Chapter 5: Vibia Perpetua and Felicitas by Thomas John

Background

Vibia Perpetua and Felicitas lived in the end of second century AD in Carthage. North Africa. Carthage was a ‘prosperous port through which flowed corn, oil, slaves and cattle from the fertile parts of Numidia and Mauretania’. (A.G. Weisford, Life in the Early Church [AD. 33 to 313], Connecticut: The Seabury Press, N.Y.) In Carthage ‘Latin was the delight of all who had any pretention to literary skills -- the writers, rhetoricians and lawyers’. (Ibid.,) Perpetua was from a prominent family in Thuburobo, (C.A. Clark, Women in the Early Church, Delaisore, USA: Michael Glazier Inc., 1983.) was ‘liberally educated, honorably married, had father and mother and two brothers, one like herself, a Catechumen and an infant at the breast’. (Welsford, op. cit., p. 295.) ‘She was about 22 years old’. (Clark, op. cit., p.98.) ‘She was arrested along with certain young catechumens like Revolatus and his fellow slave Felicitas, Saturninus and Secondolos. They were still unbaptized catechumens at the moment of their arrests.

The source of information about their martyrdom is Tertullian’s The passion of SS Perpetua and Felicitas (Welsford, op.cit). in his writings ‘AD martyrs, which is confirmed by another remarkable contemporary document ‘the Passio-Perpetauae’. (W.H.C. Frend, Martyrdom and Persecution in the Early Church, Oxford: Oxford Press, 1965, p. 363.) There is ‘an introduction very probably. by Tertullian himself, a narrative by Perpetua and another by Saturnas of their experiences in prison and finally an account of the actual martyrdom in the amphitheatre at Carthage’. (Welsford, op.cit.)

Context

‘Though major empire wide persecution did not begin until 250 AD. ... accounts exist from as early as 112 AD. that indicate that Christians were being persecuted simply because they bore the name Christians ... Their refusal to offer sacrifices to the pagan gods and the pinch of incense to the emperor caused the Romans to suspect Christians of political disloyalty. In addition their suspicion of Christian rituals such as the Lord’s supper, and their annoyance at Christians refusal to conform to the mores and pleasures of the age may have also contributed to their zeal as persecutors’.(Clark, op.cit., p. 97.)

In this context not only were men executed, but also women of high society like Perpetua and slaves like Felicitas. ‘Her father who was not a Christian was deeply distressed by her determination to die as martyr for the faith which she had so recently espoused. This family grief was her severest trial’. (Philip Carrington, The Early Christian Church Cambridge: University Press, 1957 p. 425.) While still under the Roman trial her father out of love for her, tried to persuade and shake her resolution.’ She replied to him, "Father, do you see this vase here for example or this water pot or whatever?". "Yes, I do" replied he. And I told him, "Could it be called by any other name other than what it is ?" And he said "No". "Well, so too I cannot be called anything other than what I am, a Christian."

On hearing the name Christian her father moved towards her as though he would pull out her eyes. (H. Mururilo, The Acts of the Christian Martyrs, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972, p. 159.) In prison the deacon Tertius and Pomponius came to minister unto them. Perpetua was much worried about her child and when she got permission for her baby to stay with her in prison so that she could feed her, not only did she recover her health but, "My prison suddenly became a palace so that I wanted to be there rather than any where else". (Ibid., p. 111)

Her father tried to dissuade her many a times and she records, "was sorry for my father’s sake because he alone of all my kin would be unhappy to see me suffer." (Ibid., p. 113.) But Perpetua had only one thing to say to her father, "what happens on that platform will be God’s choice, for you may be sure that we are not in our own power, but in the power of God". (Bruno Chenu, et.al The Book of Christian Martyrs. London: SCM Press. 1990, p. 64.) On the day of their trial the procurator Hilarian who had received his judicial powers (the power of life and death) instead of the late proconsul Minucius Timiniasnus said to me, "Spare your father’s white hairs, spare the tender years of your child. Offer a sacrifice for the safety of the emperor". And I answered, "No !". "Are you a Christian?" asked Hilarian. I answered, "I am . ... The judge then passed sentence. We were condemned to the beasts. (Mururilo, op. cit., pp. 113, 115.)

While being in prison she was granted visions twice of her younger brother Dinocrates who had died at the early age of seven. She also knew before hand whether she was going to be freed or would be martyred. Through one of her final visions which she had the day before she was going to fight the beasts, she realized that it was ‘not wild animals that I would fight but with the Devil, but I knew that I will win the victory. (Ibid., p. 119.) She also tells the experiences of Felicitas who was pregnant when she was arrested. "One month before her baby was due, she became concerned that her martyrdom would be delayed because it was not permitted to execute a pregnant woman". (R.A. Tueber and W. Liefeld, Daughters of the Church, Michigan: Zondervan Publishing House, 1987, p. 101.) "Thus she might have to shed her holy innocent blood afterwards along with others who were common criminals. Her comrades in martyrdom were also saddened; for they were afraid that they would have to leave behind so fine a companion to travel alone on the same road to hope. And so, two days before the contest, they poured forth a prayer to the Lord in one torrent of common grief. And immediately after their prayer the birth pains came upon her. She suffered a good deal in her labor because of the natural difficulty of an eight month’s delivery". (Mururilo, op.cit., p. 123.)

The divine vision is distinguished from ‘the satanic or hallucinatory by it’s effects, persistent light, divine love, peace of soul, inclination towards the things of God, the constant fruits of sanctity (c.f. Ignatius, Spiritual Exercise "rules for the discernment of Spirits"); judged by these virtues the visions of Perpetua and Saturnus are clearly marked as Divine, for they encouraged and guided both the martyrs’. (E.C.C. Owen, Some Authentic Acts of the Early Martyrdom, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1927. p. 77.)

Manner of Martyrdom (March 7, AD. 203)

This has been recorded so beautifully by Tertullian himself. ‘The day of their victory dawned, and they marched from the prison with calm faces, trembling, if at all, with joy rather than fear. Perpetua went along with shining countenance and calm step, as the beloved of God, as a wife of Christ, putting down everyone’s stare by her own intense gaze. With them also was Felicitas, glad that she had safely given birth so that now she could fight the beasts, going from one blood bath to another, from the midwife to the gladiator, ready to wash after childbirth in a second baptism. For the young women, however, the Devil had prepared a mad heifer. This was an unusual animal, but it was chosen that their sex might be matched with that of the beast. So they were stripped naked, placed in nets and thus brought out into the arena. Even the crowd was horrified when they saw that one was a delicate young girl and the other was a woman fresh from child-birth with the milk still dripping from her breasts. And so they were brought back again and dressed in unbelted tunics.

First the heifer tossed Perpetua and she fell on her back. Then sitting up, she pulled down the tunic that was ripped along the side so that it covered her thighs, thinking more of her modesty than of her pain. Next she asked for pin to fasten untidy hair for it was not right that a martyr should die with her hair in disorder, lest she might seem to be mourning in her hour of triumph.

Then she got up. And seeing that Felicitas had been crushed to the ground, she went over to her, gave her hand, and lifted her up .... Then she called for her brother and spoke to him together with the catechumens and said: "You must all stand fast in the faith and love one another, and do not be weakened by what we have gone through". All of them were thrown in the usual spot to have their throat cut. But the mob asked that their bodies be brought out in the open that their eyes might be the guilty witnesses of the sword that pierced their flesh. And so the martyrs got up and went to the spot of their own accord as the people wanted them to, and kissing one another they sealed their martyrdom with the ritual kiss of peace. The others took the sword in silence and without moving, ... Perpetua, however, had yet to taste more pain. She screamed as she was struck on the bone; then she took the trembling hand of the young gladiator, and guided it to her throat. It was as though so great a woman, feared as she was by the unclean spirit, could not be dispatched unless she herself were willing’. (Mururilo, op.cit., pp. 125-131.)

Theological Reflections

The following theological beliefs can be deduced from this brief account of the life and martyrdom of Perpetua and Felicitas.

1. The transforming power of God was so real to her that she could call herself nothing else, but a Christian.

2. She believed in the ministry of the Holy Spirit for she records that she was ‘inspired by the Spirit not ask for any other favor ... but simply the perseverance of the flesh’. (Ibid., p. 109.)

3. The constant visions that God gave her shows that she had an intimate relationship with God. Her own brother tells her, "Dear sister, you are greatly privileged; surely you might ask for a vision to discover whether you are to be condemned or freed. She promises to do so knowing that she ‘speak with the Lord whose great blessing I had come to experience."’ (Ibid., p. 111.)

4. When her father, fearing for her life, tells her to offer incense to the Emperor, she replied, "It will all happen in the prisoner’s dock as God wills; for you may be sure that we are not left to ourselves but are all in his power," and refused to offer incense. This shows that she believed in the sovereignty of God.

5. She not only believed in God but also in the Devil and the reality of Spiritual Warfare. For, after seeing one of the visions in which she fights with her opponent, she wakes up ‘realizing that it was not with wild animals that I would fight but with the Devil’.

6. She believed in the resurrection. In her very first vision she describes of climbing up a ladder, though hindered by the Devil in the form of dragon. She reaches on top and enters a garden where a grey haired man, in shepherd’s clothing was milking sheep and who called her and gave, as it were, a mouth full of milk which she took and consumed. In one of her other visions she mentions of entering a place where the elders and the angels before a throne chant endlessly, "Holy, holy, holy". Her belief in the continuance of life after death either as an Immortal soul or in the resurrected body form can be gathered.

7. She continually depended upon the grace of God to face her martyrdom in a way which would bring glory to Him. In the arena when she was fighting with heifer she fell down and her tunic was torn. Instead of thinking of her pain and sure death, she was more concerned about her modesty and so she covers herself up. When her hair was in disorder she asked for a pin to fasten it up so that she might not seem to be mourning in her hour of triumph.

Personal Reflections

The martyrdom of Perpetua and Felicitas is, to speak the least, an inspiring one. Though they were in their early adolescence and that too females who are usually considered to be the weaker sex, yet because of their faith in Jesus Christ and their constant dependence on His sustaining grace and power they were able to face the discouraging pleas of a father, the sadistic mob and the wild animals in the amphitheatre at Carthage. Faith in Jesus Christ was to them, not just an emotional experience, but a gut level assurance in the person and the finished work of Jesus Christ on the cross’ of Calvary. Faith for these martyrs was not a matter of convenience but that of conviction. They were willing to seal their faith/testimony by their own blood as a proof of their whole hearted commitment. This world with all its relationships and material blessing considered to be at its best temporary for which they were not willing to give up their faith in Jesus and their accountability to God which was more precious and everlasting than anything else in the world.

In our own struggle today for the upliftment of the downtrodden, the oppressed and the so-called outcast, we need to be willing to give up our own selfish ambitions in life and go all the way out to work out for the betterment of the less fortunate in our society. This could mean even laying down our lives as people like Shanker Niyogi did, or living a crucified life like Mother Teresa, Ms. Medha Patkar, and others.

Chapter 4: The Martyrdom of Appollonius, by Hudson Christopher

Persecution of Christians, as we know, started immediately after the death and the resurrection of Jesus Christ. The followers of Jesus Christ began to increase rapidly. The Christians were scattered due to the severe persecutions; wherever these Christians went, they started preaching the gospel about the Kingdom of God. The early Christians were martyred frequently. But there was a speedy growth of these Christians. The Roman government was threatened by the increase of this new movement.

The Roman government wanted to put an end to this movement. The Emperors ordered punishment and persecuted the Christians. Each emperor had different kinds of decree. Those Christians who disobeyed were massacred. Many became martyrs because of their new faith. Here we are going to see one of those periods, when one Blessed martyr APPOLLONIUS was martyred because of his faith.

THE HISTORICAL BACKGROUND:

Place : Rome

Period :185 AD

Emperor :Commodus (Luctus Aelius Aurelius)

Commodus was born in Italy. He was the son of the emperor Marcus Aurelius . He was born on August 31,161 AD. In 176 AD Marcus Aurelius proclaimed that Commodus as a co-ruler with him will be a joint emperor. Marcus Aurelius died in 180 AD. Commodus became the sole emperor, and he put Crispina his wife to death on suspicion. He removed all the ministers who came to prominence during his father’s rule. The emperor appointed one Tigidius Perennis as the proconsul. Although there were political disturbances, the emperor was very particular in keeping all under his control. The persecution was ordered and was carried out without any exception. Christians were tortured, massacred and were persecuted. In contrast, Commodus died as an insane, killed by Marcia, a concubine of a Christian believer.

REASONS FOR PERSECUTION : Although the Christians there continued to be persecuted and martyred under different emperors due to different kinds of reasons, the reason for the persecution during this period was this, that the decree of the Emperor had to be adhered to by all throughout the Roman world. The decree was: "Sacrifices should be made to the gods and to the statue of the emperor Commodus". All these who failed to follow the decree were brought to the senate and were tried. This decree was a forceful attempt to put down Christians completely. But the followers who believed in Jesus Christ refused to accept this and many were ready to face the trial out of which we have an account of one St. Appollonius who was martyred for refusing to accept the decree proclaimed by the emperor.

APPOLLONIUS:

We have very little information about Appollonius. Appollonius was from Alexandria. He was a pious follower, he feared the Lord. He was a champion of Christ. He was a philosopher and he was also a bold and courageous man. He led a good ascetic life. Apart from this we do not know much about Appollonius. Appollonius was arrested and was brought before the senate for the trial.

THE TRIAL:

The trial began with the question by the Proconsul Perennis:

PERRENNIS: ‘APPOLLONIUS, are you a Christian?’

APPOLLONIUS: ‘Yes, I am a Christian. I worship and fear the God who made heaven, earth, the sea and all that is in them.’

P: Take my advice, Appollonius abjure, take an oath by the fortune of our Lord, the emperor Commodus.’

A: ‘Listen carefully to me, Perennis. I shall plead my cause with seriousness and respect for the law. Anyone who forsakes the commandment of God which are full of truth, justice, and greatness is a criminal, and impious person, in short one who denies God. Anyone who renounces justice, disorder, idolatry and evil thoughts, who far from giving way to the slightest temptation, finally withdraws from their dominion is a just person. Believe me, Perennis, and yield to my reason. These commandments are good and great. We hold them to be the word of God which searches out all the thoughts of man. Among other things it is ordained that we should never swear and always speak the truth. A simple yes commits us just as much as a formal oath.’

P: ‘Appollonius retract and sacrifice to the Gods and to the nature of the Emperor Commodus.’

A: ‘I have given you my opinion on abjuring and sacrifice. All Christians and I offer a bloodless and pure sacrifice to Almighty God, Lord of heaven, earth and all that breathes: we offer this Sacrifice of prayer, above all, for those endowed with reason and intelligence made in the image of God. Moreover faithful to his just Commandment, we pray every day to the God of heaven for the emperor Commodus. But I repeat, we know that it is not by human will that the Emperor rules here below, but solely by the invincible decree of our God who governs all things.’

P: ‘I will give you a day to reflect on your fate’.

Three days later the session resumed. A crowd of Senators, members of the Council and philosophers managed the Tribunal. The acts of Appollonius was read and asked Appollonius about his decision.

P ‘I advise you to abjure, honor and worship our Gods like all of us here and you will continue to live among us.

A: I serve my God, not idols made of human hands.... I resolutely reject these impieties.’

P: ‘Appollonius the decree of the Senate prohibits people from being Christians.’

A : ‘The decree of man does not prevail over the decree of God. The more you kill these innocent faithful, making justice and the laws, the more God will increase their number.

God destines all Kings, Senators, the powerful of the earth, rich, poor, free men, slaves, great and small, wise and foolish to death and after death to Judgment. Among us there is no pleasure. However slight, we avert our eyes from any doubtful spectacle and our ears from any sycophancy. In this way we keep a pure heart. We are ready to suffer all to escape an end without honor.’

P: ‘Does death give you Pleasure?’

A: ‘It is life that I love; Life that does not make me fear death, For the life which I prefer to all else is Eternal life, Which awaits those who have lived faithfully in this World.’ Appollonius continued to explain incarnation, the Word becoming flesh and the revelation of God through Jesus Christ and his passion, victory over sin and went on to say that, " He has taught us to rein in our anger, to direct our desires, to restrain our instincts, to dissipate our sorrows. He has taught us to show solidarity to one another, to love increasingly, to reject vanity and not to take vengeance on those who have offended us. He has given the law to obey it and to respect the Emperor but to reserve our worship for the eternal God. To await our judgment after death, to hope that our efforts and our courage will be rewarded by God at the resurrection?

P: ‘I thought that you would bid farewell to your whims and worship the Gods with us.’

A: ‘I hoped that these few words which I have spoken about my faith would help you and that my plea would open the eyes of your soul. I hoped that your heart would bear fruit, that you would worship all your days the God who created the world, that you would lift up your prayer only to him without forgetting alms or charity and that this would be the pure and bloodless sacrifice that you would offer to God.’

P: ‘I would like to release you but the decree of the Emperor Commodus forbids me. At least I would want your death to be gentle. And he commanded him to be beheaded with a sword.

A: "I GIVE THANKS TO MY GOD,PERENNIS, FOR THY SENTENCE"

REFLECTION:

1. APPOLLONIUS : Confessed that he is a Christian and that he feared the creator.

2. He believed the commandments of God as the word of God.

3. He believed in respecting and honoring the Emperor as the Scriptures taught him.

4. His understanding of sacrifice was the bloodless sacrifice of prayer.

5. He attains his faithfulness to God that he will not worship the idols or images made by human hands and that he will not worship the saints of nature nor animals nor human being for all are created by God.

6. He believed in the doctrine of Predestination which I personally do not agree with Appollonius, specially the concept of poor and rich, freemen and slaves, etc. All these are man-made. The evil structures prevail because of selfish power mongers.

7. He believed in asceticism -- disciples died everyday to please God. God did not intend that human beings should be out of the world. Then why did he create the human beings? why did he call the people to be united? -- why family of the society is instituted so that we would be involved in the world. It is a part of our life. I do not agree with Appollonius when he says in this way: "we keep a pure heart ." This is totally against the principle of Jesus Christ.

He believed in the Award of eternal life, which awaits those who have tried faithfully in this world. If this was the motive of Appollonius, I feel it was a selfish motive, In what way was he helpful to his neighbor who was in need.

The incarnate word of God is well explained.

He speaks about the Judgment after death. Perhaps this is one of the factors that is instilled in the minds of the people about the concept of the eternal punishment. We need to throw more light on this in the present day context. Here I would like to mention that no one can claim that. " I am righteous and hence I would enjoy eternal life." We need to identify ourselves among people and do something about the present reality and work together to achieve the goal.

CONCLUSION:

The event of the trial of Appollonius was interesting to read and to reflect upon although the context was that the persecution was at the highest peak where Appollonius was martyred may be justifiable at that time. But in today’s context, in our land, it is difficult for us to think of martyrdom of the 20th century. With all the Biblical basis what we arrive at is a conclusion that the present day caters to the martyrdom is not for the cause of our contention of faith, but for our action in fulfilling God’s Commandment given by our Lord Jesus Christ. "Love your neighbor as yourself." If you are giving your life for the cause of the good of your fellow beings in the society where you live and that is martyrdom, a true Christian martyrdom.

Chapter 3: The Martyrdom of Prominent Martyrs of Lyons and Vienne, by M. Reginold

Introduction and Historical background:

In 177 AD. there existed a Christian community in Southern France in the two towns of Lyons and Vienne. This paper attempts to portray within its limitations the tragic story of the trials, sufferings and persecutions which have become a part of our history of the early church.

Most of the early Christians living in Lyons and Vienne were Greeks who had migrated from Asia. Although the persecution broke out in Lyons, most of the description and account of the persecutions was. probably written in Vienne without which we could never have got a clear picture about what really happened. (Bruno, Chenu, et. al., The Book of Christian Martyrs, London: SCM Press, 1990, p. 44.)

Shortly after the persecutions and the martyrdom of many great men and women, the surviving community of Lyons sent a letter to the churches of Asia, and this letter was preserved by Eusebius of Caesaria in his writings of Ecclesiastical history. This documentary evidence is valuable because it is not only a story of heroism, but because it gives us an idea of how the Christian community then understood ‘Martyrdom’. It also helps us to see what the official policy of the empire was towards the church, thus it provides a starting point for the study on the ‘Clash of cultures’ that divided the ancient world. (Ibid., p. 44.)

The two churches:

The two churches of Lyons and Vienne were founded just before the actual persecution started and it is possible that the founders may also have been involved in the actual persecution. But it is not very clear how the two churches were related to each other and how they organized themselves; for example, did the two churches form a single ecclesiastical diocese, under one bishop, or were they separate? Eusebius, however, mentions that ‘Pothinus’ and ‘Ireneus’ were both bishops of Lyons, but there are indications that say that Ireneus was bishop of a number of communities and it is possible that ‘Vienne’ which is twenty miles from Lyons may have been one of the these. But there is a serious objection to this because these two cities never got on well with each other and there was intense rivalry between these two cities. There was also a civil war between them. (Frend, W.H.C. Martyrdom and Persecution in the Early Church, p. l.)

The two churches in Asia Minor, the letter written after persecution was sent to the churches in Asia minor and most of the martyrs mentioned by Eusebius and Jerome were Asiatics. All the names of the martyrs indicate Greek of Asiatic origins and the fact that they addressed themselves to the churches of the provinces of Asia and Phrygia in their hour of need strengthens the Assumption that most of the martyrs were from Asia. W.H.C Frend claims that the foreigners who came from Asia and Phrygia brought along with them their religions and one of them was Christianity

These foreigners came, settled and prospered in various avenues of life and so they became rich and influential, and in one way or the other, they aroused hatred and jealousy in the general population. (Ibid., p. 2.)

Reasons for persecution: We do not know exactly how the trouble started but one reason that may have been a significant one is that the emperor Marcus Aurelius wanted to relieve the rich landlords of the high expenses involved in procuring professional gladiators who used to fight and kill for their amusement. The emperor allowed the rich landlords to acquire victims in the form of condemned criminals at 1/10 of the price they actually had to pay for the gladiators. So the rich landlords quickly grabbed this opportunity and pounced on the Christians because, Christians were at that time already charged with murder, incest and cannibalism. The elite section of the society found this a great opportunity to save the money in their pockets, and at the same time could get rid of this alien and hateful group of people called ‘Christians’.

The persecutions : Hatred against the Christians increased until it was at its peak in 177 AD. At first they were subjected to all kinds of social restrictions, they were heated as outcastes and polluted persons, they were banned from showing themselves at the baths and market places and finally they were excluded from all public places, essentially places where they worshipped their gods, because they believed that the very presence of these outcastes violated the place of their gods. At a time when the governor was away, the mob broke loose, Christians were hounded and attacked openly, they were treated as public enemies, and they were assaulted, beaten up and stoned. (Ibid., p. 5.) Finally, on the orders of the city magistrates, there was a wholesale arrest of Christians in Lyons, they were flung into prison where they lay in their own filth and excrement, some died and some lived.

The Governor who came back ordered a public trial of the Christians. During this trial, they were tortured in every possible way. At the first hearing, an influential person called "Vetlius Epagathus" voiced out his protest. He claimed that the judgements that were pronounced were unjust and that there was nothing godless about Christians, but everyone shouted him down and the governor did not allow the just claim he put forward. Then they asked him whether he was also a Christian. He confessed and was also put into prison.

The public not having any solid charge, brought the non-Christian slaves of the Christian prisoners and tortured them. This was done to make the slaves confess that their masters indulged in incest, cannibalism and murder. Some of the slaves unable to bear the agony and pain of torture, confessed. But these charges were angrily denied by the Christians. But for most people the admissions of the slaves to the indulgence of their masters in incest, murder and cannibalism, confirmed their worst suspicions. The trials went on, though admitting that one is a Christian was sufficient to convict a person. The procedure took many hours, every threat was employed and horrible tortures, were applied in order to break the will of the Christians. (Ibid., p. 5,6.)

Some of the martyrs refused to give even their names to the torturers. For example, Sanctus, finally when there was nothing more that they could do to him, they applied metal plates that were burned till they were red hot, to the most tender parts of his body, his body became swollen and enflamed but he did not yield. For every question they put to him, he had only one answer ‘I am a Christian’. (Bruno, Chenu, op.cit. p. 47.)

There was a woman named Biblias. Fellow Christians thought that since she was a frail and timid person, she would succumb when tortured, but she surprised them when she vehemently shouted against her torturers, saying "How can people like us eat children who are forbidden to drink the blood of brute beasts". (Ibid., p. 48.)

Pothinus who was the bishop of Lyons was a very sick person and was over ninety years old, but still the enraged crowd dragged him to the tribunal, the governor asked him "who was the God of Christians", the bishop only replied ‘If you are worthy, you shall know’. People kicked him and slapped him but he endured without saying anything, two days later he died. (Ibid., pp. 48-39.)

Marturus, Sanctus, Blandina and Attalus were condemned to the beasts, but that did not satisfy the angry crowd, they were forced to sit on red hot chairs, the crowd wanted to break their resistance but finally realizing that they failed in doing so, they cut their throats. (Ibid., p. 50.) Blandina was hung on a stake as food for wild beasts. But the beasts did not touch her at that time, she was taken down from the stake and was tortured. Attalus was a popular and well respected person in the society He was dragged into, the amphitheatre with a placard in front of him on which was written, "This is Attalus, the Christian’. But the Governor found out that he was a Roman citizen. So he sent a dispatch to Caesar asking for further instructions. Caesar ordered that he should be be-headed. But upon the demand of the crowd, he was placed on the red-hot chair. When they asked him what was the name of his God, he answered "God has no name as human beings have." (Ibid., p. 52.) Again Blandina and a fifteen year old boy named Ponticus were thrown to the beasts, but Blandina encouraged Ponticus to be strong. He endured every kind of torture and expired. Blandina was whipped and cast before the beasts, was made to sit on the red-hot chair. She was at last thrown into a net and cast before a bull, having no further sense of what was happening. She herself had her throat cut. Finally all the bodies of the martyrs were exposed for six days and then they were burnt and their ashes were thrown into the river Rhone.

Reflection: Reading about the martyrs of Lyons and Vienne has disturbed me more then I had expected. More than the gruesome tales of how they were tortured, it is more horrifying to imagine how mankind could create a burning hell on earth, that was what it must have been for the Christians of Lyons and Vienne; yet these primitive Christians suffered and endured just believing that a man called Jesus gave his life for many others.

The martyrs of Lyons and Vienne have special relevance to the oppressed and persecuted ‘Dalits’ in India. In a sense both of them are witnesses to the oppression and inhuman treatment of fellow beings. It is on the sweat and blood of these people that the kingdom of God will come to establish itself. We must often put our feet in the shoes of the martyrs but we must realize that we are not martyrs; we most often come closer to being the torturers and the persecutors, because we often fail to understand and what we do not understand we would like to hate and destroy.

Chapter 2: The Martyrdom of St. Polycarp, by By L.H. Lalpekhlua

The Person

Polycarp was one of the 'best known personages' among Christians of the early centuries. He was considered as a 'venerable figure' and a primary link between the sub-apostolic Church and the Church of a much later period. (Robert M. Grant, The Apostolic Fathers, a New Translation and Commentary, Vol.1, [New York: Thomas Nelson & Sons, 1964], p. 64. See also: The Fathers of the Church, edited by Ludwig Schopp, Second Edition, [New York: Christian heritage. Inc., 1948], p. 131.) He was a bishop of Smyrna in about the first-half of the second century AD. According to Tertullian, Irenaeus and Eusebius, Polycarp had been a disciple of St. John the Apostle at Ephesus; and it was the Apostle himself who appointed him Bishop of Smyrna. (The Fathers of the Church, p. 131.) St. Ignatius, a contemporary bearer of the Apostles and bishop of Antioch, stayed with him on his way to his martyrdom at Rome in AD. 110 (Some Authentic Acts of the Early Martyrs, edited by E.C.E. Owen, [Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1927], p.31.) and Polycarp was said to have collected letters of St. Ignatius and forwarded some to the Philippians at their request. (op. cit.) Grant says that Polycarp was a teacher of 'both Irenaeus and a valentine Gnostic named Florinus'. (Robert M. Grant, The Apostolic Fathers., p.64.) In the year before his martyrdom in AD. 154 Polycarp visited Rome and met Pope Aricetus on matters concerning controversy on the date of Easter, and the latter was said to have treated him with 'high honor' although they made no agreement on the controversy. ( Some Authentic Acts..,p.31.)

Even though Polycarp was thought to have had written several letters, yet only the 'Letter to the Philippians' had been preserved. But concerning him are the sources like 'the letters of Ignatius addressed to Smyrna', the martyr act of Polycarp and several writings of Eusebius, etc. (op. cit., pp. 64, 70.) However, the most authentic account of his martyrdom has been 'The martyrdom of St. Polycarp' sent by the Smyrna church to the church of Philomelium and to 'all the dioceses of the Holy Catholic church in every place'. This letter has been considered as 'the earliest account of a martyrdom' that has been preserved. (The Book of Christian Martyrdom, Edited by Bruno Chenu., et.al., [London: SCM Press Ltd., 1990], p. 36.) The document has numerous parallels with the Gospels and there is a striking similarity between the martyrdom of Polycarp and that of Jesus Christ in the gospels. Eusebius the historian made use of it in his fourth century writings. (Robert M. Grant, The Apostolic Fathers..., p. 69.) Most scholars believe that in the twenty two chapters of the letter, chapters 20-22 are supplementary documents of the later date. (Ibid., pp. 70-71. Also Ludwig Schopp, et.al. (ed.), The Fathers of the Church, pp. 148, 149 and others.)

The Date of Polycarp's Martyrdom

Before we move on to the context, we shall first discuss the date, for the correct knowledge of the date will help us to understand the situation.

There is a dispute among the scholars concerning the date of Polycarp's martyrdom. According to Eusebius' 'chronicon', it happened in Olympiad year between July 166 to July 167. (Thomas Nicklin, Gospel Meanings: Critical and Historical notes on the Gospels, [London: Longmans, Green and co., 1950], p. 371.) Eusebius' dating is accepted by many scholars including von Campenhausen, Telfer, W.H.C.Frend, and others. (W.H.C.Frend, Martyrdom and Persecution in the early Church: A Study of Conflict from Maccabees to Donatus, [New York: New York University Press, 1967], p. 197. See also his footnote p. 171.) Theofried Baumeister, in accordance with Pierre Brind 'Amour, also took up Eusebius dating and believed that the martyrdom occurred on Sunday February 23, AD. 167. (Theofried Baumeister, 'Martyrdom and Persecution in Early Christianity' in Martyrdom Today, Concilium, Edited by Johannes Baptist Metz ,et.al. [Edinburgh: T & T Clark Ltd., 1983], pp. 3-4.) If this dating is to be accepted, it will mean that the martyrdom of Polycarp occurred during the reign of Emperor Marcus Aurelius, i.e. AD. 161-180. (Based on the chronology given by Ivo Lesbaupin, Blessed are the persecuted: Christian life in Roman Empire AD. 64-313. Translated by Robert R. Barr [New York Orbis Books, 1987]. p. xii.) Another different view on the date of Polycarp's martyrdom comes from Prof. C. Turner who felt that the true date must be 22 February AD. 156, the day of the Feast of Purim. (Thomas Nicklin, The Gospel Meanings..., p.371.) The same date is accepted by Prof. E. Schwartz, yet for Schwartz it should be on sabbath in the passover week. (Ibid.) Another date of Polycarp's martyrdom is suggested by Thomas Nicklin who held that the martyrdom occurred on Saturday 23 February AD. 155. (Ibid.) Nicklin argued the above other view points with the following:

(1) The Smyrna letter throughout makes the martyrdom echo the crucifixion. Hence need not be called a sabbath or rest day (2) 23 February is the day of the Terminalia festival. An error in Roman dating is less probable than one in our own computation of the month Xanthicos. (3) Eusebius' Olympiad 235 is explicable as a misreading of 232 (II for II). Although graffiti at Pompeii and the number of the Beast in the Apocalypse show the modern notation for numbers, there is evidence for the survival of the older system known to us from Athenian temple treasury accounts and the Purian marble) (Ibid.)

Polycarp's martyrdom in AD. 155 is also accepted by Lightfoot. (Ibid.) If we accept this viewpoint, it will mean that Polycarp's martyrdom happened during the reign of Emperor Antoninus Pius, i.e., AD. 138-161. (Ivo Lesbaupin, Blessed are the Martyrs.., p. xii.) In the light of the above discussions we may be inclined to believe that the martyrdom of St. Polycarp occurred during the reign of Emperor Antoninus Pius somewhere in the year between AD. 155-56. In accordance with the suggestion of this dating we shall turn to the context of Polycarp's martyrdom.

The Context

The Christian persecution during Emperor Antoninus' reign, although it had started since the reign of Nero particularly after the burning of Rome in AD. 64, was said to have been 'moderate' and the Church enjoyed a certain kind of 'quasi-tolerance'. (Bruno Chenu, et.al. eds., The Book of Christian Martyrs ,p. 36. Also W.H.C.Frend, Martyrdom and Persecution, p. 174.) However, this tolerance does not imply 'any improvement in status' but only 'a lenient administration of the existing law', (W.H.C. Frend, Ibid.) based on the principle that 'every people, every city, had its own gods'; therefore, a minimal conformism' with Roman religion was still required of all the subjects. (Ivo Lesbaupin, Blessed are the persecuted, p.4.) Antoninus did not give any 'dispensations to unauthorized and suspect religious groups', in fact, his reign was described as 'the climax of a genuine loyalty to the empire and the person of the emperor.' (op.cit., p. 175) In this situation persecution was 'less the result of a systematic policy than of denunciation by pagans who spread damaging falsehood about the new forms of worship' (Bruno Chenu, et.al. eds, The Book of Christian Martyrs, p. 36) In the eyes of the Romans the 'new religion' with its 'universal mission of joining all human beings together in the same faith' was a threat both for the state religion and the empire itself. Ivo Lesbaupin, op.cit., pp. 3-4.) In their thought, the presence and increasing number of the Christians who refused to worship their gods but practiced 'separate or secret fellowship' could be a source of danger; that one day the gods may desert the cities that their vaunted prosperity would vanish overnight in the smoke of earthquake and the clamor of social evolution'. (Frend, op.cit., p. 174.) In other words, the Romans considered the Christians' refusal to recognize and worship the state gods was a refusal to acknowledge the Sovereignty of the emperor, and their increasing presence might bring social revolution to the empire. Thus, we may say that the Christian persecution in the early Roman empire, although it appeared as a religious matter, had in its background a political reason. This fits in with the reason why Polycarp was persecuted for he was charged as 'the teacher of Asia, the father of the Christians, the destroyer of our gods, who teaches many not to sacrifice or worship' (Martyrdom 12:2). 'The martyrdom of Polycarp was, says The Book of Christian Martyrs, caused by popular pressure, and was carried out by local authorities wanting to please the masses and eager to make an example of him'. After having witnessed the martyrdom of Germanicus, the crowd demanded the search of Polycarp (3:2). Meanwhile Polycarp, though inwardly desired to remain in the city yet due to the pressure of fellow Christians, was hiding in the forest, spending time in prayer (5:1). At this time he saw in vision a pillow burned with which according to his interpretation was a symbol that he must be burned alive (5:2). After knowing that two of his slaves were arrested and one denied his faith, he could no longer hide in the forest but surrendered himself to the soldiers who were looking for him (chs. 6-8).

The Trial and Manner of Martyrdom

Polycarp was first brought for trial to Herod, the high sheriff, and then to Nicetes, the father of Herod; the latter put him into their carriage. Here he was persuaded to confess Caesar as Lord. But failing to convince him they hastily pushed him from the carriage and while getting down he hurt his skin, yet he paid no heed to it.(ch.8).

The second and last trial took place in the stadium where the crowd was waiting for him. Here the trial was conducted by a proconsul who was 'Philip the Asiarch' (Chapter 12:2). Several questions or persuasions and answers or defense took place and here are some of them:

Proconsul: 'Have respect for your age, swear by the fortune of Caesar. Swear, I will set you free, curse Christ'.

Polycarp: 'I have served him for eighty-six years and he did me no wrong. How can I blaspheme my king who saved me'?

Proconsul: 'Swear by the fortune of Caesar'.

Polycarp: 'If you vainly imagine that I shall swear by the fortune of Caesar, as you say, and suppose that I do not know what I am, here is a plain answer: 'I am a Christian. If you want to learn about Christianity, give me a day and listen.'

Proconsul: 'It is the people whom you must convince'.

Polycarp: 'I would have counted you worthy to be reasoned with; for we have been taught to give honor as it is fit, where we can without harm, to governments and powers ordained by God, but I do not think the people are worthy to hear any defense from me'.

Proconsul: 'I have beasts, and I will throw them to you unless you repent'.

Polycarp: 'Bring them in, for repentance from better to worse is not a change to be desired, but it is good to change from cruelty to justice'.

Proconsul: 'If you do not fear the beasts, I will have you consumed by fire. So repent'.

Polycarp: 'You threaten me with a fire that burns for an hour and is speedily quenched; so you know nothing of the fire of the judgement to come and of the eternal punishment which is reserved for the wicked. Why delay? Give your orders, (chs.9-11).

The proconsul gave order to the herald and declared three times that 'Polycarp has confessed that he is a Christian'. Then the multitude cried aloud, saying 'This is a teacher of Asia, the father of the Christians, the destroyer of our gods, who teaches many not to sacrifice or worship'. They demanded Philip, the Asiarch to let loose a lion on Polycarp. But when he told them that it was not lawful for him for the wild beast combat had ended, they again cried aloud demanding Polycarp to be burned alive (ch.12).

Just as he already foretold through his vision, Polycarp was burnt alive. It is said that the fire, 'forming a sort of arch like a ship's sail billowing in the wind, made a wall around the body of the martyr, which was in the midst, or like gold and silver burning in furnace' (15:2). Seeing that Polycarp's body could not be consumed by fire, the 'impious people' ordered an execution to thrust a dagger into him. When that was done, it is said that a dove and a gush of blood came out of it putting the fire out.(16:1). Later, the centurion 'put the body in the midst and burned it according to their custom' (18:1).

The Art of Defense: Theological Reason

It was the faith in Jesus Christ, whom he believed as king and savior that challenged Polycarp to undergo suffering unto death. His captors persuaded him to curse Christ and to confess Caesar as Lord, but he never accepted it; for in his thought, Jesus Christ is faithful enough and had done 'no wrong' to him in his eighty-six years of life. Caesar is a man, therefore, he cannot be God. Loyalty to Jesus is always the first and central to Polycarp's thought. He also seemed to have had in mind that by suffering and death in the name of Christ, he was sharing the sufferings of Jesus for the salvation of humanity. He indeed, shared the reality of the kingdom of God, the presence of Jesus Christ, even in the midst of suffering. With the hope of victory in the final consummation of the kingdom, he rejoiced in suffering and could challenge death. For Polycarp. suffering is the way of the crucified Christ. He preferred total rejection and suffering unto death rather than accepting the unjust religio-political structures of the Roman empire where people were forced to worship the king and the very God-gifted human rights were denied. In a situation where human rights were violated and minorities tortured in the name of gods, Polycarp stood as a champion of justice, identifying himself with the weak and the oppressed.

Reflection

Polycarp had demonstrated in his life and martyrdom a great example of what it means to be a Christian. His rock-like faith in Jesus Christ and his faithfulness to Him unto death would reecho again and again for the churches throughout the ages. Particularly for the churches in India where the Christians often fail to practice what they preach, the martyrdom of Polycarp is a great challenge for us. In Polycarp's context, faith in Jesus Christ meant confessing Him as Lord and Savior and total submission and fidelity unto Him even to the extent of death. But in our context today where millions of people are in hunger and live in sub-human conditions on account of the unjust socioeconomic and political structures of our country, faith in Jesus Christ would mean to identify ourselves with the struggles of the poor and the oppressed for justice and liberation. Indeed, Polycarp identified himself with the sufferings of the Christian minority who were tortured and treated as animals. He fought against the oppression of the king and the ruling class in favor of the minority and helpless Christians. He had chances to escape death. He could have continued to be a bishop without martyrdom also, as fellow Christians were bidding him. But escapism is not the way of Jesus Christ for Polycarp. Here we see an example for us. In our country where thousands of people are tortured and are being killed physically, economically, socially, etc. the life of St. Polycarp challenges Christians not to continue to hide themselves in the Church compounds and the compounds of ritualism, exclusivism and self-centeredness. Polycarp followed Jesus Christ faithfully according to his understanding of Jesus; today to follow Jesus Christ with faith in Him is to do what Jesus did: "to bring good news to the poor ... to proclaim liberty to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, to set free the oppressed and announce that the time has come when the Lord will save his people". (Luke 4:18-19 TEV).

 

Bibliography

Baumeister, Theofried. "Martyrdom and Persecution in Early Christianity" in Martyrdom Today. Concilium. ed. by Johannes Baptist Metz, et. at.Edinburgh: T & T Clark Ltd., 1983.

Chenu, Bruno. et. al (eds.), The Book of Christian Martyrs. Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1927.

E.C.E, Owen, ed.. Some Authentic Acts of the Early Martyrs, Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1927.

Frend, W.H.C., Martyrdom and Persecution in the Early Church, A Study of Conflict from Maccabees to Donatus. New York: New York University Press, 1967.

Grant, Robert, M., The Apostolic Fathers: A Translation and Commentary, Vol. 1, New York: Thomas Nelson & Sons, 1964.

Lesbaupin, Ivo., Blessed are the Persecuted; Christian Life in Roman Empire AD 64-313. Trans. by Robert & Baar, New York: Orbis Books, 1989.

Ludwig Schopp, ed., The Fathers of the Church, Second Edition, New York: Christian heritage Inc., 1948.

Nicklin Thomas., Gospel Meanings; Critical and Historical Notes on the Gospels, London: Longmans Green & Co., 1950.

Chapter 1: The Martyrdom of Polycarp — Bishop of Smyrna, By Priscilla Singh

Christianity has always faced both external and internal problems at every period in history. Specially between A.D 100-313, it had to face persecution from the Roman Empire. Before 250 AD. persecutions were local, sporadic and often caused by mob action than the result of definite state policy Tertullian’s idea that "the blood of the martyr is the seed of the Church" became a terrible reality in the life of many Christians during this period.

The causes of this persecution need to be identified for a better understanding. There were several, -- political, social, religious and economic reasons. Christianity earlier was looked at as a religio licita or legal seat of Judaism but soon it gained distinction as a ‘religio illicita’ and was considered a threat to the security of the Roman Empire. The rapidly growing group, on moral and spiritual grounds, claimed exclusive loyalty to Christ and opted when confronted with loyalty to the Emperor for the Heavenly king they worshiped. Their daily practice of meeting at nights was misconstrued as conspiracy against the State. Their refusal to burn incense on the altars confirmed their disloyalty.

Roman Religion was mechanical and external. It had its altars, priests, soothsayers, rites and practices which were visible symbols of their religion. But Christians had no idols, no objects and they closed their eyes in prayer, and had no visible object of worship and so they were branded as ‘atheists’. Also there were misunderstandings about their sacraments which were taken to be rites of cannibalism.

Socially too, Christians had an appeal for the lower classes and slaves. They upheld equality of all people (Col. 3:11). The existing paganism insisted on a hierarchy of aristocracy being served by slaves. These slaves were very much influenced to leave their slavery for the liberation offered by Christ. Also their non-conformity to accepted social patterns earned the wrath of the Romans. Their puritanical living was an open rebuke to the scandalous living of the upper classes and thus were considered a danger to society and were called ‘haters of mankind’.

Economically, the feelings of the vested interests were hurt and their livelihood threatened. Butchers, priests, idol-makers and soothsayers lost a lot of income because of the Christian non-conformity and so persecution followed and many Christiansdaily life of Christians. He exhorted the people to virtuous living, good works and steadfastness even to death, "if necessary because they had been saved by faith in Christ!"

As to the events that led him to martyrdom, there had been disastrous earthquakes in the lands around the Mediterranean as well as fires in Rome, Antioch, and Carthage. Pagans blamed these on the wrath of Gods made hostile by Christian refusal to sacrifice to them. Philip, the Governor of Asia, was goaded into action not only by the pagan residents but even by the Jews. Arrests were made and those affirming their faith were tortured to force recantation. They were torn open by metal combs or forced to lie on spikes. Those who survived were thrown to the lions if they still failed to deny their faith.

When a young man named Germanius defied the beasts to attack him, the crowds, thronging to watch his death began to shout, "death to the atheists", which somehow, turned into, "death to Polycarp". Christians persuaded the aged Bishop to hide in a farm house where he spent most of his time in prayer Once he dreamt that his pillow caught fire which convinced him of his death by burning. There was an intense search and one of the farm hands was caught and tortured to reveal the hiding place. The followers of Polycarp wanted him to move but the Bishop stood firm and insisted that his capture and death was inevitable and God’s will! The Bishop surrendered voluntarily when the police came impressing them with his meek and gentle behavior. He bargained for an hour of prayer while his captors could dine and he prayed for everyone who came in after contact with him, "small and great famous and obscure and for the whole Catholic Church throughout the world." The police marched him to Smyrna on an ass and the chief Herod persuaded him to deny Christ to save his life. When he failed another knocked him down and he was marched to the stadium. It was the start of Jewish feast Purin. The Governor was attending games recently where many of the bishop’s congregations had been thrown to the lions. A distinct voice was heard saying "Be strong, Polycarp".

The Governor also tried to persuade Polycarp to deny the charges leveled against him saying, "Respect your years, swear by Caesar’s fortune! Change your attitude and say, away with the atheists, revile Christ." Polycarp replied, "Fourscore and six years I have been serving him and he has done me no wrong. How then can I blaspheme my king who saved me."

He defied the governor to call the beasts and he in turn threatened him to be burned in the fire. The crowd echoed eagerly the Governor’s threat. He was tied to the pyre and prayed. A Christian who witnessed the execution recounted that the fire took the shape of a vaulted room, and made a wall about the body of the martyr, which looked ‘not like burning flesh but glowed like gold and silver refined in the furnace’. To make sure he was dead the convictor pierced him with sword, the blood was so profuse that it extinguished the smoldering fire.

The Christians in Smyrna claimed the remains and even afterwards, often the Christian community in Smyrna assembled in his grave "in gladness and joy to celebrate the birthday of his martyrdom, to commemorate those who have already fought and for the training and preparation of those who shall hereafter do the same."

Bishop Polycarp’s martyrdom makes it clear that despite the intense hostility of an apparent majority the persecutions of Christians in that region was limited and selective. The Governor of Asia moved against individual believers only at the insistence of his constituents and he chose to punish those as a warning to others. It is clear from the events that Bishop Polycarp was unlike Ignatius who willingly awaited martyrdom. He could be persuaded by his followers to go into hiding, perhaps his age made him more dependent on others’ counsel. In spite of his counsel to people for ‘steadfastness even unto death’, and in spite of witnessing the eager anticipation of Ignatius’ martyrdom and the influence he had over him, he seems to have wavered a bit and took to hiding than face the lions. The solitude and the hours of prayer perhaps of penitence must have strengthened his weak will, also the number of times he had to flee leaving places to hide from the search of the police like a coward must have worn him out. The dream of burning pillow seeps to have further strengthened his resolve now to face the persons rather than flee like a coward. Once he had made the decision, he behaved in an exemplary manner of a man who is at peace with himself.

His later argument with the Governor before his sentence does not show him as a weak soul but a man firm in his faith- foundation.

It is a challenge to the Christians of today who might in a few more years perhaps may have to begin to face persecution, that a frail old man could defy the authorities and opt for fire instead of worldly security.

He had indeed been a seed of the Church through his bloodshed and proved an "iron man" than an ‘old man’. It is commendable that he has lived to prove his "steadfastness even unto death."

 

Bibliography

Ruffin, C. Bernard. The Days of the Martyrs.

Cairns, Earle F., Christianity through the Centuries.

Preface

Christians, throughout their long history, have met with martyrdom and this happens regularly. The regularity of martyrdom confirms a certainty. The earliest apostles were warned by Christ in this regard and Christians knew that the choice which they had made exposed them to death and, that this would always be the case.

Faith calls for sacrifice and Christians have within themselves seeds of martyrdom. Jesus himself, their Master, was delivered over to the wrath of his compatriots. Shortly before his arrest, he spoke to his disciples those unforgettable words which we read in Jn.10:18 thus: "No one takes my life, but I lay it down of my own accord". Thus, Jesus was the first martyr in the History of Christianity, the martyr par excellence.

Centuries before the Church became a norm, a power which was armed, inflicted persecution. Christianity had that radical character in keeping with the Gospel which made its members endure death rather than renounce the One to whom they lifted up their prayers.

In many parts of the world, Christians even now run the risk which makes their origins and the interminable succession of Christian martyrs in different parts of the globe today reminds us the fact that faith is still focused on a CRUCIFIED MAN, on what he said and did. Societies, mentalities, institutions and sciences many be different, but faith in Jesus Christ is drawn irresistibly towards a passion. However, not everyone is led to experience this in the flesh, but martyrdom remains as an eventuality.

The long list of martyrs, thousands of men and women, in responding to the call of the Gospel, accepted death willingly. However, they were not offensive. They were peaceful, sober and loyal people and they practiced alms giving. Men and women, educated and simple, young and old, poor and rich, famous and anonymous, -- all these were stubborn about one thing: they refused to offer sacrifice to the idols, whether it be other gods or the Emperor. They died for refusing to make a gesture, not saying a word, making a distinction between heaven and earth and their message was CAESAR IS NOT GOD. Their basic loyalty was to God. However, they respected and prayed for the authorities. They even prayed for the success of their enterprises and that was the only symbolic crime that they had committed, but they would not submit to any other authority on earth except God. Thus, we can say that martyrdom arose out of refusal to worship the idols. In other words, their message was: GOD IS GOD and CAESAR IS NOT GOD.

‘But the power does not like any other symbols but its own. Thus, persecution broke out in three stages in the first four centuries in the asingly carried on with conviction.

