conceal critical views on the contemporary structures of power. For the present article, the Critical Edition of Q, edited by Robinson, Hoffmann, and Kloppenborg (2001) is taken as basis. This article consists of two parts. The first part studies Q’s views on the authorities. The second part deals with the veneration of the emperor. It is important to note in advance that in Q there is no clear reference to the emperor cult as such. It will be argued that Q compromises between idealism and realism. On the one hand, Q’s attitude towards Roman authority is quite critical. It portrays worldly power as demonic (Q 4:5–6; 11:18, 20), it regards God as the only true Lord of heaven and earth (Q 10:21), and it rejects the legitimacy of the veneration of the emperor (Q 4:5–8). Moreover, it focuses on the completion An earlier Dutch version of this article has been published as Grundeken (2012). I wish to thank (in alphabetic order) Professor em. H.J. de Jonge (Leiden University), Professor em. C.M. Tuckett (University of Oxford), and Professor J. Verheyden (KU Leuven) for their helpful comments on an earlier version of this article. 2 See the article by J.W. van Henten in the present volume. 1

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of God’s kingdom (Q 6:20; 7:28; 10:9; 11:2b). On the other hand, its views on Roman power are not characterized by active resistance, but by passive dissidence (Q 6:22–23, 27–32; 12:4–5). As a relatively small group (Q 10:2), the Q people (that is, the believers Q envisions) seem to have realized that standing up against the authorities was out of the question. Within the context of the Roman Empire, it was more sensible to be a realist than a revolutionist. For Q, God’s power is all that matters, but Roman power, an everyday reality that needs to be faced and dealt with. 2.  Q and Worldly Power It has been argued that Q’s views on the authorities are characterized by ambivalence, because it would be, on the one hand, critical of temporal power, but would bring, on the other hand, some pro-Roman statements to the fore (see Frenschkowski 2002, 112–13). This position will be critically examined. 2.1.  Anti-Roman Implications In two Q-passages, worldly power is seen as the domain of the devil. First, in Q 4:5–6, the power over all kingdoms of the world, that is, all political power, is ascribed to the devil (see Lindemann 1989, 98 n. 39). Jesus’s rejection of the devil’s offer to give him all worldly power (Q 4:5–8, 13) has been interpreted in various ways. According to Allison (1999a, 211, 213), Jesus’s reaction is to be explained from the idea that he expected to become king, but waited for God to make him so. Hoffmann (1995, 199, 204) and Hieke (2000, 67–68) think that the temptation story is directed against all political aspirations, especially those of the zealots. Tuckett (1992, 506) has remarked that the passage first and foremost stresses the importance of the kingdom of God by stating that all other kingdoms are demonic. He further believes (Tuckett 1992, 501 n. 102), in contrast to, for instance, Schottroff (1978, 75–76), that the passage does not have anti-Roman connotations. It is reasonable to assume, however, that the “demonized” political power is to be associated with Roman authority. The reference to the cross in Q 14:27 seems to link the text in some way with Rome: the cross represents the conflict between the Jesus movement and Roman power (see Horsley 1999c, 272–73). The temptation story does seem to have anti-Roman connotations. Second, in



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Q 11:18, 20, the kingdom of the devil (v. 18) is contrasted with the kingdom of God (v. 20). It is plausible that the use of βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ is political.3 Furthermore, Q’s use of κύριος for God and Jesus relativizes the authority of the emperor. The meaning of this term is a controversial issue. A good example is the discussion about Q 6:46, where Jesus says: “Why do you call me κύριε κύριε, but do you not do what I say?” Tuckett has argued that κύριε κύριε means authoritative teacher (see Tuckett 1996, 215; also Horsley 1999a, 2). Frenschkowski (2002, 107–9, 112), however, takes it as an acclamation of Jesus by the Q community as the future king of Israel and of the world. According to Frenschkowski (2002, 112), the use of κύριε is to be understood against the background of the emperorship of Nero, because from Nero’s time on the term became a common epithet and metonym for the Roman emperor. It suffices to mention three sources Frenschkowski (2002, 98–99) refers to: a pagan, a Jewish, and a Christian one. In the 67 declaration of independence for Greece (SIG3 814:32), Nero is referred to as “the lord of the whole world” (ὁ τοῦ παντὸς κόσμου κύριος). Further, Josephus (C. Ap. 2.41) designates the Romans as “lords of the world” (κύριοι τῆς οἰκουμένης). Finally, Luke states in Acts 25:26 that Festus called the emperor (Nero, as Frenschkowski assumes, or Claudius?) “the lord” (ὁ κύριος). Frensch­ kowski (2002, 100) concludes: “kyrios for the emperor is part of personal piety.” The use of κύριος for Jesus would have political as well as religious connotations. Q 16:13 is a key passage in this regard. It states that “nobody can serve two lords’’ and that “you cannot serve God and Mammon.” In the narrow sense, this seems to mean that being dedicated to God and being attached to one’s wealth are incompatible (see Piper 2000, 233–34; cf. Jacobson 2000, 196), but in the broader sense it seems to imply that God alone is the Lord one needs to serve. Other “lords” play no role of importance. Piper (1995, 64–66) rightly reads in this verse Q’s distrust in the ruling, administrative powers. It is difficult to maintain that Q’s use of κύριος is politically neutral. In Q 10:21, God is praised as “Father, Lord of heaven and earth.” Q’s use of κύριος relativizes the pretensions of the Roman rulers.

See Burchard (1998, 53–54); Draper (1999, 257–58); Robinson (2005, 279); cf. Schröter (1997, 446 n. 38); Räisänen (2001, 33); Schlösser (2002, 415–19).

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2.2.  Pro-Roman Implications? Frenschkowski (2002, 112–13) has interpreted two Q-passages as proRoman statements. First there is Q 7:1–10. According to Frenschkowski, Q has deliberately changed the description of the believing stranger. Q 7:3, 6 designates the man as centurion (ἑκατόνταρχος), but John 4:46, 49 as royal official (βασιλικός). John would have the more original reading. ἑκατόνταρχος would be anachronistic, because around Jesus’s time there were no Roman soldiers in Capernaum. By contrast, βασιλικός fits in the context of the reign of Herod Antipas. Frenschkowski believes that Q changed βασιλικός into ἑκατόνταρχος in order to make a pro-Roman statement. Apart from the question which reading is more original, the alleged change does not necessarily have pro-Roman connotations. It cannot be taken for granted that the centurion was a Roman pagan, even though this is the common interpretation (see Theissen 1989, 238). Catchpole (1993, 292–308) has argued that the centurion in Q is someone from Israel. The term centurion is ethnically neutral, so its meaning needs to be deduced from the context. Most likely, the setting of the story is Israel (ἐν τῷ Ἰσραήλ, v. 9). Israel is not contrasted with the pagan world: Jesus’s expression of amazement, that in Israel he has not found such faith (ἡ τοσαύτη πίστις, Q 7:9), does not mean that so far there was no faith in Israel, but that there was faith, yet no such (impressive) faith. What happened to the centurion in Israel, is more impressive than what happened earlier in Israel. It should be noted that Matthew and Luke have understood the story in a different way. Matthew 8:11–12 implies that there was no faith in Israel (but that Israel pretended to have it) and Luke 7:5 takes the centurion as a Roman pagan. But Matthew’s and Luke’s interpretations may well have been influenced by their own context or ideas. The centurion is not necessarily a Jew: he may have been a (nonJewish, non-Roman) mercenary soldier (for instance, a Syrian). In any case, there is no sufficient evidence to conclude that the centurion in Q 7:3, 6 is meant to be a Roman pagan. Moreover, the aim of the pericope is not to give an example of a good Roman, but of a man of authority who acknowledges Jesus as Lord by stressing that the centurion is subordinate to Jesus (Catchpole 1993, 301–3). For instance, the centurion says to Jesus: “Lord (κύριε), I am not worth it (οὐκ εἰμὶ ἱκανός) that you come under my roof” (Q 7:6). In the Septuagint, κύριος and ἱκανός are several times used as equivalents (see, e.g., Ruth 1:20–21; Job 21:15; 31:2; 39:32). Catchpole interprets the



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use of κύριε and ἱκανός in Q 7:6 against this background. Moreover, the centurion emphasizes his subordination by calling himself “a man … under authority” (ἄνθρωπός … ὑπὸ ἐξουσίαν, Q 7:8). The centurion’s words to Jesus in Q 7:8 could be paraphrased as follows: “although I have soldiers and a slave under my authority, I am, just like them, a man under the authority of someone else.” The centurion is a man of authority, but he is inferior to Jesus. Even if Q 7:1–10 would have political connotations, it is unlikely to be pro-Roman: the fact that the centurion acknowledges Jesus as his superior (or perhaps even as Lord) is more likely to be a relativization of Roman power than a pro-Roman statement. Frenschkowski’s second example is Q/Matthew 5:41: “and the one who forces (ἀγγαρεύσει) you (to go with him for) one mile, go with him two (miles).” According to Frenschkowski (2002, 113; see also Schottroff 1975, 219), this implies a certain amount of obedience to Roman power. It would involve the right of angaria, the right of a Roman soldier to set non-soldiers a task (Frenschkowski 2002, 113; see also Ebner 2000, 124–26). But the question is, whether in this verse (which might not be in Q at all) a Roman soldier is envisioned. Moreover, in light of the direct context (Q 6:29, 30), the verse probably means that one should not insist on one’s rights (see Piper 2000, 219, 250; Kloppenburg 2000, 194). It is not a pro-Roman statement, but a call not to offer resistance (see Wink 1988, 218). 2.3.  Resistance or Dissidence? Horsley (2006a, 22; 2006b, 153, 155) reads in Q some kind of hidden resistance against the authorities. From the idea that Q is an example of “a public declaration of the hidden transcript,” Horsley (2006a, 20–22; 2006b, 154, 156) has argued that Q represents a dissident counterculture and gives its addressees “a confidence in the immanent realization of a revolutionary new social order” (156) that will replace the status quo. The present article for the greater part agrees with the idea of a “hidden transcript,” but it objects to Horsley’s (2006a, 22) idea that Q implies a “no-longer-so-hidden mobilization.” Q’s attitude towards the authorities is not characterized by resistance, but by resignation. In Q 6:22–23 it is stated that those who are persecuted because of (their belief in) the Son of God will be rewarded in heaven (see Kloppenborg 1987, 173; cf. Neyrey 1995, 145). The fate of the followers is compared to that of the prophets of the past (Q 6:23; Kloppenborg 2000, 370; Schmithals 2004, 435; cf. Jervis 2002, 313–32).

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References in Q to persecutions (Q 6:22–23; 11:49–50; 12:4–5; 13:34– 35) and to the cross (14:27) are probably to be understood in light of Jesus’s death, whereby Jesus’s destiny is connected to that of his followers (see Kloppenborg 2000, 371; Labahn 2004, 418; cf. Horsley 1999d, 279–83; Frenschkowski 2000, 26–27). Following Jesus means to be prepared to be faithful until death (see Seeley 1991, 131–46; Schröter 1997, 409; cf. Frenschkowski 2000, 28–29). Jesus’s true followers will eventually be vindicated by God. Believers are not called to offer any resistance. In Q 12:4–5 it is stated: “and be not afraid of those who kill the body, but cannot kill the soul. But fear … the one who can destroy the soul as well as the body in gehenna.” One should not fear one’s persecutors, but only God. Belief should not yield to persecutions (see Schröter 1997, 355; Horsley 1999c, 272–73), but rebellion or even resistance is not implied. In Q 12:51, Jesus says: “I did not come to bring peace, but a sword (μάχαιρα).” This does not mean that believers are assigned an active role of resistance in a conflict with the Romans (see Brandon 1967, 20 n. 4, 320–21 n. 2; 1971, 453). It does not refer to the use of violence in selfdefense in reaction to persecutions either (see Cullmann 1956, 21–22). According to Allison (1999b, 299) and Hahn (2002, 153) it means that Jesus’s coming did not inaugurate a time of eschatological peace, but a time of trouble. Black (1984, 293–94) has argued that the sword is a symbol of the final battle before the Last Judgment. Q 12:51 indicates that God’s kingdom will not be realized without a blow. It is, however, not believers, but God who will take the initiative. For Q, (violent) resistance is out of the question. Q calls its addressees to love one’s enemies, to pray for one’s persecutors, to turn one’s (other) cheek to one’s assaulter, to treat others in the way one wants to be treated, and to love those by whom one is not loved (Q 6:27–32). Q calls its readers or hearers to keep away from violence, resistance, or retribution (see Horsley 1999b, 220), that is, to show a form of demonstrative defenselessness or vulnerability (see Ebner 2000, 126–27, 129–31, 140). 2.4.  Comparison with Some Other Early Christian Writings A question that arises is where Q’s views on the authorities stand in comparison to other early Christian writings. A first question concerns the relation between the power of God and the power of the authorities. In Matthew 22:21, Mark 12:17, Luke 20:25, and John 18:36, the reign of God (or Jesus) is contrasted with the reign of the emperor. Mastin



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(1973, 363), Brennecke (1997, 49–50), and others have understood this contrast in a dualistic and apologetic way: the two reigns would be presented as two powers that exist side by side, so that Christians could present themselves as citizens of both worlds and not as enemies of the authorities. But Meeks (1967, 64), Pesch (1977, 227–28), Richey (2007, 157–66), and others have rejected a dualistic and apologetic reading and have argued that the reign of the emperor is presented as subordinate to the reign of God: God rules both reigns. Setting aside the question which of these two interpretations of the Gospels is correct, it seems that the second position applies to Q. As already seen, Q presents God as Lord of both heaven and earth (Q 10:21). A second question regards Q’s position in the spectrum varying between submission and revolution. At the one end of the spectrum are, for example, 1 Peter and Titus. Thurén (2002, 215–28, 215 with n. 1, 226) has argued that 1 Peter 2–3 and Titus 3:1 call for an unconditional and uncritical submissiveness to Gentile power. At the other end of the spectrum is, for instance, the book of Revelation. Collins has contended that Revelation is an impulse (though not a call) to revolution (see Collins 1983, 749; cf. De Jonge 2002). Q takes a middle position between these two extremes: it does not concede to the authorities, but does not call for revolution either. Granted that it is not unproblematic to compare a first-century writing with a second-century one, it is interesting to compare Q to Justin Martyr’s interpretation of the saying “give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s” in the (Synoptic) Gospels. Justin (1 Apol. 17.3–4)4 states that Christians (should) acknowledge the earth’s rulers, worship (προσκυνοῦμεν) only God, and rely on the Last Judgment when the authorities take no heed of them. Unlike Justin, Q does not seem to acknowledge the earth’s rulers (Q 10:21), but both agree that only God should be worshipped (see Q 4:8, where the same terminology is used: προσκυνέω) and that believers should rely on God’s judgment (see Q 3:17; Kirk 1998, 8). The agreements show that among Christians a critical but cautious attitude towards the authorities continued to exist from the first well into the second century. A question that remains open is whether Q’s views were shaped more or less autonomously by its own context, or were formed in reaction to other contemporary positions. The used edition is the one by Minns and Parvis (2009, 120–21).

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2.5.  Pragmatic Attitude A question that remains to be answered is why Q’s attitude towards the Roman Empire is critical but somewhat concealed. Piper (1995, 60) reads in Q a deeply rooted distrust of the authorities. He believes that this distrust has not so much to do with Rome as with the local authorities in Galilee (Piper 1995, 63). The distrust would have been so strong, that the Q people chose voluntary surrender (Piper 1995, 63). It is, however, reasonable to assume that the local authorities were somehow associated with Rome. Moreover, it is unlikely that the attitude of voluntary surrender stemmed from a feeling of distrust. Giving oneself up voluntarily to people whom one mistrusts is not the most likely human reaction. More likely, Q’s attitude has other pragmatic reasons. Any tactical reason like, for instance, fear of persecutions, is improbable, because Q is quite critical anyway. Rather than a tactical reason there may well have been a more pragmatic reason for Q not to be too radical. As a small Christian minority (Q 10:2), the Q people may have realized that they were simply powerless to subvert or even to change the political situation. Q accepts the status quo as undesirable but inevitable. 3.  The Emperor Cult Q does not explicitly mention the emperor cult. “The emperor cult” is used here in the sense of the practices and rituals related to the veneration of the emperor in the Roman Empire (see Gradel 2002) in the first century C.E. (the period in which Q must be dated). In Q, there are some indications that the veneration of the emperor is rejected: some of its views are at odds with imperial ideology, which regarded the power and veneration of the emperor as divinely sanctioned (Seneca, Clem. 1.1.25; see further Carter 2000, 39–43). 3.1.  Worshipping God Alone Q’s views on the worship of God go against the pretensions of the emperor cult (be it only indirectly and implicitly). In Q 4:5–8, the devil puts Jesus to the test: he promises Jesus to give him all the kingdoms of the world, on the condition that Jesus would bow down before him. Jesus replies: “It is written: ‘Bow down (προσκυνήσεις) to the Lord your God The used edition is the one by Brand (2009, 94).

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and serve (λατρεύσεις) him alone.’” (Q 4:8). The veneration of the emperor is not explicitly mentioned, but the passage does seem to have political connotations (see Tuckett 1992, 502 n. 104). Worldly power is associated with the devil. This does not necessarily imply that the devil is meant to be the emperor: it means that worldly power is regarded as “demonic.” Jesus’s refusal to bow down before the devil seems to imply that he disregards worldly power. Moreover, the saying attributed to Jesus that one should only bow down to the Lord God and serve only him, implies that others (including the emperor) should not be venerated. Some scholars believe that the temptation story refers to historical events. Theissen (1989, 215–32), for instance, has argued that the passage refers to the attack of Gaius Caligula on Jewish monotheism in the year 40, because the three key elements of the story would all be references to this Roman emperor. First, the prostration would refer to Caligula, because this practice did not occur before Caligula’s reign. Second, the offer to give the kingdoms would refer to the fact that Caligula appointed six kings in the east. Finally, the devil’s attempt to let Jesus bow down before him would refer to Caligula’s attempt to erect a statue of his in the Jerusalem Temple. Several scholars, however, have rightly stated that it is doubtful that these three elements refer to Caligula.6 None of the sources Theissen refers to (Suetonius, Vit. 2; Philo, Legat. 116–17, 352; Cassius Dio 59.24.4; 59.27.1) prove that Caligula initiated the custom of prostration (see Myllykoski 1996, 160). Further, the phrase “all the kingdoms of the earth” (Q 4:5) indicates that the passage is not about one particular Roman emperor, but about worldly power in general. Finally, the idea that one should worship only God (monolatry) is a well-known biblical view. There is no sufficient evidence to interpret the temptation story from a specific historical background. Most likely, the overall context is that of the Roman Empire, but details about the historical setting are not given. Another example of a saying that may (implicitly) challenge the veneration of the emperor is Q 16:13. Granted that the emperor is not mentioned here, the idea that only God should be served as Lord undermines (indirectly) the authority or divinity of the emperor (see Frenschkowski 2002, 112–114).7 It appears that Q rejects the legitimacy of the veneration of the emperor. See Tuckett (1992, 501–02 n. 103); Myllykoski (1996, 155–75); Allison (1997, 51); Kloppenborg (2000, 83); Labahn (2004, 415). 7 See also, on Paul (1 Thessalonians): Donfried (1997, 217); on Mark: Guttenberger (2002, 119); on Matthew: Carter (2000, 42–43); on Luke: Meiser (2002, 190); on John: Richey (2007, 64–65). 6

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3.2.  God’s Superior Power For Q, God’s power is superior to all other powers. As already seen, this is implied in Q 10:21. In the literature on Q, possible political connotations of this verse are often not mentioned (see Catchpole 1993; Schröter 1997, 204; Lindemann 2001; Frenschkowski 2002, 103; Heil and Verheyden 2005). The idea that God reigns over both heaven and earth implies that all other powers (also that of the emperor) are subordinate to the power of God. God’s omnipotence relativizes the emperor’s status. 3.3.  God’s Kingdom Finally, Q expects the end of the empire. God’s kingdom will come (Q 11:2b). It will turn the present social order “upside down”: God’s kingdom is for the poor (Q 6:20), for the least significant (Q 7:28), and has already reached the sick (Q 10:9). Jesus will gather the wheat and burn the chaff (Q 3:17; see Webb 1991). The expectation of the replacement of the existing order by (or inclusion in; see Betz 1992, 222) God’s kingdom goes against the presumptions of the emperor cult, which regarded the emperor’s power as divinely sanctioned (see Carter 2000, 39–43). 3.4.  Critique or Warning? Q’s views on the worship of God, God’s omnipotence, and God’s kingdom justify the inference that Q does not accept the veneration of the emperor. Q does not criticize believers for participating in contemporary forms of emperor worship (see Bernett 2007): it does not condemn an actual practice, but implies that believers should not participate in it. Perhaps there is something to be said for the idea that Q thereby affirms and strengthens the identity of its addressees (see also De Jonge 2004, 289 [on Revelation]). 4. Conclusion Summing up we may conclude that Q relativizes Roman power. Q portrays Roman (Q 14:27) power as demonic (Q 4:5–6; 11:18, 20), regards God as Lord of both heaven and earth (Q 10:21), and rejects the legitimacy of the veneration of earthly rulers (Q 4:7–8). Moreover, it focuses on the completion of God’s kingdom (Q 6:20; 7:28; 10:9; 11:2b). But Q does not call for (active) resistance, but assumes (passive) dissidence



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(Q 6:22–23, 27–32; 12:4–5). The author(s) or compiler(s) of Q seem(s) to have realized that the relatively small group of believers (Q 10:2) could not possibly change the status quo. The perspective from which Q’s views on Roman power and on the veneration of the emperor are to be interpreted, depends on the dating of the text. Within the context of this article, it is impossible to discuss this difficult issue in detail. Only a short preliminary sketch of the various options can be given. Around the year 50,8 Q’s views would have agreed with the prevailing opinion (in Jewish or Christian circles). In the sixties and especially in the period 66–70,9 Q’s message would have been like the voice of one (silently) crying in the desert. Finally, if Q was put together as a text after the revolt,10 the writing can be read as an attempt to keep going a critical sound of a powerless minority. How Q’s critical sound is to be contextualized, and whether it is primarily leveled at the authorities, or at other citizens who took a different stance (like the zealots), are intriguing questions that will require further investigation. Bibliography Allison, D.C. 1997. The Jesus Tradition in Q. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity. —. 1999a. “Behind the Temptations of Jesus: Q 4:1−13 and Mark 1:12−13.” Pages 195–213 in Authenticating the Words of Jesus. New Testament Tools and Studies 28,1. Edited by B. Chilton and C.A. Evans. Leiden: Brill. —. 1999b. “Q 12:51−53 and Mark 9:11−13 and the Messianic Woes.” Pages 289– 310 in Authenticating the Words of Jesus. New Testament Tools and Studies 28,1. Edited by B. Chilton and C.A. Evans. Leiden: Brill. Bernett, M. 2007. “Roman Imperial Cult in the Galilee: Structures, Functions, and Dynamics.” Pages 337–56 in Religion, Ethnicity, and Identity in Ancient Galilee. Edited by J. Zangenberg, H.W. Attridge, and D.B. Martin. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 210. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Betz, H.-D. 1992. “Eschatology in the Sermon on the Mount and the Sermon on the Plain.” Pages 219–29 in Synoptische Studien. Edited by H.-D. Betz. Vol. 2 of Gesammelte Aufsätze. Edited by H.-D. Betz. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Black, M. 1988. “‘Not Peace but a Sword’: Matt. 10:34ff; Luke 12:51ff.” Pages 287–94 in Jesus and the Politics of His Day. Edited by E. Bammel and C.F.D. Moule. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. For this dating, see, e.g., Manson (1949, 20); Horsley (2006a, 19); cf. Lührmann (1969, 88).  9 For this dating, see, e.g., Frenschkowski (2002, 95, 113); cf. Hoffmann (1992, 451–53, 456). 10 For this dating, see, e.g., Myllykoski (1996, 199); Fleddermann (2005, 159).  8

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Brandon, S.G.F. 1967. Jesus and the Zealots: A Study of the Political Factor in Primitive Christianity. Manchester: Manchester University Press. —. 1971. “‘Jesus and the Zealots’: A Correction.” New Testament Studies 17:453. Braund, S.M., ed. 2009. Seneca, De clementia. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Brennecke, H.C. 1997. “‘An fidelis ad militiam converti possit?’ [Tertullian, de idolatria 19,1] Frühchristliches Bekenntnis und Militärdienst im Widerspruch?” Pages 45–100 in Die Weltlichkeit des Glaubens in der Alten Kirche. Edited by D. Wyrwa, B. Aland, and C. Schäublin. Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche 85. Berlin: De Gruyter. Burchard, C. 1998. “Jesus für die Welt. Über das Verhältnis von Reich Gottes und Mission.” Pages 51–64 in Studien zur Theologie, Sprache und Umwelt des Neuen Testaments. Edited by D. Sänger. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 107. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Carter, W. 2000. Matthew and the Margins: A Socio-Political and Religious Reading. Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series 204. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Catchpole, D.R. 1993. The Quest for Q. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Collins, A.Y. 1983. “Persecution and Vengeance in the Book of Revelation.” Pages 729–49 in Apocalypticism in the Mediterranean World and the Near East. Proceedings of the International Colloquium on Apocalypticism, Uppsala, August 12–17, 1979. Edited by D. Hellholm. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Cullmann, O. 1956. Der Staat im Neuen Testament. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Donfried, K.P. 1997. “The Imperial Cults of Thessalonica and Political Conflict in 1 Thessalonians.” Pages 215–23 in Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society. Edited by R.A. Horsley. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity. Draper, J.A. 1999. “The Announcement and Testing of the Prophet.” Pages 250–59 in Whoever Hears You Hears Me: Prophets, Performance and Tradition in Q. Edited by R.A. Horsley and J.A. Draper. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity. Ebner, M. 2000. “Feindesliebe – ein Ratschlag zum Überleben? Sozial- und religionsgeschichtliche Überlegungen zu Mt 5,38−47 par Lk 6,27−35.” Pages 119–42 in From Quest to Q. Edited by J.Ma. Asgeirsson, K. De Troyer, and M.W. Meyer. Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium 146. Leuven: Peeters. Fleddermann, H.T. 2005. Q: A Reconstruction and Commentary. Biblical Tools and Studies 1. Leuven: Peeters. Frenschkowski, M. 2000. “Welche biographischen Kenntnisse von Jesus setzt die Logienquelle voraus? Beobachtungen zur Gattung von Q im Kontext antiker Spruchsammlungen.” Pages 3–42 in From Quest to Q. Edited by J.Ma. Asgeirsson, K. De Troyer, and M.W. Meyer. Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium 146. Leuven: Peeters. —. 2002. “Kyrios in Context: Q 6:46, the Emperor as ‘Lord’, and the Political Implications of Christology in Q.” Pages 95–118 in Zwischen den Reichen: Neues Testament und römische Herrschaft: Vorträge auf der ersten Konferenz



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der European Association for Biblical Studies. Edited by M. Labahn and J. Zangenberg. Texte und Arbeiten zum neutestamentlichen Zeitalter 36. Tübingen: Francke. Gradel, I. 2002. Emperor Worship and Roman Religion. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Grundeken, M.R.C. 2012. Schipperen tussen twee rijken: Q en het Romeinse gezag. HTS Teologiese Studies / Theological Studies 68(1):1–8. Guttenberger, G. 2002. “Why Caesarea Philippi of All Sites? Some Reflections on the Political Background and Implications of Mark 8:27–30 for the Christology of Mark.” Pages 119–31 in Zwischen den Reichen: Neues Testament und römische Herrschaft: Vorträge auf der ersten Konferenz der European Association for Biblical Studies. Edited by M. Labahn and J. Zangenberg. Texte und Arbeiten zum neutestamentlichen Zeitalter 36. Tübingen: Francke. Hahn, F. 2002. The Titles of Jesus in Christology: Their History in Early Christianity. Translated by H. Knight and G. Ogg. 2d ed. Cambridge: James Clarke. Heil, C., and J. Verheyden, eds. 2005. The Sayings Gospel Q: Collected Essays by James M. Robinson. Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium 189. Leuven: Peeters. Hieke, T. 2000. “Schriftgelehrsamkeit in der Logienquelle: Die alttestament­ lichen Zitate in der Versuchungsgeschichte Q 4,1−13.” Pages 43–71 in From Quest to Q. Edited by J.Ma. Asgeirsson, K. De Troyer, and M.W. Meyer. Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium 146. Leuven: Peeters. Hoffmann, P. 1992. “QR und der Menschensohn: Eine vorläufige Skizze.” Pages 421–56 in The Four Gospels. Edited by F. Van Segbroeck et al. Vol. 1. Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium 100. Leuven: Peeters, 1992. —. 1995. Tradition und Situation: Studien zur Jesusüberlieferung in der Logienquelle und den synoptischen Evangelien. Münster: Aschendorff. Horsley, R.A. 1999a. “Introduction.” Pages 1–13 in Whoever Hears You Hears Me: Prophets, Performance and Tradition in Q. Edited by R.A. Horsley and J.A. Draper. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity. —. 1999b. “The Covenant Renewal Discourse: Q 6:20–49.” Pages 195–227 in Whoever Hears You Hears Me: Prophets, Performance and Tradition in Q. Edited by R.A. Horsley and J.A. Draper. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity. —. 1999c. “The Kingdom of God as the Renewal of Israel.” Pages 260–76 in Whoever Hears You Hears Me: Prophets, Performance and Tradition in Q. Edited by R.A. Horsley and J.A. Draper. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity. —. 1999d. “The Renewal of Israel over against Its Rulers.” Pages 277–91 in Whoever Hears You Hears Me: Prophets, Performance and Tradition in Q. Edited by R.A. Horsley and J.A. Draper. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity. —. 2006a. “Introduction.” Pages 1–22 in Oral Performance, Popular Tradition, and Hidden Transcript in Q. Edited by R.A. Horsley. Semeia Studies 60. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature. —. 2006b. “Moral Economy and Renewal Movement in Q.” Pages 143–57 in Oral Performance, Popular Tradition, and Hidden Transcript in Q. Edited

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by R.A. Horsley. Semeia Studies 60. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature. Jacobson, A.D. 2000. “Jesus against the Family: The Dissolution of Family Ties in the Gospel Tradition.” Pages 189–218 in From Quest to Q. Edited by J.Ma. Asgeirsson, K. De Troyer, and M.W. Meyer. Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium 146. Leuven: Peeters. Jervis, L.A. 2002. “Suffering for the Reign of God: The Persecution of Disciples in Q.” Novum Testamentum 44:313–32. Jonge, H.J. de 2002. “The Apocalypse of John and the Imperial Cult.” Pages 127–41 in Kykeon. Edited by H.F.J. Horstmanshoff et al. Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 142. Leiden: Brill. —. 2004. “The Function of Religious Polemics: The Case of the Revelation of John versus the Imperial Cult.” Pages 276–90 in Religious Polemics in Context. Edited by T.L. Hettema, A. van der Kooij, and J.A.M. Snoek. Studies in Theology and Religion 11. Assen: Van Gorcum. Kirk, A. 1998. “Upbraiding Wisdom: John’s Speech and the Beginning of Q (Q 3:7−9, 16−17).” Novum Testamentum 40:1–16. Kloppenborg, J.S. 1987. The Formation of Q: Trajectories in Ancient Wisdom Collections. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress. —. 2000. Excavating Q: The History and Setting of the Sayings Gospel. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Labahn, M. 2004. “Der Gottessohn, die Versuchung und das Kreuz. Überlegungen zum Jesusporträt der Versuchungsgeschichte in Q 4,1−13.” Ephemerides theologicae lovanienses 80:402–422. Lindemann, A. 1989. “Die Versuchungsgeschichte Jesu nach der Logienquelle und das Vaterunser.” Pages 91–100 in Jesu Rede von Gott und ihre Nachgeschichte im frühen Christentum: Beiträge zur Verkündigung Jesu und zum Kerygma der Kirche. Edited by D.-A. Koch, G. Sellin, and A. Lindemann. Gütersloh: Mohn. —, ed. 2001. The Sayings Source Q and the Historical Jesus. Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium 158. Leuven: Peeters. Lührmann, D. 1969. Die Redaktion der Logienquelle. Wissenschaftliche Mono­ graphien zum Alten und Neuen Testament 33. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Manson, T.W. 1949. The Sayings of Jesus as Recorded in the Gospels According to St. Matthew and St. Luke Arranged with Introduction and Commentary. 2d ed. London: SCM. Mastin, B.A. 1973. “The Imperial Cult and the Ascription of the Title Θεός to Jesus (John XX.28).” Studia evangelica VI:352–65. Meeks, W.A. 1967. The Prophet-King: Moses Traditions and the Johannine Christology. Novum Testamentum Supplements 14. Leiden: Brill. Meiser, M. 2002. “Lukas und die römische Staatsmacht.” Pages 175–93 in Zwi­ schen den Reichen: Neues Testament und römische Herrschaft: Vorträge auf der ersten Konferenz der European Association for Biblical Studies. Edited by M. Labahn and J. Zangenberg. Texte und Arbeiten zum neutestamentlichen Zeitalter 36. Tübingen: Francke. Minns, D., and P. Parvis, eds. 2009. Justin, Philosopher and Martyr: Apologies. Oxford: Oxford University Press.



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Myllykoski, M. 1996. “The Social History of Q and the Jewish War.” Pages 143– 99 in Symbols and Strata: Essays on the Sayings Gospel Q. Edited by R. Uro. Helsinki: Finnish Exegetical Society; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Neyrey, J.H. 1995. “Loss of Wealth, Loss of Family and Loss of Honour: The Cultural Context of the Original Makarisms in Q.” Pages 139–58 in Modelling Early Christianity: Social-Scientific Studies of the New Testament in Its Context. Edited by P.F. Esler. London: Routledge. Pesch, R. 1977. Das Markusevangelium. II. Teil. Kommentar zu Kap. 8,27–16,20. Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament 2. Freiburg: Herder. Piper, R.A. 1995. “The Language of Violence and the Aphoristic Sayings in Q: A Study of Q 6:27−36.” Pages 53–72 in Conflict and Invention: Literary, Rhetorical, and Social Studies on the Sayings Gospel Q. Edited by J.S. Kloppenborg. Valley Forge, PA: Trinity. —. 2000. “Wealth, Poverty, and Subsistence in Q.” Pages 219–64 in From Quest to Q. Edited by J.Ma. Asgeirsson, K. De Troyer, and M.W. Meyer. Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium 146. Leuven: Peeters. Räisänen, H. 2001. “Exorcisms and the Kingdom: Is Q 11:20 a Saying of the Historical Jesus?” Pages 15–36 in Challenges to Biblical Interpretation: Collected Essays 1991–2000. Edited by H. Räisänen. Biblical Interpretation Series 59. Leiden: Brill.  Richey, L.B. 2007. Roman Imperial Ideology and the Gospel of John. Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series 43. Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America. Robinson, J.M., P. Hoffmann, and J.S. Kloppenborg, eds. 2001. The Sayings Gospel Q in Greek and English with Parallels from the Gospels of Mark and Thomas. Contributions to Biblical Exegesis & Theology 30. Leuven: Peeters. Robinson, J.M. 2005. “The Jesus of the Sayings Gospel Q.” Pages 375–88 in The Sayings Gospel Q: Collected Essays by James M. Robinson. Edited by C. Heil and J. Verheyden. Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium 189. Leuven: Peeters. Schlosser, J. 2002. “Les tentations de Jésus et la cause de Dieu.” Revue des sciences religieuses 76:403–25. Schmithals, W. 2004. “Zur Geschichte der Spruchquelle Q und der Tradenten der Spruchüberlieferung: Das siebenfache Wehe Lk 11,37–54 par.” Pages 429– 54 in Paulus, die Evangelien und das Urchristentum. Edited by C. Breytenbach. Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums 54. Leiden: Brill. Schottroff, L. 1975. “Gewaltverzicht und Feindesliebe in der urchristlichen Jesus­ tradition. Mt 5,38–48; Lk 6,27–36.” Pages 197–221 in Jesus Christus in Historie und Theologie. Edited by G. Strecker. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Schottroff, L., and W. Stegemann. 1978. Jesus von Nazareth – Hoffnung der Armen. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Schröter, J. 1997. Erinnerung an Jesu Worte: Studien zur Rezeption der Logien­ überlieferung in Markus, Q und Thomas. Wissenschaftliche Monographien

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zum Alten und Neuen Testament 76. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Seeley, D. 1991. “Blessings and Boundaries: Interpretations of Jesus’s Death in Q.” Semeia 55:131–46. Theissen, G. 1989. Lokalkolorit und Zeitgeschichte in den Evangelien. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition. Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus 8. Freiburg, CH: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Thurén, L. 2002. “Jeremiah 27 and Civil Obedience in 1 Peter.” Pages 215–28 in Zwischen den Reichen: Neues Testament und römische Herrschaft: Vorträge auf der ersten Konferenz der European Association for Biblical Studies. Edited by M. Labahn and J. Zangenberg. Texte und Arbeiten zum neutestamentlichen Zeitalter 36. Tübingen: Francke. Tuckett, C.M. 1992. “The Temptation Narrative in Q.” Pages 479–507 in The Four Gospels. Edited by F. Van Segbroeck et al. Vol. 1. Bibliotheca epheme­ ridum theologicarum lovaniensium 100. Leuven: Peeters. —. 1996. Q and the History of Early Christianity: Studies on Q. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Webb, R.L. 1991. “The Activity of John the Baptist’s Expected Figure at the Threshing Floor (Matthew 3.12 = Luke 3.17).” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 43:103–11. Wink, W. 1988. “Neither Passivity Nor Violence: Jesus’s Third Way.” Pages 210– 24 in Society of Biblical Literature 1988 Seminar Papers. Edited by D.J. Lull. Atlanta, GA: Scholars.

CHAPTER 5

THE AUTHORITY WITH WHICH JESUS TAUGHT ACCORDING TO MATTHEW 7:29 Francois P. Viljoen1 1. Introduction The Matthean Gospel was written to assure its readers of the trustworthiness of their faith in Jesus, while defending their conviction against the opposition of the dominant Jewish leaders in their community (Viljoen 2016a, 4–8). The evangelist offers several arguments to substantiate this claim, for example that Jesus is the representative of God amongst his people, he is God’s beloved Son, he bears God’s Spirit, he is greater than the temple, he is a Moses like figure who teaches with authority and performs miracles, he is the one who emerges as victor from conflict scenes with his opponents, and he is the one who commissions his disciples that his commands be taught (Viljoen 2016b, 1–7). Part of this substantiation, is Matthew’s redactional remark in the Sermon on the Mount that Jesus taught as one who had authority (ἐξουσία) and not as one of their teachers of the law (Matt 7:29). This reference to Jesus’s authority forms the focus of this article. In order to understand the authority of Jesus in his teaching, the motif of authority is read within the context of the entire Gospel. Matthew demonstrates the authority of Jesus in a variety of ways throughout the development of his narrative. Matthew describes Jesus’s authority by contrasting it to that of other figures of authority in Jesus’s time, namely the Roman imperial powers and the leaders of the synagogue. Matthew claims in three places that Jesus represents God on earth: “they will call him Immanuel – which means, God with us” (Matt 1:23); “For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them” (Matt 18:20) and “surely I am with This article is a revised version of an article originally published in Afrikaans as Viljoen (2012).

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you always, to the very end of the age” (Matt 28:20)2. These announcements contrast with the claims of the Romans that the emperor represents Jupiter as his agent (proximus ille deus [“that one closest God”]) (Publius Papinius Statius, Silvae 5.2.170). Jesus is the beloved Son of God (Matt 3:17 and 17:5). In addition to this, Matthew’s claims regarding Jesus’s authority also have to be read against the background of the concept of auctoritas, which formed the basis of the Roman Imperium. References to the ἐξουσία (authority) of Jesus are comparable to the connotation that Augustus gave to the concept auctoritas. Matthew demonstrates that Jesus declares to the Jewish leaders that someone greater than the temple has come (Matt 12:6) someone even greater than Jonah (Matt 12:41) and greater than Solomon (Matt 12:42). Matthew repeatedly refers to the authority (ἐξουσία) of Jesus. He has unique authority, and he gives this to his disciples (and by implication to the church) (e.g. Matt 10:1). In opposition to these assertions, Jesus’s opponents question his authority and criticize him for his claims (e.g. Matt 12:24). The Gospel ends climactically with Jesus’s pronouncement that he has all authority in heaven and on earth. Based on this, he commands the disciples to proclaim what he has taught with authority to all nations (Matt. 28:18–20). This article investigates Matthew’s editorial note that Jesus spoke with authority (Matt 7:29) within the development of the motif of Jesus’s authority in the Gospel. The investigation starts by contrasting Jesus’s authority to that of other figures of authority in his time. An explanation follows of the development of the ἐξουσία in the Gospel. In light of this, the claim that Jesus preached with ἐξουσία is investigated. In so doing the religious conviction of the Matthean community, that Jesus is the true Messiah, is confirmed. In the midst of opposition from the synagogue and its leaders, the church has the right of existence and the authority to complete the directives given by Jesus. 2.  Authority in the Matthean Gospel Matthew allows the theme of Jesus’s authority to unfold by contrasting it to the power and authority of the Roman imperial figures and of the Jewish leaders. He shows, using the characteristics typically ascribed to the emperor, that Jesus delivered the Sermon on the Mount with special authority and that he later confirmed this authority by his actions. English translations of the New International Version.

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2.1.  The Authority of Jesus as Compared to That of the Imperial Figures Matthew compares the authority of Jesus to that of the imperial Roman powers by way of a counter-narrative (see Carter 2000, 4). He refers to King Herod the Great (Matt 2) and the tetrarch Herod Antipas (Matt 14:1– 12) as Roman allies. He also refers to the emperor in an indirect manner with the use of terms related to the payment of tax (Matt 17:24–27 and 22:15–22), while Governor Pilate is explicitly named (Matt 27). In a subtle way, Matthew shows that the authority of these figures of power declines and yields before the authority of Jesus. The claims of the Romans that it was the will of the gods that they rule the world, was fundamental to the Roman imperial ideology (see Virgil Aeneas, 1.278–279; Cicero, De Officiis, 2.26–27). As agents of the gods, the Roman rulers believed they had the favour of Jupiter and other gods (Carter 2001, 34). In defiance of this, Matthew proclaims an alternative kingdom (βασιλεία) that dawned with the coming of Jesus (France 2008a, 116). Jesus’s authority (ἐξουσία) surpasses that of all other powers (Wengst 1987, 46). Matthew places the life of Jesus and his followers within the context of the imperial powers. King Herod the Great, Herod Antipas the Tetrarch and Pilate the Governor are presented with titles and overwhelming authority. At first glance it seems that Jesus and his followers are without any defence before the abuses of power of these figures, but Matthew describes in a subtle and ironic manner how they become pathetic figures once God steps in. Matthew teaches that something is happening that is much larger than is observable to the naked eye (Weaver 1996, 180). According to Matthew 2, Jesus was delivered to the gross power abuse of Herod the Great as a defenceless child. The underlying argument is that Herod was not the true king of the Jews, and that he did not bear the final authority. Matthew ironically asserts that Jesus, the new-born child, was the true King of the Jews. In the end, Herod and those who wanted to kill the child all died, while Jesus lived. After the death of Herod, Joseph settled in Nazareth with Mary and the child. The actual authority seemingly belonged to this vulnerable child and not to the terrifying despot (see Patte 1987, 37; Senior 1998, 50). Later in the narrative, Herod Antipas is presented with equal irony (Matt 14:1–12). During his jovial carouse, Herod Antipas is described as a person with undue influence and power. His stature crumbled, however, when he confused Jesus with John, whom he had beheaded earlier. He thought that with John’s decapitation he was rid of his opposition and the criticism that went with it,

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but he was terrified when he thought that Jesus was actually John who had risen from the dead.3 He was convinced that this “John” he had heard of had more power than the John that he had beheaded. When Jesus appeared before Pilate, Pilate also became a pathetic figure. Pilate is presented as governor (ἡγεμών). His authority is emphasised by the sevenfold use of his title in this scene (Matt 27:2, 11 [twice], 14, 15, 21; 28:14). Although he was the most powerful person in Palestine according to his title, he was powerless before the screaming multitudes who wanted Jesus to be handed over to them (Matt 27:24). The irony reaches its climax when the Jewish leaders trick Pilate regarding the disappearance of the body of Jesus (Matt 28:14). Matthew tells us, however, that the seemingly defenceless Jesus had conquered death and had received all authority in heaven and on earth (Matt 28:18–20). 2.2. The authority of Jesus and the church respectively compared to the Jewish leaders and the synagogue Besides the conflict between the Roman authorities and the authority of Jesus, Matthew also writes of the growing resistance of the Jewish community towards Jesus and his disciples. This resistance led to a severance of Jesus and his disciples from the synagogue (Overman 1990, 35; Viljoen 2016a, 4–5). This struggle also led to the strain during the first century between the followers of Jesus and other Jewish communities4 which is reflected in the Matthew text. Radford Ruether (1974, 46) describes this as a “family conflict” that is related to “rival claims to exclusive truth within the same religious symbol system”. Hummel (1966, 55) even speaks of competition between “feindliche Brüder” regarding the truth. Contending Jewish sects and different apocalyptic groups competed for self-assertion (Overman 1990, 6). The result was that the so-called “Jesus-movement” was also involved in the struggle between different Jewish religious groups.5 Arguments regarding authority and truth therefore played a crucial role in the self-definition of the Christian community. The idea that an influential person whose influence ended due to a violent death could make a spiritual or physical return was part of the general superstition of ancient times (France 2007, 553). 4 See for instance Hummel (1966, 55); Keener (1999, 46); Repschinski (2000, 63); Saldarini (1994, 46); 5 Luz (2001, 255); Saldarini (1991, 49). 3



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Amongst these siblings, the Pharisees emerged as the dominant group. It is therefore significant that Matthew’s polemic with the Pharisees is particularly harsh. This heightened conflict is strongly reflected in Matthew’s controversy stories with the Pharisees. “Matthew intends the audience of the controversy stories to reflect a group that turns from the fraudulent leadership of the opponents of Jesus towards an acknowledgement of the Matthean community as the rightful leaders of Israel” (Repschinski 2000, 329). Anti-Pharisaic arguments played an important role in this self-definition of the Matthean community in the crises of separation and transition (Carter 2000, 6). Carter (2000, 1) labels the first Gospel a “counter narrative” against synagogal control. Matthew calls this new community ἐκκλησία (church), as opposed to the synagogue (Matt 16:18 and 18:17). In the LXX the word is generally used for the translation of the Hebrew word ‫קהל‬, the assembly of the people of God (for instance Deut 31:30). The word συναγωγή (synagogue) is also frequently used for the translation of ‫( קהל‬Keener 1999, 428). With his use of this emotionally charged concept from the Old Testament and by translating it as ἐκκλησία, Matthew seemingly wants to show that the church has taken over the role of the Old Testament people of God. He distinguishes this group from the synagogue and its leaders (Luz 2001, 358). This description of the church throws a shadow on the authority of the synagogue. The most cutting polemics occur in chapter 23 with the seven woes that conclude with the culpability of “this” generation. The Pharisees and scribes competed with the church for authority over, and influence on, the popular community (Saldarini 1994, 44). Matthew indicates that the Pharisees and scribes were not suited to be the leaders and representatives of the true religious community (Repschinski 2000, 63). Matthew intensifies Mark’s reference to the role of the Jewish leaders in opposing and murdering Jesus, and his description of the scribes and Pharisees as “blind leaders” and “blind fools” (Matt 23:16, 17, 19, 24, 26; 15:14) is unique (Viljoen 2018, 2–8). He identifies the Jewish leaders as Jesus’s opponents, while the multitudes are described as spectators of this conflict. Jesus, without a doubt, ends the struggle as victor. The church represents the authority of Jesus. According to Repschinski (2000, 329): Matthew intends the audience of the controversy stories to reflect a group that turns from the fraudulent leadership of the opponents of Jesus towards an acknowledgement of the Matthean community as the rightful leaders of Israel.

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Dunn’s use of the expression “the parting of the ways” (1980, 1991), which was popularized by Stanton (1992, 99–116), characterizes this division. Bornkamm (1963, 40) explains how the church severed from the Judaism of the synagogue: “no longer … the rabbinical teaching of the synagogue, but … discipleship.” The Matthew text reveals revolt against the authority of the Jewish leaders and spokesmen of the synagogues (Viljoen 2007, 700). Matthew 23:13 states: “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You shut the kingdom of heaven in men’s faces. You yourselves will not enter, nor will you let those enter who are trying to.” Furthermore, Matthew argues that the keys of the kingdom of the heavens have now been entrusted to the leaders of the church (Matt 16:196 and 18:187). The authority of the church is vested in Jesus; he finally has all authority, but he has delegated it to his representatives on earth in a certain way (Viljoen 2009, 660). 2.3.  Authority as Motif in Matthew Read against the background of the power struggle described above, it becomes clear that the authority (ἐξουσία) of Jesus constitutes an important motif in the Matthean gospel. Matthew bases his Christology on his claim that Jesus, as representative of the kingdom (βασιλεία) of God, acts with unique and incomparable authority. Matthew emphasises that Jesus acts on his own authority, based on his true identity. In addition, he also gives this authority to his disciples. Matthew repeatedly refers to Jesus’s authority. With regard to Jesus’s preaching Matthew refers to the multitude’s astonishment about his teaching, because he taught them as one with authority (ἐξουσία) and not like their scribes (Matt 7:29). Matthew also links Jesus’s behaviour to his authority. He healed a paralysed man and announced that his sins had been forgiven (Matt 9:2). The scribes were appalled by this and accused Jesus of blasphemy (Matt 9:3). In answer to them, Jesus declared that he, as Son of man, had the authority (ἐξουσία) to forgive sins on earth (Matt 9:6). The result of this event was that the crowd was filled with awe because God gave so much authority (ἐξουσία) to men (Matt 9:8). Matthew 16:19: “I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven; whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” 7 Matthew 18:18: “I tell you the truth, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” 6



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Jesus also granted his followers authority. When he sent out the twelve, he gave his disciples the authority (ἐξουσία) to drive out evil spirits and to heal every kind of disease or ailment (Matt 10:1). By implication, he also grants this authority to the church of all centuries when he gives his disciples the duty of making disciples of all nations (Matt 28:18). The chief priests and elders questioned and criticized Jesus’s claims to authority when they asked, “By what authority (ἐξουσία) are you doing these things?” and “who gave you this authority (ἐξουσία)?” (Matt 21:23). Jesus defends his authority by asking them a question about the authority with which John the Baptist acted (Matt 21:24–27). The claims regarding the authority of Jesus reach their climax with Jesus’s great assertion: “All authority (πᾶσα ἐξουσία) in heaven and on earth has been given to me” (Matt 28:18). Heaven and earth refer to the entire creation that God controls in sovereignty through Christ. Jesus therefore gives his disciples the directive to make disciples among all the nations, baptizing them and teaching them to maintain everything that Jesus has demanded of them. This climactic reference to the authority of Jesus probably alludes to the words in Daniel 7:14 (LXX): “καὶ αὐτῳ ἐδόθη ἡ ἀρχὴ καὶ ἡ τιμὴ καὶ ἡ βασιλεία, καὶ πάντες οἱ λαοί, φυλαί, γλῶσσαι αὐτῳ δουλεύσουσιν· ἡ ἐξουσία αὐτοῦ ἐξουσία αἰώνιος, ἥτις οὐ παρελεύσεται, καὶ ἡ βασιλεία αὐτοῦ οὐ διαφθαρήσεται”8. Matthew offers a Christological application of the Son of man’s ascension to the throne in Daniel (France 1989, 314; Hendriksen 1973, 998). Throughout the Gospel, Matthew repeatedly refers to the kingship of Jesus. During his ministry on earth he acted with authority. According to Matthew 11:17a, Jesus declares that the Father entrusted all things to him. His ascension to the throne follows his resurrection, confirming his authority over all. As King and Judge he will come again to give the final judgment (Matt 25:31–46). The accused will have to address their case to him, he will be the one to answer them and he will decide and declare their destiny (Stott 1988, 219). The universal authority that Jesus received at his ascension offers the foundation for the dispatch of his disciples with the necessary authority to perform his work. They could rely on him when they (and the early church) experienced resistance. Daniel 7:14: “He was given authority, glory and sovereign power; all peoples, nations and men of every language worshipped him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and his kingdom is one that will never be destroyed.” (English translation by C.L. Brenton, published in 1851).

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In Matthew’s conclusion to the Gospel, the way in which Jesus is represented clearly shows what readers have continuously become aware of. The reference to Jesus’s authority (ἐξουσία) in the concluding formula of the Sermon of the Mount (Matt 7:29) plays an important role in the anticipation of the next narrative, in which there is repeated and explicit reference to the authority of Jesus (Matt 9:6, 8; 10:1; 21:23–27). With the conclusion to the Sermon on the Mount, the rays of the power and glory of the heavenly Lord already break through (Luz 1989, 456). According to the concluding episode the risen Lord ascends the throne as the Son of man. He is exalted above the conflict and rejection with which He was confronted on earth. 2.4.  The ἐξουσία of Jesus and the Auctoritas of the Emperor Living in the Roman Empire, people in New Testament times were influenced by the Greco-Roman ideas of power and authority. The way in which Matthew refers to the authority of Jesus greatly corresponds with the Roman concept of auctoritas, which is not the same as that of potestas (see Cicero, De Legibus, 3.31). The concept of auctoritas played a central role in the Roman Empire. Unlike potestas, which merely refers to power, auctoritas carries the meaning of material, intellectual and moral superiority and leadership (Galinsky 1996, 12). Auctoritas is related to the unique insight and authority of the emperor as auctor which presupposes reverence and respect from subjects ruled with auctoritas. It is therefore not a static concept, but something that increases (augere – derived from the same stem) through continuous words and actions by which the authority and true influence of the auctor are confirmed and verified. Matthew describes King Herod the Great, Herod Antipas the Tetrarch and Pilate the Governor as persons who act with typical Roman potestas, though theirs is mainly despotic and immoral. In contrast to them, Jesus acts in the true sense of Roman auctoritas as his leadership is based on his material, intellectual and moral superiority. The authority of the emperor is further strengthened by the religious connotation associated with the position. The emperor had the honorary title of Caesar divi filius (Caesar the son of god) which gave him special intellectual and moral authority. The salus rei publicae (wellbeing of the state) depended on this position of the Caesar. Matthew presents Jesus as ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ θεοῦ (the Son of God). Several researchers view this as Jesus’s fundamental title in Matthew9. Matthew presents Jesus as the Son, France (1989, 293); Kingsbury (1976, 591); Senior (1998, 54).

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born of a virgin, who represents God in a unique manner among his people (Matt 1:23). As an added glorification at his baptism, a voice from heaven declares that Jesus is the beloved son of God (oὗτός ἐστιν ὁ υἱός μου ὁ ἀγαπητός) (this is my Son, whom I love) (Matt 3:17; 17:5). Jesus is even recognised as Son of God by the demons (Matt 8:29), and he demonstrates his authority over nature (Matt 14:33). The high priest asks Jesus if he is the Son of God and he replies that he is (Matt 26:63-64). The centurion also acknowledges him as the Son of God (Matt 27:54). In the parable of the tenants (Matt 21:37), the Matthean Jesus refers indirectly to himself as the Son of God, though he identifies himself directly as the Son of God to his disciples, referring to the coming of the Son of Man (Matt 24:36). Galinsky (1996, 19) refers to the transforming leadership of the emperor as divi filius who through his intellectual and moral authority ensures the salus rei republicae. The behaviour expected of an emperor included several activities: Elevating, mobilizing, inspiring, exalting, uplifting, preaching, exhorting, evangelizing … transforming leadership ultimately becomes moral in the sense that it raises the level of human conduct and ethical aspiration of both leader and led, and thus it has a transforming effect on both.

This is unmistakably the image that Matthew presents of Jesus’s teaching. 3.  Jesus Teaches With Unparalleled Authority The manner in which Matthew describes the ἐξουσία of Jesus’s teaching largely corresponds to the claims regarding the auctoritas of the emperor. This is evident from the fact that Matthew makes the Sermon on the Mount part of the dramatic development of his narrative and concludes it in a striking manner in Matt 7:28-29. 3.1.  The Sermon on the Mount as Part of a Dramatic Development Matthew starts the dramatic momentum of his narrative when he interrupts the development of suspense with Jesus’s monologue that spans three chapters (Matt 5–7). On closer inspection, however, it becomes clear that the placing of the Sermon on the Mount is no mere interruption, but strategic in the development of his argument. The Sermon on the Mount is the first and longest of Jesus’s five addresses that Matthew recounts and forms part of the dramatic development of his gospel (France 1989, 164). The sermon contributes to a better understanding of who Jesus is and of what can further be expected of him.

