Forward

For students of the theory and practice of biblical interpretation, Paul Ricoeur’s work grows in importance. Philosopher without a theological degree, Christian unencumbered by ecclesiastical occupation, advocate of reform in the French universities and confidant of students and workers during the Paris uprisings of spring 1968, professor in the Faculty of Arts at Paris-Nanterre, successor to Paul Tillich at the University of Chicago, Paul Ricoeur has produced a series of books and articles which today provoke intense discussion among those who struggle to "make sense" of the way the Bible might speak now to humankind and to the Church.

This small anthology, with critical introduction, is designed to make Ricoeur’s thinking on biblical hermeneutics available to a wider audience than has up to now been part of the dialogue. Ricoeur has written few works for a general readership. He has written no single work which comes close to summing up all facets of his thought on the interpretation of the Bible. Many of his most important essays on the subject are available only in learned journals or in anthologies substantially devoted to other topics. The materials gathered here are selected for readability, pertinence to the topic, interconnectedness, and coverage of a representative range of issues. The editor’s Introduction attempts to discover interconnections between Ricoeurian hermeneutical themes, to sketch their philosophical frame of reference, and to lift up their importance for the actual practice of interpretation today. The Introduction follows the thread of thought in the anthologized essays with cross-referencing to these and other Ricoeurian texts.

The editor participated in Professor Ricoeur’s seminars on imagination and intersubjectivity in Paris during the academic year 1973-74, while on a sabbatical leave for which he thanks the Trustees of Amherst College. He has been active in the Ricoeur group of the American Academy of Religion. After coming to McCormick Theological Seminary, he was invited by the Chicago Cluster of Theological Schools to lead a faculty seminar on Ricoeur’s hermeneutics Many of the ideas in the Introduction as well as selections under consideration for inclusion in the volume, were first tried out in the latter context.

The editor wishes to thank David Pellauer and Brad de Ford both former graduate student assistants to Ricoeur at the Divinity School of the University of Chicago, for their helpful suggestions concerning the introduction, and for access to manuscript materials. A version of the introduction was presented as a paper at the Chicago Society for Biblical Research in October 1978, and later published in revised form in the Society’s journal, Biblical Research, for Fall 1979. It is used here by permission Professor Ricoeur himself has been graciously helpful from the time of his original permission for this Project to its publication, and has provided an illuminating reply to the introduction for which the Editor is grateful.

The editor thanks Northwestern University Press for permission to use the essays "Preface to Bultmann" translated by Peter McCormick, and "Freedom in the Light of Hope," translated by Robert Sweeney, both originally published in The Conflict of Interpretations. He also thanks Harvard Theological Review for permission to republish "Toward a Hermeneutic of the Idea of Revelation," translated by David Pellauer and Anglican Theological Review for permission to reprint "The Hermeneutics of Testimony," translated by David Stewart and Paul Reagan. No attempt has been made to harmonize renderings of terms which differ slightly from one translator to another.

Sue Armendariz has cheerfully typed and retyped different versions of the Introduction I am grateful for her decoding abilities and for her accuracy.

Chicago

June 1980

Lewis S. Mudge

Chapter 12: Epilogue

The consequences of Mark’s embodiment and editing of the evangelic tradition in his brief apologia for Jesus’ Messiahship were far-reaching. It is not quite accurate to say that he took the gospel of Jesus -- that is, the message which Jesus himself had preached and taught -- and made it over into the gospel about Jesus; for that is what the Christian message had been all along, from the very beginning of the Christian movement, ever since the assembling of the disciples after the Resurrection and their first proclamation of the good news about Jesus. But Mark, or those who formulated the message in the terms which we read in his Gospel, undertook to give it an interpretation in accordance with which Jesus had already been Messiah, and had been recognized and confessed as Messiah, even during his earthly life, before the Resurrection when -- according to the primitive traditional belief -- he "became" or "was manifested" as such. What Mark undertakes to do is to prove that Jesus did not need to wait until the Resurrection in order "to manifest his glory," as the later Johannine Gospel uses the phrase. He was already Messiah as he went about Galilee; for he had been proclaimed the Son of God at his Baptism; the demons had recognized him as divine; the disciples had confessed him to be the Messiah, their conviction voiced by their spokesman, Peter; at the Transfiguration the chosen three "beheld his glory," to use again the more explicit Johannine idiom, ordinarily hidden but now momentarily revealed; finally even the centurion in charge of the crucifixion had confessed him "a Son of God." Though Jesus had not, it is true, announced himself to Israel as the Messiah, and had forbidden the demons to make him known -- since they knew him" -- and had even commanded his disciples to be silent about their recognition of his Messiahship, nevertheless, at the last, in the high priest’s court, he had admitted unequivocally that he was the one who should sit at the right hand of the divine Power (God) and come with the clouds of heaven.(Mark 14:62) As we have seen, this theory of the messianic secret, or rather of Jesus’ secret Messiahship, was Mark’s answer to the question which his fundamental thesis, that Jesus was already Messiah during his earthly ministry, at once suggested:

Why then was he not recognized. why was he put to death? It is almost as if Mark had undertaken to answer the questions Paul had put, in his letter to the Roman Christians -- Mark’s own church -- "Did they not hear? . . . . Did Israel not know?" (Romans 10:16-21) Had they known and understood, they would never have put to death the Lord of glory. It was surely in ignorance that the Jews and their rulers had put him to death, as the old tradition affirmed.(Acts 3:17) But this ignorance was in part at least the result of a mysterious blindness that had come upon them as a judgment for their sins, their initial unresponsiveness mounting eventually to active hatred and a "blind" fury of malice by which they attributed everything he said or did to the inspiration of Beelzebul, the chief of devils. Even the disciples had not wholly escaped its toxic effects: their eyes had been "holden," they had "slumbered" during the crucial hour of their Lord’s career in Gethsemane, and at his arrest they had "all left him, and fled"; Peter, their leader and spokesman, had even denied that he so much as knew his Master. This is part of Mark’s answer. The other part was that Jesus had commanded them to be silent about even the little they had guessed or discovered of his secret: Peter’s confession and the vision in the mount. "And he charged them that they should tell no man about him."(Mark 8:30) "He commanded them that they should tell no man what they had seen, save when the Son of Man should have risen from the dead." (Mark 9:9) This is not the full formulation of the answer as the author of the Fourth Gospel was someday to give it (Cf. John 2:22; 12:16; 14:26; 2:17.) namely that the disciples did not really understand either Jesus’ words or their own experience with him until after the Resurrection; but the idea is implicit in Mark, and the explanation is already moving in the "Johannine" direction -- John only makes more explicit what Mark’s theory has already presupposed.

But it was not only the theory of the messianic secret which was of such grave consequence, which did such violence to the older tradition, and which had to be explained and corrected by the later evangelists -- and explained away by John. It was the basic thesis of Mark, to which the theory of the secret was an interpretative corollary, which was of the gravest consequence not only for the later New Testament writings but also for the whole development of Christian doctrine and devotion, and has been so to this day. For it shifted the whole center of gravity in the gospel; it placed in the forefront of consideration, as the real subject of the gospel, the person of Jesus rather than the Kingdom of God.(For Jews, perhaps even for many early Jewish Christians, the central figure in the Kingdom was certainly not the Messiah, but God himself. See The Gospel of the Kingdom [1940]). Stated bluntly, Mark substituted a theological idea of the person of Jesus for the Kingdom of God, and interpreted "the gospel of the Kingdom" to mean the message -- or indeed the "mystery" (Mark 4:11) -- of Jesus’ Messiahship. Perhaps this was not surprising in a Roman Gospel, in a "defense and confirmation of the gospel" meant for Greco-Roman readers, whether converted Christians or still pagans, in a Hellenistic, Western, non-Jewish, non-Oriental apologia for the Christian faith. Whereas the East was interested in Wisdom, the divine Law, and the Kingship of God, the less abstractly minded, more concretely thinking and believing West -- it will be said -- demanded the adoration of a person, of a divine-human being, a Son of God, as the center of its religious loyalties. So it had already been for Paul, and perhaps for the gospel tradition even before Mark wrote -- though there are passages in Mark’s Gospel that run counter to this view -- for example, "Why callest thou me good?" (Mark 10:18) Paul presupposes it in the very language he takes over from earlier Hellenistic Christianity, for which Christ was already v, "Lord," that is, the head of a cult. Indeed, the change in emphasis may go back farther still, and Mark’s representation may be viewed more as a result than as a cause of this tendency; the initial movement in this direction was perhaps the result of the resurrection and glorification of Jesus, and the consequent centrality which he possessed for the salvation of his followers. And so it has been ever since: the person of Jesus, which is really the final mystery, and not to be approached until all other considerations have been weighed -- his teaching, his ethics, the new way of life which he opened up to men, his revelation of the character and the purpose of God -- the person of Jesus rather than his teaching or his revelation has been placed in the forefront of Christian consideration, and logicians trained in Western metaphysics and law have gone at the problem in a way unthinkable for the world in which Jesus lived, in a way unthinkable for Jesus himself.

It is the person, not the personality, of Jesus which is the center of interest. Mark, like other ancient writers generally, has no interest in "personality," which is a very modern conception. And it is the "person" of Jesus as a theological idea, not as a historical person, the subject of biography, which he thus sets at the center of Christian thought. Perhaps the only way open, historically speaking, if the church was to bring home to men the paramount and final importance of Jesus’ revelation, was to emphasize the theological idea of his person; only so could this revelation be made clear and authoritative to the Greco-Roman world. Thus the gospel was concentrated in the person of Jesus; the hope of the Kingdom receded and became eventually only another name for "heaven," the other world, the state of bliss beyond death, or, as in Thomas Aquinas, a term for the divine theodicy in general -- though in truth this interpretation really emphasized a fundamental element in the whole biblical conception, in Jesus’ teaching as elsewhere -- and thus an intellectual concept of the person of Jesus tended to become central for Christian doctrine, theology, and devotion, rather than the person of God, his sovereignty and his redemptive will, his wisdom and his love.

One result of the process -- which certainly Mark would not have encouraged, though his work started the development in that direction -- is the sentimental, saccharine, sickly-sweet Jesuolatry that has mistaken strong emotion for an evidence of religion, has softened the ethical fiber and beclouded the whole theological sky of certain areas of Christianity. This worship of Jesus has tended to crowd out the sturdier, less exuberant faith in the living God, whose mercies are over all his works but whose judgments are in all the earth. In consequence, God the Father became once more the veiled deity, the dark Fate or Destiny standing behind the throne of Zeus -- as conceived by many generations of earlier Mediterranean religion. In much the same way the worship of the Virgin later supplanted that of the Son, in some quarters. We may not quarrel with the fact; but the whole development, beginning with a concentration upon the idea of Jesus’ own person as of central importance for religious faith, certainly represents a shift in emphasis from Jesus’ own teaching. The reality of the Spiritual Christ is of course recognized throughout apostolic Christianity. This was no creation of the Gospel of Mark -- indeed, Mark steps back from it, in the act of trying to prove that Jesus was secretly the divine Son of Man during his life upon earth. For Mark’s "theological idea" was not so much the present reality of the divine person, the exalted Lord of his community, nor yet was it the glorious and unique historical person, Jesus of Nazareth, but the mysterious, half-divine, apocalyptic "Son of Man" who had lived incognito upon earth, died, and risen again.

No doubt the church has been right in acknowledging the deity of Christ and the Incarnation as the fullest measure of the divine revelation of which human nature is capable; though it should be pointed out that the church as a rule undertook to stand fast and to hold the ground of the traditional, historical faith, enshrined in the New Testament, and -- as the histories of dogma make clear-only took over metaphysical definitions which had already been hammered out on the anvils of logical and exegetical disputation. Often these definitions were fashioned in the shops of the heretics themselves -- weapons sometimes as dangerous to those who fashioned or wielded them as they were to their opponents! But even so, the church has still retained, through all the long centuries of its history, a lingering conviction that Jesus was primarily a Teacher; and it has steadily acted upon this haunting assurance in preferring the Gospel of Matthew, above the others, in its liturgy. For the Gospel of Matthew "corrected" the Gospel of Mark, in the process of editing and revising it, by incorporating the teaching of Jesus, and by representing him as the Revealer of the Kingdom, the expounder of the New Law -- the Messiah, indeed, but a Messiah who appeared first of all as the Teacher of Israel. In some passages he appears as the Second Moses, the Prophet par excellence, the ideal Scribe and teacher of religion.(Cf. Matt. 23:2-10; etc.) Luke also incorporated Jesus’ teaching; but Luke’s conception of the Messiah is still in large measure the Marcan "Son of God," the King Messiah of the popular hope combined with the secret "Son of Man" of Mark’s interpretation.(Although he does not really grasp Mark’s theory of the hidden Son of Man. See chap. vi above.) Only Luke’s careful literary art obscures the fact that he has combined the two ideas, though he retains more of the former than of the latter -- a fact illuminated and explained by the hypothesis of Proto-Luke. ( Proto-Luke is the combination of Q and L; into this combination the author later inserted the Gospel of Mark in seven sections. See The Growth of the Gospels, pp. 157-75.)

Among these portraits of Christ, the Gospel of John assumes the Marcan thesis-or its equivalent -- as proved, but ignores its corollary, the secret Messiahship; or rather, the secret is not the result of Jesus’ purpose, but is due to the blindness and hatred of "the Jews." Jesus is not so much the strange, unknown "Son of Man" -- "Who is this Son of Man ?" is a question "the Jews" ask (John 12:34) -- as he is the "Messiah," the "King of Israel";(John 1:41, 49.) on the contrary, from the very outset, far from concealing his identity he proclaims it boldly and unequivocally, and backs up his self -- proclamation with a series of great "signs" or epiphanies, manifestations of his "glory." The unreality of this procedure, from the historical point of view, is obvious at once -- history and interpretation have not been simply interwoven; another figure is required! They have been stirred together in a mortar, and the two elements have completely neutralized each other in a compound which is neither history nor interpretation, but mystical rhapsody and poetry of devotion, not so much a theology as a half-Gnostic Christian theosophy -- history turned inside out in order to reveal its inner meaning, but ceasing to be history in the process.(See The Growth of the Gospels, chap. viii, "Hellenistic Mysticism and the fourth Gospel.")

And yet how precious this book has been, and still is, to countless numbers of Christian believers, saints and martyrs and ordinary people! It sums up, as no other book has ever done, the total impression of Christ upon men: he is the Light of the World, the Lamb of God, the Resurrection and the Life. You cannot start with Jesus, if you take him seriously, without inevitably taking him into consideration in all your deepest thought about God and about the whole problem of human life and destiny. In the end, all our thought of God and the world, and of ourselves as well, has to be brought into relation to him, to be judged by the light of his revelation of the Father. No book in all the world makes this clearer than the Gospel of John. And it is no accident that John has been the favorite Gospel of countless Christians, rather than Mark; or that, indeed, Mark has always been the least popular of the four, with its mysterious, forbidding, really unapproachable "Son of Man" conception in place of the Jesus of Galilee.

It is a long way from the gospel of Jesus in Galilee to the Gospel of John in the Hellenistic setting of early second century Christianity, at war on all fronts with an unbelieving world and not least with "the Jews," who are now viewed as implacable and inveterate foes.(See Ernest Colwell, John Defends the Gospel [1936]) Somewhere about midway in this course of development we find the Gospel of Mark. What it took for granted in the way of earlier tradition and interpretation, and what it undertook to do in the way of further interpretation, combined to make it for all later Christian doctrine and devotion one of the most important -- in some respects one of the most fateful -- books ever written. For it began the process which eventually read back into the lifetime of Jesus the later doctrines, institutions, sacraments, and even to some extent the canon law of the church -- notably in Catholicism, but also in large measure in the older, historic Protestantism.( See Friedrich Heiler, Der Katholizismus (1923), p. 17.) How different the story would have been if, under the influence of Paul, the founding of the church, its organization and institutions, and the origin of its faith had been attributed to the exalted Christ, guiding his church through the Spirit!

What is the meaning of this earliest Gospel for our time? In its own time, and first of all, it set forth the message of salvation to men and women who lived in a world not unlike our own; indeed the "world," that is, human society, has not changed very much in nineteen centuries, and the message of salvation is as greatly needed now as then, or ever. Man is in reality, many persons now tell us, a biological species, with a superficial adaptation to those artificial conditions of life which we call civilization; but under his skin, and beneath the thin top level of his inquiring, aggressive, clever mind, he is still what he has always been -- an acquisitive, competitive, power-seeking, warring beast, with which the divine Spirit must still "strive," even as at the beginning of human history.(Gen. 6:3) The tyrannies and destructions of our day are really the same in kind as those that made human life either a shambles or a prison house, or both, in the days of Nero when this earliest Gospel was written. Its author looked forward to the end of such a society; like the Jewish apocalyptists, like the author of the passage in Genesis, (Gen. 6:5-7) he could see no future for mankind but only the impending cataclysm. Out of the ruins, once more, God would raise up those who should truly serve and obey him; and this divine Rule was to be inaugurated -- so Mark and his fellow Christians believed -- when the Son of Man, who was identical with Jesus crucified, raised from the dead, and exalted to heaven, should return on the clouds to hold the Last Judgment, when he should come "in power" with the angels of God to reign with his elect over a renewed earth. And back of the earliest written Gospel, which partly presupposes this view, partly expresses it, lies the tradition of the primitive Christian communities. That tradition likewise enshrined a hope of salvation. It was an eschatological gospel -- an assured hope of things to come.

Moreover, back of this primitive tradition was the life and the teaching of One who had himself lived man’s life, under the conditions of growing political oppression and injustice and of the threatened extinction of Jewish faith and worship and of the whole Jewish way of life. Again, the conditions were not unlike those of today, certainly over large areas of our world. But Jesus’ teaching was a message of hope and of assured salvation: it was no screaming apocalypse, savagely threatening the divine vengeance upon all oppressors and apostates; instead it was the description, in words, and the demonstration, by example, of a way of life which men might lead even under the impossible conditions of the present.(See Lily Dougall and Cyril W. Emmet, The Lord of Thought (1922). On the other hand, it was no optimistic view of progressive human betterment, grounded in a naive confidence in the better nature of men; it was centered wholly and decisively in the nature of God and in his just and loving purpose. Jesus looked into the future and saw the rising tension of his day culminating in the destruction and desolation of the people and the land he loved; like the prophets of old, he foresaw the doom of judgment meted out, not on the heathen only but upon his own nation, its leaders, its people, its temple. But, he insisted, that dire destiny might even now be averted by repentance, by a complete return to God, by setting the Reign of God above all other considerations and goals of effort.(Matt. 6:33) And he proclaimed a way of life in accordance with the will of God which, if Israel followed it, would make possible not only immediate salvation for the individual here and now, under the present conditions of tyranny and oppression, but also his survival in the future -- whether in this world or beyond death -- and perhaps, by the mercy of God, it would result in the survival of the nation, though not as a political entity but as a religious group.

Jesus’ "program," if we may call it that, was never tried on a wide scale, as it was intended to be tried; that is, the gospel was the divine message to all Israel, but all Israel did not hearken, and only a few responded. (Rom. 10:16; John 1:11-13) Nor has it ever been tried, on the full scale, by any other people or by any single generation since that time. And yet if we are ever to have a world fit to live in -- to say the very least -- the gospel of Jesus must be given a fair trial! Perhaps the time has come, as the world now faces a new era, to put Jesus’ gospel into deeds, not words, and thus to let God bring to pass his Reign over the world. The results might astonish even the most ardent believers; and we might begin, say in this very year, not an era but an age -- an age which will endure, if it turns out to be an age of justice and peace, for not merely a thousand years but forever. This cannot be done by human effort alone; but God requires our cooperation if it is to be done at all, for he does not coerce men or compel them to be saved! Nor will the result be the final Kingdom of God, but only its beginning, its outward manifestation, its "dawning point."

It is this hope of the Kingdom, as valid and relevant today as ever, with which the Gospel of Mark confronts our generation. True, that Gospel somewhat obscured the message, by substituting a theological idea -- the person of Christ, conceived as the secret, mysterious "Son of Man" -- for the primary and central element in Jesus’ own teaching, with consequences that ran on for five or six centuries in the christological controversies and survive to this day. It represented a major step in what Harnack called "the Hellenizing of the Gospel," and we need to read between its lines, to read back from it to Jesus himself and his life and teaching. Nevertheless, without this idea we might possibly never have had such books as the Gospels, and in consequence the Christian religion might not have continued to bear within itself the means of its own correction, revitalization, and renewal. We must be grateful to Mark for what he did -- rather than blame him for what he failed to do, or for the inadequate performance of what we wish he had undertaken.

At the same time it seems clearer than ever before that only religion, actual faith and practice, genuine obedience and response to the gospel of God’s Reign over the world, will ever save us or the society we live in. Theology will not do it -- clearly, nineteen centuries of theology have not done it, however important and however inevitable theology must ever be. Nothing short of the complete renovation and remotivation of human life will suffice -- only a genuinely ethical faith, only "faith working through love." More attentively than ever before, therefore, we must wait for "fresh light to break forth from the Word of God"; and, having seen, we must act!

Chapter 11: Mark and the Social Gospel

The Gospel of Mark is the sacred traditional book -- that is, the book setting forth the sacred tradition -- of a religious movement or sect. In its origin, this tradition arose inside the religious thought-world of contemporary Judaism, to which it belonged and which it consistently presupposed. However, some time before the Marcan Gospel was compiled, the new sect had been cut loose -- or had cut itself loose -- from Judaism, and was now launched upon the broad seas of the Hellenistic world with its many competing cults and religions. It still remained a sect -- or, if we prefer, a religious movement -- but with no implications of nationality, race, people, or soil. It was now a "universal" religion in process of development. Thus the Gospel of Mark, though deriving its tradition from Palestine, was the sacred book of tradition of the early Gentile church. It still presupposed the Old Testament -- not however, as the sacred Law of God binding upon one particular nation, but as the scripture of an independent religious movement by which it was now reinterpreted. In large measure the Jewish element in it was explained away and its primitive flavor neutralized, for it was now no longer a Hebrew book, but a Greek thesaurus of most ancient oracles. The Gospel of Mark also presupposed the conditions of life in Palestine in Jesus’ day: but the book could be understood by readers with only the scantiest and sketchiest knowledge of things Palestinian. Indeed, the author himself is not wholly familiar with Palestinian geography or history. He lets "Herod," that is, Herod Antipas, remain a "king," as in the popular tale he takes over.(Mark 6:14) He has Jesus return to Galilee from Tyre and Sidon by way of Decapolis;(Mark 7:31) and it is not likely that he himself knew any more about the location of such places as "Dalmanutha" (Mark 8:10) or "Bethphage and Bethany"(Mark 11:1) than the average modern Bible reader knows, or that he knew who the "Herodians" were,(Mark 3:6) or what the argument about korban involved.(Mark 7:11-12) Enough that these names were found in the tradition; all he did was pass them on. For this we must ever be grateful; if Mark had edited his material more severely, he would only have cut away these old roots and presented us with a dry stock instead of a living tradition.

Thus Mark retains tradition, but it is a tradition that has already been torn loose from its native soil. The process has not gone so far as it has in the Fourth Gospel; but it is already in process. Mark is interested in theology -- a very elementary theology, but a real one -- rather than in history; that is to say, a theological idea is more important to him than the actual course of events in the life of Jesus. The sufferings, the death and resurrection of the divine Son of Man are the pattern to which the tradition is conformed, rather than a "biographical" outline of Jesus’ career. Not that there ever was a purely historical account of Jesus’ life, traditional or other; the only reason for remembering the events of that life, from the outset of the Christian movement, was the "theological" meaning they held.(See my "The Christ of the Gospels," Religion in Life, 10:430-41.) But the process and the emphasis, which may be seen more fully in the Gospel of John, are quite clear in Mark. The author is not a theologian, certainly not a systematic theological thinker; but he is profoundly interested in an idea, or m a group of ideas, which can be described only as "theological." And it is no private theology; it is the theology, very primitive and very simple, of a group, the early Gentile Christian church. This group, as we saw, was a sect uprooted from its native soil and transplanted to the larger world of Hellenistic popular religion, and growing steadily, now, into a purely non-nationalistic, universal religion. The seeds of that universalism were doubtless present from the first, that is, in the teaching of Jesus; but only in the wider Gentile world was the church now beginning to realize the potentialities of that germ of life.

We can see this all the clearer if we contrast with it the tradition found for example in Q and M, the purely Palestinian and Syrian tradition underlying the Sermon on the Mount. Here the figures of speech, the examples selected, and the persons addressed all belong to the villages of Galilee -- the savorless salt thrown into the street, the one lamp that lights the whole household, the village blasphemer with his string of profanity and terms of abuse, the temple pilgrim offering his one gift, the village judge and the jailer, the local ruffian swift to strike, the king’s man or garrison officer who compels the peasant to carry his baggage or to yield up his own cloak, the sinner’s field wet with the same rain that falls on his righteous neighbor’s, the local tax collector, the birds of the air and the lilies of the field, the child asking to be fed, the fruitful trees and the unfruitful, the wise and foolish house-builders. Nothing here about kings and councils, armies and tribute, civil or criminal law, the administration of government, the rights of the people, the duties of statesmen or rulers, the merits of various constitutions! Aristotle would have been much puzzled by these chapters, and so will we also be, unless we recognize that here is no formal treatise upon ethics, not even an examination of its major problems, but only the exposition of a religious principle -- even more systematically formulated, as it stands in Matthew, than in Jesus’ actual teaching -- the principle found in the ancient law:

"You therefore shall be perfect," as your heavenly Father is perfect.(Matt. 5:48; cf. Deut. 18:13; Lev. 19:2. I have presented a similar point of view in Ethics and Eschatology in the Teaching of Jesus," Journal of Religion, 20:359-70. This problem is one that is fundamental to the whole presentation of the gospel at the present day. We have already seen some of its bearings in the preceding chapter, and also the historical exegesis of Matt. 5:48.)

If we now inquire about Mark’s "sociology" or his "social ethics," we shall be checked at once. Hoc genus non est! Instead of the Sermon’s provision for cases at law, for the exercise of charity, for civic virtue, presupposing if at the same time reinterpreting the requirements of the ancient national code; instead of the Old Testament Law with its provisions for the inheritance of property, for various kinds of civic and social duties, albeit of a primitive order, which the Sermon presupposes, (Matt. 5:17-20) Mark has the ethical outlook of the sect. The rich, that is, the propertied, can be saved either not at all, or only with great difficulty.(Mark 10:23-27) Renunciation is the rule for all,(Mark 8:34-37; 10:21, 28:31) and the compensations are as simply and absolutely set forth as is the requirement: the good things of this life, such as they are, the blessings of family and of property, will be shared by all within the community, "now in this present time: houses, and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands, with persecutions; and in the world to come eternal life." The Christian religion, in all its long history, has never been able to absorb or assimilate that text. It has been the irritating grain of sand in the oyster, around which the Catholic ages deposited the priceless pearl of supernatural, otherworldly piety; but for the modern church it has remained an impossible ideal of asceticism, an ideal whose very first precondition of fulfillment is lacking, namely, the eschatological outlook upon the world, the belief in the impending Judgment and the Age to Come. What Mark did, apparently, was select out from the body of Jesus’ sayings those which emphasized the prospect of suffering and persecution in the "last days," and the requirement of abnegation and renunciation on the part of his followers. These sayings, or most of them, were certainly authentically Jesus’ own, though some may have been produced by imitation or further emphasis in the course of handing down the tradition.

We find genuine parallels to them in the other traditions -- Q, L, and M. But Mark simply left out the sayings which offset and balanced these in the primitive tradition. He was writing, not for a group within a group, the Palestinian church living on under the shadow of the Jewish synagogue and a part, though a somewhat segregated part, of Jewish society, observing its own peculiar Halakak; Mark was writing for a martyr church in the world’s metropolis, under the darkening shadow of a tyrant’s throne and in the midst of a corrupt society of which the church could not possibly form a part. To take Mark’s presentation of Jesus’ teaching as normative, or final -- as on the older "Marcan hypothesis" -- is simply out of the question, and sets before the Christian religion, as we have seen, a problem which nineteen centuries have now demonstrated to be insoluble. Never has this been clearer than now: if the church were consistent, we hear, it would not concern itself with worldly goods, or political affairs, or the rights and wrongs of classes, groups, nations; and -- this we are not told, or not by the same persons ! -- it would play at once and completely into the hands of tyrants, international gangsters, and murderers. But the church is not consistent -- that is, not with this one-sided presentation of Jesus’ message -- and it recognizes the importance of such "worldly" matters as education, hygiene, social justice, wages, freedom, and the common welfare. But the problem, I repeat, is there simply because the conditions under which the earliest Gospel was written excluded all consideration of these issues and questions.

But we must go still further back, in our study of the origin of this problem of the application of the gospel. Was Jesus himself as completely unconcerned with "social" problems and questions as the Marcan tradition -- and with it a large element in the rest of the tradition -- presupposes? Surely the answer must be Yes! For the conditions under which he lived were not wholly unlike those in which his Roman followers found themselves forty years later.

Palestine in the first century was a country in a state of transition. It lay between East and West, North and

[See the Gospel of the Kingdom, esp. chap. v. I may also refer to my earlier book, The Economic Background of the Gospels (1926). That pioneer work should be supplemented -- not to say supplanted -- by a study of the great modern researches of M. Rostovtzeff, The Social and Economic History of the Roman Empire (1926; new ed., 1940), and his magnificent three-volume work, The Social and Economic History of the Hellenistic World (1940). Another important work is F. M. Heichelheim, "Roman Syria," An Economic Survey of Ancient Rome, ed. Tenney Frank (1938), IV, 121-257. See also the chapters on economic history in the Cambridge Ancient History, esp. in the last 6 volumes, and Joachim Jeremias, Jerusalem zur Zeit Jesu (1923-29). The chapter in Joseph Klausner, Jesus of Nazareth (1925), dealing with economic conditions (pp. 174.92) is important. It is unfortunate that Charles Guignebert’s The Jewish World in the Time of Jesus (tr. 1939) pays practically no attention to economic conditions, On the other hand, w. O. B. Oesterley, A History of Israel, vol. 11(1932) pays considerable attention to them; see chaps. xii, xxi, etc. H.. H. Rowley’s chapter in Record and Revelation (1938) is a welcome exception to the common neglect of the economic background on the part of Old Testament students. In this respect the volume marks a decided advance upon its predecessor, The People and the Book (1925).]

South, as the land bridge connecting Asia and Africa. Much of it lay "between the desert and the sown." For centuries it had fronted eastward toward that desert, a thoroughly Oriental country. Now for the space of a few centuries it turned ever so slightly toward the West, toward Europe, Rome, and Occidental civilization, though it never completely faced westward and soon went back to its original orientation.

The East bow’d low before the blast,

In patient, deep disdain.

She let the legions thunder past,

And plunged in thought again.

(Matthew Arnold, "Obermann Once More")

The Maccabean War, begun in 168 BC., had ended twenty-five years later in the freedom of the nation under Simon. During the next eighty years, from 143 to 63 BC., the later Maccabean kings considerably extended the borders of Palestine, so that when Pompey arrived at Jerusalem in the year 63 he did not attach Palestine to the province of Syria forthwith, but contented himself with arranging the internal affairs of the kingdom in accordance with Roman policies. When Herod became king in the year 40, he was a rex socius, or allied king; but it was perfectly clear that Roman policy was henceforth to dominate Syria and Palestine. Following the banishment of Herod’s son Archelaus in AD. 6, a succession of Roman procurators were sent out to govern Judea and Samaria. It is true, Galilee and Perea were still under another of Herod’s sons, the Tetrarch Antipas, while the region up in the northeast of Palestine was ruled by his brother Philip. But there was not the slightest prospect in the world of a restoration of the Jewish monarchy.(There was even less hope of a restoration of the priestly theocracy either in an independent priestly state or under such loose supervision as the nation had enjoyed in the days of the Persians. Josephus notes, however, that this plea was made repeatedly at every crisis in the political history of the period after the Maccabees. See Ant. 14. 4. 5; 13. 1-2; 15. 9; 17. 11. 2; etc.) By this time, the handwriting on the wall was clear for all to read. The divided nation was steadily slipping piecemeal under the mailed hand of Rome.

It was likewise a period of economic as well as political transition. Although according to the latest researches, the general level of prosperity was increasing throughout the Roman empire during the first century, and although Palestine might have been expected to share this increase along with a larger volume of trade, both import and export, and although this prosperity was apparently accompanied by a widespread increase in population, nevertheless Palestine was still geared to the past. Its economic outlook was more or less patriarchal and archaic -- in a word, "old-oriental." There was no great gulf fixed between the rich and the poor, at least nothing comparable to our modern extremes of wealth and poverty. But at the same time the power and rule of the king -- when there was one -- was almost unlimited. It was no longer as in the good old days when a king could go out to water the asses in the evening or visit his shepherds and see how the sheepshearing was progressing; the Herods had other ideas. Herod the Great had laid about every possible economic burden upon his people. Many of his vast undertakings were economically nonproductive, like the temple and palace which he built at Jerusalem, the fortified cities farther north, and his vast gifts to foreign cities. Though no doubt they earned the good will of the ruling classes in such cities as had large Jewish settlements and thus served to stem the rising tide of anti-Semitism, at least for a time, Herod’s benefactions were as economically nonproductive as was the tribute he had paid to Cleopatra, to Antony, and to Caesar.