The diversity of martyrdom and its meanings in the history of Christianity:

1. Reasons for Martyrdom in the Antiquity

We identify six aspects in this regard. The first reason for martyrdom in the antiquity is the confession of Jesus Christ. Martyrdom in the antiquity, above all, had a catechetical and missionary urgency. Therefore, in the antiquity martyrdom arose quite naturally out of the work of proclamation. That is, in this proclamation, -- God, made man, was born, lived, died and rose again for our salvation -- Christians died specifically for Christ.

The second reason is that the aspect of refusal. When Gospel encountered the two different cultures, those two societies responded by suspicion and rejection. Jews could not accept the idea of God incarnate. The divine is transcendented for them. Hence, they were offended about the "God, made man" language and the content. But the Romans should have been less hostile because, they had the custom of opening their Pantheon to the gods of the nations which they had conquered. Thus they would not let one religion to stop them. They were also steeped in metaphysics and so, they should have been less hostile. But they got aroused by Christians. This was because Christians exerted pressure in the Jewish region like a malignant tumor. What appeared to be an internal squabble within Judaism, it was found out by the Romans that the religious squabbles had political consequences. The new sect was not confined to the narrow sphere of Judaism.

Thirdly, the new sect had the proselytizing ardor. It sent out missionaries; faith spread fast and it made progress. For Christians, the spread of faith meant progress. But others saw this as a "contagious disease". Although the converts were disciplined people and did good works from two fronts the vindictiveness was exerted: among people whose traditions were disturbed, there circulated atrocious lies, namely: Christians practiced incest; they devoured children in the secret assemblies, etc. And, in the State, it could not tolerate its subjects refusing to sacrifice to the gods of the country. That was the essential cause of the quarrel. Their refusal meant challenging the divine right claimed by the emperor. He had to be called "Lord". But, Christians had only one Lord and therefore, they would not bend their knees to any one else. No arms, no laws and no power could intimidate Christians. Litigation was reduced to a question of words. The rulers were confounded by the fervor of Christians and so, they were sent to the stake, beheaded and thrown to the wild beasts.

Fourthly, martyrdom occurred as a result of misunderstanding and mutual incomprehension between Christians and Romans. Romans thought that punishment would punish, dissuade and eventually divert the attention of the converts. So, Rome wanted to take their lives in order to deprive them of their religion. They wanted to reward those who took pleasure in the barbarism of the games., State, thus organized the spectacle of torture! Why amuse crowds! It was to distract the crowd. Circus and amphitheater and games became sources of distraction. Thus, people got rid of their latent violence, forgot their political grievances and took stock on the terraces where they were seated of their national and social dignity because fate had never made them slaves or barbarian and they were not put in the arena. The most recent example of this kind is the Olympic games conducted in Seoul, South Korea. What happened to Korea which was burning until recently? where are the students and workers who were on the street? Everything seems to be all right there, thanks to Seoul Olympic games!

Fifthly, martyrdom, in the antiquity, meant combat of faith. While others looked at it differently, for Christians combat meant struggle against the ultimate temptation. which was to live at the price of infidelity. So; Christians allowed themselves to be savaged and were ready to pay the price. For instance, in the amphitheater in Rome Ignatius of Antioch wrote thus:

May I benefit from the wild beasts prepared for me, and I pray that they will be found prompt with me, whom I shall even entice to devour me promptly-not as with some whom they were too timid to touch; and should they not consent voluntarily, I shall force them". (Christian Martyrs)

Sixthly, the death of Christians bore witness. It had a marvelous aura. Even without miracles; the remains of the heroes became objects of veneration. If there were no remains their stories spread, firing the neophytes with new zeal. They were encouraged by examples such as Tertullian who said: "The blood of the martyr is the seed of the Church". Days in the dungeon, journeys to their execution and imprisonment, -- all these were occasions for proclaiming the Gospel. Therefore, Christians needed to see, to hear, to touch these athletes who for them were the best proof of the power of God, so visible at work, and in such a way. Nothing could distract Christians and so the crowds began to think.

2. Reasons for martyrdom in the Classical Period

The period from the end of Middle Age may be roughly described as the classical period. During this period, Christ’s command: "Go and teach all nation" was implemented with vigor. His command was literally understood and therefore, attempts were made by Euro-Christians to put this command into practice. This coincided with the navigators’ attempt to launch Christians onto new adventures. Thus, navigators looked for new lands and the Euro-Christians looked for new souls to convert -- in the Third World.

While this was the context in which Christianization of the Third World took place, it must be borne in mind that the Gospel was brought to us with great perils, to people who did not know of it. Christian Missions brought Christianity to our parts and the missionaries who brought the gospel were generally committed people. They confessed Christ; they were blind to cruelty that awaited them in far off lands; they were patient and they suffered very much; when they had to die, they died murmuring His name. In spite of all these noble qualities, it must be remembered that missionary enterprise coincided with the colonization process in the Third World. We should not forget the fact that the theology of the Christian Missions served as handmaid in the colonization process on more than one occasion. In other words, the Christian theology that accompanied the missionaries justified the inhumanity heaped on the Third World people by the colonizers.

Therefore, the natives looked at them askance: where did these intruders derive the right to trample on our beliefs and reject our Gods ? Well, that was one of the consequences of Christianization of our parts. The same question raised by the Latin Americans as they "cautiously" celebrated the beginning of colonialism in their Continent this year is raised by all: who asked the white man to come? This question was and is raised even now in different countries in Asia, Africa, Caribbean Islands and Latin America. "Faith" did not ‘take’ well because cultures were different and penetration of Far East or Africa posed great many enigmas to the western conscience. Here Christ had the misfortune to arrive after the Spaniards or the Portuguese, -- in the context of two enterprises that went hand in hand: faith and trade. In other words, Christian mission seemed to be an instrument of Western covetousness. It is interesting and revealing to note the observation made by Guarani Indian to Pope John-Paul II in Manaus in 1980 thus: "Brazil was not discovered, Brazil was stolen". Any country in the present-day Southern Hemisphere will easily echo this sentiment is beyond doubt. During this period, martyrdom of Christians was accompanied by the shadow of the conquerors!

The Christian missionaries who brought Christianity to our parts thought that they were bringing true God to the people who did not know of him. But, for the natives, it meant ransacking the thick forest of legends in which the soul of people delighted. In this context, more difficult, enigmatic and embarrassing questions are being raised: were we robbed? If robbed, in what sense and terms? Was disrespect shown to our cultures, philosophies and ideologies? Were the Euro-North Americans destroyers or preservers?

Missionaries who came to our parts came knowing fully well the fate that awaited them. In the midst of wretchedness, sickness and revolts, they made the absolute gift of their persons; they dedicated themselves not only to teaching but also to helping tribes and the depressed and deprived sections and loved them with all the power of the gospel.

The rise of clerical power during this period also brought about martyrdom. The Edict of Milan promulgated by Constantine, the Emperor, brought the State apparatus at the disposal of the Christian Church. With this edict, the Church and state, the spiritual and temporal powers aligned and gave each other mutual support. Both Christians and pagans considered the political institution as divine in origin. Is it? We need to reflect on it.

The Church, in aligning itself closely with the State, thought that by using the temporal power, it fulfilled the mission and collaborated in the advent of the Kingdom. In the process, the Church succumbed to political temptations. Church born in the catacombs, was unaware of the inner inertia of power. It thought that its duties were unlimited, so were its rights.

The Church was the sole interpreter of the sacred text it had. It read promise or judgement in it. According to her understanding, the salvation was to be achieved by bending the mind, gaining submission to the authorities which in turn meant that the faithful show them the faith due to God. It meant allegiance to the head to the Church, Pope, or Patriarch. This crude religion believed in punishment, again in good faith and thought that it could alleviate above by contributing to it here below Thus, exposed to dubious alliances with politics, ensnared by the distortions of its own power, in the course of its history, the Church, as an institution, yielded to covetousness stirred up by material goods and the intoxication of being in charge. The Church assumed all authority, claimed to offer salvation and made itself absolute. Sadly enough, the theology was the problem!

There was also another problem during this time. The Church, as an Institution, did not like individual Christians who interpreted the defacto position of the Church in the light of the Gospel and set over against it a form of Christianity. Such attempts to interpret the sacred text was seen as a revolt. But at root, it was often fidelity. The wrath of the Church meant that Christians themselves became victims of other Christians who were the executioners. Thus a new race of martyrs was born because the Church was too strong or too weak to allow that it had faults, although this aspect was highlighted in abundance by some who became martyrs and met with a violent death. One supreme example was John Huss.

Martyrs such as John Huss, Wycliff and others addressed the Church or the monarch, and became martyrs in telling them in what respects they thought these were in error or where they thought them right. This dissidence of the martyrs was personal to them; it was the fruit of an illumination, a revelation, a studious reflection and a voice speaking to them, as it was the case with Joan of Arc. In the process of becoming martyrs, they had to contend with indifferent faithful and the hostile clergy. They were assailed with dogmas, Bible, obedience, judgement and another salvation. They were also regarded as negative figures. People in general attributed the conflicts which broke out in the Mother Church to their piety. There was political and religious reasons behind the martyrdom of Joan of Arc. The Church as an Institution stood against the freedom of the individual and this warranted martyrdom. The martyrdom of John Huss and later the great massacres of the Reformation relate to the same conflict between the Institution and individual freedom.

There were yet one more reason for martyrdom during the classical period. The Church, as an Institution, opposed Inspiration. That is, the truth of the faith seemed guaranteed by the immobility of the false theological knowledge. So, during Reformation there were the prophetic form of a number of isolated protests.

3. Reason for martyrdom in the Twentieth Century

In the 20th century, the Church had undergone political changes. She is stripped of political powers which she enjoyed in the previous centuries. The only power she has now is the power that emanates from the word. As for faith, she is brought back to the earth.

With regard to martyrdom in the 20th century we notice a shift: from the "heroic" to the "anonymous" martyrdoms; from the "individual" to the "collective" martyrdoms; from the "historical" to the "contemporary" reality As for the content of faith, it can be said that faith in Christ works towards liberating people from the bondage, -- of all sorts. In other words, human beings have become the concern of the Church and Christian faith. Why did this shift take place and in what context?

Alarmed at the horrors of violence and threat to human life, the Church began to focus its attention on human beings. The Churches are studying this vast human identity, so often denied, ridiculed, exploited, massacred. They oppose the coalition of interests, calculations, fears or ignorance, with a concern which subordinates every principle to human dignity, and which begins with basic respect for life as such. It is in this context, Pope John Paul II, for instance, is hailed as the Pope of human rights in the five continents.

Further, the Church and Society Conference of the World Council of Churches in 1966 and the Roman Catholic Bishops’ Conference of Latin America (CELAM) in 1968, both representing the Ecumenical Movement, proclaimed a message to the Christians at large in identical terms thus: they said:

If the Church wants to share its life with the world then it must put its weight on the side of the poor and the oppressed.

In other words, Iraeneus’ observation that "the glory of God is the living human being" sums up the aspirations of contemporary faith. Well, then, is life superior to honor? Does faith at present dictate the duty of cowardice to the faithful, inviting them to sacrifice everything for their safety? In what does my honor consist?, one might ask.

The answer is that it consists in the life of others, which calls for freedom, security, and justice; and if necessary I must defend them at the price of my own life.

Martyrdom, in the twentieth century, became inevitable in the context of totalitarian orders which quench the spirit, sow death and scorch the earth. Until recently, two super powers namely, the U.S.A and the US.S.R. appealed to antithetical catechism. Now, there is only one power which pretends to act as the police man of the world. At the instance of USA, the worship of the Mammon continues. While this is the context in the North, in the South, the people are weakened by misery, allow themselves to be torn by fratricidal struggles and remain defenseless in the face of those who suck them to the marrow. East against West and North against South, this way hate crucifies the world. In the earlier part of 20th century we had Nazism, Fascism and Auschwitz. Now we have the threat from Chemical weapons, neutrons and, the bacteria, as well as giant multi-national and trans-national corporations. Thus there is violence to life, human life, animal life and plant life. Mass violence characterizes the present-day situation of the world. Because of this mass violence, the notion of martyrdom has broadened out and become imprecise. Martyrdom today extends to groups sacrificed to the contemporary barbarism. Whole peoples become martyrs: Jews, Gypsies, the Cambodians, the Vietnamese, the tribals, the Dalits in India and women everywhere. In other words, torture and summary execution is the fate of many in the world today.

The second feature of martyrdom in the 20th century is that though nothing was willed, everything was accepted. A definitive choice guided the destiny of the martyrs. For example, Sister Alice Domon remarked to the Archbishop of Toulouse thus: "I have already made the sacrifice of my life".

The third feature of martyrdom in the 20th century is that it takes the side of the oppressed. That is, to give in or to accept death with patience is not enough. To merit the title, he or she should be entirely swallowed up by death. What merits them? Martyrs are those who suffer but their groans, far from being a disavowal of what they were, express the noble reason for their deaths and change the apparent fatality into an absolute proof of loge. For this reason we can say that the last word which honors the martyr is not COMPASSION but EXAMPLE. That is to say, men and women, in the 20th century sacrifice their lives with a view to rescuing their brothers and sisters from scorn, from propaganda, from misery, from death and from all four at the same time. Witnesses are agreed here in spite of the fact that the circumstances and the issues are different:

Maximilian Kolbe took the place of another to perish slowly of hunger and thirst;

Martin Luther King Jr. dreamed of a children’s game in which all races would hold hands;

Oscar Romero died calling on his compatriots for basic justice.

Thus, we see a claim which makes sense of all the martyrdoms of our time: Martyrs today no longer die explicitly for Jesus Christ nor for the freedom of the Spirit as was the case in the first two periods we had considered, but they die for human justice, i.e., an urgent new action is needed to defend those who are overwhelmed by the weight of totalitarianism. One may ask: what is this faith if it is not explicitly for faith in Jesus Christ or for the freedom of the spirit? The answer to that comes in the form of another question: Can faith serve God if it does not FIRST serve humankind? In other words, the contemporary martyrs are involved in political matters and are more often concerned in action than speaking, like the first Christians, or thinking as at the end of the Middle Ages. Thus, the contemporary martyrs throw themselves into the combats of the world, they denounce its impostures, seek to reduce the atrocious inequality of fortunes and classes, to uproot the cult of Mammon, the bloodiest of the gods, and dismantle the systems of oppression. By involving themselves totally in the combats of the world, the contemporary martyrs make themselves the apostles of the human person. This is clear in what M.L. King, Jr. had said in 1961, in the context of threat to his life from the powers that were and in the context of strike by Garbage Collectors:

It may crucify me. I may die. But even if I die in the struggle I want people to say, "He died to make me free.

Thus, the faith of these martyrs is totally swallowed up in the absolute urgency embodied in the oppressed and their suffering. We give prominence to the martyrs of the yester years and yester centuries. They do deserve that. But we should not overlook those others who suffer besides the martyrs. I quote Theofried Baumester who says thus:

The prominence given to the martyrs should not be made retrospective. But those others who suffer besides the martyrs should not be overlooked. Today they need a different theological treatment than in early Christianity. (Concilium)

The fourth feature of martyrdom in the 20th century is that the end of these modern martyrs is very different from anything evident in former centuries. In the former centuries, the martyrs were arrested, judged, and delivered over to death; two theories were in conflict: Where is God, in an institution or in a conscience? Now there is no longer debate between a way of thinking and the supposed virtues of order. In the modern times, the persecuted person speaks in the name of his or her faith, deeply rooted in a cultural heritage. It is clear that the martyrs. embody the side of justice.

The fifth feature of martyrdom in our century is that the persecutor is often put to shame. Persecutor employs state violence, and horrible means to quench life. He or she refuses to acknowledge his or her motives in employing state violence and horrible means. The persecutor spreads lies, propagates myths and uses the media to reach the ends. For instance, the Third World theologians are branded as Marxists, drunkards, womanizers, depressed, homosexuals, lesbians, Anti-nationals insurrectionists and so on, when they in fact, are trying to live out their faith in defense of the defenseless. Again, AIDS disease is highlighted as the most urgent and serious problem in the world today. No doubt about that for, the experts say so. What about malnutrition, undernourishment, hunger and poverty around the globe -- in Somalia, Ethiopia and the severe human rights violations in countries such as South Africa, Afghanistan, Sri Lanka, Pakistan and so on?

In today’s world, the persecutor adopts dubious means to silence the dissent voices and, silencing voice is the most atrocious crime. Therefore, there are no trials and the persecutor closes the mouth of the opponents. Public execution is avoided. Eg: Bhuto. No one may see the condemned person; no spectacle of death; his or her patience, voice or look many convey too much. Hence, the attempt to silence dissent or dissident voices who speak of freedom, truth, justice and humanity. Thus, in modern days, not only the victim but the entire judicial apparatus is concealed, That is why the mode of killing resembles an assassination. Eg: Aquino was killed in broad day light. Thus, there is no justice, no tribunal and no scaffold, -- a person is butchered! Victims fate is hidden, suppressed and in an uncertain trial, the victim remains behind the closed doors. Death perpetrated by paramilitary bands, hooligans, a militia which the state virtuously disowns after giving arms, sometimes to both parties in conflict. Assassination is concealed behind an abduction because a bullet could be too much of a noise! However, concealment confesses the innocence of the victims and it equally points a finger at the guilty under their masks. It also pronounces the stifled message which gives the martyr his or her full significance as a witness. For it is the face of Christ that it brings out in the very act in which it seeks to deny it. Did precautions of the persecutors prevent people like Romero and Jerzy Popeluszko from becoming legends? The committed speak even after their death, perhaps even while they live out the truth in their lives. How is this possible? This takes us to the next section.

Thus far, we had seen the diversity of martyrdom in three periods. Martyrdom arose for different reasons. In the antiquity in was the confession of the name of Christ which brought about martyrdom. In the second period, it was speaking on behalf of the freedom of the spirit or conscience. In the present day it is social justice which warrants martyrdom. But is there a unity in the concept of martyrdom? How fair are we in interpreting the meaning of martyrdom in three periods as we had seen thus far? The distinction made here is for the sake of clarity and because of historical development. Thus, this distinction is an apparent one. But then, how are we to understand martyrdom with all its diversity and meanings? Is there a unity of purpose in martyrdom? yes, we will come to that shortly. But before that we should mention the two elements of constancy that we identify in the history of martyrdom in Christianity. The first element of constancy refers to the persecutors. They are the same even now, barbarians, and they expect people to call them Lords, say, the Caesar is Lord! The second element of constancy refers to the persecuted. Their faith and steadfastness is the same. They say even now: God is Lord. The different approaches adopted by the persecuted, the martyrs, stem from a single center, belief in Jesus Christ. But this faith in Jesus is understood differently today than it was in the earlier centuries. This faith or belief in Jesus Christ, therefore, needs to be interpreted, because:

Who would dare to confess Christ without concern for his or her impoverished brothers and sisters, and without holding his or her head high before Caesar?

Who can claim to be free if they do not allow their neighbors to be because they have no food, and if they do not invoke the supreme dispenser of freedom?

Who can believe themselves to be vehicles of justice if they do not attend to the perpetrators of slavery, and taking the side of humanity, do not stand up to the powers which take only its own side; or if they do not serve, in the person of the poor, the figure of one who made himself poor to crown them with his glory?

So, what is this faith or belief in Jesus? How are we to interpret it? We need to systematize our reflections.

4. The Unity of Martyrdom: An Attempt at Interpretation and Systematization

First of all, martyrdom should be understood in relation to the service of the humiliated. People do not die today to defend their cause as Christians. But the cause is certainly there. As Leonardo Boff says:

The martyr defends not his life, but his cause, which is his religious conviction, his fidelity to God or his brother. And he defends this cause by dying.

Neither do they fight for heavenly thoughts. But for the person of Christ in the poor. Christ is present in each one of us, especially in the person of the poor. That is why:

Thomas More refused to take oath which dishonored his country and looked for the unity of the universal church. Behind the voices that Joan of Arc heard was the wounded honor of a nation.

The Apostolic Fathers who left writings before undergoing martyrdom bear witness that they too demanded the bread that was due to the poor. For example, Ignatius and Polycarp preached "help for the widow, the orphan, the afflicted, the captive, the freedman, the hungry and the thirsty". In other words, their presence is part of the design of God for whom they die.

These men and women accepted suffering because their conviction extended beyond themselves to serve the human community and to take its part on earth. In other words, their faith is focused downward, not upward, or heavenward. So, far from taking them aside into the heavens, faith nails them to these kingdoms of the earth, which are promised to the meek to inherit and the love of which they sometimes confess.

Secondly, martyrdom should be understood in relation to the freedom of the spirit. The freedom of the spirit is interior to faith. This freedom is not the monopoly of the wise or the powerful. All of us have this freedom. That is to say, the martyrdom of which it is the cause gives a hearing to the voices of people, without distinctions of class, fortune, education, age and something which is more rare, -- sex. Faith invests men and women born to shadow and silence with an authority. Old men such as Polycarp and frail women like Perpetua and Felicita show it to Caesar. But they are not rebels and there is nothing to hold against them. They are subject to those who govern them. But they are stubborn in opposing a power which glorifies itself and makes itself an end in itself. The race of freemen, the martyrs, professes political irreligion. Its slogan is: "Down with the cult of the emperors!" In other words, Christian martyrdom is based on opposition to the power which takes itself as an absolute point of reference. Christians still say that "Caesar is not Lord".

This Christian freedom, from outside, looks like rebellion within and it is confused with an obedience made an absolute, which has a name because it has a master, Jesus Christ. That is why, Joan of Arc could confidently declare thus: "I look to my judge, who is the master of heaven; yes, I look to my creator. I love him with all my heart". Polycarp echoes the same thus: "I have served him for eighty-six years" or "He has been faithful to me for eighty-six years". In the 20th century the same obstinate voice of Romero is heard thus: "We obey the order of God before that of human beings". In a seminary in India, in the context of suppression of human rights and denial of participation in the decision-making processes, the voice of the former Moderator of Church of South of India, Bishop Anandara Samuel, was recently heard thus "It is better to obey God than the Moderators". The last example cited here makes me to observe that martyrs need not to be only those who met with violent death and are dead, but martyrs can be still living, facing death or opposing death in their day-to-day lives. Martyrs are still there, still living but ready to die for a cause. They are numerous. These modern day martyrs explain themselves. They do not depart from the general spinelessness through personal exhibitionism or in the pride of an elitist intelligence. Further their personal drama is lost in the vastness of an eternal design into which they throw themselves without fear and sometimes without displeasure. So, martyrdom is always a confession of faith, secret or expressed. It goes before God fri wonder. The martyrs confront their persecutors, full of humanity, if not of humor. If they protest it is at the evil done by their brothers to the "least and the last" of the humanity. The cause of the poor, the oppressed and the marginalized -- secularized -- is also a confession of Christ.

This broadening of the Christian vocation should not be treated as a break in the tradition of martyrdom. Karl Rahner, in making a plea for the broadening of the classical concept, asks: (with reference to Romero)

For example, why should not some one like Bishop Romero, who died while fighting for justice in society, a struggle he waged out of the depths of his conviction as a Christian why should he not be a martyr? Certainly he was prepared for his death (Concilium, p. 10.)

This question is legitimate and we will come to that later. The point to remember here is that the 20th century martyrs refuse to sacrifice men and women to Mammon, the new idol of our time. Their combat is also spiritual. To understand this otherwise would be to misunderstand and misrepresent the meaning of martyrdom. The martyrs of the present day persist in confronting oppressive power; they stimulate independence of judgement, insensitive to the seductions of money and power, and they flourish above all the faithfulness to service of the most abandoned, where faith contemplates the form of Christ in the present. Boff brings home this point powerfully thus:

Today, more and more Christians, particularly in the Third World, are carrying out actions ... Which originate in faith and the Gospel. Not a few Christians ... because of the Gospel, make a preferential option for the poor, for their liberation, for the defense of their rights. In the name of this option they stand up and denounce the exercise of domination and all forms of social dehumanization. They may be persecuted, arrested, tortured and killed. They, too, are martyrs in the strict sense of the word (Concilium, p. 14)

Finally, martyrdom today should be understood in relation to the Kingdom which Jesus proclaimed. Martyrs of old confessed faith in the risen Christ. But the martyrs in our times confess their faith in the Kingdom which Jesus of his own historical context proclaimed. Jesus’ ministry and mission was focused on the Kingdom (Mk.1:14-15). The martyrs or witnesses of the earlier centuries, particularly those in the antiquity; awaited judgement at the end of time, they patiently awaited divine justice. Whereas contemporary witnesses have turned their eyes away from the glory of the heavens, obscured by the infinite sorrow of the world. What is this Kingdom? When is it to be fulfilled or realized ? At the end of time? Does it not have two dimensions: the "already" and the "not yet"? How right is the understanding that the divine justice is to be awaited and the Kingdom to be realized here and now in time and history? When one is engaged in theological niceties, the contemporary martyrs who are dead or who are alive, raise, the following questions with enough legitimacy and justification:

How do we talk of God in the midst of poverty, oppression, war and meaninglessness? Should not our God-talk be meaningful in and related to the context? Should we await God’s power and justice only at the end of time? If God is active in history through the Incarnation of Jesus of his own historical context, then how do we celebrate God’s presence and participation in our living situations, in our search for meaning, in our hopes and fears, and in our anguishes and aspirations ? If God is powerful and Just, then should God not intervene instead of waiting ? If God is just, then should not God help instead of judging? It was in such a situation of complexity, suffering and oppression and denial of basic human rights and humanity that one martyr, our contemporary, Dietrich Bonhoffer, came up with the idea or faith reflection that "only a powerless God can help".

That is to say, faith today is oriented towards the kingdom, its value, life-style and it meditates on the scourged Christ, on the power of love bestowed, i.e., on passion and suffering. Faith seeks God in Christ among the humble, the scorned in whom God is embodied. In other words, the Lord of the 20th century is the suffering servant of Second Isaiah, with wounded face and hands, which also tend the unfortunate of whom he is so intimately the brother. The important thing to remember is that God, in Christ, has made himself known in history. God is where God’s people are, -- especially among the least and the last, the unfortunate, the less privileged, the dehumanized, the suffering and the oppressed and the poor. Jesus did not ask his faithful to love elsewhere than on the earth where they have met him, nor otherwise than as he loved himself, dedicating himself to the liberation of our humiliated race. I close with John 12:24-25 which reads thus:

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears abundant fruit. He who loves his life loses it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.

 

Bibliography

Chenu, Bruno. et. al. Book of the Christian Martyrs. pp. 1-29.

Musirillo, Herbert, The Acts of the Christian Martyrs, p xi-ivii.

Frend, Martyrdom and Persecution.

Owen, The Early Martyrs.

Sargunam M.J., A Galaxy of Heroes.

Roper, William, The Life of Sir Thomas More.

Gritsch, The Reformer Without a Church

Friesen, Abraham, Reformation and Utopia.

Eberhard, Bethge, Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Life, Thought, Witness: Letter and Papers from Prison.

Washington, James, M., A Testament of Hope: the Essential Writings of Martin Luther King, Jr.

King, Martin Luther, Jr.. Why We Can’t Wait.

............................Strength to Love: Chaos or Community.

Oscar Romero, The Church is All of You.

Rundel, Charles, Mrs. Martyrs and Saints of the First Twelve Centuries.

Milner, J, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs.

Vasanthkumar, The Burnt Offering.

Workman, H.B., Persecution in the Early Church, Martyrdom Today.

Annotated Bibliographies

Annotated Bibliographies

1. General Works on the (Life And) Teaching of Jesus

We concern ourselves here only with general treatments of the subject; monographs on specific topics will be found in other bibliographies.

R. Bultmann. Jesus and the Word. ET by L. P. Smith and E. H. Lantero of Jesus (1926). New York: Scribner’s, 1934, 1958, London: Nicholson and Watson, 1935.

When it was first published in German this book was regarded as extremely radical, and many scholars rejected it. However, in the time that has passed since then the book has moved, so to speak, from the extreme left wing to the centre of the stage, and today any treatment of the subject that is to be meaningful has to start with it. It should be read with careful attention to the author’s methodology and, particularly, to the relationship between this book and his History of the Synoptic Tradition. On this, see our remarks in chapter I above.

T. W. Manson. The Sayings of Jesus. London: SCM Press, 1949. The work was originally published as Part II of The Mission and Message of Jesus by H. D. A. Major, T. W. Manson and C. E. Wright. London: Nicholson & Watson and New York: E. P. Dutton & Co., 1937 [American edition still in print, 1965].

This is, in effect, a commentary on the material generally ascribed to Q. By today’s standards the author accepts material as authentic far too readily, and he conspicuously fails to take notice of form criticism, but this is nonetheless a great book. Manson was absolutely unequalled as an exegete of the teaching of Jesus. His profound knowledge of ancient Judaism, his deep insight into the subject matter, above all, perhaps, his gift of self-expression-all this combines to make the careful reading of this work an unforgettable experience. For all that one has to be more sceptical than was its author on the question of the authenticity of sayings.

G. Bornkamm. Jesus of Nazareth. ET by Irene and Fraser McLuskey with James M. Robinson of Jesus von Nazareth (31959). London: Hodder & Stoughton and New York: Harper & Bros., 1960.

Easily the best ‘Jesus book’ of our time, this has to be read with the consciousness that its author was writing for the general public rather than specifically for theologians or theological students. A great deal of the technical material and discussion is, therefore, assumed rather than specifically dealt with. Also the book is a product of the ‘post-Bultmannian movement (see chapter V above), and it therefore represents a specific viewpoint on the ‘question of the historical Jesus’. But none of this changes the fact that this is the best treatment of the subject to appear in the last twenty-five years.

H. Conzelmann. ‘Jesus Christus’, Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck]), III (1959), 619-653.

Conzelmann set Out to provide a review of the current position in Life of Christ research, and he succeeded admirably. This is a masterly summary and presentation.

J. J. Pelikan. ‘Jesus Christ’, Encyclopedia Britannica, XIII (1964), 13-26.

Although broader in scope and perspective than the other works we are mentioning here (the author is a historical theologian) and therefore not giving so much detail on the teaching of Jesus, this is probably the best encyclopedia article on the subject in English. It provides a valuable introduction, especially to the long history of Life of Christ research.

A. Vogile. ‘Jesus Christus’, Lexikon.für Theologie und Kirche (Freiburg: Herder), V. (1960), 922-932.

Censored before its publication, this article nonetheless retains a great deal of the force and vigour of its author. As is always the case with the best Roman Catholic work (one thinks particularly of Vögtle and R. Schnackenburg), there is a profound knowledge of both Protestant and Roman Catholic research that few Protestant scholars could match.

N. A. Dahl. ‘The Problem of the Historical Jesus’, Kerygma and History, ed. C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville (New York: Abingdon Press, 1962), pp. 138-171.

First appearing in Norwegian in 1953 and then in German in 1955, this article offers a good discussion of the problems of current Life of Christ research in general. The author is confessedly conservative in his approach, but he achieves a real balance, both of perspective and in presentation.

H. K. McArthur. ‘A Survey of Recent Gospel Research’, Interpretation 18 (1964), 39-55 (=New Theology No. 2, ed. M. E. Marty and D. G. Peerman [New York and London: Macmillan, 1965], pp. 201-221). Particularly interesting here is the author’s discussion of the criteria of authenticity for the teaching of Jesus. He distinguishes four possible criteria: (1) multiple attestation; (2) discounting the tendencies of the developing tradition; (3) attestation by multiple forms; (4) elimination of all material which may be derived either from Judaism or from primitive Christianity.

The first and third of these we put together under the heading of the first in our discussion in chapter 1 above. This is justifiable since, as McArthur himself points out, the third is simply a special form of the first. The second we regard as valid, but as included in the writing of a history of the tradition which we claimed was always the essential first step in any consideration of the question of authenticity. In writing that history one becomes aware of these tendencies and necessarily discounts them in the reconstruction of an earliest form which could possibly go back to Jesus himself. The fourth is our criterion of dissimilarity.

E. Käsemann. ‘The Problem of the Historical Jesus’, Essays on New Testament Themes (1964 [see further below, Annotated Bibliography No.9]), pp. 15-47.

James M. Robinson. A New Quest of the Historical Jesus (1959 [see further below, Annotated Bibliography No. 9]).

Although having their proper place in the discussion of the ‘question of the historical Jesus’, these works are also important contributions to the questions and problems of Life of Christ research in general.

2. Theology of the Synoptic Evangelists and Their Tradition

R. Bultmann. History of the Synoptic Tradition. ET by J. Marsh of Die Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition (1921, 1958 [the edition translated]). Oxford: Basil Blackwell and New York: Harper & Row, 1963.

In this pioneer form-critical work the first attempt was made to write a history of the synoptic tradition and to isolate the influences at work in and on that tradition as it changed and developed. The final section of the book focuses attention on the activity of the evangelists in editing their material and composing their gospels. All this is basic to contemporary work on the theology of the synoptic evangelists and their tradition; indeed, this contemporary work is consciously built upon the foundations laid by Bultmann in this most important book. The book has become a classic. It has also, most unfortunately, been very badly translated, so much so that it is advisable never to quote the ET as giving Bultmann‘s opinion on a matter without first checking the German to see that Bultdid, in fact, say whatever it is the ET says he said.

The influence of form criticism was mediated to the English language academic world by R. H. Lightfoot, and it is in his works that we have the first attempts in English to move in the direction to which Bultmann had pointed. On this, see the memoir by D. E. Nineham in Studies in the Gospels. Essays in Memory of R. H. Lightfoot, ed. D. E. Nineham (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1955), pp. vi-xvi.

R. H. Lightfoot. History and Interpretation in the Gospels. (The Bampton Lectures, 1934) London: Hodder & Stoughton and New York: Harper & Bros., 1935. Locality and Doctrine in the Gospels. London: fodder & Stoughton, and New York: Harper & Bros., 1938. The Gospel Message of St Mark.. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1950 (and Oxford Paperbacks, 41, 1962).

After the second world war German New Testament scholars took up this type of work with spectacular results. (On this movement see further our review article, ‘The Wredesrasse becomes the Hauptstrass’, JR 46 (1966), 296-300.).

W. Marxsen. Der Evangelist Markus. (FRLANT 67.) Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1956, 1959. Contains important methodological reflections (pp. 7-16) and proposes the term Redaktionsgeschichte to describe this approach to the work of the evangelists.

H. Conzelmann. The Theology of St Luke. ET by G. Buswell of Die Mitte der Zeit (1954, 1957, 1960). London: Faber & Faber, and New York: Harper & Bros., 1960. The ET is of the second German edition. The third German edition is the final revision Conzelmann intends to make and so is the definitive edition of this work, the classic in its field.

G. Bornkamm. ‘Enderwartung und Kirche im Matthäusevangelium’, Studies in Honour of C. H. Dodd, ed. W. D. Davies and D. Daube (Cambridge: University Press, 1954), pp. 222-60.

E. Haenchen. ‘Die Komposition von Mk. 8.27-9.1 und Par.’, Novum Testamentum 6 (1963), 81-109.

G. Bornkamm has had a number of pupils in Heidelberg who have worked along these lines.

G. Bornkamm, G. Barth, H. J. Held. Tradition and Interpretation in Matthew. ET by P. Scott of Überlieferung und Auslegung im Matthäusevangelum (1960). London: SCM Press, and Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1963. Contains a revised version of Bornkamm’s essay noted immediately above, and two dissertations by pupils of his.

H. E. Todt. The Son of Man in the Synoptic Tradition. ET by D. M. Barton of Der Menschensohn in der synoptischen Uberlieferung (1963). London: SCM Press, and Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1965. Not only is this book the major contribution to its particular subject in recent time [see Annotated Bibliography No. 7, below], but it is also a very considerable contribution to the study of the theology of the synoptic tradition, especially that of Q.

Ferdinand Hahn. Christologische Hoheitstitel. Ihre Geschichte im frühen Christentum. (FRLANT 83.) Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1963, 1964. Applies the methodology to christological traditions, with most notable results.

English-speaking scholars have responded to the impetus of this recent German work, e.g.,

James M. Robinson. The Problem of History in Mark. (Studies in Biblical Theology 21.) London: SCM Press, 1957.

E. Best. The Temptation and the Passion: the Markan Soteriologv. (Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series, 2.) Cambridge: University Press, 1965.

J. Marsh. ‘The Theology of the New Testament’, Peake’s Commentary on the Bible (revised edition; ed. by M. Black and H. H. Rowley [London and New York: Thos. Nelson & Sons, 1962], pp. 756-768.

William C. Robinson, Jr. Der Weg des Herrn. Studien zur Geschichte und Eschatologie im Lukasevangelium. (Theologische Forschung 36.) Hamburg: Herbert Reich, 1964 [no English publication is planned]. ‘The Theological Context for Interpreting Luke’s Travel Narrative (9.51ff.)’, JBL 79 (1960), 20-31.

H. H. Oliver. ‘The Lucan Birth Stories’, NTS 10 (1963-4), 202-26.

3. Thomas and the Synoptic Gospels

We give here a brief selection from the literature available on this subject. The scholars mentioned have been chosen because of the representative nature of their positions.

(a) Regarding Thomas as dependent on the canonical tradition

Robert M. Grant. The Secret Sayings of Jesus: The Gnostic Gospel of Thomas. With D. N. Freedman, and with an ET of the Gospel of Thomas by W. R. Schoedel. (Dolphin Books) New York: Doubleday and (Fontana Books) London: Collins, 1960. ‘Notes on the Gospel of Thomas’, VC 13 (1959) 170-90. ‘Two Gnostic Gospels’, JBL 79 (1960), 1-11.

E. Haenchen. Die Botschaft des Thomasevangeliums. (Theologische Bibliothek Topelmann 6.) Berlin: Töpelmann, 1961. ‘Literatur zum Thomasevangelium’, TR 27 (1961), 147-78, 306-38.

H. K. McArthur. ‘The Gospel According to Thomas’, New Testament Sidelights (Essays in Honour of A. C. Purdy), ed. H. K. McArthur (Hartford: Hartford Seminary Foundation Press, 1960), pp. 43-77. ‘The Dependence of the Gospel of Thomas on the Synoptics’, ExpT 71 (1960), 286-7.

(b) Regarding Thomas as essentially independent of the canonical tradition

O. Cullmann. ‘The Gospel of Thomas’, Theologischer Digest 9 (1961), 175-81. ‘The Gospel According to St Thomas and its significance for Research into the Canonical Gospels’, HJ 6o (1962), 116-24. ‘The Gospel of Thomas and the Problem of the Age of the Tradition Contained Therein’, Interpretation 16 (1962), 418-38.

C.-H. Hunzinger. ‘Unbekannte Gleichnisse Jesu aus dem Thomas-Evangelium’, Judentum, Urchristentum, Kirche (Festschrift für Joachim Jeremias), ed. W. Eltester (Beihefte zur ZNW 26 [Berlin: Töpelmann,1960]), pp. 209-20. ‘Aussersynoptisches Traditionsgut im Thomas-Evangelium’, TLZ 85 (1960), 843-6. [The article, ‘Pre-Synoptic Material in the Coptic Gospel of Thomas’, which he cites here as to appear in JEL 79 (1960), seems not to have appeared.]

H. Montefiore. ‘A Comparison of the Parables of the Gospel According to Thomas and of the Synoptic Gospels’, NTS 7 (1960-1), 220-48 (= H. E. W. Turner and H. Monteflore, Thomas and the Evangelists [Studies in Biblical Theology 35 (London: SCM Press, 1962)], pp.40-78). [Montefiore’s opinion is based on his work on the parables. The parables in Thomas are the strongest indication of independence and scholars who have worked on them do tend to favour this opinion, most notably J.Jeremias, Parables ofJesus (revised edition, 1963), p.24.]

G. Quispel. ‘The Gospel of Thomas and the New Testament’, VC II (1957), 189-207. ‘Some Remarks on the Gospel of Thomas’, NTS 5 (1958-9), 87-117.

R. McL. Wilson. Studies in the Gospel of Thomas. London: A. R. Mow-bray, 1960. ‘The Coptic "Gospel of Thomas"’, .NTS 5 (1958-9), 273-6. ‘The Gospel of Thomas’, ExpT 70 (1958-9), 324-5. ‘Thomas and the Synoptic Gospels’, ibid. 72 (1960-1), 36-39. ‘"Thomas" and the Growth of the Gospels’, HTR 53 (1960), 231-50. ‘The Gospel of Thomas’, Studia Evangelica III, ed. F. L. Cross (Texte und Untersuchungen 88 [Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1964]), 447-59.

(c) Regarding Thomas as in part dependent on, and in part independent of, the canonical tradition

B. Gärtner. The Theology of the Gospel According to Thomas. ET by Eric J. Sharpe. NewYork: Harper and Row, and London: Collins, 1961.

Wolfgang Schrage. Das Verhältnis des Thomas-Evangeliums zur synoptischen Tradition und zu den Koptischen Evangelienübersetzungen. (Beihefte zur ZNW 29.) Berlin: Töpelmann, 1964.

H. E. W. Turner. ‘The Gospel of Thomas: its History, Transmission and Sources’, and ‘The Theology of the Gospel of Thomas’, H. E. W. Turner and H. Montefiore, Thomas and the Evangelists (Studies in Biblical Theology 35 [London: SCM Press, 1962]), pp. [1-39, 79-118.

4. Recent Work on the Kingdom of God

G. Lundstrom. The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus. ET by J. Bulman of Guds Riki i Jesu Förkunnelse (1947) brought up to date by a brief postscript. Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, and Richmond: John Knox Press, 1963 [representing the perspective of Scandinavian scholarship].

R. Schnackenburg. God’s Rule and Kingdom. ET by J. Murray of Gottes Herrschaft und Reich (1959) New York: Herder & Herder, 1963 [Roman Catholic].

H. Ridderbos. The Coming of the Kingdom. ET by H. de Jongste of De komst van het koninkrijk.. Philadelphia: Presbyterian and Reformed Publishing Co., 1962.

G. E. Ladd. Jesus and the Kingdom. New York. Harper & Row, 1964. [Both this and the previous work represent extremely conservative Protestant scholarship.]

O. E. Evans. ‘Kingdom of God, of Heaven’, Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible (New York: Abingdon Press, 1962) III, 17-26.

H. K. Luce. ‘Kingdom of God (or Heaven)’, Hastings Dictionary of the Bible (revised edition; New York: Scribner’s, and Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1963), pp. 552-4.

Very interesting are two works from the standpoint of the ‘new quest’ and the ‘new hermeneutic’ respectively [on the terms see chapter 5, above].

James M. Robinson. ‘The Formal Structure of Jesus’ Message’, Current Issues in New Testament Interpretation, ed. W. Klassen and G. F.Snyder (New York: Harper & Bros., and London: SCM Press, 1962), pp. 91-110.

E. Jungel. Paulus und Jesus (Hermeneutisehe Untersuchungen zur Theologie 2 [Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1964]), pp. 72-214.

5. Literature on Luke 17.20f.

B. Noack. Das Gottesreich bei Lukas: eine Studie zu Luk. 17.20-24. (Symbolae Biblicae Upsalienses 10.) Uppsala, 1948. Gives a history of the interpretation of the text.

R. J. Sneed. The Kingdom’s Coming: Luke 17.20-21. (Studies in Sacred Theology 133.) Washington, D.C., 1962. [A dissertation accepted by the Catholic University of America and now available from University Microfilms, Inc., Ann Arbor, Michigan.]

This is the most thorough recent study. It gives a history of the interpretation of the text which is both later and more extensive than Noack’s and hence supersedes it. On the basis of a thorough investigation of the linguistic problem, Sneed decides that ‘. . . the phrase entos hymon in Luke 17.21b may mean "within you" or "within your power" or "in your midst".’ He then goes on to a form-critical analysis of the text, differentiating between three Sitze im Leben: the Sitz im Leben Jesu (‘setting in life’ in the ministry of Jesus), the Sitze im Leben Ecclesiae (‘settings in life’ in the Church [in our own work above we always referred to this in the singular and as the Sitz im Leben der alien Kirche -- we regarded the singular as inclusive and we preferred to keep the whole phrase in German rather than to mix German and Latin]), the Sitz im Evangelium (‘setting’ in the gospel [i.e. in the purpose of the evangelist]). These distinctions are important and should certainly be observed, even if not necessarily described by these phrases. So far as the Sitz im Leben Jesu is concerned, Sneed eventually decides for the essential historicity of the incident as recorded by Luke and for the traditional interpretation, i.e. ‘that the Reign of God was to be something interior’. But his main concern is with the second and third of the Sitze, and here his work is both more original and more interesting. Sneed published a summary of his work, ‘The Kingdom of God is within you’, CBQ24 (1962), 363-82.

A. Strobel. ‘Die Passa-Erwartung als urchristliches Problem in Luc. 17.20f’, ZNW49 (1958), 157-83; ‘In dieser Nacht (Lk. 17.34)’, ZTKS8 (1961); ‘Zu Lk 17.20f.,"BZ7 (1963), 111-13.

F. Mussner. ‘Wann kommt das Reich Gottes?’ BZ 6 ([962), 107-11.

All discussions of the teaching of Jesus, of the Kingdom of God or of New Testament eschatology include an interpretation of this saying. Particularly significant are:

W. G. Kiirnmel. Promise and Fulfilment. ET by D. M. Barton of Verheissung und Erfüllung (1956). (Studies in Biblical Theology, 23.) London: SCM Press, 1957 [with extensive bibliographical notes].

H. Conzelnaann. ‘Gegenwart und Zukunft in der synoptischen Tradition’, ZTK 54 (1957), 277-96; Theology of St Luke. ET by G. Buswell of Die Mitte der Zeit (1957). London: Faber & Faber, and New York: Harper & Bros., 1960 [from the perspective of its setting in the Lukan theology].

E. Jungel. Paulus und Jesus (Hermeneutische Untersuchungen zur Theologie 2 [Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1964]), pp. 193-6.

6. Modern Research on the Parables

A. Jülicher. Die Gleichnisreden Jesu. 2 vols. Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), I (1888, 1899), II (1899).

Julicher establishes the distinction between parable (simile, fable, exemplary story) and allegory. Parable is ‘authentic’ speech, i.e. it means what it says, using pictures to express its meaning. Allegory, on the other hand, is ‘inauthentic’ speech, i.e. it does not mean what it says, but hides its meaning in symbol. The parables of Jesus were parables and not allegories, and they were designed to be readily understood and to express one single truth, a truth of the widest possible general application.

Subsequent research has validated all of Julicher’s conclusions except the last one, the nature of the one truth expressed in a parable. In particular the distinction between parable and allegory, and the claim that the parables of Jesus were parables and not allegories, has been shown to be justified. It can be supported by the following arguments: (i) the parables of ancient Judaism, to which Jesus is indebted for his method and form, are parables and not allegories. (2) The allegorizing touches in the parables, and the allegorizing explanations added to some of them in the gospels, have been shown to be later additions to the stories and to the tradition respectively (especially by Jeremias). (3) The parable and the allegory represent fundamentally different approaches to the nature of the reality to be revealed (pictorial and direct against symbolic and hidden), as also to the concept of teaching involved (direct to all who can be challenged against esoteric to a limited group who possess the key). The tradition that Jesus taught in one way to the crowd and in another way to the disciples is a literary device of the evangelists. The two methods are, in fact, quite incompatible with one another.

A. T. Cadoux. The Parables of Jesus, Their Art and Use. London: James Clarke & Co., 1931. Cadoux took the next step (to that of Jü1icher) by arguing that the parables must be placed in their setting in the ministry of Jesus. Unfortunately, he did not develop the insight adequately in his own work.

B. T. D. Smith. The Parables of the Synoptic Gospels. Cambridge: University Press, 1937. Smith follows Cadoux’s suggestion cautiously, limiting himself to the details of the stories, which he illuminates very well, rather than concerning himself with their message. To a limited extent he also dealt with the history of the transmission of the parables in the tradition.

C. H. Dodd. The Parables of the Kingdom. London: Nisbet, and New York: Scribner’s, 1935, 1936, 1961. This is the decisive ‘breakthrough’ in the modern research. Dodd established the fact that the ‘setting in life’ of the parables is the eschatological proclamation of Jesus, and he achieved a presentation of the message of the parables. The limitation of the work is the unduly one-sided understanding of the eschatology of Jesus as ‘realized eschatology’.

J. Jeremias. The Parables of Jesus. German editions: 1947, 1962. English editions (translation by S. H. Hooke): 1954 (from German 1954), 1963 (from German 1963). London: SCM Press, and New York: Scribner’s. The epoch-making work in this field, and, at one and the same time, both the major contribution and greatest impetus to contemporary research into the teaching of Jesus.

E. Linnemann. Parables of Jesus: Introduction and Exposition. ET by John Sturdy of Gleichnisse Jesu. Einführung und Auslegung (1961). London: SPCK, and New York: Harper and Row, 1966. Bringing to the results of the work of Jeremias insights derived from her own teacher, E. Fuchs, Miss Linnemann both interprets the parables historically and also applies the results of this interpretation to proclamation and instruction today. A most important and useful book.

E. Jungel. Paulus und Jesus. (Hermeneutische Untersuchungen zur Theologie 2.) Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1964. Has an extensive and critical review of modern work on the parables (pp. 87-135) designed to lead up to an approach to them in terms of the ‘new hermeneutic’ of Jüngel’s teacher, E. Fuchs. The key to this is: ‘The kingdom comes to word in parable as parable. The parables of Jesus bring the Kingdom to word as parable’ (p. 135). On this see our comments In chapter 5 above.

G. V. Jones. The Art and Truth of the Parables. A Study in Their Literary Form and Modern Interpretation. London: SPOK, 1964. Contains a useful review of the history of the modern interpretation of the parables (pp. 3-54).

Amos N. Wilder. The Language of the Gospel. New York: Harper & Row, and (as Early Christian Rhetoric) London: SCM Press, 1964. Wilder is unique among contemporary New Testament scholars because of his profound combination of the techniques of New Testament scholarship with those of general literary criticism. Chapter 5 of this book is a study of the parables of Jesus from this perspective.

