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Title: The Origin of Paul's Religion

Author: J. Gresham Machen

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  THE ORIGIN OF
  PAUL'S RELIGION

  THE JAMES SPRUNT LECTURES
  DELIVERED AT UNION THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY
  IN VIRGINIA

  BY

  J. GRESHAM MACHEN, D.D.

  _Assistant Professor of New Testament Literature and
  Exegesis in Princeton Theological Seminary_

  New York
  THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
  1921

  _All rights reserved_




  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  Copyright, 1921,
  BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

  Set up and printed. Published October, 1921.

  Press of
  J. J. Little & Ives Company
  New York, U. S. A.




  TO
  WILLIAM PARK ARMSTRONG

  MY GUIDE
  IN THE STUDY OF THE NEW TESTAMENT
  AND IN ALL GOOD THINGS




THE JAMES SPRUNT LECTURES


In 1911 Mr. James Sprunt of Wilmington, North Carolina, gave to
The Trustees of Union Theological Seminary in Virginia the sum
of thirty thousand dollars, since increased by his generosity to
fifty thousand dollars, for the purpose of establishing a perpetual
lectureship, which would enable the institution to secure from time
to time the services of distinguished ministers and authoritative
scholars, outside the regular Faculty, as special lecturers on
subjects connected with various departments of Christian thought
and Christian work. The lecturers are chosen by the Faculty of the
Seminary and a committee of the Board of Trustees, and the lectures
are published after their delivery in accordance with a contract
between the lecturer and these representatives of the institution.
The ninth series of lectures on this foundation is presented in this
volume.

W. W. MOORE, _President_.




TABLE OF CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                           PAGE

  I. INTRODUCTION                                      3

  II. THE EARLY YEARS                                 43

  III. THE TRIUMPH OF GENTILE FREEDOM                 71

  IV. PAUL AND JESUS                                 117

  V. THE JEWISH ENVIRONMENT                          173

  VI. THE RELIGION OF THE HELLENISTIC AGE            211

  VII. REDEMPTION IN PAGAN RELIGION AND IN PAUL      255

  VIII. THE LORDSHIP OF JESUS                        293

  INDEX                                              319




CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTION




THE ORIGIN OF PAUL'S RELIGION




CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTION


The following discussion is intended to deal, from one particular
point of view, with the problem of the origin of Christianity. That
problem is an important historical problem, and also an important
practical problem. It is an important historical problem not
only because of the large place which Christianity has occupied
in the medieval and modern world, but also because of certain
unique features which even the most unsympathetic and superficial
examination must detect in the beginnings of the Christian movement.
The problem of the origin of Christianity is also an important
practical problem. Rightly or wrongly, Christian experience has
ordinarily been connected with one particular view of the origin
of the Christian movement; where that view has been abandoned, the
experience has ceased.

This dependence of Christianity upon a particular conception of
its origin and of its Founder is now indeed being made the object
of vigorous attack. There are many who maintain that Christianity
is the same no matter what its origin was, and that therefore
the problem of origin should be kept entirely separate from the
present religious interests of the Church. Obviously, however, this
indifference to the question as to what the origin of Christianity
was depends upon a particular conception of what Christianity now
is; it depends upon the conception which makes of Christianity
simply a manner of life. That conception is indeed widespread,
but it is by no means universal; there are still hosts of earnest
Christians who regard Christianity, not simply as a manner of life,
but as a manner of life founded upon a message--upon a message with
regard to the Founder of the Christian movement. For such persons
the question of the origin of Christianity is rather to be called
the question of the truth of Christianity, and that question is to
them the most important practical question of their lives. Even if
these persons are wrong, the refutation of their supposed error
naturally proceeds, and has in recent years almost always proceeded,
primarily by means of that very discussion of the origin of the
Christian movement which is finally to be shorn of its practical
interest. The most important practical question for the modern
Church is still the question how Christianity came into being.

In recent years it has become customary to base discussions of
the origin of Christianity upon the apostle Paul. Jesus Himself,
the author of the Christian movement, wrote nothing--at least
no writings of His have been preserved. The record of His words
and deeds is the work of others, and the date and authorship and
historical value of the documents in which that record is contained
are the subject of persistent debate. With regard to the genuineness
of the principal epistles of Paul, on the other hand, and with
regard to the value of at least part of the outline of his life
which is contained in the Book of Acts, all serious historians
are agreed. The testimony of Paul, therefore, forms a fixed
starting-point in all controversy.

Obviously that testimony has an important bearing upon the question
of the origin of Christianity. Paul was a contemporary of Jesus. He
attached himself to Jesus' disciples only a very few years after
Jesus' death; according to his own words, in one of the universally
accepted epistles, he came into early contact with the leader among
Jesus' associates; throughout his life he was deeply interested (for
one reason or another) in the affairs of the primitive Jerusalem
Church; both before his conversion and after it he must have had
abundant opportunity for acquainting himself with the facts about
Jesus' life and death. His testimony is not, however, limited to
what he says in detail about the words and deeds of the Founder of
the Christian movement. More important still is the testimony of
his experience as a whole. The religion of Paul is a fact which
stands in the full light of history. How is it to be explained? What
were its presuppositions? Upon what sort of Jesus was it founded?
These questions lead into the very heart of the historical problem.
Explain the origin of the religion of Paul, and you have solved the
problem of the origin of Christianity.

That problem may thus be approached through the gateway of the
testimony of Paul. But that is not the only way to approach it.
Another way is offered by the Gospel picture of the person of
Jesus. Quite independent of questions of date and authorship and
literary relationships of the documents, the total picture which
the Gospels present bears unmistakable marks of being the picture
of a real historical person. Internal evidence here reaches the
point of certainty. If the Jesus who in the Gospels is represented
as rebuking the Pharisees and as speaking the parables is not a
real historical person living at a definite point in the world's
history, then there is no way of distinguishing history from
fiction. Even the evidence for the genuineness of the Pauline
Epistles is no stronger than this. But if the Jesus of the Gospels
is a real person, certain puzzling questions arise. The Jesus of the
Gospels is a supernatural person; He is represented as possessing
sovereign power over the forces of nature. What shall be done with
this supernatural element in the picture? It is certainly very
difficult to separate it from the rest. Moreover the Jesus of the
Gospels is represented as advancing some lofty claims. He regarded
Himself as being destined to come with the clouds of heaven and be
the instrument in judging the world. What shall be done with this
element in His consciousness? How does it agree with the indelible
impression of calmness and sanity which has always been made by His
character? These questions again lead into the heart of the problem.
Yet they cannot be ignored. They are presented inevitably by what
every serious historian admits.

The fundamental evidence with regard to the origin of Christianity
is therefore twofold. Two facts need to be explained--the Jesus
of the Gospels and the religion of Paul. The problem of early
Christianity may be approached in either of these two ways. It
should finally be approached in both ways. And if it is approached
in both ways the investigator will discover, to his amazement, that
the two ways lead to the same result. But the present discussion is
more limited in scope. It seeks to deal merely with one of the two
ways of approach to the problem of Christianity. What was the origin
of the religion of Paul?

In discussing the apostle Paul the historian is dealing with a
subject important for its own sake, even aside from the importance
of what it presupposes about Jesus. Unquestionably Paul was a
notable man, whose influence has been felt throughout all subsequent
history. The fact itself cannot be called in question. But since
there is wide difference of opinion about details, it may be well,
in a brief preliminary word, to define a little more closely the
nature and extent of the influence of Paul.

That influence has been exerted in two ways. It was exerted, in the
first place, during the lifetime of Paul; and it has been exerted,
in the second place, upon subsequent generations through the medium
of the Pauline Epistles.

With regard to the second kind of influence, general considerations
would make a high estimate natural. The Pauline Epistles form a
large proportion of the New Testament, which has been regarded as
fundamental and authoritative in all ages of the Church. The use of
the Pauline Epistles as normative for Christian thought and practice
can be traced back to very early times, and has been continuous
ever since. Yet certain considerations have been urged on the other
side as indicating that the influence of Paul has not been so great
as might have been expected. For example, the Christianity of the
Old Catholic Church at the close of the second century displays a
strange lack of understanding for the deeper elements in the Pauline
doctrine of salvation, and something of the same state of affairs
may be detected in the scanty remains of the so-called "Apostolic
Fathers" of the beginning of the century. The divergence from Paul
was not conscious; the writers of the close of the second century
all quote the Pauline Epistles with the utmost reverence. But the
fact of the divergence cannot altogether be denied.

Various explanations of this divergence have been proposed. Baur
explained the un-Pauline character of the Old Catholic Church as
due to a compromise with a legalistic Jewish Christianity; Ritschl
explained it as due to a natural process of degeneration on purely
Gentile Christian ground; Von Harnack explains it as due to the
intrusion, after the time of Paul, of Greek habits of thought.
The devout believer, on the other hand, might simply say that the
Pauline doctrine of grace was too wonderful and too divine to be
understood fully by the human mind and heart.[1]

  [1] Compare "Jesus and Paul," in _Biblical and Theological Studies_
  by Members of the Faculty of Princeton Theological Seminary, 1912,
  pp. 553 f.

Whatever the explanation, however, the fact, even after
exaggerations have been avoided, remains significant. It remains
true that the Church of the second century failed to understand
fully the Pauline doctrine of the way of salvation. The same lack
of understanding has been observable only too frequently throughout
subsequent generations. It was therefore with some plausibility that
Von Harnack advanced his dictum to the effect that Paulinism has
established itself as a ferment, but never as a foundation, in the
history of doctrine.[2]

  [2] Harnack, _Lehrbuch der Dogmengeschichte_, 4te Aufl., i, 1909, p.
  155. (English Translation, _History of Dogma_, i, 1895, p. 136.)

In the first place, however, it may be doubted whether the dictum
of Von Harnack is true; for in that line of development of theology
which runs from Augustine through the Reformation to the Reformed
Churches, Paulinism may fairly be regarded as a true foundation. But
in the second place, even if Von Harnack's dictum were true, the
importance of Paul's influence would not be destroyed. A ferment is
sometimes as important as a foundation. As Von Harnack himself says,
"the Pauline reactions mark the critical epochs of theology and of
the Church.... The history of doctrine could be written as a history
of the Pauline reactions in the Church."[3] As a matter of fact
the influence of Paul upon the entire life of the Church is simply
measureless. Who can measure the influence of the eighth chapter of
Romans?

  [3] Harnack, _loc. cit._

The influence of Paul was also exerted, however, in his own
lifetime, by his spoken words as well as by his letters. To estimate
the full extent of that influence one would have to write the entire
history of early Christianity. It may be well, however, to consider
briefly at least one outstanding aspect of that influence--an aspect
which must appeal even to the most unsympathetic observer. The
Christian movement began in the midst of a very peculiar people; in
35 A.D. it would have appeared to a superficial observer to be a
Jewish sect. Thirty years later it was plainly a world religion.
True, the number of its adherents was still small. But the really
important steps had been taken. The conquest of the world was now a
mere matter of time. This establishment of Christianity as a world
religion, to almost as great an extent as any great historical
movement can be ascribed to one man, was the work of Paul.

This assertion needs to be defended against various objections, and
at the same time freed from misinterpretations and exaggerations.

In the first place, it might be said, the Gentile mission of Paul
was really only a part of a mighty historical process--the march of
the oriental religions throughout the western world. Christianity
was not the only religion which was filling the void left by the
decay of the native religions of Greece and Rome. The Phrygian
religion of Cybele had been established officially at Rome since 204
B.C., and after leading a somewhat secluded and confined existence
for several centuries, was at the time of Paul beginning to make
its influence felt in the life of the capital. The Greco-Egyptian
religion of Isis was preparing for the triumphal march which it
began in earnest in the second century. The Persian religion of
Mithras was destined to share with Isis the possession of a large
part of the Greco-Roman world. Was not the Christianity of Paul
merely one division of a mighty army which would have conquered even
without his help?

With regard to this objection a number of things may be said. In
the first place, the apostle Paul, as over against the priests of
Isis and of Cybele, has perhaps at least the merit of priority; the
really serious attempt at world-conquest was made by those religions
(and still more clearly by the religion of Mithras) only after the
time of Paul. In the second place, the question may well be asked
whether it is at all justifiable to class the Christianity of Paul
along with those other cults under the head of Hellenized oriental
religion. This question will form the subject of a considerable
part of the discussion which follows, and it will be answered with
an emphatic negative. The Christianity of Paul will be found to
be totally different from the oriental religions. The threat of
conquest made by those religions, therefore, only places in sharper
relief the achievement of Paul, by showing the calamities from
which the world was saved by his energetic mission. If except for
the Pauline mission the world would have become devoted to Isis or
Mithras, then Paul was certainly one of the supreme benefactors of
the human race.

Even apart from any detailed investigation, however, one difference
between the religion of Paul and the oriental religions is perfectly
obvious. The oriental religions were tolerant of other faiths; the
religion of Paul, like the ancient religion of Israel, demanded an
absolutely exclusive devotion. A man could become initiated into the
mysteries of Isis or Mithras without at all giving up his former
beliefs; but if he were to be received into the Church, according
to the preaching of Paul, he must forsake all other Saviours for
the Lord Jesus Christ. The difference places the achievement of
Paul upon an entirely different plane from the successes of the
oriental mystery religions. It was one thing to offer a new faith
and a new cult as simply one additional way of obtaining contact
with the Divine, and it was another thing, and a far more difficult
thing (and in the ancient world outside of Israel an unheard-of
thing), to require a man to renounce all existing religious beliefs
and practices in order to place his whole reliance upon a single
Saviour. Amid the prevailing syncretism of the Greco-Roman world,
the religion of Paul, with the religion of Israel, stands absolutely
alone. The successes of the oriental religions, therefore, only
place in clearer light the uniqueness of the achievement of Paul.
They do indeed indicate the need and longing of the ancient world
for redemption; but that is only part of the preparation for the
coming of the gospel which has always been celebrated by devout
Christians as part of the divine economy, as one indication that
"the fullness of the time" was come. But the wide prevalence of the
need does not at all detract from the achievement of satisfying the
need. Paul's way of satisfying the need, as it is hoped the later
chapters will show, was unique; but what should now be noticed is
that the way of Paul, because of its exclusiveness, was at least far
more difficult than that of any of his rivals or successors. His
achievement was therefore immeasurably greater than theirs.

But if the successes of the oriental religions do not detract from
the achievement of Paul, what shall be said of the successes of
pre-Christian Judaism? It must always be remembered that Judaism,
in the first century, was an active missionary religion. Even
Palestinian Judaism was imbued with the missionary spirit; Jesus
said to the Pharisees that they compassed sea and land to make one
proselyte. The Judaism of the Dispersion was no doubt even more
zealous for winning adherents. The numberless synagogues scattered
throughout the cities of the Greco-Roman world were not attended,
as Jewish synagogues are attended to-day, only by Jews, but were
also filled with hosts of Gentiles, some of whom had accepted
circumcision and become full Jews, but others of whom, forming the
class called in the Book of Acts "God-fearers" or "God-worshipers,"
had accepted the monotheism of the Jews and the lofty morality of
the Old Testament without definitely uniting themselves with the
people of Israel. In addition to this propaganda in the synagogues,
an elaborate literary propaganda, of which important remnants have
been preserved, helped to carry on the missionary work. The question
therefore arises whether the preaching of Paul was anything more
than a continuation, though in any case a noteworthy continuation,
of this pre-Christian Jewish mission.

Here again, as in the case of the longing for redemption which is
attested by the successes of the oriental religions, an important
element in the preparation for the gospel must certainly be
detected. It is hard to exaggerate the service which was rendered
to the Pauline mission by the Jewish synagogue. One of the most
important problems for every missionary is the problem of gaining a
hearing. The problem may be solved in various ways. Sometimes the
missionary may hire a place of meeting and advertise; sometimes
he may talk on the street corners to passers-by. But for Paul
the problem was solved. All that he needed to do was to enter
the synagogue and exercise the privilege of speaking, which was
accorded with remarkable liberality to visiting teachers. In the
synagogue, moreover, Paul found an audience not only of Jews but
also of Gentiles; everywhere the "God-fearers" were to be found.
These Gentile attendants upon the synagogues formed not only an
audience but a picked audience; they were just the class of persons
who were most likely to be won by the gospel preaching. In their
case much of the preliminary work had been accomplished; they were
already acquainted with the doctrine of the one true God; they had
already, through the lofty ethical teaching of the Old Testament,
come to connect religion with morality in a way which is to us
matter-of-course but was very exceptional in the ancient world.
Where, as in the market-place at Athens, Paul had to begin at the
very beginning, without presupposing this previous instruction on
the part of his hearers, his task was rendered far more difficult.

Undoubtedly, in the case of many of his converts he did have to
begin in that way; the First Epistle to the Thessalonians, for
example, presupposes, perhaps, converts who turned directly from
idols to serve the living and true God. But even in such cases the
God-fearers formed a nucleus; their manifold social relationships
provided points of contact with the rest of the Gentile population.
The debt which the Christian Church owes to the Jewish synagogue is
simply measureless.

This acknowledgment, however, does not mean that the Pauline mission
was only a continuation of the pre-Christian missionary activity
of the Jews. On the contrary, the very earnestness of the effort
made by the Jews to convert their Gentile neighbors serves to
demonstrate all the more clearly the hopelessness of their task.
One thing that was fundamental in the religion of the Jews was its
exclusiveness. The people of Israel, according to the Old Testament,
was the chosen people of God; the notion of a covenant between
God and His chosen people was absolutely central in all ages of
the Jewish Church. The Old Testament did indeed clearly provide a
method by which strangers could be received into the covenant; they
could be received whenever, by becoming circumcised and undertaking
the observance of the Mosaic Law, they should relinquish their
own nationality and become part of the nation of Israel. But this
method seemed hopelessly burdensome. Even before the time of Paul
it had become evident that the Gentile world as a whole would never
submit to such terms. The terms were therefore sometimes relaxed.
Covenant privileges were offered by individual Jewish teachers to
individual Gentiles without requiring what was most offensive, like
circumcision; merit was sought by some of the Gentiles by observance
of only certain parts of the Law, such as the requirements about the
Sabbath or the provisions about food. Apparently widespread also
was the attitude of those persons who seem to have accepted what
may be called the spiritual, as distinguished from the ceremonial,
aspects of Judaism. But all such compromises were affected by a
deadly weakness. The strict requirements of the Law were set forth
plainly in the Old Testament. To cast them aside, in the interests
of missionary activity, meant a sacrifice of principle to practice;
it meant a sacrifice of the zeal and the good conscience of the
missionaries and of the true satisfaction of the converts. One of
the chief attractions of Judaism to the world of that day was the
possession of an ancient and authoritative Book; the world was
eagerly searching for authority in religion. Yet if the privileges
of the Old Testament were to be secured, the authority of the Book
had to be set aside. The character of a national religion was
therefore too indelibly stamped upon the religion of Israel; the
Gentile converts could at best only be admitted into an outer circle
around the true household of God. What pre-Christian Judaism had to
offer was therefore obviously insufficient. Perhaps the tide of the
Jewish mission had already begun to ebb before the time of Paul;
perhaps the process of the withdrawal of Judaism into its age-long
seclusion had already begun. Undoubtedly that process was hastened
by the rivalry of Christianity, which offered far more than Judaism
had offered and offered it on far more acceptable terms. But the
process sooner or later would inevitably have made itself felt.
Whether or not Renan was correct in supposing that had it not been
for Christianity the world would have been Mithraic, one thing is
certain--the world apart from Christianity would never have become
Jewish.

But was not the preaching of Paul itself one manifestation of that
liberalizing tendency among the Jews to which allusion has just been
made and of which the powerlessness has just been asserted? Was not
the attitude of Paul in remitting the requirement of circumcision,
while he retained the moral and spiritual part of the Old Testament
Law--especially if, as the Book of Acts asserts, he assented upon
occasion to the imposition of certain of the less burdensome
parts even of the ceremonial Law--very similar to the action of a
teacher like that Ananias who was willing to receive king Izates of
Adiabene without requiring him to be circumcised? These questions
in recent years have occasionally been answered in the affirmative,
especially by Kirsopp Lake.[4] But despite the plausibility of
Lake's representation he has thereby introduced a root error into
his reconstruction of the apostolic age. For whatever the teaching
of Paul was, it certainly was not "liberalism." The background of
Paul is not to be sought in liberal Judaism, but in the strictest
sect of the Pharisees. And Paul's remission of the requirement of
circumcision was similar only in form, at the most, to the action of
the Ananias who has just been mentioned. In motive and in principle
it was diametrically opposite. Gentile freedom according to Paul
was not something permitted; it was something absolutely required.
And it was required just by the strictest interpretation of the
Old Testament Law. If Paul had been a liberal Jew, he would never
have been the apostle to the Gentiles; for he would never have
developed his doctrine of the Cross. Gentile freedom, in other
words, was not, according to Paul, a relaxing of strict requirements
in the interests of practical missionary work; it was a matter of
principle. For the first time the religion of Israel could go forth
(or rather was compelled to go forth) with a really good conscience
to the spiritual conquest of the world.

  [4] _The Earlier Epistles of St. Paul_, 1911, pp. 16-28, especially
  p. 24. Compare Lake and Jackson, _The Beginnings of Christianity_,
  Part I, vol. i, 1920, p. 166.

Thus the Pauline mission was not merely one manifestation of the
progress of oriental religion, and it was not merely a continuation
of the pre-Christian mission of the Jews; it was something new. But
if it was new in comparison with what was outside of Christianity,
was it not anticipated within Christianity itself? Was it not
anticipated by the Founder of Christianity, by Jesus Himself?

At this point careful definition is necessary. If all that is meant
is that the Gentile mission of Paul was founded altogether upon
Jesus, then there ought to be no dispute. A different view, which
makes Paul rather than Jesus the true founder of Christianity, will
be combated in the following pages. Paul himself, at any rate, bases
his doctrine of Gentile freedom altogether upon Jesus. But he bases
it upon what Jesus had done, not upon what Jesus, at least during
His earthly life, had said. The true state of the case may therefore
be that Jesus by His redeeming work really made possible the Gentile
mission, but that the discovery of the true significance of that
work was left to Paul. The achievement of Paul, whether it be
regarded as a discovery made by him or a divine revelation made to
him, would thus remain intact. What did Jesus say or imply, during
His earthly ministry, about the universalism of the gospel? Did He
make superfluous the teaching of Paul?

The latter question must be answered in the negative; attempts at
finding, clearly expressed, in the words of Jesus the full doctrine
of Gentile freedom have failed. It is often said that Jesus, though
He addressed His teaching to Jews, addressed it to them not as Jews
but as men. But the discovery of that fact (whenever it was made)
was no mean achievement. Certainly it was not made by the modern
writers who lightly repeat the assertion, for they have the benefit
of the teaching of Paul and of nineteen centuries of Christian
experience based upon that teaching. Even if Jesus did address not
the Jew as a Jew, but the man in the Jew, the achievement of Paul
in the establishment of the Gentile Church was not thereby made a
matter of course. The plain man would be more likely to stick at
the fact that however Jesus addressed the Jew He did address the
Jew and not the Gentile, and He commanded His disciples to do the
same. Instances in which He extended His ministry to Gentiles are
expressly designated in the Gospels as exceptional.

But did He not definitely command His disciples to engage in the
Gentile work after His departure? Certainly He did not do so
according to the modern critical view of the Gospels. But even if
the great commission of Matt. xxviii. 19, 20 be accepted as an
utterance of Jesus, it is by no means clear that the question of
Gentile liberty was settled. In the great commission, the apostles
are commanded to make disciples of all the nations. But on what
terms were the new disciples to be received? There was nothing
startling, from the Jewish point of view, in winning Gentile
converts; the non-Christian Jews, as has just been observed, were
busily engaged in doing that. The only difficulty arose when the
terms of reception of the new converts were changed. Were the
new converts to be received as disciples of Jesus without being
circumcised and thus without becoming members of the covenant people
of God? The great commission does not answer that question. It does
indeed mention only baptism and not circumcision. But might that
not be because circumcision, for those who were to enter into God's
people, was a matter of course?

In a number of His utterances, it is true, Jesus did adopt
an attitude toward the ceremonial Law, at least toward the
interpretation of it by the scribes, very different from what was
customary in the Judaism of His day. "There is nothing from without
the man," He said, "that entering into him can defile him: but the
things which come out of him, those are they that defile the man"
(Mark vii. 15). No doubt these words were revolutionary in their
ultimate implications. But there is no evidence that they resulted
in revolutionary practice on the part of Jesus. On the contrary,
there is definite reason to suppose that He observed the ceremonial
Law as it was contained in the Old Testament, and definite
utterances of His in support of the authority of the Law have been
preserved in the Gospels.

The disciples, therefore, were not obviously unfaithful to the
teachings of Jesus if after He had been taken from them they
continued to minister only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.
If He had told them to make disciples of all the nations, He had
not told them upon what terms the disciples were to be received or
at what moment of time the specifically Gentile work should begin.
Perhaps the divine economy required that Israel should first be
brought to an acknowledgment of her Lord, or at least her obduracy
established beyond peradventure, in accordance with the mysterious
prophecy of Jesus in the parable of the Wicked Husbandmen,[5] before
the Gentiles should be gathered in. At any rate, there is evidence
that whatever was revolutionary in the life and teaching of Jesus
was less evident among His disciples, in the early days of the
Jerusalem Church. Even the Pharisees, and at any rate the people
as a whole, could find nothing to object to in the attitude of the
apostles and their followers. The disciples continued to observe
the Jewish fasts and feasts. Outwardly they were simply loyal Jews.
Evidently Gentile freedom, and the abolition of special Jewish
privileges, had not been clearly established by the words of the
Master. There was therefore still need for the epoch-making work of
Paul.

  [5] Matt. xxi. 41, and parallels. This verse can perhaps hardly be
  held to refer exclusively to the rejection of Jesus by the rulers;
  it seems also to apply to a rejection by the people as a whole. But
  the full implications of so mysterious an utterance may well have
  been lost sight of in the early Jerusalem Church.

But if the achievement of Paul was not clearly anticipated in the
teaching of Jesus Himself, was it not anticipated or at any rate
shared by others in the Church? According to the Book of Acts,
a Gentile, Cornelius, and his household were baptized, without
requirement of circumcision, by Peter himself, the leader of the
original apostles; and a free attitude toward the Temple and the
Law was adopted by Stephen. The latter instance, at least, has
ordinarily been accepted as historical by modern criticism. Even
in founding the churches which are usually designated as Pauline,
moreover, Barnabas and Silas and others had an important part; and
in the founding of many churches Paul himself was not concerned.
It is an interesting fact that of the churches in the three most
important cities of the Roman Empire not one was founded by Paul.
The Church at Alexandria does not appear upon the pages of the New
Testament; the Church at Rome appears fully formed when Paul was
only preparing for his coming by the Epistle to the Romans; the
Church at Antioch, at least in its Gentile form, was founded by
certain unnamed Jews of Cyprus and Cyrene. Evidently, therefore,
Paul was not the only missionary who carried the gospel to the
Gentile world. If the Gentile work consisted merely in the
geographical extension of the frontiers of the Church, then Paul did
not by any means stand alone.

Even in the geographical sphere, however, his achievements must
not be underestimated; even in that sphere he labored far more
abundantly than any other one man. His desire to plant the gospel
in places where it had never been heard led him into an adventurous
life which may well excite the astonishment of the modern man. The
catalogue of hardships which Paul himself gives incidentally in the
Second Epistle to the Corinthians shows that the Book of Acts has
been very conservative in its account of the hardships and perils
which the apostle endured; evidently the half has not been told.
The results, moreover, were commensurate with the hardships that
they cost. Despite the labors of others, it was Paul who planted the
gospel in a real chain of the great cities; it was he who conceived
most clearly the thought of a mighty Church universal which should
embrace both Jew and Gentile, barbarian, Scythian, bond and free
in a common faith and a common life. When he addressed himself to
the Church at Rome, in a tone of authority, as the apostle to the
Gentiles who was ready to preach the gospel to those who were at
Rome also, his lofty claim was supported, despite the fact that
the Church at Rome had itself been founded by others, by the mere
extent of his labors.

The really distinctive achievement of Paul, however, does not
consist in the mere geographical extension of the frontiers of the
Church, important as that work was; it lies in a totally different
sphere--in the hidden realm of thought.[6] What was really standing
in the way of the Gentile mission was not the physical barriers
presented by sea and mountain, it was rather the great barrier of
religious principle. Particularism was written plain upon the pages
of the Old Testament; in emphatic language the Scriptures imposed
upon the true Israelite the duty of separateness from the Gentile
world. Gentiles might indeed be brought in, but only when they
acknowledged the prerogatives of Israel and united themselves with
the Jewish nation. If premonitions of a different doctrine were to
be found, they were couched in the mysterious language of prophecy;
what seemed to be fundamental for the present was the doctrine of
the special covenant between Jehovah and His chosen people.

  [6] For what follows, compare the article cited in _Biblical and
  Theological Studies_, pp. 555-557.

This particularism of the Old Testament might have been overcome
by practical considerations, especially by the consideration
that since as a matter of fact the Gentiles would never accept
circumcision and submit to the Law the only way to carry on the
broader work was quietly to keep the more burdensome requirements
of the Law in abeyance. This method would have been the method
of "liberalism." And it would have been utterly futile. It would
have meant an irreparable injury to the religious conscience; it
would have sacrificed the good conscience of the missionary and the
authoritativeness of his proclamation. Liberalism would never have
conquered the world.

Fortunately liberalism was not the method of Paul. Paul was not a
practical Christian who regarded life as superior to doctrine, and
practice as superior to principle. On the contrary, he overcame the
principle of Jewish particularism in the only way in which it could
be overcome; he overcame principle by principle. It was not Paul
the practical missionary, but Paul the theologian, who was the real
apostle to the Gentiles.

In his theology he avoided certain errors which lay near at
hand. He avoided the error of Marcion, who in the middle of the
second century combated Jewish particularism by representing the
whole of the Old Testament economy as evil and as the work of a
being hostile to the good God. That error would have deprived
the Church of the prestige which it derived from the possession
of an ancient and authoritative Book; as a merely new religion
Christianity never could have appealed to the Gentile world. Paul
avoided also the error of the so-called "Epistle of Barnabas,"
which, while it accepted the Old Testament, rejected the entire
Jewish interpretation of it; the Old Testament Law, according to
the Epistle of Barnabas, was never intended to require literal
sacrifices and circumcision, in the way in which it was interpreted
by the Jews. That error, also, would have been disastrous; it would
have introduced such boundless absurdity into the Christian use of
the Scriptures that all truth and soberness would have fled.

Avoiding all such errors, Paul was able with a perfectly good
conscience to accept the priceless support of the Old Testament
Scriptures in his missionary work while at the same time he rejected
for his Gentile converts the ceremonial requirements which the Old
Testament imposed. The solution of the problem is set forth clearly
in the Epistle to the Galatians. The Old Testament Law, according
to Paul, was truly authoritative and truly divine. But it was
temporary; it was authoritative only until the fulfillment of the
promise should come. It was a schoolmaster to bring the Jews to
Christ; and (such is the implication, according to the Epistle to
the Romans) it could also be a schoolmaster to bring every one to
Christ, since it was intended to produce the necessary consciousness
of sin.

This treatment of the Old Testament was the only practical solution
of the difficulty. But Paul did not adopt it because it was
practical; he adopted it because it was true. It never occurred to
him to hold principle in abeyance even for the welfare of the souls
of men. The deadening blight of pragmatism had never fallen upon his
soul.

The Pauline grounding of the Gentile mission is not to be limited,
however, to his specific answer to the question, "What then is the
law?" It extends rather to his entire unfolding of the significance
of the Cross of Christ. He exhibited the temporary character of the
Old Testament dispensation by showing that a new era had begun, by
exhibiting positively the epoch-making significance of the Cross.

At this point undoubtedly he had precursors. The significance of
the Cross of Christ was by no means entirely unknown to those who
had been disciples before him; he himself places the assertion that
Christ "died for our sins according to the Scriptures" as one of the
things that he had "received." But unless all indications fail Paul
did bring an unparalleled enrichment of the understanding of the
Cross. For the first time the death of Christ was viewed in its full
historical and logical relationships. And thereby Gentile freedom,
and the freedom of the entire Christian Church for all time, was
assured.

Inwardly, indeed, the early Jerusalem disciples were already free
from the Law; they were really trusting for their salvation not to
their observance of the Law but to what Christ had done for them.
But apparently they did not fully know that they were free; or
rather they did not know exactly why they were free. The case of
Cornelius, according to the Book of Acts, was exceptional; Cornelius
had been received into the Church without being circumcised, but
only by direct command of the Spirit. Similar direct and unexplained
guidance was apparently to be waited for if the case was to be
repeated. Even Stephen had not really advocated the immediate
abolition of the Temple or the abandonment of Jewish prerogatives in
the presence of Gentiles.

The freedom of the early Jerusalem Church, in other words, was
not fully grounded in a comprehensive view of the meaning of
Jesus' work. Such freedom could not be permanent. It was open to
argumentative attacks, and as a matter of fact such attacks were not
long absent. The very life of the Gentile mission at Antioch was
threatened by the Judaizers who came down from Jerusalem and said,
"Except ye be circumcised after the manner of Moses, ye cannot be
saved." Practical considerations, considerations of church polity,
were quite powerless before such attacks; freedom was held by but a
precarious tenure until its underlying principles were established.
Christianity, in other words, could not live without theology. And
the first great Christian theologian was Paul.

It was Paul, then, who established the principles of the Gentile
mission. Others labored in detail, but it was he who was at the
heart of the movement. It was he, far more than any other one man,
who carried the gospel out from Judaism into the Gentile world.

The importance of the achievement must be apparent to every
historian, no matter how unsympathetic his attitude toward the
content of Christianity may be. The modern European world, what may
be called "western civilization," is descended from the civilization
of Greece and Rome. Our languages are either derived directly from
the Latin, or at any rate connected with the same great family. Our
literature and art are inspired by the great classical models. Our
law and government have never been independent of the principles
enunciated by the statesmen of Greece, and put into practice by
the statesmen of Rome. Our philosophies are obliged to return ever
anew to the questions which were put, if not answered, by Plato and
Aristotle.

Yet there has entered into this current of Indo-European
civilization an element from a very diverse and very unexpected
source. How comes it that a thoroughly Semitic book like the Bible
has been accorded a place in medieval and modern life to which the
glories of Greek literature can never by any possibility aspire? How
comes it that the words of that book have not only made political
history--moved armies and built empires--but also have entered into
the very fabric of men's souls? The intrinsic value of the Book
would not alone have been sufficient to break down the barriers
which opposed its acceptance by the Indo-European race. The race
from which the Bible came was despised in ancient times and it is
despised to-day. How comes it then that a product of that race
has been granted such boundless influence? How comes it that the
barriers which have always separated Jew from Gentile, Semite from
Aryan, have at one point been broken through, so that the current of
Semitic life has been allowed to flow unchecked over the rich fields
of our modern civilization?

The answer to these questions, to the large extent which the
preceding outline has attempted to define, must be sought in the
inner life of a Jew of Tarsus. In dealing with the apostle Paul we
are dealing with one of the moving factors of the world's history.

That conclusion might at first sight seem to affect unfavorably the
special use to which it is proposed, in the present discussion, to
put the examination of Paul. The more important Paul was as a man,
it might be said, the less important he becomes as a witness to the
origin of Christianity. If his mind had been a blank tablet prepared
to receive impressions, then the historian could be sure that what
is found in Paul's Epistles about Jesus is a true reflection of what
Jesus really was. But as a matter of fact Paul was a genius. It
is of the nature of genius to be creative. May not what Paul says
about Jesus and the origin of Christianity, therefore, be no mere
reflection of the facts, but the creation of his own mind?

The difficulty is not so serious as it seems. Genius is not
incompatible with honesty--certainly not the genius of Paul. When,
therefore, Paul sets himself to give information about certain
plain matters of fact that came under his observation, as in the
first two chapters of Galatians, there are not many historians
who are inclined to refuse him credence. But the witness of Paul
depends not so much upon details as upon the total fact of his
religious life. It is that fact which is to be explained. To say
merely that Paul was a genius and therefore unaccountable is no
explanation. Certainly it is not an explanation satisfactory to
modern historians. During the progress of modern criticism, students
of the origin of Christianity have accepted the challenge presented
by the fact of Paul's religious life; they have felt obliged to
account for the emergence of that fact at just the point when it
actually appeared. But the explanations which they have offered, as
the following discussion may show, are insufficient; and it is just
the greatness of Paul for which the explanations do not account. The
religion of Paul is too large a building to have been erected upon a
pin-point.

Moreover, the greater a man is, the wider is the area of his
contact with his environment, and the deeper is his penetration
into the spiritual realm. The "man in the street" is not so good an
observer as is sometimes supposed; he observes only what lies on
the surface. Paul, on the other hand, was able to sound the depths.
It is, on the whole, certainly no disadvantage to the student of
early Christianity that that particular member of the early Church
whose inner life stands clearest in the light of history was no mere
nonentity, but one of the commanding figures in the history of the
world.

But what, in essence, is the fact of which the historical
implications are here to be studied? What was the religion of Paul?
No attempt will now be made to answer the question in detail; no
attempt will be made to add to the long list of expositions of the
Pauline theology. But what is really essential is abundantly plain,
and may be put in a word--the religion of Paul was a religion of
redemption. It was founded not upon what had always been true, but
upon what had recently happened; not upon right ideas about God and
His relations to the world, but upon one thing that God had done;
not upon an eternal truth of the fatherhood of God, but upon the
fact that God had chosen to become the Father of those who should
accept the redemption offered by Christ. The religion of Paul was
rooted altogether in the redeeming work of Jesus Christ. Jesus for
Paul was primarily not a Revealer, but a Saviour.

The character of Paulinism as a redemptive religion involved a
certain conception of the Redeemer, which is perfectly plain on the
pages of the Pauline Epistles. Jesus Christ, Paul believed, was a
heavenly being; Paul placed Him clearly on the side of God and not
on the side of men. "Not by man but by Jesus Christ," he says at the
beginning of Galatians, and the same contrast is implied everywhere
in the Epistles. This heavenly Redeemer existed before His earthly
life; came then to earth, where He lived a true human life of
humiliation; suffered on the cross for the sins of those upon whom
the curse of the Law justly rested; then rose again from the dead by
a mighty act of God's power; and is present always with His Church
through His Spirit.

That representation has become familiar to the devout Christian, but
to the modern historian it seems very strange. For to the modern
historian, on the basis of the modern view of Jesus, the procedure
of Paul seems to be nothing else than the deification by Paul of a
man who had lived but a few years before and had died a shameful
death.[7] It is not necessary to argue the question whether in
Rom. ix. 5 Paul actually applies the term "God" to Jesus--certainly
he does so according to the only natural interpretation of his
words as they stand--what is really important is that everywhere
the relationship in which Paul stands toward Jesus is not the
mere relationship of disciple to master, but is a truly religious
relationship. Jesus is to Paul everywhere the object of religious
faith.

  [7] H. J. Holtzmann (in _Protestantische Monatshefte_, iv, 1900, pp.
  465f., and in _Christliche Welt_, xxiv, 1910, column 153) admitted
  that for the rapid apotheosis of Jesus as it is attested by the
  epistles of Paul he could cite no parallel in the religious history
  of the race.

That fact would not be quite so surprising if Paul had been of
polytheistic training, if he had grown up in a spiritual environment
where the distinction between divine and human was being broken
down. Even in such an environment, indeed, the religion of Paul
would have been quite without parallel. The deification of the
eastern rulers or of the emperors differs _in toto_ from the Pauline
attitude toward Jesus. It differs in seriousness and fervor; above
all it differs in its complete lack of exclusiveness. The lordship
of the ruler admitted freely, and was indeed always accompanied by,
the lordship of other gods; the lordship of Jesus, in the religion
of Paul, was absolutely exclusive. For Paul, there was one Lord and
one Lord only. When any parallel for such a religious relationship
of a notable man to one of his contemporaries with whose most
intimate friends he had come into close contact can be cited in the
religious annals of the race, then it will be time for the historian
to lose his wonder at the phenomenon of Paul.

But the wonder of the historian reaches its climax when he remembers
that Paul was not a polytheist or a pantheist, but a Jew, to whom
monotheism was the very breath of life.[8] The Judaism of Paul's day
was certainly nothing if not monotheistic. But in the intensity of
his monotheism Paul was not different from his countrymen. No one
can possibly show a deeper scorn for the many gods of the heathen
than can Paul. "For though there be that are called gods," he says,
"whether in heaven or in earth, (as there be gods many, and lords
many,) But to us there is but one God, the Father, of whom are all
things, and we unto him; and one Lord Jesus Christ, by whom are
all things, and we by him." (I Cor. viii. 5, 6.) Yet it was this
monotheist sprung of a race of monotheists, who stood in a full
religious relation to a man who had died but a few years before; it
was this monotheist who designated that man, as a matter of course,
by the supreme religious term "Lord," and did not hesitate to apply
to Him the passages in the Greek Old Testament where that term was
used to translate the most awful name of the God of Israel! The
religion of Paul is a phenomenon well worthy of the attention of the
historian.

  [8] Compare R. Seeberg, _Der Ursprung des Christusglaubens_, 1914,
  pp. 1f.

In recent years that phenomenon has been explained in four different
ways. The four ways have not always been clearly defined; they have
sometimes entered into combination with one another. But they are
logically distinct, and to a certain extent they may be treated
separately.

There is first of all the supernaturalistic explanation, which
simply accepts at its face value what Paul presupposes about Jesus.
According to this explanation, Jesus was really a heavenly being,
who in order to redeem sinful man came voluntarily to earth,
suffered for the sins of others on the cross, rose from the dead,
ascended to the right hand of God, from whence He shall come to
judge the quick and the dead. If this representation be correct,
then there is really nothing to explain; the religious attitude of
Paul toward Jesus was not an apotheosis of a man, but recognition as
divine of one who really was divine.

The other three explanations are alike in that they all reject
supernaturalism, they all deny the entrance into human history of
any creative act of God, unless indeed all the course of nature be
regarded as creative. They all agree, therefore, in explaining the
religion of Paul as a phenomenon which emerged in the course of
history under the operation of natural causes.

The most widespread of these naturalistic explanations of the
religion of Paul is what may be called the "liberal" view. The name
is highly unsatisfactory; it has been used and misused until it
has often come to mean almost nothing. But no other term is ready
to hand. "Ritschlian" might possibly describe the phenomenon that
is meant, but that term is perhaps too narrow, and would imply a
degree of logical connection with the Ritschlian theology which
would not fit all forms of the phenomenon. The best that can be
done, therefore, is to define the term "liberal" in a narrower way
than is sometimes customary and then use it in distinction not only
from traditional and supernaturalistic views, but also from various
"radical" views, which will demand separate consideration.

The numerous forms of the liberal view differ from other
naturalistic hypotheses in that they attribute supreme importance
in the formation of the religion of Paul to the influence of the
real historic person, Jesus of Nazareth, and to the experience which
Paul had near Damascus when he thought he saw that person risen
from the dead. Jesus of Nazareth, according to the liberal view,
was the greatest of the children of men. His greatness centered in
His consciousness of standing toward God in the relation of son to
Father. That consciousness of sonship, at least in its purity, Jesus
discovered, was not shared by others. Some category was therefore
needed to designate the uniqueness of His sonship. The category
which He adopted, though with reluctance, and probably toward the
end of His ministry, was the category of Messiahship. His Messianic
consciousness was thus not fundamental in His conception of His
mission; certainly it did not mean that He put His own person into
His gospel. He urged men, not to take Him as the object of their
faith, but only to take Him as an example for their faith; not to
have faith in Him, but to have faith in God like His faith. Such was
the impression of His personality, however, that after His death
the love and reverence of His disciples for Him not only induced
the hallucinations in which they thought they saw Him risen from
the dead but also led them to attribute to His person a kind of
religious importance which He had never claimed. They began to make
Him not only an example for faith but also the object of faith. The
Messianic element in His life began now to assume an importance
which He had never attributed to it; the disciples began to ascribe
to Him divine attributes. This process was somewhat hindered in the
case of His intimate friends by the fact that they had seen Him
under all the limitations of ordinary human life. But in the case of
the apostle Paul, who had never seen Him, the process of deification
could go on unchecked. What was fundamental, however, even for
Paul, was an impression of the real person of Jesus of Nazareth;
that impression was conveyed to Paul in various ways--especially by
the brave and pure lives of Jesus' disciples, which had impressed
him, against his will, even when he was still a persecutor. But
Paul was a child of his time. He was obliged, therefore, to express
that which he had received from Jesus in the categories that were
ready to hand. Those categories as applied to Jesus constitute the
Pauline theology. Thus Paul was really the truest disciple of Jesus
in the depths of his inner life, but his theology was the outer
and perishable shell for the precious kernel. His theology was the
product of his time, and may now be abandoned; his religion was
derived from Jesus of Nazareth and is a permanent possession of the
human race.

Such in bare outline is the liberal view of the origin of Paulinism
and of Christianity. It has been set forth in so many brilliant
treatises that no one may be singled out as clearly representative.
Perhaps Von Harnack's "What is Christianity?"[9], among the popular
expositions, may still serve as well as any other. The liberal
view of the origin of Christianity seemed at one time likely
to dominate the religious life of the modern world; it found
expression in countless sermons and books of devotion as well as
in scientific treatises. Now, however, there are some indications
that it is beginning to fall; it is being attacked by radicalism
of various kinds. With some of these attacks it will not now be
worth while to deal; it will not be worth while to deal with
those forms of radicalism which reject what have been designated
as the two starting-points for an investigation of the origin of
Christianity--the historicity of Jesus and the genuineness of
the major epistles of Paul. These hypotheses are some of them
interesting on the negative side, they are interesting for their
criticism of the dominant liberal view; but when it comes to their
own attempts at reconstruction they have never advanced beyond the
purest dilettantism. Attention will now be confined to the work
of historians who have really attempted seriously to grapple with
the historical problems, and specifically to those who have given
attention to the problem of Paul.

  [9] Harnack, _Das Wesen des Christentums_, 1900. (English
  Translation, _What is Christianity?_, 1901.)

Two lines of explanation have been followed in recent years by those
who reject, in the interest of more radical views, the liberal
account of the origin of Paulinism. But these two lines run to a
certain point together; they both reject the liberal emphasis upon
the historic person of Jesus as accounting for the origin of Paul's
religion. The criticism of the customary view was put sharply by W.
Wrede in 1904[10], when he declared that Paul was no disciple of
Jesus, but a second founder of Christianity. The religious life of
Paul, Wrede insisted, was not really derived from Jesus of Nazareth.
What was fundamental for Paul was not the example of Jesus, but
His redeeming work as embraced in the death and resurrection,
which were regarded as events of a cosmic significance. The
theology of Paul--his interpretation of the death and resurrection
of Jesus--cannot, therefore, be separated from his religion; on
the contrary, it is in connection with the theology, and not in
connection with any impression of the character of Jesus, that the
fervor of Paul's religious life runs full and free. Theology and
religion in Paul, therefore, must stand or fall together; if one
was derived from extra-Christian sources, probably the other must
be so derived also. And such, as a matter of fact, Wrede concludes
is the case. The religion of Paul is not based at all upon Jesus of
Nazareth.

  [10] Wrede, _Paulus_, 1904. (English Translation, _Paul_, 1907.)

Such, in true import, though not in word or in detail, was the
startling criticism which Wrede directed against the liberal account
of the origin of Paulinism. He had really only made explicit a type
of criticism which had gradually been becoming inevitable for some
time before. Hence the importance of his little book. The current
reconstruction of the origin of Christianity had produced a Jesus
and a Paul who really had little in common with each other. Wrede,
in his incomparably succinct and incisive way, had the courage to
say so.

But if Paulinism was not derived from Jesus of Nazareth, whence was
it derived? Here the two lines of radical opinion begin to diverge.
According to Wrede, who was supported by M. Brueckner,[11] working
contemporaneously, the Pauline conception of Christ, which was
fundamental in Paul's religious thought and life, was derived from
the pre-Christian conception of the Messiah which Paul already had
before his conversion. The Messiah, in the thought of the Jews,
was not always conceived of merely as a king of David's line;
sometimes he was regarded rather as a mysterious, preexistent,
heavenly being who was to come suddenly with the clouds of heaven
and be the judge of all the earth. This transcendent conception
which is attested by the Jewish apocalypses like the Ethiopic
Book of Enoch, was, Wrede maintained, the conception of the Jew,
Saul of Tarsus. When, therefore, Paul in his Epistles represents
Christ as preexistent, and as standing close to the Supreme Being in
rulership and judgment, the phenomenon, though it may seem strange
to us, is not really unique; it is exactly what is found in the
apocalypses. What was new in Paul, as over against pre-Christian
Judaism, was the belief that the heavenly Messiah had already come
to earth and carried out a work of redemption. This belief was
not derived, Wrede maintained, from any impression of the exalted
moral character of Jesus; on the contrary, if Paul had really come
into any close contact with the historical Jesus, he might have
had difficulty in identifying Him so completely with the heavenly
Messiah; the impression of the truly human character of Jesus and
of His subjection to all the ordinary limits of earthly life would
have hindered the ascription to Him of the transcendent attributes.
Jesus, for Paul, merely provided the one fact that the Messiah had
already come to earth and died and risen again. Operating with that
fact, interpreting the coming of the Messiah as an act of redemption
undertaken out of love for men, Paul was able to develop all the
fervor of his Christ-religion.

  [11] _Die Entstehung der paulinischen Christologie_, 1903; "Zum
  Thema Jesus und Paulus," in _Zeitschrift fuer die neutestamentliche
  Wissenschaft_, vii, 1906, pp. 112-119; "Der Apostel Paulus als
  Zeuge wider das Christusbild der Evangelien," in _Protestantische
  Monatshefte_, x, 1906, pp. 352-364.

In very recent years, another account of the origin of Paulinism is
becoming increasingly prevalent. This account agrees with Wrede in
rejecting the liberal derivation of the religion of Paul from an
impression of the historical person of Jesus. But it differs from
Wrede in its view of the source from which the religion of Paul
is actually to be derived. According to this latest hypothesis,
Paulinism was based not upon the pre-Christian Jewish conception of
the Messiah, but upon contemporary pagan religion.

This hypothesis represents the application to the problem of
Paulinism of the method of modern comparative religion. About twenty
years ago that method began to be extended resolutely into the New
Testament field, and it has been becoming increasingly prevalent
ever since. Despite the prevalence of the method, however, and the
variety of its application, one great comprehensive work may now
fairly lay claim to be taken as summing up the results. That work is
the book of W. Bousset, entitled "Kyrios Christos," which appeared
in 1913.[12] It is perhaps too early as yet to estimate the full
importance of Bousset's work. But unless all indications fail, the
work is really destined to mark an epoch in the history of New
Testament criticism. Since the days of F. C. Baur, in the former
half of the nineteenth century, there has been no such original,
comprehensive, and grandly conceived rewriting of early Christian
history as has now appeared in Bousset's "Kyrios Christos." The
only question is whether originality, in this historical sphere, is
always compatible with truth.

  [12] Compare also Bousset, _Jesus der Herr_, 1916.

According to Bousset, the historicity of Jesus is to be maintained;
Jesus was really a religious teacher of incomparable power. But
Bousset rejects much more of the Gospel account of Jesus' life than
is rejected in the ordinary "liberal" view; Bousset seems even to be
doubtful as to whether Jesus ever presented Himself to His disciples
as the Messiah, the Messianic element in the Gospels being regarded
for the most part as a mere reflection of the later convictions of
the disciples. After the crucifixion, the disciples in Jerusalem,
Bousset continues, were convinced that Jesus had risen from the
dead, and that He was truly the Messiah. They conceived of His
Messiahship chiefly under the category of the "Son of Man"; Jesus,
they believed, was the heavenly being who in their interpretation of
the Book of Daniel and in the apocalypses appears in the presence
of the supreme God as the one who is to judge the world. This
heavenly Son of Man was taken from them for a time, but they looked
with passionate eagerness for His speedy return. The piety of the
early Jerusalem Church was therefore distinctly eschatological; it
was founded not upon any conviction of a present vital relation to
Jesus, but on the hope of His future coming. In the Greek-speaking
Christian communities of such cities as Antioch and Tarsus, Bousset
continues, an important additional step was taken; Jesus there
began to be not only hoped for as the future judge but also adored
as the present Lord. He came to be regarded as present in the
meetings of the Church. The term "Lord," with the conception that
it represents, was never, according to Bousset, applied to Jesus in
the primitive Palestinian Church; it was first applied to Him in
Hellenistic Christian communities like the one at Antioch. And it
was there derived distinctly from the prevalent pagan religion. In
the type of religion familiar to the disciples at Antioch, the term
"Lord" was used to denote the cult-god, especially in the so-called
"mystery religions"; and the Antioch disciples naturally used the
same term to designate the object of their own adoration. But with
the term went the idea; Jesus was now considered to be present in
the meetings of the Church, just as the cult-gods of the pagan
religions were considered to be present in the worship practiced by
those religions. An important step had been taken beyond the purely
eschatological piety of the Jerusalem disciples.

But how about Paul? Here is to be found one of the boldest
elements in all the bold reconstruction of Bousset. Paul, Bousset
believes, was not connected in any intimate way with the primitive
Christianity in Palestine; what he "received" he received rather
from the Hellenistic Christianity, just described, of cities like
Antioch. He received, therefore, the Hellenistic conception of
Jesus as Lord. But he added to that conception by connecting the
"Lord" with the "Spirit." The "Lord" thus became present not only in
the meetings of the Church for worship but also in the individual
lives of the believers. Paulinism as it appears in the Epistles was
thus complete. But this distinctly Pauline contribution, like the
conception of the Lordship of Jesus to which it was added, was of
pagan origin; it was derived from the mystical piety of the time,
with its sharp dualism between a material and a spiritual realm
and its notion of the transformation of man by immediate contact
with the divine. Paulinism, therefore, according to Bousset, was a
religion of redemption. But as such it was derived not at all from
the historical Jesus (whose optimistic teaching contained no thought
of redemption) but from the pessimistic dualism of the pagan world.
The "liberal" distinction between Pauline religion and Pauline
theology, the attempt at saving Paul's religion by the sacrifice
of his theology, is here abandoned, and all that is most clearly
distinctive of Paulinism (though of course some account is taken of
the contribution of his Jewish inheritance and of his own genius) is
derived from pagan sources.

The hypothesis of Bousset, together with the rival reconstructions
which have just been outlined, will be examined in the following
discussion. But before they can be examined it will be necessary to
say a word about the sources of information with regard to the life
of Paul. No discussion of the literary questions can indeed here be
undertaken. Almost all that can be done is to set forth very briefly
the measure of agreement which has been attained in this field, and
the bearing of the points that are still disputed upon the subject
of the present investigation.

The sources of information about Paul are contained almost
exclusively in the New Testament. They are, first, the Pauline
Epistles, and, second, the Book of Acts.

Four of the Pauline Epistles--Galatians, 1 and 2 Corinthians,
and Romans--were accepted as certainly genuine by F. C. Baur,
the founder of the "Tuebingen School" of criticism in the former
half of the nineteenth century. This favorable estimate of the
"major epistles" has never been abandoned by any number of
really serious historians, and three of the other epistles--1
Thessalonians, Philippians, and Philemon--have now been added to the
"homologoumena." Seven epistles, therefore, are accepted as genuine
to-day by all historians except a few extremists. Of the remaining
epistles, Colossians is accepted by the majority of investigators
of all shades of opinion, and even in the case of 2 Thessalonians
and Ephesians, the acceptance of the hypothesis of genuineness is
no longer regarded as a clear mark of "conservatism," these two
epistles being regarded as genuine letters of Paul by some even of
those who are not in general favorable to the traditional view of
the New Testament.

With regard to the Pastoral Epistles--1 and 2 Timothy and Titus--the
issue is more clearly drawn. These epistles, at least in their
entirety, are seldom regarded as genuine except by those who
adopt in general the traditional view of the New Testament and
the supernaturalistic conception of the origin of Christianity.
That does not mean that the case of the Pastoral Epistles is
desperate--certainly the present writer is firmly convinced that the
epistles are genuine and that a denial of their genuineness really
impoverishes in important respects our conception of the work of
Paul--but it does mean that with regard to these epistles the two
great contending views concerning the New Testament come into sharp
conflict; common ground, in other words, cannot here be found, as
in the case of the major epistles, between those who hold widely
divergent views as to the origin of Christianity.

It would be out of place in the present connection to discuss the
question of the genuineness of the Pastorals. That question is
indeed enormously important. It is important for the view which
is to be held concerning the New Testament canon; it is important
for any estimate of Christian tradition; it is important even for
a complete estimate of the work of Paul. But it is not directly
important for the question as to the origin of Paulinism; for all
the essential features of Paulinism, certainly all those features
which make Paulinism, upon naturalistic principles, most difficult
of explanation, appear plainly in the accepted epistles.

The question of the Book of Acts, on the other hand, is of vital
importance even for the present investigation. Even that question,
however, must here be dismissed with a word, though it is hoped that
light may be shed upon it by the whole of the following discussion.

Literary evidence of peculiar strength may be adduced in favor of
the view that the Book of Acts was really written, as tradition
affirms, by a companion of Paul. This evidence is based primarily
upon the presence in the book of certain sections where the
narrative is carried on in the first person instead of the third. It
is generally or even universally admitted that these "we-sections"
are the work of an eyewitness, an actual traveling companion of
Paul. But according to the common-sense view--according to the
first impression made upon every ordinary reader--the author of
the we-sections was also the author of the whole book, who when he
came in his narrative to those parts of the missionary journeys of
Paul where he had actually been present with the apostolic company
naturally dropped into the use of the first person instead of the
third. If this common-sense view be incorrect, then a later author
who produced the completed book has in the we-sections simply
made use of an eyewitness source. But this hypothesis is fraught
with the most serious difficulty. If the author of the completed
book, writing at a time long after the time of Paul, was in the
we-sections using the work of a companion of Paul, why did he not
either say that he was quoting or else change the "we" of the
source to "they." The first person plural, used without explanation
by a writer of, say, 100 A.D. in a narrative of the journeys of
Paul, would be preposterous. What could be the explanation of so
extraordinary a procedure?

Only two explanations are possible. In the first place, the author
may have retained the "we" with deceitful intent, with the intent
of producing the false impression that he himself was a companion
of Paul. This hypothesis is fraught with insuperable difficulty
and is generally rejected. In the second place, the author may
have retained the "we" because he was a mere compiler, copying
out his sources with mechanical accuracy, and so unable to make
the simple editorial change of "we" to "they." This hypothesis is
excluded by the striking similarity of language and style between
the we-sections and the rest of Luke-Acts, which shows that if
the author of the completed double work is in the we-sections
making use of a source written by some one else, he has revised
the source so as to make it conform to his own style. But if he
revised the source, he was no mere compiler, and therefore could not
have retained the first person plural which in the completed book
produced nonsense. The whole hypothesis therefore breaks down.

Such considerations have led a number of recent scholars--even of
those who are unable to accept the supernaturalistic account which
the Book of Acts gives of the origin of Christianity--to return to
the traditional view that the book was actually written by Luke the
physician, a companion of Paul. The argument for Lucan authorship
has been developed with great acumen especially by Von Harnack[13].
And on the basis of purely literary criticism the argument is
certainly irrefutable. It can be refuted, if at all, only through a
consideration of the historical contents of the book.

  [13] _Lukas der Arzt_, 1906 (English Translation, _Luke the
  Physician_, 1907); _Die Apostelgeschichte_, 1908 (English
  Translation, _The Acts of the Apostles_, 1909); _Neue Untersuchungen
  zur Apostelgeschichte und zur Abfassungszeit der synoptischen
  Evangelien_, 1911 (English Translation, _The Date of the Acts and of
  the Synoptic Gospels_, 1911).

Such attempts at refutation have not been lacking; the Lucan
authorship of Acts is still rejected by the great majority of those
who maintain the naturalistic view of the origin of Christianity.
The objections may be subsumed under two main heads. The Book of
Acts, it is said, is not the kind of book that could have been
written by a companion of Paul, in the first place because it
contains an account of miracles, and in the second place, because
it contradicts the Pauline Epistles, particularly in the account
which it gives of the relations between Paul and the Jerusalem
Church.

The former objection is entirely valid on the basis of any
naturalistic account of the origin of Christianity. Efforts have
indeed been made by Von Harnack, C. C. Torrey, and others, to
overcome the objection. Belief in miracles, it is said, was very
general in the ancient world; a miraculous interpretation could
therefore be placed upon happenings for which the modern man would
have no difficulty in discovering a natural cause. Luke was a child
of his time; even in the we-sections, Von Harnack insists, where the
work of an eyewitness is universally recognized, a supernaturalistic
interpretation is placed upon natural events--as, for example, when
Paul excites the wonder of his companions by shaking off into the
fire a viper that was no doubt perfectly harmless. Why, then, should
the presence of the supernatural in the rest of the book be used to
refute the hypothesis of the Lucan authorship, if it is not so used
in the we-sections?[14]

  [14] Harnack, _Die Apostelgeschichte_, 1908, pp. 111-130 (English
  Translation, _The Acts of the Apostles_, 1909, pp. 133-161).

This method of refuting the objection drawn from the presence of the
supernatural in Luke-Acts has sometimes led to a curious return to
the rationalizing method of interpretation which was prevalent one
hundred years ago. By that method of interpretation even the details
of the New Testament miracles were accepted as historical, but it
was thought that the writers were wrong in regarding those details
as miraculous. Great ingenuity was displayed by such rationalists
as Paulus and many others in exhibiting the true natural causes of
details which to the first observers seemed to be supernatural.
Such rationalizing has usually been thought to have received
its death-blow at the hands of Strauss, who showed that the New
Testament narratives were either to be accepted as a whole--miracles
and all--or else regarded as myths, that is, as the clothing of
religious ideas in historical forms. But now, under the impulsion of
literary criticism, which has led away from the position of Baur and
Strauss and back to the traditional view of the authorship and date
of the New Testament books, the expedients of the rationalizers have
in some cases been revived.

The entire effort of Von Harnack is, however, quite hopeless. The
objection to the Lucan authorship of Acts which is drawn from the
supernatural element in the narrative is irrefutable on the basis
of any naturalistic view of the origin of Christianity. The trouble
is that the supernatural element in Acts does not concern merely
details; it lies, rather, at the root of the whole representation.
The origin of the Church, according to the modern naturalistic
reconstruction, was due to the belief of the early disciples in the
resurrection of Jesus; that belief in turn was founded upon certain
hallucinations in which they thought they saw Jesus alive after
His passion. In such experiences, the optic nerve is affected not
by an external object but by the condition of the subject himself.
But there are limitations to what is possible in experiences of
that sort, especially where numbers of persons are affected and
at different times. It cannot be supposed, therefore, that the
disciples of Jesus thought they had any extended intercourse with
Him after His passion; momentary appearances, with possibly a few
spoken words, were all that they could have experienced. This view
of the origin of the Church is thought to be in accord with the
all-important testimony of Paul, especially in 1 Cor. xv. 3-8 where
he is reproducing a primitive tradition. Thus desperate efforts
are made to show that the reference by Paul to the burial of Jesus
does not by any means confirm the accounts given in the Gospels
of events connected with the empty tomb. Sometimes, indeed, in
recent criticism, the fact of the empty tomb is accepted, and then
explained in some naturalistic way. But at any rate, the cardinal
feature of the modern reconstruction is that the early Church,
including Paul, had a spiritual rather than a physical conception of
the risen body of Jesus; there was no extended intercourse, it is
supposed; Jesus appeared to His disciples momentarily, in heavenly
glory.

But this entire representation is diametrically opposed to the
representation in the Gospel of Luke and in the Book of Acts. If
there is any one writer who emphasizes the plain, physical character
of the contact between the disciples and their risen Lord, it
is the author of Luke-Acts. In proof, it is only necessary to
point to Acts x. 41, where it is said that the risen Jesus held
table-companionship with His disciples after He was risen from the
dead! But that is only one detail. The author of Acts is firmly
convinced that the contact of the risen Jesus with His disciples,
though not devoid of mysterious features, involved the absence of
the body of Jesus from the tomb and an intercourse (intermittent, it
is true, but including physical proofs of the most definite kind)
extending over a period of forty days. Nothing could possibly be
more directly contrary to what the current critical view regards as
the real account given in the primitive Jerusalem Church and by the
apostle Paul.

Yet on the basis of that modern critical view, Von Harnack and
others have maintained that the book in which so false an account is
given of the origin of the Church was actually the work of a man of
the apostolic age. It is no wonder that Von Harnack's conclusions
have evoked an emphatic protest from other naturalistic historians.
Luke was a close associate of Paul. Could he possibly have given an
account of things absolutely fundamental in Paul's gospel (1 Cor.
xv. 1-8) which was so diametrically opposed to what Paul taught?
He was in Jerusalem in 58 A.D. or earlier, and during years of
his life was in close touch with Palestinian disciples. Could he
possibly have given an account of the origin of the Jerusalem Church
so totally at variance with the account which that church itself
maintained? These questions constitute a complete refutation of Von
Harnack's view, when that view is taken as a whole. But they do not
at all constitute a refutation of the conclusions of Von Harnack
in the sphere of literary criticism. On the contrary, by showing
how inconsistent those conclusions are with other elements in the
thinking of the investigator, they make only the more impressive
the strength of the argument which has overcome such obstacles.
The objection points out the antinomy which exists between the
literary criticism of Von Harnack and his naturalistic account of
the origin of Christianity. What that antinomy means is merely that
the testimony of Acts to the supernatural origin of Christianity,
far from being removed by literary criticism, is strongly supported
by it. A companion of Paul could not have been egregiously mistaken
about the origin of the Church; but literary criticism establishes
Luke-Acts as the work of a companion of Paul. Hence there is some
reason for supposing that the account given in this book is
essentially correct, and that the naturalistic reconstruction of the
origin of Christianity must be abandoned.

The second objection to the Lucan authorship of Acts is based upon
the contradiction which is thought to exist between the Book of
Acts and the Epistles of Paul.[15] The way to test the value of a
historical work, it is said, is to compare it with some recognized
authority. With regard to most of the narrative in Acts, no such
comparison is possible, since there is no account parallel to
Acts by which it may be tested. But in certain places the Book
of Acts provides an account of events which are also narrated in
the isolated biographical parts of the Pauline Epistles--notably
in the first two chapters of Galatians. Here at last is found the
long-sought opportunity for comparison. And the comparison, it is
said, results unfavorably to the Book of Acts, which is found to
contradict the Epistle to the Galatians, not merely in details, but
in the whole account which it gives of the relation between Paul
and the Jerusalem Church. But if the Book of Acts fails to approve
itself in the one place where it can be tested by comparison with
a recognized authority, the presumption is that it may be wrong
elsewhere as well; in particular, it is quite impossible that a book
which so completely misrepresents what happened at a most important
crisis of Paul's life could have been written by a close friend of
the apostle.

  [15] For what follows, compare "Jesus and Paul," in _Biblical and
  Theological Studies_ by the Members of the Faculty of Princeton
  Theological Seminary, 1912, pp. 553f.; "Recent Criticism of the Book
  of Acts," in _Princeton Theological Review_, xvii, 1919, pp. 593-597.

This argument was developed particularly by Baur and Zeller and
their associates in the "Tuebingen School." According to Baur, the
major epistles of Paul constitute the primary source of information
about the apostolic age; they should therefore be interpreted
without reference to any other source. When they are so interpreted,
they show that the fundamental fact of apostolic history was a
conflict between Paul on one side and the original apostles on the
other. The conflict, Baur maintained further, is particularly plain
in the Epistles to the Galatians and Corinthians, which emphasize
the complete independence of Paul with reference to the pillars
of the Jerusalem Church, and his continued opposition to the
efforts of Jewish Christians to bring the Gentiles into subjection
to the Jewish Law--efforts which must have been supported to some
extent by the attitude of the original apostles. This conflict,
Baur supposed further, continued up to the middle of the second
century; there was a Gentile Christian party appealing to Paul
and a Jewish Christian party appealing to Peter. Finally however,
Baur continued, a compromise was effected; the Pauline party gave
up what was really most distinctive in the Pauline doctrine of
justification, while the Petrine party relinquished the demand of
circumcision. The New Testament documents, according to Baur, are
to be dated in accordance with the position that they assume in
the conflict; those documents which take sides--which are strongly
anti-Pauline or strongly anti-Petrine--are to be placed early, while
those which display a tendency toward compromise are to be placed
late, at the time when the conflict was being settled. Such was the
"tendency-criticism" of Baur. By that criticism the Book of Acts
was dated well on in the second century, because it was thought to
display a tendency toward compromise--an "irenic tendency." This
tendency, Baur supposed, manifested itself in the Book of Acts in
a deliberate falsification of history; in order to bring about
peace between the Petrine and the Pauline parties in the Church,
the author of Acts attempted to show by a new account of the
apostolic age that Peter and Paul really were in perfect agreement.
To that end, in the Book of Acts, Paul is Petrinized, and Peter is
Paulinized; the sturdy independence of Paul, which actually kept
him long away from Jerusalem after his conversion, gives place,
in Acts, to a desire of contact with the Jerusalem Church, which
brought him early to Jerusalem and finally led him even to accept
for his Gentile converts, at the "Apostolic Council," a portion of
the ceremonial law. Peter, on the other hand, is represented in Acts
as giving expression at the Apostolic Council to Pauline sentiments
about the Law; and all through the book there is an elaborate and
unhistorical parallelism between Peter and Paul.

The theory of Baur did not long maintain itself in its entirety.
It received a searching criticism particularly from A. Ritschl.
The conflict of the apostolic age, Ritschl pointed out, was not a
conflict between Paul and the original apostles, but between all the
apostles (including both Paul and Peter) on the one side, and an
extreme Judaizing party on the other; that conflict did not continue
throughout the second century; on the contrary, specifically Jewish
Christianity soon ceased to be influential, and the legalistic
character of the Old Catholic Church of the end of the second
century, in which Christianity was conceived of as a new law, was
due not to any compromise with the legalism of the Judaizers but to
a natural process of degeneration from Paulinism on purely Gentile
Christian ground.

The Tuebingen dating of the New Testament documents, moreover,
has been abandoned under a more thorough investigation of early
Christian literature. A study of patristics soon rendered it
impossible to string out the New Testament books anywhere throughout
the second century in the interest of a plausible theory of
development. External evidence has led to a much earlier dating
of most of the books than Baur's theory required. The Tuebingen
estimate of the Book of Acts, in particular, has for the most
part been modified; the book is dated much earlier, and it is no
longer thought to be a party document written in the interests of a
deliberate falsification of history.

Nevertheless, the criticism of Baur and Zeller, though no longer
accepted as a whole, is still influential; the comparison of Acts
and Galatians, particularly in that which concerns the Apostolic
Council of Acts xv, is still often thought to result unfavorably
to the Book of Acts. Even at this point, however, a more favorable
estimate of Acts has been gaining ground. The cardinal principle
of Baur, to the effect that the major epistles of Paul should be
interpreted entirely without reference to the Book of Acts, is being
called in question. Such a method of interpretation, it may well be
urged, is likely to result in one-sidedness. If the Book of Acts
commends itself at all as containing trustworthy information, it
should be allowed to cast light upon the Epistles. The account which
Paul gives in Galatians is not so complete as to render superfluous
any assistance which may be derived from an independent narrative.
And as a matter of fact, no matter what principles of interpretation
are held, the Book of Acts simply must be used in interpreting
the Epistles; without the outline given in Acts the Epistles would
be unintelligible.[16] Perhaps it may turn out, therefore, that
Baur produced his imposing reconstruction of the apostolic age
by neglecting all sources except Galatians and the Corinthian
Epistles--and then by misinterpreting these.

  [16] J. Weiss, _Urchristentum_, 1914, p. 107: "It is simply
  impossible for us to erase it [the Book of Acts] so completely from
  our memory as to read the Epistle to the Galatians as though we had
  never known Acts; without the Book of Acts we should simply not be
  able to understand Galatians at all."

The comparison of Acts and the Pauline Epistles will be reserved
for the chapters that deal with the outline of Paul's life. It will
there be necessary to deal with the vexed question of the Apostolic
Council. The question is vital for the present discussion; for if it
can really be shown that Paul was in fundamental disagreement with
the intimate friends of Jesus of Nazareth, then the way is opened
for supposing that he was in disagreement with Jesus Himself. The
question raised by Baur with regard to the Book of Acts has a most
important bearing upon the question of the origin of Paulinism.

All that can now be done, however, is to point out that the tendency
at the present time is toward a higher and higher estimate of
the Book of Acts. A more careful study of the Pauline Epistles
themselves is exhibiting elements in Paul's thinking which justify
more and more clearly the account which the Book of Acts gives of
the relations of Paul to Judaism and to Jewish Christianity.




CHAPTER II

THE EARLY YEARS




CHAPTER II

THE EARLY YEARS


Before examining the various hypotheses which have been advanced to
account for the origin of Paulinism, the investigator must consider
first the outline of Paul's life, at least so far as the formative
years are concerned. Paulinism has been explained by the influence
upon Paul of various features of his environment. It is important,
therefore, to determine at what points Paul came into contact with
his environment. What, in view of the outline of his life, were his
probable opportunities for acquainting himself with the historical
Jesus and with the primitive Jerusalem Church? Whence did he
derive his Judaism? Where, if at all, could he naturally have been
influenced by contemporary paganism? Such questions, it is hoped,
may be answered by the two following chapters.

In these chapters, the outline of Paul's life will be considered not
for its own sake, but merely for the light that it may shed upon the
origin of his thought and experience. Many questions, therefore, may
be ignored. For example, it would here be entirely aside from the
point to discuss such intricate matters as the history of Paul's
journeys to Corinth attested by the Corinthian Epistles. The present
discussion is concerned only with those events in the life of Paul
which determined the nature of his contact with the surrounding
world, both Jewish and pagan, and particularly the nature of his
contact with Jesus and the earliest disciples of Jesus.

Paul was born at Tarsus, the chief city of Cilicia. This fact is
attested only by the Book of Acts, and formerly it did not escape
unchallenged. It was called in question, for example, in 1890 by
Krenkel, in an elaborate argument.[17] But Krenkel's argument is
now completely antiquated, not merely because of the rising credit
of the Book of Acts, but also because the birth of Paul in a Greek
city like Tarsus is in harmony with modern reconstructions. Krenkel
argued, for example, that the apostle shows little acquaintance
with Greek culture, and therefore could not have spent his youth
in a Greek university city. Such assertions appear very strange
to-day. Recent philological investigation of the Pauline Epistles
has proved that the author uses the Greek language in such masterly
fashion that he must have become familiar with it very early in
life; the language of the Epistles is certainly no Jewish-Greek
jargon. With regard to the origin of the ideas, also, the tendency
of recent criticism is directly contrary to Krenkel; Paulinism is
now often explained as being based either upon paganism or else upon
a Hellenized Judaism. To such reconstructions it is a highly welcome
piece of information when the Book of Acts makes Paul a native not
of Jerusalem but of Tarsus. The author of Acts, it is said, is here
preserving a bit of genuine tradition, which is the more trustworthy
because it runs counter to the tendency, thought to be otherwise
in evidence in Acts, which brings Paul into the closest possible
relation to Palestine. Thus, whether for good or for bad reasons,
the birth of Paul in Tarsus is now universally accepted, and does
not require defense.

  [17] Krenkel, _Beitraege zur Aufhellung der Geschichte und der Briefe
  des Apostels Paulus_, 1890, pp. 1-17.

A very interesting tradition preserved by Jerome does indeed make
Paul a native of Gischala in Galilee; but no one to-day would be
inclined to follow Krenkel in giving credence to Jerome rather
than to Acts. The Gischala tradition does not look like a pure
fiction, but it is evident that Jerome has at any rate exercised
his peculiar talent for bringing things into confusion. Zahn[18]
has suggested, with considerable plausibility, that the shorter
reference to Gischala in the treatise "De viris illustribus"[19] is
a confused abridgment of the longer reference in the "Commentary on
Philemon."[20] The latter passage asserts not that Paul himself but
only that the parents of Paul came from Gischala. That assertion may
possibly be correct. It would explain the Aramaic and Palestinian
tradition which undoubtedly was preserved in the boyhood home of
Paul.

  [18] _Einleitung in das Neue Testament_, 3te Aufl., i, 1906, pp.
  48-50 (English Translation, _Introduction to the New Testament_, 2nd
  ed., 1909, i, pp. 68-70).

  [19] _De vir. ill._ 5 (ed. Vall. ii, 836).

  [20] _Comm. in Philem._ 23 (ed. Vall. vii, 762).

Tarsus was an important city. Its commercial importance, though
of course inferior to that of places like Antioch or Corinth, was
considerable; and it was also well known as a center of intellectual
life. Although the dramatic possibilities of representing the
future Christian missionary growing up unknown under the shadow of
a Greek university may sometimes have led to an exaggeration of the
academic fame of Tarsus, still it remains true that Tarsus was a
real university city, and could boast of great names like that of
Athenodorus, the Stoic philosopher, and others. The life of Tarsus
has recently been made the subject of two elaborate monographs,
by Ramsay[21] and by Boehlig,[22] who have collected a mass of
information about the birthplace of Paul. The nature of the pagan
religious atmosphere which surrounded the future apostle is of
peculiar interest; but the amount of direct information which has
come down to us should not be exaggerated.

