3.1 Paul the Universalist? New Perspectives on an Old Debate
As one of the people responsible for the revival of Paulâs letters in contemporary philosophy, Alain Badiou is known for his particular interest in Pauline universalism: âFor Paul,â Badiou claims, âthe truth event repudiates philosophical Truth (â¦) Paul is an antiphilosophical theoretician of universality.â1 Paulâs conceptions of âlawâ (νÏμοÏ, nomos), âjusticeâ (δικαιοÏÏνη, dikaiosynÄ), âfaithâ (ÏίÏÏιÏ, pistis), and their cognates are also explained by him in this light. Badiouâs Paul is the one âwho identifies his faith only in being affected by the collapse of customary and communitarian differencesâ.2 According to Badiou, the Pauline connection between faith and justice is offered by the concept of hope, albeit not a hope in a future judgement that would again bring separation.3 Instead, for Paul, âit is of utmost importance to declare that I am justified only insofar as everyone is.â4 By thus framing Paul as his founding hero of universalism, Badiou not only addressed a metaphysical conception from a creative angle; he also consciously or inadvertently picked up on a major contested issue in Pauline scholarship.
In the vocabulary specific to the field of New Testament studies, the issue relates to the doctrine of âjustification by faithâ, or, in broader terms, to the question of what a significant part of Paulâs good news was all about, to whom it was addressed, and what it was formulated against. It is not my main aim in this chapter to merely summarize the main currents in researching Paulâs âjustification by faithâ axiom. Instead, after having done so briefly in the next section, I hope to contribute to the debate by examining Graeco-Roman semantics and discourses pertaining to justice, law, and faith.
Even though the amount of scholarly work on justification in the New Testament reaches enormous proportions, relatively little has been unearthed in this particular material.5 On the contrary, Paulâs Jewishness and Hellenism are often bluntly played off against one another in the context of this discussion (on this wider âtrendâ, see §1.3.1 above). Dunn and Suggate state simply: âWhen Paul brought the language of righteousness / justification to the fore it was the language of the Old Testament which he was using.â6 Alternatively, Paulâs usage of pistis in the context of âlawâ is deemed highly original, as David Hay claims: âThe distinctiveness or originality of Paulâs thought regarding faith is largely connected with his viewing faith as excluding reliance on works of the law.â7 Panayotis Coutsoumpos explicitly rejects the relevance of Paulâs Hellenistic identity:
Is the apostle Paul to be seen as a Hellenized Greek Jew from Tarsus? Or was he a Pharisee trained by Gamaliel in Jerusalem? Clearly, Paulâs conversation about the law in his epistles does not come from an outsider, but from one who understood the beliefs regarding the law which Jews of the time held. (â¦) Consequently, the Judaism of Jerusalem, rather than the paganism of Tarsus, seems to be the root for Paulâs approach of the problem of law. (Coutsoumpos 2008, 45â46)
In reply to Coutsoumpos, I grant that Paul was an insider as regards the Mosaic Law. On the other hand, both in his Jewish-Hellenistic upbringing and in his missionary travels, he must have encountered multiple narratives about justice and was forced to think about âlawâ as a concept that transcended Judaism.
Even when scholars speak of Pauline universalism, it is often contrasted with contemporary pagan thought, for instance to Stoic universalism. Eliezer Gonzalez connects Paulâs universalism to his adaptability and argues for a biblical model of divine condescension as opposed to Hellenistic philosophical currents: âWhile Paulâs adaptability is rooted in interplay of a range of contemporary Hellenistic influences, it is clear that the concept of divine condescension is key.â8 He does not seem to consider the possibility that divine condescension is a Hellenistic concept as well: in this chapter alone we will encounter numerous accounts of divinities leaving their heavenly bliss to aid fallen humanity (see §3.3.3). Some scholarly contributions do include Hellenistic material. Mark Seifrid wrote a book chapter with the promising title âPaulâs use of righteousness language against its Hellenistic backgroundâ.9 Nevertheless, he only discusses Josephus and the Septuagint, arguing that while Josephusâs righteousness language is in line with a pagan Greek, retributive usage, Paulâs righteousness language is vindicative and corresponds with the Septuagint.10
In spite of these reserved evaluations of the usefulness of a Graeco-Roman contribution to the debate, I intend to demonstrate that both on the level of shared semantics and on the level of participation in similar discourses, Paul and his pagan contemporaries had a lot in common. The opposition between faith and law, for instance, is also found in some important contemporary pagan sources. Moreover, if the so-called âRadical New Perspective on Paulâ (or, âPaul within Judaismâ) is correct in its reconstruction of the intended audience of Paulâs âjustification by faithâ language as consisting entirely of non-Jews, then it is highly relevant to see whether his message fitted their own non-Jewish narratives. As we will see in this chapter, however, it is precisely the pagan discourse of unwritten law that enables Paul to think of righteousness in a manner which transcends all written law including the Mosaic Law, thereby rendering the Radical New Perspectiveâs suggestion of Paul offering a separate ârouteâ for Jews less likely.
But before I develop this argument any further, I will briefly summarize over which particular issues that arise in the interpretation of Paulâs justification language the scholarly community is divided (§3.2). Hereafter, I discuss Graeco-Roman discourses in which pistis-, dikaiosynÄ-, and nomos-related lexemes (and their Latin equivalents) play an important role (§3.3). Finally, we return to Paul in order to see how we can understand his faith-, justice-, and law-language in light of the pagan discourses discussed (§3.4).
3.2 âJustification by Faithâ: an Outline of the Debated Issues
Particularly in the letters to the Romans and to the Galatians, the use of pistis language occurs predominantly in close connection to instances of dikaiosynÄ (including the verb δικαιÏÏ, âto justifyâ, âto make righteousâ) and nomos vocabulary. These passages have come to be known as constituting the doctrine of âjustification by faithâ.
In the traditional, particularly Lutheran interpretation,11 what is at stake for Paul is the salvation of the individual, a sinful person who is declared righteous and hence vindicated in the eyes of God based on nothing more or less than his or her faith in Christ. Consequently, in this view, Paul is arguing against legalism and self-righteousness, i.e. justification based on âworks of the lawâ, as it was supposedly propagated by the Judaism of Paulâs days. In the time of Luther, these âworks of the lawâ resonated with a form of legalism that was perceived as corrupting the Catholic Church: people could work and even buy their way into heaven. Consequently, Godâs grace was perceived as conditional. To Luther, it was clear that Paulâs experience underlying his doctrine of justification by faith must have been the same as his own agonizing struggle: how to deal with his sinfulness and inability to please God by works. In response to the legalism of the church and to his personal existential agony, Luther propagated âjustification by faith aloneâ as the core message of Christianity. It is interesting to point out that such an interpretation appeals not only to broad strands of Protestantism, but also to existentialist philosophy in that this act or âleapâ of faith is located in the individual subject.12
The objections voiced in New Testament scholarship against this traditional, Lutheran interpretation may be summarized as being directed at four aspects: firstly, against the anachronism of a (widespread) existence of such a form of legalism in the Judaism of Paulâs days; secondly and somewhat adversely, against the supposed absence of justification based on works in Paul or the New Testament; thirdly, against the so-called âanthropologicalâ understanding of justification as something procured by human faith in Christ; and fourthly, against the timeless and individual nature of salvation so understood.13 In other words, the objections concern the place and meaning of law, of works, of faith, and of salvation in the thought of Paul and his interlocutors. Hence, I distinguish four âaxesâ along which the discussions unfold in previous and present-day New Testament scholarship. The same âaxesâ will be evaluated one by one below (§3.4) yet in a different order, in my analysis of Paulâs âjustification by faithâ passages in light of Graeco-Roman discourses on justice and faith.
In this section (§3.2), I will briefly sketch the contours of the scholarly debate on the meaning of Paulâs justification by faith axiom according to these four axes. For my purposes, is not necessary to delve too deep into the historical development of the positions involved. It is worth stating explicitly that these axes represent abstractions and, hence, simplifications of the scholarly landscape and as such do not do justice to the nuanced expositions of the individual interpreter. I will engage with some particular scholars in more detail below when I discuss specific texts from Paulâs letters (§3.4). Furthermore, I want to note that the choices on different subjects are not completely unconnected: a particular position on one axis is also more likely combined with another position on a second axis, e.g. a New Perspective interpretation of the law usually coincides with a participational approach to pistis Christou as âfaithfulness of Christâ. Similarly, emphasizing participation in Christ usually coincides with highlighting ethical transformation as part of the justification process. Still, this does not limit the possibilities to only two or three options, as there are exceptions to these general combinations.14
3.2.1 Law: Unconditional or Universal Justice?
As for the meaning of law, the issue at stake here is what exactly is problematic in the eyes of Paul as regards the Mosaic Law. Did Paul quarrel with his opponents over the conditional character or the exclusivism of its grace? Already in the first half of the nineteenth century, Ferdinand Christiaan Baur argued that the law posed a problem to Pauline Christianity, not because of its role in a Jewish attempt to earn salvation, but because of its role in promoting Jewish exclusivism. Paul was âthe first to lay down expressly and distinctly the principle of Christian universalism as a thing essentially opposed to Jewish particularism.â15
A major development in the Pauline scholarship of the past decades known as âthe New Perspective on Paulâ advocates a similar position, on the basis of an elaborate study of first-century Judaism. Its main contention is that Jews of Paulâs time did not consider upholding commandments but incorporation in the covenantal relation with God as means of salvation. Every time Paul speaks of âworks of the lawâ, it seems to concern especially those laws that function to distinguish the people of the covenant from non-Jews, such as circumcision, but by extension also food laws, Sabbat observance, and similar boundary or identity markers. The âworks of the lawâ exclude non-Jews from participation in the covenant. Paulâs problem is, therefore, not with Jewish legalism, but with Jewish ethnocentrism or exclusivism as Godâs chosen people.16
Faith(fulness), according to this New Perspective, replaces the Mosaic Law as a new identity marker, open to all ethnicities and to all genders and social positions as well.17 It offers a new means of âgetting inâ the covenant. Faith is the means to the end of a universal religion. Religious universalism, of course, comes in various shapes and sizes. Jon D. Levenson distinguishes various levels, ranging from universalism of the deity as the one and only God of the universe to moral universalism under a single set of rules and from the willingness to accept proselytes to eschatological universalism in anticipation of a unified realm or system.18 It is worth acknowledging with Levenson that all of these universalisms include some form of particularism, for there may be different moral rules for different subsets of humanity. There may be âsymbiotic relationshipsâ with different cultures within a self-proclaimed universal religion, and even a complete, eschatological universalism presupposes a present age particularism.19 Pauline pistis conceived as an âentrance ticketâ and âidentity markerâ presupposes one God yet seems to be particularly characterized by its universal proselytizing message: it is proclaimed to all. At the same time, it announces a new, universal age and reign that is determined by this option of justification that has become available by the coming of pistis.
Even though the New Perspective presented itself as a correction to the liability to anti-Semitism of the traditional view, to some, its criticism of first-century Jewish exclusivism was not much of an improvement. âIt routinely portrays as characteristically Jewish a collective insistence on ethnic distinctivenessâ, as Neil Elliot summarizes the critique.20 Thus, a different stereotype is created, which indeed seems to be confirmed by a neglect of Jewish sources, apart from Paul himself, that advocate a more universalistic Judaism.21 Consequently, several present-day scholars, usually denoted as the âRadical New Perspectiveâ, propose alternatives that have as common ground the view that Paul addressed only gentiles: the solution of âfaithâ is merely the solution to the problem of how non-Jews are to be included in some form of covenant with the one God.22
An important consequence of this âradicalâ view of a non-Jewish audience is that Paul did not oppose any aspect of the law so long as it concerned Jews, yet was only vehemently against the law as pertaining to gentiles. Paulâs discourse on law and faith hence perfectly fitted the Jewish discourse of inclusivismâaccording to which the nations would come together towards Jerusalemâonly he differed with others as to what that implied regarding law-observance.23 While Philo, for instance, believed that âeach nation would abandon its peculiar ways, and, throwing overboard their ancestral customs, turn to honouring our laws aloneâ, Paul rhetorically envisages such a move as a new âyoke of slaveryâ.24 In order to do justice to Paulâs Jewishness, scholars from this Radical New Perspective maintain that justification by faith is the âpath to salvationâ for the non-Jew only, whereas the Jew did not need anything outside of the Mosaic Law.
Any effort to uncover non-academic and academic biases of religious or ethnic superiority and so bring to light a Pauline theology that is more favourable to Jews is a valid and indeed an important one.25 Still, the idea of such separate routes is, naturally, debated and will most likely continue to be so for some time in academic circles.26 Large parts of these debates, however, include detailed discussions of parts of the Pauline letters which donot contain a lot of pistis language (such as Gal 6.11â16, Rom 2.17â29, or Rom 11). Therefore, I will not engage in this debate as a whole, but rather see how my own findings regarding the pagan discourses of justice, faith, and law fit in with either traditional, New Perspective, or Radical New Perspective readings of Paulâs âjustification by faithâ language.