Ian T. Ramsey. Christian Discourse. Some Logical Explorations (London and New York: Oxford University Press, 1965), pp.6-33. This is an important discussion of the essential difference between parable and allegory. The purpose of parable is to lead to a ‘disclosure point’, that of allegory to correlate ‘two areas of discourse’.

7. Jesus and the Coming Son of Man

(a) Reviews of the discussion

A. J. B. Higgins. ‘Son of Man-Forschung since The Teaching of Jesus’, New Testament Essays. Studies in Memory of T. W. Manson, 1893-1.958, ed. A. J. B. Higgins (Manchester: University Press, 1959), pp. 119-35.

M. Black. ‘The Son of Man Problem in Recent Research’, BJRL 45 (1962-3), 305-18.

N. Perrin. The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus (London: SCM Press, and Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1963), pp. 90-111.

(b) The apocalyptic Son of man sayings in recent German discussion

H. E. Tödt. The Son of Man in the Synoptic Tradition. ET by D. M. Barton of Der Menschensohn in der synoptischen Überlieferung (1963). London: SCM Press and Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1965.

This is the most important book on the whole subject of Son of man in the teaching of Jesus to be published in recent times. Its importance is that it establishes the methodology of enquiring into the history of the use of Son of man in the tradition, and by so doing immediately renders out of date any work not using this methodology.

Tödt regards certain of the ‘judgement sayings’ as authentic: Matt. 24.27 par.; Luke 17.30; Luke 11.30; Matt. 24.44 par.; Luke 12.8f. par. In this he is supported, with minor variations, by Hahn and Jüngel: F. Hahn, Christologische Hoheitstitel. (FRLANT 83.) Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, ‘1962, 1964. E. Jüngel, Paulus und Jesus. Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1962, 1964.

Opposed to this view, and in successive publications entering into vigorous debate with Tödt, Hahn and Jüngel (who themselves replied in the successive editions of their books) is Philipp Vielhauer, who argues that no Son of man sayings are authentic.

Ph. Vielhauer. ‘Gottesreich und Menschensohn’, Festschrift für Günther Dehn, ed. W. Schneemelcher (Neukirchen: Verlag der Buchhandlung des Erziehungsvereins Neukirchen, 1957), pp. 51-79. ‘Jesus und der Menschensohn’, ZTK 6o (1963), 133-77. ‘Em Weg der neutestamentlichen Theologie? Prüfung der Thesen Ferdinand Hahns’, Ev T 25 (1965), 24-72.

In general support of Vielhauer’s position are: E. Käsemann, ‘Satze heiligen Rechtes im Neuen Testament’, NTS 1 (1954-5), 248-60; ‘Die Anfänge christlicher Theologie’, ZTK 57 (1960), 162-85; ‘Zum Thema urchristlichen Apokalyptik’, ZTK 59 (1962), 257-84; and H. Conzelmann, ‘Jesus Christus’, RGG III (1959), 619-55, especially 630f.

The authenticity of the apocalyptic Son of man sayings is also denied by Eduard Schweizer, who, however, finds an authentic element in the sayings with a present reference.

E. Schweizer. ‘Der Menschensohn’, ZNW 50 (1959), 185-209; ‘Son of Man’, JBL 79 (1960), 119-29; ‘The Son of Man Again’, NTS ([963), 256-61. The first and last of these are also to be found in his collected essays, Neotestamentica (Zürich: Zwingli Verlag, 1963),pp. 56-84 and 85-92.

(c) Other recent work on the subject

C. Colpe. Huios tou anthropou, to be published in Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament (founded G. Kittel, ed. G. Friedrich).

We are grateful to Professor Colpe for the privilege of working through his manuscript at Göttingen in the summer semester of 1965, and we have referred to it as C. Colpe, TWNT article, in our own work above. It is a fine article, destined to become a classic when published. In view of the importance we attached to our discussion of the Son of man concept in ancient Jewish apocalyptic, above, we would like to point out that Colpe accepts the German contention that such a concept is to be found, but finds that the existing sources (Daniel, I Enoch, IV Ezra 13) are inadequate to present it to us. So he posits the existence of a fourth Jewish source, now lost to us except in so far as it is preserved in the most primitive strata of the New Testament traditions. We remained unconvinced by this argument!

A. J. B. Higgins. Jesus and the Son of Man. London: Lutterworth Press, and Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1965.

Comes very near to the position of Tödt, so far as the authenticity of sayings is concerned, but argues that Jesus thought of himself as Son of God and used the Son of man idea to denote himself ‘reinstalled in his heavenly seat . . . exercising his intercessory or judicial functions’. A feature of the book is a discussion of the Son of man Christology of the gospel of John and of the early Church in general.

H. Teeple. ‘The Origin of the Son of Man Christology’, JBL 84 (1965), 213-50.

Teeple accepts the concept of the Son of man as a heavenly, supernatural Messiah in ancient Judaism and argues that the Son of man Christology did not begin with any sayings of Jesus, or even in the original Jerusalem church of Jesus’ disciples, but in Hellenistic-Jewish Christianity.

8. ‘Imminent Expectation’ in the Teaching of Jesus

(a) View that Jesus did expect the End in the very near future, and was mistaken

T. W. Manson. The Teaching of Jesus (Cambridge: University Press, 1935 [many subsequent unrevised reprints]), pp. 244-84. A classical statement of this theme, easily its best expression in English.

W. G. Kummef. Promise and Fulfilment. ET by D. M. Barton of Verheissung und Erfüllung (3, 956). (Studies in Biblical Theology 23 [London: SCM Press, 1957]), especially pp. 54-87. ‘Die Naherwartung in der Verkfindigung Jesu’, Zeit und Geschichte. Dankesgabe an Rudolf Bultmann zum 8o. Geburistag, ed. E. Dinkier (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1964), pp. 31-46 (= W. G. Kummel, Heilsgeschehen und Geschichte [Marburg: N. H. Elwert, 1965], pp. 457-70). Kummel offers very complete reviews of the contemporary discussion and, therefore, the best introductions to the literature on the subject.

(b) Attempts to maintain that Jesus did expect an imminent End, but that this expectation can be interpreted to show that he was not mistaken

For a review of the Fathers in this connection see T. W. Manson, loc. cit.

C. E. B. Cranfield. The Gospel According to St Mark (Cambridge Greek Testament [Cambridge: University Press, 1959]), p. 408.

R. Schnackenburg. God’s Rule and Kingdom (ET by J. Murray of Gottes Herrschaft and Reich [1959]. New York: Herder & Herder, 1963), pp. 195-214.

(c The view that Jesus set no time limit on the coming of the End

A. Vogtle. ‘Exegetische Erwägungen über das Wissen und Selbstbewusstsein Jesu’, Gott in Welt. Festgabe für Karl Rahner, ed. J. B. Metz et al. (Freiburg: Herder, 1964)I, 608-67.

A brilliant essay by one who must have high claim to being considered the leading Roman Catholic New Testament scholar of the day. Vogtle’s knowledge of the relevant literature, Catholic and Protestant, is phenomenal. His argument on the point that concerns us is that Mark 13.32 must be held to be the all-important text; Mark 9.1 has been formed in the tradition from Mark 13.30, which itself originally referred to the Fall of Jerusalem and Destruction of the Temple; and Matt. 10.23 has been formed in the tradition from Matt. 10.14 par. and the promise of the coming of the Son of man.

(d) The view that there is no parousia element, imminent or distant, in the teaching o fJesus

T. F. Glasson. The Second Advent. London: Epworth Press, 1963.

J. A. T. Robinson. Jesus and His Coming. London: SCM Press, 1957.

(e) The view that the expectation of Jesus should be interpreted in more or less existentialistic terms

The proponents of this view were presented and discussed in N. Perrin, The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus (1963), pp. 112-17 (R. Bultmann); 121-4 (G. Bornkamm, E. Käsemann, H. Conzelmann, E. Fuchs, James M. Robinson). Another contribution along these lines published more recently is E. Jüngel, Paulus und Jesus (Hermeneutische Untersuchungen zur Theologie 2 [Tülbingen: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1964]), where the existentialism is modified by the use of the ‘word-event’ concept of the ‘new hermeneutic’, and the present (Kingdom of God) and future (Son of man) elements in the teaching of Jesus are interpreted in terms of the nearness and distance of God to history.

The present writer’s own views were presented in N. Perrin, op. cit., pp. 185-201, largely on the basis of an exegesis of the Lord’s Prayer.

9. The Question of the Historical Jesus

(a) Reimarus and Strauss

H. S. Reimarus. Fragmente des Wolfenbüttelschen Ungenannten. Herausgegeben von G. E. Lessing. Berlin, 1835. The first edition of the most Important fragment, ‘Von dem Zwecke Jesu und seine Jünger’, was published in 1778.

D. F. Strauss. Das Leben Jesu, kritisch bearbeitet. 2 vols. Tübingen: C. F. Osiander, 1835, 1836. ET, The Life of Jesus, critically examined. 3 vols. London: Chapman Bros., 1846.

(b) Roman Catholic reply to Strauss

J. Kuhn. Das Leben Jesu, wissenschaftlich bearbeitet. Mainz: Florian Kupferberg, 1838. [This is Vol. I, but no second volume was published.]

(c) More recent Roman Catholic discussions

J. R. Geiselmann. Jesus der Christus. Erster Teil: Die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus. Munchen: Ködsel Verlag, 1965.

Franz Mussner. ‘Der "historische" Jesus’, Der historische Jesus und der Christus unseres Glaubens, ed. K. Schubert (Wien: Herder, 1962), pp. 103- 28; ‘Leben-Jesu-Forschung’, Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche, ed. J. Höfner and K. Rahner (Freiburg: Herder) VI (1961), 859-64.

A. Vögtle. ‘Jesus Christus’, Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche V (1960), 922-32.

R. E. Brown. ‘After Bultmann, What ? -- An Introduction to the Post-Bultmannians’, CBQ 26 (1964), 1-30.

P. J. Cahill. ‘Rudolf Bultmann and Post-Bultmann Tendencies’, ibid., 153-78.

(d) Martin Kähler

M. Kähler The So-called Historical Jesus and the Historic Biblical Christ. Translated, edited and with an Introduction by Carl E. Braaten, from the German Der sogennante historische Jesus und der geschichtliche, biblische Christus (1896). Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1964. Also, Carl E. Braaten, ‘Martin Kähler on the Historic, Biblical Christ’, The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ, ed. C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville (New York: Abingdon Press, 1964), pp.79-105.

(e) Rudolf Bultmann

R. Bultmann. Jesus and the Word. New York: Scribner’s, 1958. Theology of the New Testament I (New York: Scribner’s, and London: SCM Press, 1951). Primitive Christianity in Its Contemporary Setting. London: Thames and Hudson, and (as Primitive Christianity) New York: Meridian Books, 1956. ‘New Testament and Mythology’, ‘A Reply to the Theses of J. Schniewind’, Kerygma and Myth, ed. H. W. Bartsch (rev. ed., New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1961), pp. 1-16, 102-23. ‘The Primitive Christian Kerygma and the Historical Jesus’, The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ, ed. C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville, pp. 15-42 [Bultmann’s reply to the ‘post-Bultmannians’ and the definitive statement of his own position].

(f) Critics of Bultmann from the ‘right’

J. Jeremias. The Problem of the Historical Jesus. ET by N. Perrin of Das Problem deshistorischen Jesus (1960). Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1964. An earlier version appeared in The Expository Times, 69 (1958), 333-9, under the title, ‘The Present Position in the Controversy concerning the Problem of the Historical Jesus’.

Karl Barth. ‘Rudolf Bultmann -- An Attempt to Understand Him’, Kerygma and Myth, ed. H. W. Bartch, II (London: SPCK, 1962), 83-132.

E. Ellwein. ‘Rudolf Bultmann’s Interpretation of the Kerygma’, Kerygma and History, ed. C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville (New York: Abingdon Press, 1962), pp. 25-54; E. Kinder, ‘Historical Criticism and Demythologizing, ibid., pp. 55-85; W. Künneth, ‘Bultmann’s Philosophy and the Reality of Salvation’, ibid., pp. 86-119 [all representing orthodox Lutheranism].

P. Althaus. Faith and Fact in the Kerygma of Today. ET by D. Cairns of das sogenannte Kerygma und der historische Jesus (1958). Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press and (as The So-called Kerygma and the Historical Jesus), and Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, 1959.

H. Diem. ‘The Earthly Jesus and the Christ of Faith’, Kerygma and History, ed. C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville, pp. 197-211.

(g) Critics of Bultmann from the ‘left’

K. Jaspers and R. Bultmann. Myth and Christianity. ET by N. Gutermann of Die Frage der Entmythologisierung. New York: Noonday Press, 1958. R. Bultmann, ‘Das Befremdliche des christlichen Glaubens’, ZTK 55 (1958), 185-200 [Bultmann’s final reply to Jaspers].

S. M. Ogden. Christ without Myth. New York: Harper & Bros., and London: Collins, 1961. (Cited from the American edition.) Bultmann reviewed Ogden’s book in JR 42 (1962), 225-7. Ogden went on to comment on the new quest’: ‘Bultmann and the "New Quest"’,JBR 30 (1962), 209-18; and (with Van A. Harvey) ‘How New is the "New Quest of the Historical Jesus ?" ?‘, The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ, ed. C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville, pp. 197-242 [an important essay]. Van A. Harvey further developed a criticism of the ‘new quest’ and a position to the left of Bultmann, ‘The Historical Jesus, the Kerygma, and Christian Faith’, Religion in Life, 33 (1964), 430-50.

(h) The post-Bultmannian debate

E. Kasemann. ‘The Problem of the Historical Jesus’ (ET by W. J. Montague of ‘Das Problem des historischen Jesus’, ZTK 51 [1954], 125-53 [= E. Käsemann, Exegetische Versuche und Besinnungen I (1960), 187- 214]), Essays on New Testament Themes. (Studies in Biblical Theology 41 [London: SCM Press, 1964]), pp. 15-47.

G. Bornkamm. Jesus of Nazareth. ET by Irene and Fraser McLuskey with James M. Robinson of Jesus von Nazareth (1959). New York: Harper & Bros., and London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1960. ‘Glaube und Geschichte in den Evangelien’, Der historische Jesus und der kerygmatische Christus, ed. H. Ristow and K. Matthiae (Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1961), pp. 281-8. ‘Die Bedeutung des historischen Jesus für den Glauben’, Die Frage nach dem historischen Jesus, ed. P. Rieger (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1962), pp. 57-71. ‘The Problem of the Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ’, Studia Evangelica III (Texte und Untersuchungen 88 [Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1964]), 33-44.

H. Braun. ‘Der Sinn der neutestamentlichen Christologie’, ZTK 54 (1957), 341-77 = H. Braun, Gesammelte Studien cum Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1962), pp. 243-82. ‘The Significance of Qumran for the Problem of the Historical Jesus’, The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ, ed. C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville, pp. 69-78.

H. Conzelmann. ‘Jesus Christus’, RGG III (1959), 619-53 especially 648-51. ‘The Method of the Life-of-Jesus Research’, The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ, ed. C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville, 54-68. ‘Jesus von Nazareth und der Glaube an den Auferstandenen’, Der historische Jesus und der kerygmatische Christus, ed. H. Ristow and K. Matthiae (Berlin: Evangelische Verlag, 1961), pp. 188-99. At this point Conzelmann moved to the University of Gottingen and there, in his inaugural lecture, announced that he found himself in complete agreement with the position of Bultmann as stated in the essay ‘The Primitive Christian Kerygma and the Historical Jesus’ and would therefore take no further part in the discussion.

James M. Robinson. A New Quest of the Historical Jesus. (Studies in Biblical Theology 25.) London: SCM Press, 1959. ‘The Formal Structure of Jesus’ Message’, Current Issues in New Testament Interpretation, ed. W. Klassen and G. F. Snyder (New York: Harper & Bros., and London: SCM Press, 1962), pp. 91-110. [A revised version of the book, incorporating the material in the essay, was published in German as Kerygma und historischer Jesus (Zurich: Zwingli Verlag, 1960). A further revision of the German edition is in preparation.] ‘The Recent Debate on the "New Quest"’, JBR 30 (1962), 198-208.

Although the work of Robinson is closely related to that of the Germans, there is a difference between them. They are discussing the question of the historical Jesus; he is engaged in the new quest of the historical Jesus. This is, however, only true of his book and of the position he there advocates. In his essay, ‘The Recent Debate . . .‘, he abandons the really distinctive element in his own position and takes up one much nearer to theirs.

(j) The ‘New Hermeneutic’

G. Ebeling. The Nature of Faith. ET by R. G.Smith of Das Wesen des christlichen Glaubens (1959). London: Collins, and Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1961. Word and Faith. ET by J. W. Leitch of Wart und Glaube, 1960. London: SCM Press, and Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1963. Theologie und Verkündigung. (Hermeneutische Untersuchungen zur Theologie I.) Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1962 ‘Hermeneutik’, RGG III (1959), 242-62.

James M. Robinson. ‘Neo-Liberalism’, Interpretation 15 (1961), 484-91. [A review of Ebeing’s Das Wesen des christlichen Glaubens.])

E. Fuchs. Studies of the Historical Jesus. ET by A. Scobie of Zur Frage nach dem historischen Jesus (Gesammelte Aufsätze II [1960]). (Studies in Biblical Theology 42.) London: SCM Press, 1964. The New Hermeneutic, ed. James M. Robinson and John B. Cobb. (New Frontiers in Theology 2.) New York: Harper & Row, 1964. [Particular attention should be paid to the introductory essay by Robinson, ‘Hermeneutic since Barth’, a brilliant report of the discussion.]

E. Jüngel. Paulus und Jesus. (Hermeneutische Untersuchungen zur Theologie 2.) Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1962, 1964.

James M. Robinson. ‘The New Hermeneutic at Work’, Interpretation 18 (1964), 347-59. [A review of Jüngel’s book.]

Bibliographical Sources

Further bibliographical information can be obtained from the standard bibliographical sources. These are as follows:

(a) Sources giving an abstract of the material

Internationale Zeitschriftenschau für Bibelwissenschaft und Grenzgebiete. Düsseldorf: Patmos-Verlag, 1952-

New Testament Abstracts. Weston College, Weston, Massachusetts, 1956-

Religious and Theological Abstracts. 301 South College Street, Myerstown, Pennsylvania, 1957-

(b) Sources simply listing the material

Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses. Elenchus Bibliographicus. Louvain University, 1924-

Biblica. Elenchus Bibliographicus Biblica. Pontifical Biblical Institute, Rome, 1920-

Index to Religious Periodical Literature. American Theological Library Association, 1949-

Scripta Recenter Edita. Nijmegen, Netherlands: Bestel Centrale V.S.K.B., 1959-

In addition, a number of journals feature bibliographical information. The two most important are:

Theologische Literaturzeitung, 1876-

Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft, 1900-

Chapter 5: The Significance of Knowledge of the Historical Jesus and His Teaching

Most books on the teaching of Jesus have simply assumed that the results of the historical-critical discussion of that teaching were significant to Christian faith. It is not only that the significance of Jesus in the cultural history of the world guarantees interest in the reconstruction of what he actually taught, as might be the case with, say, Socrates; but a significance over and beyond that is assumed, at any rate for Christians, because of the nature of Christian faith itself. So, for example, T. W. Manson claimed that ‘. . . if God did in fact speak to us through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus it is vitally important to know as fully and as accurately as possible what sort of life and death and resurrection became the medium of divine revelation’, (T. W. Manson, ‘The Life of Jesus: Some Tendencies in Present-day Research’, The Background of the New Testament and its Eschatology, ed. W. D. Davies and D. Daube (Cambridge: University Press, 1954), p.221) and wrote a series of brilliant books on Jesus, and especially on his teaching. He assumed that the study of the teaching of Jesus ‘. . . has an independent interest of its own and a definite interest of its own and a definite task of its own, namely, that we use every resource we possess of knowledge, of historical imagination, and of religious insight to the one end of transporting ourselves back into the centre of the greatest crisis in the world’s history, to look as it were through the eyes of Jesus and to see God and man, heaven and earth, life and death, as he saw them, and to find, if we may, in that vision something which will satisfy the whole man in mind and heart and will’. (T. W. Manson, Teaching of Jesus, pp. 5f.)

Today both of these things would be questioned: it is no longer self-evident that the historical Jesus is, in fact, the central concern of Christian faith, and it may no longer be assumed that the major aspect of that faith is to follow the dictates, encouragements and challenges of the teaching of that Jesus.

To understand the true nature of our problem, we must set it in its historical perspective and explore the whole discussion of the ‘question of the historical Jesus’, especially the very vigorous discussion of the last ten or fifteen years, but also something of that which has been going on continually ever since the Enlightenment.

In one respect the question of the historical Jesus is as old as Christian faith itself, for Christian faith is, by definition, faith in Jesus Christ: there our problem begins. Jesus is the name of a historical figure: Jesus bar Joseph from Nazareth, whereas Christ is a transhistorical title: the one appointed by God for the salvation of mankind. Here lies our problem: How are these two things related to one another in the one person? In the ancient world this was already something of a difficult question to answer. The world of Hellenism could think readily enough of ‘divine men’, of ‘heavenly redeemers, but found it hard to think of these as also human. Hence, the rise of Docetism in which Jesus Christ was held to be only apparently human; in which, so to speak, the ‘Christ’ had swallowed up the ‘Jesus’. The world of ancient Judaism, on the other hand, could think of divinely inspired figures, of men anointed by God, but these were always strictly human figures, an influence which made itself felt in early Christianity and produced Ebionitism, a form of the faith in which Jesus Christ was entirely human, in which the Jesus had swallowed up the Christ. But the Christian Church branded both these opinions as heresies and characteristically maintained that Jesus Christ was both . . . and . . .: both human and divine, both historical and transhistorical.

Also characteristic of Christian faith is that unique literary form: the gospel. The gospels, and more particularly the synoptic gospels, are unique in their conscious combination of historical and transhistorical elements, to use our current jargon: in their combination of historical report and kerygmatic Christology. Religious literature in general tends either to be basically historical narrative, interwoven with elements of interpretation due to later insights, overlaid with legend, but consciously intended to be historical; or to be pure myth: a concept clothed in narrative form, and consciously only clothed in that form. The synoptic gospels, however, are both of these things at the same time -- we would claim consciously so -- and, as such, characteristic of the unique element in Christian faith.

The history of the discussion of the question of the historical Jesus is the history of a series of attempts to do justice to the unique characteristic of Christian faith. The problem comes into focus with the Enlightenment and the rise of the historical sciences, for here we have the establishment of the concept of history in what we may call its ‘modern sense’, i.e. as ‘what actually happened’, the ‘wie es eigentlich gewesen ist’. With this, the historical Jesus becomes the man Jesus, ‘as he actually was’, the Jesus who may be the subject of historical critical research, Jesus as he may be known as the result of that research.

The immediate consequence of this, so far as an understanding of the gospels and of Jesus was concerned, was the controversy between the English Deists and their opponents. The Deists characteristically claimed Jesus as an example of rational humanity and understood the gospels as historical, availing themselves of all kinds of rationalistic explanations of the various phenomena, such as apparent miracle, in them. Their opponents strenuously resisted this, arguing for the reality of the supernatural at the historical level and for the understanding of Jesus as a divine-human figure. This controversy now no longer concerns us in any detail; we must simply note that this is where our problem begins.

More important to us is the work of H. S. Reimarus (1694-1768), a professor of oriental languages at a Gymnasium in Hamburg, who, under the influence of the English Deists, wrote a four-thousand-page manuscript Apologie oder Schutzschrift für die vernünftiger Verehrer Gottes, a defense of the deistic approach to religion, which he refrained from publishing. G. E. Lessing (1729-81), a leading figure in the German Enlightenment, found the manuscript in the library at Wolfenbüttel, on his appointment there as librarian in 1770, and published parts of it as ‘Wolfenbüttel Fragments by an Unnamed Author’ between 1774 and 1778. There are seven of these fragments, and the two most important to our purpose are the sixth and seventh: ‘Ûber die Auferstehungsgeschichte’ (‘Concerning the Resurrection Story’) and ‘Vom Zwecke Jesu und seiner Jünger’ (‘On the purpose of Jesus and that of his Disciples’). In these Reimarus attempts a rationalistic reconstruction of the history of the beginnings of Christianity, in which Jesus is an unsuccessful political messianic pretender, and the disciples disappointed charlatans who, rather than go back to working for a living after Jesus’ failure, invent the whole of early Christian faith and steal the body of Jesus so as to have an empty tomb to support their story of resurrection. In this way, Reimarus seeks to discredit both the historical Jesus, an unsuccessful messianic pretender, and the Christ of the gospels, a product of the disciples’ fantasy, and so leave the way clear for a rational worship of God free from the delusion of a revealed religion.

The important thing about Reimarus, however, is not his conscious purpose, nor his reconstruction of earliest Christian history, but the way in which he is able to show, in instance after instance, that the gospel narratives may not be understood as historical accounts of actual events, but must be recognized as the product of conceptions arrived at subsequent to the events which they purport to narrate. True, Reimarus is a hostile historian, thinking in terms of delusion and fantasy, but he is none the less a brilliant historian, and his instinct is surer than his own conscious purpose. So he is able to take the first step on the way to understanding the essential nature of the gospels, by recognizing the determinative character of the influence of early Christian conceptions on the narratives. In one other respect also his instinct is sure: he interprets both the purpose of Jesus and that of his disciples in terms of Jewish messianic conceptions, and in this way puts his finger on eschatology as a key element in both the ministry of Jesus and the life of the early Church. In this he was to be shown to be absolutely correct, some two hundred years later!

Reimarus was a historian, but his work was published by a philosophically minded man of letters, Lessing, who thereafter found himself under attack from the orthodoxy of his day, especially that of Hauptpastor Goetze of the city of Hamburg. In the course of the subsequent controversy Lessing developed a viewpoint that later became very influential, namely, that faith cannot be grounded either on a book regarded as inspired or on facts regarded as historical. He himself regarded faith as dependent on reason and propounded his famous dictum: ‘Zufällige Geschichtswahrheiten können der Beweis von notwendigen Vernunftswahrheiten nie werden’ (The accidental truths of history can never become the necessary proofs of reason). With Glaube (faith) substituted for Vernunft (reason) this is a viewpoint widely accepted in our current discussion.

After Reimarus and Lessing, the next important figure in the discussion from our perspective is that stormy petrel, David Friedrich Strauss (1808-74). A theologian and philosopher, he arrived in Tübingen in 1832 to take up a post as Repetent (instructor) in the theological Stift (a hall of residence with instructional and tutorial facilities). As a philosopher he was an ardent Hegelian, and from his arrival he exercised for three semesters the traditional right of a theological Repetent to lecture on philosophy, lecturing enthusiastically and successfully as an apostle of Hegel. However, the philosophical faculty was less than enthusiastic about his success and forced him to give up his lectures. Stung by this, he shut himself up in the Repetentenzimmer and gave himself to a task he had had in mind since having heard Schleiermacher lecture on the Life of Christ in Berlin in 1831: the writing of a critical life of Christ. He worked in a combative spirit, and with the rapidity of genius, and in 1835 and 1836 published the first and second volumes respectively of his two-volume Leben Jesu, kritisch bearbeitet, with a total of 1,476 pages of text.

The book made him famous and for ever closed all academic doors to him, for it was received with exclamations of horror, and there began a process of academic persecution which was to follow him all his life through. His subsequent life and work have been graphically described by Albert Schweitzer in his Quest of the Historical Jesus (pp. 68-120) and need not concern us. What must concern us is his contribution to our discussion: the introduction of the concept of myth into the consideration of the gospel narratives.

Strauss’s concept of myth has been very influential among New Testament scholars. He uses myth in the sense of a narrative giving expression to religious concepts, whether derived from Judaism or Hellenism, from the Old Testament or Christian experience. His methodology in his book is to discuss the gospel narratives in sequence, thoroughly and carefully, and he is able to show that such myth is a major factor in the narratives. His discussion is such as thoroughly to discredit both the supernaturalistic approach to the gospel narratives, i.e. the understanding of them as historical as they stand, and the rationalistic approach, i.e. the understanding of them as historical after the miraculous element in them has been explained away. Having shown that the gospels are essentially purveyors of a Christ myth, Strauss concludes his work with a last chapter in which he presents Jesus as a religious genius who achieves in himself the unity with the Father which, as unity between God and man, is the goal of the religious development of humanity. Humanity will learn from this example presented in a form it can grasp. This is Hegelian idealism applied to Christology, and its relationship to the critical work on the gospels is that the destructive effect of that criticism clears the ground, so to speak, for the planting of this Hegelian seed. The apostle of Hegel is refusing to be silenced!

The long-term effectiveness of Strauss’s work, however, has not been in terms of a growth of a Hegelian-Strauss Christology, but in terms of a growth of understanding of the gospels as myth and saga. Reimarus taught us to see the gospels as products of the conceptions of earliest Christianity; Strauss opened our eyes to the form in which these conceptions are clothed, the form, above all, of myth.

Before continuing to review the discussion as it has been carried on within Protestant theological circles, we may perhaps be permitted a brief excursus into the realm of Roman Catholic biblical scholarship, for Strauss’s book produced an immediate reaction from a Roman Catholic New Testament professor in which what has come to be, to the best of our knowledge, the standard Roman Catholic viewpoint, was developed. We are referring to J. E. Kuhn, Das Leben Jesu, wissenschaftlich bearbeitet, published in 1838.

Kuhn argues that the Enlightenment view of history is inadequate, and inappropriate to the gospels, but whereas Strauss turned to the concept of myth to explain the phenomena of the gospels, Kuhn argues that there are two kinds of history: history and sacred history. History is concerned with cause and effect; its characteristic question is: ‘Whence?’ Sacred history, on the other hand, is concerned with end and purpose; its characteristic question is: ‘Whither?’ So we have, we may say, an anthropocentric view of history on the one hand and a theocentric view on the other. The gospels represent the second view of history. They are not concerned with the ordinary history of Jesus bar Joseph from Nazareth, but with the sacred history of Jesus the Messiah of God, and to this end they select and present material from the tradition available to them. So the transhistorical elements in their stories are not to be understood as myth, but as the means whereby the sacred-historical aspects of the story are revealed within the history itself. Kuhn reaches the point of recognizing the gospels as kerygma, i.e. as proclamations of Jesus the Messiah in his significance for faith; but whereas the later Protestant view was that the kerygmatic element was in the service of a post-Easter view of Jesus as risen Lord, read back into the narratives by the later community, Kuhn’s view is that this element was present in the tradition from the very beginning, part of the gospel before the gospels, part of the message of the apostles from the very first days, part of the very fabric of the ministry of Jesus itself.

A hundred years ahead of its time in many ways, Kuhn’s book represents a view that has maintained itself in Roman Catholic circles. So, for example, the Roman Catholic reaction to form criticism has always been extremely cautious, emphasizing the limits that must be set to this kind of enquiry, and the authority and reliability of the apostles as ‘eyewitnesses and ministers of the word’. Even when recognizing the fact that the Church has modified the tradition of the ministry of Jesus, the tendency is always to insist that the tradition is basically historical, and the modification and reinterpretation was made necessary by the changing circumstances (for example, to apply the teaching on marriage and divorce in Mark 10 to Roman marital conditions), and that it does not do violence to the original. We would have two criticisms of this view: (1) form criticism is bursting the bounds here set to it, and is showing that gospel narratives and sayings can be purely and entirely products of the early Church; and (2) the view involves an unnecessary capitulation to the very view of history it sets out to controvert, since it seems to agree that there must be a ‘something actually happened’ quality to the gospel myths for them to be ‘true’. But there are signs that we may be approaching a meeting of minds here, because the recently published Roman Catholic Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche has articles on ‘Jesus Christus’ and ‘Leben-Jesu-Forschung’ which come very near to what might have been written by a contemporary Protestant scholar such as Conzelmann or Bornkamm.

After this brief excursus, let us return to the discussion on Protestant theology. As was to be expected, the work of Reimarus and Strauss produced extensive reactions, including the next major development to concern us: the rise of the liberal Life of Christ research (Leben-Jesu-Forschung). Liberal critical scholarship, coming into full flower at the time of Strauss and thereafter, was not prepared to accept a rendering of the gospel texts into a Christ myth and then the dissolution of that myth into a speculative Christology. Rather, it sought a kernel of history in the narratives, which would stand the test of criticism and could become the basis for faith. Quite typically, H. Weinel regarded Strauss as having two fundamental weaknesses. Although he accepted the synoptic account of Jesus’ teaching as largely authentic, he made no attempt to construct a picture of Jesus from that teaching, and, although he quite properly criticized the element of myth in the gospels, he then went on to replace that dogmatic mythology of the Church with a conceptual mythology of his own. ‘We should not concern ourselves with conceptions and allegories, when we have the opportunity to find a historical person, the one who has had the greatest influence in the world. And since the one to whom we are drawing near was a religious genius, we should learn to understand and experience religion from him.’ (H. Weinel, Jesus im neunzehnten Jahrhundert [Tübingen: J.C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1904], p.44.) This epitomizes the concern of liberal scholarship, namely, to establish by historical-critical methodology the authentic teaching of Jesus and the historical core of the gospel narratives concerning his life, to recapture the person mirrored in that teaching and revealed in that life, to accept that person and that teaching as the concern and object of faith, and to seek to imitate him and to learn from him. It was knowledge of the historical Jesus, the reassurance of this human historical personality within the gospel story, which constrained men to say ‘Jesus is Lord.’ (So D. M. Baillie, a contemporary representative of the liberal position, God Was in Christ [London: Faber and Faber, and New York: Scribner’s 1948], p. 52.) Liberal scholarship, therefore, accepted the full burden of historical critical scholarship without hesitation and without reserve, believing that the historical core of the gospel narratives, when reached, would reveal Jesus as he actually was, and that he would then be revealed as worthy of all honor, respect and imitation, revealed as the founder of a faith which consisted in following him and his teaching closely and purposefully.

This liberal position on the question of our knowledge of the historical Jesus and the relationship of that knowledge to Christian faith is too well known to need further elaboration, so let us turn at once to the combination of theological and critical considerations and external historical circumstances which led to its downfall in Germany. As we consider this, however, we must be conscious that a downfall in Germany does not necessarily mean a collapse elsewhere, and that, as a matter of fact, the position was maintained in Britain and America for another fifty years, and still is so maintained, although now only to a very limited extent. So our concern is not only with the history of its fall in Germany, but also with the factors revealed in that history which, we would claim, are also valid factors in the British or American situations.

The first thing to be mentioned in this connection is always Albert Schweitzer’s brilliant and excitingly written Von Reimarus zu Wrede (ET The Quest of the Historical Jesus), a history of the liberal Life of Christ research which is now generally recognized as having been also its funeral oration (Bornkamm). The core of Schweitzer’s argument is that the liberal quest of the historical Jesus was not historical enough. Instead of following through with their historical research to the end, the liberal scholars always stopped at a point at which they were able to present a Jesus who was, in fact, an image of the scholar himself; or of the scholar’s ideals. To use a British image: a Cromwell without warts! If the research is carried through to the end, however, we find a Jesus who was an apocalyptic fanaticist. Disappointed in his expectation of the irruption of God into the world’s history to bring that history to an end in the very year he began his ministry, this Jesus was deluded enough to attempt to force the hand of God by his own sufferings, which he conceived to be the ‘messianic woes’ which would prove to be the beginning of the End. This historical Jesus is necessarily a stranger and a foreigner to us and to our time, and the recognition of this fact sets us free to follow the dictates in our own consciences of the spirit of Christ released into the world by the death of the historical Jesus.

The significance of Schweitzer’s work as a long-term contribution to the discussion is that he succeeded in his demonstration of the fact that the liberals had failed to reach the historical Jesus, that they had, indeed, tended to read their ideals into this figure, and that they had spectacularly missed the eschatology. Subsequent attempts to carry on the ‘quest’ in the sense of reaching a historical Jesus who would be the concern of faith have had to make strenuous attempts to guard themselves against the weaknesses which Schweitzer had inexorably exposed. (The most important example of this is J. Jeremias, The Problem of the Historical Jesus [ET by N. Perrin of Das Problem des historischen Jesus. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1964], pp. 15-20.) But it is questionable whether it is, in fact, possible to avoid the ultimate weakness: the tendency to find a Christ of a liberal or personal faith when in theory one is seeking the historical Jesus. Even if steps are taken to avoid psychologizing, to give due emphasis to the eschatology, etc., the fundamental weakness remains the fact that the deliberate elevation of a historically reconstructed figure to the central concern of faith must inevitably lead to the confusion of two quite separate functions: the reconstruction of a historical figure and what we shall call the construction of a faith-image. A theological tradition which ‘believes in Jesus’ encourages the believer to construct the faith-image of this Jesus, an image made up as a result of many different influences: the preaching and teaching of the Church, the reading of the gospels and of devotional literature, the lives and ideals of influential individuals, and so on. Significant in this process can be also the results of historical critical research, mediated through the books of influential liberal scholars. In itself this is a wholly natural, and, indeed, wholly admirable process, and the liberal faith-image is altogether excellent, as a faith-image. The difficulty was that the liberal critical scholar was engaged at one and the same time in constructing a faith-image and reconstructing the historical image, the one as a believer and the other as a scholar, and this led to the confusion between these two tasks to which Schweitzer, in effect, pointed, and which was, indeed, unavoidable. In the very nature of the case, the liberal Jesus of history became the Christ of a liberal kerygma, and vice versa.

The second critic of the liberal quest who must concern us is Martin Kähler, whose work Der sogennante historische Jesus und der geschichtliche, biblische Christus (ET The So-called Historical Jesus and the Historic, Biblical Christ) was practically ignored at the time of its publication in 1892, but has since been recognized as a major contribution to the discussion. In 1892 the liberal movement was at its height, Schweitzer’s work was still fourteen years in the future, and the discussion was between, on the one hand, an orthodoxy still claiming the gospels as historical documents and the Christ of the Church’s faith as a historical figure, and, on the other hand, a liberalism claiming the gospels as non-historical in their present form, but as capable of being used as historical sources, sources for the reconstruction of a historical Jesus to be distinguished from the Christ of the gospels. Both sides had capitulated completely to the post-Enlightenment view of history, and they had accepted the conclusion that the object of Christian faith must be historical in this sense. To the one the historical Jesus must be found directly in the gospels, to the other he must be reconstructed from them; but to both he is the object of Christian faith. Kähler, however, now challenged this basic assumption. He regarded himself as arguing for orthodoxy against liberalism and he claimed, (1) that the gospels are not and cannot be sources for the life of Jesus, and (2) that the Christ of the gospels is the only concern of Christian faith, not the historical Jesus. He distinguished between the historical Jesus, the Jesus known as a result of historical research, and the historic Christ, the Christ of the gospels in his significance for the faith of later generations, and in so doing established the distinction between der historische Jesus and der geschichtliche Christus which has come to play such a role in the contemporary theological discussion. Although written on behalf of orthodoxy, the ultimate effect of Käihler’s work was radical both as over against orthodoxy and as over against liberalism. In effect, his insights lead to a challenge to orthodoxy to give up the myth of claiming that the Christ of the gospels was a historical figure and to content itself instead with recognizing that he is a historic figure, admittedly known to us only from Christian preaching but in any case the only legitimate concern of Christian faith. At the same time they challenged liberalism to give up the myth that it was possible to reconstruct a recognizable figure from the gospels used as historical sources. They are products of early Christian preaching and do not contain the necessary material; for example, they have no account of Jesus’ personal development, and attempts to supply this material by analogy from other historical figures are inappropriate to the subject. In any case, again, the historical Jesus is not the concern of faith.

At the time of its publication, Kähler’s challenge fell upon deaf ears. One suspects that the reason for this was that in 1892 neither orthodoxy nor Liberalism was prepared to abandon Historie for Geschichte. But Kähler had pointed the way forward, because it is, in fact, true that the historical Jesus is not directly the concern of faith. Once the modern concept of history was established, and with it the concept of the historical Jesus as the man Jesus ‘as he actually was’, then it became inevitable that it should first be argued that this was the direct and immediate concern of faith, and then recognized that, after all, it was not. Faith is concerned with the risen Lord in his fulfillment and in his significance for later generations, with the historic Christ, and it is to Kähler’s immense credit that he recognized this and was prepared to distinguish between Geschichte and Historie in this connection. Of course, the recognition of the validity of this distinction, and of faith’s concern with Geschichte rather than Historie, means the end of both liberalism and orthodoxy in their nineteenth-century forms, which is why Kähler is so immensely important today. It also means the raising of the question of the relationship between Geschichte and Historie: granted that faith’s immediate concern is with the geschichtliche Christ, what is then the relationship between this figure and the historische Jesus? This is a question with which we are concerned in our current discussion, but before it could be asked a number of other factors had to play their part in the discussion, including the first world war and its aftermath, the rise of form criticism and the coming of Rudolf Bultmann.

The events of 1914-18 effectively ended the reign of liberalism in German theology, because historically speaking liberalism arose in the context of Kulturoptimismus: the sense of progress, the optimism about the social, political and moral possibilities of reform and development in the world, in society, among individuals, which was such a feature of the second half of the nineteenth century. But so far as Germany was concerned, all this came to an end, suddenly and drastically, in the summer of 1914, and the liberal theology related to it could not survive without it. The new times called forth a different understanding of the nature of the Christian faith, epitomized by the rise of Karl Barth, and the liberal concern for the historical Jesus as the object of Christian faith died, because the liberal theologians had no successors in the Germany of the 1920s. The Anglo-Saxon tradition did not have the same drastic experience; in it liberalism was able to live on for another half-century. But the continuing experience of the first half of the twentieth century was not such as to encourage Kulturoptimismus even in Britain and America; in this tradition also liberalism has been, or is being, abandoned in a search for more satisfactory expressions of faith. The relationship between theological liberalism and cultural optimism is, however, by now an old, old story, so let us leave the external historical circumstances and return to more purely academic and theological considerations, of which the next to concern us is the rise of form criticism in the 1920s.

At the academic level form criticism is the single most important development in the history of the discussion of our problem, for it provides what must be regarded as the only satisfactory understanding of the nature of the synoptic gospel material -- satisfactory, that is, from the viewpoint of being able to explain the phenomena demonstrably present in the texts themselves. We use the term ‘form criticism’, as always in our work, widely and loosely to describe the approach to the gospels which considers them as products of a process of oral transmission of tradition, that is, to describe the oral process of transmission of a tradition which has been given its present form in response to the needs of the early Church and to express her theological viewpoints, a tradition which was to a large extent created to meet those needs and to express those viewpoints. At this point we do not propose to repeat the arguments for accepting this view of the synoptic tradition which we adduced in our first chapter, but only to repeat our claim that this is the only justifiable view of the nature of that tradition. It must be recognized that the narratives in the synoptic gospels were created to express the theology of the early Church, that they are through and through mythical in Strauss’s sense of the word. It must be recognized, indeed, that there are comparatively few narratives which correspond in any way to events in the ministry of Jesus, and that where such correspondence is to be found, as for example in the baptism or crucifixion narratives, the gospel account has been so influenced by the theological conceptions and understanding of the Church that we can derive little, if any, historical knowledge of that event from those narratives. Even the fact that the baptism or crucifixion are historical events is not to be derived with any certainty from the gospel narratives; it has to be argued on other grounds. With form criticism the original insights of Reimarus and Strauss come into their own, and the possibility of writing a Life of Christ vanishes for ever.

The effect of the demise of liberalism, with its concern for the historical Jesus, and the rise of form criticism, with its confirmation that the gospels can never be sources for a Life of Christ, was to clear the way for an acceptance of the challenge of Martin Kähler. With the effectual disappearance of the historische Jesus from the scene, it was natural to follow Kähler and to concentrate attention on the geschichtliche Christus. So we reach Rudolf Bultmann, whose views are the basis for our current debate. (R. Bultmann, Jesus and the Word [1958]; Theology of the New Testament I [1951]; Primitive Christianity [1956]; ‘New Testament and Mythology’ and ‘A Reply to the Theses of J. Schniewind’ in H. W. Bartsch [ed.], Kerygma and Myth [1953]; ‘The Primitive Christian Kerygma and the Historical Jesus’, in The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ, ed. C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville [1964].

Perhaps the best way to detail Bultmann’s position is in terms of its relationship to that of Martin Kähler, without thereby intending to claim that this relationship is as conscious as our explication will tend to make it appear. There are three particular points at which Bultmann seems to be developing insights to be found in Kähler’s work.

I.There is a distinction between historical Jesus and historic Christ. It is the distinction between the one who proclaimed the Kingdom of God as the imminently expected eschatological act of God and the one who is proclaimed as eschatological act of God. This is Bultmann’s famous distinction between the Proclaimer and the Proclaimed and it should be noted that it includes three elements, all of which are very important to Bultmann.

(a) The distinction between historical Jesus and historic Christ, which is ultimately derived from Martin Kähler.

(b) The introduction of a reference to the eschatological act of God, proclaimed by Jesus in terms of the Kingdom of God and by the early Church in terms of the cross and resurrection of Christ.

(c) The emphasis upon the fact that in the message of Jesus this eschatological act of God is still future, albeit imminent and even now beginning to break in, whereas in the kerygma of the early Church it is already past, although available ever anew as God manifests himself as eschatological event in the kerygma. So Bultmann always maintains that salvation is only a promise in the message of Jesus, but a present reality through the kerygma of the Church.

2. The object of Christian faith is the historic Christ, the Christ of the kerygma, and not the historical Jesus. The Christ present in the kerygma is necessarily distinct from the historical Jesus, above all in what we may call his effectiveness. The historical Jesus did not demand faith in himself; but at the most in his word, especially in his word of proclamation of the imminence of the Kingdom of God, and he did not offer salvation, but only promised it for the future. The kerygma does, however, demand faith in the Christ present in it, and offers salvation now to those who believe in him. Again, the historical Jesus proclaimed the future eschatological event, whereas the kerygmatic Christ is the eschatological event as he confronts the man addressed by the kerygma. The historical Jesus proclaimed a message that was the last word of God before the End; the kerygmatic Christ is the word of God and the End.

At this point we should pause for a moment to note that there is one concept which is decisive for an understanding of Bultmann’s approach to the question of the historical Jesus, and, indeed, of his whole approach to the interpretation of the New Testament: the concept of ‘paradoxical identity’. There is a paradoxical identity of proclamation and saving event as the saving event becomes the saving event for me in the proclamation. There is the paradoxical identity of eschatology and history in the cross, which is at one and the same time historical and eschatological event. This is an absolutely essential paradox. The cross is historical and also necessarily eschatological (so far as Christian faith is concerned). The saving event necessarily combines the ‘thatness’ of Jesus and his cross and the presence of Christ as eschatological event for me in the proclamation.

Lastly on this point we come to the reformation principle ‘by faith alone’ as restated by Kähler, maintained by Bultmann, and generally acceptable in the Germany in which liberal theology was dead and reformation theology in revival: faith as such is necessarily independent of historical facts, even historical facts about Jesus. In practice, today’s assured historical facts tend to become tomorrow’s abandoned historian’s hypotheses, and, in principle, a faith built upon historical fact would not be faith at all but a work. Further, faith is faith in the eschatological act of God in Jesus Christ, but that God has acted in Jesus Christ is not a fact of past history open to historical verification, and this is shown by the way in which the New Testament describes the figure and work of Christ in mythological -- not historical -- terms.

3. The gospels are not and cannot be sources for a Life of Jesus; they are products and embodiments of the preaching of the early Church. Bultmann’s critical studies convinced him that the gospels as such are necessarily concerned with only one historical fact: the ‘thatness’ of Jesus and his cross. That there was a Jesus and that he was crucified is the necessary historical presupposition for the kerygma, the proclamation of the Church. But beyond this the synoptic gospels themselves are uninterested in the historical element as such, since they freely overlay the historical with the mythical, they present much of their material as a historicization of myth, and they make absolutely no attempt to distinguish the historical as such from the mythical. They are a unique combination of historical report and kerygmatic Christology, the purpose of which, however, is proclamation, not historical reporting. This is even more clearly true of Paul and John, both of whom require no more of history than the ‘that’ of the life of Jesus and his crucifixion for their proclamation. So the nature and purpose of the gospels as this is revealed by critical scholarship support Bultmann’s understanding of the significance of the historical Jesus for Christian faith.

In addition to the three things related to Kähler’s work, there is one further element in Bultmann’s thinking that needs to be considered at this point: the significance of the historical Jesus for an individual’s self-understanding, or understanding of existence. Bultmann espouses an existentialist understanding of historiography, whereby the individual enters into dialogue with the past, and is challenged by an understanding of existence (self-understanding) from the past which becomes significant to him in the historicity of his own existence. So in the case of the historical Jesus there is an understanding of existence (self-understanding, not self-consciousness) revealed in his teaching which challenges us in terms of our understanding of our own existence. Hence, Bultmann writes a Jesus book, Jesus and the Word, from this perspective.

Three things, however, must be said at this point:

(a) As the subject of this existentialist historiography Jesus is not unique. A similar study, with similar consequences in terms of a possible challenge to our understanding of existence, could be carried out in connection with any figure from the past for whom we had sources: Socrates the philosopher, or even Attila the Hun, as well as Jesus the Christ.

(b) This historiographical challenge to our self-understanding is not for Bultmann the challenge to faith, not even though the challenge to faith could be, and is, expressed by him in similar existentialistic terminology. He himself stresses the facts that the Jesus of history is not kerygmatic and that his book Jesus and the Word is not kerygma, because the essential aspect of the kerygma is that Christ is present in it as eschatological event, and Christ is not so present in existentialist historiographical studies of the historical Jesus. If he were, then they would cease to be existentialist historiographical studies and become kerygma.

