Jesus
& Paul
by J.
Gresham Machen (1881-1937)
The following essay was
originally published in Biblical And Theological Studies by The Members of the
Faculty of Princeton Theological Seminary, (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons,
1912). The article was later to be transformed into one of the chapters in
Machen's book The Origin of Paul's Religion. This
essay is now in the public domain and may be freely copied and distributed.
The
Apostle Paul is the greatest teacher of the Christian Church. True, he has not
always been fully understood. The legalism that he combatted during his
lifetime soon established itself among his converts, and finally celebrated a
triumph in the formation of the Catholic Church. The keen edge of his dialectic
was soon blunted. But however his ideas may have been injured in transmission,
they were never altogether destroyed. Much was forgotten; but what remained was
the life of the Church. And the great revivals were revivals of Paulinism.
Protestantism—in its practical piety as well as in its theology—was simply a
rediscovery of Paul.
Yet
Paul has never been accepted for his own sake. Men have never come to him for
an independent solution of the riddle of the universe. Simply as a religious
philosopher, he is unsatisfactory; for his philosophy is rooted in one definite
fact. He has been listened to not as a philosopher, but as a witness—a witness
to Jesus Christ. His teaching has been accepted only on one condition— that he
speak as a faithful disciple of Jesus of Nazareth.
The
question of the relation between Jesus and Paul is therefore absolutely
fundamental. Paul has always been regarded as the greatest disciple of Jesus.
If so, well and good. The Christian Church may then go forward as it has done
before.
But
in recent years there is a tendency to dissociate Paul from Jesus. A recent
historian has entitled Paul "the second founder of Christianity." If
that be correct, then Christianity is facing the greatest crisis in its
history. For—let us not deceive ourselves—if Paul is independent of Jesus, he
can no longer be a teacher of the Church. Christianity is founded upon Christ
and only Christ. Paulinism has never been accepted upon any other supposition
than that it reproduces the mind of Christ. If that supposition is incorrect—if
Paulinism is derived not from Jesus Christ, but from other sources—then it must
be uprooted from the life of the Church. But that is more than reform—it is
revolution. Compared with that upheaval, the reformation of the sixteenth
century is as nothing.
At
first sight, the danger appears to be trifling. The voices that would separate
Paul from Jesus have been drowned by a chorus of protest. In making Paul and
not Jesus the true founder of Christianity, Wrede is as little representative
of the main trend of modern investigation as he is when he eliminates the
Messianic element from the consciousness of Jesus. Measured by the direct
assent which he has received, Wrede is a negligible quantity. But that is but a
poor measure of his importance. The true significance of Wrede's
"Paul" is that it has merely made explicit what was implicit before.
The entire modern reconstruction of primitive Christianity leads logically to
Wrede's startling pronouncement. Modern liberalism has produced a Jesus who has
really but little in common with Paul. Wrede has but drawn the conclusion. Paul
was no disciple of the liberal Jesus. Wrede has merely had the courage to say
so.
This
essential harmony between Wrede and his opponents appears even in some of the
criticisms to which he has been subjected. No doubt these criticisms are
salutary. They fill out omissions, and correct exaggerations. But they obscure
the issue. In general, their refutation of Wrede amounts to little more than
this— Paul's theology is abandoned, in order to save his religion. His
theology, it is admitted, was derived from extra-Christian sources; but in his
practical piety he was a true disciple of Jesus. Such a distinction is
thoroughly vicious; it is contradicted in no uncertain tones by the Pauline
Epistles. Where is it that the current of Paul's religious experience becomes
overpowering, so that even after the lapse of centuries, even through the dull
medium of the printed page, it sweeps the heart of the sympathetic reader on
with it in a mighty flood? It is not in the ethical admonitions. It is not in
the discussions of the practical problems of the Christian life. It is not even
in the inspired encomium of Christian love. But it is in the great theological
passages of the epistles—the second chapter of Galatians, the fifth chapter of
Second Corinthians, the fifth to the eighth chapters of Romans. In these
passages, the religious experience and the theology of Paul are blended in a
union which no critical analysis can dissolve. Furthermore., if it is
impossible to separate Pauline piety and Pauline theology in the life of Paul
himself, it is just as impossible to separate them in the life of the Church of
today. Thus far, at least, all attempts at accomplishing it have resulted in
failure. Liberal Christianity has sometimes tried to reproduce Paul's religion
apart from his theology. But thus far it has produced nothing which in the
remotest degree resembles the model.
In
determining whether Paul was a disciple of Jesus, the whole Paul must be kept
in view—not the theology apart from the warm religious life that pulses through
it, and not the religious emotion apart from its basis in theology. Theology
apart from religion, or religion apart from theology—either is an empty
abstraction. The religion and the theology of Paul stand or fall together. If
one is derived from Jesus, probably the other is also.
In
discussing the relation between Jesus and Paul, it is better to begin with
Paul. For, in the first place, Paul is more easily known than Jesus. That will
be admitted on all sides. Jesus wrote nothing; all the extant records of his
words are the reports of others. The trustworthiness of the records of his life
is at present a matter of dispute. Yet even if the most favorable estimate of
the Gospel narratives be adopted, Jesus remains far more incomprehensible than
Paul. Indeed it is just when the Gospel picture is accepted in its entirety
that the sense of mystery in the presence of Jesus becomes most overpowering.
For
the life of Paul, on the other hand, the historian is in possession of sources
which are not only trustworthy, but universally admitted to be trustworthy. At
least seven of the Pauline Epistles—1 Thessalonians, Galatians, 1 and 2
Corinthians, Romans, Philippians, and Philemon—are now assigned by all except a
few extremists to Paul himself; and the critical doubts with regard to three of
the others are gradually being dispelled. In general, the disputed epistles are
not of fundamental importance for determining the relation of Paul to Jesus.
Colossians, perhaps, forms the only exception, and it is just Colossians that
is most commonly accepted as Pauline. All the characteristic features of Paul's
thinking appear within the homologoumena; and it is the characteristic features
alone which can determine the general question whether Paul was a disciple of
Jesus.
With
regard to the book of Acts as a source for the study of Paul, there is more
difference of opinion; and the difference is of more importance for the question
now in hand. But three remarks can be made. In the first place, those sections
of Acts where the first person plural is used are universally regarded as the
work of an eye-witness. In the second place, the framework—the account of
external events in the life of Paul—is for the most part accepted. In the third
place, the tendency of recent criticism is decidedly towards a higher estimate
of the general representation of Paul. The conciliatory attitude toward the
Jews, which the book of Acts attributes to Paul, is no longer regarded as due
altogether to an "irenic" purpose on the part of the historian.
The
sources for the life of Paul are insufficient, indeed, for a complete
biography. For the period up to the conversion, the extant information is of
the most general kind, and after the conversion some fifteen years elapse
before anything like a connected narrative can be constructed. Even from the
years of the so-called missionary journeys, only a bare summary has been
preserved, with vivid, detailed narratives only here and there. Finally, the
close of Paul's life is shrouded in obscurity. But what the sources lack in
quantity they make up in quality. Paul was gifted with a remarkable power of
self-revelation, which has been exercised in his epistles to the fullest
extent. Free from self-centered vanity, without the slightest indelicacy,
without a touch of morbid introspection, he has yet revealed the very secrets
of his heart. Not only the exquisite delicacy of feeling, the fine play of
affection, the consecrated anger, the keen practical judgment are open before
us, but also the deepest springs of the tremendous religious experience. The
Pauline Epistles make Paul one of the best-known men of history. We might be
able to account, in an external way, for every day and hour of his life, and
yet not know him half so well.