The main difficulty with this âradicalâ position, as far as my own argument in this chapter is concerned, is that the distinction advocated by the Radical New Perspective stands in the way of an âeven more radicalâ universalism, for their position maintains a major distinction between Jews and non-Jews when it comes to the ways to enter and uphold a covenant with God. A more radical universalism, if it is indeed to be found in Paul, is naturally very much a (Hellenistic-)Jewish invention, so there is no fundamental need to pit Christianity against Judaism here. Ideologically, there may but need not be an anti-Jewish sentiment in this aspect of the position of the New Perspective. The discussion is therefore most fruitfully conducted by arguing for a plausible historical reconstruction of what Paul thought and taught. Such a reconstruction includes exploring the availability of contemporary discourses of ethnic universalism and establishing the likelihood of Paulâs participation in these discourses. This chapter aims to contribute to these exact aims.
3.2.2 Works: Declarative or Ethical Justice?
What is the status of works, of efforts and achievements in Paul? Do they stand in any relation to Godâs righteousness and judgement? In what is traditionally called the âLutheran perspectiveâ, there is a somewhat unnatural separation between the gratuitous, undeserved declaration of a person as righteous and the righteous behaviour expected of believers as a result of their justification, often called âsanctificationâ or âHeiligungâ. Godâs enactment of his righteousness in this scheme is not a retributive justice that weighs the ethical deeds of the accused or an ethical or transformative justification that âmakes a person righteousâ. Rather, it is a vindicative or declarative justice: it declares the sinner righteous for free.27 This is usually juxtaposed with the âCatholic perspectiveâ, according to which ethical deeds are considered if not part of the cause, then at least an important proof of justification: a justified person has become a just person. The verb dikaioÅ would then include a transformational meaning.28
The actual positions in the debate are much more nuanced and internally diverse than this simple dichotomy suggests. Historically, a strict juridical-vindicative meaning does not seem to have been upheld by Luther, but rather was only developed by the later Melanchthon and, remarkably, also endorsed by Calvin, who is otherwise known for preaching a twofold grace of acceptance and renewal.29 Yet my main aim here is not to offer a detailed history of interpretationâa noble but too laborious undertaking considering my scope and focusâbut rather something closer to a rough sketch of the most contentious issues in the justification debate that can serve to clarify the implications of my own reading of Paulâs justification and faith language in light of ancient discourses.30
Whereas the New Perspective redefined the meaning of âworks of the lawâ by limiting its scope to ethnocentric prescriptions and the Radical New Perspective and distinguishing meticulously between Jews and gentiles, there are also contributors who highlight the inseparability of works and justification, and of first-century Judaism and Christianity, with a renewed fervour. Simon Gathercole is critical of the New Perspectiveâs emphasis on inclusion of the gentiles, as it tends to overlook those passages where Paul argues against those who boast in their obedience to God by performing works of the law.31 This is an ethnic-yet-also-individual boast which, so he amply demonstrates, was present in Second Temple Judaism. He detects a distinction in Paulâs thought between a justification of the ungodly in the present and a future judgement on the basis of works.32 Also according to Chris VanLandingham, Paul is completely in line with the Judaism of his day in being convinced of Godâs damnation based on bad deeds and salvation based on good deeds.33 In this light, âjustificationâ is no guarantee for being acquitted at the final judgement. VanLandingham goes further than Gathercole, as he argues that Abraham merited his righteousness in exchange for his pistis.34
My question concerns the direction in which the comparison with Hellenistic-Roman semantics and discourses will lead us: how is the combination of justice and ethics conceptualized, and can we find traces of similar conceptualizations in Paulâs thought? The answer that I propose in this chapter involves a closer connection between âworksâ and âfaithâ and the suggestion that the âlaw of faithâ is Paulâs version of an internal, unwritten law which enables Christ-followers to participate in Christâs faithfulness (see §3.4.2). And this terminology, âparticipationâ, brings us to a third axis along which the debate on Paulâs âjustification by faithâ language unfolds.
3.2.3 Faith: Anthropological or Participational Justice?35
A third axis across different interpretations is the meaning of pistis in the context of Paulâs dik- language. If the justice of God is considered to be âthrough pistis in/of Christâ (Rom 3.22: διὰ ÏίÏÏεÏÏ á¼¸Î·Ïοῦ ΧÏιÏÏοῦ), is this justice enacted through peopleâs faith in Christ or through (participation in) Christâs faithfulness? The discussion is interwoven with another shibboleth in Pauline studies: the pistis Christou debate. In the Greek genitive construction, Christ can be (amongst other options) the subject or the object of pistis. Moreover, pistis can bear more transitive meanings such as âfaith inâ or âtrust inâ, as well as more intransitive meanings such as âfaithfulnessâ and âtrustworthinessâ. In an anthropological or individual reading, which corresponds to the traditional Lutheran perspective, the basis for Godâs justifying act is found in the faith of the believer, which can be variously construed as a condition, a subjective quality, a personal response to the gospel, and/or a divine gift.36 In a participational approach, Christâs faithfulness provides a model for those belonging to Christ to participate in and be transformed by.37 Thus, put in simpleâperhaps overly simpleâterms, the way for righteousness to take hold is sought either in the faith of the believer or in the faithfulness of Christ. For a more elaborate treatment of the pistis Christou discussion including my own position, see chapter 6 below. In the context of this chapter, it suffices to say that both options have enough lexical credibility to offer, which leaves us with some exegetical space.
The opposition between faith in Christ and faithfulness of Christ need not necessarily be drawn in terms of Christocentrism versus anthropocentrism. As Jonathan Linebaugh has shown, notwithstanding Lutherâs interpretation of pistis Christou in Galatians 2.16 and 2.20 as faith in Christ, Luther himself did not understand faith as some sort of human contribution to salvation but was thoroughly Christocentric in his approach.38 According to the contributions of the so-called Finnish Luther studies or the âNew Perspective on Lutherâ, Lutherâs language of justification was imbued with the metaphor of participation and union with Christ.39 This leads to conceptions of faith that imply a form of deification:
Faith becomes essentially a divine act in human person. (â¦) The faith that saves is a new divine reality in the human being, Christ, who takes over both the intellect and other faculties in the soul. (Vainio 2010b, 142â143)
Whether or not they would also phrase it in such drastic terms, present-day adherents to what I here call an âanthropologicalâ interpretation often vehemently oppose the polarity in itself, since âthe reference to Christ is absolutely fundamental in both cases.â40 As we will see in this chapter, the discourses of the Golden Age and unwritten law also present us with frames which favour a participational or mimetic approach while giving ample space to the meaning of pisteuÅ as âhaving faith in Christâ.
3.2.4 Salvation: Timeless-Individual or Cosmic-Historical Justice?
Closely related to this issue of faith is the question of how the Christ-event procures salvation. If Paulâs message is deemed as concerning the personal salvation of every human being, the importance of the historical embedding or the cosmic intervention of the Christ-event is often minimized. An extreme variant of this position is voiced by Rudolf Bultmann: âThe crucial history is not the history of the world, of Israel and other peoples, but the history that each individual experiences.â41 Because of the timeless nature of Paulâs message as construed by Bultmann and others, it is criticized for being ahistorical or not eschatological enough. In 1963, Krister Stendahl drew the famous analogy of this interpretation with âthe introspective conscience of the Westâ: because Augustine and Luther were so caught up in finding a solution to their own incapability to uphold the law, we ended up assuming a similar individualistic problem behind Paulâs message.42 Instead, Stendahl argues that Paul had âa rather ârobustâ conscienceâ (see e.g. Phil 3.6, 1 Cor 4.4, Rom 9.1) and was concerned with the coming of the Messiah and its implications for the status of the Mosaic Law and the relation between Jews and gentiles.43
Alternative interpretations to Bultmannâs timeless âmysticismâ, more in line with Stendahl, are known under many related labels, such as being âsalvation-historicalâ, âtemporal-dynamicâ, âcorporateâ, âapocalypticâ, âcosmicâ, or âeschatologicalâ.44 The consequences of these more abstract corporate schemes for understanding pistis were emphatically phrased by Herman Binder in his Der Glaube bei Paulus (1968). He rejects the individualistic-psychologized turn in the interpretation of justification and redefines faith as a trans-subjective eschatological power that was introduced into the world with Jesusâs crucifixion and marked the beginning of a new era.45 In the context of this study, however, it is interesting to note that Binder traces the individualistic tendency back to Greek thought, with its (allegedly) strict separation between subject and object, and concludes that Paul must have developed his pistis concept in contrast with Greek thought and solely from Old Testament ideas (esp. Hab 2.4).46 In fact, as I will argue in this chapter, it is precisely from a Graeco-Roman perspective that Paulâs justification by faith language appears in a cosmic, collective light (a more elaborate reply to Binder and others is given in §3.4.1 below).
The collective, non-individual nature of salvation is also emphasized by proponents of the Radical New Perspective. Stanley Stowers, for instance, maintains that âthe fact that everyone sins in the ordinary sense is not Paulâs concern.â47 So far, I concur, yet the alternative Stowers offers will be discussed more critically in this chapter:
Rather than an account of timeless human nature, Romans assumes a certain reading of Genesis and the rest of the Pentateuch that makes gentiles both ignorant of God and at least potentially knowledgeable of the Mosaic Law. (Stowers 1994, 113)
Stowers argues for reading all occurrences of nomos in Paul as referring to the Law of Moses and hence dismisses the idea that Paul might use the word to refer to natural law.48 His reluctance is understandable, given that natural law is often used to underpin a theology of individual guilt of all human beings, which, I agree, is far from Paulâs intentions in Romans 1â2, even if a collective inexcusability is part of Paulâs argument (see §3.4.2 below). Nevertheless, Stowers leaves room for interpreting some passages (Rom 12.2â21; Phil 1.9â10) on moral discernment along the lines of early Stoic theory on natural law.49 Based on comparison with Graeco-Roman discourses on justice, faith, and law, I am convinced that we need not be overly careful in our selection of Pauline passages that draw on the discourse of natural law.
This chapter aims to show that Paul draws on various philosophical traditions of internal, natural-universal, and living law, to show that in this new, historical age, written law is superseded by and taken up in what he calls variously the âlaw of Christâ, the âlaw of the Spirit of lifeâ, or the âlaw of faithâ. The next section (§3.3) offers an overview of the related discourses one encounters when searching for combinations of faith-, law-, and justice-language in Graeco-Roman sources in the Hellenistic-Roman period.
3.3 The Golden Age and Unwritten Law: Juridical Usage of Pistis in Graeco-Roman Discourses
In what contexts were the lexemes central to this semantic domain (pist-, dik-, and nom-lexemes and their Latin equivalents fid-, ius-, and lex-/leg-) commonly used together around the time of Paul, that is, from the first century bc until the second century ad? By looking at the co-occurrence of words formed from the lemmas, such as nouns, adjectives or verbs, making use of the proximity search option of the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae and the Library of Latin Texts, we can get an overview of frequent contexts and more specific literary discourses present for Paul and his contemporaries. Thus, we can better understand what connotations would have registered with Paulâs non-Jewish audience and perhaps infer how Paul could have made use of existing meanings, concepts, and discourses. In this chapter, I consider the discourse of the Golden Age and different philosophical conceptions of unwritten law (a topos or perhaps a collection of topoi to which names such as internal law, divine law, and universal law, natural law, living law, and embodied law belong).
In this part of the chapter (§3.3), I first outline the typical usage of the lexemes involved (§3.3.1). Next, I will consider the narrative of the Golden Age, in which justiceâand faith-language frequently occurs (§3.3.2 and §3.3.3). Finally, I discuss some major philosophical contributions to a question involved in these narratives: what is the role of law in a just society? The answers all pertain to some sort of unwritten law: the Platonic concept of an internal, divine law (§3.3.4), the Stoic concept of a common, universal, cosmic law (§3.3.5), and the Hellenistic-Roman originally Pythagorean topos of the just and exemplary leader who is the living embodiment of the divine law (§3.3.6).
3.3.1 Justice and Faithfulness: the Ideal Civic Virtues
The combination of faith- and justice-language (expressed in pist-/fid- and dik-/ius-lexemes) in non-Jewish and non-Christian texts around the time of Paul is predominantly found in contexts where they represent highly regarded virtues.50 More specifically, they are usually seen as civic virtues par excellence, that is, the virtues one ought to possess as a socially embedded member of the polis or state. As such, they appear to be appropriate to both rulers and ruled. In this subsection, examples from a variety of Greek and Latin authors are briefly put forward to illustrate this usage, before attention turns to the more specific discourse of the Golden Age (§3.3.2 and §3.3.3) and the different philosophical redefinitions of the concept of law (§3.3.4, §3.3.5, and §3.3.6).
Because of his impact on subsequent usage, it is prudent to start our discussion of faith and justice as civic virtues with Plato. Already in Platoâs Laws, the worthy legislator is said to legislate in accordance with the highest good, and this is explicated by means of Theognisâs words as âfidelity in the face of terrorsâ (ÏιÏÏá½¹ÏÎ·Ï á¼Î½ Ïοá¿Ï δεινοá¿Ï) and âcomplete righteousnessâ (δικαιοÏύνην á¼Î½ Ïελέαν).51 It was probably this specific text that also led the second-century Platonist Apuleius to describe Platoâs take on justice with reference to fidelitas:
That divine author sometimes calls her âjusticeâ (modo iustitiam nominat), sometimes embraces her with the title of universal virtue (nunc universae virtutis nuncupatione conplectitur) or describes her with the word âfaithfulnessâ (et item fidelitatis vocabulo nuncupat). (Apuleius, On Plato and his Doctrine 2.7)52
Here, both justice and faithfulness are cited as indications of that virtue that is universal or encompassing all others.
