Introduction
For centuries the book of Revelation has been a source of both comfort and confusion for the Christian Church.[1] The meaning of its strange language and vivid imagery has often proved elusive for its many interpreters.[2] One of the issues that surfaces time and again is whether or not some parts are to be interpreted literally or figuratively. The sixth seal (6:12-17) has often been a place that has divided readers on this matter.[3] The following essay will thus provide an exegetical analysis of this passage within its historical and literary setting to determine how it should be read.
Historical Context
The book of Revelation is an apocalyptic work that was written at the end of the first century C.E. during the reign of Domitian.[4] The author identifies himself as John a number of times throughout the book and has traditionally been understood as the apostle John.[5] However, due to the distinct difference in writing style between Revelation and the other Johannine writings, many have suggested other alternatives.[6] While the authorship may be a matter of debate, the audience certainly is not. The book is specifically addressed to seven churches in Asia Minor: the church in Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia, and Laodicea (1:4, 11).[7]
It is now widely accepted that Revelation was written to be understood and interpreted within an oral setting (cf. 1:3).[8] Maier notes that the text is written in such a way as to keep the listener’s interest and draw them into an emotional experience of the vision.[9] This is typical of apocalyptic literature, which is expressive and conveys feelings and attitudes.[10] Therefore, the literary devices John makes use of have important functions that significantly determine the communication process. Any exposition of the sixth seal should be careful to note the sounds and feelings that are embedded in the text.
Literary Context
The seven seals find their setting in the throne room of Revelation 4-5.[11] The cry is raised, “Who is worthy to open the book and break its seals?” (5:2). The Lion of the tribe of Judah is found worthy and steps forward to take the scroll and break the seals. While the scroll cannot be read until all the seals are broken, the action of breaking each seal produces a series of events on earth.[12] The first four are characterised by different coloured horses and their mysterious riders which cause increasing distress upon the earth (6:1-8), while the fifth and sixth reveal the suffering of the martyrs and the divine response to their cry for justice (vv. 9-17).[13] The connection between the fifth and sixth seal should not be overlooked. The answer to the cry of the saints in v.10 is hinted at in v.11 and explicitly expressed in vv. 12-17.[14] This progression from one seal to the next indicates that that the events of the sixth seal point to the final judgment.[15] The description of the sixth seal draws heavily on the apocalyptic imagery used throughout the Old Testament and consists of two parts: the cosmic signs (vv. 12-14), and the human reactions to those signs (vv. 15-17).[16]
Exegesis
As I looked, He broke the sixth seal and a great earthquake occurred.[17] This imagery would have been frighteningly familiar to John’s original audience. Some of the churches to which he was writing were located in cities that had been devastated by earthquakes only a few years earlier.[18] On top of this, earthquakes were often associated with the eschatological presence of God in biblical and Jewish tradition.[19] The phrase σεισμὸς μέγας occurs four times throughout Revelation and is always mentioned in the context of judgment.[20] Some view this earthquake as being different to the one in 6:14, which they believe refers to the final earthquake mentioned in the seventh bowl plague (16:18).[21] However, the composition of verses 12-14 indicates that they are one and the same. The description of the signs follows an inverse parallel structure: the great earthquake and the shaking of every mountain and island frame the celestial events of the sun, moon, and stars convulsing and the sky disappearing like a scroll being rolled up. [22] A comparison with the seventh plague also reveals that they are both describing the same event.[23] Thus, any attempt to distinguish between two earthquakes in the sixth seal “grows out of something other than biblical exegesis.”[24]
The sun turned black like sackcloth, the whole moon become like blood. The darkening of the sun and moon would have sent shivers up the spines of John’s original audience. Such phenomena was common in Greco-Roman literature and was understood as a warning sign of divine anger.[25] This has some overlap in the Old Testament. The background for these phenomena is Joel 2:31, with possible echoes of Isa. 50:3. Sackcloth was worn as a sign of mourning and it here serves to emphasise the theme of judgment.[26] The only other time σάκκος occurs in Revelation is when it is worn by the two witnesses in 11:3 as they proclaim a message of judgment.[27] The combination of a black sun and a red moon also appears in Acts 2:20 and indicates that they were well understood as signs of the Day of the Lord.
And the stars were falling from heaven to earth, as a fig tree drops its unripe figs when shaken by a strong wind. The three celestial signs of the sun, moon and stars all follow the same literary pattern of an announcement of what happened in the aorist, followed by a simile introduced with ὡς.[28] Taken together, these signs clearly point to the end of the age.[29] Falling stars are mentioned a number of times in Revelation (8:10; 9:1; 12:4), and often point to judgment.[30] They can also be used as a metaphor for the fall of Satan and his angels.[31] The sky disappearing like a scroll being rolled up would have been another vivid image for the first hearers of Revelation.[32] Imagine the sky rolling up like the scroll the preacher was holding![33] In ancient cosmology the sky was thought to be a solid dome above the earth. But now that it is rolled up, the earth stands “unshielded before God.”[34] Both the fig tree and the sky being rolled up is an allusion to Isa. 34:4.[35] Jesus also used the image the fig tree as a sign of eschatological judgement.[36]
As John casts his eye back to earth, he saw every mountain and island was shaken out of its place. The shaking would appear to be the results of the σεισμὸς μέγας in v. 13, once again indicating that there is only one earthquake.[37] The three primary verbs in v. 14 are all in the passive voice indicating that God is the controlling agent behind them.[38] While heaven and earth are thrown into turmoil, the kings of the earth, the courtiers and officers, the rich and the powerful, and every slave and free person hid themselves in the caves and rocks of the mountains.[39] Given the importance of the number seven throughout Revelation, it is perhaps no accident that John mentions seven groups of people. This phrase means everyone, “the human world in all its fullness.”[40] “Fall on us!” they were saying to the mountains and the rocks. “Hide us form the presence of the One who sits on the throne and from the wrath of the Lamb!”[41] The imagery of this inescapable judgment is drawn from Hos. 10:8 and Isa. 2:19 where the enemies of God flee to the mountains and cry out to the rocks to cover them from His wrath. However, the concept of hiding from God finds its ultimate source in Gen. 3:9 where Adam and Eve hid from His presence. Beale notes that “sinful history must end in the same way that it began.”[42]
The response to these cosmic signs reaches its climax in the collective cry of the wicked: “For the great day of their wrath has come, and who is able to stand?” The use of the article (ἡ ἡμέρα) points to a specific day, the Day of the Lord. The breaking of the sixth seal marks the inauguration of the great day of wrath itself.[43] Smalley points out that whenever the word ὀργή appears in Revelation, a creative and positive implication is predicted.[44] It should also be noted that this is the first time the wrath of God is mentioned in Revelation, and it does so in connection with Christ: “The cross should be understood as the revelation of the love and wrath of God, who is at once savior and judge.”[45] The rhetorical question “who can stand?” brings to mind Mal. 3:2 and prepares the audience for the answer in the following vision.[46]
Interpretation
Now that we have examined the passage in detail the question remains: are the events described in the sixth seal to be interpreted literally or figuratively? Because the breaking of this seal marks the beginning of the final judgment, some argue that the cosmic signs should most naturally be understood as being literal material events.[47] Although this may be the case, the continued existence of the rocks and mountains would suggest that this is not a description of cosmic destruction.[48] Paulien notes the repeated use of ὡς and argues that this word “introduces a figurative analogy to an actual event.”[49] However, there is no evidence that it is used this way elsewhere in the New Testament.[50]
Historicists have traditionally pointed to the Lisbon earthquake on November 1, 1755, the Dark Day of May 19, 1780, and the Leonid star shower of November 13, 1833 as being the fulfilment of these signs.[51] They argue that their geography, sequence, and timing are unparalleled in history and should thus be seen as the fulfilment of the breaking of the sixth seal.[52] But this interpretation cannot be supported exegetically. Those who advocate this position read two earthquakes into the text,[53] and split this single cosmic event into isolated events that are separated by decades affecting different generations.[54] There is also the issue of consistency. If the descriptions of the sun, moon and stars are read literally here, should they not also be read literally when they are mentioned again in the vision of the trumpets and the woman?[55] While there is no doubt that these historical events in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries did stir up the religiosity of those who witnessed them, they should be seen as an application rather than the fulfilment of the sixth seal.
It is far more appropriate to interpret the events figuratively. This is not to say that there will be no concrete fulfilment.[56] It is simply a matter of literary genre. The sixth seal is not a primitive weather forecast; it employs apocalyptic language that invests concrete events with theological significance. Beale notes that the five Old Testament passages that use these cosmic signs, and thus form the backdrop for the sixth seal, refer to the historical end of a nation’s existence “through divine judgment, in which God conducts holy war by employing one nation to defeat another in war.”[57] Therefore, even though the language is figurative it still points to actual events that will usher in the Day of the Lord.[58] The same applies in the sixth seal. Contrary to what Stefanovic says then, everything in the text indicates that these signs are symbolic not literal.[59]
Application
The message of the sixth seal is both sobering and comforting for believers. The chronological sequence of the seals reveals that we are living in the time between the fifth and the sixth. When heaven and earth begin to shake, it will be too late to repent. Today we must make our decision to stand firm for God, though the heavens fall.[60] The cry of God’s people for vindication has resounded down through history to our own day. The sixth seal provides us with the hope that our prayers have been heard. “God’s time is not always our time, but even if we do not live to see the fulfilment of our prayers, we can die in hope that God will bring about the things He has promised.”[61] We can be sure that these words are “faithful and true” (22:6). For those of us who are still alive during that terribly awesome time, Jesus says to us: “When these things begin to take place, straighten up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near” (Luke 21:28).
Conclusion
After examining the passage of the sixth seal within its historical and literary context, the evidence strongly supports a figurative interpretation. This does not mean that it becomes some sort of abstract description of the events leading up to the Day of the Lord. Rather John is painting the scene with vivid symbols and metaphors that would have created a strong emotional response in the hearts of the original audience and of those who have read and studied it ever since.
[1] Merrill C. Tenney, Interpreting Revelation (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1957), vii.
[2] Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, The Book of Revelation: Justice and Judgment, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1998), 12.
[3] Most commentators raise the question, but many of them don’t provide any arguments for either interpretation.
[4] Although some date it as early as 68-69 C.E., most accept the traditional dating of 95-96 C.E. See G. K. Beale, The Book of Revelation: A Commentary on the Greek Text (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1999), 15-16. On the issue of literary genre, see David Aune, Revelation 1-5 (Dallas, TX: Word, 1997), 1xx-xc.
[5] Rev. 1:1, 4, 9; 22:8.