In other words, Palestine was already in the throes of steadily declining prosperity. The fertility of the soil, the very productivity of the land was declining. Palestine represented a countercurrent or, we should say, an eddy in the flowing stream of imperial economic progress. There is remarkable testimony to the truth of this observation in the fact that the two periods which apparently marked the peak of Roman imperial economic achievement, namely the reign of Vespasian and later that of Trajan, saw Palestine ravaged and repressed and Jerusalem a heap of ruins. It is one of the saddest tragedies in all history. While the rest of the world prospered, the Jewish revolt of AD. 66-70 ended only in the utter and complete defeat of the Jews; and the unrest that broke out again under Trajan (It is a question just how extensive was the revolt under Trajan; I accept Scharer’s view -- Geschichte (4th ed.), I, 661 ff. -- "Palestine does not appear to have been involved to any great extent in the revolt . . . . It hardly amounted to a real war." ) led the way to the second revolt under his successor Hadrian in the years 132-35, when for a second time in two generations Jerusalem was totally destroyed.

These are factors that must be taken into account in all our study of the New Testament and the rise of Christianity. Over the whole era was written the legend of change.

Time goes, you say? Ah no!

Alas, Time stays, we go

. (Austin Dobson, "The Paradox of Time."

The ethos of this period in Palestine is very different from that of the world outside, and it is vastly different from the ethos of the early Maccabean period and even the early Herodian. We must acknowledge that our historical sources are not wholly adequate; but, such as they are, this fact of change and decline is unmistakably written all over them. Our chief source, at least for the sequence of events, is Josephus, supplemented of course by Philo, the New Testament, the Jewish traditions, and bits of contemporaneous literature.( See, e.g., Théodore Reinach, Textes d’auteurs grecs et romains relatifs au Judaïsme (1895). But Josephus remains our chief -- and almost our only -- source for the history of Palestine in the period from the Maccabees to the fall of Jerusalem in AD. 70. It is the fashion nowadays to emphasize the failings and limitations of Josephus as a historian, without adding a due recognition of his merits -- as formerly it was the fashion to criticize Tacitus as "morose," "severe" ‘‘pessimistic," and "biased." Of course Josephus is not a very good historian. There are serious gaps in his history, and there are many things he ought to have told us, if his history was to be as clear to us as it probably was to his own generation. If only, for example, instead of giving us in long detail the intrigues of Herod’s family, he had described in equal detail the religious, social, and economic conditions of his country, or even the buildings of Herod! But Josephus’ purpose is apologetic (in the Antiquities) and laudatory (in the War, where he describes the prowess of the Jews in fighting Rome). His histories, both of them, are histories of growing tyranny. The tyrants occupy the center of the stage. There are few other figures than the monarchs and their satellites -- but that only reflects the character of the age -- Roman history, Mediterranean history generally, in that century, was a history of Führers and Duces, strutting about imperiously and wreaking their destructions upon the earth. It is not a very good history, but it is probably as good a history as we can expect, not only because it is the best of its kind, and practically the only survival of its kind (Several other authors, according to Josephus, had undertaken to write accounts of the revolt -- see the opening paragraphs of his preface to The Jewish War. His only surviving rival is Tacitus, but unfortunately there are large lacunae, which we would give almost anything to recover. One of these dealt with the end of the Jewish war and the Fall of Jerusalem. See The Gospel of the Kingdom, p. 198, n. 7.) that is, a Jewish history down to AD. 70 -- but also because it is the only kind of history we have a right to expect from such an age of turmoil and destruction. Let it be acknowledged then that Josephus is not a first-class historian; but the failure to recognize the validity of his facts, especially in that part of his work which lay largely within his own experience and recollection, and the truth of his interpretations, as far as they go -- he is never exhaustive -- is surely responsible for the neglect of his writings by too many interpreters of the New Testament at the present time, and for the rise of theories which leave not only Josephus but likewise the New Testament out of the reckoning.("Henry St. John Thackeray, Josephus, The Man and the Historian (1929), has done a great deal in our generation to revive interest in Josephus and to show his value for historical study of the Bible. F. J. Foakes-Jackson’s Josephus and the Jews (1930) is another volume that deserves mention. Above all, recent study of Josephus in the English-speaking world owes most to Thackeray’s text and translation in the Loeb Library (1926 ff.). now being continued after Thackeray’s lamented death by Professor Ralph Marcus of the University of Chicago.) To be no more than fair, it must be acknowledged that his Jewish War is one of the most gripping, dramatic histories ever written. Superficial, apologetic, and not lacking in considerable personal bias or prejudice, no doubt, but nevertheless a deeply moving tragic narrative, it is really a prose tragedy of gigantic, epical proportions. Our grandfathers, who read Josephus along with the Bible, and were the first to buy the multitudinous cheap reprints of Whiston which may still be obtained at second or third hand, had a juster impression of the background of the times of Jesus and the apostles. One wishes that present-day Bible students would take Josephus more seriously -- and also that writers who discuss the relations of Judaism and Christianity, or "the Jewish question" as a social-historical problem, would read and reread that profoundly tragic history until its full meaning sinks deeply into their minds. For there was the turning point of all Jewish history -- not a point, really, but a vast curve, through whose arc the whole course and direction of Jewish history swung into a new line. Judaism has never recovered from that era; it has never been the same since the fall of Jerusalem that it was before.

Bousset has pointed out the gradual transformation of Judaism, during the period between the Old and New Testaments, from a national cultus to a religion of individual piety -- a religion of observance rather than of theology, on the one hand, or of deep personal feeling, on the other.(Despite some criticism in detail, Bousset’s Die Religion des Judentums remains one of the great works of modern scholarship. In the first edition, it must be admitted, it did make too much of the apocalyptic literature. This disproportion was corrected in the second edition (1906) and even more thoroughly in the posthumous edition prepared by Hugo Gressmann (1926). Another important work that deserves to be better known in this country is that of J. Bonsirven, Le Judaïsme palestinien au temps de Jésus-Christ (2 vols., 1934, 1935).

This process was of course vastly accelerated after the fall of the temple, but it had already been under way for several generations. Palestine was accordingly undergoing religious change as well as political and economic.

The old nationalistic religion of Israel was steadily being replaced by a type which undertook to retain all the gains of the old -- the prophets and the Law -- but to intensify and individualize those gains. This was in line with tendencies already observable before and during the Exile -- as President Julian Morgenstern insists, "Jeremiah, not Ezra, was the real father of Judaism." By the first century, it is clear, Judaism was a fully-developed system of piety, that is, of pious observance -- not a system of theology, nor a code of law, merely, but a system of piety. This is a point of view difficult for present-day Christians to grasp, in estimating that ancient religion, but one that is of vital importance; without it we are sure to misjudge first-century Judaism. Perhaps Roman Catholics might be expected to understand this more readily than Protestants, since Catholicism is likewise a system of piety; but at the same time Roman Catholicism has also a rigid system of theology and a rigid canon law, while Judaism was almost totally lacking in theology, at least beyond the main and fundamental tenets of monotheism, revelation, the spirituality and the sovereignty of God, and the divine election of Israel.( See the works of Bousset, Moore, and Bonsirven mentioned above; also Louis Finkelstein, "The Role of Dogma in Judaism," The Thomist, Jan., 1943. pp. 103-10.) Judaism had also a canon law; but it was still in process of evolution, in the first century, and many questions were still open, were still sub judice, and the full and final elaboration of the Halakak was only in process. Many questions of observance, ceremonial and other, and even rules of morals, were still hotly debated, and the process did not reach even a relative finality until Rabbi Judah and the written Mishnah at the end of the second century of our era.

As a religion of observance, a system of piety founded upon Torah (divine revelation), interpreted by the prophets and expounded by the scribes, first-century Judaism is best studied in its liturgy and prayers, its Psalter, its homiletic tradition, preserved in the later Midrash, its popular writings, and even its tales, parables, collections of aphorisms and wise sayings, and not solely in the later codified Halakah. The books of Judith, Tobit, Wisdom, Sirach, First and Second Maccabees, above all the Psalms in their final revision, and the great prayers of the Synagogue, the primitive Kaddish and the ancient Palestinian recension of the Shemoneh Esreh, echoing in almost every line the thought of the Psalter and the Second Isaiah -- it is here that we feel the vital pulse-beat of genuine Judaism. It was anything but a decadent religion, moribund, steeped in formalism, hypocrisy, and artificiality! It was in fact the most vital, most inspiring religion in the whole world at that time; and if we are tempted to contrast it with Christianity, say with the religion of the gospel or with Christianity as it ought to be, let us add that Judaism is likewise to be judged by what it aimed to be, not by what it empirically was; and also, that Christianity owes a vast debt to Judaism-in fact, as we have already observed, the best in Judaism and the best in Christianity are not two religions but one, historically and essentially. What happened to Judaism later, in the Talmudic era, and what happened later to Christianity, in the conciliar and imperial periods, lie equally outside our range of consideration at this point. Other times brought other conditions, other needs! Even so, empirical, actual Judaism, in the first century, like empirical, actual Christianity in the apostolic age, was something far too sublime and inspiring, far too creative, to be lumped into a formula, and then discarded! But it was a religion in transition -- that is the point I am trying to make just now. And this transition was taking place under the pressure of other changes, already noted -- political, economic, and social. Hence the background of Jesus’ "social" teaching was this complicated, shifting religious-economic-political situation of first-century Palestine -- the background not only of the question about the tribute money, but also of his teaching on nonresistance, oaths, offerings, Sabbath observance, vows, divorce, and other matters of which we read in the Gospels.

Now there is a true sense in which Jesus’ teaching was not "social" at all; but this negative statement is only relatively true -- for all Hebrew-Jewish religious teaching was socially conditioned. It was not only messianism that was "social" in outlook -- since back of the visions and rhapsodies of the apocalyptists and seers lay social dreams and urges, wants and aspirations.("See "The Economic Significance of Messianism," Anglican Theological Review, 6:196 ff.; 7:281 ff.; and "Economic Messianism and the Teaching of Jesus," ibid., 12:443 ff.) Back of the prophets’ visions of the future lay a social conception of religion, or, much more, a social conception of God’s relation to the world and of the world’s relation to God. Back of the Torah likewise lay that concept. The very foundation of Judaism itself, the Second Commonwealth, the work of the pioneers -- Haggai, Zechariah, Zerubbabel, Nehemiah, Ezra -- was idealistic and utopian enough, and rested upon a firmly fixed "social" ideology, namely a holy nation devoted to the worship and obedience of the one, true, holy God. Since Jesus’ teaching was closely related to the Jewish religious tradition and made use of its concepts, since he took for granted the fundamental conception of all Jewish religion, the eventual triumph of the will of God, and since his teaching is vitally concerned with the object of all prophetic hopes and predictions -- in a word, since Jesus was Jewish -- his religion was essentially "social." It could not be otherwise with a religion centered in a sacred covenant between God and a whole people and expressed in a sacred Law which set forth the will and the purpose of God for this people as a whole. It is true, Jesus revised this conception, and broke down its ultranationalistic limitation; but in the very fact of his revision of it, he presupposed it.

It grows clearer every year, as we study the Gospels, that Jesus took for granted the religion of the Old Testament with its "ethics" -- which was quite inseparable from the religion -- and that he was not setting up a new religion or ethics in place of the old but deepening, spiritualizing, renewing, "fulfilling" the old. This is the main point of the great array of parallels to Jesus’ teaching adduced from the ancient Jewish tradition and literature, for example in Strack and Billerbeck’s Commentary on the New Testament from Talmud and Midrash. It is only when his ethics is separated from the ethical teaching of Judaism -- which he deepened and spiritualized -- and is then given a purely apocalyptic setting, that it can be described as "interim ethics." What he presupposed was (a) the truth of the ancient revelation, (b) the final arrival of that stage in the accomplishment of the divine will which the prophets had predicted as coming to pass in "the latter days," and (c) the validity of his own insight into and declaration of the divine purpose and commandment. This is "eschatological," of course; but so is all prophetic religion, in Judaism as throughout the Old Testament generally -- it is a teleologically orientated religion, and looks steadily forward to the eventual triumph of good, of the will of God, and the establishment of God’s reign over all the world. Jesus’ teaching is eschatological" in outlook, but it is not necessarily "apocalyptic"; that is, it did not take for granted the visions, dreams, chronological calculations and symbols, the vast array of angelic and other supernatural figures, or the mechanical and deterministic schemes of history which were characteristic of the apocalyptists. This apocalyptic element is certainly present in the Gospels, and it was present in the gospel tradition; but it probably came in at a point early in the history of the tradition, and it grew stronger in some circles as time passed, reaching its climax in the Gospel of Matthew -- only to be all but completely rejected in John!

When we come back now to the question with which we began, Was Jesus himself as completely unconcerned with "social" problems as Mark represents? we must answer, Yes -- and No! For his ethics has no concern with the secular relations of men, but only with men as members, or potential members, of the Kingdom of God. Problems that arise only upon a secular basis of thinking, whether legislative or merely prudential -- like the division of property (Luke 12:13-14.) -- have no interest for him. "Seek first the Kingdom of God and his justice, and all these things shall be added unto you!"(Matt. 6:33)

It is from this point of view that we must approach such a question as that of the tribute money: "Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s." (Mark 12:17) Not that there are two worlds, the secular and the sacred, each autonomous and each sovereign within its own boundaries -- that mistaken exegesis lay at the heart of the mediaeval dichotomy of church and state. Instead, it is clear from Jesus’ teaching as a whole, as it is from the Bible as a whole, that he took for granted the principle that all sovereignty belongs to God. Since that is so, render to Caesar, as you must, what belongs to him -- it is not much! But this neither dispenses you nor prevents you from offering to God what belongs to him; indeed, Caesar’s dominion is temporary, while the dominion of God is eternal. Surely it is something like this that Jesus meant, judging from the rest of his teaching. It is not mere "clever evasion" on his part; nor is it mere quibbling about the propriety of handling a heathen coin with its profile of the emperor or its pagan inscription -- as has recently been suggested.(Herbert Loewe, "Render Unto Caesar" (1940).)

Our answer must be Yes -- and No! Jesus’ teaching was not "social," in our modern sense of sociological utopianism; but it was something vastly profounder, a religious ethic which involved a social as well as a personal application, but within the framework of the beloved society of the Kingdom of God; and in its relations to the pagan world outside it was determined wholly from within that beloved society -- as the rest of the New Testament and most of the other early Christian literature takes for granted. Members of the Kingdom are still members of the Kingdom when they buy and sell, eat and drink, walk the streets of pagan towns, or -- God forbid ! -- appear before pagan tribunals. There was no dichotomy in morals, so that one might be compelled to do as a citizen or a tradesman what he was forbidden to do as a disciple of Christ. There lay the area of tension -- and there too shone out the heroism of early Christian ethics. It is reflected in the Gospel of Mark, brief and one-sided as is its selection of Jesus’ teachings appropriate to its own special situation, that of a church facing martyrdom; but it is also reflected in Matthew, with its presupposition of a more settled community life, though at the same time facing a steady threat of persecution; and it is reflected clearly in Paul and in the letters he wrote to those who, like himself, were "in jeopardy every hour" for the faith that was in them. It was a social gospel they proclaimed, yes -- but only as the gospel of the coming Reign of God over all the earth, and as the new Halakak, the description of "life in accordance with the sayings of the Lord" who was God’s final Messenger to his elect. It was no message of social reform, no blueprint for a perfect human society, save in the ultimate sense that the Kingdom of God is to take the place of all earthly societies, when "the kingdom of the world becomes the Kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ."

Chapter 10: Was Mark Anti-Semitic?

It is one of the strangest and also one of the most abhorrent and diabolical paradoxes of Western civilization that the people among whom Christianity arose, and to whose religion it owed the most historically, have been for nineteen centuries the object of undying animosity. Moreover, at no time during all the so-called Christian centuries has this hatred risen to such a height as at the present day in central, eastern, and southern Europe. That this is a Western trait -- that is, European and, alas, to some extent American -- is evident. In no other quarter of the globe is this hatred felt, save in parts of northern Africa, where it is a recently imported prejudice, and in Palestine, where modern Zionism has complicated the relations between Arabs and Jews. Across the remaining vast stretches of the other continents, the Jewish minorities live at peace with their neighbors and in mutual respect. There is at present no open antagonism toward Jews in Great Britain. Here in this country it has recently broken out in certain quarters, with a few ignorant and noisy advocates and an illiterate and credulous following; but, please God, we shall stifle the hateful monster before it grows to threatening proportions, to plague, destroy, or disgrace us.

One wonders how anti-Semitism ever got started. It certainly existed in the Greco-Roman world before the rise of Christianity. But Christianity as certainly added fuel to the fire, instead of putting it out. One wonders how this could ever come to pass; for, equally certainly, the gospel of Jesus, that is, the gospel which he taught, does not countenance hatred -- of his own or of any people. The New Testament also reflects, of course, a variety of views later than Jesus. And though Paul was willing to be anathema -- accursed by God -- for his brethren’s sake, (Rom. 9:3) there were other voices. Matthew interpolates into the passion narrative the tragic scene in which Pilate first endeavors to set Jesus free, then dramatically washes his hands of the whole affair, "and all the people . . . . said, His blood be on us, and on our children."(Matt. 27:25.)

This is of course a later touch, legendary and polemical, like the story of the sealed tomb.(Matt. 27:62-66; 28:11-15.) It reflects the growing antagonism between church and synagogue during the era that succeeded the Fall of Jerusalem in AD. 70 -- it may even be second-century in origin. In the Gospel of John this antagonism is still more bitter: Jesus is accused of being a Samaritan, and possessed by a devil, and in retort he calls the Jews "liars" (John 8:55) and "sons of the devil." (John 8:44.) All critics now recognize that this is not the historical Jesus speaking, but the dramatic figure whom John has set in his place -- the mysterious, half-mythical, half-Gnostic protagonist of light and truth who attacks the darkness of this world and dies at the hands of his own people, but in doing so "overcomes the world." The antagonism is not between Jesus and "the Jews," but between church and synagogue in the early second century; the Johannine controversies clearly reflect this later situation. That this critical, historical point of view has not yet penetrated certain areas where the Bible is still taken "just as it is" surely goes a long way to explain the renewed outbreaks against Judaism and the Jews in our time -- even in our own country.

But anti-Semitism goes back of the later Gospels. There are traces of it even in Mark -- or at least so Mark may be understood. Professor H. A. L. Fisher has observed, in his brilliant new History of Europe, that although Christianity was originally Jewish, and hence the two sects were apt to be confused by the Romans, after Paul

Christian and Jew sprang apart. As time went on, the story of the Crucifixion, told with exquisite simplicity and pathos, and becoming widely known wherever Christians met together, deepened the gulf, and the crime of a handful of priests and elders in Jerusalem was visited by the Christian churches upon the whole Jewish race. It is thus that St. Mark, the earliest evangelist, appears to many Jews as being, although without malice, the first of the line of anti-Semitic authors.(Vol. I, p. 6)

How did this anti-Semitism arise? Was Mark the author of it, "although without malice"? Or did it characterize the tradition that Mark received? It is not found in Paul, as we have just noted. Certainly it is not found in the Q cycle, or in L, or even in what are probably the most basic, noneditorial parts of M. Luke has none of it, either in the Gospel or in Acts. Nor is it found in the Apocalypse, which even takes over and incorporates older Jewish material -- though "Sodom" and perhaps even "Babylon" are probably disguises for Jerusalem,(See Philip Carrington. The Meaning of the Revelation [1931], pp. 247, 266, etc.) and the phrase "those who say they are Jews but are not" (Rev. 2:9) comes as a surprise to the readers -- as the fact probably came to the author. Nor is it found in the Epistle to Hebrews -- though that is scarcely the book’s original title, supposing it originally bore any title. Nor anywhere else in the New Testament -- nowhere do we find the bitter antagonism which is reflected in John,(See The Growth of the Gospels, p. 218) and to some extent in the late additional material in Matthew.

Now it must be recognized that the New Testament is a collection of Greek writings. As Professor Goodspeed has insisted, it is the literature of early Greek -- that is, Gentile -- Christianity.(Introduction to the New Testament, pp. xii-xiii.) What preceded it we do not know, and can reconstruct only by inference and hypothesis. That oral tradition was in circulation long before the Gospels were written is obvious, and it circulated in Greek before these Greek books were written. That it had circulated in Aramaic before being translated into Greek is most probable -- as we have seen, the evidence of the actual contents of the Gospels points strongly that way. It is held by some that there were Aramaic writings, probably Gospels ;(See chap. v above) but most of us doubt this, though admitting the Aramaic origin of many of the separate pericopes of oral tradition. From this general hypothesis, plus the fact that no other Gospels have survived -- if ever there were any others -- than those in Greek, it follows that the accounts of the life and teaching, the death and resurrection of Jesus are only those traditions that were preserved, in Greek, by the Greek, or Gentile, church, and for its own purposes. These purposes were not biographical, but served only the ends of edification, instruction, controversy, and worship. And it also follows that the influences or "tendencies" at work in the Gospels, and in their underlying Greek tradition, were possibly not the same as those which had operated upon the underlying Aramaic tradition before it was translated into Greek. This is the main point of tradition, or form, criticism -- the attempt to trace the history of the gospel tradition, and to recover its earliest form, that in which it circulated long before Gospels were written, if possible long before the tradition ever got translated and circulated in Greek.

In the case of Mark, it seems likely that the original tradition of the trial and crucifixion of Jesus was not anti-Semitic in coloring; if anything, it was, like the traditions in Acts 1-12, critical of the authorities in Jerusalem, the "rulers" -- including Roman as well as Jewish -- the "high priests and scribes and elders," but not of the Jewish people, and not of the Jewish authorities alone. How could it be otherwise ? -- those who handed on the tradition were themselves Jews. It has often been pointed out, for example by Wellhausen, that the account of the "trial" before the Sanhedrin is modeled upon that before Pilate;(See chap. viii above; also George A. Barton, "The Trial of Jesus Before the Sanhedrin," Journal of Biblical Literature, 41:205-11; A. T. Olmstead, Jesus in the Light of History (1942) that no disciples were present, and hence they could only infer what the proceedings had been; that the inference had to be based upon the charge which the Jewish leaders preferred against Jesus when he was arraigned before Pilate; that it assumes, wrongly, that the claim to Messiahship would be understood as equivalent to blasphemy, and that it had at the same time to be corrected and defined by the addition of the claim to be the "Son of Man," (Mark 14:62.) in order to give it meaning in the light of the Galilean tradition of Jesus’ ministry and also in that of current Christology; that the charge before Pilate is taken by Luke in an entirely different sense, probably upon the basis of other tradition, Jesus being charged with being an insurrectionist who interfered with the collection of tribute; (Luke 23:2) and that, finally, the account of the examination of Jesus by the high priest as given by John is far more probable: "The high priest therefore asked Jesus about his disciples and about his teaching" (John 18:19) -- there is not a word here about Messiahship or the advent in glory of the Son of Man. And it should be added that this criticism of the account of the trial before "the high priests, the elders, and the scribes" (Mark 14:53.) has nothing to do with the question of anti-Semitism, but arose upon purely historical grounds. The probability, as we have already noted, is that the earliest tradition of the passion narrative gave no details of this "trial," but that Mark -- or the Greek tradition prior to Mark -- has added it in order to fill out the story.

Why was it added in this particular form? Was Mark himself anti-Semitic, or anti-Jewish? Was the Roman community, which cherished the tradition, anti-Jewish? It may be so -- for it is clear that Mark had an inadequate knowledge of Judaism and equally of the Old Testament. It used to be supposed that the earliest Christian community in Rome was largely Jewish, but recent research finds the evidence pointing the other way.( See Hermann Vogelstein, Rome ("Jewish Community Series"; Philadelphia, 1940); E. Schürer, Geschichte des jüdischen Volkes (4th ed., 1909), III, 57ff.; Jean Juster, Les Juits dans l’empire romain (1914), I, 180, esp. valuable for refs.; Hans Lietzmann, Geschichte der alten Kirche, I (1932), 109, etc.; also his Petrus und Paulus in Rom (1927); C. H. Dodd, The Epistle to the Romans, "Moffatt Commentary" (1932); George A. Barton, "The Interpretation of the Epistle to the Romans," Anglican Theological Review 21:81 ff.; R. M Hawkins, "Romans, a Reinterpretation," Journal of Biblical Literature, 60:129-40, esp. pp. 132-33; George La Piana, "Foreign Groups in Rome During the First Centuries of the Empire,’ in Harvard Theological Review, 20:4 (Oct., 1927), esp. chaps. vi, vii.) This we might have assumed from the conclusion of Acts: Paul meets with the Jewish elders, states his case, gets nowhere, and they go their separate ways. We might also have inferred this from Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, addressed to the Christians in the capital some years before his arrival there. And we might have gathered it from the earliest names of Christian believers that have come down to us -- in Romans 16 (See Dodd’s new commentary.) and elsewhere. The Epistle to Hebrews may be a Roman book, as many hold; but it is not Jewish -- its Judaism is only that of the Septuagint, as read by Greek-speaking Christians. If, as seems likely, the early Christian church in Rome was a Gentile church, then we may surmise that some of those Christians brought their anti-Semitism with them when they entered it; there was plenty of such prejudice in the pagan world about them, not least in Rome itself, as the Latin authors of the Silver Age make clear. The vast, tragic pity of it all is that the gospel of Jesus did not at once neutralize this prejudice, on the part of Christians, and exorcise the demon which was destined to work such havoc throughout the Christian centuries to this day. But, it is all too clear, the earliest Gospel was more interested in the deeds of Jesus than in his teaching, and even represented his teaching as an esoteric mystery (Mark 4:11) which "those outside" were not even expected to understand -- were indeed prevented from understanding! This fatal defect in Mark’s representation of the tradition was corrected in a measure by the later Gospels of Luke and Matthew; but the harm had been done, and we Christians have not yet succeeded in undoing it. Such a book as the recent one by Professor Zeitlin, Who Crucified Jesus? ought never to have needed to be written, save as an interesting piece of historical research. Of course the Jews did not crucify Jesus -- that was no Jewish mode of capital punishment! Our Lord was crucified by a weak and vacillating Roman governor, alarmed over his threatened authority, cowed by a mob, egged on by a handful of Sadducean "quislings," as Zeitlin calls them, and no doubt concerned for his official record at Rome.

As far as the later history is concerned, the relations between Jews and Christians in the East remained friendly for at least five centuries -- probably down to the Mohammedan conquest. The breach between church and synagogue was effected in the West, in the area of Gentile Christianity and, I cannot but agree with R. T. Herford, chiefly as the result of the complete disregard of the Pharisaic Halakak by Paul and others. Of course the separation was inevitable -- but it need not have been so violent, nor have brought such tragic consequences m its train. Jewish persecution of Christians may have had something to do with it, or Jewish ostracism,("But see Ernest C. Colwell, "Popular Reactions Against Christianity in the Roman Empire," Environmental Factors in Christian History. ed. J. T. McNeill, M. Spinka, H. R. Willoughby (1939). pp. 53-71.) with the result that Christians could no longer find shelter under the general toleration which, since the days of Herod and his munificent benefactions outside Palestine and his services to the early empire, had been enjoyed by Jews generally. Christians were forced into the open, where they now faced the mob with its clubs and the praetor with his sword. That is about the situation at the time Luke-Acts was written, and it gives the point to its apologetic argument: Christians are not Jews, but neither are they revolutionists; in fact, they are truer Jews, religiously, than those who claim to be Jews by race.

The separation was inevitable -- like the growth of the acorn into an oak that sunders the rock -- and it was eventually in some ways a blessing, no doubt. But it brought a curse as well as a blessing, not only for Judaism but for Christianity. If only the Jews had accepted Jesus! -- not as Messiah, which many present-day scholars think he never claimed to be; not as the Son of Man destined to come on the clouds, for that also may be a "claim" made on his behalf by his followers, who identified him with the one described in the visions of Daniel and Enoch; but as "the teacher of the way of God in truth," the revealer of God, the Redeemer and Savior of his people, the one chosen by God to be the divine agent in the full realization of the Kingdom of God upon earth! That is where the heart of Christianity has always beat soundest, not in the realm of apocalyptic eschatology or messianism; and that is where the mission of Jesus to Israel should have found its richest fulfillment.

And if only Christians had always been able to see their Lord through Jewish eyes -- the tender, affectionate, proud eyes of his own people! If they could only have realized that his gospel was "glad tidings for the poor, not a "mystery" like those of the pagan cults, to be kept safely out of reach of the uninitiate; that his mission was first to Israel and then through Israel to all mankind; that his gospel meant a new way of life for men to live, not a set of ideas to be accepted or rejected; that his scriptures were more than a series of obscure prefigurings of events in his own life, that in fact they set forth the basic ethics which he reiterated, renewed, and completed; that his way of life was utterly and forever incompatible with imperialism, exploitation, the exclusive and corrupting pursuit of wealth and power, racial antagonism and prejudice, and all the mass of trickery and lies that lead to aggression and conquest, and shackle the human race in the bonds of death. Instead, men in the West forgot that Jesus was a Jewish teacher, and they made him out to be a medieval baron, a prince, a magnate, a warrior, an emperor, a pope. We too thought we had accepted him on our own terms -- but he escaped us. For all the while he insisted upon a revelation which we ignored, but which was the foundation of his ethics as it was of those of Pharisaic Judaism: "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and mind and soul, . . . . and thy neighbor as thyself." We forgot the Old Testament, or misinterpreted it, substituting an elaborate typology for its plain meaning and its searching ethical requirements.

How much the gospel has suffered by being severed from the Old Testament and from Judaism, both of which it presupposes, is clear from the interpretation of the Sermon on the Mount during the past forty years.("Two of the most important recent books on the Sermon on the Mount are by Hans Windisch, Der Sinn der Bergpredigt (2nd ed., 1937), a magnificent book that ought also to be in English, and Martin Dibelius, The Sermon on the Mount (1940). On the latter, I may refer to my article, Anglican Theological Review, 25:131-44.) It has been understood to teach an "interim ethic" -- the foolish theory would have been condemned at once if men had noticed the similar teachings in the old Jewish literature, which certainly taught no interim ethic! Or it has been thought purposely to present a demand which was impossible, in order, forsooth, to declare the divine judgment upon human failings, and proclaim the need for divine grace -- rather than for human effort. This even more perverse theory could not be maintained for a moment if its authors either knew familiarly or took seriously the ancient Jewish religious teaching. It is as gross a caricature in the case of the Sermon on the Mount as it would be in that of the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs or of Second Enoch. And without the Old Testament the ethics of the New are only a fragment.(On the presupposition by the New Testament of the Old Testament ethics, see "The Church’s Present Task," Religion in Life, 8:339 ff., esp. pp. 346-49.)

An example of the importance of the Old Testament for a proper understanding of the New may be seen in Matthew 5:48: "Be ye therefore perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect." For many generations, indeed for centuries, this verse has been, for theological exegetes, the scene of violent contention. On the one side were those who held that it involved the duty either of self-perfection or of such a complete response to divine grace that the result was a perfected, finished Christian personality. For the ascetics, this meant a realization of the goal of personal holiness, the full manifestation of the divine likeness in man, who is made in God’s image -- the Fall, as the Schoolmen held, had obliterated the "likeness," not the image.(See Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theol., I, qu. 93, esp. art. 9; also F. J. Hall, Creation and Man (1912), p. 189.) For others it meant the attainment of an ideal of Christlikeness, namely the state of being like Christ, who is like God and is God. Christ is the pattern man, the Perfect Man, and we are to grow in his likeness, as Paul said, "unto the perfect man." (Col. 1:28; cf. Eph. 4:13.) On the opposite side were those who held that all this ethical and devotional idealism -- "perfectionism," as they labeled it -- runs counter to the facts of human nature and history, and that we cannot, in simple truth, know anything about such a goal. "Such knowledge is too wonderful for me," as the psalmist admitted. The whole idea or ideal of a perfect human being is non-biblical, and smacks of pagan ethics, with its ideal of the wise man or sage or philosopher. Hence the command must signify only a flashing glimpse of "the heroic for earth too hard," designed to convince our impotent human nature of its inability ever to achieve such an end, and also to force upon us the acknowledgment that we are saved either by the eternal election of God, whose inscrutable will controls his whole creation, or by the sheer work of grace -- in either case by no merit or effort of ours. It is unnecessary to enter into the details of this long debate, which began before Augustine and has continued to the present day. Kierkegaard’s proposal may be noted, however; he proposed to translate the verb as a future indicative, not an imperative: "So you will be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect." I shall come back to this translation in a moment; it has much to be said for it.