(c) This type of study of Jesus is to be sharply distinguished from the liberal Quest. In the liberal Quest attempts were made to reach, and to understand, the psychology and personality of Jesus (i.e. his self-consciousness) which was an endeavour both impossible (no sources) and illegitimate (use of analogy), whereas in the Bultmann study the concern is with the understanding of existence (self-understanding) revealed in the teaching of Jesus.

We should perhaps attempt to clarify this distinction between self-understanding and self-consciousness which Bultmann makes. It is difficult to grasp, and it becomes important in the post-Bultmannian debate. By self-understanding Bultmann means the understanding to which the self comes concerning the nature of its historical existence. In his History and Eschatology, originally written in English, he often uses the expression in close connection with the untranslatable German word Weltanschauung, and it is to be understood as referring to a person considering the existence which is his and reaching an understanding of it in all its historicity. The actual word in German is Existenzverständnis, and James M. Robinson has properly urged that the English ‘understanding of existence’ should be used to express it. (J. M. Robinson, ‘The New Hermeneutic at Work’, Interpretation 18 [1964], 347-59, esp. 358.) The difficulty lies in grasping the fact that it means the understanding of the self’s own existence, but, at the same time, it does not mean the process of experience, reflection, decision, and so on, by means of which that understanding is reached; that would be self-consciousness. Similarly, it refers to the understanding of existence which an individual comes to have, but it does not refer to the conscious decisions to which this understanding leads and in which it may be expressed; this, again, would be self-consciousness. The self-understanding of Jesus is a legitimate concern for the historian, because it can be deduced from his teaching. The self-consciousness of Jesus, however, is not a legitimate concern, because we have no sources for such knowledge, and when we supply the deficiency by analogy from other historical individuals, we are psychologizing about Jesus.

This position of Bultmann’s on the question of the historical Jesus and his significance for faith has been attacked from three standpoints, one might say: from right, left, and centre.

The attack from the right has been motivated by the conviction that the historical nature of Christian faith or the meaning of the Incarnation necessitates more emphasis upon the actual historical events circa AD 30 than Bultmann will allow. In this camp we find all kinds of strange comrades in arms united in their conviction that the historical events of the ministry of Jesus, in addition to the cross, are necessary to Christian faith. We can find the whole gamut of possibilities from the extreme conservative insisting on the factual historicity of everything from the Virgin Birth to the Resurrection to the old-fashioned liberal to whom only the Jesus reconstructed by historical study can be of significance to faith. Of all the possible names here we will mention only that of our own teacher, the moderately conservative Joachim Jeremias, who deserves to be heard on this point, if only because he has done more than any other single scholar to add to our knowledge of the historical Jesus. He has published a booklet on the question, The Problem of the Historical Jesus. In this he argues that the proclamation is not revelation, but leads to revelation, so that the historical Jesus is the necessary and only presupposition of the kerygma (a play on Bultmann’s famous opening sentence of his Theology of the New Testament), since only the Son of man and his word, by which Jeremias means the historical Jesus and his teaching, can give authority to the proclamation. This is a major issue in the contemporary debate: does Bultmann’s view do less than justice to the historical nature of Christian faith or violence to the Incarnation? Is the historical Jesus as such the necessary ultimate concern to whom the kerygma points? (For further discussion of this position see our review of some more recent works representing it, JR 46 [1966], 396-9.)

The attack from the left has taken the opposite position, namely that Bultmann is inconsistent in his views in that he properly sees Christian faith as a transition from inauthentic to authentic existence, and then illogically maintains a necessary link with the historical Jesus in this process. Surely he should recognize the fact that all he is really saying is that there are those for whom this is true. But there are those for whom the transition can be made in other ways, and there is in particular the existentialist philosopher Karl Jaspers, who debated this issue with Bultmann, (K. Jaspers and R. Bultmann, Myth and Christianity [1958]. R. Bultmann, ‘Das Befremdliche des christlichen Glaubens’, ZTK 55 [1958], 185 -200.) maintaining that the link with the historical Jesus introduces an objective factor into an existential moment where it has no place. Jaspers’s views are actually in one respect reminiscent of liberalism of the Harnack type in that he sees Jesus as an example, an example of the kind of existential relationship to the transcendent which the philosopher seeks for himself. It must be admitted that Jaspers appears to have the better of his immediate argument with Bultmann, Bultmann’s final reply being a three-sentence letter refusing to commit himself further at that time. But he returned to the discussion later, in a quite different context, and then it became obvious that he regarded himself as committed by the New Testament itself to a necessary link with the historical Jesus, for he could only reiterate his major point, that Christian faith as such is committed to the paradoxical assertion that a historical event within time, Jesus and his cross, is the eschatological event, and support it by exegesis of New Testament texts, especially Paul and John. Thus, we come to the unbridgeable gap between the New Testament theologian and the theistic existentialist, and we find that it is an old issue returning in a new form: is the historical Jesus necessarily anything more than an example we seek to imitate in his worship of the Father (Harnack) or in his breakthrough to true existential self-understanding (Jaspers)?

A similar point becomes evident in the interchange between Bultmann and another of his critics from the left, Schubert Ogden. (Schubert M. Ogden, Christ Without Myth [New York: Harper & Bros., 1961]) Here it turns upon Bultmann’s existentialistic understanding of Christian faith as authentic existence. Bultmann had always contended that authentic existence was a ‘possibility in principle’ (ontological possibility) for man outside of Christian faith, but a ‘possibility in fact’ (ontic possibility) only within that faith. Ogden criticized this as inconsistent, arguing that the possibility in principle is always a possibility in fact because of the primordial love of God, ‘which is, indeed, decisively revealed in Jesus the Christ, but is by no means simply to be identified with him’. (Ibid., p. 143.) The point is that this love is manifest to men in every aspect of life, not only in the Christ-event.

To be sure, the church stands by the claim that the decisive manifestation of this divine word is none other than the human word of Jesus of Nazareth and thence of its own authentic proclamation. But the point of this claim is not that the Christ is manifest only in Jesus and nowhere else, but that the word addressed to men everywhere, in all the events of their lives, is none other than the word spoken in Jesus and in the preaching and sacraments of the church (ibid., p. 156).

Bultmann replied to this further attempt to abandon the particularity of Christian faith as follows: (In a review of Ogden’s book, JR 42 [1962], 225-7, Quotation from p. 226.)

Christian faith contends that the gift of radical freedom is the gift of God’s grace. And Christian faith speaks about the grace of God not as an idea but as an act of God: an act which reveals itself as grace in Jesus Christ, that is, in a historical event. This assertion cannot be proved by philosophy; indeed, it is a stumbling block, a scandalon for rational thinking. And therefore I must ask Ogden whether what he calls the inconsistency of my proposal is not rather the legitimate and necessary character of what the New Testament calls the stumbling block? [Italics ours.]

The next major development in the discussion came, so to speak, from the centre, from a pupil of Bultmann’s, Ernst Käsemann, who, in 1953 raised the question as to whether or not Bultmann was, in fact, doing justice to the New Testament. In his essay, ‘Das Problem des historischen Jesus’, (Originally published in ZTK 51 [1954], 125-53, and then reprinted in Käsemann’s collected essays, Exegetische Versuche und Besinnungen I [1960], 187-214. ET in E. Käsemann, Essays on New Testament Themes [1964], pp. 15-47.) he sounded a warning about the danger of a position in which there was not a real and material continuity between the historical Jesus and the kerygmatic Christ: the danger of falling into Docetism, or of having faith degenerate into a mere mysticism or moralism. But the important thing about the essay is not his warning in itself; but the fact that Käsemann was able to support it by observing that the synoptic gospels are more concerned with the pastness of Jesus and his ministry than Bultmann’s position, built largely on an exposition of John and Paul, would allow. Not that the gospels are uniform in their understanding of the relationship of the past ministry and present life in faith, far from it. They agree that the ‘once’ of Jesus’ ministry has become the ‘once for all’ of revelation (we may put it: the chronos of Jesus has become the kairos of faith), but the relationship between the ‘now’ and the ‘then is a problem for them, and a problem for which they find their several different solutions.

The really important thing about Käsemann’s essay is this challenge to a consideration of the synoptic tradition, for the problem of the historical Jesus is ultimately a problem for us because of the material in the synoptic gospels and the Acts of the Apostles. If our New Testament consisted of the gospel of John, the epistles and the apocalypse we would have no problem, for we would have nothing in any way relevant to what we would call the historical Jesus. If it were not for the synoptic gospels and Acts, Bultmann’s position would be unassailable; the remainder of the New Testament certainly has no interest in what we would call the historical Jesus, apart from the ‘thatness’ of this Jesus and his cross. So the discussion ought to have turned to an intensive consideration of the synoptic tradition, especially since we now had form criticism to guide us as to the true nature of that tradition, but unfortunately it did this only in part. The issues which were taken up most immediately and most vigorously in the subsequent discussion were, rather, those of the question of continuity between the Christ of the kerygma and the historical Jesus, and of the significance of an existentialist view of history in connection with the ‘problem of the historical Jesus’.

The final point in Käsemann’s essay is, in effect, an exploration of our actual (i.e. post-form-critical) knowledge of the historical Jesus, in order to show that we are able to say that the messianic claims of Jesus explicit in the kerygma are already implicit in the teaching of Jesus. So the continuity between the historical Jesus and the kerygmatic Christ is already more than merely chronological; it is material in that it is a continuity between implicit and explicit messiahship. Actually, Bultmann himself had used the term ‘implicit Christology’ in connection with the message of the historical Jesus, so it might be said that Käsemann was only bringing out an element already present in Bultmann’s position. But the subsequent discussion showed that Bultmann was concerned to minimize this element of continuity for the following reasons: (1) he was fearful that historical research might come to be used to legitimate the kerygma, which would be a denial of its nature as kerygma; and (2) he insisted that there can be no real material continuity, because the kerygma lays major emphasis upon a particular understanding of the death of Jesus, whereas we can never know how the historical Jesus understood his own death, and must always face the possibility that he simply broke down before it. (R. Bultmann, ‘The Primitive Christian Kerygma and the Historical Jesus’, The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ, pp. 15-42.)

This question of the continuity between historical Jesus and kerygmatic Christ became a major aspect of the discussion, other Bultmann Schüler adding their particular contributions, until eventually it resulted in the development of a wholly new position: the ‘new hermeneutic’ of Ernst Fuchs and Gerhard Ebeling. (The New Hermeneutic, ed. J. Cobb and James M. Robinson [1964]. G. Ebeling, The Nature of Faith [1961]; Word and Faith [1963]; Theologie und Verkundigung [1962]. E. Fuchs, Studies of the Historical Jesus [1964]. E. Jüngel, Paulus und Jesus [1964].James M. Robinson, ‘Neo-Liberalism’, Interpretation 15 [1961], 484-91; ‘The New Hermeneutic at Work’, ibid. 18 [1964], 347-59.)

To understand the ‘new hermeneutic’ it helps to recognize that it grew out of the exploration of the continuity between the historical Jesus and the kerygmatic Christ, which, of course, in view of form criticism, is necessarily a question of the continuity between the message of Jesus, to the limited extent that we know it, and the kerygma proclaiming the Christ. Fuchs and Ebeling brought to this exploration the conception of a ‘word-event’ (Wortgeschehen or Sprachereignis), i.e. a reality which is manifest in language itself (with obvious dependence on Heidegger’s ‘language is the house of being’), and in particular the conception of faith as ‘word-event’. In the message of Jesus, faith is manifest as such a word-event because Jesus himself by virtue of a decision he himself had made over against the reality of God and the possibility of his own fate, is the witness of faith. Since he is the witness to faith, faith comes to word, i.e. it is manifest as word-event, in him, and particularly in his message. The continuity with the kerygmatic Christ is that faith is also manifest as word-event in the kerygma, and this continuity is particularly strong in that the believer, in responding to the kerygma, actually echoes the original decision which Jesus had made. So the witness of faith becomes the ground of faith, and faith, as word-event, is the element of continuity between the message of Jesus and the kerygma of the early Church.

For Fuchs and Ebeling, we may say, faith comes to word or language in Jesus for those who heard his message and for subsequent generations in the Church’s message about him. This is the continuity of proclamation and the continuity of faith coming to word or language in proclamation for the believer. So far as we are concerned, the primary source in which we hear the word being proclaimed is the New Testament; thus, the New Testament is to be interpreted in such a manner as to facilitate the coming of faith to word or language for us through its words. A true existentialist interpretation of the New Testament is one through which faith comes to be word- or language-event for us, and the hermeneutic by means of which this is to be achieved is the ‘new hermeneutic’.

In this new and interesting development, hermeneutic has, in effect, taken the place of kerygma and a concern for an existentialist interpretation of the kerygma has been modified by a concern for the historical Jesus until it has become a concern for an existentialist interpretation of the New Testament -- now seen not as a source book for knowledge of the historical Jesus, as in the older liberalism, but as a means whereby that faith which came to word or language in Jesus may come to be word- or language-event for us. James M. Robinson appropriately suggests that this position be designated ‘Neo-liberalism

This bald summary is only a caricature of this most recent development, but we hope it is sufficient to show that we do, indeed, have here a new theological position. By pushing a Lutheran emphasis upon faith to an extreme, Fuchs and Ebeling have arrived at a point at which faith is practically personified. By taking a Lutheran emphasis upon the Word to a similar extreme, they have achieved a concept of faith coming into being or being manifested in ‘word’ or ‘language’, and so have made a new use of the parallel between the message of Jesus and the message about Jesus. By being prepared to think of decisions which Jesus himself made and in which the believer imitates him, they have reached a point at which they are restating a position which Schleiermacher and Harnack would surely have recognized, despite the difference in conceptualization.

Bultmann has reacted very sharply against this development, which he accuses of psychologizing about Jesus in the manner of an already discredited liberalism. (In his essay ‘The primitive Christian Kerygma and the Historical Jesus’, The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ, esp. p. 33.) In the light of Bultmann’s criticism Ebeling carefully restated his position, (In his Theologie und Verkündigung, pp. 19-82; 119-25.) making the following points:

1. It is not a case of psychologizing about Jesus but of recognizing that a person is necessarily involved in his word, that the message necessarily involves the messenger, that a message challenging to faith necessarily involves a witnessing to faith on the part of the messenger.

2. Bultmann himself speaks of the Proclaimer becoming the Proclaimed. In the new terminology Ebeling is using, this is expressed as the witness to faith becoming the ground of faith.

3. The kerygma as such is kerygma by act of God, but it needs historical knowledge for its proper interpretation. Since it identifies kerygmatic Christ and historical Jesus, knowledge of the historical Jesus may properly be used to interpret the kerygma.

It is clear that we are only at the beginning of what promises to be a most lively discussion.

The second of the issues raised in the discussion sparked by the publication of Käsemann’s essay was that of the significance of an existentialist historiography in connection with our problem. This arose in connection with the concern for parallels between the message of Jesus and the message about him, parallels between the proclamation of Jesus and the kerygma of the early Church. Käsemann had pointed to the parallel between the implicit Christology of the message of Jesus and the explicit Christology of the kerygma, and the subsequent exploration of such parallels became a major feature of what came to be called the ‘new quest of the historical Jesus’. We might mention particularly the work of Herbert Braun, who argued that throughout the New Testament, from the message of Jesus to the developed kerygma of the Hellenistic church, there is a constant and a variable. The constant is the self-understanding of a man before God, the anthropology; the variable is the expression of the significance attached to Jesus, the Christology (implicit and explicit). (H. Brawn, ‘Der Sinn der neutestamentlichen Christologie’, ZTK 54 [1957]’ 341-77 [ = H. Braun, Gesammelte Studien zum Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt (Tübingen:J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1962), 243-82]. See also his essay ‘The Significance of Qumran for the Problem of the Historical Jesus’, The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ, pp. 69-78.) In 1959 James M. Robinson published his New Quest of the Historical Jesus in which he gave this new movement both its title and its definitive form. He explored the parallels already pointed out between the message of and about Jesus, and he added to them some of his own derived from a study of the Kingdom sayings. Then, in addition, he took the post-Diltheyan, modern, existentialist historiography which seeks to mediate an encounter with the past at the level of self-understanding, and approached the historical Jesus and his message in this way. Now we have two sets of parallels: between the historical Jesus and the kerygmatic Christ at the level of meaning of the message of and about the one and the other, and between the encounters mediated by modern historiography with the one and by kerygmatic proclamation with the other. ‘It is because modern historiography mediates an existential encounter with Jesus, an encounter also mediated by the kerygma, that modern historiography is of great importance to Christian faith.’ In the encounter with Jesus, one is confronted ‘. . . with the skandalon of recognizing in this all-too-human Jewish eschatological message the eternal word of God’, which means that in the encounter with Jesus, ‘one is confronted by the same existential decision as that posed by the kerygma’. So one has proved all that can be proved by a new quest of the historical Jesus: not that the kerygma is true, but rather that the existential decision with regard to the kerygma is an existential decision with regard to Jesus’. (James M. Robinson, A New Quest of the Historical Jesus, pp. 90,92.)

The immediate retort to this, made by R. H. Fuller and echoed with approval by Bultmann, was that’. . . the effort to demonstrate the continuity between Jesus and the kerygma may so blur the difference between them as to make the kerygma unnecessary (R. H. Fuller, ATR 41 [1959], p. 234. R. Bultmann, ‘The Primitive Kerygma . . .’, Historical Jesus and Kerygmatic Christ, ed. Braaten and Harrisville [1964], p. 39.) In reply to this criticism, and to others made by Bultmann himself; Robinson reformulated his position in an essay ‘The Recent Debate on the New Quest’. (JBR 30 [1962], 198-208.) In this essay a good deal of the emphasis upon the encounter with the historical Jesus by means of an existentialist historiography was quietly dropped, and attention was more sharply focused on the basic parallel between the message of Jesus and the kerygma of the early Church, and on the significance of scholarly study of the message of Jesus for the Church.

The responsibility of Christians today is to proclaim the kerygma in our situation, but ‘. . . we must nevertheless implement the kerygma’s claim to be proclaiming a Lord who is at one with Jesus, and we must do this by critical participation in the discussion of the Jesus-tradition of our day’. (James M. Robinson, ibid., p.204.) So it is, to use our own words, the Church’s identification of the risen Lord with the earthly Jesus that poses for us the problem of the relationship between the two figures, and demands an answer to the question of the significance of historical knowledge of the latter. That identification by the early Church requires at least that the Christ proclaimed by the kerygma be consistent with what we come to know of the historical Jesus. For Robinson, the particular function of the ‘new quest’ is to investigate, not the self-consciousness of Jesus, for which we have no sources, ‘but the understanding of existence which emerged in history from his words and deeds’, (Ibid., p. 200.) i.e. is implicit in his teaching and in the fact that he accepted the cross.’. . . it is the implicitness of the kerygma in Jesus’ understanding of existence that is required by the kerygma, if that reference is in fact a fitting one.’ (Ibid., p. 202.)

The last point in Robinson’s essay, and a shrewd one, is, in effect, an argument that the kerygma has a content, for ‘kerygma’ means both the act of proclamation and the content of proclamation. Since the kerygma has a content, historical study of a past form of the kerygma, e.g. the pre-Pauline Hellenistic kerygma or the Palestinian kerygma, can serve ‘. . . not to replace the (contemporary) minister’s preaching but to improve it’. (Ibid., 207.) But, in regard to historical study, there is no difference between historical-critical study of a past form of the kerygma arid that study of the teaching of Jesus. So’. . . in our situation the historical study of Jesus is not of the esse of preaching, but it belongs to its bene esse’. (Ibid.)

It seems to us that there are a number of promising points in this statement of the ‘new quest’ position, and when we develop our own position below it will be seen that we are indebted to it at several places. However, there are three things we would like to say at this stage about the ‘new quest’ position as a whole, as Robinson has defined it.

In the first place, the quiet but drastic step taken by Robinson between the publication of his book and his essay, of abandoning the concept of an existential encounter with Jesus mediated by a modern historiography in favor of something much less dramatic, is an absolutely essential step to take. No modern historiography can mediate ‘. . . an existential encounter with Jesus’, if only because we do not have the materials necessary to reconstruct the complete figure we would need for such an encounter. In this respect, form criticism is as lethal to this kind of ‘modern historiography’ as it was to the liberal life of Christ research, and the imagination of an existentialist ‘new quester’ would have to be every bit as active as was that of any liberal ‘old quester’.

Then, secondly, it must be recognized that the ‘new quest’ is not, in fact, all that new. True, it tends to ask rather different questions, such as those concerning the understanding of existence implicit in Jesus’ teaching, but its work is still based on exactly the same kind of historical-critical methodology as that used by Bultmann or Jeremias. It has to begin by asking the questions that have always been asked: What did Jesus mean by ‘Kingdom of God’? Did he assert the coming of the ‘Son of man’? How was his work related to that of the Baptist? And so on. Only when it has established a core of authentic sayings, etc., can it go on to ask about an understanding of existence which emerges into history from them. When Robinson, after recognizing this, goes on to observe ‘. . . that material regarded as wholly "unauthentic" in terms of a positivistic historiography may not seem nearly so "unauthentic" in terms of modern historiography’, (James M. Robinson, A New Quest of the Historical Jesus, p. 99 n. 2.) then he is either talking about a rather special form of our ‘criterion of coherence’, or he is talking nonsense. One may certainly accept sayings which reflect the same ‘understanding of existence’ as that found in indubitably genuine sayings, but to go beyond that is to run the risk, again, of doing in terms of the new existentialism what was done in terms of the old liberalism. Unless we exercise all possible care, it is just as easy for ‘Jesus’ understanding of existence’ to become ‘my understanding of existence’ as it was for ‘Jesus’ moral principles’ to become the liberal scholar’s ideals.

Then, finally, a weakness in the ‘new quest’ position is that it simply assumes the identity of historical Jesus and kerygmatic Christ, arguing that the kerygma and modern historiography provide us with two avenues of access to the same Jesus, or at any rate, have reference, on the one hand, to Jesus, and, on the other, to the Lord who is at one with Jesus. This is a bold assumption indeed! In the first place, it ignores the variety of kerygmata in the New Testament itself the existence, in fact, of a multiplicity of Christs of different kerygmata; and in the second place, it ignores equally the possibility of tension between the results of historical-critical research and the kerygmata of the New Testament. Are we, for example, to assume that the implicit Christology of the ministry of Jesus corresponds to each of the explicit New Testament Christologies: proto-gnostic heavenly redeemer, fiercely apocalyptic Son of man, Hellenistically oriented Lord, Judaistic Son of God, etc.? And are we further to assume that our historical research will always point to parallels between the message of Jesus and a form of the kerygma, and never to differences? Surely, both of these assumptions are unjustified. The Christologies of the various forms of the kerygmata known to us from the New Testament and Christian history are not necessarily coherent with one another, still less necessarily consistent with the teaching of the historical Jesus, and historical research may well raise problems for a form of the kerygma, as, for example, research into the eschatology of Jesus raised problems for the older liberalism.

Before turning to our own considerations of these matters, there is one last contribution to the discussion to be noted: Ernst Käsemann’s recently published essay, ‘Sackgassen im Streit um den historischen Jesus’. (Published in his second volume of collected essays, Exegetische Versuche und Besinnungen II [1964], 31 -68. See our review of this volume, JBL 85 [1965], 462f).

In this he enters into vigorous debate with two viewpoints expressed during the discussion, those of Jeremias and Braun, and with Bultmann’s rejoinder to his own pupils and definitive statement of his own position in light of the discussion: ‘The Primitive Christian Kerygma and the Historical Jesus’. From the perspective of our present purpose, however, this aspect of the essay is not what matters most. More important to us is the fact that he seeks to further the discussion by focusing attention sharply upon the phenomena present in the synoptic tradition and the contrast between this and the remainder of the New Testament. Beginning with the New Testament apart from the synoptic gospels, he points out that it is absolutely remarkable how small a role the earthly Jesus plays in the tradition. Apart from a few sayings and reflections on the history of Jesus, only the cross has theological relevance, and not only the history in general, but also the cross in particular has been so overlaid with mythological interpretation and parenetic application that the historical phenomena are more hidden than revealed. In the synoptic tradition, on the other hand, although the same mythological overlay and parenetic application is there, the fact remains that we do have what we would call historical material and historicizing tendencies in a way we do not have elsewhere in the New Testament. Käsemann’s way of formulating this is to say that while the dimension of the past of the gospel and of Christology in Paul and John can be overshadowed by the present and future, in the case of the synoptic gospels this past dimension is dominant in the proclamation, even though it is being made to serve the kerygmatic and parenetic purposes of the present. In this phenomenon our theological problem is revealed and we must explore it and its significance to solve the problem.

On this point we are absolutely in agreement. One must investigate the theological significance of the very fact of the existence of the synoptic tradition, and the significance of its essential nature, in order to throw light on the problem of the historical Jesus. Indeed, we would go further than Käsemann, who against Bultmann still wants to explore the question of continuity between historical Jesus and kerygmatic Christ, for we would limit the question of continuity to the question of whether the Christ proclaimed in a form of the kerygma is consistent with the historical Jesus.

In order to clarify the points at issue in the current discussion, we may say that it is a discussion involving three different kinds of knowledge. First, there is the essentially descriptive historical knowledge of Jesus of Nazareth with which we have been concerned all through this book. Then, secondly, there are those aspects of this knowledge which, like aspects of historical knowledge of any figure from the past, can become significant to us in our present in various ways. Thirdly, there is knowledge of Jesus of Nazareth which is significant only in the context of specifically Christian faith, i.e. knowledge of him of a kind dependent upon the acknowledgement of him as Lord and Christ.

Let us say something about each of these kinds of knowledge. The first, the descriptive historical knowledge, is the post-Enlightenment historical knowledge. It is difficult to achieve for the reasons discussed at the end of our first chapter, but it is our claim that it can be achieved by the appropriate hermeneutical methodology. When it is achieved, its very existence raises the question of its significance, apart, of course, from the significance it has as a series of more or less interesting facts from the past. This knowledge is ‘hard’ knowledge, by which we mean that it exists independently of any specific interest in it or usefulness to be ascribed to it, or, indeed, independently of any lack of interest in it or even danger found to be inherent in it.

The second kind of knowledge with which we are concerned is essentially a selection from the collection of ‘hard’ historical knowledge. Some of this knowledge will be found to be directly significant, in various ways, to a man of today. But such significance will depend upon the establishment of some point of contact between that knowledge from the past and the situation of the man in the present. So, for example, the existentialist analysis of the nature of human existence, with its emphasis upon ‘self-understanding’, or ‘understanding of existence’, establishes a point of contact between the figure from the past and the man in the present. Since the man in the past is, so to speak, also existential man, it may be possible to discern the self-understanding implied in what we know of that man and so establish our contact with him at the level of self-understanding. Other kinds of contact are also possible. For example, modern artists have found themselves challenged by primitive man at the common level of the use of symbols; a modern humanist could be influenced by, say, the historical Socrates, because of a common devotion to a certain understanding of the meaning and significance of truth; and so on. Historical knowledge from the past becomes directly significant, i.e. it becomes historic knowledge, to us in our present in so far as it ‘speaks to our condition’, ‘has a direct point of contact with us’, or the like.

The third kind of knowledge becomes significant to us at the level of religious faith, belief or commitment. It is distinct from the second in that it is particular, i.e. for the individual concerned it has a value beyond that to be ascribed to any other historical knowledge, or to knowledge of any other historical individual. Also, it is particular in the sense that it has this value only to certain individuals or groups, those who share the particular faith, belief or commitment. It is also distinct from both the first and the second in that it is not necessarily historical knowledge. Historical knowledge can come to have this significance, but then so can myth, legend, saga -- and any combination of these!

Perhaps we can make our point about these three kinds of knowledge clearer by means of some examples. Let us call the first kind of knowledge ‘historical knowledge’, the second ‘historic knowledge’ and the third ‘faith-knowledge’.

‘Historical knowledge’ of Jesus of Nazareth might be held to Include the fact that he accepted his death as the necessary consequence of his proclamation of the Kingdom, and of his ‘table-fellowship of the Kingdom’ with ‘tax collectors and sinners’, and that he went to the cross with a sure confidence that it would ultimately serve, and not hinder, the purpose of God. (We are using this as an example without necessarily claiming that this is ‘hard’ historical knowledge, in fact, it could be very strongly argued.) Similarly, it might be held to be a fact that Socrates accepted his death as the necessary consequence of his own innermost convictions, and drank the hemlock with a serenity arising out of the courage of those convictions. Finally, to give a more recent example, it has been held that, in early March, 1912, Captain Oates, ‘who was too ill to travel further, walked out into a blizzard, hoping, by his sacrifice, to save his companions (of the Scott Antarctica expedition)’ (Encyclopedia Britannica 20 [1964], 179.) These are three examples of historical knowledge and, as such, they are subject to correction and change on the basis of further research or discovery. So it is theoretically possible, however practically doubtful, that we may one day have to concede that Jesus was carried to the cross, railing against God and his fate; that Socrates had to have his jaws forced open to drink the hemlock; or that Oates’s companions drove him out of the tent into the blizzard. If this were to happen, we would simply be exchanging one historical fact, now discredited, for another, and the exchange would make no specific difference beyond this, at the level of historical fact or historical knowledge.

Historical knowledge can, however, under certain circumstances become ‘historic knowledge’, i.e. it can assume a direct significance for the present. So, to stay with our examples, the historical knowledge of Jesus’ acceptance of the cross can become historic knowledge as it influences a future time which finds itself touched or moved by it in some way. So, also, can Socrates’ acceptance of the hemlock, or Oates’s sacrifice on behalf of his friends. We move from the historical to the historic as the event from the past assumes a direct significance for a future time. We are thinking of a significance other than that which the event has as part of the chain of causation which has produced the later time. Historic knowledge has a direct, even personal or existential, significance for a later time and its people, or, at any rate, for some of them. Historic knowledge can be affected by the vicissitudes of historical factuality. A Jesus railing against God and his fate, a Socrates being forced to drink the hemlock or an Oates being driven out into the blizzard would have historic significance of a kind very different from that ascribed to these men immediately above.

‘Faith-knowledge’ depends upon special worth being attributed to the person concerned, so that knowledge of that person assumes a significance beyond the historic. Historic significance can be attributed to almost any number of people from the past, certainly to all three of our examples, but ‘faith-knowledge’ could be attributed only to the one figure who comes to be of special significance in terms of revelation, religious experience, religious belief. Also, the use of these categories necessarily introduces a reference to a transhistorical reality -- strictly speaking, a non-historical reality -- in that it introduces the idea of God and his activity. So, for the Christian, it is possible to say: ‘Christ died for my sins in accordance with the scriptures.’ This, however, is a statement of faith, not of history in the normal sense. It is faith-knowledge, not historical knowledge. It depends upon recognition of Jesus as the ‘Christ, the Son of the living God’; it necessitates a recognition of his death as having significance in terms of the religious concept ‘my sins’; and it requires that the cross be recognized as being in accordance with the ‘definite plan and foreknowledge of God’ as this is said to be revealed in the sacred writings of the Jews. None of this is history in the post-Enlightenment sense of that word; nor is it dependent upon the manner or mode of the death of Jesus, only on the fact that it happened. The value here ascribed to that death is not ascribed to it because of what Jesus did, but because of what God is regarded as having done. The death of Jesus is not efficacious for ‘my sins’ because he died nobly, or because he showed confidence in God, but because the cross is believed to have fulfilled the purpose of God. That Jesus died nobly or showed confidence in God are historical statements, subject to the vicissitudes of historical research, but that his death fulfilled the purpose of God in regard to ‘my sins’ is certainly not such a statement, and it lies beyond the power of the historian even to consider it, even though, as a Christian, he might believe it.

We should make it clear that the ‘historic Christ’ of which Kähler speaks is, according to our definition of the terms, not the ‘historic Jesus’. Kähler speaks of the Christ of the gospels in all the fulfillment of his significance for faith; he is, therefore, making faith statements and speaking of the Christ of faith, not of the historic Jesus about whom one could make statements of the kind one could make about the historic Socrates or the historic Oates. What we are doing, in effect, is attempting further to refine the terminology in light of the distinctions introduced into the discussion since Kähler wrote.

These distinctions we have made are important to the contemporary discussion, for the discussion really turns upon a recognition of these three different kinds of knowledge of Jesus of Nazareth. The historical sciences have given us historical knowledge of Jesus, as they have given us such knowledge of other figures from the past. Then, especially in the last few decades, we have become aware of historic knowledge of Jesus, as of such knowledge of other figures. Finally, we have come to distinguish faith and faith-knowledge from history and historical knowledge, largely under the influence of Bultmann.

Let us now briefly reconsider some aspects of the discussion we have portrayed, making use of the distinctions we have suggested.

Bultmann’s position becomes immediately clear. He grants that we have historical knowledge of Jesus, although limited in extent and not including any knowledge of how he understood his own death. (R. Bultmann, ‘The Primitive Kerygma . . .’ The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ, pp. 22ff.) So also we have historic knowledge of him; we can encounter him as historical phenomenon at the level of historic significance.(R. Bultmann, ‘Reply to the Theses of J. Schniewind’, Kerygma and Myth, p. 117.) Finally, and quite distinct from this latter, we have ‘faith-knowledge’ of him; we encounter him as the eschatological phenomenon in the proclamation. True, this Jesus of the kerygma, this Jesus of faith-knowledge, encounters us in our historic situation, but he is not the historic Jesus, he is the Christ, the eschatological Jesus. Our encounter with him is not like an encounter with the historic Socrates, or with any other historic figure, but it is an eschatological encounter: it changes everything for us and brings our old history to a close, opening up for us a new history and a new future as no other encounter with a figure from the past could do. Even this figure from the past can only do so because, as the eschatological figure, he becomes present for us in the proclamation, and present for us as eschatological act of God.

The attack upon Bultmann’s position from the right seeks to establish closer links than Bultmann will allow between historical knowledge and faith-knowledge, between the first and third of our categories. The attack upon Bultmann from the left attempts to make the third category only a variant of the second, so that Jesus becomes not the eschatological, but only a (or, the) supreme historic figure. So, from the right, Jeremias can argue that historical knowledge is directly related to faith-knowledge. The incarnate Word is revelation, not the preaching of the Church. The proclamation is witness to the revelation, not itself the revelation. ‘To put it bluntly, revelation does not take place from eleven to twelve o’clock on Sunday morning.’ (J. Jeremias, The Problem of the Historical Jesus, p. 23.) From the opposite viewpoint, from the left, Jaspers and Ogden can argue, in effect that faith-knowledge is only a special kind of historic knowledge. Jesus, as an example of existential relationship to the transcendent which the philosopher seeks to emulate, is a historic figure, not a faith image. So also is the Jesus who reveals the primordial love of God which can also be known elsewhere than in him. In these viewpoints, even if it can be claimed that we have a kind of residual reference to the transhistorical reality, God, we certainly do not have an unrepeatable uniqueness ascribed to Jesus. The faith-knowledge has become historic knowledge.

At this point we are at a parting of the ways, so far as the discussion of the ‘question of the historical Jesus’ is concerned, for here we have fundamental presuppositions as to the nature of faith and the significance of history. On the right we have the presupposition that the Incarnation -- or the biblical concept of God active in history, or the traditional view of Christianity as related to certain revelational events in history, or the like -- that this demands a real and close relationship between historical knowledge and faith-knowledge, and that justice must be done to this in our discussion of the question of the historical Jesus. On the left we have the conviction that, even if we may speak meaningfully of God or the transcendent, none the less the essential relativity of all historical events means that we cannot think in terms of a knowledge of Jesus that is different in kind from knowledge we may have of other historical persons. So, either Jesus becomes an example of an existential relationship with the transcendent, supreme but capable of being imitated (Jaspers), or he becomes the ‘decisive’ manifestation of that which may also be known elsewhere (Ogden). No doubt other variations on this theme could be found, but they would all be variations on the one theme, that faith-knowledge is historic knowledge. What we know in Jesus may be ‘decisive’, but it is not different in kind from what may be known elsewhere. Finally, in the centre, we have Bultmann, whose position may be expressed, in our terms, as maintaining that the three kinds of knowledge are separate and must be kept separate. (This, we would claim, is true for Bultmann even though, in his concern for ‘demythologizing’, he is prepared to describe almost all of the faith-knowledge in terms of historic knowledge.)

Meaningful debate between representatives of these three positions is difficult, for sooner or later that debate will run aground on the hard rock of the very different fundamental presuppositions. We saw that happening above, in the case of Jeremias over against Bultmann, and in that of Bultmann over against both Jaspers and Ogden. Examples could readily be multiplied from the history of the discussion. (Because of their representative nature, the following would be of special interest: E. Ellwein, E. Kinder and W. Künneth in Kerygma and History, ed. C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville [New York: Abingdon, 1962], pp. 25-119 [representing an orthodox Lutheranism against Bultmann], and R. E. Brown, ‘After Bultmann, What ? -- An Introduction to the post-Bultmannians’, CBQ 26 [1964], 1-30 [representing Roman Catholicism]). When this happens, the debate may become a sympathetic agreement to differ, or it may degenerate into strident disagreement, but it has no future as debate. So at this point the scholar or student finds himself in one of three different groups, according to his basic presuppositions, and from this point on he will be involved in one of three quite different discussions. The question of the historical Jesus has to be faced and discussed, in accordance with one’s basic presuppositions, in light of the challenge issuing from the other groups and the developments and changes going on in one’s own.

Our own presuppositions are such that we find ourselves in what we regard as the centre, with Bultmann, for we find ourselves ‘feeling’ that the three kinds of knowledge we have described do exist, are different, and should be kept separate. Empirical historical knowledge is a special kind of knowledge and the question of its existence, factuality or truth should always be kept separate from that of its significance. ‘Historic’ or significant knowledge from the past should always be subject to the tests of demonstrating that it is, indeed, historical knowledge and that the avenue, channel or point of contact between it and the man from whom it becomes significant in the present can be defined. Religious or ‘faith’ knowledge, on the other hand, should be subject to quite different tests: the understanding of ultimate reality it mediates, the kind of religious experience it inspires, the quality of personal and communal life it makes possible, and so on. It may also be subjected to the test of determining whether or not the knowledge is also factual or true in an empirical historical sense, so far as any such test is possible in connection with it, but it must always be recognized that although historical knowledge can have this kind of significance, this kind of significance is not limited to knowledge that is also historical.

If we consider the ‘new hermeneutic’ in the light of our distinction between these three kinds of knowledge, a Bultmannian distinction which was the starting-point for the work of Fuchs and Ebeling, then we see that the movement does, in practice, tend to abandon it. This is most clearly to be seen in the work of E. Jüngel, Fuchs’s pupil, for he reviews the academic historical investigation of the parables of Jesus in recent times and climaxes this review with the following statement: ‘The Kingdom comes to word in parable as parable. The parables of Jesus bring the Kingdom to word as parable.’ (E. Jüngel, Paulus und Jesus, p. 135. the statement is italicized by Jüngel Now whatever this may mean, it is clearly a faith statement rather than a historical statement (which would have to be limited to: ‘Jesus intended to bring the Kingdom to word . . .’ or ‘Jesus’ hearers believed that he brought the Kingdom . . .’ or the like). Occurring as it does in the context of a review of one of the most spectacularly successful empirical historical investigations in the whole field of life of Christ research, it is clear evidence of a tendency of the ‘new hermeneutic’ to blur the distinction between statements possible on the basis of academic historical research and statements possible only on the basis of faith.

The same tendency is very much to be found in the work of Ernst Fuchs himself. One can open his book of Studies of the Historical Jesus almost at random and find evidence of it. Take, for example, the following:

The starting point of Jesus’ proclamation in the Synoptics is Jesus’ full authority to gather a people for God under the banner of the rule of God (cf. Matt. 9.8). This authority . . . answers the questions: What do you pray for? or, For whom do you pray? Jesus’ faith leads him to prayer for the heavy laden, for the poor and for the disciples (cf. by contrast the unmerciful servant, Matt. 18.23-35). In the future faith in Jesus will continue this prayer, even though Paul is undecided whether or not he should at once pray for the day of the Lord (Rom. 8.26). For faith it is sufficient that God has listened to Jesus (Heb. 5.7; John 17.10). (E. Fuchs, Studies of the Historical Jesus, p. 63.)

This begins with a historical statement, namely (to use our words), that the starting-point of the message of Jesus in the synoptic gospels is the authority of Jesus to proclaim the Kingdom and to gather together Jew and ‘Jew who had made himself as Gentile’ into the table-fellowship of that Kingdom. Then it ends with the faith statement: ‘For faith it is sufficient that God had listened to Jesus.’ It is clear that Fuchs is able to move from the one to the other because of his concept of faith as a ‘language event’. The faith that comes to word in Jesus is the root of the authority he had; thence, the faith come to word in Jesus becomes Jesus’ faith, and leads to the thought of Jesus’ prayer life; from there we move to faith come to word in the future for men of the future, and their prayer practice; and, finally, we arrive at the climactic faith statement. All this may be in accordance with the ‘new hermeneutic’, but it is a clear abandoning of hard-won distinctions and of the gains from hard-fought battles. (We might also add that it is an overloading and overworking of the concept ‘faith’, which is being used in a variety of ways. One of our challenges to the ‘new hermeneutic’ must be that it should define and clarify its use of ‘faith’.) For a hundred and fifty years we have been struggling to clarify issues and gain understanding. Are we to throw all this away in an attempt to make the historical Jesus relevant to faith by abandoning legitimate and -- we would claim -- necessary distinctions? This, it seems to us, is what the ‘new hermeneutic’ is in danger of doing.

The ‘new quest’ position also can be approached from the standpoint of this distinction between the three different kinds of knowledge. As represented by Robinson’s New Quest of the Historical Jesus it formally abandons the distinction between faith-knowledge and historic knowledge. His later position, however, seems to restore this distinction and to claim, rather, that historic knowledge of Jesus (and, by implication, historical knowledge also) may be used ‘to improve’ the faith-knowledge, i.e. to serve as corrective, where necessary, and as supplement to that knowledge. Our own position approximates to this, so we will now discuss the issues as we ourselves see them.

We start from the premise that the three different kinds of knowledge we have described actually exist, and that the distinctions we have made can and must be made when we consider our knowledge of Jesus of Nazareth. This does not answer the ‘question of the historical Jesus’, but rather raises it in what we regard as its proper form, namely: What is the relationship between the three kinds of knowledge of Jesus of Nazareth that we may be said to possess?

Let us consider, first, our faith-knowledge of Jesus. This arises in response to the challenge of the proclamation of the Church; the recent discussion and our own experience have convinced us of this. There are, of course, many different forms of proclamation, including historical narrative, myth and legend. But the claim of faith must be that there is a distinguishing characteristic of each and all of these many possible forms of proclamation: the ability to mediate the encounter of faith with the Christ present to faith in them. In this respect we wholeheartedly accept the contention of Kähler and Bultmann.

Let us spend a moment to distinguish between kerygmatic Christ and historical Jesus as we would see the matter. As a product of an Anglo-Saxon liberal Baptist tradition we have been taught to ‘believe in Jesus’, and all the various forms of proclamation to which we have been subject have served to produce for us what we would call a ‘faith-image’ of this Jesus. Part of this faith-image is certainly made up of traits of the liberal historical Jesus, but then the writings of the liberal ‘questers’ were in their own way kerygmatic; the mistake is to claim them as historical. Again, part of the faith-image could be the result of the existential impact of knowledge of Jesus mediated by a modern historiography, historic knowledge, for to a believer brought up in this tradition almost anything that talks about Jesus can become kerygma, that is, it can contribute to the faith-image. This faith-image is, so far as the individual believer is concerned, the kerygmatic Christ, since it is an image mediated to him by the multiple forms of Christian proclamation, and it has to be distinguished from the historical Jesus, even though historical knowledge of Jesus may have been a constituent factor in its creation. It has to be distinguished from the historical Jesus because its ultimate origin is not historical research, but Christian proclamation, even if it may have been historical research which has unwittingly become proclamation, as in the case of much liberal life of Christ research. It also has to be distinguished from the historical Jesus because the results of historical research are not a determining factor in the constituence of this figure; like the Christ of the gospels, the Jesus of one’s faith-image is a mixture of historical reminiscence, at a somewhat distant remove, and myth, legend and idealism. What gives this faith-image validity is the fact that it grows out of religious experience and is capable of mediating religious experience; that it develops in the context of the complex mixture of needs, etc., which originally created, and continues to create, an openness towards the kerygma; and that it can continue to develop to meet those needs.

Historical knowledge of Jesus, then, is significant to faith in that it can contribute to the formation of the faith-image. In a tradition which ‘believes in Jesus’, historical knowledge can be a source for the necessary content of faith. After all, in the Christian use, faith is necessarily faith in something, a believer believes in something, and in so far as that ‘something’ is ‘Jesus’, historical knowledge can help to provide the content, without thereby becoming the main source of that content. The main source will always be the proclamation of the Church, a proclamation arising out of a Christian experience of the risen Lord.

Now there arises immediately the obvious question: If there are so many different forms of proclamation, and, in effect, as many faith-images as there are believers, how do we distinguish true from false? This is a question of peculiar force in America, where the tradition is to ‘believe in Jesus’ and where there are a multitude of conflicting and competing kerygmata; where everything from radical right racism to revolutionary Christian humanism is proclaimed as kerygma, and as Christian. It is also a question of peculiar force to us, because we must fully admit the highly individualistic character of a believer’s faith-image, and yet, at the same time, face the question of which, if any, are to be called ‘Christian’, and so face the necessity of distinguishing true from false. In this situation we introduce the second aspect of our own position: We believe we have the right to appeal to our limited, but real, historical knowledge of Jesus. The true kerygmatic Christ, the justifiable faith-image, is that consistent with the historical Jesus. The significance of the historical Jesus for Christian faith is that knowledge of this Jesus may be used as a means of testing the claims of the Christs presented in the competing kerygmata to be Jesus Christ. To this limited extent our historical knowledge of Jesus validates the Christian kerygma; it does not validate it as kerygma, but it validates it as Christian.

This procedure seems to us to be justified by the facts of life with regard to the synoptic tradition, and the differences between this tradition and the remainder of the New Testament. The theological truth revealed by these facts is that of the complete and absolute identification, by the early Christians, of the earthly Jesus of Nazareth and the risen Lord of Christian experience. To early Christianity the Jesus who had spoken in Galilee and Judea was the Christ who was speaking through prophets and in Christian experience. It is for this reason that we have the remarkable phenomenon of sayings of Jesus being treated as simply part of general Christian instruction in the epistles (e.g. Rom. 14.13, 14, 20). For this reason Paul can speak of words from the Lord and mean words possibly originating from Jesus but heavily reinterpreted in the Church and overlaid with liturgical instructions (I Cor. 11.23-25), because he is completely indifferent as to whether all, some or none had, in fact, been spoken by the earthly Jesus. For this reason the synoptic evangelists can take words originally spoken by Christian prophets (e.g. the apocalyptic Son of man sayings) and ascribe them to Jesus, and can also freely modify and reinterpret sayings in the tradition to make them express their own theological viewpoint (e.g. Mark 9.1 par.) and still ascribe them to Jesus. The tradition outside the synoptic gospels evinces little interest in the earthly Jesus, because Paul, John and the Hellenistic church generally concentrate attention on the risen Christ aspect of the equation earthly Jesus risen Lord. But the synoptic gospels are produced in those same Hellenistic communities, and they concentrate on the earthly Jesus aspect of the equation. But the equation is always there, witness the fact that the epistles can include sayings both of the earthly Jesus and of the risen Lord in their tradition, equally without feeling the need to identify them in any special way. The absolute identification of the earthly Jesus of Nazareth with the risen Lord of Christian experience is the key, and the only key, to understanding the phenomena present in the New Testament tradition. With the rise of modern historical knowledge of Jesus, a phenomenon necessarily absent from the New Testament, this early Christian equation justifies us in using that historical knowledge to test the validity of claims made in the name of Jesus Christ and the authenticity of a kerygma claiming to present Jesus Christ: to be valid and authentic these must be consistent with such knowledge as we have of the historical Jesus.

At this point it may be helpful to refer, by way of an example, to one instance of the kind of thing we have in mind. In the preparation for our previous book, The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus, we had occasion to study the impact of Albert Schweitzer’s konsequente Eschatologie upon English liberal theology. This study has come to illustrate for us the point we are trying to make, for the fact of the matter is that the historical truth that eschatology played a central role in the teaching of Jesus has played a large part in rendering unsatisfactory the kind of Christ we find presented in the work of men like William Sanday, C. W. Emmett or E. F. Scott. (See N. Perrin, Kingdom, pp. 37-57) The Jesus of the older liberal faith-image has to be transformed precisely because he was, in some fundamental respects, inconsistent with the historical Jesus revealed to us as a result of the work set in motion by konsequente Eschatologie.

Knowledge of the historical Jesus is, then, important in that it can contribute positively to the formation of the faith-image, i.e. it can help to provide faith with its necessary content, and in that it can act negatively as a check on false or inappropriate faith-images, or aspects of a faith-image. Can we go beyond this? Yes, we believe we can, and we reach, therefore, the third aspect of our own position: the fact that historical knowledge of Jesus can be directly relevant to faith, apart from aiding in the formation of the faith-image. We reach this by calling attention to the nature of the narratives in the synoptic gospels; like the sayings, they reflect the equation earthly Jesus = risen Lord. So, for example, the confession at Caesarea Philippi and the subsequent instruction to the disciples (Mark 8.27-9.1 par.) may or may not vaguely correspond to some incident in the ministry of Jesus, but in its present form it is an ideal scene in which Jesus = risen Lord, Peter = typical Christian disciple, and the instruction to the disciples = the risen Lord’s instruction to his Church in face of the possibility of persecution (so Mark), or in face of the necessity of settling down to an everyday witness over a long period of time (so Luke). In Matthew the whole thing has become a paradigm of the risen Lord’s relationship with his Church and the consequent authority of that Church. Now this kind of narrative is possible only because of the equation earthly Jesus = risen Lord and the consequent and subsequent equation: Situation in earthly ministry of Jesus = situation in early Church’s experience, which equation is necessarily implied by the methodology of the synoptic evangelists. Incidentally, we have recently had some striking historical evidence for the validity of this equation in that the intensive discussion of the eschatology of Jesus and of earliest Christianity in recent New Testament scholarship has shown that there are remarkable parallels between these eschatologies: both challenge men to a new relationship with God in face of a decisive act of God in human experience (Jesus: Kingdom of God; early Church: Christ as eschatological event), and in both the believer stands in a situation theologically the same, for all the difference of terminology involved. But the claim of the equation earthly ministry of Jesus = situation in early Church’s experience does not depend on the results of recent research in earliest Christian eschatology; it is involved in the very nature of the synoptic gospel narratives. Again here, historical knowledge of Jesus, which normally means historical knowledge of his teaching, brings a new factor into the situation. If the believer in response to the kerygma stands in a relationship with God parallel to that in which a Galilean disciple stood in response to Jesus’ proclamation of the Kingdom of God, which the synoptic gospels necessarily claim, then teaching addressed to that latter situation is applicable to the former. In this way historical knowledge of the teaching of Jesus becomes directly applicable to the believer in any age. It is precisely for this reason, of course, that some actual teaching of the earthly Jesus was taken up into the synoptic tradition, and that the very concept of a Jesus tradition came into being.

