The essay by Helen Bond comes to grips with the issue of whether or not Papias’ testimony about Peter being behind Mark’s Gospel, or more accurately whether it is his testimony translated by Mark from original Aramaic to Greek is historically probable. Bond focuses on Joel Marcus’ much commended commentary on Mark to discuss reasons why Papias should perhaps not be assumed to be giving accurate information in this case, perhaps in order to rescue Mark’s Gospel from it’s not apostolic origins, and from the Gnostics in the second century? Before we go down that rabbit trail, it needs to be said that there is a very detailed study my Maurice Casey entitled The Aramaic Sources of Mark’s Gospel, in which he demonstrates at some length, by retrojecting significant portions of Mark’s Gospel back into Aramaic and showing how this helps explain the rather Semitized Greek of that Gospel. Bond does not really deal with this evidence, which, I have found rather convincing. It does not prove that Papias’s testimony is completely accurate, but it supports the possibility.

Some of the criticisms of Marcus of the possible link between our earliest Gospels and Peter simply do not hold up: 1) the fact that the portrait of Peter in the Gospel is rather negative, may be attributed to the fact that Peter was being painfully honest about his lack of understanding and even denials at a crucial juncture. Mark is not trying to do hagiography in regard to Peter, and presumably if Peter learned anything about humility from Jesus, he would not be polishing his halo in his reminiscences about Jesus either; 2) the fact that Mark’s knowledge of Galilean geography seems sketchy at best, and the fact that many of the stories lack the sort of details one would associate with an eyewitness. There are two problems with this whole line of approach. Firstly, the evidence we have suggests Mark was from Judaea and more specifically his mother’s house was in Jerusalem. There was no reason for Judaeans to make religious pilgrimages to Galilee, unlike the reverse case. No one is claiming Mark was a Galilean, nor that he was a disciple of Jesus in Galilee. As for the fact that at least some of the stories seem to lack particulars that might tip off an eyewitness report, on the one hand there are some such particulars not found in other Gospels (e.g. the anointing of Jesus took place in the house of Simon the leper) and on the other hand, as Papias says Mark was forming Peter’s testimony into chreia, which rhetorical process involved streamlining source material so that it focuses on a particular famous saying or deed of a historical figure. Mark’s rhetorical editing does not count against his having used eyewitness source material. 3) that there are two feeding miracle stories suggest Mark is not that close to an eyewitness report, but rather reflects a longer history of oral retellings, in which two different versions of one actual set of events emerged. While this point has some substance to it, one has to remember that Mark is not an eyewitness. But if he is repeating a testimony from Peter, then Peter’s memory would be that like with exorcisms, other healings, there was more than one occasion when Jesus fed a multitude. There are differences in the two feeding stories, enough to suggest more than one event. The fact that there are various exorcism stories doesn’t seem to lead to the conclusion that these must all be variants on one story, so I see no need for such skepticism about two feeding miracles.

Bond, I think rightly assumes Mark is writing from Rome to a Roman audience who had at some point benefited from an association with Peter (p. 49), She also rightly points out that more recent literary studies of Mark have suggested that actually Mark’s account is not nearly so negative towards Peter as has sometimes been suggested. After all, he is the first one to properly confess Jesus is the Messiah. Bond broaches the subject of whether Mark wrote during or after the lifetime of Peter, favoring the latter (pp. 52-53) as was later assumed by Irenaeus. While I agree I think he wrote after Peter’s death, and so sometime in the late 60s, perhaps near the conclusion of the Jewish War, this does not lead to the conclusion that he wasn’t relying on the testimony of Peter in his composition. Indeed, the account of Papias suggests a process of writing down the testimony, and then rendering it into Greek, which could have happened after Peter’s likely martyrdom. Peter may have approved of Mark’s Aramaic note taking, not the later rendering it into Greek. Bond thinks Mark is relying not so much on Peter, as on the social memory of Peter in the Roman church. This may be partly true, but I see no reason why that obviates the idea he was primarily relying on Peter’s own testimony. Mark may have consulted others who heard Peter in Rome about the testimony.