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In the Sermon on the Mount Jesus deals with the unique life of disciples in the kingdom of heaven. This oration follows the calling of his first disciples which takes place before great multitudes10 in whose midst they would have to act in a dignified manner from that time onwards (Matt 4:18–25). In later chapters there are references to the demands that would be placed on the disciples, for instance Matt 8:18–22; 9:9–17; 9:35–10:4. In the Sermon on the Mount Jesus explains the high level of ethical behaviour that would be expected of them. This address had a transforming effect on his disciples (Van Tilborg 1986, 233) as Jesus mobilizes and inspires them to behave in a manner that would distinguish them from other people. In addition, the sermon serves to prepare readers for Jesus’s miracles in the chapters that follow (Matt 8–9). The miracles demonstrate Jesus’s authority and the fact that the kingdom has come (Hendrickx 1984, 6; Stott 1988, 218). Matthew elucidates Jesus’s authority by referring to his unique preaching. Following that, his authority is shown by the miracles that ensue. With the Sermon on the Mount, the reader becomes aware of deepseated questions that Jesus raises. While the address largely deals with discipleship, it is clear that Matthew has also an important Christological motive behind the words. Davies (1963, 435) remarks that “The Sermon on the Mount compels us, in the first place, to ask who he is who utters these words: they are themselves kerygmatic”, or as Stott (1988, 213) puts it: “[It] is not so much “What do you make of this teaching?” as “Who on earth is this teacher?”. The Sermon presents Jesus as one like Moses who has the integrity to embody his speech (Allison 1999, 25; Viljoen 2016b, 4). Banks (1974, 226) writes about Jesus’s interpretation of the law in the Sermon on the Mount: “It is not so much Jesus’s stance towards the Law that he (Matthew) is concerned to depict: it is how the Law stands with regard to him, as the one who brings it to fulfilment and to whom all attention must now be directed.” One can thus see why the Sermon on the Mount concludes with the astonishment of the multitudes about the extraordinary authority of Jesus. When the ensuing narrative describes Jesus’s miracles, it follows logically on the impact that his preaching has already had on the crowd, and thus Matthew leads his readers to develop special respect for the life and teaching of Jesus (Van Bruggen 1990, 81).11 In the introductory words to the Sermon on the Mount there is allusion to the distinction between the disciples and the large multitudes (Matt 5:1). 11 Allison (1999, 25) aptly remarks: “the authority of the speaker adds to its plausibility and is indeed … part of the argument”. 10



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Matthew emphasizes the impact of Jesus’s preaching by presenting it in the format of a monologue: there is no dialogue, no questions are asked and there is no oral reaction. “Jesus’s words are ringed in silence” (Davies & Allison 2004, 725) and all attention is focused on Jesus. Matthew presents his preaching as unique and authoritative. And Jesus’s words command respect and silent reverence. Matthew concludes the Sermon on the Mount with the formula Καὶ ἐγένετο ὅτε ἐτέλεσεν ὁ Ἰησοῦς τοὺς λόγους τούτους (“When Jesus had finished saying these things”). This formula uses Old Testament language (LXX Num 16:31; Josh 4:11; Sam 13:10; Jer. 26:8) and is repeated verbatim in Matthew 11:1; 13:53; 19:1 and 26:1. Matthew uses the words to refer to the five great addresses of Jesus, to confirm the impact of his words and to establish a transition to the episodes that follow.12 Just as the auctoritas of the emperor is demonstrated in his orations (Galinsky 1996, 19), so Matthew shows how Jesus commands authority from his listeners with his addresses. 3.2.  Vorlage and Adaptations The significant formula with which Jesus concludes the first address (the Sermon on the Mount13) demonstrates adaptation from its Vorlage. Matthew’s concluding formula reads: ἐξεπλήσσοντο οἱ ὄχλοι ἐπὶ τῇ διδαχῇ αὐτοῦ ἦν γὰρ διδάσκων αὐτοὺς ὡς ἐξουσίαν ἔχων καὶ οὐχ ὡς οἱ γραμματεῖς αὐτῶν (When Jesus had finished saying these things, the crowds were amazed at his teaching, because he taught as one who had authority, and not as their teachers of the law) (Matt 7:28–29). With the exception of the unique opening clause, “When Jesus had finished saying these things” (Matt 7:28a), the rest of the verse agrees almost verbatim with Mark 1:22: καὶ ἐξεπλήσσοντο ἐπὶ τῇ διδαχῇ αὐτοῦ· ἦν γὰρ διδάσκων αὐτοὺς ὡς ἐξουσίαν ἔχων καὶ οὐχ ὡς οἱ γραμματεῖς (and the people were amazed at this teaching because he taught them as one who had authority, not as the teachers of the law). A similar reaction is mentioned in Luke 4:32 of the people who regularly listened to Jesus: καὶ ἐξεπλήσσοντο ἐπὶ τῇ διδαχῇ αὐτοῦ, ὅτι ἐν ἐξουσίᾳ ἦν ὁ λόγος αὐτοῦ (and they were amazed at his teaching, because his message had authority). “The formula is clearly important as a signpost to the development of Matthew’s theme” (France 2008b, 154). 13 The Sermon on the Mount was most probably not a single address delivered on one occasion (see Betz 1995, 22). As with the other four addresses, it is rather pronouncements of Jesus that Matthew compiled thematically. 12

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The words in Mark probably form the Vorlage of the remarks in Luke 4:32 and Matthew 7:28–2914. In Mark and Luke this statement occurs early in the narrative without any specific part of Jesus’s teaching being indicated (although in Luke it follows after Jesus’s actions in the synagogue in Nazareth). Mark 1:22 refers to the reaction of the crowd to Jesus’s teaching in the synagogue in Capernaum without offering any details about what Jesus taught. Matthew 7:29 links the word directly to Jesus’s first great oration and thus testifies to the typical impact that the address of the Son of God, who acts with authority, had on the crowd. Similar to Mark, the durative force of Jesus’s teaching in Matthew is indicated by both the imperfect periphrasis “ἦν … διδάσκων” (he was teaching) and the present participle “ὡς ἐξουσίαν ἔχων” (as one who has authority) (Osborne 2010, 277), thus laying the basis for what one can expect from the teaching of Jesus. Matthew makes changes in his formulation of the passage: he identifies the multitude (οἱ ὄχλοι) as subject to astonishment and refers to “their” scribes (οἱ γραμματεῖς αὐτῶν). The possessive pronoun αὐτῶν frequently occurs in the Matthean gospel, mainly with regard to synagogues (Matt 4:23; 9:35; 10:17; 12:9; 13:54, etc.), but also with regard to cities (Matt 11:1). With this pronoun, Matthew distances both Jesus, his followers, himself and the Matthean community from the Judaism of that time.15 The uniqueness of Jesus’s authority is emphasized while the positive impact of Jesus’s preaching on the crowds is directly contrasted to that of the scribes. 3.3.  Jesus Is Different From “Their” Scribes Matthew implies that Jesus had competitors with regard to his preaching. Jesus’s authoritative preaching is different from that of οἱ γραμματεῖς αὐτῶν (their scribes) (Matt 7:29). This conclusion regarding the authority of Jesus refers to the confirmation that Jesus did not come to make the law and the prophets invalid, but to let them come to their full meaning (Matt 5:17). Jesus asserts that he has come into this world on a mission (see also Matt 9:13; 10:34; 11:3, 19; 20:28), and elsewhere he refers to himself as being sent (Matt 10:40; 15:24; 21:37). With eschatological authority, Jesus proclaims the will of the Father (Strecker 1988, 172). The phrase ἐξεπλήσσοντο οἱ ὄχλοι ἐπὶ τῇ διδαχῇ αὐτοῦ ἦν is repeated in a somewhat adapted form in Matthew 22:33. 15 Carter (2000, 195); Cousland (2002, 70); Osborne (2010, 277); Strecker (1988, 172). 14



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In the light of this proclamation, Jesus offers six antitheses to the types of teachings of the other scribes to which the crowd was used and introduces them with variations of the words, “You have heard that it was said … But I tell you that…” (Matt 5:21–48) (Viljoen 2006, 155). Different to the teachers of the law of that time, Jesus does not call on the authority of fallible Jewish traditions, but on his own intrinsic authority (Hendrickx 1984, 176; Hendriksen 1973, 383). Thirteen times in the Sermon Jesus says: “I say to you” (Matt 5:18, 20, 22, 28, 32, 34, 39, 43; 6:2, 5, 16, 25, 29). Bruce (1897, 136) summed up the difference by saying that the scribes spoke “by authority”, while Jesus spoke “with authority”. This acutely accentuates his authority (Allison 1999, 24).16 Matthew repeatedly justifies why Jesus may preach with such authority; Jesus preached with authority because he has direct knowledge of God since he is the Son of God: the Son knows the Father (see Matt 11:27) and thus Jesus is presented as the channel of divine revelation (Allison 1999, 25). Matthew’s Jesus presents himself as someone with great authority (Allison 1999, 24) as can be seen in the following examples. He blesses those who suffer “on [his] account” (Matt. 5:11). He also claims that those who hear and do his words are like those who build a house on rock that will endure storms, in contrast to those who foolishly build a house on sand (Matt 7:24–27). The most soaring claims for himself appear in Matt 7:21–23, where it is stated that on the last Day of Judgment people will say to Jesus, “Lord, Lord”, but he will tell them to depart, because he “never knew” them. Matthew’s account reflects a clear polemic undertone in that Jesus is essentially distinguished from “their” scribes which indicates growing strain between Jesus and the Jewish scribes (Hagner 1993, 194). The teaching by the scribes in the synagogues is contrasted with that of Jesus, and Matthew alludes to the fact that the astonished crowd finds itself between the two different interpretations of the law offered by Jesus and “their” scribes (Luz 1989, 456). On an indirect level, this conflict also reflects the strain that would later develop in the Matthean community between the church and the synagogue. The Matthean gospel can be read as a transparent narrative (Luz 2005, 17) which functions on two levels. The Gospel has a first Davies and Allison (2004, 726) refer to this claim of Jesus as “his intuitive awareness of the will of God in its nakedness” and “the man himself, in daring boldness, is his own authority”.

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level on which it tells of the life of Jesus and his first followers, while the next level reveals something of the later Matthean community (Saldarini 1991, 39) and thus, the Sitz im Leben der alten Kirche can be recognized in the text in an informal manner (White 1991, 212). The second level of Matthew’s narrative reveals that one or other group of Pharisees competed for the authority and influence in the community within which the Gospel was written (Saldarini 1994, 44). Matthew mentions that the Pharisees were not supposed to be the leaders and representatives of the religious community (Repschinski 2000, 63). In accentuating Mark’s references to the role of the Jewish leaders in opposing and murdering Jesus, Matthew’s description of the scribes and Pharisees as “blind leaders” and “blind fools” (Matt 23:16, 17, 19, 24, 26; 15:14) is unique. He identifies the Jewish leaders as Jesus’s opponents, with the multitudes as spectators to the conflict in which Jesus is undoubtedly the victor. In turn, the followers of Jesus were loyal to the new community, which brought dissociation and strain with their previous community (Viljoen 2016a, 4–8; White 1991, 216). The Matthean text reveals resistance to the authority of the Jewish leaders as spokesmen of the synagogues. Religious and political authority and power were closely linked, and the leaders of the synagogue probably banned the followers of Jesus from the synagogues, as formulated in the Birkath ha minim of the Shemoneh ‘Esreh, which was recited in the synagogues daily in later years. The leaders of the synagogues viewed themselves as the key bearers who could keep Jewish Christians from their assemblies, while Matthew argues that the keys of the kingdom of the heavens have been entrusted to the leaders of the church. While the Jewish leaders claimed that they could lead the synagogue of Israel, Matthew insists that the Christian officiators had the authority to lead the church in accordance with Jesus’s teaching. The pronouncements of Matthew 16:10 and 18:18 indicate that Peter and the community had special authority: the first refers to the authority of Peter, whereas the second refers to the corporate responsibility of the new faith community. In this community, however, the keys are not those of an earthly organisation, but of the Kingdom of Heaven (Viljoen 2009, 667). 3.4.  Astonishment of the Multitudes Three groups heard the Sermon on the Mount: in the closest circle the disciples (the twelve); in a wider circle the followers of Jesus and then in the widest circle the multitudes (οἱ ὄχλοι). According to Matthew



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7:28, it was especially the crowd that was impressed by Jesus’s words, and Matthew saw those very multitudes as the pool from which the church was established (Betz 1995, 81), explaining in Matthew 7:28–29 how the change occurred so that they became part of the church. Matthew emphasises the impact that Jesus’s preaching had on his hearers by using the word ἐξεπλήσσοντο. This is a strong word that indicates that they were very astonished and amazed, with the imperfect tense indicating a consequential effect: the reason for their astonishment is seated in the authority with which Jesus preached (Hendriksen 1973, 383). 4. Conclusion When Matthew deals with the authority of Jesus, he uses a counter-narrative to that of the imperial Roman allies and powers, with specific reference to King Herod the Great, Herod Antipas the Tetrarch and Pilate the Governor. In a subtle yet ironic way Matthew indicates how the power of these earthly rulers crumbled before Jesus who seemed to have no power. In addition, Matthew also writes of the growing resistance of the Jewish community to Jesus and his disciples. Jesus is the victor time and again. On a secondary level the Matthean text also implies the resistance to the church of the later synagogue that would lead to the severance of the church. The authority of Jesus forms an important theme in the Matthean gospel. Matthew bases his Christology on the claim that Jesus acts as the representative of the kingdom of God with unique and incomparable authority. He emphasises that Jesus acts on his own authority, based on his true identity. In addition he also gives authority to his disciples. The manner in which Matthew refers to the authority of Jesus is linked to the Roman concept of auctoritas. The Roman emperor, however, acted with general potestas. The authority of the emperor was strengthened by the religious connotation that was ascribed to him. In contrast to the honorary title of Caesar divi filius, on which the emperor’s claim to have received special intellectual and moral authority was based, Jesus is presented as the true Son of God. Just as salus rei publicae depended on this position of the emperor, the welfare of the citizens of God’s kingdom depended on Jesus. The emperor might give his speeches and addresses with auctoritas, but Jesus gave his addresses with superior authority. The significant formula regarding the authority of Jesus with which Matthew concludes the Sermon on the Mount is placed very strategically

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in the development of the line of suspense of the Gospel. Jesus’s authoritative discourse in the Sermon on the Mount prepares the readers for the authoritative actions of Jesus that unfold later in the narrative. The conclusion of the Sermon on the Mount implies a polemic undertone. Jesus’s authoritative preaching is different from that of the scribes of the Jewish community, since the multitudes were very impressed with his words. The multitudes constituted the pool from which the church would later develop. According to Matthew, the Sermon on the Mount has special meaning because it was delivered in a unique and authoritative manner. He points the reader to the all-important authority of his Teacher. He is not merely one of the numerous rabbinic teachers. He does not get his authority from the ancestors or from the Torah. Matthew writes that all authority lies within Christ himself, and that it is incomparable. Bibliography Allison, D.C. 1999. The Sermon on the Mount. Inspiring the Moral Imagination. New York, NY: The Crossroad Publishing Company. Banks, R.J. 1974. Jesus and the Law in the Synoptic Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Betz, H.D. 1995. The Sermon on the Mount. A Commentary on the Sermon on the Mount, Including the Sermon on the Plain. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Bornkamm, G. 1963. “End-expectation and Church in Matthew.” Pages 26–51 in Tradition and Interpretation in Matthew. Edited by G. Bornkamm, G. Barth and H.J. Helds. Philadelphia, PA: Westminster. Bruce, A.B. 1897. Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels. Edinburgh: Hodder. Carter, W. 2000. Matthew and the margins. A socio-political and religious reading. Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement Series, 204. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. —. 2001. Matthew and Empire: Initial explorations. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International. Cousland, J.R.C. 2002. The Crowds in the Gospel of Matthew. Leiden, Boston, Köln: Brill. Davies, W.D. 1963. The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Davies, W.D. & Allison, D.C. 2004. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew, Volume 1 (Matthew 1–7). International Critical Commentary. London & New York, NY: T & T Clark. Dunn, J.D.G. 1980. Christology in the Making. London: Westminster. —. 1991. The Parting of the Ways Between Christianity and Judaism and their Significance for the Character of Christianity. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International. France, R.T. 1989. Matthew: Evangelist and Teacher. Downer’s Grove, IL: Intervarsity Press.



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—. 2007. The Gospel of Matthew. Grand Rapids, MI, Cambridge: Eerdmans. —. 2008a. “Matthew and Jerusalem.” Pages 108–127 in Built upon the Rock. Studies in the Gospel of Matthew. Edited by D.M. Gurtner & J. Nolland. Grand Rapids, MI, & Cambridge: Eerdmans. —. 2008b. Matthew, volume 1. Tyndale New Testament Commentaries. Nottingham: InterVarsity Press. Galinski, K. 1996. Augustan Culture; An Interpretive Introduction. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Hagner, D.A. 1993. Matthew 1–13. Word Biblical Commentary 33A. Dallas, TX: Word Books. Hendrickx, H. 1984. The Sermon on the Mount. London: Geoffrey Chapman. Hendriksen, W. 1973. The Gospel of Matthew. New Testament Commentary. Edinburgh: Banner of Truth Trust. Hummel, R. 1966. Die Auseinandersetzung zwischen Kirche und Judentum im Matthäusevangelium. München: Kaisar. Keener, G.S. 1999. A Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Kingsbury, J.D. 1976. “The Title ‘Son of David’ in Matthew’s Gospel.” Journal for Biblical Literature 95(4):591–602. Luz, U. 1989. Matthew 1–7; a Commentary. Edinburgh: T & T Clark. —. 2001. Matthew 8–20; a Commentary. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. —. 2005. Studies in Matthew. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Osborne, G.R. 2010. Matthew. Zondervan Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan. Overman, J.A. 1990. Matthew’s Gospel and Formative Judaism: The Social World of the Matthean Community. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Patte, D. 1987. The Gospel According to Matthew: A Structural Commentary on Matthew’s Faith. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress. Radford Ruether, R. 1974. Faith and Fratricide: The Theological Roots of AntiSemitism. New York, NY: Seabury. Repschinski, B. 2000. The Controversy Stories in the Gospel of Matthew: Their Redaction, Form and Relevance for the Relationship between the Matthean Community and Formative Judaism. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Saldarini, A.J. 1991. “The Gospel of Matthew and Jewish-Christian Conflict.” Pages 38–61 in Social History of the Matthean Community: Cross-disciplinary Approaches. Edited by D.L. Balch. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. —. 1994. Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community. Chicago IL: University of Chicago. Senior, D. 1998. Matthew. Abingdon New Testament commentaries. Nashville, TN: Abingdon. Stanton, G.N. 1992. “Matthew’s Christology and the Parting of the Ways.” Pages 99–116 in The Parting of the Ways AD 70 to 135: The Second Durham-Tübingen Research Symposium on Earliest Christianity and Judaism, Durham, September 1989. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 44. Edited by J.D.G. Dunn. Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck. Stott, John R.W. 1988. The Message of the Sermon on the Mount. Leicester: InterVarsity Press.

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Strecker, G. 1988. The Sermon on the Mount. An Exegetical Commentary. Edinburgh: T & T Clark. Van Bruggen, J. 1990. Matteüs: Het evangelie voor Israël. Commentaar op het Nieuwe Testament, derde serie. Kampen: Kok. Van Tilborg, S. 1986. The Sermon on the Mount as an Ideological Intervention. Assen and Maastricht: Van Gorcum. Viljoen, F.P. 2006. “Jesus’s Teaching on the Torah in the Sermon on the Mount.” Neotestamentica 40(1):135–56. —. 2007. “Matthew, the Church and Anti-Semitism.” Verbum et Ecclesia 28(2):698–718. —. 2009. “Die kerk en geregtigheid in die Matteus-evangelie.” In die Skriflig 43(3):649–66. —. 2012. “Die gesag waarmee Jesus geleer het volgens Matteus 7:29.” HTS Teologiese Studies/ Theological Studies 68(1). —. 2016a. “The Matthean community within a Jewish religious society.” HTS Teologiese Studies / Theological Studies 72(4). —. 2016b. “The superior authority of Jesus in Matthew to interpret the Torah.” In die Skriflig 50(2). —. 2018. “The Matthean Jesus’s surprising instruction to obey the teachers of the Law and Pharisees’.” HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 74(1). Weaver, D.J. 1996. “Power and Powerlessness: Matthew’s Use of Irony in the Portrayal of Political Leaders.” Pages 179–96 in Treasures New and Old. Contributions to Matthean Studies. Edited by D.R. Bauer & M.A. Powell. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press. Wengst, K. 1987. Pax Romana and the Peace of Jesus Christ. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress. White, L.M. 1991. “Crisis Management and Boundary Maintenance: The Social Location of the Matthean Community.” Pages 210–225 in Social History of the Matthean Community: Cross-Disciplinary Approaches. Edited by D.L. Balch. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress.

CHAPTER 6

AUTHORITY AS SERVICE: THE ROLE OF THE DISCIPLES IN THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO MATTHEW Hermie C. Van Zyl1 1. Introduction The importance accorded to the issue of the authority2 of Jesus and the disciples in the Gospel of Matthew is clearly evident from the closing scene recorded in Matt 28:16‒20. Jesus calls the disciples together on a mountain in Galilee, and, after declaring that all authority (ἐξουσία) in heaven and on earth has been given to him, he endues the disciples with the same authority. He commands them to make disciples of all nations, baptising them in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit and to teach them to obey everything he has commanded them. The Gospel then concludes with the promise of Jesus’s presence until the end of the world. Various researchers of the Gospel of Matthew point out the importance of this closing scene (Smith 1993, 589‒603; Krentz 2004, 24; Brooks 1981; Perkins 1993, 574, 587‒88; Lee 2010, 14, 22). All of the main themes of the Gospel of Matthew are drawn together here: the authority of Jesus, the imparting of this authority to the disciples, the discipleship of all the nations, Jesus’s teaching and observing it, and Jesus’s presence in his church. About the main themes of Matthew’s Gospel being present in the closing scene, Luz (1992, 139) makes an insightful observation: Previously published in Afrikaans as Van Zyl (2012). Authority is a form of power. For a more theoretical treatment of power and authority in the New Testament, see the discussion by Van Henten (2012). Van Henten distinguishes three categories of power in the New Testament (2012, 4): (1) the relation of the believers and their leaders with the divine (Jesus, God); (2) the relations within the religious community and their leaders; and (3) the relation of the religious community with external groups and institutions. The second category is what this contribution is about. Furthermore, it is about transformative power. The way Matthew treats power is by socializing the community in a new system of values, based on a new reality, namely that of Jesus Christ and the kingdom of God (Van Henten 2012, 6).

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“It is my belief that this passage … is entirely redactional. Every word of it counts; it abounds in associations with earlier passages”. It would thus be appropriate to focus on the authority of Jesus and the disciples as one of the main themes dealt with by Matthew. The authority of Jesus is closely interwoven with that of the disciples in the Gospel of Matthew. In this contribution the focus will fall mainly on the authority of the disciples. The object of this contribution is therefore to investigate how the disciples’ authority is being worked out by Matthew. The following subdivisions will be dealt with: how Jesus’ authority is transferred to the disciples, the content of the disciples’ authority, its nature, and how it should be interpreted within the historical context of the Matthean community of believers. 2.  The Transfer of Authority to the Disciples In the following investigation I intend to demonstrate that Matthew recorded certain events in such a way that the emphasis falls on the continued authority of Jesus in the Matthean community, in such a way that the authority of the disciples, and thus also of the Matthean community, is emphasised in this Gospel. This is probably related to the fact that the successors of the disciples at the time of the Matthean community, approximately fifty years after the actual events, were regarded as the custodians of Jesus’s continuing authority (Reese 1977, 140‒41). Thus, the disciples in Matthew are portrayed in such a way that they can serve as transparent role models for the authority of the Matthean community (Luz 1980, 377). The following sections (2.1-2.3) are important in this regard. 2.1.  The Healing of the Paralytic (Matt 9:1‒8) The healing of the paralytic in Matt 9:1‒8 has parallels in Mark 2 and Luke 5, but the reaction of the crowd in verse 8 is unique to Matthew. Although all three Gospels mention that the onlookers were overcome with amazement at the healing of the paralysed man, Matthew’s wording in the narration of this event is unique. Only Matthew reports that the crowd praised God “who had given such authority (ἐξουσία) to human beings” (translations my own). The onlookers in the accounts by Mark and Luke were apparently merely excited by the healing itself; but in Matthew, the emphasis lies elsewhere, namely, on the fact that God has given authority to men (i.e., human beings). Although it was Jesus who performed the healing, Matthew generalizes this authority and transfers it to



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“men”. Apparently, Matthew had another scenario in mind, belonging to a later period than that of Jesus’s earthly life, namely the situation pertaining to Matthew’s community, involving leaders, “men”, acting with Jesus’s authority (Luz 1996, 38). Moreover, according to Matthew, the amazement was focused not so much on the healing itself, but on the forgiveness of sins associated with it. This also is probably indicative of Matthew’s situation, in which the forgiveness of sins comprised an important aspect of communal life (more about this will follow later). The community was amazed that they actually had a share in the divine authority to forgive sins. Matthew, therefore, makes use of the tradition of the healing of the paralytic, not only in order to portray the authority of Jesus, who heals people and forgives sins, but also, at the same time, to substantiate the authority of the Matthean community to forgive sins. In this account, then, a subtle transfer of authority from Jesus to the Matthean community occurs. 2.2.  The Closing Scene (Matt 28:16‒20) As already mentioned in the introduction, the last scene in Matthew’s Gospel (Matt 28:16‒20) consists of a culmination of the most important themes in this Gospel, including, inter alia, the transfer of authority to the disciples. An interesting study in this regard is that of Edwards (1987), who points out the importance of the term προσέρχομαι in the transfer of authority. In a comprehensive discussion, he demonstrates that this term has cultic connotations in the LXX, and was probably taken over from this domain by Matthew in order to indicate, at different places in his Gospel, that Jesus is the object of human devotion and worship (see, e.g., Matt 8:2, 19, 25; 9:14, 18; 13:10; 17:19; 18:1; 19:16; 20:20). Just as the altar, priest, or Moses was the locus of God’s presence and action in the Old Testament, so Jesus fulfils this function in terms of the new covenant. Matthew thus deploys this culture-laden term to underscore Jesus’s Messianic identity. There are, however, two instances in Matthew where Jesus is not the object, but rather the subject of προσέρχομαι, namely on the Mount of Transfiguration (17:7) and after his resurrection (28:18). In both cases, it is he who approaches the disciples, and not vice versa. The question that arises is whether this is a coincidence or whether the association between the two events was deliberately suggested. It can be assumed that this reflects an intended redactional arrangement on Matthew’s part when one takes the following into account: the increased incidence of

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προσέρχομαι in Matthew, the probable cultic application of this term with Jesus as the object, the fact that Matthew, in contrast to Mark, avoids using Jesus as the subject of προσέρχομαι (see Edwards 1987, 70), and the contextual similarities between Jesus’s approach of the disciples on the mount of transfiguration and his meeting with them on the mountain in Matthew 28.3 If this assumption is correct, how should the association of these two events be interpreted? In both cases, Jesus gives a command: in Matt 17 he instructs the disciples to keep the Messianic vision a secret, and in Matt 28 he enjoins them to make disciples of the nations. Prior to the resurrection, the disciples approached Jesus, but now, after his resurrection (Matt 28), the relationship between Jesus and his disciples changes. He is now the exalted Lord who approaches his disciples in order to empower them (and thus to impart ἐξουσία) for their task. Whereas the disciples formerly had to remain with Jesus, he will now be with them until the end of the world. The change in the relationship between Jesus and the disciples lies in the fact that the disciples are now no longer mere subordinates, but “equals” or “partners” in Jesus’s worldwide ministry. This change in status is also suggested by the fact that after the resurrection, the disciples are called “brothers” (ἀδελφοί)4 (Matt 28:10). In this way, Matthew wishes to indicate that the disciples, and thus also the church, are vested with authority for the purpose of Jesus’s Messianic task in the world. 2.3.  The Rock Upon Which the Church Would Be Built (Matt 16:17‒19) One of the important instances of the imparting of authority in the Gospel of Matthew is found in Matt 16:17‒19. The person of Peter, as the representative of the disciples, here receives special emphasis. These verses are Matthean Sondergut, and portray Jesus’s response to Peter’s confession in Matt 16:16 (see parallels in Mark 8:29 and Luke 9:20) that Jesus Naturally, the event on the mount of transfiguration occurred before Jesus’s resurrection from the dead; but according to Edwards (1987, 73, n. 22) this event is related to the resurrection, since in 17:9 it is stated that Jesus commanded the disciples not to speak about the vision on the mount of transfiguration until the Son of Man had been raised from the dead. What the disciples experienced on the mountain was thus a foretaste of Jesus’s glorified state after his resurrection. 4 In all instances in this contribution where mention is made of male disciples (following the text of Matthew), it speaks for itself that a case can be made for women being included too, both from the point of view of the Matthean text itself and from a reception point of view of the text of Matthew today. 3



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is the Christ, the Son of the living God. There are two moments in Jesus’s response: firstly, in a wordplay on Peter’s name, it is stated that Jesus will build his church upon this rock, and that the forces of hell will not overcome it; and, secondly, that the keys of the kingdom are handed over to Peter. What he binds or looses on earth shall be bound or loosed in heaven (Overman 1990, 136‒39). Peter’s position in Matthew is not overstated to such an extent that he becomes an unrealistic or “flat” character (see section 4). Nevertheless, in Matthew, Peter is not merely one of the disciples; he becomes a kind of primus inter pares (Kingsbury 1979, 71): he is the first to be called as a disciple (Matt 4:18); Matthew adds the word πρῶτος to his name when the disciples are listed by name (Matt 10:2); and he receives special tuition regarding halakic issues (Matt 15:15; 17:24‒27; 18:21). The two images of the “rock” and the “keys” in Matt 16:18‒19 warrant brief attention at this point. Matthew uses the term “rock” elsewhere (Matt 7:24) in order to express the authority and truth of Jesus’s teaching as the foundation of life. Whoever trusts in this teaching will remain standing, whoever disregards it is doomed to perish. In the Dead Sea Scrolls, too, the concept of a “rock” is used to describe the truth of God, and also to describe the community as the true Israel (Overman 1990, 137).5 Matthew’s linking of this term to a person is thus a remarkable choice of words. Peter is now the rock or foundation of the kingdom. Naturally, this does not merely concern the person of Peter, but rather that the truth has been revealed to him by God (Matt 16:17). Thus, he and his confession comprise the foundation on which the community stands, offering a shelter against all opposition, and even against the final enemy, death.6 Peter, and through him also the disciples and the Matthean community, becomes the guarantor of the correct interpretation and teaching of the will of God. The same notion can be linked, more or less, to the image of the keys, an image which was, in all probability, derived from Isa 22:22 (Carson 1984, 370). In the latter verse, this image pertains to the transfer of authority to Eliakim, to whom is given the power to govern, to open, and to shut. In 2 Bar 10:18 and 4 Bar 4:4, writings dating back more or less to the time of Matthew, the same image is used in order to transfer the authority over the temple from the priests back to God (Overman 1990, “Rock” as referring to the truth of God, see 1 QS 11:4ff; 1 QH 6:25ff; 7:8ff. “Rock” as indicating the community as the true Israel, see 1 QS 8:5-10. 6 The πύλαι ᾅδου (gates of Hades) mentioned in Matt 16:18, referred, in the Jewish and Greek contexts, to the power of death (cf. Keener 1999, 428‒29). 5

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138). It is thus clear that the image of the keys was a symbol of authority and of divine blessing and sanction. Whoever was in possession of the keys could lay claim on divine authority. Such a person was indeed a representative of divine authority on earth. Thus, Matthew’s interpretation in this regard is that, as a result of this transfer of authority (symbolized by being in possession of the keys), Peter becomes the representative of the authority and power of the kingdom of heaven on earth. He receives the power to make binding decisions on earth. What he decides “on earth”, that is to say, in the community, also has consequences for the future, namely in heaven. Authority is given to Peter to be the doorman or the watchman at the entrance, both for the church on earth and, in an eschatological sense, in heaven. 3.  The Content of Authority According to Matt 28:19‒20, the disciples, or the Matthean church, were entrusted with the task of making disciples of all nations. This was their main commission (see the aorist imperative of μαθητεύω). In order to fulfil this task, it was necessary, inter alia, to teach (διδάσκοντες)7 the nations everything that Jesus had commanded. One could, therefore, say that the transfer of authority that was discussed in the previous section was mainly concerned with teaching; the content of the imparted authority comprised teaching authority, which, in turn, rested upon the authoritative teachings of Jesus. Jesus interpreted and expounded the law of Moses in a specific manner. His interpretation was infused with more authority than that of the Jewish scribes (see Matt 5:17; 7:28‒29),8 and comprised the foundation and guarantee of the authority with which the disciples acted. The fact that the emphasis falls in Matthew on the teaching authority of the disciples is corroborated by an interesting textual observation (Overman 1998, 126‒30). In contrast to Mark’s and Luke’s Gospels, the movements of Jesus, and therefore also those of the disciples, are geographically curtailed by Matthew. The Gospel according to Mark portrays Jesus as the Messiah “on his way” (ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ), particularly in the central portion (Mark 8:22‒10:52). This depiction of Jesus as constantly on the move and travelling about, which is a redactional characteristic of διδάσκοντες is a participle accompanying μαθητεύω. Cf. Viljoen (2012) who discusses the development of the theme of Jesus’ ἐξουσία in Matthew.

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Mark, is consistently omitted by Matthew. Rather, in the latter Gospel, one finds that the teaching work conducted by Jesus is concentrated in Galilee. Thus, in Matthew, Jesus never enters Samaritan territory, in contrast to Luke’s Gospel. Moreover, the travels through the Decapolis of Mark 7:31 are omitted from Matt 15:29, and Jesus’s movements are restricted to a hill by the Sea of Galilee where the people come to him. Matthew does, in fact, mention a ministry to the Decapolis, but, once again, in such a manner that the people from this region come to Jesus (Matt 4:25). Matthew’s focus on Galilee can be further particularised to Capernaum. Only Matthew mentions that Jesus lived in Capernaum (κατοικέω; Matt 4:13), and that this was his “own town” (εἰς τὴν ἰδίαν πόλιν; Matt 9:1). The disciples’ movements are also restricted, along with those of Jesus. According to Matthew, the disciples do not venture out on their own, as in Mark 6:12, and 30. Instead, they remain with Jesus in order to be taught by him about the kingdom. The geographical restriction of the movements of Jesus and his disciples enhances the residential and instructional nature of their ministry. They are the preceptors who are vested with authority, whom the people look up to, and to whom they come for guidance and authoritative teaching regarding the kingdom of heaven. The emphasis on the teaching authority of the disciples is also clear, as mentioned before, from the final command to the disciples in Matt 28:16‒20. Unlike Matt 10:1, they are not vested here with authority in order to heal the sick, to drive out demons, or to raise the dead, but to teach people about Jesus’ commands.9 Decades later, these factors became transparent to the Matthean community. They saw their own situation, as it were, reflected in the Gospel of Matthew. As the people had come to Jesus in order to listen to his teaching, so the Matthean community came to their leaders. As the disciples had been trained by Jesus for their task as teachers in the kingdom of God, so the leaders in the community were now engaged in teaching the faithful in order to enable them to conform to the norms of the kingdom, since only in this way could they be true disciples. In order to teach people, the disciples themselves also needed to be good listeners, and had to be endowed with wisdom. They had to understand the secrets and norms of the kingdom. It is, therefore, understandable that Matthew neutralises the tendency that is present in Mark’s Gospel to place the See Saldarini’s remark (1991, 59): “(The Matthean community) … has deemphasized the thaumaturgical. The final commission to the disciples is to preach, teach, and baptize (28:19-20), not exorcize and heal (contrast 10:7-8).”

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disciples in a negative light (Luz 1980, 382). Thus, he omits Mark 9:6, 10 and 32, in which the disciples’ lack of understanding regarding the task and identity of Jesus is mentioned. Conversely, Matthew also adds sections which indicate that the disciples have eyes and ears to understand the secrets of the kingdom (Matt 13:16‒17), and that they understand “all these things” (Matt 13:51). The term “you of little faith”, an expression favoured by Matthew to refer to the disciples, also helps to mitigate the stern comments found in Mark concerning the disciples’ unbelief (e.g. Matt 8:26; Mark 4:40). “You of little faith” is a positive term, emphasising the disciples’ faith, although that faith still needs to undergo a further deepening process. In this regard, it is striking that the structure of the Gospel of Matthew serves further to underscore the teachableness of the disciples. Up to, and including, Matt 13, the audience is mixed, consisting of both disciples and members of the crowd, but a shift occurs from Matt 13:36 onwards. Thereafter, Jesus focuses his attention mainly on the disciples, in order to teach them about the secrets of the kingdom, as the followers who already have a further and more complete understanding.10 The teaching authority of the disciples can be further particularised as the authority to forgive sins (see Matt 6:14‒15; 9:8; 12:32; 16:19 and 18:18; Overman 1990, 130‒33). What is remarkable in this regard is that, whereas this authority is exclusively reserved for Jesus in Mark and Luke, it is extended to include the disciples in Matthew. This reflects something of the self-understanding of the Matthean community. For them, the church was parallel to the kingdom. The community perceived itself as a space in which the order, structure, and values of the holy space of the kingdom were realised and expressed. Its classical expression can be found in Matthew’s version of the Our Father prayer in Matt 6:10a‒b, where 6:10b is unique to Matthew. Luke’s version probably contains the original wording, with the simple entreaty: “Let your kingdom come.” Matthew, however, broadens the strictly eschatological prayer by extending it with the words: “let thy will be done, as in heaven, so on earth.” He hereby wishes to say that the church can indeed embody the kingdom on earth. And it is precisely for this reason that such unusual authority can be claimed for the Matthean church, for example in the capacity to forgive sins. The fact that, according to Matt 13:36, Jesus left the crowds and entered the house, and subsequently answered the further questions of the disciples concerning the meaning of the parable of the weeds among the wheat, can be regarded as symbolic of the special attention accorded by Jesus to the teaching of the disciples (cf. Gundry 1982, 271; Ellis 1974, 60).

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This self-perception of the community comes clearly to the fore in Matt 6:14‒15 and 18:18. In both passages, heaven and earth are linked to each other through the actions of the disciples. If the disciples forgive the sins of others, these sins are also forgiven by the heavenly Father (Matt 6:14‒15). And in Matt 18:18, the formula of “bind and loose” and “close and open” is applied to similar effect: whatever the disciples bind or loose on earth, shall also be bound or loosed in heaven. The context of the latter passage is evidently that of the forgiveness of sins, as indicated by Matt 18:15‒17 and 21. The verdict of the community regarding the forgiveness of sins is vested with heavenly authority. What is decided on earth or in the community is ratified by God in heaven. In two other passages, this authority of the community is also described in a subtle manner, namely in Matt 12:32 and 9:8 (Overman 1990, 132). Matt 12:32 is concerned with the issue of forgiveness in the case of the sin against the Holy Spirit. Both Mark and Luke lay emphasis on the eschatological fate of the transgressor: such a one shall not be forgiven. But Matthew adds the words: “either in this age or in the age to come.” In this way, emphasis is placed on the fact that such a transgressor will also be punished now, in this life, with the probable implication that the judgement regarding this punishment is pronounced by the Matthean church. We have already considered Matt 9:8. A brief summary of the result will suffice here: in the case of the healing of the paralytic and the forgiveness of his sins, the onlookers were amazed at the authority that had been given to human beings (although it was Jesus who carried out the action). The implication is that the onlookers were not so much amazed at the authority to heal the man, as they were, in particular, at the authority to forgive his sins. The term “men” (i.e., “human beings”) here probably refers to the amazement amongst the Matthean community that the authority to forgive sins had been given to them. 4.  The Nature of Authority Up to this point, attention has been devoted to the transfer of authority to the disciples and the content of that authority, but what of the nature of that authority? What kind of authority characterises the actions of the disciples, of the leaders, or of the Matthean community? The essential nature of the disciples’ authority could not be described in more pregnant terms than in Matt 20:25‒28. Here Jesus contrasts the type of authority accorded to the disciples with the authority of the world. Amongst the world’s rulers, authority expresses itself in the right to exert

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sheer force, in domination and the abuse of power, but this must not be in the case of the disciples. He then continues: “Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave” (Matt 20:26b‒27). Jesus’s life is then taken as a yardstick: “the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Matt 20:28b). These words are not unique to Matthew (they are also encountered in Mark and Luke), but they are accorded a specific meaning within the context of Matthew’s Gospel where the authority of the disciples is tied up within a greater reality, namely that of equality and willingness to serve. These aspects will now receive attention. There can be no doubt that authority is imparted to the disciples in order to interpret the words of Jesus authoritatively, and even to forgive sins on earth. In addition, it has already been pointed out that from the perspective of the narrator of Matthew’s Gospel, the earthly disciples became role models for the Matthean church of approximately fifty years later, and particularly for its leadership. If this is accepted, inferences can be made, by reading between the lines of Matthew’s Gospel, concerning the problems that arose in the church of Matthew. One of these problems was probably a growing hierarchical tendency. This is evident from a passage such as Matt 23:8‒12, unique to Matthew, in which Jesus admonishes the disciples not to seek to be called “rabbi” (διδάσκαλος), “father” (πατήρ), “leader” or “teacher” (καθηγητής), as was the custom amongst the Jewish scribes and Pharisees. These terms are all related to the exercise of teaching authority in the community.11 He reminds them that they are all brothers (ἀδελφοί). In his theologising about the “official functions” in the community, Matthew thus adopts an anti-hierarchical approach. Everyone who wishes to exercise teaching authority must be aware that one person is not above another, but that all are equal. In addition, Matthew links the notion of equality to the service motif by pointing out, immediately after the admonishment mentioned above, that whoever wishes to be great must be willing to be the servant (διάκονος) of others (Matt 23:11). Equality and service are interwoven with one another and comprise the stamp or hallmark of authenticity in the exercise of teaching authority in the community. Without this hallmark, authority in the Matthean sense of the word loses its meaning. These three terms probably do not refer to three different “offices”; it is more likely that they are referential synonyms that refer to the same function in the Matthean church, namely that of a teacher (Van Zyl 1987, 256).

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Apart from the aspects that have already been pointed out, the hierarchical or “officialising” tendency in the Matthean church is counteracted in various ways in Matthew’s Gospel. The relative position of Peter, as a result of his being singled out, was discussed earlier on. The other side of the coin should now also be considered, namely the fact that Peter is not merely the primus amongst the disciples, but, in particular, also the primus inter pares. Peter’s eminent position is scaled down by Matthew: the narrator of the Gospel firmly anchors Peter within the circle of the disciples. For example, Peter is no longer referred to in a “special” way in the announcement of the resurrection of Jesus, in contrast to Mark’s Gospel (Matt 28:7 and Mark 16:7). The same things are said of both Peter and the other disciples: The other disciples are also called (Matt 4:18‒22; 9:9); Peter and the other disciples ask Jesus to explain a parable (Matt 15:15; 13:36); both Peter and the others confess Jesus as the Son of God (Matt 14:33; 16:16); all the disciples are declared blessed by Jesus (Matt 16:17; 13:16‒17); and they are all recipients of divine revelation (Matt 16:17; 11:25; 13:11, 16‒17), as well as of authority (symbolized by being in possession of the keys) (Matt 16:19; 18:18). Moreover, Peter not only typifies the high points and exalted moments of being a disciple, he also typifies the lowest points. He not only confesses Jesus, he also denies him (Matt 26:70); he not only walks on the water, he also sinks as a result of a lack of faith (Matt 14:31); he is not only the recipient of the divine revelation regarding Jesus’s identity, he is also ignorant about the way of the cross that lies before Jesus (Matt 16:23). Although Peter occupies a distinctive position (the implications will be discussed in more detail in the section 5), there is no glorification of his person. In many respects, he is placed on an equal footing with the other disciples. He is not merely an embodied typification of leadership and the exercise of authority; he also typifies the life and struggles of every ordinary disciple. In addition, the disciples as a group are collectively reminded, in various ways, that the privilege of being a disciple does not come with any special entitlements, but that all the disciples are equal. As such, they are transparent to the Matthean church. In an interesting article, Burnett (1983) attempts to determine what post-Easter implications the term παλιγγενεσία in Matt 19:28 would hold for the Matthean church. He proposes that this word should not be interpreted in terms of its Stoic background pertaining to the rebirth of the cosmos or the individual, but rather, within its current context, as essentially comprising a synonym for the unique Matthean expression, “the end of the world” (συντελεία τοῦ αἰῶνος). It thus refers to the future role of the disciples. At the end of

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the world, when the Son of Man is seated on his throne, the disciples who followed him on earth will sit on twelve thrones and judge the twelve tribes of Israel. But this will not happen before the appointed time. In the current context, the expression is related to utterances of Jesus about following him, which entails self-denial and sacrifice. This is the crux of the matter. Burnett is thus of the opinion that, in emphasising the disciples’ function pertaining to eschatological judgement, Matthew wished to downplay the distinctions relating to authority in his community. The focus must be in the right place in community relationships: it should not fall on premature judgements, but, by implication, on discipleship and service to one another. From one of the key texts concerning the transfer of authority, it is also clear that, in Matthew’s view, authority goes hand in hand with service performed in love. Matt 18:15‒17 probably contains a reference to a disciplinary procedure of the church, conducted within the Matthean community, along with the confirmation in Matt 18:18 that the community’s actions enjoy heavenly sanction. Nevertheless, this regulatory course of action may, in itself, appear to be rigid. It is also open to abuse. The way in which Matthew applies and contextualises this tradition in Matt 18, however, invests it with a completely different character. Matthew places this tradition between the parable of the lost sheep (Matt 18:10‒14) and the question regarding how many times one should forgive one’s brother if he sins (Matt 18:21‒35). This, in itself, invests the disciplinary action with a nuance suggesting that such action should not be regarded as a procedure aimed at removing a member from the community as quickly as possible, but rather as a loving intervention conducted with a disposition to forgive in order to win the member back to the community (Mathew 1985, 123‒24). In addition, there are other indications in Matt 18 that mark the entire chapter as a communal halakhah arising from an attitude of willing servitude, whereby each regards the other more highly than himself. Thus, in Matt 18:1, the disciples ask the question who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven, to which they receive the reply that, unless one changes and becomes like a little child (παιδίον), one has no status in the kingdom at all. This is followed by a passage in which the community’s obligation to care for and serve the little ones (μικροί) who believe in Jesus, is clearly spelled out (Matt 18:6‒9). This theme relating to a change of attitude and reaching out to the poor and lowly, along with the keywords παιδίον, μικροί, and ἀδελφός, makes this passage a tour de force on the subject of ministering to the community, in which authority and service are linked in a unique



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manner. As a matter of fact, it is only when authority is exercised in this manner that the disciples or community can hope, in any way, for divine sanction, and for the presence of the glorified Jesus in their midst (Matt 18:19‒20). The above parameters, within which the teaching authority and the disciplinary authority of Peter and the disciples must be applied, arise when a tradition that is important to a community of believers is continued, but, at the same time, is newly interpreted within a new theological frame of reference so that it can still remain relevant and applicable. Powell (2003), for example, takes the authoritative formula of “binding and loosing” (18:18 par 16:19), which follows directly on the procedure specified in Matt 18:15‒17, and investigates its application in Matthew. He arrives at the conclusion that it is, in fact, regarded by Matthew as one of the constituent elements of the church’s mission and life on earth, but that it receives its power from a broader context, namely that of Jesus’s pronouncement that he has come to fulfil the law. The question is thus: When should the church’s judgement regarding teaching authority, and its exercise of this authority, be regarded as binding on members of the community? Is a pronouncement made by the church binding merely on the basis of the church’s authority? It is not, according to Matthew. It is binding only when the correct interpretation of the law of Moses is followed; that is to say, in accordance with Jesus’s interpretation and fulfilment of it. Furthermore, in Matthew, there are many indicators or guidelines that can give the church direction and guidance in this regard, such as the golden rule (Matt 7:12), God’s desire for mercy rather than sacrifice (Matt 9:13; 12:7), the prioritisation of love for God and for one’s neighbour (Matt 22:34-40) and the identification of the aspects of God’s law that carry the most weight, namely justice, mercy, and faithfulness (Matt 23:23; Powell 2003, 87). Only when these guidelines are followed can it be assumed that the judgements and actions of the church are vested with divine sanction (Matt 18:18‒20). And this brings us back to the notion that the actions of the church can carry weight only when one reaches out to the poor and lowly in love and with an attitude of self-denial. Reaching out to the poor and lowly also comprises the way in which the community members show that they identify with Jesus and his mission (Grams 2004, 121). The parable of the final judgement in Matt 25:31‒46 illustrates this notion in a striking manner. Here, the disciples’ response to the plight of the world, and specifically that of the “least” among human beings (ἐλάχιστοι), is proclaimed to be the touchstone of true

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discipleship. But why does serving the lowly comprise service to Jesus? Because Jesus identifies with them. In Matt 25:40, he refers to them as “the least of my brothers”. A rich Old Testament background is probably presupposed here. Grassi (1981, 83‒84) points out that in the Old Testament, the realisation of the will of God in one’s life is closely linked to caring for widows, orphans, and aliens (e.g. Deut 10:12‒13, 17‒20). Furthermore, keeping the commandments of God is not interpreted in a legal sense, but as personal service to God. In Matthew, Jesus is seen as the authoritative interpreter of the law of God. Therefore, whoever carries out his commands renders a personal service to Jesus, and identifies with everything that Jesus is, and everything he came for. And Jesus, in his turn, is the obedient Son of God. Thus, whoever carries out the commands of Jesus identifies with him, and thus with God, and renders a service to Jesus and to God. Acts of mercy, as the expression of Jesus’s earthly ministry, bring one into direct contact with God, thereby furnishing proof that one is God’s obedient son. Those, therefore, who have shown mercy to the least among humanity are δίκαιοι – i.e., they do the will of God – and they receive eternal life (Matt 25:46). Only in this way does the community understand the vision of a universal discipleship, as expounded to the disciples by Jesus in Matt 28:16‒20. It is well known that Matthew has a paradoxical “missionary vision”. On the one hand, there is the limited mission to the lost sheep of Israel (Matt 10:5‒6; 15:24). Jesus confirms this focus on Israel by declaring that not the smallest letter nor the least stroke of a pen will by any means disappear from the law, since he has not come to abolish the law, but to fulfil it (Matt 5:17‒18). On the other hand, in Matt 28:19‒20, the disciples receive the command to make disciples of all the nations. What is more, circumcision, which is the mark of the people of God, falls away as the token of induction. Instead, the new disciples must be baptised. Thus, adhering to Messiah Jesus constitutes a new way of being Jewish. With regard to the place that Matt 28:19-20 occupies in the Gospel, Meier (1975, 205) is of the opinion that, as a working hypothesis for Matthew, a scheme of salvation history should be assumed, beginning with an initial ministry that was restricted to Israel, but which, after the death and resurrection of Jesus, was extended to the entire world. The death and resurrection of Jesus comprise a unified whole and, as such, an apocalyptic event (see the other apocalyptic signs in Matt 27:51‒54; 28:2-3), which brings about a totally new development in Jesus’s ministry. Former geographic, religious, and ethnic limitations now fall away. In Matt 28:16‒20, we are thus dealing with a kind of realised eschatology,



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where the kingdom of heaven has broken into this reality; all power now belongs to Jesus in a sort of proleptic Parousia. But this is not yet the end; the end of the world (συντελεία τοῦ αἰῶνος, an expression unique to Matthew) is still to come. There are, therefore, still many remaining imperfections and limitations that make it imperative for the new disciples to conform to everything Jesus taught. The point here is that the disciples or Matthean church can share in this new reality of a mission without borders only if they understand the authority that is imparted to them as self-sacrificing service. It is no longer only the lost sheep of Israel that are at stake nor one’s own comfort zones nor “positions” nor power in the kingdom of heaven (Matt 18:3 [the greatest in the kingdom]; Matt 20:21 [sitting at the right hand and left hand of Jesus]; Matt 20:25 [domination and abuse of power]), rather, one is required to offer up one’s own way of viewing things and to subordinate it to Jesus’s vision for the world and to identify with it. For this, one needs a different mentality, a different attitude. Certainly, one receives authority, but it is an authority that can only materialise in service and in total surrender to Jesus’s vision. 5.  Authority in Historical Perspective In order properly to understand the statements contained in Matthew regarding the authority of the disciples, they must be interpreted against the background of the formative Pharisaic Judaism of the late first century C.E. This was the context within which the Matthean community had to understand and position its own identity and authority.12 This entailed a struggle in which this community had to interpret and explain the Jesus tradition in terms of Judaism on the one hand, but also, on the other hand, to take a stand against Pharisaic Judaism. Both Jews and Jewish Christians were enveloped in an identity crisis after the devastating events of 70 C.E. The Jews had lost the temple in Jerusalem, the symbol of the interaction between the two worlds of the divine and the human, and were increasingly forced to rely on their scribes to give them new direction and guidance through the interpretation of the law of Moses. The Jewish Christians, as demonstrated in the Matthean The place of origin of the Gospel of Matthew is identified by most scholars as Antioch in Syria. Overman (1990, 158‒59), however, places it in Galilee. The place of origin is not so important, however. What is actually important is that the situation in which this Gospel originated is understood to be that of the Matthean community engaged in dialogue – and conflict – with Pharisaic Judaism.

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community, were seemingly on the point of being excommunicated from the synagogues because they were increasingly perceived by the latter as being outside the boundaries of Judaism.13 What Matthew describes as the role of Peter and the disciples can thus be regarded as the answer of the Matthean ἐκκλησία to the authoritative figures of the Pharisaic συναγωγή (Hartin 1998, 403). The transfer of authority to Peter and the disciples, as well as the emphasis on their teaching authority, and the authority to forgive sins in particular, must be understood as the interpretation of one group, as distinct from other groups, within the ranks of those Jews for whom Jesus’s interpretation of the law of Moses had become normative. Within the context of nascent Pharisaic Judaism, the Pharisees were regarded as the authoritative interpreters of the Jewish traditions. In opposition to this, it therefore became necessary for the Matthean community to establish their own basis of authority to interpret these same Jewish traditions for themselves in a unique manner. As the teaching authority was dominant in Pharisaic Judaism, this kind of authority would obviously also be emphasised in the Matthean community. As already pointed out (see section 2.3), the teaching authority resided in the person of Peter. Overman (1990, 139‒40), following Max Weber, depicts a situation in which the transfer of authority becomes important in the case of the death of a charismatic leader (in this instance, Jesus). Over time, as the memories of the charismatic leader fade, the question arises as to who should be entrusted with the continuation of the leader’s authority. The original charismatic authority must be transformed and legitimised in the leader’s followers. This tends to happen particularly in cases where the leader appoints someone, as well as by means of direct divine revelation. Both are present in the person of Peter. It was not a human, but God who revealed the insight about Jesus to Peter (Matt 16:17), and Jesus could therefore appoint him as the basis of authority (the rock, and the recipient of the keys) of his church (Matt 16:18‒19). Thus, Peter’s authority as the leader of the community was legitimized. It also stood out clearly in competition with other similar claims to authority, for example, that Cf. Krentz (2004, 24‒25). Stanton (1992, 157) speaks of the Matthean community as “a somewhat beleagured [sic] minority ‘sect’ cut off from its roots”. Apart from tendencies in the Gospel of Matthew (such as ch. 23), John 9:22-34 and possibly the adoption of the birkath haminim (BH) by the Jewish synod of Jamnia are also indications of the tense relations between formative Judaism and Jewish Christians toward the end of the 1st century CE. But as is known, the BH was at most only a factor leading to the eventual rupture in these relations (cf. Mayo 2006, 341-342).

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of the Pharisees as authentic interpreters of the Jewish teaching authority. Peter, the band of disciples and their successors thus became the mouthpieces of the Matthean community, and the guardians of the authentic teaching authority of Jesus. Although the Pharisaic teaching authority, strangely enough, could not be totally ignored (see Matt 23:2‒3), the Pharisees’ example should not be followed. The Matthean community regarded the interpretation and example provided by Peter and the disciples as normative. In the wake of the authority of Peter and the disciples, a further body of authority came to the fore in the Matthean community, namely their own scribes. In his Gospel, Matthew promotes a positive attitude towards this group. He does so in two ways (Hartin 1998, 299‒400). In the first place, he creates a distance between the scribes and the Pharisees. In many cases, he removes the term “scribes” as encountered in Mark’s material, and inserts or retains “Pharisees”, e.g. Matt 9:11; 12:24; 17:14; 21:23; 22:35; 26:3, 47 and 27:1. Thus, Matthew identifies the Pharisees as Jesus’s actual opponents (Overman 1990, 115). Secondly, he paints an extremely negative picture of the Pharisees. He devotes an entire chapter, Matthew 23, to this purpose. In no uncertain terms, they are designated as hypocrites who do not practise what they preach. Admittedly, the scribes are also under fire here, along with the Pharisees. Nevertheless, it is clear that the harsh utterances are actually directed at the Pharisees’ scribes. Although this is not explicitly stated in Matthew 23, it can be inferred on the basis of a previous pronouncement in Matthew, in which he refers to “their scribes” (Matt 7:28; Mark refers to “the scribes”). Matthew thus makes a distinction between the scribes of the Pharisees and those of the Matthean community (Luz 1985, 416).14 Also typical of this positive image of the Matthean scribes is Matt 13:52, in which Matthew links knowledge of the Scriptures to discipleship. This is unique to Matthew. When a scribe became a disciple, he was able constantly to draw treasures, both old and new, from his storehouse of knowledge. In this regard, Matthew’s polemical use of “their/your synagogues” can be mentioned (Matt 4:23; 9:35; 10:17; 12:9; 13:54; 23:34). White (1991, 215‒17, particularly n. 17), indicates how this formulation fits in with the struggle of the Matthean community to find a haven in the midst of the “convulsions of an emerging new order” (White 1991, 217) in the Judaism of the period after 70 C.E. Sisson (1997, 566) also typifies this breaking away from Pharisaic Judaism by observing that the audience of the Sermon on the Mount, and thereafter, also that of the entire Gospel of Matthew, represented a Jewish-Christian subculture, comprising those who had not yet fully broken away from Pharisaic Judaism, but who were moving in that direction on the basis of their understanding of Jesus’s authority.

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This is an image of the Matthean scribe who, on the basis of his chosen path in following Jesus, interprets the Jewish traditions in such a way that they serve to build up and enrich the community; as against the Pharisaic scribe, who enslaves and imposes heavy burdens on the community (see Matt 23:4). One could say that the picture presented in the Gospel of Matthew in respect of the strife between Pharisaic Judaism and Jewish Christianity is a distortion of reality. Unfortunately, we do not have any Jewish texts to corroborate Matthew’s version of the situation. Martin (1996, 23‒27) is therefore of the opinion that the reputed debate between the two groups has been historically transmitted to us in a one-sided manner, exclusively through the eyes of Matthew, in the form of invective. As a matter of fact, Matthew’s version is the debate; he creates the debate for a specific purpose: to demonise the Jews and thus to cause a breach between them and the Jewish Christians. The Matthean text is reminiscent of a situation in which a rebellious child who wishes to cut himself off from the parental home creates a casus belli in order to justify his act of breaking away, and to cast the blame for the estrangement squarely on the shoulders of his parents. Matthew’s appropriation of the Jewish traditions thus served as a polemical vehicle by means of which he wished to assume the moral high ground against the Jews in his vicinity. Martin is right. Matthew was indeed engaged in promoting the authority of Jesus and the Matthean community against that of Pharisaic Judaism, but what is true of Matthew is also true of the entire New Testament. There is nothing there that is not ideologically coloured. Everything in the New Testament serves to confirm, promote, and defend the authority of Jesus and the early church against that of the world. It has long been axiomatic amongst biblical scholars that the Gospels and the rest of the New Testament do not merely present the bruta facta, but are tendentious writings. We have not received the theology of Matthew and the New Testament in a form that is free of ideological partiality. We need to accept this fact with equanimity. But this does not mean that the quality of truth of these writings is on shaky ground. Indeed, the study of the New Testament endeavours to place this ideologisation into perspective in at least two ways. Firstly, it locates these writings within their historical context as accurately as possible by means of the methods at our disposal, and, secondly, it endeavours to verify, as closely as possible, the inherent logic and force of the arguments and theological insights, opening them up to discussion.