The preponderant usage of the pist- and dik-lexemes as personal, inner virtues is sometimes argued to be a relatively late semantic development, originating in the sixth or fifth century bc. Originally, especially the noun dikÄ and adjective dikaios were related to proper external behaviour, to the maintenance of reciprocal relations of right.53 According to Eric Havelock, the coinage of the noun dikaiosynÄ and its employment by Plato as righteousness in the full, ethical sense marked the emergence of two contrasting semantic fields:
a conception of propriety based on the maintenance of reciprocal rights and requiring also the right of redress and hence of punishment as the mechanism of enforcement on the one handâand on the other a more ambitious, generous, and ultimately inward-looking conception which we can conveniently identify as âmoralityâ in the largest sense, or ârighteousnessâ.54
The disclosure of this more moral and internal meaning in the fifth century bc55 did not necessarily lead to a contrast between dikaiosynÄ as an inner, personal virtue and as external, societal justice. Rather, both in the personal and the societal sphere, it was conceived in this more ambitious, ethical manner.56 In Platoâs Republic, the analogy between state and soul offers a recurring, synthesizing framework to the discussed topics.57 At the end of the work, the âMyth of Erâ redefines more archaic depictions of the afterlife by making the virtue of justice the one and only yardstick for a good or bad life and hence for the conditions of the afterlife.58 Thus, it is worth noting that ethical justice was not in any way at odds with distributive justice in a more juridical or eschatological sense. Instead, the transfiguration of Homeric afterlife conceptions into a virtue-based judgement coincides with the reinterpretation of dikÄ language as deeply ethical and inward morality. Both in the soul and in the state, dikÄ language gained a more transformational, ethical meaning.59
As a virtue, dikaiosynÄ is intimately linked by Plato to another virtue, sÅphrosynÄ, denoting the differentiation, subordination, and harmony between the faculties of the soul or the different groups in society.60 Thus, as Curtis Larson argues, the âreinterpretation of justice in terms of temperanceâ was a response to the ethical and political relativism or cynicism of Platoâs day.61 Because of the impact of this semantic development on the subsequent usage, Larson points in the precise direction I am exploring in this chapter:
Manifestly the meaning of δικαιοÏÏνη is one of the central pillars in the teachings of Paul. If this Platonic fusion tendency has deeply colored the term Paul used, then New Testament students must join classical scholars and philosophers in tracing the profound effects of Platoâs work. (Larson 1951, 414)
Therefore, even though from our synchronic, semantic perspective Plato is beyond the scope of what is relevant to understanding Paulâs language, it is necessary to trace how the concepts of justice, faithfulness, and (in §3.3.4) law were semantically influenced by Plato.
So, what characterizes the combined usage of pistis/fides and dikÄ/iustitia in the period under scrutiny (first century bcâsecond century ad)? In the first place, they are mentioned frequently as the ultimate qualities of a ruler.62 In the first century bc, the historian Diodorus Siculus designated dikaiosynÄ and pistis as the virtues of a good, accountable steward of a city-state: âall present were filled with admiration of both his justice and good faithâ (á½¥ÏÏε á¼ ÏανÏÎ±Ï ÏÎ¿á½ºÏ ÏαÏόνÏÎ±Ï Î¸Î±Ï Î¼á½±Î¶ÎµÎ¹Î½ Ïήν Ïε δικαιοÏύνην καὶ Ïὴν Ïá½·ÏÏιν).63 According to the second-century Platonist Plutarch, the Roman consul Aemilius Paullus refrained from pursuing a career with private law cases or ingratiating the people. Instead, âhe sought to acquire for himself what was better than both, namely, a reputation arising from valour, justice, and trustworthiness (Ïὴν á¼Ï᾿ á¼Î½Î´ÏÎµá½·Î±Ï ÎºÎ±á½¶ δικαιοÏá½»Î½Î·Ï ÎºÎ±á½¶ Ïá½·ÏÏεÏÏ Î´á½¹Î¾Î±Î½), in which he at once surpassed his contemporaries.â64
Yet these virtues are by no means exclusive to leaders. Cicero describes the archetype of the virtuous man in general as possessing the utmost fairness, ultimate justice, and singular faith (aequissimus, summa iustitia, singulari fide).65 In his oration On Distrust (74: Î ÎΡΠÎÎ ÎΣΤÎÎΣ), Dio Chrysostom expresses the wish that âit would indeed be a blessing if, just as one becomes successively a lad, a stripling, a youth, and an old man by the passing of time, one might also in the same way become wise and just and trustworthy (καὶ ÏÏόνιμον οá½ÏÏÏ ÎºÎ±á½¶ δίκαιον καὶ ÏιÏÏόν)â.66 The thrust of the oration is, however, that faithlessness is the norm (on this treatise, see §8.3 below). The Stoic Epictetus also repeatedly names moral respect (αἰδÏÏ), faithfulness (ÏίÏÏιÏ), and being just or righteous (δικαιοÏÏνη) as the virtues in which any person should excel.67 He even remarks that humans are born to faithfulness (á½ á¼Î½Î¸ÏÏÏÎ¿Ï ÏÏá½¸Ï Ïá½·ÏÏιν γέγονεν).68 Being faithful and just is a prerequisite for friendship,69 and, what is more, reverence, faithfulness, and justice (αἰδώÏ, Ïá½·ÏÏιÏ, δικαιοÏύνη) are the three qualities that distinguish a human being from any other creature.70 One of the spokespersons in Plutarchâs Dialogue on Love even grants âmasculine virtuesâ, including pistis and dikaiosynÄ, to women:
So it is ridiculous to maintain that women have no participation in virtue. What need is there to discuss their prudence and intelligence, or their loyalty and justice (ÏεÏὶ ÏÏÏÏοÏá½»Î½Î·Ï ÎºÎ±á½¶ ÏÏ Î½á½³ÏεÏÏ Î±á½Ïῶν, á¼Ïι δὲ Ïá½·ÏÏεÏÏ ÎºÎ±á½¶ δικαιοÏύνηÏ), when many women have exhibited a daring and great-hearted courage which is truly masculine? (Plutarch, Dialogue on Love 769B)
The close paring of pistis and dikaiosynÄ as prominent virtues in all these cases, sometimes accompanied by a third or fourth term that denotes a social quality, is remarkable.
Yet, in all instances, pistis/fides is arguably related to maintaining enduring relationships. Cicero explicitly notes that fides belongs to a subcategory of virtues, namely those that give pleasure to and are beneficial to not only the possessor, but to the human race (the context is topics suitable for panegyric oratory):
For there are some virtues that are manifested as qualities of peopleâs behaviour and by a sort of kindness and beneficence, while others consist in intellectual ability or in high-mindedness and strength of character; inasmuch as mercy, justice, kindness, fidelity, courage in common dangers (clementia, iustitia, benignitas, fides, fortitudo in periculis communibus) are acceptable topics in a panegyric, since all these virtues are thought to be beneficial not so much to their possessors as to the human race in general (generi hominum fructuosae putantur), whereas wisdom, and magnanimity that counts all human fortunes slight and worthless, and strength and originality of intellect, and eloquence itself are not less admired it is true but give less pleasure, because they seem to grace and to safeguard the subjects of our panegyrics themselves rather than the persons before whom they are delivered. (Cicero, On the Orator 2.343â344)
In Ciceroâs estimation, then, rather then it being a mere personal virtue, fides together with iustitia, clementia (âgrace, clemencyâ), and some other virtues are thought of as a civic virtue par excellence. Fides is other-regarding or relational in nature.71
The connection between iustitia and fides is explicitly discussed in Ciceroâs De officiis (On Duties). Cicero calls trust or good faith the foundation of justice and underlines this statement with a reflection on the definition and etymology of fides:
The foundation of justice, moreover, is trust (Fundamentum autem est iustitiae fides), that is, truth and fidelity to promises and agreements (dictorum conventorumque constantia et veritas). And therefore we may follow the Stoics, who diligently investigate the etymology of words; and we may accept their statement that trust is so called because what is promised is made good (credamusque, quia fiat quod dictum est, appellatam fidem) although some may find this derivation rather farfetched. (Cicero, De officiis 1.23)
This Stoic conception of fides as fidelity to what has been said or agreed upon shows us why it was seen as foundational for justice. If fides, as a civic virtue, failed, so would the state itself. Cicero notes in another work that âthe disappearance of piety towards the gods will entail the disappearance of fides and social union among men as well, and of justice itself, the queen of all the virtuesâ.72 In a similar discussion of decay, phrased in an eloquent antistrophe, the unknown author of the Ad Herennium (written in the same period and formerly attributed to Cicero) acknowledges: âSince the time when from our state concord (concordia) disappeared, liberty (libertas) disappeared, good faith (fides) disappeared, friendship (amicitia) disappeared, the common weal (res publica) disappeared.â73 The honouring of agreements, both amongst citizens and between the state and people abroad or conquered, was widely regarded as a foundational principle for Roman justice, with Punica fides, the trustworthiness of a Carthaginian, as its proverbial, idiomatic reverse.74
Yet this external, societal principle of fides is deeply embedded in the personal virtue. It is in his Punica that Silius Italicus incorporates an address to Fides as âGoddess more ancient than Jupiter, glory of gods and men, without whom neither sea nor land finds peace, sister of Justice, silent divinity in the heart of manâ.75 Epictetus, too, argues that if the personal virtue of pistis fails, so will every interhuman bond, which eventually ruins the polis, or the political life, as a whole.76 In fact, it is the prototype of a bad king, who confines good faith or loyalty to the private sphere, as we learn from a scene in Senecaâs Thyestes:
ASSISTANT: Let a king want what is honorable: everyone will want the same. ATREUS: Where a sovereign is permitted only what is honorable, he rules on sufferance. ASSISTANT: Where there is no shame, no concern for the law, no righteousness, goodness, loyalty, rule is unstable (Ubi non est pudor nec cura iuris sanctitas pietas fides, instabile regnum est). ATREUS: Righteousness, goodness, loyalty are private values (Sanctitas pietas fides privata bona sunt): kings should go where they please. (Seneca, Thyestes 213â218)
Whereas the royal assistant (Satelles) here voices the ideal of the king as embodiment of the law (nomos empsychos, see §3.3.6 below), Atreus embraces the opposite view of kingship, or rather tyranny, whereby the ruler stands above the law.77 The first view is immediately linked to the public value of concern for the law, righteousness, goodness, and fides. Pistis/fides is thus closely connected with public welfare and stability of government. And furthermore, the conception of pistis as an interior or personal virtue is closely connected to the possibility of justice on a broader societal scale. In modern terms, pistis/fides functioned as a Roman identity marker.78
Justice and pistis thus often occur as parallel virtues of a ruler or a citizen, yet they can also be used to denote the proper disposition of people towards the ruler or vice versa. In this case, pistis takes the meaning of confidence in a faithful or just leader or in trustworthy leadership.79 Good examples can be found in Plutarchâs Vitae. In his biography of the Theban ruler Pelopidas, he mentions how Pelopidas, after settling an international dispute, was gladly entrusted with important hostages. This showed the Greeks âwhat an advance the Theban state had made in the respect paid to its power and the trust placed in its justice (ÏῠδόξῠÏá¿Ï Î´Ï Î½á½±Î¼ÎµÏÏ ÎºÎ±á½¶ Ïá¿ Ïá½·ÏÏει Ïá¿Ï δικαιοÏύνηÏ).â80 Furthermore, in Plutarchâs biography of the Stoic politician Cato the Younger, he compares the merits of several cardinal virtues and argues that justice is envied most because of its pistis and the pistis it manages to evoke among the masses:
For the fame and trustworthiness of no virtue, creates more envy than that of justice (οá½Î´ÎµÎ¼Î¹á¾¶Ï Î³á½°Ï á¼ÏεÏá¿Ï δÏξα καὶ ÏίÏÏÎ¹Ï á¼ÏιÏθÏÎ½Î¿Ï Ï Ïοιεῠμᾶλλον á¼¢ Ïá¿Ï δικαιοÏÏνηÏ), because both power and trust follow it (καὶ δÏÎ½Î±Î¼Î¹Ï Î±á½Ïῠκαὶ ÏίÏÏÎ¹Ï á¼ÏεÏαι) chiefly among the common folk. These do not merely honour the just, as they do the brave, nor admire them merely, as they do the wise, but they actually love the just (ÏÎ¿á½ºÏ Î´Î¹ÎºÎ±Î¯Î¿Ï Ï), and put confidence and trust in them (ÏιÏÏεÏÎ¿Ï Ïιν). As for the brave and wise, however, they fear the one and distrust (á¼ÏιÏÏοῦÏι) the other; and besides, they think that these excel by a natural gift rather than by their own volition, considering bravery to be a certain intensity, and wisdom a certain vigour, of soul, whereas any one who wishes can be just forthwith, and the greatest disgrace is visited upon injustice, as being inexcusable baseness (μάλιÏÏα Ïὴν á¼Î´Î¹Îºá½·Î±Î½ á½¡Ï ÎºÎ±Îºá½·Î±Î½ á¼ÏÏοÏá½±ÏιÏÏον αἰÏÏύνονÏαι). (Plutarch, Cato the Younger 44.7â8)81
The main point here is that the virtue of justice as exemplified in the ideal statesman invokes trust among the people (ÏιÏÏεÏÎ¿Ï Ïιν), whereas courage in leaders is feared and wisdom mistrusted (á¼ÏιÏÏοῦÏι). Trustworthy justice and the fitting response of faith or commitment function as the two complementary sides of the same coin, enabling a stable society.