Bond rightly spends time on the genre of Mark, which she rightly identifies as an ancient bios, or biography and as she notes this in itself explains some of the streamlining and omitting of details in the narratives. Mark is following the usual editing processes of a work in that genre. As she also notes, Mark’s Gospel, like Tacitus’ Agricola ignores the private life of the subject, and focuses on his public life, as does Mark on Jesus. She rightly stresses Mark’s Gospel is not a biography of Peter, but of Jesus, with Peter as important only in so far as he is involved with Jesus. And this raises an important issue to be addressed later in these posts, when discussing Gene Green’s helpful work on Peter— namely that the attempt to derive Peter’s theology from Mark’s Gospel has a methodological problem— Mark is not trying to present Peter’s theology, but rather Jesus’, which presumably Peter would agree with. And on the surface level, scholar’s quite rightly say that we can learn something about Mark’s theologizing of Jesus from his Gospel. To draw conclusions about Peter’s thought, is a further step removed from both the surface of the text, and the focal subject matter of the text which is Jesus, not Peter.

Bond is also right (pp. 57ff.) that Mark’s portrayal of Peter is both positive and negative, and this actually makes him a sympathetic figure for his audience. She concludes helpfully: “Just as Paul’s persecuting activity acquired a different tone by what his congregations knew of his subsequent Christian activity, so Peter’s denial and failings must be seen against his later devotion– quite possibly too, the knowledge that, in the end, he did follow his master, even to death. Writing at a time of persecution and difficulty, Mark’s Peter reassures Christians that following Jesus is hard, that even the greatest of disciples had his moment of failure, but that, like him, even those who fail can still hope for restoration (Mk. 14.28;16.7).” (p. 59). Exactly!!

In the end Bond is content to conclude that a link between Mark and Peter is certainly not impossible, and it is not fruitless to speculate as to whether some of Mark’s theology may go back to Peter. She says ‘quite possibly it does” (p. 61). But as she cautions demonstrating a link between Mark and Peter does not necessarily lead to the conclusion of extensive historical accuracy in Mark. That requires other considerations to be taken into account (e.g. was Peter’s memory faulty). This is one of the most helpful essays in this volume.

Reading Scripture: Skepticism, Suspicion, and Trust

By David F. Watson

Here is a helpful summary of Wesley’s approach to Scripture, first put online by Good News Magazine. BW3

Dr. David F. Watson
Last semester I taught a class called Wesleyan Biblical Interpretation. We read a considerable number of Wesley’s writings along with a couple of secondary texts. Rereading these primary and secondary sources led me to ponder anew the vast differences between the way in which Wesley read the Bible and the critical stances that emerged during and since the European Enlightenment.

Wesley did engage in some of what is called “lower criticism” – criticism of the biblical text in order to render the most accurate manuscript possible. He also at times offered translational corrections to the King James Version. Wesley would have balked, however, at the skepticism that came to characterize what is called “higher criticism,” or historical-critical readings of the Bible.

For Wesley, the way in which the church had interpreted a passage of Scripture through the centuries was in large part determinative of that passage’s meaning. In other words, the church’s consensus helped to establish the plain sense of the text. Reading the Bible was not simply an individual undertaking. It was an ecclesiastical undertaking. In fact, without the guidance of the church, it was not possible to understanding the Bible correctly. For Wesley the Bible had one purpose: to lead us into salvation, and therefore reading it apart from the church’s theology of salvation would be futile.

Historical Criticism

Even during Wesley’s lifetime, however, the seeds of historical criticism were beginning to sprout, and soon they would grow into a dense forest of interpretive skepticism. For the historical critic, the consensus of the church is far more likely to impede proper interpretation than to facilitate it. For one thing, the argument goes, the orthodox faith of the church depends upon an ancient worldview that is supposedly no longer believable to the modern mind. Modern people simply don’t believe in miraculous healing, the multiplication of food, angels, demons, and the like.

Further, according to the historical-critical method, the theological readings of Christians represent developments that are in many ways foreign to the text. The real meaning of the text is controlled by historical context. Only when we have clearly established the historical context of a biblical text can we begin to discern its meaning. In fact, one who allows faith claims to infiltrate his or her investigation has in fact abdicated the role of historian. Perhaps the best articulation of this position is Van Harvey’s The Historian and the Believer.