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Moreover, in my opinion, the dialectic between authority and service, which are normally mutually exclusive concepts, is precisely one of the ways in which, on the one hand, the Gospel of Matthew itself relativises the outgrowths and misuse of religious authority and, on the other, infuses this authority with new content and legitimacy. One could thus ask what appeal in respect of religious authority would have emanated from Mathew’s Gospel to its first readers. Ter Borg and Van Henten (2010, 1‒22) point out the fine nuances of religious authority, not only regarding its misuse, but also, on the positive side, its functioning on different levels. It can comfort, encourage, provide the strength to survive, sublimate and transform pain and trauma, survive without institutional forms and exercise authority, engage in silent protest in a Stoic manner, operate subversively etcetera. Matthew’s anti-hierarchical emphasis, with his focus on equality, on mercy, on reaching out to and taking care of the lowly, on service and self-denial (to the point of offering up one’s own life) holds a universal religious appeal. In this regard, Duling (1993, 662‒63) observes that the author of Matthew is a marginal man, offering a voluntary marginality to the reader. Duling attempts to repackage Matthew’s argument in terms of sociological categories, and indicates that there are groups of people in Matthew’s Gospel who really were marginalised at that time, such as the multitude (ὄχλοι), the poor (πτωχοί), the prostitutes (πόρναι), the eunuchs (εὐνοῦχοι) etcetera, who are often propelled to the foreground in Matthew’s Gospel as followers of Jesus. Matthew also uses these categories to promote a voluntary marginality.15 Thus, it is the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for justice, who are declared blessed (Matt 5:3‒6). A way of life involving total dependence on the Father is held up as the ideal (Matt 6). The rich young man (who is definitely not one of the marginalised) is encouraged to accept voluntary poverty and become a follower of Jesus (Matt 19:21). The healing of the sick and the gospel that is preached to the poor (Matt 11:5, a quotation from, inter alia, Isa 61:1‒2) place Jesus’s ministry to the marginalised at the centre of his Messianic identity. In conclusion, the central argument of this article, namely that the authority of the disciples is an authority of service, underscores the fact that, according to Matthew, there is a kind of religious authority that has greater legitimacy, a deeper appeal, a better chance of attaining long-term sustainability, a more effective Carter (1997), devotes an entire article to indicating how Matthew mixes the characteristics of the bios genre with other genres, for example encomium, in order to promote the Matthean community as a marginal community.

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transformative impact on society, an authority that lies closer to the heart of God. This is the authority that, according to Matthew, Jesus imparts to his disciples, and by means of which they must conquer the world; and which the reader must voluntarily take upon him- or herself. Bibliography Brooks, O.S. 1981. “Matthew xxviii 16‒20 and the Design of the First Gospel.” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 10:2‒18. Burnett, F.W. 1983. “Παλιγγενεσία in Matt. 19:28: A Window on the Matthean Community?” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 17:60‒72. Carson, D.A. 1984. “Matthew.” Pages 3‒599 in The Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Volume 8: Matthew, Mark, Luke. Edited by F. E. Gaebelein. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan. Carter, W. 1997. “Community Definition and Matthew’s Gospel.” Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 1997:637‒63. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press. Duling, D.C. 1993. “Matthew and Marginality.” Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 1993:662‒63. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press. Ellis, P.F. 1974. Matthew: His Mind and his Message. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical. Edwards, J.R. 1987. “The Use of προσέρχεσθαι in the Gospel of Matthew.” Journal of Biblical Literature 106:6574. Grams, R.G. 2004. “Not ‘Leaders’ but ‘Little Ones’ in the Father’s Kingdom: The Character of Discipleship in Matthew’s Gospel.” Transformation 21: 114‒25. Grassi, J.A. 1981. “‘I Was Hungry and You Gave Me to Eat.’ (Matt. 25:35ff.): The Divine Identification Ethic in Matthew.” Biblical Theology Bulletin 11: 83‒84. Gundry, R.H. 1982. Matthew. A Commentary on His Literary and Theological Art. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Hartin, P.J. 1998. “Disciples as Authorities within Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community.” Neotestamentica 32:389‒404. Keener, C.S. 1999. A Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Kingsbury, J.D. 1979. “The Figure of Peter in Matthew’s Gospel as a Theological Problem.” Journal of Biblical Literature 98:67‒87. Krentz, E. 2004. “Missionary Matthew: Matthew 28:16‒20 as Summary of the Gospel.” Currents in Theology and Mission 31:24‒31. Lee, K. 2010. Matthew’s Community and the Gentile Mission. Ph.D. diss., NorthWest University. Luz, U. 1985. “Die Jünger im Matthäusevangelium.” Pages 377‒415 in Das Matthäusevangelium. Edited by J. Lange. Wege der Forschung 525. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. —. 1985. Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Mt 1‒7). Evangelisch-katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament I/1. Zürich: Benzinger; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. —. 1995. The Theology of the Gospel of Matthew. New Testament Theology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.



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—. 1996. Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Mt 8‒17). Evangelisch-katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament I/2. Zürich: Benzinger; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Martin, R.T. 1996. “Ideology, Deviance, and Authority in the Gospel of Matthew: The Political Functioning of Performative Writing.” Literature & Theology 10:23‒27. Mathew, P.K. 1985. “Authority and Discipline: Matt. 16.17‒19 and 18.15‒18 and the Exercise of Authority and Discipline in the Matthean Community.” Communio viatorum 18:119‒25. Mayo, P.L. 2006. “The Role of the Birkath Haminim in Early Jewish-Christian Relations: A Reexamination of the Evidence.” Bulletin for Biblical Research 16(2):325-344. Meier, J.P. 1975. “Salvation History in Matthew: In Search of a Starting Point.” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 37:203‒15. Overman, J.A. 1990. Matthew’s Gospel and Formative Judaism: The Social World of the Matthean Community. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Perkins, P. 1993. “Matthew 28:16‒20: Resurrection, Ecclesiology and Mission.” Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 1993:574‒88. Powell, M.A. 2003. “Binding and Loosing: Asserting the Moral Authority of Scripture in Light of a Matthean Paradigm.” Ex auditu 19:81‒96. Reese, J.M. 1977. “How Matthew Portrays the Communication of Christ’s Authority.” Biblical Theology Bulletin 7:139–44. Saldarini, A.J. 1991. “The Gospel of Matthew and Jewish-Christian Conflict.” Pages 38‒61 in Social History of the Matthean Community: Cross-Disciplinary Approaches. Edited by D.L. Balch. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Sisson, R.B. 1997. “Voices of Authority in the Sermon on the Mount.” Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 1997:551‒66. Smith, R.H. 1993. “Matthew 28:16‒20, Anticlimax or Key to the Gospel?” Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 1993:589‒603. Stanton, Graham N. 1992. Gospel for a New People: Studies in Matthew. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Ter Borg, M.B. & J.-W. van Henten, 2010. “Introduction” to Powers: Religion as a Social and Spiritual Force. Edited by M.B. ter Borg and J.W. van Henten. New York, N.J.: Fordham University Press. Van Henten, J.W. 2012. Religie en macht: Theoretische invalshoeken in verband met het Nieuwe Testament. Hervormde Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 68(1). Van Zyl, H.C. 1987. Matteus 18:15‒20: ’n diachroniese en sinchroniese ondersoek met besondere verwysing na kerklike dissipline. D.D. diss., University of Pretoria. —. 2012. “Gesag as diens: Die rol van die dissipels in die Matteusevangelie.” Hervormde Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 68(1). Viljoen, F.P. 2012. “Die gesag waarmee Jesus geleer het volgens Matteus 7:29.” Hervormde Teologiese Studies / Theological Studies 68(1). White, L. Michael. 1991. “Crisis Management and Boundary Maintenance: The Social Location of the Matthean Community.” Pages 211‒47 in Social History of the Matthean Community: Cross-Disciplinary Approaches. Edited by D.L. Balch. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress.

CHAPTER 7

PAUL AND POWER: GRIDS FOR FRAMING CLAIMS Jeremy Punt1 1.  Introduction: Contexts of Power In the New Testament, and in the Pauline epistles in particular, scholars have studied power dynamics in association with a wide range of entities and concerns: the power of sin (Gaventa 2007, 125–36), the power of the gospel (Eastman 2007, 181–94; Patte 1983; Savage 1996), the power of authority (Castelli 1991; Holmberg 1978; Peterson 1998; Polaski 1999) and so forth. If nothing else, such studies have shown the diversity of the theme of power in the New Testament. The attention given to power dynamics in these texts is not hard to understand, given the wide-ranging exercise of power in the first-century world. The habitus2 of New Testament times was also written in power. It was an era hierarchically and patriarchally defined, in a world based on slavery and arranged largely through notions and actions based on patronage, and it was an agonistic society where values of honour and shame predefined certain actions and lifestyle. The socio-political world, moreover, was overtly and covertly constructed by, and scripted according to, the Roman Empire in its pervasive but varied presence in the Mediterranean world. This paper investigates the question of Paul and power, including his leadership and exercise of power in the communities he addressed in his letters, by investigating interpretive claims and their operative frames. In a first section, the scope, referents and purpose of Paul’s use of power as well as how he is implicated in power are explained. Some recent attempts to interpret power and Paul are engaged in the following section, partly as a framework for this discussion, but also to show the shortcomings For an earlier study of this theme in Afrikaans, see Punt (2012, 1–11). Bourdieu defined the notion of habitus as “an acquired system of generative schemes objectively adjusted to the particular conditions in which it is constituted” (Bourdieu 1977, 95). The habitus, therefore, is “both the collection of schemes informing practice and the generative source of new or modified practices” (Morgan 1998, 7).

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in the current discussion. The focus in the next section is on how the Roman imperial context can be understood as not only the background, but also the foreground, for getting to grips with power in the Pauline letters; with the interpretative context as well as the heuristic framework.3 Such an endeavour, it is argued, also requires an appropriate hermeneutical approach, such as a postcolonial reading, which is capable of showing up the power dynamics which may fall outside the focus of other models of interpretation or may simply be disallowed by other hermeneutical strategies. This approach is demonstrated in the last section, by showing how Paul deployed power as both strength and weakness in his first letter to the Corinthians. My approach is culture-critical, implying at least two important points of departure: firstly, I do not necessarily identify with the epistolary Paul nor are his claims and convictions simply considered normative. And, second, Paul is not identified with the communities he addressed nor is it assumed that he was accepted out of hand as the powerful creator and unquestioned leader of such communities, simply because he chose to present himself as such (Schüssler Fiorenza 2000, 44).4 In short, the historical Paul, in as far as he features in the letters, is not accorded any general or particular hermeneutical privilege, which could, naturally, otherwise taint the discussion. 2.  Paul and Power: Scope, Referents and Purpose Any discussion on power requires, at some point, reflection on what is understood by power, in particular within the Pauline writings.5 Space prohibits extensive discussion of the categories and distinctions, but it bears mentioning that different types of power are present in the constellation of power entertained by the Pauline writings, such as divine or metaphysical power (Black 1984; Johnson 1998),6 social power (Wan 2008), rhetorical or linguistic power (Aageson 1996; Wanamaker 2003; see Collins 2008 on power of images), or even interpretive power (see What Carter (2010, 18–19) finds especially significant in recent studies on Paul and Empire “is the reframing and promotion of the Roman imperial world from background and context to the central entity that Paul and his communities actively negotiate, imitate, and contest”. 4 On the need for hermeneutical accountability, see e.g. Kittredge (1998, 1–6). 5 And probably by that which is often taken as its primary opposite – at least where Paul is concerned – namely weakness. 6 Power in the New Testament is defined differently (see Johnson 1998, 6–10 for extensive textual references), where power is power from outside or transcendent reality, e.g. the Holy Spirit. 3



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Fowl 1994, 78 n. 4; also Marks 1984). Equally important, however, is the style or tone of power, including notions such as authoritative power (Eastman 2007)7 or shared power or its various combined integrations or manifestations. Also, and related to the categories already mentioned, are the contexts of power, in terms of Paul’s relationship with his opponents (see Wan 2008), with co-workers and communities,8 with evil powers (supernatural, cosmic, and other metaphysical powers), not least with himself (e.g. Rom 7) and God (2 Cor 10–13). One of the implications of a world suffused with power constellations of various kinds is that textual studies of words generally translated as “power”, such as δύναμις and ἐξουσία9 or even ἀρχή and others, are limited at best. Single terms may even be confusing at times, not only for what they include, but also for what is omitted in studies on them. No single term fully captures the discourse or dynamics of power in the Pauline letters and since it is not linked to a given terminology, it often operates in the background (see Polaski 1999, 122). The already limited value of approaches through word studies is reduced further by the dominance of an idealist stance in biblical studies. An idealist approach to power in the New Testament (decried already by Holmberg 1978, 205– 07) sees all historical events and processes reduced to mere ideas, with historical developments, conflicts and influences seen as developments, conflicts and influences only between ideas. A deficient methodology, married to an idealist (re)construction, perhaps theologically determined, has left its mark on scholarship. The combined effort hinders a broader and fuller understanding of power in the New Testament, and neglects the continuous dialectic between ideas and social structures.10 In sociological and other critical approaches to the Pauline epistles underwritten Paul is not writing primarily from an authoritarian perspective, but as a pastor, coaxing, urging and exhorting; see Verhey (1984, 103). The Pauline style of pastoral ethic is one of appeal rather than command.  8 See Lieu (1986, 132ff) on how Paul tried to mediate between the power evoked by him and the gospel he preached, and the social and household relationships and loyalties of the first century.  9 In the undisputed Pauline letters, δύναμις and ἐξουσία are used 36 and 17 times respectively. Polaski (1999, 104) surmises that his use of the terms like δύναμις and ἐξουσία may be of limited help in understanding the discourse of power underlying the Pauline letters. 10 As Holmberg explains, the problem is not with the investigation of historical phenomena which is often done carefully and diligently. It is the next step when historical phenomena are not only traced back to theological ideas, but considered also to be dependent on such ideas, where methodology becomes fated, when the “secondary reaction … on primary, concrete phenomena in the social world … is misinterpreted as being the structural principle of that world” (Holmberg 1978, 205).  7

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by ideological criticism,11 the social function, rather than the origin of particular ideas or beliefs, has received more attention recently, and allows for other perspectives on Paul and power within his social setting.12 With the help also of philosophers it has become possible to think about power in ways that are less predetermined. Power does not have to be seen simply as a negative entity, bent on domination and even violence, nor merely as a benevolent force of empowerment, equality and mutuality. Power need not be primarily a prohibitive entity, as it is often a productive force; it is found in the interstices, and often is interconnected, diffuse and spread throughout the social body. Power is not primarily repressive, and not in the first instance power-over or the possession of someone or a matter of some force governing from above. Power is not merely exercised or constrained by people who intend certain effects. Power operates rather in producing a wide range of effects that are multiple, complex and ambiguous because power produces relations and the acknowledgement of certain forms of knowledge. Power-knowledge relations can therefore develop in ways that contradict expectations, which could give rise to a series of effects which may even include resistance to certain dynamics of the very same power operations (see Foucault 1980; Marchal 2008, 66).13 Different understandings of power and, in particular, efforts to situate power socio-historically have led to strong reactions among biblical scholars. Such investigations are accused of demystifying transcendent power and as being a camouflage for socio-political posturing, with the early Jesus movement amounting to little more than an array of political and ideological claims (Johnson 1998, 25, 36). In contrast, it was suggested that a joint historical and phenomenological approach would allow for observing and describing the actions of Jesus-followers as a response Without pleading for a general absolution of all error, misjudgement or malice for ideological-critically inclined readings, to insist that such readings are necessarily anachronistic, simplistic, and reductionistic (Johnson 1998, 12–29), is too simple and is a claim that shows the force of the history of interpretation and its conventions probably more than anything else. “A spiritualizing gesture towards the text assumes the transparency of textual reference while remaining silent on the question of the interestedness of the text” (Castelli 1991, 23). 12 “So, Paul’s activity as a communities’ organizer is served by ideas whose purpose is to establish a community … Justification by faith alone is less an article of faith than a technique of social cohesion used to weld disparate ethnic and social groups together.” (Rowland 2006, 660–61). 13 For Foucault, power is necessarily: (1) relational, rather than some essence, (2) not simply repressive but productive, (3) exercised through the social body, (4) exercised at all levels of the social body, (5) always exercised in context and (6) strategic. A brief, yet reliable, summary is available at http://www.michel-foucault.com/concepts/index.html. 11



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to the transcendent power of resurrection. Such a phenomenological approach holds, that, although the authenticity of the claims of the followers of Jesus is accepted, no ontological deductions should be based on them.14 Explaining the emergence of early communities of Jesus followers, power would then form part of their experience and even constitute the organising point of experience. In the end, the experiences and linguistic expressions are taken to reveal the communities’ intentional referent(s) of power, that is, how power features in the construction of their symbolic world(s). It is to be remembered that the meaningful or intentional structure of religious phenomena does not depend on objects in the material world. While religious experience is clearly important for understanding power in the Pauline letters,15 it deals, however, at least as much with social reality as with transcendent or metaphysical concerns.16 A good example is found in Paul’s letter to the Galatians, where he himself relied upon religious experience. Not only did the religious experience of the Galatians (Gal 3:1–5) serve as an important marker of his gospel, and thus authority or power, but Paul also offered his own experience in a number of instances to substantiate his claims and counter those of his opponents (Gal 1–2). By relying on personal religious experience, he grounded the authenticity of his message as revelation from God (esp. Gal 1:11–12), which underscored the difference between him and his rivals.17 Moreover, by appealing to the community to understand their Bracketing the questions of existence enables a methodologist or phenomenologist stance which is preferred by Johnson. His implicit acceptance that the intended referent is, however, present not only in the consciousness of the early followers of Jesus,’ but is also present as ontic reality, subverts his methodological stance (e.g. Johnson 1998, 59, 185; see Dijkhuizen 2010, 12). This is not to deny power as a useful analytic category to understand and explain the data of the early Jesus movement or that the New Testament is “literally filled with the language of power” (Johnson 1998, 46). 15 The impact of religious experience is perhaps not adequately accounted for in NT studies, and while religious experiences cannot in simplistic ways be portrayed as derivative phenomena (Hurtado 2003, 67–68), no matter how many sociologists are quoted, religious experience should nevertheless be understood as part of, and related to, the broader social reality of our texts. 16 See also Hurtado on the importance of taking religious experience into account, also in a causative sense, when trying to understand the convictions of early followers of Jesus (Hurtado 2003, 64–74). 17 Wan identifies one particularly important testimony to Paul’s challenge to the authority of his opponents in Galatia as the notion of τίς ὑμᾶς ἐβάσκανεν (Who bewitched [or cast an evil eye on] you?) in Gal 3:1. While claims to possession are often used between equals, generally with positive appeal for support for a stance of standing, witchcraft accusations were more commonly levelled from subordinates in a marginalised position, aimed at challenging both the status quo and the authority of its leaders and the powerful (Wan 2008, 73–76). 14

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experience of Christ and the Spirit along the lines of his own experience, Paul testifies to his attempts to foster an identity based on group solidarity. In addition, besides using it for claims of uniqueness and as a source of group solidarity, Paul’s appeal to religious experience also served the purpose of socially demarcating the community, thus drawing boundary lines which indicated who were insiders and who were outsiders. Religious experience served a palpable and often determining role in social control and power for Paul in Galatians (Wan 2008, 67–81). The prioritising of the material or the metaphysical probably betrays modern thinking and categories more than it provides adequate descriptions of first-century life. Specific frames and the ensuing debates on power in Paul that force the focus on understanding power either ultimately, in terms of metaphysical powers, or predominantly, by relating power to social reality, are however only a part of discussions on the dynamics of power in Paul. 3.  Framing and Debating Paul and Power I have already noted that power for first-century people included a broad spectrum of material powers, personal and structural, and metaphysical powers, divine and demonic. The personal and structural were often interconnected in a life-world informed by relations or manifestations of power. The lived reality in which people had to survive was the primary context influencing their understanding of power, simply because this was the material world in which power was normalised and conventionalised, and thus naturalised.18 In the following two parts, I will first explain three strategic aspects in Paul’s strategy with regard to power, and then briefly situate my understanding of Paul and power in the larger scholarly debate. 3.1.  Paul and (Exercising) Power: Strategies, Sources, Claims Given that the intention of this paper is to investigate both a plausible framework or constellation of (and for) the link between power and Paul, Power is often obscured in the interpretation of the Pauline letters through mystifying language, invoking spiritualising and individualising notions. Part of the problem with, and perhaps also partly the origin of, such obscuring practices is the absence of appropriate theories, or approaches or mechanisms, of tools required for dealing with the complex, interactive and often mutually informing relationships of material and metaphysical worlds of power (see section 6 below).

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as well as interpretative mechanisms appropriate to the task, a brief account of Paul’s power dynamics will have to suffice at this stage. Reference is made to three scenarios of power, connected to apostleship, the Scriptures, and freedom, highlighting also the ambiguity in each case. Firstly, Paul’s claims to authority originate from, and are directly linked to, a sense of apostolic authority. In numerous places in his letters Paul refers to his own sense of calling, of being set apart (even before his birth, Gal 1:15) by God, for the mission of Christ. This is borne out by his selfintroductions as ἀπόστολος (Rom 1:1; 1 Cor 1:1; 2 Cor 1:1; Gal 1:1),19 evidently used as a technical term rather than “messenger” in the general sense of the word. Notwithstanding claims to apostolic authority, his letters generally are not overburdened in this regard (although, see e.g. 1 Cor 5:3–5). In fact, even in cases like the Philemon letter, with a rhetoric aimed at compliance, he did not directly invoke apostolic authority nor insist on compliance on this basis.20 Paul’s style is therefore often described as non-authoritarian: that he seldom demanded, but used the language of polite request and thus conveyed a sense of allowing his correspondents freedom while reminding them of their responsibility in Christ to exercise moral discernment (Verhey 1984, 103). Unless, of course, the very letters themselves, inclusive of the deliberate disavowals of assuming power over others, should be seen as part of a subtle and ironic reversal. Are the letters, intent on enlisting and exacting voluntary submission, aimed at compliance without compulsion, demonstrating in fact the ultimate power posture, especially if, as Stirewalt has claimed recently, Paul’s apostolic portrayal approximated an ambassadorial image?21 Claims about Paul’s non-authoritarian style and Interestingly, it is only in 3 letters that Paul did not refer to himself as apostle. In 1 Thess he neither introduced himself as ἀπόστολος nor referred to himself as such in the letter; in fact, the only reference to ἀπόστολοι (plural) is in a sentiment bordering on the negative, because the apostles are portrayed as people making demands (δυνάμενοι ἐν βάρει εἶναι, 1 Thess 2:7). Also in Phil, Paul introduced himself and Timothy as δοῦλοι (slaves). The only other reference to ἀπόστολος in Phil refers to Epaphroditus (Phil 2:25), and is used there probably in the general sense of messenger. In the letter to Philemon no ἀπόστολος terms are used. 20 Although even or especially in the letter to Philemon the matter of how Paul claims authority and requires compliance is somewhat more subtle and certainly much more complicated (see Punt 2010b, 223–50; recently Elliott 2011, 51–64). 21 Stirewalt argues that Paul deliberately chose to use the official rather than personal letter form, attesting to his self-identification as an emissary of God, acting as intermediary with divine authority between God and the “jurisdiction” of the congregations (Stirewalt 2003, 37, 54). Stirewalt takes the position that, in introducing his letter, Paul deliberately and effectively posed as an intermediate official, with divine sanction (2003, 29). This raises questions about the rhetorical and political effects on the audiences of 19

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consistently generous apostolic identity, along with the projection of a humble person with an attitude commensurately devoid of self-interest or human frailties, are put in jeopardy when other studies are considered. These studies have suggested that Paul’s frequent calls for mimesis attest to claims of authority and result in a certain authority (Castelli 1991). Paul’s discourse of obedience was aligned with the dominating Greek and Roman imperial elite culture (Kittredge 1998). Furthermore, Paul’s use of the discourse of χάρις (grace) predisposed the communities towards granting authority to him and recognising his power (Polaski 1999, see below).22 Secondly, the authority of Paul’s arguments is often based on or at least construed in reference to the Scriptures of Israel, and at times strong positions and claims are presented as ratified by them (e.g. Rom 9–11; Gal 3–4 esp. Gal 4:30). Nowadays fewer scholars accept that Paul invoked the Scriptures only in disputes with opponents,23 yet it is evident from Paul’s use of the Scriptures in his arguments that he intends scriptural citations to bolster his own position.24 Simply put, God supports Paul’s position (Stanley 2004, 176–78). Paul used the Scriptures to argue his positions, and subscribed to the notion of power evidenced in the Scriptures. It is claimed that Paul aligned himself with the dynamics of power derived from a benevolent God that consistently and without exception25 exercised power in a positive way, intent on enhancing the lives of the marginalised and weak in particular (Ehrensperger 2009, 9,13,15, esp. 71–78). The situation is, however, more complex. As I have argued in greater detail elsewhere, in the context and ideological setting of the Roman Empire, Paul’s letters can be read as a challenge, even if indirect and subtle, to the Empire. This challenge was supported and authorized by his interpretation of the Scriptures of Israel as he sought to enlist the the letters, about the impact of an authoritarian style on his message; and about understanding his relationship to the Empire. 22 For criticism of Castelli’s work on mimesis in the Pauline letters, see Witherington (2003, 262); for criticism of Polaski’s work, see Ehrensperger (2009, 63–80). 23 Although the Scriptures were often the final court of appeal for Paul (see Stockhausen 1990, 196–97), Silva disagrees with Von Harnack’s argument that Paul merely invoked them as a “tool” in polemic with his Judaising opponents, and suggests that Paul even enlisted the Scriptures on the issues where he differed from tradition; e.g. Gal 3 on the law which, Paul wants to argue, does not give life as the OT states (Silva 1993, 638, 639). For another interpretation, see Scott (1993, 187–221). 24 From a radical perspective, Cook (2002, 182–91) argues that Paul’s opponents in Galatians were the victims of his persecution, and that Paul reacted against them with an idiosyncratic reading of the Scriptures. 25 See Crossan (2008, 49–95) who resolves the ambiguity of power in the Bible with an appeal to God, and by sacrificing the Bible (see also discussion below).



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scriptural framework and specific quotations to prove the veracity of his message and apostleship. In Paul’s understanding, however, his own ministry was so thoroughly entangled with, and connected to, the Scriptures that his adversaries’ stance towards him, reflected their stance towards the Scriptures.26 At the same time, however, Paul was implicated in his own discourse of power, as quotations from Scripture also served to underwrite his claims, authorize his position, and justify his arguments and position.27 In addition, since the Scriptures of Israel carried divine authority, Paul obtained no less than divine sanction for his mission and message through the direct and indirect claims that he made in his interpretation and use of the Scriptures (Punt 2008, 290). Paul’s invocation of memory that gave (new) life to tradition implied the reciprocal act of establishing a tradition that grounded and gave authority to memory (e.g. Phil 1:3-11).28 Such reciprocity requires that in the Pauline texts one has to reach beyond and behind Paul’s version of memory and events, if one is to come closer to different experiences of the social reality revealed and invoked by Paul,29 not as an individual as much as a member of the communities he addressed (Punt 2011a). Thirdly, the relationship between Paul and power, as it was partly dependent upon and construed through the Scriptures, was also related to freedom. To understand Paul’s relation to power, it is possible (at least to some extent) to claim that Paul’s freedom was his exousia (Hays 1989, 156). Not only did the Scriptures feature in Paul’s relationship with power, but the notion of the nearness of the words of the Scriptures (e.g. Rom 10:4, 8) ensured that readers would be empowered by the Spirit to generate imaginative intertextual readings that would illuminate the Stanley (2004, 40) is probably right in arguing that the authority of the Scriptures was widely acknowledged among the early Jesus-followers, so that Paul’s scriptural appeals would have contributed to his powerful position in the early movement. 27 Space does not allow for a discussion here, but a fuller treatment of “marginalisation” in Paul’s letters would also include an analysis of the position of the Scriptures of Israel in Paul’s thought, the displacement of ideas from their scriptural framework and upsetting the biblical framework. See Boyarin’s (2004) accusation that Paul allegorised away the uniqueness of Israelite history and Jewish life; see also Stanley (2004, 28–29) regarding Sternberg’s work on the displacement effect of quotations. 28 In Paul’s use of texts, the power of literacy and the coercive potential of possessing the Scriptures are apparent. “Their [texts’] embeddedness and social functions are paradigmatic; but these become alive as we discover the way texts construct readers and ‘reality’ through acts of power, by silence and marginalization, as well as by unarticulated assumptions, by the values and hierarchies engendered, and by the authoritative voice claimed” (Lieu 2004, 25). 29 “[M]emories are not one-way tracks… If the past casts a shadow on the present through memory, the present also imposes on the past by means of memory” (Xu 1994, 265). 26

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witness of the Law and the Prophets to the gospel of God’s righteousness (Hays 1999, 180). Of course, traditionally Paul is often also quoted to be the herald of a freedom that was even more wide-ranging: freedom from the Law, from sin and from death; thus freedom from enslavement to all material and metaphysical entities. For Paul freedom was not, however, the recognition of some inner autonomy with which human beings were naturally gifted, and which constituted the ground of Christian freedom from enslavement to external things of this world. On the contrary, freedom was dependent on bowing to a greater power, on accepting an obligation to God that overrides all others, including those to owners and patrons (see 1 Cor 7:22; Briggs 2000, 113). Along these lines, it is argued that Paul’s use of slavery should be understood as metaphor in the strong sense of the word,30 so that, in the end, Paul’s use of the rhetoric of slavery not only strengthened the rhetoric of his own position in opposition to other voices and traditions, but also asserted the equating of human life to slavery.31 Ambiguity is evident in all three of these instances of describing how Paul related to power in his letters. This ambiguity, it will be argued, needs to be understood within its appropriate socio-political context. A final round of debates on Paul’s relationship to power, and the nature of such power, provide an appropriate frame for the discussion in the second part of this article. 3.2.  Placing and Debating the Nature of Power in Paul/Paul in Power The topic of Paul’s relationship to power has been much debated, with uncertain conclusions reached, but has yet to be addressed adequately by current assumptions, theories and claims. To some extent, the debate is poised between two broad positions regarding the nature of power in the Pauline letters. On the one hand, the Pauline tradition has been seen to confirm the simple contradiction of human power as destructive, abusive and exploitative while God’s power is compassionate, liberating, and caring. On the other hand, a strong link has been established between “Slavery was not a simile for the Christian’s relationship to Christ and God. Paul was not making an analogy between one aspect of two dissimilar relationships. Rather, he was speaking of an identical relationship in two dissimilar realms wherein enslavement to Christ and God displaced the social institution” (Briggs 2000, 114). 31 “This position reinforces both the slavery metaphor and the kyriarchal social system implied with that metaphor as a given in early Christian discourse” (Kittredge 1998, 178). 30



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power and God. The power of God is seen as having the following attributes: it is eternal (Rom 1:20), it is greater than the powers of the world (Rom 8:38; 1 Cor 15:24), it is granted to human beings through Christ (1 Cor 1:24; Phil 3:20) or the Spirit (Rom 15:13, 19; Gal 3:5) and, in fact, even to ruling authorities as ordained by God (Rom 13:1–7). Such paradigms of understanding align Paul, and generally also other writings in the New Testament, with divine power, absolved of the inequities and complicating associations of human power. God gave Paul power to proclaim the gospel and perform signs and wonders (Rom 15:19; 1 Cor 2:4–5; 2 Cor 13:3–4).32 A spirited defence of the traditional position was recently mounted by Ehrensperger (2009), who generally focuses on a positive understanding of power.33 While giving a nod or two in acknowledgement of instances of hierarchical language and possible asymmetrical relationships in the Pauline mission, she absolves Paul of any significant or lasting grabs at power. A number of points are vital to her argument. Firstly, Paul did not work alone, as he independently but consciously perceived his work to be a joint or group effort, which can be seen in his co-sending of letters and in the wide array of co-workers and other associates. Secondly, Paul fostered communities and relationships that were mutable and flexible, not statically hierarchical. Thirdly, power in Paul should be understood within the context of relationship (God, co-workers, communities) and as a relational term. While Ehrensperger admits that the letters constitute only one element of a much more varied array of Paul’s activity, she nevertheless tends to equate the content and the context of the letters with the social reality which the letters addressed (Ehrensperger 2009, 55–56).34 Acknowledging his authority, Paul voluntarily did not make full use of them (1 Cor 9:3– 18), even if, at times, it is unclear whether his power was after all not derived from God’s power but of his own volition (1 Cor 5:4; see 2 Cor 10:8; 13:10). 33 Rather than a disabling and oppressive force, power is now read as enabling. It is partly based on her understanding of power according to three dimensions: as power-over (authority, and in negative format also submission and even violence – strategic power); power-with (power through solidarity, together in action – communicative power); power-to (empowerment – transformative power) (Ehrensperger 2009, 16–34, taking her cue from Amy Allen). 34 Ehrensperger would have done well to have heeded the distinctions identified and the implicit caution issued by Kittredge (1998, 4–6) in her distinction between social universe (as the world known by members of a community) and theology (as the systematic reflection upon that world). Taking our cue from Kittredge, and given that theological reflection has a knack of learning from social reality, and vice versa, the resultant mutuality often sees theologies as perpetuating structures similar to the social worlds of their origin, and inversely, social worlds as reflecting theological choices. The important question about agency and priority has to wait for another time. 32

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The opposite position can be illustrated by the work of Sandra Polaski, who argued for understanding the subtlety of power in Paul’s writings by attending to his use of χάρις (grace).35 Paul’s self-portrayals presented him as a submissive subject to God’s power described as χάρις.36 As undeserved divine attention had been uniquely granted to Paul, he had no control over χάρις but was answerable to it, and responsible to fulfil his divine commission. The communities he addressed, regardless of his role in their beginnings, were nevertheless subject to his unassailable position of power,37 since they were subject to the undeserved grace of the powerful God. In fact, at times, he spoke interchangeably of his work, the work of Christ and the work of God. Using the same terms to reserve his own unique place in God’s plan, Paul acknowledged that grace was given also to the communities by God, unmediated by anyone except Christ. Ambiguity, however, is discernible in the opening and closing of letters, where Paul mediates grace and simultaneously acknowledges that they are recipients of divine power beyond his control. Using the same powerful theological term, χάρις, Paul at once emphasised the universality of God’s act in Christ and sought to reserve his (Paul’s) unique authority as the interpretation of the divine gift (Polaski 1999, 104–23). Some scholars argue for a more middle-of-the-road approach, referring to Paul’s good, but often frustrated intentions, which were thwarted by contextual contingencies or flippant followers.38 For example, it has been suggested that Paul’s power was not institutionally authorised during his lifetime, nor did it accrue from some socially ascribed position. Paul’s power, rather, followed from influence he acquired through what he did for his followers. Thus claims to be the father of communities are not necessarily to be understood either as symptomatic of an authoritarian More extreme positions can also be listed, but for the sake of the argument here, the contrast with (what one can call) the traditional position, is evident enough. 36 Polaski does however acknowledge that not all instances of Paul’s use of χάρις referred to power, nor does she claim that χάρις simply became a cipher for power in the Pauline writings (Polaski 1999, esp. 122). 37 E.g. in 2 Cor 10 Paul claimed a divinely appointed authority, using the language of grace He wrote of his work as a struggle of divine proportions and he unashamedly boasts of own authority, given by God. It implies that his message met with divine approval, and therefore the Corinthians are to shun other teachers and to obey Paul only. 38 Or the Pauline legacy is blamed, e.g. “It is not surprising that Paul’s vision of an egalitarian community failed; indeed, Paul had to traverse the empire several times just to engineer its partial success during his lifetime. What is surprising, though, is how it failed. By the third century C.E., Christianity shows all too clearly the influence of mystery cults, including their intolerance and especially intolerance for the Jews” (Hollingshead 1998, 243). 35



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stance or of alignment with patriarchal concerns and structures (Bartchy 2008, 165–80; esp. 175–77). Finally, without claiming to have resolved all differences or cleared away all contested terrain in this way, these debates using different interpretative grids on Paul and power can benefit greatly from the acknowledgement of the Roman Empire as the determining socio-political force of the time. 4. The Roman Empire as Social Location and Interpretative Grid As has been shown, differences of opinion on interpreting the dynamics of power in Paul provide the frame for, and contribute to, the necessity of my argument. My underlying argument is that the Roman imperial context serves as the more appropriate social location and heuristic grid for interpreting Paul and power.39 Secondly, the appropriate tools are required if one is adequately to investigate Paul, power and the Empire. 4.1.  Empire as Appropriate Context Even if Paul and his practices were idiosyncratic (see Hays 1989 on Paul’s use of the Scriptures), the nature of biblical studies requires us to consider a plausible socio-historical context as an interpretative grid for understanding his words and actions as a first-century figure.40 The sketching of a credible socio-historical context does not amount to a claim for objectivity or exclusivity for the resulting heuristic and hermeneutical grid. Rather, it allows acknowledgement of one’s subjective presuppositions and the need to consider other options, while tolerating the presentation of alternatives by others. Positing the Roman Empire as credible interpretative framework is not to claim exclusivity, neither for the framework nor for agency in proposing it. It is inevitable that New Testament texts are interpreted within various heuristic frameworks. These can be Jewish, Greek and Roman or even the broader framework of Hellenism; perhaps even any specific submilieu of any one or of a combination of them, though the latter is less On the Roman Empire as socio-historical context and heuristic grid for interpretation for NT studies, see Punt (2010a, 1–7). 40 As a good example of the importance of context, what may be perceived as Paul “blowing his own horn”, need not simply be dismissed as arrogance or an over-confidence, even if well-meaning, in the apostle. Accounting for one’s deeds in the first century C.E., and in particular for your beneficent actions towards others, your personality, training and education were important for at least two reasons: asserting identity, and reaffirming male status in a public context (Malina and Neyrey 1996; see Watson 2003, 77–100). 39

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common. It is, however, important also to try to read Paul’s comments on power and, indeed, on weakness,41 within the context of an all-pervasive, all-powerful Roman Empire,42 which was, of course, a constituent and often formative element within them all. The general and perennial neglect of the imperial context is all too often still the proverbial elephant in the room.43 For other scholars, it is important to stress the notion that Paul understood power like other matters through the lenses of the Scriptures of Israel and related traditions. Rather than Paul taking a cue from reigning values of Greek and Roman society, he would have consciously deconstructed the thought and value system of the dominant Greek and Roman society.44 “[T]he imperial context had a significant impact on the dynamics of power to which the Pauline texts bear witness … But to acknowledge such influence is not the same as to propose that they shared these aspects” (Ehrensperger 2008, 10–11, emphasis in the original). As much as the disavowal of possible influence of imperial ideology on Paul, assuming his aversion for Greek and Roman socio-political and economic values, also fails to deal with the pervasive omnipresence of Empire as well as its attraction,45 including its subtle influences.46 Not to mention others such as wisdom and foolishness. Foolishness as a “feminine” characteristic becomes the context or framework for understanding Paul’s rhetoric of foolishness (Polaski 2005, 5, 19–20, 62, 76). 42 Both more and less than Greek and Roman society: less in the sense of the overwhelming impact, at all levels, through all the media of imperial force and ideology, but more in the sense that the Empire required the Hellenistic world to perpetrate its imperial designs. 43 “If the central figure of the Christian faith was executed on a sedition charge by the occupying forces of the Roman Empire, and if the early churches took root and grew in an imperialist setting, then why is there so little theorizing in biblical studies about empire and religion?” (Friesen 2001). 44 Collins does not argue that Paul as a talented rhetorician found it necessary to choose between his keen attunement to both the world of the Greek and Roman imperial city and the language of the Scriptures (Collins 2008). Furthermore, Carter (2010, 24) cautions that the lengthy and sustained neglect of dealing with Paul’s negotiation with the Empire should not be done at the expense of Paul’s participation in, and interaction with, first-century Judaism. 45 The attraction of the Empire is not necessarily the goal of enlistment, but often the mimicking aim to achieve the accoutrements brought about by imperial affiliation (such as power, status, wealth), even if along different lines or for different purposes. 46 Ehrensperger’s approach is suspect for other reasons, too. While she rightly acknowledges the importance of the Scriptures of Israel and accompanying traditions for Paul’s thinking and actions, to assume its consistent presence, and inversely the perennial absence of the omnipresent Greek and Roman values, is speculative and generalising. It is also too simplistic to ascribe values like equality, mutuality and relationality to the Scriptures as exhaustive of the context at large. 41



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Paul invoked a new discourse of power through his rhetoric which leaned on the Scriptures of Israel for its authentication and authority, not always by direct invocation, but often by subtle hints, echoes, and concerns marked out in them. Paul’s position was contrary the Empire’s, with rhetorical claims standing in contrast to those of the Empire. But his was nonetheless a position of a negotiating power, both with the discursive colonialism of imperial ideology and his letter-recipients, and with the Scriptures of Israel, which were granted new meaning through their induction into Paul’s hermeneutics. 4.2.  Social Location and Heuristic Grid for Power The pervasive presence and accompanying effects of the Empire were manifest already in Roman imperial theology as the ideological glue keeping Roman civilization together (Crossan 2008, 59–62).47 While the Empire made its presence felt in tangible and visible ways (see Punt 2010a, 1–7), a crucial element of the Roman ideology of domination and oppression was its rhetoric of clementia (see Elliott 2008b, 87–119; Matthews 2009, 142–46),48 subtly claiming that Roman hegemony was to the benefit of everyone.49 As an ideology, in the sense of offering a broad understanding of the world, it claimed that the omnipotent, though often destructive, force of the Empire on military, socio-cultural and religious levels was directed to the well-being of all, and for their benefit.50 In In the Roman world, not only civilization, mythology and religion, but also theology, was based on a fourfold basis of power (military, economic, political and ideological). Imperial theology centred on the divinity of the Emperor, explaining the importance of “the emperor cult”; which was not restricted to the outlying provinces, but had some presence closer to Rome as well. Roman imperial theology rested largely on its effective dissemination through the appropriation by means of elites aligned to the Empire and relied upon oblique and indirect references to the divinity of the living Augustus (see Ovid, Tristia 3.1.36–39). Divine status was attributed to emperors as both dynastic and imperial prerogatives, and imperial theology was promoted through images and structures, including poems, inscriptions, coins and images, statues, altars (Crossan 2008, 60; see Mann 1986, 518–22; Wright 2005, 64). 48 Other crucial aspects in imperial propaganda included claims to justice, virtue and piety; see Elliott (2008b). 49 The notion can probably not be maintained that after the time of Julius Caesar clementia was associated with despotism (Konstan 2005, 337–46). It is, however, clear that clementia functioned as part of imperial ideology. 50 A Roman politics of dominance and submission invoked the subtle rhetoric of clementia, of having the intention of goodwill, keeping the best interests of others in mind, and of doing good, even if that caused momentary discomfort (civilization brought about by conquest). It was an ideology that claimed the need to see the bigger picture, that the all-conquering and pillaging Romans were intent on the positive spin offs for 47

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short, it was a full-blown ideology underwritten by war, but insisting on peace through violence (see Punt 2010a, 1–7). The Roman imperial presence and practice informed the consciousness and worldview of first-century people of the Mediterranean world. The Empire is, however, more than a socio-historical material reality; it is also a heuristic grid for understanding Paul’s vision of God, life and the cosmos. It is a heuristic grid both for understanding Paul’s letters in the light of the Empire and its influences, and for the impact and formative influences of the Empire, its imperial ideology and its theology in Paul’s thinking as reflected in his letters. It is probably the decades of biblical interpretation and established conventions, theological frameworks, scholarly perceptions anchored in vested interests and the like (see Horsley 2000, 72–101; Schüssler Fiorenza 2000, 40–57) that has precluded a more rounded appreciation of the role of the Empire vis-à-vis the New Testament documents. Indeed, given the pervasive material and ideological presence of the Empire, one wonders if the burden of proof should not be on those who disavow the impact and influence of imperial ideology upon biblical authors.51 For the Pauline literature there was no other socio-political context than that of the Roman Empire,52 both in its public manifestation of material power and control through its rulers, armies and conventions, and also in subtle ways. 5.  Power: Strength and Weakness in Corinth One example can show how the influence of imperial theology permeated Pauline thinking. The power language of “weak” and “strong” which is found in Paul’s letters to the Corinthians (see Rom 14:1–15:13) aligns with the ideological vocabulary of the Roman elite, for whom strength and power were equated with honour and wealth.53 Weakness was identified all. Matthews claims, however, that “[t]he celebration of clemency is first and foremost – if not solely – a celebration of the emperor’s virtue” (Matthews 2009, 121). 51 It may be a commonplace to assert that religion never excluded politics in the Roman Empire (e.g. Segal 2000, 189), but it is worrying that little effort is made with the political element or with using tools which are capable of exposing and investigating the political dimensions of the Pauline writing. 52 Segovia (1998, 57) refers to “the massive presence and might of the Roman Empire, master and lord of the entire Circum-Mediterranean, with its thoroughly accurate if enormously arrogant classification of the Mediterranean Sea as mare nostrum”. 53 For the imperial cult as Paul’s primary opponent in the Corinthian correspondence, see Saunders (2005, 227–38). Given (2010, 196–97) sees the rationale for Paul’s focus on issues of power in 1 Cor 1–4 as a more personal matter, namely Paul’s attempt to exercise “rhetorical power over against those who have become enamoured with Apollos”.



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with the shamefulness of the lower classes54 (Reasoner 1999; see Elliott 1997, 175). The ancient links between body and strength/weakness (and beauty/ugliness) were as strong in imperial times as ever. While the Empire, the imperial society, the imperial household and body were all intimately related, households and bodies were perceived as the building blocks of the Empire, with bodily strength and beauty associated with the bodies of the elite or upper-class, as much as weakness and ugliness were with the lower class (Martin 1995, xviii, 47–55).55 5.1.  Celebrating Weakness Particularly in a city like Corinth, with its strategic political connections and its location, being an important trade link, the imperial presence was marked by the trappings of material culture suffused with imperial ideology, including temples, statues and patronage. At first glance, in contrast to the Roman authorities and to Augustus in particular, Paul focused in 1 Cor 1–4 and 2 Cor 4–5, 10–13 on weakness rather than strength, to the extent that weakness became for him a means of transformation and a sign of its reality (Hollingshead 1998, 217–20; see Eastman 2007, 100ff on weakness). Invoking the body of Christ, as mistreated and abused yet resurrected, could be seen as serving as a form of resistance to the imperial powers of the day, but also as a rallying point for those suffering from the repressive regime.56 Christ was presented in 1 Corinthians as the victim of the Roman Empire, but also as the one vindicated bodily by God through the Weakness was, moreover, also a gendered concept. In 1 Cor 7:36–38, where Paul addressed only the young man and not the woman, “Paul’s exclusive address to the young man thus reveals his assumption of the male-female hierarchy of strength” (Martin 1995, 227). 55 As Carter also argues, one of the hotly debated issues regarding Paul and the Empire relates to the style of Paul’s interaction with the Empire (Carter 2010, 19). My argument is not that the Pauline letters should always be understood as an exclusive or constant or direct challenge to imperial ideology with his understanding of the gospel about Christ, though, of course, at times this is exactly what he did (see 1 Thess 5:2). The constant in Paul’s letters is, however, the subtle impact of the Empire and imperial theology, which is not always challenged, though also negotiated, mimicked, refurbished and so on. 56 Weakness did not imply quietism. “Remaining with God” (1 Cor 7), is not a passive mode of doing nothing, but can be understood positively; the Corinthians should stay with God’s initiative, God’s power that extends beyond human ideology and power. Paul thus can be read as challenging social conservatism and nullifying human constructions of power. “Remain with God” implies that they must “see what God is doing” (Kim 2008, 58). 54

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resurrection.57 Paul saw death as a precursor to resurrection, with the presence of the spirit as first-fruits or down-payment evidence of the resurrection (Punt 2011b). Paul was convinced that the followers of Jesus, as embodied human beings, would, as Jesus did, have to suffer their cross and experience the resurrection, but, even more importantly, they had of necessity to do so since they were the body of Christ (see Hollingshead 1998, 208–10). Such celebration, and even re-enactment, of weakness ran counter to the prevailing sentiment of the time with its emphasis on status and hierarchy, on authority, power and control and on the celebration of these characteristics through public display. The celebration of weakness, as long as it was closely managed, offered other, new opportunities for power as a counter-discourse to the imperial-ideological insistence on peace through war and on clemency amidst the right to violence. 5.2.  Weakness, as the New Strength? Paul found another way of exerting power through claims on weakness and the concomitant reversal of values. Some scholars insist that Paul deliberately connected the cross and the resurrection in his letters, either historically or theologically, holding that the death and resurrection of Christ was “a single complex event of salvation” (see Boers 2006, 137). The significance of the difference in emphasising the cross or resurrection becomes evident, however, when these two themes are considered in terms of their impact on power and control. As much as the cross symbolised weakness as a virtue, since it was through weakness that transformation was and is accomplished, providing simultaneously a sign of the reality of such weakness,58 resurrection in contrast asserted a sense of strength and victory. The resurrection was in the end for Paul actually little more than the warrant which made the cross ring true (1 Cor 15:12–18). Indeed, and without discounting conceptual connections or lingering ambiguity, Paul chose the cross of Jesus (1 Cor 2:2) as the content of his preaching, and “The body as tortured, as crucified, must be carried about, represented, embodied in the persons of his apostles, until the deadly representations of the Empire’s power are brought to an end by the One to whom all powers will ultimately be subjected (1 Cor 15:24)” (Elliott 2004, 87, emphasis in the original). 58 This would have challenged the Roman sentiment of the time, which emphasised greatness. First-century Romans, and the elite in particular, went to great lengths to show physical evidence of such greatness, as was well exemplified in Augustus’s Res Gestae (Hollinghead 1998, 218). 57



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not the resurrection of Jesus (see Given 2010).59 An important distinction emerges when we note how Paul deployed the cross and resurrection in his arguments. Paul regarded the significance of Christ for himself when he drew on the notion of the risen Christ (e.g. esp. Phil 3:2–14; Gal 1:15–16). When, however, he considered the meaning of Christ for his readers, Paul explored some actual events of Jesus’s death, resurrection and expected parousia (e.g. 1 Cor 15:3–7; Rom 6:1–14; Boers 2006, 109). Clearly, Paul did not distance himself or his work from power in his insistence for choosing weakness; weakness may not be similar to strength, but once weakness becomes powerful, is it not a new form of strength and of power redefined? 5.3.  Paul’s Rhetoric of Weakness as Utterance of Power Paul’s discourse on power in his first letter to the Corinthians, was informed by a rhetoric of weakness (e.g. Phil 2:5–11; 2 Cor 10–13) and a rhetoric of foolishness (e.g. 1 Cor 1–4). The challenge to contemporary imperial discourse served to secure his precarious position. Paul launched a strong defence of his ministry and apostleship in the Corinthian correspondence, especially in 1 Cor 1–4 and in 2 Cor 10–13. It is also in these sections that Paul’s anti-imperial, marginal hermeneutics and discourse of power can be observed in action. Whereas the rhetorical pitch of the letters in the past was often perceived as pastoral, aimed at ethical options against the background of a reaffirmation of the parousia and (future) eschatology in general, there is increasing recognition of the subversive or anti-imperial language of 1 Cor 1:22–25; 1 Cor 11:3; 1 Cor 15:24–25 (see Reiger 2007, 23; 36–37).60 Of course, as Given (2010, 193–98) is at pains to point out, Paul’s claim to preach only the cross is a rhetorical device, not to be taken literally. This is borne out by evidence elsewhere in his letters (e.g. 1 Thess 1:9–10; 1 Cor 1–4 and 15; see even Acts 17:22–31). In fact, it is not only the resurrection, but also the kingdom, judgement and future reign of God that feature in prominent places (see 1 Cor 15:3–4, 24–25) in Paul’s letters. 60 The apocalyptic-eschatological strain was not simply about reining in the overly enthusiastic Corinthian followers of Christ; the apocalyptic tradition was essentially anti-empire (see Rieger 2007, 48–49), in contemporary parlance, it anticipated “regime-change”. Wright (2000, 161–62) suggests that Paul’s high ecclesiology saw the establishment of churches as “colonial outposts of the empire that is to be” and that rather as a missionary in religious garb, Paul acted as “an ambassador of a king-in-waiting”, setting up and organising groups of loyal followers whose lives were based on the reality created by his story: emphasising the connection between pastoral and political. Horsley (1997, 242– 52) claims that in 1 Cor Paul emphasised “a community of a new society alternative to the dominant imperial society”. 59

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Tensions are, however, inherent to Paul’s use of the strength/weakness binary in the Corinthian letters. “Again and again Paul places himself in a position of rhetorical power in order to advocate a community based on weakness… . How can one use the power of persuasion to argue against the exercise of any power?” (Hollingshead 1998, 242). If, however, Paul’s rhetoric was not intended to argue against power and the exercise of power as such, then another understanding of the dynamics in 1 Corinthians is possible. “The weak Paul is equivalent to the offensive gospel. In 2 Cor 4:1–5:20; 10–13, Paul sets up a more elaborate contrast between the weak, suffering Paul and his gospel and the selfglorifying ‘superapostles’ who have some other – never described – gospel (especially 2 Cor 11:4–5). What we may fail to notice is that Paul’s rhetoric also associates himself with nothing less than divine glory (2 Cor 3:4–18). As a result, Paul’s self-effacing rhetoric is ultimately quite aggrandizing” (Walsh 2005, 41 n 51).61 The sarcastic chiding of 1 Cor 4:8, with its royal reference, is not only a reproach to the Corinthians for their claim to empowerment through spiritual gifts, but also demonstrates the environment in which to understand such a rhetoric of power.62 In fact, Paul’s rhetoric of weakness is not a reluctant acknowledgement of a battle lost against imperial forces, but there is reason to think that Paul really meant to boast about his weakness for strategic reasons. His body was already the focus of discussion for theological reasons, namely that he was emulating the example of the suffering Jesus (see Glancy 2004). Paul used the same strategy of claiming weakness and using it to argue for a position of power elsewhere in 1 Corinthians.63 The rhetorical power of Paul’s focus on weakness should not be dismissed (see Given 2010, 193–198),64 since language and specific discourse do not merely occur in social relations, but also constructs social relations (see Kittredge 1998, 5). Paul’s rhetoric in 1 Corinthians shows his awareness of the ambiguous nature of power and the ambivalence See Wanamaker (2003, 194–221) on Paul and power in 2 Cor 10–13 from a sociorhetorical perspective. 62 “Of course he means to claim the honor and authority of the title ‘spiritual’ for himself and deny it to those Corinthians whom he immediately characterizes as ‘people of the flesh’ (3:1 NRSV)” (Given 2010, 195). 63 E.g. in 1 Cor 7:6-9. “[Paul] claims for himself the position of greater strength then notes that he is willing to be more flexible for the sake of weaker members” (Martin 1995, 210). 64 Collins (2008) has recently written on the use of metaphor, and the power of images in Paul. 61



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of the position he advocates,65 which relies on the strength of weakness, creating power from powerlessness. Indeed, Paul’s show of rhetorical force was not “to seduce potential students with the promise of a glory to be achieved in the kingdom of Rome” (Given 2010, 198). It was rather an attempt to exercise power within the Corinthian community, doing so with a rhetoric resembling imperial ideology. 6.  Reading Strategy and Posture It requires more than just a “business as usual” approach, hermeneutically speaking, to deal with the way the material and discursive imperialism informed and determined the daily lives of people in a myriad of ways, even also at the level of consciousness. Can the paradigm-shifting impact of foregrounding Paul’s interaction with the Empire (Carter 2010, 24) be accomplished without appropriate hermeneutical frameworks, especially when the choice of the interpretative framework and the impact of the social location assumed by interpreters when reading biblical texts (e.g. Ricoeur 1980; Segovia and Tolbert 1995a and 1995b; Thiselton 1980) play such a critical role in exegesis? Given the historical importance of Pauline interpretation in the history of Christianity, part of the problem in accounting for the complexity of power in the Pauline epistles is related to constraints in hermeneutical approach. While traditional approaches either overlook the imperial elephant in the room or fail to get a grip on it, the advantages offered by a postcolonial approach to account for the presence and impact of the Empire in the Pauline writings loom large. The following illustrations must suffice for the rationale of the approach adopted. A postcolonial hermeneutical approach aims to include and give voice to the voiceless, to the muted voices of the colonised, the marginalised and the oppressed. It investigates disproportionate power relationships at the geo-political as well as subsidiary levels: the level of the empire and the relationship between the imperial and the colonial, and also at the social and personal levels of the powerful ruler and the subaltern. At the same time, it investigates the interrelationship, and also debunks the apparent distinctions and contrasts between centre and periphery.66 The postcolonial focus in biblical interpretation of the See Aasgaard (2007) on the ambivalence inherent to Paul’s power claims through asserting weakness in contexts where he equated himself with a child. 66 The scope (or range of the field) of postcolonial studies, as far as operative breadth is concerned, covers the wide range of imperial-colonial formations from the empires of 65

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relationships of power and hegemony, in other words on domination and subordination, is particularly useful for investigating the wide-ranging, but often interconnected, areas of gender, race, sexuality and economics in biblical texts, and in later and current interpretations of those texts and their originators.67 The characteristic approach of postcolonial biblical criticism is defined in the first place by the interest it takes in the subalterns.68 Postcolonial hermeneutics reintroduces representation, not in the mimetic sense, but rather in recognising and assigning the once colonised their place in the chronicles of history, and affirming their agency in the present. In the matter of Paul and power, both Paul’s subaltern status with regard to the Empire as well as his letter recipients’ status with regard to himself, therefore came up for discussion. With the breakdown of earlier barriers, it is now acknowledged that those previously perceived to be on the periphery and margins are in fact also in the centre. On the one hand, postcolonial criticism is a counter-hegemonic discourse, paying special attention to the hidden and neglected voices (Kwok 1988, 110) as well as the voices of protest or opposition in the texts (see Sugirtharajah 1998a, 21). On the other hand, it also encourages and welcomes contributions from marginalized groups that have been neglected (Kwok 1998, 110).69 Secondly, as already hinted above, a postcolonial hermeneutics is interested in the relationships of power and domination and their effects. Postcolonial studies illustrate how the positions of coloniser and colonised or powerful and powerless were constructed and linked to one another, even antiquity to the present reach of global capitalism; The underlying framework or foundational contexts of both economic and political environments are encompassed, up to and including capitalism and modernity (Segovia 2005, 70–72). E.g. with reference to the early Jesus follower communities, the city of Rome constituted the metropolitan or imperial centre, and areas such as the western and, in particular, the eastern parts of the ancient world including subcontinents such as Asia, were peripheral areas (Friesen 2001, 17). Other scholars, while affirming the imperialism-colonialism distinction, question the doublet’s alignment with centre and periphery, perceiving centre and periphery rather as mutually constitutive relations (Marchal 2008, 4–5; 128 n8). 67 “[P]ostcolonial criticism seeks to analyze how the imperial-colonial phenomenon bears on constructions of the other-world, the this-world, and their relationship as advanced in the texts themselves, as construed in the established tradition of readings and readers in the West, and as offered in the contemporary production of readings and readers in the world at large” (Segovia 2005, 24). 68 “The key function of postcolonial criticism is to register ‘how the knowledge we construct and impart as academics is structured by the absence, difficulty or impossibility of representation of the subaltern” (Sugirtharajah 2002, 201). 69 Postcolonial biblical criticism does not romanticise or idealise the poor, and refuses to blame the victims; rather, it is concerned with such social or other structures and institutions which foster and contribute to victimhood (Sugirtharajah 1998a, 22–23).