  [21] _The Cities of St. Paul_, 1908, pp. 85-244.

  [22] _Die Geisteskultur von Tarsos_, 1913.

The social position of Paul's family in Tarsus must not be regarded
as very humble; for according to the Book of Acts not only Paul
himself, but his father before him, possessed the Roman citizenship,
which in the provinces was still in the first century a highly
prized privilege from which the great masses of the people were
excluded. The Roman citizenship of Paul is not attested by the
Pauline Epistles, but the representation of Acts is at this point
universally, or almost universally, accepted. Only one objection
might be urged against it. If Paul was a Roman citizen, how could he
have been subjected three times to the Roman punishment of beating
with rods (2 Cor. xi. 25), from which citizens were exempted by
law? The difficulty is not insuperable. Paul may on some occasions
have been unwilling to appeal to a privilege which separated
him from his Jewish countrymen; or he may have wanted to avoid
the delay which an appeal to his privilege, with the subsequent
investigation and trial, might have caused. At any rate, the
difficulty, whether easily removable or not, is quite inadequate
to overthrow the abundant evidence for the fact of Paul's Roman
citizenship. That fact is absolutely necessary to account for the
entire representation which the Book of Acts gives of the journey
of Paul as a prisoner to Rome, which representation, it will be
remembered, is contained in the we-sections. The whole account of
the relation between Paul and Roman authorities, which is contained
in the Pauline Epistles, the Book of Acts, and trustworthy Christian
tradition, is explicable only if Paul possessed the rights of
citizenship.[23]

  [23] Compare Mommsen, "Die Rechtsverhaeltnisse des Apostels Paulus,"
  in _Zeitschrift fuer die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft_, ii, 1901,
  pp. 88-96.

Birth in a Greek university city and Roman citizenship constitute
the two facts which bring Paul into early connection with the larger
Gentile world of his day. Other facts, equally well-attested,
separate him just as clearly from the Gentile world and represent
him as being from childhood a strict Jew. These facts might have
been called in question, in view of the present tendency of
criticism, if they had been attested only by the Book of Acts. But
fortunately it is just these facts which are attested also by the
epistles of Paul.

In 2 Cor. xi. 22, Paul is declared to be a "Hebrew," and in Phil.
iii. 5 he appears as a "Hebrew of Hebrews." The word "Hebrew"
in these passages cannot indicate merely Israelitish descent or
general adherence to the Jews' religion. If it did so it would be a
meaningless repetition of the other terms used in the same passages.
Obviously it is used in some narrower sense. The key to its meaning
is found in Acts vi. 1, where, within Judaism, the "Hellenists"
are distinguished from the "Hebrews," the Hellenists being the
Jews of the Dispersion who spoke Greek, and the Hebrews the Jews
of Palestine who spoke Aramaic. In Phil. iii. 5, therefore, Paul
declares that he was an Aramaic-speaking Jew and descended from
Aramaic-speaking Jews; Aramaic was used in his boyhood home, and the
Palestinian tradition was preserved. This testimony is not contrary
to what was said above about Paul's use of the Greek language--not
improbably Paul used both Aramaic and Greek in childhood--but it
does contradict all those modern representations which make Paul
fundamentally a Jew of the Dispersion. Though he was born in Tarsus,
he was, in the essential character of his family tradition, a Jew of
Palestine.

Even more important is the assertion, found in the same verse
in Philippians, that Paul was "as touching the law a Pharisee."
Conceivably, indeed, it might be argued that his Pharisaism was not
derived from his boyhood home, but was acquired later. But surely
it requires no excessively favorable estimate of Acts to give
credence to the assertion in Acts xxiii. 6 that Paul was not only a
Pharisee but the "son of Pharisees"; and it is exceedingly unlikely
that this phrase refers, as Lightfoot[24] suggested, to teachers
rather than to ancestors. For when Paul says in Gal. i. 14 that he
advanced in the Jews' religion beyond many of his contemporaries,
being more exceedingly zealous for his paternal traditions, it
is surely natural, whatever interpretation may be given to the
word "paternal," to find a reference to the Pharisaic traditions
cultivated in his boyhood home.

  [24] On Phil. iii. 5.

There is not the slightest evidence, therefore, for supposing that
Paul spent his early years in an atmosphere of "liberal Judaism"--a
Judaism really though unconsciously hospitable to pagan notions and
predisposed to relax the strict requirements of the Law and break
down the barrier that separated Israel from the Gentile world.
Whether such a liberal Judaism even existed in Tarsus we do not
know. At any rate, if it did exist, the household of Paul's father
was not in sympathy with it. Surely the definite testimony of Paul
himself is here worth more than all modern conjectures. And Paul
himself declares that he was in language and in spirit a Jew of
Palestine rather than of the Dispersion, and as touching the Law a
Pharisee.

According to the Book of Acts, Paul went at an early age to
Jerusalem, received instruction there from Gamaliel, the famous
rabbi, and finally, just before his conversion, persecuted the
Jerusalem Church (Acts xxii. 3; vii. 58-viii. 1; ix. 1, etc.). In
recent years, this entire representation has been questioned. It has
been maintained by Mommsen,[25] Bousset[26], Heitmueller,[27] and
Loisy[28] that Paul never was in Jerusalem before his conversion.
That he persecuted the Church is, of course, attested unequivocally
by his own Epistles, but the persecution, it is said, really took
place only in such cities as Damascus, and not at all in Palestine.

  [25] _Op. cit._, pp. 85f.

  [26] _Kyrios Christos_, 1913, p. 92. Bousset's doubt with regard to
  the early Jerusalem residence of Paul extended, explicitly at least,
  only to the persecution in Jerusalem, and it was a doubt merely, not
  a positive denial. In his supplementary work he has admitted that
  his doubt was unjustified (_Jesus der Herr_, 1916, p. 31).

  [27] "Zum Problem Paulus und Jesus," in _Zeitschrift fuer die
  neutestamentliche Wissenschaft_, xiii, 1912, pp. 320-337.

  [28] _L'epitre aux Galates_, 1916, pp. 68-73; _Les mysteres paiens
  et le mystere chretien_, 1919, pp. 317-320.

This elimination of the early residence of Paul in Jerusalem is no
mere by-product of a generally skeptical attitude toward the Book
of Acts, but is important for the entire reconstruction of early
Christian history which Bousset and Heitmueller and Loisy propose;
it is made to assist in explaining the origin of the Pauline
Christology. Paul regarded Jesus Christ as a supernatural person,
come to earth for the redemption of men; and toward this divine
Christ he assumed a distinctly religious attitude. How could he
have formed such a conception of a human being who had died but a
few years before? If he had been separated from Jesus by several
generations, so that the nimbus of distance and mystery would have
had time to form about the figure of the Galilean prophet, then his
lofty conception of Jesus might be explained. But as a matter of
fact he was actually a contemporary of the Jesus whose simple human
traits he obscured. How could the "smell of earth" have been so
completely removed from the figure of the Galilean teacher that He
could actually be regarded by one of His contemporaries as a divine
Redeemer? The question could perhaps be more easily answered if
Paul, before his lofty conception of Christ was fully formed, never
came into any connection with those who had seen Jesus subject to
the petty limitations of human life. Thus the elimination of the
early Jerusalem residence of Paul, by putting a geographical if
not a temporal gulf between Jesus and Paul, is thought to make the
formation of the Pauline Christology more comprehensible. Peter and
the original disciples, it is thought, never could have separated
Jesus so completely from the limitations of ordinary humanity; the
simple memory of Galilean days would in their case have been an
effective barrier against Christological speculation. But Paul was
subject to no such limitation; having lived far away from Palestine,
in the company, for the most part, of those who like himself had
never seen Jesus, he was free to transpose to the Galilean teacher
attributes which to those who had known the real Jesus would have
seemed excessive or absurd.

Before examining the grounds upon which this elimination of Paul's
early Jerusalem residence is based, it may first be observed that
even such heroic measures do not really bring about the desired
result; even this radical rewriting of the story of Paul's boyhood
and youth will not serve to explain on naturalistic principles the
origin of the Pauline Christology. Even if before his conversion
Paul got no nearer to Jerusalem than Damascus, it still remains
true that after his conversion he conferred with Peter and lived in
more or less extended intercourse with Palestinian disciples. The
total lack of any evidence of a conflict between the Christology of
Paul and the views of those who had walked and talked with Jesus of
Nazareth remains, for any naturalistic reconstruction, a puzzling
fact. Even without the early Jerusalem residence, Paul remains too
near to Jesus both temporally and geographically to have formed
a conception of Him entirely without reference to the historical
person. Even with their radical treatment of the Book of Acts,
therefore, Bousset and Heitmueller have not succeeded at all in
explaining how the Pauline Christology ever came to be attached to
the Galilean prophet.

But is the elimination of the early Jerusalem residence of Paul
historically justifiable? Mere congruity with a plausible theory
of development will not serve to justify it. For the Jerusalem
residence is strongly attested by the Book of Acts. The testimony
of Acts can no longer be ruled out except for very weighty reasons;
the history of recent criticism has on the whole exhibited the
rise of a more and more favorable estimate of the book. And in the
case of the early Jerusalem residence of Paul the testimony is so
insistent and so closely connected with lifelike details that the
discrediting of it involves an exceedingly radical skepticism. The
presence of Paul at the stoning of Stephen is narrated in the Book
of Acts in a concrete way which bears every mark of trustworthiness;
the connection of Paul with Gamaliel is what might have been
expected in view of the self-testimony of the apostle; the account
of Paul's vision in the Temple (Acts xxii. 17-21) is based, in a
manner which is psychologically very natural, upon the fact of
Paul's persecuting activity in Jerusalem; the presence of Paul's
sister's son in Jerusalem, attested in a part of the narrative of
which the essential historicity must be universally admitted (Acts
xxiii. 16-22), suggests that family connections may have facilitated
Paul's residence in the city. Finally, the geographical details of
the three narratives of the conversion, which place the event on a
journey of Paul from Jerusalem to Damascus, certainly look as though
they were founded upon genuine tradition. One of the details--the
place of the conversion itself--is confirmed in a purely incidental
way by the Epistle to the Galatians, and the reader has the
impression that if Paul had happened to introduce other details
in the Epistles the rest of the narrative in Acts would have been
similarly confirmed. Except for Paul's incidental reference to
Damascus in Gal. i. 17, the conversion might have been put by
Heitmueller and others in a place even more conveniently remote than
Damascus from the scene of Jesus' earthly labors. But the incidental
confirmation of Acts at this point raises a distinct presumption in
favor of the account as a whole. The main trend of modern criticism
has been favorable on the whole to the tradition embodied in the
accounts of the conversion; it is a very extreme form of skepticism
which rejects the whole framework of the tradition by eliminating
the journey from Jerusalem to Damascus.

Enough has been said to show that the early Jerusalem residence of
Paul stood absolutely firm in the tradition used by the author of
Acts; the author has taken it as a matter of course and woven it in
with his narrative at many points. Such a tradition certainly cannot
be lightly rejected; the burden of proof clearly rests upon those
who would deny its truthworthiness.

The only definite proof which is forthcoming is found in Gal. i.
22, where Paul says that after his departure for Syria and Cilicia,
three years after his conversion, he was "unknown by face to the
churches of Judaea which are in Christ." If he had engaged in active
persecution of those churches, it is argued, how could he have been
personally unknown to them?

By this argument a tremendous weight is hung upon one verse. And,
rightly interpreted, the verse will not bear the weight at all. In
Gal. i. 22, Paul is not speaking so much of what took place before
the departure for Syria and Cilicia, as of the condition which
prevailed at the time of that departure and during the immediately
ensuing period; he is simply drawing attention to the significance
for his argument of the departure from Jerusalem. Certainly he would
not have been able to speak as he does if before he left Jerusalem
he had had extended intercourse with the Judaean churches, but when
he says that the knowledge of the Judaean churches about him in the
period just succeeding his departure from Jerusalem was a hearsay
knowledge merely, it would have been pedantic for him to think about
the question whether some of the members of those churches had or
had not seen him years before as a persecutor.

Furthermore, it is by no means clear that the word "Judaea" in Gal.
i. 22 includes Jerusalem at all. In Mark iii. 7, 8, for example,
"Jerusalem" is clearly not included in "Judaea," but is distinguished
from it; "Judaea" means the country outside of the capital. It may
well be so also in Gal. i. 22; and if so, then the verse does not
exclude a personal acquaintance of Paul with the Jerusalem Church.
But even if "Judaea" is not used so as to exclude the capital,
still Paul's words would be natural enough. That the Jerusalem
Church formed an exception to the general assertion was suggested
by the account of the visit in Jerusalem immediately preceding,
and was probably well known to his Galatian readers. All that Paul
means is that he went away to Syria and Cilicia without becoming
acquainted generally with the churches of Judaea. It is indeed often
said that since the whole point of Paul's argument in Galatians
was to show his lack of contact with the pillars of the Jerusalem
Church, his acquaintance or lack of acquaintance with the churches
of Judaea outside of Jerusalem was unworthy of mention, so that he
must at least be including Jerusalem when he speaks of Judaea. But
this argument is not decisive. If, as is altogether probable, the
apostles except Peter were out of the city at the time of Paul's
visit, and were engaging in missionary work in Judaean churches, then
acquaintance with the Judaean churches would have meant intercourse
with the apostles, so that it was very much to the point for Paul
to deny that he had had such acquaintance. Of course, this whole
argument against the early Jerusalem residence of Paul, based on
Gal. i. 22, involves a rejection of the account which the Book of
Acts gives of the visit of Paul to Jerusalem three years after his
conversion. If Gal. i. 22 means that Paul was unknown by sight to
the Jerusalem Church, then he could not have gone in and out among
the disciples at Jerusalem as Acts ix. 28 represents, but must
have been in strict hiding when he was in the city. Such is the
account of the matter which is widely prevalent in recent years.
Not even so much correction of Acts is at all required by a correct
understanding of Gal. i. 22. But it is a still more unjustifiable
use of that verse when it is made to exclude even the persecuting
activity of Paul in Jerusalem.

If, however, the words of Galatians are really to be taken in the
strictest and most literal sense, what is to be done with Gal.
i. 23, where (immediately after the words which have just been
discussed) Paul says that the churches of Judaea were receiving
the report, "He that persecuted us formerly is now preaching as
a gospel the faith which formerly he laid waste"? What is meant
by the pronoun "us" in this verse? Conceivably it might be taken
in a broad sense, as referring to all disciples wherever found;
conceivably, therefore, the persecution referred to by the Judaean
disciples might be persecution of their brethren in the faith in
Tarsus or Damascus. But that is not the kind of interpretation
which has just been applied to the preceding verse, and upon which
such a vast structure has been reared. It may well be urged against
Heitmueller and those like him that if Paul's words are to be taken
so strictly in one verse they should be taken in the same way in the
other; if the "Judaea" and "unknown by face" of verse 22 are to be
taken so strictly, then the "us" of verse 23 should also be taken
strictly, and in that case Paul is made to contradict himself, which
of course is absurd. Verse 23 certainly does not fully confirm the
representation of Acts about the persecuting activity of Paul in
Judaea, but at any rate it tends to confirm that representation at
least as strongly as verse 22 tends to discredit it.[29]

  [29] Compare Wellhausen, _Kritische Analyse der Apostelgeschichte_,
  1914, p. 16.

Thus the early Jerusalem residence of Paul is strongly attested
by the Book of Acts, and is thoroughly in harmony with everything
that Paul says about his Pharisaic past. It is not surprising that
Bousset has now receded from his original position and admits
that Paul was in Jerusalem before his conversion and engaged in
persecution of the Jerusalem Church.

That admission does not necessarily carry with it an acceptance of
all that the Book of Acts says about the Jerusalem period in Paul's
life, particularly all that it says about his having been a disciple
of Gamaliel. But the decisive point has been gained. If the entire
account of the early Jerusalem residence of Paul is not ruled out
by the testimony of his own Epistles, then there is at least no
decisive objection against the testimony of Acts with regard to the
details. Certainly the common opinion to the effect that Paul went
to Jerusalem to receive rabbinical training is admirably in accord
with everything that he says in his Epistles about his zeal for the
Law. It is also in accord with his habits of thought and expression,
which were transformed and glorified, rather than destroyed, by
his Christian experience. The decision about every detail of
course depends ultimately upon the particular conclusion which the
investigator may have reached with regard to the Book of Acts. If
that book was written by a companion of Paul--an opinion which is
gaining ground even in circles which were formerly hostile--then
there is every reason to suppose that Paul was brought up in
Jerusalem at the feet of Gamaliel (Acts xxii. 3). Some important
questions indeed still remain unanswered, even with full acceptance
of the Lucan testimony. It can never be determined, for example, at
exactly what age Paul went to Jerusalem. The words, "brought up in
this city," in Acts xxii. 3 might seem to suggest that Paul went to
Jerusalem in early childhood, in which case his birthplace would
be of comparatively little importance in his preparation for his
lifework, and all the elaborate investigations of Tarsus, so far as
they are intended to shed light upon the environment of the apostle
in his formative years, would become valueless. But the Greek word
"brought up" or "nourished" might be used figuratively in a somewhat
flexible way; it remains, therefore, perfectly possible that Paul's
Jerusalem training began, not in childhood, but in early youth.
At any rate, an early residence in Jerusalem is not excluded by
the masterly way in which the apostle uses the Greek language. It
must always be remembered that Palestine in the first century was
a bilingual country;[30] the presence of hosts of Greek-speaking
Jews even in Jerusalem is amply attested, for example, by the early
chapters of Acts. Moreover, even after Paul's Jerusalem studies had
begun, his connection with Tarsus need not have been broken off. The
distance between the two cities was considerable (some four or five
hundred miles), but travel in those days was safe and easy. A period
of training in Jerusalem may have been followed by a long residence
at Tarsus.

  [30] See Zahn, _Einleitung in das Neue Testament_, 3te Aufl., i,
  1906, pp. 24-32, 39-47 (English Translation, _Introduction to the
  New Testament_, 2nd Ed., 1917, i, pp. 34-46, 57-66).

At this point, an interesting question arises, which, however, can
never be answered with any certainty. Did Paul ever see Jesus before
the crucifixion? In the light of what has just been established
about the outline of Paul's life, an affirmative answer might seem
to be natural. Paul was in Jerusalem both before and after the
public ministry of Jesus--before it when he was being "brought up"
in Jerusalem, and after it when he was engaged in persecution of the
Jerusalem Church. Where was he during the interval? Where was he on
those occasions when Jesus visited Jerusalem--especially at the time
of that last Passover? If he was in Jerusalem, it seems probable
that he would have seen the great prophet, whose coming caused such
a stir among the people. And that he was in the city at Passover
time would seem natural in view of his devotion to the Law. But the
matter is by no means certain. He may have returned to Tarsus, in
the manner which has just been suggested.

The question could only be decided on the basis of actual testimony
either in Acts or in the Epistles. One verse has often been thought
to provide such testimony. In 2 Cor. v. 16, Paul says, "Even if
we have known Christ after the flesh, yet now we know him so no
longer." Knowledge of Christ after the flesh can only mean, it is
said, knowledge of Him by the ordinary use of the senses, in the
manner in which one man in ordinary human intercourse knows another.
That kind of knowledge, Paul says, has ceased to have significance
for the Christian in his relation to other men; it has also ceased
to have significance for him in his relation to Christ. But it is
that kind of knowledge which Paul seems to predicate of himself,
as having existed in a previous period of his life. He does not
use the unreal form of condition; he does not say, "Even if we had
known Christ after the flesh (though as a matter of fact we never
knew Him so at all), yet now we should know Him so no longer."
Apparently, then, when he says "if" he means "although"; he means to
say, "Although we have known Christ after the flesh, yet now we know
Him so no longer." The knowledge of Christ after the flesh is thus
put as an actual fact in Paul's experience, and that can only mean
that he knew Him in the way in which His contemporaries knew Him
in Galilee and in Jerusalem, a way which in itself, Paul says, was
altogether without spiritual significance.

One objection to this interpretation of the passage is that it
proves too much. If it means anything, it means that Paul had
extended personal acquaintance with Jesus before the crucifixion;
for if Paul merely saw Him for a few moments--for example, when the
crowds were surging about Him at the time of the last Passover--he
could hardly be said to have "known" Him. But, for obvious reasons,
any extended intercourse between Paul and Jesus in Palestine is
exceedingly improbable. It is natural, therefore, to look for some
other interpretation.

Other interpretations undoubtedly are possible. Some of the
interpretations that have been proposed must indeed be eliminated.
For example, Paul cannot possibly be contrasting a former immature
stage of his Christian experience with the present mature stage;
he cannot possibly mean, "Even if in the first period after my
conversion I had a low view of Christ, which made of Him merely
the son of David and the Jewish Messiah, yet now I have come to a
higher conception of His divine nature." For the whole point of
the passage is found in the sharp break which comes in a man's
experience when he appropriates the death and resurrection of
Christ. Any consciousness of a subsequent revolution in the thinking
of the Christian is not only unsupported anywhere in the Pauline
Epistles, but is absolutely excluded by the present passage. Another
interpretation also must be eliminated. Paul cannot possibly be
contrasting his pre-Christian notions about the Messiah with the
higher knowledge which came to him with his conversion; he cannot
possibly mean, "Even if before I knew the fulfillment of the
Messianic promise I cherished carnal notions of what the Messiah
was to be, even if I thought of Him merely as an earthly ruler who
was to conquer the enemies of Israel, yet now I have come to have a
loftier, more spiritual conception of Him." For the word "Christ,"
especially without the article, can hardly here be anything
other than a proper name, and must refer not to the conception
of Messiahship but to the concrete person of Jesus. But another
interpretation remains. The key to it is found in the flexible use
of the first person plural in the Pauline Epistles. Undoubtedly, the
"we" of the whole passage in which 2 Cor. v. 16 is contained refers
primarily to Paul himself. But, especially in 2 Cor. v. 16, it may
include also all true ambassadors for Christ whose principles are
the same as Paul's. Among such true ambassadors there were no doubt
to be found some who had known Christ by way of ordinary intercourse
in Palestine. "But," says Paul, "even if some of us have known
Christ in that way, we know him so no longer." This interpretation
is linguistically more satisfactory, perhaps, than that which
explains the sentence as simply a more vivid way of presenting a
condition contrary to fact. "Granted," Paul would say according to
this interpretation, "even that we have known Christ according to
the flesh (which as a matter of fact we have not), yet now we know
him so no longer." But our interpretation really amounts to almost
the same thing so far as Paul is concerned. At any rate, the passage
is not so clear as to justify any certain conclusions about Paul's
life in Palestine; it does not clearly imply any acquaintance of
Paul with Jesus before the passion.

If such acquaintance is to be established, therefore, it must be
established on the basis of other evidence. J. Weiss[31] seeks to
establish it by the very fact of Paul's conversion. Paul, Weiss
believes, saw a vision of the risen Christ. How did he know that the
figure which appeared to him in the vision was Jesus? Why did he not
think, for example, merely that it was the Messiah, who according
to one strain of Jewish Messianic expectation was already existent
in heaven? Apparently he recognized the person who appeared to him
as Jesus of Nazareth. But how could he have recognized Him as Jesus
unless he had seen Jesus before?

  [31] _Paulus und Jesus_, 1909, pp. 22, 23. Compare Ramsay, _The
  Teaching of Paul in Terms of the Present Day_, 1914, pp. 21-30.

This argument depends, of course, altogether upon the naturalistic
conception of the conversion of Paul, which regards the experience
as an hallucination. In the account of the conversion given in the
Book of Acts, on the contrary, it is distinctly said that far from
recognizing the person who appeared to him, Paul was obliged to ask
the question, "Who art thou, Lord?" and then received the answer,
"I am Jesus." Such a conversation between Paul and the One who
appeared to him is perfectly possible if there was a real appearance
of the risen Christ, but it exceeds the ordinary limits of
hallucinations. Weiss has therefore merely pointed out an additional
psychological difficulty in explaining the experience of Paul as
an hallucination, a difficulty which, on naturalistic principles,
may have to be removed by the assumption that Paul had seen Jesus
before the passion. But if Jesus really appeared to Paul in such a
way as to be able to answer his questions, then it is not necessary
to suppose that Paul recognized Him. The failure of Paul to
recognize Jesus (according to the narrative in Acts) does not indeed
positively exclude such previous acquaintance; the two disciples on
the road to Emmaus, for example, also failed to recognize the Lord,
though they had been acquainted with Him before. But, at any rate,
if the supernaturalistic view of Paul's conversion be accepted,
the experience sheds no light whatever upon any previous personal
acquaintance with Jesus.

Thus there is no clear evidence for supposing that Paul saw Jesus
before the passion. At the same time there is no evidence to the
contrary, except the evidence that is to be found in the silence of
the Epistles.

The argument from silence, precarious as it is, must here be
allowed a certain amount of weight. If Paul had seen Jesus before
the crucifixion, would not so important a fact have been mentioned
somewhere in the Epistles? The matter is by no means absolutely
clear; a brief glimpse of Jesus in the days of His flesh would
perhaps not have seemed so important to Paul, in view of the richer
knowledge which came afterwards, as it would seem to us. The silence
of the Epistles does, however, render improbable any extended
contact between Paul and Jesus, particularly any active opposition
of the youthful Paul toward Jesus. Paul was deeply penitent for
having persecuted the Church; if he had committed the more terrible
sin of having helped bring the Lord Himself to the shameful cross,
the fact would naturally have appeared in his expressions of
penitence. Even if Paul did see Jesus in Palestine, then, it is
highly improbable that he was one of those who cried out to Pilate,
"Crucify him, crucify him!"

One thing, however, is certain. If Paul never saw Jesus in
Palestine, he certainly heard about Him. The ministry of Jesus
caused considerable stir both in Galilee and in Jerusalem. These
things were not done in a corner. The appearance of Jesus at the
last Passover aroused the passions of the multitude, and evidently
caused the deepest concern to the authorities. Even one who was
indifferent to the whole matter could hardly have helped learning
something of the content of Jesus' teaching, and the main outline
of the story of His death. But Paul, at least at a time only a very
few years after the crucifixion, was not indifferent; for he was an
active persecutor. If he was in Palestine at all during the previous
period, his interest probably began then. The outlines of Jesus'
life and death were known to friend and foe alike, and certainly
were not unknown to Paul before his conversion, at the time when he
was persecuting the Church. It is only a woeful lack of historical
imagination which can attribute to Paul, even before his conversion,
a total ignorance of the earthly life of Jesus.

The opposite error, however, is even more serious. If Paul before
his conversion was not totally ignorant of Jesus, on the other
hand his knowledge only increased his opposition to Jesus and
Jesus' followers. It is not true that before the conversion Paul
was gradually coming nearer to Christianity. Against any such
supposition stands the explicit testimony of the Epistles.

Despite that testimony, various attempts have been made to trace
a psychological development in Paul which could have led to the
conversion. Paul was converted through a vision of the risen
Christ. According to the supernaturalistic view that vision was a
"vision," not in any specialized meaning of the word, but in its
original etymological meaning; Paul actually "saw" the risen Lord.
According to the modern naturalistic view, which rejects any direct
creative interposition of God in the course of nature, different in
kind from His works of providence, the vision was produced by the
internal condition of the subject, accompanied perhaps by favorable
conditions without--the heat of the sun or a thunder storm or the
like. But was the condition of the subject, in the case of Paul,
really favorable to a vision of the risen Christ? If the vision
of Christ was an hallucination, as it is held to be by modern
naturalistic historians, how may the genesis of this pathological
experience be explained?

In the first place, a certain basis for the experience is sought in
the physical organism of the subject. According to the Epistles,
it is said, the apostle was subject to a recurrent malady; this
malady is spoken of in 2 Cor. xii. 1-8 in connection with visions
and revelations. In Gal. iv. 14, where it is said that the
Galatians did not "spit out" when the apostle was with them, an
allusion is sometimes discovered to the ancient custom of spitting
to avoid contagion. A combination of this passage with the one in
2 Corinthians is thought to establish a diagnosis of epilepsy, the
effort being made to show that "spitting out" was particularly
prevalent in the case of that disease. The visions then become an
additional symptom of the epileptic seizures.[32]

  [32] See Krenkel, _Beitraege zur Aufhellung der Geschichte und der
  Briefe des Apostels Paulus_, 1890, pp. 47-125.

But the diagnosis rests upon totally insufficient data. The visions
are not regarded in 2 Corinthians as part of the buffetings of
the angel of Satan; on the contrary, the two things are sharply
separated in Paul's mind; he rejoices in the visions, but prays
the Lord that the buffetings may cease. It is not even said that
the visions and the buffetings came close together; there is no
real basis for the view that the buffetings consisted in nervous
exhaustion following the visions. In Gal. iv. 14, the "spitting
out" is probably to be taken figuratively, and the object is "your
temptation in my flesh." The meaning then is simply, "You did
not reject me or spue me out"; and there is no allusion to the
custom of "spitting out" for the purpose of avoiding contagion. It
is unnecessary, therefore, to examine the elaborate argument of
Krenkel by which he sought to show that epilepsy was particularly
the disease against which spitting was practised as a prophylactic
measure.

There is therefore absolutely no evidence to show that Paul was an
epileptic, unless the very fact of his having visions be thought to
furnish such evidence. But such a use of the visions prejudges the
great question at issue, which concerns the objective validity of
Paul's religious convictions. Furthermore, the fact should always be
borne in mind that Paul distinguished the visions very sharply from
the experience which he had near Damascus, when he saw the Lord. The
visions are spoken of in 2 Corinthians apparently with reluctance,
as something which concerned the apostle alone; the Damascus
experience was part of the evidence for the resurrection of Christ,
and had a fundamental place in the apostle's missionary preaching.
All efforts to break down this distinction have failed. The apostle
regarded the Damascus experience as unique--not a mystery like
the experiences which are mentioned in 2 Corinthians, but a plain,
palpable fact capable of being understood by all.

But if the Damascus experience is to be regarded as an
hallucination, it is not sufficient to exhibit a basis for it in the
physical weakness of the apostle. Even if Paul was constitutionally
predisposed to hallucinations, the experience of this particular
hallucination must be shown to be possible. The challenge has often
been accepted by modern historians. It is maintained that the
elements of Paul's new conviction must have been forming gradually
in his mind; the Damascus experience, it is said, merely brought to
light what was really already present. In this way, the enormous
disparity between effect and cause is thought to be removed; the
untold benefits of Paulinism are no longer to be regarded as due to
the fortunate chance of an hallucination, induced by the weakness
of the apostle and the heat of the desert sun, but rather to a
spiritual development which the hallucination merely revealed.
Thus the modern view of Paul's conversion, it is thought, may face
bravely the scorn of Beyschlag, who exclaimed, when speaking of
the naturalistic explanation of Paul's vision, "Oh blessed drop of
blood ... which by pressing at the right moment upon the brain of
Paul, produced such a moral wonder."[33] The drop of blood, it is
said, or whatever may have been the physical basis of the Damascus
experience, did not produce the wonders of the Pauline gospel; it
merely brought into the sphere of consciousness a psychological
process which had really been going on before.

  [33] Beyschlag, "Die Bekehrung des Apostels Paulus," in
  _Theologische Studien und Kritiken_, xxxvii, 1864, p. 241.

The existence of such a psychological process, by which the apostle
was coming nearer to Christ, is sometimes thought to receive
documentary support in one verse of the New Testament. In Acts xxvi.
14, the risen Christ is represented as saying to Paul, "It is hard
for thee to kick against the goads." According to this verse, it
is said, Paul had been resisting a better conviction, gradually
forming in his mind, that the disciples might be right about Jesus
and he might be wrong; that, it is said, was the goad which was
really driving him. He had indeed been resisting vigorously; he
had been stifling his doubts by more and more feverish activity
in persecution. But the resistance had not really brought him
peace; the goad was really there. And at last, near Damascus, the
resistance was overcome; the subconscious conviction which had
brought tumult into his soul was at last allowed to come to the
surface and rule his conscious life.

At this point, the historian is in grave danger of becoming
untrue to his own critical principles. Attention to the Book of
Acts, it has been maintained, is not to be allowed to color the
interpretation of the Pauline Epistles, which are the primary
sources of information. But here the procedure is reversed. In the
interests of a verse in Acts, standing, moreover, in a context
which on naturalistic principles cannot be regarded as historical,
the clear testimony of the Epistles is neglected. For Paul was
certainly not conscious of any goad which before his conversion was
forcing him into the new faith; he knows nothing of doubts which
assailed him during the period of his activity in persecution. On
the contrary, the very point of the passage in Galatians, where
he alludes to his persecuting activity, is the suddenness of his
conversion. Far from gradually coming nearer to Christ he was in
the very midst of his zeal for the Law when Christ called him.
The purpose of the passage is to show that his gospel came to him
without human intermediation. Before the conversion, he says, there
was of course no human intermediation, since he was an active
persecutor. He could not have spoken in this way if before the
conversion he had already become half convinced that those whom he
was persecuting were right. Moreover, throughout the Epistles there
appears in the apostle not the slightest consciousness of his having
acted against better convictions when he persecuted the Church. In
1 Tim. i. 13 he distinctly says that he carried on the persecution
in ignorance; and even if Timothy be regarded as post-Pauline, the
silence of the other epistles at least points in the same direction.
Paul was deeply penitent for having persecuted the Church of God,
but apparently he did not lay to his charge the black sin of having
carried on the persecution in the face of better convictions. When
he laid the Church waste he thought he was doing God service. In the
very midst of his mad persecuting activity, he says, apart from any
teaching from men--apart, we may certainly infer, from any favorable
impressions formed in his mind--the Lord appeared to him and gave
him his gospel. Paul stakes everything upon the evidential value of
the appearance, which was able suddenly to overcome an altogether
hostile attitude. Such is the self-testimony of the apostle. It
rests as a serious weight upon all attempts at making the conversion
the result of a psychological process.

Certainly the passage in Acts will not help to bear the weight.
When the risen Christ says to Paul, "It is hard for thee to kick
against the goads," He need not mean at all that the presence of
the goad had been known to Paul before that hour. The meaning may
be simply that the will of Christ is resistless; all opposition
is in vain, the appointed hour of Christ has arrived. Conscious
opposition on the part of Paul to a better conviction is certainly
not at all implied. No doubt Paul was really miserable when he was
a persecutor; all activity contrary to the plan of Christ brings
misery. But that he had the slightest inkling of the source of his
misery or even of the fact of it need not be supposed. It is even
possible that the "hardness" of resistance to the goad is to be
found only in the very moment of the conversion. "All resistance,"
says the risen Christ, "all hesitation, is as hopeless as for the ox
to kick against the goad; instant obedience alone is in place."

The weight of the apostle's own testimony is therefore in no sense
removed by Acts xxvi. 14. That testimony is unequivocally opposed to
all attempts at exhibiting a psychological process culminating in
the conversion. These attempts, however, because of the importance
which has been attributed to them, must now be examined. In general,
they are becoming less and less elaborate; contemporary scholars
are usually content to dismiss the psychological problem of the
conversion with a few general observations about the secret of
personality, or, at the most, a brief word about the possible
condition of the apostle's mind. Since the direct interposition of
the risen Christ is rejected, it is held that there must have been
some psychological preparation for the Damascus experience, but
what that preparation was remains hidden, it is said, in the secret
places of the soul, which no psychological analysis can ever fully
reveal.

If, however, the problem is not thus to be dismissed as insoluble,
no unanimity has been achieved among those who attempt a solution.
Two principal lines of solution of the problem may perhaps be
distinguished--that which begins with the objective evidence as
it presented itself to the persecutor, and that which starts with
the seventh chapter of Romans and the persecutor's own sense of
need. The former line was followed by Holsten, whose monographs
still constitute the most elaborate exposition of the psychological
process supposed to lie back of the conversion.[34] According to
Holsten, the process centered in the consideration of the Cross
of Christ. That consideration of course resulted at first in an
attitude of hostility on the part of Paul. The Cross was a shameful
thing; the proclamation of a crucified Messiah appeared, therefore,
to the devout Pharisee as an outrageous blasphemy. But the disciples
represented the Cross as in accordance with the will of God, and
supported their contention by the evidence for the resurrection;
the resurrection was made to overcome the offense of the Cross. But
against the evidence for the resurrection, Holsten believes, Paul
was helpless, the possibility of resurrection being fully recognized
in his Pharisaic training. What then if the resurrection really
vindicated the claims of Jesus to be the Messiah? Paul was by no
means convinced, Holsten believes, that such was the case. But the
possibility was necessarily in his mind, if only for the purposes
of refutation. At this point Paul began to advance, according to
Holsten, beyond the earlier disciples. On the assumption that the
resurrection really did vindicate the claims of Jesus, the Cross
would have to be explained. But an explanation lay ready to hand,
and Paul applied this explanation with a thoroughness which the
earlier disciples had not attained. The earlier disciples removed
the offense of the Cross by representing the Cross as part of the
plan of God for the Messiah; Paul exhibited the meaning of that
plan much more clearly than they. He exhibited the meaning of the
Cross by applying to it the category of vicarious suffering, which
could be found, for example, in Isaiah liii. At this point the
pre-Christian development of Paul was over. The Pauline "gnosis of
the Cross" was already formed. Of course, before the conversion it
was to Paul entirely a matter of supposition. On the supposition,
still regarded as false, that the resurrection had really taken
place, the Cross, far from being an offense, would become a glorious
fact. All the essential elements of Paul's gospel of the Cross were
thus present in Paul's mind before the conversion; the validity
of them had been posited by him for the purposes of argument. The
only thing that was lacking to make Paul a disciple of Jesus was
conviction of the fact of the resurrection. That conviction was
supplied by the Damascus experience. The unstable equilibrium then
was over; the elements of the Pauline gospel, which were all present
before, fell at once into their proper places.

  [34] Holsten, _Zum Evangelium des Paulus und des Petrus_, 1868.
  Against Holsten, see Beyschlag, "Die Bekehrung des Apostels Paulus,
  mit besonderer Ruecksicht auf die Erklaerungsversuche von Baur und
  Holsten," in _Theologische Studien und Kritiken_, xxxvii, 1864, pp.
  197-264; "Die Visionshypothese in ihrer neuesten Begruendung. Eine
  Duplik gegen D. Holsten," _ibid._, xliii, 1870, pp. 7-50, 189-263.

The other way of explaining the conversion starts from the seventh
chapter of Romans and the dissatisfaction which Paul is thought to
have experienced under the Law. Paul, it is said, was a Pharisee; he
made every effort to keep the Law of God. But he was too earnest to
be satisfied with a merely external obedience; and real obedience he
had not attained. He was therefore tormented by a sense of sin. That
sense of sin no doubt led him into a more and more feverish effort
to keep the letter of the Law and particularly to show his zeal by
persecuting the disciples of Jesus. But all his efforts were vain;
his obedience remained insufficient; the curse of the Law still
rested upon him. What if the vain effort could be abandoned? What if
the disciples of Jesus were right? Of course, he believed, they were
not right, but what if they were? What if the Messiah had really
died for the sins of believers, in accordance with Isaiah liii? What
if salvation were attainable not by merit but by divine grace? These
questions, it is supposed, were in the mind of Paul. He answered
them still in the negative, but his misery kept them ever before his
mind. The Law was thus a schoolmaster to bring him to Christ. He was
ready for the vision.

In both of these lines of explanation importance is often attributed
to the impression produced upon Paul's mind by the character of
the disciples. Whence did they derive their bravery and their joy
in the midst of persecution? Whence came the fervor of their love,
whence the firmness of their faith? The persecutor, it is said, was
impressed against his will.

The fundamental objection to all these theories of psychological
development is that they describe only what might have been or what
ought to have been, and not what actually was. No doubt Paul ought
to have been coming nearer to Christianity; but as a matter of fact
he was rather getting further away, and he records the fact in no
uncertain terms in his Epistles. There are objections, moreover, to
the various theories of development in detail; and the advocates of
one theory are often the severest critics of another.

With regard to Holsten's exposition of the "gnosis of the
Cross," for example, there is not the slightest evidence that
the pre-Christian Jews interpreted Isaiah liii of the vicarious
sufferings of the Messiah, or had any notion of the Messiah's
vicarious death.[35] It is not true, moreover, as Beyschlag pointed
out against Holsten, that Paul was helpless in the face of the
evidence for the resurrection.[36] According to Paul's Pharisaic
training, the resurrection would come only at the end of the age; a
resurrection like the resurrection of Jesus, therefore, was by no
means a matter of course, and could be established only by positive
evidence of the most direct and unequivocal kind.

  [35] See Schuerer, _Geschichte des juedischen Volkes_, 4te Aufl., ii,
  1907, pp. 648-651 (English Translation, _A History of the Jewish
  People_, Division II, vol. ii, 1885, pp. 184-187).

  [36] Beyschlag, "Die Visionshypothese in ihrer neuesten Begruendung,"
  in _Theologische Studien und Kritiken_, xliii, 1870, pp. 19-21.

With regard to the sense of sin as the goad which forced Paul to
accept the Saviour, there is no evidence that before his conversion
Paul was under real conviction of sin. It is very doubtful whether
Rom. vii. 7-25, with its account of the struggle between the
flesh and the higher nature of man, refers to the unregenerate
rather than to the regenerate life; and even if the former view is
correct, it is doubtful whether the description is taken from the
apostle's own experience. At any rate, the struggle, even if it be
a struggle in the unregenerate man, is described from the point of
view of the regenerate; it is not implied, therefore, that before
the entrance of the Spirit of God a man is fully conscious of his
own helplessness and of the desperateness of the struggle. The
passage therefore, does not afford any certain information about
the pre-Christian life of Paul. Undoubtedly before the conversion
the conscience of Paul was aroused; he was conscientious in his
devotion to the Law. Probably he was conscious of his failings. But
that such consciousness of failure amounted to anything like that
genuine conviction of sin which leads a man to accept the Saviour
remains very doubtful. Recognized failure to keep the Law perfectly
led in the case of Paul merely to greater zeal for the Law, a zeal
which was manifested especially in the persecution of a blasphemous
sect whose teaching was subversive of the authority of Moses.

Finally, it is highly improbable that Paul was favorably impressed
by the bravery of those whom he was persecuting. It may seem strange
at first sight that the same man who wrote the thirteenth chapter
of 1 Corinthians should have haled helpless men and women to prison
without a qualm, or listened without pity to the dying words of
Stephen, "Lord, lay not this sin to their charge." But it is very
dangerous to argue back from the Christian life of Paul to the life
of Paul the Pharisee. Paul himself was conscious of a complete moral
transformation as having taken place in him when he saw the Lord
near Damascus. What was impossible for him after that transformation
may well have been possible before. Moreover, if, despite such
considerations, we could argue back from Paul the disciple of Jesus
to Paul the Pharisee, there is one characteristic of the apostle
which would never have permitted him to persecute those by whom
he was favorably impressed--namely, his complete sincerity. The
picture of Saul the doubter, torn by conflicting emotions, impressed
by the calmness and bravery and magnanimity of those whom he was
persecuting, yet stifling such impressions by persecuting zeal, is
very romantic, but very un-Pauline.

But in attributing the conversion of Paul altogether to the
experience on the road to Damascus, are we not heaping up into one
moment what must of very necessity in conscious life be the work
of years? Is it conceivable that ideas should have been implanted
in the mind of a person not by processes of acquisition but
mechanically as though by a hypodermic syringe? Would not such an
experience, even if it were possible, be altogether destructive of
personality?

The objection serves to correct possible misunderstandings. The
view of the conversion which has just been set forth does not mean
that when Paul drew near to Damascus on that memorable day he was
ignorant of the facts about Jesus. If he had never heard of Jesus,
or if having heard of Him he knew absolutely nothing about Him, then
perhaps the conversion would have been not only supernatural but
inconceivable. But it is not the traditional view of the conversion
which is guilty of such exaggerations. They are the product rather
of that separation of Paul from the historical Jesus which appears
for example in Wrede and in Bousset. According to any reasonable
view of Paul's pre-Christian experience, Paul was well acquainted,
before the conversion, with many of the facts about Jesus' life
and death; what he received on the road to Damascus was a new
interpretation of the facts and a new attitude toward them. He had
known the facts before, but they had filled him with hatred; now his
hatred was changed into love.

Even after exaggerations have been removed, however, the change
wrought by the Damascus experience remains revolutionary enough. Is
that change conceivable? Could hatred have been changed into love
merely by an experience which convinced Paul of the fact of the
resurrection? The answer to this question depends altogether upon
the nature of the Damascus experience. If that experience was merely
an hallucination, the question must be answered in the negative; an
hallucination could never have produced the profound changes in the
personal life of Paul which have just been contemplated; and the
historian would be obliged to fall back, despite the unequivocal
testimony of the Epistles, upon some theory of psychological
development of which the hallucination would only be the climax.
But even those who maintain the supernaturalistic view of the
conversion have too often failed to do justice to the content of
the experience. One fundamental feature of the experience has too
often been forgotten--the appearance on the road to Damascus was the
appearance of a person. Sometimes the event has been regarded merely
as a supernatural interposition of God intended to produce belief
in the fact of the resurrection, as merely a sign. Undoubtedly it
was a sign. But it was far more; it was contact between persons.
But contact between persons, even under ordinary conditions, is
exceedingly mysterious; merely a look or the tone of the voice
sometimes produces astonishing results. Who has not experienced
the transition from mere hearsay knowledge of a person to actual
contact? One meeting is often sufficient to revolutionize the
entire impression; indifference or hostility gives place at once
to enthusiastic devotion. Those who speak of the transformation
wrought in Paul by the appearance of Jesus as magical or mechanical
or inconceivable have never reflected upon the mysteries of personal
intercourse.

Only, it must have been a real person whom Paul met on the road to
Damascus--not a vision, not a mere sign. If it was merely a vision
or a sign, all the objections remain in force. But if it was really
Jesus, the sight of His face and the words of love which He uttered
may have been amply sufficient, provided the heart of Paul was
renewed by the power of God's Spirit, to transform hatred into love.
To call such an experience magic is to blaspheme all that is highest
in human life. God was using no unworthy instrument when, by the
personal presence of the Saviour, He transformed the life of Paul.

There is, therefore, no moral or psychological objection in the way
of a simple acceptance of Paul's testimony about the conversion.
And that testimony is unequivocal. Paul was not converted by any
teaching which he received from men; he was not converted as
Christians are usually converted, by the preaching of the truth or
by that revelation of Christ which is contained in the lives of His
followers. Jesus Himself in the case of Paul did in visible presence
what He ordinarily does by the means which He has appointed. Upon
this immediateness of the conversion, Paul is willing to stake the
whole of his life; upon it he bases his apostolic authority.




CHAPTER III

THE TRIUMPH OF GENTILE FREEDOM




CHAPTER III

THE TRIUMPH OF GENTILE FREEDOM


After the conversion, according to the Book of Acts, Paul received
the ministrations of Ananias, and was baptized.[37] These details
are not excluded by the Epistle to the Galatians. In the Epistle,
Paul says that after God had revealed His son in him he did not
confer with flesh and blood;[38] but the conference with flesh
and blood which he was concerned to deny was a conference with
the original apostles at Jerusalem about the principles of the
gospel, not a conference with humble disciples at Damascus.
An over-interpretation of Galatians would here lead almost to
absurdity. Is it to be supposed that after the conversion Paul
refused to have anything whatever to do with those who were now his
brethren? In particular, is it to be supposed that he who afterwards
placed baptism as a matter of course at the beginning of the new
life for every Christian should himself not have been baptized? The
Epistle to the Galatians does not mention his baptism, but that
omission merely illustrates the incompleteness of the account. And
if the baptism of Paul, which certainly must have taken place, is
omitted from Galatians, other omissions must not be regarded as
any more significant. The first two chapters of Galatians are not
intended to furnish complete biography. Only those details are
mentioned which were important for Paul's argument or had been
misrepresented by his Judaizing opponents.

  [37] Acts ix. 10-19; xxii. 12-16.

  [38] Gal. i. 16.

After God had revealed His son in him, Paul says, he went away
into Arabia. Apparently this journey to Arabia is to be put very
soon after the revelation, though the construction of the word
"immediately" in Gal. i. 16 is not perfectly clear. If that word
goes merely with the negative part of the sentence, then nothing
is said about the time of the journey to Arabia; Paul would say
merely that in the period just after the revelation of God's Son he
did not go up to Jerusalem. There would then be no difficulty in
the assertion of Acts which seems to put a stay in Damascus with
preaching activity in the synagogues immediately after the baptism.
This interpretation is adopted by a number of modern commentators,
not only by B. Weiss and Zahn, who might be suspected of a bias in
favor of the Book of Acts, but also by Sieffert and Lipsius and
Bousset. Perhaps more naturally, however, the word "immediately" in
Galatians is to be taken grammatically with the positive part of
the sentence or with the whole sentence; the sentence would then
mean, "Immediately, instead of conferring with flesh and blood
or going up to Jerusalem to those who were apostles before me, I
went away into Arabia and again I returned to Damascus." Even so,
however, there is no real contradiction with Acts. When Paul tells
what happened "immediately" after the revelation he is thinking in
terms not of days but of journeys. The very first journey after the
conversion--and it took place soon--was not to Jerusalem but to
Arabia. When taken in the context the sentence does not exclude a
brief preaching activity in Damascus before the journey to Arabia.
Grammatically the word "immediately" may go with the positive part
of the sentence, but in essential import it goes rather with the
negative part. What Paul is really concerned about is to deny that
he went up to Jerusalem soon after his conversion.

The Book of Acts does not mention the journey to Arabia and does
not make clear where it may be inserted. Sometimes it is placed in
the middle of Acts ix. 19, before the words, "And he was with the
disciples in Damascus some days." In that case the discussion about
the word "immediately" in Gal. i. 16 would be unnecessary; that
word could be taken strictly with the positive part of the sentence
without contradicting the Book of Acts; the journey to Arabia would
have preceded the preaching activity in Damascus. Or the journey
may be placed before Acts ix. 22; it would then be the cause of the
greater vigor of Paul's preaching. Finally, it may be placed simply
within the "many days" of Acts ix. 23. The phrase, "many days," in
Acts apparently is used to indicate fairly long periods of time. It
must be remembered that the author of Acts is not concerned here
about chronology; perhaps he did not trouble himself to investigate
the exact period of time that elapsed before the journey to
Jerusalem. He was content merely to record the fact that before Paul
went to Jerusalem he engaged for a considerable time in preaching
in the Damascus synagogues. Certainly he must here be acquitted of
any attempt at subserving the interests of harmony in the Church by
a falsification of history. It is generally recognized now, against
the Tuebingen contentions, that if the author of Acts contradicts
Galatians, his contradiction is naive rather than deliberate; the
contradiction or apparent contradiction at least shows the complete
independence of his account. He is not deliberately shortening up
the time before Paul's first conference with Peter in the interests
of a compromise between a Pauline and a Petrine party in the Church;
if he had had the "three years" of Paul before him as he wrote he
would have had no objection to using the detail in his history. But
investigation of the chronology did not here seem to be important.
The detail of the three years was vastly important for Paul's
argument in Galatians, where he is showing that for a considerable
period after the conversion he did not even meet those from whom
he was said to have received his gospel, but it was not at all
important in a general history of the progress of the Church.

The extent of the journey to Arabia, both geographically and
temporally, is entirely unknown. "Arabia" included not only very
remote regions but also a territory almost at the gates of Damascus;
and all that may be determined about the length of the Arabian
residence is that it was less than three years. Possibly Paul
remained only a few weeks in Arabia. In that case the omission of
the journey from the general narrative in Acts is very natural.
The importance of Arabia in Paul's argument is due simply to the
fact that Arabia was not Jerusalem; Paul mentions the journey to
Arabia simply in contrast with a journey to Jerusalem which he
is excluding in the interests of his argument. The only thing
that might seem to require a considerable stay in Arabia is the
narrative of Paul's first Jerusalem visit in Acts ix. 26-30; the
distrust of Paul displayed by the Jerusalem Christians is more
easily explicable if after his conversion he had been living for the
most part in a region more remote than Damascus from Jerusalem. A
similar consideration might possibly suggest that in Arabia Paul
was engaged in meditation rather than in missionary activity; he had
not yet become so well known as a preacher that the Christians of
Jerusalem could begin to glorify God in him, as they did a little
later. Possibly also there is an implied contrast in Gal. i. 16, 17
between conference with the original apostles and direct communion
with Christ; possibly Paul means to say, "Instead of conferring with
flesh and blood in Jerusalem, I communed with the Lord in Arabia."
Despite such considerations, the matter is by no means perfectly
clear; it is perfectly possible that Paul engaged in missionary work
in Arabia. But at any rate, even if that view be correct, he also
engaged in meditation. Paul was never a mere "practical Christian"
in the modern sense; labor in his case was always based upon
thought, and life upon doctrine.

The escape of Paul from Damascus just before his first visit to
Jerusalem is narrated in Acts ix. 23-25 and in 2 Cor. xi. 32, 33.
The mention of the ethnarch of Aretas the Nabatean king as having
authority at or near Damascus causes some difficulty, and might not
have passed unchallenged if it had been attested by Acts. But as a
matter of fact, it is just this detail which appears, not in Acts,
but in an epistle of Paul.

The first visit of Paul to Jerusalem after the conversion is
described in Acts ix. 26-30; xxii. 17-21; Gal. i. 18, 19. In itself,
the account in Acts bears every mark of trustworthiness. The only
detail which might seem surprising is that the Jerusalem Christians
would not at first believe that Paul was a disciple; must not a
notable event like the conversion of so prominent a persecutor have
become known at Jerusalem in the course of three years? But if Paul
had spent a large part of the three years in Arabia, whence news
of him could not be easily obtained, the report of his conversion
might have come to seem like a remote rumor; the very fact of his
withdrawal might, as has been suggested, have cast suspicion upon
the reality of his conversion. Emotion, moreover, often lags behind
cold reasoning; the heart is more difficult to convince than the
mind. The Jerusalem Christians had known Paul only as a cruel and
relentless persecutor; it was not so easy for them to receive him
at once as a brother. This one detail is therefore not at all
sufficient to reverse the favorable impression which is made by the
Lucan account of the visit as a whole.

The chief objection to the account is usually found in a comparison
with what Paul himself says in Galatians. In itself, the account is
natural; but does it agree with Paul's own testimony? One apparent
divergence may indeed soon be dismissed. In Acts ix. 27 it is said
that Paul was introduced to "the apostles," whereas in Gal. i. 19 it
is said that Paul saw only James, the brother of the Lord (who was
not among the Twelve), and Peter. But possibly the author of Acts is
using the term "apostle" in a sense broad enough to include James,
so that Paul actually saw two "apostles"--Peter and James--or else
the plural is used merely in a generic sense to indicate that Paul
was introduced to whatever representative or representatives of the
apostolic body may have happened to be present.

Much more weight is commonly attributed to an objection drawn from
the general representation of the visit. According to Acts, Paul
was associated publicly with the Jerusalem disciples and engaged
in an active mission among the Greek-speaking Jews; according to
Galatians, it is argued, he was in strict hiding, since he did not
become acquainted personally with the churches of Judaea (Gal. i.
22). But the objection, as has already been observed, depends upon
an over-interpretation of Gal. i. 22. Whether or no "Judaea" means
the country in sharp distinction from the capital, in either case
all that is necessarily meant is that Paul did not become acquainted
generally with the Judaean churches. The capital may well have formed
an exception. If Paul had meant in the preceding verses that he had
been in hiding in Jerusalem he would have expressed himself very
differently. Certainly the modern representation of the visit is
in itself improbable. The picture of Paul entering Jerusalem under
cover of darkness or under a disguise and being kept as a mysterious
stranger somewhere in a secret chamber of Peter's house is certainly
much less natural than the account which the Book of Acts gives of
the earnest attempt of Paul to repair the damage which he had done
to the Jerusalem Church. It is very doubtful whether concealment
of Paul in Jerusalem would have been possible even if Paul had
consented to it; he was too well-known in the city. Of course this
last argument would be answered if, as Heitmueller and Loisy suppose,
Paul had never been in Jerusalem at all, even as a persecutor. But
that hypothesis is faced by absolutely decisive objections, as has
already been observed.

The whole modern representation of the first visit, therefore, is
based solely upon a very doubtful interpretation of one verse, and
is in itself highly unnatural. Surely it is much more probable that
the real reason why Paul saw only Peter and James among the leaders
was that the others were out of the city, engaged in missionary work
in Judaea. Their presence in the churches of Judaea would explain the
mention of those churches in Gal. i. 22. Paul is indicating the
meagerness of his direct contact with the original apostles. The
churches of Judaea would become important in his argument if they
were the scene of the apostles' labors. Against a very doubtful
interpretation of the account in Galatians, which brings it into
contradiction with Acts, may therefore be placed an entirely
consistent interpretation which, when the account is combined with
Acts, produces a thoroughly natural representation of the course of
events.

Paul says nothing about what happened during his fifteen-day
intercourse with Peter. But it is highly improbable, as even Holsten
pointed out, that he spent the time gazing silently at Peter as
though Peter were one of the sights of the city.[39] Undoubtedly
there was conversation between the two men, and in the conversation
the subject of the life and death of Jesus could hardly be avoided.
In the Epistle to the Galatians Paul denies, indeed, that he
received his gospel from men. But the bare facts about Jesus did
not constitute a gospel. The facts were known to some extent to
friend and foe alike; Paul knew something about them even before his
conversion and then increased his knowledge through intercourse with
the disciples at Damascus. The fifteen days spent in company with
Peter could hardly have failed to bring a further enrichment of his
knowledge.

  [39] Holsten, _op. cit._, p. 118, Amn.: "Aber natuerlich kann in dem
  +historesai Kephan+ nicht liegen, Paulus sei nach Jerusalem
  gegangen, um den Petrus fuenfzehn tage lang stumm anzuschauen. Die
  beiden maenner werden miteinander ueber das evangelium Christi geredet
  haben."

In 1 Cor. xv. 3-7, Paul gives a summary of what he had
"received"--the death, burial, resurrection, and appearances of
Jesus. The vast majority of modern investigators, of all shades of
opinion, find in these verses a summary of the Jerusalem tradition
which Paul received from Peter during the fifteen days. Undoubtedly
Paul knew some if not all of these facts before he went to
Jerusalem; the facts were probably common property of the disciples
in Damascus as well as in Jerusalem. But it is inconceivable that
he should not have tested and supplemented the tradition by what
Peter, whose name stands first (1 Cor. xv. 5) in the list of the
appearances, said in Jerusalem. Recently, indeed, an attempt has
been made by Heitmueller to represent the tradition as being derived
merely from the Christian communities in Damascus or Antioch, and
at best only indirectly from Jerusalem; these communities are thus
interposed as an additional link between Paul and the Jerusalem
Church.[40] But the very purpose of the passage in 1 Corinthians is
to emphasize the unity of teaching, not between Paul and certain
obscure Christians in Hellenistic communities, but between Paul
and the "apostles." "Whether therefore," Paul says, "it be I or
they, so we preach and so ye believed" (1 Cor. xv. 11). The attempt
at separating the factual basis of the Pauline gospel from the
primitive tradition shatters upon the rock of 1 Corinthians and
Galatians. In Galatians, Paul says he was in direct intercourse with
Peter, and in 1 Corinthians he emphasizes the unity of his teaching
with that of Peter and the other apostles.

  [40] Heitmueller, "Zum Problem Paulus und Jesus," in _Zeitschrift
  fuer die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft_, xiii, 1912, pp. 320-337,
  especially p. 331.

After leaving Jerusalem Paul went into the regions of Syria and
of Cilicia; the Book of Acts, more specifically, mentions Tarsus
(Cilicia) and Antioch (Syria). The period which Paul spent in Tarsus
or in its vicinity is for us altogether obscure. In all probability
he engaged in missionary work and included Gentiles in his mission.
Certainly at the conclusion of the Cilician period Barnabas thought
him suitable for the specifically Gentile work at Antioch, and it
is probable that he had already demonstrated his suitability. His
apostolic consciousness, also, as attested both by the Book of Acts
and by Galatians, suggests that the beginning of his life-work as
apostle to the Gentiles was not too long deferred.

At Antioch, the disciples were first called "Christians" (Acts xi.
26). The objections, especially linguistic, formerly urged against
this assertion of Acts have now for the most part been silenced.
The assertion is important as showing that the Church was becoming
so clearly separate from the synagogue that a separate name had
to be coined by the Gentile population. Tremendous importance is
attributed to the Christian community at Antioch by Bousset and
Heitmueller, who believe that the religion of that community had
diverged in fundamental respects from the religion of the primitive
Jerusalem Church, and that this extra-Palestinian Christianity, and
not the Christianity of Jerusalem, is the basis of the religion
of Paul. According to this hypothesis, the independence of Paul
which is attested in Galatians is apparently to be regarded as
independence merely over against the intimate friends of Jesus;
apparently Paul had no objection against taking over the teaching of
the Greek-speaking Christians of Antioch. This representation is out
of accord with what has just been established about the relations
between Paul and the Jerusalem Church. It must be examined more in
detail, however, in a subsequent chapter.

After at least a year--probably more--Barnabas and Saul, according
to Acts xi. 30; xii. 25, were sent up to Jerusalem to bear the
gifts of the Antioch Church, which had been collected in view of
the famine prophesied by Agabus. This "famine visit" is the second
visit of Paul to Jerusalem which is mentioned in Acts. The second
visit which is mentioned in Galatians is the one described in Gal.
ii. 1-10, at which Paul came into conference with the pillars of the
Jerusalem Church. May the two be identified? Is Gal. ii. 1-10 an
account of the visit which is mentioned in Acts xi. 30; xii. 25?[41]

  [41] For what follows, compare "Recent Criticism of the Book of
  Acts," in _Princeton Theological Review_, xvii, 1919, pp. 597-608.

Chronology opposes no absolutely insuperable objection to the
identification. The apparent objection is as follows. The famine
visit of Acts xi. 30; xii. 25 took place at about the same time
as the events narrated in Acts xii, since the narrative of those
events is interposed between the mention of the coming of Barnabas
and Paul to Jerusalem (Acts xi. 30) and that of their return to
Antioch (Acts xii. 25). But the events of Acts xii include the
death of Herod Agrippa I, which certainly occurred in 44 A.D. The
famine visit, therefore, apparently occurred at about 44 A.D. But
the visit of Gal. ii. 1-10 took place fourteen years (Gal. ii. 1)
after the first visit, which in turn took place three years (Gal. i.
18) after the conversion. Therefore the visit of Gal. ii. 1-10 took
place seventeen (3 + 14) years after the conversion. But if that
visit be identified with the famine visit and the famine visit took
place in 44 A.D., the conversion must have taken place seventeen
years before 44 A.D. or in 27 A.D., which of course is impossible
since the crucifixion of Jesus did not occur till several years
after that time. At first sight, therefore, it looks as though
the identification of Gal. ii. 1-10 with the famine visit were
impossible.

Closer examination, however, shows that the chronological data all
allow a certain amount of leeway. In the first place, it is by no
means clear that the famine visit took place at exactly the time
of the death of Herod Agrippa I in 44 A.D. The author of Acts has
been carrying on two threads of narrative, one dealing with Antioch
and the other dealing with Jerusalem. In Acts xi. 19-30 he has
carried the Antioch narrative on to a point beyond that reached in
the Jerusalem narrative. Now, when the two narratives are brought
together by the visit of Barnabas and Paul to Jerusalem, the author
pauses in order to bring the Jerusalem narrative up to date; he
tells what has been happening at Jerusalem during the period in
which the reader's attention has been diverted to Antioch. The
events of Acts xii may therefore have taken place some time before
the famine visit of Acts xi. 30; xii. 25; the famine visit may have
taken place some time after 44 A.D. Information in Josephus with
regard to the famine,[42] combined with the order of the narrative
in Acts, permits the placing of the famine visit as late as 46 A.D.
In the second place, it is by no means certain that the visit of
Gal. ii. 1-10 took place seventeen years after the conversion. The
ancients sometimes used an inclusive method of reckoning time, in
accordance with which "three years" might mean only one full year
with parts of two other years; January, 1923, would thus be "three
years" after December, 1921. According to this method of reckoning,
the "fourteen years" of Gal. ii. 1 would become only thirteen; and
the "three years" of Gal. i. 18 would become only two years; the
visit of Gal. ii. 1-10 would thus be only fifteen (13 + 2) instead
of seventeen (14 + 3) years after the conversion. If, then, the
visit of Gal. ii. 1-10 be identified with the famine visit, and the
famine visit took place in 46 A.D., the conversion took place in
31 A.D. (46 - 15), which is a possible date. Moreover, it is not
certain that the "fourteen years" of Gal. ii. 1 is to be reckoned
from the first visit; it may be reckoned from the conversion, so
that the "three years" of Gal. i. 18 is to be included in it and
not added to it. In that case, the conversion took place only
fourteen (or, by the inclusive method of reckoning, thirteen) years
before the visit of Gal. ii. 1-10; or, if the visit of Gal. ii.
1-10 be identified with the famine visit, fourteen (or thirteen)
years before 46 A.D., that is, in 32 A.D. (or 33 A.D.), which is a
perfectly possible date.

  [42] Josephus, _Antiq._ XX. v. 2. See Schuerer, _Geschichte des
  juedischen Volkes_, 3te u. 4te Aufl., i, 1901, p. 567 (English
  Translation, _A History of the Jewish People_, Division I, vol. ii,
  1890, pp. 169f.).

But of course chronology does not decide in favor of the
identification of Gal. ii. 1-10 with Acts xi. 30; xii. 25; at
best it only permits that identification. Chronologically it is
even slightly more convenient to identify Gal. ii. 1-10 with a
visit subsequent to the famine visit. The only subsequent visit
which comes seriously in question is the visit at the time of the
"Apostolic Council" of Acts xv. 1-29. The advantages of identifying
Gal. ii. 1-10 with Acts xi. 30; xii. 25, therefore, must be compared
with those of identifying it with Acts xv. 1-29.

If the former identification be adopted, then Paul in Galatians has
not mentioned the Apostolic Council of Acts xv. 1-29. Since the
Apostolic Council dealt with the same question as that which was
under discussion in Galatians, and since it constituted an important
step in Paul's relations with the original apostles, it is a little
difficult to see how Paul could have omitted it from the Epistle.
This objection has often weighed against the identification of Gal.
ii. 1-10 with the famine visit. But in recent years the objection
has been removed by the hypothesis which places the writing of
Galatians actually before the Apostolic Council; obviously Paul
could not be expected to mention the Council if the Council had not
yet taken place. This early dating of Galatians has been advocated
by a German Roman Catholic scholar, Weber,[43] and recently it has
won the support of men of widely divergent points of view, such as
Emmet,[44] Kirsopp Lake,[45] Ramsay,[46] and Plooij.[47] Of course
this hypothesis depends absolutely upon the correctness of the
"South Galatian" theory of the address of the Epistle, which finds
"the Churches of Galatia" of Gal. i. 2 in Pisidian Antioch, Iconium,
Lystra and Derbe; for the churches in "North Galatia," if there were
any such, were not founded till after the Apostolic Council (Acts
xvi. 6).[48]

  [43] _Die Abfassung des Galaterbriefs vor dem Apostelkonzil_, 1900.

  [44] "Galatians the Earliest of the Pauline Epistles," in
  _Expositor_, 7th Series, vol. ix, 1910, pp. 242-254 (reprinted in
  _The Eschatological Question in the Gospels_, 1911, pp. 191-209);
  _St. Paul's Epistle to the Galatians_, 1912, pp. xiv-xxii.

  [45] _The Earlier Epistles of St. Paul_, 1911, pp. 265-304. In a
  later book, Lake has modified his views about the relation between
  Galatians and Acts. The historicity of Acts xv. 1-29 is now
  abandoned. See _Landmarks in the History of Early Christianity_,
  1920, pp. 63-66.

  [46] Ramsay, "Suggestions on the History and Letters of St. Paul. I.
  The Date of the Galatian Letter," in _Expositor_, VIII, v, 1913, pp.
  127-145.

  [47] Plooij, _De chronologie van het leven van Paulus_, 1918, pp.
  111-140.

  [48] Maurice Jones ("The Date of the Epistle to the Galatians,"
  in _Expositor_, VIII, vi, 1913, pp. 193-208) has adduced from the
  Book of Acts various arguments against the early date of Galatians,
  which, though worthy of attention, are not quite decisive.

One objection to the early dating of Galatians is derived from
the close relation between that epistle and the Epistle to the
Romans. If Galatians was written before the Apostolic Council it
is the earliest of the extant epistles of Paul and is separated by
a period of some six or eight years from the epistles of the third
missionary journey with which it has ordinarily been grouped. Thus
the order of the Epistles would be Galatians, 1 and 2 Thessalonians,
1 and 2 Corinthians, Romans. This order seems to tear asunder
the epistles which naturally belong together. The objection was
partially overcome by a bold hypothesis of Lake, who suggested
that the Epistle to the Romans was first composed at an early time
as an encyclical letter, and that later, being modified by the
addition of a Roman address and other suitable details, it was sent
to the Church at Rome.[49] On this hypothesis Galatians and the
substance of Romans would be kept together because both would be
placed early. The hypothesis can appeal to the interesting textual
phenomenon in Rom. i. 7, where the words "in Rome" are omitted by
a few witnesses to the text. But the evidence is insufficient. And
even if Lake's hypothesis were correct, it would not altogether
overcome the difficulty; for both Galatians and Romans would be
removed from what has usually been regarded as their natural
position among the epistles of the third missionary journey.
In reply, it could be said that reconstructions of an author's
development, unless supported by plain documentary evidence, are
seldom absolutely certain; the simplicity of 1 and 2 Thessalonians,
as over against the great soteriological epistles, Galatians, 1
and 2 Corinthians, Romans, is no doubt due to the immaturity of
the Thessalonian Church rather than to any immaturity in Paul's
thinking. There is therefore no absolutely decisive objection
against putting the Epistle to the Galatians, with its developed
soteriology, before the Thessalonian Epistles.

  [49] Lake, _The Earlier Epistles of St. Paul_, 1911, pp. 361-370.

On the whole, it may be said that the identification of Gal. ii.
1-10 with Acts xi. 30; xii. 25 is perhaps most plausible when it is
connected with the early dating of Galatians, before the Apostolic
Council. But that identification, whether with or without the early
dating of the Epistle, must now be considered on its merits. Is Gal.
ii. 1-10 to be identified with the famine visit of Acts xi. 30; xii.
25, or with the Apostolic Council of Acts xv?

The former identification possesses one obvious advantage--by it the
second visit in Galatians is the same as the second visit in Acts;
whereas if Gal. ii. 1-10 is identified with Acts xv. 1-29 Paul has
passed over the famine visit without mention. The identification
with the famine visit may therefore conveniently be considered first.

According to this identification, Paul had two conferences with the
Jerusalem leaders, one at the time of the famine visit and one some
years afterwards at the time of the Apostolic Council. Could the
second conference conceivably have followed thus upon the former? If
the conference between Paul and the Jerusalem leaders described in
Gal. ii. 1-10 took place at the time of the famine visit, then would
not the Apostolic Council seem to be a mere meaningless repetition
of the former conference? If the matter of Gentile freedom had
already been settled (Gal. ii. 1-10) at the famine visit, how could
it come up again _de novo_ at the Apostolic Council?

This objection is by no means insuperable. The meeting described
in Gal. ii. 1-10 may have been merely a private meeting between
Paul and the original apostles. Although the presence of Titus, the
uncircumcised Gentile, was no doubt a matter of public knowledge,
it need not necessarily have given rise to any public discussion,
since it was not unprecedented, Cornelius also having been received
into the Church without circumcision. But if the famine visit
brought merely a private conference between Paul and the original
apostles, Gentile freedom was still open to attack, especially if,
after the famine visit, there was (as is in any case probable) an
influx of strict legalists into the Christian community. There
was no public pronouncement of the original apostles to which
the advocates of freedom could appeal. There was therefore still
urgent need of a public council such as the one described in Acts
xv. 1-29, especially since that council dealt not only with the
general question of Gentile freedom but also with the problem of
mixed communities where Jews and Gentiles were living together. The
Apostolic Council, therefore, may well have taken place in the way
described in Acts xv. 1-29 even if the conference of Gal. ii. 1-10
had been held some years before.

No absolutely decisive objection, therefore, has yet been found
against the identification of Gal. ii. 1-10 with Acts xi. 30; xii.
25. But the _prima facie_ evidence has usually been regarded as
favoring the alternative identification, since Gal. ii. 1-10 bears
much more resemblance to Acts xv. 1-29 than it does to Acts xi.
30; xii. 25. Resemblance to Acts xi. 30; xii. 25 is not, indeed,
altogether lacking. In both Galatians ii. 1-10 and Acts xi. 30; xii.
25, Barnabas is represented as going up with Paul to Jerusalem; in
both passages there is reference to gifts for the Jerusalem Church;
and the revelation referred to in Gal. ii. 2 as the occasion of the
journey may be discovered in the revelation of the famine made to
Agabus (Acts xi. 28). But the relief of the Jerusalem Church, which
is put as the sole purpose of the journey in Acts xi. 30; xii. 25,
is quite subordinate in Gal. ii. 1-10; Barnabas is with Paul in Acts
xv. 1-29 just as much as he is in Acts xi. 30; xii. 25; and it may
be questioned whether in Gal. ii. 2 it is not more natural to think
of a revelation coming to Paul rather than one coming through the
mouth of Agabus. The strongest argument, however, for identifying
Gal. ii. 1-10 with Acts XV. 1-29 is that the main purpose of
Paul's visit seems to be the same according to both passages;
according to both the matter of circumcision of Gentiles was under
discussion, and according to both the result was a triumph for
the cause of freedom. This identification must now be considered.
Various objections have been raised against it. These objections
lead, according to the point of view of the objector, either to an
acceptance of the alternative identification (with Acts xi. 30; xii.
25) or else to a rejection of the historicity of the Book of Acts.

The first objection is derived from the fact that if Gal. ii.
1-10 is to be identified with Acts XV. 1-29, Paul has passed over
the famine visit without mention. Could he have done so honestly,
if that visit had really occurred? In the first two chapters of
Galatians Paul is establishing the independence of his apostolic
authority; he had not, he says, as the Judaizers maintained,
received his authority through mediation of the original apostles.
At first, he says, he came into no effective contact with the
apostles; it was three years after his conversion before he saw
any of them; then he saw only Peter (and James) and that only for
fifteen days. Then he went away into the regions of Syria and of
Cilicia without ever becoming known by face to the Churches of
Judaea; then after fourteen years again he went up to Jerusalem (Gal.
ii. 1). Is it not the very point of the passage that after his
departure to Syria and Cilicia it was fourteen long years before
he again went up to Jerusalem? Would not his entire argument be
invalidated if there were an unmentioned visit to Jerusalem between
the first visit (Gal. i. 18, 19) and the visit of Gal. ii. 1-10?
If such a visit had taken place, would he not have had to mention
it in order to place it in the proper light as he had done in the
case of the first visit? By omitting to mention the visit in a
context where he is carefully tracing the history of his relations
with the Jerusalem leaders, would he not be exposing himself to
the charge of dishonest suppression of facts? Such considerations
have led a great number of investigators to reject the historicity
of the famine visit; there never could have been, they insist, a
visit between the first visit and the visit of Gal. ii. 1-10; for
if there had been, Paul would have been obliged to mention it, not
only by his own honesty, but also because of the impossibility
of deception. This is one of the points where the narrative in
Acts has been most insistently criticized. Here and there, indeed,
there have been discordant notes in the chorus of criticism; the
insufficiency of the objection has been admitted now and then even
by those who are far removed from any concern for the defense of
the Book of Acts. Baur himself, despite all his Tuebingen severity
of criticism, was clear-sighted enough not to lay stress upon this
particular objection;[50] and in recent years J. Weiss has been
equally discerning.[51] In Galatians Paul is not giving a complete
enumeration of his visits to Jerusalem, but merely singling out
those details which had formed the basis of the Judaizers' attack,
or afforded peculiar support to his own contentions. Apparently the
Judaizers had misrepresented the first visit; that is the time,
they had said, when Paul came under the authority of the original
apostles. In answer to this attack Paul is obliged to deal carefully
with that first visit; it came three years after the conversion, he
says, and it lasted only fifteen days--surely not long enough to
make Paul a disciple of Peter. Then Paul went away into the regions
of Syria and Cilicia. Probably, for the first readers, who were
familiar with the outlines of Paul's life, this departure for Syria
and Cilicia clearly meant the entrance by Paul into his distinctive
Gentile work. He was well launched upon his Gentile work, fully
engaged in the proclamation of his gospel, before he had ever had
such contact with the original apostles as could possibly have given
him that gospel. At this point, as J. Weiss[52] well observes, there
is a transition in the argument. The argument based on lack of
contact with the original apostles has been finished, and now gives
place to an entirely different argument. In the first chapter of
Galatians Paul has been showing that at first he had no such contact
with the original apostles as could have made him a disciple of
theirs; now, in the second chapter he proceeds to show that when he
did come into conference with them, they themselves recognized that
he was no disciple of theirs but an independent apostle. Apparently
this conference, like the first visit, had been misrepresented
by the Judaizers, and hence needed to be singled out for special
treatment. It must be admitted that Paul is interested in the late
date at which it occurred--fourteen years after the first visit or
fourteen years after the conversion. Probably, therefore, it was the
first real conference which Paul held with the original apostles on
the subject of his Gentile work. If the famine visit had involved
such a conference, probably Paul would have mentioned that visit.
But if (as is not improbable on independent grounds) the apostles
were away from Jerusalem at the time of the famine visit, and if
that visit occurred long after Paul had been well launched upon his
distinctive work, and if it had given the Judaizers so little basis
for their contentions that they had not thought it worth while to
draw it into the discussion, then Paul was not obliged to mention
it. Paul is not constructing an argument which would hold against
all possible attacks, but rather is meeting the attacks which had
actually been launched. In the second chapter, having finished
proving that in the decisive early period before he was well engaged
in his distinctive work there was not even any extended contact with
the original apostles at all, he proceeds to the telling argument
that the very men who were appealed to by the Judaizers themselves
had admitted that he was entirely independent of them and that they
had nothing to add to him. If the famine visit had occurred in the
early period, or if, whenever it occurred, it had involved the
important event of a conference with the apostles about the Pauline
gospel, in either case Paul would probably have been obliged to
mention it. But, as it is, the visit, according to Acts xi. 30; xii.
25, did not occur until Paul had already been engaged in the Gentile
work, and there is no reason to suppose that it involved any contact
with the original apostles. The omission of the famine visit from
Galatians, therefore, as a visit distinct from Gal. ii. 1-10, does
not absolutely require either the identification of Gal. ii. 1-10
with that famine visit or the denial of the historicity of Acts.