[6] See discussion in Alan Johnson, Revelation, in The Expositor’s Bible Commentary, vol. 12, edited by Frank E. Gaebelein (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1981), 404-405.
[7] For a comprehensive study of these churches within their historical and geographical setting, see Colin J. Hemer, The Letters to the Seven Churches of Asia in their Local Setting (Sheffield: JSOT, 1986).
[8] Harry O. Maier, Apocalypse Recalled: The Book of Revelation after Christendom (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2002), 101-122.
[9] Ibid, 99.
[10] John J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination: An Introduction to Jewish Apocalyptic Literature, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998), 17. However, I disagree with Collins when he states that apocalyptic language is not referential.
[11] David Aune, Revelation 6-16 (Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson, 1998), 389.
[12] Jon Paulien, “The Seven Seals,” in Symposium on Revelation – Book 1, edited by Frank B. Holbrook (Silver Spring, MD: Biblical Research Institute, General Conference of Seventh-day Adventists, 1992), 201.
[13] Stephen S. Smalley, The Revelation to John: A Commentary on the Greek Text of the Apocalypse (London: SPCK, 2005), 166.
[14] Beale, 395-396.
[15] Ibid, 398-399.
[16] Aune, Revelation 6-16, 391. J. Massyngberde Ford notes that there are seven signs. See Revelation. (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1975), 112.
[17] The translation used here and throughout the rest of the essay is my own.
[18] Craig Keener, The NIV Application Commentary: Revelation (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2000), 220. Aune notes that the “entire province of Asia was prone to earthquakes; in the great earthquake of A.D. 17 alone, twelve cities were destroyed.” Revelation 6-16, 424.
[19] See for instance Isa. 24:18-23; 29:6; Joel 2:10; 3:16; Micah 1:4; Nahum 1:5; Sib. Or. 1:187; 3.339-59.
[20] Rev. 6:12; 11:13; 16:18 (twice).
[21] Ranko Stefanovic, Revelation of Jesus Christ: Commentary on the Book of Revelation, 2nd ed. (Berrien Springs, MI: Andrews University, 2009), 249; Paulien, 236.
[22] Hans K. LaRondelle, Light for the Last Days (Nampa, ID: Pacific Press, 1999), 164.
[23] Ibid; cf. Andrew E. Steinmann, “The Tripartite Structure of the Sixth Seal, the Sixth Trumpet, and the Sixth Bowl of John’s Apocalypse,” JETS 35, no. 1 (March 1992), 69-79.
[24] LaRondelle, 165.
[25] See “Excursus 6A” in Aune, Revelation 6-16, 416-419.
[26] Smalley, 167.
[27] Brian K. Blount, Revelation: A Commentary (Louisville, KN: Westminster John Knox, 2009), 138.
[28] Smalley, 166-167; Aune, Revelation 6-16, 414.
[29] Keener, 221.
[30] cf. Mark 13:25.
[31] Isa. 14:12; cf. Luke 10:18.
[32] The verb ἀποχωρίζω can mean to “separate” or “split” (BDAG, 125), but this doesn’t fit the simile of a scroll rolling up. It is perhaps best translated as “disappeared” or “receded” (NIV) with the implication that heaven could no longer be seen.
[33] Joseph L. Mangina, Revelation (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos, 2010), 104.
[34] Francis D. Nichol, ed. The Seventh-day Adventist Bible Commentary, vol. 7 (Washington, DC: Review and Herald, 1980), 779.
[35] For a helpful comparison between the two passages, see Beale, 396. Cf. Heb. 1:12.
[36] Mark 13:25; Matt. 24:29; Luke 21:26.
[37] Here I follow Aune in translating the verb as “shaken.” Contra Smalley, who argues that it should be translated “removed” (168).
[38] Blount, 139.
[39] A similar list occurs in Rev 13:16; 19:18.
[40] Mangina, 105; cf. Ford, 112.
[41] For a discussion on the “One who sits on the throne” as a circumlocution for God, see Aune, Revelation 1-5,284.
[42] Beale, 400.
[43] Blount, 140.
[44] Smalley, 171.
[45] Pierre Prigent, Commentary on the Apocalypse of St. John (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 277. For a discussion on the wrath of the Lamb, see G. B. Caird, A Commentary on the Revelation of St. John the Divine, 2nd ed. (London: A & C Black, 1984), 90-93.
[46] Keener, 223. cf. Joel 2:11.
[47] Smalley, 168. Cf. 2 Pet. 3:10.
[48] Aune, Revelation 6-16, 391.
[49] Paulien, 237. Followed by Stefanovic, 251.
[50] See BDAG, 1103-1106.
[51] SDABC, 779; C. Mervyn Maxwell, God Cares, Vol. 2 (Boise, ID: Pacific Press, 1985), 194-201; Alberto R.Treiyer, The Seals and the Trumpets: Biblical and Historical Studies (Silver Spring, MD: Self Published, 2005), 177-183.
[52] William H. Shea, “Cosmic Signs through History,” Ministry (February 1999), 11; cf. Paulien, 237 n. 144.
[53] See references in footnote 21 above.
[54] LaRondelle, 164.
[55] Roy C. Naden, The Lamb Among the Beasts (Hagerstown, MD: Review and Herald, 1996), 114.
[56] I’m not aware of any commentator who would argue against some sort of material fulfilment.
[57] Beale, 397.
[58]We use similar language today when we speak of “earth-shattering events” or “all hell breaking loose.”
[59] Stefanovic, 251.
[60] LaRondelle, 168.
[61] Keener, 228.
Introduction
For centuries, the book of Daniel has been a storm centre for biblical scholarship. The wind and waves of criticism have primarily swirled and blown around the historicity of the book itself.[1] Everything from the dating of Daniel to the historical figure of Daniel has been the subject of intense debate between liberal and conservative Christians. Among the many apparent historical inconsistences noted by biblical critics is that of the chronological relationship between Daniel 1 and 2. The following essay will provide a description of the problem, evaluate the various explanations that have been proposed to solve the problem, and conclude with a solution that best fits the evidence.
The Problem
Daniel begins his book with a historical reference to “the third year of the reign of Jehoiakim king of Judah” (1:1),[2] which is generally considered to be the first year of Nebuchadnezzar’s reign (605 B.C.E.). However, careful readers are immediately presented with an apparent historical contradiction. Jeremiah, who scholars consider to be a far more reliable historical source, states that the first year of Nebuchadnezzar was the fourth year of Jehoiakim, not the third (25:1). But this discrepancy is easily explained by the differences between the Babylonian and Palestinian methods of dating, the former being based on accession year reckoning.[3] So far, so good. The following chapter of Daniel begins with another historical reference, this time to “the second year of the reign Nebuchadnezzar” (2:1). There is no problem with this historical marker, except as it relates to the three years of education that the young exiles had to complete (1:5, 18). The dating of chapters 1 and 2 do not seem to allow for three years between the first and second year of Nebuchadnezzar’s reign. How then, do we explain this chronological conundrum?
Unhistorical
Critical scholarship has responded to this problem by dismissing the dating of chapter 2 as being fictional or unimportant. Louis Hartman simply states that it has “no historical value.”[4] Along with other recent commentators, John Collins concludes that Daniel 2 was not originally written to fit the context provided in Daniel 1.[5] Following Collins, Daniel Smith-Christopher argues that the editor who compiled the stories of chapters 1-6 chose to “leave some of the enigmatic chronological notes alone, rather than straighten them out.”[6] Robert Anderson waves his hands in the air, saying that the date “is not capable of reconciliation with the historical superscription to the book.”[7] But to say that the dates are too hard to reconcile or that they are non-historical is an inadequate explanation. Without wading into the debates on the composition and authorship of Daniel, it would be ignorant to say that the editor or compiler simply did not notice the discrepancy.[8] The chronological markers seemed to be strategically placed throughout the book.[9] If they were merely fictional and only added later during the compiling process, one would expect there to have been an even greater attempt on the part of the editor to make sure that they did line up. It would be far more reasonable to say that they must have somehow made sense to the original audience. The apparent contradiction should thus be explicable within its ancient context. This brings us to the various historical explanations.
Historical
Perhaps one of the earliest attempts to synchronise the chronology of Daniel 1 and 2 was by Josephus. In Antiquities of the Jews, he interpreted the “second year” in 2:1 as the second year after Nebuchadnezzar’s invasion of Egypt.[10] Following in his footsteps, Jerome commented that the second year refers to Nebuchadnezzar’s “reign over all the barbarian nations” including Assyria, Egypt, and Moab.[11] This interpretation, however, hasn’t found support with any modern historians.[12] Calvin attempted to reconcile the dates by arguing that Nebuchadnezzar conjointly reigned with his father Nebopolasser at the time of Daniel’s deportation.[13] While there is some evidence for this, the fact remains that Nebuchadnezzar ascended the throne in the same year (605 B.C.E.) following his father’s death.[14] Judah Slotki points out that “Jewish commentators argue that this date refers to the time from the destruction of the Temple in 587 B.C.E. and not from Nebuchadnezzar’s accession”.[15] This creative explanation seems to ignore the fact that 2:1 specifically refers to the second year of his reign as king.[16] Some have suggested that the original date was the twelfth year, not the second. Although this theory was first advanced without a shred of evidence, support has been found in MS 967, an Old Greek translation of Daniel from the third century. However, because this is the only manuscript with this date, it is best explained as a scribal gloss rather than the original reading.[17]
The discovery of accession year reckoning has made most of these explanations redundant. As we saw earlier, the chronological discrepancy in Daniel 1:1 that mystified commentators for centuries makes perfect sense when viewed through the lens of this ancient dating system. Samuel Driver was one of the first commentators to use this method as a way of explaining how the three years of education could have taken place between the first and second year of Nebuchadnezzar.[18] The year in which Nebuchadnezzar besieged Jerusalem (605 B.C.E.) is counted as his accession year, not his first. Therefore, by modern reckoning the second year of his reign (2:1) is really his third. Stephen Miller provides the following diagram to demonstrate how this works:[19]
|
Years of Training |
Year of King’s Reign |
Date |
| First | Accession Year | From Sept 605 (the time Nebuchadnezzar assumed the throne) to Nisan (Mar–Apr) 604 B.C.E |
| Second | First Year | Nisan 604-603 B.C.E. |
| Third | Second Year | Nisan 603-602 B.C.E |
But this raises an important question, had Daniel completed his three years of education before, during, or after the events described in chapter 2?