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though such interactions were hardly on equal terms. In such contexts and relationships power is highly ambivalent, and although it manifests through strength, it can also be present in (claims to) weakness, as shown above. A different reading posture is required for postcolonial hermeneutics, as it is keen to expose various relationships: between ideas and power, language and power, and knowledge and power. It is also concerned with the ways in which these relationships prop up Western texts, theories and learning70 (Sugirtharajah 1998a, 16–17). Thirdly, postcolonial hermeneutics can assist in pursuing the effects and implications of such interactions and their resultant hybridities. Postcolonial hermeneutics highlights the acquisition and propagating of a new or different identity. Realising the importance of hybridity,71 identity is understood as hyphenated, fractured, multiple and multiplying, as it exists within “a complex web of cultural negotiation and interaction, forged by imaginatively redeploying the local and the imported elements” (Sugirtharajah 1998a, 16–17). In terms of range or scope of investigative possibilities, postcolonial theory enhances biblical hermeneutics in its efforts to acknowledge, investigate and explain the contexts of the origin of biblical and related contemporary texts. In particular, a postcolonial optic is interested in framing and figuring the ways in which imperialist, socio-cultural, and economic-political powers influence texts, both with regard to the past and the present. Postcolonial theory offers New Testament studies a viable theoretical position for interpreting texts which originated in settings dominated by the Roman Empire and its collaborators. A postcolonial reading goes beyond an anti-imperial(ist) reading,72 since the understanding of If one keeps in mind the notion of the coloniality of being in decolonialising studies (Mignolo 2007a; Maldonado-Torres 2007), a “postcoloniality of being” may in fact be a notion more readily capable of explaining the ancient and modern contexts of disproportionate power relations in texts and contexts. A postcoloniality of being acknowledges the relationship between ideas and power, language and power, and knowledge and power, but also how these relationships prop up Western (read, hegemonic) texts, theories and learning (Sugirtharajah 1998, 16–17), and recognises the ambivalence of all three (being, power and knowledge), complete with mimicral actions and with identities hybridically constituted. 71 Postcolonial hermeneutics also highlight the acquisition and propagating of a new identity, realising the importance of hybridity, a concept popularised by Bhabha, as “a doubling, dissembling image of being in at least two places at once”, and so colonial otherness is situated in a separateness – between the colonialist Self and colonised Other – and not in a particular (essentialist) identity of either coloniser or colonised (Bhabha 1994; see Wan 2000, 110). 72 This is partly a problem with terminology: should all forms of political rule and/or government in the Bible simply be posed as “empire”, as some scholars appear to do 70

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what constitutes the postcolonial, and even the imperial, requires consideration.73 In picking up on the surface-level and underlying tensions in texts, postcolonial biblical criticism is useful and effective in studying the Empire not only as the material setting, but also the heuristic grid for biblical interpretation (see Punt 2010a).74 7. Conclusion The ambiguity of power in the Bible cannot be resolved by a tantalisingly attractive, but deceptively simple proposal that insists on a disjuncture between the Bible and God. If it is the Bible that “presents the radicality of a just and nonviolent God repeatedly and relentlessly confronting the normalcy of an unjust and violent civilization”, how will the ambiguity of power in the Bible be resolved by choosing “the person, not the book, and the life, not the text [as] decisive and constitutive for us” (Crossan 2007, 93–94) if God is mediated through these texts? For all its simplicity, this proposal hides more than it reveals, disallowing the ambiguity that besets frameworks and discourses of power, in an apparent theodicy-driven desire to rescue the God of the Bible, even if the Bible is scapegoated, implicated in or complicit with the wrong side of power. The proposal not only drives a wedge between the Bible and the God of the Bible, its value is largely directed at (post)modern times and does little to explain the Bible’s ambiguity when it comes to discussing power. Paul was not fully successful in avoiding the perpetuation of the language of domination and hegemony when he took up and used the language of Empire, by retooling or refurbishing imperial power play to subvert the propaganda and image originating from, and sanctioned by Rome, in his (see Bryan 2005)? Greater sensitivity is needed for the most plausible socio-historical settings and for the intricacies and involved nature of the empire: attraction/allure; mimicry; hybridity etc. 73 On the one hand, imperial-colonial contact has always been multifarious in nature (Segovia 2005, 68); on the other hand, (post)colonial and imperial studies have to be distinguished from one another (Segovia 2000, 133–35). 74 While the importance of a historical perspective, and a critical one at that, is important in postcolonial studies, it is doubtful whether the claim that “postcolonial criticism does not reject the insights of historical criticism” (Kwok 2005, 80) is altogether appropriate; see e.g. Segovia (1995, 278–85; 2000, 39); on the danger of “promiscuous marriages” of theoretical frameworks of perspective, see Schüssler Fiorenza (1999, 38–39). On the other hand, this is not to deny historical criticism’s suspicious readings and counter-readings of ecclesially authorised renderings of the Bible (see Barton 1998, 16–19).



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attempt establish and legitimate his own position and message.75 Given the pervasive influence of the Pauline tradition in the early Christian church and beyond, and with the uncomfortable historical evidence of oppressive Christian empires, secular and religious, a remaining quest is to formulate appropriate hermeneutical approaches and methodologies with which to read the biblical texts, that will expose the oppressive and retrieve what could form the basis of the egalitarian, fair and just relationships and structures people strive for today. The results of such reading may very well feed into and help to formulate alternative, non-hegemonic patterns of relationships in the Christian communities of today.76 Bibliography Aageson, J.W. 1996. “‘Control’ in Pauline Language and Culture: A Study of Rom 6.” New Testament Studies 42(1):75–89. Aasgaard, R. 2007. “Paul as Child: Children and Childhood in the Letters of the Apostle.” Journal of Biblical Literature 126(1):129–59. Bartchy, S.S. 2008. “Who Should Be Called ‘Father’? Paul of Tarsus between the Jesus Tradition and Patria Potestas.” Pages 165–80 in The Social World of the New Testament: Insights and Models. Edited by Jerome H. Neyrey and Eric C. Stewart. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. Bhabha, H.K. 1994. The Location of Culture. London & New York, NY: Routledge. Black, D.A. 1984. Paul, Apostle of Weakness: Astheneia and Its Cognates in the Pauline Literature. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Boers, H. 2006. “The Meaning of Christ’s Resurrection in Paul.” Pages 106–37 in Resurrection. The Origin and Future of a Biblical Doctrine. Edited by James H. Charlesworth and C.D. Elledge, J.L. Crenshaw, H. Boers, and W.W. Willis jr. Faith and Scholarship Colloquies Series. New York, NY and London: T & T Clark. Bourdieu, P. 1977. Outline of a Theory of Practice. Trans. R. Nice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. According to Horsley (2008, 182), it amounts to the language of kyriarchy; in the words of Jennings, “there is the inevitable danger that appropriating imperial terminology for subversive purposes can be simply reversed at a later stage to become a relegitimation of empire” (Jennings 2009, 151). The veracity of such claims can of course be verified against the ensuing legacy of Paul and the traditions he inspired in the Christian church. 76 Further on this theme, specifically in the USA, see Elliott (2008a, 112–13). The claim of Polaski that in the Baptist tradition in the US, “truth, knowledge and power are operating in the construction of a system such that individuals willingly, gladly, commit their lives to it” (1999, 134), can relatively easily be extended to many other faith communities the world over. Some scholars argue that Paul’s primary concern was the establishment of a universal Christianity, an ideal which only came to full life in later Western Christianity. However, “Paul’s universal gospel, which flattened significant ethnic or cultural differences, has become less tenable in a postcolonial context when vernacular identities and values have a renewed lease of life” (Sugirtharajah 2007, 457). 75

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Boyarin, D. 1994. A Radical Jew. Paul and the Politics of Identity. Critical Studies in Jewish Literature, Culture, and Society 1. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Briggs, S. 2000. “Paul on Bondage and Freedom in Imperial Roman Society.” Pages 110–23 in Paul and Politics. Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation. Essays in Honor of Krister Stendahl. Edited by Richard A. Horsley. Harrisville, PA: Trinity Press International. Brown, A.R. 1998. “The Gospel Takes Place. Paul’s Theology of Power-inWeakness in 2 Corinthians.” Interpretation 52(3):271–85. Carter, W. 2010. “Paul and the Roman Empire: Recent Perspectives.” Pages 7–26 in Paul Unbound. Other Perspectives on the Apostle. Edited by M.D. Given. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. Castelli, E.A. 1991. Imitating Paul: A Discourse of Power. Literary Currents in Biblical Interpretation. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press. Chow, J.K. 1997. “Patronage in Roman Corinth.” Pages 104–25 in Paul and Empire. Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society. Edited by R.A. Horsley. Harrisville, PA: Trinity Press International. Collins, R.F. 2008. The Power of Images in Paul. Collegeville, PA: Liturgical (Michael Glazier). Cook, R.B. 2002. “Paul and the Victims of his Persecution: The Opponents in Galatia.” Biblical Theology Bulletin 32:182–91. Crossan, J.D. 2007. God & Empire. Jesus against Rome, Then and Now. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco. —. 2008. Roman Imperial Theology. Pages 59–73 in In the Shadow of Empire. Reclaiming the Bible as a History of Faithful Resistance. Edited by R.A. Horsley. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox. Dijkhuizen, P. 2010. “Accounting for the Shape of Early Christian Identities: Comparing Methodological Atheism and Methodological Agnosticism in the Study of Religion.” Pages 6–8 in Paper presented at the Second UNISA colloquium. Pretoria. Eastman, S. 2007. Recovering Paul’s Mother Tongue. Language and Theology in Galatians. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Ehrensperger, K. 2009. Paul and the Dynamics of Power: Communication and Interaction in the Early Christ-Movement. London: T & T Clark. Elliott, N. 1997. “The Anti-Imperial Message of the Cross.” Pages 167–83 in Paul and Empire. Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society. Edited by R.A. Horsley. Harrisville PA: Trinity Press International. —. 2004. The Apostle Paul’s Self-Presentation as Anti-Imperial Performance. Pages 67–88 in Paul and the Roman Imperial Order. Edited by R.A. Horsley. Harrisville, PA: Trinity Press International. —. 2008a. The Apostle Paul and Empire. Pages 97–116 in In the Shadow of Empire. Reclaiming the Bible as a History of Faithful Resistance. Edited by Richard A. Horsley. Louisville KY: Westminster John Knox. —. 2008b. The Arrogance of Nations. Reading Romans in the Shadow of Empire. Paul in Critical Contexts. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Friesen, S.J. 2001. Imperial Cults and the Apocalypse of John. Reading Revelation in the Ruins. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Foucault, M. 1980. Power/Knowledge. Brighton: Harvester.



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Gaventa, B.R. 2007. Our Mother Saint Paul. Louisville, KY, London: Westminster John Knox. Given, M.D. 2001. Paul’s True Rhetoric: Ambiguity, Cunning, and Deception in Greece and Rome. Emory Studies in Early Christianity. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International. Given, M.D. 2010. “Paul and Rhetoric: A Sophos in the Kingdom of God.” Pages 175–200 in Paul Unbound. Other Perspectives on the Apostle. Edited by M.D. Given. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. Glancy, J.A. 2004. “Boasting of Beatings (2 Corinthians 11:23–25).” Journal of Biblical Literature 123(1):99–135. Hack Polaski, S. 1999. Paul and the Discourse of Power. Gender, Culture, Theory 8. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. —. 2005. A Feminist Introduction to Paul. St Louis: Chalice. Hays, R.B. 1989. Echoes of Scripture in the letters of Paul. New Haven, CT & London: Yale University Press. Hollingshead, J.R. 1998. The Household of Caesar and the Body of Christ. A Political Interpretation of the Letters from Paul. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. Holmberg, B. 1978. Paul and Power: The Structure of Authority in the Primitive Church as Reflected in the Pauline Epistles. Coniectanea Biblica 11. Lund: Gleerup. Horsley, R.A. 1997. “1 Corinthians: A Case Study of Paul’s Assembly as an Alternative Society.” Pages 242–252 in Paul and Empire. Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society. Edited by Richard A. Horsley. Harrisville, PA: Trinity Press International. —. 2000. “Paul and the Politics of Interpretation.” Pages 72–102 in Paul and Politics. Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation. Essays in Honor of Krister Stendahl. Edited by R.A. Horsley. Harrisville, PA: Trinity Press International. —. 2008. “Conclusion.” Pages 177–82 in In the Shadow of Empire. Reclaiming the Bible as a History of Faithful Resistance. Edited by R.A. Horsley. Louis­ ville, KY: Westminster John Knox. Hurtado, L.W. 2003. Lord Jesus Christ. Devotion to Jesus in Earliest Christianity. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Johnson, L.T. 1998. Religious Experience in Earliest Christianity: A Missing Dimension in New Testament Studies. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Kim, Y.S. 2008. Christ’s Body in Corinth. The Politics of a Metaphor. Paul in Critical Contexts Series. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Kittredge, C.B. 1998. Community and Authority. The Rhetoric of Obedience in the Pauline Tradition. Harvard Theological Studies, vol. 45. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International. Konstan, D. 2005. Clemency as a Virtue. Classical Philology 100(4):337–46. Lieu, J.M. 1986. The Second and Third Epistles of John: History and Background. Studies of the New Testament and its World. Edinburgh: T & T Clark. Lieu, J.M. 2004. Christian Identity in the Jewish and Graeco-Roman World. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Malina, B.J. and J.H. Neyrey 1996. Portraits of Paul. An Archeology of Ancient Personality. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox.

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Mann, M. 1986. The Sources of Social Power. Volume 1: A History of Power from the Beginning to AD 1760. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Marchal, J.A. 2008. The Politics of Heaven. Women, Gender, and Empire in the Study of Paul. Paul in Critical Contexts. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Marks, H. 1984. Pauline Typology and Revisionary Criticism. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 52(1):71–92. Martin, D.B. 1995. The Corinthian Body. New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press. Matthews, S. 2009. Clemency as Cruelty: Forgiveness and Force in the Dying Prayers of Jesus and Stephen. Biblical Interpretation 17:118–46. Morgan, D. 1998. Visual Piety. A History and Theory of Popular Religious Images. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Patte, D. 1983. Paul’s Faith and the Power of the Gospel. A Structural Introduction to the Pauline Letters. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress. Peterson, B.K. 1998. “Conquest, Control, and the Cross. Paul’s Self-Portrayal in 2 Corinthians 10–13.” Interpretation 52(3):258–70. Punt, J. 2008. “Paul and Postcolonial Hermeneutics: Marginality and/in Early Biblical Interpretation.” Pages 261–90 in As it is written: Studying Paul’s use of Scripture. Edited by S. Porter and C.D. Stanley. Symposium Series 50. Atlanta, GA: SBL Publications. —. 2010a. “Empire as Material Setting and Heuristic Grid for New Testament Interpretation: Comments on the Value of Postcolonial Criticism.” HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 66(1):1–7. —. 2010b. “Paul, Power and Philemon. ‘Knowing Your Place’: A Postcolonial Reading.” Pages 223–50 in Philemon in Perspective. Interpreting a Pauline Letter. Edited by D.F. Tolmie. Beihefte zur ZNW 169. Berlin & New York, NY: De Gruyter. —. 2011a. Identity, Memory and Scriptural Warrant. Arguing Paul’s Case. Journal of Early Christian History 1.2 (formerly Acta Patristica et Byzantina [22.2]):152–73. —. 2011b. “Paul, Body, and Resurrection in an Imperial Setting. Considering Hermeneutics and Power.” Neotestamentica 45(2):311–30. —. 2012. “Paulus en mag: Raamwerke en aansprake.” HTS Teologiese Studies/ Theological Studies 68(1). Reasoner, M. 1999. The Strong and the Weak: Romans 14:1–15:13 in Context. SNTS Monograph Series 103. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ricoeur, P. 1980. Essays on Biblical Interpretation. Edited and introduced by Lewis S. Mudge. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress. Rieger, J. 2007. Christ and Empire. From Paul to Postcolonial Times. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Rowland, C. 2006. “Social, Political, and Ideological Criticism.” Pages 655–71 in The Oxford Handbook of Biblical Studies. Edited by J.W. Rogerson and J.M. Lieu. Oxford, New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Saunders, R. 2005. “Paul and the Imperial Cult.” Pages 227–38 in Paul and His Opponents. Edited by Stanley E. Porter. Pauline Studies 2. Leiden: Brill. Savage, T.B. 1996. Power Through Weakness: Paul’s Understanding of the Ministry in 2 Corinthians. SNTS Monograph Series 86. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.



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Schüssler Fiorenza, E. 2000. “Paul and the Politics of Interpretation.” Pages 40–57 in Paul and Politics. Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation. Essays in Honour of Krister Stendahl. Edited by R.A. Horsley. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International. Scott, J.M. 1993. “‘For as Many as Are of the Works of the Law Are Under a Curse’ (Galatians 3:10).” Pages 187–221 in Paul and the Scriptures of Israel. Edited by C.A. Evans and J.A. Sanders. JSNT Supplement Series 83. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Segovia, F.F. 1995. “The Text as Other: Towards a Hispanic American Hermeneutic.” Pages 276–98 in Text & Experience. Towards a Cultural Exegesis of the Bible. Edited by D. Smith-Christopher. Biblical Seminar. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. —. 1998. “Biblical Criticism and Postcolonial Studies: Towards a Postcolonial Optic.” Pages 49–65 in The Postcolonial Bible. Edited by R.S. Sugirtharajah. The Bible and Postcolonialism. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. —. 2000. Decolonizing Biblical Studies: A View from the Margins. Maryknoll: Orbis. —. 2005. “Mapping the Postcolonial Optic in Biblical Criticism: Meaning and Scope.” Pages 23–78 in Postcolonial Biblical Criticism. Interdisciplinary intersections. Edited by S.D. Moore and F.F. Segovia. The Bible and Postcolonialism. New York: T & T Clark International. Segovia, F.F. and M.A. Tolbert. 1995a. Reading From This Place. Vol. 1: Social Location and Biblical Interpretation in the United States. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. —. 1995b. Reading From This Place. Vol. 2. Social Location and Interpretation in Global Perspective. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Silva, M. 1993. “Old Testament in Paul.” Pages 630–42 in the Dictionary of Paul and His Letters. Edited by G.F. Hawthorne, R.P. Martin and D.G. Reid. Leicester: InterVarsity. Stanley, C.D. 2004. Arguing with Scripture. The Rhetoric of Quotations in the Letters of Paul. New York, London: T & T Clark International. Stockhausen, C.K. 1990. “Paul the Exegete.” Bible Today 28(4):196–202. Sugirtharajah, R.S. 2007. “Postcolonial and Biblical Interpretation: The Next Phase.” Pages 455–66 in A Postcolonial Commentary on the New Testament Writings. Edited by F.F. Segovia and R.S. Sugirtharajah. Vol. 13 of The Bible and Postcolonialism. New York, NY: T & T Clark. Thiselton, A.C. 1980. The Two Horizons: New Testament Hermeneutics and Philosophical Description with Special Reference to Heidegger, Bultmann, Gadamer, and Wittgenstein. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Verhey, A. 1984. The Great Reversal. Ethics and the New Testament. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Walsh, R. 2005. Finding St Paul in Film. New York, NY: T&T Clark. Wan, S.-K. 2008. “Ecstasy and Exousia: Religious Experience and the Negotiation of Social Power in Paul’s Letter to the Galatians.” Pages 67–81 in Between Experience and Interpretation. Engaging the Writings of the New Testament. Edited by M.F. Foskett, and O.W. Allen jr. Nashville, TN: Abingdon. Wanamaker, C.A. 2003. “‘By the Power of God’. Rhetoric and Ideology in 2 Corinthians 10–13.” Pages 194–221 in Fabrics of Discourse. Essays in

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Honor of Vernon K Robbins. Edited by D.B. Gowler, L.G. Bloomquist and D.F. Watson. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International. Watson, D.F. 2003. “Paul and Boasting.” Pages 77–100 in Paul in the GrecoRoman World. A Handbook. Edited by J. P. Sampley. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International. Witherington III, B. 2003. “Contemporary Perspectives on Paul.” Pages 256–69 in The Cambridge Companion to St Paul. Edited by J.D.G. Dunn. Cambridge Companions to Religion. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. Wright, N.T. 2000. “Paul’s Gospel and Caesar’s Empire.” Pages 160–83 in Paul and Politics. Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation. Essays in Honor of Krister Stendahl. Edited by R.A. Horsley. Harrisville: Trinity Press International. Wright, N.T. 2005. Paul: In Fresh Perspective. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Xu, B. 1994. “Memory and the Ethnic Self: Reading Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club.” Pages 261–77 in Memory, Narrative, and Identity. New Essays in Ethnic American Literatures. Edited by A. Singh, J.T. Skerrett jr., and R.E. Hogan. Boston, MA: Northeastern University Press.

CHAPTER 8

THE NEXUS BETWEEN POWER, MISSION AND IMPLICIT ETHICS IN 1 THESSALONIANS Jacobus (Kobus) Kok1 1.  Introduction: The Implicit Nature of Power The purpose of this chapter is to investigate how the concept of “power” functions in 1 Thessalonians and how it relates to mission and ethics. The challenge is to discern the implicit elements of power in the text against the possible socio-historical background in which it was written, which stimulates much more innovative approaches to the question (Zimmermann 2009, 398–422; Kok 2010). Every linguistic interaction bears the traces of the social structure it is part of and the social structure that it wishes to establish; in other words, the implicit symbolic power elements present (Bourdieu 1991, 8). Bourdieu pointed out that in all forms of communication, some implicit forms of power and authority are present (Bourdieu 1991, 8). From a speech act analytical perspective, we could argue that Paul “wanted to do things through his words”. In and through the act of writing the letter, Paul, as a powerful and authoritative figure, exercises a certain form of power. Paul’s text is in other words not unrelated to dimensions of power. I agree with the following comment by Van Henten: “Power and religion are both omnipresent in human action and interaction. There is no human act in which power does not play some role.” In fact, one can go as far as Van Henten does (Ter Borg and van Henten, 2010), and argue that power is a central and inherent aspect of religion that one cannot simply ignore or escape (Van Henten 2010, Introduction). This is as true today as it was in the context of Early Christianity.

This is an updated and translated version of the journal article which appeared in Afrikaans by Kok (2012).

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1.1.  Terms, Methodological Approach and Aim In any study it is important to define the terms one uses. When we investigate the ancient Mediterranean texts, it is always important to be sensitive not to make oneself guilty of anachronism and ethnocentrism; that is, using modern ways of understanding concepts like “power” and anachronistically interpreting the ancient texts through the interpretative framework of our modern symbolic universe and the way we see things like power today. We cannot, however, escape the fact that we need modern theories and methodologies to interpret the ancient material. For this reason we often draw from contemporary theories that derive from the social sciences, and which enable us to ask new questions of the ancient texts. We will, therefore, also (heuristically) make use of some contemporary power theories and their implications for our investigation into the implicit discourse of power in 1 Thessalonians. Naturally, the “Pauline” discourse of power is not uniform in character, because of the plurality of socio-historical contexts in which the documents were produced, and the fact that some scholars claim that many “Pauline” writings were not written by Paul himself. The discourse of power in Paul is, in other words, multi-dimensional in character, and we are not claiming that this paper presents “Paul’s” view of power. Furthermore, the results obtained will be a consequence of the chosen perspective: philosophical, anthropological, sociological, political etc. According to contemporary power theories, there are different forms of power, and not all of them are by implication negative. Ehrensperger (2007, 28), in agreement with Wartenberg (1990, 164, 175), rightly points to the fact that power is inherently dynamic and that the nature of power relations between social agents changes over time.2 When investigating a Pauline letter like Thessalonians with regard to power-dynamics, we have only a time-space continuum “snapshot” of some “Erlebnis” (experience) and the implicit dimensions of “Verstehen” (understanding) which we heuristically construct, based on the theoretical and methodological approach we use. There are many ways of engaging the question. Some are more helpful and others less so. Allen (1999b, 109) for instance, distinguishes between the following helpful categories of power: The implication of this is that we might see that the dynamics of power in the New Testament will not be the same in the different corpuses and during the different times in which the documents were written.

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●  power-over (domination), ●  power-to (empowerment), ● and power-with (towards a shared goal [acting in concert])

Positive power-over can manifest itself in paternalistic power which serves for the benefit of the dependent agent (for instance, a mother-child relationship) and has a transformative and empowering dimension that eventually results in a situation in which such power-over will no longer be required once empowering has taken place (Ehrensperger 2007, 26). Such power is deemed successful when it “renders itself obsolete” (Ehrensperger 2007, 28). The shadow side of this form of power relation is that it could keep the subordinate agent in a dependent position where the full effect of the power-to (empowering) does not take place.3 Asymmetry is, however, not by implication dominating (Ehrensperger 2007, 31) (e.g. mother-child relationship). Trust serves as the glue of a healthy transformative power-relationship. Where there is no trust and the dependent agents are forced to act against their will, a transformative and empowering relationship changes into a dominating relationship (Ehrensperger 2007, 29). 2.  The Dynamics of Power in 1 Thessalonians In order to reflect on the implicit dynamics of power in 1 Thessalonians, some remarks will be made about the power dynamics on a physical and spiritual macro, meso and micro level. The power dynamics from a macro perspective refer to the power-dynamics in which the Pauline communities of faith could have found themselves against the background of the powerful Roman Empire as the physical macro-structure. But there was also a spiritual macro-structure/background in their worldview. For instance, in 1 Thessalonians and elsewhere in Pauline writings, when Paul or the Pauline tradition speaks of God’s power, it is often related to the power of the elements of this world (Col 2:15). This refers to the power struggle which in their (ancient Christ-followers’) worldview took place on the “spiritual” level. To some extent, the ancient Mediterranean people saw a relation between physical and spiritual power dynamics, as, for instance, when Paul argues that the believer’s power struggle is not Speckman (2007) is of the opinion that Africa should not be made dependent by the mere gift of financial aid. He argues in favour of alternative intervention strategies in situations of inequity, poverty and dependency towards an empowering People Centred Development Model.

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against flesh and blood, but against spiritual forces in the air. In the ancient author’s mind, what happens in the physical realm has a direct relation to the “spiritual” realm. In the minds of some ancient authors like Paul, these two “worlds” were very closely related. In later New Testament documents (e.g. Revelation), the destruction that the Roman Empire brings to the socio-cultural and political-religious dimensions from the perspective of the Christ-followers, directly relates to what happens in the “spiritual” dimension. Something purely physical, like eating meat, could have negative spiritual implications (see 1 Cor 8). For this reason, when we investigate the dynamics of power in 1 Thessalonians, we need to be sensitive to the way the macro, meso and micro power dimensions implicitly interact and are embedded within each other. There was some correspondence, some interrelation, a Begründungszusammenhang, for the ancient people between the macro, meso and micro levels of life. By the meso levels of power dynamics we refer to the power dynamics which take place within the context of the ecclesia, the community of faith as such. The micro level refers to those dimensions of power on a smaller scale: the way Paul positions himself within the meso and macro dimensions or how he deals with the way an individual could or should react in contexts where such “power” dimensions are at stake. 2.1.  (Historical) Macro Perspective Some scholars, like Judith Lieu (2004, 1) and Tobias Nicklas (in Kok et al 2014, 3) argue that it is anachronistic to speak of the earliest Pauline communities as being “Christian” as the term “Christians” or a “Third Race” was used only much later, at the end of the first century and well into the second century. The Thessalonian “Christians” were, therefore, not really “Christians”, for instance those who were Jews before they came to know Christ, still continued to be “Jews”, although from a reinterpreted frame of reference. It was not the intention of Jesus to establish a new religion, nor, in our opinion, was it Paul’s. Jörg Frey (2012, 75-96) rightly claims that Paul stayed a Jew until the end of his life. On the other hand, scholars like Adolph Harnack argued that the Early Christ-followers stepped right into the power game of identity when they claimed for themselves the identity of the “new Israel”, a “new creation”, “The (new) people of God”, “His chosen ones”, etc. (see 1 Pet 2:9). Harnack (1972 [1908], 206) observes: This conviction that they were a people – i.e., the transference of all the prerogatives and claims of the Jewish people to the new community



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as a new creation which exhibited and realized whatever was old and original in religion – at once furnished adherents of the new faith with a political and historical self-consciousness. (my emphasis).

In claiming an identity that they were now a “new people” chosen by God, and believed to have the correct revelatory knowledge that God gave through his Son Jesus, the new movement inevitably entered a power struggle. Laying claim to a new identity, and a claim that this particular group had the “resources” and “capital” or access to God’s will, was nothing less than a claim for in-group power; and the opening up of a power clash. We need to take cognisance of the fact that the earliest Christ-followers were perceived as Jews and not as “Christians” when reflecting on the macro dimension of the power dynamics in the formation of early Christian identity. The “power” struggle between a Jewish and a Roman identity for instance, is an important dimension to take into consideration when we reflect on the dynamics of power in the earliest “Christian” communities. The implication of this is that “pagans” coming to faith in Jesus within Pauline communities, would inevitably enter into the dynamics of this identity power struggle, standing in possible tension not only with Jews but also with Romans. 2.2.  Thessalonians in Historical Context 1 Thessalonians is one of Paul’s first letters to have been written, in about the year 48-50 C.E., most probably during his second missionary journey in and around Achaia and Macedonia from Corinth (Jewett 1986, 53). In New Testament times, Thessalonica was the official residence of the proconsul of Macedonia. According to Jewett (1986, 123) the real power of the city rested in the hands of five or six politarchs who primarily operated as agents of Roman rule (Vom Brocke 2001, 167-185). According to archaeological evidence, the city ascribed its success to the benefactions of Antony and Octavian. The city built a temple in honour of Caesar where a priesthood dedicated to the goddess Roma and the emperor as God (and son of God) was established (Jewett 1986,124). This was a time in which Roman imperial rule was thoroughly established in the Mediterranean basin (Ehrensperger 2007, 9). Under the Roman imperial ideology of the day, everything had to be controlled, and therefore all aspects of everyday life such as religion, the economy and politics fell under Roman domination. In the powerful empire of Rome, religion played an important role in its grip on power (Baltrusch 2002, 118). There were

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many cults4 all over the empire and they served an important function in integrating5 the different provinces into the empire (Ehrensperger 2007, 9; Jewett 1986, 126–7; Crossan and Reed 2004, 142; see Donfried 2002, xix, 21–23). Religious tolerance only functioned to the extent that it did not threaten the Roman imperial ideology and Rome’s grip on power (Baltrusch 2002, 118; Crossan and Reed 2004, 141–42). For many centuries the Jews’ faith in God and their belief in their exclusive covenant relationship with God (see Gen 12) shaped their identity and their ethos, which would eventually go against the grain of Roman imperial ideology (see Cicero in Flacc. 69)6 and lead to mutual tensions (Ehrensperger 2004, 10) and an implicit power struggle. It was exactly at this point that Christianity became a problem to the Romans. Paul’s mission was to spread the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, King and Lord, expected Messiah of the monotheistic Jews, who had been crucified by agents of the Roman Empire and who had been resurrected from the dead. This message had the potential to challenge Roman imperial ideology. Scholarship has become increasingly aware that at the time 1 Thessalonians was written, in the Umwelt of Thessalonica, Caesar was called κύριος: he was seen as the great benefactor of Rome’s imperial power, the pater patriae of Rome (see Crossan and Reed 2004, 166; see also Acts 17:6-7). Paul calls Israel’s God πατήρ and Jesus the crucified Messiah, κύριος. This was a radical statement in the context of Paul’s time, that would have been perceived by some in Paul’s world, as going against the grain of Roman imperial ideology. According to some scholars,7 the mere opening words and exordium of the letter to the Thessalonians could be seen as a declaration of war,8 an ideology that would Donfried (2002, 22–33) refers to the discovery of a Serapis cult a few hundred meters north/northwest from the agora. The prominence of the Isis cult with its claim to salvation and eternal life played a dominant role in Thessalonica. In Paul’s time the cult of Cabirus was prominent in Thessalonica as well. 5 Crossan and Reed (2004, 160) agree: “Imperial divinity was, quite simply, the ideology that held the Roman Empire together …”. 6 In this document Cicero defends Flacco who withdrew from the Jews in Asia in 62 C.E. the right to send money for the temple in Jerusalem. Gold collected by the Jews of Asia (Laodicea, Pergamum, etc) was confiscated. Cicero then makes a few negative caricatural remarks about the Jews. Inter alia, he referred to the Jews as being barbara superstitio in contrast to Rome’s gravitas. 7 Taubes (2004, 16) uses a similar argument for the opening verses of Romans (cited in Ehrensperger 2004, 10). 8 During the reign of Augustus and later also Tiberius, both of them banned all prognostication, for instance forecasting someone’s death (see Dio Cassius, Hist. 57.15.8), especially prognostication about the health of the emperor, with the highest possible 4



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go directly against the power claims of Rome: Παῦλος καὶ Σιλουανὸς καὶ Τιμόθεος τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ Θεσσαλονικέων ἐν θεῷ πατρὶ καὶ κυρίῳ Ἰησοῦ Χριστῷ, χάρις ὑμῖν καὶ εἰρήνη. Paul’s exordium clearly implies a close relationship between God the Father and Jesus Christ the Lord. Paul’s opening words implicitly create the picture of a community whose members are bound together in a close relationship with God and Christ, and with one another. The dative construction τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ Θεσσαλονικέων ἐν θεῷ πατρὶ καὶ κυρίῳ Ἰησοῦ Χριστῷ points to the fundamental group character and relational basis within which the members of the Thessalonian congregation had their Begründung or identity. Paul also indicates that the believers may receive χάρις καὶ εἰρήνη (grace and peace) from God and the Lord Jesus – implying that God is their patron (and Jesus), and that God is the giver of their peace, not Caesar.9 Ehrensperger (2004, 10–11) states it well: In the context of an empire which was organized as a strictly hierarchical, autocratic structure, a structure embodied by the absolute ruler who claimed and was hailed to be “the father of the fatherland”, Saviour, Peacemaker, etc., the mere claim to call no one “father” except God, and to proclaim another Saviour or a peace other than the peace and justice of Rome was an act of resistance to the dominant and dominating imperial order.10

In 1 Thess 5:3 Paul uses the terms εἰρήνη καὶ ἀσφάλεια (peace and security) in a negative way to describe those who will be caught sleeping at the parousia of the Lord.11 These two terms had connotations to the well-known slogans of the peace and the security that Caesar (or Rome) provided, and during that time could have been perceived as being in direct opposition to the status quo of Roman imperial ideology and benefaction honoured in the civic cult; an insult and mockery of Rome’s imperial complacency (Crossan and Reed 2004, 167). Paul’s missionary message, written to those on the margins of society (Jewett 1986, 124–25) and who most probably did not have political power (Meeks 1983, 73), could have been seen as a direct challenge to forms of punishment (Tacitus, Ann. 2.27–32). See also Claudius’s letter to the people of Alexandria in 41 C.E. in which any form of resistance to the emperor would be punished severely (see Bruce 1998, ad loc). 9 See Crossan and Reed (2004, 166) for archaeological discovery of an altar from Praeneste, in which there is explicit reference to the Augustan pax (peace) and securitas (security). 10 See also Carter (2006, 83–99). 11 For a discussion on the concepts pax et securitas (peace and security) in the Augustan period, see Vom Brocke (2001, 167–85).

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Roman imperial power (e.g. Crossan and Reed 2004, 141–42). Accordingly, some would argue that the good news of the Gospel stood in direct opposition to the power claims of Rome. At a first glance, it seems plausible that Paul’s ideology opposed that of the Empire. The question, however, is whether we have enough textual evidence from the early first century to state that Paul’s message was designed and deliberately intended as an anti-imperial message (see the contrast with Rom 13, see below). I am not completely convinced that the latter necessarily was the primary intention of Paul, and we do not have a sufficient number of textual witnesses that prove it. Furthermore, the fact that power is a dynamic phenomenon and that we have diverse perspectives in the New Testament itself, illustrates that one cannot simply read the gospel as an intentional anti-imperial message during the historical times in which the early Pauline communities were active. In Romans 13 for instance, Paul has an interesting perspective on authority, which is in itself a textual witness to the diversity of perspectives in Pauline literature. The New Testament corpus represents different voices in different socio-political contexts (see 1 Peter; James, Revelation) and one should be sensitive not to impose a particular lens in an anachronistic way. Nevertheless, there is a possibility that those who heard the gospel in Paul’s day could have associated the message and power claims as being in opposition to the Roman imperial ideology. In Acts, for instance, we see Luke, in a postPauline context, arguing that the Jews in Thessalonica set the city in an uproar and charged Paul and his collaborators for proclaiming a message that there was another king. In doing this, the author of Acts says he was opposing the decrees of Caesar and turning the world upside down (Acts 17:7-8, ἀπέναντι τῶν δογμάτων Καίσαρος πράσσουσιν βασιλέα ἕτερον λέγοντες εἶναι Ἰησοῦν). This points at least to some evidence that the gospel message could have been perceived by some (in this case outsiders) as being against the Roman imperial ideology. The possibility should, at least, be considered when investigating the dynamics of power in Paul, as being a possible background. This particular background puts the dynamics of power in 1 Thessalonians and the relationship between power, mission and ethics in a fresh perspective. If the gospel message was indeed experienced as a message that went against the common sense of the day, and threatened a believer’s position within society, there had to be a strong motive for conversion to the Christian faith. Christian conversion always entailed a form of re-socialization (Van der Watt 2010, 1–30). Against this background, what kind of power-language would Paul have used to motivate believers towards a particular way of



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life (ethos)? How did he go about shaping their identity and how did he empower them to take up the mission? What strategies did he use to establish a movement that would not only survive, but grow? 2.3.  The Coming of the Gospel in Power We have already noted that Paul saw the origin of the missionary dimension as originating in God sending his Son and Spirit (Gal 4:6, ἐξαπέστειλεν ὁ θεὸς τὸ πνεῦμα τοῦ υἱοῦ αὐτοῦ εἰς τὰς καρδίας ἡμῶν), who, sent Paul as an agent to continue the mission planned by God. We have to keep this in mind when reflecting about the dynamic relationship between power, mission and ethics. When Paul writes a letter to a particular congregation, that is part of his mission strategy and it is part of the ongoing dynamic communication process between him and the communities of faith he established and mentored. Ethos follows identity. Right at the beginning of his letter, Paul builds his argument for the basis of an identity using a relational approach in his theology (teologies-relasionele identiteitsbasis). From this basis he then argues for a particular ethos (way of doing things or lifestyle). In 1 Thess 1:4 Paul states that he is sure about the givenness of the Thessalonian congregation’s election by God (τὴν ἐκλογὴν ὑμῶν). This is proved by the notion that “our gospel came to you not in words only but with power and in the Holy Spirit and with full conviction” (1 Thess 1:6, ὅτι τὸ εὐαγγέλιον ἡμῶν οὐκ ἐγενήθη εἰς ὑμᾶς ἐν λόγῳ μόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐν δυνάμει καὶ ἐν πνεύματι ἁγίῳ καὶ [ἐν] πληροφορίᾳ πολλῇ). It is interesting to note that Paul uses the term ἠγαπημένοι (those being loved [1 Thess 1:4]) in the Perfect Passive participle grammatical construction, in other words that the election (τὴν ἐκλογὴν ὑμῶν) of the Thessalonians is stated as being a completed verbal action that occurred in the past which created a state of being or a result existing in the present. The emphasis is thus not so much on the past aspect of the action, but more on the present “state of affairs” resulting from the particular action in the past: being elected by God and ipso facto be elected by God (Heiser 2005, ad loc.). It is also interesting to note that Paul puts the event of the receiving of the gospel by the Thessalonians with power and full conviction in the passive form ἐγενήθη (Aorist Indicative Passive).12 Fee (1999, 48), states that “the Spirit as the evidence of God’s power at work in their midst is therefore presuppositional in Paul, and this usage sets the stage for our understanding of the Spirit as power and of Paul’s use of “power” language as frequently an indirect reference to the Spirit.” Fee is here not suggesting that the terms power and

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The powerful way the gospel came to the Thessalonians is thus presented as a result of something God was doing in their midst, and that its powerful working was not in the first place a result of human power and ability. In fact, in the same breath, Paul reminds the believers in what weak state he came to them after being manhandled in Philippi (see 1 Thess 1:5 - καθὼς οἴδατε οἷοι ἐγενήθημεν [ἐν] ὑμῖν διʼ ὑμᾶς and 2:2).13 The implicit power discourse implies that if Paul indeed came to them in a weak state, it proves that God’s power was at work in and through him. This would imply that he came with authority and was indeed sent by God himself. Here the micro and macro power dimensions collide. The micro context of Paul’s apparent weakness as “test case” serves as an illustration that God is at work in and through him, giving him authority based on the visible/perceived evidence that it could not have been out of his own “power” or strength that all these things happened, but because of God’s power working in and through him. This gives Paul, to use Weber’s category, “charismatic authority” and, by implication, legitimate “power” in the meso context of the ecclesia. The missionary dimension comes into play here, originating in God sending his Son (Gal 4:4, ἐξαπέστειλεν ὁ θεὸς τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ; Phil 2:5–10; Rom 8:3, ὁ θεὸς τὸν ἑαυτοῦ υἱὸν πέμψας), who (supernaturally) revealed the gospel to Paul (Gal 1:11–12 τὸ εὐαγγελισθὲν ὑπʼ ἐμοῦ ὅτι οὐκ ἔστιν κατὰ ἄνθρωπον … ἀλλὰ διʼ ἀποκαλύψεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ) and sent him on a mission. The message of Paul made an impact on those who made up the Thessalonian community of faith. Paul states that the believers have turned (see aorist ἐπεστρέψατε) from idols to worship the true and living God (1 Thess 1:9–10, ἐπεστρέψατε πρὸς τὸν θεὸν ἀπὸ τῶν εἰδώλων). The Aorist Indicative Active (ἐπεστρέψατε) serves to illustrate the fact that the turning from idols towards the living God has taken place as a matter of fact (see the indicative), by the time Paul is writing the letter. The fact that they have turned away from idol worship implies that they have moved away from a certain kind of faith orientation towards another (πρὸς τὸν θεὸν … ἀπὸ τῶν εἰδώλων). They experienced an identity transformation, with the implication that another hierarchy of authority and symbolic universe was in the process of being established in their lives. Holy Spirit are coterminous but that there exists a close relationship between the two in Paul’s use. 13 I agree with Fee (1999, 45) that the καί with which the clause of verse 6 begins should be understood as a coordinating conjunction. The use of parataxis, although unusual for Paul, might have been intended here where the sentences are intentionally linked together.



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God’s authority and God’s power subsequently had to be formulated in a new way. The transformed theological view then results in a new way of thinking: about themselves, about fellow members and towards society, about the end times and about who controls their destiny. When identity is transformed, theology, anthropology, eschatology14 and ethics also change. We could thus argue that there is a fundamental interrelation between these terms, especially between identity, ethics (rules) and ethos (lifestyle). Where the vertical and horizontal dimensions of identity change in the context of conversion, morals and lifestyle also change (Van der Watt 2006, 1–30).15 According to Paul, the Thessalonian believers’ new state of being – their new identity is based on the love and election of God (Fee 1999, 42). Their new identity also flowed over into an ethos where they imitated not only Paul but also the Lord (1 Thess 1:6, ὑμεῖς μιμηταὶ ἡμῶν ἐγενήθητε καὶ τοῦ κυρίου). The imitation is qualified by the fact that the believers accepted the gospel in a context of much tribulation (1 Thess 1:6, δεξάμενοι τὸν λόγον ἐν θλίψει πολλῇ). What exactly this tribulation and suffering entailed we do not know (see also 1:6; 2:13–16; 3:2–4). However, through the lens of power dynamics it could be argued that the Thessalonian congregation probably experienced domination, opposition and exclusion by the social system of the day. In a dyadic or group oriented context, in-group and out-group identity constructions were often clearly determined and maintained with a resulting vilification of outgroups (See Kok and Van Eck 2011). The appropriate reactional behaviour in the face of domination would be to counter-attack, efface oneself, or react by submission and thus conform to the dyadic values of the dominant group. Surprisingly, Paul praises the believers for their exemplary conduct: the believers reacted with joy by the Holy Spirit (1 Thess 1:6, χαρᾶς πνεύματος ἁγίου).16 This is clearly a reaction that witnesses to the δύναμις, the power of the Horrell (2006, 83) correctly states: “Paul’s ethics are influenced to some degree by his sense of the nearness of the end, by his eschatology.” One example of the influence of eschatology on Paul’s ethics is 1 Cor 7:29 where Paul argues that it is not necessary to marry, for the end is near. Another example is Rom 13:11–13 where eschatology serves as the implicit motivation for upright moral behaviour. 15 See Rowland (1999, 3–4). Rowland argues from the point of view of liberation theology that the latter has to do not only with thinking about theology, but also practically living out that theology within a particular context. In other words, ethics (a systematic reflection on ethics) should be lived out through appropriate ethically motivated actions (ethos). 16 Joy is one of the characteristics of the power of the Spirit at work and a specific fruit of the Spirit elsewhere in Paul (Gal 5:22). 14

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Spirit in action, that does not over-power in the form of domination, but empowers and works through believers. This mode of reaction also practically embodies the habitus of Christ, in the sense that the pattern of other-regard and sensitivity to outsiders and the humbling of the self, follows the way of Christ (Phil 2:5–10; Gal 6:10) (Hahn 2002, 106). According to Fee (1999, 46), Paul’s call to believers to imitate him as he has imitated Christ is most probably the hermeneutical key to the ethical instructions in the earliest congregations. Paul saw himself as a follower of Christ and motivated and empowered believers to take him as a model (1 Cor 11:1) and become models for one another (1 Thess 1:5-7). It becomes clear in 1 Thessalonians that joy comes to fruition in the context of suffering;17 even when believers are over-powered by external forces and elements, they still keep the faith and retain the positive energy of joy given to them by the Spirit. Paul as an apostle was a person of authority and power for the believers of Thessalonica (see 1 Thess 2:7 δυνάμενοι ἐν βάρει εἶναι ὡς Χριστοῦ ἀπόστολοι), whose gospel proved God’s authority and power in action especially in the midst of suffering, tribulation and human weakness. Although Paul and his collaborators could make a claim of authority and importance in their capacity as Christ’s apostles, they chose to serve the Thessalonians, not using their authority to over-power, but to empower them. This becomes clear in the statement Paul makes in the context immediately following the statement that he could have claimed some form of power. Paul responds by saying that he did not use his power in a negative way but rather became gentle in their midst, like a nursing mother18 who cherishes her own children. They did not claim their power and hold on to their positions of prestige, but were willing even to give their own lives for the sake of the Thessalonians; and they do that joyfully. Paul says he encouraged and exhorted them like a father (1 Thess 2:11). He did that for a specific reason: that they would come to the point that they could walk worthily of God (1 Thess 2:12 εἰς τὸ περιπατεῖν ὑμᾶς ἀξίως τοῦ θεοῦ). Paul wishes to use the power given to him to empower the believers, who should imitate his behaviour. This theme also appears in the rest of the New Testament. See 2 Cor 8:2; Rom 5:3–5; Acts 5:41; James 1:2. 18 See Malherbe (1987; 2011). Donfried (2002, 28) refers to Plutarch who speaks of Thesys as the kind nurse and provider of all things, using language that is reminiscent of what is found in the cult of Dionysus which played an important role in Thessalonica. Donfried then suggests that the language Paul uses (in 1 Thess 1:7: ὡς ἐὰν τροφὸς θάλπῃ τὰ ἑαυτῆς τέκνα) could have had the connotative meaning of that which was typical of the cult of Dionysus. 17



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By showing the same joy amidst suffering and imitating Paul in this way, the Thessalonians are in reality imitating Christ, which is one of the fundamental elements of the Christian ethos. In the symbolic world of the early Pauline communities, suffering and pain created the space within which blessing, glory and power were born. The guarantee is to be found in God’s power that was proved not only in Christ’s resurrection after his death, but also in the powerful way the Spirit functioned amongst them, in spite of human weakness, as Paul’s own example showed. Paul gives three imperatives in the closing section of the letter. The first is always to rejoice (1 Thess 5:16–18). Paul considers that a characteristic ethos in the believing community should be found in the manifestation of the power of the Spirit in joy amidst suffering. This ethos has a specific origin and basis that result from a particular, transformed identity. The reason why Christians can have joy in suffering is that they have been called into, and have become part of, a new Kingdom (1 Thess 2:12, τοῦ θεοῦ τοῦ καλοῦντος ὑμᾶς εἰς τὴν ἑαυτοῦ βασιλείαν καὶ δόξαν) whose full consummation will happen only in the future, although the powerful working of the Spirit in the present is a foretaste of the reality to come (see also Rom 14:17). Pain and suffering will surely be part of the Christian experience within this life, for all practical purposes; believers are caught up in the reality of a “cosmic war”. 2.4.  The Power Battle Against a Macro-Cosmic Background The power battle in the Thessalonian correspondence is set against a cosmic background. In the symbolic universe of the early Pauline communities, a power battle was raged in a dualistic worldview. Two powers were at work on a macro spiritual level: the Spirit (1 Thess 1:6, 4:8, 5:19, 5:23) and Satan (1 Thess 2:18; see also 2 Thess 2:9). Ranged against the power of the Spirit who empowers believers (1 Thess 1:5)19, we find the destructive power of Satan (see 1 Thess 2:18 and 2 Thess 2:9) who is portrayed as the agent who has prevented Paul from visiting his beloved friends in Thessalonica. Satan is seen in 1 Thessalonians as an agent of power, who has the ability to limit possibilities and to cause others to act in a way that harms believers (see 1 Thess 2:18). Hendriksen It is interesting to note that Dunn (2005) does not make anything of 1 Thess 1:5. This becomes apparent even in his index, where there is no index reference to the verse. Consequently, Dunn does not discuss the role of the power of the Spirit in the early letter to the Thessalonians. Dunn does refer to the power of the Spirit in other contexts (see 75, 86, 263, 303, 480).

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and Kistemaker (1953–2001, 76) comment, “The fact as such that Satan exerts a powerful influence over the affairs of men, especially when they endeavour to promote the interests of the kingdom of God, is sufficiently clear from other passages (Job 1:6–12; Zech. 3:1; see Daniel, chapter 10).” Paul explicitly employs kinship language and implicit protreptic arguments to express this concept when he pictures two distinct families in 1 Thess 5:5: the sons and daughters of light (φωτός ἐστε καὶ υἱοὶ ἡμέρας) and, by implication, the sons and daughters of darkness (νυκτὸς οὐδὲ σκότους). Paul uses rhetorical strategies against an apotreptic background to promote a particular Christian ethos. There is a strong relationship between identity, ethos and ethics, as we have argued earlier. Those who belong to the new family of God and are part of his Kingdom live according to the Spirit and do not quench the Spirit (1 Thess 5:19, τὸ πνεῦμα μὴ σβέννυτε). The reason for their behaviour is rooted in their identity and springs from their relationship and status as children of God and members of God’s household or kingdom (1 Thess 2:12; see also 2 Thess 2:5). Those who do not live according to the will of God by implication do not promote the interests of God and his kingdom, but those of the opposition, Satan, and will be judged accordingly. Desired behaviour will be rewarded and undesired behaviour will be punished (the apotreptic dimension). In 2 Thessalonians this line of thought clearly develops: Now we beseech you, brethren, touching the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, and our gathering together unto him; 2to the end that ye be not quickly shaken from your mind, nor yet be troubled, either by spirit, or by word, or by epistle as from us, as that the day of the Lord is just at hand; 3let no man beguile you in any wise: for it will not be, except the falling away come first, and the man of sin be revealed, the son of perdition, 4he that opposeth and exalteth himself against all that is called God or that is worshipped; so that he sitteth in the temple of God, setting himself forth as God. 5Remember ye not, that, when I was yet with you, I told you these things? 6And now ye know that which restraineth, to the end that he may be revealed in his own season. 7For the mystery of lawlessness doth already work: only there is one that restraineth now, until he be taken out of the way. 8And then shall be revealed the lawless one, whom the Lord Jesus shall slay with the breath of his mouth, and bring to nought by the manifestation of his coming; 9even he, whose coming is according to the working of Satan with all power and signs and lying wonders, 10and with all deceit of unrighteousness for them that perish; because they received not the love of the truth, that they might be saved. 11And for this cause God sendeth them a working of error, that they should believe a lie: 12 that they all might be judged who believed not the truth, but had



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pleasure in unrighteousness. (2 Thess 2:1–12 American Standard Version)

It is interesting to note that in both 1 Thessalonians and 2 Thessalonians the parousia is mentioned in the immediate context of where Paul speaks of the Satan and the power that he exercises on earth (1 Thess 2:19; 2 Thess 2:1, 8). Here the word parousia is not used in the non-technical sense of the word, namely to describe God’s presence (as in 1 Cor 16:17; 2 Cor 10:10; Phil 1:26). Here it refers to the second coming of Christ, the advent of the Lord in glory and power (see also 1 Thess 3:13; 4:15; 5:23; Matt 24:3, 27, 37, 39; 1 Cor 15:23; Jas 5:7, 8; 2 Pet 1:16; 3:4, 12) (Hendriksen & Kistemaker 1953–2001, 76–77). The second coming is also linked to judgment, a moment where God’s absolute power will be revealed. This should give the believers hope and inspire them, knowing that the absolute power and righteousness of God will be on their side when the end of times occurs. 2.5.  The Apostles’ Authority, Strategy and Power In the power dynamics of the letter’s paraenetic part, it is clear that those who reject Paul’s instruction reject not merely a man, but reject God who gives his Spirit (1 Thess 4:8, τοιγαροῦν ὁ ἀθετῶν οὐκ ἄνθρωπον ἀθετεῖ ἀλλὰ τὸν θεὸν τὸν [καὶ] διδόντα τὸ πνεῦμα αὐτοῦ τὸ ἅγιον εἰς ὑμᾶς). Paul concretely aligns himself, his message and behaviour with the will of God (1 Thess 4:3; 5:18; see also the Deutero-Pauline 2 Tim 1:1) and by implication with the macro power dynamics at work that we have discussed above. Paul makes a particularly strong statement about the dynamics of power (the asymmetrical relation of power) and about his position of leadership within the community. By implication, people who reject Paul’s message do not align themselves with the Spirit and power of God, and, therefore, not with the will of God or mission of God.20 Instead, they submit to the agenda of the great hinderer, Satan. By their character and conduct, their acceptance or rejection of Paul, they prove whether they are sons of light or sons of darkness, and show to which From a postmodern standpoint, such power-language would be considered to be problematic. From a Social Identity and Self Categorization perspective, this kind of exclusive language creates strong boundaries between insiders and outsiders. From that perspective, it could be argued that there was in the strategy of Paul not much room for social identity complexity. But elsewhere in Paul it could be argued that he illustrated a more nuanced social identity complexity. See in this regard the work of Kok (2014) on social identity complexity and Paul.

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side of the cosmic battle they belong. The rejection of the instruction that Paul gives is thus seen as a particular problem regarding identity, which inevitably results in a life of sin (1 Thess 4:7). Paul uses both apotreptic and protreptic instructions to appeal to the members of the congregation in his parenesis to abstain from immorality. He motivates them by inter alia linking their behaviour with eschatological judgement when Christ will return in his full glory, authority and power. Those who reject the instruction, clearly do not identify themselves with the powerful God who is true and alive, but with the opposition, Satan. The core issue in the discussion of the ethics in 1 Thessalonians thus comes down to the understanding of one’s identity. Believers have been called, elected and set apart by God, which, by implication, entails being put into another sphere of power. The evidence of their election is the powerful manifestation of the Spirit and in a life that is blameless on an ethical level (1 Thess 3:12–13). In 1 Thessalonians 4:1–12 we see that Paul’s view of the ethical life is fundamentally integrated with the process and aspect of creating and sustaining a community (Gaventa 1998, 60–70). Our bodies, Paul argues, belong to the creator God, and not to ourselves. The implication with regard to authority and power is that we do not have sole authority and power over our own bodies; we are not free to do as we wish (see also 1 Cor 6:12–20). Our behaviour should be controlled by God (see also 1 Cor 5:19) who is King and the head of the family. We are nothing less than accountable to God and we are obliged to do what pleases God (Gaventa 1998, 61). When the community embodies this ethos, it functions as the bearer of the tradition, defender of the ethos, watchdog and regulator of correct behaviour. Those who behave contrary to the ethos of the group will be marginalized (see 1 Cor 5:2, ἵνα ἀρθῇ ἐκ μέσου ὑμῶν ὁ τὸ ἔργον τοῦτο πράξας). The characteristic of the believer in a world of religious cults and sexual immorality would thus be a distinct dissociation (being holy, 1 Thess 4:7 ἁγιασμῷ) from the common immorality of the Umwelt. Such dissociation witnesses to the manifestation of the power of the Spirit at work in them because they have been called (ἐκάλεσεν ἡμᾶς ὁ θεὸς) out of ἀκαθαρσίᾳ (refuse/impurity) for the purpose of holiness (see the use of ἐπὶ in ἐπὶ ἀκαθαρσίᾳ ἀλλʼ ἐν ἁγιασμῷ). Here we see evidence of transformative cognitive spatiality, made possible by God’s Spirit. The language Paul uses to frame this transformative cognitive spatiality, relating it directly to God’s activity, sanctions this “new” emerging “Christian” community of believers as the locus of control, the space where the dynamic power and sanction of God is most clearly visible and active.