  [50] Baur, _Paulus_, 2te Aufl., 1866, pp. 130-132 (English
  Translation, _Paul_ i, 1873, pp. 118-120). Baur does maintain that
  Gal. ii. 1 renders improbable a second visit of Paul to Jerusalem
  before the conference with the apostles which is narrated in Gal.
  ii. 1, but points out that in itself the verse is capable of a
  different interpretation.

  [51] J. Weiss, _Urchristentum_, 1914, p. 147, Anm. 2.

  [52] _Loc. cit._

Certain other difficulties emerge, however, when Gal. ii. 1-10 is
compared with Acts xv. 1-29 in detail.

In the first place, the leaders of the Jerusalem Church, it is said,
are represented in Acts xv. 1-29 as maintaining Pauline principles,
whereas in Gal. ii. 1-10 it appears that there was really a
fundamental difference between them and Paul. This difficulty
constitutes an objection not against the identification of Gal. ii.
1-10 with Acts XV. 1-29 but against the historicity of Acts, for if
at any time there was a really fundamental difference of principle
between Paul and the original apostles then the whole representation
in Acts is radically incorrect. But the objection disappears
altogether when Galatians is correctly interpreted. The Epistle to
the Galatians does not represent the conference between Paul and the
pillars of the Jerusalem Church as resulting in a cold agreement to
disagree; on the contrary it represents those leaders as giving to
Paul and Barnabas the right hand of fellowship. And Gal. ii. 11-21,
rightly interpreted, attests positively a real unity of principle as
existing between Paul and Peter.

The one objection that remains against the identification of Gal.
ii. 1-10 with Acts XV. 1-29 concerns the "Apostolic Decree" of Acts
XV. 28, 29 (compare Acts XV. 19, 20; xxi. 25). According to the
Epistle to the Galatians the apostles at the time of the conference
"added nothing" to Paul (Gal. ii. 6); according to the Book of Acts,
it is argued, they added something very important indeed--namely,
the requirements of the Apostolic Decree that the Gentile Christians
should "refrain from things offered to idols and from blood and from
things strangled and from fornication." Since these requirements are
partly at least ceremonial, they seem to constitute an exception to
the general principle of Gentile freedom, and therefore an addition
to Paul's gospel. If when Paul presented to the original apostles
the gospel which he was preaching among the Gentiles, involving the
free offer of salvation apart from the Law, the apostles emended
that gospel by requiring at least certain parts of the ceremonial
Law, were they not "adding" something to Paul?

But are the provisions of the decree really ceremonial? Apparently
they are in part ceremonial if the so-called "Neutral text" attested
by the Codex Sinaiticus and the Codex Vaticanus be correct.
According to this text, which here lies at the basis of all forms of
our English Bible, "blood" can hardly refer to anything except meat
that has the blood left in it or else blood that might be prepared
separately for food; for "things strangled" certainly refers to a
closely related provision of the ceremonial Law about food. But at
this point an interesting textual question arises. The so-called
"Western text" of the Book of Acts, attested by the Codex Bezae and
the usual companion witnesses, omits the word translated "things
strangled" or "what is strangled" in Acts XV. 20, 29; xxi. 25, and
in the first two of these three passages adds the negative form of
the Golden Rule. Thus the Western text reads in Acts XV. 28, 29 as
follows: "For it has seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us to
lay no further burden upon you except these necessary things--that
you refrain from things offered to idols and from blood and from
fornication, and that you do not to another whatsoever things you
do not wish to be done to you." It is generally agreed that the
Golden Rule has here been added by a copyist; but the omission of
"things strangled" is thought by many modern scholars to preserve
the reading of the autograph. If this short text without "things
strangled" be correct, then the provisions of the Decree need not
be regarded as ceremonial at all, but may be taken as simply moral.
"Things offered to idols" may refer to idolatry in general; "blood"
may refer to murder; and "fornication" may be meant in the most
general sense. But if the provisions of the Decree were simply
moral, then plainly they did not constitute any "addition" to the
message of freedom which Paul proclaimed among the Gentiles. Paul
himself had of course enjoined upon his converts the necessity
of leading a true moral life. If when the original apostles were
urged by the Judaizers to impose upon the Gentile converts the
requirements of the ceremonial Law, they responded, "No; the only
requirements to be imposed upon the Gentiles are that they refrain
from deadly sins like idolatry, murder and fornication," that
decision constituted merely a most emphatic confirmation of Paul's
gospel of freedom.

The textual question cannot here be discussed in detail. In favor
of the Western text, with its omission of "things strangled," may
be urged not only the general principle of textual criticism that
the shorter reading is to be preferred to the longer, but also the
special consideration that in this particular passage the shorter
reading seems to account for the origin of the two additions; (1)
the word translated "things strangled," and (2) the Golden Rule. The
short text, supposing it to be the original, was ambiguous; it might
be taken either as ceremonial ("blood" meaning the eating of blood)
or as moral ("blood" meaning the shedding of blood or murder).
Those copyists who took it as ceremonial, it is maintained, fixed
the meaning by adding "things strangled" (because animals that were
strangled had the blood still in them, so that the eating of them
constituted a violation of the ceremonial Law); whereas those who
took the Decree as moral fixed the meaning by adding the Golden Rule
as the summation of the moral law.[53]

  [53] See Lake, _op. cit._, pp. 51-53.

On the other side may be urged the connection which seems to exist
between the omission of "things strangled" and the manifest gloss
constituted by the Golden Rule. Documentary attestation of a short
text, without the Golden Rule and without "things strangled," is
exceedingly scanty if not non-existent--Kirsopp Lake can point only
to the witness of Irenaeus. The omission of "things strangled,"
therefore, may be only a part of a moralizing of the Decree (carried
out also in the addition of the Golden Rule), which would be
quite in accord with that habit of scribes by which they tended
to ignore in the interests of moral commonplaces what was special
and difficult in the text which they were copying. In reply, Lake
insists that just at the time and at the place where the short
text (without "things strangled") was prevalent, there was a food
law for which the long text (with "things strangled") would have
afforded welcome support. Why should the text have been modified
just where in its original form it supported the prevailing practice
of the Church? The conclusion is, Lake believes, that if the Western
text prevailed, despite the welcome support which would have been
afforded by the other text, it was because the Western text was
correct.[54]

  [54] _Op. cit._, pp. 57-59.

Decision as to the textual question will depend to a considerable
extent upon the conclusion which is reached with regard to the
Western text as a whole. The radical rejection of that text which
was advocated by Westcott and Hort has by no means won universal
approval; a number of recent scholars are inclined at least to
pursue an eclectic course, adopting now the Western reading and
now the Neutral reading on the basis of internal evidence in the
individual cases. Others believe that the Western text and the
Neutral text are both correct, since the Western text is derived
from an earlier edition of the book, whereas the Neutral text
represents a revised edition issued by the author himself.[55] But
this hypothesis affords absolutely no assistance in the case of the
Apostolic Decree; for the Western reading (if it be interpreted in
the purely non-ceremonial way) presents the Decree in a light very
different from that in which it appears according to the Neutral
reading. It is impossible that the author could have contradicted
himself so directly and in so important a matter. Therefore, if
one of the two readings is due to the author, the other is due to
some one else. Cases like this weigh heavily against the hypothesis
of two editions of the book; that hypothesis can be saved only by
supposing either that the Western documents do not here reproduce
correctly the original Western form of the book, or else that the
other documents do not here reproduce the original revised edition.
In other words, despite the manuscript evidence, the two editions of
the book must here be supposed to have been in harmony. At any rate,
then, whether or no the hypothesis of two editions be accepted, a
choice must here be made between the Neutral reading and the Western
reading; they cannot both be due to the author, since they are
contradictory to each other.

  [55] An elaborate attempt has recently been made by Zahn, in
  addition to former attempts by Blass and Hilgenfeld, to reproduce
  the original form of the Western text, which Zahn believes to be
  the earlier edition of the book. See Zahn, _Die Urausgabe der
  Apostelgeschichte des Lucas_, 1916 (_Forschungen zur Geschichte des
  neutestamentlichen Kanons_, ix. Teil).

On the whole, it must be said that the Western text of the Book of
Acts does not commend itself, either as the one genuine form of
the book, or as an earlier edition of which the Neutral text is
a revision. The Western readings are interesting; at times they
may contain genuine historical information; but it seems unlikely
that they are due to the author. Here and there indeed the Western
documents may preserve a genuine reading which has been lost in
all other witnesses to the text--even Westcott and Hort did not
altogether exclude such a possibility--but in general the high
estimate which Westcott and Hort placed upon the Neutral text is
justified. Thus there is a possibility that the short text of the
Apostolic Decree, without "things strangled," is genuine, but it is
a possibility only.

If then, the Neutral text of the Decree is correct, so that the
requirements of the Decree are partly ceremonial, must the Book of
Acts here be held to contradict the Epistle to the Galatians? If the
Decree really was passed at the Apostolic Council, as Acts xv. 29
represents, would Paul have been obliged to mention it in Gal. ii.
1-10? Answering these questions in the affirmative, a great many
scholars since the days of Baur have regarded the account which the
Book of Acts gives of the Apostolic Council as radically wrong; and
since the book has thus failed to approve itself at the point where
it runs parallel to a recognized authority, it must be distrusted
elsewhere as well. The Apostolic Council, especially the Apostolic
Decree, has thus become, to use a phrase of B. W. Bacon, the "crux
of apostolic history."[56]

  [56] B. W. Bacon, "Acts versus Galatians: the Crux of Apostolic
  History," in_American Journal of Theology_, xi, 1907, pp. 454-474.
  See also "Professor Harnack on the Lukan Narrative," _ibid._, xiii,
  1909, pp. 59-76.

It is exceedingly unlikely, however, at any rate, that the Decree
has been made up "out of whole cloth"; for it does not coincide
exactly with the usage of the later Church, and seems to be framed
in view of primitive conditions. Even those who reject the narrative
of Acts as it stands, therefore, often admit that the Decree was
really passed by the early Jerusalem Church; but they maintain that
it was passed after Paul's departure from Jerusalem and without his
consent. This view is thought to be supported by Acts xxi. 25, where
James, it is said, is represented, at the time of Paul's last visit
to Jerusalem, as calling attention to the Decree as though it were
something new. Acts xxi. 25 is thus thought to preserve a bit of
primitive tradition which is in contradiction to the representation
of the fifteenth chapter. Of course, however, the verse as it stands
in the completed book can only be taken by the unsophisticated
reader as referring to what Paul already knew; and it is a grave
question whether the author of Acts was unskillful enough to allow
contradictory representations to stand unassimilated in his book,
as the hypothesis demands. Acts xxi. 25, therefore, is at any rate
not opposed to the view that the Decree was actually passed with the
consent of Paul, as the fifteenth chapter represents.

But is this representation really in contradiction to the Epistle
to the Galatians? Does Gal. ii. 1-10 really exclude the Apostolic
Decree? In order to answer these questions, it will be necessary to
examine the nature of the Decree.

The Apostolic Decree, according to Acts xv. 1-29, did not constitute
a definition of what was necessary for the salvation of the Gentile
Christians, but was an attempt to solve the problem of a limited
group of mixed communities where Jews and Gentiles were living
together. Such seems to be the implication of the difficult verse,
Acts xv. 21, where James, after he has proposed the substance of the
Decree, says, "For Moses has from ancient generations in the several
cities those who proclaim him, being read in the synagogues every
Sabbath." These words seem to mean that since there are Jews in the
cities, and since they are devoted to the Law of Moses, the Gentile
Christians, in order to avoid offending them, ought to refrain
from certain of those features of the Gentile manner of life which
the Jews would regard as most repulsive. The Law of Moses had been
read in the cities from ancient generations; it was venerable; it
deserved at least respect. Such a respectful attitude toward the
Jewish way of life would contribute not only to the peace of the
Church but also to the winning of the non-Christian Jews.

Was this procedure contrary to the principles of Paul? He himself
tells us that it was not. "For though I was free from all men," he
says, "I brought myself under bondage to all, that I might gain the
more. And to the Jews I became as a Jew, that I might gain Jews;
to them that are under the law, as under the law, not being myself
under the law, that I might gain them that are under the law; to
them that are without law, as without law, not being without law
to God, but under law to Christ, that I might gain them that are
without law. To the weak I became weak, that I might gain the weak;
I am become all things to all men, that I may by all means save
some."[57] The Apostolic Decree was simply a particular case of
becoming to the Jews as a Jew that Jews might be gained. Indeed
it was a rather mild case of that kind; and the conjecture may be
ventured that Paul was often very much more accommodating than the
Decree would demand. Paul was not the man to insist upon blatant
disregard of Jewish feelings where Jews were to be won to Christ.

  [57] 1 Cor. ix. 19-22, American Revised Version.

It must be remembered that Paul, according to his Epistles, did
not demand that Jewish Christians should give up keeping the Law,
but only required them not to force the keeping of the Law upon
the Gentiles. No doubt the observance of the Law on the part of
Jewish Christians was to be very different in spirit from their
pre-Christian legalism; they were no longer to regard the Law as
a means of salvation. But after salvation had been obtained, they
might well believe that it was God's will for them to continue to
live as Jews; and Paul, according to his Epistles, had no objection
to that belief. But how were the Jewish Christians to carry out
their observance of the Law? Various requirements of the Law were
held to imply that Israelites should keep separate from Gentiles.
How then could the Jewish Christians live in close brotherly
intercourse with the Gentile members of the Christian community
without transgressing the Law of Moses? There is no reason to
believe that Paul from the beginning had a hard and fast solution of
this problem. Undoubtedly, the tendency of his practice led toward
the complete abandonment of the ceremonial Law in the interests of
Christian unity between Jews and Gentiles. He was very severe upon
those Jewish Christians who, though convinced in their hearts of the
necessity of giving precedence to the new principle of unity, yet
separated themselves from the Gentiles through fear of men (Gal.
ii. 11-21). But there is no reason to think that he condemned on
principle those who truly believed that Jewish Christians should
still keep the Law. With regard to these matters he was apparently
content to wait for the clearer guidance of the Spirit of God,
which would finally work out the unity of the Church. Meanwhile
the Apostolic Decree was an attempt to solve the problem of mixed
communities; and that attempt was in harmony with the principles
which Paul enunciated in 1 Cor. ix. 19-22.

Moreover, the Apostolic Decree was in accord with Paul's principle
of regard for the weaker brother (1 Cor. viii; Rom. xiv). In
Corinth, certain brethren were offended by the eating of meat which
had been offered to idols. Paul himself was able to eat such food;
for he recognized that the idols were nothing. But for some of the
members of the Christian community the partaking of such food would
mean the deadly sin of idolatry; and out of regard for them Paul is
ready to forego his freedom. The case was very similar in the mixed
communities contemplated in the Apostolic Decree. The similarity,
of course, appears on the surface in the first prohibition of the
Decree, which concerns things offered to idols. But the two other
prohibitions about food are not really very different. The use of
blood was intimately associated with heathen cults, and the eating
of meat with the blood still in it ("things strangled") would also,
because of deep-seated religious ideas, seem to a devout Jew to
involve idolatry. It is very doubtful, therefore, whether those
prohibitions of the Decree which we are accustomed to designate as
"ceremonial" were felt to be ceremonial by those for whose benefit
the Decree was adopted. They were probably not felt to be ceremonial
any more than the prohibition of things offered to idols was felt to
be ceremonial by the weaker brethren at Corinth. Rather they were
felt to involve the deadly sin of idolatry.

Finally, the Apostolic Decree was of limited range of application;
it was addressed, not to Gentile Christians generally, but only
to those in Antioch, Syria, and Cilicia (Acts xv. 23). The Book
of Acts, it is true, does declare, after the mention of Derbe and
Lystra in connection with the beginning of the second missionary
journey, that Paul and Silas "as they went on their way through
the cities ... delivered them the decrees to keep which had been
ordained of the apostles and elders that were at Jerusalem" (Acts
xvi. 4). According to this passage the observance of the Decree
does seem to have been extended into Lycaonia, and thus beyond
the limits set forth in the Decree itself. But if Paul chose to
make use of the document beyond the range originally contemplated,
that does not alter the fact that originally the Jerusalem Church
undertook to deal only with Antioch and Syria and Cilicia. In Acts
xxi. 25, indeed, the reference of James to the Decree does not
mention the geographical limitation. But James was thinking no doubt
particularly of those regions where there were the largest bodies
of Jews, and he does not say that the Jerusalem Church, even if the
Decree represented its own desires for all Gentiles, had actually
sent the Decree to all. The general reference in Acts xxi. 25 may
therefore fairly be interpreted in the light of the more particular
information given in Acts xv. 23. It is thus unnecessary to follow
Wendt, who, after a careful examination of all the objections which
have been urged against the historicity of the Decree, concludes
that the Decree was actually passed by the Jerusalem Church in the
presence of Paul as the Book of Acts represents, but supposes
that the author of Acts has erred in giving the decision a wider
range of application than was really contemplated.[58] A correct
interpretation of the passages in question will remove even this
last vestige of objection to the Lucan account.

  [58] Wendt, _Die Apostelgeschichte_, 1913, in Meyer,
  _Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar ueber das Neue Testament_, 9te
  Aufl., p. 237.

But if the Decree was addressed only to Antioch and Syria and
Cilicia, it was not imposed upon specifically Pauline churches. The
Gentile work at Antioch had not been started by Paul, and it is a
question how far he regarded the churches of Syria and Cilicia in
general as belonging to his peculiar province. Undoubtedly he had
labored long in those regions, but others had shared his labors and
in some places had even preceded him. These other missionaries had
come from Jerusalem. Paul may well therefore have recognized the
authority of the Jerusalem leaders over the churches of Syria and
Cilicia in a way which would not have been in place at Ephesus or
Corinth, especially since the Jewish Christian element in the Syrian
and Cilician churches was probably very strong.

The adoption of the Apostolic Decree by the Jerusalem Church was
thus not derogatory in general to the apostolic dignity of Paul,
or contrary to his principles. But is the Decree excluded, in
particular, by the words of Paul in Galatians? Paul says that the
pillars of the Jerusalem Church "added nothing"[59] to him (Gal. ii.
6). The meaning of these words must be examined with some care.

  [59] +ouden prosanethento+.

Undoubtedly the word here translated "added"--it may perhaps be
better translated "imparted nothing to me in addition"--is to be
understood in conjunction with Gal. ii. 2, where the same Greek word
is used, but without the preposition which means "in addition."
The sense of the two verses--they are separated by the important
digression about Titus--is thus as follows: "When I laid my gospel
before the leaders, they laid nothing before me in addition." That
is, they declared, after listening to Paul's gospel, that they had
nothing to add to it; Christ had given it to Paul directly; it was
sufficient and complete. The question, therefore, in connection
with the Apostolic Decree is not whether the Decree was or was not
something important that the Jerusalem leaders imparted to Paul,
but only whether it constituted an addition to his gospel. If it
constituted an addition to his gospel, then it is excluded by
Paul's words in Galatians, and is unhistorical. But as it has been
interpreted above, it certainly did not constitute an addition to
Paul's gospel. Paul's gospel consisted in the offer of salvation to
the Gentiles through faith alone apart from the works of the law.
The Jerusalem leaders recognized that gospel; they had absolutely
nothing to add to it; Paul had revealed the way of salvation to
the Gentiles exactly as it had been revealed to him by God. But
the recognition of the Pauline gospel of salvation by faith alone
did not solve all the practical problems of the Christian life; in
particular it did not solve the problem of the mixed churches. It
would have been unnatural if the conference had not proceeded to
a consideration of such problems, and Paul's words do not at all
exclude such consideration.

Certainly some sort of public pronouncement on the part of the
Jerusalem leaders was imperatively demanded. The Judaizers had made
trouble in Antioch, Syria, and Cilicia--that much of the account
in Acts is generally admitted to be historical and is certainly
necessary to account for the very fact that Paul went to Jerusalem,
the revelation which came to him being given by God in relation
to a very definite situation. Against his inclination Paul went
to Jerusalem in order to stop the propaganda of the Judaizers by
obtaining a pronouncement from the very authorities to which they
appealed. Is it to be supposed that he returned to Antioch without
the pronouncement which he had sought? If he had done so his journey
would have been in vain; the Judaizers would have continued to
make trouble exactly as before. Some kind of public pronouncement
was therefore evidently sought by Paul himself from the Jerusalem
leaders. No doubt the very seeking of such a pronouncement was
open to misunderstanding; it might seem to involve subordination
of Paul to the authorities to whom apparently he was appealing
as to a higher instance. Paul was keenly aware of such dangers,
and waited for definite guidance of God before he decided to make
the journey. But if he had come back from Jerusalem without any
such pronouncement of the authorities as would demonstrate the
falsity of the Judaizers' appeal to them, then the disadvantages
of the conference would have been incurred in vain. In all
probability, therefore, the conference of Gal. ii. 1-10, if it
took place at the time reached by the narrative at the beginning
of the fifteenth chapter of Acts, resulted in a pronouncement from
the Jerusalem Church. And the Apostolic Decree was just such a
pronouncement as might have been expected. It was public; it was
an emphatic vindication of Gentile freedom and an express rebuke
of the Judaizers; and it dealt with some at least of the practical
difficulties which would result from the presence of Jews and
Gentiles in the churches of Syria and Cilicia.

The identification of Gal. ii. 1-10 with Acts xv. 1-29, therefore,
does not raise insuperable difficulties against the acceptance as
historical of the narrative in Acts. But it must be remembered that
the alternative identification--with Acts xi. 30; xii. 25--is also
possible. The comparison between Acts and Galatians, therefore, has
certainly not resulted disastrously for the Book of Acts; there are
three ways in which Acts can be shown to be in harmony with Paul.
These three possibilities may now conveniently be summed up in the
light of the examination of them in the preceding pages.

(1) Galatians ii. 1-10 may be regarded as an account of the
famine visit of Acts xi. 30; xii. 25; and on the basis of this
identification the Epistle may be dated before the Apostolic Council
of Acts xv. 1-29. The course of events would then be somewhat as
follows: First there was a private conference between Paul and
the original apostles (Gal. ii. 1-10) at the time of the famine
visit (Acts xi. 30; xii. 25). Then followed the first missionary
journey of Paul and Barnabas to Southern Galatia (Acts xiii, xiv).
That journey brought a great influx of Gentiles into the Church
and aroused the active opposition of the Judaizers. The trouble
seems to have been accentuated by the coming to Antioch of certain
men from James (Gal. ii. 11-13). It is not clear whether they
themselves were to blame, or whether, if they were, they had any
commission from James. At any rate, Peter was induced to give up
the table companionship with Gentile Christians which formerly he
had practiced at Antioch, and Barnabas also was carried away. Paul
rebuked Peter publicly. But the Judaizers continued to disturb
the peace of the Church, and even demanded, as a thing absolutely
necessary to salvation, that the Gentile Christians should be
circumcised and should keep the Law of Moses. The Judaizing
activity extended also into Galatia, and Paul wrote the Epistle
to the Galatians in the midst of the conflict. At Antioch it was
finally determined to bring the matter to the attention of the
Jerusalem leaders in order to show that the Judaizers had no right
to appeal to those leaders, and in order to silence the Judaizers by
a public pronouncement of the Jerusalem Church. A revelation induced
Paul to agree to this plan. The result was the Apostolic Council of
Acts xv. 1-29.

Undoubtedly this account of the matter overcomes certain
difficulties. It has won considerable support, and can no longer be
regarded as a mere apologetic expedient.

(2) The Western text of the Apostolic Decree may be regarded as
correct. The Decree may then be taken as forbidding only the three
deadly sins of idolatry, murder, and fornication, so that it cannot
by any possibility be taken as a limitation of Gentile freedom or
an addition to Paul's gospel of justification by faith alone. This
solution has been adopted by Von Harnack and others; and by Kirsopp
Lake,[60] certainly without any "apologetic" motive, it has actually
been combined with (1).

  [60] In _The Earlier Epistles of St. Paul_, 1911. It will be
  remembered that Lake has now radically modified his views. See
  above, p. 81, footnote 3.

(3) Finally, Gal. ii. 1-10 being identified with Acts xv. 1-29, and
the Neutral text of the Apostolic Decree being adopted, harmony
between Acts and Galatians may be established by that interpretation
of both passages which has been proposed above. According to
this interpretation, the Decree was not regarded as necessary to
salvation or intended as an addition to Paul's gospel, but was an
attempt to solve the special and temporary problem of the mixed
communities in Syria and Cilicia.

This last solution being adopted provisionally (though (1) certainly
has much in its favor), the outcome of the Apostolic Council must be
considered in connection with the events that followed. Apparently
Paul in Galatians is telling only what happened in a private
conference between himself and the Jerusalem leaders, the account
of the public action of the Church being found in Acts. James and
Peter and John recognized the independence of Paul's apostleship;
Paul had been intrusted with the apostleship to the Gentiles as
Peter with that to the circumcision. After listening to Paul's
account of the wonderful works of God by which his ministry had
been blessed, and after coming into direct contact with the grace
which had been given to him, the pillars of the Jerusalem Church
gave to him and Barnabas the right hand of fellowship that they
should go to the Gentiles while the Jerusalem leaders should go to
the circumcision. This division of labor has often been egregiously
misinterpreted, especially by the Tuebingen school and all those in
subsequent years who have not been able to throw off the shackles
of Tuebingenism. The question has often been asked whether the
division was meant geographically or ethnographically. Was Paul to
preach everywhere outside of Palestine both to Jews and Gentiles,
while the original apostles were to labor in Palestine only; or
was Paul to preach to Gentiles wherever found, while the original
apostles were to labor for Jews wherever found? In other words, to
whose province were assigned the Jews of the Dispersion--to the
province of Paul and Barnabas, or to the province of the original
apostles? It has sometimes been maintained that Paul understood the
division geographically, but that the Jerusalem leaders understood
it ethnographically; so that Peter transgressed Paul's geographical
interpretation when he went to labor in Antioch. But the very
raising of the whole question is in itself a fundamental error. The
division was not meant in an exclusive or negative sense at all; it
was not intended to prevent Peter from laboring among Gentiles or
Paul from laboring among Jews. The same gospel was being preached
by both Paul and Peter; they gave each other the right hand of
fellowship. What was meant was simply a general recognition of the
dispensation of God which had so far prevailed. By that dispensation
Paul and Barnabas had been sent particularly to the Gentiles and
the Jerusalem apostles to the Jews. If either group was hindered in
its work, the interests of the Church would suffer. Both groups,
therefore, were absolutely necessary in order that both Jews and
Gentiles should be won.

In one particular, indeed, the Jerusalem leaders requested expressly
that the division of labor should not be taken too strictly; they
hoped that Paul would not be so much engrossed in his Gentile
work as to forget the poor of the Jerusalem Church (Gal. ii. 10).
It should be observed very carefully that this request about
the poor forms an exception, not at all to the full recognition
of Paul's gospel, but only to the division of labor as between
Jews and Gentiles. It does not go with the remote words of verse
6 ("for to me those who were of repute added nothing"), but with
the immediately adjacent words in verse 9. Paul does not say,
therefore, "To me those of repute added (or imposed) nothing except
that I should remember the Jerusalem poor." If he had said that,
then perhaps it would be difficult to explain the omission of the
Apostolic Decree; for the Decree as much as the request for aid of
the Jerusalem poor was something that the Jerusalem leaders laid
upon him. But the fact is that neither the Decree nor the request
about the poor has anything whatever to do with Paul's gospel or the
attitude of the Jerusalem leaders toward it. What is really meant
by the request for aid is simply this: "You are the apostle to the
Gentiles; it is a great work; we wish you Godspeed in it. But even
in so great a work as that, do not forget your needy Jewish brethren
in Jerusalem."

After the conference at Jerusalem Paul and Barnabas returned to
Antioch. According to the Book of Acts the letter of the Jerusalem
Church was joyfully received; it meant a confirmation of Gentile
freedom and relief from the attacks of the Judaizers. But new
disturbances began, and Peter was concerned in them. He had gone to
Antioch. There is not the slightest reason to think that his arrival
occasioned anything but joy. The notion that Paul was jealously
guarding his rights in a Gentile church and resented the coming of
Peter as an intrusion has not the slightest basis either in Acts
or in the Pauline Epistles. But at Antioch Jews and Gentiles were
living together in the Church, and their juxtaposition presented
a serious problem. The Gentile Christians, it will be remembered,
had been released from the obligation of being circumcised and of
undertaking to keep the Mosaic Law. The Jewish Christians, on the
other hand, had not been required to give up their ancestral mode
of life. But how could the Jewish Christians continue to live under
the Law if they held companionship with Gentiles in a way which
would render the strict observance of the Law impossible? Should the
precedence be given to the observance of the Law on the part of the
Jewish Christians or to the new principle of Christian unity? This
question had not been settled by the Apostolic Council, for even
if the Gentile Christians observed the provisions of the Apostolic
Decree, table companionship with them would still have seemed to
involve a transgression of the Law. Peter, however, took a step
beyond what had already been settled; he relaxed the strictness
of his Jewish manner of life by eating with the Gentiles. He was
convinced of the revolutionary change wrought by the coming of
Christ, and gave practical expression to his conviction by holding
full companionship with all his brethren. After a time, however, and
perhaps during an absence of Paul from the city, certain men came
from James, and their coming occasioned difficulty. It is not said
that these men were commissioned by James, and some readers have
thought that "from James" means merely "from Jerusalem," James being
named merely as representative of the church over which he presided.
But even if the newcomers stood in some closer relationship to
James, or even had been sent by him, it is an unwarranted assumption
that James was responsible for the trouble that they caused, or
had sent them to Antioch with the purpose of limiting the freedom
of Peter's conduct. They may have abused whatever commission they
had received. Moreover, it must be remembered that they are not
expressly blamed by Paul. If they clung conscientiously to the
keeping of the Law, as they had been accustomed to do at Jerusalem,
Paul would perhaps not necessarily condemn them; for he did not
on principle or in all circumstances require Jewish Christians to
give up the keeping of the Law. But Peter had really transcended
that point of view; and when, therefore, he now, from fear of these
newcomers, withdrew from the Gentiles, he was concealing his true
convictions. It was the inconsistency of his conduct that Paul felt
called upon to rebuke. That inconsistency could not fail to have
a bad effect upon the Gentile Christians. Peter had received them
into true fellowship. But now apparently he regarded such liberal
conduct as a thing to be ashamed of and to be concealed. The Gentile
Christians could not help drawing the conclusion that they were at
best only on the outskirts of the Christian community; the chief
of the original apostles of Jesus was apparently ashamed of his
association with them. Despite the liberty granted by the Apostolic
Council, therefore, the Gentile Christians were again tempted
to remove the disabilities which rested upon them, by accepting
circumcision and so becoming full members of the Church. Evidently
the keeping of the Law on the part of Jewish Christians was a
half-way position. But when it was pursued conscientiously, as a
duty still resting upon men of Jewish descent, it might possibly be
dealt with gently by Paul. When, however, it was undertaken for fear
of men, in the face of better understanding, it became "hypocrisy"
and was rebuked sharply. If the transcending of the Law, in the
interests of Christian unity, had once been grasped as a necessary
consequence of the redemption wrought by Christ, then to repudiate
it was to bring discredit upon Christ Himself, and make His death of
none avail.

The influence of Peter's withdrawal from the Gentile Christians soon
began to make itself felt; other Jewish Christians followed Peter's
example, and even Barnabas was carried away. A serious crisis had
arisen. But God had not deserted His Church. The Church was saved
through the instrumentality of Paul.

To Paul had been revealed the full implications of the gospel; to
him the freedom of the Gentiles was a matter of principle, and
when principle was at stake he never kept silent. Regardless of
all petty calculations about the influence that might be lost or
the friendships that might be sacrificed, he spoke out boldly for
Christ; he rebuked Peter openly before the assembled Church. It
should always be observed, however, that it was not the principles
of Peter, but his conduct, which Paul was rebuking. The incident
is therefore misused when it is made to establish a fundamental
disagreement between Paul and Peter. On the contrary, in the
very act of condemning the practice of Peter, Paul approves his
principles; he is rebuking Peter just for the concealment of
his correct principles for fear of men. He and Peter, he says,
were perfectly agreed about the inadequacy of the Law, and the
all-sufficiency of faith in Christ; why then should Peter act in
contradiction to these great convictions? The passage, Gal. ii.
11-21, therefore, far from establishing a fundamental disagreement
between Peter and Paul really furnishes the strongest possible
evidence for their fundamental unity.

But how did Peter take the rebuke which was administered to him?
There should be no real doubt about the answer to this question.
Details, indeed, are uncertain; it may perhaps be doubtful when
Peter acquiesced or how he expressed his acquiescence. But that
he acquiesced at some time and in some manner is indicated by the
whole subsequent history of the Church. A contrary conclusion has,
indeed, sometimes been drawn from the silence of Paul. If Peter
was convinced by Paul at Antioch, would not Paul have been sure
to mention so gratifying a result? Would he not have appealed,
against the contentions of the Judaizers in Galatia, to so signal
a recognition of his apostolic authority? This argument ignores
the true character of the passage. During the writing of Gal. ii.
11-21 Paul has altogether ceased to think of Peter. What he had said
to Peter at Antioch happened to be exactly the same thing that he
desired to say, at the time of the writing of the letter, to the
Galatians. In reporting, not with pedantic verbal accuracy but in
substance, what he had said to Peter at Antioch, he has entered
upon the very heart of his gospel, which had been despised by the
Judaizers in Galatia. Long before the end of the glorious passage,
Gal. ii. 11-21, he has forgotten all about Peter and Barnabas and
Antioch, and is thinking only about the grace of Christ and the
way in which it was being made of none effect by those who would
desert it for a religion of works. To expect him to descend from
the heights in order to narrate the outcome of the incident at
Antioch is to do woeful injustice to the character of the apostle's
mind and the manner of his literary activity. Gal. ii. 11-21 forms
a transition between the first main division of the Epistle, in
which Paul is answering the personal attack of the Judaizers, and
the second main division, in which he is defending the contents of
his gospel. Before the end of the passage Paul has plunged into
the principal thing that he wanted to say to the Galatians, who
were making void the cross of Christ. The presentation in Gal. ii.
11-21 of what Bengel[61] called the "marrow of Christianity" leads
inevitably, therefore, not to a pedantic narration of what Peter
did, but to the exclamation of Gal. iii. 1, "O foolish Galatians,
who did bewitch you, before whose eyes Jesus Christ was openly set
forth crucified?"

  [61] On Gal. ii. 19.

Thus the silence of Paul about the outcome of the incident at
Antioch does not at all establish the outcome as unfavorable. But
there are positive indications on the other side. Of course, if Gal.
ii. 1-10 were identified with the famine visit, the whole question
would be settled. In that case, the incident of Gal. ii. 11-21 would
have been followed by the Apostolic Council, at which the harmony of
Peter and Paul found full expression. But even if the identification
of Gal. ii. 1-10 with the Apostolic Council be adopted, there are
still plain indications that the outcome of the Antioch incident was
favorable.

In the first place, Paul mentions Peter in 1 Cor. ix. 5 with
respect, as an apostle to whose example appeal may be made; in 1
Cor. iii. 22 he classes Peter with himself and with Apollos as a
possession of all Christians;[62] and in 1 Cor. xv. 1-11 he includes
as part of his fundamental missionary preaching the appearance of
the risen Christ to Peter, and appeals to the unity which existed
between his own preaching and that of the other apostles (verses 5,
11).[63]

  [62] Knowling, _The Witness of the Epistles_, 1892, p. 14, note 1.

  [63] Knowling, _loc. cit._

In the second place, Paul concerned himself earnestly, according
to 1 and 2 Corinthians and Romans, with the collection for the
Jerusalem poor. If the incident at Antioch had meant a repudiation
of the "right hand of fellowship" which Peter in common with
James and John had given to Paul at Jerusalem (Gal. ii. 9), it is
difficult to see how Paul could have continued to engage in a form
of brotherly service which was the most touching expression of that
fellowship. If there was a permanent breach between Peter and Paul,
the contribution for the poor saints at Jerusalem could hardly have
been collected.

In the third place, the agitation of the Judaizers seems to have
died down during the third missionary journey. It appears, indeed,
at Corinth, according to the Corinthian Epistles, but seems there
to have lacked that insistence upon the keeping of the Law which
had made it so dangerous in Galatia. In the epistles of the
captivity--Colossians and Philemon, Ephesians, Philippians--it
appears, if at all, only in the obscure reference in Phil. iii.
2ff., which may relate to non-Christian Judaism rather than to
Jewish Christianity. This subsidence of the Judaizing activity is
difficult to understand if the benefits of the Jerusalem conference
had been annulled by a serious breach at Antioch.

Finally, the whole subsequent history of the Church is explicable
only if there was fundamental unity between Peter and Paul. Ever
since the formation of the Old Catholic Church at the close of the
second century the Church was founded upon the twin pillars of
Peter and Paul. How was this unity produced if in the apostolic
age there was fundamental disunion? The existence of this problem
was fully recognized by F. C. Baur, and the recognition of it
constitutes one element of greatness in Baur's work. But the
elaborate solution which Baur proposed has had to be abandoned. Baur
supposed that the harmony between Pauline and Petrine Christianity
was produced by a gradual compromise effected during the second
century. Subsequent investigation has pushed the harmony very
much further back. The unity between Peter and Paul appears, for
example, plainly expressed in the letter of Clement of Rome (about
95 A. D.), who appeals to the two great apostles as though both
were of recognized authority; it appears also in the first Epistle
of Peter, which even if not genuine is important as attributing
to Peter, as though the attribution were a matter of course, a
conception of the gospel thoroughly in harmony with that of Paul;
it appears in the early traditional account of John Mark, by which
Mark is made to be a follower of Peter (compare 1 Peter v. 13) and
to have received from Peter the substance of his Gospel, so that
when his cordial relations with Paul are remembered (Col. iv. 10;
Philem. 24) he constitutes an important link between Peter and
Paul. What is more important, however, than all details, is the
undoubted fact that before the end of the first century epistles
of Paul and genuine tradition about Jesus, which latter must at
first have been connected with the Jerusalem Church, appear side
by side as possessing high authority in the Church. Finally, the
testimony of the Book of Acts is now admitted to be at any rate very
much earlier than Baur supposed; and that testimony, so far as the
harmony between Paul and Peter is concerned, is unequivocal. Thus
the explanation which Baur proposed for the final healing of the
supposed breach between Peter and Paul is unsatisfactory. But no
other explanation has been discovered to take its place. The very
existence of the Church would have been impossible if there had been
a permanent breach between the leader in the Gentile mission and the
leader among the original disciples of Jesus.

The Book of Acts does not mention the difficulty which arose
at Antioch with regard to table companionship between Jews and
Gentiles. But it does mention another disagreement between Paul and
Barnabas. Barnabas desired to take John Mark along on the second
missionary journey, while Paul was unwilling to take with him again
the one who had turned back on the former journey and had not gone
to those South Galatian churches which it was now proposed to
revisit. It was maintained by the Tuebingen school of criticism that
the lesser quarrel has here been inserted by the author of Acts with
the express purpose of covering up the more serious disagreement
which was the real reason for the separation of Barnabas and Paul.
But the insertion of a quarrel is rather an unnatural way to cover
up the fact that there was another quarrel; it would have been
better to keep altogether silent about the disagreement. Moreover,
the good faith of the author is now generally accepted. There is
another possible way of explaining the omission of the incident
of Gal. ii. 11-21 from the Book of Acts. It may be surmised that
the incident was so unimportant in its consequences, Peter and
Barnabas were so quickly convinced by Paul, that a historian who was
concerned, not with personal details about the relations between
Paul and the other leaders, but with the external progress of the
gospel, did not find it necessary to mention the incident at all.

After the separation of Barnabas from Paul at the beginning of the
second missionary journey, it is not recorded that the two men
were ever associated again in missionary work. But in 1 Cor. ix. 6
Barnabas is spoken of with respect--"Or I only and Barnabas, have
we not a right to forbear working." Evidently Paul was interested
in the work of Barnabas, and was not ashamed to appeal to his
example. In Col. iv. 10, moreover, "Mark, the cousin of Barnabas"
is mentioned, and is commended to the attention of the Colossian
Christians. Mark here forms a link between Paul and Barnabas as he
does between Paul and Peter. Evidently the estrangement at Antioch
was not permanent even in the case of Mark, against whom there was
the special objection that he had withdrawn from the work at Perga.
According to 2 Tim. iv. 11, Mark became exactly what he had not been
at Perga, "useful" to Paul "for ministering." And if the testimony
of 2 Timothy be rejected, the same cordial relationship between
Paul and Mark appears also in Col. iv. 10, 11; Philem. 24. The
scanty indications all point very decidedly away from any permanent
estrangement as resulting from the incidents at Antioch.

During the second and third missionary journeys, the agitation of
the Judaizers, as has already been observed, seems to have subsided.
In Corinth, indeed, according to 1 and 2 Corinthians, Paul appears
in deadly conflict with certain men who sought to undermine his
apostolic authority. Baur made much of this conflict; indeed, he
based his reconstruction of apostolic history upon the Corinthian
Epistles almost as much as upon Galatians. The starting-point of
his investigation was found in the party watchwords mentioned in
1 Cor. i. 12, "I am of Paul; and I of Apollos; and I of Cephas;
and I of Christ." The "Christ-party" of the verse, identified with
the opponents attacked in 2 Cor. x-xiii, Baur believed to have
been an extreme Judaizing party. This extreme Judaizing party,
Baur maintained, appealed with some show of reason to the original
apostles in Jerusalem. Thus the Corinthian Epistles like the
Epistle to the Galatians were made to establish what was to Baur
the fundamental fact of apostolic history, a serious conflict of
principle between Paul and the original apostles.[64]

  [64] Baur, "Die Christuspartei in der korinthischen Gemeinde," in
  _Tuebinger Zeitschrift fuer Theologie_, 1831, 4 Heft, pp. 61-206.

Subsequent investigation, however, has cast at least serious doubt
upon the Tuebingen exegesis, even where it has not discredited it
altogether. The whole matter of the Christ-party of 1 Cor. i.
12 is felt to be exceedingly obscure, so obscure that J. Weiss,
for example, in his recent commentary on 1 Corinthians, has felt
constrained to cut the Gordian knot by regarding the words, "And I
of Christ", as an interpolation.[65] Where this heroic measure has
not been resorted to, various interpretations have been proposed.
Sometimes, for example, the Christ-party has been thought to have
consisted of those who rejected the other watchwords, but in such
a proud and quarrelsome way that the watchword, "I am of Christ,"
which should have belonged to all, became only the shibboleth of
another party. Sometimes, again, the Christ-party has been regarded
as a gnosticizing party which boasted of direct communications
with the risen Christ. At any rate, it is very difficult to find
in the words "I am of Christ" any clear designation of Judaizers
who appealed against Paul to James or to their own connections with
Jesus in Palestine. On the contrary, the reader of the first four
chapters of 1 Corinthians may well be doubtful whether there were
any distinct parties at all. It looks rather as though what Paul
was rebuking were merely a spirit of division, which manifested
itself now in one watchword and now in another. The Corinthian
Christians seem to have been "sermon-tasters"; they were proud of
their "wisdom," and laid undue stress upon the varying form of the
gospel message to the neglect of the content. It is noteworthy
that in 1 Cor. i-iv Paul does not enter upon any anti-Judaistic
polemic, but addressed himself to those who in a spirit of pride and
quarrelsomeness sought after wisdom. "If you would be truly wise and
truly 'spiritual,'" he says, "then cease your contentions." Paul
was perhaps combating not any definite parties, but only the party
spirit.

  [65] J. Weiss, _Der erste Korintherbrief_, 1910, in Meyer, _op.
  cit._, 9te Aufl., p. xxxviii.

It must be admitted that there were in the Corinthian Church persons
who emphasized against Paul the advantages of Palestinian origin and
of direct connection with Jesus. But there is no reason to bring
these opponents of Paul into any close relation to the original
apostles and to James. The letters of recommendation (2 Cor. iii. 1)
may have come elsewhere than from the apostles; indeed the mention
of letters from the Corinthians as well as to them would seem to
make the passage refer to a general habit of credential-bearing
rather than to any special credentials from Jerusalem. The opponents
desired to push themselves into other men's spheres of labor; and
in order to do so they were in the habit of arming themselves with
commendatory epistles. The reference is quite general and to us
quite obscure; it is only by exceedingly bold specialization that
it can be made to attest the existence of letters of commendation
from the Jerusalem leaders. Moreover, even if the opponents did have
some sort of endorsement from Jerusalem, they may have abused the
confidence which had been reposed in them. The Tuebingen exegesis
of 2 Cor. xi. 5; xii. 11, by which "the chiefest apostles" were
identified with the pillars of the Jerusalem Church should be
rejected; and the phrase (which is rather to be translated "those
who are apostles overmuch") should be taken as designating simply
the Corinthian agitators themselves. Thus, the "apostles overmuch"
of 2 Cor. xi. 5 become the same as the "false apostles" of verse
13, the latter verse being used in order to interpret the former.
In 1 Cor. i. 12, Peter is mentioned as being appealed to by one
of the "parties" in the Corinthian Church. It has sometimes been
maintained, on the basis of this verse, that Peter had actually been
present in Corinth as had Apollos and Paul, who appear in two of the
other party watchwords. But the matter is at least very doubtful.
As chief of the original disciples of Jesus Peter might well have
evoked the special admiration of certain members of the Corinthian
Church without having ever been personally present. There does not
seem to be the slightest evidence for supposing that the admirers of
Peter mentioned in 1 Cor. i. 12 were extreme Judaizers; and there
is no decisive reason for identifying them with the opponents who
appear in 2 Cor. x-xiii. Certainly there is no reason for making
Peter responsible for the factiousness of those who used his name.
It must be remembered that Paul rebukes the "Paul party"--if it
be a party--as much as any of the others, and distinctly commends
Apollos, who was appealed to by the "Apollos party." Evidently the
faults of the "parties" were not due at all to those whose names
the parties used. In 1 Cor. iii. 21, 22, Paul says, "All things are
yours, whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas." Here Peter is put as
part of the common possession of all Christians. There could not
possibly be a clearer recognition of the complete fellowship which
Paul regards as existing between himself and Peter. Finally, in 1
Cor. xv. 11, Paul calls attention expressly to the fundamental unity
between himself and the other apostles: "Whether then it be I or
they, so we preach, and so ye believed."[66] The Corinthian Epistles
certainly lend no support to the Tuebingen contention; they certainly
provide no evidence of a breach between Paul and the original
disciples of Jesus.

  [66] See Knowling, as cited above, p. 104, footnotes 1 and 2.

At the time of his last visit to Jerusalem, Paul came again into
contact with James, the brother of the Lord, and with the Jerusalem
Church. The arrival at Jerusalem is narrated in one of the
we-sections of the Book of Acts, and it is there said, "The brethren
received us gladly" (Acts xxi. 17). The use of the first person
plural disappears after the following verse, where the meeting of
Paul with James is described, but it is very difficult to separate
Acts xxi. 20, for example, from the we-section. Of course there
could be no use of the "we" when the narrator did not participate
in what was being described. In Acts xxi. 20, it is said that James
and the presbyters "glorified God" on account of what had been done
among the Gentiles through the ministry of Paul. Whatever view may
be taken of the composition of Acts, therefore, the warm reception
of Paul on the part of the Jerusalem leaders seems to be attested by
an eyewitness. Such a reception would be very difficult to explain
if the relations between Paul and Jerusalem had been what they are
represented as being by the Tuebingen scholars.

According to Acts xxi. 20-26, James brought to Paul's attention the
scruples of the Jewish Christians, who were "zealous for the law."
These Jewish Christians had been told that Paul was teaching the
Jews of the Dispersion not to circumcise their children or to walk
"in the customs." With regard to the Gentile Christians, James has
nothing to say except to call attention to the Apostolic Decree
which the Jerusalem Church itself had adopted. But in order to allay
the suspicions of the Jewish Christians, James suggests that Paul
should participate in a Jewish vow. According to Acts xxi. 26, Paul
complied with the request.

Such compliance was regarded by the Tuebingen scholars as absolutely
incompatible with Paul's character, and therefore as unhistorical.
But recent criticism has been becoming, to say the least, less
certain about the matter. The incident is narrated in a concrete
way which creates a most favorable impression; indeed, the passage
seems even to belong to the supposed we-section source. Moreover,
a sober study of the Pauline Epistles has shown that the attitude
of Paul toward Judaism and toward the Law was by no means what
Baur and Zeller, through a one-sided interpretation of the polemic
of Galatians, had supposed. In particular, the sharing of Paul in
a Jewish vow is only an exemplification of the principle which
Paul lays down in 1 Cor. ix. 19-22 of becoming all things to all
men. Where could the principle possibly have applied if it did not
apply to the situation in Jerusalem at the time of Paul's last
visit? Where, if not there, could Paul have felt bound to become
to the Jews as a Jew in order that he might gain Jews (1 Cor. ix.
20)? There seems to have been no attempt at that time to force
the Law upon Gentiles, and no tendency to regard it even for Jews
as necessary to salvation. Compliance with Jewish custom would
therefore not be open to the misunderstanding which might have made
it inadvisable during the midst of the Judaistic controversy. The
devotion of the Jewish Christians to the Law seems never to have
been condemned by Paul on principle. Should he then run counter to
Jewish feeling by pursuing a crassly Gentile manner of life in the
very midst of Judaism, when the national life, in the troublous
years before the Jewish war, was running high? The answer to this
question is at any rate not so simple as was formerly supposed.
Participation by Paul in a Jewish vow in Jerusalem is not beyond
the limits of that devotion to the Jewish people which the Epistles
undoubtedly attest. And it is not really derogatory to the character
of Paul. Where the truth of the gospel was concerned, Paul was
absolutely unswerving and absolutely without regard for personal
considerations; but when the "weaker brethren" of his own nation
could be won without sacrifice of principle, he was fully capable of
becoming to the Jews as a Jew.

While Paul was in prison in Jerusalem and in Caesarea, what was the
attitude of James and of the Jerusalem Church? The Book of Acts does
not say, and far-reaching conclusions have sometimes been drawn
from its silence. The Jerusalem leaders, it is said, were at least
lukewarm in their defense of Paul; they themselves were zealous for
the Law, and they had only been half-convinced of the loyalty of
Paul; it is no wonder, then, that they were not anxious to bring
Jewish disfavor upon themselves by championing the cause of Paul.

This representation can find no support whatever in the sources.
Certainly it is not supported by the silence of Acts. The disciples
of Jesus were certainly not in positions of political influence
at Jerusalem; indeed only a few years later even James, despite
his strict Jewish manner of life, fell victim to the fury of
his enemies. If at such a time and under such circumstances the
Jerusalem disciples accomplished nothing for Paul, the fact does not
attest any coldness in their sympathy, or any repentance for the
joy with which, on the unequivocal testimony of a we-section, they
had greeted him on his arrival.

The Book of Acts does not mention the collection which according to
1 and 2 Corinthians and Romans Paul carried up to Jerusalem for the
poor of the Jerusalem Church, except perhaps in the bare allusion
in Acts xxiv. 17. But no great significance is to be attached to
the omission. It must be remembered that the Book of Acts is not
concerned primarily with the inner development of the churches, but
rather with the external progress of the gospel out from Jerusalem
to the Gentile world. How meager, for example, as compared with the
Corinthian Epistles, is the account which Acts gives of affairs at
Corinth! To infer, therefore, from the silence of Acts about the
collection that the collection was not graciously received is to
make use of the argument from silence in a most adventurous and
unwarranted manner. The inference is definitely opposed, moreover,
by the testimony of a we-section in Acts xxi. 17, where Paul is
said to have been warmly received on his arrival in Jerusalem. That
verse refers perhaps to the reception of Paul merely in a little
group at the house of Mnason. But the warmth of his reception there
was at least of good presage for the reception which took place the
next day in the assembly of the elders. Rom. xv. 31 is sometimes
thought to indicate anxious solicitude on the part of Paul lest the
collection should not be acceptable to the Jerusalem Church. But the
words will not bear the weight which is hung upon them. When Paul
asks his readers to pray that he may be rescued from them that are
disobedient in Judaea (that is, the non-Christian Jews), and that the
offering which he is carrying to Jerusalem may be acceptable to the
saints, he certainly does not indicate any fear lest the offering
may not be acceptable. The offering had been much on his heart;
it was being carried to Jerusalem at the imminent risk of life;
these perils were being encountered out of love for the Jerusalem
brethren. Surely it is natural for the bearer of such an offering
to wish that it may be acceptable. That wish is natural in the
case of any gift, no matter how certain the giver may be that the
recipient will be grateful. It was still more natural in the case of
the Pauline collection. Moreover, even if Paul was solicitous about
the reception of the gift, his solicitude may well have concerned
merely those members of the Jerusalem Church mentioned in Acts xxi.
20-22, who were suspicious of Gentile Christianity. There is no
reason, therefore, for connecting the solicitude of Paul with the
original apostles or with James.

It will not be necessary for the present purpose to attempt any
review of the missionary journeys of Paul. The outline of Paul's
life is here being considered merely for its bearing upon the
relations which Paul sustained (1) to the original disciples of
Jesus, (2) to Judaism, and (3) to paganism. The first of these
relationships has been chiefly in view. Enough has, however, perhaps
been said to establish the following propositions:

(1) The relation between Paul and the original disciples of Jesus
was cordial; there is no reason to interpret the "right hand of
fellowship" which the leaders of the Jerusalem Church gave to Paul
in any other than its full meaning, and no reason to suppose that
the good relationship was broken off at any later time.

(2) The early training of Paul was thoroughly Jewish, and was
fundamentally Palestinian, not Hellenistic; and Paul never
relinquished his attachment to his own people.

(3) Paul's attitude toward paganism, after the conversion as well
as before it, was an attitude of abhorrence. If common ground was
ever sought with his pagan hearers, it was only as a starting-point
for the denunciation of idolatry and the proclamation of a revealed
gospel.




CHAPTER IV

PAUL AND JESUS




CHAPTER IV

PAUL AND JESUS[67]

  [67] In the present chapter there are some coincidences of thought
  and expression with the paper by the same author entitled "Jesus and
  Paul" in _Biblical and Theological Studies_ by the Members of the
  Faculty of Princeton Theological Seminary, 1912, pp. 547-578.


The review of Paul's life has prepared the way for the principal
subject of investigation. What was the origin of the religion of
Paul?

The most obvious answer to that question is that the religion of
Paul was based upon Jesus. That is the answer which has always been
given in the Church. The Church has always accepted the apostle
Paul, not at all as a religious philosopher, but simply and solely
as a witness to Jesus. If he was not a true disciple of Jesus, then
the authority which he has always possessed and the influence which
he has wielded have been based upon a misconception.

But exactly the same answer was given by Paul himself. Paul
regarded himself as a servant of Christ, and based his whole life
upon what Christ had done and what Christ was continuing to do.
"It is no longer I that live," he says, "but Christ liveth in me."
Unquestionably this Christ, upon whom Paul based his life, was
identified by Paul with Jesus of Nazareth, a person who had lived
in Palestine a few years before. A mighty change in the mode of
existence of Jesus had indeed, Paul believed, been wrought by the
resurrection; a life of humiliation had given place to a life of
glory. But it was the same person who lived throughout. There is in
the Pauline Epistles not a trace of any distinction between "Jesus"
and "Christ," as though the former were the name of the historic
personage who lived in Galilee and the latter the name of the risen
Lord. On the contrary, the name Jesus is applied freely to the risen
Lord, and the name Lord--the loftiest of all titles--is applied
to the Jesus who suffered and died. It was "the Lord of glory,"
according to Paul, who was crucified (1 Cor. ii. 8). The same
phenomenon appears everywhere in the Epistles: the Lord of glory
lived the life of a servant on earth; and Jesus, the man who had
recently lived in Palestine, was to be worshiped by all in heaven
and on earth (Phil. ii. 10, 11).

There is, therefore, in the Pauline Epistles not the slightest
trace of any gnosticizing separation between Jesus the historic
person, and Christ the divine Lord. There is, moreover, as W. Morgan
rightly observes,[68] not the slightest trace of any "adoptionist
Christology," by which a man Jesus could be conceived of either as
growing up gradually into divinity or as received into divinity by a
catastrophic event like the resurrection. On the contrary, Paul says
expressly that the Jesus who lived in Palestine existed, before His
appearance upon earth, in the form of God; and the entrance of that
person upon human life is represented as a voluntary act of love.
His higher nature, therefore, existed from the beginning; indeed He
was, according to Paul, the instrument in the creation of the world.

  [68] W. Morgan, _The Religion and Theology of Paul_, 1917.

Finally, there is no trace in Paul of any doctrine of "kenosis,"
by which the higher nature of Christ might have been regarded as
so relinquished while He was on earth that the words and deeds of
the historic person would become matter of indifference. Such a
representation is refuted not only by what has just been said about
the application of the term "Lord" to the historic Jesus, but also
by the references of Paul to actual words and deeds of Jesus. These
references are few; their scantiness may require explanation. But
they are sufficient to show that Paul regarded the words of the
historic Jesus as possessing absolute authority and His example as
normative for the Christian life.

Thus the testimony of Paul is plain. He regarded Christ as Lord
and Master, and he identified that Christ fully with the Jesus who
had lived but a few years before. This testimony must be faced and
invalidated by those who would find the origin of Paul's religion
elsewhere than in Jesus of Nazareth.

Such is the testimony of Paul. But what was the testimony of his
contemporaries? In the environment of Paul were to be found some
men who had been intimate friends of Jesus; presumably they were
acquainted with Jesus' character and teaching. What was their
attitude toward Paul? Did they regard him as an innovator with
respect to Jesus, or did they admit him to the company of Jesus'
true disciples? Since they knew both Jesus and Paul, their testimony
as to the relationship between the two is obviously worth having. At
this point appears the importance of Baur's work. It is the merit
of Baur that however faulty his solution he placed at least in the
forefront of interest the problem of the relationship between Paul
and the intimate friends of Jesus. That relationship, Baur believed,
was fundamentally a relationship of conflict; Paul and Peter,
according to Baur, established at best only a _modus vivendi_, an
agreement to disagree; really they were separated by a deep-seated
difference of principle. But at this point a further problem arises.
If Paul and Peter were really in disharmony, how did they ever come
to be regarded as in harmony? If there was a deep-seated difference
of principle between Paul and Peter, how did it come about that the
Catholic Church was founded not upon Paul taken alone, or upon Peter
taken alone, but upon Paul and Peter taken together?

Here, again, Baur displayed his true intellectual greatness by
detecting and facing the problem. He saw clearly what has seldom
been seen with equal clearness since his day, that the historian
must explain the transition not only from the historical Jesus to
apostolic Christianity, but from apostolic Christianity to the Old
Catholic Church. And for this latter problem he proposed a solution
which was not wanting in grandeur. But his solution, despite its
grandeur, has succumbed. Baur's reconstruction of the second
century, with the supposed gradual compromise between Pauline and
Petrine Christianity, resulting finally in the Christianity of the
Old Catholic Church, was one of the first elements in his system
which had to be abandoned; it was destroyed, in the first place,
by the criticism of A. Ritschl, and, in the second place, by the
painstaking labors of Lightfoot, Zahn, Von Harnack and others,
by which, through a study of second-century documents and their
literary relationships, it was shown that the New Testament books
cannot be scattered at will anywhere throughout the second century
in the interests of a theory of development. Ritschl showed that the
importance of specifically Jewish Christianity had been enormously
exaggerated by Baur; and the study of patristics tended to place
the New Testament books much earlier than the late dating which the
theory of Baur required.

Thus Baur did not succeed in overcoming the fundamental objection
raised against him by the very existence of a Church that appealed
both to Peter and to Paul. If Peter and Paul were really in
fundamental disharmony, how did the Church come to bring them
together so confidently and at such an early time? This question
has never been answered. The very existence of the Church is a
refutation of Baur; the Church never could have existed unless the
apostles had been in fundamental agreement.

But Baur may also be refuted directly, in a purely exegetical way,
by an examination of the sources to which he himself appealed. Baur
established his hypothesis of a conflict between Paul and Peter on
the basis of the Pauline Epistles. Subsidiary evidence, thought to
be found in other books of the New Testament, was soon shown to
be illusory. Thus Baur and the early Tuebingen scholars detected
an anti-Pauline polemic in the Book of Revelation, which they
attributed to John the son of Zebedee. This use of the Apocalypse
was soon abandoned even by Baur's own disciples. The theory of Baur,
therefore, stands or falls with his interpretation of the Pauline
Epistles, especially 1 and 2 Corinthians and Galatians.

The Corinthian Epistles, as has been observed in the last chapter,
afford no real support to the hypothesis of an inter-apostolic
conflict. There is not the slightest reason to connect the
troublemakers at Corinth with the original apostles or with James;
and the whole subject of the "Christ-party" in 1 Cor. i. 12 is now
felt to be very obscure. The evidence of an apostolic conflict
narrows down, therefore, to the second chapter of Galatians.

Undoubtedly there are expressions in that chapter which if taken
alone might indicate ill-will between Paul and the Jerusalem
leaders. In Gal. ii. 2, 6, for example, James and Peter and John
are called "those who seemed,"[69] and in the latter verse the
phrase is explained by the fuller designation, "those who seemed
to be something." In Gal. ii. 9, the same persons are designated
as "those who seemed to be pillars." In themselves these words
are capable of an interpretation which would be derogatory to the
persons so designated. The meaning might conceivably be that the
Jerusalem leaders only "seemed" or "were thought" to be something,
or only thought themselves to be something (compare Gal. vi. 3),
whereas they really were nothing. But this interpretation is, of
course, quite impossible, since Paul certainly recognized Peter and
John as genuine apostles and James the brother of the Lord as a man
of real authority in the Church. The most that may be maintained,
therefore, is that the choice of the peculiar phrases indicates a
certain irritation of Paul against the Jerusalem leaders; instead of
calling them pillars (which certainly he recognized them as being)
he shows his irritation, it is said, by calling them "those who were
thought to be pillars."

  [69] +hoi dokountes+.

The presence of indignant feeling in the passage must clearly be
admitted; but the question is whether the indignation is directed
against the Jerusalem leaders themselves or only against the
Judaizers who falsely appealed to them. The latter view is correct.
It must be remembered that what Paul in Gal. ii. 1-10 desires most
of all to prevent is the impression that he is appealing to the
Jerusalem apostles as to a higher instance. He is not basing the
authority of his preaching upon any authorization that the apostles
gave him; he is not saying that he has a right to be heard because
those who were the pillars of the Church endorsed his message. Such
a representation of the conference would have cast despite upon all
the work which he had done before, and would have made it necessary
for him in the future to prove constantly against all Judaizers and
other opponents his agreement with the Jerusalem authorities. The
profound consciousness which he had of his apostolic authority did
not permit any such course of action; and such restrictions would
have hindered his work wherever he went. It was absolutely essential
in the economy of God that the leader of the Gentile work should
have independent authority and should not be obliged to appeal again
and again to authorities who were far away, at Jerusalem. Hence what
Paul desires to make clear above all in Gal. ii. 1-10 is that though
he appealed to the Jerusalem authorities it was not necessary for
his own sake for him to appeal to them. They were great, but their
greatness had absolutely nothing to do with his authority; for they
added nothing to him. It was therefore not the real greatness of the
original apostles which caused him to appeal to them (for he needed
no authorization from any man no matter how great), but only the
greatness which was attributed to them by the Judaizers. They really
were great, but it was only the false use which had been made of
their greatness by the Judaizers which caused him to lay his gospel
before them. The Judaizers were to be refuted from the lips of the
very authorities to whom they appealed.

It should be observed that the terms which are now under discussion
are incapable of real translation into English. The equivalent
English words might seem to imply that the reputed greatness of the
Jerusalem leaders was not also a real greatness. There is no such
implication in the Greek. The shortest of the phrases, which may
be paraphrased "those of repute," was used in Greek sometimes in a
way thoroughly honorable to the persons designated. Possibly the
repetition of the phrases, which seems somewhat strange, was due to
the employment of the same phrases by the Judaizing opponents. The
peculiarities of the passage may perhaps be due partly to the fact
that Paul is here using catchwords of his adversaries.

At any rate, if the reader refuses to interpret these expressions
in a way derogatory to the original apostles, such refusal is
not due merely to a pious desire to preserve harmony in the
apostolic college; it is due rather to the way in which Paul
himself everywhere speaks of the apostles, and to the "right hand
of fellowship" which according to this very passage they extended
to him. It is good exegetical method to interpret things that are
obscure by things that are plain; but what is plainest of all in
this passage is that the very authorities to whom the Judaizers
appealed against Paul recognized the hand of God in his work and
bade him Godspeed.

If Gal. ii. 1-10 affords no support to the theory of Baur, the
latter part of the same chapter (Gal. ii. 11-21) is not really any
more favorable. This passage does indeed attest a rebuke which
Paul administered to Peter at Antioch. Peter is even accused of
"hypocrisy." The Greek word[70] is indeed not quite so harsh as
the English word derived from it; it means the "playing of a part"
and so here the concealment of true convictions. Nevertheless, the
incident remains regrettable enough; evidently real moral blame was
attached by Paul to Peter's conduct. But what is really significant
is that in the very act of condemning Peter's practice Paul commends
his principles; he appeals to a great fund of Christian conviction
which he and Peter had in common (Gal. ii. 14-21). It will not do to
say that in this passage Paul is giving no report of what he said to
Peter, but is expounding his own views to the Galatians. For in Gal.
ii. 14 he begins to tell what he said to Peter "before them all";
and there is not the slightest indication of a break before the end
of the chapter. Certainly the break cannot come after verse 14; for
the thought of that verse is quite incomplete in itself and becomes
intelligible only when explained by what follows. The passage
is best explained, therefore, if it be taken as embodying the
substance of what Paul said to Peter at Antioch, though doubtless
there is no attempt at verbal reproduction of the language. At
any rate, however much of Gal. ii. 14-21 be a report of what was
said at Antioch, and however much be what Paul now wishes to say
to the Galatians, one thing is clear--when Paul begins in verse
14 to report what he said to Peter, he means to call attention to
something in which he and Peter were agreed; he means to say: "You
and I, though we had all the advantages of the Law, relinquished
such advantages, in order to be justified by faith in Christ. How
then can we force the Gentiles to seek salvation by a way which
even in our own case was futile?" Whatever else Paul said to Peter,
this much he certainly said. The context makes the matter perfectly
clear. It must always be remembered that Paul blames Peter not
for false opinions, but for "hypocrisy"--that is, for concealment
of true opinions. In verse 14, moreover, he says expressly that
Peter was living after a Gentile manner. The verb is in the present
tense--"if thou being a Jew livest as do the Gentiles and not as do
the Jews." Paul means to say that a principle essentially similar
to that of the Gentile Christians, according to which in their
case the keeping of the Mosaic Law was relinquished, was the fixed
basis of Peter's life. Peter's present withdrawal from the Gentiles
was a mere temporary aberration. Before the coming of the men from
James, he had seen clearly that the great new principle of faith
in Christ took precedence of the Law, even for Jewish Christians;
and after the departure of the men he would presumably revert to
his old freedom. Indeed even now, even while he was withdrawing
himself from his Gentile brethren, the real principle of his life
had not been changed; he was still "living as do the Gentiles." But
he was concealing his real life for fear of men. The very nature
of the charge which Paul brought against Peter, therefore, attests
a fundamental unity of principle between the two apostles. Paul
condemned Peter for "hypocrisy"; not for false principles, but for
concealment of true principles. In principle, therefore, Paul and
Peter were agreed.

  [70] +hupokrisis+.

Accordingly, even the very passage which at first sight lends most
color to the hypothesis of Baur, really, when it is correctly
interpreted, provides the most striking refutation of that
hypothesis. The very chapter which attests the appeal of Paul's
bitter opponents to the original apostles, and records a sharp
rebuke which Paul administered to Peter, really furnishes the
best evidence of apostolic unity. It is the second chapter of
Galatians which mentions the right hand of fellowship extended to
Paul by James and Peter and John, and it is the second chapter of
Galatians which represents the divergence between Paul and Peter as
divergence of practice, not of principle. Even if the Epistle to the
Galatians stood alone, it would establish the fundamental unity of
the apostles. But as a matter of fact, the Epistle to the Galatians
does not stand alone; it must be interpreted in the light of other
sources. The one-sided interpretation of Galatians, with neglect of
other epistles of Paul and of the Book of Acts, has been one of the
most fruitful causes of error in the study of the apostolic age.
For example, Gal. ii should never be read except in the light of 1
Cor. xv. 1-11. The two passages emphasize two different aspects of
Paul's relation to those who had been apostles before him; and only
when both the two aspects are considered is the full truth attained.
Gal. ii emphasizes the independence of Paul's gospel; Paul had not
received it through the instrumentality of men. 1 Cor. xv. 1-11
emphasizes the harmony of Paul's gospel with that of the original
apostles, whom Christ had commissioned as directly and as truly as
He had commissioned Paul. Both passages are contained in sources
admitted by all to be sources of primary importance; yet either
passage might be misunderstood if it were taken alone.

Thus the danger of interpreting Gal. ii entirely without reference
to anything else is signally manifested by a comparison with 1 Cor.
xv. 1-11. The First Epistle to the Corinthians must be allowed to
cast light upon Galatians. But if so, may not the same privilege be
granted to the Book of Acts? As a matter of fact, the privilege is
being granted to the Book of Acts by a larger and larger number of
modern scholars. Baur demanded that the Pauline Epistles should be
interpreted by themselves, entirely without reference to Acts. But
as J. Weiss[71] pertinently remarks, such interpretation is quite
impossible; the Epistles taken by themselves are unintelligible;
they can be interpreted only when placed in the biographical
outline provided by the historian. Of course, that outline might be
discredited by a comparison with the Epistles; the divergences might
really be contradictions. Comparison of Acts with the Epistles is
therefore a matter of fundamental importance. But that comparison,
as it has been undertaken at some length in the two preceding
chapters of the present discussion, has resulted favorably to the
Book of Acts. The divergences between Acts and Pauline Epistles are
no more to be regarded as contradictions than are the divergences
between various passages in the Epistles themselves; and at many
points the historical work casts a flood of light upon the words of
Paul.

  [71] See p. 40, footnote 1.

Thus the imposing construction of Baur was erected by neglecting
all sources except Galatians and Corinthians, and then by
misinterpreting these. When all the available sources are used,
and estimated at their true value, the hypothesis of a fundamental
conflict between Paul and the original apostles disappears. There
was indeed a bitter conflict in the apostolic age, but, as Ritschl
observed against Baur, it was a conflict not between Paul and the
original apostles, but between all the apostles, including both
Paul and Peter, on the one side, and an extreme Judaizing party on
the other. The extreme Judaizing party, not having the support of
the original disciples of Jesus, soon ceased to be influential. The
various sects of schismatic Jewish Christians which appear in the
second century--"Ebionites" and the like--if they had any roots at
all the apostolic age (which is more than doubtful), could trace
their spiritual descent not from the original apostles, but from the
Judaizers. It is no wonder then that they were left behind in the
march of the Church. They were left behind not because Peter was
left behind--for Peter appears as at least one of the foundations
upon which the Old Catholic Church was built--but because Peter had
left them behind, or rather because Peter had never given them his
support at all. They were left behind because from the beginning
their spiritual ancestors in the apostolic age had not really
belonged with apostolic Christianity, but had been "false brethren
privily brought in."

One fact, indeed, still requires explanation. If Paul and the
original apostles were in such perfect agreement, how is it that the
Judaizers in the apostolic age could appeal to the original apostles
against Paul? The existence of that appeal cannot altogether be
denied. The exact nature of the appeal is not indeed altogether
clear. It is by no means clear that the Judaizers appealed to
the original apostles in support of the content of the Judaizing
message; it is by no means clear that they made Peter or James teach
the necessity of the Mosaic Law for salvation. What is clear is only
that they appealed to the original apostles in their personal attack
against Paul; they contrasted Paul, who had become a disciple only
after the crucifixion, with those who had been intimate with Jesus.
They used Peter to discredit the apostolic authority of Paul, but
it is not so clear that they used Peter to discredit the content of
Paul's message.

If, however, they did appeal to Peter in this latter way, if they
did appeal to Peter in support of their legalistic contentions, such
an appeal does not overthrow the conclusions which have just been
reached about the harmony of Peter and Paul; it does not really make
Peter an advocate of legalism. For even if Peter was not an advocate
of legalism the appeal of the Judaizers to him can be explained.
It can be explained not by the principles of Peter, but by his
practice. The early disciples in Jerusalem continued to observe the
Jewish fasts and feasts; they continued in diligent attendance upon
the Temple services. Outwardly, they were simply devout Jews; and
the manner of their life might therefore have given some color to
the Judaizing contentions.

Inwardly, it is true, the early disciples were not simply devout
Jews; they were really trusting for their salvation no longer to
their observance of the Law but to Jesus their Saviour. The whole
spirit of their lives, moreover, was quite different from that which
prevailed in legalistic Judaism; anxious thought for the morrow,
gloomy contemplation of the triumphs of the oppressor, had given
place to exultant joy. The early disciples, indeed, like the Jews,
were still waiting for the establishment of the kingdom of God. But
their waiting was no longer full of sorrow. The Messiah was taken
from them for a time; but He had already appeared and had brought
salvation.

Thus the early Jerusalem Church was really quite distinct from
contemporary Judaism; the real principle of its life was fresh and
new. But to a superficial observer, on account of the continuance of
old customs, the new principle might not appear; to a superficial
observer, the observance of Jewish customs on the part of the early
disciples might seem to be legalism. And certainly the Judaizers
were superficial. Apparently they had come into the Church in the
period of quiet that followed the persecution of Stephen; they had
come in from the sect of the Pharisees, and they continued to be
Pharisees at heart. As Pharisees they welcomed the coming of the
Messiah, but they did not understand the teaching of this Messiah.
They looked for a continuance of the prerogatives of Israel. Jesus
was the Messiah, but was He not the Jewish Messiah, would He not
bring about the triumph of the chosen people? Would not all the
peoples of the earth come to do obeisance to Israel by submitting to
Israel's Law? To such observers, the Jewish practice of the original
apostles would furnish welcome support; these observers would not
care to look beneath the surface; they would say simply to the
Gentile Christians of Galatia: "The original disciples of Jesus obey
the Mosaic Law; must not you do likewise?"

At a later time such an appeal could not have been made; at a later
time even the practice of the original apostles ceased to conform to
Jewish custom. The tradition according to which the apostle Peter
finally went to Rome is emerging triumphant[72] from the fires of
criticism; and if Peter went to Rome, it is inconceivable that
he separated himself from Gentile Christians. Even in the early
days, in Antioch, he had begun to abandon his Jewish manner of
life; surely he must have abandoned it more fully when he went to
the capital of the Gentile world. The tradition as to the Ephesian
residence of the apostle John also points to the abandonment of the
Law on the part of the original apostles, and to their definite
entrance upon the Gentile mission. That tradition has been rejected
only by attending to late and dubious evidence to the neglect of
what is plain. But it is not necessary to appeal to details. All
that has been said above about the position of Peter in the mind of
the Church shows that even the practice of the original apostles
finally adapted itself to the needs of the expanding Gentile work.