Another interesting observation by Plutarch in this last text quoted involves peopleâs assumption that leaders exercise control over their own righteousness and thus can be held responsible for it. In contrast to being brave or wise, being just is a moral quality that is within everyoneâs grasp. Justice is furthermore to be preferred above force, as Plutarch argues in another treatise on the specific topic of statesmanship:
But as it is, people punish bees with smoke and lead unruly horses and runaway dogs by force of bits and dog-collars; but nothing makes a man willingly tractable and gentle to another man except trust in his goodwill and belief in his nobility and justice (á¼¢ Ïá½·ÏÏÎ¹Ï Îµá½Î½Î¿á½·Î±Ï καὶ ÎºÎ±Î»Î¿ÎºÎ±Î³Î±Î¸á½·Î±Ï Î´á½¹Î¾Î± καὶ δικαιοÏá½»Î½Î·Ï ÏαÏá½·ÏÏηÏιν). And therefore Demosthenes is right in declaring that the greatest safeguard States possess against tyrants is distrust (μέγιÏÏον á¼ÏοÏαίνεÏαι ÏÏá½¸Ï ÏÎ¿á½ºÏ ÏÏ Ïá½±Î½Î½Î¿Ï Ï ÏÏ Î»Î±ÎºÏá½µÏιον á¼ÏιÏÏίαν Ïαá¿Ï ÏόλεÏι); for that part of the soul with which we trust is most easily taken captive. (â¦) The first and most important advantage inherent in the reputation of statesmen is this: the trust in them which affords them an entrance into public affairs (ἡ Ïá½±Ïοδον á¼Ïὶ Ïá½°Ï ÏÏá½±Î¾ÎµÎ¹Ï Î´Î¹Î´Î¿á¿¦Ïα Ïá½·ÏÏιÏ). (Plutarch, Precepts of Statecraft 821BâC)
Here, Plutarch explicitly relates trust (pistis) to just rulers and mistrust (apistia) to tyrants who rule by force. Furthermore, he regards gaining the peopleâs trust as one of the first priorities of the ruler.
In all these different situations across different authors, the public value of pistis/fides goes unquestioned. I will elaborate upon the importance of pistis in the social and political contexts of the Fides-cult, benefaction, and patronage in chapter 7. But for now, these findings already point us in the direction in which this chapter heads, namely the relationship between individual and societal virtues, between personal righteousness or faith and communal justice or trust. In my survey of the language of the semantic field of pistis, dikaiosynÄ, and nomos, I noticed one specific Graeco-Roman discourse in which these terms were particularly common. They appear remarkably often in stories about the Golden Age. Therefore, the next two sections discuss the âingredientsâ of such stories, either referring to the past (§3.3.2 on protologies) or to the present and future (§3.3.3 on eschatologies). Thereafter, the final three subsections are devoted to philosophical conceptualizations of unwritten law, a topos often addressed in the discourse of the Golden Age.
3.3.2 The Golden Age of Faith and Justice and Their Retreat from the Earth
In the sources traced by co-occurrence of faith, justice, and law vocabulary, there is a particular theme or discourse that stands out which often goes by the name of a âGolden Ageâ.82 Though the first partition of human history in ages named after metals as we find it in Hesiodâs myth of the Five Ages may have had a rather descriptive, historical purpose, in the Hellenistic period, âthe myth had gradually crystallized into a philosophical and theological doctrineâ.83 In most Graeco-Roman accounts of the earliest history of humanity, the very first phase was golden in the sense that it was a good and prosperous phase, in which the gods themselves were involved and intimately known. In descriptions of this age, vocabulary from the semantic domain of faith and justice abounds.
According to Dio of Prusa, âthese earlier men were not living dispersed far away from the divine being or beyond his borders apart by themselves, but had (â¦) grown up in his company and had remained close to him in every wayâ.84 This initial phase is described by Dio in cognitive and universal terms. The knowledge of the gods was common âto the Greeks and Barbarians alikeâ, innate in âevery creature endowed with reasonâ (á¼Î½ ÏανÏὶ Ïá¿· λογικῷ) without the aid of human teachers or deceitful priests.85 âHow, then, could they have remained ignorant (á¼Î³Î½á¿¶ÏεÏ) and conceived no inkling of him who had sowed and planted and was now preserving and nourishing them?â he exhorts.86 In Latin literature, we could refer to the fifteenth satire of Juvenal, where he states that at the beginning of the world (mundi principio) the creator gave life (animae) to the animals, but also a mind to humans (nobis animum quoque) so that civilization could develop out of solidarity or âcombined confidenceâ (conlata fiducia).87
The Epicureans were somewhat more ambiguous when it comes to how âgoldenâ the first days were. Lucretius describes a rough start and gradual progress of the human race, yet he seems to envision that the early people did have clear perceptions of the gods, waking or in dreams.88 Epicurusâs Letter to Menoeceus indeed speaks of a âcommon knowledgeâ (ἡ κοινὴ Ïοῦ θεοῦ νÏηÏιÏ) which is quite clear (á¼Î½Î±ÏγὴÏ), but differs nonetheless considerably from what most people think: these popular conceptions do not count as true preconceptions or, in technical terms, prolepseis.89 Overall, however, the Epicureans argued that these preconceptions provided a basis for correct religious knowledge, that could be uncovered with the help of philosophy.90
Such protological accounts often involve specific gods: most often Cronus (Saturn) and sometimes Zeus (Jupiter). For our present purposes, it is interesting to note how often this divine age is described in terms of justice and faith. The poet Hesiod speaks of a law given to humanity by Cronus, yet this law is in fact âjusticeâ itself:
This is the law that Cronusâs son has established for human beings: that fish and beasts and winged birds eat one another, since Justice is not among them; but to human beings he has given Justice (á¼Î½Î¸Ïá½½ÏοιÏι δ᾿ á¼Î´Ïκε Îίκην), which is the best by far. (Hesiod, Works and Days 276â280)
Plato also refers to this mythical age of Cronus by mouth of the Athenian stranger in the Laws, an age in which the blissful life of humans was âfurnished with everything in abundanceâ (713bâc).91 The cause of this prosperity was the wise decision of Cronus to appoint demigods as rulers, instead of fickle humans who are themselves ruled by arrogance (á½Î²ÏιÏ) and injustice (á¼Î´Î¹ÎºÎ¯Î±, 713d).92
But also in times closer to Paulâs, Cronus and his son are remembered as kings in the ancient days of good faith justice, such as in this answer of Plutarch to a question about why the temple of Saturn is the place to store records of contracts:
Is it because the opinion and tradition prevailed that when Saturn was king there was no greed or injustice among men, but good faith and justice (οá½Îº εἶναι Ïλεονεξίαν á¼Î½ á¼Î½Î¸Ïá½½ÏÎ¿Î¹Ï Î¿á½Î´á¾¿ á¼Î´Î¹Îºá½·Î±Î½ ÎÏá½¹Î½Î¿Ï Î²Î±ÏιλεύονÏοÏ, á¼Î»Î»á½° Ïá½·ÏÏιν καὶ δικαιοÏύνην)? (Plutarch, Roman Questions 275A (42))
In particular, pistis and dikaiosynÄ, the very terms under consideration in this chapter, are mentioned here as characteristic virtues of Saturnâs rule, with pistis being used in the sense of the fundamental societal virtue of mutual trust, of bona fides (on which, see chapter 7).
The age of Saturn is known as an age in which no laws were needed. At Aeneasâs arrival at the palace of Latinus in Vergilâs Aeneid, the king refers to the people of Latium as âSaturnâs race, righteous not by bond or laws (Saturni gentem haud vinclo nec legibus aequam), but self-controlled of their own free will and by the custom of their ancient god (sponte sua veterisque dei se more tenentem).â93 Similarly, according to Ovid, Saturnâs Golden Age was a time in which no law was needed because people kept faith and did the right thing out of their own will:
Golden was that first age, which, with no one to compel, without a law, of its own will, kept faith and did the right (sponte sua, sine lege fidem rectumque colebat). There was no fear of punishment, no threatening words were to be read on brazen tablets; no suppliant throng gazed fearfully upon its judgeâs face (nec supplex turba timebat iudicis ora sui); but without defenders lived secure. (Ovid, Metamorphoses 1.89â93)
Again, it is the natural state of fides that is praised and, interestingly, is set in opposition to the later imposition of laws and judgments. This Roman antithesis between faith and law is highly relevant for understanding Paulâs antithesisâan argument I will elaborate below (§§3.4.2â3) but also in chapter 7 where I discuss the transjuridical nature of pistis/fides.
In the labelling of the first period as âgoldenâ, the second as âsilverâ, the third as âbronzeâ, and the fourth or fifth as âironâ, it is possible to detect the common diagnoses of how, after this age of divine rule, degeneration set in. The fortune of the first period of human history often functions to throw the bemoaned present state into relief. âBut now there is greater harmony among snakesâ, Juvenal laments.94 Dio of Prusa speaks of the earliest and most ancient men who were not ignorant of or indifferent towards the gods, implying a later decline.95 In an account of a recent degeneration in Athens after the Persian wars, Plato describes successive stages. First music brought democratic freedom together with a contempt for the law and for wisdom, which led to insubordination towards rulers, next to parents, penultimately to the law, and finally âthe last stage of all is to lose all respect for oaths or pledges or divinities (á½ ÏκÏν καὶ καὶ Ïá½·ÏÏεÏν καὶ Ïὸ ÏαÏá½±Ïαν θεῶν μὴ ÏÏονÏίζειν),âwherein men display and reproduce the character of the Titans of storyâ.96 Here it is indeed lawlessness and thoughtlessness towards agreements (a reified use of pistis) and gods that represent the worst state of decline.
The idea that all was better in a vanished past, before decadence set in, can even be considered âorthodox dogmaâ in the works of Roman historians. In 1961, E.A. Judge published an essay on âThe Roman Theory of Historical Degenerationâ, in which he discerns this theme across the works of Piso Frugi, Livy, Velleius Paterculus, Annaeus Florus, Tacitus, and Sallust.97 All these authors share some notion of historical degeneration, Judge argues, not because there indeed was such a moral decay, but because it was âa political instrument employed by the leaders of the day to discredit their opponentsâ.98 Indeed, I will refer to several examples of such propagandistic historiography here; however, the theme seems to go beyond this opportunistic purpose so that we can speak of a discourse that was appropriated and adapted to suit diverse needs in different genres.
The second, silver age is interesting, as it represents a certain in-between situation. According to Hesiod, the second race was already quite miserable. They lived shorter, for one, as they âcould not restrain themselves from wicked outrage (á½Î²Ïιν (â¦) á¼Ïá½±Ïθαλον) against each other, nor were they willing to honour (θεÏαÏεύειν) the immortals.â99 This period seems not all that different from the fifth and final stage, in which it is again hybris that is praised: âthey will give more honour to the doer of evil and the outrage man (á½Î²Ïιν á¼Î½á½³Ïα); justice will be in their hands, and reverence will not exist (δίκη δ᾽ á¼Î½ ÏεÏÏá½· καὶ Î±á¼°Î´á½¼Ï Î¿á½Îº á¼ÏÏαι)â.100
Senecaâs description of this second age is somewhat lighter: in the silver age, the fruits of nature abounded so that there was no need for avarice or toil, and all lived in perfect harmony and loved the other as his/herself (par erat alterius ac sui cura).101 The humans of these days were âhigh-spirited men and so to speak fresh from the godsâ (90.44: alti spiritus viros et, ut ita dicam, a dis recentes). At the same time, nature was no longer like a parent but took on the somewhat more distant role of guardian (90.38: tutela or the variant reading tutelam). Moreover, the people were not wise or virtuous, as ânature does not bestow virtue; it is an art to become goodâ (90.44). Hence, âit was by reason of their ignorance of things that the men of those days were innocent; and it makes a great deal of difference whether one wills not to sin or has not the knowledge to sin (utrum peccare aliquis nolit an nescia)â (90.46).