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God gives his empowering Spirit to all believers who will consequently reproduce what would have been viewed as the character of God in them (Fee 1999, 51). By using the present participle (1 Thess 4:8: διδόντα) Paul stresses the on-going and permanent activity of the Spirit and its associated power that will result in empowering the believers to master their own bodies in a context of holiness (1 Thess 4:4) and discernment. The latter term, discernment (δοκιμάζετε), also implies an empowering dimension. Fee (1999, 57) refers to the parallelism in 1 Thess 5:19–22: 19 τὸ πνεῦμα μὴ σβέννυτε, 20 προφητείας μὴ ἐξουθενεῖτε,





21 πάντα δὲ δοκιμάζετε,

τὸ καλὸν κατέχετε, 22 ἀπὸ παντὸς εἴδους πονηροῦ ἀπέχεσθε

do not quench the Spirit do not despise prophecies TEST ALL hold fast to the good avoid evil

The first imperative in the series focuses on the Spirit and urges the believers not to quench its work and manifestation. The latter is further qualified with the injunction not to despise prophecies. The ability to test, evaluate and discern is nothing less than an empowering image/metaphor21 granted to those who live according to the will of God with the help of the Holy Spirit. This raises the question, however, as to how this discernment is to be conducted, and by which criteria? According to Fee (Fee 1999, 61) it becomes clear from 2 Thess 2:2, 15 that false teachings and prophecies did exist in those early communities of faith, for instance the misunderstanding regarding the Day of the Lord. The author exhorts the believers in 2 Thessalonians to “hold fast to the traditions that were taught to them”. This makes it clear that there was an internal locus of control based on a particular understanding of the Christ events and the content of the Gospel that had been transmitted to them. The believers are to hold fast to what is perceived to have been “the good”; and what is good is to be found within the contours and boundary lines of the The ability to be a discerning people and discerning community is creating a picture of empowerment, i.e., the community itself has some authority and ability to determine boundaries. I would go so far as to argue that it functions as a form of a metaphor, because there is a symbolic interaction between a source domain and a target domain here. Thus, as a complex of metaphor(s) it also makes use of and creates an image or cluster of images.

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tradition. Paul argues elsewhere (1 Cor 14:1–19) that prophecy edifies the community of faith, in other words, it empowers and builds them up, and is therefore nothing less than an expression of love and missionary witness to unbelievers (1 Cor 14:20–25) (Fee 1999, 61). 2.6.  Empowered Believers Paul’s opening words in the exordium of the letter (1 Thess 1:6–8) express his thanks to God in his prayers for the fact that the believers in Thessalonica became imitators of him, of his companions and of the Lord, receiving the word in much tribulation with Godly joy. The ὥστε γενέσθαι construction gives the result of the latter, namely that they became an example or τύπον to all the believers in Macedonia and Achaia. Paul then uses the perfect passive form to describe how the gospel (ὁ λόγος τοῦ κυρίου) sounded forth from them (ἀφʼ ὑμῶν γὰρ ἐξήχηται) and had a powerful witnessing or missionary effect everywhere (ἀλλʼ ἐν παντὶ τόπῳ ἡ πίστις ὑμῶν ἡ πρὸς τὸν θεὸν ἐξελήλυθεν). He then employs the word ὥστε, introducing a clause of result or purpose following from the latter, to describe the powerful effect of this missionary witness and activity of the Spirit, which resulted in Paul, the great missionary, not having to add anything more to it (ὥστε μὴ χρείαν ἔχειν ἡμᾶς λαλεῖν τι). The power of God’s Spirit and its missionary dimension is thus not only in the hands of an elect apostle like Paul, but a dimension of the powerful manifestation of the Spirit through the whole body of Christ. In this early Pauline letter we thus find clear evidence of an early understanding of the missionary dimension in the early church which is linked to the power of God’s Spirit at work in the world (see the Missio Dei concept) and empowers believers who are taken up in God’s mission. It is not, therefore, surprising to find that Paul enters the pages of church history as part of a dynamic team (see Lietaert Peerbolte 2003, 204) because of the implicit realization that God’s Spirit is not only at work in him, but also in and through other believers. Below I will argue that where Paul used the asymmetric power-over strategy, his purpose was to bring believers to a point of growth and empowerment. Where Paul employed the positive power-over strategy, for instance in the use of paternalistic power language, it always served to the benefit of the dependent agent and had an inherent transformative dimension. The latter should then eventually culminate in a situation in which such power-over would no longer be required because empowerment had taken place. Such power, as we have argued above, would be



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deemed successful when it “renders itself obsolete” (Ehrensperger 2007, 28), when believers are taken up into the missio Dei and become empowered missionary agents themselves. 2.7.  Part of a Powerful Team Paul was a man of power, but certainly not a “lone ranger” on his own mission. Most people, when they think of Paul, see an independently driven individual on a mission who will go to extremes to proclaim the Gospel. Ehrensperger (2007, 35) convincingly argues that Paul’s missionary journeys and letters are the products of a group and thus a corporate enterprise. The early Christ-movement was part of a closely linked network of collaborators. This network of believers existed (see Gal 1:17) even before Paul became a Christ follower. 1 Thessalonians, for example, is not a letter written by Paul alone, but a letter from Paul, Silvanus and Timothy (1 Thess 1:1), illustrating the corporate dimension of the early Christ movement (Ehrensperger 2007, 38). Paul was part of a team of apostles from the beginning (1 Thess 2:7; 5:24). The first person plural is often used in 1 Thessalonians, for example in 1 Thess 1:5 “τὸ εὐαγγέλιον ἡμῶν” (our gospel), illustrating its corporate dimension and the fact that Paul’s mission to the gentiles was not solitary, but a corporate affair, shared by others (Ehrensperger 2007, 38, 40). This hardly creates the picture of an asymmetrical relationship between Paul, Silvanus and Timothy, but rather one of equality and teamwork (Lietaert Peerbolte 2003, 228–233). Although Dickson (2003, 228) and Ehrensperger (2007, 38) are correct that Paul and his co-missionaries differentiated between “normal” followers of Christ who are in a specific congregation, on the one hand, and those who were called for a specific missionary function within the Christian movement on the other, I do not agree that the missionary dimension was limited only to Paul and his co-workers. I have already illustrated how the power of God’s Spirit is at work in and through believers and how they are taken up in the missio Dei, or God’s mission, with God and his Spirit being the active subjects of the missionary dimension. It is logical that in the process of establishing a mission movement, some would initially be set apart specifically for its missionary expansion. Paul and his co-workers were such people. Paul believed that he was commissioned and called by God specifically for the function (Gal 1:11) of the expansion of the gospel to the nations. However, as argued already, the missionary dimension belongs to God who, through his Spirit, does great works and empowers believers to spread the gospel message which was

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given to them. Similarly, the Spirit can choose both workers and the work they are to perform (see 1 Cor 12), including the missionary and apostolic dimensions. Ehrensperger (2007, 47) correctly argues, “It should thus come as no surprise that a variety of people who are performing a multiplicity of tasks within the movement can be called sunergoi.” In 1 Cor 16:16 unnamed people are called συνεργοῦντι, and Paul urges the community in Corinth to be subject to these leaders. Against the background of the power dynamics in Paul, it is important to note that although there seems to be an asymmetrical relation to power, Paul and all of his co-workers share one thing in common: they were taken up into the power of the gospel and they are all subject to God. They are co-workers not of each other, but of God. Ehrensperger (2007, 47–48) describes them well: “A sunergos is a co-worker because he/she is involved in the work of the proclamation of the gospel as is Paul. [T]he noun therefore stresses the cooperative rather than the hierarchical dimension of the relationship between those designated sunergoi and Paul, who is one amongst them.”22 Paul’s use of kinship language in 1 Thess 3:2 and elsewhere further strengthens the argument that he did not always think in asymmetrical hierarchical lines of authority, but used kinship language in a way that created a picture of a community of symmetric relationships. Within this symmetrical symbolic universe of kinship language, some do have certain functions and might at a certain time have a particular form of authority within a group, congregation or movement. It seems at least that Paul would be the dominating figure in the movement and send his collaborators, like Timothy, to fulfil a certain function. Thus, on a functional level, there might have been an asymmetrical mentor relationship, but on a fundamental level there was a symmetrical and equal relationship. Silvanus and Timothy are presented as being co-senders of equal status to Paul in 1 Thessalonians (1 Thess 2:6 and 2 Cor 1:19). It could thus be argued that the power dynamics in Paul is not to be seen as static, but as dynamic and changing (Ehrensperger 2007, 54) according to the needs of the con Lietaert Peerbolte (2003, 231) argues that the “co-workers” are simply Paul’s assistants, whereas Ollrog (1979, 72) and Ehrensperger (2007, 48) do not believe that the συνεργοί were simply assistants who helped Paul in his own mission and needs and served him, but fully fledged empowered collaborators who served Christ and God’s mission with Paul. Perhaps the problem lies in the fact that Paul does not always use the term in a similar way, illustrating that συνεργός was not necessarily a technical term (contra Lietaert Peerbolte 2003, 231) by that time. See also Reinbold (2000, 213–24).

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text (Aasgaard 2004, 287), and distinguishing between a functional and a principal level. 2.8.  Paul and His Empowered Team Paul and his co-workers communicated with the congregations inter alia by means of letters which were substitutes for their presence among them. Paul employs the imperative passive voice in 1 Thess 5:27 to urge the members of the Thessalonian community to read the letter aloud to all in the congregation (ἀναγνωσθῆναι τὴν ἐπιστολὴν πᾶσιν τοῖς ἀδελφοῖς). This proves a certain degree of power and authority that was accepted by the members of the congregation. The writing of the letter forms part of the history of communication, an on-going conversation between groups (Ehrensperger 2007, 56), rather than the power-laden communication strategy of one individual. This becomes especially clear in 1 Thessalonians where Paul is not the only one who communicates with the congregation, but is part of a dynamic team of co-workers who are also presented as being co-writers of the letter (see 1 Thess 1:1, Παῦλος καὶ Σιλουανὸς καὶ Τιμόθεος τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ Θεσσαλονικέων). This team saw themselves as being in a position of power and authority to give the recipients spiritual advice and to encourage them. Paul argues that he could have expected some form of respect to be shown because of his status, power and authority as an apostle (1 Thess 2:7, δυνάμενοι ἐν βάρει εἶναι ὡς Χριστοῦ ἀπόστολοι), but that he did not use his authority in this way. Paul uses the metaphor of a nursing mother who cherishes her own children in 1 Thess 2:7. He says that he was determined not only to share the gospel with his beloved friends, but even his own being. Here Paul creates a picture of the ethos of giving of oneself, and the passage is reminiscent of Phil 2:5–10 where Paul encourages the believers to have the same ethos Christ had, who gave himself for the sake of others. By giving oneself in this way, a person or group is put in a very vulnerable position because one has given away the power and authority willingly. The underlying motivation in this context is clearly that of love and empowerment. This theme occurs elsewhere in New Testament literature, for instance, where God, because of his love, gives his Son for the sake of the world (Phil 2:5–10; John 3:16). Having dominating power over someone is seen as being out of line with the fundamental ethos of Christianity. In Christianity, power primarily exists for the benefit of others, and should be given away, empowering others, and working with others (power with) to accomplish

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a particular goal for the benefit of the whole. The basic motivation for Paul is based on the grace of God. 2.9.  Grace as Leitmotif and Its Implication for the Discourse of Power Grace is an important centrepiece and leitmotif (Harrison 2003, 212–13) of Paul’s theology23. Grace and love flow actively in a missionary channel: from God to Christ, and from them to the apostles and believers. Christian love and grace in Paul does not, however, end with believers, but extends to those outside the house of faith (Gal 6:10). In the symbolic universum of Pauline thought, the actions of Christians should be driven by God’s agenda. The whole point of Pauline theology rests on God’s grace and not on individual performance. Paul believed himself to have been called to partake in the missio Dei, in God’s plan for humanity. Pauline ecclesiology is not focused only intra-ecclesiologically, but is also directed extra-ecclesiologically. The intra-ecclesiological focus is also part of the missional dimension, but so is the focus towards those outside the community of faith. In Gal 6:10 for instance (ἐργαζώμεθα τὸ ἀγαθὸν πρὸς πάντας, μάλιστα δὲ πρὸς τοὺς οἰκείους τῆς πίστεως), we clearly see that Paul encourages the congregation to do good towards all people, especially, but not exclusively, to those within the ekklesia. They should use the grace and power given to them to do good, and thus make a positive empowering difference in a world of little love and little grace. What would motivate such a missional perspective? The implicit motivational element is grace, an appropriate response in them to the grace initiated by God and experienced by the community of faith (Ehrensperger 2007, 64, 69).24 We see the same line of thought in 1 Thess 3:12, where Paul encourages the believers in the optative form (ὁ κύριος πλεονάσαι καὶ περισσεύσαι) to let the Lord make them increase and abound in love for one another (τῇ ἀγάπῃ εἰς ἀλλήλους), but the love should increase and abound not only to those inside the community. Paul immediately encourages them to do the same towards all men (καὶ εἰς πάντας), just as the apostles have also done towards them (καθάπερ καὶ Ehrensperger (2007, 63). See also Polaski (1999, 105–07) and Joubert (2000). Ehrensperger (2007, 70) points to the difference between reciprocity and mutuality. “In the Graeco-Roman context, patronage implied that lower-ranked clients became dependent on their patrons with the intention of enhancing the status and power of the patron. In contrast to the typical values of Roman society, Paul encourages a relationship of mutuality where all parties are edified. God was the initiating subject who showed grace. Believers show grace towards others (mutuality), extending the grace they have received out of mutual concern for one another.”

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ἡμεῖς εἰς ὑμᾶς). The motivation should be the example of Paul, who showed them the way (example) of Jesus,25 who did what he did because he was motivated by the character and will of God. The apostles gave themselves to the Thessalonians and would even have given their own lives. Similarly, motivated by love, the Thessalonians should do the same. The only way the power of transformative love towards those on the outside can increase and abound is if it grows from a particular understanding of identity, ethics and ethos and of the missionary plan of God and his Kingdom. Without a proper understanding of the missionary dimension, the ethical dimension rests on an inadequate foundation and could easily result in an individually focused inclination to serve one’s own interests. 3. Conclusion It has been argued that in 1 Thessalonians there is an interesting nexus between power, mission and ethics. The starting point of the Gospel is to be found in the missio Dei – the gracious missionary plan of God who sends his Son who died and was raised from the dead. Against the background of the missio Dei we see a cosmic power battle between God and Satan taking place. The outcome of the eschatological battle is already clear. Christ will come again and will judge victorious over Satan and his followers. In the meantime, people still experience the cosmic battle on the battlefield of earth where there are two opposing groups. Both groups have a definite agenda and work against one another. In these two families, we have children of light and children of darkness who experience the influence of the power at work within their distinctive families. God calls apostles, those who are sent with authority and power and through whom the power of God’s Spirit is at work. The apostles act with authority and power, but their aim is to empower believers to become empowered missionaries themselves; which is proof that God’s Spirit actively works in and through them (1 Thes 1:7-9. The authority and power belongs not to individual apostles, but was given to them by God. They are merely instruments in the hand of a powerful God. Paul accentuates this aspect Horrell (2006, 82) argues that although Paul’s ethical teaching is shaped and influenced by the example of Jesus, clear allusions to the teachings of Jesus are rare in Paul. Horrell furthermore postulates that it would therefore be “hard to claim that the teaching of Jesus itself underlies much of Paul’s ethics.” The example of Jesus on the other hand serves as the fundamental paradigm for Christian morality.

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when he refers to the way the gospel came to the Thessalonians in power, despite the weak state the apostles were in. Those who are children of God and sons and daughters of light (see 1 Thess 5:5), live a highly ethical life that flows from their identity. Their lives serve as a witness to outsiders (1 Thess 4:9). They receive power from God which inter alia manifests itself in joy amidst suffering. Paul encourages believers to grow and increase in empowering love, not only towards insiders, but also towards those who are outside. The only way that they will have the ability and power to do so, will be if their ethics and ethos flow from their identity, and when they experience the power of God that works not only in them, but also through them. By following the example of the apostles, they might even become examples to others, motivating them to become part of God’s powerful kingdom of light. Bibliography Aasgaard, R. 2004. My Beloved Brothers and Sisters: Christian Siblingship in Paul. London, New York, NY: T&T Clark. Aland, B., K. Aland, M. Black, C.M. Martini, B.M. Metzger, and A. Wikgren, eds. 1993. The Greek New Testament. 4th ed. New York, NY: United Bible Societies. Allen, A. 1999. “Solidarity After Identity Politics: Hannah Arendt and the Power of Feminist Theory.” Philosophy and Social Criticism 25(1):97–118. Baltrusch, E. 2002. Die Juden und das Römische Reich: Geschichte einer konflikt­ reichen Beziehung. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Blight, R. 1989. An Exegetical Summary of 1 & 2 Thessalonians. Dallas, TX: Summer Institute of Linguistics. Bourdieu, P. 1991. Language and Symbolic Power. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Bruce, F.F. 1998. Word Biblical Commentary: 1 and 2 Thessalonians. Vol. 45 of electronic edition. Dallas, TX: Logos Library System; Word Biblical Commentary. Word, Incorporated. Carter, W. 2006. The Roman Empire and New Testament Studies: An Essential Guide. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press. Clarke, A.D. 1993. Secular and Christian Leadership in Corinth: A SocioHistorical and Exegetical Study of 1 Cor 1–6. Leiden: Brill. Crossan, J. and J. Reed. 2004. In Search of Paul. New York, NY: Harper. Dickson, J.P. 2003. Mission-Commitment in Ancient Judaism and in the Pauline Communities. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Donfried, K. 2002. Paul, Thessalonica and Early Christianity. New York, NY: T&T Clark. Dunn, J. 2005. The New Perspectives on Paul. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Ehrensperger, K. 2007. Paul and the Dynamics of Power. New York, NY: T&T Clark. Fee, G. 1999. God’s Empowering Presence. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson.



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Gaventa, B. 1998. First and Second Thessalonians. Louisville, KY: John Knox Press. Hack Polaski, S. 1999. Paul and the Discourse of Power. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Hahn, F. 2002. Theologie des Neuen Testaments. Band 1. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Harnack, A. 1972 [1908]. The Mission and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries. London: Harper & Row. Harrison, J.R. 2003. Paul’s Language of Grace in its Graeco-Roman Context. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Heiser, M.S. 2005. Glossary of Morpho-Syntactic Database Terminology. Logos Bible Software. Hendriksen, W. and S.J. Kistemaker. 1953–2001. New Testament Commentary: Exposition of I–II Thessalonians. New Testament Commentary 3. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House. Holmberg, B. 1978. Paul and Power: The Structure of Authority in the Primitive Church as Reflected in the Pauline Epistles. Lund: Gleerup. Horrell, D.G. 2006. An Introduction to the Study of Paul. New York, NY: T&T Clark. Horsley, R.A. 1997. Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International. —. 2004. Paul and the Roman Imperial Order. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International. Jewett, R. 1986. The Thessalonian Correspondence. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press. Joubert, S.J. 2000. Paul as Benefactor: Reciprocity, Strategy and Theological Reflection in Paul’s Collection. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Kok, J. 2010. “Die rol van die etiek in die prediking: Nuwe navorsing in Nuwe Testamentiese etiek en die implikasie daarvan vir die prediking.” Verbum et Ecclesia 31(1). Kok, J. and E. van Eck (eds.). 2011. Unlocking the World of Jesus. Pretoria: Biblaridion. Kok, J. 2012. “Die etiek van sending as anti-Kyriargale bemagtiging en liefdesdiens: ‘n Fokus op 1 Tessalonisense en mag of bemagtiging.” HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 68(1). Kok, J., T. Nicklas, D.T. Roth, and C.M. Hays (eds.). 2014. Sensitivity Towards Outsiders. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 2/364. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Kok, J. 2014. “Social Identity Complexity Theory as heuristic tool in New Testament Studies.” HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 70(1). Lieu, J. 2004, Early Christian identity in the Jewish and Graeco Roman World. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Lietaert Peerbolte, B. 2003. Paul the Missionary. Leuven: Peeters. Malherbe, A.J. 1986, Paul and the Popular Philosophers, Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. —. 2011, Paul and the Thessalonians: The Philosophical Tradition of Pastoral Care. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock. Meeks, W. 1983. The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

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—. 1993. The Origins of Christian Morality, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Ter Borg, M.B. and J.W. van Henten (eds.). 2010. Powers. Religion as a Social and Spiritual Force. Fordham, NY: Fordham University Press. Ollrog, W.H. 1979. Paulus und seine Mitarbeiter: Untersuchungen zu Theorie und Praxis der paulinischen Mission. Neukirchen: Neukirchener. Reinbold, W. 2000. Propaganda and Mission im ältesten Christentum: Eine Untersuchung zu den ältesten Modalitäten der Ausbreitung der frühen Kirche. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Rowland, C. (ed.). 1999. “The Theology of Liberation.” Pages 3–4 in The Cambridge Companion to Liberation Theology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Speckman, M. 2007. A Biblical Vision for Africa’s Development. Pietermaritzburg: Cluster Publications. Taubes, J. 2004. The Political Theology of Paul. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Van der Watt, J.G. (ed.). 2006. Identity, Ethics and Ethos in the New Testament. BZNW 141. Berlin: De Gruyter. —. 2010. “‘Thou Shalt … Do the Works of God?!’ Does the New Testament Have Anything to Say about Ethics Today?” Lecture Delivered on 16 Sept 2010, Radboud University Nijmegen, Netherlands, 1–30 (https://core.ac.uk/ download/pdf/16168923.pdf). Vom Brocke, C. 2001. Thessaloniki – Stadt des Kassander und Gemeinde des Paulus. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Wartenberg, T. 1990. The Forms of Power: From Domination to Transformation. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Zimmermann, R. 2009. “The ‘Implicit Ethics’ of New Testament Writings: A Draft on a New Methodology in Analysing New Testament’s Ethics.” Neotestamentica 43(2):398–422.

CHAPTER 9

GENDERED POWER AND THE POWER OF GENRE IN THE DEBATE ABOUT WOMEN’S ROLES IN THE PASTORAL LETTERS AND THE ACTS OF PAUL Annette B. Merz1 The First Letter to Timothy and the Acts of Paul, which I shall investigate here, are two texts that make a contribution to the early Christian discussion of gender roles. In both cases, the emphasis lies on the particularly controversial role of women. Power plays a role on various levels here. To begin with, power relationships between the genders (“gendered power”) are depicted or directly thematized in the text. Secondly, the power of persuasion is exercised in relation to the male and female readers. This is done with rhetorical means that are specific to the individual texts, but that also employ special genre-specific strategies to bring conviction. This “genred power” is a terrain that is largely unexplored by exegetical discussions, and this is why it forms the center of my investigation.2 I shall begin by sketching briefly the underlying theoretical concepts. 1.  Gender Roles and Gender Discourses Gender roles are not immutable universalia. They are established, and maintained or changed, through a complex interplay of a plurality of social interactions (“doing/performing gender”, see Butler 1990, 1999). The societal discourse about gender-specific behavior that can be perceived in texts is a part of this social interaction, and in the case of epochs that This essay is a slightly revised version of the German publication Merz (2012). I owe thanks to Brian McNeil for providing an English translation of that article. 2 The investigation of “gen(de)red power” was inspired by Erll and Seibel (2004, 180ff.), who call for the investigation of gen(de)red memories. I have been interested in the question of the influence of genre on the gender question in the context of exegesis for a long time, see already Merz (2000, 2004, 2006a). 1

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lie far back in history, it is one of the few accesses to the reconstruction of this fundamental aspect of human experience and conduct.3 It is well known that societies and social groups differ in the extent to which their ideas about gender roles are fixed or variable, how much space they allow for deviations from these roles, and how rigidly and by what means they impose sanctions on deviant behavior. In the Roman imperial period, gender discourses were polyphonic and reflected a societal reality that was astonishingly varied (see the brief overview by Hallett 1999). In Roman imperial times, politicians who represent the interests of the state, with literary men and philosophers who were close to them, do indeed propagate a gender model based on the absolute power of the pater familias that envisages for women only a role that is subordinate and oriented to men (see Schottroff 1994, 34–70). But societal reality frequently contradicted this ideology. Women in influential positions, who took decisions about business and family matters, and in some instances even political decisions, independently of their father or husband, were found in every social class.4 Often enough, the most rigorous upholders of women’s subordination and self-effacement bear unwilling testimony to the de facto participation of women in spheres of life that these authors would have liked to reserve to men.5 Where early Christianity makes statements in its texts about the appropriate conduct of women and men, it is taking part in this broader societal discourse.6 1 Tim 2:9–15 and related texts such as 1 Cor 14:34–35 or the Archeology provides another access path to the perceived reality of gendered expressions and interactions in the past which lies beyond the scope of this essay. 4 See Kearsley (1999), Mantas (1997), and the essays in Kraemer and D’Angelo (1999). Even Winter (2003, 173–211) acknowledges the appearance (and thereby at least partially acceptance!) of women in the public sphere. He fails greatly in my opinion in adequately evaluating this phenomenon which in itself undermines his hypothesis that limiting the public activity of female Christians must have been a reaction to the occurrence of the so-called New Roman Woman (which I doubt to have been a significant historical phenomenon at all, see footnote nr 6 beneath). 5 A prominent example of this is Tertullian’s treatise De baptismo. Its vigorous polemic against women who claimed the right to baptize and to teach (De baptismo 17.5) is an important piece of evidence for the existence of this praxis in the late second century. It deserves mentioning here because Tertullian associates his polemic against female practice of teaching and baptism as based on the example of Thecla and thus in all probability on the very text under investigation in this essay. 6 An extremely simplistic way of interpreting texts and legislation from the imperial period dealing with women’s conduct has been provided by Winter (2003). According to him they all are to be explained as (understandable) reactions to the appearance of so-called New Roman Women who deliberately and offensively broke away from traditional gender rules. A thorough discussion of the shortcomings of this hypothesis which must be regarded as a scholarly construction throughout, can be found in Merz (2019). 3



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New Testament domestic codes should be understood as taking specific positions in a discussion that also knew other views. This dispute about opinions emerges acutely in the two early Christian texts that we investigate here. In Paul’s name, they stake out a position on the question of the appropriate role of women in the earliest Christian movement. The Pastoral Letters forbid women to teach, and command them to marry and become mothers. The Acts of Paul enjoin – in the name of the very same Paul – the childless ascetic life. This text even knows a female apostle, Thecla, who is sent out to teach the Word of God, and female prophets who play an important role in the life of the community. Scholars have frequently affirmed that these two texts must be understood as the anti­ podes in a struggle for power with regard to the correct interpretation of the Pauline tradition.7 The present contribution builds further on this discussion and seeks to attain greater clarity about the literary mechanisms, which are partly genre-specific, through which the texts exercise their power to persuade readers of their specific view on gender relations. We cannot separate from this the question about the effect of these literary means, that is to say, whether and how they supported or undermined real power relations between the genders, and to what extent they contributed to the formation of a long lasting cultural memory.8 2. The Textual Representation of Power Relations and the Discursive Exercise of Power Through Texts, Intertextuality and Genres Let us begin by examining the textual representation of power relations on the level of narrative or of argumentation. We must ask how power relations with regard to relationships between the genders are depicted and how discursive or narrative techniques are employed to give shape to the gender relationship within the text. We use a broad definition of “power” here. We must take account not only of textual phenomena that express “power over someone” or indeed “dominance,” but also of textual elements that signal “empowerment” (see Allen 2011). With regard to the next analytical step, we must note that the relationship between text and reality is complex. Without a link to reality, neither narrative nor discursive texts can carry conviction. Nevertheless, they See already MacDonald (1983), Merz (2004, 320-333), Merz (2007b). The most thorough investigation is Esch-Wermeling (2008). 8 For a special study of this aspect, see Merz (2010). 7

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never reflect reality in a purely descriptive manner, but make use selectively, affirmatively, or critically of elements that are borrowed from reality (see the excellent contribution by Dixon 2001). Descriptive and prescriptive elements are very closely interwoven in the textual presentation of gender-related power relations. We must assume that the gender model that is depicted or presented by way of argumentation intends to have an effect on the female and male readers. A comprehensive analysis of the convincing power of a text includes a consideration of genrespecific strategies for bringing conviction. On a meta-level, therefore, I wish to ask how the genre of the texts I am investigating and the rhetorical means that are specific to this genre are employed in order to make a powerful – indeed, where possible, an overwhelmingly powerful – contribution to the controversial issues. I believe that exegetical discussion has neglected the investigation of the “power of the genre” and the “power of the genre-specific literary means.” While debate among scholars of literature has become aware of the fact that genres are “bearers of ideologies of the cultural memory” and thus make a decisive contribution to the “establishing, transmission, and deconstruction of gender difference”9 (Erll & Seibel 2004, 191) this phenomenon has not yet been systematically investigated in biblical scholarship.10 If one wishes – in keeping with Foucault’s theory – to track down the process whereby power is exercised through the discursive positing of an authoritative presentation of the past and the present, and of the laws that govern both of these, one must abstract from the individual text and ask what genre-typical mechanisms of conviction can be discerned. The rhetorical means that deserve special attention here include the way in which figures and authoritative texts from the past are re-used. Refining an argument I developed earlier, every intertextual reference A more comprehensive citation of the German original might be helpful: “Frederic Jameson (1988 [1981], S. 70) spricht … von the ideology of form und betont, dass ‘die Hervorbringung ästhetischer oder narrative Formen … als eigenständiger ideologischer Akt verstanden werden’ muss. Wiedergebrauchs-Formen sind daher bedeutungsgeladenen (sic) Träger von Ideologien des kulturellen Gedächtnisses, d.h. von Vergangenheitsversionen, Geschichtsbildern, Konzepten kollektiver Identität sowie von Wert- und Normvorstellungen. Und damit sind sie auch an der Etablierung, Tradierung und Dekonstruktion von Geschlechterdifferenz maßgeblich beteiligt.” 10 While numerous contributions of gender-conscious and feminist exegesis have brought to light a great deal of relevant knowledge that could be integrated into a new, gendersensitive form criticism, at present, this kind of form criticism remains a desideratum. An excellent contribution dealing with the genre of Pythagorean and early Christian literary letters providing moral education for women is Bourland Huizenga (2013).  9



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can be regarded as a form of the exercise of power vis-à-vis the text that is quoted or to which allusion is made.11 The recognition that specific regular principles are at work in this process, and that these can be defined specifically in terms of the individual genre, can greatly enrich the analysis of the discursive exercise of power. In the present essay, I wish to show that pseudepigraphical letters are a particularly effective way to lay claim to power vis-à-vis the fictive author and his literary legacy, but that a narrative too possesses its own means of influencing the literary inheritance in keeping with its own narrative intention. 3.  Gender and Power in Paul Much has been written in recent decades about the contribution made by Paul to the discussion of the roles of women and men in the community (See e.g. the essays on Paul in Kraemer & D’Angelo 1999 and Schüssler Fiorenza 1994). I cannot discuss this in detail here, since my interest lies above all in the deutero-Pauline reception of the Pauline texts and traditions, but I want to set out briefly what I believe were the decisive contributions of the historical Paul and of his surviving letters to the gender discussion.12 The characteristic element is Paul’s profound ambivalence on the question of how the gender roles are to be defined and lived in the early Christian communities. Thanks to the sociocultural plurality in the composition of the communities, and probably also to special local circumstances, we cannot speak of a uniform development. What Paul writes reflects his uncertainty both about the conduct that is desirable and about the theological justification of this conduct. The contradiction between Gal 3:28 and 1 Cor 11:2–16, which cannot be reasoned away, shows the deep inner split in the apostle. On the one hand, he employs a traditional early Christian baptismal formula to declare that the gender difference laid down in creation is abolished in principle in Christ. “Male and female” (Gen 1:28) “is” no more. For Paul, there cannot be any obligation to marry. On the contrary, men and women who remain unmarried can devote themselves undividedly to the Lord, and this is an advantage over the situation where one has to take See Merz (2006a) and footnote 20 beneath on the process of reciprocal semantization of text and pre-text. 12 I consider the letters to the Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians and Philemon to be authentic Pauline epistles. 11

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one’s marriage partner into consideration (1 Cor 7:32–35). This line of theological argumentation focuses exclusively on the relationship of the baptized person to Christ, and it has no room for a self-evident and necessary (hierarchical) relatedness of the genders to one another. In 1 Cor 11:2–16, on the other hand, Paul uses the hierarchy of the genders, which is laid down in creation, to impose the obligation of wearing a veil as a sign marking gender difference, when the community in Corinth assembles, and this is clearly an innovation in regard to the praxis there. The prophetic speaking of women in the community assembly is not itself problematized, and the large number of female missionaries and leaders in the communities who are mentioned in passing in Paul’s letters – of whom at least Prisca, Junia, and Phoebe were “colleagues” rather than assistants of Paul – shows that during Paul’s lifetime it was perfectly natural in the early Christian movement for women to be leaders and teachers (see Schüssler Fiorenza 1983; Bieringer 2003).13 Proof of Paul’s ambivalence is the conflict between basic theological convictions in his arguments: Is the relationship to Christ the only decisive factor, or does the “old” order of creation still play a role? This ambivalence can also be seen in the conflicting juxtaposition of the acceptance of women in leading functions and the insistence on a symbol that marks a gender difference that is defined as hierarchical.14 What Paul bequeathed was unclarity. Ought a woman to appeal exclusively to her status as one created anew in Christ and to place all her talents at the service of the relationship to Christ, even if this generates conduct that runs contrary to the gender stereotypes? Or must she take heed of boundaries that are set up by the praxis that is accepted by the majority (1 Cor 11:16, “the communities of God do not know such a practice”) and of the ideological gender ordering that is accepted by conservative common sense (1 Cor 11:3, “the husband is the head of the wife”)? In the period after Paul, this unclarity that lies in his œuvre itself led to a vigorous clash of opinions that was fought out in various ways in or under the name of Paul. The position put forward by 1 Timothy will be In the case of Phoebe, Paul finds it unproblematic to call her his “patron” in the juridical sense. See Merz (2007a). 14 If 1 Cor 14:34–35 were from Paul himself, this ambivalence would be even more obvious, since he would then have insisted that a married woman must not take an active part in the discussions at the community assembly. In my eyes, however, there is a high probability that this text is an interpolation and thus a representative of the deutero-Pauline phase of the debate (see Merz 2004, 334–39). 13



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examined here as paradigmatic for the field of pseudepigraphical epistolary literature.15 4.  Gender and Power in 1 Timothy16 The question of the acceptable way to fulfill the role of a woman in the public sphere of the community is defined with astonishing clarity in 1 Timothy as a question of power. “Let a woman learn in silence with all submissiveness. I permit no woman to teach or to have authority over men; she is to keep silent” (1 Tim 2:11–12; RSV translation). Let us prescind from the question of genre and begin by investigating the rhetorical design and the intention of 1 Tim 2:9–15 as a contribution to early Christian discourse. There can be no doubt that despite the harsh rejection of any authority for women to teach, the text presupposes that such a praxis in fact exists. It does not argue preventatively, but restrictively. The argumentation acquires its arguments by recourse to the established conservative gender-specific normative discourse. The author has recourse first to the Hellenistic-Roman canon of values. Phrases such as ἐν καταστολῇ κοσμίῳ μετὰ αἰδοῦς καὶ σωφροσύνης, ὃ πρέπει γυναιξὶν ἐπαγγελλομέναις θεοσέβειαν and δι᾽ ἔργων ἀγαθῶν (1 Tim 2:9–10) evoke the entire canon of defined gender-specific norms of conduct to which the virtuous woman must live up. Reticence with regard to the display of wealth through elaborate clothing and jewelry, which is commanded in v. 9, must be understood here as a prohibition of the demonstration of economic potency, which was understood in classical antiquity as leading automatically to a position of power (see Wagener 1994, 33–37, 111–13). Vv. 11–12 are constructed on the antithesis between silence and obedience, on the one hand, which were considered the proverbial ornament of a woman, and their opposite picture, on the other, the bossy In this essay the pseudepigraphical character of 1 Timothy is taken for granted. Recent publications that try to undermine the broad scholarly consensus reached in the 19th and 20th century (e.g. Van Nes 2018) have not convinced me, restrictions of space do not allow a detailed discussion here. Readers who start from a different position, namely from the authenticity of the Pastorals, might in fact nevertheless profit from my genre-related observations. They would have to explain, what I regard as fictive self-references in the following, to be real self-references of an author who became more restrictive with regard to gender roles and had to correct earlier statements in the light of his developing convictions. 16 The following section is a brief summary of the results of my detailed investigation of this text in the context of my dissertation. For detailed arguments, secondary literature, and textual references, see Merz (2004, 268–374) and Merz (2007b), as well as Wagener (1994). 15

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woman who dominates the man. The appeal is made here to ideal pictures or horror pictures, each with a strong emotional charge, that belong to the cultural repertoire, in order to castigate behavior that had clearly been tolerated up to that time (women holding positions as teachers and leaders in early Christian communities) as incompatible with basic norms of society (teaching equals an unacceptable desire to exercise dominance over men).17 1 Tim 2:13–14 then offers a theological “proof” from the story of the creation and the fall to explain why women’s teaching and domination are immoral. This narrative shows that Eva/the woman is subordinate to the man, because she was the second to be created and the first to be led astray. The author alludes here to a specifically Jewish framework of reference, to which Paul too had already appealed in 1 Cor 11. Finally, 1 Tim 2:15 praises childbearing as the remedy, indeed as the means to obtain eternal salvation; naturally, this presupposes that one contracts a patriarchal marriage. Scholars disagree about how to define the inherent logic of the link that the author postulates between the rejection of women’s teaching activity and the obligation to motherhood, but it is beyond dispute that this close link is important to him, since we find it a second time in 1 Tim 5:13–14. Women of childbearing age are to find their salvation in carrying out the maternal role and in fundamental subordination to their husband,18 not in the exercise of a teaching activity that is associated with the exercise of power, or in assuming the honorable role of a widow, which would make it possible for them to lead an independent existence. According to 1 Timothy, the relationship between gender and power is regulated unambiguously. Men are admonished to use responsibly the power that is entrusted to them in the family and the community. Women are not to allow economic potency to be seen, nor to exercise relational power over men. Their appearance must be unobtrusive and quiet, and their conduct must be governed by subordination to their husbands and to the male office-bearers in the community. There is a striking agreement between the content and the form of this text. The voice of the male author (“Paul”), who admits no contradiction, The rhetorical strategy that is implicit here is also employed explicitly by the Pastoral Letters to ensure the subordination of women and of male and female slaves. See 1 Tim 6:1; Tit 2:5, where the appeal to public opinion is clearly phrased. 18 In addition to 1 Tim 2:11–15 and 5:10, 13–14, see also Tit 2:4–5, where women of marriageable age are commanded to be φιλάνδρους and φιλοτέκνους, as well as “sensible, chaste, domestic, kind, and submissive to their husbands” (ὑποτασσομένας τοῖς ἰδίοις ἀνδράσιν). 17



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proclaims the iron laws of female subordination in mind and body. This is not the “advisory” Paul of 1 Corinthians, who allows his male and female readers to take the ultimate decision about their personal lives in a married or unmarried existence and who sees the relationship to Christ as the only guarantee of salvation. The imposition of the obligation to marry and bear children means that the author of 1 Timothy explicitly contradicts central Pauline principles. Similarly, the author’s genderdifferentiating denunciation of Eve as the prototype of women in their especial propensity to sin is a clear contradiction of Paul, who had chosen Eve as a model for all Christians at 2 Cor 11:2–3. This brings us to the core of the genre-specific power that the author establishes. The pseudepigraphical letter can draw on a number of extremely powerful literary means to attain its goals; the most important of these are the authorial fiction and the fictive self-reference.19 Through the authorial fiction, the pseudepigrapher claims as his own an authority that is not in fact his own, namely, the authority of the apostolic author. And in comparison to the historical author Paul, the authority to which the Pastoral Letters claims is clearly stronger. One reason for this is that in retrospect, and thanks to the increasing use of his letters as regulative texts, much more power was ascribed to the dead apostle than the historical Paul ever enjoyed. Secondly, the author of the Pastoral Letters deliberately chose epistolary genres that contain an intensified claim to authority: the literary testament (2 Timothy) and the instruction about general regulations of church order, addressed to an office-bearer who is authorized to give directives (1 Timothy/Titus; see Wolter 1988, 156–202, 203–241). Once we assume the success of the literary deceit with regard to the author, a process of reception is started in the readers. This process involves a comparative intertextual reading of the Pastoral Letters in the literary context of the Pauline Corpus. Under the mask of pseudepigraphy, references to themes and traditions that are discussed elsewhere in the Corpus Paulinum appear as fictive self-references. The fictive selfreference is a special case of intertextual reference in literary forgeries. By means of this device, a fictive author allegedly expands, comments upon, modifies, or develops earlier material. When he writes another (pseudepigraphical) letter, the pseudepigraphical author engages in a fictive self-exposition of Paul, and the fictive self-reference is his “secret I summarize here briefly the results of my detailed analysis of the intertextuality of pseudepigraphical letters. See Merz (2004, 1–71, 195–244; 2006a; 2007b).

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weapon” that allows him to modify statements by the supposed author that do not agree with his own intentions, without tampering with the text of the autograph letter. Intertextual references always aim at a double effect: they are oriented both to the text and to the reference-text.20 Equipped with this arsenal from research into intertextuality, let us now look once again at the statements in 1 Timothy about the role of women. The pseudepigraphical author wants them to be understood as expansions and partly as corrections or modifications of statements by Paul. Expansions are offered by the numerous directives about behavior in conformity with gender roles, which are oriented to the conservative societal discourse about norms. These are supported by important corrections. According to 1 Cor 7, every woman may in principle freely decide to adopt an ascetic life. This is limited by 1 Timothy to widowed women beyond childbearing age who have no family of their own (1 Tim 5:3–16). All other women must marry and become mothers, if they do not want to put their eternal salvation at risk. “Paul” also introduces a new, misogynous reading of the tradition about creation and the fall. Guided by the principles laid down in 1 Tim 2:13–14 a new reading of Paul’s ambivalent statements in 1 Cor 11 (which were formulated with a christological reservation in 1 Cor 11:11) is induced, a reading that entrenches gender hierarchy and that no longer allows any ambivalence. The furthest-reaching fictive self-modification of Pauline theology is the assertion that the woman is more easily inclined to sin than the man, with the adjacent consequences that she must therefore be subordinate to him – even in the community of those who have been created anew in Christ! – that she may not teach, and that she depends on the physical act of childbearing in order to be saved. 5. Intermediate Résumé 1: The Power of the Pseudepigraphical Letter The pseudepigraphical First Letter to Timothy employs the unquestionable power of the (deceased) apostolic author in order to impose a rigorous A fundamental insight of research by scholars of literature into intertextuality is that every “dialogue of texts” that comes into being when one text employs another earlier text (or reference text) through a formal quotation or through an allusion that the readers can recognize generates a reciprocal semantization that influences the meaning of both dialogue-partners. Exegetical scholarship still neglects reference-text-oriented intertextuality, which often supplies the key to the author’s intentions, especially in pseudepigraphical writings. For the Pastoral Letters, see Merz (2004, 2006a, 2007b); for Ephesians, see Merz (2000); for Colossians, see Frank (2009); for 2 Peter, see Ruf (2011).

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hierarchical model of gender roles on the early Christian communities. In a deviation from the original Pauline position, this model characteristically demands that women renounce any teaching function – which is defined and abhorred as an exercise of authority over men – and obligates them to marry and bear children. This de facto deviation from the Pauline tradition is concealed by the use of the pseudepigraphical letter as a means of communication. By means of fictive self-references, Pseudo-Paul modifies earlier statements by the apostle, so that these cannot exercise any critical function vis-à-vis the newly introduced extremely conservative gender model. 6.  Gender and Power in the Acts of Paul In this section, I shall investigate the contribution made by the Acts of Paul to the discussion about power relationships between men and women in the early Christian community. Secondly, I shall look at the relationship between this contribution and the position of the Pastoral Epistles, discussed in the previous sections. Thirdly, I shall inquire about the influence of the genre chosen, the narrative genre of praxeis. Some short methodological observations are necessary at the outset.21 I investigate the Acts of Paul as a coherent literary text written in the second half of the second century by an author who is presumably male, the nameless “presbyter in Asia” whom Tertullian mentions and denigrates in De baptismo 17.5. There can be no doubt that this author has used older traditions in oral and perhaps also in written form, and that he has integrated these into his literary work. He has created a whole that must certainly be called coherent according to the standards of classical antiquity in its narrative construction and in its principal theological convictions. Many allusions to older Jewish and early Christian literature are woven into the narrative, which thus leads a more or less conscious intertextual dialogue above all with the Gospels, the letters of Paul, and probably also the Acts of the Apostles.22 We must investigate this authorial strategy more closely. As we noted in the previous section, intertextual references contribute to the meaning of the text that uses them (text-oriented function), but they also have the potential to influence the reception and interpretation of the tradition that See Pervo (2014) for a recent introduction, translation and commentary on the Acts of Paul. 22 On the intertextuality of the Acts of Paul, see Dunn (1996), Merz (2006b, 2008, 2010, 2017) and the articles in Stoops and MacDonald (1997). 21

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is taken up (reference-text-oriented function). The Pauline tradition is in a particularly prominent starting situation here. The simple fact that a well-known author of epistles, Paul, appears as the protagonist of the narrative stimulates the intertextual dialogue between the narrative and the letters that are transmitted in the name of this author. Both his conduct and the oral and written statements of Paul that are reproduced in the narrative will be automatically related by the recipients to Paul’s well-known œuvre. If the narrator is evaluated as reliable, a situation of reception thus arises that is comparable on many points to the situation of letters of Paul that were fictive but were received as authentic. The contribution of the Acts of Paul to the shaping of gender roles in early Christianity can be best perceived in the Acts of Thecla, in which Thecla appears at Paul’s side as a female protagonist and even takes over his role for a time when he is absent. The opening scene of the Thecla cycle, however, is completely oriented to Paul, who holds a programmatic discourse consisting of macarisms of ascetic life. It is permeated by allusions to Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount and to Pauline texts (AcThec 5–6, here in the translation by Elliott 1993, slightly altered): And after Paul had gone into the house of Onesiphorus there was … the word of God about abstinence and the resurrection. Paul said, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God; blessed are those who have kept the flesh chaste, for they shall become a temple of God; blessed are the continent, for God shall speak with them; blessed are those who have kept aloof from this world, for they shall be pleasing to God; blessed are those who have wives as not having them, for they shall inherit God … blessed are those who have kept the baptism, for they shall be refreshed by the Father and the Son; blessed are those who through love of God no longer conform to the world, for they shall judge angels, and shall be blessed at the right hand of the Father … blessed are the bodies of the virgins, for they shall be well pleasing to God and shall not lose the reward of their chastity. For the word of the Father shall become to them a work of salvation in the day of the Son, and they shall have rest for ever and ever.”

The text-oriented function of the introductory quotation from the Sermon on the Mount is easily recognized: Paul is portrayed in this way as a faithful disciple of Jesus who repeats his sermon literally: “Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God” (Matt 5:8). This is combined with allusions to Pauline texts and metaphors, such as the designation of



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the believers as “God’s temple” (1 Cor 3:16; 6:19), the statement that they will judge angels (1 Cor 6:3), and the literal quotation from 1 Cor 7:29: “Blessed are those who have wives as not having them,” which is once again linked to a promise that recalls the Sermon on the Mount: “for they shall inherit God” (see Matt 5:5). The text-oriented function of all these quotations and allusions is indubitably to have Paul speak in a recognizably Jesuan and Pauline language. This makes his sermon sound both familiar and credible, and thus more convincing. At the same time, there is a clear transposition in terms of content. The “pure in heart” and the “not having” wives now mean something different from the original meaning: they serve to describe persons who lead an ascetic life. Those ascetics are promised that as a reward for their continence, they will even in their present existence enter into a privileged relationship to God (“God shall speak with them”), and that they will receive the resurrection in the future. This is a one-sided encratite re-reading of words of Paul and Jesus, and it has in fact the potential to change the meaning of the original statements for the recipients (the reference-text-oriented function). Although Paul made very positive statements about the ascetic life in 1 Cor 7, he also made clear the value of marriage as a remedium concupiscentiae. Nothing of this can be found in the Acts of Paul. Our text does not directly reflect on the relationships between the genders, but important and unambiguous conclusions can be drawn from the values that it affirms. Although a presumably unreflected androcentric perspective cannot be overlooked (“Blessed are those who have wives as not having them!”), the text is addressed to both men and women without any distinction. The course of the narrative will show that it is above all women who are converted to the ascetic lifestyle preached by Paul. This leads to grave societal repressions, which are exemplified in the fate of the protagonist Thecla. The core affirmation of Paul’s sermon is the connection between “abstinence and the resurrection.” The narrator explicitly affirms this in the introduction, and it is the fundamental structural principle of each of the dichotomous macarisms. According to the standards of classical antiquity, an ascetic life meant the disappearance of the most important difference between the genders, and we may therefore assume that this signal in Paul’s sermon will have consequences for the ordering of the genders in the narrative world. The author has Paul divide humankind not into women and men, but into ascetics and non-ascetics. The ascetics are those who “shall see God,” those to whom “God shall speak,” those

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who “shall not lose the reward of their chastity,” because “the word of God” (which, obviously, they proclaim) will be a “work of salvation” for them on the last day. Does this mean that male and female ascetics are on an equal footing with regard to the proclamation of the word of God? We must also ask how the role of male and female ascetics is described with regard to their gender identity in the further course of the narrative. A gender-sensitive narrative analysis of the role of the principal characters and of their mutual relationship can help to answer this question. Anne Jensen (1999) and Elisabeth Esch-Wermeling (2008) have made particularly important contributions to such an analysis. Both scholars have convincingly shown that there is a clear development of the character of Thecla within the Thecla cycle, which consists of two main episodes and three short scenes that function as introduction, transition, and conclusion. My following analysis builds on their work, but gives more weight to the intertextual dimension, which provides additional evidence to the picture. In the first main episode, which is located in Iconium, Thecla behaves as the ideal woman must behave, according to 1 Tim 2, 1 Cor 14:34–35 and comparable texts from the mainstream gender discourse. The narrator pulls off the feat of describing the entire sequence of Thecla’s conversion and condemnation without putting one single word on the lips of Thecla herself.23 She learns in silence, and her body language throughout the entire episode is directed to Paul. She sits for days on end at her window, listening to the words of the apostle without eating or drinking. After Paul is arrested, she sits at his feet and kisses his fetters. Before the judge, she keeps her eyes steadily fixed on Paul. But she does not utter a word. Her entire attention is directed to the person and the word of the apostle. She says nothing to the bridegroom whom she has rejected and to her mother, who oscillates between rage and despair, nor does she give the slightest gesture of fellowship with them. In the further course of the narrative, however, the relationship between Paul and Thecla becomes more complex. After the apostle is expelled from the city and Thecla is condemned to death, she has a vision on her way to the pyre. She searches for Paul “as a lamb in the wilderness looks around for the shepherd.” She then sees the Lord in heaven in the form of Paul and says, “As if I were unable to endure, Paul has come to look after me.” (AcThec 21) It has to be admitted that she talks to herself (and thus to the reader) in ch. 21, but this does not form a violation of the duty of a woman to remain silent in public.

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This first scene, in which (here indirectly) Paul’s mouth expresses doubts about Thecla’s steadfastness, is followed by two further scenes in chs. 25 and 40, before the apostle gives Thecla the commission to preach. Thecla passes the first test in Iconium, when she mounts the pyre as a true disciple of Christ and makes the sign of the cross with her body. God sends a hailstorm that quenches the fire, saves Thecla and makes it possible for her to escape (AcThec 22). The next scene describes how Thecla meets Paul again, a few days later; he has been fasting and praying for many days with the family of Onesiphorus in a tomb (AcThec 23). Thecla initially behaves like a faithful pupil of the apostle, who does all she can to find her teacher again; but then she declares that she wants to become a disciple and co-worker of Paul in his mission in the full sense. In a formulation that – scarcely by chance – in its second part is an almost literal quotation of Lk 9:57, she tells the apostle, who symbolizes Christ for her: “I will cut my hair off and I shall follow you wherever you go.” (AcThec 25) Paul, however, rejects this request from the woman who has already accepted being burnt at the stake for her fidelity to the apostle, and who has just offered to sacrifice her hair, the classical attribute of femaleness and beauty. His reasoning insinuates that Thecla is at risk of falling victim to the all too well-known propensity of women to sin: “Times are evil and you are beautiful. I am afraid lest another temptation come upon you worse than the first and you do not withstand it but become mad after men.” Thecla contradicts him: “Only give me the seal in Christ, and no temptation shall touch me.” (AcThec 25) But Paul persists in his refusal and tells her to be patient. She then follows him without having received baptism. This refusal of baptism after Thecla has already demonstrated her steadfastness comes as a surprise in the course of the narrative, and the plot becomes even more confusing immediately after this scene, when Paul abandons Thecla in Antioch in a dishonorable manner. When a wealthy citizen wants to bribe Paul with gifts to give him permission to possess Thecla (sexually), Paul himself ensures, when he says: “She is not mine,” that Thecla will face a second and harder temptation (AcThec 26). Esch-Wermeling (2008) is probably right to see the reason for the rejection of Thecla’s request for baptism and for the repeated tests she undergoes as the reaction by the author of the Thecla narrative to the negative picture of women that was widely spread in the name of Paul. His plot seeks to refute this picture by means of the person of Thecla. Paul expresses prejudices in AcThec 25 that recall those in 1 Tim 2:11–14. Since women are more easily seduced than men, Paul is unwilling to

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accept Thecla as a fellow worker in his missionary activity. Indeed, he is not even willing to baptize her before she has shown that she is obedient to the apostle and displays the patience he demands. The continuation of the narrative will then show how Thecla proves her worth, and the apostle correspondingly revises his view of women. He gives her his blessing and commissions her to work as a teacher of the word of God. The author of the Acts Paul thus seems to be following a narrative strategy that allows him both to integrate the misogynistic position of 1 Timothy and to overcome it by describing a kind of “conversion of Paul on the question of women.” Esch-Wermeling’s observations can be developed further through an analysis of the literary characterization of Paul in the narrative. Scholars up to now have overlooked how subtly but consistently the narrator integrates intertextual references to the story of Peter. An exact analysis of these references to Peter shows that the process of the “conversion of Paul” is rendered plausible in narrative terms through a number of allusions to the story of Peter, so that Paul takes over the role, rooted in tradition, of the Peter who denies Jesus and then repents. When the powerful Alexander wants to bribe Paul to hand Thecla over to him, Paul reacts with words that replicate as closely as possible Peter’s well-known denial from the Gospels: “I do not know the woman of whom you speak” (οὐκ οἶδα τὴν γυναῖκα ἦν λέγεις, AcThec 26).24 This brings Thecla into the role of the Christ who is denied. We see that this intertextual interpretation genuinely corresponds to the intention of the author a few lines later, when we are told of the inscription that records Thecla’s guilt for the onlookers (AcThec 28). The introductory formula ἡ δὲ αἰτία τῆς ἐπιγραφῆς αὐτῆς is very closely based on the Markan version of the inscription on the cross (Mark 15:26, καὶ ἦν ἡ ἐπιγραφὴ τῆς αἰτίας αὐτοῦ ἐπιγεγραμμένη), and this is again certainly not by chance. After Thecla baptizes herself in mortal danger, after she has been triumphantly rescued by a series of divine miracles, and after her eloquent testimony to the faith before the public who are assembled in the arena and in the house of her patroness, she is reunited with Paul, and the narrator mentions for the third time Paul’s fear “that some new temptation was coming upon her.” (AcThec 40) The narrative humor is very heavy here: the course of events has long since made Paul’s misogynistic reservations obsolete. It was not Thecla who failed to resist temptation, but Paul (as once happened with Peter). And God gave Paul the opportunity See Mark 14:71: οὐκ οἶδα τὸν ἄνθρωπον τοῦτον ὃν λέγετε.

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to rehabilitate himself by bearing better witness in the future (as once happened with Peter). Accordingly, Thecla now clearly directs Paul to the facts of the matter, and she employs in a slightly changed form Paul’s own words to Peter! “I have received baptism, O Paul; for he who worked with you for the gospel has worked with me also for baptism” (ὁ γὰρ σοὶ συνεργήσας εἰς τὸ εὐαγγέλιον κἀμοὶ συνεργήσεν εἰς τὸ λούσασθαι, AcThec 40). The analogy that is set up here by means of an allusion to Gal 2:8 is obvious. The same power of God that empowered Peter to exercise his apostolate among the Jews has also shown its efficacy in Paul’s work among the Gentiles (ὁ γὰρ ἐνεργήσας Πέτρῳ εἰς ἀποστολὴν τῆς περιτομῆς ἐνήργησεν καὶ ἐμοὶ εἰς τὰ ἔθνη), and this (according to Gal 2:8) obliged Peter to recognize that the apostolate for the Gentiles had been entrusted to Paul. Now the roles are reversed, and Paul finds himself once again in the role of Peter. The same power of God that had empowered Paul to preach the Gospel had also empowered Thecla to baptize herself and then to convert many persons in Antioch. After Thecla brings out this argument from Paul’s own arsenal, he accepts defeat and grants her the full rights of an apostle, with a variation of a synoptic missionary commandment: “Go and teach the word of God.” (AcThec 41) He has overcome, once and for all, his well-known reservations about the female gender and about the prohibition of teaching by women that is known under his name and is documented above all in 1 Timothy – the prohibition that is employed in the story of Thecla to slow the narrative down. The apostle Paul changes from an apostle who employs his power in order to enforce women’s subordination into one who makes women’s missionary work possible. The narrative then closes with the information that Thecla died peacefully after having enlightened (which probably means: converted and baptized) many persons through the Word of God (AcThec 43). 7.  Intermediary Résumé 2: The Power of the Narrative My narratological and intertextual analysis of the story of Thecla allows us to clearly see the author’s intention to demonstrate that Paul’s restrictions on women’s teaching activity and his prejudices with regard to women’s susceptibility to seduction – which have epistolographic documentation – are a position that he himself ultimately overcame. Paul was converted through God’s repeated intervention on Thecla’s behalf and through her convincing argumentation. The power of a narrative, in comparison with

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that of a letter, is that a story offers more possibilities for the development of a complex plot and for the development of the characters. Intertextual references are used in various ways. Paul’s encratite sermon is permeated by fictive self-references to Pauline texts and allusions to the Sermon on the Mount, with the result that the new encratite teaching sounded old and familiar in the ears of his audience. I regard the intertextual insertion of a well-known narrative sequence from the story of Jesus’s passion as extremely ingenious. Having Paul act for a time in the role of Peter, while Thecla acts in the role of Christ (which is suitable for a female martyr), allows the narrator to present the conversion of Paul on the question of women in the narrative pattern, which is also well-known, of Peter’s denial and repentance. This makes it acceptable to the readers, and Paul’s prestige need not suffer in any way. In the context of Tertullian’s polemic against women who (in his opinion) transgress their boundaries, he mentions that women appeal to the example of Thecla to defend their right to teach and to baptize (De baptismo 17.5). Such women are perfectly within their rights to employ the text of the Acts of Thecla in this way, since they have correctly interpreted the textual and intertextual intentions inscribed in the story by its author. They give witness to the empowering rhetoric of the story with regard to female leadership positions. Tertullian counters by denying that this can ever have been Paul’s intention by citing 1 Cor 14:34–35 as proof text, and by asserting that the author of Thecla’s story was found guilty of forgery and lost his position. The fact that Tertullian felt obliged to react so harshly shows how great he considers the power of this story to be. 8. Summary: Paul and the Literary Struggle About Control over the Female Body The comparison between the Pastoral Letters and the Acts of Paul has shown that both texts employ the apostle Paul as a powerful literary figure in order to formulate their vision of the ordering of the genders. Both texts alter the traditional picture of Paul in favor of their own theological interpretation of the Pauline inheritance. The Pastoral Letters and related traditions do so by changing the letters themselves through interpolations such as 1 Cor 14:34–35 and by adding to the Corpus Paulinum Pseudo-Pauline letters in which Paul corrects himself. The Acts of Paul make use of the possibilities offered by a narrative in order to reformulate the memories of Paul’s life, thereby giving them a thoroughly new form.