  [72] See, for example, Lietzmann, _Petrus and Paulus in Rom_, 1915.

But in the early period, in Jerusalem, before it had become evident
that the Jewish people as such was to reject the gospel message,
the apostles continued to observe the Law. And by doing so, they
gave the Judaizers some color of support. Thus if the Judaizers
did appeal to the original apostles in support of their legalistic
claims, the appeal does not establish any real unity of principle
between them and the original apostles, or any divergence of
principle between the original apostles and Paul. But as a matter
of fact it is by no means perfectly clear that the appeal was made;
it is by no means clear that the Judaizers appealed to the original
apostles for the content of their legalistic message rather than
merely for their attack upon the independent apostleship of Paul. It
is possible that they said no more than this: "Paul was not one of
the original disciples of Jesus; his authority is merely a derived
authority; he is, therefore, no more worthy to be heard than we; and
we can tell you something new--the followers of the Messiah must
unite themselves with the chosen people and obey the Law of God."

At any rate, even if the Judaizers did appeal to the original
apostles for the content of their message, the appeal was a false
appeal; the original apostles repudiated the Judaizers, and
recognized Paul as a true apostle, with authorization as direct as
their own.

Thus Baur was wrong. But suppose Baur were right about the point
which has just been discussed; suppose even the most impossible
admissions be made; suppose it be granted that the original apostles
differed fundamentally from Paul. Even then the testimony of the
original apostles to the true connection between Paul and Jesus
is not invalidated. For even if the original apostles differed
fundamentally from Paul, the difference concerned only the place
of the Mosaic Law in the Christian economy, and did not concern
the Pauline conception of the person of Christ. So much at least
must be insisted upon against Baur. The really astounding fact,
which emerges from all discussion of the apostolic age, is that the
Pauline conception of the person of Christ, whatever may be said of
the Pauline doctrine of Gentile freedom, was never criticized by
the original apostles. Indeed, so far as can be seen, it was never
criticized even by the Judaizers themselves. Apparently it never
occurred to Paul that his conception of the heavenly Christ required
defense. About other things there was controversy; the doctrine of
Christian freedom, for example, had to be defended against all sorts
of objections and by the use of all sorts of evidence. But about the
person of Christ there was not one word of debate. "Not by man but
by Jesus Christ," Paul says at the beginning of Galatians. Evidently
the Judaizers said, "Not by Jesus Christ but by man." But apparently
it never occurred to Paul that any one might say, "By Jesus Christ
and therefore by man." The Judaizers, apparently, as well as Paul,
recognized the alternative between Jesus Christ and man; like Paul
they separated Jesus Christ from ordinary humanity and placed Him
on the side of God. The same phenomenon appears everywhere in the
Pauline Epistles--the tremendous doctrine of the person of Christ is
never defended, but always assumed. Indeed, in the earlier epistles
the doctrine is never even set forth in any systematic way; it is
simply presupposed. In Colossians, indeed, it is more definitely
set forth, and apparently in opposition to errorists who failed
to recognize its full implications. Even in Colossae, however, the
doctrine does not seem to have been denied; the errorists apparently
did not deny the supreme place of Jesus in the scale of being, but
merely erred in attaching undue importance to other beings. What is
really significant in Colossians is the character of the errorists.
Evidently they were not conservative disciples, who appealed
against the heavenly Christ of Paul to the facts about the historic
Jesus. On the contrary, they were gnostics, engaged in unhistorical
speculations, and as far removed as possible from anything that
primitive Palestinian Christianity might conceivably have been. So
when Paul first has to defend his doctrine of the exclusive and
supreme importance of Christ, he defends it not against conservative
disciples, who could appeal either with or without reason to the
original apostles, but against gnostic speculation. With regard to
the person of Christ Paul appears everywhere in perfect harmony with
all Palestinian Christians.

The fact is of such importance that it must be examined in the
light of all possible objections. Is there any trace in the Pauline
Epistles of a primitive view of Jesus different from the lofty
Christology of Paul?

One such trace has occasionally been found in 2 Cor. v. 16. In that
verse, after Paul has spoken of the complete break that comes in a
man's life when he accepts the benefits of Christ's death, he says:
"Wherefore we henceforth know no man after the flesh: even though
we have known Christ after the flesh, yet now we know him so no
more." Some interpreters have discovered in the words, "even though
we have known Christ after the flesh," a reference to a fleshly
conception of Christ which laid stress upon His Davidic descent, His
connection with the Jewish people, and in general His ordinary human
relationships, to the neglect of His higher, divine nature. That
fleshly conception of Christ might then be regarded as the primitive
conception, which Paul himself shared until a mature stage of his
Christian life. But this latter suggestion is excluded not only
by the whole tenor of the Epistles (in which Paul never displays
the slightest consciousness of any such revolution in his idea of
Christ), but also especially by the present passage. The passage
deals with the complete and immediate break which comes in a man's
way of thinking when the death of Christ becomes representative
of him--that is, at the beginning of his Christian life. It is
therefore entirely out of accord with the context to suppose that
Paul is contrasting an immature stage of his own Christian life
with the present mature stage. But he is also not alluding to
any lower, fleshly conception of Christ as being held by others.
The interpretation which finds in the passage a human Messiah in
contrast to the divine Christ of Paul, errs fundamentally in making
the words "according to the flesh" modify "Christ," whereas as a
matter of fact they clearly modify the verb "know." Paul says not,
"Even if we have known a Christ according to the flesh, we know
such a Christ no longer," but, "Even if we have known Christ with
a fleshly kind of knowledge, we know Him in such a way no longer."
He is not speaking of two different conceptions of Christ, but of
two different ways of knowing Christ. There is in the passage,
therefore, not the slightest reference to any primitive conception
of the person of Christ different from Paul's conception.

In 2 Cor. xi. 4 Paul speaks of "another Jesus" whom his opponents in
Corinth were proclaiming or might proclaim. Was this "other Jesus"
the historical Jesus, in distinction from the heavenly Christ of
Paul? Does this verse refer to a primitive, Palestinian conception
of Jesus different from the conception held by Paul?

The verse is certainly very difficult; it constitutes a famous _crux
interpretum_. But just for that reason, it should not be made the
foundation for far-reaching theories. There is not the slightest
hint elsewhere in 2 Corinthians that the opponents presented a view
of the person of Christ different from that of Paul; indeed what
is characteristic of the polemic in this Epistle is that doctrinal
questions are absent. There is not even any evidence that the
opponents, though apparently they laid stress upon Jewish descent,
Palestinian connections, and the like, and so may perhaps loosely
be called "Judaizers," insisted upon the keeping of the Mosaic Law.
Apparently Paul does not feel required to defend the content of his
gospel at all. Certainly he does not feel required to defend his
doctrine of the person of Christ. But if the opponents had really
proclaimed a human Jesus different from the divine Christ of Paul,
it is inconceivable that Paul should not have defended his view. If
there is one thing that is fundamental in the religion of Paul, it
is his conception of Christ as divine Redeemer. Any denial of that
conception would certainly have called forth anathemas at least as
severe as those which were hurled against the legalists in Galatia.
Yet in 2 Cor. x-xiii, though these chapters contain perhaps the
bitterest polemic to be found anywhere in the Pauline Epistles,
there is no trace of any defense of the Pauline conception of the
person of Christ. The natural suggestion is that such defense
is absent because it was not called forth by anything that the
opponents said. It is adventurous exegetical procedure to hang a
heavy weight upon the very obscure verse, 2 Cor. xi. 4.

As a matter of fact, however, the obscurities of that verse are
not hopeless, and rightly interpreted the verse contains no hint
of a primitive conception of Jesus different from that which was
proclaimed by Paul. The translation of the American Revised Version
may first be presented as a basis of discussion, though it is
probably incorrect in important particulars. In that version the
three verses 2 Cor. xi. 4-6[73] read as follows: "For if he that
cometh preacheth another Jesus, whom we did not preach, or if ye
receive a different spirit, which ye did not receive, or a different
gospel, which ye did not accept, ye do well to bear with him. 5 For
I reckon that I am not a whit behind the very chiefest apostles. 6
But though I be rude in speech, yet am I not in knowledge; nay, in
every way have we made this manifest unto you in all things." By a
modification of this translation at the end of verse 4, the whole
passage might mean: "Bear with me in my boasting. I am 'boasting' or
defending myself only in order that you may not be deceived by the
opponent who comes to you. For if he comes arrogantly proclaiming
another Jesus, another Spirit, and another gospel, ye bear with him
only too well. Bear with _me_ then when I defend myself. For I am
not a bit behind these 'preeminent' apostles,[74] since despite what
they say I have really made the whole truth known to you."

  [73] 4. +ei men gar ho erchomenos allon Iesoun keryssei hon ouk
  ekeryxamen, e pneuma heteron lambanete ho ouk elabete, e euangelion
  heteron ho ouk edexasthe, kalos anechesthe+. 5. +logizomai gar meden
  hysterekenai ton hyperlian apostolon+. 6. +ei de kai idiotes to
  logo, all'ou te gnosei, all'en panti phanerosantes en pasin eis
  hymas+.

  [74] The translation preferred in the American Revision, "very
  chiefest apostles," seems to be based upon the mistaken view
  that the +hyperlian apostoloi+ are the original apostles at
  Jerusalem. This view is rejected in the above paraphrase, which
  diverges from the American Revision in other ways also.

Even according to this interpretation there is no real reference to
a Jesus of the opponents different from Paul's Jesus. The "other
Jesus" of the opponents existed, rather, merely in their own
inordinate claims. They had no other Jesus, no other Spirit, and
no other gospel to offer. They asserted, indeed, that the teaching
of Paul was insufficient; they asserted that they had fuller
information about Jesus, about the Spirit, and about the gospel.
They said, "Paul has not made the full truth known to you." Yet
they had really nothing new to offer. Paul had really given to the
Corinthians the whole Jesus, the whole Spirit, and the whole gospel.

As a matter of fact, however, this interpretation is unsatisfactory.
It is obliged to supply a link to connect verse 4 with verse
5--namely, the thought, "Bear with me." That thought is here
entirely unexpressed; verse 1, where it is expressed, is too far
back to be in view. Thus if the pronoun "him" is supplied with the
verb at the end of verse 4, there is no clear connection with verse
5; the "for" of verse 5 is very obscure. If, however, the pronoun
"me," not "him," is supplied with the verb at the end of verse
4, all is plain. Since the pronoun does not appear at all in the
Greek, the translator is free to supply it as the context demands;
and the context apparently demands the pronoun "me." The meaning of
the passage is then as follows: "Bear with me in my 'boasting.' My
boasting is undertaken to prevent you from being deceived. For if
the one who comes to you seeks to commend himself by claiming fuller
knowledge of Jesus, the Spirit, or the gospel, then you do well to
bear with me in my boasting, you do well to listen to my defense.
For I am not afraid of the comparison with the opponent. It is not
true that I have concealed from you anything about Jesus, about the
Spirit, or about the gospel; on the contrary I have made everything
known to you."

The exegetical question is somewhat complicated by a question of
the text in verse 4. Manuscript evidence is rather evenly divided
between the present tense of the verb at the end of the verse and
the imperfect tense.[75] Unquestionably the imperfect tense is the
more difficult reading; it is favored therefore by the well-known
principle of textual criticism that the more difficult reading is to
be preferred to the easier. If the imperfect be read, it may perhaps
be explained as the imperfect tense in the apodosis of a condition
contrary to fact; there would then be a transition from one form
of condition to another. Paul would then say: "If he who comes is
preaching another Jesus, another Spirit, and another gospel--if such
were the case you would do well to bear with my defense of my own
preaching." If indeed the pronoun "him" be supplied at the end of
verse 4, as is usually done, the imperfect might be taken simply as
referring to past time, and the meaning would be: "If he who comes
is preaching another Jesus, another Spirit, and another gospel--when
that took place ye were bearing with the newcomer only too well."
But even so the imperfect is extremely harsh, and on the whole it is
more probable that it has crept in by a copyist's error--perhaps in
conformity to the same imperfect in verse 1, where the imperfect is
used to express a wish.

  [75] Between +anechesthe+ and +aneichesthe+ (or +eneichesthe+).

What has caused the vast majority of commentators to supply "him"
rather than "me" at the end of verse 4 is apparently the parallel
with 2 Cor. xi. 19, 20, where Paul certainly expresses the thought,
"Bear with me, for you bear with my arrogant opponents only too
well." The parallel does indeed constitute the strongest argument
in favor of the ordinary view of verse 4 which supplies the pronoun
"him," and regards the adverb "well" as sarcastic--"only too
well." But the argument is not decisive. The connection with verse
5 really fixes the pronoun which is to be supplied at the end of
the preceding verse. Paul is defending himself against the charge,
implied in verse 6, that he had not made the full truth known. The
opponents had claimed to have further information about Jesus, the
Spirit, and the gospel. "But," says Paul, "if that is their claim,
ye do well to listen to my defense. For I have made Jesus and the
Spirit and the gospel just as fully known to you as they have." The
thought is perfectly clear if only the pronoun "me" be supplied at
the end of verse 4.

If, however, exegetical tradition be followed, and the pronoun "him"
be supplied, the essential implications of the passage are not
really different. In no case is anything said about a conception
of Jesus really differing from that of Paul. One interpretation,
indeed, definitely excludes such an implication. The passage may
mean, "If the one who comes to you preaches another Jesus--in that
case you would do well to bear with him. But as a matter of fact
there is only one Jesus. Therefore you will do well to be content
with me. For I have made Jesus fully known to you." According
to this interpretation, which has much to be said in its favor,
Paul refutes the opponents and their arrogant claims of bringing
something superior to Paul's message, by a reference to the obvious
fact that there is only one Jesus. "If they had another Jesus,"
Paul says, "then they might claim to bring you something that I did
not bring. But since, unfortunately for them, there is of course
only one Jesus, and since I made that Jesus fully known to you, they
cannot maintain any superiority." This interpretation is probably to
be preferred among all those which supply the pronoun "him" rather
than "me" at the end of verse 4.

At any rate, whichever interpretation be adopted, Paul would surely
have expressed himself very differently if the opponents had
presented an account of Jesus radically contradictory to his own. In
that case he could hardly have appealed merely to the completeness
of his presentation. Instead, he would have had to establish the
truth of his presentation. As it is, the "other Jesus" of the
Judaizers existed only in their own inordinate claims. They really
had no other Jesus to offer; Paul had made the whole Jesus known.
The passage contains no hint, therefore, of a primitive conception
of Jesus differing from the lofty conception proclaimed by Paul.

Thus the Pauline Epistles contain not the slightest trace of any
conflict with regard to the person of Christ. About other things
there was debate, but about this point Paul appears to have been in
harmony with all Palestinian Christians. Even the Judaizers seem
to have had no objection to the heavenly Christ of Paul. But if
the Judaizers, who were Paul's bitter opponents, had no objection
to Paul's view of Christ, it could only have been because the
original apostles on this point gave them not even that slight
color of support which may have been found with regard to the way
of salvation in the apostles' observance of the Law. The fact is of
enormous importance. The heavenly Christ of Paul was also the Christ
of those who had walked and talked with Jesus of Nazareth.

Let it not be said that this conclusion involves an undue employment
of the argument from silence; let it not be said that although the
original apostles did not share Paul's conception of the heavenly
Christ, Paul did not find it necessary to enter into the debate in
his Epistles. For on this matter Paul could not possibly have kept
silent. He was not in the habit of keeping silent when the essential
things of his gospel were called in question--the anathemas which he
pronounced against the Judaizers in Galatia and the sharp rebuke
which he administered to the chief of the apostles at Antioch are
sufficient proof of his fearlessness. But what can possibly be
regarded as essential to his gospel if it was not his doctrine of
Christ as divine Redeemer? That doctrine was the very warp and woof
of his being; without it he was less than nothing. Yet the historian
is asked to believe that Paul submitted tamely, without a word of
protest, to the presentation of a purely human Jesus. The thing is
unthinkable. Paul would not have submitted to the preaching of such
a Jesus if the preachers had all been angels from heaven.

What is really most significant in the Pauline Epistles therefore,
is the complete absence of any defense of the Pauline doctrine
of Christ, the complete absence, indeed, of any systematic
presentation of that doctrine. The Pauline view of Christ is
everywhere presupposed, but nowhere defended. The phenomenon is very
strange if the modern naturalistic account of Jesus be correct.
According to that account, the historical Jesus, a great and good
man, came after His death to be regarded as a divine Redeemer; one
conception of Jesus gave place to a very different conception. Yet
the surprising thing is that the mighty transition has left not
the slightest trace in the primary sources of information. The
chief witness to the transcendent conception of Jesus as divine
Redeemer is quite unconscious of introducing anything new; indeed he
expressly calls attention to the harmony of his proclamation with
that of the intimate friends of Jesus. There is only one possible
conclusion--the heavenly Christ of Paul was also the Christ of
those who had lived with Jesus of Nazareth. They had seen Jesus
subject to all the petty limitations of human life; they had seen
Him hungry and thirsty and weary; they had toiled with Him over the
hills of Galilee; yet they gave the right hand of fellowship to one
who regarded Him as the divine Redeemer seated on the throne of all
being, and they were quite unconscious of any conflict between their
view and his.

Thus Paul was not regarded as an innovator with respect to Jesus
by Jesus' intimate friends. He was not regarded as an innovator
even with regard to those elements in his message--such as freedom
from the Law--about which no definite guidance was to be found in
the teaching or example of Jesus. Still less was he regarded as
an innovator in his account of Jesus' person. With regard to that
matter even the Judaizers did not venture to disagree.

But if Paul regarded himself, and was regarded by the original
apostles, as a true disciple of Jesus, how did he obtain the
necessary knowledge of Jesus' life? Was his knowledge limited to
intuition or remote hearsay; or had he opportunities for authentic
information?

That question has really been answered by the outline of Paul's
life in Chapters II and III. It has been shown that even before his
conversion, in Palestine, Paul must have become acquainted with the
facts about Jesus' life and death. The facts were common property;
even indifference could not have made a man completely ignorant of
them. But far from being indifferent, Paul was deeply interested
in Jesus, since he was an active persecutor of Jesus' disciples.
After the conversion, Paul was undoubtedly baptized, and undoubtedly
came into some contact with Christians in Damascus. The presumption
is strongly in favor of the presence there of some who had known
Jesus in the days of His flesh; the independence of which Paul is
speaking in Galatians is independence over against the Jerusalem
apostles, not over against humble disciples in Damascus, and it
does not relate to information about details. Three years after
the conversion Paul visited Peter at Jerusalem, and also met James
the brother of Jesus. It is quite inconceivable that the three men
avoided the subject of Jesus' words and deeds. The fifteen days
spent with Peter at Jerusalem brought Paul into contact with the
most intimate possible source of information about Jesus.

According to the Book of Acts, Paul came into contact with Barnabas
at the time of his first Jerusalem visit. Whatever may be thought
of this detail, the later association of Barnabas with Paul, at
Antioch and on the first missionary journey, is generally or
universally recognized as historical. It is confirmed by the
association of the two men at the time of the conference with the
Jerusalem pillars (Gal. ii. 1). Thus Paul spent several years in
the most intimate association with Barnabas. Who then was Barnabas?
According to Acts iv. 36, 37, he was a man of Cyprus by descent,
but he was also a member of the primitive Jerusalem Church. The
kind of information contained in this passage represents just that
element in the early chapters of Acts which is being generally
accepted by recent criticism. With regard to the community of
goods in the early Jerusalem Church, it is sometimes supposed
that the author of Acts has erred in generalizing and exalting to
the position of a principle what was really done in many cases by
generous individuals. But in order that there might be unhistorical
generalization, there must have been something to generalize.
Details, therefore, like the generous act of Barnabas in selling a
field and devoting the proceeds to the needs of the brethren, are
thought to constitute the solid tradition with which the author
of Acts is operating. Objections in plenty may be raised against
this treatment of the narrative as a whole, but certainly the
concreteness of the little detached note about Barnabas makes a
specially favorable impression. It will probably be admitted to-day
by the majority of scholars that Barnabas really had a place in the
primitive Jerusalem Church. But if so, his close connection with
Paul is of the utmost importance. How could Paul possibly have been
for years intimately associated with Barnabas in the proclamation of
the gospel without becoming acquainted with the facts about Jesus?
Is it to be supposed that Barnabas, who had lived at Jerusalem,
proclaimed Jesus as Saviour without telling in detail what sort of
person Jesus had been, and what He had said and done? Or is it to be
supposed that Paul closed his ears to what his brother missionary
said?

At the beginning of the first missionary journey, Barnabas and Paul
were accompanied by John Mark, and Mark appears again in the company
of Paul, as one of Paul's trusted helpers, in Col. iv. 10 and
Philem. 24. This John Mark certainly came from the Jerusalem Church;
for the house of his mother is mentioned as a meeting-place for the
Jerusalem disciples in the incomparably vivid account in Acts xii.
1-17 of the escape of Peter from prison. Whatever may be thought
of the Book of Acts as a whole, the twelfth chapter is recognized
as embodying primitive tradition. Even Wellhausen was somewhat
impressed with the lifelike detail of this narrative; the chapter,
Wellhausen admitted, contains elements of high historical value.[76]
Certainly, then, the mother of John Mark and presumably Mark
himself were members of the primitive Jerusalem Church. Tradition,
moreover, as preserved by Papias of Hierapolis, connects Mark
with Peter and represents the Second Gospel (attributed to Mark)
as based upon Peter's preaching.[77] The connection of Mark with
Peter is confirmed by 1 Peter v. 13. In general, recent criticism
is favorably disposed toward the Papian tradition about the Second
Gospel; that tradition is often admitted to have some basis in
fact. Of course the words of Papias about Mark's connection with
Peter naturally refer, at least in part, to a time later than the
formative period of Paul's life. But no doubt the later relationship
was at least prepared for in the early days when Mark and Peter
were together in Jerusalem.[78] John Mark, therefore, constitutes
an important link, not only between Paul and the Jerusalem Church,
but also between Paul and one of the most intimate friends of Jesus.
Paul would have been able to learn the facts about Jesus' life from
Mark if he had not learned them elsewhere.

  [76] Wellhausen, _Kritische Analyse der Apostelgeschichte_, 1914,
  pp. 22f.

  [77] In Eusebius, _Hist. Eccl._ iii, 39, 15.

  [78] B. W. Bacon (_Jesus and Paul_, 1921, pp. 15f.) believes that
  the connection between Peter and Mark is probably to be placed only
  in the early years, principally before the first association of Mark
  with Paul. This view, which is insufficiently grounded, involves a
  rejection of the common view, attested, for example, by 1 Peter v.
  13, according to which Mark was also with Peter at a later time.

The conference between Paul and the Jerusalem leaders, described in
Gal. ii. 1-10, whether or no it was identical with the Apostolic
Council of Acts xv. 1-29, would naturally bring an enrichment in
Paul's knowledge of Jesus' earthly ministry. It is hardly to be
supposed that at the conference any more than at the first visit
of Paul to Jerusalem the subject of the words and deeds of Jesus
was carefully avoided. Such avoidance would have been possible only
if the Jerusalem Church itself had been indifferent to its own
reminiscences of Jesus' earthly ministry. But that the Jerusalem
Church was not indifferent to its own reminiscences is proved by the
preservation (evidently at Jerusalem) of the tradition contained in
the Gospels. The existence of the Gospels shows that the memory of
Jesus' words and deeds was carefully treasured up in the Jerusalem
Church from the earliest times. Paul could hardly have come into
contact with such a church without obtaining information about
Jesus. He could not have failed to obtain information even if he
had been anxious to avoid it. But as a matter of fact he was not
anxious to avoid it; his apostolic independence, as will be observed
below, does not really presuppose any such absurd attitude on his
part.

On the third missionary journey Paul was accompanied by Silas (the
"Silvanus" of the Pauline Epistles). According to the Book of Acts,
Silas, like Barnabas and Mark, came originally from the Jerusalem
Church, though his connection with Jerusalem is not traced so far
back. He is said to have been one of the two men who accompanied
the Apostolic Decree from Jerusalem to Antioch (Acts xv. 27). This
assertion of course will not escape unchallenged. It shares no
doubt to some extent the criticism which has been directed against
the Decree itself. But the tendency in recent years is to find a
larger and larger historical basis for the concrete assertions of
the author of Acts. So the mention of Judas and Silas as coming
from Jerusalem creates a favorable impression. It cannot be ruled
out merely because it stands only in Acts, or merely because it is
connected with the Decree. Even the Decree, it will be remembered,
is now often admitted to be a Decree of the Jerusalem Church or to
represent the substance of such a decree, even by those scholars who
suppose that Acts is wrong in representing Paul as being present
when the Decree was passed. The tradition which lies back of Acts
xv, therefore, cannot lightly be rejected. There is certainly some
evidence, therefore, for connecting Silas with the Jerusalem Church.
Of course, if the narrative in Acts be accepted as it stands, as
it is being accepted more and more generally to-day, then the
connection of Silas with the Jerusalem Church is firmly established.
That connection is not without its importance. It shows that even
when engaged in his specifically Gentile work, Paul had not shut
himself off from the sources of information about Jesus.

The mention of Andronicus and Junias in Rom. xvi. 7 is not
without interest. According to the most natural interpretation
of the verse, Andronicus and Junias are declared to have been in
Christ before Paul was in Christ. They were, therefore, primitive
disciples. Certain other details are more obscure. Does Paul mean
that Andronicus and Junias were themselves "apostles," the word
"apostle" being used here in a broad sense? In that case, the verse
may be translated, "Salute Andronicus and Junias, my kinsmen and
fellow-prisoners, who are noteworthy among the apostles who were
before me in Christ." Or is it merely said that Andronicus and
Junias were regarded highly by the apostles, had a good reputation
among them? In that case, the relative pronoun is no doubt to be
taken with the words "Andronicus and Junias" rather than with the
word "apostles"; and two details are mentioned: (1) that Andronicus
and Junias had a good reputation among the apostles, and (2) that
they were converted earlier than Paul. Also the meaning of the word
translated "kinsmen" is doubtful. The word may mean merely "members
of the same race," that is, "Jews"; or it may mean "members of the
same family," that is, "relatives." Still another interpretation is
favored by Boehlig, who thinks that the word designates Andronicus
and Junias as members of the Jewish colony at Tarsus, the boyhood
home of Paul.[79] But however the interesting exegetical problems
may be solved, it seems evident that Andronicus and Junias had
become Christians earlier than Paul, and that they were therefore
representatives of primitive Christianity. The presence of such men
in the Church at Rome--or in the Church at Ephesus, if the common
separation of Rom. xvi. from the rest of Romans (on insufficient
grounds) be adopted--is interesting. It exemplifies the kind
of personal connection that was undoubtedly maintained between
primitive Christianity and the Gentile churches. Even far away in
the Gentile world Paul was not altogether removed from contact with
those who had been Christians before him. Wherever and however
Andronicus and Junias had become disciples, whether in Jerusalem or
elsewhere, whether by the instrumentality of Jesus Himself or by
the instrumentality of His apostles, in any case they had become
disciples in the very earliest days of the Church's life. It is
hardly to be supposed that they were ignorant of the facts about
Jesus, and in all probability there were other such persons, even in
Pauline churches.

  [79] Boehlig, _Die Geisteskultur von Tarsos_, 1913, pp. 140-142.

But it is not necessary to lay stress upon Andronicus and Junias,
when Peter and James and Barnabas and Mark all came into close
contact with Paul. Paul had abundant opportunity for acquainting
himself with the words and deeds of Jesus.

Three important facts have thus far been established; (1) Paul
regarded himself as a disciple of Jesus of Nazareth, (2) he was
so regarded by the intimate friends of Jesus, (3) he had abundant
sources of information about Jesus' life. The natural conclusion is
that Paul was a true disciple of the real Jesus.

This conclusion is thought to be overthrown by two considerations.
In the first place, it is said, Paul himself attests his own
indifference to historical information about Jesus; and in the
second place, such indifference is confirmed by the paucity of
references in the Epistles to Jesus' words and deeds. These two
considerations lead into the heart of the problem, and must be
examined with some care.

The indifference of Paul toward historical information about Jesus
is thought to be attested chiefly by 2 Cor. v. 16 and by the Epistle
to the Galatians. In 2 Cor. v. 16 Paul says, "Even if we have known
Christ according to the flesh, yet now we know Him so no more." What
can these words mean, it is asked, except that ordinary information
about Jesus, dealing with the details of His earthly life, the kind
of information that one man can obtain of another by sight and
hearing, has become valueless for the Christian? The Christian, Paul
says, is interested not at all in what eyewitnesses may say or in
what he himself may remember about the earthly life of Jesus; he is
interested only in the direct contact which he has at present with
the risen Lord.

This interpretation ignores the fact that the assertion in 2 Cor.
v. 16 about the knowledge of Christ is only an application of the
general assertion at the beginning of the verse about the knowledge
of persons in general. "So that," says Paul, "we from now on know
no one after the flesh." Paul says, therefore, not only that he
does not know Christ after the flesh, but also that he does not
know any man after the flesh, and the two assertions must obviously
be interpreted in the same way. Therefore the interpretation which
has been proposed for the knowledge of Christ, if it is to commend
itself, must also be applied to the knowledge of every man.

But when it is so applied it results in absurdity. It would make
Paul indifferent not only to ordinary information about Jesus,
but also to ordinary information about men in general. But as a
matter of fact Paul was not indifferent to ordinary information
about men in general. On the contrary, he was exceedingly careful
about getting information just as accurate as could possibly
be secured. Was Paul a visionary, with his head always in the
clouds, indifferent to the concrete problems of individual men,
indifferent to what men had to tell him about their various earthly
relationships, indifferent to their bodily needs? The First Epistle
to the Corinthians is a magnificent refutation of such a caricature.
That Epistle represents Paul as a pastor of souls, unsurpassed in
his insight into the practical problems of his converts, unsurpassed
in the tact with which he applied great principles to special
circumstances. But the same characteristics appear everywhere in
Paul. Everywhere Paul is the true friend, the true patriot, and the
true man; everywhere he exhibits that careful attention to detail,
that careful recognition of special relationships, which is lacking
in genuinely mystical piety. Some pastors are accustomed to say the
same thing no matter what questions are laid before them; they can
only enunciate general principles without applying them to special
problems; they are incapable of special friendships and incapable
of analyzing actual situations. It is not so in the case of Paul.
In the Pauline Epistles special problems are solved in the light of
eternal principles; but the special problems as well as the eternal
principles are subjected to the most careful examination. Paul was
not indifferent to ordinary knowledge of his fellow-men.

Thus when Paul says that he knows no man after the flesh he does
not mean that he ignored the ordinary knowledge which comes through
sight and hearing. But if that kind of knowledge is not excluded
from the relations between Paul and men in general, it is also
not excluded from the relations between Paul and Christ; for the
latter part of the verse is evidently placed in parallel with the
former part. It is evidently the same kind of knowledge which is
excluded in both cases. Paul does not mean, therefore, that he was
indifferent to ordinary sources of information about Christ.

What he does mean is that he regarded those ordinary sources of
information not as an end in themselves, but as a means to an end.
The natural man according to Paul does not understand the true
significance of the words and deeds of his fellow-men; he does
not use them to attest spiritual facts. The man who is in Christ,
on the contrary, even when he uses ordinary means of information,
is acquiring knowledge of spiritual relationships, relationships
which exist in the new world. So it is also with the knowledge of
Christ. The natural man may acquire a certain knowledge of Christ;
he may learn what Christ said and did and what were the worldly
circumstances of His life. But such knowledge is a knowledge
according to the flesh; it does not attain to the true significance
even of those facts which are learned. The man who is in Christ,
on the other hand, may operate partly with the same materials; but
even when he is operating with the same materials, even when he is
obtaining by sight or by hearsay knowledge of the words and deeds
of Jesus, these facts now are invested with a higher significance.
The natural man detects only the outward appearance of the words
and deeds of Jesus; the man who is in Christ makes them attest
facts that have significance in the new world. No doubt the higher
knowledge of Christ of which Paul is speaking is not limited to this
spiritual use of ordinary sources of information; no doubt there is
also a direct intercourse between the believer and the risen Lord.
But the spiritual use of the ordinary sources of information is
certainly not excluded. Paul does not mean that he was indifferent
to what Jesus said and did.

Thus 2 Cor. v. 16, rightly interpreted, does not attest any
indifference on the part of Paul toward the information about Jesus
which came to him through contact with Jesus' disciples. Such
indifference, however, is also thought to be attested by the Epistle
to the Galatians. In Gal. i, ii, Paul emphasizes his complete
independence over against the original disciples. He received his
gospel, he says, not by the instrumentality of men, but by direct
revelation from the risen Christ. Even after the revelation he felt
no need of instruction from those who had been apostles before him.
It was three years before he saw any of them, and then he was with
Peter only fifteen days. Even when he did finally have a conference
with the original apostles, he received nothing from them; they
recognized that God had already entrusted him with his gospel and
that they had nothing to add. What can this passage mean, it is
asked, except that Paul was indifferent to tradition, and derived
his knowledge of Christ entirely from revelation?

In answer, it is sufficient to point to 1 Cor. xv. 1-11. Was Paul
indifferent to tradition? In 1 Cor. xv. 3 he himself attests the
contrary; he places tradition--something that he had received--at
the very foundation of his missionary preaching. "For I delivered
unto you among the first things," he says, "that which I also
received." The word "received" here certainly designates information
obtained by ordinary word of mouth, not direct revelation from the
risen Christ; and the content of what was "received" fixes the
source of the information pretty definitely in the fifteen days
which Paul spent with Peter at Jerusalem. It is almost universally
admitted that 1 Cor. xv. 3ff. contains the tradition of the
Jerusalem Church with regard to the death and resurrection of Jesus.

The comparison with 1 Cor. xv. 1-11 thus exhibits the danger of
interpreting the Epistle to the Galatians in one-sided fashion. If
Galatians stood by itself, the reader might suppose that at least
the resurrection of Christ, the central fact of Paul's gospel, was
founded, in Paul's preaching, upon Paul's own testimony alone. In
Galatians Paul says that his gospel was not derived from men. But
his gospel was grounded upon the resurrection of Christ. Surely,
it might be said, therefore, he based at least the resurrection
not at all upon the testimony of others but upon the revelation
which came to him from Christ. Is it possible to conceive of the
author of Galatians as appealing for the foundation of his gospel
to the testimony of Peter and the twelve and other brethren in
the primitive Church--to the testimony of exactly those men whose
mediatorship he is excluding in Galatians? Yet as a matter of fact,
that is exactly what Paul did. That he did so is attested not by the
Book of Acts or by any source upon which doubt might be cast, but
by one of the accepted epistles. The Epistle to the Galatians must
always be interpreted in the light of 1 Cor. xv. 1-11.

What then does Paul mean in Galatians when he says that he received
his gospel directly from Christ? The answer is perfectly plain. He
does not mean that when he drew near to Damascus on that memorable
day he knew none of the facts about Jesus; he does not mean that
after that day his knowledge of the facts was not enriched by
intercourse with Jesus' friends. What Jesus really gave him near
Damascus was not so much the facts as a new interpretation of the
facts. He had known some of the facts before, but they had filled
him with hatred. The Galilean prophet had cast despite upon the Law;
He had broken down the prerogatives of Israel; it was blasphemous,
moreover, to proclaim a crucified malefactor as the Lord's Anointed.
Paul had known the facts before; he had known them only too well.
Now, however, he obtained a new interpretation of the facts; he
obtained that new interpretation not by human intermediation, not by
reflection upon the testimony of the disciples, not by the example
of the holy martyrs, but by revelation from Jesus Himself. Jesus
Himself appeared to him. He might have appeared in anger, to destroy
him for his unspeakable sin. Instead, He appeared in love, to call
him into fellowship and into glorious service, to commission him as
apostle of the One whose Church he had laid waste. That is what Paul
means when he says that he received his gospel directly from the
risen Christ.

The truth is, it never occurred to Paul to regard the bare facts
about Jesus as constituting a "gospel"; it never even occurred
to Paul to reflect upon all the sources of information about the
facts. To us the sources of information about Jesus are limited:
therefore they are searched out and numbered and weighed. But to
Paul the sources of information were so numerous that they could
not be catalogued. It never occurred to him to regard with supreme
gratitude the particular source from which he derived any particular
bit of information about Jesus any more than we regard with special
gratitude the newspaper from which we derive our knowledge of
current events. If one newspaper had not printed the news, others
would have done so; the sources of information are so numerous
that we do not reflect upon them. So it was in the case of Paul's
information about Jesus. Bare detailed information about the words
and deeds of Jesus did not in Paul's mind constitute a "gospel";
they constituted only the materials upon which the gospel was based.
When he says, therefore, that he did not receive his gospel from
men he does not mean that he received no information from Peter or
Barnabas or Mark or James or the five hundred brethren who had seen
the risen Lord. What he does mean is that he himself was convinced
of the decisive fact--the fact of the resurrection--not by the
testimony of these men, but by the divine interposition on the road
to Damascus, and that none of these men told him how he himself was
to be saved or what he was to say to the Gentiles about the way of
salvation. Materials for the proof of his gospel might come to him
from ordinary sources of information, but his gospel itself was
given to him directly by Christ.

Thus Paul does not directly attest any indifference on his
part toward tradition about the life of Jesus. But is not such
indifference revealed by the extreme paucity of references in the
Pauline Epistles to what Jesus said and did?

In answer to this question it must be admitted that direct citations
in the Pauline Epistles of words of Jesus, and direct references to
the details of Jesus' life, are surprisingly few. In 1 Cor. vii. 10,
Paul appeals to a command of the Lord about divorce, and carefully
distinguishes such commands from what he himself is saying to the
Corinthians (verses 12, 25). In 1 Cor. ix. 14, he calls attention
to an ordinance of the Lord to the effect that they that proclaim
the gospel should live of the gospel. In these passages it cannot
be doubted that the commands of "the Lord" are commands that Jesus
gave during His earthly ministry; they are certainly not commands
given to Paul by the risen Christ. For the words which Paul himself
wrote to his churches, by virtue of his apostolic authority,
themselves constituted commands of the Lord in the broad sense, in
that the authority of the Lord was behind them (1 Cor. xiv. 37);
here, therefore, when such apostolic commands are distinguished from
commands of the Lord, the commands of the Lord must be taken in a
narrower sense. They can only be commands given by Jesus during His
earthly ministry.[80]

  [80] Compare Knowling, _The Witness of the Epistles_, 1892, pp. 319f.

These passages show that Paul was in the habit of distinguishing
what Jesus said on earth to His disciples from what the risen Lord
said to him directly by revelation. They show, moreover, that Paul
was in possession of a fund of information about the words of
Jesus. It may be a question why he did not draw upon the fund more
frequently; but at any rate, the fund was there.

In 1 Thess. iv. 15, the assurance that those who are alive at
the Parousia shall not precede those that have died is grounded
in a word of the Lord ("For this we say to you in a word of the
Lord").[81] Here again the "word of the Lord" is probably to be
regarded as a word which Jesus spoke while He was on earth, rather
than as a revelation made by the risen Lord directly to Paul. If
this interpretation be correct, then this passage contains another
incidental reference to a fund of information about the words of
Jesus.

  [81] +touto gar humin legomen en logo kyriou+.

Most important of all, however, is the report of the institution of
the Lord's Supper in 1 Cor. xi. 23ff. The report is introduced by
the words, "For I received from the Lord that which also I delivered
unto you." What does Paul mean by the expression "received from the
Lord"? Does he mean that the information was given him directly by
the risen Christ, or that he received it by ordinary word of mouth
from the eyewitnesses? The former interpretation has been favored
in the first place by some who occupy a strictly supernaturalistic
point of view, to whom therefore it does not seem strange that the
risen Christ should give to His apostle even detailed information
about past events; it has also been favored by some who start from
naturalistic presuppositions, and, regarding Paul as a mystic and a
visionary, seek to separate him as far as possible from historical
tradition about Jesus. But from either of these two points of view
the interpretation is unsatisfactory. Why should the risen Christ
give to His apostle detailed information which could be obtained
perfectly well by ordinary inquiry from the eyewitnesses? Such
revelation would be unlike the other miracles of the Bible. God
does not rend the heaven to reveal what can be learned just as
well by ordinary word of mouth. But this interpretation is equally
unsatisfactory from the naturalistic point of view. Did Paul really
suppose the risen Christ to have given him all this detailed
information about the night of the betrayal and the rest? How could
such a visionary experience be explained? The only possible answer,
on naturalistic presuppositions, would be that the vision merely
made use of materials which were already in Paul's mind; Paul
already had information from the eyewitnesses about the Supper, but
after he had forgotten whence he had received the information it
welled up again from his subconscious life in the form of a vision.
This explanation involves a psychological absurdity. The area of
Paul's consciousness was not so limited as it is represented in
modern reconstructions as being. If Paul received information from
the eyewitnesses about what Jesus said and did on the night of the
betrayal, we can be sure that he remembered the information and
remembered where he had got it. It was not necessary for him to
receive it all over again in a vision.

There are therefore serious _a priori_ objections against finding
in the words "received from the Lord" in 1 Cor. xi. 23 a reference
to direct revelation. But this interpretation is not really favored
by the words as they stand. The word "from," in the clause "I
received from the Lord," is not the only word used for "from" after
the word "received"; this word seems to indicate not the immediate
but the ultimate source of what is received.[82] Furthermore, the
word "received"[83] in 1 Cor. xv. 3 certainly refers to ordinary
information obtained from eyewitnesses; it is natural therefore to
find a similar usage of the word in 1 Cor. xi. 23. It is natural to
interpret one passage after the analogy of the other. In 1 Cor. xv.
3ff. Paul is certainly appealing to ordinary tradition; probably,
therefore, he is also doing so in 1 Cor. xi. 23ff. The report of
the institution of the Lord's Supper is thus to be added to those
passages which contain definite citations of the words of Jesus.

  [82] +apo+ is here used, not +para+.

  [83] +parelabon+.

This report also belongs with those passages in the Epistles which
attest knowledge of the details of Jesus' life. It is sometimes said
that Paul is interested only in two facts about Jesus, the death
and the resurrection. Yet in 1 Cor. xi. 23 he refers even to such a
detail as the betrayal, and fixes the time of its occurrence--"the
night in which He was betrayed." Other details about the life of
Jesus may be gleaned from the Epistles. Jesus, according to Paul,
was a Jew, He was descended from David, He was subject to the Mosaic
Law, He had brothers, of whom one is named, He carried on a ministry
for the Jews (Rom. xv. 8). With regard to the crucifixion and
resurrection, moreover, Paul was interested not merely in the bare
facts themselves; he was also interested in the details connected
with them. Thus in 1 Cor. xv. 4 he mentions the burial of Jesus as
having formed a part of his fundamental missionary preaching; and he
also gives in the same connection an extended list of appearances
of the risen Christ. It is possible that when Paul writes to the
Galatians that Jesus Christ crucified had been pictured or placarded
before their eyes (Gal. iii. 1), he is referring, not merely to
the forcibleness with which the one fact of Christ's death was
proclaimed in Galatia, but also to the vividness with which the
story was told in detail. So vivid was the story of the crucifixion
as Paul told it in Galatia that it was as though the Galatians had
before their eyes a great picture of Jesus on the cross.

Moreover, the references of Paul to Jesus' life concern not merely
details; some of them also attest warm appreciation of Jesus'
character. The character of Jesus is indeed, according to Paul,
exhibited primarily by the great central act of love by which He
came to earth to die for the salvation of men. In Phil. ii. 5ff.,
the unselfishness of Christ, which is held up for imitation by
the Philippian Christians, is found no doubt primarily in the
incarnation and in the Cross; in Gal. ii. 20, the love of Christ,
upon which the faith and the gratitude of believers are based, is
found in the one great fact of Christ's death ("who loved me and
gave himself for me"). But there are also passages in the Epistles
which show that Paul was impressed with the character of Jesus not
only as it was manifested by the incarnation and by the atoning
death, but also as it appeared in the daily life of Jesus throughout
His earthly ministry. The plainest of such passages, perhaps, are 2
Cor. x. 1 and Rom. xv. 2, 3. When Paul speaks of the meekness and
gentleness of Christ, he refers evidently to the impression which
Jesus made upon His contemporaries; and when he says that Christ
"pleased not himself" but bore reproaches patiently, he is evidently
thinking not only of the gracious acts of incarnation and atonement
but also of the conduct of Jesus from day to day. In 2 Cor. viii. 9
("though He was rich yet for your sakes He became poor"), although
the reference may be primarily to the poverty of any human life
as compared with the glories of the preexistent Christ, yet the
peculiar choice of words is probably due to the details of Jesus'
life of hardship; Paul would hardly have spoken in this way if Jesus
while He was on earth had lived in the magnificence of an earthly
kingdom. Even in Phil. ii. 7, though the "form of a servant" refers
primarily to human existence as distinguished from the glories of
heaven, yet there seems to be also an impression of the special
humility and poverty of Jesus' earthly life; and the Cross is put
as the climax of an obedience which appeared also in Jesus' life
as a whole (verse 8). Back of these passages there lies warm
appreciation of Jesus' character as it appeared in the days of His
flesh. Imitation of Christ (1 Thess. i. 6; 1 Cor. xi. 1) had its
due place in the life and teaching of Paul, and that imitation was
founded not only upon one act, but upon many acts, of the Lord. When
Paul speaks of his own life of constant self-sacrifice, in which
he seeks not his own comfort but the salvation of others, as being
led in imitation of Christ (1 Cor. x. 32-xi. 1), he has before his
mind the lineaments of just that Jesus who is known to us in the
Gospels--that Jesus who had not where to lay His head, who went
about doing good, and who preached the gospel to the poor.

Thus the paucity of references in the Pauline Epistles to the
teaching and example of Jesus has sometimes been exaggerated. The
Epistles attest considerable knowledge of the details of Jesus'
life, and warm appreciation of His character.

Undoubtedly, moreover, Paul knew far more about Jesus than he has
seen fit, in the Epistles, to tell. It must always be remembered
that the Epistles do not contain the missionary preaching of Paul;
they are addressed to Christians, in whose case much of the primary
instruction had already been given. Some things are omitted from the
Epistles, therefore, not because they were unimportant, but on the
contrary just because they were fundamental; instruction about them
had to be given at the very beginning and except for special reasons
did not need to be repeated. Except for certain misunderstandings
which had arisen at Corinth, for example, Paul would never have
set forth in his Epistles the testimony by which the fact of the
resurrection of Jesus was established; yet that testimony, he says,
was fundamental in his missionary preaching. If it were not for the
errorists at Corinth we should never have had the all-important
passage about the appearances of the risen Christ. It is appalling
to reflect what far-reaching conclusions would in that case have
been drawn by modern scholars from the silence of Paul. So it is
also with the account of the institution of the Lord's Supper in
1 Cor. xi. 23ff. That account is inserted in the Epistles only
because of certain abuses which had happened to arise at Corinth.
Elsewhere Paul says absolutely nothing about the institution of
the Supper; indeed, in the Epistles other than 1 Corinthians he
says nothing about the Supper at all. Yet the Lord's Supper was
undoubtedly celebrated everywhere in the Pauline churches, and no
doubt was grounded everywhere in an account of its institution.
Thus the resurrection appearances and the institution of the Lord's
Supper, despite the fact that they were absolutely fundamental in
Paul's teaching, appear each only once in the Epistles. May there
not then have been other things just as prominent in Paul's teaching
which are not mentioned at all? These two things are mentioned only
because of the misunderstandings that had arisen with regard to
them. Certain other things just as important may be omitted from
the Epistles only because in their case no misunderstandings had
happened to arise. It must always be remembered that the Epistles of
Paul are addressed to special needs of the churches. It cannot be
argued, therefore, that what is not mentioned in the Epistles was
not known to the apostle at all.

Thus the incidental character of Paul's references to the life and
teaching of Jesus shows clearly that Paul knew far more than he has
seen fit in the Epistles to tell. The references make the impression
of being detached bits taken from a larger whole. When, for example,
Paul says that the institution of the Lord's Supper took place on
the night in which Jesus was betrayed, he presupposes on the part
of his readers an account of the betrayal, and hence an account of
the traitor and of his position among the apostles. So it is in
other cases where Paul refers to the life and teaching of Jesus. The
references can be explained only as presupposing a larger fund of
information about the words and deeds of Jesus. Unquestionably Paul
included in his fundamental teaching an account of what Jesus said
and did.

Indeed, if he had not done so, he would have involved himself in
absurdity. As J. Weiss has pointed out with admirable acuteness, a
missionary preaching which demanded faith in Jesus without telling
what sort of person Jesus was would have been preposterous.[84]
The hearers of Paul were asked to stake their salvation upon the
redeeming work of Jesus. But who was this Jesus? The question could
scarcely be avoided. Other redeemers, in the pagan religion of the
time, were protected from such questions; they were protected by the
mists of antiquity; investigations about them were obviously out
of place. But Paul had given up the advantages of such vagueness.
The redeemer whom he proclaimed was one of his own contemporaries,
a Jew who had lived but a few years before and had died the death
of a criminal. Investigation of this Jesus was perfectly possible;
His brothers, even, were still alive. Who was He then? Did He suffer
justly on the cross? Or was He the Righteous One? Such questions
could hardly be avoided. And as a matter of fact they were not
avoided. The incidental references in the Epistles, scanty though
they are, are sufficient to show that an account of the words and
deeds of Jesus formed an important part of the teaching of Paul.

  [84] J. Weiss, _Das aelteste Evangelium_, 1903, pp. 33-39.

The presumption is, therefore, that Paul was a true disciple of
Jesus. He regarded himself as a disciple; he was so regarded by
his contemporaries; he made use of Jesus' teaching and example.
But is this presumption justified? Was it the real Jesus whom Paul
followed? The question can be answered only by a comparison of what
is known about Paul with what is known about Jesus.

But at the very beginning of the comparison, a fundamental
difficulty arises. How may Jesus be known? Paul is known, through
his own letters. But how about Jesus? The sources of information
about Jesus are the four Gospels. But are the Gospels trustworthy?

If they are trustworthy, then it will probably be admitted that
Paul was a true disciple of Jesus. For the Gospels, taken as a
whole, present a Jesus like in essentials to that divine Lord who
was sum and substance of the life of Paul. The Jesus of the Gospels
is no mere prophet, no mere inspired teacher of righteousness,
no mere revealer or interpreter of God. He is, on the contrary,
a supernatural person; a heavenly Redeemer come to earth for the
salvation of men. So much is usually being admitted to-day. Whatever
may have been the real facts about Jesus, the Gospels present a
supernatural Jesus. This representation is contained not merely
in one of the Gospels; it is contained in all of them. The day is
past when the divine Christ of John could be confronted with a
human Christ of Mark. On the contrary, Mark and John, it is now
maintained, differ only in degree; Mark as well as John, even
though it should be supposed that he does so less clearly and less
consistently, presents a Jesus similar in important respects to the
divine Redeemer of the Epistles of Paul.[85]

  [85] See, for example, J. Weiss, _Das Urchristentum_, 1914-1917, pp.
  540, 547, 548.

Thus if Paul be compared with the Jesus of the Gospels, there is
full agreement between the two. The Jesus of all the Gospels is a
supernatural person; the Jesus of all the Gospels is a Redeemer.
"The Son of Man," according to the shortest and if modern criticism
be accepted the earliest of the Gospels, "came not to be ministered
unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many" (Mk.
x. 45). But it is not necessary to depend upon details. The very
choice of material in the Gospels points to the same conclusion; the
Gospels like the Epistles of Paul are more interested in the death
of Jesus than in the details of His life. And for the same reason.
The Gospels, like the Epistles of Paul, are interested in the death
of Jesus because it was a ransom from sin.

But this similarity of the Jesus of the Gospels to the Christ of
the Pauline Epistles has led sometimes, not to the recognition
of Paul as a disciple of Jesus, but to the hypothesis that the
Gospels are dependent upon Paul. If the Gospels are introducing into
their picture of Jesus elements derived not from the real Jesus
but from the mythical Christ of the Epistles, then of course they
will display similarity to the Epistles; but such similarity will
scarcely be very significant. In comparing the Epistles with the
Gospels, the historian will then be comparing not Paul with Jesus,
but Paul with Paul.

If, therefore, Paul is to be compared with Jesus, it is said, those
elements which are derived from Paul must first be separated from
the Gospels. Even after this separation has been accomplished,
however, there remains in the Gospel picture of Jesus a certain
amount of similarity to the Pauline Christ; it is generally admitted
that the process by which Jesus was raised to the position of a
heavenly being was begun before the appearance of Paul and was
continued in some quarters in more or less independence of him. Thus
if Paul is to be compared with the real Jesus, as distinguished
from the Christ of Christian faith, the historian, it is said, must
first separate from the Gospel picture not merely those details
which were derived distinctly from Paul, but also the whole of
the supernatural element.[86] Mere literary criticism will not
accomplish the task; for even the earliest sources which can be
distinguished in the Gospels seem to lift Jesus above the level
of ordinary humanity and present Him not merely as an example for
faith but also as the object of faith.[87] Even in the earliest
sources, therefore, the historian must distinguish genuine tradition
from dogmatic accretions; he must separate the natural from the
supernatural, the believable from the unbelievable; he must seek
to remove from the genuine figure of the Galilean prophet the
tawdry ornamentation which has been hung about him by naive and
unintelligent admirers.

  [86] For what follows, see, in addition to the paper mentioned at
  the beginning of the chapter, "History and Faith," in _Princeton
  Theological Review_, xiii, 1915, pp. 337-351.

  [87] See Denney, _Jesus and the Gospel_, 1909.

Thus the Jesus who is to be compared with Paul, according to the
modern naturalistic theory, is not the Jesus of the Gospels; he is
a Jesus who can be rediscovered only through a critical process
within the Gospels. And that critical process is very difficult. It
is certainly no easy matter to separate natural and supernatural
in the Gospel picture of Jesus, for the two are inextricably
intertwined. In pulling up the tares, the historian is in danger of
pulling up the wheat as well; in the removal of the supernatural
elements from the story of Jesus, the whole of the story is in
danger of being destroyed. Certain radical spirits are not afraid
of the consequence; since the Jesus of the Gospels, they say, is a
supernatural person, He is not a real person; no such person as this
Jesus ever lived on earth. Such radicalism, of course, is absurd.
The Jesus of the Gospels is certainly not the product of invention
or of myth; He is rooted too deep in historical conditions; He
towers too high above those who by any possibility could have
produced Him. But the radical denials of the historicity of Jesus
are not without interest. They have at least called attention to
the arbitrariness with which the separation of historical from
unhistorical has been carried on in the production of the "liberal
Jesus."

But suppose the separation has been completed; suppose the
historical Jesus has been discovered beneath the gaudy colors which
had almost hopelessly defaced His portrait. Even then the troubles
of the historian are not at an end. For this historical Jesus, this
human Jesus of modern liberalism, is a monstrosity; there is a
contradiction at the very center of His being. The contradiction is
produced by His Messianic consciousness. The human Jesus of modern
liberalism, the pure and humble teacher of righteousness, the one
who kept His own person out of His message and merely asked men to
have faith in God like His faith--this Jesus of modern liberalism
thought that He was to come with the clouds of heaven and be the
instrument in judging the earth! If Jesus was pure and unselfish
and of healthy mind, how could He have applied to Himself the
tremendous conception of the transcendent Messiah? By some the
problem is avoided. Some, like Wrede, deny that Jesus ever presented
Himself as the Messiah; others, like Bousset, are at least moving
in the same direction. But such radicalism cannot be carried out.
The Messianic element in the consciousness of Jesus is rooted too
deep in the sources ever to be removed by any critical process. It
is established also by the subsequent development. If Jesus never
thought Himself to be the Messiah and never presented Himself as
such, how did His disciples come to regard Him as the Messiah after
His death? Why did they not simply say, "Despite His death, the
Kingdom of God is coming?" Why did they say rather, "Despite His
death, He is the Messiah?"[88] They could only have done so if Jesus
had already presented Himself to them as Messiah when He had been
with them on earth.

  [88] J. Weiss, "Das Problem der Entstehung des Christentums," in
  _Archiv fuer Religionswissenschaft_, xvi, 1913, p. 456.

In recent criticism, such radicalism as that which has just been
discussed is usually avoided. The presence of the Messianic
element in the consciousness of Jesus cannot altogether be denied.
Sometimes, indeed, that element is even made the determining
factor in all of Jesus' teaching. So it is with the hypothesis of
"consistent eschatology" of A. Schweitzer and others.[89] According
to that hypothesis Jesus expected the Kingdom of God to come in
a catastrophic way in the very year in which he was carrying on
His ministry in Galilee, and all His teaching was intended to be
a preparation for the great catastrophe. Even the ethic of Jesus,
therefore, is thought to have been constructed in view of the
approaching end of the world, and is thus regarded as unsuitable
for a permanent world order. This hypothesis not only accepts the
Messianic consciousness of Jesus, but in one direction at least it
even exaggerates the implications of that consciousness.

  [89] A. Schweitzer, _Geschichte der Leben-Jesu-Forschung_, 1913, pp.
  390-443.

Usually, however, this extreme also is avoided, and the historian
pursues, rather, a policy of palliation. Jesus did come to regard
Himself as the Messiah, it is said, but He did so only late in
His ministry and almost against His will. When He found that the
people were devoted to sin, and that He alone was fighting God's
battle, He came to regard Himself as God's chosen instrument in the
establishment of the Kingdom. Thus He had a tremendous consciousness
of a mission. But the only category in which He could express that
consciousness of a mission was the category of Messiahship. In one
form, indeed, that category was unsuitable; Jesus would have nothing
to do with the political aspirations associated with the expected
king of David's line. But the expectation of the Messiah existed
also in another form; the Messiah was sometimes regarded, not as
a king of David's line, but as the heavenly Son of Man alluded to
in Daniel and more fully described in the Similitudes of Enoch.
This transcendent form of Messiahship, therefore, was the form
which Jesus used. But the form, it is maintained, is a matter of
indifference to us, and it was not really essential to Jesus; what
was really essential was Jesus' consciousness of nearness to God.

Such palliative measures will not really solve the problem. The
problem is a moral and psychological problem. How could a pure and
holy prophet of righteousness, one whose humility and sanity have
made an indelible impression upon all subsequent generations--how
could such a one lapse so far from the sobriety and sanity of His
teaching as to regard Himself as the heavenly Son of Man who was to
be the instrument in judging the world? The difficulty is felt by
all thoughtful students who proceed upon naturalistic principles.
There is to such students, as Heitmueller says, something almost
uncanny about Jesus.[90] And the difficulty is not removed by
putting the genesis of the Messianic consciousness late in Jesus'
life. Whether late or early, Jesus did regard Himself as the
Messiah, did regard Himself as the one who was to come with the
clouds of heaven. There lies the problem. How could Jesus, with His
humility and sobriety and strength, ever have lapsed so far from the
path of sanity as to assume the central place in the Kingdom of God?

  [90] Heitmueller, _Jesus_, 1913, p. 71.

Here, again, radical minds have drawn the logical conclusions. The
Messianic consciousness, they say, is an example of megalomania;
Jesus, they say, was insane. Such is said to be the diagnosis of
certain alienists. And the diagnosis need cause no alarm. Very
likely it is correct. But the Jesus who is being investigated by the
alienists is not the Jesus of the New Testament. The liberal Jesus,
if he ever existed, may have been insane. But that is not the Jesus
whom the Christian loves. The alienists are investigating a man who
thought he was divine and was not divine; about one who thought He
was divine and was divine they have obviously nothing to say.

Two difficulties, therefore, face the reconstruction of the liberal
Jesus. In the first place, it is difficult to separate the natural
from the supernatural in the Gospel picture of Jesus; and in the
second place, after the separation has been accomplished, the human
Jesus who is left is found to be a monstrosity, with a contradiction
at the very center of His being. Such a Jesus, it may fairly be
maintained, could never have existed on earth.

But suppose He did exist, suppose the psychological impossibilities
of His character be ignored. Even then the difficulties of the
historian are not overcome. Another question remains. How did this
human Jesus ever come to give place to the superhuman Jesus of the
New Testament? The transition evidently occurred at a very early
time. It is complete in the Epistles of Paul. And within Paul's
experience it was certainly no late development; on the contrary
it was evidently complete at the very beginning of his Christian
life; the Jesus in whom he trusted at the time of his conversion was
certainly the heavenly Christ of the Epistles. But the conversion
occurred only a very few years, at the most, after the crucifixion
of Jesus. Moreover, there is in the Pauline Epistles not the
slightest trace of a conflict between the heavenly Christ of Paul
and any "other Jesus" of the primitive Jerusalem Church; apparently
the Christ of Paul was also the Christ of those who had walked and
talked with Jesus of Nazareth. Such is the evidence of the Epistles.
It is confirmed by the Gospels. Like Paul, the Gospels present no
mere teacher of righteousness, but a heavenly Redeemer. Yet the
Gospels make the impression of being independent of Paul. Everywhere
the Jesus that they present is most strikingly similar to the
Christ of Paul; but nowhere--not even where Jesus is made to teach
the redemptive significance of His death (Mk. x. 45)--is there the
slightest evidence of literary dependence upon the Epistles. Thus
the liberal Jesus, if he ever existed, has disappeared from the
pages of history; all the sources agree in presenting a heavenly
Christ. How shall such agreement be explained?

It might conceivably be explained by the appearances of the risen
Christ. If, at the very beginning of the Church's life, Jesus
appeared to His disciples, after His death, alive and in heavenly
glory, it is conceivable that that experience might have originated
the lofty New Testament conception of Jesus' person. But what in
turn caused that experience itself? On naturalistic principles
the appearances of the risen Christ can be explained only by an
impression which the disciples already had of the majesty of Jesus'
person. If they had listened to lofty claims of Jesus like those
which are recorded in the Gospels, if they had witnessed miracles
like the walking on the water or the feeding of the five thousand,
then, conceivably, though not probably, they might have come to
believe that so great a person could not be holden of death, and
this belief might have been sufficient, without further miracle, to
induce the pathological experiences in which they thought they saw
Him alive after His passion. But if the miraculous be removed from
the life of Jesus, a double portion of the miraculous must be heaped
up upon the appearances. The smaller be the Jesus whom the disciples
had known in Galilee, the more unaccountable becomes the experience
which caused them to believe in His resurrection. By one path or
another, therefore, the historian of Christian origins is pushed off
from the safe ground of the phenomenal world toward the abyss of
supernaturalism. To account for the faith of the early Church, the
supernatural must be found either in the life of Jesus on earth, or
else in the appearances of the risen Christ. But if the supernatural
is found in one place, there is no objection to finding it in both
places. And in both places it is found by the whole New Testament.

Three difficulties, therefore, beset the reconstruction of the
"liberal Jesus." In the first place, it is difficult to disengage
His picture from the miraculous elements which have defaced it in
the Gospels; in the second place, when the supposed historical Jesus
has been reconstructed, there is a moral contradiction at the center
of His being, caused by His lofty claims; in the third place, it
is hard to see how, in the thinking of the early disciples, the
purely human Jesus gave place without the slightest struggle to
the heavenly Christ of the Pauline Epistles and of the whole New
Testament.

But suppose all the difficulties have been removed. Suppose a human
Jesus has been reconstructed. What is the result of comparing that
human Jesus with Paul? At first sight there seems to be nothing but
contradiction. But closer examination discloses points of agreement.
The agreement between Jesus and Paul extends even to those elements
in the Gospel account of Jesus which are accepted by modern
naturalistic criticism.

In the first place, Jesus and Paul present the same view of the
Kingdom of God. The term "kingdom of God" is not very frequent in
the Epistles; but it is used as though familiar to the readers, and
when it does occur, it has the same meaning as in the teaching of
Jesus. The similarity appears, in the first place, in a negative
feature--both in Jesus and in Paul, the idea of the Kingdom is
divorced from all political and materialistic associations. That
fact may seem to us to be a matter of course. But in the Judaism of
the first century it was far from being a matter of course. On the
contrary, it meant nothing less than a revolution in thought and in
life. How did Paul, the patriot and the Pharisee, come to separate
the thought of the Kingdom from political associations? How did he
come to do so even if he had come to think that the Messiah had
already appeared? How did he come to do so unless he was influenced
in some way by the teaching of Jesus? But the similarity is not
merely negative. In positive aspects also, the Kingdom of God in
Paul is similar to that which appears in the teaching of Jesus. Both
in Jesus and in Paul, the implications of entrance are ethical. "Or
know ye not," says Paul, "that the unrighteous shall not inherit the
kingdom of God" (1 Cor. vi. 9). Then follows, after these words,
as in Gal. v. 19-21, a long list of sins which exclude a man from
participation in the Kingdom. Paul is here continuing faithfully
the teaching of Him who said, "Repent ye; for the kingdom of heaven
is at hand." Finally both in Jesus and in Paul the Kingdom appears
partly as present and partly as future. In the above passages
from Galatians and 1 Corinthians, for example, and in 1 Cor. xv.
50, it is future; whereas in such passages as Rom. xiv. 17 ("for
the kingdom of God is not eating and drinking but righteousness
and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit"), the present aspect is
rather in view. The same two aspects of the Kingdom appear also in
the teaching of Jesus; all attempts at making Jesus' conception
thoroughly eschatological have failed. Both in Jesus and in Paul,
therefore, the Kingdom of God is both transcendent and ethical.
Both in Jesus and in Paul, finally, the coming of the Kingdom means
joy as well as judgment. When Paul says that the Kingdom of God is
"righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Ghost," he is like
Jesus not merely in word but in the whole spirit of the message;
Jesus also proclaimed the coming of the Kingdom as a "gospel."

In the second place, Paul is like Jesus in his doctrine of the
fatherhood of God. That doctrine, it will probably be admitted, was
characteristic of Jesus; indeed the tendency in certain quarters
is to regard it as the very sum and substance of all that Jesus
said. Certainly no parallel to Jesus' presentation of God as Father
has been found in extra-Christian literature. The term "father" is
indeed applied to God here and there in the Old Testament. But in
the Old Testament it is usually in relation to the people of Israel
that God is thought of as Father rather than in relation to the
individual. Even in the Old Testament, it is true, the conception of
the fatherhood of God is not without importance. The consciousness
of belonging to God's chosen people and thus being under God's
fatherly care was immensely valuable for the life of the individual
Israelite; it was no mere product of an unsatisfying state religion
like the religions of Greece or Rome. There was preparation in
Old Testament revelation, here as elsewhere, for the coming of
the Messiah. In Jewish literature outside of the Old Testament,
moreover, and in rabbinical sources, the conception of God as Father
is not altogether absent.[91] But it appears comparatively seldom,
and it lacks altogether the true content of Jesus' teaching. Despite
all previous uses of the word "father" as applied to God, Jesus
was ushering in a new era when He taught His disciples to say, "Our
Father which art in heaven."

  [91] Bousset, _Die Religion des Judentums_, 2te Aufl., 1906, pp.
  432-434.

This conception of the fatherhood of God appears in Paul in just
the same way as in Jesus. In Paul as well as in Jesus it is not
something to be turned to occasionally; on the contrary it is one of
the constituent elements of the religious life. It is no wonder that
the words, "God our Father," appear regularly at the beginnings of
the Epistles. The fatherhood of God in Paul is not something to be
argued about or defended; it is altogether a matter of course. But
it has not lost, through repetition, one whit of its freshness. The
name "Father" applied to God in Paul is more than a bare title; it
is the welling up of the depths of the soul. "Abba, Father" on the
lips of Paul's converts was exactly the same, not only in form but
also in deepest import, as the word which Jesus first taught His
disciples when they said to Him, "Lord, teach us to pray."

But the fatherhood of God in Paul is like the teaching of Jesus
in even more definite ways than in the fervor of the religious
life which it evokes. It is also like Jesus' teaching in being the
possession, not of the world, but of the household of faith. If,
indeed, the fatherhood of God in Jesus' teaching were like the
fatherhood of God in modern liberalism--a relationship which God
sustains toward men as men--then it would be as far removed as
possible from the teaching of Paul. But as a matter of fact, both
Paul and Jesus reserved the term Father for the relation in which
God stands to the disciples of Jesus. One passage, indeed (Matt. v.
45; Luke vi. 35), has been quoted as making God the Father of all
men. But only by a strange misinterpretation. It is strange how in
the day of our boasted grammatico-historical exegesis, so egregious
an error can be allowed to live. The prejudices of the reader have
triumphed here over all exegetical principles; a vague modernism has
been attributed to the sternest, as well as most merciful, Prophet
who ever walked upon earth. When Jesus says, "Love your enemies, and
pray for them that persecute you; that ye may be sons of your Father
who is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and the
good, and sendeth rain on the just and the unjust," He certainly
does not mean that God is the Father of all men both evil and good.
God cares for all, but He is not said to be the Father of all. On
the contrary, it may almost be said that the very point of the
passage is that God cares for all although He is not the Father of
all. That it is which makes Him the example for those who are to do
good not merely to friends or brothers but also to enemies.

This interpretation does not mean that God does not stand toward all
men in a relation analogous to that of a father to his children;
it does not mean that He does not love all or care for all. But
it does mean that however close may be the relationship which
God sustains to all men, the lofty term Father is reserved for a
relationship which is far more intimate still. Jesus extends to all
men those common blessings which the modern preacher sums up in
the term "fatherhood of God"; but He extends to His own disciples
not only those blessings but infinitely more. It is not the men
of the world--not the "publicans," not the "Gentiles"--who can
say, according to the teaching of Jesus, "Our Father which art in
Heaven." Rather it is the little group of Jesus' disciples--which
little group, however, all without exception are freely invited to
join.

So it is exactly also in the teaching of Paul. God stands, according
to Paul, in a vital relation to all men. He is the author of the
being of all; He cares for all; He has planted His law in the hearts
of all. He stands thus in a relation toward all which is analogous
to that of father to child. The Book of Acts is quite in accord with
the Epistles when it makes Paul say of all men, "For we are also His
offspring." But in Paul just as in Jesus the lofty term "Father"
is reserved for a more intimate relationship. Paul accepts all the
truth of natural religion; all the truth that reappears in the vague
liberalism of modern times. But he adds to it the truth of the
gospel. Those are truly sons of God, he says, who have been received
by adoption into God's household, and in whose hearts God's Spirit
cries, "Abba, Father."

There was nothing narrow about such a gospel; for the door of the
household of faith was opened wide to all. Jesus had died in order
to open that door, and the apostle went up and down the world,
enduring peril upon peril in order to bring men in. There was need
for such service, because of sin. Neither in Jesus nor in Paul
is sin covered up, nor the necessity of a great transformation
concealed. Jesus came not to reveal to men that they were already
children of God, but to make them God's children by His redeeming
work.

In the third place, Paul is like Jesus in presenting a doctrine
of grace. Of course he is like the Jesus of the Gospels; for the
Jesus of the Gospels declared that the Son of Man came to give His
life a ransom for many. But He is even like the Jesus of modern
reconstruction. Even the liberal Jesus taught a doctrine of grace.
He taught, it for example, in the parables of the laborers in the
vineyard and of the servant coming in from the field. In those two
parables Jesus expressed His opposition to a religion of works,
a religion which can open an account with God and seek to obtain
salvation by merit.[92] Salvation, according to Jesus, is a matter
of God's free grace; it is something which God gives to whom He
will. The same great doctrine really runs all through the teaching
of Jesus; it is the root of His opposition to the scribes and
Pharisees; it determines the confidence with which He taught His
disciples to draw near to God. But it is the same doctrine, exactly,
which appears in Paul. The Paul who combated the legalists in
Galatia, like the Jesus who combated the scribes and Pharisees, was
contending for a God of grace.

  [92] Compare W. Morgan, _The Religion and Theology of Paul_, 1917,
  p. 155: "The essential import of Paul's doctrine [of justification
  by faith] is all contained in the two parables of the Pharisee and
  the publican and the servant coming in from the field."

Let it not be objected that Jesus maintained also the expectation
of a judgment. For in this particular also He was followed by
Paul. Paul also, despite his doctrine of grace, expected that
the Christians would stand before the judgment-seat. And it may
be remembered in passing that both in Jesus and in Paul the
judgment-seat is a judgment-seat of Christ.

In the fourth place, the ethical teaching of Paul is strikingly
similar to that of Jesus. It is necessary only to point to the
conception of love as the fulfilling of the law, and to the
substitution for external rules of the great principles of justice
and of mercy. These things may seem to us to be matters of course.
But they were not matters of course in the Jewish environment of
Paul. Similarity in this field between Jesus and Paul can hardly
be a matter of chance. Many resemblances have been pointed out in
detail between the ethical teaching of Jesus and that of Paul.
But the most important is the one which is most obvious, and which
just for that reason has sometimes escaped notice. Paul and Jesus,
in their ethical teaching, are similar because of the details of
what they say; but they are still more similar because of what they
do not say. And they are similar in what they do not say despite
the opposition of their countrymen. Many parallels for words of
Jesus may have been found in rabbinical sources. But so much more,
alas, is also found there. That oppressive plus of triviality
and formalism places an impassable gulf between Jesus and the
Jewish teachers. But Paul belongs with Jesus, on the same side of
the gulf. In his ethic there is no formalism, no triviality, no
casuistry--there is naught but "love, joy, peace, longsuffering,
kindness, goodness, faithfulness, meekness, self-control." What has
become of all the rest? Was it removed by the genius of Paul? It is
strange that two such men of genius should have arisen independently
and at the same time. Or was the terrible plus of Pharisaic
formalism and triviality burned away from Paul when the light shone
around him on the way to Damascus and he fell at the feet of the
great Teacher?

Points of contact between Jesus and Paul have just been pointed out
in detail, and the list of resemblances could be greatly increased.
The likeness of Paul to Jesus extends even to those features which
appear in the Jesus of modern liberalism. What is more impressive,
however, than all similarity in detail is the similarity in the
two persons taken each as a whole. The Gospels are more than a
collection of sayings and anecdotes; the Pauline Epistles are more
than a collection of reasoned discussions. In the Gospels, a person
is revealed, and another person in the Epistles. And the two persons
belong together. It is impossible to establish that fact fully by
detailed argument any more than it is possible to explain exactly
why any two persons are friends to-day. But the fact is plain to any
sympathetic reader. The writer of the Pauline Epistles would have
been at home in the company of Jesus of Nazareth.

What then was the true relation between Paul and Jesus? It has been
shown that Paul regarded himself as a disciple of Jesus, that he
was so regarded by those who had been Jesus' friends, that he had
abundant opportunity for acquainting himself with Jesus' words and
deeds, that he does refer to them occasionally, that he could have
done so oftener if he had desired, that the imitation of Jesus found
a place in his life, and that his likeness to Jesus extends even
to those elements in Jesus' life and teaching which are accepted
by modern naturalistic criticism as authentic. At this point the
problem is left by the great mass of recent investigators. Wrede is
thought to be refuted already; the investigator triumphantly writes
his Q. E. D., and passes on to something else.

But in reality the problem has not even been touched. It has been
shown that the influence of Jesus upon Paul was somewhat greater
than Wrede supposed. But that does not make Paul a disciple of
Jesus. The true relationships of a man are determined not by
things that lie on the periphery of his life, but by what is
central[93]--central both in his own estimation and in his influence
upon subsequent generations. And what was central in Paul was
certainly not the imitation of Jesus. At that point, Wrede was
entirely correct; he has never really been silenced by the chorus
of protest with which his startling little book was received. It is
futile, therefore, to point to the influence of Jesus upon Paul in
detail. Such a method may be useful in correcting exaggerations, but
it does not touch the real question. The plain fact remains that if
imitation of Jesus had been central in the life of Paul, as it is
central, for example, in modern liberalism, then the Epistles would
be full of the words and deeds of Jesus. It is insufficient to point
to the occasional character of the Epistles. No doubt the Epistles
are addressed to special needs; no doubt Paul knew far more about
Jesus than in the Epistles he has found occasion to tell. But there
are passages in the Epistles where the current of Paul's religious
life runs full and free, where even after the lapse of centuries,
even through the dull medium of the printed page, it sweeps the
heart of the sympathetic reader on with it in a mighty flood. And
those passages are not concerned with the details of Jesus' earthly
life. They are, rather, the great theological passages of the
Epistles--the second chapter of Galatians, the fifth chapter of 2
Corinthians, and the eighth chapter of Romans. In these chapters,
religion and theology are blended in a union which no critical
analysis can ever possibly dissolve; these passages reveal the very
center of Paul's life.

  [93] Wrede, _Paulus_, 1904, p. 93 (English Translation, _Paul_,
  1907, p. 161).

The details of Jesus' earthly ministry no doubt had an important
place in the thinking of Paul. But they were important, not as an
end in themselves, but as a means to an end. They revealed the
character of Jesus; they showed why He was worthy to be trusted.
But they did not show what He had done for Paul. The story of Jesus
revealed what Jesus had done for others: He had healed the sick; He
had given sight to the blind; He had raised the dead. But for Paul
He had done something far greater than all these things--for Paul He
had died.