Now if we ignore, for the time being, all the later theological interpretation of this saying, and set it against its true and only proper background of Judaism and the Old Testament, it will appear at once that the words are an echo of Deuteronomy 18:13,25("The new edition of Huck’s Synopsis prints it as such, with the Greek words for "Ye shall be perfect" in italic type.) This sends us back to the passage in the "Book of the Law" (sepher ha torah) which, presumably, was found in the temple in 622 BC.; but it sends us first to the Septuagint, the Bible of the early church: . Surely the Matthean verse echoes that, with its ! The difference is chiefly that "ye" is plural, while the Old Testament command is addressed, in the singular, to the individual Israelite. Now the word ("perfect") in the Septuagint looks in the direction of the philosophical ideal of the "perfect" man ;(As in Wisd. 9:6; Sirach 44:17) this was perfectly natural -- Greek words bore Greek connotations, and in this case a set of implied ideas which may or may not have been present in the Hebrew original. But let us turn to the Hebrew: "Thou shalt be perfect (tamim) with the Lord thy God." ( Incidentally the Septuagint may reflect at this point a different reading from the present massoretic Hebrew -- possibly lip’nei, "before," "in the presence of," rather than the simple ‘im, "with." Codex A does read !) But the verse in Deuteronomy must be read in its context, 18:9-14. It is a simple, direct, summary command to have nothing to do with divination, necromancy, sorcery -- all the superstitious voodoo of the heathen who lived in Canaan before the Israelites moved in. Not that anyone would abandon the worship of Yahweh for such black arts; but men always like to play safe, and superstitious men -- as we learn from Isaiah -- would readily add to their main religious worship the practices which the passage condemns. (I know a woman who invariably consults a physician when she is ill, but also, for good measure, telephones the neighboring Christian Science practitioner; of late she has even added a third consultant, a popular "numerologist." Her "psychology" is no doubt the same as that of people in eighth or seventh century Israel!) Now after denouncing such practices, the Deuteronomists added, "You must be tamim with Yahweh your God"; and that means, surely, you must be honest with him, upright and sincere, having wholeness and integrity, not double-dealing, not trusting him to his face and then, behind his back, resorting to "the wizards that chirp and that mutter"; for Yahweh is a jealous God, and will not overlook such perfidy -- he knows all about it, and will not tolerate it.

Tamim, that is the grand Old Testament word that lies behind our text. It was the word that described Job’s fidelity and virtue -- there was a man "perfect and upright (tam w ‘yashar) before the Lord." That was the virtue the psalmists praised over and again, a virtue in man, and an attribute of God himself -- that is, of God as revealed in his ways, his works, his law.

It seems clear, then, that four stages of biblical interpretation or reinterpretation -- "progressive interpretation," as Professor Bewer calls it(See his article with this title, Anglican Theological Review, 24:89-100.) -- led up to our text: first, (1) the old Hebrew admonition to be "honest" and "upright," as a member of the sacred covenant, in all one’s dealings with Yahweh, who is himself "faithful" (Deut. 7:9.) to all who put their trust in him: then, (2) the Greek rendering of the idea, reflecting both the deepened meaning tamim had come to have for pious Jews in the third century -- see their Psalter! -- and also (3) the wealth of association the Greek word had come to have for religious minds, Jewish and other, in the Greek-speaking world outside Palestine; finally, (4) the use made of the text by our Lord, and recorded in the sublime passage of the Sermon on the Mount. Hence one need hardly turn to the philosophers to inquire the meaning -- it is plain on the face of it. "Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. . . . . Then you will be like God" -- or, "So you must be like God." The choice between Kierkegaard’s rendering and the usual imperative is probably to be settled in favor of the latter -- see the parallel in Luke: "Be merciful" -- though the whole premise and presupposition of that imperative is the assurance that in so doing you will be like God, your heavenly Father.

If only we take the Old Testament background in earnest, we shall get rid of all the later philosophical notions that have been read into the crystal-clear saying of Jesus, for example the notion that as God is "perfect" in his order, so man must be "perfect" in his; or even that man’s perfection must somehow equal the perfection of God, and realize its final end as God realizes his final end! Such Aristotelian, Stoic, or Scholastic ideas have simply no relevance whatsoever in this connection. Neither the Old Testament, nor first century Judaism -- except for Philo and a few other Phil-Hellenes -- nor Jesus himself, nor the early Christians who handed down the gospel tradition -- least of all those responsible for M -- had the slightest contact with the philosophical ethics of the contemporary Greek schools. I am afraid that I must cast my vote, likewise, to reject Professor Torrey’s conjecture that the word here was the Aramaic g’mar, which he translates, "Be all-including (in your good will)." The clue which the Old Testament allusion has given us fits the context in the Sermon on the Mount far too perfectly, is much too natural, and would too readily be understood by those whose chief if not sole literature was the Old Testament, for us to abandon it for Dr. Torrey’s brilliant suggestion. It is to be noted that he does not carry over the idea into Matthew 19:21, where he retains the traditional rendering, "If you will be perfect."

Now this is only one illustration among many that might be selected. The whole of the teaching of Jesus, as recorded in the Gospels, and likewise that of Paul and of the rest of the New Testament, presupposes a background of intense, informed, earnest, and consecrated Judaism. If the serious New Testament student is to avoid pitfalls in exegesis, he must have the Septuagint constantly at his side or, better, in his memory -- it was the Bible of the early church, of Greek-speaking Gentile Christianity. And the Septuagint he must check constantly with the Hebrew, not only for its translation, whether free or literal, of the original, and for variations from the current text of both the Greek and the Hebrew Old Testament, but also, and above all, for the light it sheds upon the gospel tradition; for the Hebrew Old Testament, whether with or without the oral Aramaic Targum, was the Bible of Jesus and of his earliest followers. It is not enough to use even the best of modern versions; they are important -- but the cross-shadings, allusions, the echoes and innuendoes of the original can simply never be reproduced in any other language. And, I would add, the serious New Testament student must steep his mind in Judaism, especially of the period from the Maccabees, or better from Ezra, to the end of the Tannaite age, say to the end of the second century of our era. By "Judaism" I mean what the late Professor G. F. Moore called "normative Judaism,"("See his Judaism in the First Centuries of the Christian Era . . . . the Age of the Tannaim (3 vols.; 1927-30); also his earlier articles, "The Rise of Normative Judaism," Harvard Theological Review, 17:307-73; 18:1-38.) the religion of the Torah and the Psalter, of the Liturgy and the early Midrash, of the Oral Tradition and of the great homiletical, exegetical, and ethical tradition of the ancient synagogue. It is not enough to know simply the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha. Some of these works do cast a flood of light upon the actual religious life and thought of ancient Judaism, for example Tobit and Judith -- especially chapter 8 of Judith, one of the noblest utterances of Jewish religion the world has ever heard. "Popular" novels like these found people where they lived, and expressed the common religious thought and aspiration of their times; but they are not the whole of ancient Judaism, by a long way. As for the apocalypses, they were self-confessedly the literature of esoteric groups; and, though valuable once the student knows enough about Judaism as a whole to evaluate them properly -- especially the noble ethical doctrine some of them contain -- still they are not to be taken as representative of the central convictions of Judaism generally. For first-century Judaism, far from being a religion moribund or bankrupt, was the purest religion the world had ever known; and Christianity, which built upon its foundation, would have been impossible without it. Its rich and wholesome piety penetrated every nook and corner of the Jew’s daily life; from his cradle to his grave it shielded and supported him, his inspiration in youth, his strength in maturity, his comfort in old age.

Now I do not mean that all of Judaism, in the first century or at any time, has risen to its highest possible level. What religion ever rises to its full height, as seen in the lives and in the thought of all its followers? But I am sure that, taken at their best, Judaism and Christianity are not two religions but one. And if it be argued that this is to ignore the doctrine of the Incarnation, which is central for Christian dogma, I would reply that the essential element in this doctrine might also have been accepted long ago -- not in its Greek formulation, but in one more natural to Semitic thought -- by Christian Jews had it not become the watchword of partisans and persecutors. At the same time, let us add, the doctrine of the Incarnation might have been stated in terms less rigid, less mechanical, less materialistic if it had retained closer contact with history and revelation, both of which were the heritage of Judaism. Tell me not of the Tome of Leo! The true approach to the doctrine of the Incarnation is in the old tradition: "The Kingdom of God is at hand, repent!"; "If I by the finger of God cast out demons, then is the Kingdom of God come upon you"; "The Lord hath anointed me to preach . . . . to the poor"; "Many will come from the east and the west and sit down . . . . in the Kingdom of Heaven"; "Think not that I came to destroy the Law and the prophets: I come not to destroy, but to fulfill"; "I was not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel"; "Who is my mother? and who are my brethren? . . . Whosoever shall do the will of my Father who is in heaven, he is my brother, and sister, and mother."

Of course not all Jews were able to receive the message or to accept the Messenger. There was in truth "a hardening in part that had happened unto Israel.(Rom.11:25) Mark shares that view; it is the explanation of the "rejection" of Jesus by his own people, at least in Jerusalem, and he seems to wonder if the disciples themselves were not afflicted with it. It was a ready-enough explanation, in those days. Josephus advances a similar view, in accounting for the blindness of both leaders and people as they plunged into war with Rome.(War 5. 8. 2; 6. 5. 3; etc.)But if we consider the possibilities latent in Jesus’ proclamation of the gospel, as John Hutton has done in his book, The Proposal of Jesus (1921), it will be evident that the sanest and safest way out of the impasse in which Judaism found itself in the first century would have been to accept the way of Jesus, renounce Zealotism and the appeal to arms, abandon the dream of world empire and even that of political independence, and become simply a religion, a church, instead of endeavoring to become a free, autonomous political state. Political freedom was out of the question anyway; the nation -- as Josephus repeatedly insists -- could never hope to contend successfully with Rome.(Especially in the great speech which he places on the lips of King Agrippa in War 2. 14. 4 -- 16. 4=§§345-401. And Jesus foresaw all this with prophetic clarity of vision, and proclaimed it as vigorously and vividly as did the ancient seers who announced the impending fall of Jerusalem -- "Jerusalem shall become heaps, and the hill of Zion as a plowed field" But unlike them, his message did not center in a future restoration of the old conditions -- after some period, long or short, say "seventy years." Instead, he viewed the catastrophe as final: after the divine judgment the New Age would dawn, and "many will come from the east and the west and sit down . . . . in the Kingdom of God." But there was still time. It was no fixed, inevitable fate that hung over the nation. God’s decree was conditional, and the nation’s doom might be averted by repentance: "Except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish." (See Luke 13:1-5.) This too is a fundamental Jewish doctrine -- which even Josephus reflects, for all his wavering loyalty: "For there stands about us that fortune which, by its very nature, is mutable." ( War 4. 1. 6. The words are attributed to Vespasian, but the idea obviously has Josephus’ approval.) If the nation will repent and return to the Lord, there is the promise of salvation, even now, at this late hour; but if they will not repent, then the Judgment will overtake them -- though a remnant, the true Israel, will survive.

Though this element in the common prophetic faith is not stressed in the gospel tradition, it is clearly taken for granted in Jesus’ teaching, and it is also a presupposition of the earliest Christian preaching. It suggests the answer to the question, What would have happened if the whole Jewish people had accepted Jesus and his message? For one thing, he would not have died on a cross at Jerusalem; and his doctrine of the Kingdom of God would no doubt have been embodied in a group, a church, of which he would have continued as the visible head; and Judaism would have been transformed and exalted into the most spiritual religion the world has ever seen, more Jewish, in the true sense, than the Judaism that survived, more consonant with the purest religion of the Old Testament Law, Prophets, and Wisdom; and the Jewish nation would have escaped the horrors of the two catastrophes in AD. 70 and 135, with their age-long entail of suffering and exile to this day. This is "the history that might have been"; and we can add to it the advantages Christianity would have enjoyed had the chosen people of God’s earlier revelation responded and maintained the leadership which was rightfully theirs -- a far purer form of Christianity would have resulted than the synthesis with a superficially converted paganism that grew up in the West during the Dark Ages.

Of course this is not to exonerate those who first introduced the virus of anti-Semitism into the thought of Christians in the West -- among the very first, alas, being those who handed down the Marcan tradition, perhaps in Rome itself. There is much more to what we call "the Jewish problem" than merely anti-Semitism. But if only we could get rid of the latter, the former might be nearer a solution; the remaining problems, such as the clannishness of the Jews, their resistance to absorption, their segregation, their preference for urban life and their detachment from the soil, their tendency to crowd into three or four professions, such as medicine, law, music, and finance -- all these problems are conditioned and immensely aggravated by anti-Semitism. And it is surely time that we Christians recognize frankly that our own scriptures have been affected by this malicious spirit; that although there are books in the New Testament from which it is absent, there are also one or two -- chiefly the Gospel of John -- in which it is present in an extreme and aggravated form; that the controlling, dominant spirit of the gospel itself, that is, the teaching of Jesus, has been disregarded and misrepresented in such writings; and that we must no longer let it be assumed that the spirit of Christ is compatible with religious persecution, theological prejudice, or racial hatred. If we yield to these, there is no hope of universal peace, nor is there any hope of the triumph of the spirit of Christ over the diabolical evils in our world. We may exonerate Mark -- clearly he wrote "without malice"; but we cannot exonerate ourselves if we share in perpetuating the misrepresentations and prejudices upon which this hideous monster of anti-Semitism continues to thrive.

Chapter 9: Was Mark a Pauline Gospel?

It is now quite generally held that the gospel of Mark reflects the influence of the teaching of Paul, though not, perhaps, in a direct and unmodified form. This influence is seen especially in such phrases as "the gospel of God,"(Mark 1:14. See my note above, p. 153, on the textual reading here, and also my article, "Studies in the Text of St. Mark," Anglican Theological Review, 20:103 ff.) in the ransom saying,(Mark 10:45) and in the words at the Last Supper, "This is my blood of the Covenant, which is shed for many."(Mark 14:24) On the other hand, the latest commentary in English, by Professor Branscomb, insists that these supposed examples of "Paulinism" really reflect the common Gentile Christianity of the time rather than the explicit or distinctive teaching of Paul. At once the question arises: What, then, was Paul’s relation to Gentile Christianity? What elements in it did he take for granted; what elements -- if any -- did he contribute to it? It has too often been assumed that Paul alone was responsible for Gentile Christianity, and that all of early Gentile Christianity therefore bore the impress of his thought. But it seems clear that a very important stage of early non-Jewish Christianity had been reached before Paul began his missionary career, and that he himself was dependent in no small degree upon this earlier development. That he owed a debt to "those who were in Christ [that is, Christians 1 before me," as he says, though not to the Jerusalem apostles, (Gal. 1-2.) seems certain -- he himself appears to take it for granted his readers will know this. But to what degree, and upon what specific points? These are questions that require an answer -- and the problem of the supposed "Paulinism" of Mark is thus part of a still larger problem, involving the whole development of New Testament theology.

The most thorough recent examination of the hypothesis of Pauline influence upon Mark is the book by Martin Werner of the Swiss University of Berne, The influence of Pauline Theology in the Gospel of Mark: A Study in New Testament Theology, which appeared in 1923 as the first Beiheft to the Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft. It begins with a review of previous treatments of the problem, from Volkmar and Holsten to Holtzmann and Harnack, and with a discussion of the proper method of dealing with the subject. Earlier writers had recognized that Volkmar went too far in his attempted demonstration of Mark’s dependence upon Paul -- he found evidence of such dependence on almost every page of the Gospel -- but his view was such a welcome relief from the one-sided Tübingen theory, according to which Mark was a "neutral" in the great apostolic controversy over Jewish Christianity, that the main thesis of Volkmar was accepted without careful scrutiny of his supporting arguments. As to method, the older view was rooted in the traditional ecclesiastical theory of Mark’s derivation from Matthew -- which modern Synoptic study completely reverses -- and it took for granted a conception of "Paulinism" which made the Apostle to the Gentiles responsible for everything in primitive Christianity which could not be squared with a crass, reactionary Christian Judaism; it completely ignored the development of a Gentile type -- or types -- of Christianity apart from and even prior to the work of Paul. Moreover, the allegorical or "symbolical" interpretation of the Gospel, which Volkmar, Holsten, and Schulze had pressed to its utmost limits, still survived -- at least in the interpretation of certain crucial passages. For example, the cursing of the figtree was thought to be a "symbolical" judgment upon unfruitful Israel; the Transfiguration symbolized the superior glory of Christ in contrast to that of Moses ;(II Cor. 3:7.) the strange exorcist of Mark 9:38 represented a party in the early church, and the question, "Who is greatest ?" referred to the Jewish Christians versus the Gentiles; the leaven of the Pharisees was the theory of salvation by works (still attributed to Peter!); the healing of the blind man was the release of the disciples from "Jewish blindness"; names like Jaïrus and Bartimaeus contained subtle allegorical meanings; the Gerasene demoniac symbolized idolatrous heathenism; the rending of the temple veil meant the end of Judaism; the darkness at the Crucifixion symbolized the darkness of men’s minds apart from Christ; the healing of the deaf mute was the symbol of conversion -- either of Jews or Gentiles, it was not certain which! And so on. Werner examines each of these passages in detail and concludes that in none of them is the allegorical method of interpretation necessary, while in most it is positively excluded. Mark is a factual writer, not a symbolist or allegorist, and the allegorical principle does violence to his simple, direct manner of presentation; often it does violence to his actual text. The demonstration is complete, and we need only add that if anyone is still inclined to look for allegory in the Gospel of Mark, let him work carefully through the brief twenty-two pages in Werner s book where he refutes the theory in detail.

With the allegorical principle once set aside, much of the support for the supposed Paulinism of Mark disappears. As in most examples of allegorical or symbolical interpretation, the interpreter’s views are first subtly read into the text and then adroitly extracted by a pretended exegesis. But what is this "Paulinism," which is so subtly read in? It is extraordinary how widely interpreters differ. Even Harnack, in his Luke the Physician, could write: "Whoever confessed Christ as Lord (Kyrios), and renounced both the good things and the burdens of this life, and looked upon the Old Testament as God’s revelation, and looked forward to the resurrection, and proclaimed this to the Greeks without requiring them to be circumcised and to observe the ceremonial law-such a person was a Paulinist." (P.101; Eng. tr., p. 142.) Not everyone who holds the Gospel of Mark to be "Pauline" would accept this definition of Paulinism! And it certainly seems overly simple -- one can hardly distinguish this from the early Gentile Christianity reflected in the sources presumably underlying the first half of Acts; while the great cardinal doctrines of Paul, his distinctive and characteristic doctrines of salvation (or "justification") by faith, the new mystical life "in Christ," the Christian’s freedom from the Law (not only the ceremonial law), the guidance of the Spirit, the future of the Jewish people, Christ’s death to sin," the relation of flesh and spirit, the atonement upon the cross -- none of these distinctive and characteristic doctrines of Paul are included. What is required is not an examination of Mark in the light of common Gentile Christianity, which Paul shared and presupposed, but a point-blank comparison of every possible contact between the theology of Mark and that which was specifically and uniquely Paul’s own. The result will be a better-focused view of both theologies -- though Paul’s is the more explicit of the two, and Mark’s has to be inferred and read between the lines. Neither author was writing a systematic treatise in theology, but Paul is assuredly more of a theologian than Mark.

Werner begins his investigation with Christology -- for the doctrine of God is not explicit in either Paul or Mark, but must be inferred from the concrete expression of the divine relations to the world, to mankind, to sin and salvation. (Werner is quoting H. J. Holtzmann on p. 32.)

Paul of course assumes that Christ was the incarnation of a divine being; therefore his existence embraces three stages, one prior to his incarnation, one during his earthly-historical life, one following his resurrection and exaltation. It is a question if Mark shared this view, and distinguished these three stages. It is a further question how far Mark and Paul were in agreement in viewing the earthly-historical life of Jesus under the category of Messiahship or of a messianic career. Mark uses the term "Christ" only rarely, and where he does so it still bears its primitive significance as a title: Jesus is the "Messiah" of Jewish expectation, though the Jewish etymology and primary meaning, the "Anointed," is not stressed. On the other hand, for Paul "Christ" has become a personal name. This is probably not distinctive of Paul -- he got it from the primitive church -- though his own characteristic inversion "Christ Jesus" occurred (in the original text of Paul’s letters) probably as often as, or perhaps even oftener than, the familiar order "Jesus Christ." It is clear that Mark’s use of the term owes nothing to Paul; both Paul and Mark derive their usage from the common Christianity of the time, Paul often going beyond this to invert the order for emphasis; but of this characteristic Pauline advance not a trace is to be found in Mark.

When we turn to the title "Son of David," we are struck at once by the fact that Mark represents Jesus as repudiating the Davidic descent of the Messiah, as if it were a scribal interpretation (Mark 12:35-37) and not a matter of inspired prophecy; while Paul insists upon the Davidic descent(Rom. 1:3) as a matter not of historical evidence but of exegesis, though limiting it to the earthly life of Christ ( ) in contrast to his divine Sonship ( ) which was demonstrated by the Resurrection. It is almost as if Mark and Paul were dealing with the same problem, the importance of Davidic descent for the Christian Messiah; Paul solves it by recognizing Jesus as Son of David only "according to the flesh," Mark by denying the necessity of such descent. Mark of course distinguishes the stages of Jesus’ preresurrection and post-resurrection Messiahship, but there is no trace in Mark of the Pauline terminology "according to the flesh" and "according to the Spirit" -- not to mention the question whether or not Mark thought of Christ as pre-existent (probably not). It appears to be quite impossible that Mark can have been influenced by Paul at this point.

Even more remarkable is the contrast between Mark and Paul when we turn to the title "Son of Man." For Mark this is the self-designation used by Jesus himself, and used only by Jesus, not by others. It occurs fourteen times in the Gospel, and is unquestionably understood by Mark to refer to Jesus’ heavenly office or nature -- "a supernatural being who ranks between God and the angels." (P. 42.) Mark assumes that his readers will recognize the reference to Jesus, and will find its meaning in "the scriptures."(Mark 9:12; 14:21) But back of Mark is certainly a process of exegesis, which combined sayings in the Old Testament that could be understood to refer to the coming of the Son of Man with other sayings that could be interpreted to prophesy the sufferings, death, and resurrection of someone -- presumably now also the Messiah or the Son of Man. What is distinctive and most striking about this exegesis -- "the one unheard-of novelty" -- is the conception of the Son of Man living upon earth prior to his coming in glory: he not only will come, sometime in the future, on the clouds of heaven; he has already come, has suffered, has died, has risen again! Even the passages (Mark 2:10, 28) which used to be interpreted of "Christ’s human nature" or "man in general" are now recognized to belong with the others referring to "the Son of Man upon earth" prior to his death and glorification.

Now one might expect that this pattern of interpretation would have been retained by Paul, if historical -- that is, if set forth by Jesus himself or found in the earliest tradition of his sayings or expounded in the early church -- or one might even think it possible that Mark derived from Paul some hint of this system of exegesis of the Old Testament and of interpretation of the career of Jesus as a heavenly being appearing upon earth prior to his exaltation and his dying (as a heavenly being) upon the cross, though unrecognized in his true nature until the Resurrection. But the astonishing fact is that Paul never uses the term "Son of Man"! As against Johannes Weiss’s exegesis of I Corinthians 15:45-47, Werner insists that Paul’s "man who is from heaven" is simply exegesis of the first two chapters of Genesis, and has nothing to do with Daniel 7; the very order is reversed -- the earthly man comes first, the heavenly is the second. (This cannot possibly refer to the two stages in Christ’s existence: Christ is not ; and the two "men" are contrasted, Adam and Christ.) What Paul is controverting is the idea that there were two steps in the creation of man, first the Primal Man, the heavenly, spiritual Urmensch, then the mortal copy of this immortal being, the first representative of the human species -- a widespread Hellenistic conception which had left traces of its influence even upon Judaism. On the other hand, Mark’s use of the term "Son of Man" owes nothing to Paul -- since Paul does not use it -- but is centered in the early Christian interpretation of the Son of Man vision of Daniel 7. That both Mark and Paul think of Christ as a supernatural being does not argue the dependence of one upon the other -- the whole development of Gentile Christianity, Pauline and non-Pauline, took that for granted.

It is the title "Son of God," as Werner maintains, that most clearly expresses Mark’s Christology. It occurs in the title of the Gospel, and again at the end of the passion narrative.(Mark 15:39: "Truly this man was the Son of God" -- so Werner translates.) From 8:38 it is evident that the Son of God and the Son of Man are identical: "When he [the Son of Man] comes in the glory of his Father." When Jesus became Son of God, Mark does not say; but the moment of his baptism, when the Spirit came upon him -- or to him, literally "into" -- was probably the moment when he was so chosen and dedicated. At once follow the words of divine approval, "Thou art my beloved Son: in thee I am well pleased" -- here Jesus is first "set forth as Son of God," though not yet "with power"; (Rom. 1:4) that came later, at the Resurrection. It is not at all probable that Mark thought of Christ as pre-existent; the title "Son of God" is only one more messianic title, and does not connote a metaphysical, hypostatic union with the Father -- 13:32 and 10:18 rule out that idea.

What, then, becomes of the theory that "Mark’s Christology is quite as high as that of Paul"? For Mark, Jesus of Nazareth became Son of God at his baptism, through the endowment of the divine Spirit; for Paul, on the other hand, the Son of God was a divine being who existed with God before the creation of the world, who became the intermediary cause or agent in the creation and remained the sustaining principle of the universe. In due time, this being became man; then after fulfilling his earthly life he died, rose again, and was exalted by God to a place in heaven even higher than that which he had enjoyed at the beginning.(Phil. 2:9) His specific messianic office he will fulfill at the Parousia. It is hardly necessary to go into a detailed comparison of the two Christologies; in their main outlines they are wholly incompatible. As Werner puts it,

For Mark, a man becomes Messiah. For Paul, the Messiah becomes (temporarily) a man. For Mark, the Messiahship is sketched out in the picture of a human life; for Paul, the human life is an episode in the history of a heavenly, messianic being. To put it in a formula, which of course may be pressed too far: The miracle, for Mark, is the deification of Jesus; for Paul it is the incarnation. That is to say, Mark’s Christology is at its basis entirely different from Paul’s.(Pp. 49-50)

It might be argued that Paul’s Christology is a further development of Mark’s; but that is impossible, chronologically. What we have in Paul is a further, and very distinctive, development of the primitive Christology, partly on the basis of pre-Christian Jewish and even syncretistic -- that is, partly pagan -- speculations (Paul’s contact with the pagan world of his time is recognized in most modern studies; indeed, it is sometimes exaggerated. Fundamentally of course, he was a Jew, but he was not a Palestinian scribal Jew. Instead he was a Jew of the Diaspora, and his type of Judaism was already in contact with speculations originating outside Judaism. See Weiss, History of Primitive Christianity, Bk. III, "Paul the Christian and Theologian"; Bruckner The Entstehung der paulinischen Christologie [1903]; Wilfred L. Knox St Paul and the Church of Jerusalem [1925] and St. Paul and the Church of the Gentiles [1939]; W. Morgan, The Religion and Theology of Paul [1917]; Bousset, Kyrios Christos [3rd ed., 1926], chaps. iii, iv; A. D. Nock, Early Gentile Christianity and its Hellenistic Background," Essays on the Trinity and the Incarnation, ed. A. E. J. Rawlinson [1928], also his St. Paul [1939]) which Paul evidently indulged in before he became a Christian, partly on the basis of the ongoing life and thought of the early Gentile church, which Paul shared.

Furthermore, the whole conception of the earthly life of Jesus is different in Mark and in Paul. Mark is endeavoring to show, among other things, that Jesus was Messiah "even during his earthly life" -- as Johannes Weiss put it. Therefore the gift of the Spirit at the beginning of his messianic career; therefore the resulting "mighty works" of healing, exorcism, and miracle; therefore the cries of the demons, with their supernatural insight, upon recognizing him; therefore the divine attestations at the Baptism and Transfiguration. For Paul, on the contrary, the endowment of the Spirit is renounced by the heavenly Messiah at his incarnation, and resumed again at his resurrection; as for miracles, "wonders and signs" of his supernatural office, nature, or power -- they are totally lacking! (Note that Paul mentions none of Jesus’ miracles, though his raising of the dead would have provided a very strong argument in I Cor. 15, for example.) Paul’s fundamental conception of the kenôsis, and of the hiding of the divine glory during Jesus’ earthly life, is flatly contradicted by Mark’s story of the Transfiguration. Thus, as Paul Wernle put it, "The Christology of Mark conflicts with that of Paul at almost every point."

The same is true of the conception of the death of Christ.(Pp. 60 ff.) Both Paul and Mark view it as effecting salvation, the removal of sin or guilt. But for Paul it is the only act of Christ in his earthly life that had messianic significance. Christ came, or was sent, in order to die.(Rom. 8:3; Gal. 4:4.) This is not Mark’s view. He thinks of Christ’s mission "to destroy the works of the devil" -- almost as in the later Johannine epistle -- and represents the Son of Man as "having power upon earth to forgive sins," (Mark 2:10) that is, during his earthly life, and not depending upon the efficacy of his death. The purpose of Christ’s death, according to Mark, is "to give his life a ransom for many";(Mark 10:45) his blood is the "blood of the covenant which is shed for many" ;(Mark 14:24) yet Mark does not elaborate the principle or explain how it was that "the many" were to benefit by Christ’s death. That death, the death of the Son of Man, was necessary, for it was revealed in scripture, and was therefore in accordance with the will of God.(Mark 8:13 etc. Also Mark stresses Jesus’ voluntary acceptance of the divine decrees.) But this goes no further than the doctrine as Paul received it from the primitive church. As he writes to the Corinthians, "Among the very first things I delivered to you what I myself had received, namely that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures."(I Cor. 15:3. See also I Thess. 1:10; Gal. 3:13; 4:5.) In other words, the teaching that the death of Christ was (a) for sin and (b) in accordance with the scriptures was derived by both Mark and Paul from the primitive church; the doctrine of the Atonement is not Paul’s unique and distinctive contribution to Christian thought, for it is really pre-Pauline; further, it is not at all the central, cardinal doctrine in "Paulinism," but a subsidiary one; (Indeed, it is a component one -- it forms part of the doctrine of the new creation in Christ) finally, the conception of the way in which Christ’s death becomes effective, as Paul conceived it, is peculiar to Paul and finds no trace in Mark or indeed elsewhere in the New Testament(Save in passages demonstrable dependent on Paul) -- Paul thinks of it as a conquest of the demonic powers in the very hour of their greatest aggression and apparent triumph.(See again Henry Beach Carré, Paul’s Doctrine of Redemption.) We can scarcely hesitate to agree with Werner, Wernle, and Feine: "The Marcan saying about the ransom for many can best be understood by a complete disregard of all Pauline ideas on the subject." (P. 65, quoting Wernle, Synoptische Frage, p. 200.) So understood, the saying takes on a new meaning -- and may indeed be authentic. "Mark’s interpretation of the death of Jesus not only reflects the tradition of the primitive community directly and without dependence upon Paul, but even reflects it in a pre-Pauline form."(Pp. 70-71.) Instead of Mark’s being influenced by Paul, it is the primitive, pre-Pauline view -- which Mark still retains -- that is the indispensable presupposition of Paul’s own thought; Paul advances upon Mark, not Mark upon Paul! For Paul takes the primitive idea of the death "for many" and interprets it to mean "for Christians," indeed first of all applying it to himself.( Gal. 2:20; see also Weiss, History of Primitive Christianity, I, 116.17 = Urchristentum, p.84)

So also with the view of Christ’s resurrection.(Pp. 72 ff.) For Mark, Jesus’ resurrection involved the empty tomb; his resurrection body was still his natural body, transmuted, transfigured, glorified. But for Paul the doctrine of Christ’s resurrection is not in the least dependent upon the empty tomb. In fact, the resuscitation and glorification of Jesus’ physical body was an impossible conception, for it would still be , "flesh," not , "spirit"; and the whole force of his argument in I Corinthians 15 involves the substitution of a glorious spiritual body for the earthly, "fleshly" body in the Resurrection. "God giveth it a body" -- and the same applies to Christ. Mark of course does not share Paul’s abhorrence of "the flesh," that is, , and so he can think of the transfiguration of Christ’s earthly body -- as on the Mount of Transfiguration, probably viewed as an anticipation of the Resurrection -- without the least question of the continuity of Christ’s physical body.

On every point of Christology, accordingly, the supposed influence of Paul upon Mark turns out to be, by Werner’s demonstration, merely evidence for the dependence of Mark upon the common Gentile Christianity of his time, in fact in its pre-Pauline or non-Pauline form; and this in spite of the agreements -- which are natural, considering Paul’s dependence likewise upon "those who were in Christ before him." The distinctive, unique, positively Pauline development of these doctrines is simply not to be found anywhere in the Gospel of Mark.

If this statement can be made regarding their Christology, it is not likely that other doctrines will upset the relationship -- for Christology is of fundamental importance to both Paul and Mark, and to all of primitive Christianity. Nevertheless Werner proceeds to examine other doctrines and teachings: the Law, the gospel, faith, sin, flesh and spirit, sacramental teaching, eschatology, the view taken of the primitive apostles, the attitude toward the Jewish people, also that toward the heathen; and he concludes with an examination of the vocabularies of the two writers. On every point the distinctively Pauline teaching is found to be absent from Mark, while their agreements nowhere go beyond the common basis of non-Pauline Gentile Christianity. The final chapter, on the diction of Mark and Paul, substantiates what has been the reader’s growing conviction all along, namely that the hypothesis of Pauline influence upon the Gospel of Mark is a perfect mare’s nest of absurdities, of which exegesis of the New Testament and historical research into Christian origins had better be completely rid at once.