In what we have said immediately above we have made no attempt to discuss historic knowledge of Jesus, as distinct from historical knowledge. The reason for this is that we regard it simply as an aspect of historical knowledge. As historic knowledge it can influence us individually, as can similar knowledge of any figure from the past. As an aspect of historical knowledge, it can function in the way that historical knowledge, in our view, can function.

To summarize our own position as to the significance of knowledge of the historical Jesus for Christian faith, we are prepared to maintain (1) that the New Testament as a whole implies that Christian faith is necessarily faith in the Christ of the Church’s proclamation, in which proclamation today historical knowledge may play a part, but as proclamation, not historical knowledge. As proclamation it helps to build the faith-image, to provide the content for a faith which ‘believes in Jesus’. Then (2) in face of the varieties of Christian proclamation and in view of the claim inherent in the nature of the synoptic gospel material (earthly Jesus = risen Lord), we may and we must use such historical knowledge of Jesus as we possess to test the validity of the claim of any given form of the Church’s proclamation to be Christian proclamation. Then (3) in view of the further claim inherent in the nature of the synoptic gospel material (situation in earthly ministry of Jesus = situation in early Church’s experience) we may apply historical knowledge of the teaching of Jesus directly to the situation of the believer in any age, always providing, of course, that we can solve the practical problems involved in crossing the barrier of two millennia and radically different Weltanschauungen necessary to do this.

Chapter 4: Jesus and the Future

Exegesis I. The Sower, Mustard Seed, Leaven, Seed Growing of Itself. Confidence in God’s Future

The Sower

Mark 4.3-9. ‘Listen A sower went out to sow. 4And as he sowed, some seed fell along the path, and the birds came and devoured it. 5Other seed fell on rocky ground, where it had not much soil, and immediately it sprang up, since it had no depth of soil; 6and when the sun rose it was scorched, and since it had no root it withered away. 7Other seed fell among thorns and the thorns grew up and choked it, and it yielded no grain, 8And other seeds fell into good soil and brought forth grain, growing up and increasing and yielding thirtyfold and sixtyfold and a hundredfold.’ 9And he said, ‘He who has ears to hear, let him hear.’

Thomas 9. Jesus said: ‘See, the sower went out, he filled his hand, he threw. Some (seeds) fell on the road; the birds came, they gathered them. Others fell on the rock and did not strike root in the earth and did not produce ears. And others fell on the thorns; they choked the seed and the worm ate them. And others fell on the good earth; and it brought forth good fruit; it bore sixty per measure and one hundred and twenty per measure.’

In this particular instance there is no point in attempting to reconstruct the original form of the parable. It was the story of a Palestinian peasant sowing and harvesting, and the interim period of the fate of parts of the seed sown has been described, both to add vividness and verisimilitude to the story and to prepare artistically for the contrast of the successful harvest. In the process of transmission details would be added and varied in accordance with knowledge of agricultural processes and dangers, e.g. the worm eating the seed in Thomas, and the scorching sun in Mark/Matthew versus the lack of moisture in Luke. Perhaps also details were added and varied in the pre-Markan stage of the tradition in accordance with the allegorizing in the Church now to be found in Mark 4.13-20 par., but this does not seem likely. Since all of the details are natural rather than artificial, and the explanation is separate from the parable itself, it is more probable that the explanation simply uses the text already found in the stage of the development concerned. But in any case, additions and changes of detail in connection with the fate of the seed are completely unimportant, since the significant thing is simply the fact of a story of a peasant sowing and harvesting. The details, in this instance, are ‘window dressing’ and of no substantial significance.

There is no good reason to doubt the authenticity of the parable:it reflects the Palestinian practice of not ploughing before sowing and the Semitisms are numerous; (J. Jeremias, Parables of Jesus [re. ed., 1963] p. 149, n. 80) the difficulties raised by Miss Linnemann (E. Linnemann, Parables of Jesus, pp. 117, 181-4.) concern its original meaning, not its authenticity. But the meaning of the parable is, in fact, not difficult to grasp, once we banish from our minds the varied interpretations known to us, from early Christian allegorizing to the ‘parables of growth’ interpretation of liberal theology. When we recognize the original point as that of the contrast between the handful of seed and the bushels of harvest, and when we set the parable finally in the context of the proclamation of God acting as king in the experience of men confronted by the message and ministry of Jesus, what is the significance of a story about a Palestinian peasant who sows handfuls of seed and, despite all the agricultural vicissitudes of that time and place, gathers in bushels of harvest? It is surely that of a contrast between present and future: in the present forgiveness, but also temptation; here and now table-fellowship in the name of the Kingdom of God, but only in anticipation of its richest blessings. Seed-time and harvest are well established Jewish metaphors for the work of God in the world and its consummation. With the proclamation of the Kingdom by Jesus on the one hand and this parable on the other, we are justified in arguing that Jesus, for all the claims he made and implied about the significance of his ministry and message, none the less looked forward to a consummation to which this was related as seed-time to harvest. With its original picturesque emphasis upon the vicissitudes endured by the seed, and the consequent heightening of the success aspects of the harvest, this parable was probably originally concerned to inculcate confidence in God’s future; but for our purposes we must note only that it does look from the present to the future, from the seed-time to the harvest, from a beginning to its consummation. We may have all kinds of difficulties in interpreting this as an emphasis in the teaching of Jesus, but this should not prevent us from recognizing that the emphasis is, in fact, there.

The Mustard Seed

Mark 4.30-32. And he said, ‘With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable shall we use for it? 31It is like a grain of mustard seed which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; 32yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.’

Thomas 20. The disciples said to Jesus: ‘Tell us what the Kingdom of Heaven is like.’ He said to them: ‘It is like a mustard seed, smaller than all seeds. But when it falls on the tilled earth, it produces a large branch and becomes shelter for the birds of heaven.’

The Thomas version has introduced gnosticizing elements into the parable, the tilled ground representing the aspect of labouring in the gnostic soteriology, and the great branch the growth of the ‘heavenly man’, (B. Gärtner, Theology of the Gospel According to Thomas, p. 232.) and has characteristically omitted the Old Testament allusion (H. Montefiore [with H.E.W. Turner], Thomas and the Evangelists [Studies in Biblical Theology 35 (London: SCM Press, 1962), P. 51 and n. 2.) (to Dan. 4.21 or Ezek. 17.23; 31.6) in the reference to the birds resting in the shade/branches. The parallels in Matthew (13.31-32) and Luke (13.18-19) indicate that aversion of this parable was found both in Mark and Q. Matthew and Luke agree against Mark in referring (wrongly) to the mustard plant as a ‘tree’, and in having the birds nest in its ‘branches’ (although actually it is the shade which attracts them); in both instances Mark is the more correct. Matthew probably conflates Mark and Q, whereas Luke chooses Q over against Mark. But the Markan form of the parable seems superior in that it more vividly and correctly represents the Palestinian mustard plant.

The parable presents a striking contrast between a seed, proverbial for its smallness, and a bush, large and shady enough to be especially attractive to birds as a temporary roosting-place. This contrast is the point of the parable, and the reference becomes clear to us when we recognize that here again we have an allusion to a metaphor regularly used in Jewish expectation concerning the End. In the Jewish literature birds nesting in the branches of a tree could and did symbolize the nations of the world coming, penitently, to join the Jews in the blessings of the End time. (T. W. Manson, Teaching of Jesus, p. 133, n. I, with references.) Jesus’ parable uses this image, with the change from branches to shade necessitated by the fact that the reference is to a mustard bush rather than to a cedar tree or the like. We have again, then, a parable which looks from the present beginning to the future consummation, and one, moreover, which implies a point of departure in the success of the challenge to ‘tax collectors and sinners’, and an expectation of this being consummated in a moment when all men come together into the Kingdom of God. The small beginning contains within itself the promise of the particular glory of God’s future, precisely because both the present and the future are God’s.

The Leaven

Matt. 13.33 par. He told them another parable. ‘The kingdom of heaven is like leaven which a woman took and hid in three measures of meal, till it was all leavened.’

Thomas 96. Jesus [said]: ‘The Kingdom of the Father is like [a] woman, (who) has taken a little leaven [ (and) has hidden] it in dough (and) has made large loaves of it.’

The Thomas version of this parable has been transformed in the service of gnosticism. The picture is now that of a woman who, using leaven, is able to produce ‘large loaves’, and the leaven now equals the heavenly particle of light, the spiritual element within man which makes salvation possible. (B. Gärtner, The Theology According to Thomas, p. 231.) This version, therefore, is of no value to us in our particular context. The synoptic version is a twin of the Mustard Seed, making the same point of ‘Simple beginnings: great endings’ by means of the homely analogy of the leaven and the dough. It would be natural to see in this the slow but sure ‘leavening’ of the world by the spirit of Christ, or the like, as did the older liberalism, if we did not recognize, again, that the point of departure is the activity of God as king. The beginning of the activity in the experience of men confronted by the challenge of Jesus and his ministry will reach its climax in the consummation of it, as the putting of leaven into meal reaches its climax in the batch of leavened dough. The emphasis is upon God, upon what he is doing and what he will do, and the parable, like all the parables of this group, is an expression of the supreme confidence of Jesus in God and God’s future.

The Seed Growing of Itself: Mark 4.26-29

26And he said, ‘The kingdom of God is as if a man should scatter seed upon the ground, 27and should sleep and rise night and day, and the seed should sprout and grow, he knows not how. 28The earth produces of itself, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear. 29But when the grain is ripe, at once he puts in the sickle, because the harvest has come.’

This parable bears the stamp of authenticity, not only in that it coheres with the others of this group, but also in that we find ourselves once again confronted by the sure and sympathetic observation of Palestinian life so characteristic of Jesus. The Palestinian peasant knew nothing of the process of growth as visualized by modern men; to him this was a divine mystery. So, although he would do certain things by rule-of-thumb experience -- plough after sowing, protect the field from birds or wandering animals, etc. -- for the most part after sowing he went his daily round with his prayers said, his fingers crossed and a wary eye on the field. The seed grew of itself, he knew not how; what he knew was that suddenly, from one day to the next, the hour of harvest would come and he would be galvanized into activity again. All of this is most vividly expressed in the parable, and we have here once again the use of agricultural imagery to express the reality of God at work. As the Palestinian peasant, after sowing, trusts to God and waits for the moment of harvest, so the man who recognizes the challenge of the activity of God in the ministry of Jesus must learn the lesson of patient waiting, in sure confidence that what has been sown will be reaped, that what God has begun he will bring to a triumphant conclusion.

The message of this group of parables is clear enough: Out of the experience of God in the present learn to have confidence in God’s future. How we may interpret this message, however, is a very different matter, and the question as to whether it has any significance other than that of establishing the historical fact that Jesus had confidence in God and sought to inculcate upon others this confidence is a very real question. But it is a question that must wait until we have more data, for the parables are only part of the message of Jesus, and we must include in our deliberation here what we may learn also from other aspects of the teaching.

Exegesis 2. Luke 11.2=Matt. 6.10; Matt. 8.1= Luke 13.28-29. The Kingdom of God as a Future Expectation

That the Kingdom of God is a future expectation in the teaching of Jesus is not a matter of dispute in the current discussion. The present writer has set down in detail elsewhere the course of the discussion which has led contemporary biblical scholarship to this all but unanimous conclusion, (N. Perrin, Kingdom, passim.) and although he now finds himself more skeptical than once he was about the authenticity of some of the elements of the teaching involved, this does not change the fact that this emphasis was a part of the teaching of Jesus; there is still more than sufficient evidence to show this. In what follows we will discuss only the two most important sayings, not so much to establish the point as to determine, so far as we can, the form in which it is presented in the teaching of Jesus.

Luke 11.2 = Matt 6.10: ‘Thy Kingdom Come’

There are good grounds for accepting the authenticity of this petition in the Lord’s Prayer. The following ‘thy will be done, on earth as in heaven’ in Matthew is doubtless liturgical explication, but the petition itself differs from the Kaddish petition, ‘May he establish his kingdom in your lifetime and in your days and in the lifetime of all the house of Israel, even speedily and at a near time’, which it parallels in sentiment, in ways which are characteristic of Jesus, not the early Church: the brevity of formulation (cf. ‘Father [abba]’ versus ‘Our Father who art in heaven’); the intimate ‘Thy’ for the formal ‘his’; and the use of the verb ‘to come’ rather than ‘to establish’ (the early Church prayed for the coming of the Lord, not the Kingdom, cf. I Cor. 16.22 [Aramaic: Maranatha]; Rev. 22.20). As authentic, and as paralleling the Kaddish prayer in sentiment, it is a petition for the coming of God’s Kingdom, a plea for God to manifest himself as king in the experience of his people -- of this there can be no doubt. But we must remember that the Lord’s Prayer is not a prayer taught to the general public, but a disciple’s prayer; it is a prayer intended to be prayed by people who recognize that God has acted and is acting as king in their experience. If this were not the case for them, they would not pray this prayer at all, for they could not address God as abba. As we argued earlier, (Ibid., p. 192) the use of this extraordinary mode of address to God symbolizes the change wrought by the fact that the Kingdom had, in a real sense, ‘come’, so far as these people were concerned. Since this is the case, we must interpret this petition either as a prayer that others may experience the ‘coming of the Kingdom’, or as a prayer from a present experience to a future consummation. (We are repeating in essence our previous argument, N. Perrin, Kingdom, p. 193.) Of these two, the latter is much the more likely possibility, both because the highly personal nature of the Lord’s Prayer altogether would make the former a jarring note and also because it coheres with the emphasis we have already detected in the parables. This petition is, then, further evidence that Jesus did look toward a future consummation of that which had begun in his ministry and in the experience of men challenged by that ministry.

Matt. 8.11=Luke 13.28-29

11I tell you, many will come from east and west and sit at table with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven.

28There you will weep and gnash your teeth, when you see Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and all the prophets in the kingdom of God and you yourselves thrust out. 29And men will come from east and west, and from north and south, and sit at table in the kingdom of God.

The saying has been used differently by the two evangelists; Matthew uses it in the story of the centurion’s servant, immediately following the saying about the centurion’s faith (v. 10), to formulate a promise that a Gentile with such faith will share in the messianic banquet, and he follows it with another saying (v. 12) which threatens judgement on the Jews who have no such faith. Luke has no such conclusion to his version of the story (Luke 7. 1-10); after the saying about the centurion’s faith (v. 9), the story concludes with the report of the servant’s cure. There can be no doubt but that Luke has, in this respect, the more primitive version of the story; Matthew’s vv. 11 and 12 are certainly Matthaean additions. There is no parallel to Matthew’s v. 12 in Luke; it is to be regarded as a Matthaean formulation using traditional phraseology, but his v. 11 turns up in a Lukan collection of sayings about the difficulties of salvation (Luke 13.22-30). This collection does seem to be Lukan rather than from Q; Klostermann has shown (E. Klostermann, Das Lukasevangelium [Handbuch zum Neuen Testament 5 (Tubingen : J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck] 1929)], pp. 146f.) that although some of the material in it is from Q the present arrangement and form is Lukan. Both Matthew and Luke, therefore, make different uses of an originally quite independent saying.

So far as the form of the saying is concerned, Matthew seems to have preserved the more original wording. Luke’s order is clumsy and seems designed to link the saying to the remainder of the pericope (v. 25 ‘stand outside’, v. 28 ‘there’), and ‘all the prophets’ and ‘and from north and south’ seem to be Lukan additions, the former perhaps under the influence of Christian apologetic, which regularly claimed that the Jews had rejected the prophets and Jesus, and the latter under the influence of passages such as Ps. 107.3. The Matthaean version, on the other hand, is simple in construction and the movement of thought within it is natural.

The saying moves in the world of the regular Jewish symbolism of the messianic banquet. This takes its point of departure from the picture of the feast of God upon the mountains in Isa. 25.6-8, and from there spreads widely throughout the ancient Jewish literature, both apocalyptic and rabbinic. (Billerbeck’s listing of such references occupies more than ten pages, Kommentar IV, 1154-65.) A characteristic passage from apocalyptic is I Enoch 62.14:

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.

and from the rabbinical literature, Ex. R. 25.8:

It is written, ‘For the Lord thy God bringeth thee unto a good land’ (Deut. 8.7) -- to see the table that is prepared in Paradise, as it says, ‘I shall walk before the Lord in the land of the living’ (Ps. 116.9). He (God) as it were sits above the patriarchs, and the patriarchs and all the righteous sit in His midst (toko) as it says, ‘And they sit down (tukku) at thy feet’ (Deut. 33.3), and he distributes portions to them. . . . He will bring them fruit from the Garden of Eden and will feed them from the tree of life.

The expectation plays a real part m the life of the Qumran sectaries, since they have a sacred meal (? their regular daily meal) which they eat in anticipation of the day when they will eat it in the presence of the Messiah: IQSa ii. 11-22, cf. IQS vi. 4-5.

As can be seen by simple comparison, Matt. 8.ii 15 concerned with the same kind of expectation as the apocalyptic and rabbinic passages, but there are some striking differences. First, there is the vividness of detail over against the apocalyptic passage, and both vividness and brevity over against the rabbinic. Although we chose those passages at random, no amount of searching the literature would produce an apocalyptic or rabbinic statement on this theme with such vividness and brevity; in these respects Matt. 8.1 is reminiscent of the parables and the Lord’s Prayer. Further, the saying uses the Kingdom of God to designate the End time state of blessedness, a usage characteristic of Jesus and extremely rare in Judaism. We have been unable to find any instance of a Jewish text referring to this messianic banquet which has Kingdom of God, and if one were found, it would be extremely uncharacteristic: Age to Come, Paradise, Messianic Age and the like are the characteristic Jewish phrases. Finally, the Jewish concept is concerned very much with the ‘righteous’, the ‘elect’, and so on, who enjoy this blessing; the reference to the outcast and Gentiles implied in Matt. 8.1 (and certainly understood by both Matthew and Luke), while it would not be absolutely foreign to Judaism, would certainly, again, be extremely uncharacteristic.

As far as the early Church is concerned, the saying could be a prophetic word in the context of a sacred meal anticipating the messianic banquet, at a time when the Church was concerned with the influx of the Gentiles. On the other hand, it could be a saying of Jesus addressed to the table-fellowship of the Kingdom that was a feature of his ministry, and celebrating the coming of the ‘Jews who had made themselves as Gentiles’ into that fellowship. Of these two possibilities, the latter is overwhelmingly the more likely. Not only because of the dominical characteristics of the saying noted above, but also because it coheres so completely with undeniably genuine sayings, such as the eschatological simile of the marriage feast, Mark 2.19, and the parables discussed earlier in this chapter. We are, therefore, justified in regarding Matt 8.11 as a genuine saying of Jesus.

We have argued the authenticity of this saying with some care, not because of any need to controvert skepticism with regard to it -- indeed, most critical scholars accept its authenticity -- but because of its intrinsic importance. Arising directly out of the table-fellowship of the Kingdom in the ministry of Jesus, it directs attention towards a moment in the future when that fellowship will be consummated. The fellowship of the ministry of Jesus, immensely significant though it is, is still only an anticipation of the ‘sitting at table with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the Kingdom of God’. So, again, the same theme is found: the fulfillment in the present, although it is truly fulfillment, still only anticipates the consummation in the future.

Exegesis 3. The Apocalyptic Son Of Man Sayings (See annotated Bibliography No. 7: Jesus and the Coming Son of Man.

Our interest at this point is in the teaching of Jesus concerning the future, so we shall limit our discussion to the so-called ‘apocalyptic’ Son of man sayings, the core of which may be regarded as being found in Mark 8.38; 13.26; 14.62; Luke 12.8f.par.; 11.30; 17.24 par.; 17.26f par. The other two groups of Son of man sayings, those having a ‘present’ reference, e.g. Mark 2.10; 2.27f., and the ‘suffering’ Son of man sayings: Mark 8.31; 9.12, etc., lie outside the scope of our present enquiry. We hope to discuss them at some future date as part of a wider investigation of New Testament christological traditions. The apocalyptic sayings are sufficiently distinct from these others to warrant quite separate discussion.

Before we can discuss the apocalyptic Son of man sayings in the synoptic gospels, we must first discuss the Son of man in Jewish apocalyptic, for a great deal depends upon our assumptions in regard to this. A widespread assumption, especially in German language research, is that there existed in Jewish apocalyptic the conception of a transcendent, pre-existent heavenly being, the Son of man, whose coming to earth as judge would be a major feature of the drama of the End time. H. E. Tödt, for example, has as a heading for the first chapter of his book The Son of Man in the Synoptic Tradition, (ET by D.M. Barton of Der Menschensohn in der synoptischen Ûberlieferung [1963]; London: SCM Press, and Philadelphia; Westminster Press, 1965 [hereinafter = Son of Man].) ‘The Transcendent Sovereignty of the Son of Man in Jewish apocalyptic literature’, and in the subsequent discussion he assumes that there is a unified and consistent conception which reveals itself in various ways in Dan. 7, I Enoch 37-71 (the Similitudes) and IV Ezra 13, the conception of a transcendent bringer of salvation: the Son of man. He sees that there are differences between Daniel and I Enoch on the one hand and IV Ezra on the other, such as to suggest that there is not, in fact, a unified and consistent conception in Jewish apocalyptic, but he argues that in any case a conception did develop in early Christianity in which consistency was achieved and differences disappeared. This enables him to conclude his chapter with a summary of the elements which he regards as common to the different seers. Their vision is of a heavenly being, a saviour to whom are ascribed supernatural and even divine powers and functions. His sovereignty and power are not those of an earthly being, as could be the case with the Messiah, but come from the future, from the Second Aeon. The seers’ conception is characterized by a strict dualism which radically distinguishes between the present and the coming Aeon, and which determines the transcendental character of the conception of the sovereignty of this redeemer figure. (H. E. Tödt, Son of Man, pp. 22, 30f. Cf., in more summary form, F. Hahn, Christologische Hoheitstitel, pp. 28, 29; Ph. Vielhauer, ‘Gottesreich und Menschensohn in der Verkündigung Jesu’, Festschrift fur Günther Dehn [Neukirchen: Verlag der Buchhandlung des Erziehungsvereins Neukirchen, 1957], pp. 51-79, esp. p. 52; E. Jüngel, Paulus und Jesus, pp. 246ff.; A. J. B. Higgins, Jesus and the Son of Man [London: Lutterworth Press, 1964], p. 15.) Despite the widespread acceptance of this assumption there seems to be a number of difficulties with it.

In the first place, neither of the two cycles of tradition using Son of man subsequent to Dan. 7 in Jewish apocalyptic introduce Son of man as an independent conception with a title which is in itself a sufficient designation; rather, each cycle begins afresh with clear and careful references to Dan. 7. Whether we regard I Enoch 70, 71, as the climax of the Similitudes or as the earliest use of Son of man in the Enoch saga, this remains true, for I Enoch 71 has clear references to Dan. 7 (e.g. vv. 2, io) while I Enoch 46, where Son of man is first introduced in the Similitudes as they now stand, is virtually a mid-rash on Dan 7.13. IV Ezra 13.3 carefully identifies its ‘as it were the form of a man’ which comes from the sea as the one who flies ‘with the clouds of heaven’, i.e. as the Son of man from Dan. 7.13.

Further, the differences between the Son of man in I Enoch and the Man from the sea in IV Ezra are such that the reference to Dan. 7.13 is the only thing they have in common, apart from the fact that pre-existence, in the special apocalyptic sense, is ascribed to both figures, as it is to many other things. In view of the fact that IV Ezra 13 does not have a titular use of Son of man at all, we are not justified in regarding it as supplementing I Enoch in references to a Son of man concept. Having identified its Man from the sea with the figure from Dan. 7.13, it then goes on to refer to him as ‘the same Man’ (v.12), ‘a Man from the sea’ (vv. 25, 51), ‘a Man’ (v. 32), but never as ‘Son of man’. As for the distinction between the sovereignty and powers of the (earthly) Messiah and those of the (pre-existent, heavenly) Son of man, it should be noted that although IV Ezra 13.26 has the Man from the sea being kept ‘many ages’ by the Most High, the description of the redemptive activity of this figure in vv. 9ff. is couched in language drawn largely from Ps. Sol. 17, a description of the activity of the (earthly) Messiah.

What we have, in fact, in Jewish apocalyptic is not a Son of man conception at all, as Tödt and others assume, but a use of Dan. 7.13 by subsequent seers, a usage which does not end with apocalyptic, but continues on into the midrashim. In so far as Dan. 7.13 exhibits a concept we may speak of a Son of man conception in Jewish apocalyptic, but it would be better to speak of an ‘image’, and, therefore, of the varied use of ‘Son of man imagery’ in Jewish apocalyptic and midrashic literature. In order to make our meaning clear, and in view of the intrinsic importance of this subject, we shall offer an analysis of the use of ‘Son of man imagery’ in Jewish apocalyptic and midrashic literature as we see it.

1. Dan. 7 itself takes up an existing image from ancient Canaanite mythology, the nearest parallels to which, in texts now available to us, are from Ugarit and Tyre. (Endless possibilities from the history of religions and from Jewish speculative theology have been proposed as the origin of the Son of man figure n Jewish apocalyptic, but two recent areticles have pointed strongly to Ugarit and Tyre: L. Rost, ‘Zur Deutung des Menschensohnes in Daniel 7’, in Gott und die Götter: Festgabe für Erich Fascher [Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1958], pp. 41-43 [Ugarit], and J. Morgenstern, ‘The "Son of Man" of Dan. 7.13f. A New Interpretation’, JBL 80 (1961), 65-77 [Tyre]. C. Colpe, himself a Religionsgeschichtler of real standing, has investigated thoroughly all the proposed possibilities and reached the conclusion that this ‘Canaanite hypothesis’ comes nearest to meeting the needs of the case, so far as our present knowledge goes, TWNT article, B. Das religionsgeschichtliche Problem, esp. BVc Ergebnis. This investigation is so thorough and convincing that its publication may be expected to produce a general consensus of agreement. For details of this work by Colpe, see Annotated Bibliography No. 7.) This is to be found in Dan. 7.9, 10, 13, 14, which because of its metric structure is to be distinguished from the remainder of the chapter, and is the account of an assembly of gods at which authority is passed from one god, designated Ancient of Days, to another, younger god, designated Son of man. This existing image the author of Daniel weaves into his vision, a procedure altogether characteristic of apocalyptic literature, and then goes on to offer his interpretation of the Son of man figure (v. 27). It represents ‘the people of the saints of the Most High’, almost certainly the Maccabean martyrs, and his coming to dominion, glory and greatness is their coming to their reward for the sufferings they have endured. In other words, the use of Son of man in Daniel is a cryptic way of assuring the (Maccabean) readers of the book that their suffering will not go unrewarded. In exactly the same way the Christian apocalyptic seer uses a vision of white-robed figures ‘before the throne and before the lamb’ (Rev. 7) to assure the persecuted Christians that their suffering will not go unrewarded. In all probability, the author of Daniel was attracted to the mythological scene he uses because it is a cryptic reference to a giving of power and glory, and, therefore, will bear his message, and also because it has in it a mysterious figure which he can set in contrast to the beasts of his vision. That the figure is ‘one like unto a Son of man’ is probably a pure accident; any other cryptically designated figure would have served his purpose equally well. His purpose was to bring to his readers a message of assurance, of power and glory to be theirs as a reward for their constancy, and nothing more should be read into his use of this Son of man imagery than that. But Daniel becomes the fountain-head of a stream of apocalyptic and, like much else in his book, the Son of man scene is taken up and used by subsequent seers.

2. The first use of the imagery from Dan. 7 in subsequent apocalyptic is in I Enoch 70-71. We accept M. Black’s contention that this is earlier than the remainder of the Similitudes, that it is, in fact, the third of three descriptions of the ‘call’ of Enoch (14.8ff., 60, 70-71), each of which is built upon the model of Ezek. 1, and describes Enoch’s call to a different task. (M. Black, ‘Eschatology of the Similitudes of Enoch’, JTS [n.s.] 3 [1952], 1-10.) These are not doublets but rather developments going on within an ever-expanding Enoch saga.

The Enoch saga is a major development in Jewish apocalyptic, inspired by the cryptic references to Enoch in the Old Testament, especially Gen. 5.22, 24: ‘Enoch walked with God; and he was not, for God took him.’ Indeed, the ‘call’ of Enoch in I Enoch 70-71 is an elaboration of the second part of this verse, i.e. the reference to Enoch’s translation to heaven, with a characteristic use of existing imagery, in this instance Ezek. and Dan. 7. From Ezek. 1 come the chariots of the spirit (70.2), the flaming cherubim (71.7), the fire which girdles the house (71.6; in Ezekiel fire surrounds the cherubim); and Enoch, like Ezekiel, falls to the ground when confronted by the vision (71.11; Ezek. 1.28). From Dan. 7 come the stream (s) of fire (71.2), the Head of Days (71.10) and, above all, the use of the Son of man in connection with Enoch. It is easy enough to see what has happened: the seer has interpreted the translation of Enoch in terms of the call of Ezekiel and of the appearance before the Ancient of Days of the Son of man. This was no doubt the easier because in Ezek. 2.1, Ezekiel is addressed as Son of man; indeed, that use of Son of man may well have been the connecting link for the seer, that which brought together for him the two scenes he uses in connection with the translation of his hero. Because the translation of Enoch is interpreted in terms of Dan. 7.13, Enoch becomes the Son of man.

Dan. 7 and the figure of the Son of man having been introduced into the Enoch saga in this way, they come to play a major role in that part of the saga we call the Similitudes. In Enoch 46 the scene from Dan. 7 is taken up again and attention focused anew on the Son of man, who now for the seer is Enoch. Significantly, the first thing said about him is that he has ‘righteousness’ (46.3), which is surely an allusion to Gen. 5.22, 24, where Enoch ‘walked with God’ (MT), ‘was well pleasing to God’ (LXX). At this point the characteristic concerns of apocalyptic come to the fore and Enoch/Son of man reveals ‘the treasures that are hidden’, namely, the way in which through him the wicked shall be destroyed, and the passage moves on to concentrate upon the coming destruction of the wicked. In connection with this revealing of the hidden we must remember that the basis for the work of the apocalyptic seer is always the idea that the things which will make up the drama of the End time already exist, so to speak, in prototype, in ‘the heavens’, where they await the moment of their revealing. An apocalyptic seer is granted a vision of these things prior to their being revealed to all the world at the End; hence, he has a message concerning the End to bring to his audience. In this sense all the features of the End are pre-existent, including the New Jerusalem of IV Ezra and the Christian apocalypse, and these are the hidden treasures which are revealed to Enoch.

In I Enoch 48.2 the Son of man/Ancient of Days imagery is taken up again, and the Son of man is further distinguished as the one whose role had been determined (48.3). We are on the way to an assertion that he is pre-existent in the heavens awaiting his revelation at the End. The role of the Son of man is elaborated in terms taken from the prophetic books of the Old Testament, especially Isaiah, and in the course of this elaboration of the role of the Son of man, his pre-existence, in this apocalyptic sense, is affirmed (48.6), and he is further identified with the Messiah (48.10).

The imagery from Dan. 7 is taken up for a third time in 62.5. Here the seer depicts the distress of the kings and the mighty when they see the Son of man ‘sitting on the throne of his glory’. Clearly he has in mind Dan. 7.14, and he is expressing the idea of the dominion, glory and kingdom of the Son of man from that verse in these terms. With his mind set on the Son of man on his throne, the seer proceeds to elaborate the role of the Son of man as judge of the oppressors and as the one with whom the elect and righteous will dwell for ever. Both of these are, of course, common apocalyptic themes. Normally in apocalyptic, God himself is the judge, but in the Similitudes of Enoch, the Son of man assumes this function. But again, the reason is the scene from Dan. 7. In 47.3 God himself is the judge, but God designated as the Head (Ancient) of Days. Precisely because the Son of man is given the throne of the Ancient of Days in Dan. 7.14, as our seer understands it, he can assume the role of apocalyptic judge; indeed, this becomes his major role. Having assumed the role of judge, he can also assume that of leader of the redeemed community, which elsewhere is also the role of God himself (Isa. 60.19, 20; Zeph. 3.15-17).

The seer returns to Dan. 7 for the last time in 69.26-29, which is the close of the third parable and a kind of closing summary of the role of Enoch as Son of man. The name of that Son of man is revealed to the righteous, i.e. the (future) function of Enoch as Son of man is revealed, and he sits on the throne of his glory and exercises his function of judgement. It is interesting that here in this summary we should have reference only to the revealing of the name of the Son of man to the righteous, the characteristic message of hope to the readers of apocalyptic, and to the function of the Son of man as judge. This latter fact, together with the sheer extent of the references to this function in the previous Son of man passages, indicates that the seer is concerned predominantly with the Son of man as judge.

What has happened in I Enoch is, then, in our view, that in the course of the development of the Enoch saga the translation of Enoch has been interpreted in terms of Ezek. i and Dan. 7, and Dan. 7 has then been understood as referring to the giving of the role of eschatological judge to the one represented by the Son of man figure (a quite different interpretation from that given to this scene by the author of Daniel) which in this saga is Enoch. Then the saga goes on to elaborate on the theme of the judgement to be carried Out by the Son of man, although constantly returning to the initial scene, and in the course of this elaboration, other ideas characteristic of apocalyptic, e.g. pre-existence in the special apocalyptic sense, are introduced.

In what we have said above it has been assumed that the Similitudes of Enoch are the work of one seer and, further, no attempt has been made to differentiate between things said of the Son of man figure on the basis of the different Ethiopic expressions which are represented by Son of man or Man in the English version of I Enoch. With regard to the first point, even if there are several seers represented in the Similitudes as they now stand, their work is sufficiently homogeneous to be treated as a unity. With regard to the second, the Ethiopic text itself is a translation of a Semitic original, and a division into sources on the basis of linguistic factors would only be justified if the use of different terms corresponded to the occurrence of different conceptions, which is certainly not the case in this instance.

3. The vision of the Man from the sea in IV Ezra 13 also makes use of Dan. 7. This Man has ‘as it were the form of a man’ and he flies ‘with the clouds of heaven’ (v. 3). In the interpretation of the vision he is the one whom the Most High is keeping many ages (v. 26), i.e. he is pre-existent in the apocalyptic sense. But, as we noted above, the Man from the sea is not called Son of man, and the description of his activity is largely taken from Ps. Sol. 17.

The vision in IV Ezra 13 is not a vision of the Son of man at all but a vision of the Messiah (‘my [i.e. God’s] Son’, vv. 32, 37, 52). It is reminiscent of Ps. Sol. 17 (which concerns the ‘Son of David’), from which it takes much of its language, and, indeed, it might be described as a translation of Ps. Sol. 17 into the more fanciful style of apocalyptic fantasy. In the course of the vision the imagery of Dan. 7.13 is used to describe the manner of the Messiah’s appearance (‘as it were the form of a man’) and the mode of his movement (‘this Man flew with the clouds of heaven’). The argument that we have here a transcendent sovereign Son of man conception must turn entirely upon two points, that the Messiah here is ‘kept many ages’ (R. H. Charles, Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament II, 616, n. 26, finds this sufficient to identify the figure with the Son of man of I Enoch [G. H. Box]). and that he functions as a redeemer, for these are the only things in common between this figure and the Enochic Son of man.

The latter point cannot be held to be significant. The central concern of apocalyptic is with the coming redemption, and the fact that two figures function as redeemers only unites them into some such broad category as ‘apocalyptic redeemer figures’, of which, incidentally, there is a large number. This is especially the case in this instance, since the main thrust of the redemptive activity is clearly derived from different sources in each case. The activity of the Son of man in Enoch has been derived largely from the concept of his taking the throne of God, while that of ‘my Son’ in IV Ezra comes from the description of the redemptive work of the Son of David in Ps. Sol. 17. Everything turns, then, upon the fact that pre-existence, in the special apocalyptic sense, is attributed to both figures. But that pre-existence is attributed to many things in apocalyptic. If this were not the case there could be no apocalyptic literature, for, as we pointed out earlier, what the seer sees is always the things which the Most High is ‘keeping many ages’ until the time of their appearance at the End. Because of this, we remain completely unconvinced that this one point will bear the weight of the whole ‘transcendent sovereignty of the Son of man in Jewish apocalyptic’, especially in view of the facts that Son of man is not used as a title in IV Ezra and that there are no other points in common between the two figures.

One further point about IV Ezra 13 is that this is the first time in the use of Dan. 7.13 that the phrase ‘with the clouds of heaven’ is understood as referring to the movement of the Son of man figure. In the original text of Daniel it should be understood as introductory to the whole scene, the clouds forming the background or frame to the celestial scene, and not as a description of the approach of the Son of man figure to the throne. (R.B.Y. Scott, ‘Behold, he cometh with clouds’, NTS 5 [1958/9], 127-32.)

4. The use of Dan. 7.13 in connection with eschatological expectation does not end with the apocalyptic literature, but continues into the talmudic and midrashic tradition, where it is also used in connection with the Messiah. Here the major use is a development of that found in IV Ezra 13 in that the ‘clouds’ phrase is understood as descriptive of the figure’s movement, but it goes a step further in that the figure now moves from heaven to earth. This is the first time that this happens in the use of the imagery in the Jewish traditions. It can be urged that I Enoch implies that the Son of man will be revealed as judge from heaven to earth, but it is nowhere definitely stated that he ‘comes’, much less that he ‘comes with the clouds of heaven’. However, this now happens in b. Sanh. 98a: ‘R. Alexander said: "R. Joshua opposed two verses: it is written, ‘and behold, with the clouds of heaven one like a Son of man came’ (Dan. 7.13); while it is written, ‘lowly, and riding upon an ass’ (Zech. 9.9). If they are meritorious [the Messiah will come] ‘with the clouds of heaven’; if not ‘lowly, and riding upon an ass’." A similar understanding and use of the text is found in the midrashim: Tanhuma B 70b; Aggadath Bereshith 14a (Billerbeck, Kommentar I, 957); Num. R. 13.14, and also in Gen. R. 13.11, where, however, the reference is to the coming rain clouds, not to the Messiah.

5. Finally, the midrashic tradition also maintains the original meaning of the text in that Dan. 7.13 is used as descriptive of the Messiah’s coming to God, not of his coming to earth: Midrash on Ps. 2.9 and 21.5. 2.9 is concerned with the glory of the Messiah, and it quotes Dan. 7.13a, interpreting it in terms of the glory and dominion which the Messiah will be given by God; 21.5 15 concerned with the manner in which the Messiah will come into the presence of God, quoting and contrasting Dan. 7.13b and Jer. 30.21, and then reconciling the two.

The above is, we believe, an account of the significant eschatological use of Dan. 7.13 in the ancient Jewish traditions, and it can be seen at once that each use is accounted for, the developments envisaged are reasonable and the hypothetical relationships are smooth. What we have is not the conception of the coming of a transcendent, sovereign figure, the heavenly redeemer, the Son of man. There is no sufficient relationship between the use of Son of man in I Enoch and IV Ezra for us to suppose that they are both reflections of a common conception. What we have is the imagery of Dan. 7.13 being used freely and creatively by subsequent seers and scribes. These uses are independent of one another; the common dependence is upon Dan. 7.13 on the one hand and upon the general world of apocalyptic concepts on the other. Similarly, the scribes of the midrashic traditions in their turn use the imagery of Dan. 7.13 in connection with the Messiah. Although they abandon the general world of apocalyptic concepts, none the less they find Dan. 7.13 every bit as useful in their presentation of the Messiah as did the seer of IV Ezra 13 in his.

It is proposed that some such account as the one we have given be accepted as the background against which to view the apocalyptic Son of man sayings in the synoptic tradition. In particular, attention is called to the free development of the tradition in the Enoch saga, once Enoch is identified as Son of man by reason of the interpretation of his translation in terms of Ezek. 1 and Dan 7. It will be argued below that a similar but completely independent thing happened in the Christian tradition as a result of the interpretation of the resurrection of Jesus in terms of Dan 7.13. Just as Enoch becomes Son of man on the basis of an interpretation of his translation, so Jesus becomes Son of man on the basis of an interpretation of his resurrection.

The apocalyptic Son of man sayings with a claim to authenticity fall naturally into three groups: those clearly reflecting Dan. 7.13: Mark 13.26, 14.62; the judgement sayings: Luke 12.8f. par., Mark 8.38; and the comparison sayings: Luke 17.24 par., 17.26f. par., 11.30.

Sayings reflecting Dan. 7.13: Mark 13.26; 14.62

Mark 13.26. And then they will see the Son of man coming in clouds with great power and glory.

Mark 14.62. And Jesus said, ‘lam; and you will see the Son of man sitting at the right hand of Power, and coming with the clouds of heaven.’

We have conducted an intensive investigation of the apocalyptic Son of man sayings in the synoptic tradition on the basis of the hypothesis that the point of origin was the use of Dan. 7.13 in a Christian exegetical tradition connected with the resurrection. As a result of this investigation we believe that we can now satisfactorily explain and interpret the sayings Mark 13.26 and 14.62. (On Mark 14.62 see N. Perrin, ‘Mark 14.62: End Product of a Christian Pesher Tradition?’ NTS 12 [1965/6], pp. 150-55.) It is our contention in particular that the synoptic tradition, and related parts of the remainder of the New Testament, preserve traces of three exegetical traditions using Dan. 7.13.

Most obvious of all is the purely apocalyptic and parousia type usage represented by Mark 13.26. As compared with any version of Dan. 7.13 known to us from outside the New Testament, this saying has changed the order of words to bring the ‘clouds’ phrase Into close connection with the verb ‘coming’, a change common to every allusion to this text in the New Testament. It is a change obviously made to make unambiguous the fact that the clouds are the medium for the figure’s movement and that the movement is one from heaven to earth. Such changes in a text are common in, and indeed a hallmark of, the Qumran pesharim, to the methodology of which the Christian exegetical traditions are certainly indebted. (B. Lindars, New Testament Apologetic, pp. 24ff. N.Perrin, ‘Mark 14.62 . . .’,NTS 12 [1965/6], p. 151) This double emphasis now occurs for the first time in the use of Dan. 7.13 in apocalyptic literature, Jewish or Christian. (Assuming for the moment that Mark 13.26 represents the first use in Christian apocalyptic. If, as we shall argue below, this text is not the first use in Christian tradition, then we would substitute another text for Mark 13.26, but the essential point would remain the same: this double emphasis is first known to us from a Christian text.) As we pointed out above, the linking of the clouds with the movement of the figure first occurs in Jewish apocalyptic in IV Ezra, but there the figure does not come from heaven to earth. The LXX version of Dan. 7.i3 must certainly be regarded as understanding the figure as moving on the clouds, because it translates the Aramaic preposition involved by the Greek epi (‘upon’), whereas the Theodotion version uses the more correct meta (‘with’). But the scene is still purely a heavenly scene, and the change in the word order characteristic of the Christian tradition is not, of course, found.

Mark 3.26 has neither the LXX ‘upon the clouds’ nor the Theodotion ‘with the clouds’ (= Aramaic), but uses the preposition en ‘in clouds’. This is a second change over against the original text, and again it has the appearance of a characteristic pesher type change in the service of the text’s reinterpretation. The phrase ‘in clouds’ is characteristic of Old Testament epiphanies (Ex. 16.10; 19.9; Lev. 16.2; Num. 11.25), and the use of it here, therefore, emphasizes the fact that the coming of Jesus as Son of man is an epiphany.

We are assuming that Mark 13.26 is a Christian product, and that the reference, Son of man, is to Jesus. The latter point would present no difficulties if the former point is to be granted, but there is a considerable body of opinion that Mark 13 is based upon a piece (or pieces) of Jewish apocalyptic and that v. 26 should be reckoned part of that Jewish Vorlage. (So, most recently, A. Suhl, Die Funktion der alttestamentlichen Zitate und Auspielungen in Markusevangelium [Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1965], p. 18, n. 46.) That Mark 13 has been constructed in large part on the basis of Jewish apocalyptic material we do not doubt, but we would argue that the Markan reworking begins in this instance at v. 26 and not, as Suhl and those whom he follows argue, at ‘V. 28. In the first place, for v. 26 to be a product of Jewish apocalyptic, there would have had to exist in late Judaism the complete and consistent Son of man conception, the existence of which we have denied above. Then, this Jewish conception would have had to produce a saying which exhibited those characteristics which are regularly to be found in the Christian sayings, but, apart from this one text, not at all in Judaism: the ‘they will see’, and the change in word order bringing the cloud phrase next to the verb. Further, the Jewish apocalyptic texts would then have had to lose all trace of this form of the conception, for in no other such text does the Son of man ‘come with the clouds’, except for this one instance preserved by Christians, and, finally, the Christian tradition would have had to be indebted to this one Jewish saying for the features most characteristic of the specifically Christian expectation. All of these things are possible, but they are so extremely unlikely that we will waste no further time on this text as a product of Jewish apocalyptic and seek, instead, an explanation of its features in terms of Christian traditions.

If this text, and the particular form of Son of man expectation which it embodies, is a product of Christian tradition, then one thing becomes clear: Jesus must first be regarded as having ascended to heaven as Son of man before he can ‘come with the clouds’ from heaven as that Son of man. This is a very important point so far as our discussion of the apocalyptic Son of man sayings is concerned. If a clearly defined conception of the Son of man ‘coming with the clouds’ existed in late Judaism and produced such a saying as Mark 13.26, then Jesus could have alluded to it, and the Christian tradition have taken it over, simply identifying Jesus as that Son of man. If such a clearly defined conception of the Son of man ‘coming with the clouds’ did not, however, exist in late Judaism, and Mark 13.26 is a Christian production, then Jesus could not have alluded to it, and the Christians must have had some factor at work in their traditions to produce it. It is for this reason that we have discussed at some length both the Son of man concept in ancient Judaism and the origin of Mark 13.26, and on these points we now simply rest our case and go on to explain the Christian traditions on the assumption that we may be right. We would, of course, regard our case as being strengthened if we are able to explain satisfactorily the Christian traditions on the basis of our assumption.

We have reached the point in our discussion where we must seek a factor in the Christian tradition which could be the occasion for the development of the conception of Jesus ‘coming with the clouds’ as Son of man, and we claim that the only factor sufficient for this purpose would be an interpretation of the resurrection as Jesus having ascended to heaven as Son of man. In other words, there must be a moment in the Christian tradition when the resurrection of Jesus is interpreted in terms of Dan. 7.13, just as in the Enoch traditions there is the moment when Enoch’s translation is interpreted in this way (I Enoch 70, 71). Of course, we may expect to find only traces of such a moment, because it must have been one of the first things to develop in the early Christian theologizing, since the expectation of the return of Jesus as Son of man is a feature of the very earliest forms of Christianity, and all our documents are comparatively late. But if we are correct in our argument thus far, then it should be there. Is it?

Well, the interpretation of the resurrection of Jesus as an ascension is certainly there; indeed, it is the most prominent feature of the New Testament understanding of the resurrection. Moreover, this understanding is reached by means of an interpretation of the resurrection in terms of an Old Testament text, Ps. 110.1. We called attention in our first chapter to B. Lindars’s demonstration of the fact that Luke, in Peter’s Pentecost speech, has preserved for us the primitive Christian interpretation of the resurrection in terms of various passages from the Psalms, including Ps. 110.1, and his further demonstration of the way in which this exegesis then underlies traditions widespread in the New Testament. As we pointed out there, Lindars is able to establish the fact that Luke, in Acts 2, is reproducing very early Christian theologizing, and, indeed, that Luke is reproducing an early use of Ps. 110.1 rather than himself pioneering in such a use, no one would doubt. The use of Ps. 110.1 is reflected everywhere in the New Testament and cannot, therefore, have been introduced by Luke.

Luke himself emphasizes the ascension aspect of the resurrection; indeed, it becomes a major part of his theology, and he goes so far as to systematize the ascension as an event separate from the resurrection (Luke 24.51 [RSV margin]; Acts 1.9), whereas elsewhere in the New Testament it is always an aspect of the resurrection itself. But for all this, he is not himself responsible for the understanding of the resurrection as an ascension; this he derives from the primitive Christian interpretation of the resurrection in terms of Ps. 110.1, an interpretation reflected throughout the New Testament.

There are two places in the New Testament where Ps. 110.1 and Dan. 7.13 are used together: Mark 14.62 par. and Acts 7.56. Mark 14.62 as a whole will concern us later; for the moment we note only the first Old Testament allusion in that verse: ‘. . . the Son of man sitting at the right hand of Power’. This is an allusion to both Dan. 7.13 and Ps. 110.1, and, taken by itself; is evidence that the resurrection of Jesus has been interpreted in terms of both these texts: in his resurrection Jesus is understood to have ascended to God’s right hand (Ps. 110. 1) as Son of man (Dan. 7.13). Let it be noted that there is here no parousia reference; were it not for the ‘you will see’ which comes before, and the explicit parousia reference which comes after, also alluding to Dan. 7.13, there would be no hint of a parousia, only of an ascension, in the ‘. . . Son of man sitting at the right hand of Power’ of Mark 14.62a.