As
thus revealed, Paul is comprehensible. With all his greatness, almost
immeasurably exalted as he is above the generality of mankind, he yet possesses
nothing which any man might not conceivably possess. Starting from the common
misery of sin, he attained to a peace with God, which, again, has been shared
by humble Christians of all ages. His commission as apostle exceeds in dignity
and importance that of other disciples of Christ, but does not free him from
human limitations. It was Christ's strength which was made perfect in weakness.
In all essential features, the religious experience of Paul may be imitated by
every Christian. Jesus, on the other hand, is full of mystery. Of course the mystery
may be ignored. It is ignored by Wrede, when he denies to Jesus the
consciousness of his Messiahship. But even by the most thorough-going modern
naturalism, that is felt to be a desperate measure. The Messianic consciousness
is rooted too deep in the sources ever to be removed by historical criticism.
That Jesus lived at all is hardly more certain than that he thought himself to
be the Messiah. But the Messianic consciousness of Jesus is a profound mystery.
It would be no mystery if Jesus were an ordinary fanatic or unbalanced
visionary. Among the many false Messiahs who championed their claims in the
first century, there may well have been some who deceived themselves as well as
others. But Jesus was no ordinary fanatic—no megalomaniac. On the contrary, he
is the moral ideal of the race. His calmness, unselfishness, and strength have
produced an impression which the lapse of time has done nothing to obliterate.
It was such a man who supposed himself to be the Son of Man who was to come
with the clouds of heaven! Considered in the light of the character of Jesus,
the Messianic consciousness of Jesus is the profoundest of problems. It is
true, the problem can be solved. It can be solved by supposing that Jesus' own
estimate of his person was true—by recognizing in Jesus a supernatural person.
But the acceptance of the supernatural is not easy. For the modern mind it
involves nothing short of a Copernican revolution. And until that step is
taken, the person of Jesus cannot be understood. Paul, on the other hand, is
more easily comprehended. To a certain extent, his religious experience can be
understood, at least in an external way, even by one who supposes it to be
founded not on truth but on error. Paul, therefore, may perhaps be a
stepping-stone on the way to a comprehension of Jesus.
In
the first place, then, the investigation of the relation between Jesus and Paul
should begin with Paul rather than with Jesus, because Paul is, if not better
known than Jesus, at least more easily known. In the second place, Paul should
be studied before Jesus just because he lived after Jesus. If the object of the
investigation were Jesus and Paul, taken separately, then it would be better to
begin with the earlier rather than with the later of the two; but since it is
the relation between Jesus and Paul that is to be studied, it is better method
to begin with Paul. For the investigator need not rely merely on a comparison
of Jesus and Paul. If Paul was dependent upon Jesus, the fact may be expected
to appear in direct statements of Paul himself, and in the attitude of his
contemporaries toward him. Did Paul feel himself to be an innovator with
respect to Jesus; and was he regarded as an innovator by the earlier disciples
of Jesus?
The
latter question, at any rate, cannot be answered offhand. There were
undoubtedly some men in the primitive church who combated Paul in the name of
conservatism. These were the Judaizers, who regarded Paul's doctrine of
Christian freedom as a dangerous innovation. The Jewish law, they said, must be
maintained even among Gentile Christians. Faith in Christ is supplementary to
it, not subversive of it. Were the Judaizers justified in their conservatism?
Were they right in regarding Paul as an innovator? What was the relation
between these Judaizers and the original apostles, who had been disciples of
Jesus in Galilee? These are among the most important questions in apostolic
history. They have divided students of the New Testament into hostile camps. F.
C. Baur supposed that the relation between Judaizers and original apostles was
in the main friendly. The original apostles, though they could not quite close
their eyes to the hand of God as manifested in the successes of Paul, belong
nevertheless inwardly with the Judaizers rather than with Paul. The fundamental
fact of apostolic history is a conflict between Paul and the original apostles,
between Gentile Christianity and Jewish Christianity. The history of early
Christianity is the history of the development and final adjustment of that
conflict. The Catholic Church of the close of the second century is the result
of a compromise between Pauline Christianity and the Christianity of the
original apostles. This reconstruction of early Christian history was opposed
by Albrecht Ritschl. According to Ritschl, the conflict in the apostolic age
was not between Paul and the original apostles, but between apostolic
Christianity—including both Paul and the original apostles—on the one side, and
Judaistic Christianity—the Christianity of the Judaistic opponents of Paul—on
the other. Specifically Jewish Christianity exerted no considerable influence
upon the development of the Church. The Old Catholic Church of the close of the
second century was the result not of a compromise between Jewish Christianity
and Gentile Christianity, but of a natural process of degeneration from Pauline
Christianity on purely Gentile Christian ground. The Gentile Christian world
was unable to understand the Pauline doctrine of grace. Christianity came to be
regarded as a new law—but that was due, not to the rehabilitation of the Mosaic
law as a concession to Jewish Christianity, but to the tendency of the average
man toward legalism in religion. As against Baur, Harnack belongs with Ritschl.
Like Ritschl, he denies to Jewish Christianity any considerable influence upon
the development of the Catholic Church. The Church Of 200, A.D. owes its
difference from Paul, not to a compromise with Jewish Christianity, but to the
intrusion of Greek habits of thought.
If
Baur was correct, then Paul was probably no true disciple of Jesus. For Baur
brought Paul into fundamental conflict with the men who had stood nearest to
Jesus. But Baur was not correct. His reconstruction of apostolic history was
arrived at by neglecting all sources except the epistles to the Galatians and
Corinthians and then misinterpreting these. He failed to do justice to the
"right hand of fellowship" (Gal. 2:9) which the pillars of the
Jerusalem Church gave to Paul. And the account of Paul's rebuke of Peter in
Antioch, apparently the strongest evidence of a conflict between Paul and the
original apostles, is rather to be regarded as evidence to the contrary. For
Paul rebukes Peter for hypocrisy- -not for false opinions, but for concealing
his correct opinions for fear of men. In condemning his practice, Paul approves
his principles. Peter had therefore been in fundamental agreement with Paul.
As
for the Judaizers in Corinth, their opinions are as uncertain as their relation
to the original apostles. It is not certain that they combated Paul's doctrine
of justification by faith, and it is not certain that they had any kind of
endorsement from the original apostles. Surely the apostles were not the only
ones who could have given them "letters of recommendation" (2 Cor.
3:1).
Baur's
thesis, then, was insufficiently grounded. One fact, however, still requires
explanation—the appeal of the Judaizers to the original apostles against Paul.