The degeneration narrative is often depicted as a retreat of the gods and personified virtues from the earth.102 In Hesiod, it is a hypostasized AidÅs, i.e. reverence or decency in the form of shame following from an evil deed, together with Nemesis, i.e. retribution or indignation as a form of social control, abandoning mankind (199: ÏÏολιÏόνÏá¾½ á¼Î½Î¸Ïá½½ÏÎ¿Ï Ï), marking the worst of all stages in humanityâs evolution.103 In the Phaenomena of the poet Aratusâwhose work the apostle Paul quotes according to the author of Acts104 âthis role is played by the constellation Virgin, who is there identified as Astraea (the goddess of innocence), also known as DikÄ (the goddess of judgement). She stood by humanity in the Golden Age, lingering to warn men throughout the Silver Age, but left for the sky when the vile Race of Bronze arose.105 Closer to Paulâs time, Catullus also speaks of the somewhat unclear chicken-and-egg moment when justice was âchased away from the minds of menâ and the gods also âaverted their righteous mindâ.106
Pistis/fides is also frequently mentioned as part of this trope of a divine retreat or aversion linked to human moral degeneration. An interesting example of the goddess Pistis leaving, together with SÅphrosynÄ and the Graces, is offered by the poet Theognis of Megara. He describesâor as some would rather have it, âcomplains patheticallyââhow righteous oaths were no longer trustworthy (pistos) upon this departure and piety towards the gods disappeared:107
Hope is the only good god remaining among mankind; the others have left and gone to Olympus. Trust, a mighty god, has gone (ὤιÏεÏο μὲν Î á½·ÏÏιÏ, μεγάλη θεόÏ), Restraint (ΣÏÏÏοÏύνη) has gone from men, and the Graces (ΧάÏιÏá½³Ï), my friend, have abandoned earth. Menâs judicial oaths are no longer to be trusted (á½ Ïκοι Î´Ì Î¿á½Îºá½³Ïι ÏιÏÏοὶ á¼Î½ á¼Î½Î¸Ïá½½ÏοιÏι δίκαιοι), nor does anyone revere the immortal gods; the race of pious men has perished and men no longer recognize established rules of conduct or acts of piety. (Theognis, Elegiac Poems 1135â1142)
This is, naturally, a very early tradition, and outside the centuries on which this study focuses, yet it is echoed again and again up until the early imperial period. In an ode to Fortune, Horace refers to Hope and Faith as Fortuneâs attendants (te Spes et albo rara Fides colit velata panno). By adding the adjective âraraâ, however, he emphasizes the frequent absence of this goddess from the earth.108 Ovid mentions the flight of modesty, truth, and faith in the Iron Age (omne nefas: fugere pudor verumque fidesque).109
The scene of this flight is not always the distant, legendary past, but it also functions as a trope to describe more recent historical events. In Petroniusâs Satyricon, it is the civil war between Caesar and Pompey that prompted the divine retreat:
A host of gentle deities (mitis turba deum) throughout the world abandon (deserit) the frenzied earth in loathing, and turn aside (avertitur) from the doomed army of mankind. Peace (Pax) first of all, with her snow-white arms bruised, hides her vanquished head beneath her helmet, and leaves the world and turns in flight to the inexorable realm of Dis. At her side goes capitulated Faith and Justice with loosened hair (submissa Fides et crine soluto Iustitia), and Concord weeping with her cloak rent in pieces. (Petronius, Satyricon 124.246â253)110
Peace, Faith, Justice, and Concord are the âgentleâ deities who, after being violated by civil war, quietly turn aside and abandon the earth. The same abandonment seems to be suggested by Propertius, who writes about a lover at closed doorsâdoors that may very well turn out to be the doors of the Fides temple at the Capitolâturning the unfaithful (perfida) lover into the goddess herself and the poem into a veiled commentary on the political instability of the time.111
In the late first-century play Octavia about the turn for the worst in the reign of Nero, the virgin Astraeaâs flight from earth is also linked to the moral deviance that is inherited by and coming to a climax in the present age:
The vices accumulated over time, over so many ages, are flooding out over us; we are burdened by an oppressive era in which crime reigns, unrighteousness runs mad, lust rules, gaining power through sexual degradation, and triumphant extravagance has long been plundering the worldâs immense resources with greedy hands, in order to squander them. (Pseudo-Seneca, Octavia 429â434)
In fact, fides is an important theme across the play, in which Octavia presents herself as an Electra-style heroine: Electraâs piety rescued Orestes and her fides protected him.112
The divine departure is also thematized in Silius Italicusâs epic on the Punic wars from roughly the same period. The goddess Fides, in an excellent example of prosopopoeia, laments the state of affairs on earth and explains why she had to leave:
I see it indeed, and the breaking of treaties (foedera rumpi) is not disregarded by me: the day is fixed that shall hereafter punish such evil deeds. But, when I hastened to leave the sin-stained earth (pollutas (â¦) terras), I was forced to settle here and change my habitation, because the human race was so fertile in wickedness (in fraudes); (â¦) Force is worshipped, and the sword usurps the place of justice, and virtue has given place to crime. Behold the nations! No man is innocent; fellowship in guilt alone preserves peace. (Silius Italicus, Punica 2.494â506)
The departure of Fides is here again connected to the overall wickedness of the people and the lack of virtue and justice on earth. The inexcusability of all and the fixed day of divine justice are the envisioned as a background to the departure of Faithfulness: as we will see below (§3.4.1), these themes play an important role in Paul as well.
In Apuleiusâs mid-second-century novel Metamorphoses, also known as The Golden Ass, the absence of fides seems to have turned into a more general lament, as one of the characters exclaims: âit is with good reason that loyalty is nowhere to be found in this life (merito nullam fidem in vita nostra reperiri), because she has gone to live among the ghosts now and the dead, out of disgust at our disloyalty (odio perfidiae nostrae).â113 Whether it was the virtue or the goddess who left first, the common theme across these narratives is that the absence of piety or of the gods themselves is closely linked to the disappearance of the virtues of justice and faithfulness from the earth.
3.3.3 The Return of the Golden Age and Eschatological Universalism
These pessimistic âdecline of civilizationâ narratives were not all that these or other Greek and Roman authors had in store. Theognis points to Hope as humanityâs last resort.114 Even more hopeful stories have also been handed down to us telling tales of a return of the earliest Golden Age set either in the past, present, or future. And here as well, we see the fascinating combination of piety towards the gods, justice, and faithfulness recurring throughout different sources.
The Golden Age is to return, various sources agree, when a king like Saturn sits on the throne. In Homerâs Iliad, Odysseus warns the Achaeans that âno good thing is a multitude of lords; let there be one lord, one king, to whom the son of crooked-counselling Cronus (ÎÏá½¹Î½Î¿Ï ÏάιÏ) has given the sceptre and judgments, so that he may take counsel for his people.â115 This Homeric maxim of a divine appointment of kings by Saturnâs son Zeus is brought to the fore nearly a millennium later by Celsus, who uses it to reproach a Christian attitude towards government.116
One well-attested setting of such a prosperous period under a Saturnine king in the early Roman history is the reign of Numa, the second kind of Rome, famous for his religious laws. Numa functions as the ultimate faithful and just ruler across various authors. According to Plutarch, he was not only just and trustworthy himself, he also created an atmosphere of mutual trust amongst the people, for âhe would not consent to distrust those who trusted him (οá½Ïε Î³á½°Ï á¼ÏιÏÏεá¿Î½ ÏιÏÏÎµá½»Î¿Ï Ïιν), nor to reign over those who distrusted him (οá½Ïε βαÏιλεύειν á¼ÏιÏÏούνÏÏν á¼ Î¾á½·Î¿Ï ).â117 Cicero describes how Numa
implanted in them a love for peace and tranquillity, which enable justice and good faith to flourish most easily (quibus facillime iustitia et fides convalescit), and under whose protection the cultivation of the land and the enjoyment of its products are most secure. (Cicero, On the Republic 2.26)
Iustitia and fides are paired here as the outcome of a peaceful reign.
A more elaborate account, focusing on justice (δικαιοÏÏνη) and temperance (ÏÏÏÏοÏÏνη), but especially emphasizing the importance of pistis to Numaâs kingship, is given by the Greek historian Dionysius of Halicarnassus. He credits Numa with bringing the State âto frugality and moderationâ (εá½Ïέλειαν καὶ ÏÏÏÏοÏύνην) and for encouraging âthe observance of justice in the matter of contractsâ (Îµá¼°Ï Î´á½² Ïὴν ÏεÏὶ Ïá½° ÏÏ Î¼Î²á½¹Î»Î±Î¹Î± δικαιοÏύνην) in a new, innovative way. He felt that contracts without witnesses rest purely on âthe faith of the parties involvedâ (Ïὴν Ïῶν ÏÏ Î¼Î²Î±Î»á½¹Î½ÏÏν Ïá½·ÏÏιν). Therefore,
he thought it incumbent on him to make this faith the chief object of his care and to render it worthy of divine worship. For he felt that Justice (Îίκη), Themis, Nemesis, and those the Greeks call Erinyes, with other concepts of the kind, had been sufficiently revered and worshipped as gods by the men of former times, but that Faith, than which there is nothing greater nor more sacred among men (Î á½·ÏÏιν δέ, á¼§Ï Î¿á½Ïε μεá¿Î¶Î¿Î½ οá½Ïε ἱεÏá½½ÏεÏον Ïá½±Î¸Î¿Ï á¼Î½ á¼Î½Î¸Ïá½½ÏÎ¿Î¹Ï Î¿á½Î´á½³Î½), was not yet worshipped either by states in their public capacity or by private persons. As the result of these reflexions he, first of all men, erected a temple to the Public Faith (ἱεÏὸν ἱδÏá½»ÏαÏο Î á½·ÏÏεÏÏ Î´Î·Î¼Î¿ÏίαÏ) and instituted sacrifices in her honour at the public expense in the same manner as to the rest of the gods. And in truth the result was bound to be that this attitude of good faith and constancy (á¼¦Î¸Î¿Ï ÏιÏÏὸν καὶ βέβαιον) on the part of the State toward all men would in the course of time render the behavior of the individual citizens similar. (â¦) And the magistrates and courts of justice based their decisions in most causes on the oaths of the parties attesting by their faith (Ïοá¿Ï á¼Îº Ïá¿Ï Ïá½·ÏÏεÏÏ á½ ÏκοιÏ). Such regulations, devised by Numa at that time to encourage moderation and enforce justice (ÏÏÏÏοÏá½»Î½Î·Ï Ïε ÏαÏακληÏικὰ καὶ δικαιοÏá½»Î½Î·Ï á¼Î½Î±Î³ÎºÎ±ÏÏá½µÏια), rendered the Roman State more orderly than the best regulated household. (Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Roman Antiquities 2.75.1â4)
In this rich description of a glorious Roman past, the part played by pistis is connected to the human virtue of keeping agreements, oaths, pledges, and contracts, a virtue vital for living in a righteous community. I will explore this specific context further in chapter 7. For now, it suffices to point out that for the Romans the Golden Age of Numa functioned as an identity marker on the border of mythology and history, in which justice and faith(fulness) were valued most emphatically.
With Numa, however, we are still talking about the Roman past, even though his reign could be considered a return of the earliest glory of humanity, and how this Numa-narrative may have functioned as example and mirror to the present. Can we also find traces of a more eschatological discourse in which the ancient days of justice and faith are re-enacted in the present or expected to return? And what should such a return look like?118
The most obvious place to look for such an eschatological narrative is Vergilâs fourth Eclogue. Indeed, the Augustan poet explicitly refers to the return of the reign of Saturn in the present:
Now is come the last age of Cumaean song; the great line of the centuries begins anew. Now the Virgin returns, the reign of Saturn returns (iam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna); now a new generation descends from heaven on high. (Vergil, Eclogues 4.4â7)
The Virgin Vergil imagines as returning is the same DikÄ the poet Aratus described as the goddess who had left the earth after the Silver Age. What stands out is that Vergil not only speaks of a new age, but also of a new generation. This conflation of time and people is also found in Ovid and goes back to Hesiodâs use of the term genos (γÎνοÏ) to denote the subsequent generations.119
According to Wallace-Hadrill, this return of the Golden Age was an innovation inspired by Isaiah via the Jewish eschatology in book 3 of the Sibylline Oracles.120 In this complex composition, descriptions of the Golden Age come together with utopian, eschatological expectations.121 As the dating of the different parts of the Sibylline Oracles is uncertain, and suggestions range from the second century bc to the seventh ad, âthe case must rest with the admission of the possibility that some Messianic prophecies might have been included in the Sibylline collection and might have been used by Vergil, probably in any case without his being aware of their specific origin.â122 In any case, there are enough sources that attest to the fact that some earlier version of the oracles was known and preserved in Rome, which the consul wanted to have reassembled after the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, where they were kept, was burned in 83 bc.123
The same theme of a return of the Golden Age is picked up again with a more specific historical foundation in Vergilâs Aeneid. In the first book, it is foretold how one day the Romans shall wield great power and âthen wars shall cease and savage ages soften; hoary Faith (cana Fides) and Vesta, Quirinus with his brother Remus, shall give laws.â124 The connection between Fides and the eventual laws of the returned Golden Age is noteworthy here. In the sixth book of the same work, when Aeneas meets Anchises in the Hades, Augustus is presented as Saturnâs successor: âAnd this in truth is he whom you so often hear promised you, Augustus Caesar, son of a god, who will again establish a Golden Age in Latium amid fields once ruled by Saturn.â125 In an analysis of Vergilâs participation in the Golden Age discourse, Inez Scott Ryberg argues that his appropriation of the theme seems to have developed over time. It developed from the concept of Hesiodic primitivism, via the idea that the Golden Age is âtimeless and still accessible to anyone who chooses itâ in the Georgics, towards this idea of a return of the Golden Age under specific just Roman rule in the Aeneid.126 In this latter adaptation of the motive, Vergil seems to have set a trend that was continued throughout the early empire.