Acts 7.56 is Stephen’s account of his vision:

. . . and he said, ‘Behold, I see the heavens opened, and the Son of man standing at the right hand of God.’

This is an extraordinarily interesting verse. In the first place it represents a major aspect of the Lukan theology. Luke himself is not greatly concerned with the parousia; although he echoes it (Luke 21.27 [= Mark 13.26]) as a traditional Christian hope, his own concern is with the ongoing present of Christian experience and Christian work, rather than with the future of the parousia. In the course of the rethinking of primitive Christian eschatology which this entailed, and as a part of his own distinctive eschatology, he develops the conception of the death of a Christian as a kind of individual experience of the parousia, (We are here indebted to C. K. Barrett, ‘Stephen and the Son of Man’, in Apophoreta. Festschrift für Ernst Haenchen, ed. W. Eltester (Beihefte zur ZNW 30 [Berlin: Alfred Töpelmann, 1964]), pp. 32-38. In what follows we are consciously contrasting our views, in part, with those of H. E. Tödt, Son of Man, Excursus II, pp. 303-5, to whom we are also, at some points, indebted.) and offers us this understanding here in Stephen’s vision. At his death Stephen sees Jesus rising (hence, the ‘standing’) to come to him as Son of man. In the service of this understanding of an individual parousia, Luke has modified Mark 14.62 (Luke 22.69). He has omitted the ‘you will see’ addressed to the High Priest, since the individual parousia is to be a Christian experience, and substituted for it, ‘from now on’; and he also omits the specific reference to the parousia in Mark 14.62, because he is preparing for Stephen’s vision and the individual parousia. As we shall argue below, this ‘you will see’ comes from Christian ‘passion apologetic’ addressed primarily to Jews, and Luke, knowing this, must have regarded it as inappropriate here. The very reason which makes it appropriate for Mark (and Matthew), i.e this allusion to ‘passion apologetic’, makes it inappropriate for Luke. This gives us: ‘But from now on the Son of man shall be seated at the right hand of the Power of God’, which is now a preparation for Stephen’s vision and is to be read together with Acts 7.56 to give the particular Lukan understanding of an individualized Christian parousia. That Luke is dependent upon Mark, or the tradition which Mark is using, in Luke 22.69 is, we believe, to be argued from the way in which he maintains the Semitic circumlocution for God, ‘Power’, while adding ‘of God’ for the sake of his Gentile readers who may not understand the construction. In Acts 7.56 he has not the same immediate Vorlage and, hence, there we find the direct ‘right hand of God’.

Acts 7.56, therefore, serves a most definite purpose within the Lukan theology, as does Luke 22.69, but this does not mean that the particular thing which concerns us at the moment, i.e. the combination of allusions to Dan. 7.13 and Ps. 110.1 in the ‘Son of man standing at the right hand of God’, is a wholly Lukan construction, although the particular verb ‘standing’ may well be supplied by Luke in the service of his particular understanding. The allusions themselves, indeed, cannot be Lukan; not only does Mark 14.62 have the same combination of allusions, but there is also no indication that Luke ever uses Son of man except in dependence upon a Vorlage. His use in his gospel is determined by his Vorlage there, largely Mark, (H. Conzelmann, Theology of St. Luke, p. 171, n.2.) and this is the only occurrence in Acts. Moreover, there is an indication that Luke is, at any rate in part, dependent upon a Vorlage in Acts 7.55f.; witness the clumsy combination of the singular ‘heaven’ in v. 55 (the normal Lukan use) and the plural ‘the heavens’ in v.56 (the non-Lukan use). (H. E. Tödt, Son of Man, p. 305.)

One further point about Acts 7.56 to be taken into account is the reference to ‘the right hand of God’. In Luke 22.69 we have ‘the right hand of the Power of God’ which we argued above was a Lukan explanatory expansion of his Markan Vorlage, ‘the right hand of Power’. It is a well-known feature of Luke’s editorial work that he follows his sources as closely as he can; to restrict himself to the explanatory addition rather than to remove the, to him, unnecessary Semitic circumlocution would be quite typical. The other changes he makes in that verse are forced upon him by the theological point he intends to make by the combination of Luke 22.69 with Acts 7.56. But if Luke is dependent upon a pre-Lukan formulation in Acts 7.56, and we are following Tödt (Ibid.) in arguing that he is, then the phrase ‘the right hand of God’ is not specifically Lukan, despite the fact that it is oriented towards the Gentile world in that it mentions God directly and not by circumlocution. This would be in accordance with Luke’s own predilections, but if he were going to introduce the phrase for some other phrase in his source he would have done so in Luke 22.69. Hence, ‘the right hand of God’ must have stood in the pre-Lukan formulation of Acts 7.56. But this means that the combination of Ps. 110.1 and Dan. 7.13 found in Mark 14.62 and the same combination found in the pre-Lukan formulation of Acts 7.56 cannot be dependent upon one another, since the one, Mark with the circumlocution, reflects a Jewish way of thinking, and the other, Acts with the direct mention of God, reflects a non-Jewish way of thinking. Yet both have exactly the same combination of Old Testament texts.

Our thesis is that these two verses represent the remnant of a Christian exegetical tradition in which the original interpretation of the resurrection in terms of Ps. 110.1 was expanded by the use of Dan. 7.13: the resurrection of Jesus is now interpreted as his ascension to God as Son of man. Such a use of Dan. 7.13 in connection with the resurrection-ascension of Jesus would parallel the use of the text in connection with the translation of Enoch in I Enoch 70, 71 to which we called attention earlier. Additional support for this thesis, that a tradition linking ascension and Son of man tradition existed in primitive Christianity, can be claimed from the ascension story in Acts 1.9. As an ascension story it is dependent ultimately upon the Ps. 110.1 tradition, and it also contains an echo of Dan. 7.13, the reference to the ‘cloud’ which takes Jesus away. This is an allusion to the ‘clouds’ of Dan. 7.13 just as is the same singular ‘cloud’ in Luke 21.27 (= Mark 13.26 ‘clouds’), and is, therefore, additional evidence for the existence of a tradition combining Ps. 110.1 and Dan. 7.13. The original text of Ps. 110.1 has ‘my right hand’, God being the speaker, but in using the text in an exegetical tradition, where God would no longer be directly identified as the speaker, it would be necessary, and natural, to make the ‘my’ specific. This could be done either directly or by circumlocution, depending on the susceptibility of the scribe concerned. In this case, the Mark 14.62 reference comes from one form of this tradition and the pre-Lukan formulation of Acts 7.56 from another.

An argument in favour of our thesis is that it explains an aspect of Acts 7.56 that other exegetes have found puzzling. In his excellent study of the Son of man sayings in the synoptic tradition, Tödt argues convincingly for the existence of a pre-Lukan formulation in Acts 7.56, but then finds it impossible to relate the resultant synoptic-like Son of man saying to the synoptic tradition because the words are not on the lips of Jesus, and there is no specific parousia reference. ‘So we cannot share the view that there is a pre-Lukan tradition underlying both Luke 22.69 and Acts 7.56 which would complement and render comprehensible by the concepts expressed in it the synoptic tradition concerning the Son of man.’ (H. E. Tödt, Son of Man, p. 305.) The first point is not too significant, because Son of man sayings were certainly formulated in the Church, and it is, therefore, the (admittedly surprising) fact that they are normally only found on the lips of Jesus which requires explanation, not an appearance out of such a context. The second point is what really matters, and here Tödt is quite right: in the pre-Lukan formulation of Acts 7.56 there is no parousia reference (since we are dealing with the pre-Lukan formulation, the specifically Lukan individualized parousia does not come into consideration). But then in Mark 14.62a there is also no parousia reference; only when we read the first Old Testament allusion in Mark 14.62 in the light of the second does it become a parousia reference, for the parousia first comes into Mark 14.62 with the second allusion ‘. . . coming with the clouds of heaven’. Tödt attempts to relate Acts 7.56 to Luke 22.69 directly, and here we would agree there is nothing to be found relating to the general synoptic concepts of Son of man. But if we relate it to Mark 14.62a, then there is very definitely something to be learned, namely, the existence of a non-parousia, ascension usage of Dan. 7.13 in the synoptic tradition like that in I Enoch 70, 71, and the pre-Lukan formulation in Acts 7.56 takes its place in the total structure of synoptic Son of man traditions.

We have so far argued for the existence of two Christian exegetical traditions using Dan. 7.13, one (represented in Mark 13.26) using Dan. 7.13 in the parousia sense, and the other (represented in Mark 14.62 a and Acts 7.56) a development of a tradition interpreting the resurrection in terms of Ps. 110.1 and using Dan. 7.13 in its original Danielic, non-parousia sense. But this cannot be the end of the matter, if only because we have so far found no explanation for significant parts of both Mark 13.26 and 14.62: the ‘they will see’ of the one, and the ‘you will see’ of the other. If our basic assumptions are correct, then there must be an explanation of this aspect of these texts also in terms of early Christian exegetical traditions. We may not call it a ‘characteristic apocalyptic touch’ or the like, because in our view these texts are not the product of a general apocalyptic conception, but of specific Christian exegetical traditions.

The next step in our thesis is to claim that there are to be found in the New Testament remnants of a third exegetical tradition using Dan. 7.13, a tradition whose starting-point is not the resurrection but the crucifixion. It is well known that earliest Christianity used the Old Testament extensively in her attempts to present a crucified Messiah to the Jews, (B. Lindars appropriately calls this ‘passion Apologetic’.) and one such text used was Zech. 12.10ff., or rather a selection from these verses: ‘They shall look (epiblepsontai) upon him whom they have pierced . . . and they shall mourn (kopsontai) over him, all the tribes of the earth.’ This is used of the crucifixion in the fourth gospel:

John 19.37. And again another scripture says, ‘They shall look upon him whom they have pierced’,

where it should be noted that the verb represented by ‘they shall look’ is not the LXX epiblepsontai, but opsontai. John 19.37 represents an example of early Christian ‘passion apologetic’; all Jewish expectation to the contrary notwithstanding, a crucified Messiah is a possibility. Indeed, God had foretold that crucifixion through the scripture fulfilled in Jesus’ crucifixion.

Once the use of Zech. 12.10ff. is established in early Christian passion apologetic, it would be natural to go on to use other aspects of the passage to formulate Christian expectation, a practice we find often enough in the Qumran pesharim. This could lead to a development in which the ‘they will mourn’ part of the passage was introduced to add to the apologetic the note that, just as ‘they’ have seen him crucified, so ‘they’ will have occasion to mourn, namely, at his coming as Son of man. This is exactly what we find in the Apocalypse:

Rev. 1.7. Behold, he is coming with the clouds, and every eye will see him, every one who pierced him; and all tribes of the earth will wail on account of him. Even so. Amen.

Like John 19.37, this passage varies from the LXX by having opsomai for the LXX epiblepsomai. In this text we can see that the apologetic begun by using Zech. 12.10ff. of the crucifixion has been carried, not one stage further, but two. First, the ‘they will mourn’ has been used as the basis for the introduction of the note of the crucified one’s ‘coming with the clouds’, and then, a further step, the weight has been shifted to this aspect of the interpretation of the text. In doing this, the original reference in ‘they will see’, to the crucifixion, has been lost and the reference of that verb now is to the parousia.

The use of Dan. 7.13 in connection with the idea of the crucified one’s ‘coming’ would be the occasion for the change in the word order of that text which is common to all parousia uses of it in the New Testament. We shall argue below that this is, indeed, the first parousia use of Dan. 7.13 in the New Testament, that the idea of Jesus’ ‘coming with the clouds’ as Son of man developed out of this passion apologetic.

Our argument at this point is that John 19.37 and Rev. 1.7 are remnants of a Christian exegetical tradition using Zech. 12.10ff. and Dan. 7.13, the one of an early stage of this tradition and the other of a later. As evidence of this, we offer for consideration the verb opsomai, found both in John 19.37 and Rev. 1.7. This is a common divergence from the LXX of Zech. 12.10, which has, as we pointed out above, epiblepsomai. But it is more than this, for the verb opsomai has two very interesting features: in meaning it is the same as epiblepsomai, and in form it differs from the other important verb in the Christian exegetical use of Zech. 12.10ff., ‘to mourn’, kopsomai, only in omitting the initial k. A marked feature of the Qumran pesharim is the play on words, both with regard to meaning and form, and similar word-plays must have been a feature of the Christian exegetical traditions, related as they are in methodology to the Qumran pesharim. We suggest that it is such a word-play in a Christian exegetical tradition which has caused opsomai, with its relationship in form to kopsomai, to replace epiblepsomai in the Christian use of Zech. 12.10 if. The fact of this common use of opsomai, and also the fact that we are able to explain the switch from crucifixion to parousia reference on the basis of our hypothesis, is, of course, the hub of our argument for a relationship between John 19.37 and Rev. 1.7, a common relationship to different stages of a Christian exegetical tradition.

If our argument is correct, then the verb opsomai, when it is used in relationship to a reference to Jesus ‘coming with the clouds’, is by no means a general apocalyptic touch, but a specific allusion to an exegetical tradition in which Zech. 12.10ff. and Dan 7.13 have been used together in Christian passion apologetic, and this is then the case in both Mark 13.26 and 14.62. So far as 13.26 is concerned, we have proof that we are right, for we can show that Matthew has understood it in this way. In his version of Mark 13.26, Matthew adds a reference to Zech. 12.10ff. !

Matt. 24.30. . . . then will appear the sign of the Son of man in heaven, and then all the tribes of the earth will mourn, and they will see the Son of man coming on the clouds of heaven with power and great glory.

That, we would argue, is the Christian exegetical tradition in its fullness, with the word-play kopsomai/opsomai, and it is evidence that the ‘they will see’ of Mark 13.26, and with it the same verb in 14.62, is an allusion to this tradition.

We have argued that there are three Christian exegetical traditions using Dan. 7.13: a parousia tradition (Mark 13.26); an ascension tradition developing from an interpretation of the resurrection in terms of Ps. 110.1 (Mark 14.62a and Acts 7.56); and a passion apologetic tradition using Zech. 12.10ff. (John 19.37; Rev. 1.7; Matt. 24.30). How these are related to one another, and specifically which came first, we cannot know for certain. They are all much earlier than any text we now have in the New Testament; all that we have are remnants and reminiscences of them reflected in the various authors’ works. It is for this reason that the comparative dates of the various New Testament works are completely unimportant in this connection; a comparatively late work could include a reminiscence of a comparatively early stage of such a tradition, and vice versa. But Lindars is able to show in general terms that the interpretation of the resurrection comes first, (B. Lindars, New Testament Apologetic, esp. pp. 32ff.) as, indeed, we would expect, since without the experience of the resurrection there would have been no Christian theology at all, and this would lead us to assume that the Christian exegetical tradition using Ps. 110.1 and Dan. 7.13 is the first to use Dan 7.13 at all. We can support this by arguing (1) that the use of Ps. 110.1 is so early and so widespread in the New Testament that it would be natural to assume that a tradition using Dan. 7.13 in association with it antedates any other use of that text. Again, (2) the use of Dan. 7.13 in an ascension sense is the most natural one from the text of Dan. 7.13 itself; witness the use in I Enoch where this is the first use (70, 71) and the parousia use never develops at all. Further, (3) the full-blooded apocalyptic use in Mark 13.26 embodies the ‘you will see’, itself dependent upon the tradition using Zech. 12.10ff. and Dan. 7.13, so this cannot be the earliest of the traditions; it must represent a tradition secondary to the one using Zech. 12.10ff. Finally, (4) the parousia tradition in Mark 13.26 shows signs of developing away from the exegetical tradition which gave it birth and moving towards becoming an independent Christian apocalyptic tradition. Specifically, it has ‘in clouds’, which is moving away from Dan. 7.13 in the interests of defining the coming of Jesus as Son of man as an epiphany. Christologically, this is a more developed conception than that of the passion apologetic of Rev. 1.7.

So we argue that it is reasonable to regard the traditions as having developed in the following order. First, there was the ascension use of Dan. 7.13 in a tradition already using Ps. 110.1. This tradition establishes the concept of Jesus at the right hand of God as Son of man. Second, there came the use of Dan. 7.13 in a passion apologetic tradition already using Zech. 12.10ff., adding to that tradition the idea that the one who has ascended to God as Son of man will return as that Son of man, and ‘they’ will see him as such and mourn. This would be the first parousia use, and it would be here that the characteristic word order of Dan. 7.13 in the New Testament would be established. Third, there developed the full parousia use, in which the connection with Zech. 12.10ff. and the passion apologetic is gradually lost, although it is still there in Mark 13.26 and 14.62, as emphasis came to be put more and more upon the expectation of Jesus’ ‘second coming’, as Son of man, and as this expectation came to exist in its own right, independently of the exegesis which gave it birth.

The hypothesis that we have advanced accounts satisfactorily for every part of Mark 13.26 (and of its Matthaean version!), but there remains something to be said about Mark 14.62 as a whole; thus far we have discussed only the first part of the text. The problem with the interpretation of Mark 14.62 as a whole has always been that it implies both an ascension reference (‘the Son of man sitting . . .’) and a parousia reference (‘coming with the clouds . . .’). On the basis of the hypothesis of Christian exegetical traditions, both are readily accounted for, because we have an ascension and a parousia tradition, both using Dan. 7.13. The common use of this text would be what brought them together, and the fact that the usage is different in each case has presented no problem to a tradition which does not resent ambiguity. Indeed, some such explanation is demanded by the text itself; there has to be a reason for the ambiguity. On our hypothesis the text of Mark 14.62 is to be accounted for as follows: ‘And you will see’ is the characteristic claim of passion apologetic and, like the same verb in Mark 13.26, it is to be regarded as a reminiscence of Zech. 12.10ff., the change of person from 3 pl. to 2 sing. being accounted for by its position in the present narrative as addressed to the high priest. ‘. . . the Son of man sitting at the right hand of Power’ is from the tradition using Dan. 7.13 and Ps. 110.1. ‘. . . the Son of man coming with the clouds of heaven’ is from the tradition using Dan. 7.13 and Zech. 12.10ff. Note that it agrees with Rev. 1.7, which represents this tradition, in having ‘with the clouds of heaven’ against the LXX.

Our final conclusion is, then, that Mark 13.26 and 14.62 are reflections of early Christian exegetical traditions, and, as such, have no basis in the teaching of Jesus. We have spent a lot of time on this point, not only because of the intrinsic importance of these two texts and, hence, of the question of their authenticity, but also because of the importance of Christian exegetical traditions in the New Testament as a whole, of which these traditions using Dan. 7.13 and their significance for the synoptic Son of man traditions are only an example. It is our hope to develop a full-scale study of christological traditions in the New Testament on the basis of the hypothesis of the existence of such early Christian exegetical traditions.

The Judgement Sayings: Luke 12.8f. Matt 10.32f; Mark 8.38

Luke 12.8f. And I tell you, every one who acknowledges me before men, the Son of man also will acknowledge before the angels of God; but he who denies me before men will be denied before the angels of God.

Matt. 10.32f. So every one who acknowledges me before men, I will acknowledge before my Father who is in heaven; but whoever denies me before men, I also will deny before my Father who is in heaven.

Mark 8.38. For whoever is ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him will the Son of man also be ashamed, when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.

These sayings have recently been the subject of an intensive discussion in German by a group of scholars who are all experts in the techniques of form criticism and of enquiry into the history of a tradition in which sayings are set. The fact that the scholars differ from one another in their results has both added to the intensity of the discussion and also indicated the potentials and limitations of the methodologies employed. All in all, it would be fair to say that they have advanced discussion of these sayings by a generation, outdated all previous work on them, and yet failed to solve the problem! (The Course of the discussion is given in Annotated Bibliography No. 7: Jesus and the Son of Man [b]).

This discussion has established certain conclusions. Käsemann’s hypothesis of an eschatological judgement pronouncement tradition in the early Church in which these sayings have a Sitz im Leben is to be accepted. That such a tradition as Käsemann describes existed in the early Church is clear enough, and that these sayings are at home in it is shown both by their form, the two-part sentence with the same verb in each referring to present action and eschatological judgement respectively, and by the fact that a Christian prophet makes use of one of them in Rev. 3.5b (‘I will confess his name before my Father and before his angels’). Mark 8.38 is to be accepted as a revision of Luke 12.8f. par., because the verb used has a more general meaning and is less Semitizing than those in Luke 12.8f., and a decision concerning the proclamation would be a later demand than one concerning the Son of man (Käsemann). Thus far the discussion is convincing and the participants are in agreement, but now the participants go their separate ways, or rather they fall into two separate groups, and that for most interesting reasons. All accept the hypothesis that there existed in ancient Judaism the conception of the Son of man as a pre-existent heavenly being whose coming as judge would be a feature of the eschatological drama, which we discussed and, in this definite form, rejected above. On the basis of this hypothesis, Käsemann and Vielhauer reject the authenticity of Luke 12.8f., largely because they believe that Jesus’ message was concerned with the Kingdom and with God drawing near to men in the immediacy of the proclamation of that Kingdom, and that, therefore, Jesus could not also have proclaimed the coming of an eschatological figure other than himself in the future. ‘Jesus proclaimed the immediacy of the near God. (German:‘die Unmittelbarkeit des nahen Gottes’. This is one of those pregnant German phrases to which it is impossible to do justice in English. The adjective nah means ‘near’, but also ‘approaching’, and Unmittelbarkeit is literally ‘unmediatedness’. So the phrase carries with it the connotation of God having drawn near to man so as to grant him the experience of his direct, unmediated nearness.) Whoever does this cannot, in my opinion, have expected to wait for the coming Son of man, the ingathering of the twelve tribes into the messianic kingdom and the associated parousia in order to experience God as the Near.’ (E. Käsemann, ZTK 57 [1960], 179.) They also argue, especially Vielhauer, that the concepts Kingdom of God and Son of man are mutually exclusive, never being found together in ancient Judaism, or united in the Jesus tradition. (This point had been noted several times in the English language discussion, e.g. H. B. Sharman, Son of Man and Kingdom of God, New York: Harper & Bros., 1943; H. A. Guy, The New Testament Doctrine of the Last Things, London: Oxford University Press, 1948. Vielhauer remarks that he had no access to the former; he does not mention the latter [Festschrift für G. Dehn, p. 51, n.5]) Their opponents are not impressed by these arguments. They feel that Jesus could have referred to a coming judgement by a figure other than himself that would validate his ministry; they claim that the fellowship between Jesus and his disciples is thought by Jesus to play a role in the coming of the Kingdom, and, hence, it would be confirmed by the Son of man. (H. E. Tödt, Son of Man, pp. 55-60, esp. 60. F. Hahn, Christologische Hoheitstitel, pp. 33-36.) Jüngel goes to some pains to argue that the Kingdom proclamation and these Son of man sayings do belong together in the message of Jesus in that the one is concerned with God in his nearness and the other in his distance, both finding their focal point in the fact that Jesus’ proclamation and conduct towards men demands of them a conduct towards himself which will be validated by the conduct of the Son of man towards them. So the future of the Son of man is related to the present of men, that present already being qualified by the nearness of the Kingdom, and the nearness of God remains guaranteed to men. (E. Jüngel, Paulus und Jesus, pp. 261f.)

We begin our own discussion, then, by concentrating attention entirely on Luke 12.8f. par., accepting the fact that Mark 8.38 is secondary to this. Luke 12.8f. par. uses two verbs (homologein [confess] and arneisthai [deny]) which are regularly used in early Christian literature in the forensic way in which they are used here: John 1.20; I John 2.23 (both verbs); John 9.22; Rom. 10.9; I Tim. 6.12; Heb. 13.15; I John 4.2, 3, 15; II John 7 (all ‘confess’): Acts 3.13, 14; 7.35; I Tim. 5.8; II Tim. 2.12; Tit. 1.16; II Peter 2.1 (all ‘deny’), etc. But the use of homologein in Luke 12.8f. par. is most unusual in that the object of the verb is expressed by means of the preposition en: en emoi and en auto. Now, this is completely un-Greek; II Clement 3.2 avoids this construction while explicitly quoting the saying in its Matthaean form, the version in Rev. 3.5 does not have it, and the Greek fathers Heracleon, Clement of Alexandria and Chrysostom all puzzle over what it can mean. (References given by Eb. Nestle, ZNW 8 [1907], 241; 9 [1918], 253. See further Arndt and Gingrich, Lexicon, p. 571b.) It is, in fact, an Aramaism representing the root ydy (Syriac yd’) which in Aramaic and Syriac regularly takes the preposition b with its object. It should be noted that the Hebrew equivalent ydh does not do this. Luke 12.8f. par. is the only place in the New Testament where homologein has en with its object, and it is hard to resist the conclusion that here, therefore, homologein is being used in a way different from the normal. In other words, while the second part of this saying, the ‘denying’, fits smoothly into the liturgical language of the early Church, the first part, the ‘acknowledging’, does not. On the basis of this observation and our acceptance of the results of the recent German discussion, we propose the following transmission history for the sayings with which we are concerned.

1. The most original form of the saying consisted of only the first half of the present doublet:

Everyone who acknowledges me before men,

(?) the Son of man will acknowledge before the angels of God.

This is suggested by the fact that Luke 12.8 (Matt. 10.32) with its marked Aramaism (homologein en) is linguistically distinct from Luke 12.9 (Matt. 10.33) with its regular ecclesiastical use of arneisthai. Also, sayings with an element of promise do tend to be ‘completed’ in the tradition by the addition of an antithesis in the form of a threat, e.g. the Woes added to the Beatitudes in the gospel tradition, and the development of Matt. 6.14f. from the petition concerning forgiveness in the Lord’s Prayer. This creates a presupposition in favour of the hypothesis that the present Luke 12.9 (Matt. 10.33) has been supplied in the tradition. Also Semitic poetic and gnomic style has a marked preference for parallelism.

A question mark has been set before the second part of Luke 12.8 (Matt. 10.32) above, because although Luke has the form given, Matthew has: ‘I also will acknowledge him before my Father who is in heaven.’ The fact that this still has the Aramaism (homologein en auto) shows that it is close to the Lukan version, but the variations present problems. The ‘my Father who is in heaven’ could well have crept in for ‘angels of God’, probably in two stages: first, and still pre-Matthew, ‘my Father’, and, second, the addition by Matthew of ‘who is in heaven’. That both ‘my Father’ and ‘before the angels of God’ are known in the tradition can be seen from Rev. 3.5, which has the two side by side, with the necessary variation of ‘his’ for ‘of God’. The question of the original subject of this clause, however, presents very difficult problems. It can be argued that since Matthew does not normally substitute ‘I’ for ‘Son of man’, the Matthaean form is the more original. But we are not necessarily dealing with a Matthaean modification, because the occurrence of the form with ‘I’ in Rev. 3.5b suggests that this form existed in the tradition independently of Matthew, rather than that it was produced by Matthew directly from the form with ‘Son of man’ as the subject. Therefore, the normal practice of Matthew has no necessary bearing upon the problem. Another complication is the possibility that Son of man could be used as a circumlocution for ‘I’ in Aramaic, which could mean that the two forms in Greek are possibly simply translation variants of this Aramaic idiom. (We mention this as a possibility without thereby intending to take sides in the dispute as to whether this idiom did or did not exist in the first-century Aramaic. The matter is not important enough in connection with this saying to warrant a full discussion of the problem; it becomes important in connection with the ‘present’ sayings which lie outside the scope of our present enquiry.) Moreover, there is a third possible form: ‘. . will also be acknowledged before the angels of God’. This is suggested by the passive now found in Luke 12.9; it would also be an Aramaism (the passive voice as a circumlocution for the divine activity), and it would provide a basis from which the ‘I’ and ‘Son of man’ forms could have developed in the tradition, as variant ways of giving Jesus a role in the judgement. Further, if an increasing emphasis upon apocalypticism is a feature of the tradition, and this would be generally accepted, then the progression ‘will be acknowledged before the angels of God’ -- ’Son of man will acknowledge’ -- ’Son of man . . .when he comes’ is a natural one. We argue, therefore, that the earliest form was the one using the passive. This passive was a circumlocution for the activity of God, as is regularly the case in Aramaic. As the tradition developed, there was an increasing christological emphasis and this led to the ascription to Jesus of the original function of God in the saying. This took place in two ways, with the use of ’I’ and with the use of ‘Son of man’, giving us the double tradition now found in Luke 12.8f. par.

2. Given the saying:

Every one who acknowledges me before men, the Son of man will also acknowledge before the angels of God,

the next step would be to complete the antithesis by adding a parallel using ‘denying’. This has been done, giving us the form (s) found now in Luke 12.9; Matt. 10.33 (cf. II Tim. 2.12b) and probably also a form:

Every one who denies me before men, the Son of man also will deny before the angels of God,

now no longer preserved in the tradition. Evidence for the hypothesis that Luke 12.9 par. was created in the tradition was given above: the fact that it uses arneisthai ecclesiastically, and the tendency in the tradition to add an antithetical second element to ‘promise’ sayings and to complete a parallelism.

3. The next step would be to develop the reference to Son of man in the saying, and this would naturally take the form of bringing into the saying elements from the ‘coming of the Son of man’ tradition discussed in connection with Mark 13.26 and 14.62. So the saying develops into one concerned with the explicit ‘coming’ of the Son of man as in Mark 8.38. The fact that the characteristic reference to the clouds is missing here would seem to indicate that the reference is taken from a developing Christian exegetical tradition rather than directly from Dan. 7.13. We have already argued that there is no general ‘coming of the Son of man’ concept in late Judaism, apart from a use of Dan. 7.13, from which the reference could be drawn.

The result of this discussion of the history of this particular branch of tradition is, we believe, to establish the strong possibility that the earliest form of this ‘judgement’ saying must be one using the passive:‘Everyone who acknowledges me before men, he will be acknowledged before the angels of God.’ In this case, the reference would be to a future vindication such as that envisaged in the symbolism of Dan. 7.13. Such a form could go back to Jesus; certainly he could have used the passive in this way; indeed, such a use of the passive must have been a feature of his teaching. It is not possible to prove that such a saying does go back to Jesus, although the arguments for it are fairly strong: the non-ecclesiastical use of homologein en, the quite characteristic passive as a circumlocution for the divine activity, and the absence of any specifically ‘Christian’ expectation. But the point is that, even if it does go back to Jesus, it is evidence only for the teaching of a future vindication by God of the present ministry of Jesus and men’s proper response to it. It says nothing whatever about the form of this vindication, and it says nothing about the time element, except that it looks toward the future. Rather than saying anything specific about God and the future, it offers general reassurance to men that, if they have responded to the challenge of Jesus’ present, they may have confidence in God’s future. As such it coheres with an aspect of the teaching of Jesus we have already noted in the parables.

If our argument with regard to the earliest form of this saying is not granted, and it is insisted that the earliest form was:

Every one who acknowledges me before men, the Son of man will acknowledge before the angels of God,

then this is still not necessarily a reference to the ‘coming’ Son of man. It becomes such a reference only if it is read in the light of Mark 8.38, and Mark 8.38 is a Markan reinterpretation of the saying, not evidence for its original reference. If we take the saying by itself; then the reference is only a general one to the imagery of Dan. 7.13, this imagery being used as a symbol for vindication. There is no ‘coming’ of the Son of man, only vindication before God. Jesus could have made such a general reference to Dan. 7.13, but, if he did, this does not change our thesis one iota. Such a reference would still only be a general assurance of vindication; it would say nothing about the form or time of that vindication.

The Comparison Sayings: Luke 11.30=Matt. 12.40; Luke 17.23f =Matt. 24.26f ; Luke 17.26f.

Luke 11.30. For as Jonah became a sign to the men of Nineveh, so will the Son of man be to this generation.

Matt. 12.40. For as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of the whale, so will the Son of man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.

This saying is itself an explication of the preceding verse: ‘This generation is an evil generation; it seeks a sign, but no sign shall be given to it except the sign of Jonah’ (Luke 11.29 = Matt. 12.39 [with insignificant variations]). The Matthaean version of this (12.39) is duplicated at Matt. 16.4, and there is a parallel in Mark 8.12 which, however, omits any reference to the sign of Jonah (‘Truly, I say to you, no sign shall be given to this generation’). There is another, but completely different, reference to Jonah in v. 32 in Luke, v. 41 in Matthew: ‘The men of Nineveh will arise at the judgement with this generation and condemn it; for they repented at the preaching of Jonah, and behold, someone greater than Jonah is here’ (Luke 11.32 = Matt. 12.41), which itself is firmly linked with a parallel saying about the queen of the South and Solomon: ‘The queen of the South will arise at the judgement with (Luke, the men of) this generation and condemn it (Luke, them); for she came from the ends of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon, and behold, something greater than Solomon is here’ (Matt. 12.42 = Luke 1.31). Thus, we have the following situation:

(a) A saying, ‘No sign shall be given to this generation’, found only in Mark (8.12).

(b) A saying exactly the same as this, but adding ‘except the sign of Jonah’ found in Luke 11.29 = Matt. 12.39 and clearly, therefore, from Q. This saying i5 duplicated in Matt. 16.4, where it is the Matthaean version of Mark 8.12, (a) above.

(c) An interpretation of this reference to the sign of Jonah in terms of the Son of man becoming a sign as did Jonah (Luke 11.30 = Matt. 12.40), whereby Matthew makes the reference to Jonah explicitly a reference to his being swallowed and regurgitated by the sea monster.

(d) A double saying which compares ‘this generation’ unfavourably with the queen of the South and the men of Nineveh in the matter of repentance. Here the reference to Jonah is an explicit reference to his preaching, not to his being saved from death.

Although the sayings (b), (c) and (d) are now joined together in a single discourse, and this was already the case in Q, this linking is certainly editorial. Originally there must have been two distinct units: the reference to the sign of Jonah, (b) above, and its interpretation, (c) above, on the one hand, and the double saying, (d) above, on the other. The common reference to Jonah will have brought them together in the tradition leading to Q.

Before discussing these two entities further, we must deal with (a), the saying not included in either. It is clearly a variant of (b) and the question is, which of the two is the original? Has the Q tradition added ‘except for the sign of Jonah’ or has Mark omitted it? The latter seems the more probable in that Mark puts great emphasis upon the mighty deeds of Jesus as the only, but complete, demonstration of his messiahship, and it would be natural for him to omit the reference to some other sign, however that reference was to be understood. Further, the saying in its Q form contains a regular Aramaic idiom, the idiom of relative negation, in which the apparent exception is, in fact, an affirmation. It is to be translated: ‘How this generation seeks a sign! Truly, I tell you, no sign will be given to this generation. The sign of Jonah will be given to this generation!’ (C. Colpe, TWNT article, C I ic. He gives other instances from the New Testament: Matt. 15.24; Mark 2.17; John 1.11; 7.16; Matt. 25.29b = Luke 19.26b.) and is, therefore, a complete unit in its Q form. We, therefore, conclude that Mark 8.12 is derived from a version of the saying now in Luke 11.29 = Matt. 12.39, and we will concern ourselves no further with it.

Turning to the two entities in the tradition, (b) and (c), the reference to the sign of Jonah and its interpretation, and (d), the unfavourable comparison of ‘this generation’ with the queen of the South and the men of Nineveh, we begin by pointing out that their original independence from one another is not only to be supposed on the basis of our knowledge of the tendencies at work in the developing tradition. It is also to be seen in the fact that (d) has no reference to a ‘sign’ at all; it is not here a question of the sign of Jonah, but of his preaching. Indeed, the two entities have nothing in common whatever except the verbal references to Jonah and the men of Nineveh, references which are, however, completely different in concern and purpose.

The Son of man saying occurs, therefore, as the second part of the first entity; it interprets the reference to the ‘sign of Jonah’. It should be noted that, on the basis of the Aramaic idiom pointed out by Colpe, the sign of Jonah saying is complete in itself; the interpretation must have been supplied later. The sign of Jonah saying itself is certainly authentic: exhibiting an Aramaic idiom, it must be early; it stands at the beginning of a Stream of tradition the history of which we can trace; it coheres with teaching attested elsewhere (Luke 17.20, 21). The interpretation can have been supplied either by Jesus himself or by the early Christian community, and of these alternatives we prefer the latter. Matt. 12.40 clearly interprets the ‘sign of Jonah’ in the light of knowledge both of the passion narrative and of the passion predictions, the author regarding the phrases ‘on the third day’ (Matt. 16.21) and ‘after three days’ (Matt. 27.63) as equivalents, and the Jonah story as prefiguring the burial and resurrection of Jesus. But if we accept the ‘sign of Jonah’ saying as authentic and Matt. 12.40 as a later ecclesiastical interpretation of it in terms of the burial and resurrection of Jesus, where does Luke 11.30 stand? Surely halfway between the two: it makes the Son of man a sign, as was Jonah, but does not specify in what manner. The implication is certainly that he will become a sign when he comes in judgement, in the manner of Luke 21.27: ‘. . . and then they will see the Son of man coming in a cloud with power and great glory.’ But it is our argument throughout that such a conception is dependent upon the developing Christian exegetical tradition and cannot, therefore, have had a place in the teaching of Jesus. For this reason we reject Luke 11.30 as part of the teaching of Jesus and regard it as a product of the developing Christian tradition, against Tödt, (H. E. Tödt, Son of Man, pp. 53ff.) who accepts it because he accepts the hypothesis that such a developed Son of man conception existed in pre-Christian Judaism and argues that Jesus referred to this figure as distinct from himself in sayings such as this one.

The authentic element in this particular branch of tradition is, then, the refusal of a sign and the idiomatic affirmation: ‘The sign of Jonah will be given to this generation.’ What did this mean in the teaching of Jesus? The answer to this question is simply that we do not know, because we do not know what Jesus and his contemporaries would have understood by the phrase ‘the sign of Jonah’. As we saw above, the Christian tradition understood it as a reference to the parousia (Luke), or to the burial and resurrection of Jesus (Matthew), but these interpretations come from the world of ideas to be found in early Christianity and say nothing about ancient Judaism. In the absence of definite information, it is possible to assume that the reference is to some future event which will vindicate the message and ministry of Jesus, and be analogous to the deliverance of Jonah, despite the fact that neither the Old Testament nor the Jewish rabbinical literature exhibits any knowledge of a significance for the Ninevites to be ascribed to the deliverance of Jonah. (So Colpe, TWNT article, CI Ic.) Another possibility, one which we ourselves would prefer, would be to interpret the ‘sign of Jonah’ by means of the reference to the ‘preaching of Jonah’, for although these are completely independent sayings, and the references to Jonah quite different, they are both dominical. In this case we could argue that the significant thing about Jonah, for Jesus, was not his deliverance from the sea monster, but his preaching and its effectiveness, Then the ‘sign of Jonah’ is his preaching and the reference is to the fact that the preaching of Jesus will be effective to this generation -- in ways beyond its imagination. This would come, in effect, to the same thing as the interpretation offered by Colpe; the reference would be to a future in which the message and ministry of Jesus is vindicated, without saying anything specific about the form of that future, or about the time element involved except that it is future.

The second entity in this group of sayings, the parallel references to the queen of the South and the men of Nineveh (Luke 11.31f.= Matt. 12.41f.), is certainly dominical. The double saying has no earlier history in the tradition; the point at issue is the question of repentance in face of a challenge, certainly a major concern of the message of the historical Jesus; the references to the queen of the South and the men of Nineveh are vividly apposite and absolutely in accord with Jesus’ use of unlikely good examples in his comparisons (the Good Samaritan); and the element of warning in the saying coheres with a major aspect of the message of the parables. But the reference to the queen of the South and the men of Nineveh arising at the judgement is no more than a conventional way of speaking of a future moment at which Jesus’ ministry will be vindicated. It is this, but it is no more than this, and in particular it says nothing about the form of this future moment, nor about the time element involved, beyond the fact that it is future.

Luke 17.23f. And they will say to you, ‘Lo, there!’ or ‘Lo, here!’ Do not go, do not follow them. For as the lightning flashes and lights up the sky from one side to the other, so will the Son of man be in his day.

Matt. 24.26f. So, if they say to you, ‘Lo, he is in the wilderness’, do not go out; if they say, ‘Lo, he is in the inner rooms’, do not believe it. 24For as the lightning comes from the east and shines as far as the west, so will be the coming of the Son of man.

The present settings of this saying are editorial; Luke puts it in the esoteric teaching addressed to the disciples following Jesus’ reply to the question of the Pharisees (17.20f.), and Matthew in the apocalyptic discourse based upon Mark 13. We will consider it as an independent logion. The striking thing about the saying is that it closely parallels the immediately preceding saying in Luke 17.20f.: ‘The Kingdom of God is not coming with signs to be observed; nor will they say, "Lo, here it is!" or "There!" for behold, the Kingdom of God is in the midst of you.’ The differences are (1) the addition of the exhortatory ‘do not go, do not follow them’; (2) the reference to the lightning flash, a commonplace of apocalyptic, e.g. Apoc. Bar. 53.9: ‘The lightning shone exceedingly, so as to illuminate the whole earth’; and (3) the substitution of ‘the Son of man in his day’ or ‘the coming of the Son of man’ for the reference to the Kingdom of God. The first two of these changes are characteristic of a developing tradition in the Church, and since the early Christians spoke of the coming of the Son of man very much as Jesus had spoken of the Kingdom as a future hope, we can readily imagine that they could have taken the original and genuine saying of Jesus, Luke 17.20f., and transformed it in this way to express their expectation. Note that the transformation misunderstands the original; by concentrating on the ‘Lo, here!’ ‘Lo, there!’ it has misunderstood the reference to a present experience of the Kingdom by taking it to be one to a sudden and unexpected future experience. The explicit parousia reference in the ‘coming of the Son of man’ is certainly Matthaean, which makes ‘the Son of man in his day’ the more original of the two without thereby enhancing its claim to authenticity. ‘In that (these, those) day (s)’ is a commonplace of apocalyptic, e.g. I Enoch 48.8; 50.1; 51.3; 54.6; 60.5; 62.3, 8, and as soon as the concept of Jesus as Son of man is established, and his return as Son of man expected, the idea of the ‘day of the Son of man’ as a phrase to express his coming would be natural. We can compare IV Ezra 13.52: ‘. . . no one . . . (can) see my Son, but in his day.’ It is for these reasons that it is out of place on the lips of Jesus. Even if the concept of the coming of the apocalyptic Son of man were firmly and widely established in Judaism, which we do not for one moment believe, a reference to it in this commonplace way would be quite out of keeping with the originality of the teaching of Jesus. Let us remember that when he used Kingdom of God, an apocalyptic concept, he none the less used it in a way most unusual in apocalyptic. Expression of a Christian hope in commonplace apocalyptic terminology is a characteristic of the evangelical tradition, not of Jesus. We, therefore, regard the saying as inauthentic, although it is accepted by Bultmann, Tödt and Colpe. (R. Bultmann, History of the Synoptic Tradition, p. 122. H. E. Tödt, Son of Man, p. 224. C. Colpe, TWNT article CI 3a.) We believe we have offered grounds for the denial of the existence of a Son of man concept in Judaism that could be referred to in this way, and that we have accounted for it in terms of a development going on within the Christian traditions.

Luke 17.26f. As it was in the days of Noah, so will it be in the days of the Son of man. 27They ate, they drank, they married, they were given in marriage, until the day when Noah entered the ark, and the flood came and destroyed them all.

The idea of the ‘day of the Son of man’ having been established in the tradition, it would be natural to expand and develop it by the use of Old Testament imagery, in this instance, the destruction at the time of Noah. Here we have a use of imagery taken from one catastrophe to fill out the picture of a second now to be expected. Matthew characteristically modifies the saying by introducing a specific reference to the parousia (Matt. 24.37-41: ‘the coming of the Son of man’ [twice]), and then the tradition goes on to expand the imagery further by making use of another Old Testament catastrophe: ‘the days of Lot’ (Luke 17.28-30). All of these sayings are testimony to the developing tradition in the Church; they are not evidence for the teaching of Jesus. (Against Tödt [Son of Man, pp. 224, 50], who accepts the saying as representing a warning by Jesus to ‘the present generation, [which] though living before the end, does not watch the signs of the times . . . in the way Noah did’ [p. 50,] and Colpe [TWNT article, C I 3a], who can find no ground for rejecting the saying in its earliest form. R. Bultmann [History of the Synoptic Tradition, p. 152] suggests that the saying could either have come from Jesus or be of Jewish origin, but [p. 126] inclines to the Jewish origin.)

We have devoted a great deal of space to this discussion of the apocalyptic Son of man sayings because of their intrinsic importance. The problems connected with them are so complex that nothing less than a complete presentation of our proposed solution would do justice to it or to them. If we may now briefly recapitulate the main points of our thesis for the sake of clarity, they are as follows:

I. No ‘coming apocalyptic Son of man concept’ in the sense of a definite set of expectations associated with a distinct figure, in this instance that of a pre-existent heavenly redeemer, existed in ancient Judaism.

2.What did exist was the imagery of Dan. 7.13, itself derived from an ancient Canaanite myth. This imagery concerns a mysterious figure coming to power, and probably originally concerned the coming to power of a younger god in place of an older one.

3.This imagery is used by the author of Daniel to express the concept of the ‘saints of the Most High’ (the Maccabean martyrs) being given their reward.

4. The imagery is used by the scribe (s) of the Similitudes of Enoch to interpret the translation of Enoch, and by those of early Christianity to interpret the resurrection of Jesus. These two things are completely independent of each other, as are the resultant Enoch-Son of man and Jesus-Son of man concepts.

5. Both the Enoch saga and the early Christian traditions go on to develop concepts of the present glory and future function of their hero-figures. These are developed quite independently of one another and the features they have in common, e.g. the concept of the function of the Son of man at the Last Judgement, they owe to a common dependence upon general and widespread apocalyptic ideas.

It follows from the above that Jesus could not have spoken of the coming of the Son of man, either in reference to himself or in reference to an eschatological figure other than himself. No such concept of a coming Son of man existed to be referred to in this way. This conclusion, we claim, is supported by the examination of the apocalyptic Son of man sayings in the tradition; they all reveal themselves to be products of the early Church.

The one thing that Jesus could have done is to use the imagery of Dan. 7.13 to express the concept of a future vindication of his ministry and of men’s proper response to it. He could also have expressed the same idea by referring to the ‘sign of Jonah’ that would be given to this generation, as he certainly expressed it by speaking of the men of Nineveh or the queen of the South arising at the judgement to condemn his contemporaries. In all of this we have the concept of a future vindication; but we have nothing of the form it will take, nor of the time element involved, except the fact that it is future. This is so different from Jewish apocalyptic, and from the early Church, that it demands careful attention.

We would like to point out that we are not here arguing in a circle. If we had used our criterion of dissimilarity to deny the authenticity of the apocalyptic Son of man sayings, then it could have been urged that we were using a criterion of dissimilarity to define the teaching of Jesus and then making a big thing of the dissimilarity! But, in fact, the apocalyptic Son of man sayings are to be rejected, not on the basis of the criterion of dissimilarity, but because they do not survive the enquiry into the history of the tradition. So we are entitled to call attention to this radically dissimilar aspect of the teaching of Jesus.

Exegesis 4. Sayings Setting a Time Limit to the Coming of the End: Mark 9.1 Par.; Mark 13.30 Par.; Matt. 10.23

Mark 9.1. Truly, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the kingdom of God come with power.

Mark 13.30. Truly, I say to you, this generation will not pass away before all these things take place.

These two sayings have to be discussed together, since they present parallels of both form and meaning. Each begins with the solemn ‘Amen, I say to you . . .’; each has the same form of emphatic negation (double negative and subj.); each has the same overall structure: solemn asseveration -- ‘until’-- statement concerning the End. At the same time there are important differences. The asseverations are both equally regular apocalyptic promises, but 13.30 is general and 9.1 specific: ‘this generation’, ‘some of these standing here’. 13.30 uses mechri for ‘until’ (nowhere else in Mark; Matthew and Luke have heos); 9.1 heos (the regular Markan word; so Matthew and Luke).

9.1 has some distinctively Markan characteristics: the concept of ‘seeing’ the parousia, and the use of ‘power’ and ‘glory’ in this connection. This we pointed out above (pp. 16ff.) and there we also argued, following Haenchen, that 9.1 serves a distinct function as the climactic promise bringing to an end the pericope 8.27-9.1. As such it is the promise antithetical to the threat in 8.38: ‘. . . of him will the Son of man be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father . . .’ This parallelism of function between 8.38 and 9.1 is matched by a verbal parallelism in their final clauses: ‘. . Kingdom come (lit. ‘has come’) with power’ -- ‘. . . Son of man . . . comes in the glory of his Father . . .‘ Furthermore, the perfect in 9.1 is readily explicable on the basis of the function of 9.1 to express a climactic promise, a promise for a completion of experience, whereas it is inexplicable if 9.1 is an original isolated saying.

We suggest the following thesis to explain these phenomena.

1. Mark 13.30 is a product of early Christian apocalyptic. It is entirely characteristic of apocalyptic in general, and the ‘these things’ clearly refers to the whole sequence of signs, portents and events with which the apocalyptic discourse, Mark 13.5-27, is concerned. Also, it finally answers the question of the disciples which provides the narrative setting for the discourse: 13.3f. Most probably the discourse at one time had a form: Mark 13.3-27, 30, before the addition of further sayings and the insertion of the parable of the Fig Tree. So the saying will have been composed to bring the discourse to a close and it is, therefore, not a saying of Jesus, since the discourse certainly does not come from him. (N. Perrin, Kingdom, pp. 130-4. R. Bultmann, History of the Synoptic Tradition, p. 123, suggests v. 30 originally followed v. 27 and ended the apocalypse.) It has been suggested that 13.30 is a genuine saying which originally referred to the destruction of the Temple and the fall of Jerusalem, and which has been adapted to serve its present purpose in the apocalyptic discourse. (V. Taylor, Gospel According to St. Mark [London: Macmillan, and New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1959 (= 1952), p. 521.]) The difficulties with this suggestion are that we have absolutely no evidence that the saying ever existed in a form different from that in 13.30; that its present form fits its function as ending the discourse so perfectly that it seems likely that it was composed for this purpose; and that there is no single dominical feature about the saying except the solemn introduction, which could be, as it sometimes is, prophetic imitation of a dominical style. In a case such as this, where an early Christian prophet is certainly offering to his church an apocalyptic discourse in the name of the risen Lord, the imitation of the dominical style would be perfectly natural. The saying is not to be regarded as a Markan construction, because Mark never uses mechri for ‘until’, but heos.