It is not enough to say simply that the appeal of the Judaizers was a false
appeal. For if the original apostles were as Pauline as Paul himself, it is
difficult to see why they should have been preferred to Paul by the
anti-Pauline party. Surely the original apostles must have given the Judaizers
at least some color of support; otherwise the Judaizers could never have
appealed to them. Until this appeal is explained, Baur remains unrefuted. But
the explanation is not difficult to find. It was the life, not the teaching, of
the original apostles which appeared to support the contentions of the
Judaizers. The early Christians in Jerusalem continued to observe the Jewish
law. They continued in diligent attendance upon the Temple services. They
observed the feasts, they obeyed the regulations about food. To a superficial
observer, they were simply pious Jews. Now, as a matter of fact, they were not
simply pious Jews. They were relying for salvation not really upon their
observance of the law, but solely upon their faith in the crucified and risen
Christ. Inwardly, Christianity was from the very beginning no mere continuation
of Judaism, but a new religion. Outwardly, however, the early church was
nothing more than a Jewish sect. And the Judaizers failed to penetrate beneath
the outward appearance. Because the original apostles continued to observe the
Jewish law, the Judaizers supposed that legalism was of the essence of their
religion. The Judaizers appealed to the outward practice of the apostles; Paul,
to the deepest springs of their religious life. So long as Christianity was
preached only among Jews, there was no acute conflict. True Christians and mere
Jewish believers in the Messiahship of Jesus were united by a common observance
of the Mosaic law. But when Christianity began to transcend the bounds of
Judaism, the division became apparent. The apostles, true disciples of Jesus,
attested their own inward freedom by accepting the outward freedom of the
Gentiles; the Judaizers, false brethren privily brought in, insisted upon the
observance of the law as necessary to salvation.
Paul,
then, was not the founder of universalistic Christianity. In principle,
Christianity was universalistic from the very beginning. In principle, the
first Christians in Jerusalem were entirely free from the Judaism with which
they were united outwardly by observance of the Temple ritual. If Paul was not
the founder of universalistic Christianity, what was he? What was his peculiar
service to the Church? It was not the mere geographical extension of the
frontiers of the Kingdom. That achievement he shares with others. Paul was
perhaps not even the first to preach the Gospel systematically to Gentiles.
That honor belongs apparently to certain unnamed Jews of Cyprus and Cyrene. The
true achievement of Paul lies in another sphere—in the hidden realm of thought.
When Christianity began to be offered directly to Gentiles in Antioch, the
principles of the Gentile mission had to be established once for all.
Conceivably, of course, the Gentile mission might have got along without
principles. The leaders of the church at Antioch might have pointed simply to
the practical necessities of the case. Obviously, the Gentile world, as a
matter of fact, would never accept circumcision, and would never submit to the
Mosaic law. Consequently, if Christianity was ever to be anything more than a
Jewish sect, the requirements of the law must quietly be held in abeyance.
Conceivably, the leaders of the church at Antioch might have reasoned thus;
conceivably they might have been "practical Christian workers" in the
modern sense. But as a matter of fact, the leader of the church at Antioch was
the Apostle Paul. Paul was not a man to sacrifice principle to practical
necessity.
What
was standing in the way of the Gentile mission was no mere Jewish racial
prejudice, but a genuine religious principle. Jewish particularism was part of
the very essence of the Jews' religion. The idea of the covenant between God
and his chosen people was fundamental in all periods of Judaism. To have
offered the Gospel to uncircumcised Gentiles simply because that was demanded
by the practical necessities of the case, would have meant to a Jew nothing
less than disobedience to the revealed will of God. It would have been an
irreparable injury to the religious conscience. Particularism was not a
prejudice, but a religious principle. Therefore it could be overcome only by a
higher principle. Its abrogation needed to be demonstrated, not merely assumed.
And that was the work of Paul.
The
original apostles, through their intercourse with Jesus upon earth, and their
experience of the risen Lord, had in principle transcended Jewish
particularism. Inwardly they were free from the law. But they did not know that
they were free. Certainly they did not know why they were free. Such freedom
could not be permanent. It sufficed for the Jewish Church, so long as the issue
was not clearly drawn. But it was open to argumentative attack. It could never
have conquered the world. Christian freedom was held by but a precarious
tenure, until its underlying principles were established. Christianity could
not exist without theology. And the first great Christian theologian was Paul.
In
championing Gentile freedom, then, in emphasizing the doctrine of salvation by
faith alone, Paul was not an innovator. He was merely making explicit what had
been implicit before. He was in fundamental harmony with the original apostles.
And if he was in harmony with the most intimate disciples of Jesus, the
presumption is that he was in harmony with Jesus himself.
If
the harmony between Paul and the original apostles was preserved by Paul's
conception of Christian freedom, it was preserved even more clearly by his view
of the person of Christ. just where modern radicalism is most confident that
Paul was an innovator, Paul's contemporaries were most confident of his
faithfulness to tradition. Even the Judaizers had no quarrel with Paul's
conception of Christ as a heavenly being. In the Epistle to the Galatians,
where Paul insists that he received his apostleship. not from men but directly
from Christ, he does so in sharp opposition to the Judaizers. Paul says,
"not by man, but by Christ"; the Judaizers said, "not by Christ
but by man." But if so, then the Judaizers, no less than Paul,
distinguished Christ sharply from men, and placed him clearly on the side of
God. If Paul can prove that he received his apostleship directly from Christ,
then he has already proved that he received it directly from God. Apparently,
it never occurred to him that his opponents might accept the former proposition
and deny the latter. For the Judaizers as well as for Paul, God and Christ
belong together. In 2 Cor. 11:4, it is true, Paul hints that his opponents are
preaching another Jesus. If that passage stood alone, it might mean that the
Judaizers differed from Paul in their conception of the person of Christ. But
if there had been such a difference, it would surely have appeared more clearly
in the rest of the Corinthian epistles. If the Judaizers had taught that Jesus
was a mere man, son of David and nothing else, surely Paul would have taken
occasion to contradict them. So dangerous an error—an error so completely
subversive of Paul's deepest convictions—could not possibly have been left
unrefuted. The meaning of the passage is quite different. It was the Judaizers
themselves, and not Paul, who said that their Jesus was another Jesus.
"Paul", they said to the Corinthians, "has not revealed the
Gospel to you in its fullness (2 Cor. 4:3, 11:5). Paul has had no close contact
either with Jesus himself, or with the immediate disciples of Jesus. Paul has
preached but an imperfect gospel. We, on the other hand, can offer you the true
Jesus, the true Spirit, and the true gospel. Do not listen to Paul. We alone
can give you fully authentic information. "In reality, however, the
Judaizers had nothing new to offer. Paul had been no whit behind "the
pre-eminent apostles." He had made the full gospel plain and open before
them (2 Cor. 11:5-6). If Paul's gospel was hidden, it was hidden only from
those who had been blinded by the god of this world (2 Cor. 4:4). The "other
Jesus" of the Judaizers existed only in their own inordinate claims. They
preached the same Jesus as did Paul—only their preaching was marred by
quarrelsomeness and pride. They preached the same Jesus; but they had not
themselves come into vital communion with him. In that they differed from Paul.