The purpose of the Bible, for historical critics, is not to lead us into salvation, but to reveal the historically conditioned perspectives of ancient Israelite, Jewish, and Christian communities. To the extent that the Bible can inform the life of the church, it does so based upon the meaning derived from historical context.
The historical-critical approach long dominated seminary education. Of course, many scholars have adopted some of its presuppositions and interpretive strategies a la carte. I’d put myself in this camp. Historical context does matter in biblical interpretation. Yet I’ve rejected the skepticism that has tended to inhere within historical-critical approaches. I do not, moreover, limit the meaning of a text to its historical context. I believe there is real value in the ways in which Christians have interpreted texts theologically over the centuries. (H/T to John Henry Newman’s An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine).

Postmodern Approaches

To some extent, reliance on the historical-critical method has abated in seminary education. The modernist historical-critical approach has given way to postmodern readings that locate meaning in social location and identity. There are, for example, African-American, Korean, feminist, and queer readings of Scripture. Far from the originalist inquiries of the historical critics, these approaches emphasize the ways in which the text takes on a life of its own within particular communities today. A common (though not universal) feature of postmodern readings is a “hermeneutics of suspicion.” Rather than the skepticism of modernist interpreters, many postmodern interpreters approach the Bible as a source of coercive power that has been used to control, oppress, and harm.

Wesley’s reading has more in common with these postmodern approaches than with historical-critical method because he did not aspire to critical detachment from the text. Though Wesley did at times take into account the historical settings in which the biblical texts were written, he read them in specifically theological ways. His reading was conditioned by, among other perspectives, the worldview and values he derived the Great Tradition of Christian faith, the Church of England, German Pietists, and the evangelical Methodist movement.

A Hermeneutics of Trust

Nevertheless, Wesley would have been as uncomfortable with some postmodern approaches as he would have the skepticism of the historical-critical method. His reading of the Bible was characterized by what we might call a “hermeneutics of trust.”

Wesley trusted the Bible. Or to be more precise, he trusted the God who had given us the Bible, and therefore he regarded the Bible as trustworthy. He realized that there were passages that one could not interpret literally. He believed that that there were passages that, when taken at face value, presented the reader with an absurdity. He also understood that it was possible to use Scripture in ethically irresponsible ways (such as in support of the slave trade). He dealt with such matters as best he could (as we all do). The key to understanding Wesley’s hermeneutics of trust is to understand that his true north when reading Scripture was salvation. The Bible was the book that God had given us in order to teach us how to be saved — how to live in keeping with God’s will in this life and live with God eternally in the next. Any reading that did not lead to salvation was in fact a misreading.

Wesleyans and the Bible Today

It has been both spiritually edifying and intellectually interesting to look at Scripture through Wesley’s eyes. I’ve never been comfortable with a primary stance of either skepticism or suspicion. In part this is because, like Wesley, I believe that a good God has given us Scripture for our salvation. Scripture teaches us how to live well in this life and to live eternally with God.

Part of what is at stake for me in this conversation is vocation. There is a difference between a scholar and a scholar of the church. My work is in and for Christ and his church. It is in service to a saving faith in Christ that has been passed down from generation to generation through the church. To attempt to serve Christ’s church while separating her faith claims from her sacred text is an exercise in futility. It was that very faith that gave rise to the development of those texts. I haven’t jettisoned the tools I was given in my training as a biblical scholar, but neither have I retained all of the assumptions that so often accompany the use of those tools.

I make no claims to originality here. Scholars such as Joel Green and Thomas Oden were thinking about these things long before I was, as were many others. As cultural Christianity in the West collapses, however, the question of how scholars interpret the Bible in and for the church is going to become more acute. Churches are going to have think more self-consciously about their relationship to an increasingly anti-Christian academy. They are going to have to identify more precisely what they want from their scholars and seminaries. They are going to have to identify the relationship of skepticism and suspicion to the church’s evangelistic mission of making disciples of Jesus Christ.

Of course skepticism and suspicion can help us with regard to intellectual and moral self-examination. But what happens when our analysis of the Bible is characterized more by skepticism and suspicion than by trust? It seems then our relationship to the Bible will be one primarily of antipathy.