The religion of Paul, in other words, is a religion of redemption.
Jesus, according to Paul, came to earth not to say something, but
to do something; He was primarily not a teacher, but a Redeemer.
He came, not to teach men how to live, but to give them a new life
through His atoning death. He was, indeed, also a teacher, and Paul
attended to His teaching. But His teaching was all in vain unless
it led to the final acceptance of His redemptive work. Not the
details of Jesus' life, therefore, but the redemptive acts of death
and resurrection are at the center of the religion of Paul. The
teaching and example of Jesus, according to Paul, are valuable only
as a means to an end, valuable in order that through a revelation
of Jesus' character saving faith may be induced, and valuable
thereafter in order that the saving work may be brought to its
fruition in holy living. But all that Jesus said and did was for the
purpose of the Cross. "He loved me," says Paul, "and gave Himself
for me." There is the heart and core of the religion of Paul.

Jesus, according to Paul, therefore, was not a teacher, but a
Redeemer. But was Paul right? Was Jesus really a Redeemer, or was
He only a teacher? If He was only a teacher, then Paul was no
true follower of His. For in that case, Paul has missed the true
import of Jesus' life. Compared with that one central error, small
importance is to be attributed to the influence which Jesus may have
exerted upon Paul here and there. Wrede, therefore, was exactly
right in his formulation of the question. Paul regarded Jesus as
a Redeemer. If Jesus was not a Redeemer, then Paul was no true
follower of Jesus, but the founder of a new religion. The liberal
theologians have tried to avoid the issue. They have pointed out
exaggerations; they have traced the influence of Jesus upon Paul
in detail; they have distinguished religion from theology, and
abandoning the theology of Paul they have sought to derive his
religion from Jesus of Nazareth. It is all very learned and very
eloquent. But it is also entirely futile. Despite the numerous
monographs on "Jesus and Paul," Wrede was entirely correct. He was
correct, that is, not in his conclusions, but in his statement of
the question. He was correct in his central contention--Paul was no
true disciple of the "liberal Jesus." If Jesus was what the liberal
theologians represent Him as being--a teacher of righteousness, a
religious genius, a guide on the way to God--then not Jesus but
Paul was the true founder of historic Christianity. For historic
Christianity, like the religion of Paul, is a religion of redemption.

Certainly the separation of religion from theology in Paul must be
abandoned. Was it a mere theory when Paul said of Jesus Christ,
"He loved me and gave Himself for me"? Was it merely theological
speculation when he said, "One died for all, therefore all died;
and he died for all, that they that live should no longer live unto
themselves, but unto him who for their sakes died and rose again"?
Was it mere theology when he said, "Far be it from me to glory save
in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ"? Was this mere theological
speculation? Surely not. Surely it was religion--warm, living
religion. If this was not true religion, then where can religion
ever be found? But the passages just quoted are not passages which
deal with the details of Jesus' life; they are not passages which
deal with general principles of love and grace, and fatherliness and
brotherliness. On the contrary, they deal with just the thing most
distasteful to the modern liberal Church; they deal with the atoning
death of the Lord Jesus Christ, by which He took our sins upon Him
and bare them in His own body on the tree. The matter is perfectly
plain. Religion in Paul does not exist apart from theology, and
theology does not exist apart from religion. Christianity, according
to Paul, is both a life and a doctrine--but logically the doctrine
comes first. The life is the expression of the doctrine and not
vice versa. Theology, as it appears in Paul, is not a product of
Christian experience, but a setting forth of those facts by which
Christian experience has been produced. If, then, the theology of
Paul was derived from extra-Christian sources, his religion must be
abandoned also. The whole of Paulinism is based upon the redemptive
work of Jesus Christ.

Thus Paul was a true follower of Jesus if Jesus was a divine
Redeemer, come from heaven to die for the sins of men; he was
not a true follower of Jesus if Jesus was a mere revealer of
the fatherhood of God. Paulinism was not based upon a Galilean
prophet. It was based either upon the Son of God who came to earth
for men's salvation and still holds communion with those who
trust Him, or else it was based upon a colossal error. But if the
latter alternative be adopted, the error was not only colossal,
but also unaccountable. It is made more unaccountable by all that
has been said above, all that the liberal theologians have helped
to establish, about the nearness of Paul to Jesus. If Paul really
stood so near to Jesus, if he really came under Jesus' influence,
if he really was intimate with Jesus' friends, how could he have
misinterpreted so completely the significance of Jesus' person; how
could he have substituted for the teacher of righteousness who had
really lived in Palestine the heavenly Redeemer of the Epistles?
No satisfactory answer has yet been given. In the relation between
Jesus and Paul the historian discovers a problem which forces him
on toward a Copernican revolution in all his thinking, which leads
him to ground his own salvation and the hope of this world no longer
in millions of acts of sinful men or in the gradual progress of
civilization, but simply and solely in one redemptive act of the
Lord of Glory.




CHAPTER V

THE JEWISH ENVIRONMENT




CHAPTER V

THE JEWISH ENVIRONMENT


Of the three ways in which, upon naturalistic principles, the
genesis of the religion of Paul has been explained, one has been
examined, and has been found wanting. Paulinism, it has been shown,
was not based upon the Jesus of modern liberalism. If Jesus was
simply a teacher of righteousness, a revealer of God, then the
religion of Paul was not derived from Him. For the religion of Paul
was a religion of redemption.

But if the religion of Paul was not derived from the Jesus of modern
liberalism, whence was it derived? It may, of course, have been
derived from the divine Redeemer; the Jesus whom Paul presupposes
may have been the Jesus who actually lived in Palestine. But that
explanation involves the intrusion of the supernatural into the
course of history; it is therefore rejected by "the modern mind."
Other explanations, therefore, are being sought. These other
explanations are alike in that they derive the religion of Paul from
sources independent of Jesus of Nazareth. Two such explanations have
been proposed. According to one, the religion of Paul was derived
from contemporary Judaism; according to the other, it was derived
from the paganism of the Greco-Roman world. The present chapter will
deal with the former of these two explanations--with the explanation
which derives the religion of Paul from contemporary Judaism.

This explanation is connected especially with the names of Wrede[94]
and Brueckner.[95] It has, however, seldom been maintained in any
exclusive way, but enters into combination with other hypotheses.
Indeed, in itself it is obviously insufficient; it will hardly
explain the idea of redemption in the religion of Paul. But it is
thought to explain, if not the idea of redemption, at least the
conception of the Redeemer's person, and from the conception of
the Redeemer's person the idea of redemption might in some way be
derived. The hypothesis of Wrede and Brueckner, in other words, seeks
to explain not so much the soteriology as the Christology of Paul;
it derives from the pre-Christian Jewish conception of the Messiah
the Pauline conception of the heavenly Christ. In particular, it
seeks to explain the matter-of-course way in which in the Epistles
the Pauline Christ is everywhere presupposed but nowhere defended.
Apparently Paul was not aware that his Christology might provoke
dissent. This attitude is very difficult to explain on the basis of
the ordinary liberal reconstruction; it is difficult to explain if
the Pauline Christology was derived by a process of development from
the historical Jesus. For if it had been so derived, its newness
and revolutionary character would naturally have appeared. As a
matter of fact, however, Paul does not regard it as anything new; he
treats his doctrine of Christ as though it were firmly established
and required no defense. How shall this confident attitude of the
apostle be explained? It is to be explained, Wrede says, by the
theology of contemporary Judaism. Paul was so confident that his
conception of Christ could not be regarded as an innovation because
as a matter of fact it was not an innovation; it was nothing but the
pre-Christian Jewish notion of the Messiah. The Pauline conception
of Christ was thus firmly fixed in the mind of Paul and in the minds
of many of his contemporaries long before the event on the road to
Damascus; all that happened at that time was the identification
of the Christ whom Paul had believed in all along with Jesus of
Nazareth, and that identification, because of the meagerness of
Paul's knowledge of Jesus, did not really bring any fundamental
change in the Christology itself. After the conversion as well as
before it, the Christ of Paul was simply the Christ of the Jewish
apocalypses.

  [94] See p. 26, footnote 2.

  [95] See p. 27, footnote 1.

In order that this hypothesis may be examined, it will be advisable
to begin with a brief general survey of the Jewish environment of
Paul. The survey will necessarily be of the most cursory character,
and it will not be based upon original research. But it may serve
to clear the way for the real question at issue. Fortunately the
ground has been covered rather thoroughly by recent investigators.
In dependence upon Schuerer and Charles and others, even a layman may
hope to arrive at the most obvious facts. And it is only the most
obvious facts which need now be considered.

Three topics only will be discussed, and they only in the most
cursory way. These three topics are (1) the divisions within
Judaism, (2) the Law, (3) the Messiah.

The most obvious division within the Judaism of Paul's day is
the division between the Judaism of Palestine and that of the
Dispersion. The Jews of Palestine, for the most part, spoke Aramaic;
those of the Dispersion spoke Greek. With the difference of language
went no doubt in some cases a difference in habits of thought. But
exaggerations should be avoided. Certainly it is a serious error to
represent the Judaism of the Dispersion as being universally or even
generally a "liberal" Judaism, inclined to break down the strict
requirements of the Law. The vivid descriptions of the Book of Acts
point in the opposite direction. Opposition to the Gentile mission
of Paul prevailed among the Hellenists of the Dispersion as well
as among the Hebrews of Palestine. On the whole, although no doubt
here and there individuals were inclined to modify the requirements
imposed upon proselytes, or even were influenced by the thought of
the Gentile world, the Jews of the first century must be thought of
as being a strangely unified people, devoted to the Mosaic Law and
jealous of their God-given prerogatives.

At any rate, it is a grave error to explain the Gentile mission of
Paul as springing by natural development from a liberal Judaism of
the Dispersion. For even if such a liberal Judaism existed, Paul did
not belong to it. He tells us in no uncertain terms that he was a
"Hebrew," not a Hellenist; inwardly, therefore, despite his birth in
Tarsus, he was a Jew of Palestine. No doubt the impressions received
from the Greek city where he was born were of great importance in
his preparation for his life-work; it was no mere chance, but a
dispensation of God, that the apostle to the Gentiles spent his
earliest years in a seat of Gentile culture. But it was Jerusalem
rather than Tarsus which determined Paul's outlook upon life. At
any rate, however great or however little was the influence of his
boyhood home, Paul was not a "liberal" Jew; for he tells us that he
was a Pharisee, more exceedingly zealous than his contemporaries for
the traditions of his fathers.

Birth in Tarsus, therefore, did not mean for Paul any adherence
to a liberal Judaism, as distinguished from the strict Judaism of
Palestine. According to Montefiore, a popular Jewish writer of
the present day, it even meant the exact opposite; the Judaism of
the Dispersion, Montefiore believes, was not more liberal, but
less liberal, than the Judaism of Palestine; it was from Tarsus,
Montefiore thinks, that Paul derived his gloomy view of sin, and
his repellent conception of the wrath of God. Palestinian Judaism
of the first century, according to Montefiore, was probably like
the rabbinical Judaism of 500 A. D., and the rabbinical Judaism
of 500 A. D., contrary to popular opinion, was a broad-minded
regime which united devotion to the Law with confidence in the
forgiveness of God.[96] This curious reversal of the usual opinion
is of course open to serious objection. How does Montefiore know
that the Judaism of the Dispersion was less liberal and held a
gloomier view of sin than the Judaism of Palestine? The only
positive evidence seems to be derived from 4 Ezra, which, with the
other apocalypses, in an entirely unwarranted manner, is apparently
made to be a witness to the Judaism of the Dispersion. And were
the rabbinical Judaism of 500 A. D. and the Palestinian Judaism of
50 A. D. really characterized by that sweet reasonableness which
Montefiore attributes to them? There is at least one testimony to
the contrary--the testimony found in the words of Jesus.

  [96] Montefiore, _Judaism and St. Paul_, 1914. Compare Emmet, "The
  Fourth Book of Esdras and St. Paul," in _Expository Times_, xxvii,
  1915-1916, pp. 551-556.

Distinct from the question of fact is the question of value.
But with regard to that question also, Montefiore's opinion may
be criticized. It may well be doubted whether the easy-going
belief in the complacency of God, celebrated by Montefiore as
characteristic of Judaism, was, if it ever existed, superior to
the gloomy questionings of 4 Ezra. Certainly from the Christian
point of view it was not superior. In its shallow view of sin, in
its unwillingness to face the ultimate problems of sin and death,
the Jewish liberalism of Montefiore is exactly like the so-called
Christian liberalism of the modern Church. And it is as far
removed as possible from the Christianity of Paul. At one point,
therefore, Montefiore is entirely correct. The gospel of Paul was
based not upon a mild view of law, but upon a strict view; not upon
a belief in the complacency of God, but upon the cross of Christ as
a satisfaction of divine justice. Neither before his conversion nor
after it was Paul a "liberal."

Besides the obvious division between the Judaism of Palestine
and that of the Dispersion, other divisions may be detected,
especially within Palestinian Judaism. Three principal Jewish sects
are distinguished by Josephus; the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and
the Essenes.[97] Of these, the first two appear also in the New
Testament. The Essenes were separated from the ordinary life of
the people by certain ascetic customs, by the rejection of animal
sacrifice, and by religious practices which may perhaps be due to
foreign influence. Apparently the Essenic order did not come into
any close contact with the early Church. It is very doubtful, for
example, whether Lightfoot was correct in finding Essenic influence
in the errorists combated in Paul's Epistle to the Colossians. At
any rate, there is not the slightest reason to suppose that Paul was
influenced from this source.

  [97] Josephus, _Antiq._ XVIII. i. 2-5.

The Sadducees were a worldly aristocracy, in possession of the
lucrative priestly offices and reconciled to Roman rule. Their
rejection of the doctrine of resurrection is attested not only by
the New Testament but also by Josephus. They were as far removed as
possible from exerting influence upon the youthful Paul.

The Pharisees represented orthodox Judaism, with its devotion to
the Law. Their popularity, and their general, though not universal,
control of education, made them the real leaders of the people.
Certainly the future history of the nation was in their hands;
for when the Temple was destroyed the Law alone remained, and the
Pharisees were the chief interpreters of the Law. It was this party
which claimed the allegiance of Paul. So he testifies himself. His
testimony is often forgotten, or at least the implications of it
ignored. But it is unequivocal. Saul of Tarsus was not a liberal
Jew, but a Pharisee.

The mention of the Pharisees leads naturally to the second division
of our sketch of pre-Christian Judaism--namely, the Law. According
to Baldensperger, the two foci around which Judaism moved were the
Law and the Messianic hope.[98] These two foci will here be touched
upon very briefly in order.

  [98] Baldensperger, _Die Messianisch-apokalyptischen Hoffnungen des
  Judentums_, 3te Aufl., 1903, pp. 88, 89.

Unquestionably post-exilic Judaism was devoted to the Law. The
Law was found in the Old Testament, especially in the books of
Moses. But around the written Law had grown up a great mass of
oral interpretations which really amounted to elaborate additions.
By this "tradition of the elders" the life of the devout Jew was
regulated in its minutest particulars. Morality thus became a
matter of external rules, and religion became a credit-and-debit
relationship into which a man entered with God. Modern Jews are
sometimes inclined to contradict such assertions, but the evidence
found both in rabbinical sources and in the New Testament is too
strong. Exaggerations certainly should be avoided; there are
certainly many noble utterances to be found among the sayings
of the Jewish teachers; it is not to be supposed that formalism
was unrelieved by any manifestations whatever of the goodness of
the heart. Nevertheless, the Jewish writings themselves, along
with flashes of true insight, contain a great mass of fruitless
casuistry; and the New Testament confirms the impression thus
produced. In some quarters, indeed, it is customary to discredit the
testimony of Jesus, reported in the Gospels, as being the testimony
of an opponent. But why was Jesus an opponent? Surely it was because
of something blameworthy in the life of those whom He denounced.
In the sphere of moral values, the testimony of Jesus of Nazareth
is worth having; when He denounces the formalism and hypocrisy of
the scribes, it is very difficult for any student of the history of
morals not to be impressed. Certainly the denunciation of Jesus was
not indiscriminate. He "loved" the rich young ruler, and said to the
lawyer, "Thou art not far from the kingdom of God." Thus the Gospels
in their choice of the words of Jesus which they record have not
been prejudiced by any hatred of the Jews; they have faithfuly set
down various elements in Jesus' judgment of His contemporaries. But
the picture which they give of Jewish legalism cannot be put out
of the world; it seems clear that the religion of the Pharisees at
the time of Paul was burdened with all the defects of a religion of
merit as distinguished from a religion of grace.

The legalism of the Pharisees might indeed seem to possess one
advantage as a preparation for the gospel of Paul; it might seem
likely to produce the consciousness of sin and so the longing for
a Saviour. If the Law was so very strict as the Pharisees said it
was, if its commands entered so deep into every department of life,
if the penalty which it imposed upon disobedience was nothing less
than loss of the favor of a righteous God, would not the man who
was placed under such a regime come to recognize the imperfection
of his obedience to the countless commands and so be oppressed by a
sense of guilt? Paul said that the Law was a schoolmaster to bring
the Jews to Christ, and by that he meant that the Law produced the
consciousness of sin. But if the Law was a schoolmaster, was its
stern lesson heeded? Was it a schoolmaster to bring the Jews to
Christ only in its essential character, or was it actually being
used in that beneficent way by the Jews of the age of Paul?

The answer to these questions, so far as it can be obtained, is on
the whole disappointing. The Judaism of the Pauline period does
not seem to have been characterized by a profound sense of sin.
And the reason is not far to seek. The legalism of the Pharisees,
with its regulation of the minute details of life, was not really
making the Law too hard to keep; it was really making it too easy.
Jesus said to His disciples, "Except your righteousness shall
exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall
in no wise enter into the kingdom of heaven." The truth is, it is
easier to cleanse the outside of the cup than it is to cleanse the
heart. If the Pharisees had recognized that the Law demands not
only the observance of external rules but also and primarily mercy
and justice and love for God and men, they would not have been so
readily satisfied with the measure of their obedience, and the Law
would then have fulfilled its great function of being a schoolmaster
to bring them to Christ. A low view of law leads to legalism in
religion; a high view of law makes a man a seeker after grace.

Here and there, indeed, voices are to be heard in the Judaism of
the New Testament period which attest a real sense of sin. The
Fourth Book of Ezra,[99] in particular, struggles seriously with the
general reign of evil in the lives of men, and can find no solution
of the terrible problem. "Many have been created, but few shall be
saved!" (4 Ezra viii. 3). "Or who is there that has not transgressed
thy covenant?" (vii. 46). Alas for the "evil heart" (vii. 48)! In
a very interesting manner 4 Ezra connects the miserable condition
of humanity with the fall of Adam; the fall was not Adam's alone
but his descendants' (vii. 118). At this point, it is interesting
to compare 2 Baruch,[100] which occupies a somewhat different
position; "each of us," declares 2 Baruch, "has been the Adam of
his own soul." And in general, 2 Baruch takes a less pessimistic
view of human evil, and (according to Charles' estimate, which may
be correct) is more self-complacent about the Law. But the profound
sense of guilt in 4 Ezra might conceivably be a step on the way to
saving faith in Christ. "O Lord above us, if thou wouldst ... give
unto us the seed of a new heart!" (4 Ezra viii. 6). This prayer was
gloriously answered in the gospel of Paul.[101]

  [99] See Box, in Charles, _Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the
  Old Testament_, 1913, ii, pp. 542-624; Schuerer, _Geschichte des
  juedischen Volkes_, 3te und 4te Aufl., iii, 1909, pp. 315-335
  (English Translation, _A History of the Jewish People_, Division
  II, vol. iii, 1886, pp. 93-104). The work of Charles has been used
  freely, without special acknowledgment, for the citations from the
  Jewish apocalypses.

  [100] See Charles, _op. cit._, ii, pp. 470-526; Schuerer, _op. cit._,
  iii, pp. 305-315 (English Translation, Division II, vol. iii, pp.
  83-93).

  [101] Compare Box, in Charles, _op. cit._, p. 593. See also Emmet,
  _loc. cit._

It must be remembered, however, that 4 Ezra was completed long after
the Pauline period; its attitude to the problem of evil certainly
cannot be attributed with any confidence to Saul of Tarsus,
the pupil of Gamaliel. It is significant that when, after the
conversion, Paul seeks testimonies to the universal sinfulness of
man, he looks not to contemporary Judaism, but to the Old Testament.
At this point, as elsewhere, Paulinism is based not upon later
developments but upon the religion of the Prophets and the Psalms.
On the whole, therefore, especially in the light of what was said
above, it cannot be supposed that Saul the Pharisee held a spiritual
view of law, or was possessed of a true conviction of sin. Paul was
convicted of his sin only when the Lord Jesus said to him, "I am
Jesus whom thou persecutest."

The other focus about which pre-Christian Judaism, according to
Baldensperger, revolved was the Messianic hope. This hope had its
roots in the Old Testament. A complete introduction to the subject
would of course deal first with the Old Testament background. Here,
however, the background will have to be dismissed with a word.

According to the ordinary "critical" view, the doctrine of an
individual Messiah, and especially that of a transcendent Messiah,
arose late in the history of Israel. At first, it is maintained,
there was the expectation of a blessed line of Davidic kings; then
the expectation of a line of kings gave way in some quarters to
the expectation of an individual king; then the expectation of an
earthly king gave way in some quarters to the expectation of a
heavenly being like the "Son of Man" who is described in 1 Enoch.
This theory, however, has been called in question in recent years,
for example by Gressmann.[102] According to Gressmann, the doctrine
of an individual transcendent Saviour is of hoar antiquity, and
antedates by far the expectation of a blessed line of Davidic
kings and that of an individual earthy king. Gressmann is not, of
course, returning to the traditional view of the Old Testament. On
the contrary, he believes that the ancient doctrine of a heavenly
Saviour is of extra-Israelitish origin and represents a widespread
myth. But in the details of exegesis, the radicalism of Gressmann,
as is also the case with many forms of radicalism in connection with
the New Testament, involves a curious return to the traditional
view. Many passages of the Old Testament, formerly removed from the
list of Messianic passages by the dominant school of exegesis, or
else regarded as late interpolations, are restored by Gressmann to
their original significance. Thus the suffering servant of Jehovah
of Is. liii (a passage which the dominant school of exegesis has
interpreted in a collective sense, as referring to the nation of
Israel or to the righteous part of the nation) is regarded by
Gressmann as being an individual (mythical) figure to whose death
and resurrection is attributed saving significance.

  [102] _Der Ursprung der israelitisch-juedischen Eschatologie_, 1905.

The supernaturalistic view of the Old Testament[103] agrees with
Gressmann in his individualistic interpretation of such passages
as Is. liii, but differs from him in that it attributes objective
validity to the representation thus obtained. According to the
supernaturalistic view, Israel was from the beginning the people of
the Promise. The Promise at first was not fully defined in the minds
of all the people. But even at the beginning there were glorious
revelations, and the revelations became plainer and plainer as
time went on. The various elements in the Promise were not indeed
kept carefully distinct, and their logical connections were not
revealed. But even long before the Exile there was not only a
promise of blessing to David's line, with occasional mention of
an individual king, but also a promise of a Redeemer and King who
should far exceed the limits of humanity. Thus God had sustained His
people through the centuries with a blessed hope, which was finally
fulfilled, in all its aspects, by the Lord Jesus Christ.

  [103] See Beecher, _The Prophets and the Promise_, 1905.

Discussion of these various views would exceed the limits of the
present investigation. All that can here be done is to present
briefly the Messianic expectations of the later period, in which
Paul lived.

But were those expectations widely prevalent? Was the doctrine of
a coming Messiah firmly established among the Jews of the time of
Paul? The answer to these questions might seem to be perfectly
plain. The common impression is that the Judaism of the first
century was devoted to nothing if not to the hope of a king who was
to deliver God's people from the oppression of her enemies. This
impression is derived from the New Testament. Somewhat different is
the impression which might be derived from the Jewish sources if
they were taken alone. The expectation of a Messiah hardly appears
at all in the Apocrypha, and even in the Pseudepigrapha it appears
by no means in all of the books. Even when the thought of the future
age is most prominent, that age does not by any means appear in
inevitable connection with a personal Messiah. On the contrary, God
Himself, not His instrument the Messiah, is often represented as
ushering in the new era when Israel should be blessed.

Despite this difference between the New Testament and the Jewish
literature, it is generally recognized that the testimony of the
New Testament must be essentially correct. The picture which is
given in the Gospels of the intensity of the Messianic hope among
the Jews must be founded upon fact even if Jesus Himself did not
claim to be the Messiah. Indeed, it is just in that latter case
that the testimony in some respects would become strongest of all.
For if Jesus did not claim to be the Messiah, the attribution of
Messiahship to Him by His disciples could be explained only by the
intensity of their own Messianic expectations. As a matter of fact,
however, Jesus did claim to be the Messiah; the elimination of His
Messianic consciousness has not won the assent of any large body
of historians. He did claim to be the Messiah, and He died because
the Jews regarded Him as a false claimant. But His opponents, no
less than His disciples, were expecting a "King of the Jews." The
New Testament throughout, no matter what view may be held as to the
historicity of the individual narratives, is quite inexplicable
unless the Jews both in Palestine and in the Dispersion had a
doctrine of "the Christ."

This New Testament representation is confirmed here and there by
other writers. Even Philo,[104] as Brueckner remarks, pays his
tribute, though in an isolated passage, to the common Messianic
doctrine.[105] Josephus,[106] also, despite his effort to avoid
offending his Roman readers, is obliged to mention the Messianic
hope as one cause of the great war, and can only make the reference
harmless by finding the Messiah in the Emperor Vespasian![107] On
the whole, the fact may be regarded as certain that in the first
century after Christ the expectation of the Messiah was firmly
established among the Jews. The silence of great sections of the
Apocrypha may then be explained partly by the date of some of the
books. It may well be that there was a period, especially during the
Maccabean uprising, when because of the better present condition of
the nation the Messianic hope was less in the forefront of interest,
and that afterwards, under the humiliation of Roman rule, the
thoughts of the people turned anew to the expected Deliverer. But
however that may be, it is altogether probable that the expectation
of a Messiah was everywhere cherished in the Judaism of the time of
Paul.

  [104] _De praem et poen._ 16 (ed. Cohn, 1902, iv, p. 357).

  [105] Brueckner, _Die Entstehung der paulinischen Christologie_,
  1903, pp. 102f.

  [106] _Bell. Jud._ VI. v. 4.

  [107] Schuerer, _op. cit._, ii, 1907, p. 604 (English Translation,
  Division II, vol. ii, 1885, p. 149).

If then the hope of a Messiah was prevalent in the Judaism of the
first century, what was the nature of that hope? Two forms of
Messianic expectation have ordinarily been distinguished. In the
first place, it is said, there was an expectation of an earthly king
of David's line, and in the second place, there was the notion of a
heavenly being already existing in heaven. The former of these two
lines of expectation is usually thought to represent the popular
view, held by the masses of the people; and the latter is regarded
as an esoteric doctrine held by a limited circle from which the
apocalypses have sprung.

At this point, Brueckner is somewhat in opposition to the ordinary
opinion; he denies altogether the presence in first-century Judaism
of any distinctive doctrine of a purely human Messiah.[108] The
Messiah, he says, appears in all the sources distinctly as a
supernatural figure. Even in the Psalms of Solomon, he insists,
where the Messiah is represented as a king reigning upon earth, He
is nevertheless no ordinary king, for He destroys His enemies not by
the weapons of war but "by the breath of His mouth." In the Gospels,
moreover, although the people are represented as looking for a king
who should break the Roman rule, yet they demand of this king works
of superhuman power.

  [108] Brueckner, _op. cit._, pp. 104-112.

Undoubtedly there is a measure of truth in this contention of
Brueckner. It may perhaps be admitted that the Messiah of Jewish
expectation was always something more than an ordinary king; it
may perhaps be admitted that He was endowed with supernatural
attributes. Nevertheless, the view of Brueckner is exaggerated. There
is still to be maintained the distinction between the heavenly
being of 1 Enoch and the Davidic king. The latter might perhaps be
regarded as possessed of miraculous powers, but still He was in
the essentials of His person an earthly monarch. He was to be born
like other men; He was to rule over an earthly kingdom; He was to
conquer earthly armies; presumably He was to die. It is significant
that John the Baptist, despite the fact that he had as yet wrought
no miracles, was apparently thought by some to be the Messiah (Lk.
iii. 15; John i. 19-27). Even if this representation of the Gospels
of Luke and of John should be regarded as quite unhistorical, still
it does show that the writers of these two Gospels, neither of
whom was by any means ignorant of Jewish conditions, regard it as
no incongruity that some should have supposed such a man as John
to be the Messiah. The Messiah, therefore, could not have been
regarded always as being like the heavenly Son of Man of 1 Enoch.
But it is unnecessary to appeal to details. The whole New Testament,
whatever view may be taken of the historicity of its narratives in
detail, attests the prevalence in the first century of a Messianic
expectation according to which the Messiah was to be an earthly king
of David's line.

This view of Messiahship becomes explicit in Justin Martyr's
Dialogue with Trypho, which was written at about the middle of
the second century. In this book, the Jewish opponent of Justin
represents the Messiah as a "mere man."[109] No doubt this evidence
cannot be used directly for the earlier period in which Paul
lived. There does seem to have been a reaction in later Jewish
expectations against that transcendent view of Messiahship which had
been adopted by the Christian Church. Thus the apocalypses passed
out of use among the Jews, and, in some cases at least, have been
preserved only by the Church, and only because of their congruity
with Christian views. It is possible, therefore, that when Trypho
in the middle of the second century represents the Messiah as a
"mere man," he is attesting a development in the Jewish doctrine
which was subsequent to the time of Paul. But even in that case his
testimony is not altogether without value. Even if Trypho's doctrine
of a merely human Messiah be a later development, it was probably
not without some roots in the past. If the Jews of the first century
possessed both the doctrine of an earthly king and that of a
heavenly "Son of Man," it is possible to see how the latter doctrine
might have been removed and the former left in sole possession of
the field; but if in the first century the transcendent doctrine
alone prevailed, it is unlikely that a totally different view could
have been produced so quickly to take its place.[110]

  [109] +psilos anthropos+.

  [110] Indeed Brueckner himself (_op. cit._, p. 110) admits that
  there were two lines of thought about the Messiah in pre-Christian
  Judaism. But he denies that the two were separated, and insists that
  the transcendent conception had transformed the conception of an
  earthly king.

Thus it must be insisted against Brueckner that in the first
century the transcendent conception of Messiahship attested by the
apocalypses was not the only conception that prevailed. Despite its
dominance in the apocalypses, it was probably not the doctrine of
the masses of the people. Probably the ordinary view of the matter
is essentially correct; probably the Jews of the first century were
eagerly awaiting an earthly king of David's line who should deliver
them from Roman rule.

If, however, the transcendent conception of Messiahship which
is found in the apocalypses was not the only conception held by
pre-Christian Judaism, it is none the less of special interest, and
will repay examination. It is found most fully set forth in the
"Similitudes" of 1 Enoch,[111] but appears also in 4 Ezra and in 2
Baruch.

  [111] All parts of 1 Enoch are now usually thought to be of
  pre-Christian origin. The Similitudes (chaps. xxxvii-lxxi) are
  usually dated in the first century before Christ. See Charles,
  _op. cit._, ii, pp. 163-281; Schuerer, _op. cit._, iii, pp. 268-290
  (English Translation, Division II, vol. iii, pp. 54-73).

In the Similitudes, the heavenly being, who is to appear at the end
of the age and be the instrument of God in judgment, is usually
called the Elect One, Mine Elect One, the Son of Man, or that Son
of Man. He is also called the Righteous One, and twice he is called
Messiah or Anointed One (xlviii. 10; lii. 4). This latter title
would seem to connect him with the expected king of David's line,
who was the Anointed One or the Messiah. Lake and Jackson, however,
would deny all connection. The heavenly Son of Man, they maintain,
was never in pre-Christian Judaism identified with the expected
king of David's line--that is, with the "Messiah" in the technical
sense--so that it is a mistake to speak of "Messianic" passages in
the Book of Enoch.[112] But after all, the heavenly figure of 1
Enoch is represented as fulfilling much the same functions as those
which are attributed in the Psalms of Solomon, for example, to the
Messiah. It would be difficult to conceive of the same writer as
expecting two deliverers--one the Messiah of the Psalms of Solomon,
and the other the Son of Man of 1 Enoch. On the whole, therefore,
it is correct, despite the protest of Lake and Jackson, to speak of
the passages in 1 Enoch as Messianic, and of the Son of Man as the
"Messiah." In 4 Ezra xii. 32, moreover, the transcendent being, who
is set forth under the figure of the lion, is distinctly identified
with the Messiah "who shall spring from the seed of David." Of
course, the late date of 4 Ezra may be insisted upon, and it may be
maintained that the Davidic descent of the Messiah in 4 Ezra is a
mere traditional detail, without organic connection with the rest
of the picture. But it is significant that the writer did feel it
necessary to retain the detail. His doing so proves at least that
the heavenly being of the apocalypses was not always thought of as
distinct from the promised king of David's line. All that can be
granted to Lake and Jackson is that the future Deliverer was thought
of in pre-Christian Judaism in widely diverse ways, and that there
was often no effort to bring the different representations into
harmony. But it is correct to speak of all the representations as
"Messianic." For the coming Deliverer in all cases (despite the
variety of the expectations) was intended to satisfy at least the
same religious needs.

  [112] Lake and Jackson, _The Beginnings of Christianity_, Part I,
  vol. i, 1920, pp. 373f.

The title "Son of Man," which is used frequently in the Similitudes,
has given rise to a great deal of discussion, especially because of
its employment in the Gospels as a self-designation of Jesus. It
has been maintained by some scholars that "Son of Man" never could
have been a Messianic title, since the phrase in Aramaic idiom
means simply "man." Thus the Greek phrase, "the Son of Man," in the
Gospels would merely be an over-literal translation of an Aramaic
phrase which meant simply "the man," and the use of "Son of Man" as
a title would not extend back of the time when the tradition about
the words of Jesus passed over into Greek. But in recent years this
extreme position has for the most part been abandoned. In the first
place, it is by no means clear that the Aramaic phrase from which
the phrase "the Son of Man" in the Gospels is derived was simply the
ordinary phrase meaning simply "the man." Opposed to this view is
to be put, for example, the weighty opinion of Dalman.[113] In the
second place, it has been shown that the linguistic question is not
so important as was formerly supposed. For even if "the son of man"
in Aramaic meant simply "the man," it might still be a title. The
commonest noun may sometimes become a title, and a title of highly
specialized significance. For example, the word "day" is a very
common word, but "The Day" in certain connections, like the German,
"Der Tag," altogether without the help of any adjectives, comes
to designate one particular day. So "the Man" or "that Man" could
become a very lofty title, especially if it refers to some definite
scene in which He who is the "Man" _par excellence_ is described.

  [113] Dalman, _Die Worte Jesu_, i, 1898, pp. 191-197 (English
  Translation, _The Words of Jesus_, i, 1902, pp. 234-241); Bousset,
  _Kyrios Christos_, 1913, pp. 13, 14.

In the Similitudes, such is actually the case; the phrase "Son of
Man," whatever be its exact meaning, plainly refers to the "one like
unto a son of man" who in Daniel vii. 13 appears in the presence
of "the Ancient of Days." This reference is made perfectly plain
at the first mention of the Son of Man (1 Enoch xlvi. 1, 2), where
the same scene is evidently described as the scene of Dan. vii. 13.
The "Son of Man" is not introduced abruptly, but is first described
as a "being whose countenance had the appearance of a man," and is
then referred to in the Similitudes not only as "the Son of Man,"
but also as "that Son of Man." Charles and others suppose, indeed,
that the Ethiopic word translated "that" is merely a somewhat false
representation, in the Ethiopic translation, of the Greek definite
article, so that the Greek form of the book from which the extant
Ethiopic was taken had everywhere "the Son of Man," and nowhere
"that Son of Man." The question is perhaps not of very great
importance. In any case, the phrase "son of man" derives its special
significance from the reference to the scene of Dan. vii. 13. Not
any ordinary "man" or "son of man" is meant, but the mysterious
figure who came with the clouds of heaven and was brought near to
the Ancient of Days.

The Son of Man, or the Elect One, in the Similitudes, appears
clothed with the loftiest attributes. He existed before the creation
of the world (xlviii. 3, 6). When he finally appears, it is to sit
in glory upon the throne of God (li. 3, etc.), and judge not only
the inhabitants of earth but also the fallen angels (lv. 4). For the
purposes of judgment he is endued with righteousness and wisdom. He
is concerned, moreover, not only with the judgment but also with
the execution of the judgment; he causes "the sinners to pass away
and be destroyed from off the face of the earth" (lxix. 27). For
the righteous, on the other hand, the judgment results in blessing
and in communion with the Son of Man. "And the righteous and elect
shall be saved in that day, and they shall never thenceforward see
the face of the sinners and the unrighteous. And the Lord of Spirits
will abide over them, and with that Son of Man shall they eat and
lie down and rise up for ever and ever" (lxii. 13, 14).

The entire representation in the Similitudes is supernatural; the
Son of Man is a heavenly figure who appears suddenly in the full
blaze of his glory. Yet the connection with earth is not altogether
broken off. It is upon a glorified earth that the righteous are
to dwell. Indeed, despite the cosmic extent of the drama, the
prerogatives of Israel are preserved; the Gentile rulers are no
doubt referred to in "the Kings and the Mighty" who are to suffer
punishment because of their former oppression of "the elect." On the
other hand, mere connection with Israel is not the only ground for a
man's acceptance by the Son of Man; the judgment will be based upon
a real understanding of the secrets of individual lives.

In 4 Ezra vii. 26-31, the rule of the Messiah is represented as
distinctly temporary. The Messiah will rejoice the living for four
hundred years; then, together with all human beings, he will die;
then after the world has returned to primeval silence for seven
days, the new age, with the final resurrection, will be ushered
in. It may be doubted whether this representation harmonizes with
what is said elsewhere in 4 Ezra about the Messiah, indeed whether
even in this passage the representation is thoroughly consistent.
Box, for example, thinks that there are contradictions here, which
are to be explained by the composite nature of the book and by the
work of a redactor. But at any rate the result, in the completed
book, is clear. The Messiah is to die, like all the men who are upon
the earth, and is not connected with the new age. This death of
the Messiah is as far as possible from possessing any significance
for the salvation of men. Certainly it is not brought into any
connection with the problem of sin, which, as has been observed
above, engages the special attention of the writer of 4 Ezra. "It
is important to observe how the Jewish faith knew of a Saviour for
external ills, but not for sin and condemnation; and how the Christ
is able only to create a brief earthly joy, which passes away with
the destruction of the world."[114]

  [114] Volz, _Juedische Eschatologie von Daniel bis Akiba_, 1903, pp.
  202f.

In the "Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs,"[115] although Brueckner
is no doubt right in saying that the Messiah here as well as in 1
Enoch is a supernatural figure, the connection of the Messiah with
the tribe of Levi introduces the reader into a somewhat different
circle of ideas. The difference becomes more marked in the "Psalms
of Solomon,"[116] where the Messiah is a king of David's line. It is
no doubt true that even here the Messiah is no ordinary human being;
he destroys his enemies, not by the weapons of warfare and not by
the help of Israelitish armies, but by the breath of his mouth. Yet
the local, earthly character of the Messiah's reign--what may even
be called, perhaps, its political character--is more clearly marked
than in the apocalypses. Also there is stronger emphasis upon the
ethical qualities of the Messianic king; the righteousness of his
people is celebrated in lofty terms, which, however, do not exclude
a strong element of Jewish and Pharisaic particularism.

  [115] See Charles, _op. cit._, ii, pp. 282-367; Schuerer, _op. cit._,
  iii, pp. 339-356 (English Translation, Division II, vol. iii, pp.
  114-124).

  [116] See Gray, in Charles, _op. cit._, ii, pp. 625-652; Schuerer,
  _op. cit._, iii, pp. 205-212 (English Translation, Division II, vol.
  iii, pp. 17-23).

No complete exposition of the Jewish belief about the Messiah has
here been attempted. But enough has perhaps been said to indicate
at least some features of the Messianic expectation in the period
just preceding the time of Paul. Evidently, in certain circles
at least, the Messianic hope was transcendent, individualistic,
and universalistic. The scene of Messiah's kingdom was not always
thought of merely as the earthly Jerusalem; at least the drama
by which that kingdom is ushered in was thought of as taking
place either in heaven or upon an earth which has been totally
transformed. With this transcendent representation went naturally
a tendency towards individualism. Not merely nations were to be
judged, but also the secrets of the individual life; and individuals
were to have a part in the final blessing or the final woe. Of
course, for those who should die before the end of the age, this
participation in the final blessedness or the final woe would be
possible only by a resurrection. And the doctrine of resurrection,
especially for the righteous, is in the apocalypses clearly
marked. In 2 Baruch, indeed, there is an interesting discussion
of the relation between the resurrection state and the present
condition of man; the righteous will first rise in their old
bodies, but afterwards will be transformed (2 Baruch xlix-li).
Finally, the apocalypses exhibit a tendency toward universalism.
The coming of the Messianic kingdom is regarded as an event of
cosmic significance. The Gentiles are even sometimes said to share
in the blessing. But they are to share in the blessing only by
subordination to the people of God.

Despite the importance of the later period, it is interesting to
observe that all the essential features of later Jewish eschatology
have their roots in the canonical books of the Old Testament. In
the first place, the transcendence of the later representation has
an Old Testament basis. In Isaiah ix and xi the Messiah appears
clearly as a supernatural figure, and in Isaiah lxv. 17 there is a
prophecy of new heavens and a new earth. The heavenly "Son of Man"
is derived from Dan. vii. 13, and the individualistic interpretation
of that passage, which makes the Son of Man, despite verse 18,
something more than a mere collective symbol for the people of
Israel, is to-day in certain quarters coming to its rights. Not
only in the Psalms of Solomon, but also in the apocalypses, the Old
Testament language is used again and again to describe the heavenly
Messiah. There is, in the second place, an Old Testament basis for
the individualism of the later representation. The doctrine of
resurrection, with its consequences for an individualistic hope,
appears in Daniel. And, finally, the universalism of the apocalypses
does not transcend that of the great Old Testament prophets. In the
prophets also, the nations are to come under the judgment of God and
are to share in some sort in the blessings of Israel.

If, therefore, the apostle Paul before his conversion believed in a
heavenly Messiah, supernatural in origin and in function, he was not
really unfaithful to the Old Testament.

But was his pre-Christian notion of the Messiah really the source
of the Christology of the Epistles? Such is the contention of Wrede
and Brueckner. Wrede and Brueckner believe that the lofty Christology
of Paul, inexplicable if it was derived from the man Jesus, may be
accounted for if it was merely the pre-Christian conception of the
Messiah brought into loose connection with the prophet of Nazareth.
This hypothesis must now be examined.

At the beginning of the investigation, it may be questioned whether
Paul before his conversion held the apocalyptic view of the Messiah.
It might, indeed, even be questioned whether he was particularly
interested in the Messianic hope at all. If Baldensperger is correct
in saying that the Messianic dogma was in some sort a substitute
for the Law, and the Law a substitute for the Messianic dogma,
so that finally rabbinical interest in the Law tended to dampen
interest in the Messiah,[117] then the pre-Christian life of Paul
was presumably not dominated by Messianic expectations. For Paul
himself, as Baldensperger observes,[118] does not, in speaking of
his pre-Christian life, reckon himself with the Messianists. He
reckons himself, rather, with those who were zealous for the Law.
Such considerations are interesting. But their importance should
not be exaggerated. It must be remembered that according to the
testimony of the whole New Testament the doctrine of the Messiah was
firmly established in the Judaism of Paul's day. It is hardly likely
that Paul the Pharisee dissented from the orthodox belief. In all
probability, therefore, Paul before his conversion did hold some
doctrine of the Messiah.

  [117] Baldensperger, _Die Messianisch-apocalyptischen Hoffnungen des
  Judentums_, 3te Aufl., 1903, pp. 88, 207f., 216f.

  [118] Baldensperger, _op. cit._, pp. 216f.

It is not so certain, however, that the pre-conversion doctrine
of Paul presented a transcendent Messiah like the heavenly Son of
Man of the apocalypses. Certainly there is in the Pauline Epistles
no evidence whatever of literary dependence upon the apocalyptic
descriptions of the Messiah. The characteristic titles of the
Messiah which appear in the Similitudes of Enoch, for example, are
conspicuously absent from Paul. Paul never uses the title "Son of
Man" or "Elect One" or "Righteous One" in speaking of Christ. And
in the apocalypses, on the other hand, the Pauline terminology is
almost equally unknown. The apocalypses, at least 1 Enoch, use the
title "Messiah" only very seldom, and the characteristic Pauline
title, "Lord," never at all. It is evident, therefore, that the
Pauline Christology was not derived from the particular apocalypses
that are still extant. All that can possibly be maintained is that
it was derived from apocalypses which have been lost, or from an
apocalyptic oral tradition. But dependence upon lost sources, direct
comparison not being possible, is always very difficult to establish.

Thus the terminology of the Epistles and of the apocalypses is
rather unfavorable to the view which attributes to the youthful
Paul the apocalyptic doctrine of the Messiah. No literary relation
can be established between the Epistles and the extant apocalypses.
But will general considerations serve to supply the lack of direct
evidence of dependence? On the whole, the reverse is the case.
General considerations as to the pre-Christian opinions of Paul
point rather to a less transcendent and more political conception
than the conception which is found in the apocalypses. No doubt the
Messiah whom Paul was expecting possessed supernatural attributes;
it seems to have been generally expected in New Testament times that
the Messiah would work miracles. But the supernatural attributes of
the Messiah would not necessarily involve a conception like that
which is presented in the Similitudes of Enoch. Possibly it is
rather to the Psalms of Solomon that the historian should turn. The
Psalms of Solomon were a typical product of Pharisaism in its nobler
aspects. Their conception of the Messiah, therefore, may well have
been that of the pupil of Gamaliel. And the Messiah of the Psalms
of Solomon, though possessed of supernatural power and wisdom, is
thought of primarily as a king of David's line, and there is no
thought of his preexistence. He is very different from the Son of
Man of 1 Enoch.

It is, therefore, not perfectly clear that Paul before the
conversion believed in a heavenly, preexistent Messiah like the
Messiah of the apocalypses. There is some reason for supposing that
the apocalyptic Messiah was the Messiah, not of the masses of the
people and not of the orthodox teachers, but of a somewhat limited
circle. Did Paul belong to that limited circle? The question cannot
be answered with any certainty.

The importance of such queries must not, indeed, be exaggerated. It
is not being maintained here that Paul before his conversion did not
believe in the Messiah of the apocalypses; all that is maintained
is that it is not certain that he did. Possibly the diffusion of
apocalyptic ideas in pre-Christian Judaism was much wider than is
sometimes supposed; possibly the youthful Paul did come under the
influence of such ideas. But Wrede and Brueckner are going too far
if they assert that Paul must necessarily have come under such
influences. The truth is that the pre-Christian life of Paul is
shrouded in the profoundest obscurity. Almost the only definite
piece of information is what Paul himself tells us--that he was
zealous for the Law. He says nothing about his conception of the
Messiah. The utmost caution is therefore in place. Brueckner is going
much further than the sources will warrant when he makes Paul before
his conversion a devotee of the apocalyptic Messiah, and bases upon
this hypothesis an elaborate theory as to the genesis of the Pauline
Christology.

But even if Paul before his conversion was a devotee of the
apocalyptic Messiah, the genesis of the Pauline Christology has not
yet been explained. For the apocalyptic Messiah is different in
important respects from the Christ of the Epistles.

In the first place, there is in the apocalypses no doctrine of
an activity of the Messiah in creation, like that which appears
in 1 Cor. viii. 6; Col. i. 16. The Messiah of the apocalypses is
preexistent, but He is not thought of as being associated with God
in the creation of the world. This difference may seem to be only
a difference in detail; but it is a difference in detail which
concerns just that part of the Pauline Christology which would seem
to be most similar to the apocalyptic doctrine. It is the Pauline
conception of the preexistent Christ, as distinguished from the
incarnate or the risen Christ, which Wrede and Brueckner find it
easiest to connect with the apocalypses. But even in the preexistent
period the Christ of Paul is different from the apocalyptic Messiah,
because the Christ of Paul, unlike the apocalyptic Messiah, has an
active part in the creation of the world.

In the second place, there is in the apocalypses no trace of the
warm, personal relation which exists between the believer and the
Pauline Christ.[119] The Messiah of the apocalypses is hidden in
heaven. He is revealed only as a great mystery, and only to favored
men such as Enoch. Even after the judgment, although the righteous
are to be in company with Him, there is no such account of His
person as would make conceivable a living, personal relationship
with Him. The heavenly Messiah of the apocalypses is a lifeless
figure, clothed in unapproachable light. The risen Christ of Paul,
on the other hand, is a person whom a man can love; indeed He is a
person whom as a matter of fact Paul did love. Whence was derived
the concrete, personal character of the Christ of Paul? It was
certainly not derived from the Messiah of the apocalypses. Whence
then was it derived?

  [119] Compare especially Olschewski, _Die Wurzeln der paulinischen
  Christologie_, 1909.

The natural answer would be that it was derived from Jesus of
Nazareth. The fact that the risen Christ of Paul is not merely a
heavenly figure but a person whom a man can love is most naturally
explained by supposing that Paul attributed to the Messiah all the
concrete traits of the striking personality of Jesus of Nazareth.
But this supposition is excluded by Wrede's hypothesis. Indeed,
Wrede supposes, if Paul had come into such close contact with the
historical Jesus as to have in his mind a full account of Jesus'
words and deeds, he could not easily have attached to Him the
supernatural attributes of the heavenly Son of Man; only a man who
stood remote from the real Jesus could have regarded Jesus as the
instrument in creation and the final judge of all the world. Thus
the hypothesis of Wrede and Brueckner faces a quandary. In order to
explain the supernatural attributes of the Pauline Christ, Paul has
to be placed near to the apocalypses and far from the historical
Jesus; whereas in order to explain the warm, personal relation
between Paul and his Christ, Paul would have to be placed near to
the historical Jesus and far from the apocalypses.

This quandary could be avoided only by deriving the warm, personal
relation between Paul and his Christ from something other than the
character of the historical Jesus. Wrede and Brueckner might seek to
derive it from the one fact of the crucifixion. All that Paul really
derived from the historical Jesus, according to Wrede and Brueckner,
was the fact that the Messiah had come to earth and died. But that
one fact, it might be maintained, was sufficient to produce the
fervent Christ-religion of Paul. For Paul interpreted the death of
the Messiah as a death suffered for the sins of others. Such a death
involved self-sacrifice; it must have been an act of love. Hence the
beneficiaries were grateful; hence the warm, personal relationship
of Paul to the one who had loved him and given Himself for him.[120]

  [120] Compare Brueckner, _Die Entstehung der paulinischen
  Christologie_, 1903, p. 237.

But how did the death of Jesus ever come to be interpreted by Paul
as a vicarious death of the Messiah? The natural answer would be
that it was because of something that Jesus had said or because of
an impression derived from His character. That answer is excluded
by Wrede's hypothesis. How then did Paul come to regard the death
of Jesus as a vicarious death of the Messiah? It could only have
been because Paul already had a doctrine of the vicarious death of
the Messiah before his conversion. But nothing is more unlikely.
There is in late pre-Christian Jewish literature not a trace of
such a doctrine.[121] The Messiah in 4 Ezra is represented, indeed,
as dying, but His death is of benefit to no one. He dies, along
with all the inhabitants of earth, simply in order to make way
for the new world.[122] In Justin Martyr's Dialogue with Trypho,
the Jew Trypho is represented as admitting that the Messiah was
to suffer. But the suffering is not represented as vicarious. And
since the Dialogue was written in the middle of the second century
after Christ, the isolated testimony of Trypho cannot be used as
a witness to first-century conditions. It is perfectly possible,
as Schuerer suggested, that certain Jews of the second century were
only led to concede the suffering of the Messiah in the light of
the Scriptural arguments advanced by the Christians. The rabbinical
evidence as to sufferings of the Messiah is also too late to be used
in reconstructing the pre-Christian environment of Paul. And of
real evidence from the period just before Paul's day there is none.
In 4 Maccabees vi. 28, 29, indeed (less clearly in xvii. 21, 22),
the blood of the righteous is represented as bringing purification
for the people. The dying martyr Eleazar is represented as
praying:[123] "Be merciful unto thy people, and let our punishment
be a satisfaction in their behalf. Make my blood their purification,
and take my soul to ransom their souls." This passage, however, is
entirely isolated. There is no evidence whatever that the vicarious
suffering of the righteous was anything like an established doctrine
in the Judaism of Paul's day, and in particular there is no evidence
that in pre-Christian Judaism the idea of vicarious suffering was
applied to the Messiah. Undoubtedly Isaiah liii might have formed a
basis for such an application; it may even seem surprising that that
glorious passage was not more influential. But as a matter of fact,
Judaism was moving in a very different direction; the later doctrine
of the Messiah had absolutely no place for a vicarious death or for
vicarious suffering. All the sources are here in agreement. Neither
in the apocalypses nor in what is presupposed in the New Testament
about Jewish belief is there any trace of a vicarious death of the
Messiah. Indeed, there is abundant evidence that such an idea was
extremely repulsive to the Jewish mind. The Cross was unto the Jews
a stumbling-block.[124]

  [121] See Schuerer, _op. cit._, ii, pp. 648-651 (English Translation,
  Division II, vol. ii, pp. 184-187).

  [122] It will be remembered, moreover, that 4 Ezra, at least in its
  completed form, dates from long after the time of Paul.

  [123] Townshend, in Charles, _op. cit._, ii, p. 674.

  [124] B. W. Bacon (_Jesus and Paul_, 1921, pp. 45-49) seeks to
  bridge the gulf between Jesus and Paul by supposing that Jesus
  himself, somewhat like the Maccabean hero, finally attained, after
  the failure of His original program and at the very close of His
  life, the conception that His approaching death was to be in some
  sort an expiation for His people. But the idea of expiation which
  Bacon attributes to Jesus is no doubt very different from the
  Pauline doctrine of the Cross of Christ. The gulf between Jesus and
  Paul is therefore not really bridged. Moreover, it cannot be said
  that Bacon's hypothesis of successive stages in the experience of
  Jesus, culminating in the idea of expiation attained at the last
  supper, has really helped at all to solve the problem presented to
  every historian who proceeds upon naturalistic presuppositions by
  Jesus' lofty claims. At least, however, this latest investigator
  of the problem of "Jesus and Paul" has betrayed a salutary
  consciousness of the fact that the Pauline conception of Jesus'
  redemptive work is inexplicable unless it find some justification
  in the mind of Jesus Himself. Only, the justification which Bacon
  himself has found--particularly his account of the way in which the
  idea of expiation is supposed to have arisen in Jesus' mind--is
  entirely inadequate.

Thus the warm, personal relation of love and gratitude which Paul
sustains to the risen Christ is entirely unexplained by anything in
his Jewish environment. It is not explained by the Jewish doctrine
of the Messiah; it is not explained by reflection upon the vicarious
death of the Messiah. For the Messiah in Jewish expectation was
not to suffer a vicarious death. Such a relation of love and
gratitude could be sustained only toward a living person. It could
be sustained toward Jesus of Nazareth, if Jesus continued to live
in glory, but it could not be sustained toward the Messiah of the
apocalypses.

The third difference between the Pauline Christ and the Messiah
of the apocalypses concerns the very center of the Pauline
conception--there is in the apocalypses no doctrine of the divinity
of the Messiah. In Paul, the divinity of Christ is presupposed on
every page. The word "divinity" is indeed often being abused; in
modern pantheizing liberalism, it means absolutely nothing. But the
divinity of Christ in the Pauline Epistles is to be understood in
the highest possible sense. The Pauline doctrine of the divinity of
Christ is not dependent upon individual passages; it does not depend
upon the question whether in Rom. ix. 5 Paul applies the term "God"
to Christ. Certainly he does so by any natural interpretation of his
words. But what is far more important is that the term "Lord" in
the Pauline Epistles, the characteristic Pauline name of Christ, is
every whit as much a designation of deity as is the term "God."[125]
Everywhere in the Epistles, moreover, the attitude of Paul toward
Christ is not merely the attitude of man to man, or scholar to
master; it is the attitude of man toward God.

  [125] See Warfield, "'God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ,'" in
  _Princeton Theological Review_, xv, 1917, pp. 1-20.

Such an attitude is absent from the apocalyptic representation of
the Messiah. For example, the way in which God and Christ are linked
together regularly at the beginnings of the Pauline Epistles--God
our father and the Lord Jesus Christ[126]--this can find no real
parallel in 1 Enoch. The isolated passages (1 Enoch xlix. 10; lxx.
1) where in 1 Enoch the Lord of Spirits and the Son of Man or the
Elect One are linked together by the word "and," do not begin to
approach the height of the Pauline conception. It is not surprising
and not particularly significant that the wicked are designated in
one passage as those who have "denied the Lord of Spirits and His
anointed" (1 Enoch xlix. 10). Such an expression would be natural
even if the Anointed One were, for example, merely an earthly king
of David's line. What is characteristic of Paul, on the other hand,
is that God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ are not merely
united by the conjunction "and" in isolated passages--that might
happen even if they belonged to different spheres of being--but
are united regularly and as a matter of course, and are just as
regularly separated from all other beings except the Holy Spirit.
Moreover, God and Christ, in Paul, have attributed to them the same
functions. Grace and peace, for example, come equally from both.
Such a representation would be quite incongruous in 1 Enoch. Equally
incongruous in 1 Enoch would be the Pauline separation of the Christ
from ordinary humanity and from angels. The author of 1 Enoch could
hardly have said, "Not from men nor through a man but through the
Elect One and the Lord of Spirits," as Paul says, "Not from men
nor through a man but through Jesus Christ and God the Father who
raised him from the dead" (Gal. i. 1). On the other hand, the way in
which 1 Enoch includes the Elect One in the middle of a long list of
beings who praise the Lord of Spirits (1 Enoch lxi. 10, 11) would be
absolutely inconceivable in Paul.

  [126] Warfield, _loc. cit._

This stupendous difference is established not by isolated passages,
but by every page of the Pauline Epistles. The Pauline Christ is
exalted to an infinite height above the Messiah of the apocalypses.
How did He reach this height? Was it because He was identified with
Jesus of Nazareth? But that identification, if Jesus of Nazareth
were a mere man, would have dragged Him down rather than lifted
Him up. There lies the unsolved problem. Even if Paul before his
conversion believed in the heavenly Messiah of the apocalypses,
he had to exalt that Messiah far beyond all that had ever been
attributed to Him in the boldest visions of the Jewish seers, before
he could produce the Christ of the Epistles. Yet the only new thing
that had entered Paul's life was identification of the Messiah with
Jesus. Why did that identification lift the Messiah to the throne of
God? Who was this Jesus, who by His identification with the Messiah,
lifted the Messiah even far above men's wildest dreams?

Thus the Messianic doctrine of the apocalypses is an insufficient
basis for the Pauline Christology. Its insufficiency is admitted by
Hans Windisch.[127] But Windisch seeks to supply what is lacking
in the apocalyptic Messiah by appealing to the Jewish doctrine of
"Wisdom." The apocalyptic doctrine of the Messiah, Windisch admits,
will not explain the origin of the Pauline Christology; for example,
it will not explain Paul's doctrine of the activity of Christ in
creation. But "Wisdom" is thought to supply the lack.

  [127] "Die goettliche Weisheit der Juden und die paulinische
  Christologie," in _Neutestamentliche Studien Georg Heinrici
  dargebracht_, 1914, pp. 220-234.

In Prov. viii, "wisdom" is celebrated in lofty terms, and is said
to have existed before the creation of the world. "Wisdom" is here
boldly personified in a poetic way. But she is not regarded as a
real person separate from God. In later books, however, notably
in the Alexandrian "Wisdom of Solomon," the personification is
developed until it seems to involve actual personality. Wisdom seems
to be regarded as an "hypostasis," a figure in some sort distinct
from God. This hypostasis, Windisch believes, was identified by Paul
with Christ, and the result was the Pauline Christology.

The figure of Wisdom, Windisch believes, will supply two elements
in the Pauline Christ-religion which are lacking in the Messiah
of the apocalypses. In the first place, it will account for the
Pauline notion that Christ was active in creation, since Wisdom in
Jewish belief is repeatedly represented as the assessor or even the
instrument of the Creator. In the second place, it will account for
the intimate relation between Paul and his Christ, since Wisdom is
represented in the "Wisdom of Solomon" as entering into the wise
man, and the wise man seems to be represented in Proverbs viii and
in Ecclesiasticus as the mouthpiece of Wisdom.[128]

  [128] Windisch, _op. cit._, p. 226.

But when was the identification of the Messiah with Wisdom
accomplished? Was it accomplished by Paul himself after his
conversion? Or was it received by Paul from pre-Christian Jewish
doctrine? If it was accomplished by Paul himself after his
conversion, then absolutely no progress has been made toward the
explanation of the Pauline Christology. How did Paul come to
identify Jesus of Nazareth with the divine figure of Wisdom? It
could only have been because Jesus was such a person as to make the
identification natural. But that supposition is of course excluded
by the naturalistic principles with which Windisch is operating.
The identification of Jesus with Wisdom at or after the conversion
is, therefore, absolutely inexplicable; in substituting Wisdom for
the apocalyptic Messiah as the basis of the Pauline Christology,
Windisch has destroyed whatever measure of plausibility the theory
of Wrede and Brueckner possessed. For it is really essential to
Wrede's theory that Paul before his conversion had not only believed
in the existence of a heavenly being like the Son of Man of 1 Enoch,
but had also expected that heavenly being to appear. Since he had
expected the heavenly being to appear, it might seem to be not so
absolutely inexplicable that he came to think that that being had
actually appeared in the person of Jesus. But no one expected Wisdom
to appear, in any more definite way than by the entrance which she
had already accomplished into the hearts of wise men. The thought
of an incarnation or a parousia of Wisdom is absolutely foreign to
Jewish thought. What possible reason was there, then, for Paul to
think that Wisdom actually had appeared and would finally appear
again in the person of Jesus?

Thus the theory of Windisch can be maintained only if the
identification of Wisdom with the Messiah was accomplished not by
Paul after the conversion but by pre-Christian Judaism. If Paul's
pre-Christian doctrine of the Messiah already contained vital
elements drawn from the doctrine of Wisdom, then and then only
might it be held that the Pauline Christ, with His activity in
creation and His spiritual indwelling in the believer, was merely
the pre-Christian Messiah. But was the pre-Christian Messiah ever
identified with the hypostasis Wisdom? Upon an affirmative answer
to this question depends the whole structure of Windisch's theory.
But Windisch passes the question over rather lightly. He tries,
indeed, to establish certain coincidences between the doctrine of
the Messiah in 1 Enoch and in the Septuagint translation of Micah v.
2 and Ps. cx. 3 on the one hand, and the descriptions of Wisdom on
the other; but the coincidences apparently amount to nothing except
the ascription of preexistence to both figures. But the fundamental
trouble is that Windisch has an entirely inadequate conception of
what really needs to be proved. What Windisch really needs to do
is to ascribe to the pre-Christian doctrine of the Messiah two
elements--activity in creation and spiritual indwelling--which in
the extant sources are found not at all in the descriptions of the
Messiah but only in the descriptions of Wisdom. Even if he succeeded
in establishing verbal dependence of the descriptions of the Messiah
upon the descriptions of Wisdom, that would not really prove his
point at all. Such verbal dependence as a matter of fact has not
been established, but if it were established it would be without
significance. It would be far more completely devoid of significance
than is the similarity between the descriptions of the heavenly
Messiah as judge and the descriptions of God as judge. This latter
similarity may be significant, when taken in connection with other
evidence, as being a true anticipation of the Christian doctrine
of the deity of Christ, but in itself it will hardly be held (at
least it will hardly be held by Windisch) to establish the complete
personal identity, in Jewish thinking, of the Messiah and God, so
that everything that is said about God in pre-Christian Jewish
sources can henceforth be applied to the Messiah. Why then should
similarity in language between the descriptions of the Wisdom of God
as preexistent and the descriptions of the Messiah as preexistent
(even if that similarity existed) establish such identity between
the Messiah and Wisdom that what is attributed to Wisdom (notably
spiritual indwelling) can henceforth be attributed to the Messiah?
There is really no evidence whatever for supposing that the Messiah
was conceived of in pre-Christian Judaism either as being active in
creation or as dwelling in the hearts of men. Indeed, with regard
to the latter point, there is decisive evidence of the contrary.
The figure of the Messiah in the apocalypses is as incongruous as
anything can possibly be with the idea of spiritual indwelling.
Wisdom is conceived of as dwelling in the hearts of men only because
Wisdom in Jewish literature is not really or completely a concrete
person, but is also an abstract quality. The Messiah is a concrete
person and hence is not thought of as indwelling. It was something
absolutely without precedent, therefore, when Paul regarded his
Christ--who is nothing if not a person, and a person who may be
loved--as dwelling in the heart of the believer.

Objection will no doubt be raised against this treatment of the
idea of personality. Wisdom, we have argued, was never in Jewish
literature regarded consistently as a person distinct from God;
whereas the Messiah was always regarded as a person. Against this
argument it will be objected that the ancient world possessed no
idea of personality at all, so that the difference between Wisdom
and the Messiah disappears. But what is meant by the objection? If
it is meant only that the ancient world possessed no definition of
personality, the point may perhaps be conceded. But it is quite
irrelevant. If, on the other hand, what is meant is that the
ancients had no way of distinguishing between a person and a mere
quality, no way of feeling the difference even if the difference
could not be put into words, then an emphatic denial is in place.
Without such a power of practical, if not theoretical, distinction,
no mental or moral life at all, to say nothing of the highly
developed life of the Hellenistic age, would have been possible. It
is highly important, therefore, to observe that Wisdom in Jewish
literature hardly becomes regarded as a person in any consistent
way. Undoubtedly the hypostasizing has gone to considerable lengths,
but it is always possible for the writers to hark back to the
original sense of the word "wisdom"--to play at least upon the
original meaning. Wisdom seems to be treated not merely as a person
but also as an attribute of God.

Thus Windisch is entirely unjustified when he uses passages which
represent the Messiah as possessing "wisdom" to prove that the
Messiah was regarded as identical with Wisdom. A striking example
of this mistake is found in the treatment of 1 Enoch xlix. 3, where
it is said that in the Elect One "dwells the spirit of wisdom, and
the spirit which gives insight, and the spirit of understanding
and of might and the spirit of those who have fallen asleep in
righteousness." A still more striking example is found in the use
of 1 Cor. i. 24, 30, where Christ crucified is called the power of
God and the wisdom of God, and is said to have become to believers
wisdom and justification and sanctification and redemption. Windisch
actually uses these passages as evidence for the application to the
apocalyptic Messiah and to the Pauline Christ of the attributes of
the hypostasis Wisdom. Could anything be more utterly unwarranted?
The inclusion of "wisdom" in a considerable list of what the Son
of Man possesses or of what Christ means to the believer, far
from proving that 1 Enoch or Paul identified the Messiah with the
hypostasized Wisdom, rather proves, if proof be necessary, that they
did not make the identification. It is a very different thing to say
that Christ possesses wisdom (along with other qualities) or brings
wisdom to the believer (along with other gifts) from saying that
Christ is so identical with the hypostasis Wisdom of the "wisdom
literature" that what is there said about Wisdom is to be attributed
to Him. Windisch himself observes, very significantly, that Paul
could not actually designate Christ as "Wisdom" because the word
wisdom is of feminine gender in Greek. The difference of gender is
here the symbol of a profound difference in essential character. The
figure of Wisdom in Jewish literature, with its curious vacillation
between personality and abstraction, is absolutely incongruous with
the warm, living, concrete, personal figure of the Pauline Christ.
The two belong to totally different circles of ideas. No wonder that
even Bousset (as Windisch complains) has not ventured to bring them
into connection. The Pauline Christology was certainly not based
upon the pre-Christian doctrine of Wisdom.

Thus the first great objection to Wrede's derivation of the Pauline
Christology is that it is simply insufficient. The Messiah of the
Jewish apocalypses is not great enough to have been the basis of
the Pauline Christ. If before the conversion Paul had believed in
the apocalyptic Messiah, then when he was converted he lifted his
conception to far greater heights than it had before attained. But
what caused him to do so? Apparently he ought to have done exactly
the reverse. If Jesus was a mere man, then the identification of the
Messiah with Him ought to have pushed the conception of the Messiah
down instead of lifting it up. As Baldensperger significantly
remarks, the Jewish apocalyptists faced less difficulty in
presenting a transcendent Messiah than did their successors, the
exponents of a metaphysical Christology in the Christian Church,
since the Jewish apocalyptists could give free course to their
fancy, whereas the Christians were hampered by the recollections
of the earthly Jesus.[129] This observation, on the basis of
Baldensperger's naturalistic presuppositions, is entirely correct.
But the strange thing is that the recollections of Jesus, far
from hampering the Christians in their ascription of supernatural
attributes to the Messiah, actually had just the opposite effect.
Paul furnishes a striking example. Before he identified the Messiah
with Jesus, he did not really think of the Messiah as divine--not
even if he believed in the transcendent Messiah of 1 Enoch. But
after he identified the Messiah with Jesus, he said "not by man but
by Christ." Why was it that identification with Jesus, instead of
bringing the apocalyptic Messiah down to earth, lifted Him rather
to the throne of God? Was it, after all, because of something in
Jesus? If it was, then the eternal Son of God walked upon earth, and
suffered for the sins of men. If it was not, then the fundamental
historical problem of Christianity is still entirely unsolved.

  [129] Baldensperger, _op. cit._, p. 126.

But another objection faces the solution proposed by Wrede and
Brueckner. Suppose the apocalyptic doctrine of the Messiah were
really adequate to the strain which is placed upon it. Suppose
it really represented the Messiah as active in creation and as
indwelling in the hearts of the faithful and as exalted to the
throne of God. These suppositions are entirely without warrant
in the facts; they transcend by far even the claims of Wrede and
Brueckner themselves. But suppose they were correct. Even then the
genesis of Paul's religion would not be explained. Suppose the
Pauline doctrine of the Messiah really was complete in his mind
before he was converted. Even then, another problem remains. How
did he come to identify his exalted Messiah with a Jew who had
lived but a few years before and had died a shameful death? The
thing might be explained if Jesus was what He is represented in
all of the extant sources as being--a supernatural person whose
glory shone out plain even through the veil of flesh. It might be
explained if Paul before his conversion really believed that the
heavenly Christ was to come to earth before His final parousia and
die an accursed death. But the former alternative is excluded by the
naturalistic presuppositions of the modern man. And the latter is
excluded by an overwhelming weight of evidence as to pre-Christian
Judaism and the pre-Christian life of Paul. How then did Paul come
to identify his heavenly Messiah with Jesus of Nazareth? It could
only have been through the strange experience which he had near
Damascus. But what, in turn, caused that experience? No answer, on
the basis of naturalistic presuppositions, has yet been given. In
removing the supernatural from the earthly life of Jesus, modern
naturalism has precluded the only possible naturalistic explanation
of the conversion of Paul. If Jesus had given evidence of being
the heavenly Son of Man, then Paul might conceivably, though
still not probably, have become convinced against his will, and
might, conceivably though still not probably, have experienced an
hallucination in which he thought he saw Jesus living in glory. But
if Jesus was a mere man, the identification of Him with the heavenly
apocalyptic Messiah becomes inconceivable, and the experience
through which that identification took place is left absolutely
uncaused. Thus the hypothesis of Wrede and Brueckner defeats itself.
In arguing that Paul's pre-conversion conception of the Messiah was
not a conception of a mere earthly being or the like, but that of a
transcendent being, Wrede and Brueckner are really digging the grave
of their own theory. For the more exalted was the Messiah in whom
Paul believed before his conversion, the more inexplicable becomes
the identification of that Messiah with a crucified malefactor.

But still another objection remains. Suppose the Pauline Christ
were simply the Messiah of the Jewish apocalypses; suppose Paul
knew so little about the historical Jesus that he could even
identify the exalted Messiah with Him. Even then another fact
requires explanation. How did Paul come to be so strikingly similar
to the historical Jesus both in teaching and in character? Wrede
was audacious enough to explain the similarity as due to a common
dependence upon Judaism.[130] But at this point few have followed
him. For the striking fact is that Paul agrees with Jesus in just
those matters to which Judaism was most signally opposed. It would
be more plausible to say that Paul agrees with Jesus because
both of them abandoned contemporary Judaism and returned to the
Old Testament prophets. But even that explanation would be quite
inadequate. The similarity between Jesus and Paul goes far beyond
what both hold in common with the Prophets and the Psalms. And why
did two men return to the Prophets and Psalms at just the same time
and in just the same way? The similarity between Jesus and Paul
might then be regarded as due to mere chance. Paul, it might be
supposed, developed the ideal of Christian love from the death of
the Messiah, which he interpreted as an act of self-sacrifice.[131]
This ideal of love happened to be just the same as that which
Jesus of Nazareth exemplified in a life of service--to which
life of service, however, Paul was completely indifferent. Such,
essentially, is what the hypothesis of Wrede really amounts to.
The hypothesis is really absurd. But its absurdity is instructive.
It is an absurdity to which the naturalistic account of the origin
of Christianity is driven by an inexorable logic. Paul, it must be
supposed, could not have regarded Jesus as a divine being if he had
really known Jesus. The similarity of his life and teaching to
that of Jesus cannot, therefore, be due to knowledge of Jesus. It
must therefore be due to chance. In other words, it is dangerous,
on naturalistic principles, to bring Paul into contact with Jesus.
For if he is brought into contact with Jesus, his witness to Jesus
will have to be heard. And when his witness is heard, the elaborate
modern reconstructions of the "liberal Jesus" fall to the ground.
For according to Paul, Jesus was no mere Galilean prophet, but the
Lord of Glory.

  [130] Wrede, _Paulus_, 1904, pp. 90, 91 (English Translation,
  _Paul_, 1907, pp. 157, 158).

  [131] See Brueckner, _op. cit._, p. 237.




CHAPTER VI

THE RELIGION OF THE HELLENISTIC AGE




CHAPTER VI

THE RELIGION OF THE HELLENISTIC AGE


It has been shown in the last chapter that the religion of Paul was
not derived from the pre-Christian Jewish doctrine of the Messiah.
If, therefore, the derivation of Paulinism from the historical Jesus
is still to be abandoned, recourse must be had to the pagan world.
And as a matter of fact, it is in the pagan world that the genesis
of Paulinism is to-day more and more frequently being sought. The
following chapters will deal with that hypothesis which makes the
religion of Paul essentially a product of the syncretistic pagan
religion of the Hellenistic age.

This hypothesis is not only held in many different forms, but also
enters into combination with the view which has been considered in
the last chapter. For example, M. Brueckner, who regards the Pauline
Christology as being simply the Jewish conception of the Messiah,
modified by the episode of the Messiah's humiliation, is by no means
hostile to the hypothesis of pagan influence. On the contrary, he
brings the Jewish conception of the Messiah upon which the Pauline
Christology is thought to be based, itself into connection with the
widespread pagan myth of a dying and rising saviour-god.[132] Thus
Brueckner is at one with the modern school of comparative religion
in deriving Paul's religion from paganism; only he derives it
from paganism not directly but through the medium of the Jewish
conception of the Messiah. On the other hand, most of those who
find direct and not merely mediate pagan influence at the heart of
the religion of Paul are also willing to admit that some important
influences came through pre-Christian Judaism--notably, through the
Messianic expectations of the apocalypses. The division between the
subject of the present chapter and that of the preceding chapter is
therefore difficult to carry out. Nevertheless, that division will
be found convenient. It will be well to consider separately the
hypothesis (now in the very forefront of interest) which derives
Paulinism, not from the historical Jesus, and not from pre-Christian
Judaism, but from the pagan religion of the Greco-Roman world.

  [132] Brueckner, _Der sterbende und auferstehende Gottheiland_, 1908.

Here, as in the last chapter, the discussion may begin with a brief
review of that type of religion from which Paulinism is thought
to have been derived. The review will again have to be of a most
cursory character, and will make free use of recent researches.[133]
Those researches are becoming more and more extensive in recent
years. The Hellenistic age is no longer regarded as a period of
hopeless decadence, but is commanding a larger and larger share of
attention from philologians and from students of the history of
religion. The sources, however, so far as the sphere of popular
religion is concerned, are rather meager. Complete unanimity of
opinion, therefore, even regarding fundamental matters, has by no
means been attained.

  [133] For example, Rohde, _Psyche_, 2 Bde, 3te Aufl., 1903; Farnell,
  _Cults of the Greek States_, vol. iii, 1907; Wendland, _Die
  hellenistisch-roemische Kultur_, 2te u. 3te Aufl., 1912; Anrich, _Das
  antike Mysterienwesen_, 1894; Cumont, _Les religions orientales dans
  le paganisme romain_, 2ieme ed., 1909 (English Translation, _The
  Oriental Religions in Roman Paganism_, 1911).