It
is not until the Epistle to the Colossians that Paul is compelled to defend his
conception of the person of Christ. And there he defends it not against a
conservative, naturalistic view of Jesus as a merely human Messiah, but against
Gnostic speculation. With regard to the person of Christ, Paul appears
everywhere in perfect harmony with all Palestinian Christians. In the whole New
Testament there is not a trace of a conflict. That is a fact of tremendous
significance. For Paul's conception of the supernatural Christ was formed not
later than five years after the crucifixion of Jesus. There is every reason to
believe that it was formed at the conversion. With regard to this matter, there
is no evidence of a development in Paul's thinking. One passage, 2 Cor. 5:16,
has occasionally been regarded as such evidence. But only by palpable disregard
of the context. When Paul says, "Even if we have known Christ according to
the flesh, yet now we know him so no longer," he cannot possibly mean that
for a time after his conversion he regarded Christ simply as a human, Jewish
Messiah. For the point of the whole passage is the revolutionary change wrought
in every Christian's life by the death of Christ. It is clearly the appropriation
of that death—that is, conversion—and not some subsequent development of the
Christian life which brings the transition from the knowledge of Christ after
the flesh (whatever that may be) to the higher knowledge of which Paul is now
in possession. The revelation of God's Son (Gal. 1:16) on the road to Damascus
clearly gave to Paul the essential elements of his Christology. What is more,
that Christology must have formed from the very beginning the essence of his
preaching. The "Jesus" whom he preached in the Damascan synagogues
was also Christ—his Christ. That he preached in Damascus is directly attested
only by the book of Acts, but, as has been observed by some who entertain
rather a low estimate of Acts, it is implied in 2 Cor. 11:32-33. What could have
caused the persecution of Paul except Christian activity on his part? If the
book of Acts is correct, Paul preached also in Jerusalem only three years after
his conversion. Yet the churches of Judea glorified God in him. If there was
opposition to his heavenly Christ, such opposition has left no trace. Yet Paul
had been in direct consultation with Peter. There is every reason to believe,
therefore, that from the very beginning, the exalted Christology of Paul was
accepted by the Jerusalem Church. The heavenly Christ of Paul was also the
Christ of those who had walked and talked with Jesus of Nazareth.
By
his contemporaries, then, Paul was regarded not as the founder of a new
religion, but as a disciple of Jesus. That testimony may be overthrown by
contrary evidence. But there is a strong presumption that it is correct. For
among those who passed judgment upon Paul were included the most intimate
friends and disciples of Jesus. Their estimate of Paul's relationship to Jesus
can be rejected only under the compulsion of positive evidence. Those who knew
Jesus best accepted Paul as a disciple of Jesus like themselves.
Thus,
by his contemporaries, Paul was not regarded as an innovator with respect to
Jesus. Did he regard himself as such?
Put
in this form, the question admits of but one answer. "It is no longer I
that live," says Paul, "but Christ that liveth in me. Christ, for
Paul, was absolute Lord and Master. But this "Christ" whom Paul
served was identified by Paul with Jesus of Nazareth. Of that there can be no
manner of doubt. Moreover, even in his estate of humiliation, Christ was
regarded by Paul as Lord. It was "the Lord of glory" (1 Cor. 2:8) who
was crucified. The right of the earthly Jesus to issue commands was for Paul a
matter of course. That is proved beyond question even by the few direct
references which Paul makes to words of Jesus. So much is almost universally
admitted. That Paul regarded himself as a disciple of Jesus can be denied by no
one. The difference of opinion appears when the question is formulated in
somewhat broader terms. Do the Pauline Epistles themselves, even apart from a
comparison with the words of Jesus, furnish evidence that Paul was not, as he
supposed, a disciple of Jesus, but the founder of a new religion?
In
favor of the affirmative, two considerations have been adduced.
In
the first place, in the Epistle to the Galatians Paul himself insists upon his
independence of tradition. He received his gospel directly from Christ, not
through any human agency. Even after he had received his gospel, he avoided all
contact with those who had been apostles before him. He conferred not with
flesh and blood. Paul received his gospel, then, by revelation from the risen
Christ, not by tradition from the earthly Jesus. But the earthly Jesus was the
historical Jesus. In exalting his direct commission from the heavenly Christ,
Paul has himself betrayed the slenderness of his connection with Jesus of
Nazareth.
In
the second place, the same low estimate of historical tradition appears
throughout the epistles, in the paucity of references to the words and deeds of
Jesus. Apparently Paul is interested almost exclusively in the birth and death
and resurrection. He is interested in the birth as the incarnation of a
heavenly being, come for the salvation of men; and in the death and
resurrection as the great cosmic events by which salvation was obtained. But
for the details of the life of Jesus he displays but little interest. His mind
and fancy are dominated by a vague, mysterious, cosmic personification, not by
a definite historical person—by the heavenly Christ, not by Jesus of Nazareth.
The
latter of these two arguments can be established only by exaggeration and by
misinterpretation—by exaggeration of the paucity of references in Paul to the
life of Jesus, and by misinterpretation of the paucity that really exists. In
the first place, Paul displays far greater knowledge than is sometimes
supposed, and in the second place, he possesses far greater knowledge than he
displays. The testimony of Paul to Jesus has been examined many times—it will
not be necessary to traverse the ground again. The assertion that the details
of the life of Jesus were of little value for Paul is contradicted in no
uncertain terms by such passages as 2 Cor. 10:1 and Rom. 15:3. When Paul urges
as an example to his readers the meekness and gentleness of Christ, or his
faithfulness in bearing reproaches in the service of God, he is evidently
thinking not primarily of the gracious acts of the incarnation and passion, as
in Phil. 2:5ff., and 2 Cor. 8:9, but of the character of Jesus as it was
exhibited in his daily. life on earth. Such expressions as these attest not
merely knowledge of Jesus but also warm appreciation of his character. The
imitation of Jesus (1 Cor. 11:1) had its due place in the ethical life of Paul.
Direct commands of Jesus are occasionally quoted, and Paul is fully conscious
of the significance of such commands (1 Cor. 7:10, 12, 25). In 1 Cor 11: 23ff.,
he quotes in full the words of Jesus instituting the Lord's Supper, and
incidentally shows that he is acquainted with the exact circumstances under
which the words were spoken ("the night in which he was betrayed").
The
incidental character of Paul's references to the life of Jesus itself suggests
that he knew far more than he chooses to tell. The account of the institution
of the Lord's Supper, for example, would never have found a place in the
epistles except for certain abuses which had sprung up in Corinth. Yet Paul
says that he had already "delivered over" that account to the
Corinthians. It had formed part of his elementary preaching. And it displays
intimate knowledge of detail. That one example is sufficient to prove not only
that Paul knew more than he tells in the epistles, but also that what is
omitted from the epistles formed part of the essential elements of his
preaching. It is omitted not because it is unimportant, but on the contrary
because it is fundamental. Instruction about it had to be given at the very
beginning, and did not often have to be repeated. The hint supplied by such
passages as the account of the Lord's Supper in 1 Cor. 11:23ff. is only
supplementary to weighty a priori considerations. A missionary preaching that
included no concrete account of the life of Jesus would have been preposterous.
The claim that a crucified Jew was to be obeyed as Lord and trusted as Saviour
must surely have provoked the question as to what manner of man this was. It is
true that the gods of other religions needed to be described only in general
terms. But Christianity had dispensed with the advantages of such vagueness. It
had identified its God with a Jew who had lived but a few years before. Surely
the tremendous prejudice against accepting a crucified criminal as Lord and
Master could be overcome only by an account of the wonderful character of
Jesus. The only other resource is an extreme supernaturalism. If the concrete
figure of the crucified one had no part in winning the hearts of men, then the
work must have been accomplished by a magical exercise of divine power—working
out of all connection with the mind and heart. That is not the supernaturalism
of Paul. When Paul writes to the Galatians that Jesus Christ crucified was
placarded before their eyes, he refers to something more than a dogmatic
exposition of the atonement. The picture of the crucified one owed part of its
compelling power to the conviction that the death there portrayed was the
supreme act of a life of love.