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Both texts employ the figure and the voice of Paul as an acknowledged religious figure of authority, in order to lend authority to their vision of the use of male, and above all of female, bodies in the way that pleases God. For the Pastoral Letters, this involves a strictly hierarchical relationship between male and female bodies in the community and the family. It is only the man who is permitted to have positions of leadership and teaching authority; the woman’s body must always be subordinate to a man. The divinely intended goal of this power relationship is the birth of children. For the woman, childbearing is a necessary intermediate station on the path to salvation. The teknogonia possesses salvific significance not in itself, but in the total concept of the rules of faith that are imposed on women. Religion is employed in order to support the societally dominant (patriarchal) discourse about gender relationships and to provide arguments to justify this. In the Acts of Paul, women are empowered to teach the Word of God, but they also pay for this (like their male coreligionists) with bodily restrictions. The societal discourse with regard to the public authoritative speaking of women is challenged by women in the service of the Christian proclamation – but it is only the body of female and male ascetics, cleansed (so to speak) of gender characteristics, that is capable of receiving and proclaiming the Word of God. The female body is not subordinate to a man. Rather, male and female ascetics subordinate their body to God by exercising strict control over natural needs. In both cases, therefore, a far-reaching control over the body of the believers is exercised in the name of Paul. In the name of faith, they are compelled either to marry or to live as ascetics, although the historical apostle had explicitly permitted both possibilities. In both cases, this is done inter alia with the help of an interpretative mechanism that I have called reference-text-oriented intertextuality, through which control and power are exercised de facto over the interpretation of authentic Pauline texts. At that period, just like today, there was a risk that Paul himself would be lost to sight in the struggle for hegemony over his memory! I am convinced that we must allow Paul as an individual the same right to the free and unfalsified expression of his opinion that we grant every man and every woman. This is why we must critically analyze the early Christian discourse about gender ordering and draw a distinction between the original voice of Paul, who was so ambivalent on gender questions, and the imitators who use Paul as a powerful literary figure in order to enforce their patriarchal or encratite credo with the specific means available to the genre they employ. A hermeneutical approach of this kind

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alters the cultural memory. Although the gender discourse today has its own rules and the claims to power by Paul, the Pastoral Letters, and the Acts of Paul play the main role in this discourse only on occasion, the deciphering of the gen(de)red power in the early Christian gender discourse can be an instructive exercise for the power struggles of our own days too. Bibliography Allen, A. 2016. “Feminist Perspectives on Power.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Fall 2016 ed. Edward N. Zalta (ed.). https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2016/entries/feminist-power Bieringer, R. 2003. “Febe, Prisca en Junia. Vrouwen en leiderschap in de brieven van Paulus.” Pages 157–202 in Paulus. Edited by F. van Segbroeck. Louvain: Voorburg. Bourland Huizenga, A. 2013. Moral Education for Women in the Pastoral and Pythagorean Letters: Philosophers of the Household. Supplements to Novum Testamentum, V. 147. Boston, MA: Brill. Butler, J. 1990. “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution.” Pages 270-282 in Performing Feminisms: Feminist Critical Theory and Theatre. Edited by S.-E. Case. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Butler, J. 1999. Gender Trouble. 2nd edition. London: Routledge. Dixon, S. 2001. Reading Roman Women. Sources, Genres and Real Life. London: Duckworth. Dunn, P.W. 1996. “The Influence of 1 Corinthians on the Acts of Paul.” Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 35:438–54. Elliott, J.K. 1993. The Apocryphal New Testament. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Erll, A. and K. Seibel. 2004. “Gattungen, Formtraditionen und kulturelles Gedächtnis.” Pages 180–208 in Erzähltextanalyse und Gender Studies. Edited by V. Nünning and A. Nünning. Stuttgart and Weimar: Metzler. Esch-Wermeling, E. 2008. Thekla – Paulusschülerin wider Willen? Strategien der Leserlenkung in den Theklaakten. Münster: Aschendorff Verlag. Frank, N. 2009. Der Kolosserbrief im Kontext des paulinischen Erbes: eine intertextuelle Studie zur Auslegung und Fortschreibung der Paulustradition. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Hallett, J. P. 1999. “Women’s Lives in the Ancient Mediterranean.” Pages 13–34 in Women and Christian Origins. Edited by R.S. Kraemer and M.R. D’Angelo. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Jameson, F. 1988 [1981]. Das politische Unbewußte. Literatur als Symbol sozia­len Handelns. Reinbek: Rowohlt. Jensen, A. 1995. Thekla – die Apostolin. Ein apokrypher Text neu entdeckt. Freiburg: Herder. Kraemer, R.S. and M.R. D’Angelo, eds. 1999. Women and Christian Origins. Oxford: Oxford University Press. MacDonald, D.R. 1983. The Legend and the Apostle: The Battle for Paul in Story and Canon. Philadelphia, PA: The Westminster Press. Mantas, K. 1997. “Independent Women in the Roman East: Widows, Benefactresses, Patronesses, Office-Holders.” Eirene 33:81–95.



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Merz, A.B. 2000. “Why Did the Pure Bride of Christ (2 Cor. 11.2) Become a Wedded Wife (Eph. 5.22–33)? Theses About the Intertextual Transformation of an Ecclesiological Metaphor.” JSNT 79:131–47. —. 2004. Die fiktive Selbstauslegung des Paulus: Intertextuelle Studien zur Intention und Rezeption der Pastoralbriefe. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. —. 2006a. “The Fictitious Self-Exposition of Paul: How Might Intertextual Theory Suggest a Reformulation of the Hermeneutics of Pseudepigraphy?” Pages 113–32 in The Intertextuality of the Epistles. Explorations of Theory and Practice. Edited by T.L. Brodie, D.R. MacDonald and S.E. Porter. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. —. 2006b. “Het Jezusbeeld in de Handelingen van Paulus en Thecla.” Pages 139– 59 in De apocriefe Jezus. Edited by G. Van Oyen and P. Kevers. Louvain: Uitgeverij Acco. —. 2007a. “Phöbe, Diakon(in) der Gemeinde von Kenchreä – eine wichtige Mitstreiterin des Paulus neu entdeckt.” Pages 125–40 in Frauen gestalten Diakonie I, Von der biblischen Zeit bis zum Pietismus. Edited by A. von Hauff. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. —. 2007b. “Amore Pauli: Das Corpus Pastorale und das Ringen um die Interpretationshoheit bezüglich des paulinische Erbes.” Theologische Quartal­ schrift 187(4):274–94. —. 2008. “Tränken und Nähren mit dem Wort. Der Beitrag der Mahlszenen zur narrativen Theologie der Paulusakten.” Pages 269–95 in “Eine gewöhnliche und harmlose Speise?” Von den Entwicklungen frühchristlicher Abendmahls­ traditionen. Edited by J. Hartenstein, S. Petersen and A. Standhartinger. Gütersloh, Gütersloher Verlagshaus. —. 2010. “Die Apostolin und Protomärtyrerin Thekla. Veränderungen ihrer Repräsentation im kollektiven Gedächtnis.” Spirale der Zeit 8:18–24. —. 2012. “Gen(de)red power: Die Macht des Genres im Streit um die Frauenrolle in Pastoralbriefen und Paulusakten.” HTS 68(1). —. 2017. “Hinführung zu den Wundererzählungen in den Akten des Paulus und der Thekla.” Pages 403–21 in Kompendium der frühchristlichen Wundererzählungen. Band 2: Die Wunder der Apostel. Edited by R. Zimmermann et al. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus. —. 2019. “‘New” Woman? Bruce W. Winters These und ihre Rezeption in der exegetischen Diskussion kritisch beleuchtet.” Pages 209–34 in Frauen im antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum. Edited by J. Frey & N. Rupschus. WUNT 2/489. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Nes, J. van. 2018. Pauline Language and the Pastoral Epistles. A Study of Linguistic Variation in the Corpus Paulinum. Linguistic Biblical Studies 16. Leiden: Brill. Pervo, R.I. 2014. The Acts of Paul. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. Eugene, OR: Cascade. Ruf, M. G. 2011. Die heiligen Propheten, eure Apostel und ich: metatextuelle Studien zum zweiten Petrusbrief. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Schottroff, L. 1994. Lydias ungeduldige Schwestern. Feministische Sozial­ geschichte des frühen Christentums. Gütersloh: Chr. Kaiser/Gütersloher Verlagshaus.

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Schüssler Fiorenza, E. 1983. In Memory of Her: A Feminist Reconstruction of Christian Origins. New York, NY: Crossroad. Schüssler Fiorenza, E., ed. 1994. Searching the Scriptures II: A Feminist Commentary. New York, NY: Crossroad. Stoops, R.F. and D.R. MacDonald. 1997. The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles in Intertextual Perspectives. Semeia 80. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press. Wolter, M. 1988. Die Pastoralbriefe als Paulustradition. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

CHAPTER 10

POWER, POWERLESSNESS, AND AUTHORISED POWER IN 1 TIMOTHY 2:8–15 Rob van Houwelingen1 1. Introduction During the rise of Christianity, various social relationships developed within the earliest communities. These relationships involved the members of the various congregations: Jew and Gentile, slave and free, male and female (according to Gal 3:28), as well as their leaders: the apostles and their co-workers, elders and deacons/deaconesses. If the term “power” means “every opportunity within a social relationship to assert one’s will even against opposition”, as the widely used definition of Max Weber puts it, then one can speak of ecclesiastical power, that is: power based on a position of authority within an ecclesiastical context. This power can function either as a positive or as a negative force.2 Thinking of ecclesiastical power as a negative force has often found a breeding ground in the Pastoral Epistles.3 In particular, publications of authors using analytical tools from gender studies have increased the sensitivity of contemporary scholars to the topic of male-female power relationships and the reception history of the Pastorals in entrenching gender inequality (e.g. Wagener 1994; Merz 2004; Bourland Huizenga 2013). Most scholars are of the opinion that the letters to Timothy and Titus originated during a later stage in early Christianity. In that case, Paul himself would not have shown evidence of abusing ecclesiastical power. Reading the Pastoral Epistles as post-Pauline documents is not the only This contribution contains reworked exegetical material from Van Houwelingen (2013). An earlier version in Dutch has been published as Van Houwelingen (2012). 2 See further the contribution of Van Henten in the present volume. 3 The common label “Pastoral Epistles” is widely used, although some scholars prefer the designation LTT (Letters to Timothy and Titus) to underline that these documents are in fact individual compositions, dealing with common themes. See on this topic the special issue of the Journal for the Study of Paul and His Letters 9.1–2 (2019). 1

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possibility, though. The letters to Timothy and Titus could also contain instruction from the apostle Paul to his co-workers. If Paul was the author of the Pastoral Epistles, ecclesiastical power becomes an even larger issue. Could the above-mentioned gender inequality in the Christian church, as a negative force of power, have begun with Paul himself? Or did the apostle exercise his apostolic authority as a positive force, a transforming power, in order to socialize communities according to a new value system based on the reality of Jesus Christ and the Kingdom of God (Ehrensperger 2007)? Exploring whether and in what respect the Pastoral Epistles demonstrate thinking in terms of ecclesiastical power, the present contribution will examine an important passage: 1 Tim 2:8–15. This passage is always discussed when it comes to the role of women in the church. Paul’s introduction to 1 Timothy mentions that he is writing this letter to his spiritual son, Timothy, who was responsible for the congregation in Ephesus. In the following essay, a cursory exegesis of 1 Tim 2:8–15 will be presented, by means of a close reading of the text within the corpus paulinum, including the self-attestation of 1 Timothy as a letter of the apostle Paul. If Paul’s authorship is not acknowledged and the letter is assumed to be pseudepigraphal, the same text must still be interpreted (Van Houwelingen 2013, 9–36).4 Three aspects of 1 Timothy 2:8–15 will be considered: power, power­ lessness, and authorised power. Under the heading Power, the underlying problem is discussed that Timothy faced: the male/female relationship within the congregation in Ephesus that threatened to degenerate into a power struggle (section 1). With Powerlessness, the creation account as referred to in verses 13–15 comes into view. Its focus is the woman God created, Eve. The Genesis narrative tells the story of human weakness, which in the first letter to Timothy becomes a sort of triptych about Eve and the creation, Eve and the fall, and Eve and redemption. From all this, Paul draws the conclusion that a woman is not allowed to teach in the church or to exercise authority over a man (section 2). Finally, Authorised power refers to speaking with another’s authority – in Paul’s case, Donfried (2008) advocates a scientific reevaluation of 1 Timothy by making use of different research traditions and research perspectives. On the textual claim of Pauline authorship, see Klinker-De Klerck (2013); Wilder (2010); Barentsen (2011, 185–200); Walter (2012, 4–16, 120–32); Thiessen (2016, ch. 4–5); Van Nes (2017). In early Christianity, pseudepigraphy was not a legitimately accepted literary convention, contrary to what is often assumed today. If pseudepigraphy was discovered, the document was rejected because the truth may never be supported by a(n author’s) lie (Baum 2001; Wilder 2004; Porter & Fewster 2013). From a quite different perspective, see Ehrman (2013).

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as an ambassador of Jesus Christ. Paul wanted to regulate a problematic situation involving male/female relationships in Timothy’s congregation by giving his apostolic instructions. He did so, not only because he wished something (βούλομαι) or because he did not allow something (οὐκ ἐπιτρέπω), but also in order to create space for the trustworthy Word (section 3). The discussion of 1 Tim 2:8–15 will be completed with a conclusion and reflection. 2. Power Paul begins chapter 2 with his peace-engendering church order for the Christian congregation. He seems to have the local church in mind as he goes on to provide rules involving the male/female relationship. The Christian congregation exists in the world as a house of prayer. People assemble in this house to pray together for all people. Such joint prayers also engender peace among church members. Therefore, living peaceful and quiet lives has an external as well as an internal focus; indeed it has a societal as well as an ecclesiastical effect (verses 1–2). After this “exhortation” pertaining to outsiders, Paul gives his instructions regarding believers’ interaction with each other. First he calls attention to the behaviour of men and women separately (verses 8–10). Then he gives his directions for the mutual relationships between male and female in regard to their conduct during worship meetings (verses 11–15). His underlying argument seems to be that all unrest will disappear from the congregation when the members together draw near unto God. Moreover, through such worship the house of prayer will radiate the peace of harmonious relationships. 2.1.  Male Behaviour Men can threaten the peace by their anger and their arguing (ὀργὴ καὶ διαλογισμός). In verse 8 the Greek word διαλογισμός points to a dialogue with a negative connotation: a “difference of opinion”. This word can be understood as having doubts or objections, indicating that a person has conflicting views (see Bauer & Aland 1988, 372; followed by Oberlinner 1994, 86; Neudorfer 2004, 118, referring to Phil 2:14). However, the use of this word in combination with the word “anger” (ὀργή; see Eph 4:26, 31; Col 3:8) points more in the direction of “having a difference of opinion with others”. It could very well be that the two terms

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complement each other, indicating that Paul wants to say that aggressiveness leads to division. Is he perhaps referring to cultural stereotypes of male competitive behaviour? In any case, Paul is concerned that especially with men, the result will be that the prayer he has prescribed will be hampered by such clashes. According to verse 8, hands lifted up in prayer could prevent such division and would lead to true union and communion. What Paul wants to communicate is that anger and disunity have no place in a praying congregation. Someone who prayerfully commends all people unto God does not have his hands free for taking out his anger on his neighbour or for heavy-handedly settling arguments with others. Such behaviour would desecrate prayer and actually render it impossible (Matt 5:23–34; Jas 4:1–3, 8). Scholer (2003) suggests that false teachers were causing anger and discord. Yet, the text does not provide an adequate basis for that suggestion. The point is that devotion to God has consequences: neighbours must be treated with love. Traditionally, males were deemed to be spokesmen in the synagogue as well as in the civic assembly. Therefore Paul assumes that only men would lead in prayer during worship meetings of the Christian congregation. This does not negate the fact, however, that according to Paul women could actively lead in prayer and could prophesy outside worship meetings (Anderson 2008, 150–55; contra Zamfir & Verheyden 2008). Besides, Paul subsequently writes about the behaviour of women in 1 Tim 2:9–10, indicating that they did participate in congregational prayer. In antiquity, in certain groups people were not used to engaging jointly in worship as men and women, so tensions could easily arise in settings where both sexes were present (Quinn & Wacker 2000, 207). Perhaps for this reason, Paul felt it necessary to give appropriate instructions for both groups: men receive a guideline for prayer; women receive a dress code. In both cases, then, Paul is furnishing an apostolic rule of conduct for the assembled congregation when they are praying together in congregational prayer for all people (verses 1–2). 2.2.  Female Behaviour “Likewise [I desire] also that women should adorn themselves in respectable apparel.” Paul connects his dress code for women in the congregation to his prayer-instruction for men rather simply. He does so by using the conjunction “likewise” (strengthened by the word “also” according to most of the manuscripts; ὡσαύτως [καί], see 1 Tim 3:8,11; 5:25; Titus 2:3,6 and 1 Cor 11:25). The reader intuitively looks back to verse 8



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in order to find the main verb that will complete this elliptical sentence; then it becomes clear that in regard to the women as well, Paul is explaining what he as an apostle wants from them.5 Some interpreters still want to add a form of the verb “to pray”. The Greek sentence structure, however, does not require such an addition. Here the apostle is not providing a special prayer instruction, although he is undoubtedly continuing to keep a praying congregation in view (Van Neste 2004, 39–40). A Christian woman may adorn herself with all sorts of fine clothing and jewelry (1 Pet 3:5; Rev 21:2). Yet, Paul insists that her adornment must fit the occasion. She should not make herself a spectacle by means of elaborate coiffures, gold, pearls, and expensive apparel. What is most important for her must be her inner self, which she would express outwardly by means of a specific hair style and dress style. Paul succinctly characterizes such conduct as discrete and modest (μετὰ αἰδοῦς καὶ σωφροσύνης). The first epistle of Peter gives a similar instruction directly to Christian women who were living in the same region of Asia Minor: “Your beauty should not come from outward finery, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold, jewelry and fashionable clothes. Instead, it should be that of your inner disposition, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit. God greatly delights in such beauty” (1 Pet 3:3–4).6 The prescribed dress code in 1 Timothy should not be understood as being limited to married women (contra Hugenberger 1992). There was no such a limitation with regard to the preceding prayer instruction for men, either. Besides, if married women were being addressed, one would expect an additional modifier, like “their women”. Furthermore, in chapter 5 Paul writes that unmarried widows also belonged to the congregation. It seems that this passage is addressing rich women in particular. They could afford the luxury of wearing an elaborate hairdo, jewelry inlaid with gold or precious stones, and an expensive wardrobe. Their houses were most likely large enough to generously accommodate (a part of) the Christian congregation as a place for meeting and praying. According to Cucrowski (2006) βούλομαι fits very well. Batten (2009, 499) discusses the social-cultural background of both texts. Especially for women who were viewed as living a domestic life, luxurious clothes and jewelry were useful items for demonstrating great economic power and prestige. She concludes: “The author may wish for women to dress modestly in the context of worship in particular because he is concerned about the status indicators that women’s wealth display could exhibit, especially among other women, thereby enhancing female significance and roles in the community overall. Thus limiting their adornment functions doubly to protect the community from external criticism and internally, to thwart any attempts women were making to maintain or enhance their leadership roles”.

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So then, in these houses believers should focus on worship. However, hostesses wearing luxurious cosmetics or clothing or jewelry would be drawing attention to themselves, and would thereby distract from the purpose of prayer. A possible background for this instruction could be that around the first century C.E. a new type of woman emerged, as Bruce Winter (2003) has argued.7 This type of woman had come from elite society and an established family, leading her to act as a “free woman”. She was recognizable by hairstyle, clothing, and jewelry. Moral philosophers in antiquity, like Plutarch, Seneca, and Epictetus, sharply criticized this development as an alarming emancipation movement. They saw this as a threat not only to the stability of family life, but also to life in society as a whole. However, Winter overstates his case: in Asia Minor the prominence of women was noticeable only on the western coast.8 Nevertheless, although this type of “free woman” was not as popular and prevalent as Winter supposes, this phenomenon could have influenced people, particularly in major cities like Rome and Ephesus. Paul concurs with the warning of the moral philosophers. He wants to prevent the rich Christian women in the Ephesian congregation from provocative behaviour. There may be a word play in the Greek text of verses 9–10: for Christian women, using “modest cosmetics” (ἐν καταστολῇ κοσμίῳ) means adorning themselves with good deeds (κοσμεῖν ἑαυτάς … δι’ ἔργων ἀγαθῶν). According to 1 Tim 6:18 one can also be rich in good works (ἔργα ἀγαθά; 5:10 identifies some practical examples of good works done by older widows). Good deeds are a personal adornment that would not make women from the Christian congregation look bad, as Paul notes by interjecting the words “what is proper for women who profess godliness”. When a person claims to be a confessing Christian, that person must continue to put into practice his/her confession in everyday life. The term used for “godliness” (θεοσέβεια) appears in the New Testament only in this passage. The book of Acts regularly characterizes non-Jewish adherents of the synagogue – many of whom were women – as “worshippers Revelation 17:3-5 (see 18:16) records a visionary description of a gaudy Roman woman: “The woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet, and adorned with gold, precious stones and pearls”. Thus in all its luxurious decadence Rome is being portrayed as the new Babylon. 8 Dixon (2005). Merz (2019) is very critical of Winter’s argument. For the position of women in Asia Minor, see Trebilco (1991, 104–26) and Trebilco (2004, 11–52, 507–28). Clothes were a key element of the symbolic systems of Roman civilization, for women as well as men (Olson 2008). 7



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of the true God”.9 In this context, Paul is thinking particularly of women taking part in worship meetings and their involvement in congregational praying. By doing so, they are professing their Christian faith. Godliness will become evident by adorning oneself with qualitatively good deeds. Because virtuous acts will be appreciated, the focus will be on God and one’s neighbour. From the above it should be clear that Paul’s dress code for women must not be taken as a Christian directive for good manners, as if it were sufficient to be dressed tastefully and decently for attending worship meetings and for praying. For men as well as for women it is important, according to the apostle, to be aware of what drives them when they approach God. Hot-tempered men and richly dressed women would be focussed too much on themselves, thus making it impossible for them to pray properly for others (verses 1–2). From a praying congregation that desires to draw near unto God respectfully, the apostle expects devoted hands dedicated to the Lord as well as handsome deeds honouring him. 2.3.  Men and Women in Relation to One Another Having dealt with the conduct of men and women separately, Paul now turns to discuss their conduct in relation to one another. In this connection, the apostle declares that a woman is not permitted to teach or exercise authority over a man when the Christian congregation is assembled for worship (1 Tim 2:11–12). His use of the singular man/woman indicates that he is speaking generically, in line with the example of Adam and Eve that immediately follows. Attempts have been made to connect Paul’s use of the singular to one specific woman. She would then be described as an Eve-type in Ephesus (Spencer 1974; see Hamilton 2000). However, such attempts are forced, since the Greek uses the singular not only for the woman but also for the man. Neither is the apostle addressing the marriage relationship exclusively. He is discussing the male/female relationship in the context of a congregation gathered for worship. Paul considers quietness important for women. They must allow themselves to be taught in quietness, says verse 11; and they must remain quiet, according to verse 12 (ἡσυχία is repeated). Only a quietly listening attitude makes a person receptive. Here quietness does not mean being Lydia e.g. was a σεβομένη τὸν θεόν (Acts 16:14); see John 9:31: a θεοσεβής is someone who does God’s will.

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totally silent, but it refers to the disposition of compliance: to live and to work without complaining, just as the praying congregation as a whole should lead a “peaceful and quiet life” (verse 2; see 1 Thess 4:11; 2 Thess 3:12). Self-assertion is especially a source of unrest, in Paul’s view. He advocates in its place a listening posture, in which all the attention is focused on the instruction being given. So, in the learning situation within the Christian congregation, the role of a quiet student is assigned to the woman. The identity of the one giving the instruction is not indicated. Paul’s direction with regard to women, viz., that they need to know their place (ἐν ὑποταγῇ; see 1 Tim 3:4), reflects the usual situation in antiquity of a male teacher and students who can be either male or female. All students need to conform to the teaching situation, which means that compliance is the most appropriate attitude. The Mishna shows that the rabbis differed about whether it should be recommended that a father instruct his daughter in the Torah (Sota 3:4). Every Jewish child had to live according to the laws and rules of Judaism. As one would expect, they needed to get acquainted with the basic requirements of the Torah. For boys, ongoing instruction in the Torah was a mandatory part of their religious nurture. Mothers raised their girls with a view to domestic work and to their future marriage. The father had to decide what to do to further his daughter’s studies in the Torah. In Greco-Roman culture, women usually had access to certain forms of education, which was certainly the case for upper class women.10 To the women of the Christian congregation Paul emphasizes the need to learn (μανθάνειν; see 2 Tim 3:14; Titus 3:14). They are not allowed to give instruction in Christian doctrine (διδάσκειν), but they must be willing to receive such instruction.11 The phrase “in all subordination” (ἐν πάσῃ ὑποταγῇ) reflects the proper stance of learners toward teachers in ancient educational enterprises, and perhaps also the subordination of women to men, especially the male teachers who are allowed to teach in the assemblies (Bourland Huizenga 2013, 281–82). This is Paul’s instruction, then: “I do not permit a For this entire paragraph, see further Ilan (1995, 190–204). Estep (2011, 84–85) suggests that in the Greco-Roman approach to education, “schools were intended for boys, but girls were permitted to attend, although fewer attended than boys”. Therefore, the distinction between access and participation must be stressed (see Krumbiegel 2013). 11 For Paul, instruction in Christian doctrine is closely connected with the practise of everyday life (e.g. Rom 16:17; 1 Cor 14:31; Eph 4:20; Phil 4:9; Col 1:7; Titus 3:14). Sometimes this instruction apparently was controversial: some people propagated deviating beliefs (1 Tim 1:3). On Crete even unacceptable things were being taught (Titus 1:11). Timothy therefore receives a teaching charge from Paul, which Timothy in turn had to pass on to reliable men (1 Tim 4:11; 6:2-3; 2 Tim 2:2). 10



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woman to teach and, in combination with this, contrary to her subordinated position, to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet.” The meaning of the verb αὐθεντεῖν in verse 12 is difficult to establish. Before the New Testament period, this verb was used only sporadically. Baldwin has done extensive lexicographical research on this word; he identifies a range of five basic meanings: to rule, to control/to dominate, to exercise authority, to act independently, and, in later texts, to commit murder (Baldwin 2005; see Burk 2016).12 The fact that Paul combines such an unusual term with the much more frequently used verb διδάσκειν indicates that here he wishes, by way of clarification, to introduce an additional nuance in meaning.13 Within the framework of the male/female relationship in the church, the activity of teaching has a negative connotation: women should not abuse the teaching-learning situation by trying to take control. An authoritarian attitude would disturb the desired “rest” of the congregation gathered for worship.14 It must be observed that the male/female relationship was not always an issue. Older women were allowed to instruct younger women (Titus 2:3). In Ephesus, Priscilla together with her spouse Aquila had been intensively The dictionary of Louw & Nida (1989, domain 37) describes the semantic field to which αὐθεντεῖν belongs. The ancient Lexicon of Hesychius lists, among others, ἐξουσιάζειν and αὐτοδικεῖν as synonyms. 13 Köstenberger (2016) tries to prove that the Greek grammatical construction with οὐδέ coordinates activities of the same order, that is to say, activities that are either both viewed positively or negatively by the writer. He wishes to value positively both teaching as well as exercising authority, so that Paul is denying to women both activities though they are worthwhile in themselves. Marshall (1999, 458) holds an opposing view. Considering the context, he states that precisely the reverse is the case: the activity of teaching by women is judged as something negative; consequently the same would be true regarding women’s aspiration to rule over men by teaching them. The activity of αὐθεντεῖν has a negative connotation. From Titus 1:11 (“teaching objectionable things”) it appears that the activity of διδάσκειν is not valued by Paul as merely something positive. Payne (2008) disputes the opinion of Köstenberger, demonstrating that syntactic constructions with οὐκ + οὐδέ + ἀλλά are normally used to combine two elements over against something else (Polybius, The Histories XXX 5,8; Josephus, Jewish Antiquities 7,127). Paul uses such a construction eleven times: Rom 2:28-29; 9:6-7,16; 1 Cor 2:6-7; Gal 1:1,11-12,16-17; 4:14; Phil 2:16-17; 2 Thess 3:7-8; 1 Tim 2:12 (see John 1:13). The only instance in which two distinct elements can be discerned (2 Cor 7:12) still shows a self-evident relation between the two. Payne paraphrases: “I am not permitting a woman to teach and [in combination with this] to assume authority over a man” (253). By way of explanation, one could add that Paul considered a woman teaching to be contrary to a woman’s subordinate position. 14 Blomberg (2001) points out that in this letter, Paul more often uses partially synonymous words or expressions. Thus in this case διδάσκειν obtains more colour from the words αὐθεντεῖν ἀνδρός. Paul does not allow women to tell men what to do. For more lexicographical research on the meaning of the verb αὐθεντεῖν, see Knight (1984); Wilshire (1988); Wolters (2000); Belleville (2004); Hübner (2015). 12

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involved in giving Apollos fuller teaching about the way of God (Acts 18:26). Furthermore, prophetesses were active as well (Acts 21:9; 1 Cor 11:5). Moreover, every church member could make his or her contribution to the worship meeting (1 Cor 14:26). As was shown in the discussion of verses 9–10, women too participated in congregational praying. Paul, however, does not allow women to teach in the meetings of the congregation, nor to participate actively in a public discussion during a teaching-learning situation in the church. At that specific moment they are not permitted to assume the man’s position. Also in ecclesiastical settings it must become clear that Christians lead a peaceful and quiet life, as this goal was stated in verse 2. To understand the situation the apostle is addressing, one has to realize that at this time three developments were occurring, and each development strengthened the impact of the other two. First, we see the ambition of wealthy women to assert themselves physically (by their clothing) and verbally (by their teaching) over against the other sex. That was a form of taking control, which could cause serious unrest during congregational meetings. Secondly, we see the possibility that such women would be stirred up by false teachers into doing exactly that. Those false teachers were seeking to promote their heretical views (hence the charge of “capturing silly women”; 2 Tim 3:6). In the third place, a type of trendy “woman” was emerging in Rome and expanding throughout the empire, functioning as a sort of role model for female independence. This trend could have influenced the women of the Christian congregation in Ephesus. In the context of a teaching-learning situation in which men and women together received instruction in Christian doctrine, the male/female relationship was particularly sensitive. Reasoning in this way, the apostle Paul operates within the patriarchal structures of Greco-Roman society (mirrored in the Christian congregation), in which women should remain silent in public. He wants to prevent Christians from giving offense to outsiders and thereby erecting unnecessary barriers to the wholesome social impact of the gospel (see Du Toit 2012). Consequently, the Christian community may not tolerate any kind of internal power struggle. 3. Powerlessness Verses 13–15 from 1 Tim 2 explain why thinking in terms of ecclesiastical power is wrong. Paul discusses the relationship between the very first man and woman, and their susceptibility to temptation, demonstrating



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their powerlessness against the influence of sin. Thus considered, primeval history is a story of human weakness. The reference from the creation account on which Paul bases his argument is not an exact quotation from Scripture (contra Krause 2004, 60–62; Van Oyen 2011). Rather, this reference functions as a recollection of the story of Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden. It evokes questions like: Is Paul using an argument limited to this occasion? Or: Is the apostle referring to a normative structure that God has embedded in creation? Or even: Is Paul intending here to implicitly oppose a certain heresy, for example, the view that by nature woman is superior to man?15 3.1.  The Story of Adam and Eve One obtains an important insight into the structure of the text, and therefore also into its meaning, when one understands verses 13 and 14 together with verse 15a as belonging to Paul’s reference to the story of Adam and Eve (see Mulder 1988; Wall 2004; Towner 2006, 233). The basis for this insight is the following: 1. The subject of verse 15a is the same as in verse 14: “the woman” (ἡ γυνή, note the use of the definite article) who in verse 13 was called Eve (the name Adam later gave her); 2. The term τεκνογονία in verse 15a, unique in the New Testament, alludes to Genesis 3:16 (LXX: τέξῃ τέκνα: “you will give birth to children”) and Genesis 4:1 (LXX: ἐκτησάμην ἄνθρωπον: “I have brought forth a man”); 3. The plural of the verb is used in verse 15b, not earlier; thus, verse 15a must be grammatically connected to the preceding sentence. With regard to the pure male/female relationships within the Christian church, Paul is referring back to the beginning of humanity: the creation, fall, and redemption of the first human couple, Adam and Eve. Surprisingly enough, he is viewing primeval history from the perspective of the woman. Viewed in this way, Genesis provides a narrative of human powerlessness. Eve was created after Adam; the woman let herself be deceived and therefore fell into transgression. However, she will find salvation in her motherhood (in verse 15a the translation should be Depending on the answers to these questions, differing conclusions are drawn about the functioning of women in the Christian church today (Beck 2005; Van Houwelingen 2014, 2015; Gench 2015).

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“she”, i.e., Eve). This is not to say that Adam bore no guilt for the fall, nor that men do not stand in need of redemption. It does mean, however, that women from the congregation will be able to discover both their origin and their destiny as daughters of Eve. To exercise domination over men would, according to Paul, reverse the sequence in which man and woman were created. It would also promote deception that leads to sin against God, endangering redemption through Jesus Christ (see 2:4). Therefore the apostle’s counsel is: continue in faith, love, and holiness, together with modesty, the virtue that was mentioned back in verse 9. In this way, the term σωφροσύνη frames the entirety of the apostle’s prescriptions with respect to women.16 The references to creation, fall, and redemption are connected to each other as follows: – Creation (verse 13): “For Adam was formed first, then Eve”; – Fall (verse 14): “And Adam was not deceived, but the woman was deceived and became a transgressor”; – Redemption (verse 15a): “She will be saved through childbearing”. 3.2.  Eve and Creation “Then the LORD God formed the man from the dust of the earth and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life and the man became a living being” (Gen 2:7). There is a terminological link between the Genesis creation narrative and Paul’s reference to it in verse 13. This is evident by his use of the verb “to fashion” or “to form” to refer to God’s actual creation work (πλάσσειν; see Rom 9:20). In the Genesis narrative, this verb is not repeated when Eve appears alongside Adam. However, later accounts of the creation of humanity as male and female do describe it that way (see 2 Macc 7:23; Josephus, Antiquities 1,32; 1 Clement 33:4). With his own hand the Creator fashioned the first human couple. Later Eve received her deeply significant name that would give hope in a world plagued by death: Eve represents life, so she became the mother of all living (Gen 3:20). Thus, God himself had brought to life this human couple: first Adam, then Eve. Some commentators claim that Paul’s reference belongs to a well-known rabbinic tradition of interpretation (e.g. Roloff 1988, 139). If that were Malherbe (2007) shows that σωφροσύνη comprises characteristics such as orderliness or decency and neatness; it has to do with self-respect, a sense of good judgment, and controlling the tongue; in brief, σωφροσύνη exactly suits the context of 1 Tim 2:8-15 (see Bourland Huizenga 2013, 339–43).

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the case, Paul would have been using here a line of thought limited to this occasion. Mulder, however, did not find a similar reference in Jewish sources (Mulder 1988, 182–84). We do know that in Jewish-Hellenistic literature one often takes one’s cue from the common notion that something created first must have a higher value (Strack & Billerbeck 1924, 256–58, 645–46; Küchler 1986, 21–30; Pilhofer 1990). The first one would be the better one. Nowhere else, however, is this argument of giving priority to the first one applied to the male/female relationship. Paul can say something about the mutual relationship between man and woman from the perspective of creation (1 Cor 11:8–9). Apparently he can do the same with regard to how men and women must interact with each other. Paul interprets the sequence of creation events in terms of rank, reading the Genesis narrative in line with existing social patterns regarding the male/female relationship. The first human couple came into this world in a sequence that the Creator had determined: first Adam, then Eve. In Paul’s view, it would turn the world upside down if, by her teaching, a woman would exercise dominion over a man. 3.3.  Eve and the Fall “God the LORD asked the woman: ‘What is this you have done?’ The woman said: ‘The serpent deceived me, and I ate’” (Gen 3:13). Once again, a lexical similarity to Genesis can be observed by means of the term “to deceive”. Here the Septuagint uses two cognate forms of this verb (ἀπατᾶν with Adam and ἐξαπατᾶν with the woman). The Genesis narrative speaks of the devil’s deception through the serpent only in connection with the woman and not with Adam. Therefore Paul could warn the Corinthians that the serpent cunningly deceived Eve (2 Cor 11:3). When in his letter to Timothy Paul deals with the male/female relationship, he emphasizes that it was Eve who let herself be deceived. Thereby the wife of Adam “became a transgressor” (παράβασις: overstepping the bounds). In stating this, Paul is not denying that Adam also was responsible for having sinned (Rom 5:12–19; see 1 Cor 15:21–22).17 Nevertheless, his In The Life of Adam and Eve, a Jewish text from the first century C.E. that seems to have been very popular in early Christianity, the first human couple deplore the consequences of their sin against God. At the deathbed of Adam, Eve addresses their children and grandchildren (Apocalypse 15-30). She finishes by saying: “Now then, my children, I have shown you the way in which we were deceived. But you watch yourselves so that you do not forsake the good” (Charlesworth 1985, 287).

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wife was too ambitious: she so desperately wanted to be like God that she could not resist the temptation.18 In connection with this reference of Paul to Genesis, scholars often think of the influence of Jewish exegetical traditions (Roloff 1988, 139; references in Küchler 1986, 33–35). Attention is drawn to the wisdom of the apocryphal book Sirach: “Sin started with woman; through her we all must die” (Sir 25:24). However, that statement was made in the context of an extensive warning against malicious women, who were making their husbands extremely unhappy. The quote does not concern the male/ female relationship as such.19 If an already existing Jewish tradition about this topic could be identified, then it was less specific than Paul’s instruction, according to Mulder (1988, 185): “Nowhere is the fall of Eve used as a basis for a general authoritative relationship between men and women. Such a connection is not even alluded to”.20 So, Paul is making a unique theological contribution to the interpretation of Genesis.21 3.4.  Eve and Redemption “Adam named his wife Eve, because she would become the mother of all the living” (Gen 3:20; see 3:16: “with pain you will give birth to children,” and 4:1b reads: “With the help of the LORD I have brought forth a man”). Here the connection with Genesis is present first of all in terms of content, that is to say, through the name given to the woman; for the name “Eve” points to life. Furthermore, a semantic similarity can also be observed, considering the cognate relationship between the verb τίκτειν (bear, give birth to) and the rare noun τεκνογονία. In Genesis In Jewish and early Christian traditions, the opinion is repeatedly expressed that Eve’s deception involved especially sexual seduction by the serpent (Küchler 1986, 44–50). The text, however, does not support that idea. The intensive verb ἐξαπατᾶν (“deceive thoroughly”) used with respect to women cannot be considered as evidence, since Paul always uses this verb for spiritual deception (Rom 7:11; 16:18; 1 Cor 3:18; 2 Thes 2:3). But what is striking is that Eve does not first consult either her husband and/or her Creator regarding the serpent’s suggestion. She acted on her own when she let herself be deceived. Even so, Paul does not say that by such action Eve was assuming authority over Adam. Contra Moo (1991). 19 The unnamed female in Sirach 25:24 is identified, almost universally, as the biblical Eve. For objections to this identification, see Ellis (2011). 20 Quote translated from the Dutch. Stratton (1996) speaks about “a variety of perspectives on women and on Eve’s role in the garden story” (262). 21 In connection with Gen 3:1, Philo answers the question why the serpent did not address the man but the woman, by stating that the woman was more susceptible to deception than the man, since she was gentler in heart (Questions and Answers on Genesis I 33). 1 Tim 2, however, gives a different explanation. 18



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this noun is used twice with the definite article (literally: the birthing of a child). With this rare noun Paul is referring to the woman as the one who becomes pregnant and brings offspring into the world. In 1 Tim 5:14 the apostle uses the cognate verb τεκνογονεῖν to say that younger widows should remarry and have children. In 1 Tim 2:15 the implicit subject of the phrase “she will be saved” is identical to the phrase “the woman” in verse 14. She is the one who, in this passage from verse 13 onward, is the one bearing the name Eve. Thus, according to Paul, Eve the mother of all the living will be saved by having children. What does the phrase “to be saved” (σωθήσεται) mean here? In the Pastoral Epistles the term “salvation” always has a spiritual meaning. Thanks to God’s grace, sinners can be saved (1 Tim 1:15; 2:4; 4:16; 2 Tim 1:9; 4:18; Titus 3:5). Eve had transgressed God’s commandment and thereby brought the death penalty upon herself. Nevertheless, she would not perish in the future judgment. God promised that she would have offspring (Gen 3:15). In response to this promise, Adam gave the name “Life” to this woman. The motherhood of Eve would be a sign of life, the life that she was privileged to pass on to subsequent generations. Down through the centuries, she has brought forth numerous children, sons and daughters. Eve is the mother of the entire human race. Paul states that her life is ultimately saved along the path of motherhood. God our Saviour will forgive her transgression for the sake of her children.22 This is precisely the message of the gospel: the mediator between God and humanity, Christ Jesus, gave himself as a ransom for all people (1 Tim 2:5–6a). He paid with the price of his life, not only for Eve’s children but also for their mother.23 The bearing of children is not a means unto salvation for the woman. She does not save herself (σωθήσεται is passive). The phrase διὰ τῆς τεκνογονίας must be understood instrumentally, as the way by which her salvation takes place. The real Saviour of humanity is none other than God through his son Jesus Christ. Salvation therefore is no safety device, in the sense of merely physically enduring a difficult pregnancy and surviving the process of giving birth (Keener 1992, 118–20; taking up a suggestion from Moule 1959, 56). If the latter were intended, the verb ῥύεσθαι would likely have been chosen (see 2 Tim 3:11; 4:18). Neither is salvation here freedom, which means: being delivered from the power of Satan who seeks to deceive people (according to Köstenberger (1997), who refers to 1 Tim 3:6-7; 5:15; 2 Tim 2:26). In fact, Satan was not mentioned in verse 14 at all. Women’s virtuousness cannot be the meaning of salvation, either (see Waters 2004; he interprets children allegorically as the four virtues mentioned in verse 15b); for salvation cannot possibly be realized and maintained through oneself. 23 A popular explanation links the term τεκνογονία to a particular child that would be born in the future, namely, Jesus. Eve had the privilege of paving the way for the birth of the Messiah and that child would save her (see Spencer 1974; Knight 1984; Baumert 22

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3.5.  Eve and Her Children A specific condition is formulated in the last part of verse 15: “…if they continue in faith, love, and holiness with prudence”. Salvation is coupled with the Christian life. A difficult problem is how this datum must be connected with the first part of this verse. Who is or are actually referred to? In verse 15a the verb is in the singular, with the grammatical antecedent “the woman” (ἡ γυνή) from verse 14. However, in Greek the subject of the conditional subordinate clause of verse 15b, “if they remain” (ἐὰν μείνωσιν), is in the plural. Two different solutions are proposed: a) The construction of verse 15 can be understood as a “constructio ad sensum”. That is a grammatical construction in which the predicate agrees not with the grammatical form of the subject, but with its meaning. Different from verses 13 and 14, the woman of verse 15 must be taken in this case as kind of a collective noun referring to women. This distinction is expressed by the use of the plural in the subordinate clause. These women, then, must continue in faith, love, and holiness with self-control. b) The construction of verse 15 can be understood as an ellipsis (where a word is omitted that would otherwise be necessary for a complete grammatical construction), where the term τεκνογονία (“childbearing”) almost automatically makes one think of children. The transition from the singular to the plural marks the difference between the one mother and the many children. These children brought into the world by the woman must continue in faith, love, holiness, and selfcontrol (in Greek one could perhaps complete the sentence by adding τὰ γεννηθέντα). Both solutions are defensible. Although nowadays most scholars choose option (a), according to Malingrey (1975) the Greek church fathers unanimously chose option (b). The church fathers believed that the last part of verse 15 implicitly pointed to the importance of nurturing children, and to the perseverance in the faith that the younger generation often must learn. In the Pastoral Epistles much attention is given to nurturing 1992, 229–30). It is true that this interpretation explains the definite article and the future tense, but τεκνογονία says more about the bearing of a child than about the child born. Moreover, Gen 3:15 speaks collectively about offspring and about an age-old struggle. Therefore in our preceding explanation, a broader interpretation is being developed. As the mother of humanity Eve would also become the mother of Mary and thus also of Jesus Christ (see Gal 4:4; Rev 12:5).



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in the faith (1 Tim 3:4; Titus 1:6 and 2:4). Timothy had received his faith from his grandmother Lois and from his mother Eunice (2 Tim 1:5). This interest of the Pastoral Epistles in Christian nurture, along with the history of exegesis, gives option (b) a slight advantage. Based on the identification of the woman with Eve, as was proposed in the exegesis of verses 11–15a, another interpretation can be suggested. This possibility combines options (a) and (b) with regard to the woman and children. The children are the children of Eve who must continue in faith, love, and holiness with self-control. In this case, Paul has in mind the women of the congregation as Eve’s children, whom he actually always has in view in the verses 9–15.24 The apostle does not talk about their children. The women themselves are the children! The mother of all living will ultimately be saved if the women of the church as her daughters continue to conduct themselves in a manner that befits mature Christians.25 The familiar Christian ethical duo of faithfulness and love (see 1 Tim 1:14; Titus 2:2) is mentioned in verse 15b together with holiness (ἁγιασμός; see 1 Thess 4:3). In this way a series of three Christian virtues appears. Paul concludes the series of three virtues with the inclusion of a keyword from verse 9 as a fourth virtue. He repeats that word on purpose at the end of the sentence: with self-control (μετὰ σωφροσύνης). For the apostle this appears to be the most important characteristic of all the believing daughters of Eve. With a lifestyle of self-control, the women of the church could show that they do not want to transgress God’s command as their mother Eve once did. Instead, they want to persevere (μένειν; see 2 Tim 3:14) in faith, love, and holiness. Such a life, of course, is not the route to salvation, but one that followed and imitated Christ Jesus, who came into the world to save sinners. Then their lives will also ultimately be saved. 1 Pet 3:6 has a similar instruction to the Christian women of Asia Minor, pointing to the example of Sarah, the wife of Abraham. She always showed her husband due respect. “You are her daughters if you do what is right and do not give way to fear”. The similarity to Eve’s children is the more striking since the context of 1 Pet 3 presents a parallel with the dress code for women in 1 Tim 2. This is the best way of showing themselves true daughters. 25 Holmes (2000) believes that the subject of if they continue is both Adam and Eve: by having children the man and the woman can overcome their rivalry by carrying out their mutual responsibility. Holmes thinks that verses 13-15 are not further developing verses 11–12, but they serve to bring the whole chapter to a close; the chapter does not deal with the conduct of men and women during the church’s worship meetings but with their conduct in daily life. In order to be able to maintain her view she must, however, classify the conjunctive γάρ in verse 13 as redundant (the verses 13-15, equated with the trustworthy Word (3:1a), would have been cited from a Jewish source). 24

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Of course, not only women belong to Eve’s believing children, but the men do as well. In the next pericope the requirement will be established that male overseers must be “self-controlled” (σώφρων; 1 Tim 3:2; see Titus 1:8). The apostle Paul writes all of this in order to prevent disorder within the Christian congregation. By ending his biblical reference to the conduct of Adam and Eve with the desired conduct of Eve’s children, male as well as female, the apostle returns to the main line of his argument. Sobriety or self-control must characterize the relationships between men and women when they have assembled together to pray to God. This is true for the other Christian virtues as well. Over against all aggressiveness within the church, this code of conduct prescribed by Paul can create peace: a rest consisting of harmonious relationships.26 Paul seems to be operating within the parameters of a hierarchically structured society. From this perspective, he interprets the sequence of creation events (first Adam, then Eve) as a sequence of rank, and with this he supports his instruction that women are not allowed to teach in the church. The actual situation was that they had less power than men, both in the Christian congregation and in the surrounding society. Yet, Paul communicates that being daughters of Eve, that is to say, living a Christian life, is very promising. Eve and all her children, whether female or male, will be saved through her divine descendant, Jesus Christ. 4.  Authorised Power On what basis is Paul writing all of this? In 1 Tim 2:7 he had said that he was appointed (ἐτέθην, a passivum divinum, pointing to his divine calling by Christ Jesus [1 Tim 1:12]) as a herald and ambassador of the apostolic witness. At first sight, this self-presentation looks pleonastic. Margaret Mitchell (2008) therefore thinks that it serves to authenticate the specific role of the pseudonymous Paul. However, it is equally possible that the real Paul wanted to accentuate his apostolic authority before For various models of explanation of the historical background of verse 15b, see Merz (2004, 303–33). It is often supposed that women were targets of false teachers, who disputed specific aspects of the traditional role of the woman in marriage, sexuality, and motherhood (e.g. Van der Jagt 1988; Schlarb 1990, 278–79, 333; Kimberley 1992; Porter 1993; Wagener 1994, 107–9). The Kroeger couple defends the view that Paul is opposing a Gnostic heresy in Ephesus. This heresy pointed to Eve in order to argue that a woman has natural superiority over the man. Thus according to the Kroegers Paul is here using an argument limited to the original occasion (Kroeger & Kroeger 1999, 59–66). Their opinion has been opposed by Schreiner (2016), who holds the view that Paul’s words are based on the creation order.

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giving instructions about the behaviour of men and women in the church. The emphatic ἐγώ stresses his personal involvement. In addition to that, he also gives himself the title of teacher of the Gentiles (διδάσκαλος ἐθνῶν; see Rom 11:13; 2 Tim 1:11). He has an authoritative teaching role. Paul’s instruction regarding men and women is being placed within the framework of his apostleship, ultimately authenticated by the God who wants all people to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth (verse 4). As an apostle, he feels entitled to use his authorised power in a positive way. In the passage under discussion, Paul once again picks up the thread of his prescriptions. Since he is appointed to be an apostle, Paul speaks with the authority of the Lord when he points out how he wants members to conduct themselves within the congregation (βούλομαι οὖν takes up παρακαλῶ οὖν from verse 1). In Ephesus Timothy had to act as Paul directed him to do. By concretely working out the problematic case of women wanting to teach men, Paul is once again acting as an apostle. He is doing so with self-evident authority when he writes: “I do not permit” (see 1 Cor 14:34; οὐκ ἐπιτρέπω in verse 12 is the opposite of βούλομαι οὖν in verse 8). 4.1.  At Every Place of Worship As is typical for Paul, he writes in verse 8 that these prescriptions are valid “in every place” (ἐν παντί τόπῳ; 1 Cor 1:2; 2 Cor 2:14; 1 Thess 1:8). His concern is not restricted to the local house congregations in Ephesus that were under Timothy’s responsibility. On the contrary, the universal scope of prayer presupposes a global church that can be found in many places. Partly as a result of Paul’s apostolate, there are now people everywhere in the world who call upon the name of the Lord (see Mal 1:11, cited in Didache 14:1–3). Thus the expression “in every place” means: in every place of prayer, where Christians meet for worship. God’s salvation is not only intended for all people but it also becomes public in all places. However, Paul does not envisage a hierarchically organised world church. His apostolic prescriptions are intended for a local church organisation, guided by people from their own community. 4.2.  Space for the Trustworthy Word In conclusion, Paul exclaims: “Trustworthy is the Word!” (πιστὸς ὁ λόγος: 1 Tim 3:1a). This phrase can be taken as belonging to what follows;

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however, under the influence of the newer text editions of Nestle-Aland, interpreters increasingly prefer to connect this phrase to Paul’s preceding instruction (Schlarb 1998, 209–9; Quinn & Wacker 2000, 234–35; Johnson 2001, 203; Collins 2002). Three reasons can be given for this choice. First, a semantic relationship exists between the two Greek words πίστις and πιστός. The Christian faith, as Eve’s children must continue to practise it in trustworthy faithfulness, is based on the Word that always remains trustworthy. Second, in this passage Paul had included references to creation, fall, and redemption. For Eve’s role in all that, but also for the deliverance promised to her and her children, the apostle can refer to the Word that is trustworthy and deserves our full acceptance. Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners (1 Tim 1:15). Third, any connection with the conditional sentence in verse 1b must be regarded as hardly plausible. Campbell (1994) tries to avoid that problem by reading 1 Tim 3:16 as being introduced by the phrase of verse 1a. However, such an arch-like construction would be without a parallel. The phrase “trustworthy is the Word” does not introduce a quotation but provides firm ground beneath the feet (see Van Houwelingen 2011, 90–91 n. 28). Paul is using the power of content. He does not come with a power-word as his argument, but by means of this instruction for his co-worker Timothy he creates space for the trustworthy Word. 5.  Conclusion and Reflection From the exegetical material we have presented, three things have become apparent. First of all, Paul is not crafting his arguments from particular, local circumstances when he regulates the behaviour of men and women in the Christian congregation. Although Ephesus was dominated by its Artemis cult, in comparison with other ancient cities its situation was not exceptional (Baugh 2016; contra Gritz 1991; Hoagh 2015). Originating in Rome, the type of the “free woman” emerged in the main cities of the Empire, particularly among the well-to-do. The provocative behaviour of wealthy Christian women could have been one of the reasons for Paul’s specific instructions to his co-worker Timothy, the pastor of the congregation in Ephesus. Furthermore, as far as we know the apostle does not derive his line of thought from a Jewish tradition of interpretation. Nor does he cite any textual proof from Genesis, but points to the historical role of Eve in connection with creation, fall, and redemption. By doing so, Paul placed his church order, which aims at rest and peace (verses 1–2), in a redemptive-historical framework. Finally, human



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relationships are sensitive and vulnerable, not least within the church. Jesus Christ, the descendant of Adam and Eve, was born into the world to save sinners and to sanctify the male/female relationship, which means purging it from the impact of evil. Further reflection is needed on the impact of power and power relationships in the Christian church. The danger of thinking in terms of ecclesiastical power is always lurking around the corner, particularly regarding the way tasks are distributed among men and women within a faith community. As a house of prayer in the world, the church is not the most suitable place for playing power games. The opening history of humanity, with our primeval mother Eve as a main character, tells the story of human weakness. Humanity would never make it without God. Paul instructs his co-worker Timothy about the tension-prone male/ female relationship during meetings of the church in Ephesus. Both sexes were present at the same time and in the same space – thanks to the transforming power of the gospel. This special setting of worship occasioned Paul’s emphasis on rest and peace. By requiring women to be silent, while men were allowed to teach, the apostle followed the conventions of Greco-Roman society. A faith community that wants to be missional does not erect unnecessary barriers for outsiders. Whereas Paul was mainly concerned about domination by women, modern Western society with its sensitivity to gender equality is more sensitive to domination by men. From this viewpoint, Paul’s instructions about the behaviour of women in the church could easily be considered a kind of misogynistic power play. However, the apostle should be interpreted on his own terms. This is true both for his social context and for his missionary drive. Pointing to tranquility in the church, Paul de facto confirmed the social situation of his time. Nevertheless, he was always conscious of his calling to proclaim Christ Jesus as the one Mediator between God and humanity. Spreading this gospel throughout the world he regarded to be his first and foremost task. Paul was not thinking in terms of ecclesiastical power, which aims at maintaining the status quo. His missionary drive and sensitivity to outsiders should be recognised and may motivate many contemporary Christians. The overall message of 1 Timothy 2:8–15 for today seems to be that, since God is the center of attention during congregational meetings for worship, it is not appropriate that people – from any social position – thrust themselves into the foreground or control each other. It will remain a continuing challenge to preserve the church in all times and places in different contexts with the trustworthy Word.

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Bibliography Anderson, R.D. 2008. 1 Korintiërs. Orde op zaken in een jonge stadskerk. Commentaar op het Nieuwe Testament. Kampen: Kok. Baldwin, H.S. 2005. “An Important Word: Αὐθεντέω in 1 Timothy 2:12.” Pages 39–51 in Women in the Church. An Analysis and Application of 1 Timothy 2:9–15. 2nd ed. Edited by A.J. Köstenberger and Th.R. Schreiner. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Barentsen, J. 2011. Emerging Leadership in the Pauline Mission. A Social Identity Perspective on Local Leadership Development in Corinth and Ephesus. Princeton Theological Monograph Series. Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications. Batten, A.J. 2009. “Neither Gold nor Braided Hair (1 Timothy 2.9; 1 Peter 3.3): Adornment, Gender and Honour in Antiquity.” New Testament Studies 55:484–501. Bauer, W., and B. Aland. 1988. Griechisch-deutsches Wörterbuch zu den Schriften des Neuen Testaments und der frühchristlichen Literatur. 6th ed. Berlin: De Gruyter. Baugh, S.M. 2016. “A Foreign World: Ephesus in the First Century.” Pages 25–64 in Women in the Church. An Analysis and Application of 1 Timothy 2:9–15. Edited by A.J. Köstenberger and Th.R. Schreiner. 3rd ed. Wheaton, IL: Crossway. Baum, A.D. 2011. Pseudepigraphie und literarische Fälschung im frühen Christentum. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Baumert, N. 1992. Frau und Mann bei Paulus. Überwindung eines Mißverständnisses. Würzburg: Echter. Beck, J.R., ed. 2005. Two Views on Women in Ministry. Revised Edition. Grand Rapids, MI: Counterpoints. Belleville, L. 2004. “Teaching and Usurping Authority. 1 Timothy 2:11–15.” Pages 205–23 in Discovering Biblical Equality. Complementarity without Hierarchy. Edited by R.W. Pierce and R.M. Groothuis. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity. Blomberg, C.L. 2001. “Neither Hierarchalist nor Egalitarian: Gender Roles in Paul.” Pages 329–72 in Two Views on Women in the Ministry. Edited by J.R. Beck and C.L. Blomberg. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan. Bourland Huizenga, A. 2013. Moral Education for Women in the Pastoral and Pythagorean Letters: Philosophers of the Household. Vol. 147 of Supplements to Novum Testamentum. Leiden: Brill. Burk, D. 2016. “New and Old Departures in the Translation of in 1 Timothy 2:12.” Pages 279–96 in Women in the Church. An Analysis and Application of 1 Timothy 2:9–15. 3rd ed. Edited by A.J. Köstenberger and Th.R. Schreiner. Wheaton, IL: Crossway. Campbell, R.A. 1994. Identifying the Faithful Sayings in the Pastoral Epistles. Journal for the Study of the New Testament 54:73–86. Charlesworth, J.H., ed. 1985. The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. Vol. 2. London: Darton, Longman & Todd. Collins, R.F. 2002. I & II Timothy and Titus. A Commentary. The New Testament Library. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press.