Now if Werner’s thesis is true, and if we accept his demonstration as final, certain positive inferences are bound to follow, and not merely the negative one already described -- important as that is.

1. For one thing, early Gentile Christianity, and probably also early Jewish Christianity, was much farther advanced in the christological and soteriological areas than has been admitted by most writers.

2. Paul’s conversion, or at least the beginning of his missionary career, can hardly be dated as early as the majority of critics are inclined to place it. Time must be allowed for the growth of doctrine in the Gentile mission field. Thus one more item of evidence supports the view which some of us already hold upon other grounds, namely that Paul’s conversion belongs nearer AD. 40 than 30 -- perhaps in 37 or 38.("See John Knox, ‘Fourteen Years Later’: A Note on the Pauline Chronology," Journal of Religion, 16:34 1-49; "The Pauline Chronology," Journal of Biblical Literature, 58:15-29).

3. Paul’s own distinctive contributions to Christian thought are to be sharply distinguished from what he received by tradition; and it will be found, when these are segregated, that they point to several sources: (a) his own personal experience, that of an intense spiritual nature with a keen imagination and a desperately sensitive conscience; (b) a peculiar exegesis of the Old Testament, partly rabbinic, partly early Christian, but more probably derived from his own reading and pondering of the Greek version of the Jewish scriptures; (c) .a set of cosmological and anthropological views that owed not a little to the vast mélange of Hellenism and Orientalism flooding the world where he grew up, and providing him with the unique setting for still other ideas, of sin, Satan, death, of the sinful and therefore mortal nature of man -- as "flesh" -- of the "spiritual" forces arrayed against God and his Messiah and all the faithful, of the victory to be won by the Messiah when he should at last appear -- all these ideas were shaped to the mold of certain half-Jewish, half-pagan ideas which Paul seems to have derived from the world about him. The Diaspora Judaism that Paul knew in Cilicia must have been very different from the Judaism of Palestine, and even from the Diaspora Judaism of Philo in Alexandria!

First-century Judaism, in the Diaspora and even in Palestine before the crisis of AD. 66-70, was a much more diversified religious phenomenon than that of the era of retrenchment and conservatism which followed, especially after the second fall of Jerusalem in 135. Philo was forgotten, by the Jews --only the Christian church preserved his writings. The Septuagint was discarded as too free a rendering of the Old Testament, and other, even painfully literal, translations took its place -- it too was abandoned to the Christians, and one rabbi even proposed to commemorate it by an annual day of fasting. Along with the Septuagint went the Apocrypha -- the additional books in the Greek canon -- and the apocalyptic writings, perhaps already interpolated, certainly interpreted, by the Christians in the interest of their own peculiar doctrines. The schools established at Jamnia and Tiberias were to study only scripture and the Oral Tradition. A more rigorous system of exegesis was to be inculcated, following explicit rules. And at the same time the world-wide mission of Diaspora Judaism came to an end.(See T.R.Glover, The World of the New Testament (1931), p. 135, and refs. to Bentwich, Hellenism, pp. 287 ff., 301; G.F. Moore, Judaism, I, 83-109.) It was like the Counter Reformation in the Roman Church of the sixteenth century, with its Council of Trent, determined henceforth to leave no more openings for Protestant "reformations,"

But the era before the late sixties of the first century was much freer and much more varied in outlook, much more hospitable to foreign influences and combinations of ideas -- like medieval scholasticism, before Trent. This goes a long way to account for the type of Judaism Paul knew and rejected -- an inexplicable enigma to all modern Jews, however "liberal." It was certainly not the "normative" Judaism that arose in Palestine after the year 135; and it was probably not even the central, orthodox, middle-of-the-road Judaism of the scribes and Pharisees of Palestine in the first half of the first century. It was perhaps already in contact with speculations regarding the divine purpose in the creation of the world, the angelic powers, the figures of Adam, Death, Satan or Antichrist, the Heavenly Man, the coming salvation, the relation of spirit and flesh, soul and body -- speculations which were at least tinged, no doubt, with Gnosticism. "Gnosticism" is of course a later word; in the first century it was only, as Wendland defined it, the religion or theology of syncretism, well adapted to the melange of cults which characterized the eastern provinces under the early empire. Hans Böhlig, in his Geisteskultur von Tarsus (1913), stressed the possibility of contacts with Mithraism; but there were other possibilities -- -as W. L. Knox recognizes in his St. Paul and the Church of the Gentiles (1939). For more than two hundred years there had been Jewish settlements in Cilicia; and the Aramaic inscriptions in the neighborhood -- not necessarily Jewish, but surely accessible to Jews -- reflect a decided strain of syncretism.(E.g. those given in Lidzbarski, Ephemeris fur semitische Epigraphik, I. 1, pp. 59-74.)

I cannot at this point enter into the discussion of types of Diaspora Judaism affected by contact with paganism; I wish only to record my conviction (1) that Paul’s Judaism was not of the orthodox Palestinian type, which later became normal, and normative; and (2) that early Gentile Christianity, both before Paul and also outside the area of his influence, was far more substantial than the Book of Acts and the surviving Pauline letters have led many to assume. It is this type of Christian teaching, "common Gentile Christianity," rather than Paulinism, that lies behind the Gospel of Mark.

Chapter 8: Mark’s Passion Narrative

We have said that the passion narrative is now recognized to be the oldest continuous narrative in the Gospels. It no doubt received its consecutive form at an early date. How else could the story be told, except as one continuous, consecutive whole? It is noteworthy, too, that although Matthew and Luke rearrange the order of other parts of Mark, they adhere quite consistently to the Marcan order in these two chapters, 14- 15. Even John, writing last of all, generally adheres to it, though whether or not he knew it in its present Marcan form may be debated;(No doubt he adheres to it not because it is Mark’s but because it is the traditional passion narrative.) and though he does not scruple to rewrite the whole account of the ministry, he keeps the passion narrative more or less in the order in which Mark gives it. From these facts it seems only just to infer that the Marcan passion narrative was already, when Mark wrote, in fairly stable form, and that it continued to be told and retold in practically this form -- possibly at the Christian services of worship (Cf. Gal. 3:l. See Georg Bertram, Die Leidensgeschichte Jesu und der Christuskult: [1922]) and quite apart from the written Gospels, indeed before they were compiled. One part of it, the account of the Last Supper, was probably so used, (Cf. I Cor. 11:23-25) and came in time to form the very heart of the Eucharistic liturgy, conspicuously and distinctly so in the Western church.

The question now arises, What was the original extent and contents of this passion narrative? Did it contain an account of the Resurrection? Were any of the incidents it now contains added to the narrative by Mark? In answer, let us go over the narrative in detail, as it is reconstructed by various modern scholars, more or less in agreement -- notably by Martin Dibelius, Rudolf Bultmann, Hans Lietzmann, and others.(See Dibelius, The Message of Jesus Christ (1939), pp. 30-34, 144-47; Bultmann, Die Geschzchte der synoptischen Tradition (2nd ed., 1931), pp. 282-308; also Klostermana, 3rd ed. of his commentary in the Handbuch, p. 139 a.; Lietzmann, Der Prozess Jesse (1931); R. H. Lightfoot, History and Interpretation in the Gospels (1934), chap. v; A. T. Olmstead, Jesus in the Light of History (1942), chaps. xi, xii; Maurice Goguel, The Life of Jesus, chaps. xv-xx; Joseph Klausner, Jesus of Nazareth (1925), Bks. VT, VII. In the following table, and in the reconstruction, I have placed within square brackets the verses and passages that may be thought to be secondary -- even in the pre-Marcan passion narrative.)

The plot against Jesus -- 14:1-2

[Jesus at Bethany -- 3-9; this was once an independent pericope, as we may infer from Luke and John -- cf. Luke 7:36-38; John 12:1-8]

The Treachery of Judas -- 10-1 1 (continues verses 1-2)

[The Preparation for the Passover -- 12-16. The Marcan character of this section is apparent from its parallel to 11:1-7. The time reference in vs. 12 is wrong, and conflicts with vss. 1-2 and with the Gospel of John. It has even been suspected that this is a Hellenistic story of an early Christian looking for a church service Note that a man is carrying the jar of water, not a woman as it would be in Palestine.]

The Last Supper -- 17.25. [Vss. 18b-20 may be an elaboration of the theme found in Ps. 41:10, yet even the Johannine tradition represents Judas as present at the Supper, chap 13. Vs. 21 is a Son of Man saying, indeed a double one, and probably secondary -- even if late pre-Marcan.]

The prediction of the disciples’ desertion -- 26-31. It looks forward to the flight in vs. 50, and to Peter’s denials. [Vs. 28 breaks the connection, and is probably a gloss -- related to the one in 16:7. Its early date is suggested by the passive form of the verb, "raised up" -- contrast the passion announcements, with their active form, "rise."]

[The agony in Gethsemane -- 32-42. This scene, which ex hypothesi the disciples could scarcely have reported (vss. 37, 40, 41), is really a dramatization of the central petition of the Lord’s Prayer, as the temptation narrative (in its Q form) is a dramatization in another direction, with another emphasis. Note another Son of Man saying in vs. 41.]

The arrest -- 43-53a, 54. [Vs. 53b is clearly editorial, and improbable; it prepares for the "all" in vs. 64. Vs. 54 belongs with the later account of Peter’s denials, which it introduces. Probably that is where it stood originally, that is, before vss. 53b, 55-65 were inserted into the story.]

[The examination before the high priest -- 55-65. This section has been most adversely criticized. It contradicts the traditional rules of Jewish legal procedure at fourteen distinct points! And though it is sometimes argued that the rules set forth in the Mishnah (tractate Sanhedrin) are either purely theoretical or have been projected backward from the second century, this is not likely. The rules were traditional; and since the Jewish Sanhedrin ceased to exist as a civil court after AD. 70 -- tradition says it lost its authority to inflict capital penalties forty years earlier -- the whole point of the tradition was its preservation of earlier usage, possibly with a view to a future restoration. This was the point, similarly, of the preservation of the temple measurements in tractate Middoth, long after the actual temple had been destroyed. The scene portrayed in these verses is often thought to reflect the trial before Pilate -- especially vs. 60 -- from an anti-Jewish point of view and with the purpose of placing the responsibility for the death of Jesus upon the Jewish authorities. Note also that it includes another Son of Man saying (vs. 62), and assumes that Jesus here avowed his identity not only with the Christ (vs. 61), further defined in non-Jewish terms as "the Son of the Blessed One," but also with the coming "Son of Man" -- who, it is further assumed, is also identical with the Christ. This is the climax of the whole series of Son of Man sayings in the Gospel of Mark.]

[Peter’s denials -- 66-72; introduced, as already noted, by vs. 54.]

Jesus before Pilate -- 15:1-15. Note that the account of the trial entirely ignores the findings of 14:55-65, and properly: the claim to Messiahship was not only not blasphemy, but did not justify the charge that Jesus claimed to be "King of the Jews." Nothing was made of the disciples’ knowledge -- which Mark assumed -- of Jesus’ claim, though Judas was in contact with the Jewish (?) authorities, nor of the blundering charge that Jesus had threatened to destroy the temple.

[The mockery and scourging -- 16-20. This is probable enough, in view of Roman practice, but the narrative fits in badly after vs. 15. John locates the account of the mockery during the trial, 19: 1-2. There are other difficulties with the story, noted in the commentaries.]

The crucifixion -- 2 1-39. [Some details are probably secondary, for example vs. 23, which comes from the Old Testament (Ps. 69:21); so may be vs. 24, which would be suggested by Ps. 22:18. Vs. 25 may be original, though see John 19:14, which has "the sixth hour," not the "third." (Vs. 28, an Old Testament quotation, is omitted by most modern editors.) Vss. 29b-32a (certainly 31-32a) seem to be motivated by the same anti-Jewish tendency that inspired the account of the "trial" before the "Sanhedrin." Vs. 38 seems to be purely symbolistic in purpose. On the other hand, vss. 34-37 are too lifelike, too nonHellenistic, and set too many problems for Christian explanation to be anything but original.]

[The watching women -- 40-41. This really introduces the narrative of the empty tomb, 16:1-8, and is probably no part of the primitive passion narrative. The burial, vss. 42-47, interrupts this narrative (after which, as Turner thought, 16: la repeats from 15:40 and 47), and is accordingly secondary, though it is needed as the setting for 16:1-8. The story concludes, not with the resurrection narrative -- Mark has no resurrection narrative, and his story of the empty tomb is independent of what precedes -- Mark’s passion narrative concludes with the testimony of the centurion: "This man was a Son of God." It is clear that the third passion announcement (Mark 10:32-34) presupposes the Marcan passion narrative in its present form (see Kiostermana, Commentary, 2nd ed., on 10:33, p. 119). That is, it includes steps, or incidents, which we have omitted as secondary. The steps in the procedure are: (1) the Son of Man is to be delivered to the high priests and scribes ("the elders" of 8:31 is omitted; 9:31 has "men," though the original text may have read "Gentiles"), (2) condemned to death by the Sanhedrin, (3) handed over to the heathen, (4) abused ("they will ridicule him and spit on him and flog him" -- , , as in the passion narrative), and (5) killed; (6) "after three days" he will rise again" (the earliest tradition always said "be raised," not "rise"). The parallel announcement in 8:31 has only steps 2, 5, 6; that in 9:31 has only 1 (or 3?), 5, 6. It seems clear from a comparison of these passages with the passion narrative that (a), as we have argued (see The Growth of the Gospels, pp. 104-8, 136), the Gospel "grew backwards from the passion narrative," and that (h) the three passion announcements are indubitably by Mark himself, and secondary, that is, not part of the early tradition.)

Following this brief analysis, let us read consecutively the reconstructed narrative, reading it as we would the old pre-Marcan passion narrative if we could recover it in some ancient manuscript. It is the story of the death of Jesus as it was told and retold among the Palestinian

(It is clear that the third passion announcement (Mark 10:32-34) presupposes the Marcan passion narrative in its present form (see Kiostermana, Commentary, 2nd ed., on 10:33, p. 119). That is, it includes steps, or incidents, which we have omitted as secondary. The steps in the procedure are: (1) the Son of Man is to be delivered to the high priests and scribes ("the elders" of 8:31 is omitted; 9:31 has "men," though the original text may have read "Gentiles"), (2) condemned to death by the Sanhedrin, (3) handed over to the heathen, (4) abused ("they will ridicule him and spit on him and flog him" -- , , as in the passion narrative), and (5) killed; (6) "after three days" he will rise again" (the earliest tradition always said "be raised," not "rise"). The parallel announcement in 8:31 has only steps 2, 5, 6; that in 9:31 has only 1 (or 3?), 5, 6. It seems clear from a comparison of these passages with the passion narrative that (a), as we have argued (see The Growth of the Gospels, pp. 104-8, 136), the Gospel "grew backwards from the passion narrative," and that (h) the three passion announcements are indubitably by Mark himself, and secondary, that is, not part of the early tradition.)

Jewish Christians, perhaps circulating first in Aramaic and then translated into Greek -- though when, we do not know -- and afterwards brought to Rome and circulated there, perhaps long before Mark made it the basis of his account of the crucifixion and death of the Son of God.

It was two days before the Passover. And the high priests and the scribes were seeking a way to seize him by stealth and put him to death; for they said, "Not during the feast, lest there be a public riot." Then Judas Iscariot, who was one of the Twelve, went to the high priests to betray Jesus to them. When they heard it, they were glad and promised to give him money. So he was waiting for an opportunity to hand him over to them.

[On the first day of the festival,] at evening, Jesus came with the Twelve. [As they reclined and were eating, Jesus said, "Of a truth I tell you, one of you will betray me, even one who is eating with me."’ They were distressed at this and said to him one after another, "Can it be 1?" But he said to them, "It is one of the Twelve, who is dipping his bread with me in the same bowl."] While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf, and when he had said the blessing he broke it and gave it to them and said, "This is my body." And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them, and they all drank from it. And he said to them, "This is my blood of the Covenant [which is poured out for many]. I tell you truly, 1 will never (again) drink of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the Kingdom of God"

When they had sung a hymn they went out to the Mount of Olives. And Jesus said to them, "You will all fall away, for it is written,

‘I will strike the shepherd

And the sheep will be scattered.’"

But Peter said to him, "Even if all are to fall away, yet I will not." And Jesus said to him, "Truly I tell you, today -- this very night, before cockcrow -- you will deny me three times." But he protested vehemently, "Even if I must die with you, I will by no means deny you." So likewise said they all.

While he was still speaking, Judas came (who was one of the Twelve), and with him a crowd (armed) with swords and clubs [whom the chief priests and scribes and elders had sent]. Now the betrayer had agreed with them upon a signal, saying, "The one I kiss, that is he; seize him, and lead him away securely." So when he arrived he [at once] went up to Jesus and said to him, "My master," and kissed him. Then they laid hands on Jesus and took him prisoner. And one of those standing by drew a sword and struck the servant of the high priest and cut off his ear.

Then Jesus spoke to them and said, "Have you come out as against a robber, (armed) with swords and clubs to capture me? Day by day I was with you, teaching in the temple, and you did not arrest me. [But (this has come to pass) in order that the scriptures might be fulfilled!]" Then they all forsook him and fled. And a certain young man followed them, with nothing but a linen cloth about him; and they seized him, but he left the linen cloth and ran away naked. So they led Jesus before the high priest.

[And Peter followed him at a distance, until he was inside the courtyard of the high priest’s house. Here he was sitting with the guards and warming himself at the fire. While he was below in the courtyard one of the maids of the high priest came, and seeing Peter warming himself she looked at him and said, "You too were with the Nazarene, Jesus!" But he denied it, saying, "I do not know nor understand. What is it you are saying?" But he went out into the gateway. Here the maid saw him and again began saying to those who were standing there, "This is one of them!" But he again denied it. Once more, a little later, those standing by said to Peter, "There is no doubt you are one of them -- you are a Galilean!" Then he began to curse and swear, saying. "1 do not know this man you are talking about!" And at once the cock crew, and Peter recalled the words Jesus had said to him, "Before cockcrow you will deny me three times." And he broke down and cried.]

As soon as it was morning, the chief priests held a consultation with the elders and scribes [and the whole Sanhedrin] and bound Jesus and led him away and delivered him to Pilate. [And Pilate asked him, "Are you ‘the King of the Jews’?" Jesus answered, "You have said so" (or, "That is for you to say!" or, "Do you say so?").] And the chief priests accused him of many things. (But he answered nothing.) So Pilate [again] asked him, "Have you no answer to make? See how many charges they bring against you!" But Jesus made no further reply, so that Pilate was surprised.

Now at festivals he used to release to them a prisoner, anyone they asked for. There was one named Bar-Abbas, who lay bound with those who were guilty of insurrection and in the insurrection had committed murder. The crowd came up and began to ask him to do for them as he usually did. Then Pilate answered and said, "Do you want me to release to you ‘the King of the Jews’?" (For he knew that it was out of jealousy the chief priests had delivered him up.) But the high priests stirred up the crowd to ask to have Bar-Abbas released to them instead. So Pilate spoke to them again and said, "What then do you want me to do with the one you call ‘the King of the Jews’?" They cried out [again], "Crucify him!" But Pilate said to them, "What crime has he committed?" At that they shouted all the more, "Crucify him!" So Pilate, wishing to satisfy the mob, released to them Bar-Abbas, and ordered Jesus to be flogged and crucified.

So they led him out to crucify him. (On the way) they compelled a man passing by, Simon the Cyrenian, who was coming in from the country -- he was the father of Alexander and Rufus -- to carry his cross. And they took him to the place called Golgotha (which means, the Place of a Skull). [And they offered him a drink of wine with myrrh in it, but he would not take it.] And they crucified him. The inscription stating his crime read, "The King of the Jews." With him they crucified two robbers, one at his right hand and one at his left. And the passers-by reviled him . . . . and the two who were crucified with him upbraided him.

When the sixth hour had come, darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour. At the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, "Elôi, Elôi, lamá’ sabachtádni?" (which means, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?") Some of the bystanders, when they heard it, said, "Listen, he is calling for Elijah!" One of them ran and soaked a sponge in vinegar and put it on a stick and offered him a drink, and said, "Wait and see if Elijah will come and take him down!" Then Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last. When the centurion who was standing opposite him saw that he had died, he said, "Surely this man was a Son of God."

As we now read this consecutive narrative, in the form in which I have ventured to reconstruct it, freed from the secondary passages, we find, I believe, that this simple story contains all that might be thought to be derived from the earliest Christian tradition upon the subject. Of course it was amplified from other sources, by Mark himself and also by the later evangelists -- it was still being amplified in the second and third centuries by the writers of the apocryphal Gospels,(See the Gospel of Nicodemus and the Gospel of Peter -- most conveniently accessible in M. R. James, The Apocryphal New Testament (1924), pp. 90 ff.) as It is still further amplified by modern imaginative writers, not to mention most of us preachers of the gospel, church school teachers, and others! We are not now considering the source or the value of the "secondary" elements, but only of the passion narrative in its pristine form.

The main, unforgettable impression which we gain from the story in its earliest recoverable form is not that of human treachery and vindictiveness, or of the sufferings endured by the martyr-hero, as in the Maccabean tales and in many Christian martyrologies, but an impression of the calm certainty with which Jesus goes to his death. He does not argue, or even parry the thrusts of a debate, as in the Gospel of John. The colorful touches which Luke added to it are not here -- Luke was an artist in words, and his narrative paints a scene; even Antipas reappears. But the primitive story, embedded in Mark, is one of stark simplicity. "Pilate asked him, ‘And so you are the King of the Jews?’ He replied, ‘You say’" -- -- which may mean simply "Yes" (so Matthew surely understood the words), or may be an interrogation, as Hort suggested ("Would you say so?" or, "Do you say it?"), or may even be an imperative ("You answer! That is for you to say!"), though this last suggestion is perhaps too subtle for this simple narrative. "And the priests brought all manner of charges against him. Then Pilate asked him again, ‘Won’t you answer? You hear what they are saying against you!’ But Jesus made no further reply, so that Pilate knew not what to think of him." There is no studied drama about this scene. It is a Galilean peasant preacher and healer, caught in the net spread by the fanatical temple priesthood of Jerusalem, on trial for his life before the Roman governor. And he makes no reply, no defense.(It may be thought that this feature is derived from Isa. 53:7. On the other hand, it may equally be true that Jesus’ silence brought this verse to mind.) The prophet of Nazareth is a stranger to courts and Roman procurators, and to the machinations of a powerful priestly clique. He is bound, with his hands behind him. But even were he unbound and free, he would not attempt either escape or defense. Already his silence is crying out, as the Good Friday hymn describes the scene. All his life he has trusted in God, and accepted the course of events as the manifest will of God for him. If it is God’s will, then he must drink the cup. If it is God’s will that he must die -- and events point clearly that way -- then he will still trust in God, knowing that God has a plan and purpose which his death must serve, and that if he trusts God utterly and to the very end, God will use him, living and dying, to bring his Kingdom to pass. Thus he dies a martyr -- but not a martyr to a cause, like the Maccabees, or the early Christians. This "martyrology" is different -- Jesus dies because he cannot free himself from God, because his will has been utterly and without reserve made over to God, and he does not ask to see his way or to know the meaning of each successive step.(A point I have tried to bring out in an article, "The Beginning of Jesus’ Ministry." Journal of Biblical Literature, 52:189-202; also in my Life and Time, of Jesus (1921). The meaning would be clear enough when the battle was over, the victory won.

The very simplicity and directness of the story carries the sense of mystery. Underlying this simple scene is the profoundest mystery of all our life in this world. Why must any man suffer? Why, above all, must Christ suffer? Why, in a world under God’s sovereign control, must the best of men suffer the worst of fates? The early Christians, who told and retold this story, saw what it meant, saw, that is, some way into the dark abyss of mystery; and they saw by the light of Jesus’ resurrection and exaltation. God did not, God could not abandon him in death (Acts 2:27) -- in spite of the mysterious last cry that fell from his lips. Death could not hold him in restraint (Acts 2:24) -- not such a one as he, surely. God had willed and fore-seen it all -- and God had used it all, for his purposes of redemption, so that sin might be done away, so that its power might be broken, and so that actual sins of men might be blotted out. But all this, the explanation, came later; what we have in the primitive Passion Narrative is the stark recital of facts, with only a minimum of the current interpretation -- the story of Jesus’ death as it was recited in the early Christian communities for almost forty years before Mark took pen in hand to write out the full story of Jesus as he had heard it and as he understood it.(Of course the interpretation is introduced into the narrative, as was perfectly natural in ancient popular religious writing as well as in tradition We should probably add it as an explanation, and then take great credit to ourselves for adding such an illuminating bit of wisdom! But then we lack the objectivity as well as the naïveté of those who handed down or wrote down ancient religious traditions.)

The task of interpretation is with us still. We have not fathomed even yet the full depths of the meaning of Jesus’ suffering and death, though the main lines are clear. And we shall never understand fully, no doubt, unless we too are called to share his baptism and drink his cup. But the Christian martyrs in the Roman arena, in Mark’s day, knew what the death of Jesus meant. They drank his cup -- to its very dregs. And they likewise knew "the power of his resurrection." "They were put to death with exquisite cruelty," says Tacitus, "and to their sufferings Nero added mockery and derision. Some were covered with the skins of wild beasts, and left to be devoured by dogs; others were nailed to the cross; numbers were burnt alive; and many, covered with inflammable matter, were lighted up, when the day declined, to serve as torches during the night." (Annals 15.44, tr. Murphy.) These were the men and women who handed down the story of Jesus’ death -- the old Roman passion narrative underlying Mark’s account in chapters 14 and 15. What it meant to them is probably something we shall never guess, unless we too stand someday in the same desperate place of utter need, and cry out for sympathy and compassion to One who himself faced all the blind, venomous hatred, the implacable, vindictive fury of brute, senseless power, and pray, with them and with the martyr Stephen, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit."

Chapter 7: The Theology of Mark

Mark takes for granted the primitive Christian tradition about Jesus. What he aims to do is to tell "the Christian story as it was known and believed in the churches of the Hellenistic world a generation after Jesus’ death." (B.H. Branscomb, Commentary, p. xxii) He also takes for granted the apostolic faith; for he writes as a Christian, a believer, not as an outsider or critic -- and not even as an historian or biographer. Hence his "theology," so far as he has a theology, is not his own, but merely the theological interpretation -- as far as it had gone in his day -- of the tradition as held by the contemporary church. Professor Branscomb truly says: "Fact and theology had already been combined in this tradition, and what is often described as Mark’s theology is really the early Christian belief as to the historical facts."(Ibid., p. xxi.) The contrast with Paul, for example, is very marked. Paul lives in a realm of ideas -- revelation, law, grace, justification, glory. By Paul the tradition is taken for granted -- but left behind. Mark, on the contrary, still moves upon the level of the received tradition, and makes almost no effort to interpret it in terms of general ideas. He is not a theologian -- not even in the sense that Paul may be described as one -- and he has scarcely the most elementary idea of what it would require to be a theologian, or how a theologian would go about his task. It is fortunate for us, that is, for the whole later church, that this was so! Upon the basis of Paul’s teaching, taken alone, Christianity might possibly have foundered a century later in the rising sea of Gnosticism; possessing Mark’s compilation of the historic traditions, later amplified by the other evangelists, the church held true to its course, steering with firm, unslackened grip upon the historic origins of its faith.

And yet Mark has often been represented as so greatly influenced by Paul that he introduced Paul’s ideas everywhere into the tradition he records. Paul’s influence, not Peter’s, is the modern theory! On the other hand, Professor Martin Werner has studied the evidence for this supposed influence of "Paulinism" upon the Gospel of Mark, and concludes that instead of "Paulinism" Mark presupposes only the common Christianity, the generally accepted Christian doctrine, of the Gentile churches at the middle of the first century.(See chap. ix below, "was Mark a Pauline Gospel?" -- also F. V. Filson, Origins of the Gospels (1938), pp. 157 ff.) This view is very similar to that of Professor Branscomb, just quoted. And yet there must have been some influence of Paul upon the Christian community in Rome, as elsewhere in the West following his years of missionary preaching and teaching in Asia Minor, Macedonia, and Greece, and his final visit to Rome, where he preached and taught for at least two years, as we learn from the last lines of the Book of Acts: "preaching the Kingdom of God and teaching the things about the Lord Jesus, with all boldness, none forbidding him" -- , "unhindered" -- the last word of the book and its climax. Not direct "Paulinism," then, but the leaven of Paul’s teaching influencing the common faith of the earliest church in the West, and hence affecting the tradition as it came to Mark some years later -- that is what we may reasonably look for in Mark’s Gospel. And this is what we find, as many scholars now maintain -- especially, perhaps, in the doctrine of the Cross.(E.g., Mark 10:45.) As Bishop Rawlinson finely says, echoing Johannes Weiss, "Jesus is, for St. Mark, the Messiah, not in spite of His sufferings -- as the earliest believers of all may for a time have been disposed to express it -- but precisely because of His sufferings." (Commentary, p. lii.) So also may be the doctrine of the disciples’ failure to understand Jesus’ Way of the Cross, and the blindness of the Jews who rejected him and put him to death. Yet we must not overlook the old tradition here too: "Now brethren, I know that you did it in ignorance, and so did your rulers." (Acts 3:17.) So Peter is represented as preaching in Solomon’s Portico at Jerusalem soon after the Resurrection!

We must not press too strongly, then, the possibility of Pauline influence, and what Mark does not do in the way of conforming the tradition to Paul’s theological outlook is probably more significant than an occasional word or turn of expression found also in the letters of Paul. "Mystery,"(Mark 4:11.) "covenant," "blood of the covenant" (Mark 14:24) -- the words sound Pauline; but further study shows that they are not used in the precise sense Paul assumed, but reflect the common thought and language of the Gentile church, perhaps influenced by Paul, but not slavishly devoted to him and possibly not even comprehending him very clearly. Even the ransom saying (Mark 10:45.) is probably more un-Pauline than Pauline in its real connotations. True enough it represents a circle of ideas one will find in Paul; but Paul scarcely did more than touch the idea and pass on -- he had other and richer and more suggestive figures (See Adolf Deissmann, Paul, esp. chap. vii.) for explaining Christ’s death than that of a ransom paid to death, or to Satan, or even to God -- it is not said to whom the price is paid. The other great doctrines of Paul -- in addition to the significance of Christ’s death, which after all he himself owed to the early community (I Cor. 15:3; 11:24.) -- are not even echoed in the Gospel of Mark. Hence we must conclude with Professors Branscomb, Lohmeyer, Werner, Bishop Rawlinson, and other recent writers, that Mark’s point of view is that which was "in general characteristic of the Gentile-Christian Church of the first century," but that it was not, "in the narrower and more distinctive sense of the words, a ‘Pauline’ Gospel."(Rawlinson, Commentary, p. xiv.)

Mark, then, was no theologian, of the Pauline or any other school; nor was his Gospel written to uphold certain specific doctrines or beliefs of the type stressed by Paul. Nevertheless his book has a distinct unity and a point of view which goes some distance beyond the really primitive formulation of the tradition. We can see this by contrast with the special traditions (L) in Luke(See The Growth of the Gospels, pp. 93-95.)and in the first part of Acts (chapters 1-12), and even with the main body of Q. For Mark, Jesus is no longer a prophet, mighty in word and deed before God and all the people"; he is from the beginning of his ministry the anointed Messiah, the Son of God, and by his calling and divine destiny the heavenly "Son of Man." The terms "Son of God" and "Son of Man" are not equivalent :(See Gustaf Dalman, The Words of Jesus (Eng. tr., 1902), chaps. ix, x. See also E. Lohmeyer in chap. vi, above; and C. H. Kraeling, Anthropos and Son of Man (1927).) the one is the old theocratic messianic title, given to anointed kings in ancient times; the other is the new apocalyptic title of the heavenly Man, the celestial Anthropos, Urmensch, the Primal Man, who is to appear at the end of days, raise the dead, and judge the whole world -- angels, demons, and men. By a paradox, "Son of Man" is in some respects a more exalted title than "Son of God," though one cannot help feeling that, since "Son of God" is the term used or implied by the heavenly Voice at the Baptism and the Transfiguration, it surely conveyed to Mark, and to others before him, a suggestion of the divine nature of Jesus. Certainly, when the centurion at the cross says, "Truly this man was a Son of God," it is understood to imply that Jesus was divine. On the other hand, the "Son of Man" might be only the first of the angels -- as he appears to be in one or two other passages in early Christian literature -- the view refuted at the beginning of the Epistle to Hebrews.(Perhaps especially significant if the Epistle to Hebrews was a Roman document. A similar view is found in The Shepherd of Hermas, which certainly was Roman. See also the Ascension of Isaiah.)