It
is already pretty clear that the first chapter of Galatians cannot mean that
Paul had a contempt for Christian tradition. When Paul says that he received
his gospel by direct revelation from Jesus Christ, he cannot mean that he
excluded from his preaching what he had received by ordinary word of mouth from
the eye-witnesses of the life of Jesus. He cannot mean even that his proof of
the resurrection of Jesus was based solely upon his own testimony. That
inference, at least, would be very natural if Gal. 1 stood alone. But it is
refuted in no uncertain terms by 1 Cor. 15:3-7. In this passage the appearances
of the risen Christ to persons other than Paul are reviewed in an extended
list, and Paul distinctly says that this formed a part of his first preaching
in Corinth. So not even the fact of the resurrection itself was supported
solely by the testimony of Paul. On the contrary, Paul was diligent in
investigating the testimony of others.
The
first chapter of Galatians, therefore, bears a very different aspect when it is
interpreted in the light of the other Pauline epistles. Paul does not mean that
all his information about Jesus came from the risen Christ. In all probability,
Paul knew the essential facts in the life of Jesus even before he became a
Christian. Since he was a persecutor of the Church, he must have had at least
general information about its founder. The story of the life and death of the
Galilean prophet must have been matter of common knowledge in Palestine. And
after the conversion, Paul added to his knowledge. It is inconceivable that
during the brief intercourse with Peter, for example, the subject of the words
and deeds of Jesus was studiously avoided. Such an unnatural supposition is by
no means required by the actual phenomena of the epistles. That has been
demonstrated above. The true reason why Paul does not mention his knowledge of
the life of Jesus as part of the basis of his faith, is that for him such
factual knowledge was a matter of course. For us it is not a matter of course,
because many centuries stand between us and the events. For us, painful
investigation of sources is necessary in order that we may arrive even at the
bare facts. Indeed, it is just the facts that need to be established in the
face of the sharpest criticism. But for Paul, the facts were matter of common
knowledge; it was the interpretation of the *facts which was in dispute. Paul
was living in Jerusalem only a very few years at the latest after the
crucifixion of Jesus. The prophet of Nazareth had certainly created
considerable stir in Jerusalem as well as in Galilee. These things were not
done in a corner. The general outlines of the life of Jesus were known to
friend and foe alike. Even indifference could hardly have brought
forgetfulness. But Paul was not indifferent. Before his conversion, as well as
after it, he was interested in Jesus. That was what made him the most
relentless of the persecutors.
The
bare facts of the earthly life of Jesus did not, therefore, constitute in
Paul's mind a "gospel." Everyone knew the facts—the Pharisees as well
as the disciples. The facts could be obtained through a thousand channels. Paul
did not reflect as to where he got them. Before the conversion, he heard the
reports of the opponents of Jesus, and the common gossip of the crowds. After
the conversion, there were many eye-witnesses who could be questioned—perhaps
in Damascus and even in Arabia as well as in Jerusalem. It never occurred to
Paul to regard himself as a disciple of the men who merely reported the facts,
any more than the modem man feels a deep gratitude to the newspaper in which he
reads useful information. If that particular paper had not printed the news,
others would have done so. The sources of information are so numerous that no
one of them can be regarded as of supreme importance. For us, the sources of
information about the life of Jesus are limited. Hence our veneration for the
Gospels. But Paul was a contemporary of Jesus; the sources of his information
about Jesus were so numerous that they could not be counted.
Thus,
when Paul says that he received his gospel from the risen Christ, he does not
mean that the risen Christ revealed to him the facts of the life of Jesus. He
had known the facts before—only they had filled him with hatred. What he
received at his conversion was a new interpretation of the facts. Instead of
continuing to persecute the disciples of Jesus, he accepted Jesus as living
Lord and Master. Conceivably, the change might have been wrought through the
preaching of the disciples; Paul might have received his gospel through the
ministrations of Peter. But such was not the Lord's will. Suddenly, on the road
to Damascus, Jesus called him. Paul had heard, perhaps, of the call of the
first disciples; he had heard of those who left home and kindred to follow the
new teacher. He had heard only to condemn. But now it was his turn. Jesus
called, and he obeyed. Jesus, whom he knew only too well—destroyer of the
Temple, accursed by the law, crucified, dead and buried—was living Lord. Jesus
called him—called him not merely to revering imitation of the holy martyr, not
merely to a new estimate of events that were past, but to present, living
communion with himself. Jesus himself, in very presence, called him into
communion, and into glorious service. That, and that only, is what Paul means
when he says that he received his gospel not from man but by revelation of
Jesus Christ.
Neither
by Paul himself, therefore, nor by the original apostles was Paul regarded as
an innovator with reference to Jesus. On the contrary he regarded himself and
was regarded by others as a true disciple. The presumption is that that opinion
was correct. For both Paul himself, and the early Christians with whom he came
into contact were contemporaries of Jesus, and had every opportunity to know
him. If Paul had detected any fundamental divergence between his own teaching
and that of Jesus of Nazareth, then he could not have remained Jesus' disciple.
Unless, indeed, the conversion was supernatural. But the conversion was not
supernatural if it left Paul in disharmony with Jesus. For it purported to be
wrought by Jesus himself. If supernatural, the conversion could not have left
Paul in disharmony with the historical Jesus, because it was wrought by an
appearance of Jesus; if not supernatural, it would have been insufficient to
make Paul regard himself as a disciple of one with whom he did not agree. That
the original apostles had every opportunity for knowing the historical Jesus
requires no proof. Yet undoubtedly they accepted Paul as a disciple.
The
presumption thus established in favor of regarding Paul as a true disciple of
Jesus could be overthrown only by positive divergence, established by an actual
comparison of Jesus with Paul. At the very outset of such comparison, a serious
difficulty is encountered. How is Jesus to be investigated? Paul we know, but
what is the truth about Jesus? It will not do, it is said, to accept the Gospel
picture in its entirety: For the Gospels were written after Paul, and have been
affected by Pauline thinking. To a certain extent, therefore, it is no longer the
historical Jesus which the Gospels describe, but the Pauline Christ. To compare
Paul with the Gospels, therefore, is to compare not Paul with Jesus, but Paul
with Paul. Naturally the comparison establishes coincidence, not divergence;
but the result is altogether without value.
This
objection was applied first of all to the Fourth Gospel. The Fourth Gospel was
written undoubtedly many years after the Pauline Epistles. And undoubtedly it
exhibits a remarkable harmony with Pauline thinking. The Pauline Christ is here
made to appear even in the earthly life of Jesus. In this respect, it is said,
the Gospel is more Pauline than Paul himself. Paul had done justice to the
human life of Jesus by distinguishing sharply between the humiliation and the
exaltation of Christ. Jesus had become Son of God in power only at the
resurrection. In the Fourth Gospel, on the other hand, the heavenly Christ
appears in all his glory even on earth. Furthermore, the new birth of John 3 is
identical with the Pauline conception of the new life which the Christian has
by sharing in the death and resurrection of Christ. Even the Pauline doctrine
of the sacrificial death of Christ, though not prominent in the Fourth Gospel,
appears in such passages as John 1:29 and 3:14-15.