Throughout the centuries, most readers have naturally understood the events of chapters 1 and 2 as being chronological. There must therefore be an explanation that allows enough room for a period of time between the graduation of Daniel and his three friends (1:18-20) and the recognition of Daniel’s God-given wisdom following his interpretation of Nebuchadnezzar’s dream (2:46-49). Based on this assumption, many have suggested that the period of education may not have been three complete years, since Hebrews often reckoned part of a year as a whole.[20] Zdravko Stefanovic points out that “the inclusive way of reckoning time was widespread in the ancient world… thus… the three years of training of Daniel and his companions lasted less than two full calendar years”.[21] This explanation has been favoured by most conservative commentators.[22]
However, the assumption that the chapters are chronological is open to question. First, it is important to note that the book of Daniel is not primarily arranged chronologically, but symmetrically.[23] While chapters 8-12 are arranged according to their order of events, chapters 2-7 are arranged according their theme.[24] Chapter 1 seems to have been written as a general introduction to and overview of the whole book, providing the necessary details as to how and why Daniel and his friends were in the Babylonian court. Verses 17 and 21 in particular appear to serve as a summary of the rest of the book. Having provided the context, the remaining chapters should be seen as being an elaboration of how Daniel and his three friends demonstrated their God-given “knowledge and intelligence in every branch of literature and wisdom” (v. 17).[25]
Second, the fact that the three years of education are referred to as a definite period of time would suggest that they were full years. Leon Wood draws attention to a parallel period of training in Persian culture that covered three full years.[26] If the Babylonian education system was the same or similar, the three years of training would take us beyond the second year of Nebuchadnezzar’s reign and into his third. This would significantly tip the balances in favour of the events of chapter 2 taking place within the three years.
Third, even a cursory reading of chapter 2 suggests that Daniel had not yet completed his training.[27] He was not summoned by Nebuchadnezzar when the other wise men were (2:2), and he wasn’t even aware of the situation (2:15). He also appears to disassociate himself from the other wise men.[28] This would seem strange if Daniel had already “entered the king’s personal service” (1:19). Later, when he is presented before Nebuchadnezzar, he is introduced as though he were not previously known (2:25). Either the king had short-term memory loss, having recently praised Daniel and his three friends (1:18-20), or this was in fact their first encounter. It is thus entirely possible that the events of Daniel 2 took place after the story in 1:8-17, but before the end of the three-year period. Chapter 2 could therefore be seen as a flashback.[29]
A couple of objections have been raised against this explanation. Since Daniel was immediately promoted to the position of chief wise man after interpreting Nebuchadnezzar’s dream (2:48), he must have already completed his training and been considered part of the group of wise men.[30] One possible answer to this is offered by John Goldingay who suggests that 1:18-20 and 2:45-49 may refer to the same event.[31] This is a possibility, though not without some difficulties.[32] Another objection is that Daniel and his three friends must have already been given their position as wise men before Nebuchadnezzar had his dream because they were included in the order that all the wise men be killed (2:13). Wood responds to this by arguing that because they were being educated for this specific type of work, “they were included in the blanket order”.[33]
Conclusion
Throughout this essay, we’ve evaluated many of the creative and not-so creative explanations that have been offered to try and make sense of the chronology between Daniel 1 and 2. Dismissing the dates as being unimportant was shown to be unacceptable. The discovery of accession year reckoning for the dating of Nebuchadnezzar’s reign and inclusive reckoning for the three years of education has provided satisfactory answers for many. However, the assumption that chapters 1 and 2 are chronological has been shown to be questionable. Three lines of evidence have been explored which seem to suggest otherwise. Although it is not without some weaknesses, the wind of evidence has blown us in the direction of understanding the events of chapter 2 as having taken place during (or at the conclusion of) the three years of education, not after.
[1] For a liberal assessment of the historicity of Daniel, see John J. Collins, A Commentary on Daniel (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1993), 29-33; for a more conservative view, see Joyce B. Baldwin, Daniel: An Introduction and Commentary (Downers Grove, IL: Intervarsity, 1978), 19-29; and for a more popular presentation of the issues, see Josh McDowell, Daniel in the Critics’ Den (San Bernardino, CA: Campus Crusade for Christ International, 1979).
[2] All Scripture quotations are from the NASB.
[3] Edwin R. Thiele, The Mysterious Numbers of the Hebrew Kings, 3rd edition (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1983), 183; see also see Francis D. Nichol, ed. The Seventh-day Adventist Bible Commentary, vol. 4. (Washington, DC: Review and Herald, 1977), 747-748.
[4] Louis F. Hartman and Alexander A. Di Lella, The Book of Daniel: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1978), 143. In fact, he considers all of the dates artifical (138).
[5] John J. Collins, A Commentary on Daniel (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1993), 155.
[6] Daniel L. Smith-Christopher The Book of Daniel: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections, in The New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. 7, edited by Leander E. Keck (Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 1996), 49.
[7] Robert A. Anderson, Daniel: Signs and Wonders (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1984), 11.
[8] Such as Collins, 155.
[9] J. Paul Tanner, “The Literary Structure of the Book of Daniel,” Bibliotheca Sacra 160, no. 639 (2003), 278.
[10] Flavius Josephus, Josephus Complete Works, translated by William Whiston (Grand Rapids, MI: Kregel, 1960), 223.
[11] Jay Braverman, Jerome’s Commenary on Daniel (Washington, DC: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1978), 72.
[12] Collins, 154.
[13] John Calvin, Daniel, translated by T. H. L. Parker (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1993), 46.
[14] For a helpful description of the historical situation, see Nichol, 756.
[15] Judah J. Slotki, Daniel, Ezra and Nehemiah: Hebrew Text and English Translation (London: Soncino, 1951), 7.
[16] The same phrase, used of Jehoiakim in 1:1, can only refer to kingly reign.
[17] Ernest Lucas, Daniel (Downers Grove, IL: Intervarsity, 2002), 62.
[18] Samuel R. Driver, The Book of Daniel (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1922), 17; followed by Edward J. Young, A Commentary on Daniel (Carlisle, PA: Banner of Truth, 1948), 55; Desmond Ford, Daniel (Nashville, TN: Southern Publishing Association, 1978), 89; Lucas, 62.
[19] Stephen R. Miller, Daniel (Nashville, TN: Broadman & Holman, 1994), 76,
[20] Young, 55; Nichol, 762; Baldwin, 85. Cf. 2 Kings 18:9, 10; Matt. 12:40.
[21] Zdravko Stefanovic, Daniel: Wisdom to the Wise (Nampa, ID: Pacific Press, 2007), 82.
[22] Such as those referred to in the footnotes above.
[23] Baldwin, 59-60.
[24] Chapter 6 takes place in the time of Darius, while chapter 7 relates to the earlier time of Belshazzar’s kingdom.
[25] Another example of a broad overview followed by a more detailed account can be seen in the comparison between the creation accounts in Gen. 1-2.
[26] Leon Wood, A Commentary on Daniel (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1973), 49; cf. Collins, 140.
[27] Mark K. Mercer, “Daniel 1:1 and Jehoiakim’s Three Years of Servitude,” AUSS 27, no. 3 (1989), 187-188.
[28] Ibid, 50.
[29] Danna Nolan Fewell, Circle of Sovereignty: A Story of Stories in Daniel 1-6 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1988), 49.
[30] Miller, 76.
[31] John Goldingay, Daniel: Word Biblical Commentary 30 (Dallas, TX: Word, 1989), 45.
[32] Such as the different language that is used to describe the two events. Also the fact that only Daniel is recognised for his God-given wisdom in chapter 2, while both Daniel and his friends are recognised for their skill and wisdom in chapter 1.
[33] Wood, 49.
“We who are Jews by birth and not from among ‘Gentile sinners’ know that a person is not justified by works of the law, but through the faithfulness of Jesus Christ, even we have believed in Christ Jesus, in order that we might be justified through the faithfulness of Christ and not by works of the law, because by works of the law no one will be justified.”
(Gal. 2:15-16)
Introduction
The letter to the Galatians is generally considered to be one of the most important epistles penned by the apostle Paul.[1] As such, it has played a significant role in the theological reflection and doctrinal development of the Christian Church.[2] One of the central passages in the letter is 2:15-21 where, for the first time, Paul articulates his understanding of justification by faith over and against justification by works of the law. Although there are a number of important interpretational issues hidden within this apparently simple but dense passage, the present essay will focus on reconstructing the meaning of the phrase “works of the law” (ἔργων νόμου) in 2:16 from within its historical and literary contexts.
Historical Context
It almost goes without saying that the apostle Paul was the author of the letter to the Galatians. As Longenecker remarks, “If Galatians is not by Paul, no NT letter is by him, for none has any better claim.”[3] After identifying himself by name (1:1), Paul goes on to share some important autobiographical information that sheds important light on the occasion and purpose of the letter (1:11-2:14).[4]
While the authorship of the letter is not contested, the identity of the recipients certainly is.[5] Paul addresses the letter to the churches in Galatia (1:2), and later refers to them as Galatians (3:1). The uncertainty of the recipients is caused by the fact that the name could be used in both an ethnic and geographic sense.[6] This has given rise to what is commonly
referred to as the northern and southern hypotheses. Although convincing arguments can be mounted in support of either position, the weight of evidence seems to lean towards the southern hypothesis.[7] However, the precise location does not have any significant bearing on the interpretation of the “works of the law” and will thus not be pursued here.