Vergilâs colleague and friend at the Augustan court, Horace, describes the present ânew ageâ in the same glorious vein and counts Fides among the returnees:
Now Good Faith, Peace, and Honour, along with old-fashioned Modesty and Virtue, who has been so long neglected, venture to return (iam Fides et Pax et Honos Pudorque priscus et neglecta redire Virtus audit), and blessed Plenty with her full horn is seen by all. (Horace, Carmen Saeculare 57â60)
This text is part of the festive poem composed by Horace for the occasion of the Ludi Saeculares, a festival reintroduced by Augustus in 17 bc to celebrate Romeâs founding and the beginning of a new saeculum, which was understood as a period of roughly 110 years. The message is clear: with the rise of Octavian, a new age of prosperity has set in, and only now does Fides dare to return, after a long period in which faith among people and among leaders and subjects was hard to find.127
Viewed from the perspective of Roman politics and propaganda, the claim that the Golden Age is re-enacted in the present can be considered an important element of imperial ideology that was purposefully spread throughout the realm.128 This ideology of a pax Augusta is connected to the image of Pistis or Fides returning from exile, even beyond direct references to the Golden Age, as for example in the euphoric words of the first-century historian Velleius Paterculus, who lauds the political administration of Tiberius in the following manner:
Faith has been called back to the forum (Revocata in forum fides), strife has been banished from the forum, canvassing for office from the Campus Martius, discord from the senate-house; justice, equity, and industry, long buried in oblivion, have been restored to the state (â¦) when were the blessings of peace greater? The pax Augusta, which has spread to the regions of the east and of the west and to the bounds of the north and of the south, preserves every corner of the world safe from the fear of brigandage. (Velleius, Compendium of Roman History 2.126.2â3)
The âreturn of the virtuesâ topos recurs in Flavian literature, not long after the probable death of Paul. In the tragedy Octavia, the character Seneca is reminiscing about the days of Saturn, when Iustitia and Fides reigned, but also predicts that those days may soon return:
we are now approaching that final day which will crush this sacrilegious race beneath the collapsing sky. That will allow a reborn and better cosmos to bring forth once again a new progeny, such as it bore in youth when Saturn held the throne of heaven. In those days that virgin goddess of great power, Justice, descended with holy Faithfulness from heaven, and ruled the human race mildly on earth (tunc illa virgo, numinis magni dea, Iustitia, caelo missa cum sancta Fide, terra regebat mitis humanum genus). The nations knew no wars, no grim trumpetâs blare, no weapons, nor the practice of surrounding cities with walls; travel was open to all, everything was held in common (communis usus omnium rerum fuit). (Pseudo-Seneca, Octavia 391â403)
Again, the overall condition of humanity is one of faithlessness. To cure this illness, Justice and Faith are paired as hypostasized virtues that once descended and will again descend upon the earth, effecting peace, wall-less cities, and communal property. The entrance of the divine duo of Iustitia and Fides is remarkable for anyone who is familiar with Paulâs version of this metahistorical narrative.
The âreturn of Fidesâ topos has received some attention in classical scholarship.129 In her treatment of the topic of fides in Roman religion, Giulia Piccaluga devotes a good deal of space to this particular motive, which she believes was widespread in the imperial age: âun motivo piuttosto diffusoâ.130 Piccaluga marvels at the extraordinary religious novelty of a goddess leaving and returning, a novelty âbordering heresyâ, so she claims, in a polytheistic and static religious climate.131 She considers the motive a further amplification of the archaic Greek notion of virtues abandoning the earth, which I touched on in the previous section.132 Yet even more interestingly, albeit speculatively, she connects the return of Fides to the return of Saturn, another unusual Greek divinity who appears to have left the earth long ago only to paradoxically return when the order of the universe is turned upside downâcelebrated in the yearly festival of the Saturnalia.133 This connection is indeed confirmed by the overlap in narratives concerning Saturnâs Golden Age and Fides leaving or returning. The connection with the Saturnalia, moreover, makes it even more likely that the return of Fides was a well-known, popular theme. It therefore raises questions about whether merely speaking of a return of faith, as Paul did (Gal. 3.25, see §3.4.1 below), sounded like the annunciation of a new world order.
The idea of a nations-transcending community without walls and private property, as we encountered in the Octavia, was not an uncommon theme in Roman times. Similar future-oriented, utopian visions can be found in genres that are more explicitly philosophical in nature. At the end of his enormous wall inscription, the Epicurean Diogenes of Oenoanda wrote his vision that âthen truly the life of the gods will pass to human beings; for all things will be full of justice and mutual love, and there will be no need of fortifications or laws and all the things which we contrive on account of one another.â134 Here again, âlawsâ are used in antithesis to justice: in the ideal, divinely inspired society he envisioned, the concept of law had become superfluous. There will be one community, without those devices which are meant to keep the peace with others on the inside (laws) or on the outside (fortifications).
This vision of ultimate justice enabling a peaceful society is not restricted to Epicureanism. In his description of Alexander the Greatâs rule, Plutarch claims that Alexander did not follow Aristotle in offering discriminating treatment to Greeks and Barbarians,135 but rather the Stoic Zeno, whose ideal Republic is summarized by Plutarch with these words:136
that all people should not live differentiated by their respective rules of justice (á¼°Î´á½·Î¿Î¹Ï á¼ÎºÎ±ÏÏοι διÏÏιÏμένοι δικαίοιÏ) into separate cities and communities, but that we should consider them to be of one community and one polity, and that we should have a common life and an order common to us all, (â¦) This Zeno wrote, giving shape to a dream or, as it were, shadowy picture of a well-ordered and philosophic commonwealth (εá½Î½Î¿Î¼á½·Î±Ï ÏιλοÏá½¹ÏÎ¿Ï ÎºÎ±á½¶ ÏολιÏείαÏ). (Plutarch, On the Fortune or the Virtue of Alexander 329AâB)
The topos of âcommon lawâ, to which this passage alludes, and its relationship to actual city-laws received considerable attention in Stoicism, and I will explore this theme more fully below (§3.3.5). For now, I want to note how both schools, Epicureans and Stoics, seem to envision an ideal community in which laws and justice are differently configured than they are in the present: either justice and love are so ubiquitous that there is no need for laws at all, or one type of universal justice and order will be applicable to all, to Greeks and Barbarians alike. Notwithstanding the idealized nature of these accounts, the apocalyptic visions of a Golden Age and the idealized accounts of future society with a different type of law function as feasible Graeco-Roman contexts for understanding Paulâs treatment of the theme of justice, faith, and law. But before we arrive at Paul, I want to take a closer look at the Stoic treatment of the theme of law and its precursory (and contemporary) ideas in Platonism and Pythagoreanism, focusing on the role of law.
3.3.4 The Internal Law: the Platonic Reconfiguration of Law as Mind and Divine Measure
When thinking about just, faithful rulership; a just, faithful society; and just, faithful persons, it is hard to avoid considering the place and meaning of law. Yet, as we just saw in the Stoic and Epicurean accounts, the relationship between justice and the law is not unproblematic. The same obviously counts for Paul. But before we turn to that, it is helpful to have a clear idea of the problems that were perceived and solutions that were conceived of by his pagan contemporaries within this discourse.
In particular, I will discuss the concept of an internal or divine law in Platonism (in the present subsection) and the concept of natural or common law in the Stoa (§3.3.5). Both concepts make allegorical use of the Golden Age narratives outlined in the previous subsections. Finally, I will briefly consider the notion of the ruler as living or embodied law (§3.3.6). All three of these types of law count in this study as examples of âunwritten lawâ.
In these subsections, pistis vocabulary (including cognates) is not as frequent as in the more general Golden Age discourses. Nevertheless, we will see how authors connect the idea of an unwritten law to the Golden Age. Moreover, as I will argue later (§3.4), for Paul, in the context of law, pistis functions precisely like unwritten types of law in Hellenistic-Roman discourses, for it is able to transform people âinternallyâ, it is âuniversalâ to all nations, and it is âlivingâ in the person of Christ.
The problem with laws prescribed in the Greek poleis was articulated by the sophist Hippias, as he is portrayed in Xenophonâs Memorabilia: ââLaws can hardly be thought of much account, Socrates, or observance of them, seeing that the very people who passed them often reject and amend them.ââ137 This discussion seems to belong to the lively debate on nomos and physis in the fifth and fourth centuries bc, which allowed sophists to question the status of the law as a mere human invention. In response, Xenophonâs Socrates argues that being obedient to the laws amounts to being just. It is interesting that this argument is made with recourse to pistis-related terms: for one is most likely to âtrustâ a fellow-citizen or even an enemy who upholds the law.138 As we saw before (§3.3.1), in a social setting, being just was considered tantamount to being trustworthy. And it is to this nexus of trust and justice that, according to Socrates, the law also belongs.
More relevant here, however, is the fact that at this point, after Hippias agrees but still affirms that laws are manmade, Socrates introduces the notion of unwritten laws (4.4.19: á¼Î³Ïá½±ÏÎ¿Ï Ï (â¦) Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï Ï). These laws are further described as universal and divine: unwritten laws are observed in every place and designed by the gods for humans (4.4.19). While this dialogue ends shortly after an agreement is reached regarding some basic unwritten laws, its occurrence in Xenophon shows the early roots of the idea that there is a transcending set of laws of divine origin, an idea further developed by different schools in the Hellenistic and Roman days.
A similar notion returns in Platoâs Laws, Platoâs second book pertaining to the discussion and design of governments. Yet here it is mostly the internal character of divine law that is foregrounded. The main issue to work out here is what enables the citizens of the mythical city of Magnesia to become virtuous. The actual laws of a city-state are deemed only secondary in achieving this aim, for they are incapable of producing the same results as an internal good nature would; in fact, someone with the right knowledge (epistÄmÄ) would not even need them.139 Moreover, something else is needed, in addition to keeping the just laws, in order to live virtuously. The Athenian stranger, the main spokesperson in the Laws, argues for an added rationale that explains the necessity of keeping each law.140 Laws should be explained by the lawgiver and understood by the citizens, just like the better doctor explains to his patients why he offers the treatment he offers by means of persuasion (720d: μεÏá½° ÏειθοῦÏ) and awaits their consent. If persuasion is so understood, Terrence Irwin argues, it is not âaddressed to the non-rational parts of the soulâ, but rather the laws should âconvey rational instruction that should lead to rational understandingâ.141 In sum, the ideal law is conceived of as speaking to the part of human beings that is rational, by means of persuasion.142
With this element of persuasion, we also arrive at the concept of an internal law. For according to the Athenian, the law should not remain an external means that persuades the nous from without. As we have seen above, he refers to the Golden Age of Cronus, in which mankind was justly ruled by a higher order of demigods (see §3.3.3). The moral and present application of the story, the stranger explains, is that only a godly rule ensures a toll-free life, and that
we ought by every means to imitate (μιμεá¿Ïθαι) the life of the age of Cronus, as tradition paints it, and both in private and public life, order both our homes and our States (Ïá½±Ï Ï᾿ οἰκήÏÎµÎ¹Ï ÎºÎ±á½¶ Ïá½°Ï ÏόλειÏ) in obedience to the immortal element within us, giving to reasonâs ordering the name of âlawâ (Ïὴν Ïοῦ νοῦ διανομὴν á¼ÏονομάζονÏÎ±Ï Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Î½). (Plato, Laws 713eâ714a)
I have already elaborated on the significance of referring to a Golden Age in the previous sections, but this passage also shows how, for Plato, the mind is the immortal element that functions as law to be obeyed. This equation is strengthened by the wordplay between Î½Î¿á¿¦Ï (mind), διανομή (ordering), and νÏÎ¼Î¿Ï (law).143 The mind is presented as the internal law of the individual, and the laws of a city-state are to be modelled accordingly.144 It is a highly significant development that the Golden Age stories are thus allegorized by effectively internalizing justice as something that can be achieved inside a person and by applying the internal law of reason.
This use of the Golden Age narrative as metaphor appears also to have been common in Cynic thought: Lucian calls the Cynicâs ideal life âthe life under Cronusâ, and Maximus of Tyre draws attention to Diogenes as the one person who lives the life the poets talk of âwhen they speak allegorically of a similar kind of life lived under Cronus, king of the godsâ.145 The primitivism inherent to the Golden Age appealed especially to the Cynicsâ striving towards a simple life in agreement with nature.
Returning to the Laws, we might ask how we ought to conceive of this rule of reason. Apart from the level of the individual soul and the level of the state, there is a third level at which the relationship between law and reason receives ample attention by Plato. At a cosmological scale, it is the reason embodied by God, which governs the universe so as to foster virtue and order.146
Throughout the Laws, as in this particular passage, the ideal constitution is also continually associated with the divine. In the beginning of the dialogue, gods are presented as lawgivers of the cities represented by the Athenianâs dialogue partners, Kleinias and Megillus. In book 4, the Athenian argues that Magnesia is not to be called a tyranny, aristocracy, democracy, or monarchy, but âif the State ought to be named after any such thing, the name it should have borne is that of the God who is the true ruler of rational menâ (713a: Ïὸ Ïοῦ á¼Î»Î·Î¸á¿¶Ï Ïῶν Ïὸν νοῦν á¼ÏόνÏÏν δεÏÏόζονÏÎ¿Ï Î¸ÎµÎ¿á¿¦ á½Î½Î¿Î¼Î±). It is no wonder, therefore, that to live according to reasonâs rule means to act like God. The people of Magnesia are summoned to follow Justice with God and be a punisher of those who abandon the divine law (716a: Ïá¿· δ᾿ á¼Îµá½¶ Î¾Ï Î½á½³ÏεÏαι Îίκη Ïῶν á¼ÏολειÏομένÏν Ïοῦ Î¸Îµá½·Î¿Ï Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï ÏιμÏÏá½¹Ï).