The
objection could be overcome only by an examination of the Fourth Gospel, which
would far transcend the limits of the present discussion. The Fourth Gospel
will therefore here be left out of account. It should be remarked, however, in
passing, that dependence of the Fourth Gospel upon Paul has by no means been
proved. A far-reaching similarity in ideas may freely be admitted. But in order
to prove dependence, it is necessary to establish similarity not only of ideas,
but also of expression. And that is conspicuously absent. Even where the
underlying ideas are most clearly identical, the terminology is strikingly
different—and not only the bare terminology but also the point of view. The
entire atmosphere and spirit of the Fourth Gospel is quite distinct from that
of the Pauline Epistles. That is sufficient to disprove the hypothesis of
dependence of the Gospel upon Paul. The underlying similarity of thought, when
taken in connection with the total dissimilarity of expression, can be
explained only by dependence upon a common source. And that source can hardly
be anything but Jesus Christ.
Provisionally,
however, the Fourth Gospel will be left out of account. That can be done with
the greater safety, because it is now universally agreed that the contrast
between the Fourth Gospel and the Synoptics is not an absolute one. The day is
past when the divine Christ of the Gospel of John could be confronted with a
human Christ of Mark. Historical students of all shades of opinion have now
come to see that Mark as well as John (though, it is believed, in a lesser
degree) presents an exalted Christology. The charge of Pauline influence,
therefore, has been brought not only against John, but also against the earlier
Gospels. Hence, it is maintained that if Paul be compared even with the Jesus
of the Synoptics, he is being compared not with the historical Jesus, but with
a Paulinized Jesus. Obviously such comparison can prove nothing.
If
the Synoptic Gospels were influenced by Paul, then there is extant not a single
document which preserves a pre-Pauline conception of Christ. That is a very
remarkable state of affairs. The original disciples of Jesus, those who had
been, intimate with him on earth, those from whom the most authentic
information might have been expected, have allowed their account of the life of
Jesus to be altered through the influence of one who could speak only from
hearsay. Such alteration would certainly fall within the lifetime of many of
the eyewitnesses. For the Gospel of Mark is generally admitted to have been written
before 70, A.D. It is conceivable that the Pauline conception might thus have
gained the ascendancy over the primitive conception. But it is hardly
conceivable that it could have done so without a struggle, and of struggle
there is not a trace. In the supposed Pauline passages in the Synoptic Gospels,
the writers are quite unaware that one conception is being replaced by another.
And the Pauline Epistles themselves, as has already been observed, presuppose a
substantial agreement between Paul and the Jerusalem Church with regard to the
person of Christ. This remarkable absence of struggle between the Pauline
conception and the primitive conception can be explained only if the two were
essentially the same. Only so could the Pauline conception have been accepted
by the Jerusalem Church, and permitted to dominate subsequent Christianity.
This conclusion is supported by the positive evidence, which has recently been
urged, for example by Harnack, for a pre- Pauline dating of the Synoptic
Gospels—that is, for dating them at a time when the Pauline! Epistles, even if
some of them had already been written, could not have been collected, and could
not have begun to dominate the thinking of the Church at large. The affinity
between the Christology of Paul and the Jesus of the Synoptic Gospels does not
prove the dependence of the Gospels upon Paul. For the Christology of Paul was
also, in essentials, the Christology of the primitive Christian community in
Jerusalem.
The
transition from the human Jesus to the divine Christ must be placed therefore
not between the primitive church and Paul, but between Jesus and the primitive
church. A man, Jesus, came to be regarded as a divine being, not by later
generations, who could have been deceived by the nimbus of distance and
mystery, but almost immediately after his death, by his intimate friends, by
men who had seen him subject to all the petty limitations of daily life. Even
if Paul were the first witness to the deification of Jesus, the process would
still be preternaturally rapid. Jesus would still be regarded as a divine being
by a contemporary of his intimate friends-and each deification would be no mere
official form of flattery, like the apotheosis of the Roman emperors, but would
be the expression of serious conviction. The process by which the man Jesus was
raised to divine dignity within a few years of his death would be absolutely
unique. That has been recognized even by men of the most thorough-going
naturalistic principles. The late H. J. Holtzmann, who may be regarded as the
typical exponent of modern New Testament criticism, admitted that for the rapid
apotheosis of Jesus, as it appears in the thinking of Paul, he was unable to
cite any parallel in the religious history of the race. In order to explain the
origin of the Pauline Christology, Bruckner and Wrede have recourse to the
Jewish Apocalypses. The Christology of Paul was formed, it is said, before his
conversion. He needed only to identify the heavenly, pre-existent Christ of his
Jewish belief with Jesus of Nazareth, and his Christology was complete. But
that explanation does not help matters. Even if it be accepted to the fullest
extent, it explains only details. It explains why, if Jesus was to be regarded
as a divine being, he was regarded as just this particular kind of divine
being. But it does not explain how he came to be regarded as a divine being at
all. And that is what really requires explanation. One might almost as well say
that the deification of a man is explained if only it be shown that those who
accomplished such deification already had a conception of God. The apotheosis
of Jesus, then, is remarkable, even if it was due to Paul. But it becomes yet a
thousand fold more remarkable when it is seen to have been due not to Paul, but
to the intimate friends of Jesus of Nazareth. Indeed, the process is so
remarkable that the question arises whether there is not something wrong with
the starting-point. The end of the process is fixed. It is the super-human
Christ of Paul and of the primitive church. If, therefore, the process is
inconceivable in its rapidity, it is the starting-point which becomes open to
suspicion. The starting-point is the purely human Jesus. A suspicion arises
that he never existed. If indeed any early Christian extant document gave a
clear, consistent account of a Jesus who was nothing more than a man, then the
historian might be forced to regard such a Jesus as the starting-point for an
astonishingly rapid apotheosis. But as a matter of fact, no such document is in
existence. Even those writers who represent Jesus most clearly as a man,
represent him as something more than a man, and are quite unconscious of a
conflict between the two representations. Indeed the two representations appear
as two ways of regarding one and the same person. If, therefore, the purely
human Jesus is to be reconstructed, he can be reconstructed only by a critical
process. That critical process, in view of the indissolubly close connection in
which divine and human appear in the Synoptic representation of Jesus, becomes,
to say the least, exceedingly difficult. And after criticism has done its work,
after the purely human Jesus has been in some sort disentangled from the
ornamentation which had almost hopelessly defaced his portrait, the critic
faces another problem yet more baffling than the first. How did this human
Jesus come to be regarded as a super-human Jesus even by his most intimate
friends? There is absolutely nothing to explain the transition except the
supposed appearances of the risen Lord. The disciples had been familiar with a
Jesus who placed himself on the side of man, not of God, who offered himself as
an example of faith, not as the object of faith. And yet, after his shameful
death, this estimate of his person suddenly gave place to a vastly higher
estimate. That is bare supernaturalism. It is supernaturalism stripped of that
harmony with the laws of the human mind which has been preserved even by the
supernaturalism of the Church. In its effort to remove the supernatural from
the life of Jesus, modern criticism has been obliged to heap up a double
portion of the supernatural upon the Easter experience of the disciples. If the
disciples had been familiar with a supernatural Jesus who forgave sin as only
God can, a Jesus who offered himself not as an example of faith but as the
object of faith, a Jesus who substantiated these his lofty claims by wonderful
command over the powers of nature-then conceivably, though not probably, the
impression of such a Jesus might have been sufficient to produce in the
disciples, in a purely natural way, the experiences which they interpreted as
appearances of the risen Lord. But by eliminating the supernatural in the life
of the Jesus whom the disciples had known, modern criticism has closed the way
to this its only possible psychological explanation of the Easter experience.