At the time of Paul, the civilized world was unified, politically,
under the Roman Empire. The native religion of Rome, however, was
not an important factor in the life of the Empire--certainly not in
the East. That religion had been closely bound up with the life of
the Roman city-state. It had been concerned largely with a system of
auguries and religious ceremonies intended to guide the fortunes of
the city and insure the favor of the gods. But there had been little
attempt to enter into any sort of personal contact with the gods or
even to produce any highly differentiated account of their nature.
The native religion of Rome, on the whole, seems to have been rather
a cold, unsatisfying affair. It aroused the emotions of the people
only because it was an expression of stern and sturdy patriotism.
And it tended to lose its influence when the horizon of the people
was broadened by contact with the outside world.

The most important change was wrought by contact with Greece. When
Rome began to extend her conquests into the East, the eastern
countries, to a very considerable extent, had already been
Hellenized, by the conquests of Alexander and by the Greek kingdoms
into which his short-lived empire had been divided. Thus the Roman
conquerors came into contact with Greek civilization, not only in
the Greek colonies in Sicily and southern Italy, not only in Greece
proper and on the AEgean coast of Asia Minor, but also to some extent
everywhere in the eastern world. No attempt was made to root out
the Greek influences. On the contrary, the conquerors to a very
considerable extent were conquered by those whom they had conquered;
Rome submitted herself, in the spiritual sphere, to the dominance of
Greece.

The Greek influence extended into the sphere of religion. At a very
early time, the ancient Roman gods were identified with the Greek
gods who possessed roughly analogous functions--Jupiter became Zeus,
for example, and Venus became Aphrodite. This identification brought
an important enrichment into Roman religion. The cold and lifeless
figures of the Roman pantheon began to take on the grace and beauty
and the clearly defined personal character which had been given to
their Greek counterparts by Homer and Hesiod and the dramatists
and Phidias and Praxiteles. Thus it is not to the ancient official
religion of Rome but to the rich pantheon of Homer that the student
must turn in order to find the spiritual ancestry of the religion of
the Hellenistic world.

Even before the time of Homer, Greek religion had undergone
development. Modern scholarship, at least, is no longer inclined
to find in Homer the artless simplicity of a primitive age. On the
contrary, the Homeric poems, it is now supposed, were the product
of a highly developed, aristocratic society, which must be thought
of as standing at the apex of a social order. Thus it is not to be
supposed that the religion of Homer was the only Hellenic religion
of Homer's day. On the contrary, even in the Homeric poems, it is
said, there appear here and there remnants of a popular primitive
religion--human sacrifice and the like--and many of the rough,
primitive conceptions which crop out in Greek life in the later
centuries were really present long before the Homeric age, and had
been preserved beneath the surface in the depths of a non-literary
popular religion. However much of truth there may be in these
contentions, it is at any rate clear that the Homeric poems exerted
an enormous influence upon subsequent generations. Even if they
were the product of a limited circle, even if they never succeeded
in eradicating the primitive conceptions, at least they did gain
enormous prestige and did become the most important single factor in
molding the religion of the golden age of Greece.

As determined by the Homeric poems, the religion of Greece was a
highly developed polytheism of a thoroughly anthropomorphic kind.
The Greek gods were simply men and women, with human passions and
human sins--more powerful, indeed, but not more righteous than
those who worshiped them. Such a religion was stimulating to the
highest art. Anthropomorphism gave free course to the imagination
of poets and sculptors. There is nothing lifeless about the gods
of Greece; whether portrayed by the chisel of sculptors or the pen
of poets, they are warm, living, breathing, human figures. But
however stimulating to the sense of beauty, the anthropomorphic
religion of Greece was singularly unsatisfying in the moral sphere.
If the gods were no better than men, the worship of them was not
necessarily ennobling. No doubt there was a certain moral quality
in the very act of worship. For worship was not always conceived
of as mere prudent propitiation of dangerous tyrants. Sometimes it
was conceived of as a duty, like the pious reverence which a child
should exhibit toward his parent. In the case of filial piety, as
in the case of piety toward the gods, the duty of reverence is
independent of the moral quality of the revered object. But in
both cases the very act of reverence may possess a certain moral
value. This admission, however, does not change the essential fact.
It remains true that the anthropomorphic character of the gods of
Greece, just because it stimulated the fancy of poets by attributing
human passions to the gods and so provided the materials of dramatic
art, at the same time prevented religion from lifting society above
the prevailing standards. The moral standards of snowy Olympus,
unfortunately, were not higher than those of the Athenian market
place.

In another way also, the polytheistic religion of Greece was
unsatisfying. It provided little hope of personal communion
between the gods and men. Religion, in Greece scarcely less than
in ancient Rome, was an affair of the state. A man was born into
his religion. An Athenian citizen, as such, was a worshiper of the
Athenian gods. There was little place for individual choice or
for individual devotion. Moreover, there was little place for the
mystical element in religion. The gods of Greece were in some sort,
indeed, companionable figures; they were similar to men; men could
understand the motives of their actions. But there was no way in
which companionship with them could find expression. There was a
time, indeed, when the gods had come down to earth to help the great
heroes who were their favorites or their sons. But such favors were
not given to ordinary mortals. The gods might be revered, but direct
and individual contact with them was for the most part not to be
attained.

These limitations, however, were not universal; and for purposes
of the present investigation the exceptions are far more important
than the rule. It is not true that the religion of Greece, even
previous to the golden age, was entirely devoid of enthusiasm or
individualism or mystic contact with the gods. The polytheism of
Homer, the polytheism of the Olympic pantheon, despite its wide
prevalence was not the only form of Greek religion. Along with the
worship of the Olympic gods there went also religious practices of a
very different kind. There was a place even in Greece for mystical
religion.

This mystical or enthusiastic element in the religion of Greece is
connected especially with the worship of Dionysus. Dionysus was not
originally a Greek god. He came from Thrace and is very closely
related to the Phrygian Sabazius. But, at an early time, his worship
was widely adopted in the Greek world. No doubt it was not adopted
entirely without modification; no doubt it was shorn of some of
those features which were most repulsive to the Greek genius. But
enough remained in order to affect very powerfully the character of
Greek religion.

The worship of Dionysus supplied, to some extent at least, just
those elements which were lacking in the religion of the Greek
city-state. In the first place, there was direct contact with the
god. The worshipers of Dionysus sought to attain contact with the
god partly by a divine frenzy, which was induced by wild music and
dancing, and partly by the crass method of eating the raw flesh
of the sacred animal, the bull. No doubt these savage practices
were often modified when they were introduced into Greece. It has
been thought, for example, that the frenzied dances and nightly
excursions to the wilds of the mountains, which originally had
been carried on in true self-forgetfulness, became in Greece rather
parts of an established cult. But on the whole, the influence of
Dionysus-worship must be regarded as very great. An element of true
mysticism or enthusiasm was introduced into the Greek world.

In the second place, the worship of Dionysus stimulated interest in
a future life. The Homeric poems had represented the existence of
the soul after death--at least the soul of an ordinary mortal--as
being a mere shadow-existence which could not be called life at
all. It is indeed questionable whether at this point Homer truly
represented the original Hellenic belief, or the popular belief
even of the time when the poems were written. Modern scholars have
detected in the Iliad and the Odyssey here and there remnants
of a more positive doctrine of a future life. But at any rate,
the worship of Dionysus brought such positive beliefs--if they
existed in Greece before--more to the surface. Thracian religion,
apparently, had concerned itself to a very considerable extent with
the future condition of the soul; the introduction of the Thracian
Dionysus, therefore, stimulated a similar interest in Greece.

Finally, the worship of Dionysus tended to separate religion from
the state and make it partly at least an affair of the individual
man. Such individualism is connected of course with the enthusiastic
character of the worship; a state religion as such is not likely to
be enthusiastic. The whole body of citizens cannot be possessed of
a divine frenzy, and if not, then those who have the experience are
likely to separate themselves to some extent from their countrymen.
It is not surprising, therefore, that the worshipers of Dionysus,
here and there, were inclined to unite themselves in sects or
brotherhoods.

The most important of these brotherhoods were connected with the
name of Orpheus, the mythical musician and seer. The origin of
the Orphic sects is indeed very obscure. Apparently, however,
they sprang up or became influential in the sixth century before
Christ, and were connected in some way with Dionysus. They seem to
have represented a reform of Dionysiac practice. At any rate, they
continued that interest in the future life which the worship of
Dionysus had already cultivated. Orphism is especially important
because it taught men to expect in the future life not only rewards
but also punishments. The soul after death, according to Orphic
doctrine, was subject to an indefinite succession of reincarnations,
not only in the bodies of men, but also in those of animals.
These reincarnations were regarded as an evil, because the body
was thought of as a prison-house of the soul. At last, however,
the righteous soul attains purification, and, escaping from the
succession of births, enters into a blessed existence.

Related in some way to the Orphic sects were the brotherhoods that
owned Pythagoras as their master. But the relation between the two
movements is not perfectly plain.

At any rate, both Orphism and Pythagoreanism stand apart from
the official cults of the Greek states. Even within those cults,
however, there were not wanting some elements which satisfied more
fully than the ordinary worship of the Olympic gods the longing of
individual men for contact with the higher powers and for a blessed
immortality. Such elements were found in the "mysteries," of which
far the most important were the mysteries of Eleusis.[134] The
Eleusinian Mysteries originated in the worship of Demeter that was
carried on at Eleusis, a town in Attica some fifteen miles from
Athens. When Eleusis was conquered by Athens, the Eleusinian cult of
Demeter, far from suffering eclipse, was adopted by the conquerors
and so attained unparalleled influence. Characteristic of the cult
as so developed was the secrecy of its central rites; the Eleusinian
cult of Demeter became (if it was not one already) a mystery-cult,
whose secrets were divulged only to the initiates. The terms of
admission, however, were very broad. All persons of Greek race, even
slaves--except those persons who were stained with bloodguiltiness
or the like--could be admitted. As so constituted, the Eleusinian
Mysteries were active for some ten centuries; they continued until
the very end of pagan antiquity.

  [134] On the Eleusinian Mysteries and the cult of Demeter and
  Kore-Persephone, see especially Farnell, _op. cit._, iii, pp.
  29-279.

Initiation into the mysteries took place ordinarily in three stages;
the candidate was first initiated into the "lesser mysteries" at
Agrae near Athens in the spring; then into a first stage of the
"great mysteries" at Eleusis in the following autumn; then a year
later his initiation was completed at Eleusis by the reception of
the mystic vision. The mysteries of Eleusis were prepared for by a
succession of acts about which some information has been preserved.
These acts were extended over a period of days. First the sacred
objects were brought from Eleusis to Athens. Then the candidates
for initiation, who had purified themselves by abstinence from
certain kinds of food and from sexual intercourse, were called
upon to assemble. Then, at the cry, "To the sea, O mystae!" the
candidates went to the sea-coast, where they made sacrifice of a
pig, and purified themselves by washing in the sea water. Then came
the solemn procession from Athens to Eleusis, interrupted by ribald
jests at the passage of the river Cephissus. The initiation itself
took place in the "telesterion." What happened there is obscure;
antiquity has well observed the secrecy which was essential to
the mysteries. Certainly, however, the ceremony was accompanied,
or rather, perhaps, preceded, by the drinking of the "kykeon," a
mixture composed of water and barley-meal and other ingredients.
The significance of this act is not really known. It would be very
rash, for example, to assert that the partaking of the kykeon
was sacramental, or was thought of as imparting a new nature to
the recipients. Apparently the kykeon did not have a part in the
mysteries themselves, for if it had, it could hardly have been
spoken of so openly by pagan writers. The mysteries seem to have
consisted in some sort of sacred drama, representing the search of
Demeter for her daughter Persephone who had been carried off to the
lower world, and in the exhibition of sacred emblems or of images
of the gods. Hippolytus scornfully says that the supreme object of
mystic awe was a cut corn-stalk.[135] His testimony is variously
estimated. But it is quite possible that he has here given us
genuine information. Since Demeter was the goddess of the fertility
of the soil, the corn-stalk was not ill fitted to be her sacred
emblem.

  [135] Hippolytus, _Ref. omn. haer._, V. viii. 39 (ed. Wendland,
  1916).

It has been supposed that the cult of Demeter at Eleusis was
originally an agrarian cult, intended to celebrate or to induce the
fertility of the soil. But the chief significance of the mysteries
was found in another sphere. In the mysteries, the cult goddesses,
Demeter and Persephone, were thought of chiefly as goddesses of the
nether world, the abode of the dead; and the mysteries were valued
chiefly as providing a guarantee of a blessed immortality. How the
guarantee was given is quite obscure. But the fact is well attested.
Those who had been initiated into the mysteries were able to expect
a better lot in the future life than the lot of the generality of
men.

The mysteries at Eleusis were not the only mysteries which were
practised in the golden age of Greece. There were not only offshoots
of the Eleusinian mysteries in various places, but also independent
mysteries like those of the Kabeiri on the island of Samothrace.
But the mysteries at Eleusis were undoubtedly the most important,
and the others are even less fully known. The moral value of the
mysteries, including those at Eleusis, should not be exaggerated.
Slight allusions in pagan writers seem to point here and there to a
purifying moral effect wrought by initiation. But the indications
are not very clear. Certainly the secrets of Eleusis did not consist
in any body of teaching, either religious or ethical. The effect was
produced, not upon the intellect, but upon the emotions and upon the
imagination.

Thus the religion of the golden age of Greece was an anthropomorphic
polytheism, closely connected with the life of the city-state, but
relieved here and there by practices intended to provide more direct
contact with the divine or bestow special blessing upon individuals.

The religion of Greece was finally undermined by at least three
agencies.

In the first place, philosophy tended to destroy belief in the
gods. The philosophic criticism of the existing religion was partly
theoretical and partly ethical. The theoretical criticism arose
especially through the search for a unifying principle operative
in the universe. If the manifold phenomena of the universe were
all reduced to a single cause, the gods might indeed still be
thought of as existing, but their importance was gone. There was
thus a tendency either toward monotheism or else toward some sort
of materialistic monism. But the objections which philosophy
raised against the existing polytheism were ethical as well as
theoretical. The Homeric myths were rightly felt to be immoral; the
imitation of the Homeric gods would result in moral degradation.
Thus if the myths were still to be retained they could not be
interpreted literally, but had to be given some kind of allegorical
interpretation.

This opposition of philosophy to the existing religion was often
not explicit, and it did not concern religious practice. Even those
philosophers whose theory left no room for the existence or at
least the importance of the gods, continued to engage loyally in
the established cults. But although the superstructure of religion
remained, the foundation, to some extent at least, was undermined.

In the second place, since religion in ancient Greece had been
closely connected with the city-states, the destruction of the
states brought important changes in religion. The Greek states lost
their independence through the conquests of Philip of Macedon and
Alexander the Great. Those conquests meant, indeed, a wide extension
of Greek culture throughout the eastern world. But the religion of
Alexander's empire and of the kingdoms into which it was divided
after his death was widely different from the religion of Athens in
her glory. Cosmopolitanism brought mighty changes in religion, as in
the political sphere.

In the third place, the influence of the eastern religions made
itself more and more strongly felt. That influence was never indeed
dominant in the life of Greece proper so completely as it was in
some other parts of the world. But in general it was very important.
When the Olympic gods lost their place in the minds and hearts of
men, other gods were ready to take their place.

Before any account can be given of the eastern religions taken
separately, and of their progress toward the west, it may be well to
mention certain general characteristics of the period which followed
the conquests of Alexander. That period, which extended several
centuries into the Christian era, is usually called the Hellenistic
age, to distinguish it from the Hellenic period which had gone
before.

The Hellenistic age was characterized, in the first place, by
cosmopolitanism. Natural and racial barriers to an astonishing
extent were broken down; the world, at least the educated world
of the cities, was united by the bonds of a common language, and
finally by a common political control. The common language was the
Koine, the modified form of the Attic dialect of Greek, which became
the vehicle of a world-civilization. The common political control
was that of the Roman Empire. On account of the union of these two
factors, inter-communication between various nations and races
was safe and easy; the nations were united both in trade and in
intellectual activity.

With the cosmopolitanism thus produced there went naturally a new
individualism, which extended into the religious sphere. Under
the city-state of ancient Greece the individual was subordinated
to the life of the community. But in the world-empire the control
of the state, just because it was broader, was at the same time
looser. Patriotism no longer engrossed the thoughts of men. It was
impossible for a subject of a great empire to identify himself with
the life of the empire so completely as the free Athenian citizen of
the age of Pericles had identified himself with the glories of his
native city. Thus the satisfactions which in that earlier period had
been sought in the life of the state, including the state-religion,
were in the Hellenistic age sought rather in individual religious
practice.

The ancient religions of the city-state did indeed find a successor
which was adapted to the changed condition. That successor was
the worship of the Emperors. The worship of the Emperors was more
than a mere form of flattery. It expressed a general gratitude
for the reign of peace which was introduced by Augustus, and it
had its roots, not only in Greek religion, but also, and far more
fundamentally, in the religions of the East. The worship of the
rulers was firmly established in the kingdoms into which Alexander's
empire was divided, and from there it was transmitted very naturally
to the new and greater empire of Rome. Very naturally it became a
dangerous enemy of the Christian Church; for the refusal of the
Christians to worship the Emperor seemed inexplicable to an age of
polytheism, and gave rise to the charge of political disloyalty.
At first, however, and so during the period of Paul's missionary
journeys, the Church shared more or less in the special privileges
which were granted to the Jews. Christianity at first seemed to be
a variety of Judaism, and Judaism in Roman practice was a _religio
licita_.

But the worship of the Emperors, important as it was, was not
practised in any exclusive way; it did not at all exclude the
worship of other gods. It remains true, therefore, that in the
Hellenistic age, far more than under the ancient Greek city-state,
there was room for individual choice in religious practice.

It is not surprising that such an age was an age of religious
propaganda. Since religion was no longer an affair of the nation
as such, but addressed itself to men as men, free scope was offered
for the extension to the whole world of religions which originally
had been national in character. The golden age of such religious
propaganda, it is true, did not begin until the second century; and
that fact is of very great importance in dealing with certain modern
theories of dependence so far as Pauline Christianity is concerned.
Nevertheless the cosmopolitanizing of national religions had begun
to some extent in an early period and was rendered natural by the
entire character of the Hellenistic age. Even before the fall of the
Greek city-state, little communities of the worshipers of eastern
gods had established themselves here and there in Greece; and in
other parts of the world the barriers against religious propaganda
were even less effective. In the Hellenistic age such barriers were
almost everywhere broken down. When any religion ceased to be an
affair of the nation, when it could no longer count on the devotion
of the citizens or subjects as such, it was obliged, if it desired
to subsist, to seek its devotees through an appeal to the free
choice of individuals.

This religious propaganda, however, was not carried on in any
exclusive way; the adoption of one god did not mean the abandonment
of another. On the contrary, the Hellenistic age was the age of
syncretism _par excellence_. Gods of different nations, originally
quite distinct, were identified almost as a matter of course. One
example of such identification has already been noted; at an early
time the gods of Rome were identified with those of Greece. But
in the later portion of the Hellenistic age the process went on
in more wholesale fashion. And it was sometimes justified by the
far-reaching theory that the gods of different nations were merely
different names of one great divinity. This theory received classic
expression in the words of the goddess Isis which are contained in
the "Metamorphoses" of Apuleius: "For the Phrygians that are the
first of all men call me the Mother of the gods at Pessinus; the
Athenians, which are sprung from their own soil, Cecropian Minerva;
the Cyprians, which are girt about by the sea, Paphian Venus; the
Cretans which bear arrows, Dictynnian Diana; the Sicilians, which
speak three tongues, infernal Proserpine; the Eleusians their
ancient goddess Ceres; some Juno, other Bellona, other Hecate,
other Rhamnusia, and principally both sort of the Ethiopians which
dwell in the Orient and are enlightened by the morning rays of the
sun, and the Egyptians, which are excellent in all kind of ancient
doctrine, and by their proper ceremonies accustom to worship me, do
call me by my true name, Queen Isis."[136]

  [136] Apuleius, _Metam._ xi. 5, Addington's translation revised by
  Gaselee, in Apuleius, _The Golden Ass_, in the _The Loeb Classical
  Library_, p. 547.

But what is perhaps the most important feature of the religion of
the Hellenistic age has not yet been mentioned. It is found in
the widespread desire for redemption. In the golden age of Greece
men had been satisfied with the world. Who could engage in gloomy
questionings, who could face the underlying problem of evil, when
it was possible to listen with keen appreciation to an ode of
Pindar or to a tragedy of AEschylus? The Greek tragic poets, it is
true, present in terrible fashion the sterner facts of life. But
the glorious beauty of the presentation itself produces a kind of
satisfaction. In the age of Pericles, life was rich and full; for
the Athenian citizen it was a joy to live. The thought of another
world was not needed; this world was large and rich enough. Joyous
development of existing human faculties was, in the golden age of
Greece, the chief end of man.

But the glorious achievements of the Greek genius were followed by
lamentable failure. There was failure in political life. Despite the
political genius of Athenian statesmen, Athens soon lay prostrate,
first before her sister states and then before the Macedonian
conqueror. There was failure in intellectual life. The glorious
achievements of Athenian art were followed by a period of decline.
Poets and sculptors had to find their inspiration in imitation of
the past. Human nature, once so proud, was obliged to confess its
inadequacy; the Hellenistic age was characterized by what Gilbert
Murray, borrowing a phrase of J. B. Bury, calls a "failure of
nerve."[137]

  [137] Gilbert Murray, _Four Stages of Greek Religion_, 1912, pp. 8,
  103-154. Compare, however, Rohde (_op. cit._, ii, pp. 298-300), who
  calls attention to an opposite aspect of the Hellenistic age.

This failure of nerve found expression, in the religious sphere,
in the longing for redemption. The world was found not to be so
happy a place as had been supposed, and human nature was obliged
to seek help from outside. Thus arose the desire for "salvation."
The characteristic gods of the Hellenistic age are in some sort
saviour-gods--gods who could give help in the miseries of life.
Asclepius finally became more important than Zeus. Dissatisfied
with the world of sense, men turned their thoughts to another world;
dissatisfied with the achievements of human nature, they sought
communion with higher powers.

Opinions may differ as to the value of this development. To the
humanist of all ages, it will seem to be a calamity. From the
glories of Pindar to the morbid practices of the Hellenistic
mysteries, how great a fall! But there is another way of regarding
the change. Possibly the achievements of ancient Greece, glorious as
they were, had been built upon an insecure foundation. Scrutiny of
the foundation was no doubt painful, and it dulled the enthusiasm
of the architects. But perhaps it was necessary and certainly it
was inevitable. Perhaps also it might become a step toward some
higher humanism. The Greek joy of living was founded upon a certain
ruthlessness toward human misery, a certain indifference toward
moral problems. Such a joy could not be permanent. But how would
it be if the underlying problem could be faced, instead of being
ignored? How would it be if human nature could be founded upon some
secure rock, in order that then the architect might start to build
once more, and build, this time, with a conscience void of offense?
Such is the Christian ideal, the ideal of a loftier humanism--a
humanism as rich and as joyful as the humanism of Greece, but a
humanism founded upon the grace of God.

But however "the failure of nerve" which appears in the Hellenistic
age be appreciated by the student of the philosophy of history,
the fact at least cannot be ignored. The Hellenistic age was
characterized by a widespread longing for redemption--a widespread
longing for an escape from the present world of sense to some higher
and better country. Such longing was not satisfied by the ancient
religion of Greece. It caused men, therefore, to become seekers
after new gods.

But what was the attitude of philosophy? Philosophy had contributed
to the decline of the ancient gods. Had it been equally successful
on the positive side? Had it been able to fill the void which its
questionings had produced. The answer on the whole must be rendered
in the negative. On the whole, it must be said that Greek philosophy
was unsuccessful in its efforts to solve the riddle of the universe.
The effort which it made was indeed imposing. Plato in particular
endeavored to satisfy the deepest longings of the human soul; he
attempted to provide an escape from the world of sense to the
higher world of ideas. But the way of escape was open at best only
to the few philosophical souls; the generality of men were left
hopeless and helpless in the shadow-existence of the cave. And even
the philosophers were not long satisfied with the Platonic solution.
The philosophy of the Hellenistic age was either openly skeptical or
materialistic, as is the case, for example, with Epicureanism, or
at any rate it abandoned the great theoretical questions and busied
itself chiefly with practical affairs. Epicureans and Stoics and
Cynics were all interested chiefly, not in ontology or epistemology,
but in ethics. At this point the first century was like the
twentieth. The distrust of theory, the depreciation of theology,
the exclusive interest in social and practical questions--these
tendencies appear now as they appeared in the Hellenistic age. And
now as well as then they are marks of intellectual decadence.

But if the philosophy of the Hellenistic age offered no satisfactory
solution of the riddle of the universe and no satisfaction for the
deepest longings of the soul, it presented, on the other hand, no
effective opposition to the religious current of the time. It had
helped bring about that downfall of the Olympic gods, that sad
neglect of Zeus and his altars which is described by Lucian in his
wonderfully modern satires. But it was not able to check the rising
power of the eastern religions. Indeed it entered into a curious
alliance with the invaders. As early as the first century before
Christ, Posidonius seems to have introduced an element of oriental
mysticism into the philosophy of the Stoics, and in the succeeding
centuries the process went on apace. The climax was reached, at the
close of pagan antiquity, in that curious mixture of philosophy and
charlatanism which is found in the neo-Platonic writers.

The philosophy of the Hellenistic age, with its intense interest in
questions of conduct, constitutes, indeed, an important chapter in
the history of the human race, and can point to certain noteworthy
achievements. The Stoics, for example, enunciated the great
principle of human brotherhood; they made use of the cosmopolitanism
and individualism of the Hellenistic age in order to arouse a new
interest in man as man. Even the slaves, who in the theory of an
Aristotle had been treated as chattels, began to be looked upon here
and there as members of a great human family. Men of every race and
of every social grade came to be the object of a true humanitarian
interest.

But the humanitarian efforts of Stoicism, though proceeding from an
exalted theory of the worth of man as man, proved to be powerless.
The dynamic somehow was lacking. Despite the teaching of Seneca
and Marcus Aurelius, despite the beginnings of true humanitarian
effort here and there, the later Empire with its cruel gladiatorial
shows and its heartless social system was sinking into the slough
of savagery. What Stoicism was unable to do, Christianity to some
extent at least accomplished. The ideal of Christianity was not
the mere ideal of a human brotherhood. Pure humanitarianism, the
notion of "the brotherhood of man," as that phrase is usually
understood, is Stoic rather than Christian. Christianity did make
its appeal to all men; it won many of its first adherents from
the depths of slavery. It did inculcate charity toward all men
whether Christians or not. And it enunciated with an unheard-of
seriousness the doctrine that all classes of men, wise and unwise,
bond and free, are of equal worth. But the equality was not found
in the common possession of human nature. It was found, instead,
in a common connection with Jesus Christ. "There can be neither
Jew nor Greek, there can be neither bond nor free, there can be
no male and female"--so far the words of Paul can find analogies
(faint analogies, it is true) in the Stoic writers. But the Pauline
grounding of the unity here enunciated is the very antithesis of
all mere humanitarianism both ancient and modern--"For ye are all
one person," says Paul, "in Christ Jesus." Christianity did not
reveal the fact that all men were brothers. Indeed it revealed the
contrary. But it offered to make all men brothers by bringing them
into saving connection with Christ.

The above sketch of the characteristics of the Hellenistic age has
been quite inadequate. And even a fuller presentation could hardly
do justice to the complexity of the life of that time. But perhaps
some common misconceptions have been corrected. The pagan world at
the time when Paul set sail from Seleucia on his first missionary
journey was not altogether without religion. Even the ancient
polytheism was by no means altogether dead. It was rather a day of
religious unrest. The old faiths had been shaken, but they were
making room for the new. The Orontes, to use the figure of Juvenal,
was soon to empty into the Tiber. The flow of eastern superstition
and eastern mystical religion was soon to spread over the whole
world.

But what were the eastern religions which in the second century
after Christ, if not before, entered upon their triumphal march
toward the west?[138] They were of diverse origin and diverse
character. But one feature was common to a number of the most
important of them. Those eastern religions which became most
influential in the later Roman Empire were mystery religions--that
is, they had connected with them secret rites which were thought
to afford special blessing to the initiates. The mysteries did not
indeed constitute the whole of the worship of the eastern gods. Side
by side with the mysteries were to be found public cults to which
every one was admitted. But the mysteries are of special interest,
because it was they which satisfied most fully the longing of the
Hellenistic age for redemption, for "salvation," for the attainment
of a higher nature.

  [138] The sketch which follows is indebted especially to Cumont,
  _Les religions orientales dans le paganisme romain_, 2ieme ed., 1909
  (English translation, _The Oriental Religions in Roman Paganism_,
  1911).

It will be well, therefore, to single out for special mention the
chief of the mystery religions--those eastern religions which
although they were by no means altogether secret did have mysteries
connected with them.

The first of these religions to be introduced into Rome was
the religion of the Phrygian Cybele, the "Great Mother of the
Gods."[139] In 204 B.C., in the dark days of the Carthaginian
invasion, the black meteoric stone of Pessinus was brought, by
command of an oracle, to Rome. With the sacred stone came the cult.
But Rome was not yet ready for the barbaric worship of the Phrygian
goddess. For several hundred years the cult of Cybele was kept
carefully isolated from the life of the Roman people. The foreign
rites were supported by the authority of the state, but they were
conducted altogether by a foreign priesthood; no Roman citizen
was allowed to participate in them. It was not until the reign of
Claudius (41-54 A.D.) that the barrier was finally broken down.

  [139] For the religion of Cybele and Attis, see Showerman, _The
  Great Mother of the Gods_, 1901; Hepding, _Attis_, 1903.

The myth of Cybele is narrated in various forms. According to the
most characteristic form, the youthful Attis, beloved by Cybele,
is struck with madness by the jealous goddess, deprives himself
of his virility, dies through his own mad act, and is mourned by
the goddess. The myth contains no account of a resurrection; all
that Cybele is able to obtain is that the body of Attis should be
preserved, that his hair should continue to grow, and that his
little finger should move.

The cult was more stable than the myth. No doubt, indeed, even the
cult experienced important changes in the course of the centuries.
At the beginning, according to Hepding and Cumont, Cybele was
a goddess of the mountain wilds, whose worship was similar in
important respects to that of Dionysus. With Cybele Attis was
associated at an early time. The Phrygian worship of Cybele and
Attis was always of a wild, orgiastic character, and the frenzy
of the worshipers culminated even in the act of self-mutilation.
Thus the eunuch-priests of Cybele, the "Galli," became a well-known
feature of the life of the Empire. But the Phrygian cult of Cybele
and Attis cannot be reconstructed by any means in detail; extensive
information has been preserved only about the worship as it was
carried on at Rome. And even with regard to the Roman cult, the
sources of information are to a very considerable extent late. It
is not certain, therefore, that the great spring festival of Attis,
as it was celebrated in the last period of the Roman Empire, was an
unmodified reproduction of the original Phrygian rites.

The Roman festival was conducted as follows:[140] On March 15, there
was a preliminary festival. On March 22, the sacred pine-tree was
felled and carried in solemn procession by the "Dendrophori" into
the temple of Cybele. The pine-tree appears in the myth as the tree
under which Attis committed his act of self-mutilation. In the cult,
the felling of the tree is thought by modern scholars to represent
the death of the god. Hence the mourning of the worshipers was
connected with the tree. March 24 was called the "day of blood";
on this day the mourning for the dead Attis reached its climax.
The Galli chastised themselves with scourges and cut themselves
with knives--all to the wild music of the drums and cymbals which
were connected especially with the worship of the Phrygian Mother.
On this day also, according to Hepding's conjecture, the new
Galli dedicated themselves to the service of the goddess by the
act of self-mutilation. Finally, the resurrection or epiphany of
the god Attis was celebrated. This took place perhaps during the
night between March 24 and March 25. But Hepding admits that the
time is not directly attested. It is also only conjecture when a
famous passage of Firmicus Maternus (fourth century after Christ)
is applied to the worship of Attis and to this part of it.[141] But
the conjecture may well be correct. Firmicus Maternus[142] describes
a festival in which the figure of a god rests upon a bier and is
lamented, and then a light is brought in and the priest exclaims,
"Be of good courage, ye initiates, since the god is saved; for
to us there shall be salvation out of troubles."[143] Apparently
the resurrection of the god is here regarded as the cause of the
salvation of the worshipers; the worshipers share in the fortunes
of the god. At any rate, March 25 in the Roman Attis festival was
the "Hilaria," a day of rejoicing. On this day, the resurrection of
the god was celebrated. March 26 was a day of rest; and finally,
on March 27, there was a solemn washing of the sacred images and
emblems.

  [140] See Hepding, _op. cit._, pp. 147-176.

  [141] Loisy (_Les mysteres paiens et le mystere chretien_, 1910, p.
  104) prefers to attach the passage to Osiris rather than to Attis.

  [142] See Hepding, _op. cit._, pp. 166, 167.

  [143] Firmicus Maternus, _De error, prof. rel._, xxii (ed. Ziegler,
  1907):

      +Tharreite mustai tou Theou sesosmenou
       estai gar emin ek ponon soteria+.

As thus described, the worship of Cybele and Attis was, for the
most part at least, public. But there were also mysteries connected
with the same two gods. These mysteries apparently were practised
in the East before the cult was brought to Rome. But the eastern
form of their celebration is quite obscure, and even about the
Roman form very little is known. Connected with the mysteries was
some sort of sacred meal.[144] Firmicus Maternus has preserved the
formula: "I have eaten from the drum; I have drunk from the cymbal;
I have become an initiate of Attis."[145] And Clement of Alexandria
(about 200 A. D.) also connected a similar formula with the
Phrygian mysteries: "I ate from the drum; I drank from the cymbal;
I carried the 'kernos'; I stole into the bridal chamber."[146]
The significance of this ritual eating and drinking is not clear.
Certainly it would be rash to find in it the notion of new birth or
sacramental union with the divine nature. Hepding suggests that it
meant rather the entrance of the initiate into the circle of the
table-companions of the god.

  [144] See Hepding, _op. cit._, pp. 184-190.

  [145] Firmicus Maternus, _op. cit._, xviii: ek tumpanou bebroka,
  ek kumbalon pepoka, gegona muates Atteos.

  [146] Clem. Al., _Protrepticus_, ii. 15 (ed. Staehlin, 1905): +ek
  tympanou hephagon ek kymbalou hepion ekernophoresa upo ton paston
  hypedun+.

The actual initiation is even more obscure in the Attis mysteries
than it is in those of Eleusis; Hepding admits that his
reconstruction of the details of the mysteries is based largely on
conjecture. Possibly in the formula quoted above from Clement of
Alexandria, the words, "I stole into the bridal chamber," indicate
that there was some sort of representation of a sacred marriage;
but other interpretations of the Greek words are possible. Hepding
suggests that the candidate entered into the grotto, descended into
a ditch within the grotto, listened to lamentations for the dead
god, received a blood-bath, then saw a wonderful light, and heard
the joyful words quoted above: "Be of good courage, ye initiates,
since the god is saved; for to us shall there be salvation out of
troubles," and finally that the candidate arose out of the ditch as
a new man ("reborn for eternity") or rather as a being identified
with the god.[147]

  [147] Hepding, _op. cit._, pp. 196ff.

According to this reconstruction, the initiation represented the
death and the new birth of the candidate. But the reconstruction is
exceedingly doubtful, and some of the most important features of
it are attested in connection with the Attis mysteries if at all
only in very late sources. Hepding is particularly careful to admit
that there is no direct documentary evidence for connecting the
blood-bath with the March festival.

This blood-bath, which is called the taurobolium, requires special
attention. The one who received it descended into a pit over
which a lattice-work was placed. A bull was slaughtered above the
lattice-work, and the blood was allowed to run through into the pit,
where the recipient let it saturate his clothing and even enter
his nose and mouth and ears. The result was that the recipient was
"reborn forever," or else reborn for a period of twenty years,
after which the rite had to be repeated. The taurobolium is thought
to have signified a death to the old life and a new birth into a
higher, divine existence. But it is not perfectly clear that it had
that significance in the East and in the early period. According to
Hepding, the taurobolium was in the early period a mere sacrifice,
and the first man who is said to have received it in the sense just
described was the Emperor Heliogabalus (third century after Christ).
Other scholars refuse to accept Hepding's distinction between an
earlier and a later form of the rite. But the matter is at least
obscure, and it would be exceedingly rash to attribute pre-Christian
origin to the developed taurobolium as it appears in fourth-century
sources. Indeed, there seems to be no mention of any kind of
taurobolium whatever before the second century,[148] and Hepding may
be correct in suggesting that possibly the fourth-century practice
was influenced by the Christian doctrine of the blood of Christ.[149]

  [148] Showerman, _op. cit._, p. 280.

  [149] Hepding, _op. cit._, p. 200, Anm. 7.

No less important than the religion of Cybele and Attis was the
Greco-Egyptian religion of Isis and Osiris. Isis and Osiris are both
ancient Egyptian gods, whose worship, in modified form, was carried
over first into the Greek kingdom of the Ptolemies, and thence into
the remotest bounds of the Roman Empire. The myth which concerns
these gods is reported at length in Plutarch's treatise, "Concerning
Isis and Osiris." Briefly it is as follows: Osiris, the brother
and husband of Isis, after ruling in a beneficent manner over the
Egyptians, is plotted against by his brother Typhon. Finally Typhon
makes a chest and promises to give it to any one who exactly fits
it. Osiris enters the chest, which is then closed by Typhon and
thrown into the Nile. After a search, Isis finds the chest at Byblos
on the coast of Phoenicia, and brings it back to Egypt. But Typhon
succeeds in getting possession of the body of Osiris and cuts it up
into fourteen parts, which are scattered through Egypt. Isis goes
about collecting the parts. Osiris becomes king of the nether world,
and helps his son Horus to gain a victory over Typhon.

The worship of Isis and Osiris was prominent in ancient Egyptian
religion long before the entrance of Greek influence. Osiris was
regarded as the ruler over the dead, and as such was naturally very
important in a religion in which supreme attention was given to a
future life. But with the establishment of the Ptolemaic kingdom at
about 300 B. C., there was an important modification of the worship.
A new god, Serapis, was introduced, and was closely identified with
Osiris. The origin of the name Serapis has been the subject of much
discussion and is still obscure. But one motive for the introduction
of the new divinity (or of the new name for an old divinity) is
perfectly plain. Ptolemy I desired to unify the Egyptian and the
Greek elements in his kingdom by providing a cult which would be
acceptable to both and at the same time intensely loyal to the
crown. The result was the Greco-Egyptian cult of Serapis (Osiris)
and Isis. Here is to be found, then, the remarkable phenomenon of
a religion deliberately established for political reasons, which,
despite its artificial origin, became enormously successful. Of
course, the success was obtained only by a skillful use of existing
beliefs, which had been hallowed in Egyptian usage from time
immemorial, and by a skillful clothing of those beliefs in forms
acceptable to the Greek element in the population.

The religion of Isis and Serapis was, as Cumont observes, entirely
devoid of any established system of theology or any very lofty
ethics. It was effective rather on account of its gorgeous ritual,
which was handed down from generation to generation with meticulous
accuracy, and on account of the assurance which it gave of a blessed
immortality, the worshipers being conceived of as sharing in the
resuscitation which Osiris had obtained. The worship was at first
repulsive to Roman ideals of gravity, but effected an official
entrance into the city in the reign of Caligula (37-41 A. D.).
In the second and third centuries it was extended over the whole
Empire. In alliance with the religion of Mithras it became finally
perhaps the most serious rival of Christianity.

The cult was partly public and partly private. Prominent in the
public worship were the solemn opening of the temple of Isis in
the morning and the solemn closing in the afternoon. Elaborate
care was taken of the images of the gods--the gods being regarded
as dependent upon human ministrations. Besides the rites that were
conducted daily, there were special festivals like the spring
festival of the "ship of Isis" which is brilliantly described by
Apuleius.

But it is the mysteries which arouse the greatest interest,
especially because of the precious source of information about
them which is found in the eleventh book of the Metamorphoses of
Apuleius (second century after Christ). In this book, although the
secrets of the mysteries themselves are of course not revealed,
Apuleius has given a more complete and orderly account of the
events connected with an initiation than is to be found anywhere
else in ancient literature. The hero Lucius is represented first
as waiting for a summons from the goddess Isis, which comes with
miraculous coincidence independently to him and to the priest who
is to officiate in his initiation. Then Lucius is taken into the
temple and made acquainted with certain mysterious books, and also
washes his body at the nearest baths. This washing has as little
as possible the appearance of a sacrament; evidently it was not
intended to produce "regeneration" or anything of the sort.[150] The
purpose of it seems to have been cleanliness, which was naturally
regarded as a preparation for the holy rite that was to follow.
There follows a ten days' period of fasting, after which the day of
initiation arrives. Lucius is taken into the most secret place of
the temple. Of what happens there he speaks with the utmost reserve.
He says, however: "I came to the limits of death, and having trod
the threshold of Proserpine and been borne through all the elements
I returned; at midnight I saw the sun shining with a bright light; I
came into the presence of the upper and nether gods and adored them
near at hand."[151] It is often supposed that these words indicate
some sort of mysterious drama or vision, which marked the death
of the initiate, his passage through the elements, and his rising
to a new life. But certainly the matter is very obscure. The next
morning Lucius is clothed with gorgeous robes, and is presented to
the gaze of the multitude. Apparently he is regarded as partaking
of the divine nature. Two other initiations of Lucius are narrated,
one of them being an initiation into the mysteries of Osiris, as
the first had been into the mysteries of Isis. But little is added
by the account of these later experiences, and it has even been
suggested that the multiplication of the initiations was due to the
self-interest of the priests rather than to any real advantage for
the initiate.

  [150] But compare Kennedy, _St. Paul and the Mystery-Religions_,
  1913, p. 229.

  [151] Apuleius, _Metam._, xi. 23 (ed. Van der Vliet, 1897, p. 270):
  "Accessi confinium mortis et calcato Proserpinae limine per omnia
  vectus elementa remeavi; nocte media vidi solem candido coruscantem
  lumine; deos inferos et deos superos accessi coram et adoravi de
  proxumo."

Similar in important respects to the Egyptian Osiris was the Adonis
of Phoenicia, who may therefore be mentioned in the present
connection, even though little is known about mysteries connected
with his worship. According to the well-known myth, the youth
Adonis, beloved by Aphrodite, was killed by a wild boar, and then
bemoaned by the goddess. The cult of Adonis was found in various
places, notably at Byblos in Phoenicia, where the death and
resurrection of the god were celebrated. With regard to this double
festival, Lucian says in his treatise "On the Syrian Goddess": "They
[the inhabitants of Byblos] assert that the legend about Adonis
and the wild boar is true, and that the facts occurred in their
country, and in memory of this calamity they beat their breasts
and wail every year, and perform their secret ritual amid signs of
mourning through the whole countryside. When they have finished
their mourning and wailing, they sacrifice in the first place to
Adonis, as to one who has departed this life: after this they allege
that he is alive again, and exhibit his effigy to the sky."[152] The
wailing for Adonis at Byblos is similar to what is narrated about
the worship of the Babylonian god Tammuz. Even the Old Testament
mentions in a noteworthy passage "the women weeping for Tammuz"
(Ezek. viii. 14). But the Tammuz-worship does not seem to have
contained any celebration of a resurrection.

  [152] Lucian, _De dea syria_, 6, translation of Garstang (_The
  Syrian Goddess_, 1913, pp. 45f.).

Attis, Osiris, and Adonis are alike in that all of them are
apparently represented as dying and coming to life again. They
are regarded by Brueckner[153] and many other modern scholars
as representing the widespread notion of a "dying and rising
saviour-god." But it is perhaps worthy of note that the
"resurrection" of these gods is very different from what is meant
by that word in Christian belief. The myth of Attis, for example,
contains no mention of a resurrection; though apparently the cult,
in which mourning is followed by gladness, did presuppose some such
notion. In the myth of Osiris, also, there is nothing that could
be called resurrection; after his passion the god becomes ruler,
not over the living, but over the dead. In Lucian's description
of the worship of Adonis at Byblos, there is perhaps as clear an
account as is to be found anywhere of the celebration of the dying
and resuscitation of a god, but even in this account there is not
strictly speaking a resurrection. A tendency is found in certain
recent writers to exaggerate enormously the prevalence and the
clarity of the pagan ideas about a dying and rising god.

  [153] _Der sterbende und auferstehende Gottheiland_, 1908.

According to a common opinion, Attis, Osiris, and Adonis are
vegetation-gods; their dying and resuscitation represent, then,
the annual withering and revival of vegetation. This hypothesis
has attained general, though not universal, acceptance. Certainly
the facts are very complex. At any rate, the celebration of the
principle of fecundity in nature was not of a purely agrarian
character, but found expression also in the gross symbols and
immoral practices which appear in connection with the gods just
mentioned at various points in the ancient world.

The most important of the religions which have just been examined
had their rise in Asia Minor and in Egypt. No less important, at
least in the last period of pagan antiquity, was the religious
influence of Syria. The Syrian gods, called "Baals" ("Lords"), were
not, according to Cumont, distinguished from one another by any
clearly defined characteristics. Every locality had its own Baal
and a female divinity as the Baal's consort, but the attributes of
these local gods were of the vaguest character. The female divinity
Atargatis, whose temple at Hierapolis is described by Lucian, and
the male divinity Hadad, of Heliopolis, are among the best-known of
the Syrian gods. The Syrian worship was characterized by especially
immoral and revolting features, but seems to have become ennobled by
the introduction of the Babylonian worship of the heavenly bodies,
and thus contributed to the formation of the solar monotheism which
was the final form assumed by the pagan religion of the Empire
before the triumph of Christianity.

In point of intrinsic worth, the Persian mystery religion of Mithras
is easily superior to any of the religions which have thus far been
mentioned, but it is of less importance than some of the others
for the purposes of the present investigation, since it became
influential in the Roman Empire only after the time of Paul. Great
stress has indeed been laid upon the fact that Plutarch attests
the practice of Mithraic mysteries by the pirates whom Pompey
conquered in the middle of the first century before Christ, and
says furthermore that the Mithraic rites begun by the pirates were
continued until the writer's own day.[154] The pirates practised
their rites at Olympus, which is on the southern coast of Asia
Minor. But the Olympus which is meant is in Lycia, some three
hundred miles from Tarsus. It is a mistake, therefore, to bring
the Mithraic mysteries of the pirates into any close geographical
connection with the boyhood home of Paul. Against the hypothesis of
any dependence of Paul upon the mysteries of Mithras is to be placed
the authority of Cumont, the chief investigator in this field, who
says: "It is impossible to suppose that at that time [the time of
Paul] there was an imitation of the Mithraic mysteries, which then
had not yet attained any importance."[155] Attempts have often been
made to explain away this judgment of Cumont, but without success.
The progress of Mithraism in the Empire seems to have been due to
definite political causes which were operative only after Paul's day.

  [154] Plutarch, _Vita Pompei_, 24.

  [155] Cumont, _op. cit._, p. xvi (English Translation, p. xx).

The Persian religion, from which Mithraism was descended, was
superior to the others which have just been considered in its marked
ethical character. It presented the doctrine of a mighty conflict
between light and darkness, between good and evil. And Mithraism
itself regarded religion under the figure of a warfare. It appealed
especially to the soldiers, and only men (not women) were admitted
to its mysteries. There were seven grades of initiation, each with
its special name. The highest grade was that of "father." The
Mithras cult was always celebrated underground, in chambers of very
limited extent. There was a sacred meal, consisting of bread and
water, which Justin Martyr, in the middle of the second century,
regards as having been instituted through demoniac imitation of the
Christian Eucharist.[156] This religion of Mithras finally became,
with the religion of Isis, the most serious rival of Christianity.
But at the time of Paul it was without importance, and could not
have exerted any influence upon the apostle.

  [156] Justin Martyr, _Apol._ 66.

But the religion of the Hellenistic age was not limited to the
individual cults which have just been considered, and it is not
chiefly to the individual cults that recourse is had by those modern
scholars who would derive Paulinism from pagan sources. Mention has
already been made of the syncretism of the age; various religions
were mingled in a limitless variety of combinations. And there was
also a mingling of religion with philosophy. It is in the manifold
products of this union between Greek philosophy and oriental
religion that the genesis of Paulinism is now often being sought.
Not oriental religion in its original state, but oriental religion
already to some extent Hellenized, is thought to have produced the
characteristic features of the religion of Paul.

The hypothesis is faced by one obvious difficulty. The difficulty
appears in the late date of most of the sources of information. In
order to reconstruct that Hellenized oriental mysticism from which
the religion of Paul is to be derived, the investigator is obliged
to appeal to sources which are long subsequent to Paul's day. For
example, in reproducing the spiritual atmosphere in which Paul is
supposed to have lived, no testimony is more often evoked than the
words of Firmicus Maternus, "Be of good courage, ye initiates,
since the god is saved; for to us there shall be salvation out of
troubles."[157] Here, it is thought, is to be found that connection
between the resurrection of the god and the salvation of the
believers which appears in the Pauline idea of dying and rising
with Christ. But the trouble is that Firmicus Maternus lived in
the fourth century after Christ, three hundred years later than
Paul. With what right can an utterance of his be used in the
reconstruction of pre-Christian paganism? What would be thought, by
the same scholars who quote Firmicus Maternus so confidently as a
witness to first-century paganism, of a historian who should quote
a fourth-century Christian writer as a witness to first-century
Christianity?

  [157] See above, p. 229, with footnote 3.

This objection has been met by the modern school of comparative
religion somewhat as follows. In the first place, it is said,
the post-Christian pagan usage which at any time may be under
investigation is plainly not influenced by Christianity. But, in
the second place, it is too similar to Christian usage for the
similarity to be explained by mere coincidence. Therefore, in
the third place, since it is not dependent upon Christian usage,
Christian usage must be dependent upon it, and therefore despite its
late attestation it must have existed in pre-Christian times.

A little reflection will reveal the precarious character of this
reasoning. Every step is uncertain. In the first place, it is often
by no means clear that the pagan usage has not been influenced by
Christianity. The Church did not long remain obscure; even early
in the second century, according to the testimony of Pliny, it was
causing the heathen temples to be deserted. What is more likely than
that in an age of syncretism the adherents of pagan religion should
borrow weapons from so successful a rival? It must be remembered
that the paganism of the Hellenistic age had elevated syncretism
to a system; it had absolutely no objection of principle against
receiving elements from every source. In the Christian Church, on
the other hand, there was a strong objection to such procedure;
Christianity from the beginning was like Judaism in being exclusive.
It regarded with the utmost abhorrence anything that was tainted
by a pagan origin. This abhorrence, at least in the early period,
more than overbalanced the fact that the Christians for the most
part had formerly been pagans, so that it might be thought natural
for them to retain something of pagan belief. Conversion involved a
passionate renunciation of former beliefs. Such, at any rate, was
clearly the kind of conversion that was required by Paul.

In the second place, the similarity between the pagan and the
Christian usages is often enormously exaggerated; sometimes
a superficial similarity of language masks the most profound
differences of underlying meaning. Illustrations will be given in
the latter part of the present chapter.

Thus the conclusion is, to say the least, precarious. It is by no
means so easy as is sometimes supposed to prove that a pagan usage
attested only long after the time of Paul is really the source
of Pauline teaching. And it will not help to say that although
there is no direct dependence one way or the other yet the pagan
and the Pauline teaching have a common source. For to say that a
usage has a pagan source several centuries earlier than the time
at which the usage is first attested is really to assume the point
that is to be proved. We are not here dealing with a question of
literary dependence, where the unity of the books which are being
compared is assumed. In such a question the independence of the two
writers may be proved by the general comparison of the books; it
may be shown, in other words, that if one author had used the other
author's work at all he would have had to use it a great deal more
than as a matter of fact the similarity would indicate. In such
cases, striking verbal similarity in one place may prove that both
books were dependent upon a common source. But if a pagan usage
of the fourth century is similar to a Christian usage, the fact
that in general the paganism of the fourth century is independent
of Christianity does not disprove dependence of paganism upon
Christianity at this one point.

It is not surprising, therefore, that the reasoning just outlined is
usually supplemented by a further consideration. It is maintained,
namely, that the mystic piety of paganism forms to some extent
a unit; it was not a mere fortuitous collection of beliefs and
practices, but was like an enveloping spiritual atmosphere of which,
despite variations of humidity and temperature, the fundamental
composition was everywhere the same. If, therefore, the presence
of this atmosphere of mystical piety can be established here and
there in sources of actually pre-Christian date, the investigator
has a right to determine the nature of the atmosphere in detail by
drawing upon later sources. In other words, the mystical religion
of the Hellenistic age is reconstructed in detail by the use of
post-Christian sources, and then (the essential unity of the
phenomenon being assumed) the early date of this oriental mystical
religion is established by the scanty references in pre-Christian
times. It is admitted, perhaps, that the elements of oriental
mysticism actually found in pre-Christian sources would not be
sufficient to prove dependence of Paul upon that type of religion;
but the elements found in later sources are thought to be so closely
allied to those which happen to have early attestation that they
too must be supposed to have been present in the early period,
and since they are similar to Paulinism they must have exerted a
formative influence upon Paul's religion. To put the matter briefly,
the nature of Hellenized oriental religion is established by
post-Pauline sources; whereas the early origin of that religion is
established by the scanty pre-Christian references.

This procedure constitutes a curious reversal of the procedure which
is applied by the very same scholars to Christianity. Christianity
is supposed to have undergone kaleidoscopic changes in the course
of a few years or even months, changes involving a transformation
of its inmost nature; yet pagan religion is apparently thought to
have remained from age to age the same. When Paul, only a few years
after the origin of the Church, says that he "received" certain
fundamental elements in his religion, the intimate connection of
those elements with the rest of the Pauline system is not allowed
to establish the early origin of the whole; yet the paganism of
the third and fourth centuries is thought to have constituted
such a unity that the presence of certain elements of it in the
pre-Christian period is regarded as permitting the whole system to
be transplanted bodily to that early time.

Of course, the hypothesis which is now being examined is held
in many forms, and is being advocated with varying degrees of
caution. Some of its advocates might defend themselves against the
charge of transplanting post-Christian paganism bodily into the
pre-Christian period. They might point to special evidence with
regard to many details. Such evidence would have to be examined
in any complete investigation. But the objection just raised,
despite possible answers to it in detail, is not without validity.
It remains true, despite all reservations, that adherents of the
"comparative-religion school" are entirely too impatient with
regard to questions of priority. They are indeed very severe upon
those who raise such questions. They do not like having the flow
of their thought checked by so homely a thing as a date. But
dates sometimes have their importance. For example, the phrase,
"reborn for eternity," occurs in connection with the blood-bath
of the taurobolium. How significant, it might be said, is this
connection of regeneration with the shedding of blood! How useful
as establishing the pagan origin of the Christian idea! From the
confident way in which the phrase "reborn for eternity" is quoted
in discussions of the origin of Christianity, one would think that
its pre-Christian origin were established beyond peradventure. It
may come as a shock, therefore, to readers of recent discussions to
be told that as a matter of fact the phrase does not appear until
the fourth century, when Christianity was taking its place as the
established religion of the Roman world. If there is any dependence,
it is certainly dependence of the taurobolium upon Christianity, and
not of Christianity upon the taurobolium.

The same lordly disregard of dates runs all through the modern
treatment of the history of religion in the New Testament period.
It is particularly unfortunate in popular expositions. When the
lay reader is overwhelmed by an imposing array of citations from
Apuleius and from Lucian, to say nothing of Firmicus Maternus and
fourth-century inscriptions, and when these late citations are
confidently treated by men of undoubted learning as witnesses to
pre-Christian religion, and when the procedure is rendered more
plausible by occasional references to pre-Christian writers which
if looked up would be found to prove nothing at all, and when there
is a careful avoidance of anything like temporal arrangement of the
material, but citations derived from all countries and all ages
are brought together for the reconstruction of the environment
of Paul--under such treatment the lay reader often receives the
impression that something very important is being proved. The
impression would be corrected by the mere introduction of a few
dates, especially in view of the fact that oriental religion
undoubtedly entered upon a remarkable expansion shortly after the
close of the New Testament period, so that conditions prevailing
after that expansion are by no means necessarily to be regarded as
having existed before the expansion took place.

This criticism is here intended to be taken only in a provisional
way. The justice of it can be tested only by a detailed examination
of the hypothesis against which the criticism is directed.

How, then, is the pre-Christian mystical religion of the Hellenistic
world to be reconstructed? What sources are to be used? Some of
the sources have already been touched upon in the review of the
individual oriental cults. And incidentally the unsatisfactory
character of some of these sources has already appeared. But it is
now necessary to examine other sources which are not so definitely
connected with any clearly defined cult.

Increasing attention has been paid in recent years to the complex
of writings which goes under the name of Hermes Trismegistus.
These Hermetic writings embrace not only a corpus of some fourteen
tractates which has been preserved in continuous Greek manuscript
form, but also fragments contained in the works of Stobaeus and other
writers, and finally the "Asclepius" attributed to Apuleius. It is
not usually maintained that the Hermetic literature was completed
before about 300 A.D.; no one claims anything like pre-Christian
origin for the whole. The individual elements of the literature--for
example, the individual tractates of the Hermetic corpus--are
usually regarded as having been produced at various times; but no
one of them is generally thought to have been written before the
beginning of the Christian era. With regard to the most important
tractate, the "Poimandres," which stands at the beginning of the
corpus, opinions differ somewhat. J. Kroll, for example, the author
of the leading monograph on the Hermetic writings, regards the
Poimandres as the latest of the tractates in the corpus, and as
having appeared not before the time of Numenius (second half of the
second century);[158] whereas Zielinski regards it as the earliest
writing of the corpus.[159] By an ingenious argument, Reitzenstein
attempts to prove that the Christian "Shepherd of Hermes" (middle
of the second century) is dependent upon an original form of the
"Poimandres."[160] But his argument has not obtained any general
consent. It is impossible to push the material of the Poimandres
back into the first century--certainly impossible by any treatment
of literary relationships.

  [158] J. Kroll, _Die Lehren des Hermes Trismegistos_, 1914, in
  _Beitraege zur Geschichte der Philosophie des Mittelalters_, xii.
  2-4, pp. 388, 389.

  [159] Zielinski, "Hermes und die Hermetik," in _Archiv fuer
  Religionswissenschaft_, viii, 1905, p. 323.

  [160] Reitzenstein, _Poimandres_, 1904, pp. 10-13.

With regard to the origin of the ideas in the Hermetic writings,
there is considerable difference of opinion. Reitzenstein allows
a large place to Egyptian and Persian elements; other scholars
emphasize rather the influence of Greek philosophy, which of course
is in turn thought to have been modified by its contact with
oriental religion. J. Kroll,[161] W. Kroll,[162] Reitzenstein,[163]
and others deny emphatically the presence of any considerable
Christian influence in Hermes; but at this point Heinrici, after
particularly careful researches, differs from the customary
view.[164] Windisch is enough impressed by Heinrici's arguments
to confess that Christian literature may have influenced the
present form of the Hermetic writings here and there, but insists
that the Christian influence upon Hermes is altogether trifling
compared to the influence upon primitive Christianity of the type
of religion of which Hermes is an example.[165] The true state of
the case, according to Windisch, is probably that Christianity first
received from oriental religion the fundamental ideas, and then
gave back to oriental religion as represented by Hermes certain
forms of expression in which those ideas had been clothed. At the
same time Windisch urges careful attention to Heinrici's argument
for Christian influence upon Hermes for three reasons: (1) all
Hermetic writings are later than the New Testament period, (2) the
Hermetic writings are admittedly influenced by Judaism, (3) at
least the latest stratum in the Hermetic writings has admittedly
passed through the Christian sphere. These admissions, coming
from one who is very friendly to the modern method of comparative
religion, are significant. When even Windisch admits that the form
of expression with regard to the new birth in the Poimandres may
possibly be influenced by the Gospel tradition, and that the author
of the fourth Hermetic tractate, for example, was somewhat familiar
with New Testament writings or Christian ideas and "assimilated
Christian terminology to his gnosis," and that the term "faith" has
possibly come into Hermes (iv and ix) from Christian tradition--in
the light of these admissions it may appear how very precarious is
the employment of Hermes Trismegistus as a witness to pre-Christian
paganism.

  [161] _Op. cit._

  [162] Article "Hermes Trismegistos," in Pauly-Wissowa,
  _Real-Encyclopaedie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft_, xv, 1912,
  pp. 791-823.

  [163] _Op. cit._

  [164] Heinrici, _Die Hermes-Mystik und das Neue Testament_, 1918.

  [165] Windisch, "Urchristentum und Hermesmystik," in _Theologisch
  Tijdschrift_, lii, 1918, pp. 186-240.

Opinions differ, moreover, as to the importance of the Hermetic type
of thought in the life of the ancient world. Reitzenstein exalts its
importance; he believes that back of the Hermetic writings there
lies a living religion, and that this Hermetic type of religion
was characteristic of the Hellenistic age. At this point Cumont
and others are in sharp disagreement; Cumont believes that in the
West Hermetism had nothing more than a literary existence and did
not produce a Hermetic sect, and that in general Reitzenstein has
greatly exaggerated the Hermetic influence.[166] With regard to this
controversy, it can at least be said that Reitzenstein has failed to
prove his point.

  [166] Cumont, _op. cit._, pp. 340, 341 (English Translation, pp.
  233, 234, note 41).

Detailed exposition of the Hermetic writings will here be
impossible. A number of recent investigators have covered the field
with some thoroughness. Unfortunately a complete modern critical
edition of the Hermetic corpus is still lacking; the student is
obliged to have recourse to the edition of Parthey (1854),[167]
which is not complete and does not quite measure up to modern
standards. Reitzenstein has included in his "Poimandres" (1904) a
critical edition of Tractates I, XIII, XVI, XVII, XVIII. There has
been no collection, in the original languages, of all the Hermetic
writings (including those outside of the corpus), though Menard has
provided a French translation,[168] and Mead an English translation
with elaborate introduction and notes.[169] The work of Mead, which
is published by the Theosophical Publishing Society, is not usually
regarded as quite satisfactory. But the translation at least will be
found exceedingly useful. The systematic exposition of the thought
of the Hermetic writings by J. Kroll is clear and instructive;[170]
and Heinrici, who differs from Kroll in treating the individual
writings separately, has also made a valuable contribution to the
subject.[171]

  [167] Parthey, _Hermetis Trismegisti Poemander_, 1854.

  [168] Menard, _Hermes Trismegiste_, 1910.

  [169] Mead, _Thrice-Greatest Hermes_, three volumes, 1906.

  [170] _Op. cit._ Cf. the review by Bousset, in _Goettingische
  gelehrte Anzeigen_, clxxvi, 1914, pp. 697-755.

  [171] _Op. cit._

In the Hermetic tractates I and XIII, upon which Reitzenstein
lays the chief emphasis, there is presented a notion of the
transformation of the one who receives divine revelation. The
transformation, as in the Hermetic writings generally, is for the
most part independent of ceremonies or sacraments. An experience
which in the mysteries is connected with an initiation involving an
appeal to the senses here seems to have been spiritualized under the
influence of philosophy; regeneration comes not through a mystic
drama or the like but through an inner experience. Such at least
is a common modern interpretation of the genesis of the Hermetic
doctrine. At any rate, it seems to be impossible to reduce that
doctrine to anything like a consistent logical scheme. Reitzenstein
has tried to bring order out of chaos by distinguishing in the first
tractate two originally distinct views as to the origin of the world
and of man, but his analysis has not won general acceptance. It
must probably be admitted, however, that the Hermetic literature
has received elements from various sources and has not succeeded in
combining them in any consistent way.

The student who will first read Tractates I and XIII for himself
will probably be surprised when he is told (for example by
Reitzenstein) that here is to be found the spiritual atmosphere from
which Paulinism came. For there could be no sharper contrast than
that between the fantastic speculations of the Poimandres and the
historical gospel of Paul. Both the Poimandres and Paul have some
notion of a transformation that a man experiences through a divine
revelation. But the transformation, according to Paul, comes through
an account of what had happened but a few years before. Nothing
could possibly be more utterly foreign to Hermes. On the other
hand, the result of the transformation in Hermes is deification.
"This," says Hermes (Tractate I, 26), "is the good end to those
who have received knowledge, to be deified."[172] Paul could never
have used such language. For, according to Paul, the relation
between the believer and the Christ who has transformed him is a
personal relation of love. The "Christ-mysticism" of Paul is never
pantheistic. It is indeed supernatural; it is not produced by any
mere influence brought to bear upon the old life. But the result,
far from being apotheosis, is personal communion of a man with his
God.

  [172] +touto esti to agathon telos tois gnosin eschekosi,
  theothenai+.

In connection with Hermes Trismegistus may be mentioned the
so-called Oracula Chaldaica, which apparently sprang from the same
general type of thought.[173] These Oracula Chaldaica, according
to W. Kroll, constitute a document of heathen gnosis, which was
produced about 200 A.D. Although Kroll believes that there is here
no Christian influence, and that Jewish influence touches not the
center but only the circumference, yet for the reasons already
noticed it would be precarious to use a document of 200 A.D. in
reconstructing pre-Pauline paganism.

  [173] See W. Kroll, _De Oraculis Chaldaicis_, 1894; "Die
  chaldaeischen Orakel," in _Rheinisches Museum fuer Philologie_, l,
  1895, pp. 636-639.

A very important source of information about the Greco-oriental
religion of the Hellenistic age is found by scholars like Dieterich
and Reitzenstein in the so-called "magical" papyri. Among the many
interesting papyrus documents which have recently been discovered
in Egypt are some that contain formulas intended to be used in
incantations. At first sight these formulas look like hopeless
nonsense; it may perhaps even be said that they are intended to
be nonsense. That is, the effect is sought, not from any logical
understanding of the formulas either on the part of those who use
them or on the part of the higher powers upon whom they are to be
used, but simply and solely from the mechanical effect of certain
combinations of sounds. Thus the magical papyri include not only
divine names in foreign languages (the ancient and original name
of a god being regarded as exerting a coercive effect upon that
god), but also many meaningless rows of letters which do not form
words at all. But according to Dieterich and Reitzenstein and
others, these papyri, nonsensical as they are in their completed
form, often embody materials which belong not to magic but to
religion; in particular, they make use, for a magical purpose,
of what was originally intended to be used in a living religious
cult. Indeed the distinction between magic and religion is often
difficult to draw. In religion there is an element of interest,
on the part of the worshiper, in the higher powers as such, some
idea of propitiating them, of winning their favor; whereas in
magic the higher powers are made use of as though they were mere
machines through the use of incantations and spells. But when this
distinction is applied to the ancient mystery religions, sometimes
these religions seem to be little more than magic, so external
and mechanical is the way in which the initiation is supposed to
work. It is not surprising, therefore, if the composers of magical
formulas turned especially, in seeking their materials, to the
mystery cults; for they were drawn in that direction by a certain
affinity both of purpose and of method. At any rate, whatever may
be the explanation, the existing magical papyri, according to
Dieterich and others, do contain important elements derived from the
oriental religious cults; it is only necessary, Dieterich maintains,
to subtract the obviously later elements--the nonsensical rows
of letters and the like--in order to obtain important sources of
information about the religious life of the Hellenistic age.

This method has been applied by Dieterich especially to a Paris
magical papyrus, with the result that the underlying religious
document is found to be nothing less than a liturgy of the
religion of Mithras.[174] Dieterich's conclusions have not escaped
unchallenged; the connection of the document with Mithraism has been
denied, for example, by Cumont.[175] Of course, even if the document
be not really a "Mithras liturgy," it may still be of great value
in the reconstruction of Hellenistic gnosis. With regard to date,
however, it is not any more favorably placed than the documents
which have just been considered. The papyrus manuscript in which the
"liturgy" is contained was written at the beginning of the fourth
century after Christ; and the composition of the "liturgy" itself
cannot be fixed definitely at any very much earlier date.[176]
Dieterich supposes that the beginning was made in the second
century, and that there were successive additions afterward. At any
rate, then, not only the papyrus manuscript, but also the liturgy
which it is thought to contain, was produced long after the time
of Paul. Like the Hermetic writings, moreover, Dieterich's Mithras
liturgy presents a conception of union with divinity which is really
altogether unlike the Pauline gospel.

  [174] Dieterich, _Eine Mithrasliturgie_, 2te Aufl., 1910.

  [175] _Op. cit._, p. 379 (English Translation, pp. 260f.).

  [176] Dieterich, _op. cit._, pp. 43f.

But information about pre-Christian paganism is being sought not
only in ostensibly pagan sources; it is also being sought in the
Gnosticism which appears in connection with the Christian Church.
Gnosticism used to be regarded as a "heresy," a perversion of
Christian belief. Now, on the contrary, it is being regarded as
essentially non-Christian, as a manifestation of Greco-oriental
religion which was brought into only very loose connection with
Christianity; the great Gnostic systems of the second century, it
is said, when they are stripped of a few comparatively unimportant
Christian elements are found to represent not a development from
Christianity but rather the spiritual atmosphere from which
Christianity itself sprang.

If this view of the case be correct, it is at least significant
that pagan teachers of the second century (the Gnostics) should have
been so ready to adopt Christian elements and so anxious to give
their systems a Christian appearance. Why should a similar procedure
be denied in the case, for example, of Hermes Trismegistus? If
second-century paganism, without at all modifying its essential
character, could sometimes actually adopt the name of Christ, why
should it be thought incredible that the compiler of the Hermetic
literature, who did not go quite so far, should yet have permitted
Christian elements to creep into his syncretistic work? Why should
similarity of language between Hermes and Paul, supposing that it
exists, be regarded as proving dependence of Paul upon a type of
paganism like that of Hermes, rather than dependence of Hermes upon
Paul?

But the use of Gnosticism as a witness to pre-Christian paganism
is faced with obvious difficulties. Gnosticism has admittedly
been influenced by Christianity. Who can say, then, exactly how
far the Christian influence extends? Who can say that any element
in Gnosticism, found also in the New Testament, but not clearly
contained in pagan sources, is derived from paganism rather than
from Christianity? Yet it is just exactly such procedure which is
advocated by Reitzenstein and others.

The dangers of the procedure may be exhibited by an example. In
Hermes Trismegistus the spirit is regarded as the garment of the
soul.[177] This doctrine is the exact reverse of Pauline teaching,
since it makes the soul appear higher than the spirit, whereas in
Paul the Spirit, in the believer, is exalted far above the soul.
In Hermes the spirit appears as a material substratum of the soul;
in Paul the Spirit represents the divine power. There could be no
sharper contradiction. And the matter is absolutely central in
Reitzenstein's hypothesis, for it is just the Pauline doctrine of
the Spirit which he is seeking to derive from pagan religion. The
difficulty for Reitzenstein, then, is that in Hermes the spirit
appears as the garment of the soul, whereas in the interests of
his theory the soul ought to appear rather as the garment of the
spirit. But Reitzenstein avoids the difficulty by appealing to
Gnosticism. The Hermetic doctrine, he says, is nothing but the
necessary philosophic reversal of the Gnostic doctrine that the
soul is the garment of the spirit.[178] Thus Gnosticism is here made
to be a witness to pre-Christian pagan belief, in direct defiance
of pagan sources. Is it not more probable that the difference
between Gnosticism on the one hand and pagan gnosis as represented
by Hermes on the other, is due to the influence upon the former
of the Christian doctrine? It is interesting to observe that J.
Kroll, from whom the above illustration is obtained, insists against
Reitzenstein that the Gnostic doctrine, as over against the doctrine
of Hermes, is here clearly secondary.[179] At any rate, then, the
reconstruction of a pre-Christian pagan doctrine of the soul as the
garment of the spirit is a matter of pure conjecture.

  [177] _Corp. Herm._ x. 13.

  [178] Reitzenstein, _Hellenistische Mysterienreligionen_, 2te Aufl.,
  1920, p. 183.

  [179] J. Kroll, _op. cit._, pp. 286-289, especially p. 288, Anm. 1.

Similar difficulties appear everywhere. It is certainly very
hazardous to use Gnosticism, a post-Pauline phenomenon appealing
to Paul as one of its chief sources, as a witness to pre-Pauline
paganism. Certainly such use of Gnosticism should be carefully
limited to those matters where there is some confirmatory pagan
testimony. But such confirmatory testimony, in the decisive cases,
is significantly absent.

The use of Gnosticism as a source of information about pre-Christian
paganism might be less precarious if the separation of the pagan
and Christian elements could be carried out by means of literary
criticism. Such a method is employed by Reitzenstein in connection
with an interesting passage in Hippolytus. In attacking the
Gnostic sect of the Naassenes, Hippolytus says that the sect has
been dependent upon the pagan mysteries, and in proof he quotes
a Naassene writing. This quotation, as it now exists in the work
of Hippolytus, is, according to Reitzenstein, "a pagan text with
Gnostic-Christian scholia (or in a Gnostic-Christian revision),
which has been taken over by an opponent who did not understand
this state of the case, and so, in this form, has been used by
Hippolytus."[180] Reitzenstein seeks to reproduce the pagan
document.[181]

  [180] Reitzenstein, _Poimandres_, p. 82.

  [181] _Op. cit._, pp. 83-98.

Unquestionably the passage is interesting, and unquestionably it
contains important information about the pagan mysteries. But it
does not help to establish influence of the mysteries upon Paul.
It must be observed that what is now being maintained against
Reitzenstein is not that the Gnostics who appear in the polemic
of the anti-heretical, ecclesiastical writers of the close of the
second century and the beginning of the third were not influenced
by pre-Christian paganism, or even that they did not derive the
fundamentals of their type of religion from pre-Christian paganism.
All that is being maintained is that it is very precarious to use
the Gnostic systems in reconstructing pre-Christian paganism in
detail--especially where the Gnostic systems differ from admittedly
pagan sources and agree with Paul. In reconstructing the origin of
Paulinism it is precarious to employ the testimony of those who
lived after Paul and actually quoted Paul.

All the sources of information about Greco-oriental religion which
have thus far been discussed belong to a time subsequent to Paul.
If the type of religion which they attest is to be pushed back
into the pre-Christian period, it can be done only by an appeal
to earlier sources. Such earlier sources are sometimes found in
passages like Livy's description of the Bacchanalian rites of
the second century before Christ in Italy, and in writers such
as Posidonius and Philo. But the presence of Bacchanalian rites
in Italy in the second century before Christ is not particularly
significant, and the details of those rites do not include the
features which in the later sources are thought to invite comparison
with Paul. Posidonius, the Stoic philosopher of the first century
before Christ, seems to have been a man of very great influence;
and no doubt he did introduce oriental elements into the Stoic
philosophy. But his works, for the most part, have been lost,
and so far as they have been reconstructed by the use of writers
who were dependent upon him, they do not seem to contain those
elements which might be regarded as explaining the genesis of
Paulinism. With regard to Philo, who was an older contemporary
of Paul, the investigator finds himself in a much more favorable
position, since voluminous works of the Alexandrian philosopher
have been preserved. There is a tendency in recent investigation
to make Philo an important witness to Greco-oriental religion as
it found expression in the mysteries.[182] But the bearing of
the evidence does not seem to be absolutely unequivocal. At any
rate, the relation between Paul and Philo has been the subject of
investigation for many years, and it cannot be said that the results
have accomplished anything toward explaining the genesis of Paul's
religion. Direct dependence of Paul upon Philo, it is admitted, has
not been proved, and even dependence of both upon the same type of
thought is highly problematical. The state of the evidence is not
essentially altered by designating as the type of thought upon which
both are supposed to have been dependent the Greco-oriental religion
of the mysteries. The real question is whether the testimony of
Philo establishes as of pre-Christian origin that type of mystical
piety from which Paulinism is being derived--the type of religion
which is attested, for example, by Firmicus Maternus or by the
fourth-century inscriptions that deal with the taurobolium, or by
Hermes Trismegistus, or by Dieterich's "Mithras liturgy," or by the
pagan elements which are supposed to lie back of second-century
Gnosticism. And so far as can be judged on the basis of the evidence
which is actually being adduced by the comparative-religion school,
the question must be answered in the negative. Even the living
connection of Philo with the mysteries of his own day does not
seem to be definitely established. And if it were established, the
further question would remain as to whether the mystery religions
of Philo's day contained just those elements which in the mystery
religions of the post-Pauline period are supposed to show similarity
to Paul. If the mystical piety which is attested by Philo is
sufficient to be regarded as the basis of Paulinism, why should the
investigator appeal to Firmicus Maternus? And if he does appeal to
Firmicus Maternus, with what right can he assume that the elements
which he thus finds existed in the days of Philo and of Paul?

  [182] Helbig, review of "Philo von Alexandrien: Werke, in deut.
  Uebersetzg. hrsg. v. Prof. Dr. Leop. Cohn. 3. Tl.," in _Theologische
  Literaturzeitung_, xlv, 1920, column 30: "Here one perceives with
  all requisite clearness that Philo did not merely imitate the
  language of the mystery religions, but had been himself a +mustes+."