Now what Mark sets out to do, on the basis of the current tradition, already and indeed from the beginning interpreted by faith on the basis of experience, is to show that Jesus, instead of becoming Messiah at his resurrection, was already Messiah during his earthly life. As Johannes Weiss put it, in his comment upon Mark 1:1, "Mark adds the divine title with which Jesus is honored in the Gentile Christian communities, ‘Son of God.’ This is more than a casual addition; the real aim of the writing that follows is to show that this name, which the community had given the Risen and Exalted One, was already proper to the earthly Jesus of Nazareth." ("Die Schriften des Neuen Testaments (2nd ed.), I, 68.) This goes a step beyond the primitive faith, as set forth in Paul’s letter to the Romans -- Mark’s own church ! -- some years before. Paul was writing to Christians whom he had never seen, but expected soon to see, and he sets forth the common faith which he is sure they already hold -- "the gospel of God,( See Mark 1:14 -- though the text may originally have read, "the gospel of the Kingdom of God," as in the A. V.) which he promised beforehand through his prophets in the sacred writings,

concerning his Son,

who was born of the seed of David [as far as his

human nature went],

but who was marked out as the Son of God with

power [by the holy Spirit]

through resurrection from the dead --

Jesus Christ our Lord." (Rom. 1:2-4.)

This creedlike passage sets forth the primitive faith, which was taken for granted and then further built upon by Paul, and shared by him -- so he implies -- with all Christians everywhere: Jesus became Son of God, Messiah, by the power of the Spirit at his resurrection from the dead. But Mark goes beyond this: Jesus was already Son of God before his death and resurrection, in fact from the day of his baptism, when the heavenly Voice had proclaimed,

"You are my Son, my Beloved!

You are my Chosen!"(Mark 1:11) (Goodspeed)

The proclamation had been repeated at the Transfiguration, addressed now not to Jesus himself but to the three intimate disciples,

"This is my Son, my Beloved.

Listen to him." (Mark 9:7) (Goodspeed)

Some scholars think the transfiguration story was originally an account of one of the resurrection appearances -- the first one, to Peter in Galilee after his flight from Jerusalem and return to Galilee.(See Morton S. Enslin, "The Date of Peter’s Confession," in Quantulacumque (1937), pp. 117.22; also S. V. McCasland, "Peter’s Vision of the Risen Christ," Journal of Biblical Literature, 47:41-59.) Whether this be so or not, it is certainly for Mark, and for the other evangelists, an anticipation of "the glory of his resurrection." In fact the conclusion of the preceding section in Mark suggests this, since it points forward to this scene with the words, "I tell you, some of you who stand here will certainly live to see the reign of God come in its might." (Mark 9:1 [Goodspeed])

The way in which Mark interprets the earthly life of Jesus is messianic; Jesus became Messiah not at his resurrection but at his baptism. The later evangelists press the origin back to a still earlier point. He was "born King of the Jews,(Matt. 2:2) or he was announced even before his birth to be "holy, and the Son of God."(Luke 1:35.) John goes farther still, and indeed the farthest distance possible :("Though the later creeds do go even farther in exalting the Son’s relation to the Father, since Arianism could accept John 1 -- interpreting it by Prov. 8.) Jesus was the Incarnate Word, who had been with God from "the beginning" and now at last had be. come flesh and dwelt upon earth.(John 1:14.) Step by step, the growing doctrine or theology of the church pressed the origin of Jesus’ heavenly Messiahship, of his divine nature, back to the very confines of time and place, and then beyond. It was Mark who began this process of transvaluation, as far as we can make out at this distance, by insisting that Jesus became Messiah at his baptism -- though perhaps the evangelic tradition had already received this interpretation in the Roman community, or even, earlier still, in Palestine or in the early Gentile church.("See the "hymn" in Phil. 2:6-11, and note Paul’s doctrine of Christ’s pre-existence. If the "hymn" is earlier than Paul, and hence quoted by him, it may even have been Roman in origin.)

The probability seems to be that it was Mark who of untold inaugurated the process("Although Paul, for example, assumes that Christ was pre-existent, that he "came" or "was sent" (e.g. Gal. 4:4), and that the title "Messiah" or "Christ," that is, Son of God, was rightfully his during his earthly life-though for Paul the word "Christ" is less a title than a personal name -- still Paul thinks of his earthly life as chiefly the scene of his suffering, death, and resurrection, not of his messianic career. For Paul, Jesus’ messianic career still begins with the Resurrection -- so primitive is the real basis of Paul’s thought. He never once intimates that Jesus wrought miracles or "mighty works," or that foregleams of his messianic glory were apparent at his baptism or transfiguration, let alone his birth. See Martin Brisckner, Die Entstehung der Paulimschen Christologie (1903); also Henry Beach Carré, Paul’s Doctrine of Redemption (1914). How Paul’s faith -- or Mark’s-was related to the Kyrios faith of early Gentile Christianity, for example at Antioch, we do not know. As far as we know, it was Mark who first applied the idea of conscious Messiahship to Jesus’ earthly life.) -- one of untold moment for all later Christian faith, devotion, and doctrine! Yet it was a simple step to take. If Jesus was now the risen, glorified Lord, soon to return as Judge of all mankind, he must have known what his destiny was to be, even while he walked upon the earth and healed and taught, and when he died he must have foreseen his heavenly office; moreover, if he foresaw it all, how could he fail to act the part? Must he not already have been Messiah, and not merely Messiah-designate, Messiah-elect, while he lived upon earth? Not only was his Messiahship after the Resurrection the greatest disproof of the charges against him, the most powerful vindication of his claims, and the most complete victory over his enemies; his Messiah-ship before the Resurrection shows that he must have accepted defeat and death voluntarily, as the will of God and as the means to the realization of God’s purposes. There was something divine, then, rather than anything ignominious, about such a death! It followed naturally, as in the lines of the Philippian hymn:

He chose renunciation,

obedient to death,

to the death upon the cross.(Phil. 2:8)

Prophetic scripture had foretold it: Jesus knew the Scriptures, and he had willed to accept all that was in store for him.(Mark 9:12; cf. John 19:28). So death had not come upon him unawares; he had foreseen it, perhaps from the beginning, and he had told his disciples repeatedly that he must die -- in fact, at three different times he had foretold his death in detail.(The three passion announcements, Mark 8:31; 9:31; 10:33-34; see also 12:8; 14:8, 21, 27, 41.) He had been no victim of the blind hatred and jealousy of the Jerusalem authorities; instead he had marched as a victor to the fray, conscious of his strength and certain of eventual triumph.

Of course this interpretation runs counter to some phases of the old tradition. Mark himself pictures the dismay of his followers as they went toward Jerusalem ;(Mark 10:32) if Professor Turner was right, there is pictured too the strain and tension that filled Jesus’ own mind as he advanced at the head of his band of disciples. There is also the story of the agony in the garden,(Mark 14:32-42.) perhaps a secondary element in the passion narrative but so old a tradition that an echo of it is found even outside the Gospels, in the Epistle to Hebrews.(Heb. 5:7-8. it is noteworthy that John omits the incident though even he has echoes of it -- not the "Jesus wept" of 11:35 but the "Now is my soul troubled" of 12:27.) But in principle is was a historical interpretation; to say the very least, Jesus could not have gone up to Jerusalem, the very stronghold of his enemies, unaware of the dangers he should encounter there.

It is significant that Mark’s interpretation of Jesus’ earthly Messiahship -- that is, of his Messiahship realized even during his earthly ministry -- takes the form it does. As we have seen, the interpretation is completely bound up with the doctrine of the "Son of Man." Even though the title "Son of God" is used in the account of the Baptism, presumably the origin of Jesus’ Messianic consciousness -- as many modern scholars interpret the passage -- nevertheless the whole idea of his acceptance of death is formulated in terms of the heavenly Man who has power and authority upon earth,(Mark 2:10, 28) who fulfills what is written of him, who dies and rises again, and is to come in glory as the supreme advocate or judge.(Mark 8:38; 13:26 f., etc.) And it is closely related to the conception of his followers’ duty of witnessing and, if necessary, of dying for him and his gospel which we find set forth in the central section, "the Way of the Cross." As Bishop Rawlinson again quotes from Johannes Weiss, "He only can understand the secret of the Cross who has disposed himself towards service, humility, renunciation, suffering, and martyrdom."(Commentary, p. liii; cf. Weiss, History of Primitive Christianity, II, 694. See also The Growth of the Gospels, pp. 154 ff.; D. W. Riddle, The Gospels, Their Origin and Growth (1939), pp. 140 ff.) The words might almost come from the Theologia Germanica or The Imitation of Christ, but they are surely true of the Gospel of Mark. For Mark’s interpretation of the life of Jesus as the career of the heavenly Son of Man, walking about Galilee incognito, dying and rising again, is the theology of a martyr church; and like all vital theology it is in closest relation to the daily life of those who thought it and believed it. Jesus had not intended to be the Jewish Messiah of popular hopes.(See The Gospel of the Kingdom, p. 154.) Here again the old tradition, at one stage of its development, ran counter to his theory; for Jesus had accepted the shouts of acclamation at his triumphal entry into Jerusalem.(Mark 11:9-10.) In fact, Mark appears to think that Jesus himself planned the demonstration.(Mark 11:1-7.) And there are other suggestions of earthly, that is, nationalistic Jewish, Messiahship to be found in the old tradition -- more fully elaborated in the other Gospels, especially, as we have seen, in Luke. But what does that prove? Only that Mark did not go through his Gospel and erase everything that conflicted with the interpretation set forth in the central section, and especially in the passion announcements. Are all theologians consistent? And let us remember, Mark was not a theologian, nor even trying to be one!

The evidence for Jesus’ Messiahship during his earthly career is further strengthened by the explicit cries of the demons, who "knew him,"(Mark 1:34) and by the confession of Peter (Mark 8:29) -- which now moves back from the first resurrection appearance(I Cor. 15:5; Luke 24:34; etc.) to become the first affirmation of faith in Jesus as Messiah while upon earth. But the interpretation faces certain difficulties. Why was it, if the disciples believed in Jesus’ Messiahship, and had been repeatedly forewarned of his impending fate, that they all forsook him and fled at the time of his arrest? (Mark 14:50.) And if Judas knew of Jesus’ claim to be Messiah, why was this testimony not produced against Jesus at his examination before the high priest? Mark answers these objections, and solves the problem, with his theory of the messianic secret. Jesus had silenced the demons when they acknowledged his divine superiority and called him "the Holy One of God."(Mark 1:24) He had forbidden his disciples to make known his Messiahship to anyone.(Mark 8:30.) The Transfiguration was to be kept a secret until after the Resurrection.(Mark 9:9.) And when he went through Galilee on his way to Judea, he did not wish anyone to know it.(Mark 9:30).

Ever since the publication in 1903 of Wilhelm Wrede’s famous book on this subject, The Messianic Secret in the Gospels, scholars have been compelled to take seriously the thesis it set forth, namely, that the whole conception of the secret Messiahship is an intrusion into the tradition, either read into it by Mark or at a late pre-Marcan stage in the development of the tradition, and not really consonant with the story of Jesus as it was handed down in the earliest Christian circles. The very notion that it was a secret to be kept until after the Resurrection seems to betray it as a later insertion -- like the interpretation of Jesus’ words about the temple found in John 2:21-22. We cannot at this point deal fully with the theory.(See my "Note on Christology" Frontiers of Christian Thinking [1935]). But enough has been said to indicate that in principle the thesis must be accepted. Yet it would not be true to limit Mark’s contribution -- or interpretation -- to his theory of the messianic secret.(See Martin Werner, Der Einfluss paulinischer Theologie im Mark-usevangelium [1923], discussed in chap ix.) It is subsidiary to his whole interpretation of the life of Jesus as already Messiah while upon earth, and long before his resurrection. And his theory of the secret, like his theory of the parables as purposely meant to mystify those who heard them, (Mark: 4-11) and his theory of a divine judgment upon the Jews causing them to be blind to Jesus’ true calling and mission (perhaps a Pauline idea,(Cf. Rom. 9-11, esp. 11:25) but more probably pre-Pauline(Cf. Acts 3:17.) and likewise also his theory of a super-natural restraint upon the disciples(Mark 14:40; cf. 9:6.) so that they could not keep their eyes open (a Hellenistic concept, with many parallels in ancient literature!) -- all these theories are subsidiary to his main thesis, and are thrown up in order to forestall objections to it. If Jesus was already Messiah during his earthly career, why was he not recognized as Messiah? The answer is, he was recognized, even by the demons, who had supernatural insight, and by his disciples, through faith; and yet the disciples were forbidden to declare it, and the demons were silenced; and if the Jews as a whole did not recognize him, it was because their eyes too were "holden," and because they were already bringing upon themselves a judgment for their sins. Here was a mystery, a divine mystery, God’s secret purpose: since the Son of Man had to die,(Mark 8:31; 14:21.) as in the denouement of some ancient tragedy the forces at work were now furthered, now hindered, until God’s ends were achieved. "Thus God’s purpose prevailed," as Homer might have put it: .(Iliad A. 5.) So even Euripides might have celebrated the divine mystery and its unfolding:

Great treasure halls hath Zeus in heaven,

From whence to man strange dooms be given,

Past hope or fear.

And the end men looked for cometh not,

And a path is there where no man thought:

So hath it fallen here.

(Medea, final chorus, tr. Gilbert Murray.)

That is how Mark ponders and wrestles with and finally solves the problem: Christ had to die -- it was the divine decree -- but Christ voluntarily accepted his death, as "for many"; and the characters in the tragedy all express, the events in the story all serve, this one overmastering purpose.

The question will now be asked, What does this type of literary criticism do to the historicity of the Gospel? In answer, let me say that it seems to set the original tradition before us more clearly than ever in its pure and pristine simplicity and power. And it recognizes a principle which all New Testament research steadily and inescapably forces upon us, namely, that all history is interpretation. No history is ever produced or preserved in a vacuum. What we have in the New Testament is no barren transcript of stenographic records, but a series of rich, human, inspired interpretations. In the second place, the New Testament is a book of faith -- of a faith still living and real, whose formulations are partly historical, partly superhistorical, partly visible and open, partly hid in the depths of personal religious experience. And it is certainly possible to share this faith without repeating the identical language in which it was first formulated. That lesson is involved in the history of all the creeds and their interpretation, in the history of our hymns and liturgies, of all our sacred books and their interpretation. We too know Christ as Master and Savior and Lord, though we may no longer use some of the terms which the early Christians used, or though we may use them in a somewhat different sense, inasmuch as the ideas originally conveyed by them are no longer familiar and natural. If, for example, we no longer expect Christ to return upon the clouds of heaven to hold the Last Judgment, as the heavenly Son of Man of the old Aramaic-speaking communities in Palestine, we do not honor or reverence or even worship him any the less. And the reason for this is simple: Jesus was not less than the Jewish Messiah, or than the apocalyptic "Son of Man" seen in visions and dreams by his worshipers ;(Rev. 1-13; Acts 7:56; etc.) he was -- and is -- in fact far more.(See the quotation from T. R. Glover in The Gospel of the Kingdom, p. 139.) What the early Christian believers and writers, for example Mark, tried to do was apply to him the highest conceivable categories, human and divine; but in the end these all proved inadequate, as the later church soon discovered; for Jesus means more, was more, and is more than any of these categories could convey.

It is of the very first importance to recognize that the study of New Testament theology involves more than an understanding of the terms and concepts used by the earliest Christians, both in the Palestinian milieu and also in the great world outside Palestine, the field of the growing Gentile mission. True, the concepts, and the terms used to express them, are of great importance, especially for the later history of doctrine; and we are not likely to minimize them if we view New Testament theology as Book One or perhaps Chapter One in the History of Christian Doctrine. Nor are we likely to minimize their importance, in view of our difficulty in comprehending them! But there is far more to New Testament theology, and specifically to the theology of Mark, than this; for we must take into account the motives that lay behind the choice and use of the concepts. Chief among them all was the religious motive of attributing to Christ a character adequate to account for what men discovered in him through their own personal experience. The new life in Christ, the consequent transformation of all their hopes and expectations, the sense of fresh power to achieve the hitherto impossible, the vital awareness of the change which had been effected in their relations with God, the confidence of sin forgiven and of restoration to divine favor, the "joy in the holy Spirit," and confident looking forward to great events still to come, and soon, as the result of Christ’s exaltation at God’s right hand and of his promised coming as Redeemer and Judge -- all this lies behind the choice and the use of technical terms or concepts borrowed, first of all, from current Jewish messianism. The doctrines of the New Testament of course require a theological interpretation, at the proper time, and before that a historical interpretation, explaining their relation to one another and to the beliefs held commonly by Jews and by Gentiles in the first century; but even prior to the historical interpretation must come the psychological. By that I do not mean an explanation which does away with the doctrines, but one that shows how they are related to the actual experience of men, to the new stream of religious vitality which flowed into the world through the apostolic community of those who first followed Jesus of Nazareth and "hoped that it was he who should redeem Israel."

There is considerable diversity in the theological outlook, conceptions, and terminology of the New Testament writers; as Canon Streeter pointed out, there are at least seven distinct theologies or patterns of theological thinking in the New Testament. But these patterns are not in chronological order, in the New Testament as it stands, nor can they be set in strict chronological order by any process of reconstruction. They were not successive stages in development; they overlap; some began early and continued late, while others were of briefer duration; some began simultaneously, and only a few survived. What we see taking place is, in this respect, what normally takes place in every course of development -- biological, social, and intellectual.( The evolution of natural species affords an interesting illustration of the process.) It is the normal expression of change, everywhere in the world-whether it is always progress, or improvement, is of course another question. But there is also unity as well as variety in the theology of the New Testament. And this unity finds its center, not in an authoritative body of opinions, beliefs, or principles, like the dogmata of the ancient philosophical schools, nor in an authoritative creed or confession, as in the later church. The unity of the New Testament is the unity of life itself -- that life which flowed from the risen, exalted Christ through the Spirit, and held the Christians together as one body, the Body of Christ, as Paul called it, nourished and vitalized from its common Head, to continue the figure.(Eph. 4:16.) In a word, the unity of the New Testament theology is a religious unity, derived from its fundamental and original motivation, not from the language or the ideas commonly used to set forth its convictions, inferences, and beliefs.

The factors of chief importance in the development of this theology were: (a) the Old Testament -- and Judaism -- (b) the tradition of religious thought in the Hellenistic world, (c) the earliest Christian experience of Christ and conviction about his person, mission, and nature -- this soon became the tradition of the faith or the "true doctrine" -- and (d) the living, continuous, ongoing experience of Christ -- only in theory to be distinguished from the preceding -- in worship, in preaching, in teaching, in open proclamation and confession, as the manifestation of the present Spiritual Christ within his church. None of these factors can be overlooked, even though the last is the most important and most decisive. In a sense, the development of New Testament doctrine was a ‘‘dialectical’’ process -- not only in the sense often maintained, that each writer, or each apostle, contributed something to the current dialogue or discourse of Christians about Christ, each in agreement with every other. There was tension, disagreement, debate -- as in the famous controversy over the Jewish Law. There was also tension between positive affirmations on the same side, as between John’s conception of the miracles or of the Messiahship of Jesus, for example, and Paul’s conception -- or Mark’s. I am using the term "dialectic" in its ancient and etymological sense, and it seems appropriate to describe the process by this word; for instead of an aprioristic, deductive method of procedure, the process was one of answering questions and objections as they arose, not in anticipation, and not as the unfolding, more geometrico, of a system implicit within a body of axioms or first principles which one needed only accept and then all the rest followed logically to the final Q.E.D. There are systems of theology like that -- probably every theology developed as a system is like that -- but the New Testament theology is not one of them. Some questions were never raised, and therefore were never answered, in the New Testament; some areas of religious thought were never entered -- for example, cosmology, where the traditional Jewish doctrine was tacitly assumed, though there may be traces of Hellenistic or older pagan concepts in one or two passages.

The problem, then, is to get back of all these "dialectical" tendencies and developments in the thinking of the early church to the one which antedates them all. This must be done if we are to locate Mark’s point of emergence in the process, and to assess its influence and importance. The earliest type of Christian doctrine in the New Testament is without doubt that reflected in the sources underlying Acts 1- 12 -- whatever the date of the writing of Luke-Acts. The conception of Christ, his mission, office, person, and nature, reflected in these chapters is the one required to explain the later developments of Christology -- and it scarcely needs mentioning that the earliest Christian theology was essentially a Christology; this was the new, specific, distinctive Christian teaching. But is even this conception the very earliest? May it not be an advance upon some still earlier stage? I should say it is the earliest of which we have any trace, and further that it is hard to see how any simpler or more primitive conception could have resulted in a new departure in religious doctrine, with the total result that not only the New Testament but all early Christian theology makes evident. If the earliest conception of Jesus had been something less than that reflected in Acts 1-12, Christianity would perhaps never have arisen as a religion distinct from the Jewish. As Johannes Weiss described it in his famous Book I of The History of Primitive Christianity, this doctrine centered in the belief that Jesus rose from the dead as the glorified, heavenly Messiah. This doctrine recognized that his death was "for our sins as Paul also states, in summing up the traditional doctrine (1 Cor. 15:3.) -- but there is no doctrine of the Atonement, as yet. The belief in Christ’s resurrection, that is, his exaltation, is based, not upon any report of the open tomb -- which came later -- but upon the visions of the earliest witnesses; the technical term for their experience is the very one () used in the Old Testament and elsewhere to tell of heavenly appearances, "epiphanies," and visions. (Though to call them visions" is to emphasize unduly the subjective element in the experience, and to raise a whole series of modern questions. The earliest tradition says only, "He appeared to Cephas . . . ." and to others. There was absolutely no question whatsoever of the objective reality of the one who appeared thus in "vision." (I should like to repeat the note which I inserted in Weiss’s History of Primitive Christianity, 1, 28: "If we are to conceive of a spiritual ‘body,’ it must nevertheless be completely ‘spiritual.’ Objectivity and spirituality are not opposed, save in relation to the ordinary range of our organs of sense. ‘Objective’ is used here in the sense of external to our minds, not our bodies.") It was not even certain when, precisely, the first appearance took place, whether "on the third day" or, more probably, "after three days" -- the tradition varies, as Weiss points out. The idea of the Ascension after a long interval, say forty days, is a very late conception, not reflected anywhere in the earliest tradition. The earliest view -- reflected even in John 20:17 -- is either that Jesus ascended at once, or that his resurrection was his ascension and exaltation.(Luke 24:50, 51 is a later modification of this view.) Those who first saw him risen from the dead saw him in glory -- Paul draws no distinction between his own vision of the glorified Christ and the form in which he had appeared earlier to others.

It was this conviction, which lay at the heart of the oldest Christian tradition, that Mark took for granted when he advanced the further step of assuming, and endeavoring to demonstrate, that Jesus was already Messiah, already the "Son of Man," during his earthly life, and before his death and resurrection. Not only, as we have seen, did the disciples suspect it -- though forbidden to speak of it until later -- but the demons, with supernatural insight, recognized him; and at the Baptism and the Transfiguration there were visible foregleams of his coming glorification. Now this type of christological advance was followed by the later Synoptists -- though not without survivals of the older view found in some of their other sources. It was also followed by John,("Whether or not he knew the Gospel of Mark. See P. Gardiner-Smith, St. John and the Synoptic Gospels (1938), a very convincing argument for "John’s" complete independence of the Synoptics.) who carefully lists the seven great "signs" by which Jesus manifested his divine "glory" during his earthly ministry -- though for some reason John has not one word about the exorcism of demons. It was also, obviously, followed by the later theology of the church -- all the way to Pope Leo’s Tome and the Creed of Chalcedon. But it was not followed by all writers of the New Testament. Paul -- who of course antedates Mark -- takes his departure from an earlier type of doctrine, according to which Jesus was no doubt the Christ during his earthly life, but secretly; his "glory" he laid aside, temporarily, when he became man, and he resumed it when raised from the dead "by the glory of God the Father; ( Rom. 6:4.) not even the demons recognized him in his true nature, else they would never have put to death the Lord of glory ;(I Cor. 2:8.) his crucifixion was not their victory but their defeat. Nor does Paul suggest anywhere that Jesus had wrought miracles, least of all exorcisms of demons; nor does he refer to him as the "Son of Man." A similar view to that of Paul and of the primitive community is set forth in the creedlike passage of First Peter.

Christ . . . . suffered for sins once,

the righteous for the unrighteous,

that he might bring us to God;

being put to death in the flesh,

but made alive in the spirit.(I Pet. 3:18.)

Now Paul’s theology must be studied as a Jewish theology modified by the conception of Jesus as the Risen Messiah; that is, it was a Jewish theology -- of the high Pharisaic type, in some respects; in others, quite unPharisaic, and making much use of apocalyptic conceptions, as Bruckner and others have shown -- and to this Jewish theology was added the new, distinctive, transforming conviction that the Messiah was none other than the lowly Jesus, dead, raised to glory, and soon to come again. This is what gave Paul’s theology its distinctiveness -- and the heart and core of it was derived from the primitive community, not perhaps at Jerusalem but more probably at one of the new outposts of Hellenistic Christianity, in Damascus or in Antioch.(This is one of the main presuppositions of Wilhelm Bousset’s Kyrios Christos (3rd ed., 1926). There have been many criticisms of the details of Bousset’s argument; the main thesis seems to me to be established. However, I should want to modify the statement of it in some respects; see my "Form Criticism and the Christian Faith," Journal of Bible and Religion, 7(1939)9-17; and a final "Note," ibid., 7:177-80.) Its distinction from Mark’s theology is not its origin, but its point of departure -- perhaps from an earlier level than Mark’s -- and its transcendental or metaphysical development, which in the end left that of Mark far behind, though chronologically Mark is some years later than Paul.

At the same time it must be recognized, as we have already observed, that Mark’s theology likewise went back to the primitive tradition for its basic structure. The underlying tradition in the Gospel of Mark, and its view of Jesus, is fundamentally Palestinian -- this all historical critics now recognize. It also, then, is a Jewish theology, modified by the conception of Jesus as the "Son of Man"; but it is not the same type of Judaism, that is, of Christian Judaism, that Paul presupposes. It seems to reflect, not the full Hellenistic conception of Jesus as "Lord," nor the Judean conception of him as the "Messiah, the King of Israel," but the Galilean view of him as the "Son of Man," a conception which, as Lohmeyer maintains, was probably current in the north, where the Enoch, Noah, and Daniel sagas had their greatest currency and perhaps their origin.(See Chap. vi above, "Jerusalem or Galilee?") One of the most important steps in the development of primitive Christian doctrine, and by far the most important for the tradition embodied in Mark and the Synoptics, took place when Jesus was identified with this celestial figure of apocalyptic expectation. It may have been a second step, following the first which identified Jesus with the Messiah -- a view held more firmly in the south -- or it may indeed have been the very first step, direct and immediate, from the appearance of the risen Jesus to the inference that he was now the anticipated heavenly figure of Daniel’s vision, as currently interpreted. It may, in fact, as many believe, go back to Jesus’ own self-identification, though this seems more than doubtful, or to Jesus’ own words about the coming heavenly "Man," with whom his followers now identified him. Whatever its origin -- and I myself agree with Wellhausen and others in attributing the identification to the primitive Christian community, as their least inadequate and only possible term for one who was thus both human and divine and yet not God (which would have been unthinkable in their realm of ideas) -- whatever its origin, this first great step in the advance of Christology was of endless significance for the later development of Christian doctrine, and it was of paramount importance for the Gospel of Mark. It at once provided the author with a clue to his quest: the hidden, secret "Son of Man" was the Messiah living incognito -- or practically incognito -- during his earthly life, and yet in truth already the divine being whom all Christian faith acknowledged as the head of his community since the Resurrection. But it also set him his problem: How could Christ remain unknown? Above all, how could he have been put to death? The former question he answers with his theory of the messianic secret; the second brings us to the Marcan passion narrative.

Chapter 6: Jerusalem or Galilee?

Galiläa und Jerusalem," by Ernst Lohmeyer, is a study of the Jerusalemite and Galilean traditions of the resurrection. It grew out of the author’s work upon the Synoptic Gospels and appeared as a prolegomenon to his commentary on Mark, which was published a year later, in 1937. The study leads to a number of conclusions which are of cardinal importance for the interpretation of the Gospels, especially of Mark.(R.H. Lightfoot called the attention of English and American students to this work in his Locality and Doctrine in the Gospels (1938), chiefly to its contribution toward solving his problem of the conclusion of Mark.)

Its main thesis is that there were two main centers of primitive Christianity in Palestine, one in Jerusalem, the other in Galilee. This is, of course, very different from the ordinary view, according to which there was no early church in Galilee: Jesus’ work there came to naught, and the Twelve -- or rather, the Eleven -- removed from Galilee to Jerusalem either soon before or soon after the day of Pentecost. The late Professor Burkitt, in his little book Christian Beginning: (1924), advocated this view in all seriousness, improbable as it seems upon a further reconsideration of the evidence and especially in the light of Professor Lohmeyer’s interpretation. It is not at all probable that Jesus’ work in Galilee left no trace behind, especially if, as some of us hold, his following was much greater than even the Gospels assume.(A point which I have attempted to argue in The Gospel of the Kingdom [1940]) Their interests are very largely centered upon the apostles, but at the same time the surviving tradition within them makes it clear that Jesus’ influence upon the populace of Galilee resulted in "multitudes" following him about and hanging upon his words.

It is true that Galilee is omitted in the list of stages in the expanding mission field of the early church set forth in Acts 1:8; but this is to be explained, according to Professor Lohmeyer, by the hypothesis that Galilee was already terra Christiana, as the result of the work of Jesus himself. On the other hand, Mark 16:7, "He goeth before you into Galilee," presupposes that Galilee, not Jerusalem, was to be the center of the messianic Kingdom, the location of the Parousia of the Son of Man. It would seem that Jerusalem was the center of expectation in the more or less nationalistic messianic hope which Luke takes for granted; and it is certainly obvious that Luke assumes that primitive Christianity set out from Jerusalem upon its career of world expansion -- his second volume might be entitled, "From Jerusalem to Rome." But the "Son of Man" eschatology, as distinguished from that which centered in the conception of the "Messiah," was a northern product, as we may gather from the books of Enoch.(See Chaim Kaplan, "Angels in the Book of Enoch," Anglican Theological Review, 12 (1930): 423-37; "The Pharisaic Character and the Date of the Book of Enoch," ibid., 12:531-37. Even Daniel may have been north. em; see G. A. Barton, "Daniel, Pre-Israelite Hero of Galilee," Journal of Biblical Literature, 60:213-25.) It was non-nationalistic and universal, transcendental rather than political. And it presupposed, in its Christian form, no particular ecclesiastical theory, as did the Christology of Luke. Finally, Galilee -- or Deccapolis -- was the home of Jesus’ family after the destruction of Jerusalem; and accordingly, so Lohmeyer assumes, his brethren carried on missionary work there for some time, although later on we find James residing in Jerusalem and presiding over the church in Judea.

This is a very interesting thesis and deserves careful consideration. Some problems, of course, still stand in the way. For one thing, if Galilee was terra Christiana, how are we to account for the woes upon the Galilean towns which we find in Q? And is o unquestionably used by Mark in the sense of "precede" rather than "lead"?(Mark 14:28; 16:7; see Johannes Weiss’s commentary on 14:28 in ed. 8 of Meyer (1892); also his History of Primitive Christianity, I, 14 ff.) Furthermore, in view of Luke’s geographical terminology in both the Gospel and Acts, is it so certain that Galilee is not included in Acts 1:8? He sometimes uses "Judea" for the whole Jewish-populated territory of Palestine.(E.g., Luke 6:17; 7:17; 23:5.) "All Judea and Samaria" probably means "all Palestine, both Jewish and non-Jewish territory."

In view of the scarcity of the historical evidence, it is surely legitimate to indulge in hypothetical reconstruction of the provenance of the tradition, even though much of the hypothesis, brilliant and attractively presented as it is, remains a matter of speculation -- that is, it is an interpretation of the surviving evidence rather than a discovery of further evidence. It does help us to see how the tradition continued to circulate -- and to grow -- in the period between the Crucifixion and the composition of the Gospel of Mark. It may be well, then, to attempt to sum up the chief contributions which Lohmeyer’s little book throws upon our study of the tradition.

The book begins with a clear recognition of the difference between the resurrection narratives in Luke 24 and John 20 on the one hand and those in Matthew 28, John 21, and what must be presupposed as the tradition underlying Mark on the other hand. These divergent traditions no doubt point back to different localities of origin and transmission. Johannes Weiss dismissed the Galilean tradition as an old error of Mark, but this solution is inadequate. It does not account for the existence of traditions which point specifically in the direction of Galilee. Mediating views, which maintain that Peter saw the Lord in Galilee but immediately returned to Jerusalem, likewise fail to recognize the possibility of a Galilean tradition. It is much more likely, Lohmeyer maintains, that the Galilean community looked upon itself as the future center of the Kingdom of God. Galilee, rather than Jerusalem, was the land of revelation and of promise. Jesus’ words to the disciples in Mark 14:28 and 16:7 presuppose that the Parousia will take place in Galilee and, presumably, that it will be the dawning point of the New Age.(This holds true even if, as some believe, these two verses are glosses upon Mark or late additions to the pre-Marcan tradition. Their point of view certainly centers in Galilee. See my "Studies in the Text of St. Mark," Anglican Theological Review, 20:103 ff.) The same presupposition seems to underlie -- but more remotely -- the accounts of the Resurrection in Matthew and in John 21.