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Cuckrowski, K.L. 2006. “An Exegetical Note on the Ellipsis in 1 Timothy 2:9.” Pages 232–38 in Transmission and Reception: New Testament Text-Critical and Exegetical Studies. Edited by J.W. Childers and D.C. Parker. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias. Dixon, S. 2005. “Review of B.W. Winter, Roman Wives, Roman Widows. The Appearance of New Women and the Pauline Communities.” Journal of Theological Studies 56:558–61. Donfried, K.P. 2008. “Rethinking Scholarly Approaches to 1 Timothy.” Pages 153–82 in 1 Timothy Reconsidered. Edited by K.P. Donfried. Leuven: Peeters. Du Toit, A.B. 2012. “Sensitivity Towards the Reaction of Outsiders as Ethical Motivation in Early Christian Paraenesis.” HTS Theological Studies 68.1:1–7. Ehrensperger, K. 2007. Paul and the Dynamics of Power: Communication and Interaction in the Early Christ-Movement. London: T&T Clark. Ehrman, B.D. 2013. Forgery and Counterforgery: The Use of Literary Deceit in Early-Christian Polemics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ellis, T.A. 2011. “Is Eve the ‘Woman’ in Sirach 25:24?” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 73.4:723–42. Estep jr., J.R. 2011. “Women in Greco-Roman Education and Its Implications for 1 Corinthians 14 and 1 Timothy 2.” Pages 80–93 in Women in the Biblical World: A Survey of Old and New Testament Perspectives. Volume 2. Edited by E.A. McCabe. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. Gench, F.T. 2015. “Beyond Textual Harassment: Engaging Tyrannical Texts (1 Timothy 2:8–15).” Pages 1–18 in Encountering God in Tyrannical Texts: Reflections on Paul, Women, and the Authority of Scripture. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox. Gritz, S.H. 1991. Paul, Women Teachers, and the Mother Goddess at Ephesus. A Study of 1 Timothy 2:9–15 in Light of the Religious and Cultural Milieu of the First Century. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. Hamilton, D.J. 2000. “Do Not Permit a Woman to Teach.” Pages 205–16 in Why not Women? A Fresh Look at Scripture on Women in Missions, Ministry, and Leadership. Edited by L. Cunningham and D.J. Hamilton. Seattle, WA: YWAM Publishing. Hoag, G.G. 2015. Wealth in Ancient Ephesus and the First Letter to Timothy: Fresh Insights from Ephesiaca by Xenophon of Ephesus. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Holmes, J.M. 2000. Text in a Whirlwind: A Critique of Four Exegetical Devices at 1 Timothy 2.9–15. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Hübner, J. 2015. “Revisiting αὐθεντέω in 1 Timothy 2:12: What Do the Extant Data Really Show?” Journal for the Study of Paul and his Letters 5.1:41–70. Hugenberger, G.P. 1992. “Women in Church Office: Hermeneutics or Exegesis? A Survey of Approaches to 1 Tim 2:8–15.” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 35:341–60. Ilan, T. 1995. Jewish Women in Greco-Roman Palestine. An Inquiry into Image and Status. Tübingen: Mohr, 1995. Johnson, L.T. 2001. The First and Second Letters to Timothy: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. The Anchor Yale Bible. New York, NY: Doubleday.

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Keener, C.S. 1992. Paul, Women & Wives. Marriage and Women’s Ministry in the Letters of Paul. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. Kimberley, D.R. 1992. “1 Tim. 2:15: A Possible Understanding of a Difficult Text.” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 35:481–86. Klinker-De Klerck, M. 2013. “Pastoral Rule or Lesson in Assimilation? Dissertation and Monograph Summary.” Journal for the Study of Paul and His Letters 3.2:263–68. Knight III, G.W. 1984. “ΑΥΘΕΝΤΕΩ in Reference to women in 1 Timothy 2.12.” New Testament Studies 30:143–57. Köstenberger, A.J. 1997. “Ascertaining Women’s God-Ordained Roles: An Interpretation of 1 Timothy 2:15.” Bulletin of Biblical Research 7:107–44. —. 2016. “A Complex Sentence: The Syntax of 1 Timothy 2:12.” Pages 117–62 in Women in the Church. An Analysis and Application of 1 Timothy 2:9–15. 3rd ed. Edited by A.J. Köstenberger and Th.R. Schreiner. Wheaton, IL: Crossway. Krause, D. 2004. 1 Timothy. Readings: A New Biblical Commentary. London: T&T Clark. Kroeger, R.C., and C.C. Kroeger. 1992. I Suffer Not a Woman. Rethinking 1 Timothy 2:11–15 in Light of Ancient Evidence. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Krumbiegel, F. 2013. Erziehung in den Pastoralbriefen. Ein Konzept zur Konsolidierung der Gemeinden. Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt. Küchler, M. 1986. Schweigen, Schmuck und Schleier: drei neutestamentliche Vorschriften zur Verdrängung der Frauen auf dem Hintergrund einer Frauen­ feindlichen Exegese des Alten Testaments im antiken Judentum. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Louw, J.P., and E.A. Nida, eds. 1989. Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament Based on Semantic Domains. Vol, 1–2. Cape Town: Bible Society of South Africa. Malherbe, A.J. 2007. “The Virtus Feminarum in 1 Timothy 2:9–15.” Pages 45–65 in Renewing Tradition. Studies in Texts and Contexts in Honor of James W. Thompson. Edited by M.W. Hamilton et al. Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications. Malingrey, A.-M. 1975. “Note sur l’exégèse de I Tim. 2,15.” Studia Patristica 12:334–39. Marshall, I.H. 1999. The Pastoral Epistles. International Critical Commentary. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Merz, A. 2004. Die fiktive Selbstauslegung des Paulus. Intertextuelle Studien zur Intention und Rezeption der Pastoralbriefe. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. —. 2019. “‘New’ Woman? Bruce W. Winters These und ihre Rezeption in der exegetischen Diskussion kritisch beleuchtet.” Pages 209–34 in Frauen im antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum. Edited by J. Frey and N. Rupschus. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Mitchell, M.M. 2008. “Corrective Composition, Corrective Exegesis: The Teaching on Prayer in 1 Tim 2,1–15.” Pages 41–62 in 1 Timothy Reconsidered. Edited by K.P. Donfried. Leuven: Peeters. Moo, D.J. 1991. “What Does It Mean Not to Teach or to Have Authority over Men (1 Timothy 2:11–15).” Pages 179–93 in Recovering Biblical Manhood



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and Womanhood. Edited by J. Piper and W. Grudem. Wheaton, IL: Crossway Books. Moule, C.F.D. 1959. An Idiom-Book of New Testament Greek. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mulder, M.C. 1988. “‘En daarna Eva’. Over het schriftberoep van Paulus, met name in 1 Timoteüs 2: 11–15.” Pages 174–200 in Vrouwen op een zij-spoor? Emancipatie van de vrouw en het verstaan van de Schrift in gereformeerd perspectief. Edited by J.M. Aarnoudse et al. Amsterdam: Buijten & Schipperheijn. Neudorfer, H.W. 2004. Der erste Brief des Paulus an Timotheus. HistorischTheologische Auslegung. Wuppertal: Brockhaus. Oberlinner, L. 1994. Die Pastoralbriefe I. Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament. Freiburg: Herder Verlag. Olson, K. 2008. Dress and the Roman Woman: Self-presentation and Society. New York, NY: Routledge. Payne, P.B. 2008. “1 Tim 2.12 and the Use of οὐδέ to Combine Two Elements to Express a Single Idea.” New Testament Studies 54:235–53. Pilhofer, P. 1990. Presbyteron Kreitton: Der Altersbeweis der jüdischen und christlichen Apologeten und seine Vorgeschichte. Wissenschaftliche Unter­ suchungen Zum Neuen Testament 39. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Porter, S.E. 1993. “What Does it Mean to be ‘Saved by Childbirth’?” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 49:87–102. Porter, S.E., and G.P. Fewster, eds. 2013. Paul and Pseudepigraphy. Leiden: Brill. Quinn, J.D., and W.C. Wacker. 2000. The First and Second Letters to Timothy. Eerdmans Critical Commentary. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Roloff, J. 1988. Der Erste Brief an Timotheus. Evangelisch-Katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament. Zürich/Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger/Neukirchener. Schlarb, E. 1990. Die gesunde Lehre. Häresie und Wahrheit im Spiegel der Pastoralbriefe. Marburg: N.G. Elwert Verlag. Scholer, D.M. 2003. “1 Timothy 2:9–15 and the Place of Women in the Church’s Ministry. Pages 98–121” in A Feminist Companion to the Deutero-Pauline Epistles. Feminist Companion to the New Testament and Early Christian Writings. Edited by A.-J. Levine and M. Blickenstaff. Cleveland: Pilgrim. Schreiner, Th.R. 2016. “An Interpretation of 1 Timothy 2:9–15.” Pages 163–226 in Women in the Church. An Analysis and Application of 1 Timothy 2:9–15. 3rd ed. Edited by A.J. Köstenberger and Th.R. Schreiner. Wheaton, IL: Crossway. Spencer, A.D.B. 1974. “Eve at Ephesus.” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 17.4:215–22. Strack, H.L., and P. Billerbeck. 1924. Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrasch. Band III. München: C.H. Beck. Stratton, B.J. 1996. “Eve through Several Lenses: Truth in 1 Timothy 2:8–15.” Pages 258–73 in The Hebrew Bible in the New Testament. Edited by A. Brenner. A Feminist Companion to the Bible. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Thiessen, J. 2016. Die umstrittenen Paulusbriefe – Abschriften und Fälschungen? Intertextuelle, literarkritische und theologische Studien. Mit zwei Ergänzungen von Rüdiger Fuchs. Zürich: Lit Verlag.

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Towner, P.H. 2006. The Letters to Timothy and Titus. The New International Commentary on the New Testament. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Trebilco, P. 1991. Jewish Communities in Asia Minor. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —. 2004. The Early Christians in Ephesus from Paul to Ignatius. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Van der Jagt, K. 1988. “Women are Saved through Bearing Children: A Sociological Approach to the Interpretation of 1 Timothy 2:15.” Pages 288–95 in Issues in Bible Translation. Edited by P.C. Stine. London: United Bible Societies. Van Houwelingen, R. 2011. “A Godfighter Becomes a Fighter for God.” Pages 83–100 in Coping with Violence in the New Testament. Edited by P.G.R. de Villiers and J.W. van Henten. STAR-series 16. Leiden: Brill. —. 2012. “Macht, onmacht en volmacht in 1 Timoteüs 2:8–15.” HTS Theological Studies 68.1. —. 2013. Timoteüs en Titus. Pastorale instructiebrieven. 3rd ed. Commentaar op het Nieuwe Testament. Kampen: Kok. —. 2014. “Meaning and Significance of Paul’s Injunction About Women in 1 Timothy 2:11–15: A Response to Gerhard Visscher.” Pages 155–67 in Correctly Handling the Word of Truth. Reformed Hermeneutics Today. Edited by G.H. Visscher and M. te Velde. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock. —. 2015. “Meaning and Significance of the Instruction about Women in 1 Timothy 2:12–15.” Sárospataki Füzetek 19.4:59–71. Van Nes, J. 2017. Pauline Language and the Pastoral Epistles. A Study of Linguistic Variation in the Corpus Paulinum. Linguistic Biblical Studies 16. Leiden: Brill. Van Neste, R. 2004. Cohesion and Structure in the Pastoral Epistles. London: T&T Clark. Van Oyen, G. 2011. “The Character of Eve in the New Testament: 2 Corinthians 11.3 and 1 Timothy 2.13–14.” Pages 14–28 in Out of Paradise. Eve and Adam and Their Interpreters. Edited by B. Becking and S. Hennecke. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. Wagener, U. 1994. Die Ordnung des ‘Hauses Gottes’. Der Ort von Frauen in der Ekklesiologie und Ethik der Pastoralbriefe. Tübingen: Mohr. Walker, P.L. 2012. “The Pastoral Epistles Revisited, Part I–II.” European Journal of Theology 21:120–32. Wall, R.W. 2004. “1 Timothy 2:9–15 Reconsidered (Again).” Bulletin for Biblical Research 14:81–103. Waters, K.L. 2004. “Saved through Childbearing: Virtues as Children in 1 Timothy 2:11–15.” Journal of Biblical Literature 123:703–35. Wilder, T.L. 2004. Pseudonymity, the New Testament, and Deception. An Inquiry into Intention and Reception. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. —. Pseudonimity, “the New Testament, and the Pastoral Epistles.” Pages 25–51 in Entrusted with the Gospel. Paul’s Theology in the Pastoral Epistles. Edited by A.J. Köstenberger et al. Nashville, TN: B&H Publishing Group. Wilshire, L.E. 1988. “The TLG Computer and Further Reference to ΑΥΘΕΝΤΕΩ in 1 Timothy 2.12.” New Testament Studies 34:120–34.



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Winter, B.W. 2003. Roman Wives, Roman Widows. The Appearance of New Women and the Pauline Communities. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Wolters, A. 2000. “A Semantic Study of αὐθέντης and Its Derivatives.” Journal of Greco-Roman Christianity and Judaism 1:145–75. Zamfir, K., and J. Verheyden. 2008. “Text-Critical and Intertextual Remarks on 1 Tim 2:8–10.” Novum Testamentum 50:376–406.

CHAPTER 11

THE APOCALYPSE OF JOHN: POWER, PATIENCE, AND PROPHETIC WITNESS Paul B. Decock1 1. Introduction In the social context within which the Apocalypse of John originated divine words had a great authority and therefore also great potential for power.2 In the history of Israel we see how often a prophet and a political authority confront each other. While the biblical tradition frequently presents the prophets as victims of the political powers, they are nevertheless seen as ultimately more powerful. This can be seen very clearly in the following examples: Moses against Pharaoh; Jeremiah against Zedekiah; John the Baptist against Herod; Jesus against Pilate. Following the insights of John B. Thompson (1981, 143–49) we can look at power within the framework of the interaction between a dominant social structure, the institutions which promote and protect the aims of the social structure, and the acting persons.3 The acting persons, the agents, can serve these aims and then they are protected and favoured by A version of this paper in Dutch has appeared as Decock (2012). According to Aune (1983, 23) “[o]racles and divination played a regular and significant role in the lives of Greeks and Romans from earliest times down to the triumph of Christianity over competing pagan religions in the fourth century A.D.” 3 As an example of a social structure Thompson (1981, 145) points to the capitalist social formation; he writes: “Just as the concept of the unconscious can be justified in terms of its capacity to disclose a domain of experience, so too the justification of the notion of social structure consists in its ability to articulate a realm of being which lies at the base of social and political consciousness”. (Thompson 1981, 206). He further clarifies his view of social structure: “In adopting this approach to the status of social structure, I wish to steer a course between a reductionist account of social structure which would treat it as a mere heuristic device, and a crude realist view which would regard it as some sort of “thing” erected in the social world. As a series of elements which define the conditions for the persistence of a social formation and for the variation of its component institutions, social structure has the status of conditions of possibility” (Thompson 1981, 239, n. 55). 1 2

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means of the institutions, or they can resist and oppose the aims of the social structure but then they will experience the controlling and punishing power of the institutions. The agents also have power in the sense that their “works” affirm or undermine the social structure and its institutions, because “social structure “functions” only in so far as agents reproduce established institutions thereby constituting the structural conditions for institutional persistence” (Thompson 1981, 149). While the institutions of the Roman Empire saw the Christian communities as obstacles to their aims and therefore exercised their power against them, John replies with an attack against the symbolic framework of their social structure. While the imperial propaganda presents the Empire as destined for a “divine” task (see, for instance, the Aeneid of Virgil), John evokes an alternative social structure which has its roots in the biblical tradition of creation, in which the power of all earthly institutions is dependent on the divine institutions, particularly the divine court. Furthermore, John appeals to everyone in the communities to “act” according to the aims of God as this has been modelled by Jesus (Rev 2:26)4 and he assures the communities that these aims will certainly and soon be realized by God’s judgment. Within the community the prophets meet the challenge of convincing the members of the truth of their message, in other words, that they are true prophets, especially if their vision is contradicted by other prophets in the community. This was the case with John. The Letters in the Apocalypse 2–3 point to the threat of “false” prophets in the communities (2:14–15, 20–24). John’s greatest opponent is however the False Prophet (16:13; 19:20; 20:10), who is mentioned for the first time in 13:11–17.5 He defends the social structure of the Roman Empire and he shares in the power of the Empire. John, however, intends to convince the communities that this power is not from God but from the Dragon, who has “given” this power to him as well as to the first Beast (13:2, 4, 5, 7, 14, 15). Against the power of the Dragon, of the Beast and of the False Prophet (and the false prophets in the communities) John proclaims the power of God and of the Lamb and calls upon the communities to John calls upon the communities to do the “works” of Jesus; “works” have an important function in the whole of the Apocalypse: 2:2, 5, 6, 19, 22, 23, 26; 3:1, 2, 8, 15; 9:20; 14:13; 16:11; 18:6; 20:12, 13; 22:12; on this see Decock (2007). The works of Jesus in his followers are powerful because it is through these that the dominant social structure is “conquered”. 5 According to Aune (1998a, 756) “the most likely solution is that the beast from the earth represents the imperial priesthood, which was centrally concerned with promoting the imperial cult.” 4



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take up their own prophetic task. Distinguishing between a true and a false prophet appeared to be a difficult process because the criteria for such discernment do not produce clear cut mathematical results.6 The authority and power of a prophet and of prophetic texts within a community depend on a complex process of discernment of the spirits (1 Thess 5:20–21). Acceptance by the community is therefore crucial for its authority and the Apocalypse makes repeated claims to its truth as the word of God and therefore to its authority and power. The book asserts three times its truthfulness and reliability, namely in 19:9; 21:5; 22:6. Seven times in the Letters the communities are exhorted to respect the message in the Letters as the words of the Spirit: 2:7, 11, 17, 19; 3:6, 13, 22. Just before the end of the book the readers are threatened with divine punishments if they would dare to add to or omit from the words of the book (22:18–19).7 However, the rhetorical power of the book has to come from the work as a whole, from the power of its images with their roots in the biblical tradition, from the repeated call to worship God alone (14:7; 19:10; 22:9), and from the structure of the work. The power of the work has to come from the character of a vision which touches the experience of the communities, which sheds light on the suffering of the world and holds out a hope for an inspiring future for the communities and for the whole of creation.8 This article is limited to three aspects of power. First of all, the power of God in the Apocalypse is situated within the symbolic framework of Several criteria are pointed out in Deut 13:1–6; 18:20–22; 1 Kgs 22:28; Jer 28:9; 32:6–8; Did. 11:7–12. See Hibbard (2011), who shows how Jeremiah rejects the criterion of accurate prediction (Jer 18:7–10): “the predictive capacity of prophecy receded in favor of a more strident call for changes in religious attitude and political policy” (353). 7 Compare with Did. 4:13 and Barn. 19:11; according to Van Schaik (1971, 262), “Joh is zich bewust een geschrift met goddelijke garantie geschreven te hebben, dat is iets heiligs, daar mag men evenmin aankomen als aan de tien geboden.” Schüssler Fiorenza (2001) sees it differently: “Such a powerful adjuration indicates that John is not sure how his work will be received and respected. Moreover, he seems to forestall the testing of his work” (8). She is reacting against fundamentalist approaches to the biblical text which consider reflection and judgment as superfluous: “The result is a lack of critical theological ability and spiritual practice to adjudicate scriptural texts” (9). 8 Carey (2001) reflects how John identifies himself rhetorically with the communities while his rhetoric attempts to eliminate his opponents: “In authorizing his vision, he constructs an unstable ethos. John’s ethos is at once egalitarian and authoritarian, inviting and exclusivist. John reaches out to the audience, yet locates himself as the sole mediator of truth; he calls his opponents to repentance, yet depicts them in the most abject terms” (180). He adds: “Perhaps John’s ambivalence is endemic to Christian discourse” (180). However, prophecy is not democratic, but for its effectiveness its authority needs to be recognized by the community. 6

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God’s work as the creator of all that exists (4:11), who overcomes the chaotic forces through an act of judgment. In a second step we will see how the Apocalypse reveals the present conflict in creation – a conflict which is experienced most immediately in the power of the Roman Empire – as having its ultimate roots in the Dragon, a rebellious creature who has illegitimately assumed power to himself. The Dragon is the symbol of “sin”, but also of the ultimate powerlessness of sin. A third step will explore the meaning of the fifth seal (6:9–11). The Apocalypse reassures the communities that the divine judgment will definitely come (already in 1:7), but during this “short time” before the judgment they are called upon to persevere in their service to God and in their prophetic witness. As witnesses the communities are assured of the power of God in their prophetic ministry (11:5–6), but also challenged to accept their temporary weakness for the sake of God’s temporary patience (6:10–11). In spite of this fundamental powerlessness during their earthly life they are nevertheless able to “conquer” the Dragon by means of their faithfulness to God even to death through their sharing in the “works of Jesus” (2:26), the Lamb, the faithful witness (1:5). The prophetic witness of the communities has as aim to call all peoples, nations and languages to turn away from their worship of the Beast and to worship God alone so that they may all have a share in the new, completed creation.9 2.  The Power of God and Jesus: Judgment and Creation In answer to the experience of the power of the Roman Empire John confronts his readers and hearers with the symbolic framework of God the creator and the institution of the heavenly throne where judgment and all power is concentrated. This contrasts with the imperial throne, which represents the throne of Satan (2:13; 13:2; 16:10).10 From the beginning of the book the attention of the hearers is directed to God’s omnipotence (1:8) and that of Jesus (1:5, 6). According to the Apocalypse this omnipotence will soon be manifested to all people in the coming judgment (1:1, 3, 7), which is the dominant theme of the Apocalypse right up to chapter 20. From the first appearance of Jesus in 1:9–20 See Stephens (2011, 226): “Unlike many annihilationist scenarios within the Jewish apocalyptic tradition, Revelation never gives its audience an unambiguous and explicit account of cosmic destruction, such as the incineration of the earth by fire … What we are given instead is an account of the coming of the new heavens and the new earth, which works together with 20:11–15 to depict the final resolution of all things.” 10 The word “throne” appears already in 1:4 and appears 47 times in the Apocalypse while only 62 times in the whole of the NT.  9



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he is presented as the coming judge. However, he is not yet executing judgment but he calls people to perseverance and conversion in view of the coming judgment. This judgment and salvation are presented as very near (1:1; 22:6, 10, 12, 20) and the shortness of the time is the motivation to see the present as a time of conversion, struggle and perseverance.11 The first appearance of Jesus evokes Dan 7:13–14, where a figure like a son of man receives the power from God so that all nations will serve him.12 The sword from his mouth (1:16; also 2:12, 16 and 19:15, 21) is also an image of the coming judgment as in Isa 11:4.13 In the Letters (chs 2–3) each community is addressed and encouraged or challenged to “conquer” in view of the coming salvation. The theme of judgment is prominent: Jesus will come like a thief in the night (3:3; compare 16:15), even like a warrior (2:16; compare 19:11–16). It is important however to see how Rev 4–22 situates this challenge addressed to the communities by Jesus as judge (and warrior: 2:16; 19:11) in a broader, cosmic perspective. In Rev 4 John sees the heavenly throne room which makes visible God’s power as ὁ παντοκράτωρ; the scene ends with a reference to God’s act of creation as the basis for the recognition of his omnipotence (4:11). Rev 5 displays the empowerment of Jesus as judge and warrior, who receives the plan of the coming judgment (the book with the seven seals). The plan proceeds in two steps: first the seven trumpets, which only affect one third of the guilty world, and next the seven bowls, which are the full scale punishment. This judgment is once more illustrated in the scenes of Babylon and of the final fall of the Beasts, the Dragon, and of all who followed them. Finally, after the judgment the work of God can be completed (21:5–6): a new heaven and a new earth and the descent of the new, holy Jerusalem. According to Barr (2001, 112) “[w]e wait for an end that never comes. And why should it? John would have the reader engaged in the end, to endure and to conquer, so why should he provide an ending that would let us abandon our posts?” 12 According to Lambrecht (1998, 218): “It is our firm belief that by breaking the seals and opening the book the Lamb not only communicates the fixed purposes of God’s eschatological plan; this revelation is also and at the same time visionary “realization”. No doubt, one has to add with much emphasis that the realization is far from complete. Only the preparation of God’s punitive intervention is taking place in heaven or in creation; the day has come but its wrath is still checked.” 13 See Beale (1999, 211–12). For other symbols of power, see the seven stars held in his right hand (1:16) and the keys of death and Hades (1:18). Furthermore, according to Aune (1997, 116), Jesus is presented as someone who shares in the power and majesty of God: “Using this combination of imagery, which originally referred to two figures in Dan. 7:9–14, one “like a son of man” (Dan 7:13) and the Ancient of Days (7:9), the author has virtually equated the two figures.” Rev 1:17–18, “the first and the last, the living one,” has the same effect. 11

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The coming judgment has to be seen in the broader context of creation. The power of the judge is fundamentally the power of the creator and the aim of the judgment is to bring creation to its fulfilment. This is suggested by the regular appearance of the theme of creation throughout the work: ● God is the creator of heaven, earth and sea and all they contain: 4:11;

10:6; 14:7.

● Christ is the beginning or the principle of God’s creation: 3:14. ● The world and all that is in it are referred to as God’s creatures: 5:13; 8:9. ● God’s anger and judgment are directed against those who destroy the

earth: 11:18; 19:2.

● The completion of God’s work is presented as the new heaven, the new

earth, the new Jerusalem: 21:1–8.14

As Levenson (1994, 14) points out, “… the stability of nature is not intrinsic; it is only a corollary of God’s faithfulness.” A bad relationship of creation with the Creator involves the danger that creation will relapse in the chaotic condition of the beginnings, as seen in Gen 6:5 and 7:11. What is expected of human beings as creatures of God is expressed as “fear of God” (11:18; 14:7; 15:4; 19:5) and exclusive worship of God (14:7; 15:4; 19:10; 22:9). This fear of God and this exclusive worship of God have to be expressed in “works” which promote the aim of God’s creation. The norm for such “works” are the “works” of Jesus (2:26). For this reason human beings will be judged according to their works (14:13; 18:6; 20:12–13; 22:12), as also the communities in the Letters are judged according to their works (2:2, 5, 6, 19, 22, 23, 26; 3:1,2,8,15).15 According to the Apocalypse the situation of creation is critical; it is threatened (11:18; 19:2). The optimistic propaganda of the Roman Empire (for example Horace, Carmen Saeculare; Virgil, Fourth Eclogue; the monument of the Ara Pacis in Rome) is an illusion; the Empire itself is an active participant in this threat. God’s answer to this situation is the coming judgment and war against the Dragon, the Beast, the False According to Beale (1999, 104): “Indeed, καινός (“new”), as we have seen, refers predominantly to a change in quality or essence rather than to something new that has never previously been in existence. The usage of καινός, is especially found in NT contexts describing eschatological or redemptive-historical transitions.” 15 According to Beale (1999, 260), “The “works” for which this church is first recognized are not mere general deeds of Christian “service” but works of persevering witness to the outside world. That this is specifically meant is discernible from the fact that when “love,” “faith,” and “endurance,” especially “endurance and faith,” appear elsewhere in the book they almost always refer to persevering witness.” 14



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Prophet, and against all who follow them. War and judgment were the two usual institutions by which injustice was meant to be restored. These two images are meshed with one another in the Apocalypse. About Jesus, the rider on the white horse, it is said: καὶ ἐν δικαιοσύνῃ κρίνει καὶ πολεμεῖ. (19:11). The emphasis on justice is striking and it is also striking how God and the Lamb are regularly praised for their justice and for their action against injustice.16 It is as upholder of justice that the rider on the white horse is presented as king of kings and lord of lords (19:16; also in 17:14). God’s work of creation will certainly be completed when the right time for God’s anger and for the judgment have come; it will be the time when God will exercise his great power and as such will reign as king (11:15, 17–18).17 God and the Lamb are praised for their wisdom and power (5:12; 7:12): wisdom in order to be able to judge what is right and power in order to execute the judgments. As such they are able to protect those who act righteously and restrain by means of punishment unjust behaviour which destroys creation.18 The execution of justice is one of the institutions where one sees how “power to” and “power over” have to be seen as complementary.19 For the judicial institution the “power to” is the most important aspect with its aim to establish a just society. However, “power over” also plays an important role in the justice system. Judges confronted with δίκαιος: 15:3; 16:5, 7; 19:2; δικαιοσύνη: 19:11; δικαίωμα: 15:4; 19:8. According to Beale, The Book of Revelation, 795, “God’s ‘righteous and true ways’ in 15:2 are parallel with ‘great and marvellous works,’ showing that God’s sovereign acts are not demonstrations of raw power but moral expressions of his just character. His redemption through Christ has brought to supreme expression how he demonstrates his justice.” 17 The “coming one” (1:4, 8; 4:8) points to God who comes in order to judge; this is the great event to which 1:1 and 22:6 refer. The “coming” of Jesus in 1:7 is a clear reference to Daniel 7:13; and also to 3:11; 16:15; 22:7, 12, 20. 18 Punishment, now as in the time and culture of John, has – ideally seen – a threefold function: to put an end to unjust actions; to restore injustice done by retribution; to act as warning and deterrent against further injustice; see Bovati (1994, 382–87). Since the Enlightenment the physical violence of earlier (and contemporary) cultures in these three functions of punishment is seen as unacceptable and problematic for contemporary readers of the Apocalypse. 19 According to Thompson (1981, 146), “However, the framework sketched above suggests that these two views are neither wholly incompatible with one another, nor jointly sufficient to account for the phenomenon of power. I shall maintain that the principal locus of power is the level of institutions, for power is primarily an institutionally endowed capacity for the pursuit of specific ends.” Schüssler Fiorenza (2008, 165–67), uses these two expressions as contrasting characteristics: “Nevertheless, inscribed in scripture is not only the rhetoric of empire as ‘power over,’ and its demand for submission, suffering, obedience, and control. We also still find traces of an alternative rhetoric of power that understands power as ‘power to,’ as creative, liberating ‘power for.’” (167). 16

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injustice do not aim at reaching a consensus with the accused. They judge according to the laws inspired and formulated according to the symbolic framework of the dominant social structure and as such they exercise “power over” those who oppose the aims of that social structure. The Apocalypse aims to undermine the judicial institution of the Empire and its social structure, but the work retains the imagery of the judiciary and attributes that power to God and the Lamb with the “power to” bring creation to its completion and the “power over” everything and everyone who is an obstacle to this completion. However, the “power over” in the Apocalypse has some distinctive characteristics. First of all, the judgment is presented as very near but the present time is depicted as an ultimatum, or better, as a short time of grace,20 an opportunity to repent. This opportunity is offered to all; through the prophetic ministry of the communities the possibility of escaping the judgment and entering the new Jerusalem is offered to each and every member of the communities and even to all nations. In fact, the Apocalypse evokes here and there the hope that the communities will repent and that even the kings and the nations will be part of the new Jerusalem. The Letters to the communities end on hopeful note by evoking the perspective of victory, even in the messages to the communities which are assessed in a very negative way: “to those who conquer …” (2:7, 11, 17, 26; 3:5, 12, 21). In the scenes of the new Jerusalem we are shown how the nations have turned away from the worship of the Beast and are now worshiping the one true God.21 Secondly, “power over” is shown in a spectacular way in the plagues as divine warnings to repent, but these passages are not hopeful about repentance (9:20–21; 16:9, 11).22 Thirdly, the execution of “power over” God’s judging and saving action is very near: “soon” (1:1; 11:14; 22:6; 2:16; 3:11; 22:7,12, 20), “a short time” (6:11), “no more time” (10:6). Heavenly voices proclaim that the reign of God and his Anointed has come (11:15; 12:10). It is announced from the throne: “it is accomplished” (16:17; 21:6). However, the communities are still awaiting the judgment. According to Barr (2001, 112), “in this story the awaited end never quite comes. Faced with this ending, the reader must reconsider the story’s meaning, must reread the story.” In other words, the listeners are urgently challenged to let the story speak to their current experience. 21 Bauckham (1993, 238–337), has convincingly demonstrated that the conversion of the nations is a central theme in the Apocalypse. However, this does not mean that everyone will in fact share in the new Jerusalem: “This does not, of course, mean that Revelation expects the salvation of each and every human being. From 21:8, 27; 22:15, it is quite clear that unrepentant sinners have no place in the New Jerusalem” (313, n. 100). 22 This form of power reflects the popular notion that natural disasters are revelations of God’s anger. It may also reflect the view that nature itself, of course under God’s control, reacts against injustice, as in 12:16. 20



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is praised as just by the angel of the waters and by the voices from the altar and the punishment is seen as appropriate (16:5–7; see also 15:3–4; 19:1–2). The great opponents of God’s project of creation are – and in that order – the Dragon, the Beast, the False Prophet, Babylon, and all those who are being led astray by Babylon. “Over” these God will exercise power. As can be seen, the issue of power is central to Rev 4–22; we are shown the contrast between the true power of God and the appearance of power of the Roman Empire, and ultimately the illusory power of the Dragon. 3.  The Illusory Power of the Dragon and the Beast In the Early Church the view of political power was complex. In spite of the fact that Jesus had been condemned to death by Pontius Pilate as one of the many agitators seen as disturbing the Pax Romana, some of John’s communities nevertheless seemed to find peace and well being in the Empire (probably the community of Laodicea: 3:14–22). The view expressed in Rom 13 is pragmatic and appreciates the usefulness of the civil authorities but their authority is seen as deriving from God (they are servants of God: 13:4 and 6). According to John 19:11 Jesus reminds Pontius Pilate of a similar teaching: “The only power you have over me has been given to you from above.” The Apocalypse on the contrary (13:2–8) sees the power of the Empire as coming from the Dragon. This one is very generous with power,23 a theme we even find in the story of the temptations of Jesus (Matt 4:8–10; Luke 4:5–8). There Jesus answers the Devil with a text from Deut 6:13; 10:20 which corresponds with the content of the eternal gospel of Rev 14:7 and with the message of the third angel in Apocalypse 14:9–11: God alone should be worshiped. The Apocalypse focuses on the Dragon as the source of the Empire’s power. The Dragon is therefore the first to be presented (12:3) before the Beast from the sea and the Beast from the earth (chapter 13) and is also the last to end up in the pool of burning sulphur (19:20; 21:8). The first appearance of the Dragon is extremely powerful, terrifying, destructive (12:3–4), but the text makes it immediately clear how all his plans fail one by one: the new born child is taken up to God’s throne (12:5); in the war against Michael he is expelled from heaven and thrown down upon the earth (12:9); he is unable to harm the woman, who is kept safe See the repetition of the verb “to give” in Rev 13.

23

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from his attacks in the desert (12:13–16). However, for the offspring of the woman he remains dangerous; he is furious because he knows that his time is short (12:12) and he starts a war against those who “keep the commandments of God and the witness of Jesus” (12:17).24 The true identity of the Dragon and the reason for his ultimate powerlessness are revealed in the following verses: ὁ ὄφις ὁ ἀρχαῖος, ὁ καλούμενος Διάβολος καὶ ὁ Σατανᾶς, (12:9) ὁ ὄφις ὁ ἀρχαῖος, ὅς ἐστιν Διάβολος καὶ ὁ Σατανᾶς (20:2).

We are reminded here first of all of Gen 3 (see also Wis 3:24; 2 Cor 11:3). Gen 3:1 presents the serpent as extraordinarily wise or shrewd but never­ theless as a creature and only a creature. He abuses his wisdom in order to lead people away from their trust and obedience to God; they are told that by disobeying God’s word they will become God’s equals. Bauckham (1993, 198) holds that John is not referring to one single existing myth, but that he creates a new symbol “exploiting the vital symbolism of his readers’ environment.”25 However, Bauckham does not refer to the exegetical traditions connected with Isaiah 14 and Ezekiel 28. In these texts and their interpretations we also encounter extraordinary figures, who, like the serpent, do not recognize their gifts as coming from God but who exalt themselves in order to usurp God’s power (Isa 14:13–14; Ezek 28:2, 6, 9); for this reason they are thrown down. In Early Christian literature these texts are linked with the theme of the fall of the rebellious angels and Lucifer (Isa 14:12).26 It is very plausible that these texts with these interpretive traditions also play a role in the image of the Dragon of the Apocalypse. What is important here is that the Dragon is seen as a creature of God who in spite of his many gifts turns away from God and turns against God by imagining himself as all powerful and demanding divine “The focus of the phrase may be on Jesus’s testimony to God, which the church is to reproduce” (Beale 1999, 679). 25 “The Dragon is a symbol whose power derives from a variety of associations. He is the ancient serpent who initiated humanity’s estrangement from God with the bait of becoming like gods. He is the symbol of the false gods of Asian paganism, … He is the dragon who lies in wait for the birth of the divine hero [Apollo] who will return to slay him. He is the twisting serpent Leviathan whom the sword of God will destroy at the final elimination of evil” (Bauckham 1993, 198). 26 Tonstad (2006, 69–76) correctly defends the importance of these two texts for Apocalypse 12. The fact that such an interpretation is found in the works of Origen, at most 150 years after the composition of the Apocalypse, can be a good indication that he makes use of existing Christian and Jewish traditions. In fact, an exegetical tradition of the fall of the angels appears already in 1 Enoch 6–8 as an interpretation of Genesis 6. 24



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worship from other creatures. The Apocalypse stresses that God is the creator of all that exists;27 “the one who is, who was and who is to come” cannot be compared to anyone.28 God’s absolute power over everything and everyone is based on the fact that he is the creator of all (4:11). The Dragon, the Beast and Babylon live in an illusion of grandeur and power (13:2, 5, 13; 17:1, 5, 18; 18:2, 10, 16, 18, 19, 21; 19:2). Babylon “says to herself: I sit here as queen, not as a poor widow. Nothing will happen to me!” (18:7). The community of Laodicea is a miniature of Babylon: “You say that you are rich, that you have all you want and that you need nothing more. You do not realize how miserable you are, how poor, how deprived, blind and naked” (3:17). The Dragon, together with his followers, is presented as a character who is intent on murdering (12:3–4, 15),29 on war (12:7, 17; 13:7; 16:14; 19:19; 20:7–10) and on falsehood (12:9; 13:14; 18:23; 19:20; 20:3, 8, 10). In the judgment scene the Dragon is seen as the false accuser (12:10)30 in contrast with Michael as the defender. This means that John does not limit the cause of sin in the world to human beings; the sins of human beings are seen as participation in sinful human structures (the two Beasts, the Empire and its false prophets) but ultimately as participation in the sin of the superhuman figure of the Dragon.31 The conversion John calls for involves a turning away from Babylon (18:4–5), a refusal to worship the Dragon and the Beast (13:4, 8, 11–15; 14:9), the sole In this sense the Apocalypse follows the tradition in Genesis 1:21 where the great sea monsters are seen as God’s creatures; see also Job 40:15 where Behemot, and by implication also Leviathan, is called a creature of God. Sin and its consequences are the work of God’s creatures, the superhuman ones as well as the human ones. 28 See the expressions in 1:4, 8; 4:8; 11:17; 16:5. The expressions in 17:8 and 11 are usually considered as parody: the Beast will not survive the judgment (see Aune 1998b, 939, who graphically demonstrates how “annihilation” forms the point of arrival of 17:8a and 11a). 29 Compare with Wisdom 2:24 and John 8:39–47 (murderer and liar). 30 See Beale (1999, 661–63); according to Aune (1998b, 700), “in rabbinic sources … one of the standard epithets of Satan (m. ᾿Abot 4:11; Tg. Exod. 32:19; Str-B, 1:141– 42).” 31 De Boer (1988) discerns two different tracks in apocalyptic eschatology; the one he calls cosmological and the other forensic: “The first track characterizes the world as under the dominion of evil, angelic powers, responsible for human sinfulness, death, and the usurpation of God’s sovereign rights. Some sort of “angelic fall” is mentioned or alluded to with some frequency” (85). The forensic track stresses that humans must take the greater responsibility for sin and death; humans have brought the world into an “all-embracing sphere of death” (87) through their rebellion against the will of God. De Boer points out, however, that these two lines are not always clearly distinguishable: “like railway tracks, [they] may lie parallel, crisscross, or overlap, even in a single work” (85). 27

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worship of God (14:6–7) and “keeping the commandments of God and holding fast to the faith of Jesus” (14:12).32 It is by means of this alternative symbolic framework that the Apocalypse unmasks the propaganda and power of the Empire. 4.  The Fifth Seal: (6:9–11):33 The Power of God’s Patience There is a correspondence between the fifth seal (6:9–11) and 19:2, where a large crowd in heaven praises God because the judgment and punishment for which the martyrs were praying has been realized in the destruction of Babylon. The words of the prayer of the souls under the heavenly altar, Ἕως πότε, ὁ δεσπότης ὁ ἅγιος καὶ ἀληθινός, οὐ κρίνεις καὶ ἐκδικεῖς τὸ αἷμα ἡμῶν ἐκ τῶν κατοικούντων ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς;

are evoked in the hymn of chapter 19: ὅτι ἀληθιναὶ καὶ δίκαιαι αἱ κρίσεις αὐτοῦ· ὅτι ἔκρινεν τὴν πόρνην τὴν μεγάλην ἥτις ἔφθειρεν τὴν γῆν ἐν τῇ πορνείᾳ αὐτῆς, καὶ ἐξεδίκησεν τὸ αἷμα τῶν δούλων αὐτοῦ ἐκ χειρὸς αὐτῆς.

The two verbs, “to judge” (κρίνω) and “to punish justly” (ἐκδικέω)34 form an inclusion. The Apocalypse can be understood as the response to the prayer of the martyrs for justice and salvation against “the inhabitants of the earth.” 35 The prayer of the martyrs no doubt also articulates the questions of the communities and as such the Apocalypse answers the questions of the communities and all readers.36 While the martyrs were See also 12:17. Tonstad (2006) defends the subjective genitive, the faithfulness of Jesus, as the most appropriate interpretation, although most translations and commentaries prefer the objective genitive; his argument is based especially on his narrative approach to the Apocalypse. He therefore translates this part of the verse as: “those who hold on to the commandments of God as revealed by the faithfulness of Jesus” (193). Beale (1999, 767) accepts the possibility that the idea of a subjective genitive is included. 33 Heil (1993) has argued that this scene is the key to the Apocalypse; Schwindt (2009, 124. 126) agrees that it is at least a key passage. 34 I translate ἐκδικέω as “punishing justly” in order to avoid the loaded sense of “revenge.” The imagery used is that of the court case and we may associate the meaning also with “protecting against injustice” as in Lk 18:3 and 5. Furthermore, the punishment and protection are expected to be realized by the final eschatological battle against Satan (see Schwindt 2009, 128–131), or by the establishment of God’s rule (11:15; 12:10). 35 “The inhabitants of the earth” refers to the followers of the Dragon and the Beast (see Bauckham 1993, 239–241). 36 See also 8:3–5; “That we read now of ‘the prayers of all the saints’ confirms our earlier contention that the picture of the martyrs under the altar in 6:9 is not a narrow reference to a group of literal martyrs but a figurative representation of all saints who 32



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impatiently asking “when” the judgment would come, the Apocalypse constantly reassures the readers that it will come soon, but the focus for this short period is on the task of the communities to continue their prophetic witness even when faced with opposition and violence. The reference to the “short while”37 before the judgment is a motivation to take the responsibilities of the present period to heart: commitment to the prophetic ministry calling all nations, including the communities, to conversion. The theme of the nearness of the judgment appears from the first verse in the book, “what soon must take place”; it is repeated in 3:3; 16:15; and in 22:6. The heavenly answer does focus on the question “when” but, more importantly, gives the reason why God is not immediately exercising his judicial power in creation and over creation in spite of the sufferings, the injustice and the destruction of the earth. The number of servants who still have to die in the service of the word of God and to witness to Jesus must first be complete. In other words, in spite of the constant “revolt” against God and the violence against creation and the prophets, God continues to reach out to the inhabitants of the earth, but only for a little while more.38 This agrees in a way with 2 Pet 3, which speaks about the patience of God, who does not want that anyone will be lost but that all will be saved. There is no mention of God’s patience in the Apocalypse, but the image in 3:20 can be seen as an expression of God’s patient “knocking” at the doors of the community of Laodicea in spite of the fact that they live in the same illusion as Babylon. The appearance of Jesus as powerful judge, who in 1:9–20 is not yet coming to judge but to call to repentance and patient endurance strengthens this perspective. In that sense is it also understandable why all the letters (Rev 2–3) end on a positive note with encouragement to all those “who conquer.” God’s “patience” is however not of the laissez faire kind; this last kind of patience does not fit in at all with God’s passionate commitment to what is right and God’s absolute disgust of half-hearted positions (2:5, 14–16, 20–23; 3:3, 15). suffer to whatever degree (this likewise confirms the same conclusion concerning the ‘overcomers’ in the letters)” (Beale 1999, 455). 37 The martyrs are already resting, ἵνα ἀναπαύσονται ἔτι χρόνον μικρόν, but the situation in creation has not yet been changed. The faithful who have died are enjoying that rest (14:13) in contrast with the followers of the Beast who will have no rest; fire and sulphur are the images evoking their future (14:9–11). 38 In the same sense also Bauckham (1993, 56): “it is not just that there is an arbitrarily decreed quota of martyrs to be completed. It is so that the witness of the martyrs may play a key role in God’s purpose of establishing his universal kingdom.”

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God’s patience – and impatience – is directed first of all to the communities to whom the messages are addressed, but it also reaches out to all people, because the brothers and sisters of those who have been murdered and who are still in the world are called upon to continue their witness until the moment when, according to God’s mind, the number of martyrs is complete. God’s power manifests itself now in the witnessing communities under the form of apparent powerlessness as was also the case with Jesus, “the faithful witness, the firstborn from the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth” (1:5). However, “they have conquered him [the Dragon] by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony” (12:11), that is by persevering in the “works” of Jesus to the end (2:26), even unto death: καὶ οὐκ ἠγάπησαν τὴν ψυχὴν αὐτῶν ἄχρι θανάτου (12:11). The victory is not won simply by their death but by their effective faithfulness “even in the face of death” (NRSV).39 This earthly “victory” of the faithful therefore looks at first sight not as the victory of a lion but more as that of a lamb that has been slaughtered, more precisely, the passover lamb.40 What is required for this victory is Beale (1999, 353), interprets the victory of Jesus as “penal substitution,” but this label excessively limits the meaning of Jesus’s death. The most important aspect is Jesus’s commitment (love: 1:5; 3:9) to God’s project. The faithful are called to share in the works of Jesus (2:26). Beale (1999, 353) is more to the point where he states: “While he was suffering the defeat of death, he was also overcoming by creating a kingdom of redeemed subjects over whom he would reign and over whom the devil would no longer have power.” Jesus’s acting according to the aims of God’s creation opposes the aims of the social structure of the Empire with its institutions and in this sense it is a victory for creation; sharing in Jesus’s acting is a sharing in Jesus’s victory. 40 See 5:5–6 where a lion is announced, but John in fact sees a lamb. The earthly “power” and “victory” of Jesus has the appearance of a lamb that has been slaughtered; his present heavenly “power” is that of the universal judge who is to come (compare Acts 10:42; 17:31). In this sense he is the apocalyptic lamb who will judge and has the power to execute the judgment. The question of Moyise (2001, 184), “Does the Lion lie down with the Lamb? Are we supposed to reinterpret the apocalyptic violence, with its note of violence and gloating, as symbolic of Christ’s self-sacrifice?” has to be answered in the negative. The interpretation of Beale (1999, 353) is nuanced: “Wherever the OT predicts the Messiah’s final victory and reign, John’s readers are to realize that these goals can begin to be achieved only by the suffering of the cross.” However, he adds a significant footnote: “Similarly George B. Caird, A Commentary on the Revelation of John the Divine (London: Black, 1966) 74–75, although he mistakenly leaves no room for a final, more literal defeat of the divine enemy.” In a similar way, Bauckham (1993, 183) does not seem to give enough attention to the future judgment and focusses exclusively on the sacrificial death: “But that the victory in question [in 5:5] is not a military victory over the godless nations, nor even the destruction by judicial sentence that 4 Ezra expected, John establishes once for all by representing the messianic conqueror as a sacrificial lamb.” If we see this sacrifice as that of the Passover lamb, then we can see that the effect of the blood will manifest itself when it protects the saints at the judgment (see 1 Thess 1:10), just as it protected Israel in the crisis at the time of Moses. Jesus conquers the Dragon by his faithfulness to God unto death and by this 39



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forcefully summarized in the words of the angel who proclaims the eternal gospel: “Fear God and give him glory, for the hour of his judgment has come; and worship him who made the heaven and the earth, the sea and the springs of water” (14:7 NRSV). The losers are those who worship the Dragon and the Beast, as the third angel expresses it in a dramatic way: Those who worship the beast and its image, receive a mark on their foreheads or on their hands, they will also drink the wine of God’s wrath, poured unmixed into the cup of his anger, and they will be tormented with fire and sulfur in the presence of the holy angels and in the presence of the Lamb. And the smoke of their torment goes up forever and ever. There is no rest day or night for those who worship the beast and its image and for anyone who receives the mark of its name (14:9–11 NRSV).

This evocation of the future of the losers appears to many of us now as an example of an excessive punishment and of excessive use of power, even as abuse of power.41 In order to understand these scenes in their “original contexts” we will first have to recognize the literary traditions and their functions.42 One of the functions of this scene is not simply victory he is appointed by God as the eschatological judge; his coming “judgment” and “war” will confirm this victory against the Dragon and will realize it effectively in the new heaven and the new earth, in the new Jerusalem (19:11). 41 This is not the subject of this paper, but such questions cannot be avoided. Texts are not “objects” which can be “measured exactly.” Texts about God are even more “uncertain” and “unstable.” They can be read in many ways as the history of their “reception” shows. When it comes to religious texts the “ultimate” meaning of the text is not what it could have meant originally but how the texts have been read over the centuries and how it now speaks about the issues at hand in each cultural context. For instance, the choice of the image of the judgment in order to speak about God’s decisive action in the world had as consequence that it opens the way for a whole series of questions. In which sense is God a “just judge”? Does God judge human beings purely and exclusively according to their works (Rev 2:23; 14:13; 20:12, 13; 22:12)? Is God’s punishment purely remedial and pedagogical? In what sense does retribution play a role in God’s “judgment”? How are we to understand the relationship and tension between God’s justice and God’s mercy, patience and forgiveness? (see Kratz and Spieckermann 2008; on the rabbinical discussions about this, see Urbach (1979, 448–61). Origen was the focal point of the discussion on the apokatastasis and all the issues connected with it (see Sachs 1993). “Justification” according to Paul became a hotly debated topic since the Reformation. All “readings” of a text in the course of history can be of importance as a way to a meaning in the here and now. According to Krister Stendahl (2000, 65), “To me it became increasingly important to widen the gap between original meanings and what came to be or what may now be the meanings, often driven by moral sensitivities and insights not found in the text.” 42 Descriptions of hell and “tours of hell” were well known in apocalyptic literature, see Himmelfarb (1983). Isaiah 66:24 has been a great inspiration in many cases. Beale (1999, 761–765) has collected a useful list of biblical and apocalyptic texts.

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prediction but prophetic warning.43 This function fits in very well into the pattern of the two ways, which appears at various points in the Apocalypse (for instance Babylon – Jerusalem) in order to present in dramatic imagery the two outcomes, that of the way to life and that of the way to death. Apocalypse 15:4 expresses the possibility and even the hope that through the witness of the communities “all nations” will choose the way of life by worshiping God.44 For the witnesses on earth the powerlessness and death of the earthly Lamb is an image of their own powerlessness, but in this way the Apocalypse opens a new, heavenly or eschatological perspective: the “works” of Jesus realize the vision of the creator, and in their participation in these “works” even unto death the faithful are powerful, while by their “works” Satan’s power is being undermined. Within this new symbolic framework offered by the Apocalypse the urgent expectation45 is that the truth about where power ultimately lies will soon be revealed in the judgment. However, God points out to the martyrs that the exercise of this power is moderated by God’s patience and that the present powerlessness of the communities in their witness has to continue for a short while as an expression of that patience. 5. Conclusion The Apocalypse by means of its alternative symbolic universe challenges the listeners to see their situation in the light of their faith in the “The warning in verses 6–11 is intended to motivate believers to persevere. Therefore, v 12 is the main point of vv 6–12, as with similar exhortations in 13:10 and 13:18” (Beale 1999, 765). Hibbard (2011, 357) refers to Jonah 3:8b–10 and shows how the core of the prophecy (already for Jeremiah) is not to be found in prediction but in the call to repentance. The final words of God addressed to Jonah could also be important to reflect upon when reading these texts of terror in the Apocalypse: “And should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and also many animals?” (Jonah 4:11). 44 Bauckham (1993, 336–37), concludes his extensive study with the words: “… John’s central prophetic conviction about the coming of God’s kingdom on earth: that the sacrificial death of the Lamb and the prophetic witness of his followers are God’s strategy for winning all the nations of the world from the dominion of the beast to his own kingdom.” Lambrecht (1998, 219–20) affirms this: “One should, however, not forget that this vindication functions as a somewhat delayed but positive answer to the martyrs’ prayer for vengeance, that the servants of God still on earth, those marked with God’s seal, will be redeemed and, above all, that all punishments, except the last absolutely eschatological condemnation, are intended to bring about the conversion of the enemies.” 45 See especially 22:17, 20. 43



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power of God, the Creator, before whom all human power is transitory and their glory is an illusion. Real power is invested in God’s throne, not in human institutions. God ultimately turns superhuman and human actions against those who oppose God’s purposes; even nature acts against them (12:16; 16:3–7; 17:17). In the midst of the violence and chaos unleashed in nature46 and society by human and superhuman rebellion against God, God’s power stands firm as faithful commitment to creation. However, the crucial question is then why God is delaying in manifesting his full power. The answer of the Apocalypse is that God in his power is patient and truly committed to all of creation; therefore he continues to reach out to all people through the witness of his communities as he reached out to them through Jesus, the faithful witness. The answer to the prayer of the martyrs in 6:9–11 is therefore a challenge to the communities to embody that faithfulness of God in spite of the violence against them. However, there is a limit to God’s offer; God will not allow the violence to last; the time for repentance is short and very soon God will fully manifest his power in the new heaven and the new earth, the new Jerusalem. The urgent choice put now before the readers is that between two ways of acting, the way of God embodied in the works of Jesus and that of Satan embodied in Babylon. God’s judgment will affirm and preserve everyone and everything which expresses the values and aims of the creator: “their works47 follow them” (14:13).48 Satan’s quest for absolute autonomy and autocracy as it is embodied in Babylon (18:7) and in the community of Laodicea (3:14–20) is manifested as illusion. Against this Satanic temptation the eternal gospel challenges all: “Fear God and give him glory, for the hour of his judgment has come; and worship him who made heaven and earth, the sea and the springs of water” (14:6). There are texts which see a kind of “natural” correlation between human sinfulness and disasters on the one hand, and between righteousness and the wellbeing of creation on the other (Hos 2:18–20; 1 En 80:2–8; 100:10–13); there can be no doubt that ultimately this link is seen as under the divine control. Urbach (1979, 487–91), discusses the rabbinical insights into the dependence of the world on human righteousness; for instance, the rabbis read Prov 10:25 as “The righteous is the foundation of the world.” See also Patai (1967, 155–56 and the concluding chapter of his work). 47 The regular reference to the “works” suggests that the followers of the Lamb are not mere powerless victims but “agents” and “conquerors” in view of the coming judgment. 48 Aune (1998, 839) refers to Mishnah ᾿Abot 6:9: “Moreover at the time of a man’s departure, neither silver nor gold nor precious stones nor pearls go with him, but only [his knowledge of] the Law and good works.” Compare also with 1 Cor 3:13. 46

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Bibliography Aune. D.E. 1983. Prophecy in Early Christianity and the Ancient Mediterranean World. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. —. 1997. Revelation 1–5. Dallas: Word Books. —. 1998a. Revelation 6–16. Dallas: Word Books. —. 1998b. Revelation 17–22. Dallas: Word Books. Barr, D.L. 2001. “Waiting for the End that never Comes: The Narrative Logic of John’s Story.” Pages 101–12 in Studies in the Book of Revelation. Edited by S. Moyise. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Bauckham, R. 1993. The Climax of Prophecy: Studies on the Book of Revelation. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Beale, G.K. 1999. The Book of Revelation: A Commentary on the Greek Text. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Bovati, P. 1994. Re-establishing Justice: Legal Terms, Concepts and Procedures in the Hebrew Bible. Sheffield: JSOT Press. Carey, G. 2001. “The Apocalypse and Its Ambiguous Ethos.” Pages 173–80 in Studies in the Book of Revelation. Edited by S. Moyise. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. De Boer, M.C. 1988. The Defeat of Death: Apocalyptic Eschatology in 1 Corin­ thians 15 and Romans 5. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series 22. Sheffield: JSOT Press. Decock, P.B. 2007. “The Works of God, of Christ, and of the Faithful in the Apocalypse of John.” Neotestamentica 41:37–66. —. 2012. “Het Boek Openbaring: De Macht van God’s Geduld.” HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 68(1). Heil, J.P. 1993. “The Fifth Seal (Rev 6,9–11) as a Key to the Book of Revelation.” Biblica 74:220–43. Hibbard, J.T. 2011. “True and False Prophecy: Jeremiah’s Revision of Deuteronomy.” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 35:339–58. Himmelfarb, M. 1983. Tours of Hell: An Apocalyptic Form in Jewish and Christian Literature. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Kratz, R.G. and H. Spieckermann, eds. 2008. Divine Wrath and Divine Mercy in the World of Antiquity. Forschungen zum Alten Testament 2/33. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Lambrecht, J. 1998. “The Opening of the Seals (Rev 6,1–8,6).” Biblica 79:198– 220. Levenson, J.D. 1994 [1988]. Creation and the Persistence of Evil: The Jewish Drama of Divine Omnipotence. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Moyise, S. 2001. “Does the Lion Lie down with the Lamb?” Pages 181–94 in Studies in the Book of Revelation. Edited by S. Moyise. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Patai, R. 1967. Man and Temple in Ancient Jewish Myth and Ritual. New York, NY: Ktav. Sachs, J.R. 1993. “Apocatastasis in Patristic Theology.” Theological Studies 54:617–640. Schüssler Fiorenza, E. 2001. “The Words of Prophecy: Reading the Apocalypse Theologically.” Pages 1–19 in Studies in the Book of Revelation. Edited by S. Moyise. Edinburgh: T&T Clark.