I submit here that the people called Methodists would do well to attend more fully to the emphases of our founder as he approached the Bible. We could use more trust, more theology, more doctrine, and more prayer in our reading. Skepticism and suspicion aren’t going away, nor should we attempt to silence them. Yet neither should we give them a place of privilege as we read the church’s book.

David Watson is the academic dean and professor of New Testament at United Theological Seminary in Dayton, Ohio. This article first appeared on his blog HERE. Dr. Watson is the author of Scripture and the Life of God (Seedbed) and co-author of Key United Methodist Beliefs with William J. Abraham (Abingdon).

The notion, as Tom says, of a God who periodically intervenes and interrupts the natural processes, that it is supposed he set up in the first place, is problematic. Intervention implies regular absence, but the God of the Bible is said to be, among other things omnipresent and as Jesus was to say ‘he is always working’. So the modern notion of God as an absentee landlord, simply isn’t a picture of God the Bible agrees with. There is something fundamentally wrong with the natural vs. supernatural distinction if by that one means a world of pure natural causation which God occasionally interrupts. This attempt to marginalize God, is said in the second main chapter to parallel the attempt to marginalize Jesus and the Gospels in the discussion of what is real and how the world works. Wright puts it this way “The challenge of Reimarus (that Jesus was a failed Jewish revolutionary) or of Schweitzer (that Jesus was a failed end of the world visionary) though interestingly incompatible. were enough to generate the negative assured result that the Gospels had got it wrong. Jesus was not after all what he had been made out to be.” (p.45). What follows in this chapter is a detailed deconstruction of these sorts of notions about Jesus and the Gospels, including a demonstration that Jesus did NOT set a time table for the end of all things, nor for that matter was Jesus a failed (non-violent?) revolutionary. There is no angst in the NT about a ‘delay’ in the return of Christ, because delay implies at date certain which has been postponed, but there is no date setting for the parousia in the NT. The only dating setting is about how the Temple centered world of early Judaism was going to be dismantled within a biblical generation— namely 40 years. And that is exactly what happened in 70 A.D., 40 years after the death of Jesus. “the idea of the literal and imminent ‘end of the world’ as a central belief of first-century Jews, including Jesus and his early followers, is a modern myth.” (p. 47) Just so. We should have exorcised the ghost of Schweitzer from NT studies a long time ago (see my Jesus, Paul, and the End of the World). None of the NT is predicting the end of the space-time continuum. Indeed, as Wright stresses what it is predicting is the transformation of the mundane realm into the new creation, thus ending the present state of affairs in the world (p.57).

In other words, Jesus was not a false prophet and Schweitzer was wrong… as was Bultmann. Bultmann comes in for some heavy criticism in this chapter, and rightly so. Among other things he had not done any serious study of the passing down of oral traditions in early Judaism, nor any of the interesting memory studies now available (see R. Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses, and also my colleague C. Keener, Christobiographies). On p. 63 there is a trenchant critique of Bultmann’s near total failure to engage the literature of early Judaism when trying to evaluate Jesus and Paul and the NT, resorting to caricatures found in Strack-Billerbeck about works righteousness etc. “He was continuously engaged in an attempt to find a…genealogy of early Christian ideas in the non-Jewish world. This led him from his early interest in mystery religions to his later heavy (and completely unhistorical investment in Gonosticism. Neither worked as real history.” (p. 63). In short, Schweitzer and his disciples (who still exist) and Bultmann and his disciples (including oddly the mythicists who want to maintain that Christianity developed out of some sort of Egyptian Gnostic combo) have failed to engage with the real Jewish character of Jesus and his ministry, not mention the Jewish character of Paul and his ministry. Thus endeth the first movement of the Wright symphony.

A several year study at MIT and elsewhere of the possible genetic origins of same sex sexual orientation has produced various reactions in the last month or so. Here is one report of the study…

https://www.cnn.com/2019/08/30/health/gay-gene-study-trnd/index.html

And here is another….