Accordingly, the Galilean appearances are to be distinguished from those in Jerusalem not simply by external circumstances of time or place or persons concerned ;(P. 23.) instead, entirely divergent theological developments of primitive Christianity are involved. No Galilean narrative undertakes to prove the actuality or the scriptural authority of the Resurrection. Indeed, Matthew even notes that "some still doubted."(Matt. 28:17.) It was the evangelist Mark who preserved in purest form the expectation that the Parousia was to take place in Galilee, and he did not water down this expectation by a description of actual appearances of Jesus. On the other hand, the Lucan narrative undertakes to prove that all this was in accordance with the scripture, including the prediction that Christ would rise on the third day, and it is concerned with the spread of this message among all peoples.(Luke 24:25-27, 44-49.) Lohmeyer sets forth this distinction in epigrammatic style: The Galilean story presupposes the doctrine Kyrios Jêsous, Jesus is Lord; the Jerusalemite presupposes the other, Christos Jêsous, Jesus is Christ.

He now goes back and discusses the relation between Galilee and Jerusalem in the ministry of Jesus. Galilee had become a Jewish territory once more, by the lifetime of Jesus; and although it still had a large gentile population, the dominant element in the population was a type of Jews who in their origin and in their religious outlook had strong affiliations with Jerusalem. In spite of certain scornful references to Galilee and Galileans, even within the New Testament, there are traces of a higher estimation. Shammai was a Galilean, and taught there; his rigorous views of marriage and those of Jesus are fairly similar. So also the repeated messianic outbursts in Galilee, culminating with Bar-Kochba in AD. 132, clearly point toward a genuinely Jewish religious loyalty on the part of the leading element in the population of Galilee.(See The Gospel of the Kingdom, chap. v, The Background of Jesus’ Message.")

Mark names Galilee a dozen times, and it is clear that he assumes Jesus made Capernaum his headquarters, the center of his ministry about the shores of the Galilean lake. This ministry, far from being a failure -- as Maurice Goguel(The Life of Jesus [1933], chap. xiii, "The Crisis on Galilee.") and other writers on the life of Christ have assumed -- was a great success. The account of Peter’s denial almost assumes it as self-evident that to be a Galilean and to be a follower of Jesus were identical.(Mark 14:70.) I think this is pressing the words too far -- but the idea may have been somewhere in the back of Mark’s mind. Further, according to Mark, Jesus goes to Jerusalem not to carry on a ministry there but only to die; Galilee is the scene of the beginning and the middle of his career, Jerusalem only of its end. Galilee is accordingly the "holy land" of the Gospel, the anticipated scene of the final eschatological fulfillment. This theory -- for theory it is, and it ignores some facts that even Mark relates, for example, that Jesus has friends in Bethany -- this theory really controls Mark’s narrative. The whole story of the ministry, as presented by Mark, begins with the announcement of the coming salvation in Galilee: here the eschatological gospel was to have its fulfillment, its final realization. It was in Galilee that Jesus undertook to gather together the outcasts of Israel, the lost sheep, and reunite the nation once more under its true King, as the "eschatological community." Here the Twelve were to be the heads of the New Israel. And the expectation still held good, even after Jesus’ death: if as a matter of fact it had not been realized during Jesus’ lifetime, and he had left Galilee to go to Jerusalem and die, this had only postponed the day of triumph, the final consummation; presently he would return, and the Parousia would take place in Galilee. This was the outlook of the primitive Galilean community, and it is reflected in its tradition; the later view, which centers in Jerusalem, or even in a world-wide manifestation of Christ in glory, is the result of later reflection and editorial revision. The oldest tradition bears the stamp of Galilee -- and Galilee is the anticipated center of the Kingdom of God upon earth.

All this throws light upon the Marcan presentation of the life of Jesus. The apostles are not chosen in Jerusalem -- they have nothing to do with the capital city, now in the hands of the Romans. The Transfiguration, the preliminary appearance or epiphany of the Son of Man in glory, takes place not in Jerusalem -- contrast Malachi 3:1 and other prophecies -- but in a secret mountain fastness in the remote north, in Galilee, a land despised by men but graciously favored and chosen by God. It is true that Mark recognizes the existence of opposition to Jesus in Galilee but this is only because Mark is faithful to the tradition, in spite of his theory; and he notes that the opposition was inspired by "the scribes who came down from Jerusalem." (Mark 3:22.) The real center of opposition to Jesus is in Jerusalem, not Galilee -- and this, we may grant, is probably not only Mark’s theory, or Lohmeyer’s theory about Mark’s theory, but the historical actuality. If Jesus had been content to remain in Galilee he might never have gone to the cross. Why he went to Jerusalem belongs to the "superhistorical" motivation of the story. It is part of the divine plan: the Son of Man must suffer . . . . at Jerusalem, the city of sin and of death.(The same view reappears in the Apocalypse of John -- Rev. 11:8.) This is the point of the three mysterious passion announcements, (Mark 8:31; 10:32-34.) and of the secrecy of his movements after Caesarea Philippi. The preliminary vision, the foretaste of glory, has established the certainty of the future realization of his divine rule,(Mark 9:1.) What follows now is the divinely decreed process -- . . . . -- by which Jesus "dies and enters into his glory." That it was necessary is clear from the history: certainly (a) it took place, and certainly (b) it would not have taken place unless God had willed it; but (c) why it took place was as deep a mystery to Mark as it was to Paul or as it is to us. Somehow it was related to the ransoming of "the many"(Mark 3:22) -- that is as far as Mark goes toward a doctrine of atonement.(Cf. Mark 14:24.) Some scholars have seen in Mark the pattern of a Greek tragedy, and indeed with some probability.(See Ernest W. Burch, "Tragic Action in the Second Gospel," Journal of Religion, 11:346-58; Walter E. Bundy, "Dogma and Drama in the Gospel of Mark," New Testament Studies, ed. E. P. Booth [1942]; also, Henry Beach Carré, "The Literary Structure of the Gospel of Mark," Studies in Early Christianity, ed. S. J. Case [1928].) In that pattern, the course of the action from Caesarea to the still-anticipated Parousia leads on steadily to the grand katastrophê, resulting in the divine peripéteia :(On these terms, see Aristotle, Poetics 1452A, 1454B.) the Resurrection is an episode indispensable to the total action, but still an episode. For the Resurrection is the beginning of the great reversal, not the whole of it. That episode takes place at Jerusalem; but Galilee is still the scene of the main action, both past and future, for it is the place chosen by God for his own "eschatological work" and for the beginning and the center of the proclamation of the gospel.(P. 34.)

This Marcan scheme obviously rests upon a theological idea; and it is not strange if later Gospels, resting upon quite other theological convictions, have done violence to Mark, often without realizing it. And this conviction of Mark’s is also, obviously, connected with the idea of the Son of Man. Mark assumes that "the Son of Man" was the secret title which covered and hid within its shadowy folds the other name by which Christian faith more clearly expressed itself, namely "the Son of God."(P. 35.) In the other Gospels, this distinction is no longer maintained -- nor is the location of Jesus’ "manifestation of his glory." John specifically located this in Galilee, at Cana ;(John 2:11) but there is no attempt to limit the manifestation to the Transfiguration, as we might expect -- indeed Mark does not do so -- nor is it limited to Galilee: Jesus performs miracles repeatedly in Jerusalem and elsewhere outside Galilee.(Although Mark has only two miracles in Judea the healing of Bartimeus at Jericho (10:46-52) and the cursing of the figtree at Bethany (11:12-14,20) -- and none in Jerusalem.) Nevertheless, it is in one of the other Gospels, Matthew, that we find a clue to the basis of the eschatological estimate of Galilee -- the passage quoted from the Book of Isaiah:

Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali . . . .

In the latter time hath he made it glorious,

By the way of the sea,

Beyond the Jordan,

Galilee of the nations.

The people that walked in darkness

Have seen a great light;

They that dwelt in the land of the shadow of death,

Upon them hath the light shined.(Matt. 4:12-17, from Isa. 9:1-2)

This was the main text, so to speak, of Galilean eschatology, a prophecy of the cleansing of the territory from heathen defilement, and of the beginning of the New Age -- one thinks of a modern and somewhat remote parallel, the Bahaist "Dawning Point of the Praises of God." Here in Galilee the Sun of Righteousness is to dawn, "with healing in his wings." Here the Son of Man is to appear, "the dayspring from on high," the celestial judge and ruler of the world who was -- and is -- also a man among men, the holy among sinners, the sinless among the sinful, the light in the midst of darkness.(Cf. Matt. 28:18; 25:31-46.) The theology underlying Mark’s presentation is clearer from Matthew than it is from Mark, because Matthew uses the Old Testament far more; but the presentation of the Galilean theory is clearer from Mark, for he stands closer to the primitive stream of tradition than does Matthew. At the same time Matthew has combined the Kyrios conception with that of the Son of Man -- the title "Kyrios" is the one which later came to express openly all that the other had held back as a secret.(P.38.) But it is clear that Matthew at the same time preserves in full strength the conception of the Galilean location of the expected Parousia, though now the delay is occasioned not only by the episode of Jesus’ death at Jerusalem but also by the whole Gentile mission.(Matt. 28:19-20; cf. Mark 13:10.)

It is evident that John and Luke have each a totally different view of the course of Jesus’ ministry from that of Mark -- even though almost the whole of Mark is incorporated, under modification, in the Gospel of Luke. The real center of Jesus’ ministry in Luke is "Judea," that is, the Jewish-populated part of Palestine, without too much attention to geographical distinctions between Galilee, Samaria, and Judea proper. In John it is notorious that Judea, indeed Jerusalem, is Jesus’ headquarters, as Capernaum is in Mark. Indeed, one passage almost says that Judea -- or perhaps Samaria ? -- was Jesus’ native land: "After two days he went forth . . . . into Galilee. For Jesus himself testified that a prophet has no honor in his own country." (John 4: 43-44.) Here, in John and in Luke, we see the triumph of the age-old, inherited conception of the Jewish Messiah who must complete his work in Jerusalem, in utter disregard of the Galilean tradition which centered not only his ministry but also his coming Parousia in Galilee.

Thus emerged two different outlines of the life of Jesus, equally significant in their results upon the narration of the incidents of his biography and for the general theological presuppositions. They are most clearly recognizable in the Gospels of Mark and Luke. In Mark, Galilee is the main scene of Jesus’ activity; only here does he exorcise demons, which was his chief eschatological work; only here does he deliver an extended discourse to the people (chap. 4). And this situation is not only a historical fact but also a theological -- or, more accurately, an eschatological -- postulate: it rests upon the thought of Jesus as the Son of Man.(P. 45.)

As he is both the hidden and the revealed Son of Man, so likewise the eschatological significance of Galilee is both hidden and revealed. And as in the future he will be revealed "in power and glory" as the Son of Man, so also will Galilee be revealed as the land of eschatological fulfillment. That is the whole point of the saying: "He goes before you [that is, precedes you] into Galilee; there will you see him," as the manifested Lord and Judge. Matthew takes this concept and gives it an Old Testament basis, but he adds certain features to the Appearance in Galilee which are derived from the expectation of the Last Day. John acknowledges the significance of Galilee as a fact in the story of the Son of Man, but adds another feature, secret and sacred, the institution of the Supper,(John 6.) though his peculiar mode of presentation often obscures the significance of the topography. He also makes the shore of the Galilean lake the scene of Peter’s installation as "shepherd of Christ’s sheep" (John 21.) -- though the primitive conception of Jesus as the Son of Man is greatly weakened in John, since another conception, and title, take its place. Luke tells the story in such a way as to make the whole of Palestine the locale of Jesus’ ministry: as in Acts 10:37, the scene is "all Judea." (Cf. Luke 23-5.) Galilee is for Luke only the opening scene; the full development and climax of Jesus’ ministry is at Jerusalem, where also the resurrection appearances all take place. "And this biographical datum rests upon the eschatological conviction that Jesus is the lawful King of Israel, the restorer of the throne of his father David, the redeemer of Israel."(Pp. 45-46.)

It is this difference in theological outlook, according to Lohmeyer, which explains the alternation of Galilee and Jerusalem as the scene of the appearances of Jesus after his resurrection; and the probability is now enhanced and supported by his study of the traditions relating to the two centers in the apostolic church.(Chap. 4.) The Book of Acts naturally follows the Lucan scheme and carries out its underlying conviction: Jesus is the Christ, the Anointed, the true King of Israel; and the founding of the church, the spread of the gospel, the mission of the apostles must all take place in and start from the nation’s capital -- not from Galilee. Everyone recognizes that this ecclesiastical theory is dominant in Luke-Acts ;(See esp. Henry J. Cadbury, The Making of Luke-Acts [1927], and Burton S. Easton, The Purpose of Acts [1936]) no one heretofore has pointed out, as clearly as Lohmeyer does, how this theory ignores facts which even Luke himself has to admit -- the presence of disciples like Ananias in Damascus and the "old disciples" in Galilee.(Acts 9:10, 19b, 25; 21:4, 7, 8, 16,) Still further evidence is found in the traditions of the relatives of Jesus, the Despósynoi, recounted chiefly by Eusebius -- from Hegesippus, a second-century Palestinian, and from Julius Africanus, who lived in Palestine in the third century. Indeed, the fluctuating designation of the "Apostles," "the Twelve," "the Brethren of the Lord" may very likely go back to an interchange in leadership between Jerusalem and Galilee during the opening decades in the history of the new faith. And a later designation of the Christians as "Nazoraeans" (So Jerome on the fifth century -- see Guthe in PRE3, XIII, 677.) probably points back to a Galilean usage in the first century: the later term still points to the "Nazarenes" as the originators of the sect -- not as "from Nazareth," but as observers of the Nazirite vow as a duty, not merely as a work of merit.(P. 64.) Along with this went the term "Ebionim" -- not a later sect, but a name for the primitive Galilean Christians, who made poverty (ebionim means "the poor") a Christian duty.(See also the Epistle of James, and the reflection of this view, under modification, in the Book of Acts.) Jesus was still looked upon as the Son of Man, as the legend of the martyrdom of James makes clear. When asked by his persecutors, "What is the gate of Jesus ?" he replied, "Why do you ask me about the Son of Man? He sits in heaven at the right hand of the Power on high, and is to come on the clouds of heaven." (Eusebius, Eccl. Hist. 3. 23. 8-18.) Jesus is still the hidden Son of Man, as in Enoch,(En. 46:2-48:10.) and his Parousia will reveal him to the world in his true supernatural dignity and worth.

Thus a common Christology underlies all these fragments of old tradition regarding the martyr James, the Nazoraeans, and the descendants of the family of Jesus. . . . . Jesus is the eschatological Teacher, who upon the foundation of the sacred Jewish Law but with special commandments (relating to poverty and obedience) and with divine power leads his followers to the gates of the Kingdom of God; he is now exalted at the right hand of God, and is soon to come on the clouds of heaven" as the judge of all mankind.(P. 74.)

It is this Christology, with no reference to the Holy Spirit, and no outlook of world mission (though not opposed to the world mission), which lies behind the Galilean tradition -- very different from the richer and more colorful tradition of Jerusalem which Luke enshrined, with its emphasis upon Jesus’ Messiahship (as King of Israel), upon the Spirit, and upon the world mission of the church. The one is centered in the conviction that Jesus is Son of Man and Lord (Kyrios); the other in the conviction that he is the Messiah, the Redeemer of Israel -- and of the world.

On the basis of this hypothesis it is easy to see how the evangelic tradition received the form and emphasis it possesses in the Gospels. Instead of one uniform tradition, all from one point of view, there are different points of view and different resulting emphases. There is not one, and only one, "Christology of the Synoptic Gospels"; there are at least two-possibly three or four Christologies. And they reflect the convictions of those who handed down the tradition, in different localities -- certainly in two, Jerusalem and Galilee, probably in three or four, if we include Caesarea and Antioch, possibly in many more. The conclusion is inescapable that there was in general a twofold origin of the church, with two centers in Palestine from the lifetime of Jesus down at least to the war under Hadrian, in Galilee, and down to the war under Nero and later, in Judea -- and then on into the following centuries, when successive conquest and exodus scattered the little Christian communities far and wide, down to the Mohammedan conquest in the seventh century, and even to this day. There are Galilean Christians today who at least claim to be descended from early bishops, saints, and martyrs.

As we shall see, this hypothesis of Lohmeyer’s not only enables him to write the most penetrating of commentaries on the Gospel of Mark; it also enables us to reconstruct -- in further hypothesis of course, since hypothesis is all we can hope to achieve in this area -- to reconstruct one or two of the stages through which the gospel tradition passed before it reached Mark, the writer of the earliest account of what Jesus said and did.

The main result of Professor Lohmeyer’s investigation is to establish the probability that early Christian communities were found in Galilee, taking Galilee in the wide sense as extending east of the Jordan, north to include Mount Hermon, and northeast to include Damascus. "Of the early history of Christianity in this district we know little enough, but its existence is assured, from the period of the earliest proclamation of the gospel to the beginning of the second century; of its wide extent and strength we have the testimony of Origen in the third century, of Epiphanius in the fourth, and of Jerome in the fifth.(Ibid.) It was Jerome who copied "the Hebrew Gospel of Matthew" at Aleppo and wrote to Augustine that "to this day throughout all the Jewish synagogues of the east is spread that heresy which they generally call the Nazoraean. (Ep. 112. 13.) These Christian communities go back for their origin to the ministry of the Lord himself and his apostles and brethren, though the traditions of the apostles and brethren are very fragmentary. That there were martyrs among them seems clear from Hegesippus, quoted by Eusebius.(Eccl. Hist. 3. 32. 6.) Their missionary efforts in neighboring regions were not without success, though Galilee remained the center of this northern propaganda-only so can we explain the flight of the Jerusalem Christians thither shortly before the siege of the city in the year 68. Jerusalem was accordingly the second, not the first, center of the primitive church. As represented in Matthew -- not in Luke -- the great commission to evangelize the nations is delivered in Galilee, not in Jerusalem. Significantly, this legend was written down at a time when Jerusalem had in fact long been the actual center of Jewish Christianity.(P. 81.) How and when the transfer to Jerusalem took place we do not know; but it is clear that contact with Galilee was still maintained when the Gospel of Matthew was compiled. This inference, according to Lohmeyer, is further supported by the position of James, the Lord’s brother, in the Jerusalem community. It was because he came from Galilee, and was Jesus’ blood relation, that he was made head of the "apostles and elder brethren" at the capital.(See Acts 15.) These apostles were not missionaries, in Judea, but leaders of the Jerusalem church ;(Cf. Acts 8:1) the actual mission was conducted by their emissaries; and probably James came to the city at the time Peter and John first left it and went to Samaria, during the persecution that followed the martyrdom of Stephen. This was the very time when Saul was engaged in carrying the persecution farther afield, to the very headquarters of the new sect in the north and as far away as Damascus.(See H. E. Dana, "Where Did Paul Persecute the Church?" Anglican Theological Review, 20:16-26.) James came to Jerusalem, then, as the representative of Galilean faith and piety; and it is James’ views, not Peter’s, that are authoritative and decisive at the Jerusalem council.(Acts 15.) Here we have a phenomenon not without parallel in the history of other religions, as Lohmeyer notes -- for example in Islam and in Mormonism -- namely a shift from a first center to a second within the first generation of believers; and it is all the more striking that the evidence is preserved in Acts, whose whole interest and orientation centers in Jerusalem, not in Galilee, and whose earliest traditions are almost exclusively those of the capital city. That there was a theological difference between Galilee and Jerusalem is, I believe, most probable. Jesus had arisen among the circle of "the poor," and it was among these Galilean anawim that his message had taken deepest root. The Galileans were loyal Jews, that is, loyal to the Torah -- though the Talmudic evidence which Lohmeyer cites may refer mainly to conditions in the second century, after the Pharisaic schools had removed from the south and relocated here. At least there were no "Hellenists" in Galilee, that wing of the early Jerusalem church which the Book of Acts may be interpreted to imply as the origin of what later became world-wide Gentile Christianity. There were certain characteristic emphases in Galilean Christianity, Lohmeyer maintains. One was the form of the Decalogue which substituted "Thou shalt not defraud" for "Thou shalt not covet -- a formulation which Jesus himself apparently shared.(Mark 10:19.) Another was the requirement of poverty, since only the poor are pleasing to God.(Mark 10:21, 23-31.) Still another feature of Galilean Christianity was the expectation of a heavenly figure at the end of days, not the national Messiah but a figure patterned upon Daniel’s vision of "one like a son of man" coming on the clouds of heaven. And it is characteristic that whenever the apocalyptic expectation is centered in the "Son of Man," there the poverty ethic is also emphasized -- as we may see from the Book of Enoch. These elements are clearly present in Galilean Christianity from the beginning, and they survived long after, in the doctrines of the Ebionites. There was also far less emphasis -- to say the least -- upon the sacrificial cult than was to be found in Judean Christianity.

Now these characteristic theological emphases were of great importance for the preservation and formulation of the gospel tradition, even prior to its incorporation in the earliest written Gospel, that of Mark, The whole conception of Jesus’ earthly ministry is influenced by them: "Jesus is the Savior, but only as combining in himself the office of a Jewish teacher and that of the hidden Son of Man, by virtue of which twofold office he is able by word and deed to bring men to the ‘gate’ of the Kingdom of God. He is the Savior, who holds to the sacred Law but also adds the further requirements -- which lead to ‘life’ -- of voluntary poverty and obedience to himself." (P. 85.) These features characterize not only the later Nazoraean belief and practice, but also the earliest traditions preserved in the Gospel of Mark -- for example the words to the rich man, and the narrative of the Transfiguration. And the apocalyptic outlook, centering in the coming Parousia of the Son of Man in Galilee when that land will become fully and forever the land of promise, the center of the New Age, is likewise reflected in Mark, especially in the two verses 14:28 and 16:7. Jesus has already appeared in Galilee, as the hidden or secret Son of Man; his divine deeds and words are related in the traditions which the earliest preachers of the gospel used, and yet he remained unrecognized save by two or three intimate disciples; but he will come again in glory, fully revealed as the transcendent figure of the Danielic-Enochic hope, as "the Son of Man from heaven." Mark’s theory of the messianic secret was therefore only a dogmatic formulation of something which was basic to the whole of the earliest evangelic tradition.(P. 87.) One might almost, Lohmeyer suggests, venture to reconstruct the Galilean theology -- or, rather, the primitive Galilean piety -- from the pieces of tradition which Mark records; though not every "Son of Man" saying in the Gospel is primitive, and in its present form the conception has been influenced by the later identification of the Son of Man with the Suffering Servant figure depicted in Second Isaiah.(See The Gospel of the Kingdom, pp. 157 ff.) The Nazoraean theology -- or piety -- was of course only one among several streams of tendency and tradition in the early church. Such later developments and interpretations of the primitive belief and practice as we find in Luke, in Paul, in John -- these followed in due course, and partly as the result of the transfer of leadership to Jerusalem; in particular the emphasis upon the idea of Jesus’ Messiahship, as the future Anointed King of Israel, was characteristic of the Jerusalem outlook. The older, more primitive identification of him with the celestial Son of Man had sufficed in Galilee.(P. 94.) It is clear that the Messiah idea is secondary; it is really supported and maintained by the underlying conviction that Jesus is the heavenly Son of Man. Its importance for later Christian thought is obvious -- but in its origin it is not so primitive as the Galilean faith.

Where, then, did the earliest resurrection appearances take place, in Galilee or in Jerusalem? To that first and also final question Lohmeyer can find no answer. We do not even know where the appearance to Peter took place, the first one in the earliest list.(I Cor. 15:5-8.) Nor is it unlikely that, in the communication back and forth between the two localities during the earliest days, appearances took place in various localities. From the theological point of view, I can see no reason why the appearances should be limited to one place or even to one time. Certainly Paul assumes that his own vision of the Risen Lord was completely on a par with those that preceded.(I Cor. 15: 5-8) What is remarkable -- and Lohmeyer has made this abundantly clear -- is that the appearances were interpreted differently by various groups, and in the traditions of different localities and persons, chiefly in Galilee and in Jerusalem. Each interpretation presupposed a particular pattern of eschatological outlook; and it is clear that the earliest Christology was really, as the term suggests, an eschatology, in which the central figure was the same -- the risen, glorified Christ who had lived and talked and done mighty works in Galilee but had died on a cross outside Jerusalem, who was now at the right hand of God, and was soon to come in glory to inaugurate the New Age. Whatever we may think of some of the details in Lohmeyer’s argument, his investigation has thrown a flood of light upon the earliest gospel tradition; and his book will remain one of the most important ever written upon this subject.

Chapter 5: Was Mark Written in Aramaic?

There can be little doubt, at present, that the Gospel tradition arose in a Semitic milieu. Jesus himself spoke Aramaic; his Bible was the Hebrew scriptures, our Old Testament, whether he read it -- or heard it read -- in Hebrew or in a running translation later known as the Targum; his teaching presupposed a familiarity with the Law, the Prophets, and the Psalms, with the current synagogue liturgy, based very largely on scripture, and also with the traditional interpretation of scripture set forth by the scribes; he always took for granted the religion of his people, Judaism, the highest religion in the world of his time. Moreover, Jesus’ disciples were all Aramaic-speaking Jews, and the tradition as they and others handed it down was doubtless in that tongue -- as we have noted, the various surviving tags of Aramaic, such as Abba, effathá, talithá kumi, clearly indicate this. The gospel tradition was originally Aramaic, though translated from time to time, and probably from a fairly early date, into Greek. As we have also seen, some of the parallel sayings in the Gospels presuppose a common Greek original, suggesting a single translation, while others presuppose an original farther back, suggesting diversity of translation and transmission.

At first glance it might seem most probable that the Gospels themselves were composed or compiled in Aramaic, and then later turned into Greek either by one or by more than one translator. This would account for the outstanding phenomenon of interrelation between the Synoptics -- namely their peculiar combination of agreement and divergence -- especially if the translator of a later Gospel, say Matthew or Luke, glanced occasionally either at "Aramaic Mark" or "Greek Mark" as he proceeded. There are surely enough variables in this theory to account for almost any amount of divergence or agreement! But it is a very complicated theory -- and the ancient rule of logic still holds good. "Hypotheses are not to be multiplied beyond what is necessary."(The rule of "economy": Hypotheses non multiplicandi praeter necessitatem ) A much simpler explanation of the Aramaic element in the Gospels, and of their combined agreement and disagreement, lies ready at hand, namely that the oral tradition which circulated for some time in Aramaic was translated piecemeal and "as anyone was able," to use Papias’ phrase, and finally came to be gathered together in the Greek writings which we know as Gospels. We owe a great debt to Professor Torrey and other "Aramaicists" for emphasizing and, to some degree, reconstructing the Aramaic original of these traditions; but I think the theory of Aramaic Gospels goes much too far.

Some of the evidence adduced for the existence of Aramaic Gospels is very questionable. For example, a passage in Tosephta Yadaim has been interpreted as evidence of the existence of Christian Gospels in Aramaic before the fall of Jerusalem, before AD. 70. The passage reads: "The rolls [if this is what ha-gilyônim means] and books of the Minim do not defile the hands." As explained by the "Aramaicists." the term gillayôn was derived from cuaggelion, and clearly refers to the Christian Gospels; and the term Minim ("apostates") means the Christians.(Charles C. Torrey, Documents of the Primitive Church (1942), chap. iii, "Aramaic Gospels in the Synagogue." ) But, to begin with, it is most strange that a term which was not used in Greek to describe our Gospels until towards the middle of the second century (See Justin Martyr, Apol. I, 66 -- written c, 150, and implying that the name was already known and used.) should have been borrowed from the Greek, given a Semitic transliteration -- not a very close transliteration! -- and been commonly used in the fifties or sixties of the first century in Palestine! True, there are references to the Christian Gospels in the later rabbinic tradition, after the Greek Gospels had come to be known by that name, and as a result of contact and conflict between church and synagogue in the second, third, and fourth centuries -- for example in Bab. Sabbath 116a. But this is not the same thing as gilyônim in the passage in the Tosephta. The term used is a derisive pun, ‘Awen-gillayôn or ‘Awon-gillayôn -- a worthless book margin (?) or a book margin(?) of iniquity. In fact, the passage in Tosephta probably does not refer to Gospels at all, or even to books, but means simply this: "The gilyônim," that is, the margins, end pages, or blank columns, "in the sacred rolls belonging to the heretics do not defile the hands," that is, are not sacred -- even though they contain sacred texts. Only the inspired text itself is sacred. If gillayôn had meant "gospel" -- that is, a Christian book -- I cannot see how there could have been any possibility of the later play on words in ‘Awen- or ‘Awon-gillayôn.(See R. Travers Herford, Christianity in Talmud and Midrash (1903), p.155. The singular is of course gillayôn, as in the Old Testament; gilyôn means a turbani Meanwhile, the word for roll, or scroll, is megillah, also as in biblical Hebrew.)

The full passage of Tosephta Yadaim 2:13 reads, "The book margins and the books of the Minim [apostates] do not defile the hands. The books of Ben Sira [our Ecclesiasticus], and all the books which were written from that time on, do not defile the hands." It would be most extraordinary if, in this statement, the Christian Gospels were first described as excluded from the canon, and then the exclusion of Sirach and the Apocrypha were added! Whatever "the book margins of the Minim" may mean, here and in the similar passage m Tosephta Sabbath 13:5 where the phrase occurs, it simply cannot mean the Christian Gospels. Nor does "Minim" mean Christians, I believe, either here or in the Shemoneh Esreh or elsewhere in ancient Jewish literature or tradition where the term is used.(See Israel Abrahams, Companion to the Authorized Daily Prayer Book (rev. ed., 1922), pp. lxiv-lxv, and refs. given there.) Can anyone suppose that the Minim of the Talmud, with their wrongly patterned and wrongly worn tephillin, their strange speculations about the "two powers," and their peculiar formulas of greeting (Hermann L. Strack, Jesus, die Hãretiker, und die Christen (1910), pp. 48*, 63*. Cf. Ber. 9:5 (the name of God used in greeting), R. ha-Sh. 2:1-2 (new moon observed at the wrong date), Meg. 4:8 (tephillin worn the wrong way), Sanh. 4:5 (the two "powers"), etc.) were Jewish Christians? Surely these were not the peculiar or -- from the orthodox Jewish point of view -- the dangerous features of Christianity! Nor can the denial of the resurrection and of the inspiration of the Old Testament (Sanh. 10:1) be attributed to Christianity! The "Minim" were more probably Jewish Gnostics.

The passage in Tosephta Yadaim should certainly be taken in connection with the corresponding statements in Mishnah Yadaim, which it supplements. We read there:

3:4 The blank spaces in a scroll [of the scriptures] (gillayôn shebasêpher) that are above [the writing] and that are below, and that are at the beginning and at the end, render the hands unclean.

3:5 All the Holy Scriptures render the hands unclean. The Song of Songs and Ecclesiastes render the hands unclean.

4:5 The [Aramaic] version that is in Ezra and Daniel B renders the hands unclean. . . . [The Holy Scriptures] render the hands unclean only if they are written in the Assyrian character, on leather, and in ink.(Tr. Canon Danby, pp. 2:4-6:28.

It is obvious that the references in the Tosephta to "book margins and books of the apostates" and to the writings of Ben Sira and those who came later supplement what the Mishnah had to say about "book margins" in copies of the sacred scriptures, about Canticles and Koheleth and the Aramaic sections of Ezra and Daniel. Would anyone suggest translating Mishnah Yadaim to read: "The Gospel in a scroll, above and below, at beginning and end, renders the hands unclean," that is, is sacred? This seems to me the very reductio ad absurdum of the hypothesis that gillayôn means "Gospel"!