Then follows a passage I discussed at the end of the previous chapter, and that I will repeat in a shortened form:
In our eyes God will be âthe measure of all thingsâ (ÏάνÏÏν ÏÏημάÏÏν μέÏÏον) (â¦). He, then, that is to become dear to such an one must needs become, so far as he possibly can, of a like character. (Plato, Laws 716c)
We saw that to imitate or to be dear to God means to live temperately and with measure, because God is the measure of all things. Hence, living according to reason is equated with living according to a divine measure. With this central notion, Plato elaborates on the influential topos that also recurs throughout his other works147 and that goes by the name of homoiÅsis theÅi, âbecoming like Godâ (see chapter 6 below).148 In the Theaetetus, this process of assimilation is even explicitly linked to Godâs righteousness.149 As we will see below, Paul employs very similar concepts in describing how faith and justice are to be understood and enacted by his audience.
In the wake of Plato, the idea of an unwritten law was taken up again. In the Rhetoric, Aristotle distinguishes between âwritten law in accordance with which a state is administered; by general (κοινὸν), the unwritten regulations which appear to be universally recognized (á½ Ïα á¼Î³ÏαÏα ÏαÏá½° ÏᾶÏιν á½Î¼Î¿Î»Î¿Î³Îµá¿Ïθαι δοκεá¿).â150 Later in the same work, Aristotle discusses how to make use of âlawâ as one of the âinartificial proofsâ (pisteis: on the usage of pistis in this context, see §5.3.1 below). He further defines this âgeneral lawâ as âmore in accordance with justiceâ (δικαιοÏá½³ÏοιÏ), âeverlasting and never changingâ (á¼Îµá½¶ μένει καὶ οá½Î´á½³ÏοÏε μεÏαβάλλει) âin accordance with natureâ (καÏá½° Ïá½»Ïιν).151 After referring to Sophoclesâs Antigone (a famous case for following the unwritten law as it is âmore justâ), he argues that her action was
not contrary to the unwritten law (ÏαÏá½° Ïὸν á¼Î³ÏαÏον [νÏμον]): (â¦) and further, that justice (Ïὸ δίκαιόν) is real and expedient, but not that which only appears just; nor the written law (Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï á½ Î³ÎµÎ³ÏαμμένοÏ) either, because it does not do the work of the law (Î¿á½ Î³á½°Ï ÏοιεῠÏὸ á¼Ïγον Ïὸ Ïοῦ Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï ); that the judge is like an assayer of silver, whose duty is to distinguish (διακÏίνá¿) spurious from genuine justice; that it is the part of a better man to make use of and abide by the unwritten rather than the written law (βελÏá½·Î¿Î½Î¿Ï á¼Î½Î´Ïá½¸Ï Ïὸ Ïοá¿Ï á¼Î³Ïá½±ÏÎ¿Î¹Ï á¼¢ Ïοá¿Ï γεγÏÎ±Î¼Î¼á½³Î½Î¿Î¹Ï ÏÏá¿Ïθαι καὶ á¼Î¼Î¼á½³Î½ÎµÎ¹Î½). (Aristotle, Rhetoric 1.15.6â9 (1375aâb))
The critique of written law that it âdoes not do the work of the lawâ addresses the same problem Plato encountered: namely, how can the written law establish anything beyond superficial justice? How can laws turn someone into a just person? In Aristotleâs thought, a good man would not even need the law:
But if there is any one man so greatly distinguished in outstanding virtue (â¦) such a man will naturally be as a god among men (á½¥ÏÏÎµÏ Î³á½°Ï Î¸Îµá½¸Î½ á¼Î½ á¼Î½Î¸Ïá½½ÏοιÏ) (â¦) but there can be no law dealing with such men as those described, for they are themselves a law (αá½Ïοὶ Î³á½±Ï Îµá¼°Ïι νόμοÏ). (Aristotle, Politics 3.8.1â2 (1284a4â15))152
As we shall discuss below (§3.4.2), such a âbetter manâ seems to belong to Paulâs reasoning as well, such as when he speaks of gentiles who have âthe work of the law written on their heartsâ (Rom 2.15: Ïὸ á¼Ïγον Ïοῦ νÏÎ¼Î¿Ï Î³ÏαÏÏὸν á¼Î½ Ïαá¿Ï καÏÎ´Î¯Î±Î¹Ï Î±á½Ïῶν).153 Moreover, it is in accordance with Paulâs reasoning that being led by the Spirit amounts to not being under the law (Gal 5.18) and that when it comes to virtues (including pistis), âthere is no law against such thingsâ (Gal 5.23).
In later strands of Platonism, the concept of an internal law, guided by the philosophers of old, is still in circulation. Plutarch rebuts the Epicurean argument that without law chaos will rule, stating that
if someone takes away the laws, but leaves us with the teachings of Parmenides, Socrates, Heracleitus, and Plato, we shall be very far from devouring one another and living the life of wild beasts; for we shall fear all that is shameful and shall honour justice (ÏιμήÏομεν δικαιοÏύνην) for its intrinsic worth, holding that in the gods we have good governors and in the daemons protectors of our lives, accounting all âthe gold on earth and under it a poor exchange for virtueâ,154 and doing freely at the bidding of our reason (διὰ Ïὸν λόγον), as Xenocrates says, what we now do perforce at the command of the law (διὰ Ïὸν νόμον). (Plutarch, Reply to Colotes 1124DâE)
This loose reference to the age of divine rule and the explicit quotation from the Laws confirms the later familiarity with this Platonic concept of internal law, here again equated with reason, logos. Plutarch also closely connects this higher law to the gods: âZeus does not have Justice to sit beside him, but is himself Justice and Right and the oldest and most perfect of lawsâ (Plutarch, To an Uneducated Ruler 781B). Hence, justice or the ultimate law should not only be internalized by human beings; it is even internal to the gods.
Moreover, we also find references to a lack of trust, distributional justice, and incorrect measuring in one of Ciceroâs contributions to anti-Epicurean discourse. In a letter to Trebatius, who was reported to have âbeen made an Epicureanâ, he exhorts:
But how are you going to be a champion of civil law (ius civile) if everything you do is done for your own sweet sake and not for the community (omnia tua causa facias, non civium)? And what becomes of the trust formula (formula fiduciae) âin accordance with honest practice proper between honest men (inter bonos)â? Who is honest that does nothing except for his own interest? What rule will you lay down for division of goods held jointly, seeing that nothing can be joint among people whose only yardstick is their own pleasure (qui omnia voluptate sua metiuntur)? (Cicero, Letters to Friends 7.12)
The idea of being able to measure with the right principle is again bound up in a discussion about the very possibility of civic law, goodness, justice, and communal faith. To measure by oneâs own pleasure is antithetical to acting for the sake of community. This confirms my interpretation in the previous chapter: when discussing interhuman conduct, Paul says we ought to measure by one superhuman or divine measure, the divine measure of pistis (Rom 12.3).155
The differentiation between conceptions or layers of law was developed even further in Neoplatonism. Porphyry, for instance, distinguishes three types of law: âfirst, the law of God; second, the law of human nature; third, that which is laid down for nations and states.â156 The law of nations, or âwritten lawâ, has its limits, for it âpunishes him who transgresses it, but it cannot reach a manâs secret thoughts and intentionsâ (25). The law of nature teaches the physical needs of humans and the abstinence of excessive bodily pleasure. The law of God is further explained as being a law that is only known by the mind, which is âimplanted by the mind, for their welfare, in the thoughts of reasoning soulsâ (25), and which âdiligently pursues the search thereafter, and finds it imprinted in itselfâ (26). If you understand this divine law, you also know the natural law and you âshall never fear the written law (â¦) For written laws are made for the benefit of good men, not that they may do no wrong, but that they may not suffer it.â (27) Again, just as in Aristotle, the written law is presented as not meant for those who are good. Likewise, in Paulâs reasoning, as will be discussed below (§§3.4.2â4), there is no law against virtue (Gal 5.23), and if one does what is good, one need not fear external authority (Rom 13.3).
The distinctions and connections between different types of law we encounter in and beyond Platonism will help us make sense of Paulâs use of pistis in the context of law (§3.4). The idea that the divine law is also universal in character can be traced back to Plato. Xenophon already attributes the idea of one law for all countries to Socrates. In Platoâs Laws, we also see a universalizing tendency, both in the interlocutorsâ civic identities and in the actual body of laws for the ideal city, which combines policies already in force in Sparta, Athens, and Crete. Yet, it was the Stoa which further developed the Platonic idea of a divine, internal law of reason by emphasizing this application to all nations and peoples, thus rendering it internal and universal at the same time. Before turning to Paul, I want first to discuss this concept of a universal law and the related teaching of appropriation (oikeiÅsis), which is essential in conceptualizing a social or interhuman application of law.
3.3.5 The Universal Law: the Stoic Doctrines of Natural Law and OikeiÅsis
The sufficiency of divine or internal law, superseding human admonitions and laws, as we encounter throughout the Platonic tradition, is also present in the Stoic tradition. In some sense, the Stoics explored the ultimate consequences of the Platonic innateness of law by connecting it to the right reason of the sage: only wise persons are morally infallible because they know which rules apply in particular circumstances.157 At a more fundamental level, the same question we encountered in Platonism concerning the relationship between external laws and internal goodness can be discerned in the works of later Stoics, and for our purposes it is remarkable that pistis and fides vocabulary clearly belongs to the sphere of internal goodness, as texts by Seneca and Epictetus demonstrate.
Seneca is aware of the deficiency of actual laws when it comes to the goal of leading people towards moral conduct and partakes in the discourse in which Platoâs Laws still appear to play a prominent role. Still, he grants that there is some potential in them, âas long as they do not only order but teach as wellâ (si non tantum imperant, sed docent)â.158 In this regard, Seneca disagrees with Posidonius over the use of the preambles in Platoâs Laws, sections aimed precisely at instructing. While not everyone benefits of such instruction, the same can be said about the role of philosophy in âforming soulsâ, so he argues: âand yet philosophy is not on that account ineffectual and useless in the training of the soul (formandis animis inefficax). Furthermore, is not philosophy the Law of Life (philosophia non vitae lex est)?â159 The striking image of philosophy as âlaw of lifeâ does not merely serve rhetorical purposes here, as Seneca repeats the idea in an expository manner in another letter where he considers the contribution of the wise in the earliest periods of human history. After a long discussion with Posidonius, who believed that the wise also invented many practical arts and crafts whereas Seneca attributes most of them to the human need for luxury, Seneca relates what the wise contributed:
First of all there is truth, and nature; and nature he has not followed as the other animals do, with eyes too dull to perceive the divine in it. In the second place, there is the law of life (vitae legem), and life he has made to conform to universal principles (quam ad universa derexit); and he has taught us, not merely to know the gods, but to follow them, and to welcome the gifts of chance precisely as if they were divine commands (nec nosse tantum sed sequi deos docuit et accidentia non aliter excipere quam imperata). (Seneca, Epistles 9.34)
While this âlaw of lifeâ may thus relay a rather basic idea of moral principles shared among humans, it is a concept that recurs in Seneca and belongs to the discourse of unwritten law.160 The wording of philosophyâs contribution as âlaw of life directed at universalsâ is yet another variation on the themes of transcendent types of law. References to such unwritten types of law clearly are not limited to specific technical expressions. This variety in expression amongst authors also leaves room for interpreting Pauline expressions such as the âlaw of faithâ, the âlaw of Christâ, and the âlaw of the Spirit of lifeâ as such unwritten or transcendent types of law (see §3.4.2 below). Moreover, Seneca connects this theme to following (sequor) the gods. Whereas the idea that one ought to actively welcome any twist of fate is a specifically Stoic theme, we will see below that imitation of the divine plays an important part in Pauline thought as well (see in particular chapter 6 below).
In On Benefits (De Beneficiis), Seneca is also critical of the scope of laws in guiding moral conduct. Here, Seneca distinguishes the domain of law from the domain of inter-human conventions, which is more widely applicable. He mentions fides in particular as belonging to the latter sphere:
There are many things that do not come under the law or into court, and in these the conventions of human life, which are more binding than any law, show us the way (ad quae consuetudo vitae humanae omni lege valentior dat aditum). No law forbids us to divulge the secrets of friends; no law bids us keep faith even with an enemy (nulla lex iubet fidem etiam inimico praestare). What law binds us to keep a promise that we have made to anyone (quod alicui promisimus)? There is none. Yet I shall have a grievance against a person who has not kept the secret I told him, and I shall be indignant with one who, after giving a promise, has not kept it (fidem datam nec servatam indignabor). (Seneca, On Benefits 5.21.1)
While we must be careful not to overinterpret Senecaâs intentions here, clearly a contrast is drawn between what written laws can prescribe and what is beyond their capacity to enforce. Faith, understood here as a social virtue of keeping oneâs promises, evidently exceeds the formal prescriptions of law and is guaranteed by different, albeit human, conventions (see §7.3.1 and 7.3.2 below on faith as a civic virtue transcending the sphere of law). These human conventions are nevertheless universal in their application, given that foes are included in their scope.