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/08/29/science/gay-gene-sex.html

The study basically concludes that a single gay gene cannot be isolated, but that there seem to be several genes involved in this disposition. But this is not all. The study also concludes that there are environmental and social factors involved in same sex sexual orientation. In other words…. we are not talking about some sort of genetic pre-determination. And as Francis Collins said in The Language of God some time ago— ‘predispositions are not predeterminations’. No one is genetically hard-wired to be gay, but there may be inclinations in that direction partly accounted for by genetics, and partly by issues of nurture, ethos, context etc. In other words, this study has not at all settled the issue of nature vs. nurture, as to where this sexual orientation comes from. The answer in the study is ‘some of both’ in all likelihood.

My concern in this post is not in any way to dispute the findings of the study, but rather with a couple of aside comments by one of the MIT researchers after the fact— in particular he was opining that he hoped this study would demonstrate that same sex sexual orientation is ‘normal’. Now this gentleman didn’t define what he meant by normal. Since only about 5%-7% of the population seems to consistently manifest a same-sex sexual orientation, and even then the determining factors are complex and not purely a matter of ‘I was born this way’ this study does not establish that such an orientation is ‘normal’. Sociologically speaking, normal is what the vast majority of the species manifest in terms of sexual orientation. On this showing, this orientation is not normal. It is out of the norm, if one prefers not to call it abnormal.

My even greater concern is the sloppy theological and ethical reasoning that passes for arguments based on certain assumptions about this very issue. For example the argumentative chain often goes like this— ‘I was born this way, therefore this is how God made me, therefore it must be good and acceptable’. There are numerous problems with this logic. People are born all the time with all sorts of flaws, problems, and genetic defects, and we should surely not use this logic in such cases. Do we really want to argue that someone born with a blood and cell disorder like sickle cell anemia was ‘made this way by God’? I don’t think so.

And what is missing in this whole argument is any sort of theological concept of the Fall. The Bible is rather clear that we are born fallen creatures, and one thing I know about fallen human beings— they are born self-centered. It’s a good thing babies are cute, because they are all about— ‘feed me, change me, hold me, love me’. In other words they are born with an inherent self-referencing. They are little narcissists. And later in life, this inherent focus on self leads to a long litany of self-justification and rationalization about one’s behavior. That one is ‘born this way’ does not necessarily mean ‘God made me this way’ and it most certainly doesn’t warrant the automatic conclusion— since I was born this way, it must be a good thing.

In short, I do not find in the most recent scientific study, or in proper theological reasoning any justification for the conclusion that same-sex sexual orientation and behavior is genetically determined or some sort of good gift from God.

One of the more disturbing aspects of Buddhism is its fascination with demons and sinister snakes….. Look closely at the trim on this building

The smaller shrines are places where individuals, not monks or priests come to pray….

To me the most beautiful of the small shrines is this one…

Here’s an excellent critique of a review of John Barton’s recent History of the Bible volume. I entirely agree with Philip about that weird sentence. I also think Bauckham’s book is excellent. BW3

When Reviews Go Strange
JULY 13, 2019 BY PHILIP JENKINS

When I read the excellent reviews offered by the Wall Street Journal, I always enjoy pieces by the versatile, well-informed, and wide-ranging Barton Swaim. I say that before disagreeing with him in a major way on his most recent offering, a highly critical reading of John Barton’s important new book A History of the Bible.

While acknowledging much that is positive about the book, Swaim launches a basic attack on the historical critical method that it exemplifies. His complaint is that if we follow these principles as consistently and logically as John Barton does, we are basically left with nothing. That critical approach is in a sense an exercise in nihilism. Might that description fit such efforts in some cases? Certainly. But they don’t apply to Barton.

Let me offer Exhibit A in John Barton’s defense. Here is Swaim:

Historical-critical theories on the New Testament are a little more amenable to empirical corroboration. The dominant paradigm on the origins of the Gospels, for example, holds that the Synoptic accounts were second-century compilations of rumors and exaggerated tales about Jesus, written and edited long after anybody had any firm information about the man and his deeds. But the Gospels, as Richard Bauckham cogently demonstrated in his 2006 book “Jesus and the Eyewitnesses,” simply aren’t written that way. The Gospel-writers frequently use names, dates, specific locations and odd details, as if to invite readers to verify their claims. Mr. Bauckham’s book shook the field of New Testament studies when it appeared. Mr. Barton, scandalously in my view, doesn’t mention the book or list it in his lengthy bibliography.