In order to explain the facts of primitive Christianity, the supernatural must
be retained at least either in the life of Jesus of Nazareth or else in the
appearances of the risen Lord. But of course no one 'will stop with that
alternative. If the supernatural be accepted in either place, then of course it
will be accepted in both places. If Jesus was really a supernatural person,
then his resurrection and appearance to his disciples was only what was to be
expected; if the experience of the disciples was really an appearance of Jesus,
then of course even in his earthly life he was a supernatural person. The
supernaturalism of the Church is a reasonable supernaturalism; the
supernaturalism into which modern criticism is forced in its effort to avoid
supernaturalism, is a supernaturalism unworthy of a reasonable God. In ,order
to explain the exalted Christology of the primitive church, either the
appearance of the risen Christ or the Easter experience of the disciples must
be regarded as supernatural. But if either was supernatural then there is no
objection against supposing that both were.
The
similarity of the exalted Christology of the Synoptic Gospels to the
Christology of Paul is therefore no indication of dependence upon Paul. For the
Christology of Paul was in essence the Christology of the primitive church; and
the Christology of the primitive church must have found its justification in
the life of Jesus. Furthermore, comparison of Pauline thinking with the
teaching of Jesus in the Synoptic Gospels will demonstrate that the harmony
between Jesus and Paul extends even to those elements in the teaching of Jesus
which are regarded by modern criticism as most characteristic of him. For example,
the fatherhood of God, and love as the fulfilling of the law. The conception of
God as father was known, it is true, in pre-Christian Judaism. But Jesus
brought an incalculable enrichment of it. And that same -enrichment appears in
Paul in all its fullness. In the earliest extant epistle (1 Thess. 1:1) and
throughout all the epistles, the fatherhood of God appears as a matter of
course. It requires no defense or elaboration. It is one of the commonplaces of
Christianity. Yet it is not for Paul a mere matter of tradition, but a vital
element in his religious life. It has not, through familiarity, lost one whit
of its freshness. The cry, "Abba, Father", comes from the very depths
of the heart. Hardly less prominent in Paul is the conception of love as the fulfilling
of the law. "The whole law is fulfilled in one word, even in this, 'Thou
shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.'" "And if I bestow all my goods
to feed the poor, and if I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it
profiteth me nothing." In the epistles, it is true, Paul is speaking
usually of love for Christian brethren. But simply because of the needs of the
churches. The closeness of the relationship with fellow-Christians had
sometimes increased rather than diminished the tendency towards strife and
selfishness. The epistles are addressed not to missionaries, but to Christians
of very imperfect mold, who needed to be admonished to exhibit love even where
love might have seemed most natural and easy. On account of the peculiar
circumstances, therefore, Paul speaks especially of love for fellow-Christians.
But not to the exclusion of love for all men. Never was greater injustice done
than when Paul is accused of narrowness in his affections. His whole life is
the refutation of such a charge—his life of tactful adaptation to varying
conditions, of restless energy, of untold peril and hardship. What was the
secret of such a life? Love of Christ, no doubt. But also love of those for
whom Christ died—whether Jew or Greek, circumcision or uncircumcision,
barbarian, Scythian, bond or free.
The
fatherhood of God, it is true, does not mean for Paul that God is pleased with
all men, or that all men will receive the children's blessing. And Christian
love does not mean obliteration of the dividing line between the Kingdom and
the world. But these limitations appear at least as clearly in Jesus as in
Paul. The dark background of eternal destruction, and the sharp division
between the disciples and the world are described by Jesus in far harsher terms
than Paul ever ventured to employ. It was Jesus who spoke of the outer darkness
and the everlasting fire, of the sin that shall not be forgiven either in this
world or in that which is to come; it was Jesus who said, "If any man
cometh unto me, and hateth not his own father, and mother, and wife, and
children, and brethren and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my
disciple."
These
examples might be multiplied; and they should be supplemented by what has been
said above with regard to Paul's appreciation of the character of Jesus. Jesus
of Nazareth, as he is depicted for us in the Gospels, was for Paul the supreme
moral ideal. But that does not make Paul a disciple of Jesus. Be it spoken with
all plainness. Imitation of Jesus, important as it was in the life of Paul, was
overshadowed by something else. All that has been said about Paul's interest in
the earthly life of Jesus, about his obedience to Jesus' commands, about his
reverence for Jesus' character, cannot disguise the fact that these things for
Paul are not supreme. Knowledge of the life of Jesus is not for Paul an end in
itself but a means to an end. The essence of Paul's religious life is not
imitation of a dead prophet. It is communion with a living Lord. In making the
risen Christ, not the earthly Jesus, the supreme object of Paul's thinking,
modern radicalism is perfectly correct. Paul cannot be vindicated as a disciple
of Jesus simply by correcting exaggeration—simply by showing that the influence
upon him of the teaching and example of Jesus was somewhat greater than has
been supposed. The true relationships of a man are to be determined not by the
periphery of his life, but by what is central—central both in his own
estimation and in his influence upon history. But the center and core of Paulinism
is not imitation of the earthly Jesus, but communion with the risen Christ. It
was that which Paul himself regarded as the very foundation of his own life.
"If any man is in Christ, he is a new creature." "It is no
longer I that live, but Christ that liveth in me." It was that which
planted the Pauline gospel in the great cities of the Roman Empire; it was that
which dominated Christianity, and through Christianity has changed the face of
the world.
The
tremendous difference between this communion with the risen Christ and mere
imitation of the earthly Jesus has sometimes been overlooked. In the eagerness
to vindicate Paul as a disciple of Jesus, the essential feature of Paulinism
has been thrust into the background. It is admitted, of course, that in Paul's
own estimation the thought of Christ as a divine being, now living in glory,
was fundamental. But the really important thing, it is said, is the ethical
character that is attributed to this heavenly being. Paul's heavenly Christ is
the personification of self-denying love. But whence was this attribute
derived? Certainly not from the Messiah of the Jewish Apocalypses. For he is
conceived of as enveloped in mystery, as hidden from the world until the great
day of his revealing. The gracious character of Paul's heavenly Christ could
only have been derived from the historical Jesus. Perhaps directly. The
character of the historical Jesus, as it was known through tradition, was
simply attributed by Paul to the heavenly being with whom Jesus was identified.
Or perhaps indirectly. The heavenly Christ was for Paul the personification of
love, because Paul conceived of the death of Christ as a supreme act of loving
self-denial. But how could Paul conceive thus of the death of Christ? Only
because of the loving spirit of Jesus which appeared in the disciples whom Paul
persecuted. It was therefore ultimately the character of the historical Jesus
which enabled Paul to conceive of the crucifixion as a loving act of sacrifice;
and it was this conception of the crucifixion which enabled Paul to conceive of
his heavenly Christ as the supreme ideal of love. Of course, for Paul, owing to
his intellectual environment, it was impossible to submit himself to this ideal
of love, so long as it was embodied merely in a dead teacher. The conception of
the risen Christ was therefore necessary historically in order to preserve the
precious ideal which had been introduced into the world by Jesus. But we of the
present day can and must sacrifice the form to the content. The glorious Christ
of Paul derives the real secret of his power over the hearts of men not from
his glory, but from his love.