Since Paul’s last visit to the believers in Galatia, a group of “troublemakers” had begun to infiltrate the churches (1:7; 5:10, 12).[8] We know nothing about these individuals apart from that which we find in the letter itself.[9] It seems that Paul himself is not exactly sure of the identity of the individuals who are troubling the Galatians either (3:1; 5:7, 10). But according to the nformation that had reached him, these “troublemakers” were trying to impose the requirements of the Jewish Law upon those in the faith.[10] This was revealed specifically in the way they were urging the believers to become circumcised (5:2-12; 6:12-13; cf. 2:3-5). This was an outward sign of an inward concern they had over ethnic identity. They believed that the Gentiles had to become Jews by circumcision before they could become true Christians. As McKnight points out, they “saw their message as Jesus Christ plus Moses, not just Moses, not just Jesus Christ.”[11] Paul thus charges them with preaching a distorted gospel (1:6-9). There also seems to be hints that these “troublemakers” were casting doubt on Paul’s apostolic credentials, which helps to explain the extended autobiographical account of the divine origin of his calling and commission to preach the gospel (1:11-24). Therefore, from the evidence presented within the letter, the picture that emerges of these “troublemakers” is that they were Jewish Christians who were teaching that Paul’s gospel was incomplete without obedience to the Law and specifically circumcision. As far as they were concerned, Christ was subordinate to the Law.[12]
Literary Context
In his landmark commentary, Betz convincingly demonstrated that Galatians is an apologetic letter.[13] Following the typical epistolary prescript and introduction (1:1-10), the first major section is the narratio (1:11-2:14), which contains a brief statement of the facts relevant to the charge being addressed; the second is the propositio (2:15-21), which contains a statement on the points of agreement and a statement on the points that are contested; and the third major section is the probatio (3:1-4:31), which is considered the most important part of the letter because it contains the proofs that that will determine whether or not the case will succeed.[14] The passage being considered in the present essay falls between the narratio and the probatio, summing up the content of the former and setting up the arguments of the latter.[15] Longenecker thus describes 2:15-21 as being “not only the hinge between what has gone before and what follows but actually the central affirmation of the letter.”[16]
The first argument that Paul puts forward in the propositio is in vv. 15-16 which he will develop more fully in 3:1-18. It flows directly out of his rebuke of Peter in 2:11-14 regarding table fellowship at Antioch. Prior to the arrival of a certain group of men from James, Peter had been content to eat with Gentiles (2:12). Presumably, these men were from Jerusalem where most Christians were “zealous for the Law” (Acts 21:20). Upon their arrival, Peter separated himself, causing the other Jewish Christians to do the same. The immediate question that arises from this incident is whether or not Jewish Christians and Gentile Christians belong at the same table, an issue which carried significant social and ethnic implications.[17] Most notably in this context is the Jewish understanding that eating with Gentiles, including those who had become Christians, meant crossing the line that was drawn by the Law.[18] Paul sees the actions of Peter in this situation being very similar to those of the “troublemakers,” which is precisely why he tells this story in this way.[19] “How is it” he questions Peter, “that you compel the Gentiles to live like Jews?” (v. 14). Although it is difficult to know where Paul ends this rebuke and begins stating his argument,[20] it seems that v. 15 marks the transition into his theological reflection of this incident that took place at Antioch.[21]
“Works of the Law”
Paul begins the propositio by building on common ground:[22] “We who are Jews by birth and not from among ‘Gentile sinners’.” This last phrase “Gentile sinners” (ἐξ ἐθνῶν ἁμαρτωλοί) was a technical term for those who were outside the covenant.[23] Paul identifies himself as a Jew and describes the typical Jewish attitude towards their ethnic identity – they were in, the Gentiles were out. But, as Wright puts it, “he is about to show that in the gospel this ethnic identity is dismantled, so that a new identity may be constructed.”[24] As Jews by nature, and Christians by faith, they knew “that a person is not justified by works of the law but only through the faithfulness of Jesus Christ.”[25] Paul assumes that “this is the proper and normal view of Jewish Christians, in light of what they know and believe about the work of Christ.”[26] But what exactly does Paul mean when he speaks of “works of the law” (ἔργων νόμου)?[27] As Betz has noted, it is important to remember that Galatians “is composed of a great deal of doctrinal ‘abbreviations.’ These abbreviations are difficult to translate. Commenting upon them means that they must be dissolved into the doctrinal statements which they intend to abbreviate.”[28] This process must be carefully guided by that which has been discovered in the literary and historical contexts.
The phrase “works of law” is used by Paul eight times,[29] three of which occur in here in Gal. 2:16. There is general agreement among biblical scholarship that when Paul speaks of “the Law” he has the Jewish Law, the Torah, in mind.[30] As Witherington notes, the debate primarily centres not on what law Paul is referring to but rather what sort of works he has in mind.[31] Is Paul referring to all works of the Law or just some in particular? Or is he referring to legalism? Traditionally, Paul’s statements about the “works of the law” have been understood as a denial that human beings can achieve salvation by their own works.[32] This position is still held by some who argue, largely from their understanding of the argument in Romans, that the phrase refers to actions that are performed in obedience to the Law, actions that could be regarded as meritorious.[33] In a similar vein, others have argued that, while the Law itself is good, the phrase is targeted at those who follow the demands of the Law in a spirit of legalism. Bruce states that “Paul had no ready word or phrase in Greek to express what we mean by ‘legalism’, and therefore had to use ‘law’ or a phrase containing ‘law’ to express it.”[34] Westerholm takes a slightly different approach when he maintains that “works of the law” refers to the inability of people to fulfil the requirements of the Law.[35]
These interpretations all seem to have been built upon a distorted understanding that first century Judaism was essentially a works-based religion. In his ground-breaking study Paul and Palestinian Judaism, E. P. Sanders convincingly demonstrated that Judaism never taught that individuals must earn favour with God through good works. Instead, as those who were already members of God’s covenant people, obedience to the Law was the way in which they maintained their position in the covenant, not how they entered it.[36] Thus, any obedience or “works of the law” was an integral part of the covenant. It would seem only natural then, that the phrase would refer to the obligations laid upon the Israelites by virtue of their covenantal membership.[37] This historical understanding makes perfect sense of the literary context. By withdrawing from table fellowship with Gentile believers, Peter was not striving to earn salvation by his own good works. Instead, he was seeking to maintain the boundary between the Jewish Christians – those in the covenant, and the Gentile Christians – those who had to conform to the requirements of the covenant.[38]
Were there any specific requirements? It would seem so. Gal. 2:16 forms the immediate conclusion of the two preceding incidents recorded in the narratio which centred on the issues of circumcision (2:3-6) and the observance of Jewish food laws (2:12-14). Dunn has pointed out that these two issues in particular had been central to Jewish identity and covenant faithfulness since the Maccabean crisis (1 Macc. 1:60-63).[39] This helps us understand why they appear to have been test cases pushed upon the Galatian believers by the “troublemakers.”[40] This does not mean, however, that “works of the law” only refers to circumcision and food laws. Paul rebukes Peter for compelling the Gentiles to live like Jews (2:14), which seems to indicate that the phrase includes more than just these two covenantal markers, but the whole Jewish way of life summed up in the Law. This understanding is also confirmed by the way in which Paul employs the phrase elsewhere in Galatians, especially in 3:9-10 where the antithesis is drawn between those who are “of faith” (ἐκ πίστεως) and those “of works of the law” (ἐξ ἔργων νόμου), clearly referring to two different modes of existence, the latter being those who view the observance of the Law as obligatory for God’s people.[41] Thus, I think Witherington is correct in affirming that for Paul “works of law” refers to actions performed in obedience to the Law, “or more specifically acts performed in response to any and all commandments of the Law,” but wrong in denying that Paul is “simply concerned with specific laws,” or “with the social function and effect of the Law separating Jews from Gentiles.”[42] The whole context has shown that that the phrase includes both the Law in general, and the specific laws in particular, from a covenantal perspective. Hays appears to be the closest to the truth when he concludes that
The phrase does not refer only to markers of ethnic identity; in principle, it refers – as Dunn has acknowledged – to the comprehensive range of actions required by Torah. But the immediate context of Galatians suggests that “works of Law” points especially to the few litmus-test practices where Jewish identity was symbolically at stake.[43]
Conclusion
The present essay has attempted to reconstruct the meaning of the “works of the law” from within the historical and literary context of Galatians. The historical context revealed important insights into the Law-driven agenda of the “troublemakers” who were specifically stirring up the Gentile believers to become circumcised. The literary context further revealed the centrality of the propositio in the structure of the letter and how Paul’s theological statements in that section grow directly out of the incident at Antioch over ethnic separation. Drawing on these two contexts, the meaning of the “works of the law” was shown to be referring not only to the covenantal boundary markers of circumcision and food laws, but also to the Jewish Law in general which distinguished Jews and Gentiles. In condemning these “works of the law” as a means of justification, Paul is saying that our true covenantal identity is no longer found in the Law, but
in “the faithfulness of Jesus Christ.”
[1] Along with Romans and 1 and 2 Corinthians, F. F. Bruce identifies Galatians as a “capital” epistle of Paul. See The Epistle to the Galatians: A Commentary on the Greek Text (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1982), 1.
[2] Richard Hays, “The Letter to the Galatians: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. 11 (Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 2000), 184. For a detailed history on the impact of Galatians throughout the Christian era, see Richard Longenecker, Galatians, Word Biblical Commentary 41 (Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson, 1990), x1ii-1vii.
[3] Longenecker, Galatians, 1viii.
[4] James D. G. Dunn, A Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians (London: A & C Black, 1993), 3.
[5] The destination of the letter is also bound up with issues surrounding the dating of the letter.
[6] G. W. Hansen, “Letter to the Galatians,” in Dictionary of Paul and His Letters, edited by Gerald F. Hawthorne (Downers Grove, IL: Intervarsity, 1993),323-326.
[7] For a detailed discussion of the two hypotheses, see Bruce, Galatians, 3-18; Longenecker, Galatians, 1xi-1xxii. Both are convinced that the weight of evidence favours the southern option.
[8] Regarding the labelling of these opponents, Dunn points out that it is important not to call them “Judaizers” as that was the term used to describe one “who lived like a Jew”, not one who tried to get others to judaize (Galatians, 9 n 2).
[9] Building on the work of J. L. Sumney, Ben Witherington issues 11 cautionary parameters that he believes will lead to a balanced and careful approach in identifying Paul’s opponents. See Grace in Galatia: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Galatians (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998), 21-25.
[10] The frequent use of the word νόμος (32 times) reveals this was one of the central concerns of the letter. See also the keys phrases “works of law” (2:16), and “under the law” (3:23; 4:4-5, 21; 5:18).
[11] Scot McKnight, The NIV Application Commentary: Galatians (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1995), 24.
[12] Hays, Galatians, 195.
[13] Hans Dieter Betz, Galatians: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Churches in Galatia (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1979), 14-25. The literary genre is also known as forensic rhetoric in which the tactics of persuasion used in the law court are adapted into written form as a defence against accusations. See Hansen, “Letter to the Galatians,” 329.
[14] Ibid, 128.
[15] Ibid, 114.
[16] Longenecker, Galatians, 83.
[17] Space does not permit an overview of the cultural nuances of this, so see Dunn, Galatians, 117-119 for more detailed discussion.
[18] Betz, Galatians, 106. See also John 4:9; 18:28; Acts 10:28; 11:3.
[19] N. T. Wright, Justification: God’s Plan and Paul’s Vision (London: SPCK, 2009), 94.
[20] Bruce, Galatians, 136.
[21] McKnight, Galatians, 115. Contra Hays, Galatians, 230-231, who argues Paul’s speech continues through to v. 21.
[22] Ian W. Scott, “Common Ground? The Role of Galatians 2.16 in Paul’s Arugment,” New Testament Studies 53 (2007), 425-435, demonstrates that the agreement Paul refers to is between Peter and the others in Antioch, not the Jewish Christian “troublemakers.” This may lend further support to the position taken by Hays.