You might want to read that again, as it is so off the wall.

Let me begin with Swaim’s “dominant paradigm” sentence, which is simply incorrect at every stage, almost in every word. Please find me a competent scholar on the Synoptics who dates them in the second century. A near universal consensus gives the original date of Mark as around 70-75, and Matthew and Luke in the next twenty years or so, before the mid-90s. And do remember the sheer size of the field we are talking about, which is inconceivably vast.

If there is debate in the field, it is between people like me who hold to the genuine “dominant paradigm” theory of dating (ie 70-90 or so) versus those who favor earlier dates, pre-70. None of those periods counts as second century. Clearly, that goes far beyond a mere chronological quibble. The standard dating for the Synoptics means that they were written at a time when authors or editors had access to direct personal, family, and communal traditions going back to the 30s, which would not be the case if they were second century.

Almost as solid a consensus holds that the Synoptics draw on direct and extensive sources of strictly contemporary information for the events of Jesus’s era. A sizable and respectable group of scholars believes that Mark is drawing on some contact with Peter himself. It is precisely because the apostolic generation is dying out that Mark seemingly determined to collect what could be found of their experiences and stories. By the start of the second century, quotations from all the Synoptics are appearing in Christian writings.
I seriously have no idea where Swaim, who is as I say a smart and curious writer, found that utterly weird “dominant paradigm” sentence, which describes something more like a Da Vinci Code approach than any accurate reflection of Biblical scholarship. The views he portrays are absolutely, categorically, not dominant, or even fringe respectable. Where on earth is he getting this?

I won’t say much about Bauckham here, as he will be the subject of another blog in in the near future. Suffice it to say that I deeply admire all his writings, and that book in particular. But as summarized by Swaim, the account of Eyewitnesses is so generic as to be misleading. It is awfully easy to find ancient writings that “frequently use names, dates, specific locations and odd details, as if to invite readers to verify their claims,” and which turn out to be forged, wrong, or misleading. And while Bauckham’s book was well and respectfully received, it was nothing like the bombshell in the playground of the Biblical scholars that Swaim implies. They read it, admired its intelligence and critical acumen, and absorbed its arguments where appropriate. The contrast that Swaim suggests between Bauckham and the bulk of “historical critical” scholars does not exist.Personally, I would have tended to include Bauckham’s book in the bibliography of a book like this, but the range of possible works from which to choose is, again, enormous.

I have no problems with critical reviews of any book, but they should not make statements that are flat wrong. Why did the Journal let this one through?
—–

My answer to Philip’s last query is— Because the Journal did bother to have a proper NT scholar read the review and fact check it before they published it. Which is not good.

Vermeer’s Christ in the House of Mary and Martha.

A recent article in a Duke publication relates the story of the scholarly work of Elizabeth Schrader at Duke on a medieval codex of the Fourth Gospel, which reflects name changes in places where Mary and Martha are mentioned together. Here is the article link—-

https://today.duke.edu/2019/06/mary-or-martha-duke-scholars-research-finds-mary-magdalene-downplayed-new-testament-scribes

I have no problems at all with the thesis that there was anti-feminist bias on the part of some scribes when it comes to the roles of women in the NT texts, such that they changed the text to suit their bias. In fact, I demonstrated how the Western Text of Acts was guilty of this very thing, long ago [“The anti-feminist tendencies of the Western text in Acts,” JBL 103 (1984), 82-84]. But Schrader’s theory is that the name changes she found in this late Johannine codex reflects an attempt to slight Mary Magdalene. There are several problems with this theory: 1) the very same codex highlights Mary Magdalene’s role from the crucifixion through the first resurrection appearance of Jesus to her; 2) it is surely more logical, if one is dealing with John 11-12, to suggest that it is Mary of Bethany, rather than Mary Magdalene who’s name is being replaced by the scribe with the name Martha. The reason for such a change is easy to see. If one takes account of Lk. 10.38-42 and the way Mary and Martha are portrayed there, Mary is portrayed as a disciple who has chosen the better part of listening to Jesus, rather than preparing lunch, which is what Martha is portrayed as doing. One can readily conceive of a scribe who didn’t like the notion of women rejecting traditional female roles in favor of sitting at Jesus’ feet, as Mary is portrayed as doing. In short, there is no need to bring Mary Magdalene into the conversation of John 11-12. That Mary was from Magdala in Galilee, not from Bethany in Judaea (see now the recent detailed and helpful study of Magdala by Richard Bauckham (Baylor Press, 2018).