CHAPTER VII

REDEMPTION IN PAGAN RELIGION AND IN PAUL




CHAPTER VII

REDEMPTION IN PAGAN RELIGION AND IN PAUL


It has been observed thus far that in comparing Paul with
Hellenistic pagan religion, the question of priority cannot be
ruled out so easily as is sometimes supposed. Another preliminary
question, moreover, remains. Through what channels did the supposed
influence of the mystery religions enter into the life of Paul?
The question is somewhat perplexing. In view of the outline of
Paul's life which was set forth in Chapters II and III, it would
seem difficult to find a place for the entrance of pagan religious
thought.

One suggestion is that pagan thought came to Paul only through the
medium of Judaism. That suggestion would explain the consciousness
that Paul attests of having been, before his conversion, a devout
Jew. If pagan religion had already entered into the warp and woof
of Judaism, and if the throes of the process of assimilation had
already been forgotten before the time of Paul, then Paul might
regard himself as a devout Jew, hostile to all pagan influence, and
yet be profoundly influenced by the paganism which had already found
an entrance into the Jewish stronghold.

But the trouble is that with regard to those matters which are
thought to be necessary for the explanation of Paul's religion there
is no evidence that paganism had entered into the common life of
the Jews. It has been shown in Chapter V that the Judaism of the
first century, as it can be reconstructed by the use of the extant
sources, is insufficient to account for the origin of Paulinism.
That fact is admitted by those scholars who are having recourse to
the hypothesis of pagan influence. Therefore, if the pagan influence
came to Paul through the medium of Judaism, the historian must first
posit the existence of a Judaism into which the necessary pagan
elements had entered. There is no evidence for the existence of
such a Judaism; in fact the extant Jewish sources point clearly
in an opposite direction. It is exceedingly difficult, therefore,
to suppose, in defiance of the Jewish sources, and in the mere
interests of a theory as to the genesis of Paulinism, that the
Pharisaic Judaism from which Paul sprang was imbued with a mystical
piety like that of the mystery religions or of Hermes Trismegistus.
In fact, in view of the known character of Pharisaic Judaism, the
hypothesis is nothing short of monstrous.

Therefore, if Paul was influenced by the pagan mystery religions
it could not have been simply in virtue of his connection with
first-century Judaism; it must have been due to some special
influences which were brought to bear upon him. Where could these
influences have been exerted? One suggestion is that they were
exerted in Tarsus, his boyhood home. Stress is thus laid upon the
fact that Paul was born not in Palestine but in the Dispersion. As
he grew up in Tarsus, it is said, he could not help observing the
paganism that surrounded him. At this point, some historians, on
entirely insufficient evidence, are inclined to be specific; they
are tempted, for example, to speak of mysteries of Mithras as being
practised in or near Tarsus in Paul's early years. The hypothesis
is only weakened by such incautious advocacy; it is much better to
point merely to the undoubted fact that Tarsus was a pagan city and
was presumably affected by the existing currents of pagan life.
But if Paul grew up in a pagan environment, was he influenced by
it? An affirmative answer would seem to run counter to his own
testimony. Although Paul was born in Tarsus, he belonged inwardly
to Palestine; he and his parents before him were not "Hellenists"
but "Hebrews." Moreover, he was a Pharisee, more exceedingly zealous
than his contemporaries for his paternal traditions. The evidence
has been examined in a previous chapter. Certainly then, Paul was
not a "liberal" Jew; far from being inclined to break down the wall
of partition between Jews and Gentiles he was especially zealous
for the Law. It is very difficult to conceive of such a man--with
his excessive zeal for the Mosaic Law, with his intense hatred of
paganism, with his intense consciousness of the all-sufficiency of
Jewish privileges--as being susceptible to the pagan influences that
surrounded his orthodox home.

The hypothesis must, therefore, at least be modified to the extent
that the pagan influence exerted at Tarsus be regarded as merely
unconscious. Paul did not deliberately accept the pagan religion of
Tarsus, it might be said, but at least he became acquainted with it,
and his acquaintance with it became fruitful after he entered upon
his Gentile mission. According to this hypothesis, the attitude of
Paul toward pagan religion was in the early days in Tarsus merely
negative, but became more favorable (whether or no Paul himself
was conscious of the real source of the pagan ideas) because of
subsequent events. But what were the events which induced in Paul a
more favorable attitude toward ideas which were really pagan? When
did he overcome his life-long antagonism to everything connected
with the worship of false gods? Such a change of attitude is
certainly not attested by the Epistles.

It will probably be admitted that if pagan influence entered into
the heart of Paul's religious life it could only have done so by
some more subtle way than by the mere retention in Paul's mind of
what he had seen at Tarsus. The way which finds special favor among
recent historians is discovered in the pre-Pauline Christianity of
cities like Damascus and Antioch. When Paul was converted, it is
said, he was converted not to the Christianity of Jerusalem, but to
the Christianity of Damascus and Antioch. But the Christianity of
Damascus and Antioch, it is supposed, had already received pagan
elements; hence the very fact of Paul's conversion broke down his
Jewish prejudices and permitted the influx of pagan ideas. Of course
Paul did not know that they were pagan ideas; he supposed that
they were merely Christian; but pagan they were, nevertheless. The
Hellenistic Jews who founded the churches at Damascus and Antioch,
unlike the original apostles at Jerusalem, were liberal Jews,
susceptible to pagan influence and desirous of attributing to Jesus
all that the pagans attributed to their own cult-gods. Thus Jesus
became a cult-god like the cult-gods of the pagan religions, and
Christianity became similar, in important respects, to the pagan
cults.

This hypothesis has been advocated brilliantly by Heitmueller and
Bousset.[183] But what evidence can be adduced in favor of it? How
may the Christianity of Damascus and Antioch, which is supposed
to have been influenced by pagan religion, be reconstructed? Even
Heitmueller and Bousset admit that the reconstruction is very
difficult. The only unquestioned source of information about the
pre-Pauline Christianity which is the subject of investigation is to
be found in the Pauline Epistles themselves. But if the material is
found in the Pauline Epistles, how can the historian be sure that it
is not the product of Paul's own thinking? How can the specifically
Pauline element in the Epistles be separated from the element which
is supposed to have been derived from pre-Pauline Hellenistic
Christianity?

  [183] See especially Heitmueller, "Zum Problem Paulus und Jesus," in
  _Zeitschrift fuer die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft_, xiii, 1912,
  pp. 320-337; "Jesus und Paulus," in _Zeitschrift fuer Theologie und
  Kirche_, xxv, 1915, pp. 156-179; Bousset, _Jesus der Herr_, 1916,
  pp. 30-37.

The process of separation, it must be admitted, is difficult. But,
according to Bousset and Heitmueller, it is not impossible. There are
passages in the Epistles where Paul evidently assumes that certain
things are known already to his readers. In churches where Paul
himself had not already had the opportunity of teaching, notably
at Rome, those elements assumed as already known must have been
derived, it is said, from teachers other than Paul; they must have
formed part of the pre-Pauline fund of Hellenistic Christianity.

But in order to reconstruct this pre-Pauline Hellenistic
Christianity, it is not sufficient to separate what Paul had
received from what he himself produced. Another process of
separation remains; and this second process is vastly more difficult
than the first. In order to reconstruct the Hellenistic Christianity
of Antioch, upon which Paulinism is thought to be based, it is
necessary not only to separate what Paul received from what he
produced, but also to separate what he received from Antioch from
what he received from Jerusalem. It is in connection with this
latter process that the hypothesis of Heitmueller and Bousset
breaks down. Unquestionably some elements in the Epistles can be
established as having been received by Paul from those who had been
Christians before him. One notable example is found in 1 Cor. xv.
1-7. In that all-important passage Paul distinctly says that he
had "received" his account of the death, burial, and resurrection
of Jesus. But how does Bousset know that he received it from the
Church at Antioch or the Church at Damascus rather than from the
Church at Jerusalem? Paul had been in intimate contact with Peter
in Jerusalem; Peter is prominent in 1 Cor. xv. 1-7. What reason is
there, then, for deserting the common view, regarded almost as an
axiom of criticism, to the effect that 1 Cor. xv. 1-7 represents the
tradition of the Jerusalem Church which Paul received from Peter?

Moreover, what right have Bousset and Heitmueller to use the Epistle
to the Romans in reconstructing the Christianity of Antioch? Even
if in that Epistle the elements of specifically Pauline teaching
can be separated from those things which Paul regards as already
matter of course in the Roman Church, what reason is there to assume
that the pre-Pauline Christianity of Rome was the same as the
pre-Pauline Christianity of Antioch and Damascus? Information about
the pre-Pauline Christianity of Antioch and Damascus is, to say the
least, scanty and uncertain. And it is that Christianity only--the
Christianity with which Paul came into contact soon after his
conversion--and not the Christianity of Rome, which can be of use in
explaining the origin of Paul's religion.

Finally, what reason is there for supposing that the Christianity
of Damascus and Antioch was different in essentials from the
Christianity of Jerusalem? An important step, it is said, was taken
when the gospel was transplanted from its native Palestinian soil
to the Greek-speaking world--the most momentous step in the whole
history of Christianity, the most heavily fraught with changes. But
it must be remembered that the primitive Jerusalem Church itself
was bilingual; it contained a large Greek-speaking element. The
transplanting of the gospel to Antioch was accomplished not by any
ordinary Jews of the Dispersion, but by those Jews of the Dispersion
who had lived at Jerusalem and had received their instruction from
the intimate friends of Jesus. Is it likely that such men would
so soon forget the impressions that they had received, and would
transform Christianity from a simple acceptance of Jesus as Messiah
with eager longing for His return into a cult that emulated the
pagan cults of the surrounding world by worship of Jesus as Lord?
The transition, if it occurred at all, occurred with astonishing
rapidity. Paul was converted only two or three years after the
crucifixion of Jesus. If, therefore, the paganizing Hellenistic
Christianity of Damascus and Antioch was to be the spiritual soil
in which Paul's religion was nurtured, it must have been formed in
the very early days. The pagan influences could hardly have begun
to enter after the conversion of Paul.[184] For then Paul would have
been conscious of their entrance, and all the advantages of the
hypothesis would disappear--the hypothesis would then be excluded
by the self-testimony of Paul. But the formation of a paganizing
Christianity at Antioch and Damascus, in the very early days and by
the instrumentality of men who had come under the instruction of
the intimate friends of Jesus, and despite the constant intercourse
between Jerusalem and the cities in question, is very difficult to
conceive. At any rate, the separation between what Paul received
from Antioch and Damascus and what he received from Jerusalem is
quite impossible. Heitmueller and Bousset have not really helped
matters by trying to place an additional link in the chain between
Paul and Jesus. The Hellenistic Christianity of Antioch, supposed to
be distinct from the Christianity of Jerusalem, is to say the least
a very shadowy thing.

  [184] But compare Bousset, _op. cit._, p. 32.

But Bousset and Heitmueller probably will not maintain that all the
pagan influences which entered the life of Paul entered through the
gateway of pre-Pauline Hellenistic Christianity. On the contrary,
it will probably be said that Paul lived all his life in the midst
of a pagan religious atmosphere, which affected him directly as
well as through the community at Antioch. But how was this direct
pagan influence exerted? Some suppose that it was exerted through
the reading of pagan religious literature; others suppose that it
came merely through conversation with "the man in the street." Paul
desired to become all things to all men (we are reminded), in order
that by all means he might save some (1 Cor. ix. 22). But what was
more necessary for winning the Gentiles than familiarity with their
habits of thought and life? Therefore, it is said, Paul must have
made some study of paganism in order to put his proclamation of the
gospel in a form which would appeal to the pagans whom he sought to
win.

A certain element of truth underlies this contention. It should
not be supposed that Paul was ignorant of the pagan life that
surrounded him. He uses figures of speech derived from the athletic
games; here and there in his Epistles he makes reference to the
former religious practices of his converts. It is not unnatural
that he should occasionally have sought common ground with those
to whom he preached, in accordance with the example contained in
the seventeenth chapter of Acts. But on the whole, the picture of
Paul making a study of paganism in preparation for his life-work is
too modern to be convincing. It may seem natural to those modern
missionaries who no longer regard Christianity as a positive
religion, who no longer insist upon any sharp break on the part
of the converts with their ancestral ways of thinking, who are
perfectly content to derive help from all quarters and are far more
interested in improving political and social conditions in the
land for which they labor than they are in securing assent to any
specific Christian message. The Christianity of such missionaries
might consistently be hospitable to foreign influence; such
missionaries might assign the central place in their preparation
to the investigation of the religious life of mission lands. But
the Christianity of Paul was entirely different. Paul was convinced
of the exclusiveness and the all-sufficiency of his own message.
The message had been revealed to him directly by the Lord. It
was supported by the testimony of those who had been intimate
with Jesus; it was supported by the Old Testament Scriptures. But
throughout it was the product of revelation. To the Jews it was a
stumbling-block, to the Greeks foolishness. But to those who were
saved it was the power of God and the wisdom of God. "Where is the
wise," says Paul, "where is the scribe, where is the disputer of
this world? hath not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?" It
is a little difficult to suppose that the man who wrote these words
was willing to modify the divine foolishness of his message in order
to make it conform to the religion of pagan hearers.

Two reservations, therefore, are necessary before the investigator
can enter upon an actual comparison of the Pauline Epistles with
Hermes Trismegistus and other similar sources. In the first place,
it has not been proved that the type of religion attested by these
sources existed at all in the time of Paul;[185] and in the second
place, it is difficult to see how any pagan influence could have
entered into Paul's life. But if despite these difficulties the
comparison be instituted, it will show, as a matter of fact, not
agreement, but a most striking divergence both of language and of
spirit.

  [185] See Chapter VI.

The investigation may be divided into three parts, although
the three parts will be found to overlap at many points. Three
fundamental elements in Paul's religion have been derived from
Greco-oriental syncretism: first, the complex of ideas connected
with the obtaining of salvation; second, the sacraments; third, the
Christology and the work of Christ in redemption.[186]

  [186] For what follows, compare especially Kennedy, _St. Paul and
  the Mystery-Religions_, [1913]; Clemen, _Religionsgeschichtliche
  Erklaerung des Neuen Testaments_, 1909 (English Translation,
  _Primitive Christianity and Its Non-Jewish Sources_, 1912), _Der
  Einfluss der Mysterienreligionen auf das aelteste Christentum_, 1913.
  These writers deny for the most part any influence of the mystery
  religions upon the center of Paul's religion. For a thoroughgoing
  presentation of the other side of the controversy, see, in addition
  to the works of Bousset and Reitzenstein, Loisy, _Les mysteres
  paiens et le mystere chretien_, 1919.

The first of the three divisions just enumerated is connected
especially with the name of R. Reitzenstein.[187] Reitzenstein lays
great stress upon the lexical method of study; it may be proved, he
believes, that Paul used terms which were derived from Hellenistic
mystical religion, and with the terms went the ideas. The ideas, he
admits, were not taken over without modification, but even after the
Pauline modifications are subtracted, enough is thought to remain
in order to show that the mystery religions exerted an important
influence upon Paul.

  [187] _Poimandres_, 1904; _Die hellenistischen Mysterienreligionen_,
  2te Aufl., 1920; "Religionsgeschichte und Eschatologie," in
  _Zeitschrift fuer die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft_, xiii, 1912,
  pp. 1-28.

Thus Reitzenstein attempts to exhibit in the Pauline Epistles a
technical vocabulary derived from the Hellenized mystery religions.
This supposed technical vocabulary embraces especially the terms
connected with "knowledge"[188] and "Spirit."[189]

  [188] +gnosis+.

  [189] +pneuma+.

In the mystical religion of Paul's day, Reitzenstein says, "gnosis"
(knowledge) did not mean knowledge acquired by processes of
investigation or reasoning, but the knowledge that came by immediate
revelation from a god. Such immediate revelation was given, in the
mystery cults, by the mystic vision which formed a part of the
experience of initiation; in the philosophizing derivatives of the
mystery cults, like the type of piety which is attested in Hermes
Trismegistus, the revelation could be divorced from any external
acts and connected with the mere reading of a book. But in any case,
"gnosis" was not regarded as an achievement of the intellect; it was
an experience granted by divine favor. The man who had received such
favor was exalted far above ordinary humanity; indeed he was already
deified.

This conception of gnosis, Reitzenstein believes, is the conception
which is found in the Pauline Epistles; gnosis according to Paul was
a gift of God, an experience produced by the divine Spirit. In the
case of Paul, Reitzenstein continues, the experience was produced
through a vision of the risen Christ. That vision had changed the
very nature of Paul. It is true, Paul avoids the term "deification";
he does not say, in accordance with Hellenistic usage, that he had
ceased to be a man and had become God. This limitation was required
by his Jewish habits of thought. But he does say that through his
vision he was illumined and received "glory." Thus, although the
term deification is avoided, the idea is present. As one who has
received gnosis, Paul regards himself as being beyond the reach of
human judgments, and is not interested in tradition that came from
other Christians. In short, according to Reitzenstein, Paul was a
true "gnostic."

But this conclusion is reached only by doing violence to the plain
meaning of the Epistles. "Gnosis" in the early Church (including
Paul), as Von Harnack well observes,[190] is not a technical term;
it is no more a technical term than is, for example, "wisdom." In
1 Cor. xii. 8 it appears, not by itself, but along with many other
spiritual gifts of widely diverse nature. Gnosis, therefore, does
not stand in that position of prominence which it ought to occupy
if Reitzenstein's theory were correct. It is, indeed, according to
Paul, important; and it is a direct gift from God. But what reason
is there to have recourse to Hellenistic mystery religions in order
to explain either its importance or its nature? Another explanation
is found much nearer at hand--namely, in the Old Testament. The
possibility of Old Testament influence in Paul does not have to be
established by any elaborate arguments, and is not opposed by his
own testimony. On the contrary, he appeals to the Old Testament
again and again in his Epistles. And the Old Testament contains
all the elements of his conception of the knowledge of God. Even
the Greek noun "gnosis" occurs in the Septuagint (though with
comparative infrequency); but what is far more important is that
the idea is expressed countless times by the verb. Let it not be
said that the Septuagint is a Hellenistic book, and that therefore
if the Septuagint idea of the knowledge of God affords the basis
for Pauline teaching that does not disprove the influence of the
Hellenistic mystery religions. For in its rendering of the passages
dealing with the knowledge of God, whatever may be said of other
matters, the Septuagint is transmitting faithfully the meaning of
the Hebrew text. Knowledge of God in the Hebrew Old Testament is
something far more than a mere intellectual achievement. It is the
gift of God, and it involves the entire emotional nature.

  [190] Von Harnack, "Die Terminologie der Wiedergeburt und verwandter
  Erlebnisse in der aeltesten Kirche," in _Texte und Untersuchungen zur
  Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur_, xlii, 1918, pp. 128f.,
  Anm. 1.

But may it not be objected that the Pauline conception transcends
that of the Old Testament in that in Paul the knowledge of God
produces a transformation of human nature--the virtual deification
of man? This question must be answered in the negative. Undoubtedly
the Pauline conception does transcend that of the Old Testament,
but not in the way which is here supposed. The intimate relation
between the believer and the risen Christ, according to Paul, goes
far beyond anything that was possible under the old dispensation.
It involves a fuller, richer, more intimate knowledge. But the
experience in which Paul saw the risen Christ near Damascus was not
an end in itself, as it would have been in the milieu of the mystery
religions; it was rather a means to an end.[191] It was the divinely
appointed means by which Paul was convinced of an historical fact,
the resurrection of Jesus, and was led to appropriate the benefits
of that fact. Thus, as Oepke[192] has well observed, Paul does not
expect his converts all to see Christ, or even to have experiences
like that which is described in 2 Cor. xii. 2-4. It is sufficient
for them to receive the historical account of Christ's redeeming
work, through the testimony of Paul and of the other witnesses. That
account, transmitted by ordinary word of mouth, is a sufficient
basis for faith; and through faith comes the new life. At this
point is discovered an enormous difference between Paul and the
mystery religions. In the mystery religions everything led up to
the mystic vision; without that mystic vision there was no escape
from the miseries of the old life. But according to Paul, the mighty
change was produced by the acceptance of a simple story, an account
of what had happened only a few years before, when Jesus died and
rose again. From the acceptance of that story there proceeds a new
knowledge, a gnosis. But this higher gnosis in Paul is not the means
of salvation, as it is in the mystery religions; it is only one
of the effects of salvation. This difference is no mere matter of
detail. On the contrary, it involves a contrast between two entirely
different worlds of thought and life.

  [191] Oepke, _Die Missionspredigt des Apostels Paulus_, 1920, p. 53.

  [192] _Loc. cit._

The message of Paul, then, was a "gospel," a piece of news about
something that had happened. As has well been observed,[193] the
characteristic New Testament words are the words that deal with
"gospel," "teaching," and the transmission of an historical message.
Paul was not a "gnostic," but a witness; salvation, according to his
teaching, came not through a mystic vision, but through the hearing
of faith.[194]

  [193] Heinrici, _Die Hermes-Mystik und das Neue Testament_, 1918,
  pp. 178-180.

  [194] Compare Oepke, _op. cit._, pp. 40ff.

Thus, so far as the idea of "knowledge" is concerned, Reitzenstein
has not been successful in showing any dependence of Paul upon the
mystery religions. But how is it with regard to the doctrine of the
"Spirit"?

In 1 Cor. ii. 14, 15, the "spiritual man" is contrasted with the
"psychic man." The spiritual man is the man who has the Spirit of
God; the psychic man is the man who has only a human soul. It is not
really correct to say that the spiritual man, according to Paul,
is a man not who has the Spirit but who is the Spirit. Paul avoids
such an expression for the same reason that prevents his speaking of
the "deification" of the Christian. Everywhere in Paul the personal
distinction between the believer and the Christ who dwells in him is
carefully preserved. His "mysticism" (if the word may be used thus
loosely) is never pantheistic. Here already is to be found a most
vital difference between Paul and Hermes Trismegistus.

But this observation constitutes a digression. It is necessary
to return to 1 Cor. ii. 14, 15. The spiritual man, according to
that passage, is the man who has the Spirit of God; the psychic
man is the man who has only a human soul. Reitzenstein apparently
insists that the "only" in this sentence should be left out. The
psychic man, according to Paul, he says, has a soul; the spiritual
man has no "soul" but has the divine Spirit instead. But such a
representation is not really Pauline.[195] Paul clearly teaches
that the human soul continues to exist even after the divine
Spirit has entered in. "The Spirit himself," he says, "beareth
witness with our spirit, that we are children of God" (Rom. viii.
16). Here "our spirit" clearly means "our soul," and is expressly
distinguished from the divine Spirit. At every point, then, the
attempt to find a pantheistic mysticism in Paul breaks down before
the intensely personal character of his religion. The relation of
Paul to the risen Christ, intimate as it is, mediated as it is by
the all-pervasive Spirit, is a relation of one person to another.

  [195] See especially Vos, "The Eschatological Aspect of the Pauline
  Conception of the Spirit," in _Biblical and Theological Studies by
  the Members of the Faculty of Princeton Theological Seminary_, 1912,
  pp. 248-250.

But it is still necessary to return to the Pauline contrast between
the "spiritual man" and the "psychic man." Reitzenstein lays great
stress upon that contrast. He regards it as lying at the heart of
Paul's religion, and he thinks that he can explain it from the
Hellenistic mystery religions. Apparently the method of Reitzenstein
can be tested at this point if it can be tested at all. If it does
not succeed in explaining the Pauline doctrine of the Spirit, upon
which the chief stress is laid, probably it will explain nothing at
all.

At first sight the material adduced by Reitzenstein is impressive.
It is impressive by its very bulk. The reader is led by the learned
investigator into many new and entrancing fields. Surely after so
long a journey the traveler must arrive at last at his desired
goal. But somehow the goal is never reached. All of Reitzenstein's
material, strange to say, seems to prove the exact opposite of what
Reitzenstein desires.

Reitzenstein desires apparently to explain the Pauline use of the
adjectives "psychic" and "spiritual"[196] in 1 Cor. ii. 14, 15;
apparently he is quite sure that the usage finds its sufficient
basis in Hermes Trismegistus and related sources. But the plain
fact--almost buried though it is under the mass of irrelevant
material--is that the adjective "psychic" and the adjective
"spiritual" occur each only once in the sources which are examined,
and that they never occur, as in 1 Cor. ii. 14, 15, in contrast
with each other.[197] What is even far more disconcerting, however,
is that the noun "spirit"[198] is not used (certainly not used
ordinarily) in contrast with "soul,"[199] as Paul uses it. Certainly
it is not so used ordinarily in the Hermetic writings. On the
contrary, in Hermes the spirit appears, in certain passages, not as
something that is higher than the soul, but as something that is
lower. Apparently the common Greek materialistic use of "pneuma" to
indicate "breath" or "wind" or the like is here followed. At any
rate, the terminology is as remote as could be imagined from that of
Paul. There is absolutely no basis for the Pauline contrast between
the human soul and the divine Spirit.[200]

  [196] +psychikos+ and +pneumatikos+.

  [197] On the occurrence of +psychikos+ at the beginning of
  Dieterich's "Mithras Liturgy" (line 24), see Bousset, _Kyrios
  Christos_, 1913, p. 141, Anm. 1. On the occurrence of +pneumatikos+,
  see Reitzenstein, _Hellenistische Mysterienreligionen_, 2te Aufl.,
  1920, p. 162. Compare Bousset, _Jesus der Herr_, 1916, pp. 80f.

  [198] +pneuma+.

  [199] +psyche+.

  [200] For this whole subject, see especially the comprehensive
  monograph of Burton (_Spirit, Soul, and Flesh_, [1918]), with the
  summary on pp. 205-207.

It might be supposed that this fact would weaken Reitzenstein's
devotion to his theory. But such is not the case. If, says
Reitzenstein, "Spirit" in Hermes Trismegistus does not indicate
something higher than "soul," that is because the original popular
terminology has here suffered philosophical revision. The popular
term "spirit" has been made to give place to the more philosophical
term "mind."[201] Where Hermes says "mind," therefore, it is only
necessary to restore the term "spirit," and an admirable basis is
discovered for the Pauline terminology. But how does Reitzenstein
know that the popular, unphilosophical term in the mystery religions
was "spirit," rather than "mind" or the like? The extant pagan
sources do not clearly attest the term "spirit" in the sense which
is here required. Apparently then the only reason for positing the
existence of such a term in pagan mystery religion is that it must
have existed in pagan mystery religion if the Pauline use of it is
to be explained. It looks, therefore, as though the learned argument
of Reitzenstein had been moving all the time in a circle. After
pursuing a roundabout course through many centuries and many races
of men, after acquiring boundless treasures of curious information,
after impressing the whole world with the learning thus acquired,
the explorer arrives at last at the exact point where he started,
and no richer than when he first set out! The Pauline terminology
cannot be explained except as coming from the mystery religions;
therefore, says Reitzenstein in effect, it must have had a place
in the mystery religions even though the extant sources provide no
sufficient evidence of the fact.[202]

  [201] +nous+.

  [202] See Burton, _op. cit._, p. 206: "For the Pauline exaltation of
  +pneuma+ over +psyche+ there is no observed previous parallel. It
  marks an advance on Philo, for which there is no precedent in
  non-Jewish Greek, and only partial and imperfect parallels in the
  magical papyri. It is the reverse of Hermetic usage."

But is there not some way out of the vicious circle? Is there not
some witness to the terminology which is required? The investigator
turns naturally to Philo. Philo is thought to be dependent upon
the mysteries; perhaps he will attest the required mystical use
of the term "spirit." But, alas, Philo apparently deserts his
friends. Except where he is influenced by the Old Testament use
of the word "spirit," he seems to prefer other terminology.[203]
His terminology, then, like that of Hermes must be thought to have
suffered philosophical reversal. And still the required mystery
terminology eludes the eye of the investigator.

  [203] See Bousset, _Kyrios Christos_, pp. 138, 140, 141 (Anm. 2).

Of course there is one place where the terms "Spirit" and
"spiritual" are exalted above the terms "psyche" and "psychic,"
in quite the manner that is desired. That place is found in the
Christian Gnosticism of the second century. But the Gnostics of the
second century are plainly dependent upon Paul; they vie with the
Catholic Church in their appeal to the Pauline Epistles. The origin
of their use of the terms "psychic" and "spiritual" is therefore
only too plain. At least it might seem to be plain. But Reitzenstein
rejects the common view.[204] According to Reitzenstein, the
Gnostics have derived their usage not from Paul but from the
pre-Pauline mystery religions; and the Gnostic usage of "Spirit" as
higher than "soul" is the source of the Hermetic usage of "soul" as
higher than "spirit," which, Reitzenstein believes, has been derived
from it by philosophical revision. But the argument is beyond
the reach even of J. Kroll, who cannot be accused of theological
interest. As has already been observed, Kroll insists that the
Gnostic usage is here secondary.[205]

  [204] Also Bousset, _op. cit._, pp. 140f. According to Bousset, it
  is unlikely that "the few and difficult terminological explanations
  of Paul ... should have exerted such extensive influence upon the
  most diverse Gnostic systems." But is the teaching of Paul about the
  Spirit as higher than the soul really obscure? Does it not appear
  plainly all through the Epistles?

  [205] See above, p. 249, with footnote 2.

One argument remains. The trouble, from Reitzenstein's point of
view, is that when the Hermetic writings ought, in the interests of
the theory, to say "Spirit" they actually say "mind." It becomes
necessary, therefore, to prove that "mind" means the same thing as
"spirit." A proof is found by Reitzenstein in Paul himself, in I
Cor. ii. 15, 16. "But the spiritual man," says Paul, "examines all
things, but he himself is examined by none. For 'who hath known the
mind of the Lord, that he should instruct Him?' But we have the
mind of Christ." Here, says Reitzenstein,[206] the possession of
the "mind" of Christ makes a man a "spiritual" man, that is, a man
who has the "Spirit." Hence "mind" is the same thing as "spirit."
Hence--such, at least, would seem to be the only inference from the
passage in I Corinthians which would really establish Reitzenstein's
theory--when Hermes Trismegistus says "mind," it is legitimate to
substitute "spirit" in order thus to find the basis for the ordinary
Pauline terminology.

  [206] _Hellenistische Mysterienreligionen_, 2te Aufl., 1920, pp.
  189f.

But it is by no means clear that "mind" in I Cor. ii. 16b is the
same as "spirit." If a man has the Spirit of Christ, he also has
the mind of Christ; the Spirit gives him an understanding of the
thoughts of Christ. Conversely, the possession of the mind of
Christ is a proof that the man has the Spirit of Christ; it is only
the Spirit who could have given him his understanding of Christ's
thoughts. But it does not follow by any means that the term "mind"
means the same thing as the term "spirit." Moreover, the passage is
entirely isolated; and the choice of the unusual word "mind" may be
due to the form of the Septuagint passage which Paul is citing.

At any rate, the plain fact is that the terminology in Hermes
Trismegistus and related sources is strikingly different from that
of Paul. Reitzenstein finds himself in the peculiar position of
proving that Paul is dependent upon pagan sources by the fact that
the Pauline terminology does not occur in the pagan sources. It will
not do for him to say that the terminology is of little importance
and that the ideas of Paul, if not the terminology, are derived from
the pagan mysteries. For it is just Reitzenstein who insists upon
the importance of words as the vehicle of ideas. His fundamental
argument is that Paul used the terminology of the mystery religions,
and with the terminology received also the ideas. It is therefore
important to observe that Reitzenstein's lexical parallel utterly
breaks down.

But if the Pauline doctrine of the Spirit was not derived from
the pagan mystery religions, whence was it derived? The answer
is perfectly plain. It was derived ultimately from the Old
Testament.[207] Unquestionably, indeed, it goes far beyond the
Old Testament, and the enrichment of its content may conceivably
be explained in various ways. The Gospels and Acts explain the
enrichment as due partly to the teaching of Jesus Himself and to
the coming of the Spirit on the day of Pentecost. This explanation
will be rejected for the most part by naturalistic criticism. Paul
explains the enrichment as due partly to the experience which he
had of the presence of Christ. This explanation is regarded as no
explanation at all by the school of comparative religion. But it is
not necessary in the present connection to discuss these matters.
All that needs to be observed now is that the basis for the Pauline
doctrine of the Spirit is found in the Old Testament.

  [207] Bousset (_op. cit._, p. 141, Anm. 2) admits that the
  terminology of Paul, especially his use of the term "Spirit" instead
  of "mind" and his use of the terms in the contrast between "Spirit"
  and "flesh" may possibly be due partly to the Old Testament, but
  insists that such terminological influence does not touch the
  fundamentals of the thought. Such admissions are important, despite
  the way in which Bousset qualifies them.

In the Old Testament, the Spirit of God is represented as distinct
from man and higher than man; there is no question in the Old
Testament of a usage by which the Spirit is degraded, as in Hermes
Trismegistus, below the soul. In the Old Testament, moreover, the
Spirit is regarded as bestowing supernatural gifts such as prophecy
and producing supernatural experiences--exactly as in Paul. But the
fruit of the Spirit according to the Old Testament is something more
than prophecy or any momentary experience; it is also a permanent
possession of the soul. "Take not thy holy Spirit from me," says
the Psalmist. (Ps. li. 11.) Let the student first examine the
labored arguments of Reitzenstein, let him examine the few faint
approaches to the Pauline terminology which have been gleaned from
pagan sources, mostly late and of uncertain origin, let him observe
that just where Greek usage approaches Paul most closely in form (as
in the "divine Spirit" of Menander),[208] it is most diametrically
opposed in content, let him reflect that the influence of pagan
usage is contrary to Paul's own consciousness. And then let him turn
to the Old Testament! Let him remember that the Pauline use of the
Old Testament is no matter of conjecture, but is attested everywhere
in the Epistles. And let him examine the Old Testament usage in
detail. The Pauline terminology--"the Holy Spirit," the "Spirit
of God"--so signally lacking in early pagan sources,[209] appears
here in all its richness; and with the terminology go the depths of
life. In turning from Hermes to the Hebrew Scriptures, the student
has turned away from Stoic pantheism, away from the polytheism of
the mystery religions, away from the fantastic speculations of a
decadent philosophy, to the presence of the personal God. And, in
doing so, he has found the origin of the religion of Paul.

  [208] See Burton, _op. cit._, pp. 114-116.

  [209] Burton, _op. cit._, pp. 173-175, 187f.

Thus the lexical argument of Reitzenstein breaks down at the
decisive points. It would indeed be rash to assert that Paul
never uses a term derived from the pagan mysteries. For example,
in Phil. iv. 12 he uses the verb that means "to be initiated."
"In everything and in all things I have been initiated," he says,
"both to be filled and to suffer hunger, both to abound and to be
in want." But this example shows clearly how little importance is
sometimes to be attributed to the ultimate derivation of a word.
The word "initiate" is here used in a purely figurative way. It is
doubtful whether there is the slightest thought of its original
significance. The word has been worn down by repeated use almost as
much as, for example, the word which means "supply" in Gal. iii.
5. Etymologically that word means "to be the leader of a chorus."
It referred originally to the Athenian custom by which a wealthy
citizen undertook to defray the cost of the chorus at one of the
dramatic festivals. But later it was used to designate any act of
bountiful supplying. And when it was used by Paul, its origin was
entirely forgotten. It would be ridiculous to make Paul say that
in bestowing the Spirit upon the Galatian Christians God acted
as the leader of a chorus. It is not essentially different with
the verb meaning "to be initiated" in Philippians. In both cases,
an institution of ancient Hellenic life--in the former case, the
religious festivals, in the latter case, the mysteries--has given
rise to the use of a word, which found its way into the Greek
world-language of the Hellenistic age, and continued to be used even
where there was no thought of its ultimate origin.

This example is instructive because the context in the Philippians
passage is plainly free from all mystical associations. Plainly,
therefore, the use of a word derived from the mysteries does not
necessarily indicate any agreement with the mystical point of view.
Indeed, it may perhaps indicate the exact opposite. If the idea
"to initiate" had associations connected with the center of Paul's
religious life, it is perhaps doubtful whether Paul could have used
the word in so purely figurative a way, just as he would not have
used the word meaning "to be the leader of a chorus" in referring to
God's bestowal of the Spirit, if he had had the slightest thought of
the Athenian festivals.

If, then, it should appear that Paul uses a vocabulary derived from
the mysteries, the fact would not necessarily be of any significance
whatever in determining the origin of his religion. Every missionary
is obliged to take the words which have been used in the religion
from which converts are to be won in order to express the new ideas.
Translators of the Bible in the modern mission fields are obliged
to proceed in this way. Yet the procedure does not necessarily
involve any modification of Christian ideas. The old words are given
loftier meanings in order to become the vehicle of Christian truth;
the original meanings provide merely a starting-point for the new
teaching. Conceivably, the apostle Paul might have proceeded in this
way; conceivably he might have used words connected with the mystery
religions in order to proclaim the gospel of Christ.

As a matter of fact, the evidence for such an employment of a
mystery terminology in the Pauline Epistles is very slight. In
1 Cor. ii. 6, 7, Paul uses the terms "mystery" and "perfect" or
"full-grown."[210] The former word was sometimes used to designate
the "mysteries" in the technical, religious sense. But it is also
used in Greek in a very much more general way. And certainly as it
is used in Paul it is very remote from the technical meaning. The
Christian "mystery" according to Paul is not something that is to
be kept secret on principle, like the mysteries of Eleusis, but it
is something which, though it was formerly hidden in the counsels
of God, is now to be made known to all. Some, it is true, may never
be able to receive it. But that which is necessary in order that
it may be received is not "gnosis" or an initiation. It is rather
acceptance of a message and the holy life that follows. "If you
would know the deep things of God," Paul says to the Corinthians,
"then stop your quarreling." We find ourselves here in a circle of
ideas quite different from that of the mystery religions. As for
the word "teleios," it seems not to have been discovered in pagan
sources in the sense of "initiated," which is sometimes attributed
to it in 1 Corinthians. Apparently it means simply "full-grown";
Paul contrasts the full-grown man with the babes in Christ.

  [210] +mysterion+ and +teleios+.

On the whole, it seems improbable that the converts of Paul, in
any great numbers, had lived in the atmosphere of the mystery
religions.[211] At any rate, Paul certainly does not use the
technical vocabulary of the mysteries. That fact has been amply
demonstrated by Von Harnack in the illuminating study which he has
devoted to the "terminology of the new birth."[212] The earliest
genuine technical term in the vocabulary of the early Church, Von
Harnack believes, is "illumination," as Justin Martyr uses it to
designate baptism. Certainly in the earlier period, there is not the
slightest evidence of any such fixity in the use of terms as would
have appeared if the New Testament writers had adopted a technical
vocabulary.

  [211] Oepke, _Die Missionspredigt des Apostels Paulus_, 1920, p. 26.

  [212] Von Harnack, "Die Terminologie der Wiedergeburt und verwandter
  Erlebnisse in der aeltesten Kirche," in _Texte und Untersuchungen zur
  Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur_, xlii, 1918, pp. 97-143.
  See especially pp. 139-143.

Therefore, if the dependence of Paul upon the mystery religions
is to be demonstrated, the lexical method of Reitzenstein must
be abandoned. The terminology of Paul is not derived from the
terminology of the mysteries. But possibly, it may be said, although
there is no clear dependence in the terminology, the fundamental
ideas of Paul may still be shown to have come from the surrounding
paganism. It is in this more cautious form that the hypothesis
is maintained by Bousset: at least Bousset is less inclined than
Reitzenstein to lay stress upon verbal coincidences.[213] The entire
outlook of Paul, Bousset believes, regardless of the way in which
that outlook is expressed, was derived from the mystical piety of
the Hellenistic age; it was from his pagan environment that Paul
derived the pessimistic estimate of human nature which is at the
basis of his teaching.

  [213] But compare _Jesus der Herr_, 1916, pp. 80-85.

At this point it may be admitted very freely that Paul was convinced
of the insufficiency of human nature, and that that conviction
was also prevalent in the paganism of the Hellenistic age. The
Hellenistic age, like Paul, recognized the need of redemption;
salvation, it was believed, could not be attained by unaided human
resources, but was a gift of higher powers. But this similarity is
quite insufficient to establish any relationship of dependence.
Both Paulinism and the Hellenistic mystery religions were religions
of redemption. But there have been many religions of redemption,
in many ages and among many peoples, which have been entirely
independent of one another. It will probably not be maintained,
for example, that early Buddhism stood in any fundamental causal
relation to the piety of the Hellenistic age. Yet early Buddhism was
a religion of redemption.

No attempt indeed should be made to underestimate the community
of interest which binds all redemptive religions together and
separates them sharply from all others. Common recognition of the
fundamental evil of the world is a far closer bond of union than
agreement about the details of conduct. Gautama under the tree of
knowledge in India, seeking in ascetic meditation for freedom from
the misery of existence, was inwardly far nearer to the apostle
Paul than is many a modern liberal preacher who loves to read the
sixth chapter of Ephesians in Church. But such community of interest
does not indicate any relation of dependence. It might do so if the
sense of human inadequacy were an abnormal thing. In that case,
the appearance of a pessimistic view of human nature would require
explanation. But if human nature is really hopeless and helpless in
an evil world, then the independent recognition of the fact by many
men of many minds is no longer cause for wonder.

Historical judgments at this point, then, are apt to be influenced
by the presuppositions of the investigator. To Bousset the whole
notion of redemption is distasteful. It seems to him to be an
abnormal, an unhealthy thing. To explain its emergence, therefore,
in the course of human history he is prone to look for special
causes. So he explains the Pauline doctrine of the radical evil
of human nature as being due to the piety of a decadent age. But
if this world is really an evil world, as Paul says it is, then
recognition of the fact will appear spontaneously at many points.
For a time, in an age of high achievements like the age of Pericles,
the fundamental problem of life may be forgotten. But the problem is
always there and will force itself ever anew into the consciousness
of men.

At any rate, whether desirable or not, the longing for redemption
is a fundamental fact of history, and may be shown to have emerged
independently at many points. The character of Paulinism as a
redemptive religion, the Pauline doctrine of human depravity, is
therefore insufficient to establish dependence of Paul upon the
mystery religions of the Hellenistic age. Dependence could be
established only by similarity in the form in which the doctrine
of depravity appears. But as a matter of fact such similarity is
strikingly absent. The Pauline use of the term "flesh" to denote
that in which evil resides can apparently find no real parallel
whatever in pagan usage. And the divergence appears not only in
terminology but also in thought. At first sight there might seem
to be a parallel between the Pauline doctrine of the flesh and the
Greek doctrine of the evil of matter, which appears in the Orphic
sects, then in Plato and in his successors. But the parallel breaks
down upon closer examination. According to Plato, the body is evil
because it is material; it is the prison-house of the soul. Nothing
could really be more remote from the thought of Paul. According to
Paul, the connection of soul and body is entirely normal, and the
soul apart from the body is in a condition of nakedness. It is true,
the body will be changed at the resurrection or at the coming of
Christ; it will be made more adequate for the Kingdom of God. But
at any rate, there is in Paul no doctrine of the inherent evil of
matter. The real starting-point of the Pauline doctrine of the flesh
is to be found in the Old Testament, in the passages where "flesh"
denotes human nature in its frailty. Certainly the Pauline teaching
is far more highly developed than the teaching of the Old Testament.
But the Old Testament provides the starting-point. The "flesh" in
Paul, when it is used in its developed, ethical sense, does not mean
the material nature of man; it includes rather all that man receives
by ordinary generation. The contrast between "flesh" and "Spirit"
therefore is not the contrast between matter and spirit; it is a
contrast between human nature, of which sin has taken possession,
and the Spirit of God.

Certainly, at any rate, whatever solution may be found for the
intricate problem of the Pauline use of the term "flesh," the
Pauline pessimism with regard to human nature is totally different
from the dualistic pessimism of the Hellenistic age. It is different
because it does not make evil reside in matter as such. But it is
different also in a far more fundamental way. It is different in
its ethical character. The Hellenistic age was conscious of the
need of salvation; and salvation, it was recognized, must come from
outside of man. But this consciousness of need was not always,
and not clearly, connected with questions of right and wrong. The
Hellenistic age was conscious of inadequacy, of slavery to fate, of
the futility of human life as it is actually lived upon the earth.
Here and there, no doubt, there was also a recognition of existing
moral evil, and a longing for a better life. But such longings
were almost submerged amidst longings of a non-ethical kind. The
mysteries were cherished for the most part not because they offered
goodness but because they offered happiness.

In Paul, on the other hand, the consciousness of human inadequacy
is essentially a consciousness of sin. And redemption is desired
because it satisfies the hunger and thirst after righteousness. At
this point the contrast with the Hellenistic mystery religions is
profound. The religion of Paul is like the mystery religions in that
it is a religion of redemption. But there the similarity ceases.
There is certainly no such similarity in the conception of that
from which men are to be redeemed as would raise any presumption
of dependence in the presentation of the means of redemption. And
it is dependence in the presentation of the means of redemption
which alone would serve to explain the origin of the religion of
Paul. It is unwarranted to argue that because Paul agrees with the
mystery religions in a longing for redemption therefore he must have
derived from the mystery religions his method of satisfying the
longing--namely his conception of the redemptive work of the Lord
Jesus Christ. For even in the longing for redemption--to say nothing
of the way of satisfying the longing--Paul was totally different
from the mysteries. The longing which was aroused in the devotees
of the mysteries was a longing for a happier immortality, a freedom
from the pressure of fate; the longing which Paul sought to arouse
in those for whom he labored was a longing for righteousness and for
acceptance by the righteous God.

This difference is intimately connected with a highly significant
fact--the presence in Paul of a "forensic" view of salvation.
Salvation, according to Paul, is not only salvation from the
power of sin; it is also salvation from the guilt of sin. Not
only regeneration is needed, if a man is to be saved, but also
justification. At this point, there is apparently in the mystery
religions no parallel worthy of the name. At least there is none
if Reitzenstein's attempt to exhibit a parallel[214] is at all
adequate; for Reitzenstein has succeeded only in setting in clearer
light the enormous difference at this point between Paul and his
pagan environment. The word "justify" appears, indeed, in the
Hermetic corpus (xiii. 9), but as Reitzenstein himself observes,
it means not "declare righteous" but "make righteous." A parallel
with Paul can be set up, therefore, only if "justify" in Paul also
means "make righteous." Reitzenstein actually finds such a meaning
in Rom. vi. 7, and in Rom. viii. 30. But the expedient is desperate
in the extreme. It will probably be unnecessary to review again the
absolutely overwhelming evidence by which the word "justify" in the
Pauline Epistles is shown to mean not "make righteous" but "declare
righteous." Without the slightest question Paul did maintain a
forensic view of salvation. The believer, according to Paul, is in
himself guilty in the sight of God. But he is given a sentence of
acquittal, he is "justified," because Christ has borne on the cross
the curse of the Law which rightly rested upon those whom Christ
died to save.

  [214] Reitzenstein, _Die hellenistischen Mysterienreligionen_, 2te
  Aufl., pp. 112-116.

The presence of this forensic element in the teaching of Paul is
universally or generally recognized; and it is usually admitted
to be not Greek but Jewish. But there is a tendency among recent
scholars to minimize its importance. According to Wrede, the
forensic conception of salvation, the complex of ideas centering
around justification apart from the works of the Law, was merely a
weapon forged by Paul in the exigencies of controversy.[215] Against
the Judaizing contention for the continued validity of the Law Paul
developed the doctrine that the penalty imposed by the Law upon sin
was borne by Christ, so that for the believer the bondage of the Law
is over. But, Wrede believes, this whole conception was of minor
importance in Paul's own life; it was merely necessary in order
that he might refute the Judaizers and so continue his free Gentile
mission. A somewhat similar view is advocated by Bousset; Bousset
believes, at least, that the forensic conception of salvation
occupies a subordinate place in the thought and life of Paul.

  [215] "Kampfeslehre." See Wrede, _Paulus_, 1904, pp. 72ff. (English
  Translation, _Paul_, 1907, pp. 122ff.).

But there could be no greater mistake. The doctrine of justification
by faith alone apart from the works of the Law appears indeed in
the Epistle to the Galatians as a weapon against the Judaizers. But
why was Paul opposed to the Judaizers in the first place? Certainly
it was not merely because the Judaizing demand that Gentile
Christians should be circumcised and keep the Law would interfere
in a practical way with the Gentile mission. Paul was not like some
modern leaders of the Church, who are interested in mere bigness;
he was not interested in the extension of the Church if such
extension involved the sacrifice of principle. Nothing could be more
utterly unhistorical than the representation of Paul as a practical
missionary, developing the doctrine of justification by faith in
order to get rid of a doctrine of the Law which would be a hindrance
in the way of his Gentile mission. Such a representation reverses
the real state of the case. The real reason why Paul was devoted to
the doctrine of justification by faith was not that it made possible
the Gentile mission, but rather that it was true. Paul was not
devoted to the doctrine of justification by faith because of the
Gentile mission; he was devoted to the Gentile mission because of
the doctrine of justification by faith. And he was opposed to the
Judaizers, not merely because they constituted a hindrance in the
way of the Gentile work, but because they made the cross of Christ
of none effect. "If righteousness is through the law, then Christ
died in vain" (Gal. ii. 21). These words are at the very heart of
Paul's life; for they involve the Pauline doctrine of the grace of
God.

There could be no greater error, therefore, than that of
representing the Pauline doctrine of justification by faith as
a mere afterthought, as a mere weapon in controversy. Paul was
interested in salvation from the guilt of sin no whit less than in
salvation from the power of sin, in justification no whit less than
in the "new creation." Indeed, it is a great mistake to separate
the two sides of his message. There lies the root error of the
customary modern formula for explaining the origin of the Pauline
theology. According to that formula, the forensic element in Paul's
doctrine of salvation, which centers in justification, was derived
from Judaism, and the vital or essential element which centers in
the new creation was derived from paganism. In reality, the two
elements are inextricably intertwined. The sense of guilt was always
central in the longing for salvation which Paul desired to induce in
his hearers, and imparted to that longing an ethical quality which
was totally lacking in the mystery religions. And salvation in the
Pauline churches consisted not merely in the assurance of a blessed
immortality, not merely in the assurance of a present freedom from
the bondage of fate, not merely even in the possession of a new
power of holy living, but also, and everywhere, in the consciousness
that the guilt of sin had been removed by the cross of Christ.

There is no affinity, therefore, between the Pauline doctrine of
salvation and that which is found in the mystery religions. The
terminology is strikingly different, and the difference is even
greater in the underlying ideas. Paulinism is like the mystery
religions in being a religion of redemption, but within the great
category of redemptive religions there could be no greater contrast.

This conclusion might be overthrown if certain recent contentions
should prove to be correct with regard to the second of the
elements in Paulinism which are being derived from pagan religion.
This second element is found in the Pauline doctrine of the
sacraments. In the teaching of Paul about baptism and the Lord's
Supper, we are told, there is clearly to be observed the influence
of the mystery religions.

This contention depends partly upon the supposed nature of these
particular sacraments and partly upon the mere fact of the presence
of sacraments in the religion of Paul.

With regard to the nature of these particular sacraments there
might seem at first sight to be a parallel with the mystery
religions. The mysteries usually had connected with them ablutions
of one kind or another and some sort of partaking of sacred food.
But it is singularly difficult to determine the meaning of these
practices. The various ablutions which preceded the celebration
of the mysteries may have been often nothing more than symbols of
cleansing; and such symbolism is so natural that it might appear
independently at many places. It appears, for example, highly
developed among the Jews; and in the baptism of John the Baptist
it assumes a form far more closely akin to Christian baptism than
in the washings which were connected with the pagan mysteries.
The evidence for a sacramental significance of the ablutions in
the mysteries, despite confident assertions on the part of some
modern writers, is really very slight. Most interesting, perhaps,
of all the passages which have been cited is that which appears
in Pap. Par. 47, a papyrus letter written in the second century
before Christ.[216] This passage may be translated as follows:
"For you are untruthful about all things and the gods who are with
you likewise, because they have cast you into great matter and we
are not able to die, and if you see that we are going to be saved,
then let us be baptized." It is possible to understand the death
that is referred to as the mystical death which would be attained
in the mysteries, and to connect the baptism with that death and
with the consequent salvation. There would thus be a parallel,
external at least, with the sixth chapter of Romans, where Paul
connects baptism with the death and resurrection of Christ. But
the papyrus passage is hopelessly obscure, and is capable of very
different interpretations. Moulton and Milligan, for example, take
the verb "to be baptized," in a purely figurative sense, as meaning
simply "to be overwhelmed with calamities."[217] According to this
interpretation the reference to the mysteries disappears altogether.
At any rate, the passage, if it does refer to the mysteries, is
altogether isolated. And in view of its extreme obscurity it should
not be made the basis of far-reaching conclusions. What is now being
maintained is not that the washings which were connected with the
mysteries were never sacramental. It is incautious to make such
sweeping negative assertions. But so far as the pre-Pauline period
is concerned, the evidence which has been adduced is, to say the
least, exceedingly scanty. It has by no means been proved that in
the pre-Pauline mysteries, "baptism" was connected closely with the
new birth.[218]

  [216] See Reitzenstein, _op. cit._, 2te Aufl., pp. 85f. The passage
  in the papyrus reads as follows (_Notices et extraits des manuscrits
  de la bibliotheque imperiale_, xviii, 1865, p. 315): +hoti
  pseude panta, kai hoi para se theoi homoios, hoti enbeblekan hymas
  eis hylen megalen, kai ou dynametha apothanein kan hides hoti
  mellomen sothenai, tote baptizometha+. The letter is also contained
  in Witkowski, _Epistulae privatae graecae_, 1906, pp. 63-66.

  [217] Moulton and Milligan, _The Vocabulary of the Greek Testament_,
  s. v. +baptizo+, Part ii, [1915], p. 102. Similarly Sethe,
  "Sarapis," in _Abhandlungen der koeniglichen Gesellschaft der
  Wissenschaften zu Goettingen_, philologisch-historische Klasse, Neue
  Folge, xiv, Nro. 5, 1913, p. 51.

  [218] Tertullian, _de bapt_. 5 (ed. Reifferscheid et Wissowa, 1890),
  it must be admitted, connects baptism in heathen religion with
  regeneration, and mentions the part which sacramental washings had
  in the mysteries of Isis and of Mithras, and in Eleusinian rites.
  Despite the post-Pauline date of this testimony, the passage is
  certainly interesting. Compare Kennedy, _op. cit._, p. 229.

With regard to the partaking of sacred food, the evidence is in some
respects more abundant. Even in the mysteries of Eleusis, a special
significance seems to have been attributed to the drinking of the
"kykeon"; and the initiates into the Phrygian mysteries are reported
by Clement of Alexandria (similarly Firmicus Maternus) to have
used a formula including the words, "I ate from the drum, I drank
from the cymbal." So far as the form of the act is concerned, the
similarity to the Christian Eucharist is here certainly not great;
there was eating and drinking in both cases, but everything else,
so far as can be seen, was different. In the mysteries of Mithras
the similarity of form seems to have been greater; the initiates
partook of bread and of a cup in a way which Justin Martyr regarded
as a demoniac imitation of the Christian sacrament. According to
Cumont, moreover, the Mithraic practice was clearly sacramental;
the initiates expected from their sacred banquet a supernatural
effect.[219] But it will be remembered that considerations of date
render an influence of Mithras upon Paul exceedingly improbable. And
the significance of the eating and drinking in connection with other
mysteries is obscure. Apparently these acts did not form a part of
the mysteries proper, but were only a preparation for them.

  [219] Cumont, _Textes et monuments figures relatifs aux mysteres de
  Mithra_, i, 1899, p. 321. See Heitmueller, _Taufe und Abendmahl bei
  Paulus_, 1903, p. 46, Anm. 3.

In a very savage form of religion there appears the notion that men
could partake of the divine nature by actually eating the god. For
example, in the worship of Dionysus, the worshipers in the height of
religious frenzy tore in pieces the sacred bull and devoured the raw
flesh. Here the bull apparently represented the god himself. This
savage practice stands in external parallel with certain passages in
the New Testament, not only with the references in John vi to the
eating of the flesh and drinking of the blood of Christ, but also
(though less clearly) with the Pauline teaching about the Lord's
Supper. In 1 Cor. x. 16 Paul speaks of the "cup of blessing" as
being communion of the blood of Christ, and of the bread as being
communion of the body of Christ. Have we not here a sublimated form
of the pagan notion of eating the god? The supposition might seem
to be strengthened by the parallel which Paul draws a few verses
further on between the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons, and
between the table of the Lord and the table of demons (verse 21),
the demons, it is said, being regarded by Paul as identical with the
heathen gods.

But the trouble is that the savage notion of eating the god does
not seem to have survived in the Hellenistic mystery religions.
At this point, therefore, the student of comparative religion is
faced with a difficulty exactly opposite to that which appears in
most of the parallels which have been set up between the teaching
of Paul and pagan religion. In most cases the difficulty is that
the pagan parallels are too late; here, on the contrary, they are
too early. If Paul is dependent upon the pagan notion of eating the
god, he must have deserted the religious practice which prevailed in
his own day in order to have recourse to a savage custom which had
long since been abandoned. The suggestion does not seem to be very
natural. It is generally admitted that even where Christianity is
dependent upon Hellenistic religion it represents a spiritualizing
modification of the pagan practice. But at this point it would have
to be supposed that the Christian modification proceeded in exactly
the opposite direction; far from marking a greater spiritualization
of pagan practice, it meant a return to a savage stage of religion
which even paganism had abandoned.

Efforts are sometimes made to overcome this objection. "We observe
in the history of religion," says Heitmueller, "that tendencies
connected with low stages of religious development, which in
the higher stages were quiescent or extinct, suddenly spring
up again--of course in a modified form adapted to the changed
circumstances."[220] Such general observations, even if they are
based upon fact, will hardly serve to render the present hypothesis
any more plausible. Dependence of the Pauline teaching about the
Lord's Supper upon the savage notion of eating the god, when even
paganism had come to abandon that notion, will always seem very
unnatural.

  [220] Heitmueller, _Taufe und Abendmahl bei Paulus_, 1903, p. 47.

Certainly the hypothesis is not supported by the parallel which Paul
draws in 1 Cor. x. 21 between the table of the Lord and the table
of demons. Paul does not say that the heathen had fellowship with
their gods by partaking of them in a meal; the fellowship with those
gods (verse 20) could be conceived of in other ways. For example,
the cult god may have been conceived of in the sacrificial meals as
the host at a feast. In point of fact, such an idea was no doubt
widely prevalent. It is attributed to the Phrygian mysteries, for
example, by Hepding, who supposes that the eating from the drum and
drinking from the cymbal meant the entrance of the initiate into the
circle formed by the table-companions of the god.[221] At any rate,
the savage notion of eating the god is not clearly attested for the
Hellenistic period, and certainly dependence of Paul upon such a
notion is unlikely in the extreme.

  [221] Hepding, _Attis_, 1903, pp. 186f.

No close parallel, then, can be established between the Christian
sacraments and the practices of the pagan cults. But the very fact
that the Pauline churches had sacraments at all--irrespective of
the form of the particular sacraments--may conceivably be made a
ground for connecting Paulinism with the Hellenistic religions.
The argument depends upon one particular view of the Pauline
sacraments; it depends upon the view that baptism and the Lord's
Supper were conceived of as conveying blessing not in virtue of the
disposition of soul with which they were administered or received
but in virtue of the sacramental acts themselves. In other words
(to use traditional language), the argument depends upon the view
that the Pauline sacraments conveyed their blessing not _ex opere
operantis_ but _ex opere operato_. In the Pauline churches, it is
argued, the beginning of the new life and the communion with the
cult god were connected with certain ceremonial acts. So it was also
in the mystery religions. Therefore Paulinism is to be understood in
connection with the mysteries.

But the interpretation of the Pauline Epistles upon which this
hypothesis is based is fraught with serious difficulty. Did Paul
really conceive of the sacraments as conveying their blessing _ex
opere operato_? The general character of the Epistles certainly
points in an opposite direction. An unprejudiced reader of the
Epistles as a whole certainly receives the impression that the
writer laid extraordinarily little stress upon forms and ceremonies.
Salvation according to Paul was dependent solely upon faith, the
simple acceptance of the offer contained in the message of the
Cross. Any connection of such a religion with external forms seems
even to be excluded expressly by the Epistle to the Galatians. A
dispensation of forms and ceremonies, according to that Epistle,
belongs to the period of childish bondage from which Christ has set
men free.

Yet such a writer, it is maintained, actually taught that the mere
act of baptism conveyed the blessing of a new life and the mere
partaking of food and drink conveyed the blessing of communion
with the risen Christ. The supposition seems at first sight to be
preposterous. If it is to be established, it can only be on the
basis of the clearest kind of evidence.

The evidence, it should be noted at the start, is at any rate
decidedly limited in extent. It is only in the First Epistle to the
Corinthians that Paul mentions the Lord's Supper at all, and it is
only in Rom. vi and Col. ii. 12 that baptism is connected with the
death and resurrection which the believer is said to have shared
with Christ. The limited extent of the evidence may in itself be
significant. If Paul held the high sacramentarian view of baptism
and the Lord's Supper, it seems a little strange that he should
have laid so little stress upon the sacraments. High sacramentarians
of all ages have preserved a very different proportion. It seems
still more strange, perhaps, that Paul should have said that
Christ sent him not to baptize but to preach the gospel (1 Cor. i.
17). On the _ex opere operato_ view of baptism, baptism was the
highest possible function. Could an apostle who held that view
have attributed relatively so little importance to it? In order to
appreciate how much less importance is attributed in the Epistles
to baptism and the Lord's Supper than to certain other elements in
Paul's teaching, it is only necessary to compare the references to
the sacraments with the references to faith. The fact is perfectly
plain. When Paul speaks, in the large, about the way of salvation,
it never seems to occur to him to mention the sacraments; what he
does think of is the message of the gospel and the simple acceptance
of it through faith.

These facts are sometimes admitted even by those who attribute a
high sacramentarian view of the sacraments to Paul; Paulinism when
taken as a whole, it is admitted, is certainly not a sacramentarian
religion. What has happened, then, it is supposed, is that Paul
has retained in the doctrine of the sacraments an element derived
from a lower type of religion, an unassimilated remnant of the type
of religion which is represented by the mystery cults. Thus the
Pauline doctrine of the sacraments is thought to introduce a glaring
contradiction into the thought and life of Paul.

Can such a glaring contradiction be attributed to Paul? It could
probably be attributed to Hermes Trismegistus. But can it be
attributed to Paul? The writer of the Pauline Epistles was no mere
compiler, receiving unassimilated materials from many sources. He
was a person of highly marked characteristics. And he was a person
of commanding intellect. Could such a writer have introduced a
glaring contradiction into the very center of his teaching? Could a
writer who in the great mass of his writing is triumphantly and even
polemically anti-sacramentarian have maintained all along a crassly
sacramentarian view of the way in which religious blessing was to be
obtained?

An affirmative answer to these questions could be rendered only on
the basis of positive evidence of the most unequivocal kind. And
such positive evidence is not forthcoming. The most that can by any
possibility be said for the strictly sacramentarian interpretation
of Rom. vi is that it is possible. It might conceivably be adopted
if Rom. vi stood alone. But as a matter of fact Rom. vi does
not stand alone; it stands in the midst of a considerable body
of Pauline Epistles. And it must be interpreted in the light of
what Paul says elsewhere. If Rom. vi stood absolutely alone, Paul
might conceivably be thought to mean that the act of baptism in
itself involves a dying with Christ and a rising with Him to a new
life. But the whole character of the Pauline Epistles absolutely
precludes such an interpretation. And another interpretation does
full justice to the words as they stand. That interpretation is the
obvious one which makes the act of baptism an outward sign of an
inner experience. "We were buried with him," says Paul, "through
baptism unto death." These words are pressed by the modern school of
comparative religion very much as Luther at the Marburg Conference
pressed the Latin words of institution of the Lord's Supper. Luther
wrote on the table, "This is my body" ("hoc est corpus meum"), and
would not hear of anything but the most literal interpretation of
the words. So the modern school of comparative religion presses the
words "through baptism" in Rom. vi. 4. "We were buried with him
through baptism," says Paul. Therefore, it is said, since it was
through baptism, it was not through faith, or through any inner
disposition of the soul; therefore the sacramentarian interpretation
is correct. But if Luther's over-literalness, fraught with such
disastrous consequences for the Church, is deserted by most
advocates of the grammatico-historical method of exegesis, should an
equally bald literalness be insisted upon in connection with Rom.
vi. 4?

Interpreted in connection with the whole trend of the Epistles, the
sixth chapter of Romans contains an appeal to the outward sign of
an inner experience. It is perfectly natural that Paul should here
appeal to the outward sign rather than to the inner experience.
Paul desires to strengthen in his readers the conviction that the
life which they are leading as Christians is a new life in which
sin can have no place. Unquestionably he might have appealed to
the faith which had been the means by which the new life had been
begun. But faith is not something that can be seen. Baptism, on the
other hand, was a plain and obvious fact. To use a modern term, it
"visualized" faith. And it is just the visualizing of faith that
Paul here desires. When the Roman Christians were baptized, they
were convinced that the act meant a dying with Christ and a rising
with Him; it meant the beginning of their Christian life. It was a
solemn and a definite act. It was something that could be seen as
well as felt. Conceivably, indeed, the act in itself might have been
unaccompanied by faith. But in the early Church such cases were no
doubt extremely rare. They could therefore be left out of account
by Paul. Paul assumes--and no doubt he is correct--that, whatever
might conceivably have been the case, as a matter of fact when any
one of the Roman Christians was baptized he died and rose again
with Christ. But Paul does not say that the dying and rising again
was produced by the external act otherwise than as that act was an
expression of faith. Here, however, it is to the external act that
he appeals, because it is the external act which can be seen and can
be realized. It can only be because the newness of the Christian
life is not realized that Christians can think of it as permitting a
continuance in sin. What enables it to be realized is that which can
actually be seen, namely, the external and obvious fact of baptism.
In other words, baptism is here made to discharge in typical fashion
its divinely appointed function as an external sign of an inner
experience, and an external sign which is made the vehicle of
special blessing.

A similar interpretation may be applied to all the references to
the sacraments which occur in the Pauline Epistles. What sometimes
produces the impression of an _ex opere operato_ conception of the
sacraments is that Paul does not take into account the possibility
that the sacraments might be unaccompanied by faith. So in Gal.
iii. 27 he says, "All ye who were baptized into Christ did put on
Christ." These words if taken alone might mean that every man,
whatever the condition of his soul, who went through the external
form of baptism had put on Christ. But of course as a matter of
fact Paul means nothing of the kind. What he does mean is that the
baptism of the Galatians, since that baptism was accompanied by
faith (Gal. iii. 2), meant in that concrete case the putting on of
Christ. Here again there is an appeal, in the presence of those who
were in danger of forgetting spiritual facts, to the external sign
which no one could forget.

This interpretation cannot be invalidated by the passages which
have been appealed to as supporting a crassly _ex opere operato_
conception of the sacraments. In 1 Cor. xi. 30, for example, Paul
says that because of an unworthy partaking of the Lord's Supper many
of the Corinthians were ill and many had died. But these words need
not necessarily mean that the bread and wine, because of a dangerous
magical virtue that was in them, had inflicted harm upon those who
had not used them aright. They may mean at least equally well that
the physical ills of the Corinthians were a chastisement which had
been inflicted by God. As for 1 Cor. xv. 29 (baptism in behalf of
the dead), it can be said at least that that verse is isolated and
exceedingly obscure, and that it is bad historical method to allow
what is obscure to color the interpretation of what is plain. Many
interpretations of the verse have been proposed. And it is by no
means clear that Paul lent his own support to the custom to which
reference is here made.

Thus it cannot be maintained that Paulinism was like the pagan
mysteries even in the general sense that both Paulinism and
the mysteries connected salvation with external acts. The acts
themselves were different; and the meaning of the acts was still
more diverse. An element of truth does indeed underlie the
sacramentarian interpretation of Paul. The element of truth consists
in the protest which is here raised against the interpretation which
has sometimes been favored by "liberal" scholars. According to
this liberal interpretation, when Paul speaks of dying and rising
with Christ he is referring to a purely ethical fact; when he says
that he has died to the Law, he means that he has made a radical
break with an external, legalistic type of religion; when he says
that it is no longer he that lives but Christ that lives in him,
he means that he has made Christ his supreme guide and example;
when he says that through the Cross of Christ he has been crucified
to the world, he means that the Cross has led him to renounce all
worldliness of purpose. Such interpretation is exceedingly common.
But it is radically false. It is false because it does away with
the supernaturalism of Paul's teaching. There could be no greater
mistake than that of making salvation according to Paul an affair
of the human will. On the contrary, the very essence of Pauline
teaching is supernaturlism. Salvation, according to Paul, is based
upon a supernatural act of God--the resurrection of Jesus Christ.
And equally supernatural is the application of salvation to the
individual. The new creation which stands at the beginning of the
Christian life is according to Paul just as little a product of
natural forces, and just as little a product of the human will, as
the first creation was. The modern school of comparative religion is
entirely correct in insisting upon the thoroughgoing supernaturalism
of the Pauline gospel. Paulinism is a redemptive religion in the
most thoroughgoing sense of the word; it finds salvation, not in a
decision of the human will, but in an act of God.

But the error comes in confusing supernaturalism with
sacramentalism. Paul's conception of salvation is supernatural,
but it is not external. It is indeed just as supernatural as if it
were external. The beginning of a man's Christian life, according
to Paul, is just as little a product of his own moral forces, just
as little a product of any mere moral influence brought to bear
upon him, as it would be if it were produced by the water into
which he was dipped or the bread and wine of which he partakes.
Conceivably God might have chosen to use such means. If He had done
so, His action would have been not one whit more supernatural than
it actually is. But as a matter of fact, He has chosen, in His
mysterious wisdom, to use the means of faith. Such is the teaching
of Paul. It is highly distasteful to the modern liberal Church. But
even if it is to be rejected it should at least be recognized as
Pauline.

Thus the interpretation of the sacraments which is proposed by
the modern school of comparative religion--and indeed the whole
modern radical treatment of Paulinism as a thoroughgoing religion
of redemption--marks a reaction against the modernizing exegesis
which was practised by the liberal school. But the reaction has at
any rate gone too far. It cannot be said that the newer exegesis is
any more objective than the liberal exegesis which it endeavors to
replace. The liberal scholars were concerned to keep Paul as near
as possible to their modern naturalistic principles, in order to
continue to use him for the edification of the Church; the radical
scholars of the school of comparative religion are concerned
to keep him as far away as possible from modern naturalistic
principles in order to bring him into connection with the crass
externalism of the mystery religions. Neither group has attained
the whole truth. The Pauline conception of salvation is just as
spiritual as it is thought to be by the liberal scholars; but on the
other hand, it is just as supernatural as it is represented as being
by Reitzenstein and Bousset.




CHAPTER VIII

THE LORDSHIP OF JESUS




CHAPTER VIII

THE LORDSHIP OF JESUS


Two of the contentions of the modern school of comparative religion
have so far been examined. It has been shown that neither the group
of Pauline conceptions which centers around the new birth (or, as
Paul calls it, the new creation) nor the Pauline teaching about the
sacraments was derived from the mystery religions. The third element
of Paulinism which is thought to have come from pagan religion is
found in the Pauline conception of Christ and of the work of Christ
in redemption. This contention is connected especially with the
name of Bousset[222], who is, however, supported in essentials by
a considerable number of contemporary scholars. The hypothesis of
Bousset is intimately connected with those hypotheses which have
already been examined. A complete treatment of it at this point
would therefore involve repetition. But it may here be set forth at
least in a somewhat systematic, though still in a merely summary,
way.

  [222] _Kyrios Christos_, 1913; _Jesus der Herr_, 1916.

According to Bousset, the primitive Christian community in Jerusalem
regarded Jesus chiefly as the Son of Man--the mysterious person,
mentioned in the Jewish apocalypses, who was finally to come with
the clouds of heaven and be the instrument in ushering in the
Kingdom of God. Bousset is doubtful whether or no the title Son of
Man was ever assumed by Jesus Himself, and regards the settlement
of this question as lying beyond the scope of his book. But the
tendency of the book is decidedly toward a radical denial of the
Messianic consciousness of Jesus. And at this point the cautious
investigator, even if his presuppositions are the same as Bousset's
own, may well be inclined to take alarm. The method which is here
pursued seems to be leading logically to the elimination from
the pages of history of the whole Gospel picture of Jesus, or
rather to the use of that picture in the reconstruction not of the
historical Jesus, but only of the belief of the Christian community.
Of course Bousset does not push matters to such lengths; he is
by no means inclined to follow W. B. Smith and Drews in denying
the historicity of Jesus. But the reader of the first part of the
"Kyrios Christos" has an uneasy feeling that if any of the Gospel
picture still escapes the keen edge of Bousset's criticism, it is
only by accident. Many of those incidents in the Gospel narrative,
many of those elements in the Gospel teaching, which have been
considered most characteristic of the historical Jesus have here
been removed. There seems to be no particular reason why the rest
should remain; for the elements that remain are quite similar to the
elements that have been made to go. No mark of authenticity seems to
be proof against the skepticism of this latest historian. Bousset
thus illustrates the difficulty of separating the natural from the
supernatural in the Gospel picture of Jesus. When the process of
separation begins, it is difficult to bring it to a halt; the wheat
is in danger of being rooted up with the tares. Bousset has dealt a
severe blow to the prestige of the liberal reconstruction of Jesus.
By the recent developments in his thinking he has shown by his own
example that the liberal reconstruction is in a state of unstable
equilibrium. It is always in danger of giving way to radical denial
either of the historicity of Jesus or of the historicity of the
Messianic consciousness. Such radicalism is faced by insuperable
difficulties. Perhaps, then, there is something wrong with the
critical method from which the radicalism always tends to result.

But it is necessary now to examine a little more closely the belief
of the primitive Jerusalem Church. That belief, Bousset maintains,
did not involve any conception of Jesus as "Lord." The title "Lord,"
he says, was not applied to Jesus on Palestinian ground, and Jesus
was not regarded by the early Jerusalem Church as the object of
faith. The piety of the primitive Church was thus exclusively
eschatological; Jesus was expected to return in glory from heaven,
but meanwhile He was regarded as separated from His disciples. He
was the heavenly "Son of Man," to come with the clouds of heaven,
not the "Lord" now present in the Church.

These momentous assertions, which lie at the very basis of Bousset's
hypothesis, are summed up in the elimination from Jerusalem
Christianity of the title "Lord" as applied to Jesus. This
elimination of the title "Lord" of course involves a rejection of
the testimony of Acts. The Book of Acts contains the only extant
narrative of the early progress of Jerusalem Christianity. And so
far as the designations of Christ are concerned, the early chapters
of the book have usually been thought to produce an impression
of special antiquity and authenticity. These chapters apply the
title "Lord" to Jesus; the words in Acts ii. 36, "God has made
him both Lord and Christ," have often been regarded as especially
significant. But to Bousset, in view of his opinion about the Book
of Acts as a whole, the elimination of this testimony causes no
difficulty.

But how does Bousset know that the primitive Jerusalem Church did
not apply the term "Lord" to Jesus? The principal argument is
derived from an examination of the Synoptic Gospels. The title
"Lord," as applied to Jesus, Bousset believes, appears only "on the
margin" (as it were) of the Gospel tradition; it does not appear as
one of the primitive elements in the tradition. But since it does
not appear firmly fixed in the Gospel tradition, it could not have
formed a part of Christian belief in the community where the Gospel
tradition was formed. The community where the Gospel tradition was
formed was the Jerusalem Church. Therefore the title Lord as applied
to Jesus did not form part of the belief of the Jerusalem Church.
Such, in bare outline, is the argument of Bousset.

An examination of that argument in detail would far transcend the
limits of the present discussion.[223] But certain obvious remarks
can be made.

  [223] See Vos, "The Kyrios Christos Controversy," in _The Princeton
  Theological Review_, xv, 1917, pp. 21-89. See also the review of
  Bousset's "Kyrios Christos" by the same author, _ibid._, xii, 1914,
  pp. 636-645.