[23] See Dunn, Galatians, 132-133. The phrase ἐξ ἐθνῶν also occurs in Rom. 9:24; 2 Cor. 11:26.
[24] Wright, Justification, 95.
[25] For a discussion on why I have chosen to translate πίστεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ as a subjective genitive, see Hays, Galatians, 239-240; see also Witherington, Galatians, 179-182, for defence of this view against Dunn’s defence of an objective genitive translation.
[26] Witherington, Galatians, 173. Betz goes one further and calls this a “self-definition” of a Jewish Christian (Galatians, 115).
[27] J. Louis. Martyn, Galatians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (New York, NY: Doubleday, 1997), 250, 262, suggests that the phrase was probably first used by the “troublemakers” and should be translated as “obervance of the law.”
[28] Betz, Galatians, 115. Hays terms these phrases “theological shorthand” (Galatians, 236).
[29] Rom 3:20, 28; Gal 2:16; 3:2, 5, 10. This phrase is only used by Paul and has no Old Testament equivalent.
[30] See James D. G. Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998) 128-161, for a full treatment of Paul’s view of the Law.
[31] Witherington, Galatians, 175.
[32] Martin Luther, Commentary on Galatians (Grand Rapids, MI: Kregel, 1979) 65-76. It seems Luther imagined that both his enemies and Paul’s were the same and subsequently interpreted all Pauline literature in this way.
[33] See Douglas J. Moo, “’Law,’ ‘Works of the Law,’ and Legalism in Paul,” Westminster Theological Journal 45 (1983), 92-96; Betz, Galatians, 116. For a defence of this interpretation, which almost entirely ignores the historical and literary contexts, see also William D. Barrick, “The New Perspective and ‘Works of the Law’ (Gal. 2:16 and Rom. 3:20),” The Master’s Seminary Journal 16, no. 2 (2005), 277-292.
[34] Bruce, Galatians, 137. The fact that ἒργον is used to describe actions rather than attitues seems to discredit this position. See Giessen Georg Bertram, “ἔργον, ἐργάζομαι” in Theological
Dictionary of the New Testament, vol. 2, edited by Gerhard Kittel (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1964), 635-652.
[35] Stephen Westerholm, Israel’s Law and the Church’s Faith (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1988), 109-121.
[36] Sanders coined the phrase “covenantal nomism” to describe this pattern of religion. See E. P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism (London: SCM, 1977), 75, 419-428. For a critique on the percieved weaknesses of Sanders arugment, see Thomas R. Schreiner, “An Old Perspective on the New Perspective,” Concordia Journal 35, no. 2 (2009), 140-155.
[37] Dunn, Galatians, 135-136.
[38] Hays, Galatians, 239.
[39] Ibid, 136.
[40] See also McKnight, Galatians, 24.
[41] Longenecker, Galatians, 83. As far as Romans is concerned, the phrase “works of the law” seems to carry the same basic meaning, although perhaps containing slighty different nuances adapted to the particular issues being addressed at Rome. But to explore this further is beyond the scope of the present essay.
[42] Witherington, Galatians, 176-178.
[43] Hays, Galatians, 239.
Introduction
Ecclesiastes is generally considered by readers and commentators alike as being primarily a philosophical rather than a theological work.[1] This approach to the book has often caused many to miss the important dimension of Deity that permeates the message of Qoheleth. Although it is clear that the author did not intend his work to be a theological treatise, his message can only be rightly understood from within his theological framework.[2] How one reconstructs Qoheleth’s theology depends very much on how one answers the following fundamental question: is the god of Qoheleth the God of Israel, or not? Some answer in the affirmative, others the negative.[3] The following essay will seek to address this question by exploring the ways in which Qoheleth portrays God throughout his work, and will then use this information to answer the questions surrounding the identity of God.
The Picture of God
Like the pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night, the God of Qoheleth is often described as being both present and distant, transcendent and sovereign over the world and all that is in it.[4] Nowhere does Qoheleth argue for the existence of God; he simply assumes it. The importance he places on God and His involvement with humanity is made clear by the fact that His name is mentioned explicitly some forty times throughout the book and is implied in numerous other passages.[5] The present section will organise Qoheleth’s statements about God into four categories.[6]
God is the Source
One of the primary presuppositions of the book of Ecclesiastes is the fact that God is the source of all things. He is the creator and provider of things both good and bad. Although God is not explicitly identified as the Creator until 12:1, Choon-Leong Seow points out that the preface (1:2-11) already assumes that there is an ordered universe, inevitably leading the audience to the question of the Creator.[7] This is further emphasised by the echoes of Genesis 1-3 that resound throughout the book.[8] Qoheleth declares that God is the one who “makes everything” (11:5; cf. Gen. 1:1-27); that, despite the entry of sin, there is still good to be found in this world (2:24; 3:12-13; 5:18; cf. Gen 1:31); that, because of sin, there is also toil and hard labour (2:18-23; Gen. 3:17-18), and in the end, death (9:5; 12:7; Gen. 3:19). R. N. Whybray thus observes that “Qoheleth’s picture of God and His dealings with man corresponds remarkably closely to that which we find in Gen. 3.”[9] God is also seen as the provider of all things. He is the giver of life (5:18; 8:15; 9:9; 12:7); He provides prosperity and the ability to enjoy it (2:24-26; 3:13; 6:2); He is also seen as being responsible for days of adversity (7:14), the “grievous task” of searching for understanding (1:13; 3:11), and for the incapacity to enjoy the benefits of one’s labour (6:2).[10] Qoheleth therefore seems to believe quite strongly that “there is nothing except what God gives.”[11]
God is the Judge
Another important attribute of Qoheleth’s God is that He is the one who judges both the righteous and the wicked, though the timing of the judgment is a matter of debate.[12] The role of God as judge first surfaces in the context of miscarried justice in 3:16-17. Here, God’s justice is contrasted with the injustice exercised among and experienced by humanity. Such will be met with divine judgment. In 11:9, Qoheleth exhorts young men to enjoy the pleasures of life and follow after the impulses of their hearts and the desires of their eyes, but to remember that God will bring them into judgment “for all these things.” Some have seen this as an editorial gloss to counteract such shocking advice.[13] A similar approach has been taken regarding the judgment clause in 12:14. But such a position is uncalled for as the reality of divine judgement has already been unambiguously stated (3:17). Walter Brueggemann concludes that for Qoheleth, “there is a reckoning and an accountability that cannot be escaped. Moral coherence indeed exists, and conduct counts”[14] because all will stand in judgement before God.
God is to be feared
Fearing God is a theme that appears in a number of different, though not unrelated contexts throughout the book. In 3:14, the appropriate response to the mystery and perpetuity of God’s work is that men should stand in awe before Him. A similar idea is found in the liturgical setting of 5:1-7, which once again emphasises both the presence and distance of God. In this context, fearing God consists of being cautious in speech (v. 2, 6), being faithful regarding vows (v. 4-5), and conducting one’s self in such a way that “does not invite punishment.”[15] Roland Murphy notes that the imperative to
fear God at the end of this passage reveals that it “is at the heart of his religious attitude.”[16] The one who fears God in 7:18 is said to “come through,” having successfully carried out the two recommendations of avoiding excessive righteousness and wisdom on the one hand (v. 16), and excessive wickedness and folly on the other (v. 17).[17] Qoheleth assumes one of the traditional features of wisdom literature in contrasting those who fear God with the wicked in 8:12-13. Significantly, the book ends with the theme of reverencing God hanging in the air, this time being directly related to commandment keeping (12:13). The common thread that runs through each these statements seem to indicate that the fear of God flows out of “the mystery and incomprehensibility of God,”[18] and “the recognition that God is God and people are human.”[19]
God is Beyond Comprehension
A final way in which Qoheleth portrays God is that He is beyond understanding. This idea is made explicit in three places throughout the book. In 3:11, it is revealed that God has set eternity in the heart of humanity so that they “will not find out the work which God has done from the beginning even to the end.” Unravelling the ambiguity of this much debated passage need not be dealt with here,[20] except to note that despite the meaning of העולם, the work of God is incomprehensible. The next passage in which this attribute of God appears is 8:16-17, where Qoheleth pines that although one may seek wisdom and understanding, even depriving oneself of sleep in the pursuit, it is not possible to discover the work of God under the sun. He later writes that, “Just as you do not know the path of the wind and how bones are formed in the womb of the pregnant woman, so you do not know the activity of God who makes all things” (11:5). Most translations see two points of comparison in this verse, but Murphy suggests that “it seems better to recognise only one term of comparison, the action of the רוח, or ‘life-breath,’ in the womb,” seeing it as a reference to the mystery of conception and birth.[21]
The Identity of God
Having now briefly looked at the picture Qoheleth paints of God, we are in a position to address the questions surrounding His identity. When the four divine characteristics that have been highlighted are compared with the rest of the Old Testament, it becomes clear that they are in complete harmony. Roy Zuck thus notes that “all these truths about God are consistent with the rest of Scripture.”[22] God is indeed the creator and provider of all things (e.g. Gen. 1-2; Job 38:1-7; Ps. 104; Pro. 3:19-20); He is the judge (e.g. Ex. 5:21; 1 Chron. 16:33; Ps. 7:8; 98:9); He is to be feared (e.g. Deut. 10:12; 1 Sam. 12:24; Job 1:8; Pro. 1:7); and He is beyond comprehension (e.g. Deut. 29:29; Ps. 92:5-6; Pro. 20:24; Isa. 55:9).[23] On this basis alone, one may draw the conclusion that the identity of God is obvious. It is however, not a conclusion that is without question among some interpreters.
It should first be noted that Qoheleth only refers to God as אלהים, the generic name for god(s) in the ancient world,[24] and not by the usual personal name יהוה. This has sometimes been used as an argument to prove that Ecclesiastes finds its origins outside of Israel.[25] But this is not an adequate explanation. After all, the covenant name for God does not appear in the book of Esther or the Song of Solomon either.[26] It has already been demonstrated that Qoheleth speaks of one God and identifies Him as the creator and provider of all things. Such obvious creational-monotheism would be a misfit in any other ancient worldview and thus points strongly towards Qoheleth writing from within an Israelite context. But if this were so, why the absence of the covenantal name? There are at least two possible explanations. First, the frustrations and failures of Qoheleth that characterise the book are experienced on more than just a national level; they are universal. He may have thus been writing vis-à-vis the whole of humanity to God, which would appeal to a wider audience with the more generic name אלהים. A second possibility is that as the Old Testament canon was drawing to a close, there was a growing reluctance to use the divine name, “hence, when Ecclesiastes reached its final form – even if Solomon had been the author and had used the covenant name – reverence would have required the use of [אלהים].”[27]
Another criticism which brings the identity of Qoheleth’s God into question is the fact that there is no evidence of the covenant or salvation history anywhere in the book. But the absence of evidence is no evidence of absence. That these central features of Israelite faith are not referred to by Qoheleth is typical of wisdom literature, which concerns “the individual member of society rather than with the nation as a whole.”[28] It addresses the events and experiences of daily life, of which these larger national elements form and implicit framework. Murphy thus points out that “there is no incompatibility between the saving God of history and the God of human experience.”[29] Therefore, while such central features are missing, “this does not give one the right to play off the God of Qoheleth against the Yahweh of Israel.”[30] They are, as has been seen, one and the same.