2. Mark 9.1 has been constructed by Mark to bring to an end his pericope 8.27-9.1. It is doubly derivative. In form it is built upon 13.30 -- hence the parallels noted above -- and its second part is a deliberate echo of 8.38. In purpose it is linked with 8.38 to bring the pericope to an end. As we noted earlier, the two statements, of the coming of the Son of man and of the coming of the Kingdom in power, clearly refer to different aspects of the eschaton, the one to it as threat and the other to it as promise. Hence, the parallelism of expression is no doubt deliberate, and artistically very effective. In referring to the eschaton as threat Mark has used traditional material, adapting a saying from the apocalyptic Son of man tradition. In referring to it as promise, he has adapted a saying from the apocalyptic discourse he already knew and was to use later in his gospel.

The actual process of the composition of 9.1 would be (a) the acceptance of the basic form of 13.30: solemn asseveration -- ’until’ -- promise. Then (b) the asseveration is varied from that in 13.30 by the use of a stock phrase from apocalyptic ‘. . . (those) standing here who will not taste death’ (cf. IV Ezra 6.25f.) for ‘. . . this generation will not pass away’. The reason for this change is clear. It is that 9.1 is directed to a specific group, the members of the Church under threat of persecution, whereas 13.30 is addressed to a totality, all who will overhear or read it. At this point we have the solemn introduction (from 13.30), the varied form of the asseveration (but with the same construction as 13.30 [double negative and subj.]) and the ‘until’ (but with the more regular Markan heos for the unusual mechri). The last step is then (c) the construction of the promise. This is modeled on 8.38, varying from that by using ‘Kingdom’ for the eschaton, a usage from the Jesus tradition with which Mark is fully familiar (1.15!), and by putting the verb ‘to come’ in the perfect and adding ‘in power’, both changes stressing the promise as being a promise for an experience of complete fulfillment.

Thus we are able to account for every aspect of the present form and function of Mark 9.1, and for its obviously complex relationships to 13.30, to 8.38 and to the Jesus tradition.

Matt. 10.23b. Truly, I say to you, you will not have gone through all the towns of Israel, before the Son of man comes.

We earlier regarded this as a genuine saying of Jesus, claiming that as an unfulfilled prediction it was not lightly to be brushed aside. (N. Perrin, Kingdom, p. 83.) ‘Lightly’, perhaps not, but the arguments against its authenticity are, in fact, by no means light, as we have found on further investigation. Above all, our investigation of the apocalyptic Son of man sayings has convinced us that all sayings which speak of the ‘coming of the Son of man’ are necessarily products of the early Church, since the conception they embody arose in Christian circles on the basis of an interpretation of the resurrection. Further, a more careful attention to Grässer’s argument, especially to his argument that the situation envisaged by the saying is that of the early Church and her experience rather than that of the ministry of Jesus, (E. Grässer, Das Problem der Parusieverzögerung in den synoptischen Evangelien und in der Apostelgeschickte [Beihefte zur ZNW 22 (Berlin: Alfred Töpelmann, 1957)], p.138.) showed us that our previous opinion had been much too lightly reached. (In view of our previously negative reaction to Grässer’s work [N. Perrin, Kingdom, pp. 145-7], we may perhaps be permitted to add that now we would be much more sympathetic to parts of it, although we still could not accept its total thesis.) Matt. 10.23 has no claim to authenticity. It is the product of a Christian prophet, with the solemn introduction also to be found in Mark 13.30 and imitated in Mark 9.1, and it is directed to the early days of the Church’s mission to the Jews when the imminent expectation was at its height.

One other element from the teaching of Jesus often adduced as evidence for an ‘imminent expectation’ in the teaching of Jesus (Most recently by W. G. Kummel, ‘Die Naherwartung in der Verkündigung Jesu’, Zeit und Geschichte (1964), p. 35 (=Heilsgeschehen und Geschichte [1965], pp.460f.). is the parable of the Fig Tree.

Mark 13.28f. From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. 29So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates.

Verse 29 has clearly been added to make the parable serviceable in terms of early Christian apocalyptic, the ‘he is near’ referring to the type of expectation found in I Thess. 4.16 and in the prayer Maranatha (I Cor. 16.22). The simile in v. 28 may be authentic, but if it is, it by no means necessarily indicates an imminent expectation. Jeremias, who regards it as authentic, includes it in his section ‘Now is the Day of Salvation’, (J. Jeremias, Parables of Jesus [rev. ed., 1963], pp. 119f.) claiming that it expresses the concept: ‘the hour is come, the final fulfillment has begun.’ In other words, it is concerned with the Kingdom as present, not as future. In view of this ambiguity of reference, this parable, even if authentic, is not evidence for an ‘imminent expectation’ in the teaching of Jesus.

The Future Element in the Teaching of Jesus

We have now completed our analysis and exegesis of those elements in the teaching ofJesus which can be claimed to give an indication of his expectation concerning the future. The one thing we have not done is to repeat our interpretation of the Lord’s Prayer from this perspective, because we desire neither to add to, nor to change, our previous work on the prayer. (N. Perrin, Kingdom, pp. 101-9.) We will simply assume the results of that discussion in what follows.

The results of the investigation we have carried out in this chapter, and that of the Lord’s Prayer in our previous work, have been to convince us that there is an element of futurity in the teaching of Jesus. This is not actually a point disputed in the contemporary discussion, so we need waste no time on it. What is at dispute is the nature, form and proper interpretation of this element of futurity, and this is a point we must discuss with some care.

The first result of our investigation to become significant in this connection is the obvious one, namely, that almost all the elements in the tradition which give a definite form to the future expectation in the teaching of Jesus fail the test of authenticity. The regular apocalyptic type expectation of Mark 13 and its parallels is from early Christian apocalyptic; the expectation of the ‘parousia’ is a Matthaean development from the apocalyptic Son of man tradition; and the apocalyptic Son of man tradition has itself developed from an early Christian interpretation of the resurrection and early Christian passion apologetic. The only elements which go back to Jesus here are such general things as the expectation of vindication and judgement implied by the parables, by the possible use of Dan. 7.13, and by the references to the queen of the South, the men of Nineveh and the sign of Jonah. These express confidence in a vindication, but they tell us nothing about its form. The difference between this and the general expectation of the first century, both Jewish and Christian, is spectacular. Nor, as we pointed out above, is this difference due to a use of the criterion of dissimilarity to establish it. These elements fail to meet the test of writing a history of the tradition.

Equally spectacular is the way in which sayings which express an imminent expectation fail to stand up to serious investigation. Mark 13.30 is a commonplace bit of apocalyptic, an integral part of the ‘little apocalypse’ in Mark which can be shown, on literary and linguistic grounds, not to go back to Jesus. Mark 9.1 is a Markan product; Matt. 10.23 speaks of the coming of the Son of man and reflects the conditions of the early Church; and the parable of the Fig Tree is far from an unequivocal expression of an imminent expectation. Again, here, the difference between Jesus and both ancient Judaism and primitive Christianity is notable, indeed.

The first result of the investigation is, then, to establish major differences between Jesus and his contemporaries in that, although he spoke of the future, he gave neither specific form to his future expectation (beyond the general one of vindication and implied judgement), nor did he express it in terms of a specific time element.

What else can we say of Jesus’ expectation as it is revealed in his teaching? Extraordinarily significant, in our view, is the way in which elements of the disciples’ experience in the present form an integral part of the teaching concerning the future. The disciples experience the Kingdom of God in their present; they are taught to pray: ‘Thy Kingdom come.’ They gather together in the table-fellowship of the Kingdom; they are reminded that this is an anticipation of the table-fellowship in the Kingdom. The whole tenor of the teaching of Jesus at this point is that the experience of the present is an anticipation of the future. Further, the experience of the present is a guarantee of the future, as the parables we discussed earlier in this chapter show, in that they challenge men to learn from their experience in the present to have confidence in the future. The disciples’ present has become God’s present; God’s future will be their future!

It is at this point that we must remind ourselves that we are not dealing here with teaching which is couched in terms of a modern western concept of linear time. (N. Perrin, Kingdom, p. 185. Similarly, R. Schnackenburg, God’s Rule and Kingdom, p. 213; E. Fuchs, Studies of the Historical Jesus, p. 123. Further references are given by W. G. Kümmel, Zeit und Gesehichte, p. 32, n. 6 [= Heilsgeschehen und Geschichte, p. 458, n. 6]). We are dealing with a concept in which time is thought of not so much as something which passes from future to past, or past to future, but as opportunity or occasion, as something which is given meaning by that which fills it. So the present time of the disciple is filled with the reality of God -- that is what gives it its meaning -- and the promise is that nothing is to be expected other than a consummation of the experience of this reality in the future. Although the reality is there in the present, filling it and giving it its meaning, it is a reality known in terms of ambiguity, of conflict, of temptation; a reality known in terms of Now, but also of Not Yet. The assurance is that this is not the whole to be expected, but rather the foretaste of an unambiguous future.

In any statement of this theme we must use the words ‘present’ and ‘future’, but let us be careful to remind ourselves that the emphasis is not temporal, but experiential. The men confronted by the ministry of Jesus are challenged to recognize that this is the beginning, but not the end. The man responding to the challenge of that ministry is assured that he does not now know or have all that is to be known or had. The ministry of Jesus makes the present of that ministry, and of the people confronted by it, God’s present in a new and radical manner. But it also guarantees that, because of this new present, the future is also God’s. The future of the ministry, the future of Jesus, the future of the men challenged, all this suddenly becomes God’s future, and God’s future becomes their future.

There are no ways to express this theme, except to use words such as ‘Thy Kingdom come’, or to speak of ‘sitting at table in the Kingdom’, or to contrast a handful of seed sown with the bushels of grain harvested, the small lump of leaven with the mass of leavened dough. The moment a time is set, or the type of expectation categorized, then we have an objective expectation which men may love or fear, for which they may wait in hope or despair, but which has retreated out of the range of their immediate experience as they wait for it as something to be experienced at some future time. The act of objectification loses the dynamic of the tension between present and future so characteristic of the teaching of Jesus (On this tension see N. Perrin, Kingdom, pp. 190-9, with its detailed exegesis, in particular, of the Lord’s Prayer.) and is, therefore, strenuously avoided in that teaching. In the teaching of Jesus the emphasis is not upon a future for which men must prepare, even with the help of God; the emphasis is upon a present which carries with it the guarantee of the future. The present that has become God’s present guarantees that all futures will be God’s future.

It can be seen that further work and reflection has in no way modified our understanding of this theme in the teaching of Jesus. The conclusion we reached on the basis of an exegesis of the Lord’s Prayer has been substantiated by the further investigation of the teaching as a whole. The question remains, of course, the question of interpreting this aspect of the teaching. Granted that this teaching is of some relevance to a Christian today (and the question of how far and in what ways this would be the case will occupy us in our next chapter), how are we to express it in categories that would be meaningful today? This is a question that each must answer for himself, but the points to which any answer must remain true are clear. It must resist objectification of the hope. It must, further, do justice to the element of experience in the expectation. It must, lastly, recognize the inadequacies of a liner concept of time. Time, in the teaching of Jesus, is something which God fills and fulfils, and it is something which man experiences, rather than something which moves from past to future.

Chapter 3: Recognition and Response

In speaking in the way of recognition and response, we are intending to cover ground that might be considered under such a rubric as ‘ethics’. But ‘ethics’ is a misleading word, because it carries with it the assumption that there is a Christian ethic as there is a Socratic or humanistic ethic. So far as the teaching of Jesus is concerned, this latter is simply not true. There is nothing in that teaching about standards of conduct or moral judgements, there is only the urgent call to recognize the challenge of the proclamation and to respond to it. To talk about the ‘ethical teaching of Jesus’ is to talk about something that can only be found by a process of abstraction and deduction from the teaching as a whole. While we may sometimes wish to carry out such a process, let us recognize that it is always a process which does violence, to a greater or lesser degree, to the intent of the historical Jesus.

We begin this chapter by continuing the discussion of the parables, and here the artificial nature of our division of the parables becomes immediately apparent. For convenience of presentation, we have made a break between the second and third of the seven groups into which we divided the parables, but this difference is not, in fact, any greater than that between any other two of those groups. But it is the point at which attention is focused more sharply upon man than it has been before, which is the only justification we can offer for our procedure.

Exegesis I The Great Supper, The Unjust Steward. The Necessity For Decision NOW

The Great Supper: Matt.22.1 -14; Luke 14.16-24; Thomas 64

Matt. 22.1. And again Jesus spoke to them in parables, saying, 2The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a marriage feast for his son, 3and sent his servants to call those who were invited to the marriage feast; but they would not come. 4Again he sent other servants, saying, "Tell those who are invited, Behold, I have made ready my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves are killed, and everything is ready; come to the marriage feast." 5But they made light of it and went off, one to his farm, another to his business, 6while the rest seized his servants, treated them shamefully and killed them. 7The king was angry, and he sent his troops and destroyed those murderers and burned their city. 8Then he said to his servants, "The wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. 9Go therefore to the thoroughfares, and invite to the marriage feast as many as you find." 10And those servants went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both bad and good; so the wedding hall was filled with guests.

11‘But when the king came in to look at the guests, he saw there a man who had no wedding garment; 12and he said to him, "Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding garment?" And he was speechless. 13Then the king said to the attendants, "Bind him hand and foot, and cast him into the outer darkness; there men will weep and gnash their teeth." 14For many are called, but few are chosen.’

Luke 14.16. But he said to him, ‘A man once gave a great banquet, and invited many; 17and at the time for the banquet he sent his servant to say to those who had been invited, "Come; for all is now ready." 18But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said to him, "I have bought a field, and I must go out and see it; I pray you, have me excused." 19And another said, "I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I go to examine them; I pray you, have me excused." 20And another said, "I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come." 21So the servant came and reported this to his master. Then the householder in anger said to his servant, "Go out quickly to the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in the poor and maimed and blind and lame." And the servant said, 22Sir, what you commanded has been done, and still there is room." 23And the master said to the servant, "Go out to the highways and hedges, and compel people to come in, that my house may be filled. 24For I tell you, none of those men who were invited shall taste my banquet."

Thomas 64. Jesus said: A man had guest-friends, and when he had prepared the dinner, he sent his servant to invite the guest-friends. He went to the first, he said to him: ‘My master invites thee.’ He said ‘I have some claims against some merchants; they will come to me in the evening; I will go and give them my orders. I pray to be excused from the dinner.’ He went to another, he said to him: ‘My master has invited thee.’ He said to him: ‘I have bought a house and they request me for a day. I will have no time.’ He came to another, he said to him: ‘My master invites thee.’ He said to him: ‘My friend is to be married and I am to arrange a dinner; I shall not be able to come. I pray to be excused from the dinner.’ He went to another, he said to him: ‘My master invites thee.’ He said to him: ‘I have bought a farm, I go to collect the rent. I shall not be able to come. I pray to be excused.’ The servant came, he said to his master: ‘Those whom thou hast invited to the dinner have excused themselves.’ The master said to his servant: ‘Go out to the roads, bring those whom thou shalt find, so that they may dine. Tradesmen and merchants [shall] not [enter] the places of my Father.’

As background to this parable, the rabbinical story of the tax collector and the pious student is to be noted, j. Sanh. 6, 23c. (We give a free rendering of the text as printed by O. Dalman, Grammatik des jüdisch-palastinischen Aramäisch und Aramäishe Dialektproben [Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1960], pp. 33f. Cf. T. W. Manson, Sayings of Jesus, p. 297; J. Jeremias, Parables of Jesus [rev. ed., 1963], pp. 178f., 183.)

Two pious men lived together in Ashkelon, devoting themselves to the study of the Law. One of them died and no honour was paid to him at his funeral. Bar Ma‘yon, a tax collector, died and the whole town honoured his funeral. The remaining pious man was deeply disturbed and cried out that the wicked in Israel did not get their deserts. But his dead companion appeared to him in a dream and told him not to despise the ways of God in Israel. He himself had committed one evil deed and hence had suffered dishonour at his funeral, whereas Bar Ma‘yon had committed one good deed and for that had been honoured at his. What evil deed had the pious man committed? On one occasion he had put on his phylacteries in the wrong order. What good deed had the tax collector committed? Once he had given a breakfast for the leading men of the town and they had not come. So he gave orders that the poor were to be invited to eat it, that it should not go to waste. After some days the pious man saw his dead companion walking in the garden of paradise beside fountains of water; and he saw Bar Ma‘yon the tax collector lying on the bank of a river, he was striving to reach the water and he could not.

This story probably originated in Egypt and there are numerous versions of it to be found in the ancient world, including the one in the synoptic tradition: the story of the Rich Man and Lazarus, Luke 16.19-31.The rabbinical version is interesting as illustrating the doctrine of exact retribution: the one evil deed and the one good deed are cancelled out by the funerals, and then the two inherit their respective rewards. Neither this version nor the one in the synoptic tradition tells us anything about the views of the afterlife held by the rabbis and Jesus respectively; those details are supplied from (?Egyptian) folk material and are simply used to make a point. The further point of interest, and the one with which we are immediately concerned, is the illustration of the act of charity involved in inviting the poor to eat a meal when the invited guests do not turn up.

One last piece of background material to this parable is the saying in Midrash Lamentations Rabbah 4.2: ‘None of them (men of Jerusalem) would attend a banquet unless he was invited twice.’ We are to imagine a situation in which guests are invited to the banquet, signify their acceptance, and then await a second invitation confirming the first one, perhaps giving the specific time. Such custom is implied in a parable of Rabban Johanan ben Zakkai (b. Shab. 153a. J Jeremias, Parables of Jesus [rev. ed., 1963], p. 188.) about a king who invited men to a banquet, but did not specify the hour, and later sent messengers to summon them to the feast. Those who were wise had dressed for the occasion and awaited the summons. The foolish were found unready and not admitted to the feast.

When we turn to the three versions of the parable we can see that each evangelist has adapted the basic tradition to make it a vehicle for his particular message. Matthew and Luke have both understood the story as having reference to the missionary situation of the Church, and in particular to the situation created by the success of the Gentile mission. Matthew has heavily allegorized the story, making the feast giver a king (= God) and the feast a marriage feast (= the life of the age to come), in accordance with the regular Jewish use of these symbols. He has also made the servants and their fate represent the servants of God and the Jewish treatment of them, and the destruction of the city is certainly a reference to the destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans interpreted as the judgement of God upon the Jews, all in accordance with early Christian apologetic. Finally, he has added a version of the rabbinical parable of the unprepared guests, referred to above, to make the whole an allegory of the mixed state of the Church and the sorting-out process of the future judgement of God, a theme characteristic of his gospel (allegories of weeds of the field, 13.24-30, 36-43, dragnet, 13.47-50, sheep and goats, 25.31-33). Luke has introduced allegory in connection with the servant who is sent out three times, to the original guests ( = Jews), to the poor, etc., within the city (= outcasts among the Jews) and to travelers on the highways outside the city (= Gentiles). Thus, the story becomes an allegory of the ministry of Jesus to Jews and outcasts among the Jews, the theme of Luke’s gospel, and of the ministry of the Church first to Jews and then to Gentiles, the theme of Acts.

The version of the parable in Thomas is of extraordinary interest in that it seems to be both completely independent of either of the canonical versions and also more primitive than they are, except in one single respect: the excuses. The feast giver is a man (= Luke; Matthew: king) and the feast is a supper (deipnon; Luke: great supper, deipnon mega; Matthew: marriage feast, gamos). Only one servant is sent out to the guests (= Luke; Matthew: servants) and he only once (= Luke; Matthew allegorizes heavily). The guests give four excuses (Luke three; Matthew has no specific excuses); this part of the story is more elaborate than the canonical versions and the excuses are different. There is no allegory at all in the Thomas version, and the point is made by a generalizing conclusion which reflects gnostic contempt for the material world and those engaged in its business. It is hard to resist the conclusion that this version is nearer to the teaching of Jesus than either of the others. It does not reflect the situation of the Church, nor, except for the generalizing conclusion, is it at all concerned with anything specifically gnostic. Except for the excuses, it is in all respects the simplest and least developed version, and stories grow and develop in the telling and retelling.

We are to imagine, then, a story about a man who gave a supper and invited his guests. As the time drew near he sent out his servant the second time to the guests, who had previously signified their willingness to attend, but now all begin to make excuses; for one reason or another not one of them can come. What will the host do? Mindful of the merit and charity of almsgiving, he will send his Servant out to invite the poor of that place to his supper, as did the tax collector, Bar Ma‘yon.

The point of this story lies in the relationship between the guests and the host, which is analogous to that between the Jews and God. The Jew cannot simply assume, on the strength of this relationship, that he will automatically ‘sit at table with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the Kingdom of God’; to this end he must also respond to the challenge of the hour, the Now of the ministry of Jesus and his proclamation. If he fails to respond to this challenge, then he may find that others have taken the place he had assumed was his. But the emphasis is not upon these others, despite the interpretation of the story in the tradition, it is upon the original guests and their ultimate failure to accept the invitation.

The Unjust Steward: Luke 16.1-9

1He also sad to the disciples, ‘There was a rich man who had a steward, and charges were brought to him that this man was wasting his goods. 2And he called him and said to him, "What is this that I hear about you? Turn in the account of your stewardship, for you can no longer be steward." 3And the steward said to himself, "What shall I do, since my master is taking the stewardship away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. 4I have decided what to do, so that people may receive me into their houses when I am put out of the stewardship." 5So, summoning his master’s debtors one by one, he said to the first, "How much do you owe my master?" 6He said "A hundred measures of oil." And he said to him, "Take your bill, and sit down quickly and write fifty." 7Then he said to another, "And how much do you owe?" He said, "A hundred measures of wheat." He said to him, "Take your bill, and write eighty." 8The master commended the dishonest steward for his prudence; for the sons of this world are wiser in their own generation than the sons of light. 9And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous mammon, so that when it fails they may receive you into the eternal habitations.

Here we have no other version to help us reconstruct the original form of the parable, but the task is not difficult, since the tradition has sought to make the parable edifying by means of additions at the conclusion rather than by allegorizing the story itself. Probably it was felt that no touching up of the story itself could make such a wholly disreputable character edifying!

The concluding verses, 8 and 9, reflect a series of attempts to use the parable in Christian teaching or exhortation. Verse 8a, ‘The master commended the dishonest servant for his prudence’, is the first, and the ‘master’ here must be Jesus; it cannot be the rich man of the story. We have here the words of some early Christian teacher, and they are next expanded by the addition of the reference to the sons of this world and the sons of light, the latter term now abundantly illustrated from the Qumran texts. Verse 9 offers a quite different attempt to make sense of the story. Following Jeremias, (J. Jeremias, Parables of Jesus [rev. ed., 1963], p. 46.) we understand the subject of the verb ‘to receive’ to be God and the saying as an attempt to use the steward as an example of prudence: he used the money to help others and for this reason God will accept him, almsgiving being a strong intercessor. This, we would argue, is a further attempt to use the story in Christian exhortation.

Leaving vv. 8 and 9 out of consideration, we have a parable, the force and vigor of which can best be appreciated by translating it into a modern idiom. We suggest: the parable of the Labour Racketeer.

‘There was a certain labour racketeer who had grown rich on sweetheart contracts and illegal use of the union pension fund. One day he found that the FBI was tailing him and he began to suspect that there was no escape for him. So what did he do? Carefully, he put a large sum of money away where no one could touch it and then faced trial. He was duly convicted and after he had exhausted all his rights to appeal, he finally served a sentence in the Atlanta Federal penitentiary. Having served his time, he took his money and moved to Miami Beach, where he lived happily ever after.’

The point of the story is that we have here a man in crisis. True, he is a peculiarly disreputable man (was there an actual case known by Jesus and his hearers or were unjust stewards as well known in that society as labour racketeers are in our own?), but he is a man of decision: faced with a crisis, he acted decisively. Again, we are back to the point of the crisis of the men confronted by Jesus, his ministry and proclamation, and the necessity for decision now.

Exegesis 2. The Labourers in the Vineyard, the Two Sons, the Children in the Market Place, the Pharisee and the Tax Collector. The Danger of Preconceived Ideas Blinding One to the Reality of the Challenge

The Labourers in the Vineyard: Matt. 20.1 - 16

1For the kingdom of heaven is like a householder who went out early in the morning to hire labourers for his vineyard. 2After agreeing with the labourers for a denarius a day, he sent them into his vineyard. 3And going out about the third hour he saw others standing idle in the market place; 4and to them he said, ‘You go into the vineyard too, and whatever is right I will give you.’ So they went. 5Going out again about the sixth hour and the ninth hour, he did the same. 6And about the eleventh hour he went out and found others standing; and he said to them, ‘Why do you stand here idle all day?’ 7They said to him, ‘Because no one has hired us.’ He said to them, ‘You go into the vineyard too.’ 8And when evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his steward, ‘Call the labourers and pay them their wages, beginning with the last up to the first.’ 9And when those hired about the eleventh hour came, each of them received a denarius. 10Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received a denarius. 11And on receiving it they grumbled at the householder, 12saying ‘These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.’ 13But he replied to one of them, ‘Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for a denarius? 14Take what belongs to you, and go; I choose to give to this last as I give to you. 15Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or do you begrudge my generosity?’ 16So the last will be first, and the first last.

Verse 16 is an independent saying which is found in various forms in the synoptic tradition (Mark 10.31 = Matt. 19.30; Luke 13.30) and in a gnosticized form (‘For many who are first shall become last and they shall become a single one’) in Thomas, logion 4. The parable itself has been well preserved in the tradition, probably because the story itself is so natural, consistent and coherent, and it has a natural Sitz im Leben Jesu - the offence caused by his acceptance of the ‘tax collectors and sinners’ who responded to the challenge of the forgiveness of sins.

To understand the point of the story we must compare with it the rabbinical saying: ‘Some obtain and enter the Kingdom in an hour,while others hardly reach it after a lifetime’ (b. Abodah Zarah 17a. C.G. Montefiore, The Synoptic Gospels II [1927], 274.) and the parable that is the funeral oration for Rabbi Bun:

To whom was R. Bun like? To a king who had a vineyard and hired many labourers to work it. Among them was one far more skilful in his work than the rest, so what did the king do? He took him by the hand and walked with him up and down. At evening the labourers came to receive their wages and this one came with them and he gave him the full amount. The others began to grumble, saying, ‘We toiled all day, whereas this man toiled only two hours, and yet the king has given him the full wage.’ The king said to them, ‘What cause have you for grumbling? This man did more in the two hours than you in a whole day.’ (j. Ber. 2.3c. Parallels: Eccles. R. 5.11; Song of Sol. R. 6.2. Cf. J. Jeremias, Parables of Jesus [rev. ed., 1963], p. 138, where it is suggested that this is secondary to the gospel parable.)

The point of the saying and parable is that a Jew might earn his place in the Kingdom in a comparatively short time if his work were of a superlative quality.

The story Jesus told reflects the conditions of first-century Palestine and we are to assume, as his hearers certainly would have assumed, (that the labourers hired later in the day expected to receive a part of a denarius, a denarius being a regular payment for one day’s labour. So we share the surprise that this was not done, but rather each group was paid the same. Naturally, the workers hired first grumbled, and we would stress the naturally; there never was a group of workmen who would not have grumbled under the same conditions. The whole point is that we should enter into their situation: How would we have reacted in this situation? If we enter into their situation, then we are confronted by the dilemma which confronted them: the householder’s undeniable right to be generous. If he wishes to treat his workmen according to their need, rather than according to the letter of an implied contract, that is entirely his business. Despite this fact, however, it is undeniably true that the situation is an intolerable situation from the workmen’s viewpoint. It is an intolerable situation precisely because the employer has chosen arbitrarily to treat one group according to their rights and another group according to his generosity. If he is to be generous to one, let him be generous to all; if he is to be legalistic with one, let him be legalistic with all. Incidentally, the employer is cutting his own throat; the next time he wanted to employ workmen his reputation would have preceded him and a very interesting situation would have arisen!

But is not the intolerable nature of this situation from the workmen’s viewpoint the point on which the analogy turns? If the employer acts both legalistically and generously, then the situation becomes intolerable. By analogy, if God accepts some on the basis of merit and others on the basis of forgiveness, the situation is similarly intolerable. Either all must work out their own salvation in fear and trembling, or all must rejoice in the goodness and mercy of the Lord; there is no third possibility. With this parable, therefore, Jesus throws down the gauntlet in challenge to an attitude to God that seeks to hold together both merit and mercy. Since in his own proclamation and ministry he has so clearly stressed the latter, he must of necessity challenge the former.

Two things become evident at this point. In the first place, we see a further aspect of the challenge of Jesus to his contemporaries not to allow a preconceived idea, however good it might have seemed in its own place, to blind them to the realities of the new situation created by his proclamation and ministry. That the workman is worthy of his hire is a good idea, but not in the context of the eschatological activity of God and the challenge of the forgiveness of sins. Then we see, further, as Ernst Fuchs and his pupils Eta Linnemann and Eberhard Jüngel rightly stress, that a tremendous personal claim is implied by Jesus in that he explicates and defends the situation of his ministry by means of a parable which has reference, by analogy, to the activity and attitude of God. Matthew regards the parable as an illustration of the ‘last, first: first, last’ principle, but we must assume that it was originally spoken in a context in which Jesus was being attacked for his attitude to ‘tax collectors and sinners’, with all that this implied to many of his contemporaries. But if this is the case, then, as Miss Linnemann has put it: ‘There is a tremendous personal claim involved in the fact that Jesus answered an attack upon his conduct with a parable concerned with what God does!’ (E. Linnemann, Die Cleichnisse Jesu, p.93; cf. Parables of Jesus, p.87. Cf. E. Fuchs, Studies of the Historical Jesus, p. 36; E. Jüngel, Paulus und Jesus, pp. 168f.)

The Two Sons: Matt. 21.28 - 32

28‘What do you think? A man had two sons; and he went to the first and said, "Son, go and work in the vineyard today." 29And he answered, "I will not"; but afterward he repented and went. 30And he went to the second and said the same; and he answered, "I go, sir," but did not go. 31Which of the two did the will of his father?’ They said, ‘The first.’ Jesus said to them, ‘Truly, I say to you, the tax collectors and the harlots go into the kingdom of God before you. 32For John came to you in the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the harlots believed him; and even when you saw it, you did not afterward repent and believe him.’

The history of this particular bit of tradition has been established by Jeremias, who points out (J. Jeremias, Parables of Jesus [rev. ed., 1963], pp. 80f.) that v. 32 is a variant of Luke 7.29f. and has probably been added to this parable because of the verbal association, ‘tax collectors and harlots’. It was probably added at a pre-Matthaean stage of the tradition, since Matthew seems already to have found it and to have used it as the reason for inserting it in its present context, i.e. in close connection with another reference to the baptism of John (v. 25). We have to consider the parable without reference either to its Matthaean context or to its present conclusion, V.32.

Interesting as background to the parable is a rabbinical simile about the giving of the Torah to Israel:

It can be compared to a man who has a field which he wishes to entrust to peasants. Calling the first of them he asked: ‘Will you take over this field?’ He replied: ‘I have no strength; the work is too hard for me.’ In the same way the second, third and fourth declined to undertake the work. He called a fifth and asked him: ‘Will you take over this field?’ He replied, ‘Yes.’ ‘On the condition that you will till it?’ The reply was again: ‘Yes.’ But as soon as he took possession of it, he let it lie fallow. With whom is the king angry . . .? Surely with him who undertook it (Exod. R. 27. 9)

The simile that Jesus uses is similar to this, except that it reduces the number to two and strengthens the contrast by making the first man ‘afterward repent and go’. It is certainly possible that here we have a deliberate allusion to the rabbinical simile; in any ease, the point is clear: to refuse and then to repent is better than to accept and then to disobey. The allusion again is to a situation in which outcasts are accepting forgiveness and other Jews are finding offence in this, and thereby blinding themselves to the reality of their own situation.

Children in the Market Place: Matt. 11.16-19 (par. Luke 7.31- 35)

16But to what shall I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the market places and calling to their playmates, 17‘We piped to you, and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn.’ 18For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon’; 19The Son of man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Behold, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’ Yet wisdom is justified by her deeds.

The arguments for the authenticity of both this simile and its application are very strong indeed. The tradition is markedly Semitic and retranslates readily into Aramaic; hence it is early. The reference to the children reflects a sharp and sympathetic observation of Palestinian life which we have found to be characteristic of Jesus rather than of the early Church. The parable’s application reflects a high estimate of the Baptist, since it puts his ministry and that of Jesus on the same level. We have already seen that this, too, is characteristic of Jesus and not of the early Church. The reference to the Son of man is certainly, as it stands, a confessional reference to Jesus, and so the product of the early Church. But in Aramaic bar nash could be used in such a context as an indirect reference to the speaker himself, as in the Aramaic of Genesis Rabbah. (E.g. Gen. R. 7.2, 3 ‘When R. Haggai heard of this [a ruling by R. Jacob that fish must be ritually slaughtered] he said to him, "Come and be beaten." He replied, "A son of man who gives a ruling from the law is to be beaten!" . . . When R. Haggai heard of this [a ruling by the same R. Jacob that the infant son of a gentile woman, born to a Jew, could be circumcised on the sabbath] he sent to him, "Come and be beaten." he replied, "A son of man who gives a legal ruling to be beaten!"’ [Cf. M. Black, EspT60 (1948/9),p. 35.] Here ‘son of man’ is being used in reference to the speaker himself’; although this use seems to be no more than could be the case in English with ‘one’. It would perhaps be going too far to describe ‘son of man’ here as a circumlocution for the first personal pronoun. It is reported that the third edition of M. Black, The Aramaic Approach to the Gospels and Acts, not published at the time of writing, will contain an important discussion of the problem of the idiomatic and titular use of ‘son of man’ in Aramaic [by G. Vermès]). It is only when it is translated into Greek, given the definite article and set in the context of early Christian tradition that it becomes confessional. Further, the designation of Jesus as ‘a glutton and a drunkard’ belongs to the polemics of the controversy surrounding Jesus’ earthly ministry during his lifetime, rather than to the circumstances of the controversies between the early Church and Judaism. The other epithet, ‘friend of tax collectors and sinners’, should be understood as ‘holder of table-fellowship with tax collectors and other Jews who have made themselves as Gentiles’, and, together with the first epithet, it is an unmistakable reference to the major aspect of the ministry of Jesus we discussed at the end of our last chapter: the table-fellowship ‘of the Kingdom of God’.’ The first epithet reflects the joyousness of that fellowship, and the second its radical nature. Finally, there is also no doubt but that the parable and its application have belonged together in the tradition from the very beginning. On the basis of the arguments just given, we may claim that both are certainly from Jesus, and the comparison between them is so apt and striking that it is impossible to imagine that they ever belonged, separately, to other bits of tradition now lost, or that they were originally independent units which were brought together only in the tradition.

The parable has reference to a situation in the ministry of Jesus with which we have become familiar: the relationship of that ministry to, and Jesus’ personal association with, ‘tax collectors and sinners’. In this particular instance the point of maximum offence is that Jesus enters into table-fellowship with these people, and we must compare with this the Pharisaic opinion that a tax collector defiled any house he entered and all within it. We can appreciate that to many the offence would have been real, and that the challenge to change deep-rooted convictions about the basic conditions governing relations of men with God and of men with men very difficult to meet. But we can see from this parable that there were also those who were unprepared for any real challenge, and who could be offended equally by John the Baptist, to them an unreasonable ascetic, and Jesus, to them a libertine.

This parable has significance beyond that of revealing the challenge of the message of Jesus to the presuppositions of his hearers, for it offers evidence for the fact that table-fellowship with those who responded to the proclamation was a well-known aspect of the ministry of Jesus, and it brings out the fact that joyousness was the keynote of this fellowship. As we argued in chapter II, above, this is a strong indication that a table-fellowship which anticipated the joys of the age to come was a feature of the ministry of Jesus.

The Pharisee and the Tax Collector: Luke 18.9 - 14

9He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and despised others: 10Two men went up into the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. 11The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, "God, I thank thee that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. 12I fast twice a week, I give tithes of all that I get." 13But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, "God, be merciful to me a sinner!" 14I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other; for every one who exalts himself will be humbled, but he who humbles himself will be exalted.’

The generalizing conclusion in v. 14b is certainly foreign to the parable itself. It is an independent saying found elsewhere in the tradition (e.g. Matt. 23.12; Luke 14.11) which refers to the future, the age to come, rather than the present. Apart from this, however, the tradition seems to have preserved the parable well. It is marked by numerous Semitisms, much more so than any other Lukan parable, and it reflects exactly the religious situation, customs and prayers of Palestine at the time of the second Temple. For this reason, it is particularly suited to the exegetical methodology of J. Jeremias, and his exegesis of this parable (J. Jeremias, Parables of Jesus [rev. ed., 1963], pp. 139-44.) is beyond all praise, and certainly beyond our power to imitate.

The crux of the matter, for our purposes, is the fact that we are here again confronted by the distinction between righteous Jew, here exemplified by the Pharisee with his characteristic (Ibid., p. 142, we find two parallels to the Pharisee’s prayer: b. Ber. 28b and IQH vii. 34.) prayer and attitude, and the ‘Jew who had made himself a Gentile’, here shown as penitent before God. In this story these characters and their situation are not depicted by analogy but directly, and, in consequence, the hearers are not left to draw their own conclusions, but rather are challenged by the direct statement: ‘I tell you . . .’ The challenge is the one we have seen throughout this group of parables, the fundamental challenge of Jesus to his hostile contemporaries. We should note in passing that ‘I tell you . . .’ with its direct challenge to dearly held preconceptions of the period is an indirect personal claim of great magnitude.

Exegesis 3. The Good Samaritan, The Unmerciful Servant, The Tower Builder, The King Going to War. The Necessary Response to the Challenge

The Good Samaritan: Luke 10.29-37

29But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbour?’ 30Jesus replied, ‘A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him, and departed, leaving him half-dead. 31Now by chance a priest was going down the road; and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. 32So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was; and when he saw him, he had compassion, 34and went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine; then he set him on his own beast and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. 35And the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, "Take care of him; and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back." 36Which of these three, do you think, proved neighbour to the man who fell among the robbers?’ 37He said, ‘The one who showed mercy on him.’ And Jesus said to him, ‘Go and do likewise.’

As it stands in the tradition, this parable has been attached to the Lukan equivalent of the lawyer’s question about the greatest commandment (Mark 12.28-31), probably because of the catchword ‘neighbour’, but this is an editorial connection and we must disregard it. (Miss Linnemann has convinced the present writer of this point; E. Linnemann, Parables of Jesus, p. 138.) Treated as an independently circulating parable, it still has reference to the question ‘Who is my neighbour?’ a question of great concern to both first-century Judaism and the early Christian Church, and so it has a natural Sitz im Leben in both the ministry of Jesus and the life and work of the Church. Since the vividness and power of the story itself is adequate testimony to its authenticity, we may assume that it was a parable told by Jesus in answer to such a question, although the circumstances of the questioner and the questioning are now lost to us.

The parable itself is an ‘exemplary story’ and as such is concerned to teach by example, in this instance the example of true neighbourliness. Of the three characters involved, only one is motivated by the recognition of overwhelming need. The others allow other concerns to override the challenge of the stranger’s need, and no doubt the original hearers of the parable would have supplied these concerns in their own minds as they listened, each according to his own estimate of ‘priest and Levite’: fear of involvement, possibility of ceremonial defilement if the man were dead, ecclesiastical hypocrisy, and so on. Actually, the original hearers would have expected an Israelite layman to appear as the third character, and it is hard for us today to recapture the sense of shock that the words ‘But a Samaritan . . .’ must have occasioned. Jews and Samaritans hated one another passionately at this period, on both religious and racial grounds, and lost no opportunity to express that hatred. The fact that the true neighbour turned out to be a Samaritan is as important as that the Prodigal Son became a swineherd, and, as in that parable the father is made to go through every realistically possible act of welcoming the son, so in this one the Samaritan is made to take every possible step to care for the stranger. Jesus leaves no stone unturned in his effort to make the point: Be prepared to abandon presuppositions.

The purpose of the parable is to give an example of neighbourliness, to teach that the crucial aspect of human relationships is response to the neighbour’s need. There is no need for us to labour this point, since the parable speaks far more effectively for itself than any modern author could speak for it. But a point we would make is that this teaching has to be set in the context of Jesus’ proclamation of the forgiveness of sins and his table-fellowship with ‘tax collectors and sinners’. All the various aspects of the teaching of Jesus are closely interrelated, and to speak ofiesus as teaching the necessity of response to the neighbour’s need as the crucial aspect of human relationships is misleading, unless it is clearly understood that this is an imitation of God’s response to one’s own need. Because one knows God as responding to human needs in terms of the eschatological forgiveness of sins, one must respond to the needs of a neighbour in terms of whatever may be appropriate to the immediate situation.

This point is not made in the parable by direct reference to the forgiveness of sins, but rather becomes apparent only when the parable is set in its context in the ministry of Jesus. At first sight the parable teaches a radically new concept of neighbourliness -- in terms of need as over against mutual membership in a racial or religious group -- and that it does this is, of course, true enough. But the full force of its message is felt only when it is realized that this lesson is being taught by one who proclaimed a radically new concept of the forgiveness of God: it extended even to the ‘Jew who had made himself a Gentile’. The two belong together as obverse and reverse of the same coin; the showing mercy is a response to being shown mercy. This point is somewhat obscured in the tradition by v. 37b, where the ‘Go and do likewise’ transforms the parable into a general exhortation, but this was most probably added in the tradition. (R. Bultmann, History of the Synoptic Tradition, p. 178.)

The Unmerciful Servant: Matt. 18.23-35

23Therefore the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his servants. 24When he began the reckoning, one was brought to him who owed him ten thousand talents; 25and as he could not pay, his lord ordered him to be sold, with his wife, and children and all that he had, and payment to be made. 26So the servant fell on his knees, imploring him, ‘Lord, have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.’ 27And out of pity for him the lord of that servant released him and forgave him the debt. 28But that same servant, as he went out, came upon one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii; and seizing him by the throat he said, ‘Pay what you owe.’29 So his fellow servant fell down and besought him, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you.’ 30He refused and went and put him in prison till he should pay the debt. 31When his fellow servants saw what had taken place, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their lord all that had taken place.32Then his lord summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you besought me; 33and should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?’ 34And in anger his lord delivered him to the jailers, till he should pay his debt. 35So also my heavenly Father will do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother from your heart.

Verses 34 and 35 are to be regarded as additions to the story, made perhaps by Matthew himself; they convert the original challenge of the parable into a warning, and v. 35 is entirely Matthaean in phraseology and sentiment. The fact that such a simple addition made it suitable for Matthew’s purpose, and its own natural balance, has preserved the story in what must be very much the form in which Jesus taught it. The present connection with Peter’s question is, of course, editorial; we must, as always, treat the story as an isolated piece of tradition.

The story itself is unusual among the parables of Jesus in that it does not reflect Palestinian conditions. The Jewish monarchy had never been absolute as this one is pictured as being; in Jewish law the wife could not be sold into slavery; and in Palestine torture would not have been inflicted on a man imprisoned for debt (the word translated ‘jailers’ in v. 34 also means ‘torturers’). Only in one respect does it accord with Jewish practice, and that is in v. 30, where the servant is imprisoned and not sold into slavery. According to Jewish law, a man could not be sold into slavery because of a sum less than the sum for which he would be sold, (Mekilta Ex. 22.2 [Lauterbach III, p. 104]. We are indebted to J. Jeremias, Parables of Jesus [rev. ed., 1963], pp. 211f., for the information about the Jewish law and practices.) and he could not be sold for debt, only for theft. Indeed, almost the only really Palestinian touch is in v. 28: ‘seizing him by the throat’. The Mishnah begins a discussion of a hypothetical case, ‘If a man seized a debtor by the throat in the street . . .’, assuming this to be the normal practice (B. B. 10.8)! The story, in fact, reflects the kind of hearsay knowledge of the absolute monarchies of the East and the practices of their courts that a Palestinian might have been expected to have. In this respect, it has its own kind of verisimilitude; it corresponds to the Palestinian’s picture of foreign kings and their courts and so would be meaningful to him.

The point of the story is clear: as you have been forgiven, so must you forgive. The Kingdom of God is known in terms of the experience of the forgiveness of sins; the only proper response to that experience is a preparedness in turn to forgive. The story is told in terms of kings, servants and debts large and small, and as such it is an exemplary story, as is that of the Good Samaritan, except that it makes the point in reverse. The servant of this story is held up to the judgement of the hearers as an example of what should not have been done. In passing judgement on him, the hearers are affirming the principle upon which this aspect of the teaching of Jesus turns: the experience of God demands a response in terms of imitation of that experience in relationship to one’s fellow men.

The Tower Builder and the King Going to War: Luke14.28-32

28For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it? 29Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation, and is not able to finish, all who see it begin to mock him, 30saying, ‘This man began to build, and was not able to finish.’ 31Or what king, going to encounter another king in war, will not sit down first and take counsel whether he is able with ten thousand to meet him who comes against him with twenty thousand? 32And if not, while the other is yet a great way off, he sends an embassy and asks terms of peace.

To these parables we must add one from Thomas: the Assassin.

Thomas 98. Jesus said: ‘The Kingdom of the Father is like a man who wishes to kill a powerful man. He drew the sword in his house, he stuck it into the wall, in order to know whether his hand would carry through; then he slew the powerful (man).’

Here we have three vivid pictures of men from very different walks of life who have one thing in common: a willingness to prepare themselves realistically for the responsibility they assume. The man building the ‘tower’ is probably a farmer contemplating building farm buildings; the emphasis upon the cost of the foundation makes it probable that a large building is in question, and the word translated ‘tower’ (pyrgos) can also mean ‘farm buildings’. (B.T.D. Smith, Parables of the Synoptic Gospels [Cambridge: University Press. 1937], p. 220). The king going to war would be a familiar enough figure in embattled Palestine, and the assassin ‘draws upon the stern reality of the Zealot movement’.(J. Jeremias, Parables of Jesus [rev. ed., 1963], p. 196.) There is every reason to accept them as authentic; their very vividness, the fact that the tradition has misunderstood the first two (v. 33 makes them examples of self-denial) and the extreme unlikelihood of anyone but Jesus using a Zealot assassin as an example (cf. the Labour Racketeer!), are overwhelming arguments in their favour.

As far as the interpretation of these pictures is concerned, C. H. Hunzinger has recently pointed out (‘Unbekannte Gleichnisse Jesu aus dem Thomas-Evangelium’, Judentum, Urchristentum, Kirche [Festschrift fur Joachim Joachim Jeremias], ed. W. Eltester, pp. 209-20.) that the canonical ones begin with the rhetorical question, ‘Which of you . . .?and in this respect they belong to a whole group of parables (e.g. Luke 11.11 par.; 11.5; 15.4) which draws a conclusion about God from the conduct of man. This being the case, these three should also be understood in this way; they challenge men to consider: What God has begun, he will carry through. But, as Jeremias points out, (J. Jeremias, Parables of Jesus [rev. ed., 1963], p. 197, n. 23) the pictures are not of successfully concluding something half begun, but of preparing oneself for a task. The farmer calculates his resources, the king estimates his strength over against his enemy’s, the assassin assures himself that his hand has not lost its skill; the natural point of comparison here is not God, but man. We are justified, therefore, in claiming that Luke is, so to speak, half right: these parables are parables of discipleship, although their point is not self-denial. Set in the context of the eschatological challenge of Jesus’ proclamation, these parables challenge men to sober judgement. The Hid Treasure and the Pearl challenge to a recognition of the joy of fulfillment of long-held hopes, these to a recognition that, as the present writer heard T. W. Manson put it, ‘Salvation may be free, but it is not cheap.’ These parables emphasize the earnestness and self-preparedness that must characterize the response to the challenge of Jesus’ proclamation.

Exegesis 4. The Friend at Midnight, The unjust Judge. Confidence in God

The Friend at Midnight: Luke 11.5-8 (The Importuned Friend)

5Which of you who has a friend will go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves; 6for a friend of mine has arrived on a long journey, and I have nothing to set before him’; 7and he will answer from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door is now shut, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything’. 8I tell you, though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, yet because of his importunity he will rise and give him whatever he needs.

In this parable we find again the sympathetic observation of Palestinian peasant life so characteristic of Jesus. The Palestinian peasant wife baked bread for the day before sunrise, normally there would be none left after dark. The responsibilities of hospitality were sacred in the ancient East and three loaves are a meal for one person. The importuned friend is living in a one-room cottage, the whole family sleeping on a mat on a raised platform, and getting up and unbolting the door, itself a cumbersome business, would necessarily disturb the whole household.

The one difficulty in the story is the phrase translated ‘because of his importunity’ (anaideian). This can be referred either to the importuner, as in the translation above, or it can be referred to the importuned, in which case it must be understood in the sense of ‘so as not to be shamed’, i.e. not to lose face. (J. Jeremias, Parables of Jesus [rev. ed., 1963], p. 158.) There can be no certainty as to which of these is correct, but the fact that the parable is so strongly Palestinian in atmosphere lends weight to the latter, the more oriental of the two possibilities. If we accept this as the correct rendering, then the whole weight of the story falls not upon the importuner, but upon the importuned, for it is his conduct that is singled out for explanation and comment. We would, therefore, call it the ‘Importuned Friend’, and, with Jeremias, (Ibid.) read it as one long rhetorical question followed by a pungent comment. ‘Is it conceivable that one of you could have a friend who would come to you at midnight . . . could you answer from within . . .? No, you could not. Even if his friendship did not get you up, the shame of refusing to accept responsibility for the needs of hospitality would be more than sufficient to do so !’