Nevertheless, I would not be counted among those who entirely reject the views or the evidence adduced by the Aramaic school. Torrey’s views, for example, are frequently condemned -- or approved! -- en bloc, without a careful weighing of the evidence. If anyone will take the time to go through his notes in detail, he will be richly rewarded.(The Four Gospels (1933), Notes on the New Readings, pp. 289 ff.; Our Translated Gospels (1936). They are the best thing of this kind we have had since Dalman, Merx, and Wellhausen. Unfortunately, the Greek text from which Torrey sets out is almost always that of Westcott and Hort, that is, the manuscripts Aleph and B. On the other hand, Wellhausen always kept his eye on "Cantabrigiensis," that is, Codex D, and the Western text generally. There is little doubt, nowadays, that Westcott and Hort held too tenaciously to their hypothesis of a "Neutral" text. As Professor Lake pointed out in his essay in the Bacon-Porter memorial volume, Studies in Early Christianity (1928), it is the growing conviction of New Testament textual critics that the Western text deserves far more consideration than Westcott and Hort accorded it. For the plain truth is, the canons of textual criticism are not so few or so simple as they have sometimes been represented: "Prefer the shorter reading -- since copyists always expand a text"; "Prefer the harder reading -- their tendency is to smooth out and make easier the text they read"; "In parallel passages and in quotations, prefer the independent or divergent reading -- since copyists tend to harmonize." All these rules are good within proper limits, but they must be applied with great care. Copyists do not always expand their texts, nor do they always harmonize, assimilate, or complete, nor do they always smooth out or simplify the hard readings. The tendency to do so was probably more general after the third century than it was before. Moreover, in the case of Mark, which was a less popular Gospel than Matthew, and probably had fewer copies made during its first century of existence than either Matthew or Luke, we must be constantly on the watch for variant readings that escaped the later process of stereotyping. At the same time, other tests are applicable, chiefly one which has never been adequately recognized, namely that of author’s style. It may be thought that form criticism puts an end to such a test, the separate units in the tradition having been translated by different persons, each of them writing-or speaking -- in a different style. But this is not a full account of the situation. For after all the compilers or editors of the Gospels do have each a distinctive style, which has been impressed upon the tradition; anyone can see this for himself by consulting a Greek harmony or synopsis, or by examining Hawkins’ tables in Horae Synopticae.(Second Edition, 1909.) And if the choice lies among three variants, say, of which one is demonstrably in the style of the evangelist whose text is under consideration, there can be little doubt that this is the one to be preferred. Finally, in a group of variants, that reading must be preferred which explains the others -- whatever manuscript contains it, and whichever bough of the genealogical tree supports it. All our manuscripts have "mixed" texts; and a good early reading may, and often does, survive in a "late" manuscript or family; for the copyist, in this case, may quite conceivably have made use -- either visually or by memory-of a very early exemplar.(See my "Studies in the Text of St. Mark," Anglican Theological Review, 20:103 ff.)

I have thought it necessary to mention these principles of textual criticism, in discussing the re-translation of the Gospels into Aramaic, for the reason that many of the difficulties with the present Greek text can be solved -- and should be solved -- on the basis of existing manuscript evidence, and even, in some cases, of warrantable conjecture, as to the original Greek readings, before appeal is taken to a purely hypothetical Aramaic original. Only when the case appears hopeless, on the Greek basis, should change of venue to another court be sought. Some -- indeed many -- of the re-translations into Aramaic are unnecessary, if the variant readings in the Greek manuscripts and in the early versions are taken into account. The text of Westcott and Hort is now more than sixty years old. Several ancient and most important manuscripts have turned up during this interval -- the Washington, the Koridethi, the Sinaitic Syriac, the Michigan-Chester Beatty and other papyri -- and new editions of texts have appeared, such as those of the Old Latin and the Egyptian versions, or Sanday and Turner’s reconstruction of the New Testament text of Irenaeus, also new editions of the Greek, Latin, and Syriac church fathers -- all this has taken place since 1881. We now recognize, for example, that a combination of Codex D, the Itala, and the Sinaitic Syriac is in some passages equally deserving of consideration along with Aleph and B. Professor Torrey’s hypothesis that D etc. reflect the influence of a corrective Aramaic tradition -- a view that would have attracted Bishop Chase! (See Frederic Henry Chase, The Old Syriac Element in the Text of Codex Bezae (1893), The Syro-Latin Text of the Gospels (1895). -- is probably unnecessary except upon the assumption of the existence of a "Neutral" text. Instead of D etc. being influenced by Aramaic, they are nearer, at some points, to the Aramaic of the original tradition just because they are nearer to the readings of the autographs, beneath which at many points lay this Aramaic oral tradition. At the same time, Aramaic re-translation of doubtful readings may quite conceivably be of real help in choosing which is the more probable original reading.

Nevertheless, after all due consideration has been given to the apparatus of variant readings in our Greek Testament, it still remains true that the chief content of the Gospels is not Greek in origin, but Semitic. In spite of the exaggerations of earlier scholars, who spoke of biblical Greek as "the language of the Holy Ghost," a peculiar Jewish-Greek tongue not known outside the Bible, and in spite of the reaction against this absurd exaggeration, it is becoming generally recognized today that there is really something unique about the language of the New Testament, and especially of the Synoptic Gospels -- something not to be explained wholly by the parallels found in the Egyptian papyri.

The New Testament documents were, no doubt, written in a language intelligible to the generality of Greek-speaking people; yet to suppose that they emerged from the background of Greek thought and experience would be to misunderstand them completely. There is a strange and awkward element in the language which not only affects the meanings of words, not only disturbs the grammar and syntax, but lurks everywhere in a maze of literary allusions which no ordinary Greek man or woman could conceivably have understood or even detected. The truth is that behind these writings there lies an intractable Hebraic, Aramaic, Palestinian material. It is this foreign matter that complicates New Testament Greek.

So Hoskyns and Davey, in The Riddle of the New Testament.("Second ed., 1936, p. 24.) And Fiebig, in the Preface to his Erzählungsstil der Evangelien, (Leipzig, 1925) may be quoted to the same effect:

The Hebrew-Aramaic shines through the Greek How anyone can hope to understand the New Testament, and especially the Gospels, scientifically, without study or knowledge of Hebrew-Aramaic, is to me quite incomprehensible. . . . . Anyone who, like Luther, has once caught a glimpse of the beauty of the Hebrew, and has come to recognize how it opens up a fundamentally important perspective for the interpretation of the Gospels, cannot help but inquire, again and again, about the Hebrew-Aramaic original of the traditions they contain.

It is this inquiry into the Hebrew-Aramaic original of the tradition that leads students to turn eagerly to Dr. Torrey’s illuminating notes, and to follow step by step, as far as it is possible to follow, his evidence for the underlying Aramaic. If we do not go all the way with him, we do not cease to be grateful for the light he has given us upon many an obscure passage. Let us consider first his proposed emendations of the Greek -- many of them shared by others, upon other considerations than that of Aramaic translation. I shall take up, at this point, only his proposals concerning the text of Mark.

I. Emendations Of The Greek

1:2b The quotation from Mal. 3:1 may very well be viewed as a gloss, on the basis of the parallels in Matthew 11:10 and Luke 7:27.16 It is easier to assume a gloss here in the text of Mark than to assume that Matthew and Luke chanced to agree in omitting the verse in order to use it later in their Gospels!

4:31 "A grain of mustard seed, which is the smallest of all the seeds on earth." It is not impossible that the redundant õ was copied by dittography from the preceding . But it is also not impossible to translate the neuter participle here; and I should think either the first or the second occurrence of "when it is sown," a more probable example of redundance -- a redundance that strongly supports Lohmeyer’s hypothesis that two variant forms of the parable have been combined by Mark. One read: "To what will we compare the Kingdom of God? To a mustard seed which, when it is sown upon the ground, grows up and puts out great branches [and becomes a tree], so that ‘under its shadow the birds of heaven can build their nests.’" The other read: "In what parable will we set it forth? It is like [a mustard seed]; though it is the smallest of all seeds on earth, yet when it is sown it grows larger than all herbs, so that ‘under its shadow the birds of heaven can build their nests.’"

6:22 Torrey thinks the is redundant; so perhaps did the copyist of the ancestor manuscript of the Lake group -- though it may be due to a form of dittography, in a series of feminine genitive endings. On the other hand, many readers, both Jewish and Gentile, would think it strange that a princess -- in 6:14 Herod is a "king" -- would so demean herself, and the word reflects this feeling: "Herodias’ own daughter came in and danced before the banqueters!"

6:49 "They thought it was a demon" -- rather than a "ghost" (R.V.). But "phantasm" is the same as , which the Sinaitic Syriac apparently read here. This is no doubt an improvement in translation.

7:7 Torrey supposes the word to be "a very ancient interpolation" from the LXX of Isa. 29:13. It would certainly ease the translation to shift it from the text to the footnotes!

8:10 Torrey’s solution of the riddle of "Dalmanutha" is one of the most probable ever offered. ("The conjecture was Dalman’s and is to be found even in the 1894 edition of his Grammar of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic, p. 133 n. He assumed that the word came from "Magdaloth" (Hebrew, ‘towers"), that " was substituted for y, and that then the first and second syllables got reversed. The inversion is not impossible, but it is a good deal more difficult to imagine a substitution of N for r in an uncial manuscript than when the letters are written lower case! The expression ‘Migdaloth Chinnerim" occurs in Meg. 70a.) The word "Magdaloth" was no doubt easily confused, in a tradition -- or by writers -- unfamiliar with Palestinian topography, and especially with Galilee.( See the series of articles by C. C. McCown, ‘Studies of Palestinian Geography in the Gospels," Journal of Biblical Literature, 50:107-29; 57:51-56; 59:113-31; 60:1-25.) The queer variants in B N W 28 sy5 p45 D* and the Itala manuscripts may be seen in Nestle or Legg; they were all guesses! Somewhat the same variety in readings may be found in Matthew 15:39. But, after all, more than half of the variants come down for something beginning with "Mag" -- for example "Mageda," "Magedan," "Magdala," "Magedam," "Magadan," "Magdalan"; and one thinks of the LXX, which got "Magada" out of "Migdol" in Josh. 15:37. And let us not forget that the Caesarean text ( ) had "Magdala" all the time, both here and in the parallel verse of Matthew!

9:13 This is one of the most difficult verses in the Gospel, as Lohmeyer and other commentators recognize. Turner proposed a rearrangement of the order, inserting vs. 12b after vs. 10.(The Study of the New Testament, 1883 and 1920 [3rd ed., 1926] p. 61.) Another possible arrangement is vss. 10, 11, 12a, 13c, 13ab, 12b. Torrey proposes the restoration of a sentence, following Matthew. Lohmeyer views vs. 12b as a gloss. The sense of the whole paragraph, which many scholars suppose to be derived from later debate over the significance of John, is that Jesus, like John, must suffer many things. (Luke significantly omits the section, while the Fourth Gospel flatly denies the identification of John with Elijah, 1:21.) Torrey’s conjecture is surely in line with the most probable meaning of the passage.

10:19 "Do not defraud" is omitted by Torrey, as due to dittography after This is not unlikely, and is, I think, more probable than Lohmeyer’s conjecture, deriving it from a hypothetical "Christian Galilean" form of the decalogue.(Galilaa und Jerusalem, pp.72f.) But note that B* W sys and many other MSS omitted it -- perhaps not simply out of regard for the wording of the Ten Commandments; that is, they either omitted it or, possibly, had never heard of it! The command may even seem to be Pauline -- cf. I Cor. 6:7, 8; 7:5; and also I Tim. 6:5. But in reality it was good ordinary Jewish and Old Testament teaching. Its omission by both parallels here strongly suggests that it is a later gloss, like some others -- from the Pauline viewpoint -- in the Gospels.

12:4 "Again he sent to them another servant, and him they covered with blows," instead of "wounded in the head." Torrey builds upon Burkitt’s conjecture, ; his translation is that of Swete, who took the Greek as it stands. Probably exegesis had something to do with textual transmission at this point: "wounded in the head" was taken to be a reference to John the Baptist, as in the Old Latin (k) decollaverunt, modified later to in capite vulneraverun:.

12:30 Torrey omits "and with all thy mind" -- as do Codex D and the Itala. But it could readily be omitted by homocoteleuton, or because of its omission in vs. 33. Both parallels have it, and so has Deut. 6:5 LXX B~. Why must it be viewed as "a very early interpolation from the LXX"?

13:15 Torrey omits the words "go down, nor" and reads: "Let him who is on the housetop not go in . - " The omitted words are ascribed to a careless recollection of Matt. 24:17. But it is difficult to see why the words are "quite impossible" here, and not in the passage in Matthew! Would the verb "enter in," taken alone, presuppose a western or Egyptian house with an inside stair, whereas the Palestinian stair was outside? I confess I feel as much difficulty without the words that Torrey omits as I do with them. Perhaps the reading of D etc. would help:

"Do not go down into the house." If only we could read "and" or instead of "neither" ( )! At any rate, the is certainly suspect, and the present text of Mark looks like a conflate of Matthew’s with Mark’s . Luke is no help, for he alters to fit the situation of the siege of Jerusalem. Luke 17:31 reads ; but there the point is the suddenness of the Parousia, like the destruction of Sodom, and the futility of going down to gather up one’s goods. Here the command is to flee to the hills -- and no one could do that without first going down from the roof. I agree with Torrey that the words are a Matthean gloss and should come out -- I have had them bracketed in my copy for several years!

13:27 Torrey adopts Blass’s conjecture that "heaven" at the end of the verse is an accidental accretion, easily suggested by the parallel in Matthew. The resulting translation is certainly smoother: "from one end of the earth to the other." (Cf. Wellhausen, Skizzen, vi, 190 n., who has this translation.)But there is evidence in Jewish literature not only for this expression (Deut. 13:7; Jer. 12:12) but also for "from one corner of heaven to the other" (Deut. 30:4; Ps. 18:7; etc.). Lohmeyer suggests that Mark has mixed the two idioms, and thinks of an ascension of the elect from the center of the earth to the height of heaven. The idea reminds one of the ascent of Israel to the stars in the Assumption of Moses (10:8 f.), and Paul’s conception of the ascension of Christians (I Thess. 4:17). Perhaps if we had more of the Little Apocalypse than the two or three fragments embedded in Mark 13, we could solve the problem.

14:72 Torrey is not alone in omitting "the second time" and reading simply: "Thereupon a cock crew." Aleph and c have omitted the phrase for a long time! But we might go further; the textual evidence in vss. 30 and 68, and the parallels, seem to warrant but one cockcrow. I cannot see the deep significance in the double cockcrow that Lohmeyer does.(Commentary, p. 313.) Probably some proverbial expression lies back of the words, the point of which is merely "by cockcrow," that is, before dawn; cocks usually crow several times at dawn! Or, possibly, "Before the cock can crow twice, you will deny me three times over!" Torrey’s explanation of the origin of the gloss is very convincing. It is the location of the numeral in the sentence that gave rise to all the trouble: "Before the cock crows thrice you will deny me." Of course the sentence demands a comma -- but where are you placing it, before "thrice" or after it?

15:34 Torrey has a very good note on the cry of desolation, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" But it is doubtless the tradition in Greek that accounts for the wide divergence in spelling. Crude as it is, the Gospel of Peter seems to stand closer to the Semitic original than do our canonical Gospels -- even in mistaking the word "God" for the word "strength" or "power." Codex D seems to be influenced by the Hebrew of Psalm 22, not by Aramaic; while Codex B seems to suggest no knowledge of either Semitic tongue -- or if B interprets it to mean, "Why hast thou sacrificed me?" the interpretation is clearly wrong.

II. Emendations Involving Aramaic

1:43 The Greek participle , "being very angry," has caused commentators no end of trouble. It should be taken in connection with the reading of D a ff2 r in vs. 41, , and both with 3:5 "Charging sternly" is much too toned-down a translation, both in R.V. and in Torrey’s version. I should not wonder at all if r ‘gaz lay at the heart of the expression, and that the Greek translators took it in too strong a sense. At the same time, what Lohmeyer says on 3:5 is important: "Wherever in the evangelic tradition we come upon words describing Jesus’ emotions, they have nothing whatever to do with the ‘genuinely human’ traits of the man Jesus [as the exegesis of forty years ago maintained!], but with the genuinely divine reactions of the [supernatural] Son of Man, as most notably in the Fourth Gospel. Every word points to his ‘anger and grief’ or his ‘anger and compassion’ -- both are characteristic of the divine Figure sojourning upon earth, who came hither for man’s sake and by sinful man was met with hatred." (Ibid., p. 69.) That doubtless goes too far in the other direction. But there was probably in Jesus -- and in Mark’s conception of him -- something strange, overpowering, and awe-inspiring, and on occasion even terrifying; he was no genial, ordinary man, this one who commanded the demons and they obeyed him, and who quieted the thunders and raging storms at sea with a word; and we must expect to find traces of this conception in other passages than those in which he beards the roaring elements and calms the witless maniacs. It is of interest that Lohmeyer thinks the story of the healing of the leper in 1:40-45 has come down in two forms, one in which Jesus reprimands him, the other in which he pities him -- and in both heals him. Lohmeyer accounts for the divergence, and the variants, as due to local oral tradition, which by no means died out at once after the Gospels were written.

3:17 "Sons of the thunderstorm" for "sons of thunder," as the byname of James and John. This is an interesting conjecture-though the real significance of the epithet is still as obscure as ever. Regesh is of course a familiar Hebrew word for "a noisy crowd"; so is rogez, "tumult." Some Greek MSS have p, which the Syriac clearly presupposes.

3:31 f. "They sent to call him, for a throng was seated about him." Mark’s Greek can almost be phrased as Torrey supposes the Aramaic to have read. Mark’s , and his on are sometimes picked up by mistake and then laid down -- like a carpenter reaching for a chisel and instead picking up a gouge, and then quickly laying it down for the proper tool!

4:4, 15 "Some seed fell upon the highway" -- instead of "by" or "beside." Torrey insists that Mark’s is "flat mistranslation" of ‘al. But Mark has some peculiar uses of -- see 3:21; 5:26

-- and Lohmeyer translates "on the road" without appeal to Aramaic I

4:8, 20 "Thirtyfold" etc., reading v, "one each time. So do D and the Latin version. Of course the earliest MSS did not distinguish EN with a breathing from EN without one! Torrey would not have had to clear up so much debris if textual study had not come to a halt, in many quarters, with Westcott and Hort -- or if English and American students had studied not only Westcott and Hort’s text but also their notes! (But on the question as a whole see Wellhausen, Skizzen vi, 193, who takes EN as a preposition (with B), not a numeral.)

4:12 This is, for exegesis, probably the most important correction of Mark.

"The parables are for those who are outside;

those who ‘indeed see, but without perceiving;

who indeed hear, but without comprehending;

lest they should turn and be forgiven.’"

Torrey explains Mark’s îv as a translation of "the frequently ambiguous di," which was here only a relative pronoun, not the conjunction "in order that This is a very simple explanation, and let us hope it can be maintained; but it is also true that Matthew used in his parallel, and also -- in spite of the views of Wernle, Windisch, and others -- that Koine Greek had weakened the word iva, so that it sometimes bore the meaning of "that" rather than "in order that."(See W. D. Chamberlain, An Exegetical Grammar of the Greek New Testament (1941). pp. 182 ff. Although it remains true, as Robertson maintained (A Grammar of the Greek New Testament in the Light of Historical Research, 3rd ed., 1919, p. 985). with all the wide extension of Iva in Western Hellenistic, at the heart of it there is the pure telic idiom," still a glance at the lexicons even Thayer’s, will show the weakening of the purposive meaning and its wide variety of use in colloquial Greek. See also Robertson’s article in the Bacon-Porter volume, Studies in Early Christianity, ed. S. J. Case (1928) pp. 51-57. Cf. H. Windisch, "Causal Iva in Later Koine," ZNTW, 26:203; C. H. Turner, "Notes on Marcan Usage," x (4), Journal of Theological Studies, 29:356-59.) How much has been read into this verse, into this single particle! Johannes Weiss was sure that it reflected the Verstockungsgericht or "judgment of stubbornness" which Mark believed to have overtaken the Jewish people. That theory may still belong to Mark, but, as Lohmeyer maintains, it can find no support in the conjunction iva. Of course there is some support for the word, and more for the idea, in Isa. 6:9-10, though it does not harmonize with the rest of the Book of Isaiah.

4:13 "Any parable." This is hardly necessary if 4:10 is corrected: "They asked him about the parable" -- a reading which I believe is the right one (see 7:17). The whole point of vs. 13 is that the disciples inquire about this parable, not parables in general, or Jesus’ parables as a whole. It is generally recognized that vss. 11-12 are an editorial insertion into the pericope -- which is secondary to vss. 3-8, in any event. But even without bracketing the editorial insertion, the singular is required in vs. 10. The plural probably crept in from vs. 2 or vs. 13. As it stands, vs. 13 undoubtedly has reference to the whole little collection of parables that is to follow in chap. 4.

5:1 The reading "Gadarenes" is of course perfectly respectable in Greek, without support from Aramaic. If Mark wrote "Gerasenes -- and he may well have done so; his Palestinian geography is not first-class -- then Matthew probably corrected it in his parallel, and the corrections got back into the text of Mark sometime later. Origen’s "Gergesenes" may be only a guess, (Perhaps based on the O.T., e.g., Gen. 16:16.) though there are good scholars who support it -- as also do sys bo.

5:21 "While he was still at the lakeside, . . . ." Here an appeal to Aramaic is unnecessary. Mark’s Greek can be pointed with a period after, and a free translation would give what Torrey requires (cf. 3:31 f.). It is to be noted that the editorial "frames" of the tradition -- introductions and conclusions of pericopes -- are the least fixed of the gospel materials, even in translation!

6:3 Torrey’s note is sound, though he has not emended his translation. Lohmeyer seems to overlook Luke’s agreement with Matthew against Mark. I believe that what Mark wrote was something like this: "the son of the carpenter, the brother of James and Joses . . . ." -- a reading to which I believe a large number of textual critics would now be inclined to subscribe.

6:8 f. "Take . . . . no staff." (Our Translated Gospels, pp. 143, 144 ff.) Torrey’s discussion of the text of Mark at this point, as compared with that of Matthew and Luke, is most illuminating. I do not doubt that the difference between Mark and the parallels may be explained by recourse to the probable Aramaic form of the saying, either as Wellhausen proposed, illâ for , or as Torrey proposes, the aleph carried over from the preceding word, arkhâ. That there was a common underlying tradition at this point in all three Synoptics seems undeniable, and is now generally recognized. Mark himself is dependent upon this common tradition, more fully given in Matthew and Luke.( I once argued that this common element was from Q -- "The Mission of the Disciples," Journal of Biblical Literature, 35 (1916): 293 ff.) But the variation may quite conceivably have taken place in Greek, by inserting before and then spinning out of the preceding or its second syllable. If one were given to dreaming, he might even guess that came from a lost olvo’, or even "no wine, no bread," or "no staff, no ass"! But it is surely not dreaming to recognize other factors at work here than the Aramaic original. One is the difference in conception -- a brief journey during Jesus’ lifetime in Mark, the continuous later Christian mission in Palestine in Matthew, both the Jewish and the Gentile missions in Luke. Another is the influence of the Old Testament, especially the Passover regulation in Exod. 12:11: "Thus shall ye eat it: with your loins girded, your shoes on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and ye shall eat it in haste." The early Christian, and even Jewish, interpretation of the Passover in an eschatological sense -- the final Passover to introduce the consummation, the final redemption of Israel, the "latter days" to be like the "former days" with a repeated exodus from "Egypt," that is, from present bondage -- this idea might also influence the tradition of Jesus’ commands regarding the mission of his disciples and their constant state of preparedness for the coming of the end.

6:14 "He said, John the Baptist has risen from the dead." In spite of Torrey and the R. V., I am sure we should read , "they said," with B (D) it etc. That was the point of the popular rumor. And it makes better sense in view of the verses that follow, especially vs. 16. On the clause, "therefore these powers work in him" -- which, by the way, Johannes Weiss proposed to insert at the end of vs. 16 -- Torrey is surely right. "Powers," in Mark’s use of the word, do not "work" but "are wrought," by God, by Jesus, or by the Spirit. I think we may recognize that Torrey’s brilliant conjecture -- see his note on Matt. 14:2 -- is the most probable solution of the problem: the Aramaic passive verb, not being vocalized, was misunderstood as an active verb. The error must have occurred in reading a written copy -- though not necessarily a gospel. On the other hand, it should be noted that it is a superstitious, half-heathen "king" who is speaking, and Mark -- or the tradition -- may have represented him as speaking in proper character. He scarcely shared the theological viewpoint of the Jews or Christians in his territory! (On the whole conception of the Baptist redivivus see Carl Kraeling’s article, Journal of Biblical Literature, 59 (June, 1940): 147-57.)

6:15 Torrey’s suggestion has weight, of course, only if we are sure that belongs in the text of Mark. It seems impossible that Mark could have written and we are not surprised that the Western text omits the . One cannot help suspecting that Mark’s true text at this point is preserved, under modification, in Luke -- as sometimes happens! -- and that he wrote rpoø ; also that an early variant, perhaps an alternative translation from oral tradition, was -- See Mark 8:28. The expression , though it would be good idiom in English, "like one," in Greek suggests "about," "nearly," "approximately" -- with a numeral, as in 5:13; but cf. Judg. 16:7, 11 LXX, Lohmeyer. In rabbinic usage k’akhadh may mean "at once," "at the same time"; but in the O.T. it is often, and properly, translated by . Wellhausen took it for a Semitism, "one prophet like another." Semitism it doubtless is -- perhaps mediated by the LXX -- as Blass-Debrunner hold;(Grammar, §306.5.5.) but its meaning is surely "like one." As it stands, the reading in Mark is extremely crude -- even for Mark! -- and fits the context miserably: "But others said, It is Elias. But others said, It is a prophet, perhaps [k’] one of the prophets" -- or, with the LXX, "like one of the prophets." Only familiarity induces us to acquiesce in such literary crudity as the R.V., "It is a prophet, even as one of the prophets." One might even suspect that 15 and 15b are doublets, and that both [] and are two early glosses to "Elias," added earlier than Luke’s use of Mark. The then naturally got repeated. Such explanatory glosses would of course not be required in a Christian -- or a Jewish -- .community, but were here intended only for non-Christian Gentile readers. With such a complicated text of Mark before us, the true sense of the passage, and the wording as well, must be recovered from Luke: "Some said John was risen from the dead, some that Elias had appeared, and others that one of the prophets of old had risen" -- Elijah was expected to appear at the end of the age, but an ancient prophet arising from the grave was something else. Heretical as it sounds, I believe it might even be argued that Mark originally read -- with 61 bo geo2 33, late as they are! This would explain the reading of Luke, who added and , quite correctly, and it would also explain the present text of Mark. The omission by D Itala took place after the text had been corrupted into its present form, that is, fairly early, when o (or ) looked like a variant for . One final possibility ought to be considered -- that is itself a corruption of EI. Torrey’s solution may be the best, in the end; but it should be noted that it is one among several competing solutions, and that we do not have an unquestionable Greek text to work from.

6:20 "Herod feared John, whom he knew to be a just and holy man; and he treasured up many things which he had heard from him, for he heard him gladly." Something like this may certainly have been Mark’s original, though the present text is not impossible: Herod feared John, knowing he was a saint, and was fascinated by him, but was much perplexed, both by what the prophet said and by the problem on his own hands, namely what to do with a prophet who was also a popular leader, one whom he must keep in custody and could neither release nor put to death without risk of a public revolt. Schmiedel conjectured, on the basis of Luke 9:7, that the "perplexing" clause in vs. 20 should go back to vs. 16, and be translated: "And when Herod heard it he was much perplexed and said, The one I beheaded, John, that one has risen from the dead !"

6:51 Surely this looks like a conflated text! The expression found here only in the N. T., though Mark 14:31 has , also unique. Some MSS omit ; others omit c-- and they look like real omissions, not "non-interpolations." Torrey gives us good ground for keeping the double expression, which is not unlike Mark’s style elsewhere -- 1:32, 35, etc.

6:53 "When they came to land on the other side, at Gennesaret, they moored to the shore." The present text is not impossible, though the phrase is strange.(Grinfield, Novum Testamentum Graccum, Editio Hellenistica, I (1843), 226, notes a similar usage in Isa. 23:2 LXX.) (Where does Lohmeyer get ? It must be an oversight.) Of course Mark’s geography is obscure, especially in these chapters (6-8); and yet the general sense is clear. If we take "to land" with the verb "came" -- as Torrey does, and as anyone may do, reading the Greek just as it is -- we obtain a sensible translation; so also if we take "came" with "Gennesaret": "And when they had crossed over to the land [from the middle of the lake, vs. 47], they came to Gennesaret and moored." It may be reading in too much of a meaning to suppose that Mark always supposed meant the eastern shore -- as Lohmeyer seems to think.(Commentary, p. 100 n.)

7:3 "Wash with the fist" is certainly, as Torrey observes, "curious and impossible." ("The rule in the Mishnah is similarly obscure: "The hands are susceptible of uncleanness, and they are rendered clean [by the pouring over them of water] up to the wrist" (? adh happarek, which means either "up to the wrist," or perhaps "to the second joint of the fingers," or "to the knuckle"; the term is variously interpreted). It is interesting to note that Franz Delitzsch used the phrase in his Hebrew New Testament, ad loc). The Sinaitic Syriac, the Sahidic, and some Greek MSS omit the word -- perhaps as meaningless. Most of the variants are mere guesses, though one of them, found in the Old Latin, is so intrinsically probable that one might almost suppose that it underlies Torrey’s translation: primo, found in d.(Where the Greek has the curious (sic). Can this be the clue we are looking for? Does the final merely repeat the preceding one, while the intervening letters, and space, are all that is left of some glossator’s note based on adh happarek? The Greek can of course be read without the word.) Lohmeyer accepts Torrey’s conjecture, "do not eat at all," though it presupposes an Aramaic Gospel, and these two verses (3 and 4) are very difficult to imagine as part of an Aramaic book -- readers of Palestinian Aramaic would scarcely need to be informed of Jewish customs, and might indeed take exception to the statement as applying to "all the Jews"!

7:11 f. The "korban" saying is surely one of the "oldest" -- that is, in form -- and most unquestionable sayings in the evangelic tradition. Torrey’s argument for an Aramaic basis is most convincing.

7:19 "Which purifies all foods," instead of the R.V., "This he said, making all meats clean." Editors and commentators have wrestled with this clause for centuries! I still think, with Rawlinson and others, that the clause is a gloss, and is best translated somewhat as the R.V. does. What is the sense of the words, "the bowel, which purifies all foods"? Treated thus as a subordinate clause, it seems to take for granted a common view which the reader will not question. But where is there any evidence for such a theory of the function of the intestinal tract? (See Loisy, ad loc., and Lagrange.)Moreover, it gives the argument of vss. 18-19 a most banal and pedestrian conclusion: the secondary verse, 19, must have struck some ancient readers as it does some modern, as vulgar and prosaic. Viewed as a gloss, the final clause reflects the view of the Hellenists, as against that of strict observance of the Jewish food regulations.

7:26 "The woman was a foreigner, a Phoenician by birth." There are certainly variants enough to choose from at this point! "Hellene" is undoubtedly used in the sense of "foreigner," "Gentile," here as often elsewhere in the N. T. -- not "a Greek" but one who spoke the Greek language. Torrey’s translation presupposes the reading of B etc., "a Syrian, a Phoenician," whereas the majority of MSS, including now p45’ read "a Syrophoenician" -- that is, presumably, a Phoenician Syrian, a coastal Syrian, by birth (or race).

7:34 "Ethpatha!" The correction of the Aramaic is interesting -- but it is not surprising that Greek MSS should have altered the form of a word in a tongue unknown to their transcribers.

8:24 "I see the men, whom I see as trees walking." Here again we are faced with a complicated textual problem, where the original text is probably buried among the mass of variant readings. The same is true of vs. 26. Torrey’s translation can easily be got out of the Greek -- even the modern editions, without recourse either to textual criticism or to a reconstruction of Aramaic. As already noted, Mark’s use of ó is rather free, and may well reflect either the Aramaic di or the nonliterary Koine usage.

8:33 "Away with you, Satan!" literally, "get behind yourself" -- as the Sinaitic Syriac reads in Matt. 4:10 and as Blass conjectured here and in Matt. 16:23 on the basis of that reading. Torrey’s reconstruction and translation support this reading. That it was a difficult expression is clear from the efforts of translators and commentators, for example Epiphanius: Some have proposed to omit "Satan," and view it simply as a command to obedience. If the oo was original, it would easily be conformed to the other cases of in the Gospels.(On the usual meaning of the phrase see Kendrick Grobel, "He That Cometh After Me," Journal of Biblical Literature, 60:397-401. On the reading in the Sinaitic Syriac, see A. S. Lewis, The Old Syriac Gospels (1910), p. xvii.) The proposal seems a probable one, and the testimony of the Sinaitic Syriac is strengthened by its clear presupposition of , in Matt. 4:19 and elsewhere.

8:34 "Take up his yoke," instead of "cross." This is an interesting conjecture. But it sounds like patristic exposition, and rather homiletical at that. And how was it possible to lose one’s life (vss. 35 ff.) in bearing a yoke?

9:10 Why is the phrase "among themselves" superfluous? Only if it is taken with the preceding finite verb, rather than -- as Mark’s style certainly allows! -- with the following participle. In fact it is needed, as the motivation of vs. 11. Cf. vss. 33 ff., for both order and motivation.