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—. 2008. “Reading Scripture in the Context of Empire.” Pages 157–72 in The Bible in the Public Square: Reading the Signs of the Times. Edited by C. Briggs Kittredge, E. Bradshaw Aitken & J.A. Draper. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Schwindt, R. 2009. “Der Klageruf der Märtyrer: Exegetische Überlegungen zu Offb. 6,9–11.” Biblische Notizen 141:117–36. Stephens, M.B. 2011. Annihilation or Renewal: The Meaning and Function of New Creation in the Book of Revelation. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 2/307. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Stendahl, K. 2000. “Dethroning Biblical Imperialism in Theology.” Pages 61–66 in Reading the Bible in the Global Village. Edited by Heikki Räissänen et al. Atlanta, GA: SBL. Thompson, J.B. 1981. Critical Hermeneutics: A Study in the Thought of Paul Ricoeur and Jürgen Habermas. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tonstad, S.K. 2006. Saving God’s Reputation: The Theological Function of Pistis Iesou in the Cosmic Narratives of Revelation. London: T&T Clark. Urbach, E.E. 1979. The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs. 2nd ed. Jerusalem: Magnes Press. Van Schaik, A.P. 1971. De Openbaring van Johannes. Roermond: Romen.

CHAPTER 12

POWERFUL PROPHETS WHO STOP THE RAIN, TURN WATER INTO BLOOD AND STRIKE WITH PLAGUES (REV 11). PERSPECTIVES ON POWER IN REVELATION Pieter G.R. de Villiers1 1. Introduction On an abstract level, power has to do with the ability to determine the life and experiences of others. Power points to actions such as controlling, ordering or judging other people, with or without their consent.2 One meaning, amongst others, is illustrated by its intricate link with other concepts like authority, force, violence, rule, restraint and bind. Because of these many possible aspects of power, any reflection on power should take into consideration the specific conditions and contexts in which the concept is used and which determines its specific meaning. It follows from this that religious power will have some unique characteristics, different from power that operates in social, political, economic, physical and other contexts. Even within a religious context, however, power will be understood in various ways. This is true also of the New Testament. For instance, the notion of power may be more prominent in some books than others. Of all New Testament books, Revelation is the one which seems to offer abundant material for an analysis of the notion of power. This is clear from the many key terms for power, like κράτος, δύναμις, ἐξουσία and titles for authoritative figures like king, ruler, Lord, Son of God and Son of Man. It is also present in powerful actions mentioned in the book, such This article is related to and a follow up on a first discussion of power in the Book of Revelation that appeared as De Villiers (2012). 2 See e.g. Louw-Nida (1988) who includes power under the domain of control and rule, with ten subdomains. They relate these subdomains to control over others, mentioning also self-control (as a moral, ethical quality). 1

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as creating, protecting, saving, harming, threatening, destroying, imprisoning, punishing, attacking, waging war and persecuting. Power is, for example, pre-eminently present in the final part of Revelation, which speaks of the powerful establishment of the new creation, with God at its centre, reigning over all nations (Rev 21–22) and served by them. This powerful transformation follows, furthermore, after the bitter power struggle with, and elimination of, evil in the previous parts. In Revelation, power is evident in the strong description of divine and human characters. Both its divine and demonic figures are described with (often hyperbolic) symbols of power (e.g., horns, crowns, thrones), while evil characters are delineated as fearsome agents of violent power. From the book’s introduction, the author portrays God as the Almighty (Rev 1:8: ὁ παντοκράτωρ. See 11:17) who sits on the heavenly throne and reigns supreme over nations and creation. This term, a favourite designation for God in Jewish literature, is repeated regularly and at key moments in the rest of the narrative to draw attention to the awesome and majestic nature of the divine and its power (Rev 4:8; 11:17; 15:3; 16:7, 14; 19:6, 15 and 21:22; see also Aune 1997, 580). Similarly, the appearance of the fiery red dragon as the main opponent of God is delineated in a vision in Rev 12:3–4 in terms of its fearsome power over the nations: it mimics the divine power over creation when it casts a third of the stars down to earth (ἡ οὐρὰ αὐτοῦ σύρει τὸ τρίτον τῶν ἀστέρων τοῦ οὐρανοῦ καὶ ἔβαλεν αὐτοὺς εἰς τὴν γῆν; see Dan 8:10) and, in the heavenly realm, wages war against Michael and the angels (Rev 12:1–2, 7–17). The dragon’s powerful aggression is continued on earth after his expulsion from heaven where he is assisted by two beasts and a woman. The struggle on an earthly level is fundamentally a power struggle of extremely powerful evil characters who have authority over the mighty of the earth and control every tribe, people, language and nation (Rev 13:7). They perform impressive miracles and determine participation in the economy (Rev 13:11–18). They even have power to kill those who refuse to worship evil (Rev 13:15). Though the faith community is often portrayed as frail, oppressed and persecuted by the evil powers (Rev 2–3; 12), Revelation also ascribes special powers to it. The most pregnant example is found in Rev 11 where a bitter power struggle takes place between two prophetic figures and their opponents. In Rev 11:5–7, for example, they are said to be able to blast fire from their mouths to destroy their enemies utterly. They even have power over the elements, being able to prevent rain from falling, to turn water into blood, and to strike earth with plagues. And towards the end



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of the narrative, some saints participate in the judgment over the nations (Rev 20:4–6). They are those who have part in the first resurrection and over whom death has “no power.” This survey of powerful characters in the book illustrates the prominence of power in the narrative, but also that the power of the evil and good parties is essentially different. Whilst this information must have given rise to a remark by Moyise (2001, 181) that most commentators agree that Revelation is about power, not many publications focus explicitly on this theme.3 This is true for other biblical books as well. The potential of this theme for understanding essential dimensions of the Christian tradition can be illustrated, however, by research on the place of power in Paul’s letters. In an illuminating study, Gräbe (2008, 2, 6) traced the significance of the power theme in Pauline thought, noting, for example, how power is intrinsically linked to various crucial themes in Paul’s theology. His work also shows how many challenges await research on power generally, and also in Revelation,4 as it deals with questions about the nature of power, its seemingly violent nature and, finally, its relationship to the peace-seeking power(lessness) of the Christian gospel and communities (see also e.g., Luke 22:25–26). This occasional interest in power contrasts with recent developments in the general social discourse. Power has become a major theme of reflection and debate in the twentieth century in some influential contexts, when it was introduced as a key term in social analysis and in the critique of modernity through the groundbreaking research of Foucault, the French author and philosopher. Foucault’s enduring contribution to modern thought was that he illuminated and unmasked the questionable (and often covert or unrecognized) role of power relations and disciplinary practices in the social discourse.5 See e.g. Barr (2003, 97–108; 2009, 358–73). He writes (2009, 359), “The ultimate value in this story seems to be power, power exercised ruthlessly.” Incidental studies include, e.g., the discussion of Søvik (2011, 66–7, referring to Hygen’s reflections) on the modern notion of omnipotence which, Hygen argues, should not be identified with the word pantokrator in Revelation. See further the discussion in Van den Brink (1993) from the perspective of systematic theology. 4 Gräbe (2008, 2), e.g., pointed out the need for a careful analysis of the various Greek words for power, like δύναμις and ἐξουσία, simply because they may belong to different semantic domains. For the rest, the general hermeneutic insight in the contextualized nature of New Testament text would require that the researcher account for various, even conflicting, understandings of power in different documents and authors (see e.g., the nuanced discussion in Wink 1984). The appropriation of these insights requires much reflection, as is clear from the much discussed and widely read studies of power by Wink and the comprehensive debates they elicited. 5 See for power in contemporary thinking, the various contributions in Kelly (1994). Kelly (1994, 1) notes that Foucault introduced power into the contemporary philosophical 3

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The hefty debate about his provocative work resulted in the notion of power becoming a contested and controversial term. Foucault mostly investigated the negative role of punitive, repressive and disciplinary power (Foucault 1977, 23; Rorty 1986). He did, however, also hold a positive view of power. It is, after all, inconceivable to imagine a society in which power has no constructive role to play. This reflection on power offers an early indication of its complex nature – a complexity that is of special relevance for reflection on how Revelation links divine power with the elimination of evil and the powerful protection of the faithful. The matter of power is even more complex when one considers the reception of the book by some groups long after its original first century communication setting. Pippin, for example, found that women in a contemporary setting experience the book’s language about women as abusive, even when they play a key role in the divine action against evil. Referring to how judgement of evil is gendered as the removal of a prostitute by extraordinary violence, she concludes that “The Christian Apocalypse of John is limited in its destruction of the forces of oppression. The irony of the grotesque burning of the Whore is that the Christian utopia itself is an oppressive world (for women).”6 For some readers this gendered language means that even the liberating message of Revelation is contaminated by abuse, to such an extent that they regard the book as irredeemable and not worthy to be part of the bible as Christianity’s foundational texts. These remarks suggest that a nuanced research of power is needed. Other factors also indicate this need for more research on power. Van den Brink (1993, 1–6) pointed out the challenges inherent in the classical notion of omnipotence, which has been associated with God within Judeo-Christian contexts in such a self-evident, uncritical manner. To a growing number of theologians in contemporary theological research, the notion of a powerful, omnipotent God represents a questionable legacy of antiquity which portrayed God in terms of the absolute power and totalitarian rule of despotic tyrants. Similar observations have been made in New Testament Studies, specifically also with regard to Revelation. The book, it is pointed out by some critics, which characterizes God explicitly and enthusiastically as the “Almighty”, seems to portray God as an overpowering force, intolerant of any opposition or dissent or as a God landscape, but that it had consequences for which Habermas wanted to hold Foucault responsible. 6 Pippin (2005, 144).



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before whom believers lack any notion of freedom. The book is said to advocate the sectarian attitude of a minority group in society and in its religious context that seeks excessively violent, even sadistic punishment of dissenters and opponents: for example, it narrates how perpetrators of evil will be destroyed by being thrown into a fiery lake of burning sulphur where they will be tormented day and night, for ever and ever (Rev 19:20; 20:14).7 This reception of Revelation creates awareness that power can become absolute and totalitarian. It does not ameliorate the destructive, inhumane nature of power in the cruel, eternal punishment that it is associated with the divine and celebrated as a key aspect of God’s salvific actions. The power is not less problematic because it is ascribed to God. To the contrary, this link of power with God raises the question of how moral the character is of a God who exerts power so absolutely and, also, so violently. Childs, for example, notes that ethics have to do with the human response to God’s character. In Hebrew Scriptures, for example, God’s holy character was a yardstick for Israel’s identity and actions, as is stated in Lev 19:2: “be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy.” Matthew’s Gospel reflects a similar understanding in the Sermon on the Mount when it reports Jesus’s call to his disciples to be as perfect as their heavenly Father is perfect (Matt 6:48). Where Revelation’s excessive punishment by God is linked with the righteous character of God and with the need to punish transgressors, it may have profound effects. A depiction of God as severely punishing, hating and killing enemies could motivate cruel, retaliatory behaviour by readers who may see themselves as instruments in divine judgment and as participating in punishing their opponents (Rev 3:9; 6:10; 12:11; 15:4; 17:6; 20:4). Some researchers also point to other examples of abusive power: God is portrayed as killing the children of dissenters and decreeing rape as divine punishment (Rev 2:23). For Kensky (2010, 254) the coldness of the final, terrifying judgment scene in Rev 21–22 portrays God as a faceless, implacable monolith who is involved in hard, procedural justice. Even believers who do not live righteously face extreme punishment by a powerful, even overpowering God and by those in the faith community who will share in the judgment (Rev 20; see also De Villiers 2013, 249). In addition, the author seems to call his readers to extreme vengeance (see Collins 1983). Rev 18:6–8, e.g., is interpreted as a divine call for a main protagonist of evil, the prostitute, as a symbol of institutional opposition to God, to be punished with a double measure of retaliation. The excessive nature of this retaliation is clear in that the double measure exceeds the Old Testament lex talionis, which was originally intended to ensure that the punishment fits the crime. See Kensky (2010, 247), for a discussion of the many attempts to tone down the extreme nature of this remark. His argument that the punishment of Babylon justifies God’s judgments does not solve the problem of the extreme nature of the punishment.

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These examples illustrate how necessary it is to investigate the role, function and nature of power in Revelation. It requires reflection on how moral the divine power is and how justified it is to ascribe arbitrary and mindless violence to God. It will be necessary, for example, to reflect on research that explains attempts to rationalize it or to explain it as a function of divine judgment (e.g. by Schüssler-Fiorenza 1993; Johns 2003; Barr 2009) or to validate its important rule against dictatorships (Boesak 1987). In general, though, the well-known adage that power corrupts and the widespread and worldwide occurrence of abusive power relationships in religion and society are timely indications that the use of power in an influential collection of texts like the New Testament requires on-going reflection. 2.  The Text This article focuses the analysis of power on Rev 11 because it is a central passage about divine and human power that provides a key insight into the role of power in the book as a whole. This passage about God’s empowerment of, and sharing of power with, the faith community and their leaders plays a strategic role in the book as a whole. It appears at the beginning of the second half of the book (Rev 10–22), following directly after the introductory passage (Rev 10) as a first substantial episode which sets the tone for the bitter power struggle between good and evil that will unfold in the last, climactic part of the narrative. Power is, furthermore, mentioned explicitly in this passage. Twice in Rev 11:6 the power of the witnesses explicitly mentioned and described (οὗτοι ἔχουσιν τὴν ἐξουσίαν), whilst the great power of God is celebrated after their miraculous resurrection (with a different word for power: τὴν δύναμίν σου τὴν μεγάλην (Rev 11:16) towards the end of the episode. The interpretation of the passage is, however, challenging, given the doubt and apprehension that existed for a long time about its literary coherence and about its potential to yield meaningful answers. Lohmeyer (1953, 87), for example, considered it to be one of the most puzzling parts of Revelation.8 And Kiddle (1946, 174) concludes that Rev 11 is so difficult that “the failure to find a solution has induced most commen­ tators to assume that it is of relative unimportance.” Their comments reflect their conviction that the passage has a confusing and fragmented “Seinem Inhalte nach gehört das Kapitel, im einzelnen wie in seinem Zusammenhang nach vor- und rückwärts betrachtet, zu den dunkelsten Abschnitten der Apc.”

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composition and that it seems not to fit logically in the context, as the following brief overview will show. There is, first of all, a short, enigmatic episode about measuring the temple in Rev 11:1–2 that describes how the visionary receives a rod to “measure” the temple, its altar and even its worshippers, without any indication how this action can be understood. In addition, its language about the temple is so ambiguous that Aune (1998, 630) asked, “Is John referring to the literal earthly temple in Jerusalem that was destroyed by the Romans in A.D. 70 or the transcendent heavenly temple, or is he using the earthly temple as a symbol?” Equally difficult is the following instruction to the visionary in Rev 11:2 not to measure the courtyard outside the temple because the Gentiles will subject the city for 42 months.9 This short episode about the measuring of the temple is followed, rather abruptly (Aune 1997, 610), by the equally enigmatic episode about two witnesses who are so powerful that they can stop rain, change water in blood and strike the earth with plagues. The episode seems to have little to do with the preceding narrative about the measuring of the temple. The different, often conflicting interpretations of the identity of the characters and the city in this passage illustrate its complexity. Even though its language is hyperbolic, and, therefore, is mostly understood symbolically (referring to the faith community or, alternatively, to the law and the prophets), other critics interpret it literally, but very differently as referring to specific persons (e.g., the return of Moses and Elijah, Jesus and John or Peter and Paul) or to eschatological figures (Aune 1998, 598–603; Prigent 2001, 165; see further below).10 Lohmeyer (1953, 89) points out that Revelation 11 is located in a city, but that the following chapter refers to a different setting, thereby underlining the seeming lack of coherence. See also Aune (1998, 616–17). 10 Bauckham (1993, 274) rejects both a literal and allegorical reading, but may just underestimate the typical, even ahistorical nature of Rev 11 as a paradigm for the situations of various communities in contexts of persecution or oppression. Several factors indicate that the author of Revelation created more distance between his text and its context than is often recognized. The intensely symbolic nature of Revelation’s language is illustrated by the fact that the two “witnesses” are also described as two lampstands and two olive trees (Rev 11:4). Symbols are thus added to symbols, as, also, in Rev 11:8 where the city in which the witnesses testify is figuratively called Sodom, Egypt and Jerusalem (Rev 11:8). One recognises in this language the influence of Isa 1:9 and Ezek 16:46, 49 where Jerusalem is described as Sodom, but also the densification of that language. For a helpful discussion of the symbolic nature of the two witnesses, see also Dalrymple (2011, 4–6) and Beale (1999, 557–71) who offers an informed analysis of metaphors in Rev 11:1–2 and understands them figuratively as indicative of the new people of God. The author of Revelation seems bent on using his text to illustrate the  9

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All these issues illustrate the difficulties that face interpreters of the passage: it is not only seen as a fragmented text that seems to be incoherent, but it is also understood in many different ways. And yet, a close reading of the passage will confirm that it provides an important key to the interpretation of the book as a whole and that it is much more coherent and meaningful than is normally thought. In fact, it will become evident, as will be illustrated now, that the passage finds coherence in its focus on power within the context of the powerful onslaught of evil that the faith community faces in its ongoing spiritual journey. 3.  The Powerlessness of Evil Once the coherence of this passage is established, it turns out that it yields a significant message for the community. It illuminates the deeper reality that transcends and thus relativizes the dark and hostile threat of their powerful enemies. The rhetorical function of the passage on the two witnesses serves to comfort, reassure and empower them about the truth in which they are grounded. Though Kiddle (1946, 174) confirmed the difficulties in the interpretation of Rev 11 (discussed in the previous section), he nevertheless stressed that it was the most important chapter in the whole book. A text analysis will confirm this pronouncement by showing how Rev 10–11 represents a key turning point in the narrative which focuses on the theme of power. Rev 10–1111 forms a link between the two main parts of the book (Rev 1–9 and 12–22). The two chapters are, therefore, an introduction to the last part of the book. Just as Rev 1–2 contains a seminal introduction to the book as a whole, these two chapters begin with a second vision which leads to an instruction to John to prophesy “again” (Rev 10:11). The two witnesses in Rev 11, described as prophets, represent the first implementation of this instruction and forms the introduction to the power struggle about which the author prophesies in the second part. As a description of the second half of the book, it prepares readers to have the right mindset from the first moments of their struggle against evil powers. This mindset is also illuminated by a formal analysis of the plot of and the place of Rev 11 in the book. role and place of the faith community in various locations and times. The ambiguity of his language defies all the many attempts to link the text to a particular situation. 11 Tavo (2007, 176–7) regards Rev 10–11 as an intercalation and provides information that underlines their close unity.



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The prophecy at stake in the episode of the witnesses is about the war waged by evil against believers, represented by four protagonists in the second part of Revelation (a triad of the dragon and two beasts, together with a prostitute) as persecutors of the faith community. This persecution begins in Rev 12 with the inaugural attack of the powerful dragon on the pregnant woman and then, in a significant turn (see from Rev 12:17 onwards) on the faith community as “her children.” The episode of the two witnesses in Rev 11 anticipates in a summarising, proleptic way how the faith community will respond to the pending battle: they witness fearlessly even in the light of the powerful attack of their dangerous and murderous enemy. The rhetorical function of the passage is, primarily, to inform the readers more about the nature of this struggle. It identifies their opponents as the embodiment of evil in its most dangerous form. The community is able to recognize them as doomed opponents of God – as the ultimate end of the book reveals. There is more, though, than mere information. Rev 10–11 coheres with and alludes to the first part of the book in which evil has already been described (Rev 1–9). It refers to and assumes the important septets of seals (Rev 6) and trumpets (Rev 8–9) that discuss both the refusal of the nations to repent of their evil deeds and their subsequent judgement. Rev 9:20–21 ended the first half of the book with the remark that people did not cease from their worship of demons, idolatry, murders, sorcery, immorality or thefts. This now changes in the second half of the book when the faith community becomes actively involved in the struggle against evil when they witness against their evil opponents. They are told the good news that their witness will bring about repentance among the nations (Rev 11:13). They play a vital role in the unfolding of the divine struggle against evil. This information therefore serves to encourage the faith community: their suffering will not be in vain and their struggle will benefit themselves as much as it will make the nations aware of God’s salvation. There is, however, also a third dimension. They are reassured that they can engage in the struggle with confidence, even if it means that they will be killed.12 This encouragement to engage confidently with the forces of evil, should be understood in terms of the previous episode in Rev 11:1–2 about the measuring of the temple. This passage is mostly read as symbolizing the divine protection of the faith community against the pending Tavo (2007, 173–223) provides an extensive and well-documented argument for the coherence of Rev 10–11 and for the two witnesses as symbol for the church.

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attack of the evil opponents. They are spiritually in a place where they are safe from the attacks of evil. As Giblin (1991, 112) observed, “the area measured stands for the protected, immune sanctuary of heaven, with its altar (of incense) and its worshippers.” The episode is similar to the protective sealing of the faithful in Rev 7:3–8.13 The reassurance is not given lightly. The author is aware that the community, though protected, is also exposed to the courtyard of the gentiles. They will, therefore, experience ongoing persecution, and yet, they can rest assured that they are under the divine protection of a powerful God so that they will ultimately be part of the divine victory. God does not forsake them and will bring them into paradise (Rev 21-22). Rev 11, concerning the witness to the great city, thus reflects on a micro level the power struggle that permeates the rest of the narrative. The power struggle does not only have positive outcomes in terms of nations that will repent, but it also has deeper religious value, because it means that the sovereignty of God will be confirmed. The readers are made aware of the real reason behind their witness: John speaks of the greater outcome of this struggle when he records, soon after the episode of the two witnesses and after the dragon was cast out from heaven, an exclamation in Rev 12:10, “The salvation14 and the power and the kingship of our God and the authority of the Messiah have now occurred.” In this exclamation, he again uses two key words (ἡ δύναμις and ἡ ἐξουσία) for power: ἄρτι ἐγένετο ἡ σωτηρία καὶ ἡ δύναμις καὶ ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ ἡμῶν καὶ ἡ ἐξουσία τοῦ χριστοῦ αὐτοῦ. The throne of Rev 13:2 is replaced here by the word “kingdom,” reflecting the same semantic field. It points to the powerful rule of God which is inaugurated amongst them. Rev 12:10 thus speaks about divine, sovereign power and authority which is pitted against evil power and authority. It is life-giving power against abusive, murderous power. Furthermore, it is a divine intervention that will transform creation, leading to the coming of the new heaven and earth (Rev 21–22) where God will be present. The readers are made aware of the transformation in glory that awaits them after their struggle with persecution. It thus encourages them to Bauckham (1993, 272–73) interprets this passage as, “The church will be kept safe in its hidden spiritual reality, while suffering persecution and martyrdom. This is partially parallel, using different imagery, to the vision of chapter 7, where the servants of God are kept safe by the seal on their foreheads, but suffer martyrdom.” 14 Aune (1998, 700) translates salvation as victory because of the battle in the context. See Gräbe (2008, 21) for Septuagint references that associate salvation with power and glory (e.g. Job 12:13; Ps 62:3; 20:2 and Ps 139:8). 13



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persevere in confidence of their protected status under the rulers of the world (Rev 1:5; see 17:14; 19:16) with whom their existence is intricately connected. The references to power in Revelation should be read within this larger framework. The passage informs, encourages, reassures and inspires the faith community in its struggle against life threatening abuse. As such it fulfils the important role of providing the readers with a specific perspective on power: they can oppose evil powerfully, precisely because they anticipate and know the limitations of its power. In this sense, Rev 11 provides them with an understanding of the ultimate powerlessness of evil. The author’s perspective on evil as powerless contributes to nuancing the divine omnipotence in Revelation. It is not merely about God being the one whose power cannot be resisted and is, therefore, enforced on all. It is rather God’s power that is ultimately more effective than the power of the evil opponents of God. All the forces of evil in their massive onslaughts and their comprehensive attacks cannot stand up and conquer the powerful God of the faith community. God is more powerful in the divine acts of salvation than each and all of those who seek to do evil. This context will provide the framework to reflect further on the nature of power as it is used in this passage. 4.  Powerful Prophets A close reading of Rev 11 will further confirm its internal coherence, yielding some important insights into the use of power motifs. The close reading reveals that there are the following parts in the passage: in the first, the prophetic task of witnessing is spelled out by underlining the power of the witnesses (Rev 11:3–6), followed by the second with its description of their fate (Rev 11:7). The consequences of their deaths are then outlined: their corpses lie in the street (Rev 11:8–9) and the city celebrates their demise (Rev 11:10). Then their resurrection is delineated in a powerful reversal of their fate (Rev 11:11–12), followed by the destruction and repentance of their opponents (Rev 11:13). These parts use various words and images for power, especially in Rev 11:6. Before this is analysed in more detail, the identity and task of the witnesses in Rev 11:3–5 require closer investigation because it reveals more about their position and brings strong awareness of their power. Their witness reveals that their power is essentially qualified by its truthful nature and its struggle to bring salvation and justice to all. The episode of the witnesses reveals that power in Revelation has a deeply moral nature.

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4.1.  Power and Truth The extraordinary power of the witnesses has a unique character, especially by portraying them as prophets who act in the name of God (see further below). Their identity is to be found in their prophetic action and function. Their power lies in the special nature of their prophecy: it claims to testify to the truth, implying that their witness is reliable and trustworthy. That the author of Revelation uses the term “witnesses” is in itself noteworthy, as is the manner in which he does so.15 Researchers have drawn attention to the significance of this word as a central theme in the book (Roloff 1987, 2916). The term is found in Rev 1:2, where John writes that he witnessed the word of God and the witness of Jesus Christ. In Rev 1:5 the witness of Jesus Christ is further qualified by his remarks that Jesus is the “faithful” witness (ὁ μάρτυς ὁ πιστός). This attention to witnessing forms the framework within which the readers will take note of Rev 11: they will remember that John’s witness and the two witnesses are linked with the divine word; with Christ and with Jesus as the faithful witness. Their witness claims special power and authority – it finds its roots in divine power. This authoritative, divine nature of witness is further clarified in Rev 11 where the author emphatically repeats the fact that there are two witnesses: the author mentions the phrase twice, τοῖς δυσὶν μάρτυσίν μου (Rev 11:3 and 7). Rev 11:4 underlines this number by describing them as αἱ δύο ἐλαῖαι καὶ αἱ δύο λυχνίαι αἱ ἐνώπιον τοῦ κυρίου τῆς γῆς ἑστῶτες. An intertextual analysis confirms the emphasis on the number, since the archetext for the image of the two lampstands is Zech 4:1–14, where only one lampstand with two olive trees is mentioned. In Rev 11:10 the two witnesses are numbered as two prophets (οὗτοι οἱ δύο προφῆται). Two is a striking number, given that in other places in the book, large numbers are used to portray the faith community. They are 144.000 (Rev 7:1–9) or a large multitude (Rev 7:9–17). It is therefore striking that only two witnesses are mentioned to describe the faith community. See Rev 1:2, 9; 6:9; 12:7, 11, 17; 17:6; 19:10 (twice) and 20:4. Much work has been done on the relationship of witness terminology in Revelation with the concept of martyrdom. See Trites (1973, 72–80). The intricacies of the debate cannot be spelled out here, but I agree with Mazzaferri (1988, 114–22) that the term is used predominantly in a prophetic manner. 16 Roloff (1987, 29), like many others, describes it as a judicial term, adding that it points towards the truth of the witness. Beale (1999, 202) places the word group in the context of a court of law. 15



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According to Jewish custom the reliability and trustworthiness of a testimony is confirmed when two witnesses attest to it (see e.g. Num 35:50; Deut 17:16; 19:15, but also Matt 18:16; John 8:17 and Heb 10:28).17 The number two with its judicial connotations is an indication of truth­ fulness and reliability.18 This explains why the author elsewhere describes his book as the word of God and the testimony of Jesus (Rev 1:2, 9; 20:4) and also emphasizes its truthfulness (Rev 21:5: οὖτοι οἱ λόγοι πιστοὶ καὶ ἀληθινοί εἰσιν) and 22:18–19).19 This truthfulness is further confirmed by the fact that the opponents are portrayed as false prophets (Jezebel in Rev 2 and the beast in Rev 16:13; 19:20; 20:10) who are “deceivers” of the faithful (Rev 12:9; 13:15; 19:20). They do not speak the truth. This negative characterization of “false” opponents underlines the reliable nature of the witnesses as true prophets. The power of the two witnesses is, therefore, to be found in the truth that they proclaim and not in their persons, lives or example. Their position is powerful because of its inherent spiritual nature: their witness is reliable and true. Their witness can, furthermore, be accepted or rejected, since its nature is to convince and to appeal, rather than being imposed in an authoritarian manner because of their position. Their testimony contrasts with the destructive power of their opponents who eliminate those who do not agree with them (Rev 13:5). The truth of their witness is ultimately underscored by its focus on peace, pointing in a life-creating way to the presence of God in a paradisiacal setting (Rev 21–22). John ends his vision of the New Jerusalem in which God is directly present with the new people of God and in which everything is made new, with the words: “Write these words down, because they are reliable and true” (Rev 21:5). This remark is repeated in Rev 22:6 after a more detailed description of the new Jerusalem and after several remarks that this city will be free of all contamination, impurity and falseness (Rev 21:27 22:3). These are words about the new Truth is a key motif in Revelation. The divine figures are described as true in descriptions of them, but also the words of the book are said to be true. Truth is linked with other words (Rev 3:7: with “holy”); 3:14: (with “reliable”); 6:10 and 19:11; 21:6; 22:6; 15:3 (with “just”). 18 The expectation of a priestly and royal Messiah is found in a number of Jewish texts. In Luke 9:33 these two figures are linked with Moses and Elijah (e.g. Aune 1998, 602). Although some commentators regard the number two as a reflection of this general Jewish-Christian expectation of two eschatological figures, the witnesses in Rev 11 do not act as individuals and should not be interpreted literally. 19 John uses the first and last of his seven macarisms to describe the significance of his work (Rev 1:3 and 22:7). 17

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Jerusalem which contrasts to the old Jerusalem, the “city” of the “enemies” of the witnesses (Rev 11:5 and 12), which is described as evil in a triple manner: their city is like Sodom, Egypt and the city where Christ was crucified (Rev 11:8). The new dispensation appears after the evil characters who misled and deceived the nations with their false prophecies will have been removed (Rev 20:10–11). The witness of the two prophets thus finds it power in the peace that it reveals. 4.2.  Prophetic Confrontation The power of the two witnesses is further qualified as fearless in its confrontation with evil. The power is illuminated by the fact that they are described as two “prophets” who are being instructed by God to prophesy against their dangerous, powerful enemies for 42 months (Rev 11:3 καὶ δώσω20… καὶ προφητεύσουσιν). The prophetic motif is mentioned several times in Rev 11. They are called two prophets in Rev 11:10, they prophesy for 1,260 days (Rev 11:3) and no rain falls in the days of their prophecy (Rev 11:6). John also uses prophetic traditions to depict the witnesses as two olive trees and lampstands. There are several other references to prophets and prophecy in the book. Revelation describes itself as a prophecy (Rev 1:3; 22:7, 10) and mention is made of prophets (Rev 22:9). In Rev 16:5–6 judgment of God is announced against those who shed the blood of the holy ones and the prophets.21 Prophets of all times were killed because they fearlessly witnessed against evil, as John mentioned elsewhere (Rev 17:6; see further 18:24; also 6:9–11; see Jer 51:49). The motif of prophecy accords special status and power to the two witnesses, given the role of prophets in the history of Israel, Judaism and Early Christianity. Like the prophets of old, they have been called by God and act in the name of God to challenge the powers of evil. The nature of these prophets is evident from the fact that they, like prophets in Hebrew Scriptures, are not merely predicting the future, but analyzing and diagnosing a situation in the present in which the faith community finds itself. In an open confrontation, they reveal the real motivations and the true character of God’s opponents. Their prophecy relates to the great judgment over all evil actions of the unrepentant (Rev 20:12). Dalrymple (2011, 20) correctly draws attention to the emphasis on divine issuance in Rev 11:3. 21 Beckwith (1922, 596) noted succinctly that the author of Revelation emphasized “the authority that both the law and the prophets will give to the message of the witnesses whose office it will be to call Israel to repentance in the last times.” 20



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No misunderstanding is possible: John carefully lists the vices for which people will be held accountable (Rev 21:8 and 22:15). It is an analytic approach in which the present conduct of people is under fearless prophetic scrutiny and challenge. The witness is expressed in and through words, but it is also embodied visually so that it cannot be overlooked or ignored. The two prophets are dressed in sackcloth (Rev 11:3) embodying their grief about the unrepentant attitude of their enemies and prophetically announcing judgement on those who worship the beast’s image (Rev 14:9–11). They call for them to turn from their idolatry to worship God, as is also spelled out in Rev 14:7 where the first angel, proclaiming the gospel (Rev 14:6; εὐαγγέλιον αἰώνιον εὐαγγελίσαι), appeals to the nations to fear God and give God glory in the hour of judgement (φοβήθητε τὸν θεὸν καὶ δότε αὐτῶ δόξαν). All this indicates the prophetic actions of the witnesses. The intensity of the response is described in Rev 11:10: they are said to have “tormented” the inhabitants of the earth (ἐβασάνισαν22) to such an extent that the inhabitants are greatly relieved when the two are killed. This great relief is delineated as an exuberant response through the use of three different verbs that indicate their joy and celebration (Rev 11:10; οἱ κατοικοῦντες ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς χαίρουσιν ἐπ᾽ αὐτοῖς καὶ εὐφραίνονται, καὶ δῶρα πέμψουσιν ἀλλήλοις). The very intensity indicates the severity of the torment that the nations had experienced.23 The prophecy of the witnesses is openly confrontational. Exegetes interpret the torment as the result of the prophetic confrontation in a symbolic manner. Rowland (1993, 100), for example, comments about this when he links the “torment” with the eschatological judgment.24 Their [the prophets] actions torment humanity in the way that the plagues of the eschatological judgment do (see 16.10f.). The life of the prophets is not one of niceness and respectability, therefore. They are expected to torment. But that feeling of torment is one that is felt by those who Commentaries pay little or only casual attention to this phrase. It is left undiscussed, e.g., in Beckwith (1922, 602–03), Sickenberger (1942), Lohmeyer (1953), Caird (1966, 138), Beasley-Murray (1974, 186), Müller (1995, 215) and Knight (1999, 87). Gießen (1997, 256), e.g., briefly links the torment with the plagues in Rev 3–7a. See also the cryptic remarks in Beale (1999, 596). 23 Torment is otherwise an important motif in Revelation. The persecutors of the faith community will be tormented severely in the end times (Rev 14:10–11, 18:4–8 en 20:10). The enemies of God are, therefore, tormented in their earthly existence, just as they will be tormented in future. 24 See the remarks of Rowland (1993, 101) who points to the ironic tone of this passage. The inhabitants wrongly think that the death of the witnesses represents the end of their torment. He refers to contemporary examples of such abuse of the dignity of the enemy. 22

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cannot cope with God’s justice and prefer not to acknowledge it. It is the torment of the prick of conscience and the dim realization that what is normally seen as acceptable may not in fact be so. Rowland’s comments confirm the powerful nature of the witnesses’ testimony and shows his sensitivity to accord a moral character to it. For him, “torment” is about appealing to conscience to reconsider unjust behaviour. It goes almost without saying that the city must have been under heavy pressure of conscience. The word “torment” is, however, surrounded by a configuration of words and thoughts that suggests that the prophecy was about more than a mere “prick of conscience.” It is on this point that the dark side of this episode needs attention: the configuration exacerbates the use of torment, because it contains violent and abusive language that contaminates it and does not seem to be moral. It contains words that threaten to destroy and even kill those who oppose the witnesses (Rev 11:5). Nightmarish threats of drought, water turned to blood and many plagues are used to imprint on the readers’ imagination the severity of the prophetic actions that the witnesses could execute. Once again Revelation seems to threaten excessively. Some researchers note that there are some indications of restraint in the use of this language in so far as the prophets’ destructive actions are given a conditional character: for example, the description arguably seems to mention that the changing of water into blood, which recalls the plagues in Egypt, could indicate that stereotyped non-literal language is being used.25 The history of reception seems to confirm this symbolic interpretation when it reveals that the motif of fire from the mouth has often been understood in a non-literal manner. This happens in 4 Ezra 13:10, a text that, like Revelation, stems from the end of the first century, which describes the Messiah as breathing “as it were a stream of fire, and from his lips a flaming breath, and from his tongue he sends a storm of sparks.” A few verses onwards (4 Ezra 13:37–38), the author underlines his figurative use of the images by interpreting them in an allegorical manner. According to him, the flames, for example, indicate that the Messiah will reprove the nations for their ungodliness, reproaching them to their face for their evil thoughts and threatening them with There are intertextual links with Jer 5:14 as archetext that reports a divine word that “I will make my words in your mouth a fire and these people the wood it consumes” (see Aune 1998, 613) and with the prophetic description of Elijah who had the power to destroy through fire and to hold back the rain in order to bring people to repentance (1 Kgs 17:1; 2 Kgs 1:10; Luke 4:25).

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the torments with which they are to be tortured.26 A support for this reading is that such figurative readings were also pursued in later commentaries on Rev 11. Victorinus (4th century), for example, notes in his comments on Rev 11:5 that the fire represents the power of the word.27 All these examples seem to indicate that the author could have been using the language symbolically. These interpretations, however, offer little comfort, given the extreme, threatening and retaliatory language with which this symbolism is communicated. Though one can try to redeem the language of Rev 11 in this way, one remains confronted with an uncomfortable feeling that such language can be risky when it is understood literally by some who will then resort to violence in their own later contexts. On the other hand, other readers are inspired by the strong language in Revelation against its evil opponents. These readers then speak about the deep consolation that they experienced from their reading of Revelation because it reminds them that the most evil of evil states face divine judgement (Boesak 1987). They argue that the author of Revelation took up such a confrontational position because of the extreme nature and actions of his evil opponents.28 It is because of the absolute nature of evil they experience, that such absolute language is used. They argue that demagogues and dictators only understand such stern, harsh language. These positions are not as irreconcilable as may be thought. Those who do not like Revelation’s harsh language, are sensitive because it may provoke violence, often in the name of Scripture and faith. Those who do embrace its violent language, do so because it warns perpetrators of violence to stop being violent. Both positions have a prophetic quality in the sense that they powerfully and fearlessly reject any attack on or compromise of human dignity through violent language and acts. In both these cases, the interpretation of the text is decisively determined by the context of the interpreter. One and the same text is read differently, though it ultimately yields a similar meaning. The text that is fused into the horizon of a reader from an open society, is deconstructed and criticised because of its abusive nature, whilst a reader from an abusive Aune (1998, 614) notes, “The power of the word of God is expressed in a variety of other ways also, such as the rain that causes seed to germinate (Isa 55:11) and other metaphors (Isa 9:8;11:4).” 27 See his Potestatem verbi dicit; Comm.in Apoc.11.2 and the parallels in 2 Enoch 1:5 en 3 Enoch 19:25; 22:4. Also Lactantius (4th century), Div.Inst. 7.17.2. 28 See De Villiers (2013, 245–73) for other examples and for more information about this perspective. 26

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context will embrace and celebrate the very same text as a judgment on the power that kills and exploits. Both, however, react against power that destroys and coerces. 5.  The Powerful and Empowering Presence of the Divine The understanding of power in Revelation is not only linked with the prophetic identity of the faith community and their confrontational witness. On an even deeper level, power is decisively related to their relationship with God as the One from whom power flows. This insight illuminates the origins and the nature of power. Power in Revelation is consistently portrayed as a characteristic of God and as a divine gift to humanity. This is confirmed by the corollary of this insight: all characters, including the evil ones, are “allowed” to exercise power (e.g. Rev 6:4; 13:5, 7). They only have power insofar as it is given to them by God. On an even deeper level, power is given a profound meaning when the text portrays God as the One who is powerful by God’s very nature. In Rev 11 this is made clear in several ways. Subtly, but distinctively, the two witnesses are described as “my’’ witnesses in Rev 11:3 (τοῖς δυσὶν μάρτυσίν μου) to whom it is given (δώσω) to prophesy. Their witness is powerful because they receive divine power. It is not a power that lies in them as individuals or is inherent in their virtuous or strong personalities or status. Revelation leaves no doubt about the divine nature of power: God is ὁ παντοκράτωρ (Rev 1:5). The derived character of power29 is ultimately underlined by its relational nature: power is given in so far as one belongs to and follows God. All this is explained in greater depth by the fact that God gives power through the Spirit. This allocates a special spiritual quality to good power. This is clear from the “my” in the phrase “my witnesses.” The “my” cannot refer to God or Christ, because the passage speaks of God and Christ in the third person (Rev 11:8, 11, 12).30 In Revelation it is the Spirit who inspires and empowers prophets to witness (see Giblin 1991, Gräbe (2008, 21) notes that δύναμις is “essentially a pneumatological category” in the main Pauline letters. This is to be understood in the context of Old Testament passages that discuss the Spirit of God (Gräbe 2008, 21–26) 30 Cf., however, Roloff (1987, 132) who ascribes the words to God, adding rather lamely that God himself seeks out witnesses. And yet, in his commentary on verses 5–6 he notes that the witnesses are commissioned by God and endowed with the Spirit. More importantly he notes that the lampstand is an allusion to the gift of the Spirit, given that the seven spirits of God are symbolized by the seven-armed lampstand (4:5; 5:6). 29



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113 and also Bauckham 1993, 165).31 The empowering role of the divine Spirit is illustrated by its revelatory role in Revelation. The Spirit empowers the faith community through prophecy as the revelation of God’s will. The author noted in the first verses that John was “in the spirit” when he received his prophecy (Rev 1:10), and each of the seven letters concludes with a call to listen what “the Spirit” says to them (Rev 2:7, 11, 17, 29; 3:6, 13, 22; 14:13; 22:17; see Giblin 1991, 113). Later on, the Spirit will speak also with the readers of the book (Rev 22:17). The two witnesses bring their prophecy to the city as representatives of, in obedience to, and inspired by the Spirit. The powerful, even mystical, role of the divine Spirit in the community is further illuminated when the two witnesses are described as “standing before the Lord of the earth” (Rev 11:4). They are witnessing to the city, but they are also in the presence of God (who is in heaven). This standing is a significant remark, indicating that they are present before the throne, thus sharing in the sphere of the divine power. This also allocates a spiritual quality to their power: They are in the space where the seven spirits are (Rev 1:4).32 The author conceptualizes the presence of God concretely in the witnesses in Rev 11:11 which states that God “breathed” life back into the two witnesses after they were killed (πνεῦμα ζωῆς ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ εἰσῆλθεν ἐν αὐτοῖς) and a great voice calls them to heaven (Rev 11:12). The Spirit as divine power re-enters them: it is present and works in them in the complete transformation of their hopeless situation. All of this indicates how John perceives of the witnesses as being in the presence of God the Spirit. “The proximity to the Lord also emphasizes the witnesses’ direct divine inspiration and commission. Though they live in a world of danger, they are never far from their Lord’s sovereign presence. Nothing can separate them from their secure relationship with him” (Beale 1999, 576). If they have power, it is because they receive power from God and because they share in the powerful presence of God. The intertextual link of the witnesses as the two lampstands and two olive trees in Revelation 11:4 indirectly confirms this: in Zech 4:14, the two olive trees supply oil. In Revelation this symbolizes the Holy Spirit. This is further illuminated by Zecha­riah 4:5–6 where the explanation of the lampstand is followed by the remark about the divine word, “not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit”. 32 Aune (1998:613). The phrase alludes to Zech 4:14 and its reference to the eschatological witnesses. See Rev 4:5, 10; 7:15; 22:12 for the standing before the throne. In Rev 8:2 the seven angels stand with their seven trumpets before God. In Rev 8:4 the “before God” is repeated. Rev 7:9 is the only other verse with a reference to someone standing before the throne. 31

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John’s perspective on power reiterates that power cannot be located in earthly institutions, communities and individuals. It indicates that creation and humanity are dependent on God for exercising power, and are, therefore, unable to claim it for themselves or to use it to promote their own interests. This implies, furthermore, that power is characterized by its link to the greater good of creation and humanity, since it is intertwined with the gospel that seeks to restore life and goodness and since it is linked to a relationship with God that seeks the well-being of creation. Power originates in and, therefore, also belongs to God. Those who exercise power must use it with caution, remembering that it does not belong to them. They find power in a relationship with God, without which power becomes demonic and destructive. 6.  Restraining and Non-Coercive Power Finally, another moral question needs to be asked. As was noted briefly in some comments above, the powerful witness of the prophets can be seen as threatening others to accept their point of view and as coercive, even bordering on the abusive (Moyise 2001, 187).33 Such threats leave the opponents, even within the faith community, with little choice but to accept the author’s view of the gospel. Dissenters are vilified by depicting them in terms of the worst possible examples of evil opposition to God. To describe opponents of the gospel in terms of Jezebel, Sodom, Gomorrah or the murderers of the Lord represents violent language that has dangerous potential. Such descriptions would tend to inspire readers of Revelation to eliminate opponents as hopeless cases of evil. Though the text of Revelation is often ambiguous and open to such readings, there is another perspective that needs attention. Power in Revelation is illuminated by its contrast to evil power. An analysis of the witnesses’ power reveals that it seeks to restrain evil, as is clear from the composition of Rev 11:4–6, which describes the two witnesses. The passage forms a neat ring composition with four references to power (ABB’A’). The four form two parallel parts (A/A’ and B/B’). The frame of the unit (A and A’) introduces the two witnesses by describing their appearance and identity. Both A and A’ begin with the Greek word οὗτοί and both refer, strikingly, to the earth, indicating that the two are parallels. The second parallel part (B and B’) forms the middle part of the ring See Carey (1999) for a discussion of John’s vindictive attitude towards those who would not side with him and his views.

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composition, also indicated by the same phrase with which they begin (καὶ εἴ τις αὐτοὺς θέλει ἀδικῆσαι) and which refers to possible opposition to their ministry. This analysis produces the following pattern: A 4οὗτοί εἰσιν αἱ δύο ἐλαῖαι καὶ αἱ δύο λυχνίαι αἱ ἐνώπιον τοῦ κυρίου τῆς γῆς34 ἑστῶτες. B 5καὶ εἴ τις αὐτοὺς θέλει ἀδικῆσαι, πῦρ ἐκπορεύεται ἐκ τοῦ στόματος αὐτῶν καὶ κατεσθίει τοὺς ἐχθροὺς αὐτῶν B’ καὶ εἴ τις θελήσῃ αὐτοὺς ἀδικῆσαι, οὕτως δεῖ αὐτὸν ἀποκτανθῆναι. A’ 6οὗτοι ἔχουσιν τὴν ἐξουσίαν κλεῖσαι τὸν οὐρανόν, ἵνα μὴ ὑετὸς βρέχῃ τὰς ἡμέρας τῆς προφητείας αὐτῶν καὶ ἐξουσίαν ἔχουσιν ἐπὶ τῶν ὑδάτων στρέφειν αὐτὰ εἰς αἷμα καὶ πατάξαι τὴν γῆν ἐν πάσῃ πληγῇ ὁσάκις ἐὰν θελήσωσιν.

There is, however, a striking development in the ring composition. It develops climactically towards its extensive, final element (A’) which contains two parts that both refer to the impressive power of the witnesses over the heaven and the waters (on the earth). The Greek phrase ἔχουσιν τὴν ἐξουσίαν (verse 6) is foregrounded by being placed in the initial position in the last sentence of the ring composition twice. By repeating their power over the two domains of heaven and earth, and foregrounding the phrase in the initial position in both parts, their power is emphasized in A’. The two witnesses have extraordinary power as prophets who stand in the presence of God (A). At the same time their power is linked with evil’s antipathy to, and murderous attacks on, them in B and B’. There is, therefore, a complex, but clear, coherent pattern to be seen. They reveal their power against those who may want to harm them (B/B’). This reveals a key dimension of their power: they have power over the inhabitants of the world, but use the power to ward off potential harmful attacks (ἀδικῆσαι) on them. Their power is given to them to respond against evil whilst they witness to the city. Their power may be described in extreme language, but it is, in the final analysis, not arbitrary (Rev 16:6; 21:8; 22:15).35 Their power is restricted in nature. It is said explicitly that their power to stop rain is given for the duration of their prophecy. They are restrained to use their power in service of their witness (Rev 11:6; τὰς ἡμέρας τῆς προφητείας αὐτῶν). The reference to earth is significant. It is the only time in Rev that this description of the Lord of the earth is found. There are several references to the kings of the earth. 35 See also Rev 2:11; 6:6; 7:2, 3; 9:4; 9:5; 18:5 (!); 22:11. 34

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The limited nature of their power is also illuminated by their deaths (Rev 11:8). Ultimately evil has the opportunity to reject their witness completely. The restraining, limited nature of the witnesses’ power stands in contrast to the power of evil which is arbitrary and driven by hatefilled opposition to God. Their selfless witness to the city contrasts with evil’s self-occupation (Rev 18:7) and self-glorification (Rev 16:6; 21:8; 22:15). This restriction on the power of the witnesses points to its moral nature. They are willing to give up their lives to witness on God’s behalf. In this they reflect the example of Christ.36 They are killed in the city where the Lord was crucified (Rev 11:8) and, like Christ, they are resurrected after lying on the street of the city for three and a half days (Rev 11: 11) after which they ascend to heaven on a cloud (Rev 11:12). They form part of the martyrs who washed their robes white in the blood of the Lamb (Rev 7:14). They are slaughtered like the Lamb (Rev 5:6, 9; see also Chevalier 1997, 322). In the words of Rev 12:11 they conquer through the blood of the Lamb and the word of their witness. They did not love their lives to shrink from death. Their power is ultimately founded in the life and love of Christ who is the faithful witness, the firstborn from the dead and the ruler of the kings of the earth (Rev 1:5–6; see Rev 5:13). The power of the witnesses is, therefore, Christ-like in nature. Their power is the same as the spiritual, loving power of Christ.37 Revelation thus portrays Christ as the witness par excellence who inspires the faith community to witness as he did and does. The witness has the clear aim of bringing the nations to worship God – as is illustrated in the description of those “survivors” of the earthquake who repent and give glory to God (Rev 11:13). Giblin (1991, 116) drew attention to the rest-motif that the author takes over from his traditions (Isa 6:13; Amos 5:3; 1 Kgs 19:8; cf. Rom 11:4–5). He writes (1991, 116), This passage serves as a vivid, perhaps needed corrective to the pessimistic results of the first woe, in which the rest of mankind was not shocked into repentance, but despaired of life, and to the hellish host introduced by the sixth trumpet, where, expressly, the two-thirds remained unconverted. Likewise, it prepares for further disclosures which imperatively The Christological nature of the book is also evident in the way that the episode of the two witnesses is moulded on the life of Christ. A key characteristic of Revelation is its Christological character. Important images like the Son of Man, the Son of God, the Lamb, the Lion of Judah and the Rider on the white horse are indications of the central role of Christ in the book. 37 See De Villiers (2009) for the important place of love in Revelation. For the analogy between the witnesses and Christ, see Tavo (2007, 210–11). 36



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announce the possibilities of a positive response to the Gospel up to the very moment of the final judgment on obdurate wrongdoers. It reaffirms, to be sure, God’s vindication of the right way of thinking and acting and his punitive power though not all as hate-inspired or without a persistent appeal for conversion as well as for fidelity.

Other than the multitudes who serve evil, the faith community is a small group who represent the remnant-motif in Hebrew Scriptures. They do not conquer through brute force or through their vast numbers, but through the power of their presence among the nations and through direct confrontation with evil. 7. Conclusion Revelation portrays two kinds of power: there is arbitrary, abusive power that threatens individuals, society and creation. The author rejects such power, claiming that it represents the transgression of the Law, the destruction of creation and the dehumanizing of society (Rev 16:6; 21:8; 22:15). John calls on his readers to confront this form of evil power fearlessly. On the other hand, he emphasizes how real power is at work in the witness of the faith community to restrain and limit the destructive influence of evil. It is ultimately God who creates the opportunity and space for human agency in the struggle against evil. Through the witness of the community, God thus sets boundaries and restrictions that counter the abusive power at work in creation and societies. Revelation points towards an ethical life and human agency through which readers can challenge dominant centres of power, based on their relationship with God. Power that has become controlling, exploitative, abusive and dehumanizing must be replaced by power with a spiritual character and purpose, which is moulded in the image of Christ and which is embraced by those who understand its truth, commit to it and are willing to sacrifice everything for it. Ultimately, and on the deepest level, readers of Revelation are called to find authentic power in the presence of God, who lovingly, but powerfully upholds an intimate relationship with creation and humanity to overcome the evil abuse of power and to persevere with the prophetic task of reminding creation of its true condition. Bibliography Aune, D. 1998. Revelation 6–16. Word Biblical Commentary 52. Dallas, TX: Word. Barr, D. 2003. Reading the Book of Revelation: A Resource for Students. Atlanta, GA: SBL.

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—. 2009. “Toward an Ethical Reading of the Apocalypse: Reflections on John’s Use of Power, Violence and Misogyny.” SBLSP, 358–73. Bauckham, R.J. 1993. The Climax of Prophecy: Studies on the Book of Revelation. Edinburgh: Clark. Beale, G.K. 1999. The Book of Revelation: A Commentary on the Greek Text. NIGCT. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Beasley-Murray, G.R. 1974. Revelation. The New Century Bible Commentary. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Beckwith, I.T. 1922. The Apocalypse of John. New York, NY: MacMillan. Boesak, A.A. 1987. Comfort and Protest. Reflections on the Apocalypse of John on Patmos. Philadelphia, PA: The Westminster Press. Caird, G.B. 1966. The Revelation of St John the Divine. Black’s New Testament Commentaries. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Carey, G. 2001. “The Apocalypse and its Ambiguous Ethos.” Pages 163–80 in Studies in the Book of Revelation. Edited by S. Moyise. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Chevalier, J.M. 1997. A Postmodern Revelation. Signs of Astrology and the Apocalypse. Toronto: UTP. Collins, A.Y. 1983. “Persecution and Vengeance in the Book of Revelation.” Pages 729–48 in Apocalypticism in the Mediterranean World and the Near East. Edited by D. Hellholm. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Dalrymple, R. 2011. Revelation and the Two Witnesses. The Implications for Understanding John’s Depiction of the People of God and His Hortatory Intent. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock. De Villiers, P.G.R. 2007. “Divine and Human Love in the Revelation of John.” Acta Patristica et Byzantina 18:43−59. —. 2012. “Die Kerk En Sy Mag in Openbaring 11.” HTS Teologiese Studies / Theological Studies 68:10 pages. http://dx.doi.org/10.4102/hts.v68i1.1176. —. 2013. “Hermeneutical Reflections on Violence in the New Testament.” Pages 245–73 in Coping with Violence in the New Testament. Edited by P.G.R. de Villiers and J.W. van Henten. Leiden: Brill. —. 2015. “The Violence of Non-Violence in the Revelation of John.” Open Theology 1:189-203. Foucault, M. 1977. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Trans. A. Sheridan. Middlesex: Penguin. Giblin, C.H. 1991. The Book of Revelation: The Book of Prophecy. Good News Studies 34. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical. Giesen, Heinz. 1997. Die Offenbarung des Johannes. Regensburger Neues Testament. Regensburg: Pustet. Gräbe, P.J. 2008. The Power of God in Paul’s Letters. WUNT 2.123. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Habermas, J. 1994. “The Critique of Reason as an Unmasking of the Human Sciences: Michel Foucault.” In Critique and Power: Recasting the Foucault/ Habermas Debate. Edited by M. Kelly. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press Johns, L. 2003. The Lamb Christology of the Apocalypse of John: An Investigation into Its Origins and Rhetorical Force. WUNT 2.167. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Kelly, M. (ed.). 1994. Critique and Power: Recasting the Foucault/Habermas Debate. Studies in German Social Thought. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.



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Kensky, M.Z. 2010. Trying Man, Trying God: The Divine Courtroom in Early Jewish and Christian Literature. WUNT 2.289. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Kiddle, M. 1946. The Revelation of St. John. London: Hodder & Stoughton. Knight, J. 1999. Revelation. Readings. A New Biblical Commentary. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Lohmeyer, E. 1953. Die Offenbarung des Johannes. HNT 16. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Mazzaferri, F.D. 1988. “Martyria Iēsou Revisited.” BT 39:114–22. Moyise, S. (ed). 2001. Studies in the Book of Revelation. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. —. 2001. “Does the Lion Lie down with the Lamb?” Pages 181–94 in Studies in the Book of Revelation. Edited by S. Moyise. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Müller, U.B. 1995. Offenbarung. Wien: Herder. Prigent, P. 2001. Commentary on the Apocalypse of St. John. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Pippin, T. 2005. “The Heroine and the Whore: The Apocalypse of John in Feminist Perspective.” Pages 127-145 in From Every People and Nation: The Book of Revelation in Intercultural Perspective. Edited by David Rhoads. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Roloff, J. 1987. Die Offenbarung des Johannes. Zürcher Bibelkommentare 18. Zürich: Theologischer Verlag. Rorty. R. 1986. “Foucault and Epistemology.” Pages 41–9 in Foucault: A Critical Reader. Edited by D.C. Hoy and M. Foucault. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Schüssler Fiorenza, E. 1993. Revelation. Vision of a Just World. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Sickenberger, J. 1942. Erklärung der Johannesapokalypse. Bonn: Peter Hanstein. Søvik, A.O. 2011. The Problem of Evil and the Power of God. Studies in Systematic Theology 8. Leiden: Brill. Rowland, C. 1993. Revelation. Epworth Commentaries. London: Westminster. Tavo, F. 2007. Woman, Mother and Bride. An Exegetical Investigation into the “Ecclesial” Notions of the Apocalypse. Biblical Tools and Studies 3. Leuven: Peeters. Trites, A.A. 1973. “Μάρτυς and Martyrdom in the Apocalypse: A Semantic Study.” Novum Testamentum 15:72–80. Van den Brink, G. 1993. Almighty God: A Study of the Doctrine of Divine Omnipotence. Studies in Philosophical Theology. Kampen: Pharos. Wink, W. 1984. Naming the Powers. The Language of Power in the New Testament. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press. —. 1986. Unmasking the Powers: The Invisible Forces That Determine Human Existence. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress. —. 1992. Engaging the Powers: Discernment and Resistance in a World of Domination. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress.

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