Conclusion
The present paper has briefly examined the God of Qoheleth by observing four ways in which He is presented throughout the book of Ecclesiastes – as creator and provider, as judge, as one to be feared, and one who is beyond comprehension. These findings were then compared with the picture of God that is revealed in the rest of the Old Testament and it was seen that they were consistent with each other. Two of the major challenges to this understanding were addressed and were seen to be without any substantial foundation. In light of the foregoing evidence, it must therefore be concluded that
the God of Qoheleth is indeed the God of Israel, and it is only within this theological framework that his message can be correctly understood.
[1] C.L. Seow, Ecclesiastes: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (New York: Doubleday, 1997), 54.
[2] “Qoheleth’s concept of God… is the central question for the interpretation of his thought.” R. N. Whybray, New Century Bible Commentary: Ecclesiastes (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1989), 27.
[3] See Stephan de Jong, “God in the Book of Qohelet: A Reappraisal of Qohelet’s Place in Old Testament Theology,” Vetus Testamentum 27, no. 2 (April 1997), 154, and Roland Murphy, Ecclesiastes, Word Biblical Commentary 23A (Dallas, TX: Word Books, 1992), 1xvii for a list of representatives of both views.
[4] Walter Brueggemann, Theology of the Old Testament (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1997), 395.
[5] Seow, Ecclesiastes, 54. Murphy points out that God is “the subject of the verbs נתן, ‘give,’ and עשׂה, ‘do,’ no less than eighteen times.” Ecclesiastes, 13.
[6] Jong, “God in the Book of Qohelet,” classifies the statements into six categories.
[7] Seow, Ecclesiastes, 55.
[8] See Charles C. Forman, “Koheleth’s Use of Genesis,” Journal of Semitic Studies 5, no. 3 (1960): 256-263, for a more detailed study on this point.
[9] Whybray, Ecclesiastes, 29.
[10] Jong, “God in the Book of Qohelet,” 155.
[11] Brueggemann, Theology of the Old Testament, 394.
[12] See the discussion in Murphy, Ecclesiastes, 36 and Seow, Ecclesiastes, 175.
[13] Especially in light of the fact that Num. 15:39 warns against following after one’s heart and eyes. Crenshaw, Ecclesiastes, 184.
[14] Brueggemann, Theology of the Old Testament, 394.
[15] James L. Crenshaw, Ecclesiastes: A Commentary (London: SCM, 1988), 118.
[16] Murphy, Ecclesiastes, 51.
[17] Whybray, Ecclesiastes, 121.
[18] Murphy, Ecclesiastes, 1xvi.
[19] Seow, Ecclesiastes, 174. Tremper Longman, The Book of Ecclesiastes (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998), 36, may perhaps be overstating the case when he concludes that “the fear advocated here is that of fright before a powerful and dangerous being, not respect or awe for a mighty and compassionate deity.”
[20] See Seow, Ecclesiastes, 174, for a helpful and balanced discussion on the meaning of this verse.
[21] Murphy, Ecclesiastes, 109.
[22] Roy B. Zuck, “God and Man in Ecclesiastes,” Bibliotheca Sacra (January-March 1991), 51.
[23] I am in debt to Jong, “God in the Book of Qohelet,” for this idea of comparison.
[24] G. Johannes Botterweck, ed. Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, Revised Edition. Translated by John T. Willis, vol. 1, (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974) 267-277.
[25] “The Israelitish name for God is nowhere employed, nor does there appear to be any reference to Judaic matters; hence there seems to be a possibility that the book is an adaptation of a work in some other language.” David Samuel Margoliouth, “Ecclesiastes,” in The Jewish Encyclopedia, vol. 5 (New York, NY: Ktav Publishing, 1901), 33.
[26] There is no mention of God in these two books at all, except for a disputed reference in Song of Songs 8:6. But there is no question of His presence, especially in the book of Esther.
[27] J. Stafford Wright, Ecclesiastes, in The Expositor’s Bible Commentary, vol. 5, edited by Frank E. Gaebelein (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1991), 1148.
[28] Whybray, Ecclecisates, 29.
[29] Roland Murphy, “Wisdom in the OT,” in Anchor Bible Dictionary, vol. 6, edited by David Noel Freedman (New York, NY: Doubleday, 1992), 922.
[30] Murphy, Ecclesiastes, 1xviii.
“And she will give birth to a son, and you will call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” [1]
Matt. 1:21
Introduction
Recent studies have demonstrated how the beginning of each Gospel performs the role of an overture that introduces the main characters, the major themes, and the world in which the story unfolds.[2] This initial content shapes the expectations of the audience and sets the stage for all that follows. In the gospel of Matthew, we find the opening narrative leading up to, and reaching its climax in, the announcement and birth of Jesus in 1:18-25. In the heart of this passage an angel of the Lord appears to Joseph in a dream and makes three statements: Mary is to give birth to a son, Joseph is to call his name Jesus, and Jesus is to save his people from their sins (v. 21).[3] The following essay will explore three aspects that this verse reveals about the mission of the one to be born and how they are developed throughout the narrative.
The Messianic Name
In the ancient Jewish world names carried far more significance than they do today. Names often defined the personality of an individual and contained the hopes and dreams of the parents for their children.[4] This was especially the case with names that were divinely appointed as they often carried important etymological and prophetic significance.[5] This is evident in the name Joseph was to give to his son. The Greek name Ἰησοῦς is a Hellenised rendering of the Hebrew name Yeshua, a shortened form of Joshua, which means “Yahweh is salvation.”[6] According to John Nolland, there was a common understanding at the time that the etymology of the name was directly related to the Hebrew verb “to save.”[7] That this word play between the name and the verb was to be understood is made obvious by Matthew’s use of γὰρ and the Greek equivalent σώσει that follows.[8] Both the significance of the name and the explicit reference to the saving activity of this individual would not have been missed by the first century Jews. The Old Testament clearly teaches that God alone is Saviour.[9] But here, it is Jesus who becomes the agent of salvation. Donald Hagner has pointed out that “the αὐτὸς is emphatic: it is he who will save his people.”[10] At the very opening of his gospel, Matthew is establishing the fact that the one who is to be born will fulfil the divine role of saviour and liberator, an important messianic expectation in the first century.[11]
In his magisterial work on the infancy narratives, Raymond Brown demonstrates that the story of Moses in Egypt lies behind the announcement and birth of Jesus.[12] He, along with a number of other recent commentators, points out that the account of Joseph’s dream contains echoes of a popular Jewish tradition regarding the birth of Moses who was also called to be the deliverer of the Hebrew race.[13] Moses fulfilled his calling of leading Israel out bondage in Egypt, but it was Joshua who led the people into the Promised Land through the conquest of the occupying nations. As his name suggests, Jesus could also have very well have been understood by the Matthean community as assuming the role of not only a new Moses, but also a new Joshua who would save his people from the occupying enemy nation of Rome.[14] This messianic name therefore “serves to guide the readers very effectively toward an understanding of Jesus’ life as one of saving activity.”[15]
Although it was common at the time, the importance Matthew attaches to the name Jesus is made evident by the fact that he uses it 80 times.[16] It would thus be possible that every subsequent mention of the name throughout the narrative would remind the audience of the salvific mission outlined in Matt. 1:21 and cause them to evaluate the words and actions of Jesus in light of it.[17]
The Messianic Task
According to the angel, the task that Jesus was to achieve would be the salvation of his people from their sins.[18] On this basis, commentators have traditionally seen the role of Jesus as being a spiritual rather than political liberator. Warren Carter and others have challenged this view, arguing that Matthew had in mind not only salvation from spiritual bondage, but also social and political bondage. He states that understanding “the nature or scope of Matthew’s salvation as individual, spiritualized, and moral, is too restrictive.”[19] The sins from which the people needed saving are not explicitly mentioned in the gospel, but both the wider contexts of Scripture and history provide important hints towards understanding what Matthew was referring to.
N.T. Wright has pointed out that in coming to save the people from their sins there must of necessity be a previous story in which this same people had fallen victim to their sins.[20] He states that this is the story of Israel, “more specifically the story of exile.”[21] As the Old Testament prophets writing during the exilic period make abundantly clear, the Babylonian exile was the result of Israel’s unfaithfulness to the covenant through her social, political, and moral sins.[22] Although by the first century the exile had ended in a geographical sense, the hope of the people was bound up in the
expectation that soon their God would deliver them from political exile and restore to them their inheritance. It is important to note that this redemption and restoration not only involved the return from exile but also the forgiveness of sin: “The punishment of your iniquity has been completed, O daughter of Zion; He will exile you no longer.”[23] The salvation from sin that Jesus came to provide for his people would therefore have been seen as simultaneously signifying the return from exile.[24] The sins referred to in Matt. 1:21 should thus not only be seen as the moral and religious sins of individuals, but must also include the social and political sins of the nation as a whole which led them into exile.[25]
One thing that is not revealed in the immediate context is exactly how Jesus will save his people.[26] This could be intentional as it creates an element of expectation that builds throughout the narrative, gaining clarity with each successive reference to sin and salvation.[27] It has often been pointed out that there was a common understanding in Judaism and early Christianity between sin and sickness.[28] This connection is evident in the Greek word σῴζω which is used in contexts both of spiritual and physical healing.[29] Therefore, as Davies and Allison suggest, the healing ministry of Jesus may be seen as an important aspect of saving his people from their sins.[30] This salvific theme seems to reach its climax in Matt. 26:28 where the atoning death of Jesus comes into full view and becomes the means by which forgiveness is offered and salvation from sin becomes possible.