Staudt on”Monotheistic” Expressions
by larryhurtado
In reading a colleague’s draft essay I was reminded of a book that I found particularly helpful, but has received a disappointing level of notice, even, it appears, in scholarly circles. I reviewed the book several years ago in the German journal, Theologische Literaturzeitung, but can’t find other reviews. This is unfortunate, because I think the book deserves better publicity. So, I provide below a lightly edited version of my TLZ review.

Darina Staudt, Der eine und einzige Gott. Monotheistische Formeln im Urchristentum und ihre Vorgeschichte bei Griechen und Juden. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012. Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus/Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments, Band 80. ISBN: 978-3-525-55015-1. Pp. 345. €69,99.

Originating as a 2009 doctoral dissertation presented to the University of Heidelberg (Gerd Theissen, Doktorvater), this is a well-researched and impressively wide-ranging analysis of the origins and use of key “monotheistic” formulae that appear in early Christian texts. Although the impetus for her study is the question of how Jesus came to be included in the reverence given to the one God, the specific questions she addresses are these: (1) What “monotheistic” expressions (“Formeln”) are used in the ancient texts, (2) what are the origins of these particular expressions, and (2) to what extent did Greek and Jewish traditions influence early Christian use of them?

The specific expressions/“Formeln” that she focuses on are εἷς θεός (“one god,” which she refers to as “die Einzigkeitsformel,” “uniqueness formula”), μόνος θεός (“only god,” labelled “die Alleinanspruchsformel,” “alone speech-form”), and οὐκ ἔστιν ἔτι πλήν (“there is no other,” which along with similar expressions she calls “die Verneinungsformel,” “denial formula”). She posits two “roots” for the Einzigkeitsformel: (1) an ancient Jewish emphasis on YHWH as “one” reflected in Deuteronomy 6:4, which originally emphasized one legitimate expression of the YHWH-cult and place of worship, and then developed into an affirmation more recognizably “monotheistic” and more firmly asserted in the Hellenistic and Roman periods, and (2) early Greek philosophy, especially Xenophanes (6th century BCE), which did not, however, have much influence or usage until its “Renaissance” in the Hellenistic period, when εἶς (“one”) came to be used in pagan circles in an “elative” or “doxological” sense to refer honorifically to various deities.

In Jewish texts of the second-temple period (e.g., LXX Deut. 6:4; Zech. 14:9; Dan. 3:17), the expression εἷς κύριος (“one Lord”) and similar expressions represent an adaptation of the Greek formula. In these Jewish texts, and in early Christian texts thereafter, however, “one God” expresses an exclusivity that did not characterize pagan usage of the “one god” formula. This exclusivity is most clearly demonstrated in the restriction of cultic worship to YHWH. Then, in early Christian usage reflected already in the NT, “one God” and “one Lord” are adapted further to acclaim respectively “God” (“the Father”) and Jesus (“the Lord”), and we see also what I have referred to as a corresponding “binitarian” or “dyadic” worship-pattern in which both God and Jesus are rightful and exclusive recipients.

As for the “only god” forms (in which typically μόνος features), she contends that there is an unambiguously OT/Jewish origin, reflected in OT texts from the 5th century BCE onward, especially in the Psalms. In texts of the Persian period and thereafter this sort of expression clearly has a sharply exclusivist tone, probably reflecting a polemical demarcation from the deities of other nations. This polemical tone is all the more clear in the Verneinungsformel, “there is no other (god),” its origins in Deutero-Isaiah, and an increasing usage in Jewish texts of the Hellenistic and Roman periods, often combined with the “only God” form.