In the first place, it is not perfectly clear that the title
Lord appears only in secondary elements of the Gospel tradition.
Certainly it must be granted to Bousset that the instances where the
word "Lord" appears in the vocative case do not necessarily involve
any recognition of the lofty title "Lord" as belonging to Jesus;
for the word could be used in direct address in the presence of any
person to whom respect was to be paid. Nevertheless, in some of the
passages the word does seem to be more than a mere reverential form
of address. Bousset himself admits that such is the case at least
in Matt. vii. 21, "Not every one who says unto me Lord, Lord, shall
enter into the kingdom of heaven," and his opinion that this passage
is secondary as compared with Lk. vi. 46 is insufficiently grounded.
The cases in the Gospels where the title is used absolutely are not
very numerous, and they occur chiefly in the Gospel of Luke. But
the estimate of them as secondary depends of course upon certain
critical conclusions about the relationships of the Synoptic
Gospels. And it is doubtful whether Bousset has quite succeeded
in refuting the argument which can be derived from Mk. xii. 35-37
(and parallels), the passage about David's son and David's Lord.
Bousset himself uses this passage as an important testimony to the
belief of the early Jerusalem Church, though he does not regard it
as representing a genuine saying of Jesus. Yet here Jesus is made
to call attention to the fact that David called the Messiah "Lord."
If this passage represents the belief about Jesus of the primitive
Jerusalem Church, what stronger testimony could there be to the use
in that church of the title "Lord" as applied to Jesus? Bousset
avoids the difficulty by calling attention to the fact that the
Old Testament passage (Ps. cx. 1) is here quoted not according to
the original but according to the Septuagint translation. In the
original Hebrew, says Bousset, there was a distinction between the
word "Lord" as applied to God and the word "Lord" as applied to the
other person who is referred to; the Hebrew has, "Jahwe said to my
Lord (adoni)." Thus that second person, according to the Hebrew,
can be regarded as a human individual, and all that is meant by the
term "Lord" as used of him by David is that he stood higher than
David. Bousset seems to think that this explanation destroys the
value of the passage as a witness to the use in the Jerusalem Church
of the religious term "Lord" as applied to Jesus. But such is by no
means the case. For if the Messiah (Jesus) was higher than David, so
that David could call Him Lord, then Jesus must have occupied some
very lofty position. If David could call Him Lord, would the title
be refused to Him by humble members of the Jerusalem Church? On
Bousset's interpretation the passage may not directly attest the use
of the title by the Jerusalem Church, but it does seem to presuppose
it. It may also be questioned whether Bousset has succeeded in
getting rid of Mk. xi. 3, as a witness to the title Lord as applied
to Jesus in the Jerusalem Church.

But does the infrequency of the use of the title "Lord" in the
Gospels necessarily indicate that that title was not prevalent
in the primitive Jerusalem Church? It must be remembered that
the title "Christ," which was of course applied to Jesus by the
Jerusalem Church, is also very infrequent in the Gospels. Why should
the infrequency in the Gospel use of one title be regarded as an
argument against the use of that title in the Jerusalem Church, when
in the case of the other title no such argument can possibly be set
up? Bousset is ready with his answer. But the answer is entirely
inadequate. The title "Christ," Bousset says, was an eschatological
title; it referred to a dignity which in the belief of the Jerusalem
Church Jesus was not to attain until His coming in glory. Therefore
it could not readily be applied to Jesus in the accounts of His
earthly ministry. Hence in the case of that title there was a
special obstacle which hindered the intrusion of the title into the
Gospel tradition. But in the case of the title "Lord," there was
no such obstacle; therefore the non-intrusion of that title into
the Gospel tradition requires a special explanation; and the only
possible explanation is that the title was not used in the Jerusalem
Church.

It would be difficult to crowd into brief compass so many highly
debatable assertions as are crowded together in this argument.
Was the title "Christ" a purely eschatological title? It is not
a purely eschatological title in Paul. It is not really a purely
eschatological title anywhere in the New Testament. At any rate,
Bousset is here adopting a conception of the Messiahship of Jesus
which is at best problematical and is rejected by men of the most
widely divergent points of view. And did the title "Lord" designate
Jesus especially as the present Lord of the Church, rather than as
the one who was finally to usher in the Kingdom? Was Jesus in the
belief of the early Church the "coming" Christ any more than He was
the "coming" Lord; and was He the present Lord any more than He was
the present Christ? These questions cannot be answered with absolute
certainty. At any rate, even if Bousset can point to a larger
proportion of eschatological interest in the one title than that
which appears in the other, yet such a distinction is relative only.
And it still remains true that if the infrequency of the title
"Christ" in the Gospels does not indicate the non-existence of that
title in the Jerusalem Church, the infrequency of the title "Lord"
in the Gospels is not any more significant.

With regard to the title "Son of Man," Bousset makes a remark
somewhat similar to that which he makes about the title "Christ."
The title "Son of Man," he says, was eschatological; therefore it
could not be introduced into the narrative part of the Gospels.
But it will always remain one of the paradoxes of Bousset's theory
that according to Bousset the title "Son of Man," which (except in
Acts vii. 56) appears in the tradition only in the words of Jesus,
and never as the title used when men spoke about Jesus, should be
supposed to have been the characteristic title used in speaking
about Jesus in the Jerusalem Church. If the belief of the Jerusalem
Church about Jesus was so exclusively a Son-of-Man dogma, as Bousset
supposes it was, and if that church was so little concerned with
historical fact, it seems somewhat strange that the title, "Son of
Man," has not been allowed, despite its eschatological character, to
intrude into the Gospel narrative. Another hypothesis will always
suggest itself--the hypothesis that Jesus really used the title,
"Son of Man," in a somewhat mysterious way, in speaking about
Himself, and that the memory of the fact that it was His own special
designation of Himself has been preserved in the curious limitation
of the use of the title in the New Testament. In that case, in view
of the accuracy thus established with regard to one title, the
testimony of the Gospels with regard to the other title, "Lord,"
cannot lightly be rejected.

But the evidence for the use of the title "Lord" in the primitive
Jerusalem Church is not contained merely in the Gospels. Other
evidence appears in the Pauline Epistles.

The most obvious fact is that Paul himself uses the term as the
characteristic title of Jesus. And it is equally evident that he did
not invent this usage. Evidently it was a continuation of a usage
which prevailed before he began his work. So much is fully admitted
by Bousset. But whence did Paul derive the usage? Or rather,
supposing that he began his own use of the title at the moment of
the conversion, in accordance with the representation in Acts ("Who
art thou, Lord?"), whence did he derive his assumption that the
title was already in use? The most obvious view is that he assumed
the title to be already known because it was in use in the early
Jerusalem Church. The matter-of-course way in which Paul applies
the title "Lord" to Jesus has always, until recently, been taken as
indicating that the title had been prevalent from the very beginning
of the Church's life.

But at this point appears one of the most important features of
Bousset's theory. Paul derived the title "Lord," Bousset believes,
from those who had been Christians before him; but he derived it,
not from the Jerusalem Church, but from the Christian communities in
such cities as Antioch, Tarsus, and perhaps Damascus. It is in these
communities, therefore, that the genesis of the title "Lord," as
applied to Jesus, is to be placed.

Attention has already been called to the difficulties which
beset this interposition of an extra link between Paul and the
Jerusalem Church. It has been shown that what Paul "received" he
received not from the churches at Antioch and Tarsus but from
the original disciples at Jerusalem. But in addition to the
general considerations which connect the whole of Paulinism with
the Jerusalem tradition about Jesus, there are certain special
indications of a Jerusalem origin of the title "Lord."

One such indication may be found, perhaps, in Gal. i. 19. When, in
connection with a visit to Jerusalem which occurred three years
after the conversion, Paul speaks of "James the brother of the
Lord," the natural inference is that "the brother of the Lord" was
a designation which was applied to James in Jerusalem; and if so,
then the title "Lord" was current in the Jerusalem Church.[224] Of
course, the inference is not absolutely certain; Paul might have
designated James as "the brother of the Lord" because that was the
designation of James in the Galatian Churches and the designation
which Paul himself commonly used, even if it was not current in
Jerusalem. But the natural impression which the passage will
always make upon an unsophisticated reader is that Paul is using a
terminology which was already fixed among James' associates at the
time and place to which the narrative refers. It should be observed
that in speaking of Peter, Paul actually uses the Aramaic form and
not the Greek form of the name. The indications are that with
regard to the leaders of the Jerusalem Church Paul is accustomed
generally to follow the Jerusalem usage. And the evidence of such a
passage as Gal. i. 18, 19, where Jerusalem conditions are mentioned,
is doubly strong. The use in this passage of the title "brother of
the Lord" would indeed not be absolutely decisive if it stood alone.
But taken in connection with the other evidence, it does point
strongly to the prevalence in the early Jerusalem Church of the
title "Lord" as applied to Jesus.

  [224] Knowling, _The Witness of the Epistles_, 1892, p. 15.

More stress is usually laid upon the occurrence of "Maranatha" in 1
Cor. xvi. 22. "Maranatha" is Aramaic, and it means "Our Lord, come!"
Why was the Aramaic word "Our Lord" included, as a designation
of Jesus, in a Greek letter? The natural supposition is that it
had been hallowed by its use in the Aramaic-speaking church at
Jerusalem. Accordingly it pushes the use of the title "Lord" back
to the primitive Christian community; the title cannot, therefore,
be regarded as a product of the Hellenistic churches in Antioch and
Tarsus.

This argument has been met in various ways. According to Boehlig,
the passage does attest the application of the Aramaic title "Lord"
to Jesus, but that application, Boehlig believes, was made not in
Palestine but in Syria, not in Jerusalem but in Antioch. Syria,
indeed, with Cilicia, was, Boehlig insists, the special home of the
designation "Lord" as applied to the gods; the word "Baal," the
common Semitic title of the Syrian gods, means "Lord." And Boehlig
also points to the appearance of the title Mar along with Baal as a
title of divinity.[225]

  [225] See Boehlig, "Zum Begriff Kyrios bei Paulus," in _Zeitschrift
  fuer die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft_, xiv, 1913, pp. 23-37.

But why was the Semitic title retained in a Greek letter? In answer
to this question the bilingual condition of Syria may be appealed
to. But what particular sanctity could be attached to the Semitic
usage of Syria; why should Paul follow that usage in writing to a
church that was situated, not in the East, but in Greece proper? If,
on the other hand, the title "Mar" had been hallowed by the use of
the original disciples of Jesus, then the retention of the original
word without translation is perfectly natural.

Bousset now proposes another hypothesis.[226] The phrase
"Maranatha," he says, probably had nothing to do with Jesus; it
constitutes merely a formula of cursing like the "anathema" which
immediately precedes in 1 Cor. xvi. 22; the Maran (or Marana) refers
not to Jesus, but to God; the formula means, "Our Lord (God) shall
come and judge." But Bousset adduces no real evidence in support of
his explanation. No such formula of cursing seems to have been found
in Semitic sources. And why should Paul introduce such a Semitic
curse in writing to Corinth? The latest hypothesis of Bousset is
certainly a desperate expedient.

  [226] Bousset, _Jesus der Herr_, 1916, pp. 22f. Compare _Kyrios
  Christos_, 1913, p. 103.

"Marana" in 1 Cor. xvi. 22, therefore, certainly refers to Jesus,
and the strong presumption is that it was derived from Palestine.
The passage constitutes a real testimony to the use of the title
"Lord" as a designation of Jesus in the Palestinian Church.

Possibly, moreover, this passage may also serve to fix the original
Aramaic form of the title. Bousset and certain other scholars have
been inclined to detect a linguistic difficulty in the way of
attributing the title "Lord" to the Aramaic-speaking Church. The
absolute "Mara," it is said, does not seem to have been current
in Aramaic; only "Mari" ("my Lord") and "Maran" ("our Lord") seem
to have been commonly used. But it is just in the absolute form,
"the Lord," that the title appears most frequently in the Greek
New Testament. Therefore, it is concluded, this New Testament
Greek usage cannot go back to the usage of the Aramaic-speaking
Church. It will perhaps be unnecessary to enter upon the linguistic
side of this argument. Various possibilities might be suggested
for examination to the students of Aramaic--among others, the
possibility that "Mari," "Maran," had come to be used absolutely,
like "Rabbi," "Rabban," the original meaning of the possessive
suffix having been obscured.[227] But in general it can probably
be said that if persons of Aramaic speech had desired to designate
Jesus, absolutely, as "Lord" or "the Lord," the language was
presumably not so poor but that the essential idea could have been
expressed. And it is the essential idea, not the word, which is
really important. The important thing is that the attitude toward
Jesus which is expressed by the Greek word "Kyrios," was, unless all
indications fail, also the attitude of the Jerusalem Church.

  [227] Compare Bousset, _Kyrios Christos_, 1913, p. 99, Anm. 3.

But may not the Greek title itself have originated in Jerusalem?
This possibility has been neglected in recent discussions of the
subject. But it is worthy of the most careful consideration. It
should be remembered that Palestine in the first century after
Christ was a bilingual country.[228] No doubt Aramaic was in
common use among the great body of the people, and no doubt it
was the language of Jesus' teaching. But Greek was also in use,
and it is by no means beyond the bounds of possibility that even
Jesus spoke Greek when occasion demanded. At any rate, the early
Jerusalem Church included a large body of Greek-speaking persons;
the "Hellenists" are mentioned in Acts vi. 1 in a way to which
high historical importance is usually attributed. It is altogether
probable, therefore, that the terminology current in the Jerusalem
Church from the very beginning, or almost from the very beginning,
was Greek as well as Aramaic. From this Greek-speaking part of the
Church the original apostles could hardly have held themselves
aloof. Total ignorance of Greek on the part of Galileans is
improbable in view of what is known in general about linguistic
conditions in Palestine; and in the capital, with its foreign
connections, and its hosts of Hellenists, the opportunity for
the use of Greek would be enormously increased. It is altogether
improbable, therefore, that the Greek terminology of the Hellenists
resident in Jerusalem was formed without the approval of the
original disciples of Jesus. When the apostle Paul, therefore,
assumes everywhere that the term "Lord" as applied to Jesus was no
peculiarity of his own, but was familiar to all his readers, the
phenomenon can be best explained if not only the sense of the title,
but also its Greek form, was due to the mother Church. In other
words, the transition from Aramaic to Greek, as the language of the
disciples of Jesus, did not occur at Antioch or Tarsus, as Bousset
seems to think. In all probability it occurred at Jerusalem, and
occurred under the supervision of the immediate friends of Jesus. It
could not possibly, therefore, have involved a transformation of the
original faith.

  [228] Zahn, _Einleitung in das Neue Testament_, 3te Aufl., i, 1906,
  pp. 21-32, 39-47 (English Translation, _Introduction to the New
  Testament_, 2nd Ed., 1917, i, pp. 34-46, 57-67).

But the linguistic considerations just adduced are only
supplementary. Even if the use of Greek in Jerusalem was less
important than has here been suggested, the state of the case is
not essentially altered. Every attempt at separating the religion of
Paul sharply from the religion of the Jerusalem Church has resulted
in failure. Whatever may have been the linguistic facts, the divine
Lord of the Epistles was also the Lord of those who had been
intimate friends of Jesus of Nazareth.

Bousset of course rejects this conclusion. But he does so on
insufficient grounds. His theory, it may well be maintained, has
already broken down at the most decisive point. It is not really
possible to interpose the Christianity of Antioch and Tarsus between
the Jerusalem Church and Paul; it is not really possible to suppose
that that Christianity of Antioch was essentially different from the
Jerusalem Christianity which had given it birth; in particular it is
not possible to deny the use of the title "Lord," and the religious
attitude toward Jesus which the title represents, to the original
friends of Jesus. Examination of the further elements of Bousset's
theory, therefore, can be undertaken only under protest. But such
examination is important. For it will confirm the unfavorable
impression which has already been received.

If, as Bousset says, the title "Lord," as a designation of Jesus,
originated not at Jerusalem but at Antioch, in what way did it
originate? It originated, Bousset believes, in the meetings of
the Church, and it originated in dependence upon the surrounding
pagan cults. At Jerusalem, according to Bousset, the piety of
the disciples was purely eschatological; Jesus was awaited with
eagerness, He was to come in glory, but meanwhile He was absent.
There was no thought of communion with Him. At Antioch, however,
a different attitude began to be assumed. As the little community
of disciples was united for comfort and prayer and the reception
of the ecstatic gifts of the Spirit, it came to be felt that Jesus
was actually present; the wonderful experiences of the meetings
came to be attributed to Him. But if He was actually present in the
meetings of the Church, a new title was required to express what
He meant to those who belonged to Him. And one title lay ready to
hand. It was the title "Lord." That title was used by the pagans
to designate their own false gods. Surely no lower title could be
used by the Christians to designate their Jesus. The title "Lord,"
moreover, was especially a cult-title; it was used to designate
those gods who presided especially over the worship, over the
"cult," of the pagan religions. But it was just in the "cult," in
the meetings of the Church, that the new attitude toward Jesus had
arisen. The experience of Jesus' presence, therefore, and the title
which would give expression to it, were naturally joined together.
In the rapture of a meeting of the group of worshipers, in the midst
of wonderful ecstatic experiences, some member of the Church at
Antioch or Tarsus, or perhaps many members simultaneously, uttered
the momentous words, "Lord Jesus."

Thus occurred, according to the theory of Bousset, the most
momentous event in the history of Christianity, one of the most
momentous events in the whole religious history of the race.
Christianity ceased to be merely faith in God like the faith which
Jesus had; it became faith in Jesus. Jesus was now no longer merely
an example for faith; He had become the object of faith. The prophet
of Nazareth had become an object of worship; the Messiah had given
way to the "Lord." Jesus had taken a place which before had been
assigned only to God.

This estimate of the event of course depends upon Bousset's
critical conclusions about the New Testament literature. And those
conclusions are open to serious objections. The objections have
already been considered so far as the title "Lord" is concerned;
that title cannot really be denied to the original disciples of
Jesus. Equally serious are the objections against what Bousset says
about "faith in Jesus." A consideration of these objections lies
beyond the scope of the present discussion. The ground has been
covered in masterly fashion by James Denney, who has shown that
even in the earliest strata of the Gospel literature, as they are
distinguished by modern criticism of sources, Jesus appears not
merely as an example for faith but as the object of faith--indeed,
that Jesus actually so presented Himself.[229] Christianity was
never a mere imitation of the faith which Jesus reposed in God. But
it is now necessary to return to the examination of the Antioch
Church.

  [229] Denney, _Jesus and the Gospel_, 1908.

The title "Lord," as applied to Jesus, Bousset believes, originated
in the meetings of the Antioch disciples--in what may be called,
for want of a better term, the "public worship" of the Church.
This assertion constitutes an important step in Bousset's
reconstruction. But the evidence adduced in support of it is
insufficient. The passages cited from the Pauline Epistles show,
indeed, that great importance was attributed to the meetings of the
Church; they show perhaps that the custom of holding such meetings
prevailed from the very beginning. But they do not show that the
whole of the Church's devotion to Christ and the whole of Paul's
religion were derived, by way of development, from the cult. It is
not necessary to suppose either that the individual relation to
Christ was derived from the cult, or that the cult was derived from
the individual relation. There is also a third possibility--that
individual piety and the cult were both practised from the
very beginning side by side. At any rate, Bousset has vastly
underestimated the importance of the conversion as determining the
character of Paul's religious life. The Damascus experience lay
at the very foundation of all of Paul's thinking and all of his
actions. Yet that experience had nothing to do with the cult.

But even if, in accordance with Bousset's reconstruction, the title
"Lord" was applied to Jesus under the influence of the ecstatic
conditions that prevailed in the meetings of the Church, the origin
of the title is not yet explained. How did the Christians at Antioch
come to think that their ecstatic experiences were due to the fact
that Jesus was presiding over their meetings? And if they did come
to think so, why did they choose just the title "Lord" in order to
express the dignity that they desired to attribute to Him?

At this point, Bousset has recourse to a comparison with the
surrounding paganism. The term "Lord," he says, was common in the
Hellenistic age as a title of the cult-gods of the various forms of
worship. And the material which Bousset has collected in proof of
this assertion is entirely convincing. Not only in the worship of
the Emperors and other rulers, but also in the Hellenized religions
of the East, the title "Lord" was well known as a designation of
divinity. Indeed, Paul himself refers plainly to the currency
of the title. "For though there be," he says, "that are called
gods, whether in heaven or on earth; as there are gods many, and
lords many; yet to us there is one God, the Father, of whom are
all things, and we unto him; and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through
whom are all things, and we through him" (1 Cor. viii. 5, 6). In
this passage, the "lords many" are of course heathen gods, and it
is clearly implied that the term "lord" was the title which was
given them by their own worshipers. Bousset is entirely correct,
therefore, when he says that the title "Lord," at Antioch, at
Tarsus, and everywhere in the Greco-Roman world, was clearly a title
of divinity. Indeed, it may be added, the word "lord" was no whit
inferior in dignity to the term "god."[230] When the early Christian
missionaries, therefore, called Jesus "Lord," it was perfectly
plain to their pagan hearers everywhere that they meant to ascribe
divinity to Him and desired to worship Him.

  [230] Warfield, "'God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ,'" in
  _The Princeton Theological Review_, xv, 1917, p. 18.

Thus the currency of the title in pagan religion was of great
importance for the early Christian mission. But that does not
necessarily mean that the title was applied to Jesus in the first
place because of the pagan usage, or that the ascription of divine
dignity to Jesus was first ventured upon because the Christians
desired to place the one whom they revered in a position at least
equal to that of the pagan cult-gods. It is these assertions
which have not been proved. Indeed, they are improbable in the
extreme. They are rendered improbable, for example, by the sturdy
monotheism of the Christian communities. That monotheism was not at
all impaired by the honor which was paid to Jesus; the Christian
communities were just as intolerant of other gods as had been the
ancient Hebrew prophets. This intolerance and exclusiveness of
the early Church constitutes a stupendous difference between the
Christian "Jesus-cult" and the cults of the other "Lords." The pagan
cults were entirely tolerant; worship of one Lord did not mean the
relinquishment of another. But to the Christians there was one Lord
and one only. It is very difficult to see how in an atmosphere of
such monotheism the influence of the pagan cults could have been
allowed to intrude. Any thought of the analogy which an application
of the title "Lord" to Jesus would set up between the meetings of
the Church at Antioch and the worship of the heathen gods would
have hindered, rather than have actually caused, the use of the
title. Evidently the title, and especially the divine dignity of
Jesus which the title expressed, were quite independent of the pagan
usage.

Certainly the mere fact that the Christians used a title which was
also used in the pagan cults does not establish any dependence upon
paganism. For the title "Lord"[231] was almost as well established
as a designation of divinity as was the term "God."[232] Whatever
had been the origin of the religious use of the word, that use had
become a part of the Greek language. A missionary who desired to
proclaim the one true God was obliged, if he spoke in Greek, to use
the term "God," which of course had been used in pagan religion. So
if he desired to designate Jesus as God, by some word which at the
same time would distinguish Him from God the Father, he was obliged
to use the word "Lord," though that word also had been used in
paganism. Neither in the one case nor in the other did the use of a
Greek word involve the slightest influence of the conceptions which
had been attached to the word in a polytheistic religion.

  [231] +kyrios+.

  [232] +theos+.

But there was a far stronger reason for the application of the
Greek term "Lord" to Jesus than that which was found in its general
currency among Greek-speaking peoples. The religious use of the
term was not limited to the pagan cults, but appears also, and if
anything even more firmly established, in the Greek Old Testament.
The word "Lord" is used by the Septuagint to translate the "Jahwe"
of the Hebrew text. It would be quite irrelevant to discuss the
reasons which governed the translators in their choice of this
particular word. No doubt some word for "Lord" was required by the
associations which had already clustered around the Hebrew word. And
various reasons may be suggested for the choice of "kyrios" rather
than some other Greek word meaning "lord."[233] Possibly the root
meaning of "kyrios" better expressed the idea which was intended;
perhaps, also, a religious meaning had already been attached to
"kyrios," which the other words did not possess. At any rate,
whatever may have been the reason, "kyrios" was the word which was
chosen. And the fact is of capital importance. For it was among the
readers of the Septuagint that Christianity first made its way.
The Septuagint was the Bible of the Jewish synagogues, and in the
synagogues the reading of it was heard not only by Jews but also
by hosts of Gentiles, the "God-fearers" of the Book of Acts. It was
with the "God-fearers" that the Gentile mission began. And even
where there were Gentile converts who had not passed at all through
the school of the synagogue--in the very earliest period perhaps
such converts were few--even then the Septuagint was at once used
in their instruction. Thus when the Christian missionaries used the
word "Lord" of Jesus, their hearers knew at once what they meant.
They knew at once that Jesus occupied a place which is occupied only
by God. For the word "Lord" is used countless times in the Greek
scriptures as the holiest name of the covenant God of Israel, and
these passages were applied freely to Jesus.

  [233] As, for example, +despotes+.

This Septuagint use of the term "Lord," with the application of the
Septuagint passages to Jesus, which appears as a matter of course in
the Epistles of Paul, was of vastly more importance for the early
Christian mission than the use of the term in the pagan cults. And
it sheds vastly more light upon the original significance of the
term as applied to Jesus. But the pagan usage is interesting, and
the exhibition of it by Bousset and others should be thankfully
received. An important fact has been established more and more
firmly by modern research--the fact that the Greek word "kyrios"
in the first century of our era was, wherever the Greek language
extended, distinctly a designation of divinity. The common usage of
the word indeed persisted; the word still expressed the relation
which a master sustained toward his slaves. But the word had come to
be a characteristically religious term, and it is in the religious
sense, especially as fixed by the Septuagint, that it appears in the
New Testament.

Thus it is not in accordance with New Testament usage when Jesus
is called, by certain persons in the modern Church, "the Master,"
rather than "the Lord." Sometimes, perhaps, this usage is adopted
in conscious protest against the New Testament conception of the
deity of Christ; Jesus is spoken of as "the Master," in very much
the way in which the leader of a school of artists is spoken of as
"the Master" by his followers. Or else the word means merely the one
whose commands are to be obeyed. But sometimes the modern fashion is
adopted by devout men and women with the notion that the English
word "Lord" has been worn down and that the use of the word "Master"
is a closer approach to the meaning of the Greek Testament. This
notion is false. In translating the New Testament designation of
Jesus, one should not desire to get back to the original meaning
of the word "kyrios." For the Greek word had already undergone a
development, and as applied to Jesus in the New Testament it was
clearly a religious term. It had exactly the religious associations
which are now possessed by our English word "Lord." And for very
much the same reason. The religious associations of the English word
"Lord" are due to Bible usage; and the religious associations of
the New Testament word "kyrios" were also due to Bible usage--the
usage of the Septuagint. The Christian, then, should remember that
"a little learning is a dangerous thing." The uniform substitution
of "the Master" for "the Lord" in speaking of Jesus has only a false
appearance of freshness and originality. In reality it sometimes
means a departure from the spirit of the New Testament usage.

Accordingly, Bousset has performed a service in setting in clear
relief the religious meaning of the word "Lord." But he has not
succeeded in explaining the application of that word to Jesus.

Further difficulties, moreover, beset Bousset's theory. The term
"Lord" as applied to Jesus, and the religious attitude toward Jesus
expressed by the term, arose, according to Bousset, in the meetings
of such communities as the one at Antioch, and under the influence
of pagan conceptions. But of course Bousset's explanation of the
origin of Paulinism has not yet been completely set forth. Paulinism
is something far more than an ecstatic worship of a cult-god; the
personal relation to Christ dominates every department of the
apostle's life.

Bousset recognizes this fact. The religion of Paul, he admits, is
something far more than the religion which was expressed in the
meetings of the Antioch Church. But he supposes that the other
elements of Paul's religion, far-reaching as they are, had at least
their starting-point in the cult. Here is to be found one of the
least plausible elements in the whole construction. Bousset has
underestimated the individualistic character of Paul's religion. At
least he has not succeeded in showing that the Pauline life "in
Christ" or "in the Lord" was produced by development from ecstatic
experiences in the meetings of the Antioch Church.

But if the individualistic religion of Paul was developed from the
"cult," how was it developed? How shall the introduction of the new
elements be explained? Bousset has attacked this problem with great
earnestness. And he tries to show that the religion of Paul as it
appears in the Epistles was developed from the cult religion of
Antioch by the identification of "the Lord" with "the Spirit," and
by the generalizing and ethicizing of the conception of the Spirit's
activity.

The Pauline doctrine of the Spirit, Bousset believes, was derived
from the pagan mystical religion of the Hellenistic age. Quite
aside from the matter of terminology--though the contentions of
Reitzenstein are thought by Bousset to be essentially correct--the
fundamental pessimistic dualism of Paul was based, according to
Bousset, upon that widespread type of thought and life which appears
in the mystery religions and in the Hermetic writings. According to
this pessimistic way of thinking, salvation could never be attained
by human nature, even with divine aid, but only by an entirely
new beginning, produced by the substitution of the divine nature
for the old man. By the apostle Paul, Bousset continues, this
supernaturalism, this conception of the dominance of divine power
in the new life, was extended far beyond the limits of the cult
or of visionary experiences; the Spirit was made to be the ruling
principle of the Christian's life; not only prophecy, tongues,
healing, and the like, were now regarded as the fruit of the Spirit,
but also love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness,
faithfulness, meekness, self-control. But this Pauline extension
of the Spirit's activity, Bousset insists, did not involve the
slightest weakening of the supernaturalism which was characteristic
of the original conception; the Spirit that produced love, joy,
peace, had just as little to do with the human spirit as the Spirit
that caused men to speak with tongues. And the supernaturalism which
here appears in glorified form was derived, Bousset concludes, from
the mystical pagan religion of the Hellenistic age.

This contention has already been discussed, and the weakness of it
has been pointed out. The Pauline doctrine of the Spirit was not
derived from contemporary paganism. But the exposition of Bousset's
theory has not yet been finished. The Spirit whose activities were
extended by Paul into the innermost recesses of the Christian's
life was identified, Bousset says, with "the Lord" (2 Cor. iii.
17). This identification exerted an important influence upon both
the elements that were brought together; it exerted an important
influence upon the conception both of "the Lord" and of "the
Spirit." If "the Lord" was identified, or brought into very close
relation, with the Spirit, and if the Spirit's activity extended
into the whole of life, then "the Lord" could no longer be for
Paul merely the cult-god who was present in the meetings of the
Church. On the contrary, He would have to be present everywhere
where the Spirit was present--that is, He would have to be that in
which the Christian lived and moved and had his being. Thus Paul
could form the astonishing phrase "in Christ" or "in the Lord,"
for which Bousset admits that no analogy is to be found in pagan
religion. On the other hand, the conception of the Spirit, Bousset
believes, was necessarily modified by its connection with "the
Lord." By the identification with an actual person who had lived
but a few years before, "the Spirit" was given a personal quality
which otherwise it did not possess. Or, to put the same thing in
other words, the Pauline phrase "in the Lord" is not exactly the
same in meaning as the phrase "in the Spirit"; for it possesses
a peculiar personal character. "This remarkable mingling of
abstraction and personality," says Bousset, "this connection of a
religious principle with a person who had walked here on the earth
and had here suffered death, is a phenomenon of peculiar power and
originality."

At this point, Bousset is in danger of being untrue to the
fundamental principles of his reconstruction; he is in danger of
bringing the religion of Paul into connection with the concrete
person of Jesus. But he detects the danger and avoids it. It must
not be supposed, he says, that Paul had any very clear impression
of the characteristics of the historical Jesus. For if he had had
such an impression, he never could have connected Jesus with an
abstraction like the Spirit. All that he was interested in, then,
was the fact that Jesus had lived and especially that He had died.

Yet these bare facts are thought to have been sufficient to impart
to Paul's notion of the Spirit-Lord that peculiar personal quality
which arouses the admiration of Bousset! The truth is, Bousset finds
himself at this point face to face with the difficulty which besets
every naturalistic explanation of the genesis of Paul's religion.
The trouble is that a close connection of Paul with the historical
Jesus is imperatively required by the historian in order to impart
to Paul's relation to Christ that warm, personal quality which
shines out from every page of the Epistles; whereas, on the other
hand, a wide separation of Paul from the historical Jesus is just
as imperatively required in order that Paul might not be hampered
by historical tradition in raising Jesus to divine dignity and in
bringing Him into connection with the Spirit of God.

Modern criticism has wavered between the two requirements; it
tries to preserve the rights of each. Bousset is more impressed by
the second requirement; Wernle, his opponent, is more impressed
by the former.[234] But both are equally wrong. There is really
only one way out of the difficulty. It is an old way and a radical
way. But the world of scholarship may come back to it in the end.
The fundamental difficulty in explaining the origin of Paulinism
will never disappear by being ignored; it will never yield to
compromises of any kind. It will disappear only when Jesus is
recognized as being really what Paul presupposes Him to be and what
all the Gospels represent Him as being--the eternal Son of God,
come to earth for the redemption of man, now seated once more on
the throne of His glory, and working in the hearts of His disciples
through His Spirit, as only God can work. Such a solution was never
so unpopular as it is to-day. Acceptance of it will involve a
Copernican revolution in many departments of human thought and life.
But refusal of such acceptance has left an historical problem which
so far has not been solved.

  [234] Wernle, "Jesus and Paulus. Antithesen zu Boussets Kyrios
  Christos," in _Zeitschrift fuer Theologie und Kirche_, xxv, 1915, pp.
  1-92.

At one point, Bousset admits, the religion of Paul was based upon
an historical fact. It was based upon the death of Jesus. But the
Pauline interpretation of the death of Jesus was derived, Bousset
believes, in important particulars from contemporary pagan religion;
the Pauline notion of dying and rising with Christ was formed under
the influence of the widespread pagan conception of the dying and
rising god. This assertion has become quite common among recent
scholars; material in support of it has been collected in convenient
form by M. Brueckner.[235] But as a matter of fact, the evidence in
support of the assertion is of the feeblest kind.

  [235] _Der sterbende und auferstehende Gottheiland_, 1908.

The review of Hellenistic religion which was attempted in Chapter
VI revealed, indeed, the fact that certain gods, especially Attis,
Adonis, and Osiris, were represented first as dying and then as
being resuscitated. The similarity of these figures to one another
may perhaps be explained by the hypothesis that all of them
were originally vegetation gods, whose death and resuscitation
represented the withering of vegetation in the autumn and its
renewal in the spring. At first sight, the parallel between these
gods and Jesus may seem striking. Jesus also was represented as
dying and as coming back to life again. But what is the significance
of the parallel? Can it mean that the entire New Testament story
of the death and resurrection of Jesus was derived from these
vegetation myths? Such has been the conclusion of certain modern
scholars. But of course this conclusion is absurd, and it is not
favored by Bousset. The essential historicity of the crucifixion
of Jesus under Pontius Pilate and of the rise of the belief in His
resurrection among His intimate friends stands too firm to be shaken
by any theory of dependence upon pagan myth. Thus the argument drawn
from the parallel between the New Testament story and the pagan myth
of the dying and rising god proves too much. If it proves anything,
it proves that the New Testament story of the resurrection was
derived from the pagan myth. But such a view has not been held by
any serious historians. Therefore it will have to be admitted that
the parallel between the belief that Adonis and Osiris and Attis
died and rose again, and the belief that Jesus died and rose again
was not produced by dependence of one story upon the other. It will
have to be recognized, therefore, that a parallel does not always
mean a relationship of dependence. And if it does not do so at one
point, perhaps it does not do so at others.

But Bousset will insist that although the New Testament story of the
death and resurrection of Jesus was not originally produced by the
pagan myth, yet the influence of the pagan conception made itself
felt in the interpretation which Paul placed upon the story. Paul
believed that the Christian shared the fate of Christ--died with
Christ and rose with Christ. But a similar conception appears in
the pagan religions. The classical expression of this idea appears
in the oft-quoted words reported by Firmicus Maternus, "Be of good
courage, ye initiates, since the god is saved; for to us there shall
be salvation out of troubles."

But it must be remembered that the testimony of Firmicus Maternus
is very late, and that the evidence for the prevalence of the
conception in the early period is somewhat scanty. The confident
assertions of recent writers with regard to these matters are
nothing short of astonishing. Lay readers are likely to receive the
impression that the investigator can reconstruct the conception of
a dying and rising god, and of the share which the worshipers have
in the death and resurrection, on the basis of some vast store of
information in the extant sources. As a matter of fact, nothing of
the sort is the case. The extant information about the conception in
question is scanty in the extreme, and for the most part dates from
long after the time of Paul.

It would be going too far, indeed, to assert that the conception of
the dying and rising god, with its religious significance, was not
in existence before the Pauline period. An ancient Egyptian text,
for example, has been quoted by Erman, which makes the welfare of
the worshiper depend upon that of Osiris: "Even as Osiris lives,
he also shall live."[236] Very likely some such conceptions were
connected also with the mourning and subsequent rejoicing for Attis
and Adonis. But if the conception was existent in the pre-Pauline
period, it by no means follows that it was common. Certainly its
prevalence has been enormously exaggerated in recent years. Against
such exaggerations, J. Weiss--who surely cannot be accused of
any lack of sympathy with the methods of comparative religion as
applied to the New Testament--has pertinently called attention to
1 Cor. i. 23. Christ crucified, Paul says, was "to the Gentiles
foolishness."[237] That does not look as though the Gentiles among
whom Paul labored were very familiar with the notion of a dying
god. If the contentions of Brueckner were correct, if the conception
of the dying god were as common in Paul's day as Brueckner supposes,
the Cross would not have been "to the Gentiles foolishness"; on
the contrary, it would have seemed to the Gentiles to be the most
natural thing in the world.

  [236] Erman, "A Handbook of Egyptian Religion" (published in the
  original German edition as a handbook, by the _Generalverwaltung_ of
  the Berlin Imperial Museum), 1907, p. 95.

  [237] J. Weiss, "Das Problem der Entstehung des Christentums," in
  _Archiv fuer Religionswissenschaft_, xvi, 1913, p, 490.

But even if the early prevalence of the conception of a dying and
rising god, with its religious significance, were better established
than it is, the dependence of Paul upon that conception would by no
means be proved. For the Pauline conception is totally different.
One difference, of course, is perfectly obvious and is indeed
generally recognized--the Pauline Christ is represented as dying
voluntarily, and dying for the sake of men. He "loved me," says
Paul, "and gave himself for me." There is absolutely nothing like
that conception in the case of the pagan religions. Osiris, Adonis,
and Attis were overtaken by their fate; Jesus gave His life freely
away. The difference is stupendous; it involves the very heart
of the religion of Paul. How was the difference caused? Whence
was derived the Pauline conception of the grace of Christ? Was it
derived from Jesus Himself? Was it derived from the knowledge which
Paul had of the character of Jesus? The supposition might seem to be
natural. But unfortunately, from the point of view of Bousset, it
must be rejected. For if Paul had had any knowledge of Jesus' real
character, how could he ever have supposed that Jesus, a mere man,
was the heavenly Lord?

Another difference is even more fundamental. The death and
resurrection of the pagan gods was a matter of the cult; the death
and resurrection of the Pauline Christ was a fact of history. It has
been observed in the review of Hellenistic religion that the cults
in the pagan religions were much more firmly fixed than the myths;
in the opinion of modern scholars, the myths were derived from the
cults rather than vice versa. So in the case of the "dying and
rising gods," one is struck above all things with the totally fluid
character of the myths. The story of Attis, for example, is told
in many divergent forms, and there does not seem to have been the
slightest interest among the Attis worshipers for the establishment
of any authentic account of the death and resurrection of the god.
Particularly the "resurrection" of the god appears in the myths
of Attis, Adonis, and Osiris scarcely at all. The real death and
resurrection occurred only in the cult. Every year in March, the
Attis-worshipers at Rome first saw the god lying dead as he was
represented by the fir-tree, and then rejoiced in his resurrection.
The death and resurrection were hardly conceived of as events which
had happened once for all long ago. They were rather thought of as
happening at every celebration of the festival.

The Pauline treatment of the death and resurrection of Christ is
entirely different. By Bousset, indeed, the difference is partly
obscured; Bousset tries to show that the Pauline conception of the
dying and rising of the believer with Christ was derived from the
celebration of the sacraments. But there could be no more radical
error. What is plainest of all in the Epistles is the historical
character of the Pauline message. The religion of Paul was rooted
in an event, and the sacraments were one way of setting forth the
significance of the event. The event was the redemptive work of
Christ in His death and resurrection.

Here lies the profoundest of all differences between Paul and
contemporary religion. Paulinism was not a philosophy; it was not a
set of directions for escape from the misery of the world; it was
not an account of what had always been true. On the contrary, it
was an account of something that had happened. The thing that had
happened, moreover, was not hidden in the dim and distant past.
The account of it was not evolved as a justification for existing
religious forms. On the contrary, the death and resurrection of
Jesus, upon which Paul's gospel was based, had happened only a
few years before. And the facts could be established by adequate
testimony; the eyewitnesses could be questioned, and Paul appeals
to the eyewitnesses in detail. The single passage, 1 Cor. xv. 1-8,
is sufficient to place a stupendous gulf between the Pauline Christ
and the pagan saviour-gods. But the character of Paulinism does not
depend upon one passage. Everywhere in the Epistles Paul stakes
all his life upon the truth of what he says about the death and
resurrection of Jesus. The gospel which Paul preached was an account
of something that had happened. If the account was true, the origin
of Paulinism is explained; if it was not true, the Church is based
upon an inexplicable error.

This latter alternative has been examined in the preceding
discussion. If Jesus was not the divine Redeemer that Paul says
He was, how did the Pauline religion of redemption arise? Three
great hypotheses have been examined and have been found wanting.
Paulinism, it has been shown, was not based upon the Jesus of
modern naturalism; if Jesus was only what He is represented by
modern naturalistic historians as being, then what is really
distinctive of Paul was not derived from Jesus. The establishment
of that fact has been a notable achievement of Wrede and Bousset.
But if what is essential in Paulinism was not derived from Jesus,
whence was it derived? It was not derived, as Wrede believed,
from the pre-Christian apocalyptic notions of the Messiah; for
the apocalyptic Messiah was not an object of worship, and not a
living person to be loved. It was not derived from pagan religion,
in accordance with the brilliant hypothesis of Bousset; for pagan
influence is excluded by the self-testimony of Paul, and the pagan
parallels utterly break down. But even if the parallels were ten
times closer than they are, the heart of the problem would not even
have been touched. The heart of the problem is found in the Pauline
relation to Christ. That relation cannot be described by mere
enumeration of details; it cannot be reduced to lower terms; it is
an absolutely simple and indivisible thing. The relation of Paul to
Christ is a relation of love; and love exists only between persons.
It is not a group of ideas that is to be explained, if Paulinism is
to be accounted for, but the love of Paul for his Saviour. And that
love is rooted, not in what Christ had said, but in what Christ had
done. He "loved me and gave Himself for me." There lies the basis of
the religion of Paul; there lies the basis of all of Christianity.
That basis is confirmed by the account of Jesus which is given in
the Gospels, and given, indeed, in all the sources. It is opposed
only by modern reconstructions. And those reconstructions are all
breaking down. The religion of Paul was not founded upon a complex
of ideas derived from Judaism or from paganism. It was founded upon
the historical Jesus. But the historical Jesus upon whom it was
founded was not the Jesus of modern reconstruction, but the Jesus of
the whole New Testament and of Christian faith; not a teacher who
survived only in the memory of His disciples, but the Saviour who
after His redeeming work was done still lived and could still be
loved.




INDEX

I NAMES AND SUBJECTS


  Acts, Book of, 32-40
    should be allowed to help in interpreting the Pauline
          Epistles, 125

  Adonis, 314f.
    religion of, 234f.

  Adoptionist Christology, not found in Pauline Epistles, 118

  Agabus, 33f., 78

  Agrae, mysteries of, 217

  Alexander the Great, 220

  Alexandria, Church at, 16

  Ananias (in Acts), 71

  Ananias (in Josephus), 12

  Andronicus and Junias, 140f.

  Anrich, 212

  Antioch, 29f., 77ff., 122ff;
    Apostolic Decree addressed to, 94ff.;
    Peter at, 97-106;
    Church at, 16

  Antioch, pre-Pauline Christianity of:
    not channel by which pagan religion influenced Paul, 257ff.;
    how investigated, 257-259;
    not essentially different from that of Jerusalem, 259f.;
    did it originate application of term "Lord" to Jesus, 299, 303-307

  Apocalypses, Jewish, not used by Paul, 192f.

  Apocrypha, Old Testament, 182f.

  Apollo's, 109

  Apostles, the original:
    attitude toward Paul at the Apostolic Council, 86f.;
    relation with Paul, 120-137;
    observed Mosaic Law, 126-128;
    were inwardly free from Law, 127f.;
    agreed with Paul about the person of Christ, 135-137;
    contact with Paul, 139

  Apostolic Council, the, 39, 80-100

  Apostolic Decree, the, 87-98, 110;
    was accompanied by Judas and Silas, 140

  Apostolic Fathers, the, 6

  Apuleius, 222f., 233f., 241

  Arabia, Paul's journey to, 71-74

  Aretas, 74

  "Asclepius," the, 242

  Atargatis, 235

  Athenodorus, 45

  Athletic games, use of figures regarding the, by Paul, 260

  Attis, 314-316;
    religion of, 227-231;
    mysteries of, 283


  Baals, the Syrian, 235

  Bacchanalian rites in Italy, 250

  Bacon, B. W., 91, 139, 181, 197

  Baldensperger, 178, 192, 204

  Baptism, in pagan religion, 280f.

  Baptism for the dead, 288

  Barnabas, 16, 78ff., 83f., 99;
    was carried away with Peter at Antioch, 102;
    dispute with Paul, 105-107;
    relations with Paul, 106f.;
    was member of Jerusalem Church, 137f.;
    contact with Paul, 137f.

  Barnabas, Epistle of, 18

  Baruch, Second Book of, 180, 191

  Baur, F. C, 6, 31, 37, 85, 105, 107, 119ff., 124f., 128f.

  Beecher, 182

  Bengel, 103

  Beyschlag, 60, 63, 65

  Bible, introduction of the, into Indo-European civilization, 20

  Blass, 90

  Boehlig, 45, 141, 300

  Bousset, W., 28-30, 47, 49, 52, 67, 72, 78, 156, 161, 172-199,
        204-207, 244, 257-262, 267f., 270, 274, 278, 293-317

  Brueckner, 27, 185, 191, 194ff., 205f., 211, 234, 313, 315

  Buddhism, early, 274

  Burton, E. D., 267f., 271

  Byblos, 231, 234f.

  Charles, 180, 186, 188, 190

  "Christ," the term, 297f.

  Christianity, origin of:
    importance of the question, 3f.;
    two ways of investigating, 4f.;
    testimony of Paul to, 4f.

  Christianity, monotheism of, 306

  "Christians," first application of the name, 78

  Christology, the Pauline:
    not derived from pre-Christian Jewish doctrine of the Messiah,
          173-207;
    not derived from pre-Christian Jewish doctrine of Wisdom, 199-204;
    not derived from pagan religion, 293-317

  Christ-party, the, at Corinth, 120

  Circumcision, 17

  Clemen, 262

  Clement of Alexandria, 230, 281

  Clement of Rome, 105

  Colossae, errorists in, 129f.

  Colossians, Epistle to the, 31, 104

  Corinthian Church, parties in the, 107-109

  Corinthians, Epistles to the, 31

  Cornelius, 16, 19, 83

  Cross of Christ, the, 19, 63f.

  Cult, Bousset's exaggeration of the importance of the, 303ff.

  Cumont, 212, 227ff., 232, 236, 243f., 247, 281f.

  Cybele, religion of, 8, 227-231

  Cybele and Attis, mysteries of, 229-231

  Cynics, the, 225


  Dalman, 187

  Damascus, 71ff., 76;
    preaching of Paul at, 72f.;
    escape of Paul from, 74

  Damascus, pre-Pauline Christianity of:
    how investigated, 257-259;
    not channel by which pagan religion influenced Paul, 257ff.;
    not essentially different from that of Jerusalem, 259f.;
    did it originate application of the term "Lord" to Jesus, 299

  Date, question of, with reference to pagan ideas and practices,
        237-41

  Death of Christ, the, was voluntary, 315

  Death and resurrection of Jesus:
    historicity of, 312f.;
    not derived from the cult, 315f.

  Death and resurrection of pagan gods, the myths concerning, thought
        to have been derived from the cults, 315f.

  Deification: in pagan religion, 245, 263;
    not found in Paul, 263-265

  Demeter, 217f.

  Denney, James, 155, 304

  Dieterich, 246f., 251

  Dionysus, 215f.;
    religion of, 282f.

  Dispersion, Judaism of the:
    was it "liberal," 175-177;
    did not produce Gentile mission of Paul, 175ff.

  Drews, 294

  Dualism of Hellenistic age, different from Paulinism, 276

  Dying and rising god, the, 211, 234f., 237, 312-316


  Ebionites, the, 125f.

  Ecclesiasticus, 200

  Eleusis, mysteries of, 217-219, 281

  Emmet, 81, 176, 180

  Emperors, worship of the, 221

  Enoch, First Book of, 181, 184, 186-189, 193, 198f., 203

  Epicureans, the, 225

  Ephesians, Epistle to the, 31, 104

  Erman, 314

  Eschatology, consistent, 156f.

  Essenes, 177

  Ethics, same teaching about, in Jesus and in Paul, 164f.

  Eusebius, 139

  Ezra, Fourth Book of, 176, 180, 187, 189f., 196


  Faith in Jesus, did not originate at Antioch, 303ff.

  "Famine visit," historicity of the, 84-86

  Farnell, 212, 217

  Fatherhood of God, same teaching about, in Jesus and in Paul,
        161-164

  Firmicus Maternus, 229, 237, 241, 251, 281, 314

  "Flesh," Pauline use of the term: without parallel in pagan usage,
        275f.;
    based on Old Testament, 276

  Future life, interest in the, stimulated by worship of Dionysus and
        by Orphism, 216f.


  Galatians, Epistle to the:
    genuineness, 31;
    addressees, 81;
    date, 81ff.;
    must be interpreted in the light of I Cor. xv. 1-11, 144f.

  Gamaliel, 47, 52

  Gautama, 274

  Gentile Christianity:
    in what sense founded by Paul, 7-21;
    in what sense founded by Jesus, 13-15;
    part in the founding of, taken by missionaries other than Paul,
          15f.

  Gentiles, reception of, according to the Old Testament, 17

  Gischala, 44

  Gnosis, 262-265:
    idea of, in Paul, 263-265;
    not a technical term in Paul, 263

  Gnosticism, 247-251, 268f.:
    pagan basis of, 247;
    can it be used as a witness to pre-Christian paganism, 247-250;
    Christian elements in, 249f.;
    use in, of terms "Spirit" and "spiritual" due to dependence on
          the New Testament, 268f.

  "God," the term, 306f.

  Golden Rule, negative form of the, 88f.

  Gospel, the Pauline, was a matter of history, 264f.

  Gospels, the:
    contain an account of Jesus like that presupposed in the Pauline
          Epistles, 153f.;
    were they influenced by Paul, 154f., 159

  Grace, doctrine of, both in Jesus and in Paul, 164

  Grace of God according to Paul, 279

  Greece, religion of:
    influenced Rome, 212f.;
    moral defects of, 214;
    was anthropomorphic polytheism, 214f.;
    was connected with the state, 214f.;
    mystical elements in, 215ff.;
    was undermined by philosophy, by the fall of the city-state, and
          by the influence of the eastern religions, 219f.

  Greek language:
    in Palestine, 53, 302;
    Paul's use of, 44, 46, 53

  Gressmann, 181


  Hadad, 235

  Harnack, A. von, 6f., 26, 33-36, 98, 119, 263, 273

  "Hebrew," meaning of the word, 46

  Heinrici, 265

  Heitmueller, 47, 49, 52, 76-78, 157, 243f., 257-261, 265, 282f.

  Helbig, 46

  "Hellenist," meaning of the word, 46

  Hellenistic age, the:
    cosmopolitanism in, 220;
    individualism in, 221;
    religious propaganda in, 221f.;
    syncretism in, 222f.;
    longing for redemption in, 223f.

  Hellenists, the, 302

  Hepding, 227-231, 283

  Hermas, Shepherd of, 242

  Hermes Trismegistus, 242-245, 248f., 261f., 265-267, 285:
    was it influenced by Christianity, 242f., 247f.;
    importance of, 243f.;
    places soul higher than spirit, 248f.;
    terminology different from Paul's, 265-270

  Hermetic Corpus, 242-245, 277

  Herod Agrippa I, death of, 79

  Hilgenfeld, 90

  Hippolytus, 218, 249f.

  Holstein, 63-65, 76

  Holtzmann, H. J., 22

  Homer, 213f.


  "Illumination," the term, 273

  Initiated, to be, use of the verb by Paul, 271f.

  Irenaeus, 89

  Isis, religion of, 8f.

  Isis, mysteries of, 232ff.,
    had sacramental washings according to Tertullian, 281

  Isis and Osiris, religion of, 231-234

  Izates of Adiabene, 12


  James, 94, 98:
    contact of with Paul, 75, 109-113, 137;
    men who came from, 101;
    attitude of, toward Paul, 111f.;
    attitude of Paul toward, 120ff.;
    called "the brother of the Lord," 299f.

  Jerome, 44

  Jerusalem Church, the, 293-303:
    attitude of, toward the Law, 19;
    relief of the poor of, 99f., 104, 112f.;
    new principle of the life of, 127;
    community of goods in, 138;
    contact of, with Paul, 139;
    treasured tradition about Jesus, 139;
    direct influence of, upon Paul, 258f.;
    use of the term "Lord" by, 294-303

  Jesus Christ:
    historicity of, 5;
    in what sense founder of the Gentile mission, 13-15;
    Pauline conception of, 22;
    deification of, according to modern liberalism, 22-24;
    Messiahship of, according to the liberal hypothesis, 25;
    consciousness of sonship, according to the liberal hypothesis, 25;
    importance of, in the liberal explanation of the origin of
          Paulinism, 25;
    Messiahship of, according to Bousset, 29;
    Lordship of, according to Bousset, 29f.;
    divinity of, disputed by no one in the Apostolic Age, 129-137;
    knowledge of, according to Paul, 142-144;
    words of, in Pauline Epistles, 147-149;
    details of the life of, known to Paul, 149f.;
    character of, appreciated by Paul, 150f.;
    comparison of, with Paul, 153-169;
    presented Himself as Messiah, 155-158;
    personal affinity of, with Paul, 165;
    regarded by Paul as a Redeemer, not as a mere teacher, 167-169

  Jesus Christ, the liberal account of:
    attested by none of the sources, 155;
    involves psychological contradiction, 155-158;
    cannot explain the origin of the belief in the divine Redeemer,
          158f.

  John, 98, went to Ephesus, 128

  Jones, Maurice, 81

  Josephus, 79, 177, 183

  Judaea, Churches of, 50-52, 75f.

  Judaism:
    missionary activity of, 9-11;
    prepared for Pauline mission, 10f.;
    did not produce Christian universalism, 11-13;
    had no doctrine of the vicarious death of the Messiah, 65, 196ff.;
    divisions within, 175-177;
    did not serve as medium for pagan influence upon Paul, 255f.

  Judaism, rabbinical, 176

  Judas, 140

  Judaizers, the, 19, 86, 98, 121, 125f., 128, 131, 135, 278:
    activity of, subsided during the third missionary journey, 104,
          107;
    did not dispute Paul's doctrine of the person of Christ, 129-137

  Judgment, teaching about, both in Jesus and in Paul, 164

  Justification, Pauline idea of:
    can find no analogy in Hermes Trismegistus, 277;
    importance of, in Paul's thinking, 277-279;
    not produced merely as weapon against the Judaizers, 278f.;
    intimately connected with the doctrine of the new creation, 279

  Justin Martyr, 185, 196, 236, 273, 281

  Juvenal, 227


  Kabeiri, the, 219

  Kennedy, H. A. A., 118, 233, 262, 281

  Kingdom of God, same teaching about, in Jesus and in Paul, 160f.

  Knowling, 104, 109, 147, 299

  Koine, the, 220

  Krenkel, 44f., 59

  Kroll, J., 242, 244, 249, 269

  Kroll, W., 242, 245

  Kykeon, the, 218, 281


  Laborers in the vineyard, parable of the, 164

  Lake, Kirsopp, 12f., 81f., 89, 98

  Lake and Jackson, 186

  Law, the ceremonial, attitude of Jesus toward, 14f.

  Law, the Mosaic:
    function of, according to Paul, 18;
    attitude of the early Jerusalem Church toward, 19;
    observance of, by Jewish Christians, 92f., 101f.;
    Jewish Christians zealous for, 110;
    added to, by the Jews, 178;
    Paul's early zeal for, 256

  Legalism, Jewish, 178-181

  Lexical method of determining questions of dependence, 262

  Liberalism, was not the method of Paul in founding Gentile
        Christianity, 17

  Liberal Judaism, was not the atmosphere of Paul's boyhood home, 47,
        256

  Lietzmann, 127

  Lightfoot, J. B., 47, 119

  Lipsius, 72

  Livy, 250

  Loisy, 47, 76, 229, 262

  Lord, the, connected by Paul with the Spirit, 311ff.

  "Lord," the term:
    applied by Paul to the Jesus who was on earth, 117f.;
    use of, in primitive Jerusalem Church, 294-303;
    occurrence of, in the Gospels, 295-298;
    the Aramaic basis of, 301;
    received Greek form in Jerusalem, 301f.;
    not for the first time applied to Jesus at Antioch, 303ff.;
    use of, in pagan religion, 305f.;
    use of, in the Septuagint, 307f.

  Lord's Supper, the:
    account of institution of, 148f., 151f.;
    was thought by Justin Martyr to be imitated in religion of
        Mithras, 236;
    comparison of, with pagan rites, 281-283;
    not dependent upon pagan notion of eating the god, 282f.

  Lucian, 225, 234f., 241

  Luke, 36f.

  Lycaonia, Apostolic Decree extended into, 94


  Maccabees, Fourth Book of, 196

  Magic: affinity of, for the mysteries, 246;
    difference of, from religion, 246

  Magical papyri, the, 246f.

  "Mar," the term, 300f.

  Maranatha, 300f.

  Marcion, 18

  Marcus Aurelius, 226

  Mark, John, 105, 106, 107;
    relations of, with Paul and with Peter, 138f.

  Marriage, the sacred, 230

  "Master," the term, applied to Jesus, 308

  Mead, 244

  Meals, sacred, in the mystery religions, 281-283

  Menander, 271

  Menard, 244

  Messiah, the:
    doctrines of, in Old Testament, 181f.;
    doctrine of, in Judaism, 182ff.;
    Old Testament basis for later doctrine of, 191;
    pre-Christian doctrine of, exalted by identification with
        Jesus, 204

  Messiah, the apocalyptic:
    was different from the Pauline Christ, 194-199;
    had no part in creation, 194;
    had no intimate relation to the believer, 194-197;
    was not divine, 197-199;
    what could have led to his identification with Jesus, 205f.

  "Mind," the term, in Hermes Trismegistus, 267f., not produced by
        philosophical modification of the term "Spirit"

  Mind, not the same thing as Spirit in I Cor. ii. 15, 16, 269

  Miracles:
    objection drawn from accounts of, against Lucan authorship of
          Acts, 33-37;
    cannot be separated from the Gospel account of Jesus, 154f.

  Mithras, mysteries of, 236, 256:
    had sacramental washings according to Tertullian, 281;
    bread and cup in, 281f.

  Mithras, religion of, 8f., 235-237

  Mithras-liturgy, the so-called, 247, 251, 267

  Mnason, 112

  Mommsen, 46f.

  Montefiore, 176f.

  Morgan, W., 118, 164

  Moulton and Milligan, 281

  Murray, Gilbert, 223

  "Mystery," the term, in Paul, 272f.

  Mystery religions, the, 227ff.:
    did not produce Gentile Christianity, 8f.;
    were tolerant of other faiths, 9;
    information about, in a Naassene writing, 249f.;
    technical vocabulary of, 262ff.;
    idea of gnosis in, 262-265;
    not the source of Paul's doctrine of the Spirit, 270;
    probably had not dominated many converts of Paul, 273;
    produced no strong consciousness of sin, 276;
    did not produce the Pauline teaching about the sacraments, 279-290

  Mysticism, pagan, 239ff.


  Naassenes, sect of the, 249f.

  Neutral text, the, 87ff.


  Oepke, 264f., 273

  Old Catholic Church, 6, 119f.:
    founded on unity between Peter and Paul, 104f.

  Olschewski, 194

  Oracula Chaldaica, the, 245f.

  Orphism, 216f.

  Osiris, 229, 231ff., 314f.


  Pagan religion:
    through what channels could it have influenced Paul, 255-261;
    did it influence Paul directly, 260f.

  Papias, 139

  Parthey, 244.

  Particularism, in the Old Testament, 17

  Pastoral Epistles, the, 31f.

  Paul:
    testimony of, as to origin of Christianity, 4f.;
    influence of, 6-21;
    geographical extent of the labors of, 16f.;
    importance of the theology of, in foundation of Gentile mission,
          17-20;
    in what ways a witness about the origin of Christianity, 21;
    the genius of, not incompatible with the truth of his witnessing,
          21;
    monotheism of, 23;
    sources of information about, 31-40;
    birth of, at Tarsus, 43f.;
    Roman citizenship of, 45f.;
    Pharisaism of, 46f.;
    was not a liberal Jew, 47, 175ff.;
    was in Jerusalem before conversion, 47-53;
    rabbinical training of, 52f.;
    did he see Jesus before the conversion, 54-57;
    knew about Jesus before the conversion, 57f., 66f.;
    conversion of, 58-68, 145-147, 205, 305;
    malady of, 58f.;
    did he have the consciousness of sin before his conversion, 64-66;
    the conversion of, involved meeting with a person, 67f.;
    baptism of, 71;
    at Damascus, 71ff.;
    went to Arabia, 71-74;
    escaped from Damascus, 74;
    rebuked Peter, 97, 102;
    division of labor with Peter, 99f.;
    first visit of, to Jerusalem, 74-77;
    in Syria and Cilicia, 77;
    at Antioch, 78;
    famine visit of, to Jerusalem, 78ff.;
    agreed with Peter in principle, 102, 123f.;
    relations of, with Peter, 102-105, 137;
    dispute of, with Barnabas, 105-107;
    relations of, with Barnabas, 106f., 137f.;
    relations of, with James, 109-113;
    participation of, in a Jewish vow, 110f.;
    has been regarded by the Church as a disciple of Jesus, 117;
    regarded himself as a disciple of Jesus, 117f.;
    was regarded as a disciple of Jesus by Jesus' friends, 118-137;
    attitude of, toward Peter, 120ff.;
    attitude of, toward James, 120ff.;
    rebuked Peter, 122-124;
    had abundant sources of information about Jesus, 137-142;
    relations of, with Mark, 138f.;
    contact of, with the original apostles and with the Jerusalem
          Church, 139;
    contact of, with Silas, 140;
    the gospel of, in what sense did he receive it directly from
          Christ, 145-147;
    meaning of the conversion of, for him, 145-147;
    shows knowledge of words of Jesus, 147-149;
    shows knowledge of details of Jesus' life, 149f.;
    shows appreciation of Jesus' character, 150f.;
    knew more about Jesus than he has told in the Epistles, 151-153;
    comparison of, with Jesus, 153-169;
    personal affinity of, with Jesus, 165;
    was not a disciple of "the liberal Jesus," 166-169;
    his pre-conversion belief about the Messiah, 192-194;
    was not dependent upon the Jewish apocalypses, 192f.;
    personal relation of, to Christ, was not derived from mere
          reflection on the death of the Messiah, 194-197;
    similarity of, to Jesus, not explained by common dependence on
          Judaism, 206;
    the gospel of, was a matter of history, 264f.;
    how far did he use a terminology derived from the mysteries,
          271-273

  Pauline Epistles, the genuineness of, 31f.

  Paulinism:
    required exclusive devotion, 9;
    was a religion of redemption, 22, 167-169;
    doctrine of the person of Christ in, was not disputed even by
          Judaizers, 129-137;
    was supernaturalistic, 288f.;
    was not external, 289f.;
    was individualistic, 309ff.;
    was not developed from the cult, 309ff.;
    was personal, 311f., 317;
    was historical, 316

  Paulinism, the origin of:
    four ways of explaining, 24ff.;
    supernaturalistic explanation of, 24;
    liberal explanation of, 24-26;
    radical explanations of, 26ff.;
    found in pre-Christian Judaism by Wrede and Brueckner, 27f.;
    found in paganism by Bousset, 30;
    not really explained by development from the liberal Jesus,
          117-169;
    not really explained by Judaism, 173-207;
    not really explained by paganism, 211-317

  Persephone, 218

  Personality, idea of, 202f.

  Peter:
    received Cornelius, 16;
    with Paul in Jerusalem, 75-77;
    at Antioch, 97-106;
    rebuked by Paul, 97, 102, 122-124;
    division of labor with Paul, 99f.;
    relations of, with Paul, 102-105;
    attitude of Paul toward, 120ff.;
    agreed with Paul in principle, 123f.;
    not in harmony with Ebionism, 125f.;
    went to Rome, 127f.;
    contact with Paul, 137;
    relations of, with Mark, 139

  Pharisaism, not influenced by pagan religion, 255f.

  Pharisees, the, 177

  Philemon, Epistle to, 31

  Philippians, Epistle to the, 31, 104

  Philo, 183, 250f.:
    use of term "Spirit" by, due to Old Testament, 268

  Philosophy:
    undermined the religion of Greece, 219;
    practical interest of, in the Hellenistic age, 224ff.

  Plato, 224f., 275

  Plooij, 81

  Plutarch, 231, 236

  Poimandres, the, 242-245

  Posidonius, 225, 250

  Princeton Biblical Studies, 7, 17, 37, 117

  _Princeton Theological Review_, 37, 78, 155

  Psalms of Solomon, 190, 193

  Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament, 182

  Ptolemy 1, 231

  Pythagoreanism, 217


  Ramsay, 45, 56, 81

  Rationalizing, revived by Torrey and others, 34

  Redemption:
    Paulinism a religion of, 22, 167-169;
    was desired in the Hellenistic age, 223f.;
    value of, 224;
    in pagan religion and in Paul, 255-279;
    idea of, in Hellenistic age, 274ff.;
    idea of, not an abnormal thing, 275;
    Pauline conception of, was not derived from pagan cults, 274ff.;
    Pauline idea of, involves salvation from sin, 276f.

  Regeneration:
    in pagan religion, 230, 233, 240f., 244f.;
    associated, in Paul, with justification, 279

  Reitzenstein, R., 242-244, 246, 248ff., 274, 277, 262-280

  Religion and theology:
    union of, according to Wrede, 27;
    separation of, according to the liberal hypothesis, 25f.;
    not to be separated in Paul, 166ff.

  Revelation, Book of, 120

  Ritschl, A., 6, 38f., 119f., 125

  Ritschlian theology, the, 23

  Rohde, 212, 223

  Romans, Epistle to the:
    genuineness of, 31;
    date of, 81f.;
    can it be used in the reconstruction of the pre-Pauline
          Christianity of Damascus and Antioch, 259

  Rome, Church at, 16

  Rome, the native religion of, 212f.


  Sabazius, 215

  Sacraments, the Pauline:
    were not derived from the mystery religions, 279-290;
    did not convey blessing _ex opere operato_, 283-288;
    were outward signs of an inner experience, 286f.

  Sadducees, the, 177

  Samothrace, the mysteries of, 219

  Schuerer, 23, 65, 79, 156, 180, 183, 186, 190, 196

  Seneca, 226

  Septuagint, importance of the, 307f.

  Serapis, religion of, 232ff.

  Servant coming in from the field, parable of the, 164

  Sethe, 281

  Showerman, 227, 231

  Sieffert, 72

  Silas, 16:
    contact of, with Paul, 140;
    was member of the Jerusalem Church, 140

  Sin, consciousness of: in Judaism, 178-181;
    in Paul, 276f.

  Smith, W. B., 294

  Solomon, Psalms of, 184

  Son of Man, the:
    in I Enoch, 181, 186ff.;
    origin and meaning of the title, 187ff.;
    idea of, dominated the early Jerusalem Church, according to
          Bousset, 293f., 298

  Soul:
    placed higher than spirit in Hermes Trismegistus and lower than
          Spirit in Paul, 248f., 267f.;
    conception of the, in Paul, 266ff.

  Spirit:
    placed lower than soul in Hermes Trismegistus and (when the word
          designates the Spirit of God) higher than soul in Paul,
          248f., 267f.;
    no evidence of popular pagan use of the term analogous to Pauline
          usage, 267-270;
    Greek materialistic use of the term, 267;
    use of the term in Philo shows influence of the Old Testament, 268;
    use of the term in Gnosticism due to dependence on New Testament,
          268f.;
    use of the term in Menander, 270

  Spirit, Pauline conception of the, 265-271:
    different from that in mystery religions, 265, 270;
    does not make the divine Spirit take the place of the human soul,
          266;
    has roots in the Old Testament, 270f.;
    brings enrichment of Old Testament teaching, 270;
    not derived from paganism, 310;
    Bousset's view of, 310ff.

  "Spiritual man:"
    contrast with "psychic man," 265-270;
    the term not in accord with the terminology of Hermes
          Trismegistus, 266ff.

  Stephen, 16, 19, 66

  Stobaeus, 242

  Stoics, the:
    humanitarian achievements of, 225f.;
    humanitarian ideal of, differed from Christian ideal, 225f.

  Strauss, 34

  Supernaturalism in Paul's religion, 288f.

  Syncretism, 222f., 237ff., 262

  Syria:
    religion of, 77;
    use of the term "Lord" in, 300

  Syria and Cilicia, 77:
    the Apostolic Decree addressed to, 94ff.


  Tammuz, 234

  Tarsus, 43f., 77:
    did not bring pagan influences effectively to bear upon Paul,
          256f.;
    Christianity of, did it originate application of the term "Lord"
          to Jesus, 299

  Taurobolium, 230f., 240f., 251

  "Teleios," the term, in Paul, 272f.

  Terminology, not necessarily important as establishing dependence in
        ideas, 272

  Terminology of the mysteries, the technical, does not appear in the
        New Testament, 273

  Tertullian, 281

  Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, 190

  Thessalonians, Epistles to the, 31, 82

  Thrace, religion of, 215f.

  Titus, 83

  Torrey, C. C., 34

  Townshend, 196

  Tradition, Paul not indifferent toward, 142-153

  Trypho, Dialogue with, 185, 196

  Tuebingen School, the, 31, 37, 99, 108f., 110


  Vegetation gods, 235

  Vespasian, 183

  Volz, 190

  Vos, Geerhardus, 266, 295


  Warfield, B. B., 198, 306

  Weber, 81

  Weiss, B., 72

  Weiss, J., 40, 56, 85, 107, 125, 152, 154, 156, 314

  Wellhausen, 52, 138

  Wendland, 212

  Wendt, 94f.

  Wernle, 312

  Westcott and Hort, 89

  Western text, the, 88ff.

  Wicked husbandmen, parable of, 15

  Windisch, H., 199-204, 243

  Wisdom, in Pauline Epistles, not identified with Christ, 203f.

  Wisdom, in pre-Christian Judaism:
    will not account for the Pauline Christology, 199-204;
    is active in creation, 200;
    enters into the wise men, 200;
    is not expected to appear at a definite time, 200f.;
    is not identified with the Messiah, 201-204;
    is not fully personal, 202f.

  Wisdom of Solomon, 200

  Witkowski, 280

  Wrede, W., 26-28, 67, 156, 166, 172-199, 204-207, 278, 317


  Zahn, Th., 44, 53, 72, 90, 119, 302

  Zeller, E., 37

  Zielinski, 242



II BIBLICAL PASSAGES




  OLD TESTAMENT

  Psalms--
    li. 11, 270f.
    cx. 1, 296
    cx. 3 (lxx), 201

  Proverbs--
    viii, 199f.

  Isaiah--
    ix, 191
    xi, 191
    liii, 63, 65, 181
    lxv. 17, 191

  Ezekiel--
    viii. 14, 234

  Daniel--
    vii. 13, 188, 191
    vii. 18, 191

  Micah--
    v. 2 (lxx), 201


  NEW TESTAMENT

  Matthew--
    v. 45, 162
    vii. 21, 296
    xxi. 41, 15
    xxviii. 19, 20, 14

  Mark--
    iii. 7, 8, 51
    vii. 15, 15
    x. 45, 154, 159
    xi. 3, 297
    xii. 35-37, 296

  Luke--
    iii. 15, 184
    vi. 35, 162
    vi. 46, 296

  John--
    i. 19-27, 184
    vi, 282

  Acts--
    ii. 36, 295
    iv. 36, 37, 137f.
    vi. 1, 46, 302
    vii. 56, 298
    vii. 58-viii. 1, 47
    ix. 1, 47
    ix. 10-19, 71
    ix. 19, 72
    ix. 22, 72
    ix. 23, 72
    ix. 26-30, 73, 74-76
    ix. 27, 75
    ix. 28, 51
    x. 41, 35
    xi. 19-30, 79
    xi. 26, 78
    xi. 30, 78ff.
    xii, 78
    xii. 1-17, 138
    xii. 25, 78ff.
    xiii-xiv, 97
    xv, 39, 140
    xv. 1-29, 80-100, 139
    xv. 19, 20, 87
    xv. 21, 92
    xv. 23, 94
    xv. 27, 140
    xv. 28, 29, 87-98
    xvi. 4, 94
    xxi. 17, 109, 112
    xxi. 20-26, 11Of.
    xxi. 20-22, 113
    xxi. 20, 110
    xxi. 25, 87, 91
    xxi. 26, 110
    xxii. 3, 47
    xxii. 12-16, 71
    xxii. 17-21, 49, 74
    xxiii. 6, 46f.
    xxiii. 16-22, 49
    xxiv. 17, 112
    xxvi. 14, 60-62

  Romans--
    i. 7, 82
    vi, 284, 286f.
    vi. 4, 286
    vi. 7, 277
    vii, 63ff.
    vi. 7-25, 65f.
    viii. 16, 266
    viii. 30, 277
    ix. 5, 198
    xiv, 93
    xiv. 17, 161
    xv. 2, 3, 150
    xv. 8, 149
    xv. 31, 112f.
    xvi, 141
    xvi. 7, 140f.

  1 Corinthians--
    i-iv, 108
    i. 12, 107f., 109, 120
    i. 17, 285
    i. 23, 314f.
    i. 24, 203
    i. 30, 203
    ii. 6, 7, 272f.
    ii. 8, 117f.
    ii. 14, 15, 265-267
    ii. 15, 16, 269
    iii. 21, 22, 109
    iii. 22, 104
    vi. 9, 160
    vii. 10, 147
    vii. 12, 147
    vii. 25, 147
    viii, 93
    viii. 5, 6, 305f.
    viii. 6, 194
    ix. 5, 104
    ix. 6, 106
    ix. 14, 147
    ix. 19-22, 92f., 110
    ix. 20, 111
    ix. 22, 260
    x. 16, 282
    x. 20, 283
    x. 21, 282f.
    x. 32-xi. 1, 151
    xi. 1, 150
    xi. 23ff., 148f., 151f.
    xi. 23, 149
    xi. 30, 288
    xii. 8, 263
    xiii, 66
    xiv. 37, 147
    xv. 1-11, 104, 124f., 144f.
    xv. 1-8, 316
    xv. 1-7, 258f.
    xv. 3-8, 35
    xv. 3-7, 76
    xv. 3, 144f., 149
    xv. 4, 149
    xv. 5, 77, 104
    xv. 11, 77, 104, 109
    xv. 29, 288
    xv. 50, 161
    xvi. 22, 300f.

  2 Corinthians--
    iii. 1, 108
    iii. 17, 311
    v. 16, 54-56, 130f., 142-144
    viii. 9, 150
    x-xiii, 107, 109, 131f.
    x. 1, 150
    xi. 4-6, 131-135
    xi. 5, 108f., 133
    xi. 13, 109
    xi. 19, 20, 134
    xi. 22, 46
    xi. 25, 45
    xii. 1-8, 59f.
    xii. 2-4, 264
    xii. 11, 108f.

  Galatians--
    i-ii, 144-147
    i. 1, 199
    i. 14, 47
    i. 16, 17, 74
    i. 16, 71
    i. 17, 50
    i. 18, 19, 74-76, 84, 300
    i. 18, 79
    i. 19, 75, 299f.
    i. 22, 50-52, 75
    i. 23, 52
    ii. 1-10, 78-100, 104, 121f., 139
    ii. 1, 84, 137
    ii. 2, 120ff.
    ii. 6, 87, 95, 120ff.
    ii. 9, 100, 104, 120ff.
    ii. 10, 99f.
    ii. 11-21, 87, 93, 100-106, 122-124
    ii. 11-13, 97
    ii. 14-21, 123f.
    ii. 19, 103
    ii. 20, 150
    ii. 21, 279
    iii. 1, 149f.
    iii. 2, 287
    iii. 5, 271f.
    iii. 27, 287
    iv. 14, 59f.
    v. 19-21, 160
    vi. 3, 121

  Philippians--
    ii. 5ff., 150
    ii. 10, 11, 118
    iii. 2ff., 104
    iii. 5, 46, 47
    iv. 12, 271f.

  Colossians--
    i. 16, 194
    ii. 12, 284
    iv. 10, 11, 107
    iv. 10, 105f., 138

  1 Thessalonians--
    i. 6, 151
    iv. 15, 147f.

  1 Timothy--
    i. 13, 61

  2 Timothy--
    iv. 11, 106

  Philemon--
    24, 105, 107, 138

  1 Peter--
    v. 13, 105, 139


       *       *       *       *       *


Transcriber's note:

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

Text enclosed by plus signs is a Greek transliteration. (+ouden+).

Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.

Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been
retained except in obvious cases of typographical error.

The cover for the eBook version of this book was created by the
transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

Page 24: "customary and then use it in distinction"-- The
transcriber has replaced "than" with "then".

Page 307: In footnote 233 the transcriber has replaced the scrambled
Greek letters "otesdesp" with "despotes".





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