The Messianic People
The object of this saving activity is τὸν λαὸν αὐτοῦ. One of the issues that interpreters face at this point is the identity of λαός: does it refer to the historic people of Israel or does it refer to the new people of the Messiah, including both Jews and Gentiles? The word appears 14 times in Matthew and is used exclusively with reference to Israel.[31] The surrounding context of the opening chapter lends support to this understanding by establishing the fact that Jesus, as a direct descendant of Abraham and David, is a true Israelite.[32] Nolland notes that the possessive αὐτοῦ emphasises Jesus’ own embeddedness within this people, “the people to whom he belongs.”[33] Some commentators have also seen in this verse strong echoes of Ps. 180:8 which specifically speaks of Israel being saved from her iniquities.[34] Jesus’ own testimony further supports this when He plainly states that He was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.[35] This understanding makes good sense in light of the fact that the theme of sin and exile, which relates specifically to the people of Israel, is in view.
Matthew therefore seems to use λαός as a technical reference to the people of Israel, the people from whom and to whom Jesus came to save. This becomes significant as each time the word appears throughout the narrative, there is a mounting tension which finally reveals itself in a tragic twist: the very people Jesus had come to save turn out to be His enemies. This climax is reached at the close of the gospel when His people cry out for His blood to be on them and on their children.[36] The irony is that this cry for his crucifixion becomes the means by which salvation is made available.[37] While there is no question that the scope of salvation expands throughout the narrative,[38] it does not do so with reference to λαός.[39]
Conclusion
The present paper has attempted to demonstrate how the Matthean community would have understood Matt. 1:21 to contain the mission of the one to be born. It has been seen that the name Jesus evokes strong echoes of deliverance from Israel’s past and contains one of the central expectations of the messiah. The salvific meaning behind the name is then elaborated on by the announcement that “he will save his people from their sins” which, as has been shown, signified much more than salvation from individual sins, but indeed the salvation of the entire nation from all the sins that had lead them into exile. Finally, the people to whom he came to save were his own, but they did not receive him. However, their rejection of him resulted in salvation being opened to all. The three aspects explored – the name, the task, and people of the one to be born – that are played in the overture of Matthew’s gospel, become louder and clearer with each successive reference throughout the narrative until the symphony reaches its climax at the cross and the messianic mission contained in Matt. 1:21 is finally and fully expressed.
[1] All New Testament passages in this essay are the writer’s own translation.
[2] Morna D. Hooker, Beginnings: Keys that Open the Gospels (Great Britain: SCM Press, 1997); Mark A. Powell, “The Plot and Subplots of Matthew’s Gospel,” New Testament Studies 38 (1992), 195-199; Boris Repschinski, “‘For He Will Save His People from Their Sins’ (Matthew 1:21): A Christology for Christian Jews,” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 68 (2006), 251-252; Robert K. McIver, The Four Faces of Jesus (Boise, ID: Pacific Press, 2000), 125-128, demonstrates this in the gospel of Luke.
[3] Each statement identifies the subject followed by the task they are to perform. The parallelism between them is further emphasised by the imperatival use of the future verbs τέξεται , kαλέσεις, and σώσει.
[4] Grant Osborne, Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament: Matthew (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2010), 77.
[5] See for instance Gen. 16:11; 17:5; 15; Isa. 7:14; 8:3; Hos. 1:4, 6, 9.
[6] Donald A. Hagner, Matthew 1-13, Word Biblical Commentary 33A (Dallas, TX: Word Books, 1993), 19.
[7] John Nolland, The Gospel of Matthew: A Commentary on the Greek Text (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2005), 98.
[8] Repschinski, “For He Will Save His People from Their Sins,” 254. It has been pointed out that the important part of the Hebrew name is the verb itself. See Gerhard Kittel, ed. Theological Dictionary of the New Testament vol. 3 (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1967), 289. There is evidence that the Greeks also played on names. See Craig S. Keener, A Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1999), 97.
[9] See for instance 2 Sam. 22:1-3; Ps. 130: 8; Isa. 43:3, 11; Hos. 13:4.
[10] Hagner, Matthew, 19.
[11] See N.T. Wright, The New Testament and the People of God (London: SPCK, 1992), 307-320, for a detailed discussion of this and other messianic expectations.
[12] Raymond Brown, The Birth of the Messiah: A Commentary on the Infancy Narratives in Matthew and Luke (London: Chapman, 1977), 113-116.
[13] Ibid, 138. Cf. Nolland, Matthew, 98; R.T. France, The Gospel of Matthew, New International Commentary on the New Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2007), 52, n 45.
[14] Warren Carter, Matthew on the Margins: A Socio-Political and Religious Reading (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 69.
[15] Repschinski, “For He Will Save His People from Their Sins,” 255.
[16] M. Eugene Boring, The Gospel of Matthew: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections, Vol. 8, in The New Interpreter’s Bible: A Commentary in Twelve Volumes, edited by Leander E. Keck (Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 1995), 135.
[17] Powell, “The Plot and Subplots of Matthew’s Gospel,” 195; Carter, Matthew, 69.
[18] See Robert H. Gundry, “Salvation in Matthew,” in Society of Biblical Literature: 2000 Seminar Papers (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000), 402-414 for a more detailed discussion of
Matthew’s soteriology.
[19] Warren Carter, “‘To Save His People From Their Sins’ (Matt 1:21): Rome’s Empire and Matthew’s Salvation as Sovereignty,” in Society of Biblical Literature: 2000 Seminar Papers (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000), 380.
[20] Wright, The New Testament and the People of God, 385.
[21] Ibid. That Matthew had the exile in mind while writing his opening narrative is obvious from his references to it in 1:11-12, 17.
[22] See for instance Jer. 11:1-17; 32:17-25; Dan. 9:1-14; cf. Deut. 28:15-68.
[23] Lam. 4:22; cf. Jer. 33:7-8; Ezek. 36:24-26, 33; Isa. 40:1-2.
[24] See Wright, The New Testament and the People of God, 272-279, for a fuller treatment of this theme.
[25] Carter, “To Save His People From Their Sins,” 390.
[26] W.D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Matthew, vol. 1 (Edinburgh: Clark, 1988), 415.
[27] See Repschinski, “For He Will Save His People from Their Sins,” 257-265, who traces these two concepts in some detail throughout Matthew.
[28] Matt.9:2; John 5:14; 9:2; 1 Cor. 11:29-30
[29] Kittel, Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, 990-992. As used in Matthew, the verb σῴζω, can refer to deliverance from physical danger (8:25), disease (9:21-22), and death (24:22).
[30] Davies and Allison, Matthew, 415; cf. McIver, Four Faces, 104.
[31] Matt. 1:21; 2:4, 6; 4:16, 23; 13:15; 15:8; 21:23; 26:3, 5, 47; 27:1, 25, 64. Cf. Keener, Matthew, 97.
[32] See the repeated emphasis in Matt. 1:1, 2, 6, 17, and 20.
[33] Nolland, The Gospel of Matthew, 98.
[34] Hagner, Matthew 1-13, 19. Repschinski, “For He Will Save His People from Their Sins,” 255, discusses some of the differences between Matthew’s wording and that found in the LXX.
[35] Matt. 15:24; cf. 10:5-6.
[36] Matt. 27:25. See France, Matthew, 53, n. 48.
[37] Cf. Matt. 26:28.
[38] See for instance Matt. 8:10-11; 21:43; 28:19.
[39] However, outside of the Synoptic Gospels λαός does begin to take on a much broader meaning, including both Jew and Gentile who are now a part of the community of Christian believers. See Gerhard Kittel, ed. Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, vol. 4 (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1967), 54-57.
Introduction
Of all the figures in early Christianity, perhaps none has had such a significant influence on both the world in general, and the church in particular, as that of Augustine.[1] From his day to the present, the ideas he wrestled with and wrote about have continued to inspire and challenge theologians in areas ranging from Anthropology to Soteriology. The present essay will explore the development of Augustine’s thought on the latter branch of Christian theology and the influence of his understanding on Christianity in general and Protestantism in particular.
Soteriological Development
Although Augustine spent most of his life within the basic framework of Christian thought, he went through a number of significant changes in his thinking. His intellectual journey has been described as a series of quests in which he was “perpetually moving on to new concepts or to challenging situations in vocation, residence or thought.”[2] This constant evolution was largely driven by his quest for understanding and the continual challenge of contemporary controversies.[3] The development of Augustine’s soteriology will be traced through his reactions to three major conflicts: Manichaeism, Donatism, and Pelagianism.[4]
Following his introduction and conversion to philosophy through the writings of Cicero,[5] Augustine became a follower of Manichaeism, a Gnostic sect that began in Persia.[6] It was here among the Manichees that Augustine temporarily found a simple solution to a problem he had been wrestling with, namely, evil. The Manichees taught that human beings are basically spiritual beings who are created by a good God, but are in bondage to a material body created by an evil demiurge.[7] Salvation was thus obtained by virtue of knowledge and reason, rather than faith.[8] This understanding provided a rational basis on which Augustine could explain his continual struggle with sin. He fed upon the teachings they served him with great delight, only to later discover that they were, in his own words, nothing but “empty husks.”[9]
After spending nine years as a “hearer” of Manichaeism, Augustine returned to the Scriptures in search of a more satisfying understanding of the problem of evil and its relation to humanity. In A.D. 391 Augustine wrote On Two Souls, a work addressed to his Manichaean friends, in which he attacked their idea that the body and soul are at war and argued that evil does not spring from matter but finds its origin in the free will of humanity. At this stage, Augustine believed that sin was a voluntary act of the will and that man could not be held responsible for that which he does not will to do.[10]
During this time, the Donatist Church was fast becoming a major source of controversy in North Africa. Earlier in the century, they had broken away from the Catholic Church over issues of leadership, moral slackness, and ecclesiastical purity.[11] By the time of Augustine, the Donatists outnumbered those in the Catholic Church and were thus seen as a threat that must be dealt with. The issues did not revolve around doctrinal so much as ecclesiastical differences.[12] The Donatists held the view that the church must be pure and separate from society, and that the priests who administer the
sacraments must also remain pure and separate from society. The question they asked was, “How can a bishop give [in the sacraments] what he does not possess [holiness]?”[13] Augustine responded to the Donatist position in his treatise On Baptsm, Against the Donatists. In this work he argued that the holiness of the sacraments did not depend on the purity of priest “but defined the sacraments as belonging to, and given by, Christ rather than the priest.”[14] The Donatist controversy thus caused Augustine to refine his soteriology by developing a more objective view of grace, which meant that despite the corrupt condition of believers, individually and collectively, God’s grace prevails in all and through all that we do.