9:12 "Is indeed Elijah, coming first, to set everything in order? How then is it written of the Son of Man that he must suffer many things and be despised?" This certainly makes sense of the passage, in its present order, as the common interpretation, taking 12a as a statement, does not. But many commentators and some editors -- for example, von Soden, in Matt. 17:11 -- so take the Greek; and so did D 565 etc., who read d before Elias. (This El might easily be lost before HIA -- or HEIA.) If it were not for the identification of John with Elijah in vs. 13 and in Matt. 11:14; 17:12 f.; and elsewhere-contrast the tradition reflected in John 1:21 -- the sentence would probably always have been taken as a question. Torrey’s solution seems to me definitely superior to that of Lohmeyer, who brackets 1 2b as an intrusion, a gloss that has got into the text. It may be a gloss, either upon Mark or upon the tradition; the sequence of 12a-13, omitting 12b, seems clear, and the phrase "as it is written concerning him" reflects no prophecy but only the stormy career of the Tishbite as related in the Old Testament. Torrey’s bracketed insertion in vs. 13 I think unnecessary. Contrast 9:13 above.

9:15 "In excitement," rather than, "were greatly amazed." But Mark is the only writer in the New Testament to use this verb, and he uses it four times; Acts uses the noun, just once. I wonder if Exod. 34:30 has not influenced the tradition -- in spite of vss. 8-9, which Lohmeyer cites against this view. The Old Testament background of the Transfiguration narrative is strongly evident. Unlike the Israelites at Sinai, the people did not fear to approach Jesus!

9:23 "If you are able!" This is good translation, and the Greek warrants it, without reference to Aramaic. D and other MSS omit the , and so now does p45, a very respectable group. The article may in fact be only an introduction to Jesus’ quotation of the man’s words -- as Old Latin a took it, "quid est si quid," and as do various modern editors and commentators. I only suggest that not "you" but "able" should be in italics -- Jesus is the one who has the necessary faith!

9:29 "Not even by prayer," rather than "save by prayer." But could Mark have meant what Torrey makes him say? Contrast 11:22-24, not to mention vs. 23 just above and the anticlimax the new translation provides!

9:42 "One of the least," not "these least." In this series of masculine genitive plurals -- five successive endings in or -- might be more reasonably suspected of being a product of dittography, if it is thought superfluous. But text and context alike require it, and the parallels strongly support it -- Luke with a flying buttress anchored at the end of the next verse, twenty-seven words distant!

9:49 f. "Whatever would spoil, is salted." Torrey’s conjecture is again a brilliant one, and throws real light upon this utterly obscure verse. Moreover, an antecedent is now supplied to in verse 50, which otherwise is left dangling, and inexplicably so. Perhaps the was suggested -- at least to some copyist-by the preceding , vs. 48. The final clause in vs. 50 looks very much like an editorial addition, referring back to the pericope with which the section opened, vss. 33-37, the contending of the disciples.

9:50b "Have salt in yourselves, and pass it on to your fellows." One may suspect that this was perhaps originally a play upon words, occasioned by the similarity of malakh, "to salt," and malak, "to rule" or "to counsel"; so that the original meaning was simply, "Control yourselves" -- or "take counsel among yourselves" -- "and be at peace one with another." I suppose the verb would be an Ithpeel imperative, perhaps ithmalak(h)ûn. The command "Be at peace" referred back, as I have suggested, to vss. 33 ff. Then the words "Salt is good; but if the salt has lost its savour, what will you do for seasoning?" -- or, "Wherewith will you salt" . . - - anything that requires salt ? -- give another saying introduced here editorially; while "Every sacrifice is salted" is only a gloss (from Lev. 2:13) and "salted with fire" is a gloss upon a gloss, the idea being derived from the preceding pericope! I wonder, therefore, if the original was not simply, "Take counsel among yourselves [as in the Syriac of Matt. 26:4, Acts 4:26, where the Ethpael of malak is used], and be at peace with one another." ("On the close association of "rule" and "take counsel" see A. Merx, Chrestomathia Targumica (1888), pp. 230 f.)

10:6 The current text reads simply "he made them," and this presupposes mention of the Creator -- or would, in Aramaic. But does it not do so equally in Greek? Moreover, there is strong textual evidence for . It is much easier to suppose it was lost after ( -- O -- ) than that it was supplied from the LXX by some copyist, for in the LXX the noun comes much later in the verse (Gen. 1:27). In fact, the verse in Mark would cause no difficulty for an early Christian reader, familiar with the LXX -- his Bible! -- since the words are quoted literally and "God" was most certainly understood. The difficulty requires no appeal to Aramaic -- indeed there is, and was, no difficulty!

10:12 Although it is often said, as here by Torrey, that at that time the Jewish woman could not divorce her husband, still there were ways of getting around the situation -- for example by the wife’s family’s compelling the husband to divorce her. In addition to the reference to Josephus which Torrey gives, Ant. 15. 7. 10, there are others, for example War 1. 25. 5; Ant. 18. 5. 4; 20. 7. 2-3. Moreover, most commentators take this verse as a Roman corollary to vs. 11 -- a view which Torrey comes near to sharing in his rendering, "if she . . . . marries another." A Roman woman could "marry"; a Jewish woman "was married to" her husband -- a distinction still recognized in the Anglican Prayer Book: "Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" And how can we be sure that the subject of is "he"? Why not read "she commits adultery" ? -- except that in Jewish idiom adultery was the act of the man, and that the sentence may be taken in strict parallelism to vs. 11. As for the original form of the saying, Luke 16:18 may well be a better rendering than Mark 10:11 f.

10:30 Torrey brackets vs. 30b. This may easily be either a gloss or a textual duplication -- in the latter case the phrase "with persecutions" has been added as a gloss!

10:32 "Jesus . . . . was in deep distress." Turner came to the same conclusion without reference to Aramaic.(The Study of the New Testament, p. 62.) It is another of Mark’s "psychological" touches. The omission by D etc. was probably occasioned by homoeoteleuton -- after the preceding verb had become a plural.

11:1 Torrey brackets "and Bethany," I think rightly. It was an easy addition, in view of vs. 11.

11:9 f. Torrey’s conjecture, "God save him!" for the obscure "Hosannah," and "God in heaven save him!" is a brilliant solution of a vexatious problem. See his note on Matt. 21:9. It is a question if Mark, who was not familiar with Hebrew, I feel certain, understood what was meant by the cry "Hosannah" any more than he understood "korban" in chap. 7. (The word of course means "gift," but here in the sense of "offering," that is, to God.)

11:14 "Not (yet) the time for figs." This addition is surely justified, as understood in the text.

11:19 The "every evening" is too literal -- see other instances of , 2:20; 4:29; 8:38; 9:9; 12:23; 13:4; etc. This is worth noting, as the R.V. margin is quite misleading. See Souter’s Lexicon.

13:19 "Such" tribulation. Torrey suggests that the equivalent of had already been inserted into the free rendering of Dan. 12:1. It could easily get inserted from such a passage as Exod. 9:18, and the sense of the passage certainly requires it. Even in Greek it could get inserted by a careless or tired copyist from the line above:

OIAOYEONEN

TOIAYTHAIIAPXH

KTIE . . . .

Appeal to a Semitic original of Mark is scarcely necessary. 14:3 "Jar-merchant" for "leper" is an interesting conjecture. If he was a "leper," it must have meant one who had been already "cleansed" of his leprosy.

14:33 Jesus was "deeply agitated and distressed." This strengthens the conjecture in 10:32 -- but in the area of Greek textual transmission, not of Aramaic MSS or tradition.

14:36 "Abba (Father)." But Mark regularly translates the Aramaic terms he gives -- though not always! cf. "Hosannah," 11:9 f.

14:37 "One brief space," instead of "one hour." Is this necessary? We need not debate the length of time Jesus’ prayer continued. "Hour" is a flexible measure of time in the Bible-including Mark! See vs. 41.

14:38 "Not to fail in the (approaching) trial." Torrey’s note (on Matt. 6:13) is interesting and valuable. The phrasing of the verse -- the punctuation is not certain; see R.V. margin -- may be influenced by the Lord’s Prayer, which was probably as well known by Christians of the first century as it is now, and the most familiar passage in the Gospels. The contrast of and is especially suggestive of later formulation. Torrey’s translation "the (approaching) trial" is pure interpretation-perhaps influenced by Schweitzer’s? Mark reads simply "into trial," or "into temptation." Even so, Torrey’s main contention here is most attractive: "pray not to fail."

14:41 "Will you sleep now, and take your rest? Already the time has come....." This is a decided improvement! As for () o -- several MSS omit the article, but even with it the adverbial sense is obvious -- the word has probably too often been translated, here and elsewhere in the N.T., without regard to its history; in modern Greek it means "now," "then," "well," or "therefore," and is a useful connective in discourse. Though the modern editions of the Greek N. T. do not take 41b as a question, it surely ought to be so taken -- as Torrey does, with the R.V. margin. But it is the strange and bewildering &lre’xet that is the field of Torrey’s real triumph here -- so strange that the latest commentator, Lohmeyer, gives up trying to translate or interpret it! According to Torrey, it renders kaddû, which in Palestinian Aramaic means, not "enough" but "now or "already." ("The usual translation, "It is enough." is supported by Field. Notes on the Translation of the New Testament (new ed., 1899) and also by Moulton and Milligan, Vocabulary of the Greek New Testament, Pt. I (1914). But see Alexander Pallis, Notes on St. Mark and St. Matthew (new ed. 1932). pp. 47 ff. Pallis’ notes are always stimulating and sometimes richly rewarding; he approaches the study of New Testament from the vantage point of modern Greek, both literary and colloquial.) If so, it looks like another double adverb -- like 6:51. Though the reading of D it and syr : is suspected of conflation with Luke 22:37, it may need to be taken into fuller consideration before a final solution of the riddle is found -- and it would not be impossible in combination with Torrey’s interpretation of the verb: "The end has come already!" "The hour" in vs. 41 must have some relation to "the hour" in vs. 35. Perhaps this is Jesus’ acknowledgment that his prayer has not been answered -- that is, it has been heard, but not answered as he had hoped.

14:55 "But (at first) they found none." This is of course interpretation, perhaps justifiable in view of the present context. But it may not be implied in the oldest form of the passion narrative, which, as many scholars suppose, did not contain vss. 61b-64.

14:68 "I am neither an acquaintance . . . . nor do I know him at all." Torrey’s conjecture seems very involved. If there is any difficulty here, that is, with the Greek as it stands and as it is printed in most modern editions, Hort’s proposal is certainly a simple enough solution! Translate: "I don’t know nor understand! What is it you are saying?" As part of the story, this seems not improbable.

14:72 "As he thought upon it, he wept." Many are the conjectures that have been hazarded to account for ! But the papyri now make it clear that the R.V. margin -- not the R.V. text, which Torrey follows -- gives an adequate translation: "And he began to weep." This was the reading, in fact, of D 565 it syr sah arm!

15:21 "Simon the farm labourer" instead of "the Cyrenian" is an interesting conjecture which can neither be proved nor disproved. It is like Simon the Cananaean, or "trader," as some conjecture!

15:42 "Late in the day." This too is an interesting and not improbable conjecture, like Blass’s ; but after chap. 7 we are not so sure that Mark -- "Greek Mark," as Torrey calls him -- knew Jewish customs thoroughly well, nor can we be sure that he meant a time after sundown (see 1:32). Perhaps he thought it was about sundown.

16:2-4 The text is complicated, but it is a question if the fault is mistranslation from Aramaic. The first and the final columns of MSS are notoriously full of variants, for obvious reasons, such as wear and tear, fading, breaking off of ends of rolls, or first and last pages of codices, and then the attempts of copyists to restore what was either obliterated or missing. A glance at Nestle or Legg or Tischendorf will show the abundance of variants at the end of Mark. Torrey’s repunctuation helps -- but it leaves him with the necessity of treating 2b-3a as a participial clause plus a finite verb: "When the sun had risen, and they were saying to one another . . . ." This is a heavy strain even on Mark’s style! And it is doubtful if the sense of the passage is any clearer. Would they wait until sunrise to ask their question? or to discover that the stone was already rolled away? Turner conjectured that the opening sentence of the pericope repeats from 15:47, perhaps as the beginning of an Easter lection;(The study of the New Testament, p. 60.) and it is not impossible that vs. 3 is an editorial insertion, not so much to give continuity with 15:46 as to motivate vs. 4, if vss. 1.8 formed an independent lection. Both parallels omit the verse. The reading of D etc. at the end of vs. 2 may be something more than the result of an effort to ease the reading; on the other hand, at the beginning seems to be definitely in Mark’s style (cf. 1:35 etc.); so is the double dating (cf. 1:32 etc.). If vs. 3 is editorial, as I suspect, the original may have run: "And very early on the first day of the week they came to the tomb. [Period, as in Torrey!] When the sun had risen they looked and saw that the stone was rolled back" -- two participles, as often in Mark, for example five verses back, in 15:46. We should say, "When the sun had risen, and they could see, they discovered that. . . . ." But Mark wrote in his own style, not in ours!

I have taken the time -- and now the space -- to examine Dr. Torrey’s evidence in detail, believing that if his case is proved for Mark it will carry the whole "Aramaic Gospels" hypothesis with it. The full evidence seems to me to fall somewhat short of demonstrating the existence -- or even the probability -- of an Aramaic Gospel, but it is by no means without value or significance. To begin with, (1) there are some passages that, so far as I can see, are in no need of "retranslation," but are perfectly acceptable as they stand. In the next place, (2) there are obscurities in the present text of Mark, and the obscurities persist even after retranslation into Aramaic -- for example Mark 7:3; 8:34; 9:29. (3) A great many of the obscurities and other difficulties in the present Greek text of Mark are due to careless copying, and that they still survive in modern printed editions is largely due to the fact that the task of textual criticism has not been completed. In the English-speaking world, textual criticism more or less came to a halt with the publication of Westcott and Hort’s Greek Testament. The main lines of their solution are of course sound, but a great deal of work still remains to be done. Many of the obscurities in the present text of Mark can be explained and cleared up from the present textual apparatus of variant readings -- in both manuscripts and versions -- without recourse to translation into Aramaic. (4) Some of the "retranslations" lack that quality of intrinsic probability which, taken alone, might be their sufficient support; they do not "click" in the way which Torrey himself has led us to expect, with many of his conjectural emendations of Old Testament passages. For all this, (5) there are a number of passages which Dr. Torrey has effectively cleared up -- for the first time in the whole long history of exegesis. Some of these passages are found in the Gospel of Mark, others in the other Gospels. As a rule, (6) those "retranslations" which are most thoroughly self-authenticating are found within the body of the pericope under consideration or have to do with one of Jesus’ sayings. In other words, the retranslation of the material which ex hypothesi was originally in Aramaic naturally throws most light upon the present text; as Professor Sherman Johnson has pointed out, "Where Dr. Torrey’s conjectures ring truest and most naturally, the passages in question belong either to Q or L or to the oldest pericopes in Mark -- in almost no case to the editorial framework." ("Anglican Theological Review, 19:223. In the Journal of Biblical Literature, 48 (1929): 117-23, Professor Millar Burrows has argued that Mark’s transitions are quite as "Aramaic" as the content of his pericopes. But (a) some of the pericopes were already linked together, or provided with settings, in the oral tradition; and (b) the style of the tradition may have influenced its editor -- as we may observe in the other Gospels, and even outside the New Testament.) (7) Even though retranslation clears up a large number of passages, it does not follow that the theory of original Aramaic Gospels is sound; nor, finally, (8) does it follow that the early dating of the Gospels is sound. In fact, the best solution of the problem of the gospel tradition is not the early dating of the Gospels, on the theory of their composition in Aramaic and their later translation into Greek, but the form-critical one of stereotyped oral tradition, of course in Aramaic as well as in Greek -- originally no doubt in Aramaic and then translated sooner or later into Greek-the translation being carried out by different persons at different times, "each one translating as best he was able," as Papias said of Matthew’s logia in the "Hebrew dialect." Some of these pericopes and sayings may even have been written down in Aramaic before translation into Greek. But it looks as if Q was a Greek document or cycle; the Aramaic must have lain some distance behind it.

This attempted evaluation of a small section of Dr. Torrey’s work must not close without a final word of acknowledgment and of deep gratitude to him for the stimulus and suggestion which his studies have given the whole world of modern New Testament scholarship. Even though many students of the New Testament are not able to go the full way with him and accept his theory of Aramaic Gospels, this does not in the least minimize the debt which we all owe him.

Chapter 4: The Apostolic Preaching

The view of the development of Mark’s gospel set forth in these lectures takes it for granted that the Gospel grew backwards, so to speak. The earliest nucleus of the Gospel was the passion narrative. To this was prefaced the account of the ministry of Jesus as a kind of bridge-approach, leading up to the great crucial and transforming week in human history. The controversies explained the opposition to Jesus. The sayings illustrated his teaching -- the "Son of Man sayings" in particular explaining Jesus’ own view of his death, and expressing the earliest attitude of the church to the death of Jesus: his death was no blind whim of fate but the voluntarily accepted will of God, and it had resulted in the working out of God’s purpose for the salvation of many. Other materials which Mark found in the tradition and made use of in his book showed Jesus in his career of healing and teaching, accompanied by his disciples -- the group whom he "made apostles"(Mark 3:14, 16 ff.) and "appointed" to be the founders of the church. But Mark is not writing history or biography, nor even giving an account of Jesus’ teaching; he is writing an apology, an explanation of the death of the Messiah, and the passion narrative is in his mind from the beginning.(Mark 2:20; 3:6; etc.)

Perhaps in this preoccupation of the author is to be discovered the significance of a clause -- which no one understands! -- found in the very first chapter: that during the temptation in the wilderness Jesus "was with the wild animals." (Mark 1:13) Just as his followers had lately, at Rome, been forced into the arena to face the wild beasts, so the Master himself had faced them -- and in facing them, and flouting Satan, he had accepted his martyrdom from the start. It is not suggested that Jesus fought the beasts and overcame them, physically. Perhaps they were considered, as often in Jewish folklore, to be "materializations" of demons, or as possessed by them -- the wild djinn of the waste, with Satan as their owner and prince. If so, no doubt Mark -- or whoever first so described our Lord’s sojourn in the wilderness -- thought that Jesus overawed them, and was among them like Adam, the first earthly man, in the Garden, or like Daniel, unharmed in the den.(Both this pericope and the saying, "I saw Satan fall as lightning from heaven," Luke 10:18, reflect the same point of view as that of the old section on the binding of the strong man, Mark 3:27.) They would not dare attack the Son of Man, the divine "second Man who is from heaven," as Paul had called him.(I Cor. 15:47)

The late Professor Bacon held that the Gospel of Mark centers, like an ellipse, about two great focal ideas, symbolized by the "two sacraments of the gospel, Baptism and the Supper of the Lord": the first half is the preaching of repentance, the second half the preparation for death, the Via Dolorosa of the Messiah, his crucifixion and death. Professor Bacon’s suggestion is illuminating, but the Gospel scarcely divides that neatly. Both ideas are there -- but both are present throughout; one flows into the other. The whole Gospel deals with the question, Why did Jesus die? This was a question which had been asked from the outset of the Christian movement. Paul calls it the "stumbling block," "the scandal," of the cross.(Gal. 5:11) If Jesus was the Messiah, God’s Son, why then had he died the shameful death on the cross, the last penalty of a criminal in expiation of his misdeeds? How, in the first place, had it come about historically, and as the consequence of what series of dire, unfortunate events? And further, how had it come to pass in the eternal counsels of God? To both forms of the question Mark undertakes to provide an answer: He died (1) because the Jewish leaders rejected him, and out of envy (Mark 15:10) delivered him up to Pilate. The reason for their envy is clear from the series of controversies which Mark gives. For he had worsted them in argument, and his following had continued in spite of all their efforts to oppose him. He died, moreover, (2) because he willed to die, to lay down his life a ransom for many.(Mark 10:45; 14:24; cf. John 10:18) He died, finally, (3) because it was the will of God, and so it had been written of him in the ancient, inspired scriptures.(Mark 8:31; 9:12, 31; 10:33; 14:21, 36.) It had to be so, for God willed it: . . . . The basic and fundamental structure of the Gospel thus had a very clear and decisive motive. We may call it apologetic: but Mark simply had to answer the questions which were in the minds of all his readers, Jewish and Gentile, Christian and non-Christian.(The latter part of this paragraph is taken from The Growth of the Gospels, p. 108.)

Thus it was no accident that the Gospel grew around -- or grew up to -- the old traditional passion narrative embedded now in chapters 14-15. The same place had been held by the passion narrative -- that is, by some account or other of the death of Jesus -- in the apostolic preaching from its very start. It is taken for granted everywhere in Paul, whose letters are the oldest Christian writings we possess; and Paul implies that it was his oral teaching and preaching as well -- in his reproach of the Galatians, for example, "before whose very eyes Jesus had been crucified" in his preaching,(Gal. 3:1.) and in his confession to the Corinthians that he had determined to "know nothing among you save Jesus Christ and him crucified." (I Cor. 2:2. See also I Cor. 15:1-4.) It is found in the speeches in the first part of Acts -- as historic fact, as a strange mystery, not yet as the luminous and revealing declaration of divine grace which we find in Paul. It is found in that summary of the early preaching in Philippians 2:6-11, perhaps quoted from some creed-like hymn of the early Gentile churches.(See F. C. Porter, The Mind of Christ in Paul (1930); also Ernst Lohmeyer’s new commentary in the Meyer Series (1930) and his Heidelberg Academy paper, "Kyrios Jesus" (1928).) So Professor Dibelius views it, and so I have translated his rendering:

He lived a divine existence,

but thought nothing of grandeur

nor of the glory of divine nature;

he gave up glory and grandeur,

taking a poor existence in exchange --

became humanlike in form,

and humanlike in bearing.

He chose renunciation,

obedient to death --

to the death upon the cross.

Therefore God exalted him to highest glory

and gave him the name above all names. . . .

(The Message of Jesus Christ, p. 5; see also his commentary in Lietzmann’s Handbuch (3rd ed., 1937), esp. the long notes on pp. 72-74 and 79-82. The late B. W. Bacon pointed out in his The Gospel of the Hellenists (1933) the frequency of ten- and twelve-line hymns in ancient religious literature; see Pt. IV, pp. 311 ff.)

To put it briefly, the message of the gospel was an "evangelical" message from the beginning. It was the message of the Kingdom -- which had been Jesus’ own message, of course, from the outset of his ministry (Mark 1:14-15) -- but it was also the message of the crucified Messiah, the Messiah Jesus who had died and risen from death, and whose death and resurrection were -- or rather was, as one continuous act -- the great crucial step in the inauguration of God’s Kingdom, on the part of God himself. Something had to be got out of the way, some obstacle that lay in God’s very path; and the Cross was the instrument of its removal, the tool by which the stone was rolled away -- "it was a very great one !" To put it still another way, overstating the case but perhaps making it somewhat clearer: Jesus’ gospel was the gospel of the Kingdom; the apostolic gospel was the gospel of the death and resurrection of Jesus the Messiah; and yet the latter was believed to be the continuation and proclamation of the former. In opening the Gospel of Mark with what perhaps became later its title, "Beginning of the Gospel [of Jesus Christ the Son of God]," its author certainly recognized no distinction between the gospel of Jesus and the gospel about Jesus. That is a modern distinction! (The warning set forth by Henry J. Cadbury in his book, The Peril of Modernizing Jesus (1937), applies also to the Gospels.) Mark assumed that the two were one -- and so did everyone else in the apostolic age! If it had not been so, many a passage in the Gospels might have been worded differently; and we should have had not only less of interpretation in the record of Jesus’ life and teaching but also, probably, even less of a record!

Let us turn back once more to the speech of Peter in the house of Cornelius at Caesarea, given in Acts 10:37-43.

You know what has been taking place in the land of the Jews, following "the Baptism" preached by John -- how it all began in Galilee with Jesus of Nazareth. God anointed him with holy Spirit and with power, and he went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him. (We are witnesses to all he did both in the country of the Jews and in Jerusalem!) And they put him to death, hanging him on a tree. Then God raised him up, on the third day, and let him appear visibly -- not to all the people but to witnesses chosen in advance by God, that is to us And he [God] charged us to preach to the people and to testify that he is the one who is appointed by God to be the judge of the living and dead. All the prophets bear witness to him, that through his name everyone who believes in him shall receive remission of sins.(See Dibelius, The Message of Jesus Christ, p. 4; also my "historical origins of the Church," Anglican Theological Review 21:190 ff.)

Most of the main features of the apostolic preaching are to be found here, in brief summary -- and as some of them were still being stated in the middle of the second century when the old Roman baptismal formula, the basis of our so-called Apostles’ Creed, came into use: John and "the Baptism" he preached, which was all along "the beginning of the gospel"; (Acts 1:22; Mark 1:1. See The Gospel of the Kingdom, chap. 111.) Jesus’ anointing by the holy Spirit, and his consequent power over the demons, over diseases, and even over death; his ministry of compassion and help; his death at Jerusalem, through the "envy" and hatred of the "rulers," that is, the Jewish authorities who denounced him before Pilate and so procured his death by crucifixion as an insurrectionist and disturber; his resurrection on the third day, when he became Messiah or Son of God and entered into his glory;(Cf. Rom. 1:3; Luke 24:26.) the message of forgiveness of sins "in his name"; his future coming to judge the living and the dead; the divine choice and calling of the apostolic "witnesses" to these events, who are the bearers of the new message of salvation; and the divine attestation in the words of the prophets of old. These are the main features of the apostolic message; they represent the earliest interpretation of the prophetic mission, death, and resurrection of Jesus, and the earliest proclamation of the message of salvation -- that is, forgiveness of sins, preservation through the approaching crisis of the "last things," and safety in the judgment. One cannot call it a system of theology. It is too simple for that. Instead it is a set of convictions growing out of (1) Jesus’ gospel of the Kingdom; (2) the apostles’ testimony to Jesus’ death, resurrection, and exaltation; and (3) their experience of the outpoured Spirit. Call it "mystical" if you like -- though that surely is not a very good description of it -- but whatever the true and adequate word for this tremendous apostolic experience, it is perfectly clear that the earliest Christianity we know had a twofold basis, and stood upon two feet, history and experience. The history was there, in the oral traditions of Jesus’ life and death; and the experience was equally real, and could now be shared anywhere and by anyone, by Saul the persecutor, by Gentile centurions and treasurers and simple men of Cyprus and Cyrene and Antioch, by pagan Galatians, and by cosmopolitan Corinthians and Romans -- Jews and Greeks, bond and free. There were no limits to the range of this experience of the risen, glorified Christ.

It is so to this day; for we greatly lessen the effectiveness of the Christian message if we insist upon getting it all inside the four walls of past history, ignoring the present reality of the risen, glorified Christ who still has words to say to his church and to the world through his Spirit.(See my "The Spiritual Christ," Journal of Biblical Literature 54:1-15; also the "Note on Christology" in my Frontiers of Christian Thinking (1935), and my essay, The Significance of Critical Study of the Gospels for Religious Thought Today," in the volume presented to Professor Harris Franklin Rall, Theology and Modern Life, ed. Paul A. Schilpp (1940).) Moreover, we shall never catch the real ethos of the New Testament until we abandon our exaggerated "historicism" and recognize that some things were spoken and done by Christ after the death on the cross had ended his earthly career. The words of Christian prophets, speaking in his name, were undoubtedly inspired by his Spirit. The interpretations of his life and teachings set forth by the "teachers" of the early church were legitimate interpretations, the expansion and reformulation of his sayings were legitimate expansions and reformulations, (Esp., e.g., in the central section of Mark, "the Way of the Cross," 8:27-10:45. On the importance of the teacher in the early church -- distinct from the preacher -- see B. S. Easton, "The First Evangelic Tradition," Journal of Biblical Literature, 50:148-55; F. V. Filson, "The Christian Teacher in the First Century," ibid., 60:317-28.) not because they were logically valid, or because they represented justifiable historical inferences as to what Jesus must have thought and said, but because they were inspired by his Spirit and sprang out of the living tradition, out of the vital stream of religious experience which came historically, and still came spiritually, from him. Unless we are prepared to grant the reality of the Spirit, and the valid basis of this primitive Christian experience,(See P. G. S. Hopwood, The Religious Experience of the Primitive Church (1937). I fear we shall not bring much back with us from our critical forays in the field of New Testament history, literature, and religion. That principle -- the primary and indisputable reality of the Spirit, to be apprehended by faith, and genuinely to be known through direct human experience -- is the vital spark of evangelicalism, today no less than it has always been.(The principle is also recognized in Catholicism, though by no means to the same extent, and combined with certain other principles, institutional and theological, which counterbalance it.)

As we view our religion, Christianity is essentially and always a doctrine of grace and presupposes the reality of the divine Spirit, one with the risen, glorified Christ himself. It has sometimes been represented as primarily a doctrine of man, of his finiteness, his sin, his unworthiness in God’s sight, his inability to please God, indeed of his actual incapacity to receive or benefit by divine grace. But in the view of evangelical Christians -- and that also includes Methodists and Anglicans -- our theology is not anthropocentric, or hamarto-centric, but theocentric, Christocentric, gratia-centric. And our religion is forever a saving faith. This, we believe, was true of the earliest gospel, as it was first proclaimed in Galilee and throughout the world in apostolic days. If the Christian message had been a series of intellectual claims or affirmations, supported by the miracles of Jesus, let us say, as the complete evidence of the truth of these affirmations, then assent to the truth of Christianity would have been simply an act of the rational intellect, satisfied with the evidence thus adduced and subscribing without reserve to the various formulae of affirmation. But faith is never mere intellectual assent; it was not so in "the first days of the gospel" any more than it is today. Faith means believing beyond the range of evidence -- not in spite of the evidence, but beyond it. Faith means the discovery of further evidence, higher in kind and of a subtler validity than mere outward proofs. As virtue is its own reward, so faith supplies, in a similar way, its own verification. This does not mean that it supplies outward and visible proofs; the evidence is still the spiritual things "which are spiritually apprehended." A faith which rests upon tangible demonstration is a contradiction in terms, and is really "unfaith, clamoring to be coined to faith by proof," as the poet said. Faith means trust, adventure, self-committal; and its evidences are still the "things not seen."

Hence we may hold that the earliest Gospel, like the latest, was an interpretation. Mark undertook to interpret Jesus as the "Son of Man" of apocalyptic hopes, and John later undertook to interpret him as the eternal Logos veiled in flesh, while Matthew and Luke interpreted him as the Jewish Messiah or the new Lawgiver of ransomed Israel. The one whom they thus interpreted, in various categories of first-century thought, is the one whom we also must interpret -- but equally from the standpoint of faith, not proof. For the progress of discipleship is still that of growing faith -- as Paul described it, "from faith to faith."

The Gospel of Mark, I have tried to show, is a community possession, a "church book," the transcript of a living body of tradition then in circulation, rather than a private literary composition. It was written for the church’s use, and it rested back upon the church’s tradition and faith. It was anonymous from the start, and made no claim to literary consideration or quality. I doubt if it was to be found in the bookstalls of the capital. None of the littérateurs of the time ever laid eyes on it. It was a Volksbuch, circulating in private among the oppressed, despised, and persecuted handful of Christians -- though copies were made, after a time, and carried to other Christian communities (See K. L. Schmidt, Eucharistêrion für Gunkel (1923). See also Donald W. Riddle, Early Christian Life as Reflected in Its Literature (1936) and "Early Christian Hospitality: a Factor in the Gospel Transmission," Journal of Biblical Literature, 57:141-154.) It probably got to Asia Minor and to Syria about as soon as anywhere else. As a transcript of a living community tradition, the Gospel of Mark relies not only upon the early passion narrative and the oral records of Jesus’ life and teachings, some of which may already have been gathered into little collections, sequences, groups of sayings; it relies also upon the apostolic experience which supplemented and interpreted those traditions. The church, like Paul, aimed to know Christ not merely "after the flesh" but as a risen, glorified spirit: "to know him -- and the power of his resurrection." Hence the background against which we must study the Gospel of Mark is twofold: the evangelic tradition, which we considered in the preceding chapter, and the apostolic faith and its formulation in preaching, which we are considering in the present one.

I said a little while ago that Mark had the passion narrative in mind from the very beginning of his book; now we must add that the passion narrative meant to him, as to every other early Christian, the events leading up immediately to Jesus’ resurrection and exaltation. And that meant exaltation as Messiah -- not a mere reanimation of his body; not one more resuscitation of a dead person, doomed to die again, like Lazarus or the youth at Nain; not a ghostly apparition, as evidence, after a fashion (but evidence always to be doubted!), of human survival of bodily death or of the immortality of the soul. For Mark, as for the church of his time, Jesus’ resurrection meant resurrection and glorification as Messiah, as the celestial Son of Man.(See Weiss, History of Primitive Christianity (1937) , Bk. 1; B.W. Bacon, The Apostolic Message (1925); C.H. Dodd, The Apostolic Preaching (1936).This is the view reflected in all our earliest documents, in the early chapters of Acts, and in the Gospel of Mark. It is the view which Paul "received" by tradition,(I Cor. 15:1-7; Rom. 1:1-4; etc.) and which forms the substratum of his whole teaching and theology. It is presupposed, as the very earliest formulation of Christian teaching, throughout the New Testament.("See W. Bousset, Kyrios Christos (3rd ed., 1926), chap. 1; B. W. Bacon, The Apostolic Message (1925); C. H. Dodd, The Apostolic Preaching (1936). And it forms the basis of the theology of Mark’s Gospel -- so far as it has a theology -- as we shall see in a later chapter.