Staudt also shows interesting variations in Roman-era Jewish authors. Philo of Alexandria uses both “one God” and “only God” forms together. But he also freely refers to God as having various intermediary figures to perform his bidding. Of course, Philo also devotes a major place to the “Logos”, which serves as the expression of the transcendent God that engages the created world and that is comprehensible to humans. By contrast, Josephus uses the “one God” and “only God” expressions only seldom, mainly in Antiquities, there often in descriptions of Jewish patriarchal figures. Interestingly, when writing of events in his own time, Josephus typically places these expressions on the lips of Jewish revolutionaries. Staudt suggests that Josephus reflects an awareness of the polemical tone of these expressions and so refrained from affirming them directly.

In the NT and other early Christian texts, the “one God” form is preferred, the “only God” and “no other god” expressions rarely used (e.g., Mark 12:32, in the mouth of a Jewish scribe, or in prayers and doxologies, e.g., John 17:3; 1 Tim. 6:15-16). Staudt proposes that the reason for this is the inclusion of Jesus with God in early Christian belief and worship. Yet, for early Christians, this did not involve positing two deities, but rather an expansion of the cultic worship of the one God to include Jesus, producing a distinctive “Christian monotheism.” So, the “one God” and “one Lord” language of early Christianity has its origins in the setting of worship-confession/acclamation. Already in Paul we see the close connection of Jesus with God: “where Paul speaks of God . . . he always thinks of Jesus Christ also” (p. 320), a key example given in 1 Cor. 8:6. In only one NT text, however, do we find the Alleinanspruchsformel applied to Jesus, in Jude 4 (“our only Master and Lord, Jesus Christ”).

Staudt contends that in the early Christian mission-encounter with pagan religion and philosophy, the name of Jesus played a key role, making more concrete the transcendent God. Important among the forces against which early Christians contended, Staudt urges, was Serapis-Isis religion. In her view, although not directly mentioned in the NT, the image of Jesus as Savior was developed over against Serapis, who likewise was a savior-deity.

The range of material covered in Staudt’s book is very impressive. She has chapters on Greek philosophical traditions (with discussions of pre-Socratics, Plato, Aristotle, Stoics, Roman-era writers), on OT traditions, second-temple Jewish texts, Philo, Josephus, the NT, the Apostolic Fathers, and “later” usage of the “one God” form. In each chapter the discussion focuses on specific texts, to which she brings commendable familiarity with scholarly opinion on them. As well, there are several excurses on various matter, e.g., Gerhardsson’s study of the Shema, and, particularly, a valuable assessment of Erik Peterson’s classic work on “one god” expressions in Greek-language inscriptions.

I can only commend the book as an excellent analysis of the data relevant to the questions posed, specifically the origins and usage of the several formulae identified. It is not clear to me, however, that (or how) her study addresses the larger question posed in her opening paragraph: How did self-confessing “monotheistic” Jews come to include Jesus along with the one God as rightful recipient of worship? Staudt’s examination of the usage of the “one God” and “only God” forms certainly shows the effects of religious developments, among which the emergence of a strong exclusivist “monotheism” in second-temple Judaism and, still more, the eruption of a “binitarian/dyadic” devotional pattern in earliest Christianity were particularly remarkable. But the use and adaptation of these forms do not explain why these religious developments took place. Nevertheless, I repeat my hearty recommendation of Staudt’s book as a comprehensive and incisive study of these forms. A 16-page bibliography and an index of primary sources complete this excellent work.

Here’s an early Christian perspective on the Christian life in a non-Christian world and how we should view it.

But while living in both Greek and barbarian cities, as each have obtained by lot, and while following the local customs both in clothing and in diet and in the rest of life, they demonstrate the wonderful and most certainly strange character of their own citizenship. They live in their own countries, but as aliens. They share in everything as citizens and endure everything as foreigners. Every foreign country is their country, and every country is foreign. They marry like everyone, they bear children, but they do not expose their offspring. They set a common table, but not a common bed. They happen to be in the flesh but do not live according to the flesh. They spend time upon the earth, but have their citizenship in heaven.— Epistle to Diognetus 5.5-9