While Donatism placed an emphasis on the perfection of the church, the resulting controversy Augustine faced placed an emphasis on the perfection of human nature.[15] Pelagius, a British monk, concerned with the lack of ethical living among the Christians in Rome, began to teach a system of salvation that denied original sin and the need for God’s grace.[16] In the place of this, he taught that the sin of Adam only affected himself; that every human is born with the same nature as Adam before the fall; and that both the law and the gospel lead to the kingdom.[17] Salvation for Pelagius thus consisted of human beings pulling themselves up by their own moral bootstraps. Augustine saw that such a belief would diminish “the impact of sin and therefore the need for, and reality of, Christ’s salvation.”[18] He responded to Pelagius by arguing that all humanity sinned in Adam and that there is nothing that he can do of himself to gain salvation. It is only through God’s enabling grace that one is able to use their free-will to choose the salvation offered by Christ.[19] In answering the teachings of Pelagius, Augustine was moving to an opposite extreme of making salvation a work entirely of God in which humans play practically no role at all. This sowed the seeds of what would later develop into the doctrine of predestination.[20]
Each of the controversies that have been briefly examined can be seen as important catalysts that caused Augustine to reshape and redefine his soteriology. Through the Manichean conflict, he identified the origin of sin; in responding to the Donatists, he identified the source of grace and began to develop an objective view of it; and the Pelagian controversy forced Augustine to develop and integrate these ideas even further. Through each conflict, he placed an increasing emphasis on the solidarity of humanity with the sin of Adam; he no longer considered sin itself to be simply a voluntary act of the will, but began to see it as including that which is done involuntarily and unwillingly; and this understanding led him to develop an understanding of grace, which was both prevenient and concomitant.[21] His soteriology was thus “God-centered, with salvation totally and causatively effected by God.”[22]
Soteriological Influence
Both Catholics and Protestants alike have found in Augustine’s work support for their various doctrinal beliefs regarding salvation. His defence of Christianity, particularly that of sin and grace, against the heresies of Manichaeism, Donatism, and Pelagianism have been drawn from again and again in responding to the various reincarnations of these teachings throughout history.
One of the fundamental beliefs that Catholics and the vast majority of Protestant groups have inherited from Augustine is the doctrine of original sin. Although the belief was taught by various other church fathers prior to him, Bradley Green notes that “Augustine is rightly and properly viewed as that theologian who gave structure and depth to the doctrine.”[23] The importance of this contribution should not be overlooked. The understanding of original sin, though nuanced slightly differently by Catholicism and Protestantism, and by many of those within Protestantism itself, has a direct impact on the way in which salvation is understood; the solution must be able to deal sufficiently with the problem. Thus, the doctrine of original sin, as systematised by Augustine, has become an important pillar upon which an orthodox understanding of soteriology must rest.
The theological torch of Augustine would lead and guide Christianity, for better or for worse, throughout the Middle Ages.[24] However, by the sixteenth century the soteriological flames had grown strangely dim. There had been a growing emphasis in the Catholic Church on the requirement of works, particularly the participation in and receiving of the sacraments, as contributing to salvation. Some of the central issues of the Pelagian controversy had subtly crept into the very Church Augustine had once defended it against. [25] The Protestant Reformation that was sparked in reaction to this, found in the writings of Augustine an emphasis on the doctrine of grace that had all but been lost. This core component of his soteriological understanding had withered in the sacramentally centred beliefs of Catholicism, but found fertile ground in the Reformation. Philip Schaff has thus considered Augustine to be the “first forerunner of the Reformation.”[26]
The founder of the Reformation in Germany, Martin Luther, spent some of the formative years of his life as an Augustinian monk, which naturally brought him under the direct influence of the teachings of Augustine.[27] Luther saw in his writings a spiritual struggle similar to that of his own. As was also the case with Augustine, his eventual theological breakthrough was found in Paul’s letter to the Romans.[28] The influence of Paul, through Augustine, is noted by Margaret Miles when she writes that “Luther quoted from Augustine more than 100 times in his Commentary on the
Epistle to the Romans alone.”[29] Although he did not accept all the aspects of Augustine’s understanding of grace, we can be certain that the soteriology of Luther, and his particular emphasis on sola gratia and sola fide, was shaped and influenced, to a large extent, by Augustine. Here, in this revival of the centrality of grace that characterised the Reformation, is found a second important pillar that supports the orthodox soteriology of Christianity. Through the dominance of Lutheran soteriology on the majority of the Protestant world, Augustine continues to exert a profound influence. Green thus states that “if contemporary Christians want to understand various contemporary debates and discussions about the doctrine of grace, they must understand Augustine.”[30] Thus, two of the fundamental doctrines of salvation within Christianity that have continued to this day, can ultimately be traced back through history to the writings of Augustine.
Conclusion
The present essay has traced the development of Augustine’s soteriology through the Manichean, Donatist, and Pelagian controversies. In responding to each of these heresies, Augustine clarified and defended his understanding of sin and of grace, two of the pillar doctrines upon which the Christian understanding of salvation rests. The influence of his soteriology has been seen on Christianity in general, through his understanding of original sin, and on the beliefs of Protestantism in particular, through a revival of his understanding of God’s grace during the Reformation and so on to contemporary Christianity. It must therefore be concluded that the soteriological legacy of Augustine has shaped and will continue to shape the way in which Christianity understands the science of salvation.
[1] Bradley G. Green, ed. Shapers of Christian Orthodoxy (Downers Grove, Ill: Intervarsity, 2010), 235, goes so far as to say that Augustine “sowed the seeds of virtually the entire Western
theological edifice that has been built from his day forward.”
[2] Warren Thomas Smith, Augustine: His Life and Thought (Atlanta: John Knox, 1980), 87.
[3] Eugene TeSille, Augustine (Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 2006), 1.
[4] Other important factors that helped shape Augustine’s soteriology, but are beyond the scope of the present paper, include his mother Monica, Ambrose, the bishop of Milan, and Platonism as interpreted by Plontinus.
[5] Peter Brown, Augustine of Hippo (London: Faber and Faber, 1967), 36, 40-41.
[6] Smith, Augustine, 22.
[7] Margaret R. Miles, “Augustine,” in Encyclopedia of Early Christianity, edited by Everett Ferguson (New York, NY: Garland, 1999), 150.
[8] Mary T. Clark, Augustine of Hippo (London: Continuum, 1994), 3.
[9] Augustine, “Confessions,” in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, edited by Philip Schaff (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974), 63.
[10] Augustine, “On Two Souls,” in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, edited by Philip Schaff (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974), see especially 101-103.
[11] Smith, Augustine, 95.
[12] Miles, “Augustine,” 151.
[13] Everett Ferguson, Church History Volume 1: From Christ to Pre-Reformation (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2005), 274.
[14] Miles, “Augustine,” 151.
[15] Ferguson, Church History, 276.
[16] Smith, Augustine, 127-128. His message of righteousness by works was readily accepted by many in Rome who were longing for a message that would revive and inspire a higher standard of morality.
[17] Green, Shapers of Christian Orthodoxy, 253, n 76.
[18] Andrew Knowles and Pachomios Penkett, Augustine and His World (Oxford: Lion, 2004), 124.
[19] Augustine, “On Grace and Free Will,” in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, edited by Philip Schaff (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1971), 459-460.
[20] This is, of course, another central component of Augustine’s soteriology that could and perhaps should be explored further as it goes hand in hand with his understanding of grace. But to do so
would take this essay far beyond the designated word limit.
[21] Knowles and Penkett, Augustine, 165-166.
[22] James P. Eckman, Exploring Church History (Wheaton, Ill.: Crossway, 2002), 36
[23] Green, Shapers of Christian Orthodoxy, 250.
[24] Philip Schaff, “Prolegomena: St. Augustine’s Life and Work,” in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, edited by Philip Schaff (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974), 19, states that Augustine “ruled the entire theology of the middle age.”
[25] Marshall D Johnson, The Evolution of Christianity (New York, NY: Continuum, 2005), 65.
[26] Schaff, “Prolegomena,” 21-22. He continues to note that “no church teacher did so much to mould Luther and Calvin; none furnished them so powerful weapons against the dominant Pelagianism and formalism; none is so often quoted by them with esteem and love.”
[27] “Martin Luther” in The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, edited by F. L. Cross, & E. A. Livingstone (Oxford: Oxford University, 2005), 1013.
[28] Ibid.
[29] Miles, “Augustine,” 153.
[30] Green, Shapers of Christian Orthodoxy, 252.
The Victoria Falls
The Victoria Falls – one of the seven wonders of the natural world. In terms of its volume, being 1,700m wide and 110m high, it is the world’s largest curtain of falling water. Situated in southern Africa on the Zambezi River between the countries of Zambia and Zimbabwe, it has become a popular tourist destination attracting people from all corners of the globe. In fact, during the months of September through December when the river is at a safe level, you can actually swim in a naturally formed pool known as the Devil’s swimming pool right on the edge of the falls.
During the peak season in April, do you know how much water pours over these falls? 10 million litres of water pour over the falls every single second, about 625 million litres a minute! It’s this word pour that brings us to our key text – Romans 5:5 – a thundering cataract of good news for you and me. The Victoria Falls of the love of God.
“Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God” here is comes, are you ready? “…because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.” There it is. The same Greek word you would use to describe the vast volume of water that gushes over the edge of a water fall is used here to describe the Victoria Falls of God’s love. Not just 10 million litres of water, rather every last drop of His love has been poured out into our hearts through the sacrificial death of His Son. Verse 6: “For when we were still without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly. For scarcely for a righteous man will one die; yet perhaps for a good man someone would even dare to die.” Paul is saying maybe, just maybe someone would be willing to die for a good person. But would anyone even consider dying for a bad person? Look at verse 8: “But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Notice that Paul says that it is while we were still without strength (v. 6), while we were still sinners (v. 8), while we were still enemies (v. 10), God poured out all His love in the gift of His Son. What incredible, indescribable, incomprehensible love!
Can I share with you what I consider to be one of the greatest descriptions of this love? It was penned over a hundred years ago:
“All the paternal love which has come down from generation to generation through the channel of human hearts, all the springs of tenderness which have opened in the souls of men, are but as a tiny rill to the boundless ocean when compared with the infinite, exhaustless love of God. Tongue cannot utter it; pen cannot portray it. You may meditate upon it every day of your life; you may search the Scriptures diligently in order to understand it; you may summon every power and capability that God has given you, in the endeavour to comprehend the love and compassion of the heavenly Father; and yet there is an infinity beyond. You may study that love for ages; yet you can never fully comprehend the length and the breadth, the depth and the height, of the love of God in giving His Son to die for the world. Eternity itself can never fully reveal it” (5T, 740).
“Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.” So there it is, the Victoria Falls of God’s love. How deep the Father’s love for us, how vast beyond all measure. That He should give His only Son to make a wretch – you and me – His treasure. May we each contemplate this love – daily, may we each embrace this love – daily, and by doing so, may we each live this love so that others too may desire to experience the transformative power of the love of God being poured out with their hearts.
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