The parable argues from the lesser to the greater, and the natural interpretation is: If the importuned has to answer his friend, how much more must God hear you. We must remember that the context of the parable as the total proclamation of Jesus and that its message is, therefore, a supplement to that proclamation. Those who hear the proclamation may have full confidence in the God of which it speaks: If . . . how much more must . . . Luke, concerned with the ongoing life of the Church and experience of the Christian ‘way’, understands the reference to be to confidence in prayer; but it seems more probable that the original reference was to the totality of the proclamation as it challenged the hearer.

The Unjust Judge: Luke 18. 1-8 (The Importuned judge)

1And he told them a parable, to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart. 2He said, ‘In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor regarded man; 3and there was a widow in that city who kept coming to him and saying, "Vindicate me against my adversary." 4For a while he refused; but afterward he said to himself, "Though I neither fear God nor regard man, 5yet because this widow bothers me, I will vindicate her, or she will wear me out by her continual coming."’ 6And the Lord said, ‘Hear what the unrighteous judge says. 7And will not God vindicate his elect, who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long over them? 8I tell you, he will vindicate them speedily. Nevertheless, when the Son of man comes, will he find faith on earth?’

Verse 1 is the Lukan introduction; as in the case of the Importuned Friend he understands the reference to be to God as the answerer of prayer, and vv. 6, 7 and 8 are a series of comments accruing to the story m the tradition. Restricting ourselves to vv. 2-5, we have a vivid picture, of which an exact modern parallel has been reported, (By H. B. Tristram, quoted in B. T. D. Smith, Parables of the Synoptic Gospels, p. 150, and summarized by J. Jeremias, Parables of Jesus [rev. ed., 1963], p. 154, n. 7.) of an Eastern judge whose judgements are responsive to bribery and a poor widow whose persistence in importunity wins the day for her. Again, it is an argument from the lesser to the greater, and the probable reference is the total proclamation of Jesus as it challenged the individual hearer. If an unjust judge can be importuned into responding to a poor widow, how much more can you trust the God who reaches Out to you in the word of forgiveness.

The application of these twin parables to prayer is natural and proper. Certainly trust extended to the God known in the experience of forgiveness would lead naturally to the practice of prayer, and the existence of the Lord’s Prayer itself is evidence enough that Jesus did, in fact, lead his followers from the general attitude of trust to the particular expression of it in prayer.

Thus far we have discussed the challenge of Jesus to recognition and response in terms of the parabolic teaching; now we must turn to another aspect of the matter: the challenge of Jesus to faith. ‘Faith’ is a dangerous word to use in connection with the teaching of Jesus, because its constant theological, ecclesiastical and evangelical use among Christians inevitably leads to a tendency to associate ideas with the word in the teaching of Jesus which really have no place there. Despite this danger, however, we have no choice in the matter, because Jesus did, in fact, challenge men to ‘faith’. The most we can do is to stay as close to the text as we can, mindful that the real issue is the way the word is being used, not what ideas we may associate with it.

‘Faith’ in the Teaching of Jesus (See on this subject: R. Bultmann, Faith [Bible Key Words from Gerhard Kittel’s Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament], London: A. & C. Black [No. 10], and New York: Harper and Row [Vol. III with Spirit of God], 1961. G. Ebeling, ‘Jesus and Faith’, in his collected essays Word and Faith [ET by J. W.Leitch of Wort und Glaube (1960). London: SCM Press, and Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1963}, pp. 201-46.)

The discussion of this aspect of the teaching of Jesus has only very recently come alive in English language research. For a long time it did not get very far and for this there are a number of reasons. One difficulty has been that scholars tending to a conservative view of the tradition have, as a consequence, also tended to regard the various claims and challenges of the Christ of the gospels as constituting the situation of the ministry of the historical Jesus. Since there is no point at which the gospel tradition is more influenced by the post-Easter situation than it is in this aspect of the depiction of the risen Lord of Christian experience in terms of Jesus of Nazareth, this has not proven a fruitful approach to the problem. On the other hand, scholars who were sensitive to the differences between the historical Jesus and the Christ of the gospel tradition tended to see their task as depicting the historical Jesus in such a way that they and their readers might enter into his experience and so share his confidence in God, (For example, B. Harvie Branscomb, The Teachings of Jesus [New York: Abingdon Press, 1931], p. 209: ‘This is the source and ground of Jesus’ confidence and courage. . . . We usually call this Jesus’ teaching of faith in God. He constantly urged greater faith on his disciples. . .’) which is what they understood faith to be. There has recently been a return to a view similar to this, although very differently expressed, in the work of Ernst Fuchs, who speaks of Jesus’ faith, of Jesus’ decision, and of the need to repeat Jesus’ decision, and who speaks also of Jesus’ personal prayer as ‘the most eminent part of his own obedience in faith’, and of the disciples as being let ‘take part in his prayer’.(E. Fuchs, Studies of the Historical Jesus, pp. 11-31 [‘The Quest of the Historical Jesus’] and 48-64 [‘Jesus and Faith’]. Quotations are from p. 62.). But the difficulty with this is always that it assumes two things: that faith is concerned with one’s attitude to God, which is true enough, but much too broadly conceived; and that the crux of the challenge of Jesus is that men should share his faith, (Fuchs would want to express the matter in words very different from these.) which is a sweeping assumption, indeed. A further problem is that many of the most characteristic sayings about faith in the gospels are associated with miracles, especially healing miracles, and critical scholarship has found this aspect of the tradition very difficult. Liberal scholars tended either to rationalize the stories, or to speak movingly of ‘the supreme meaning of Jesus’ wonders: God’s will of mercy and salvation was expressing itself through him,’ (E. J. Goodspeed, Life of Jesus [New York: Harper & Bros., 1956], pp. 55f.) and then move quickly to a more congenial subject! Form criticism, building on the foundations of the immense comparative studies of the religionsgeschichtliche Schule, dismissed the stories as typical products of the legend-making propensities of ancient religious movements, to be paralleled in both Jewish and Hellenistic religious literature.(E.g. R. Bultmann, History of the Synoptic Tradition, pp. 209-44.) In either case, there was no desire to discuss the concept of faith involved in these stories as an aspect of the teaching of Jesus. A further factor at work in the situation was the feeling that a discussion of ‘faith’ in the teaching of Jesus would lead to a discussion of Jesus’ faith and this would be an illegitimate psychologizing about Jesus. (Cf. Bultmann’s comments on the work of Fuchs, in The Historical Jesus and the Kerygmatic Christ, ed. C. E. Braaten and R. A. Harrisville [New York: Abingdon Press, 1964], pp. 32f.) It can readily be seen that there are strong reasons for the fact that Bultmann’s article on Faith, in Kittel’s TWNT, in many ways a classic, did not include a discussion of the teaching of Jesus.

Today, however, it is being increasingly recognized that the tradition of miracle stories in the gospels deserves much more serious attention than either the older liberal or the earlier form-critical scholarship gave it. Further, a closer study of this tradition throws into sharp relief the role played in it by references to ‘faith’.

The view of the miracles held by critical scholarship has, then, changed, and for this there are a number of reasons. One is that parallels quoted from Jewish and Hellenistic literature have been more carefully examined, and they turn out to be not completely convincing as sources for all that we find in the synoptic accounts.

As a matter of convenience, and because these are the crux of the matter so far as the ministry of Jesus is concerned, we will restrict ourselves to exorcisms, giving two characteristic passages from the Hellenistic literature.

Philostratus, Apollonius of Tyana iv. 20

(Apollonius is discussing the question of libations and in his audience is a youth with ‘so evil a reputation for licentiousness, that his conduct had once been the subject of coarse street-corner songs’. This youth interrupts Apollonius with loud and coarse laughter.) Then Apollonius looked up at him and said: ‘It is not yourself that perpetrates this insult, but the demon, who drives you on without your knowing it.’ And in fact the youth was, without knowing it, possessed by a devil; for he would laugh at things that no one else laughed at, and then he would fall to weeping for no reason at all, and he would talk and sing to himself. Now most people thought that it was the boisterous humour of youth which led him into such excesses; but he was really the mouthpiece of a devil, though it only seemed a drunken frolic in which on that occasion he was indulging. Now when Apollonius gazed on him, the ghost in him began to utter cries of fear and rage, such as one hears from people who are being branded or racked; and the ghost swore that he would leave the young man alone and never take possession of any man again. But Apollonius addressed him with anger, as a master might a shifty, rascally, and shameless slave and so on, and he ordered him to quit the young man and show by a visible sign that he had done so. ‘I will throw down yonder statue,’ said the devil, and pointed to one of the images which were in the king’s portico, for there it was that the scene took place. But when the statue began by moving gently, and then fell down, it would defy anyone to describe the hubbub which arose thereat and the way they clapped their hands with wonder. But the young man rubbed his eyes as if he had just woke up, and he looked towards the rays of the sun, and won the consideration of all who now had turned their attention to him; for he no longer showed himself licentious, nor did he stare madly about, but he had returned to his own self, as thoroughly as if he had been treated with drugs; and he gave up his dainty dress and summery garments and the rest of his sybaritic way of life, and he fell in love with the austerity of the philosophers, and donned their cloak, and stripping off his old self modeled his life in future upon that of Apollonius. (Quoted from the translation by F. C. Conybeare in the Loeb Classical Library.)

Lucian, Philopseudes 16

‘You act ridiculously,’ said Ion, ‘to doubt everything. For my part, I should like to ask you what you say to those who free possessed men from their terrors by exorcising the spirits so manifestly. I need not discuss this: everyone knows about the Syrian from Palestine, the adept in it, how many he takes in hand who fall down in the light of the moon and roll their eyes and fill their mouths with foam; nevertheless, he restores them to health and sends them away normal in mind, delivering them from their straits for a large fee. When he stands beside them as they lie there and asks: "Whence came you into his body?" the patient himself is silent, but the spirit answers in Greek or in the language of whatever foreign country he comes from, telling how and whence he entered into the man; whereupon, by adjuring the spirit and if he does not obey, threatening him, he drives him out. Indeed, I actually saw one coming out, black and smoky in colour.’ (Quoted from the translation by A. M. Harmon in the Loeb Classical Library.)

It becomes apparent that many of the details in the synoptic accounts are paralleled in the Hellenistic literature; that Christian writers did use Hellenistic models can be seen quite clearly in the apocryphal Acts of Peter, where the author improves on a version of a story similar to that told by Philostratus.

Acts of Peter XI

And as Peter spake thus and embraced Marcellus, Peter turned himself to the multitude that stood by him and saw there one that laughed (smiled), in whom was a very evil spirit. And Peter said unto him: ‘Whosoever thou art that didst laugh, show thyself openly unto all that are present.’ And hearing this the young man ran into the court of the house and cried out with a loud voice and dashed himself against the wall and said: ‘Peter, there is a great contention between Simon and the dog whom thou sentest; for Simon saith to the dog: "Say that I am not here." Unto whom the dog saith more than thou didst charge him; and when he bath accomplished the mystery which thou didst command him, he shall die at thy feet.’ But Peter said: ‘And thou also, devil, whosoever thou art, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, go out of that young man and hurt him not at all; show thyself to all that stand here.’ When the young man heard it, he ran forth and caught hold on a great statue of marble which was set in the court of the house, and broke it in pieces with his feet. Now it was a statue of Caesar. Which Marcellus beholding smote his forehead and said unto Peter: ‘A great crime hath been committed; for if this be made known unto Caesar by some busybody, he will afflict us with sore punishments.’ And Peter said to him: ‘I see thee not the same that thou wast a little while ago, for thou saidst that thou wast ready to spend all thy substance to save thy soul. But if thou indeed repentest, believing in Christ with thy whole heart, take in thine hands of the water that runneth down, and pray to the Lord, and in his name sprinkle it upon the broken pieces of the statue and it shall be whole as it was before.’ And Marcellus, nothing doubting, but believing with his whole heart, before he took the water lifted up his hands and said: ‘I believe in thee, O Lord Jesus Christ: for I am now proved by thine apostle Peter, whether I believe aright in thy holy name. Therefore I take water in my hands, and in thy name do I sprinkle these stones that the statue may become whole as it was before. If, therefore, Lord, it be thy will that I continue in the body and suffer nothing at Caesar’s hand, let this stone be whole as it was before.’ And he sprinkled the water upon the stones, and the statue became whole, whereat Peter exulted that Marcellus had not doubted in asking of the Lord, and Marcellus was exalted in spirit for that such a sign was first wrought by his hands; and he therefore believed with his whole heart in the name of Jesus Christ the Son of God, by whom all things impossible are made possible.(Quoted from M. R. James, The Apocryphal New Testament [Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1953], pp. 314f.)

None the less, there is one thing conspicuous by its absence from these Hellenistic stories and that is the use of ‘faith’ in such a saying as ‘Your faith has saved you’. Such a use of ‘faith’ is not only completely absent from these stories, it is also without parallel anywhere in the Hellenistic literature.

We might expect that the Jewish literature would provide a closer parallel to the gospel narratives, and, indeed, exorcism stories are more common here than they are in the Hellenistic literature. We give three examples from the Babylonian Talmud, quoting the Soncino edition.

b. Me‘ilah 17B

(R. Simeon and R. Eleazar are going to Rome to work for the annulment of anti-Jewish decrees.) Then Ben Temalion [a demon] came to meet them. He said: ‘Is it your wish that I accompany you?’ Thereupon R. Simeon wept and said: ‘The handmaid of my ancestor’s house was found worthy of meeting an angel thrice [Hagar: Gen. 16], and I not even to meet him once. However, let the miracle be performed, no matter how.’ Thereupon he [the demon] advanced and entered into the Emperor’s daughter. When R. Simeon arrived there he called out: ‘Ben Temalion leave her, Ben Temalion leave her’, and as he proclaimed this he left her. He [the emperor] said to them: ‘Request whatever you desire.’

b. Kiddushim 29b

Now a certain demon haunted Abaye’s schoolhouse, so that when [only] two entered, even by day, they were injured. [R. Aha b. Jacob is on his way to visit Abaye] He [Abaye] ordered, ‘Let no man afford him hospitality [so that he would be forced to sleep in the schoolhouse]; perhaps a miracle will happen [in his merit].’ So he entered and spent the night in that schoolhouse, during which it [the demon] appeared to him in the guise of a seven-headed dragon. Every time he [the Rabbi] fell on his knees [in prayer] one head fell off. The next day he reproached them: ‘Had not a miracle occurred, you would have endangered my life.’

b. Kiddushim 39b-40a

As in the case of R. Hanina b. Pappi, whom a certain matron urged [to immorality]. He pronounced a certain [magical] formula, whereupon his body was covered with boils and scabs [so as to protect him from temptation]; but she did something and he was healed. So he fled and hid himself in a bathhouse in which when [even] two entered, even in daytime, they would suffer harm [from demons]. The next morning [seeing he was unharmed] the Rabbis asked him. ‘Who guarded you?’ Said he to them, ‘Two Imperial [armour] bearers guarded me all night.’ Said they to him, ‘Perhaps you were tempted with immorality and successfully resisted?’ For it is taught, He who is tempted with immorality and successfully resists, a miracle is performed for him.

It can be seen at once that here again the emphasis upon faith so characteristic of the synoptic stories is completely missing. There is no equivalent to ‘Your faith has saved you’; rather, power over the demons is an attribute of a particular rabbi, or it is granted in answer to prayer or as a reward for a meritorious act. We have restricted ourselves to exorcisms, but the same thing is true if all types of miracle stories are considered. After considering twenty-one miracle stories of all kinds as a representative cross-section of the rabbinic tradition, L. J. McGinley points out that ‘faith is never demanded from the patient’.(L.J. McGinley, ‘The Synoptic Healing Narrative and Rabbinic Analogies’, Theological Studies 4 [1943], p. 95.) As in the case of the Hellenistic stories, so also here the characteristic ‘Your faith has saved you’ of the gospel narratives is conspicuous by its absence.

Set in the context of their Hellenistic and Jewish parallels, then, the synoptic narratives offer many features that are reminiscent of features present in those parallels -- in this respect the work of Bultmann mentioned above is justified -- but they also offer one strikingly different feature: the emphasis upon the faith of the patient, or his friends.

Another factor entering into the discussion at this point is the increasing willingness of critical scholars to accept the premise that Jesus did, in fact, ‘cast out demons’ in a way considered remarkable by his contemporaries. The evidence for this is strong. We have the testimony of the Jewish sources; the fact that such stories occur in all strata of the tradition, including the two earliest, Mark and Q (criterion of multiple attestation); and the authentic Kingdom-sayings related to exorcisms, especially Matt. 12.28 par. Today, the pupils of the original form critics are prepared to accept elements of the tradition their teachers rejected. (Most important in this context is E. Käsemann’s article, ‘Wunder IV. Im NT’, RGG3 VI [1962], 1835-7, especially the opening paragraph.) We cannot, of course, diagnose the diseases and their cures over the gulf of two thousand years and radically different Weltanschauungen. Nor can we accept the necessary authenticity of any single story as it stands at present in the synoptic tradition; the ‘legendary overlay’ (Käsemann) and the influence of parallel stories from Hellenism and Judaism on the tradition are too strong for that. But we can say that behind that tradition there must lie a hard core of authenticity, even though its details are unrecoverable today. But if there is a hard core of authenticity, and if the process of transmission has been largely an expansion of this tradition by, and its accommodation to, the influence of parallel stories in other traditions, then the unique element in the tradition in comparison with its parallels is that which has the highest claim to authenticity. Although we cannot, today, reconstruct a single authentic healing or exorcism narrative from the tradition we have, we are none the less entitled to claim that the emphasis upon the faith of the patient, or his friends, in that tradition is authentic.

We are concerned with the frequently occurring ‘Your faith has saved you’ or its equivalent: Mark 5.34 par. (woman with the flow of blood); Mark 10.52 par. (blind Bartimaeus); Luke 7.50 (woman who was a sinner); Luke 17.19 (Samaritan leper); Mark 2.5 (the paralytic’s friends). Although we are not prepared to argue for the authenticity of any of the narratives concerned, we are arguing for the authenticity of such an element in the historical ministry of Jesus: he did help those who confronted him in their need in a way his contemporaries regarded as remarkable, and he did link this with the ‘faith’ of the people concerned.

In order to investigate the meaning to be attributed to ‘faith’ as Jesus used it, we have to consider, in addition, the complex of sayings about faith ‘moving mountains’ or ‘uprooting trees’. The two fundamental sayings here are Matt. 17.20 and Luke 17.6.

Matt. 17.20. He said to them, ‘Because of your little faith. For truly, I say to you, if you will have faith as a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, "Move hence to yonder place", and it will move; and nothing will be impossible to you.’

Luke 17.6. And the Lord said, ‘If you had faith as a grain of mustard seed, you could say to this sycamine tree, "Be rooted up, and be planted in the sea; and it would obey you."’

In addition, Mark 11.23 has a saying, ‘Whoever says to this mountain "Be taken up and cast into the sea", and does not doubt . . .but believes . . . it will be done for him’, set in the context of the dialogue about the meaning of the withered fig tree, and in this he is followed by Matthew (21.21). Then Paul appears to allude to the saying in I Cor. 13.2, ‘. . . if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains . . . and gnosticized versions of it occur twice in Thomas, where the gnostic ‘unity’ which is expressive of the state of salvation is such that ‘they shall say to the mountain: "Be moved", and it shall be moved’ (logion 48, cf. 106).

The most reasonable explanation of this complicated complex of sayings would appear to be (I) that there is widespread tradition that triumphant Christian (or gnostic) faith is such as to be able to ‘move mountains’ (I Cor. 13.2; Thomas 106; 48). Then (2) Mark 11.23 (= Matt. 21.21) should be recognized as a mixed saying in that it has parts of the two originally separate metaphors: the mountain from a version such as is now in Matt. I 7.20 and the sea from a version such as is now in Luke 17.6. (3) Matt. 17.20 and Luke 17.6 should be recognized as two distinct sayings making exactly the same point: the inconceivable power of faith. They have different but equally vivid metaphors of contrast: the proverbially small mustard seed with the power to move mountains, and the same seed and the power to uproot a sycamine (sycamore: Heb. shikmah) tree. The latter metaphor comes alive for us when we recognize that the Palestinian sycamine tree was notably deep rooted; the Mishnah says: ‘A tree may not be grown within twenty-five cubits of a cistern, or within fifty cubits if it is . . . a sycamore (shikmah) tree’ (B. B. 2.11). (Cf. T. W. Manson, Sayings of Jesus [London: SCM Press, 1949], p.141.) Since a developing tradition does not sharpen and isolate metaphors but rather mixes and blunts them, we may assume that these two sayings have given nse to the tradition of faith ‘moving mountains’ in the Church rather than vice versa, and there is good reason to accept their authenticity. Their vividness is a characteristic of the teaching of Jesus in metaphor; there are no parallels in Judaism to this form of a concept of faith, (G. Ebeling, Word and Faith, p. 229, with references.) and they are entirely coherent with the emphasis on faith in the exorcism-healing tradition. Nor may it be supposed that an early Christian emphasis upon faith has been read back into the tradition. The concept involved is different from that to be found in the early Church in that it is absolute and not directed towards Jesus (criterion of dissimilarity), and it is consistent in both miracle stories and sayings (criterion of multiple attestation).

The data we have to interpret, then, is that Jesus did help certain people in their need in a way his contemporaries regarded as remarkable, but he insisted that ‘Your faith has saved you’; and that he taught that the veriest particle of faith could ‘move mountains or uproot even sycamine trees’. What does ‘faith’ mean in these contexts? Well, it is clearly being used absolutely; there is no direct relationship to God or Jesus himself, men are not being asked to believe in God, to believe on Jesus. They are not even being asked to count themselves, in the moment of faith, a part of a regular religious community. Faith is imputed to the Samaritan leper, the Syrophoenician woman and the Gentile nobleman irrespective of any confessional standing in regard to a specific religious faith. Whatever may be our critical estimate of the authenticity of the individual stories, this is all so startlingly unlike anything that we could parallel in Judaism (the disregard of the community of faith) or the early Church (faith not directed to Jesus) (Except in Matt. 18.6, the only place where the specifically Christian Greek construction pisteuein eis is found in the synoptics and where the eis eme is clearly secondary, being absent in the source, Mark 9.42.) that it must be the usage of Jesus himself.

To come closer to an interpretation of the data we should note another factor in this tradition: faith is used both in connection with the forgiveness of sins (Luke 7.50) and with healing (Mark 5.34 etc.); indeed, the two are linked as being one and the same thing in the context of faith (Mark 2.5ff.). Now, this is not only fully in accordance with the relationship between sin and suffering as understood by the Jews at the time of Jesus (John 9.2), but it is also the reason for the very existence of an exorcism-healing element in the ministry of Jesus. We argued in chapter II, above, that Jesus was, above all, the Proclaimer of the Kingdom of God and that a major specific aspect of that proclamation was the eschatological forgiveness of sins. But if Jesus proclaimed the forgiveness of sins as a reality for those who accepted the challenge of his proclamation, then this proclamation must be accompanied by a ministry of exorcism and healing. So deep-rooted was the connection between sin and suffering to a Palestinian Jew of the first century that if there had been no such aspect of the ministry of Jesus, the proclamation of the Kingdom of God and the forgiveness of sins must have been regarded as a vain and empty sham. The present state of the tradition testifies to the reality of this connection in the ministry of Jesus in the way in which it equates the two in the context of faith. Recognition of this brings us closer to an understanding of the absolute use of faith by Jesus, in that it calls our attention to the fact that both the offer of the forgiveness of sins and the exorcisms were the subject of controversy between Jesus and some of his contemporaries. The synagogue scene at Capernaum pictures Jesus being accused of blasphemy in connection with the forgiveness of sins (Mark 2.7), and, although this is, no doubt, an ‘ideal’ or ‘typical’ scene, we have no reason to doubt its essential correspondence to an aspect of the historical ministry of Jesus. Similarly, the Beelzebul controversy (Mark 3.22-27), again certainly corresponding to an aspect of the ministry of the historical Jesus, pictures Jesus as being accused of collusion with the prince of demons in his exorcisms. In both contexts, therefore, faith must necessarily begin as recognition: recognition that Jesus does, in fact, have the authority to forgive sins, and recognition that the exorcisms are, indeed, a manifestation of the Kingdom of God, all possible arguments to the contrary notwithstanding. In this respect, faith is essentially an assent to a particular interpretation of an event, an interpretation not necessarily self-evident in the event itself. Jesus could have been blaspheming, his exorcisms could be collusion with evil forces, and what his opponents, no doubt, regarded as the indiscriminate nature of both the forgiveness (including tax collectors and sinners) and the healings (Samaritan leper) could be an argument against these aspects of his ministry, but for faith both are a manifestation of the kingly activity of God.

Faith, then, includes this vital element of recognition; it is in no small part trust in the fact that God is, indeed, active in the ministry of Jesus and that Jesus is what he implicitly claims to be. But although this faith has thus an ultimate reference both to God and to Jesus, it is by no means confidence in God or faith in Jesus. It could become this, on reflection, but the fact is that faith is used absolutely in the characteristic ‘Your faith has saved you’, or ‘faith as a grain of mustard seed. . . .’ It is not there further defined as faith in God, in Jesus, in the good news, as it is in the characteristic reformulations in the tradition, for example Mark 1.15: ‘. . . believe in the gospel’. The force of this absolute use is to concentrate attention upon the concrete nature of faith. ‘Faith is concrete faith in its being related to a concrete situation.’ (G. Ebeling, Word and Faith, p. 244.) It is faith in relation to a specific occurrence, a given event, an immediate challenge. Faith means to recognize the concrete situation for what it is and to respond in the only appropriate manner to its challenge.

The appropriate response is implicit in the concept of faith itself as it was understood in ancient Judaism, for there the primary meaning of faith is certainly trust. A traditional saying, attributed in the Babylonian Talmud (b. Sot. 48b) to Rabbi Eliezer b. Hyrcanus and hence certainly coming from New Testament times, runs: ‘Whoever has a piece of bread in his basket and says "What shall I eat tomorrow?" belongs only to them who are little in faith.’ Faith here is clearly trust, in this instance in God’s provisioning, and the ‘faith as a grain of mustard seed’ in the teaching of Jesus would seem to be an allusion to some such saying as this one. Although to do so is to lose the pungency of the original, we may certainly understand it as ‘even the smallest particle of trust, if it is real trust . . .‘ So the appropriate response to the challenge is trust;, trust in God, but trust in God in the concrete situation and in the particular instance, trust in relation to the specific challenge. But to the Jews trust must of necessity issue in obedience, faith becoming faithfulness, (Note the absolute use of faith in the sense of faithfulness in Wisd. of Sol. 3.14; IV Ezra 6.28; 7.34, and as parallel to righteousness in I Enoch 58.5; 61.4.) and so here we must understand the response of faith as including both trust and obedience, absolute trust and complete obedience.

One is entitled to use words such as absolute or complete in connection with trust and obedience in the teaching of Jesus. In the first place, both the absolute use of ‘faith’ and the imagery of the mustard seed are evidence that faith either is or is not; so far as the teaching of Jesus is concerned, there is no less or more to faith. The point of the mustard seed image in this instance is not that a mustard seed grows into a large bush, but that there is no such thing as a large mustard seed! Again, we have the vivid saying, Luke 14.26: ‘If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.’ This may be regarded as authentic because of the vividness of the imagery and because the variant in Matt. 10.37 (‘is not worthy of me’ for ‘cannot be my disciple’) goes back to an original Aramaic in which we have the unusual word shwly (Shwly = apprentice. the usual word for disciple of a rabbi is tlmyd. T.W. Manson, Teaching of Jesus, p. 238.) for disciple. As an authentic saying, it vividly illustrates the nature of the obedience required as part of the faith response to the challenge of Jesus and his proclamation. Luke 9.62: ‘No one who puts his hand to the plough and looks back is fit for the Kingdom of God’ has equal claim to authenticity (the imagery is vivid and without parallel in Judaism, Billerbeck, Kommentar ad loc.; the use of Kingdom of God is dominical) and makes the same point in a different way. Involved in faith is absolute trust and complete obedience. We may summarize: Jesus challenged men to faith as recognition and response to the challenge of his proclamation -- recognition that God was, indeed, active as king in his ministry, and in a specific event, occasion or incident for the individual concerned, and response in terms of absolute trust and complete obedience.

We have stressed the direct and concrete nature of the challenge to faith in the teaching of Jesus; we turn now to explore further the response-as-obedience aspect of that teaching in terms of a group of sayings which exhibit the radical and total character of the challenge of Jesus altogether. These are: Luke 9.62; Mark 10.23b, 25; Luke 9.60a; Matt. 7.13f.; Mark 10.31; Mark 7.15; Mark 10.15; Luke 14.11; 16.15; Matt. 5.39b-41; Matt. 5.44-48.

These sayings have been chosen from among the residue of logia which survives the extensive, and brilliant, investigation of ‘Jesus as the teacher of wisdom’ by R. Bultmann in his History of the Synoptic Tradition (pp. 69-105). This investigation is so thorough, the emerging history of tradition so convincing and the application of what we have called the criterion of dissimilarity so careful, that we feel no need to do more than quote Bultmann’s conclusion: ‘All these sayings contain something characteristic, new, reaching out beyond popular wisdom and piety and yet (they) are in no sense scribal or rabbinic, nor yet Jewish apocalyptic. So here, if anywhere, we can find what is characteristic of the preaching of Jesus.’ (R. Bultmann, History of the Synoptic Tradition, p. 105) No discussion of the authenticity of these sayings, therefore, will be offered here.

Exegesis 5. Luke 9.62; Mark 10,23b, 25; Luke 9.60a; Matt. 7.13f.; Mark 10.31; Luke 14.11, Cf. 16.15. The Challenge To Discipleship

Luke 9.62

No one who puts his hand to the plough and looks back is fit for the Kingdom of God.

This saying has both the vivid naturalness of imagery and the radical nature of the demand which are typical of the ‘ethical’ teaching of Jesus. The reference to the plough is a parable in itself (‘To what shall we compare the Kingdom of God? It is like a man who puts his hand to the plough and moves steadfastly across the land, looking neither to the right nor to the left, and least of all behind him!’) and characterizes the single-mindedness that is an essential aspect of the response to the challenge of Jesus’ proclamation.

Some idea of the vividness of Jesus’ teaching can be seen by comparing this saying with a rabbinical one of similar import: ‘If a man was walking by the way and studying and he ceased his study and said, "How fine is this tree!" or "How fine is this ploughed field !" the Scripture reckons it to him as though he was guilty against his own soul’ (Aboth 3.8).

Mark 10.23b, 25

How hard it will be (v. 24: is) to enter the Kingdom of God. . . .It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God.

The tradition here varies between the present tense and the future in Vv. 24 and 23 respectively. There is no need for us to make any decision on this point, because both would be equally fitting in the teaching of Jesus, since, as we have seen and as we shall have occasion to see, there is in that teaching an absolutely characteristic tension between present and future.(On this see N. Perrin, Kingdom, pp. 185-99.)

‘To enter the Kingdom of God’ is an idiom found both in Judaism and in the early Church, and it is, therefore, indefensible on the basis of the criterion of dissimilarity. But it is so widespread in the tradition (criterion of multiple attestation), and so much more used in the synoptic tradition than anywhere else in Judaism or Christianity, that we may accept it as part of the teaching of Jesus, and we may certainly accept this saying on the basis of Bultmann’s analysis of the tradition. There is no need for us to blunt the hyperbole of the reference to the camel and the eye of the needle. Rabbinic Judaism knows well the imagery of an elephant going through the eye of a needle as a symbol for the impossible, (Billerbeck, Kommentar I, 828.) so Jesus’ imagery was readily understandable as well as apposite.

This attitude to riches is radical. The Jews recognized the danger of riches becoming a hindrance to the observance of the Law, and they had had such an experience of the wealthier among their people succumbing to the temptation of a worldly Hellenism that the word ‘poor’ had become a synonym for ‘pious’. None the less, the rabbis strove for a balance in this matter, and their view is well expressed in Midrash Exodus Rabbah 31 on Ex. 22.24:

You will find that there are riches that positively harm their possessors and other riches that stand them in good stead.

When Solomon built the Temple, he said in his dedication prayer: ‘Lord of the Universe! Should a man pray unto thee for money and Thou knowest that it will be harmful to him, then do not grant his request; but shouldst Thou see one that will do well with his riches, then do grant him.’

Jesus, on the other hand, sees in riches a great danger. The reason is probably that he saw in riches a hindrance to the absolute nature of the self-surrender necessary as response to the challenge of the proclamation.

Luke 9.60a

‘Leave the dead to bury their own dead.’ [Matthew (8.22) precedes this with ‘Follow me’, and Luke continues, ‘but as for you, go and proclaim the Kingdom of God’, a characteristically Lukan emphasis.]

This is possibly the most radical of the sayings of Jesus on response to the challenge. In Judaism the responsibility for burying the dead was one that took precedence over all other duties enjoined in the Law. ‘He whose dead lies unburied before him is exempt from reciting the Shema’, from saying the Tefillah and from wearing phylacteries’ (Ber. 3.1, some texts add: ‘and from all the duties enjoined in the Law’). So radical is the gospel saying that it has often been suggested that there must either be a mistranslation here (a noun participle ‘burier of the dead’ misunderstood as an imperatival infinitive) or the reference must be to people spiritually dead. Neither of these suggestions is convincing, and, indeed, the radical nature of the saying is the guarantee of its authenticity. The response to the challenge of the Kingdom is all-demanding; it must transcend all other responsibilities and duties, however naturally and normally important those might be.

Matt. 7.13f.

13Enter by the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the way is easy, that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. 14For the gate is narrow and the way is hard, that leads to life, and those who find it are few.

Following a hint by Bultmann, (R. Bultmann, History of the Synoptic Tradition, p. 82.) we may recognize in this saying and its Lukan parallel (Luke 13.24: ‘Strive to enter by the narrow door; for many, I tell you, will seek to enter and will not be able’) an original saying of Jesus about striving to enter (the Kingdom) by the narrow gate which has been expanded in the tradition by the addition of commonplaces of Jewish exhortation. Billerbeck found that the imagery of the gate was extremely rare in Judaism, whereas that of the two ways, and the concept of ways leading to ‘life’ and ‘destruction’ respectively, occur frequently. (Billerbeck, Kommentor I, 460ff.) Furthermore, the terms ‘destruction’ and ‘life’ are not characteristic of Jesus; entering or failing to enter the Kingdom would be what we would expect.

A saying concerning striving to enter the Kingdom by the narrow gate would, again, stress the radical nature of Jesus’ demand.

Mark 10.31

‘But many that are first will be last, and the last first’ (par. Matt. 19.30; cf. Matt. 20.16; Luke (3.30).

Cf. Thomas 4. ‘For many who are first shall become last and they shall become a single one.’

With this saying we reach the climax of this particular aspect of the teaching of Jesus. The Kingdom is God’s Kingdom: his activity in the present and the consummation he will establish in the future. The responsibility of man is to respond to that activity in his present -- radically, thoroughly, with complete self-surrender -- so that he may both deepen his experience of God in his continuing present and move towards the goal of the future. Again, the response will be God’s, in the sense that it will be according to the impact which God makes upon the individual. So it will be the case, both with the activity and the response, that it will not necessarily be in accordance with man’s previous expectations, nor in accordance with human values -- not even human values ascribed to God! So the first will be last and the last first; the poor will be rich and the rich poor; tax collectors and sinners will be found within the Kingdom and scribes and Pharisees shut outside it.

Here this same point is made in a different way.

‘For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.’

Here the passives, as frequently, refer to the activity of God, and the point is that human values may well be reversed; all must be, and will be, in accordance with the values of God.

Exegesis 6. Mark 10.15; Matt. 5.39b-41; Matt. 5.44-48.

The New Attitude

Mark 10.15

Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.

This is perhaps the most memorable and pregnant of all the sayings of Jesus, and a worthy tribute was paid to it by the Jewish scholar, C. G. Montefiore: ‘. . . the beauty, the significance, the ethical force, and the originality . . . of the great saying in (v.) 15, can also only with injustice be overlooked, cheapened, or denied,’(C. G. Montefiore, The Synoptic Gospels I [1927], p.238.) It sums up a whole aspect of the teaching of Jesus in one unforgettable image: a man must bring to his response to the activity of God the ready trust and instinctive obedience of a child. Only in this way is he truly able to enter into the depth of the experience that has now become a real possibility for him.

Matt. 5.39b-41

39bBut if any one strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also; 40and if any one would sue you and take your coat, let him have your cloak as well; 41and if any one forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles.

The reference in v. 41 is to the Roman practice of impressing civilians into temporary service, as in the case of Simon of Cyrene being compelled to carry Jesus’ cross (Mark 15.21). It was a bitterly resented practice, but the power of Roman arms was such that the moral philosophy of the day found a very practical reason for accepting it. ‘If there is a requisition and a soldier seizes it (your ass), let it go. Do not resist or complain, otherwise you will be first beaten, and lose your ass after all’ (Epictetus).(Quoted by T.W. Manson, Sayings of Jesus, p. 160.) The teaching of Jesus challenges men to an attitude radically different from the prudential morality of an Epictetus: they are to see in the imposition a challenge to service and to accept it gladly. ‘The first mile renders to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s; the second mile, by meeting opposition with kindness, renders to God the things that are God’s.’(Ibid.)

Essentially, the same challenge is expressed in the other two examples: the acceptance of insult and the refusal to stand on one’s rights. The reference to the right cheek indicates that the act envisaged is a formal insult and not a spontaneous act of violence. (Normally, a right-handed person would strike the left cheek of the victim. The reference is, then, to a back-handed slap which, according to the Mishnah [B.K.8.6], was a grave insult. See ibid., p. 51.) The ‘coat’ and ‘cloak’ in v. 40 are not particularly happy choices to translate the garments referred to, although in all fairness to the translators it must be admitted that no better could be found. The difficulty is that the modern wardrobe is vastly different from that of first-century Palestine! Then, the male attire consisted of two garments, an inner garment and an outer garment, the latter being a kind of blanket which served as clothing by day and bedding by night. Legally, no one could claim the outer garment (Ex. 22.26f.; Deut. 24.12f.), so the injunction is: ‘Do not stand on your rights but rather give more than could be demanded of you!’ Luke (6.29) has changed the scene from a court of law to an act of robbery, probably because his readers would not understand the allusion to a Jewish legal principle. ‘In either case the issue would be nudism, a sufficient indication that it is a certain spirit that is being commended . . not a regulation to be slavishly carried out.’(Ibid., p. 51.)

This last point is particularly important and we would pause for a moment to stress it. The teaching of Jesus is spectacularly devoid of specific commandments, and nowhere is that more evident than in these three sayings. In fact, they are quite impossible to carry out except under special conditions and in very limited circumstances. True, a man could accept insult in this spirit -- so long as he was living in a community which recognized the dignity of the individual and therefore could be touched by the spirit of the act. Again, a man could respond to military imposition in this spirit and it would be effective -- with some armies or some soldiers. But the ‘coat/cloak’ saying is, literally taken, ridiculous. A man acting in that manner would soon be back before the court on a charge of indecent exposure! If we may accept the axiom that Jesus knew what he was talking about, then we must recognize that these are not specific commandments and that they were never meant to be taken literally. What we have here are illustrations of a principle. The illustrations are extreme, and in the one instance so much so as to approach the ridiculous; but that is deliberate. They are intended to be vivid examples of a radical demand, and it is as such that we must regard them. The demand is that a man should respond to the challenge of God in terms of a radically new approach to the business of living. This approach is illustrated by means of vivid examples of behaviour in crisis: in response to grave insult, to a lawsuit and to a military impressment. Not natural pride, not a standing on one’s own rights, not even a prudential acceptance, are the proper response to these crises now, however much they might have been so before. In light of the challenge of God and of the new relationship with one’s fellow man one must respond in a new way, in a way appropriate to the new situation. What the specifics of that new way are is not stated; these sayings are illustrations of the necessity for a new way rather than regulations for it. But the implication of these sayings is, surely, that if one approaches the crisis in this spirit, and seeks the way in terms of the reality of one’s experience of God and the new relationship with one’s fellow man, then that way can be found.

Matt. 5.44-48

44But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. 46For if you love those who love you, what reward have you? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? 47And if you salute only your brethren, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48You, therefore, must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

We have no need to concern ourselves with the exact wording of these sayings in their original form. A comparison of this passage with its Lukan parallels (Luke 6.27-28, 32-36) shows that three things are being said: Love your enemies; exceed the requirements of natural love; in this, be an imitator of God. That Jesus challenged his followers in these terms is not to be doubted and, indeed, is never doubted. Let us, however, stress the fact with which we are concerned, namely, that this teaching is directed to those who have experienced the love of God in terms of the forgiveness of sins. As with all of this aspect of the teaching of Jesus, it is directed to those who are consciously seeking to respond to the challenge of God. We must envisage it as directed to the group gathered together in the ‘table-fellowship of the Kingdom’, of which we spoke at the end of our last chapter.

Set in this context the teaching becomes explicit. The correct response to God, indeed the only response to him, is to imitate the reality one has known. Gathered around the table are those who have been ‘enemies’ of God, as well as those who have simply found a new means of knowing him. Whether a returned prodigal or a young man who had hitherto lacked one thing only, each rejoices in the experience which has brought him to this table, as he rejoices in the fellowship he now shares. Here he must accept the challenge to imitate what he has known, and knows. If he has enemies, then the challenge is to love them. He has neighbours and friends; the challenge is to exceed the normal and natural attitudes of love, affection, kindness and courtesy. In all things he is to strive to imitate the reality of God.

We have no need to labour the point. Once these words of Jesus can be seen in their original context, any words of ours become superfluous.

Mark 7.15

There is nothing outside a man which by going into him can defile him; but the things which come out of a man are what defile him.

The Jewish commandments to ritual purity were born of a desire so to purify the externals of everyday human life that God might truly be known in the circumstances of that life. The basic conviction was that of a legitimate distinction between sacred and secular: between things which by nature and circumstance belonged to God and through which he might be known, on the one hand, and those which belonged to the world and tended, therefore, to separate a man from God on the other. It was believed that some of these things were so foreign to God that they must simply be avoided at all costs, a tomb, for example, or the shadow of a Gentile; but that others were of such a nature that if they were ritually purified they would cease to separate man from God, household utensils, for example, or the tools of one’s trade. No Jew doubted the legitimacy of this approach to the problem of living in the world and yet not being separated from God. The characteristic response to the increasingly secular and Hellenized nature of Jewish life at the time of Jesus was to intensify the effort to attain ritual purity, e.g. by the Pharisees and, even more, by the Qumran sect. We have only one instance of a movement in the opposite direction, Johanan ben Zakkai (died about AD 80), who doubted the mechanical aspects of ritual defilement and purification by water, etc., but felt obliged none the less to maintain the commandments concerned simply because they were commandments: (he said to his disciples) ‘By your life! It is not the dead that defiles nor the water that purifies! The Holy One, blessed be He, merely says: "I have laid down a statute. I have issued a decree. You are not allowed to transgress my decree."’ (Numbers R. 19.8. The saying is also found elsewhere, refs. in Billerbeck, Kommentar I, 719.) His point is that the defilement is real and the ritual effective, not because of any special properties of dead bodies or water as such, but simply because God has so ordained matters.

Mark 7.15 is, therefore, completely without parallel in either rabbinic or sectarian Judaism, and, more than this, it completely denies a fundamental presupposition of Jewish religion: the distinction between the sacred and the secular. The Jesus tradition flatly denies that there are any external circumstances in the world or of human life which can separate a man from God; a man can be separated from God only by his own attitude and behaviour. Not the world, nor life, but only man himself is the ‘defiling’ agent. This is perhaps the most radical statement in the whole of the Jesus tradition, and, as such, it is certainly authentic. The tradition itself (Mark 7.17-23 par.) shows how the early Church struggled to comprehend the significance of so radical a statement, and reached the mundane, although correct, conclusions that this makes all food ‘clean’ and human sins the means of defilement. More than this, the saying is completely coherent with the almost equally radical attitude and behaviour of Jesus in connection with ‘tax collectors and sinners’; indeed, it is, so to speak, the ‘theoretical’ aspect of what is there exhibited in practice.

Setting the saying in the context of the Kingdom proclamation, as always, we can see at once that the experience of God acting as king requires a radically new attitude to life in the world. That experience is known precisely in terms of life in the world, and it requires, therefore, a radical reorientation toward life and the world. A man experiences God within the circumstances of his life in the world, and henceforth that world is, for him, transformed. No longer is there ‘clean’ and ‘unclean’; no longer is there ‘Jew’, ‘Jew who has made himself a Gentile’ and ‘Gentile’. There is now only the reality of God, and the life that is to be lived in terms of that reality. There are now only men who respond to the challenge of that reality and men who fail to do so.

The Response to the Challenge of the Reality of God

The keynote in the ‘ethical’ teaching of Jesus, then, is that of response to the reality of God. Since all the teaching is set in the context of the proclamation of the Kingdom, it follows that the ‘ethical’ teaching is not to be considered, and indeed could not exist, apart from the challenge to recognize God eschatologically at work in the experience of men. Crucial to an understanding of the teaching of Jesus at this point is the central petition of the Lord’s Prayer, Matt. 6.12 = Luke 11.4, which may be rendered: ‘Forgive us our sins, as we ourselves herewith forgive everyone who has sinned against us.’ We discussed this petition in some detail in our previous work (N. Perrin, Kingdom, pp. 194-6, 201f.) and have no need, therefore, to give here a further detailed exegesis of it. What we shall say below is to be regarded as supplementing our previous work.

In contrast to the Son of man sayings and Mark 9.1, further work and reflection on this petition has not led us to any change of opinion. We are more than ever convinced of its authenticity, for it is indubitably early, being a major part of the tradition from the beginning. Further, it is strongly Aramaic: the variation between the aorist (Matt.) and the present (Luke) in the second part of the petition represents the Aramaic perfectum praesens, and the word play debt/sin goes back to the Aramaic word hoba’. It satisfies the criterion of dissimilarity absolutely. In both form and content it contrasts sharply with Jewish prayers for forgiveness (in the directness, brevity and intimacy of the wording, and in the linking of the human preparedness to forgive with the reception of the divine forgiveness), as in emphasis it contrasts with the teaching of the early Church (Matt. 6.14f.(On this saying as a development from the petition in the ‘eschatological judgement pronouncement tradition’ of the early Church see chapter I, above, pp. 22f.) ‘legalizes’ the concept by making the forgiveness or non-forgiveness of God an exact reward or punishment for that of men, thus losing the dynamic of the petition itself). No saying in the tradition has a higher claim to authenticity than this petition, nor is any saying more important to an understanding of the teaching of Jesus.

We pointed out at the end of our second chapter that the Lord’s Prayer must be regarded as having its Sizt im Leben in the table-fellowship of Jesus with his followers; it is strictly a disciples’ prayer. Those who are taught to pray it are men and women for whom the forgiveness of sins is already a reality. They are those who gather around the ‘table of the Kingdom’ with Jesus in celebration of the joy and reality of their experience, and in anticipation of its consummation in God’s future. So the prayer for forgiveness is the more remarkable, and the more significant: those whose new relationship with God is made possible by an initial experience of the forgiveness of sins are taught to pray for a continuation of that experience. (On this in more detail see, N. Perrin, Kingdom, pp. 190-9. esp. p. 194.) But the Lord’s Prayer does not contain a detailed listing of all possible concerns of a disciple of Jesus; it picks out only the most significant, and the most representative. It should also be noted that just as in the case of the forgiveness of sins, so also in the case of the ‘coming of the Kingdom’, the Lord’s Prayer teaches disciples to pray for a continuation of that which they have already experienced: ‘Thy Kingdom come.’ The Kingdom reference is certainly a reference to the experience of God acting as king; the forgiveness of sins reference is equally certainly a reference to the central aspect of that experience. But this latter reference is not all-inclusive; it does not exclude any other kind of experience of God as king, but only points to its central aspect. In other words, the disciples are taught to pray for a continuation of their experience of God as king; ‘Kingdom’ and ‘forgiveness’ are terms intended to direct attention to major aspects of that experience, but also to include the developments that will go on as the disciple’s relationship with God grows and develops.

This is the first point to be recognized here: that discipleship begins and continues in the context of the experience of the activity of God as king. And the second point follows from this: ‘. . . as we also forgive . . .’ indicates that this continuing experience is contingent upon a proper response. The Aramaic perfect that originally stood in this petition indicates an action which takes place at the same time as the action of the previous verb (N. Perrin, Kingdom, pp. 195f., following J. Jeremias.) and must be translated ‘as we herewith forgive’, as we did translate it above. The recognition of this contemporaneity of action in the petition is absolutely crucial to an understanding of the teaching of Jesus. If we lose it, then the human forgiveness becomes either an echo of the divine, and while this would be true so far as it goes it would do less than justice to the dynamic of the teaching of Jesus, or it tends to become a means whereby we earn God’s forgiveness, as is happening in Matt. 6.14f. But in the teaching of Jesus the contemporaneity of the action envisages a response by man to God that is at the same time a full acceptance of the human responsibility in face of the divine mercy. In the context of God’s forgiveness men learn to forgive, and in the exercise of forgiveness toward their fellow man they enter ever more deeply into an experience of the divine forgiveness.

This is not only the crux of the teaching of Jesus about forgiveness; it is also the key to understanding the ‘ethical’ teaching of Jesus altogether: as men learn to live their lives in the context of their experience of the divine activity, so they must learn to live them in terms of the appropriate response to that activity. In the case of forgiveness, that response is to forgive; in the case of love, it is to love. This is the keynote of the ‘ethical’ teaching of Jesus.