Such
reasoning ignores the essence of Paulinism. It represents Paulinism as devotion
to an ideal. If that were granted, then perhaps all the rest might follow. If
Paulinism is simply imitation of Christ, then perhaps it makes little
difference whether Christ be conceived of as on earth or in heaven, as a dead
prophet or a living Lord. Past or present, the ideal, as an ideal, remains the
same. But Paulinism is not imitation of Christ, but communion with Christ. That
fact requires no proof. The epistles are on fire with it. The communion is, on
the one hand, intensely personal—it is a relation of love. With Christ Paul can
hold colloquies of the most intimate kind. But, on the other hand, the
communion with Christ transcends human analogies. The Lord can operate on the
heart and life of Paul in a way that is impossible for any human friend. Paul
is in Christ and Christ is in Paul. The relation to the risen Christ is not
only personal, but also religious. But if Paulinism is communion with Christ,
then quite the fundamental thing about Christ is that he is alive. It is sheer
folly to say that this Pauline Christ-religion can be reproduced by one who
supposes that Christ is dead. Such a one can envy the poor sinners in the
Gospels who received from Jesus healing for body and mind. He can admire the
great prophet. When, alas, shall we find another like him? He can envy the
faith of others. But he cannot himself believe. He cannot hear Jesus say,
"Thy faith hath made thee whole."
When
Paulinism is understood as fellowship with the risen Christ, then the
disproportionate emphasis which Paul places upon the death and resurrection of
Christ becomes intelligible. For these are the acts by which fellowship has
been established. To the modern man, they seem unnecessary. By the modern man
fellowship with God is taken as a matter of course. But only because of an
imperfect conception of God. If God is all love and kindness, then of course
nothing is required in order to bring us into his presence. But Paul would
never have been satisfied with such a God. His was the awful, holy God of the
Old Testament prophets—and of Jesus. But for Paul the holiness of God was also
the holiness of Christ. Communion of sinful man with the holy Christ is a
tremendous paradox, a supreme mystery. But the mystery has been illumined. It
has been illumined by the cross. Christ forgives sin not because he is
complacent towards sin, but because of his own free grace he has paid the
dreadful penalty of it. And he has not stopped with that. After the cross came
the resurrection. Christ rose from the dead into a life of glory and power.
Into that glory and into that. power he invites the believer. In Christ we
receive not only pardon, but new and glorious life.
Paul's
interpretation of the death and resurrection is not to be found in the words of
Jesus. But hints of it appear, even in the Synoptic discourses. "The Son
of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a
ransom for many" (Mk. 10:45). Modern criticism is inclined to question the
authenticity of that verse. But if any saying of Jesus is commended by its
form, it is this one. The exquisite gnomic form vindicates the saying to the
great master of inspired paradox. Even far stronger, however, is the
attestation of the words which were spoken at the last supper. Indeed these are
the most strongly attested of all the words of Jesus; for the Synoptic tradition
is here supplemented by the testimony of Paul; and the testimony of Paul is
also the testimony of the tradition to which he refers. That tradition must be
absolutely primitive. But the words which Jesus spoke at the last supper
designate the death of Jesus as a sacrifice. And why should the idea of
vicarious suffering be denied to Jesus? It is freely accepted for his disciples
and for Paul. They interpreted the death of Jesus as a sacrifice for sin,
because, it is said, the idea was current in Judaism of that day. But if the
idea was so familiar, surely Jesus was more susceptible to it than were his
disciples. They had an external conception of the Kingdom, he regarded the
Kingdom as spiritual; they exalted power and worldly position, he insisted upon
self-denial. Was it then the disciples, and not Jesus, who seized upon the idea
of vicarious suffering? Surely if Jesus anticipated his death at all, he would
naturally regard it as a sacrificial death. And to eliminate altogether Jesus'
foreknowledge of his death involves extreme skepticism. Aside from the direct
predictions, what shall be done with Mk. 2:20: "But the days will come
when the bridegroom shall he taken from them, and then will they fast in that
day"? If Jesus expected the Kingdom to be established before his death,
then he was an extreme fanatic, who could not even discern the signs of the
times. The whole spirit of his life is opposed to such a view. Even during his
life, Jesus was a suffering servant of Jehovah.
Nevertheless,
the teaching of Jesus about the significance of his death is not explicit. It
resembles the mysterious intimations of prophecy rather than the definite
enunciation of fundamental religious truth. That fact must be admitted; indeed,
it should be insisted upon. The fundamental Pauline doctrine—the doctrine of
the cross—is only hinted at in the words of Jesus. Yet that doctrine was
fundamental not only in Paul, but in the primitive church. Certainly it has
been fundamental in historic Christianity. The fundamental doctrine of Christianity,
then, was not taught definitely by Jesus of Nazareth. As a teacher, therefore,
Jesus was not the founder of Christianity. He was the founder of Christianity
not because of what he said, but because of what he did. The Church revered him
as its founder only because his death was interpreted as an event of cosmic
significance. But it had such significance only if Jesus was a divine being,
come to earth for the salvation of men. If Jesus was not a supernatural person,
then not only Paulinism but also the whole of Christianity is founded not upon
the lofty teaching of an inspired prophet, but upon a colossal error.
Paul
was a disciple of Jesus, if Jesus was a supernatural person; he was not a
disciple of Jesus, if Jesus was a mere man. If Jesus was simply a human
teacher, then Paulinism defies explanation. Yet it is powerful and beneficent
beyond compare. judged simply by its effects, the religious experience of Paul
is the most tremendous phenomenon in the history of the human spirit. It has
transformed the world from darkness into light. But it need be judged not
merely by its effects. It lies open before us. In the presence of it, the
sympathetic observer is aghast. It is a new world that is opened before him.
Freedom, goodness, communion with God, sought by philosophers of all the ages,
attained at last! The religious experience of Paul needs no defense. Give it
but sympathetic attention and it is irresistible. But it can be shared as well
as admired. The relation of Paul to Jesus Christ is essentially the same as our
own. The original apostles had one element in their religious life which we
cannot share the memory of; their daily
intercourse with Jesus. That element, it is true, was not really fundamental,
even for them. But it appears to be fundamental; our fears tell us that it was
fundamental. But in the experience of Paul there was no such element. Like
ourselves he did not know Jesus upon earth-he had no memory of Galilean days.
His devotion was directed simply and solely to the risen Saviour. Shall we
follow him? We can do so on one condition. That condition is not easy. To
fulfill it, we must overcome our most deep-seated convictions. We must
recognize in Jesus a supernatural person. But unless we fulfil that condition,
we can never share in the religious experience of Paul. When brought face to
face with the crisis, we may shrink back. But if we do so, we make the origin
of Christianity an insoluble problem. In exalting the methods of scientific
history, we involve ourselves hopelessly in historical difficulty. In the
relation between Jesus and Paul, we discover a problem, which, through the very
processes of mind by which the uniformity of nature has been established,
forces us to transcend that doctrine-which pushes us relentlessly off the safe
ground of the phenomenal world toward the abyss of supernaturalism-which forces
us, despite the resistance of the modern mind, to make the great venture of
faith, and found our lives no longer upon what can be procured by human effort
or understood as a phase of evolution, but upon him who has linked us with the
unseen world, and brought us into communion with the eternal God.