The divine dimension of ethical directions is emphasized by Epictetus as part of his teaching on Stoic ethics. Epictetus summarizes the divine directions as comprising attending to those things that are under your control, namely faithfulness (Ïὸ ÏιÏÏÏν, to piston) and self-respect:
What directions shall I give you (Τί Ïοι á¼Î½ÏείλÏμαι)? Has not Zeus given you directions? (â¦) What directions, then, did you bring with you when you came from him into this world, what kind of an order? Guard by every means that which is your own (Ïá½° Ïá½° Ïá½µÏει á¼Îº ÏανÏá½¸Ï ÏÏá½¹ÏÎ¿Ï ), but do not grasp at that which is anotherâs. Your faithfulness is your own, your self-respect is your own (Ïὸ ÏιÏÏὸν Ïόν, Ïὸ αἰδá¿Î¼Î¿Î½ Ïόν); who, then, can take these things from you? (â¦) Since you have such promptings and directions from Zeus, what kind do you still want from me? Am I greater than he, or more trustworthy (á¼Î¾Î¹Î¿ÏιÏÏá½¹ÏεÏοÏ)? But if you keep these commands of his, do you need any others besides? (Epictetus, Discourses 1.25.3â6)161
Godâs directions are here set above his own as a teacher, as God is âmore to be trustedâ (á¼Î¾Î¹Î¿ÏιÏÏá½¹ÏεÏοÏ, axiopistoteros). Similarly, Epictetus teaches that Godâs laws are set above the civic laws of jurists: âThese are the laws that have been sent you from God (οἱ á¼ÎºÎµá¿Î¸ÎµÎ½ á¼ÏεÏÏαλμένοι νόμοι), these are His ordinances; it is of these you ought to become an interpreter, to these you ought to subject yourself, not the laws of Masurius and Cassius.â162 If I were to take the liberty of prematurely discussing Paulâs participation in this discourse, I would note how he similarly argues that the Thessalonians are people that have been taught by God (Paul uses the neologism θεοδίδακÏοί, theodidaktoi), and for that reason they do not need Paulâs letters to teach them brotherly love (1 Thes 4.9).163 The same rhetoric and the same theoretical distinction between divine and human directions are evident here.
Moreover, Epictetus argues in the passage above (Discourses 1.25.3â6) that as long as the divine commands are kept, human teachings and laws have no use. These divine laws pertain to internal virtues such as faithfulness and self-respect, virtues within everyoneâs grasp. A.A. Long considers Epictetusâs view of human nature as being naturally equipped with divine law a âhighly optimistic assumptionâ, paraphrased by him as, âwe donât need God, as distinct from ourselves, to tell us what to do; but we are able to tell ourselves what to do only because of the way our nature has been constructed.â164 Granted, few would deny that that the Stoic theology emphasized divine immanentism more than, for instance, the Platonic variant.165 I would add, however, that the optimism involved is mostly theoretical, since the Stoics also emphasized the difficulty and scarce instances of success of living according to nature or becoming a sage (on which, see §6.3.4 below). Even as Epictetus believed the divine law to be innate, present from birth, it remained quite a task to trust this law, to trust Zeus, and act likewise. Even though this law is natural, it does not come naturally to follow its commandments. We will come back to the importance of an attitude of confidence and trust exemplified by Stoic sages (§§5.3.5â6), but for now it is clear that fides and pistis are at home in this discourse of the internal configuration of divine law.
Perhaps an even more important aspect of the naturalness of this Stoic law than its innateness is its universality. The development of the concept of ânatural lawâ can be traced back to early Stoicism, when the idea took hold that there is a common law that applies to all people and that âhas a status that is on an altogether different plane from the particular, historical laws of any given stateâ.166 The defining characteristic of this concept of law, then, is the idea that it is common (koinos) to all. As we saw above, Plutarch ascribes this idea to Zeno: âwe should have a common life and an order common to us all (Îµá¼·Ï Î´á½² Î²á½·Î¿Ï á¾ ÎºÎ±á½¶ κόÏμοÏ), even as a herd that feeds together and shares the pasturage of a common field/law (νομῷ/νÏμῳ κοινῷ)â.167 Just like Plato, the early Stoics endorsed the idea of the individual law of reason as identical to the divine law, only this âlaw of Zeusâ gains a universal colour as that which is âin accordance with natureâ and âpervades all thingsâ.168 This is at least how Diogenes Laertius paraphrases what appear to be the teachings of Chrysippus:
And this is why the end may be defined as life in accordance with nature, or, in other words, in accordance with our own human nature as well as that of the universe (καÏá½± Ïε Ïὴν αá½Ïοῦ καὶ καÏá½° Ïὴν Ïῶν ὠλÏν), a life in which we refrain from every action forbidden by the law common to all things (á½ Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï á½ ÎºÎ¿Î¹Î½á½¹Ï), that is to say, the right reason (á½ á½ÏÎ¸á½¸Ï Î»á½¹Î³Î¿Ï) which pervades all things, and is identical with this Zeus, lord and ruler of all that is. And this very thing constitutes the virtue of the happy man and the smooth current of life, when all actions promote the harmony of the spirit dwelling in the individual man with the will of him who orders the universe. (Diogenes Laertius, Lives 7.88 (Zeno) (SVF 3.4))
Because of this connection to nature, both a cosmological and anthropological concept in Stoic thought, the universal law is both transcendent and immanent. On a human level, it not only pertains to all by promoting virtuous behavior, it also unites all in one community.
The Stoics referred to this community as a cosmic city, to which all who partake in reason, including the gods, are inhabitants:
For in the same way as the name city has two meanings, the dwelling-place, and the system resulting from the combination of residents and citizens, so also the world (κόÏμοÏ) is, as it were, a city composed of gods and men, in which the gods hold the rule, and the men are subject. There is, however, a community between them, because they partake of reason, which is natureâs law. (Arius Didymus, apud Eusebius, Preparation for the Gospel 15.15.3â5)169
This Stoic teaching, attributed by Eusebius to Arius Didymus, imagines the cosmos as a city with the gods as rulers and reason (logos) as its law. Likewise, in Ciceroâs On the Nature of the Gods, the Stoic Balbus calls the world âthe common dwelling-place of gods and men (communis deorum atque hominum domus), or the city (urbs) that belongs to both; for they alone have the use of reason and live by justice and by law (ratione utentes iure ac lege vivunt).â170 The law of reason is here again put forward as that which makes gods and men into one cosmic community.
Yet, precisely how universal is this cosmic community the Stoics have in mind? There has been a great deal discussion about the extent to which the Stoics considered everyone to be citizens or part of the city, or, put differently, which Stoics consider which beings citizens. It has been argued that whereas Zeno thought of this city as consisting of sagesâfor only they fully incorporate the law of reasonâChrysippus invented the notion of a cosmic city that included everyone. Related to this is the equally debated question whether Zeno, in contrast to later Stoic theory, intended his Republic to be a real, revolutionary, political suggestion, an option befitting Zenoâs Cynic roots.171 Zenoâs work, unfortunately, is lost to us and his ideas can only be reconstructed based on later discussions. According to Dirk Obbink, the universal version of the cosmic city is a later development; it arises âthrough a succession of thinkers, from Zenoâs exclusive city of the wise and Chrysippusâs conception of the cosmos as a polity of gods and wise men, to Cicero and the later view that all men live (or ought to live) under the same canons of natural law.â172 Cicero indeed offers a comprehensive account of how gods and men are connected: by reason, hence by law, consequently by justice, and finally by sharing in one civic community.173 In a well-articulated argument, however, Katja Vogt replies that the sources allow for such views already to have been present in the earliest phases. In her analysis of Ariusâs passage just quoted, she concludes that âreason provides the kind of kinship that makes for a community, and reason comes in degrees. Communities, it seems, can also come in degrees.â174 Hence, there is a strong sense of citizenship, which only allows for sages to be citizens, and a weak sense, which considers all human beings to be citizens. In the passage just quoted, Arius Didymus even provides us with another status, that of âresidentsâ, to correspond with the category of âordinaryâ human beings.
The importance of these discussions on the scope of Stoic universalism lies in the importance of analogous discussions about the Pauline variant. As the Pauline communities were concrete communities, not merely abstract ones, there seems to be at least some convergence with the early Cynic-Stoic variant of the city of the wise.175 Yet one of the questions in need of an answer is whether justification, salvation, or âthe goodâ extends to everyone or only to the faithful few who were part of his communities. Hence, we ought to keep in mind the solution of varying degrees to the dilemma of the Stoic city and see whether this is any help in understanding Paul (more below in §3.4.4).
While he may be considered more of an Academic than a Stoic, it is Cicero to whom we are indebted for fuller accounts of natural law. And although he is reluctant to admit the Stoic origins of the concept, his indebtedness to Stoicism is evident throughout the On the Republic (De republica) and the On the Laws (De legibus).176 He is also the first to actually use the terminology of ânatural lawâ. Thus, in On the Laws, the law is called âthe highest reason, implanted in nature (lex est ratio summa insita in natura)â; it is a ânatural force (naturae vis)â to which the origin of justice (iuris exordium) can be traced.177 The civil law is a mere shadow of this law of nature.178 Furthermore, in On the Republic, the character Scipio describes the wise man as one who can âcan really claim all things as his own, by virtue of the decision, not of the Roman People, but of the wise (sapientium iure), not by any obligation of the civil law (civili nexo), but by the common law of Nature (communi lege naturae)â.179 Again, the concept of natural law is connected to the disposition of the wise and is here also set in opposition to the external obligation of law to citizens.
Yet, in Cicero, the common law is not merely some sort of philosophical ideal the lucky few can attempt to mirror; it is also a law that is universally enforced. Further on in the same treatise, the universality of this common law is explained in terms of its applicability to everyone at all times. Here, the character Laelius emphasizes that there is no escaping the justice of this law:
We cannot be freed from its obligations by senate or people, and we need not look outside ourselves for an expounder or interpreter of it. And there will not be different laws at Rome and at Athens, or different laws now and in the future, but one eternal and unchangeable law will be valid for all nations and all times (et omnes gentes et omni tempore una lex et sempiterna et immutabilis continebit), and there will be one master and ruler, that is, God, over us all, for he is the author of this law, its promulgator, and its enforcing judge (unusque erit communis quasi magister et imperator omnium deus, ille legis huius inventor, disceptator, lator). Whoever is disobedient is fleeing from himself and denying his human nature, and by reason of this very fact he will suffer the worst penalties, even if he escapes what is commonly considered punishment. (Cicero, On the Republic 3.33)
What stands out in this description is the explicit connection between universal law and one God, all nations, and, no less important, the inescapability of its punishment (which is also an aspect of its universal nature). For my discussion of Paulâs view of law, these elements will also be highly relevant (see §§3.4.2â4 below).
Before we turn to Paul, however, there is one more aspect of the teachings of the Stoics relevant to the theme of justice. For the universal community is bound together by more than only a common law. An important part of what enables the sense and actuality of community, according to the Stoics, is the concept of oikeiÅsis, a concept that is notoriously hard to translate in any elegant manner yet implies some sense of âfamiliarizationâ or âmaking-into-oneâs-ownâ.180 In the first place, oikeiÅsis is a theory to explain instinct in animals: by recognizing what is oneâs own, an animal is driven towards what is helpful and away from what is harmful for self-preservation.181 This self-preservation includes oneâs offspring, whom we are naturally inclined to protect. Referring to Chrysippusâs account of oikeiÅsis, Plutarch laments:
Why then again in every book of physics, yes and of morals too, does he keep writing ad nauseam that from the moment of birth we have a natural congeniality to ourselves (οἰκειούμεθα ÏÏá½¸Ï Î±á½ÏοὺÏ), to our members, and to our own offspring? (Plutarch, On Stoic Self-Contradictions 1038B)182
This citation already points to the wide application of this theory not only in Stoic physics, but also in Stoic ethics. For, in the second place, the theory of oikeiÅsis was also used in relation to human beings as rational animals. In Senecaâs 121st epistle to Lucilius, we find this particularly well explained:
Manâs constitution is a reasoning one, and hence man is adapted to himself (conciliari hominem sibi) not merely as a living, but as a reasoning, being (non tamquam animali, sed tamquam rationali) (â¦) For man is dear to himself (sibi carus est) in respect of that wherein he is a man. (Seneca, Epistles 121.14)
The connection to reason transforms the theory of oikeiÅsis as we find it in Seneca into a theory of psychological development: concern for oneself expresses itself differently depending on oneâs age and condition (121.15: constitutio). Apparently, as human beings grow, there is also a change in the content of what is made into oneâs own.
In On Ends (De finibus), Cicero records accounts of oikeiÅsis from both Stoic and Academic (including Aristotelean) points of view. In book 3, the Stoic account is presented as consisting of several elements: âit is love of self which supplies the primary impulse to actionâ (3.16), whereas the next step is âto retain those things which are in accordance with nature and to repel those that are the contraryâ (3.20). Moreover, there is a second stage to oikeiÅsis which leads away from concern from oneself: nature also shows us to âto love those to whom we have given birthâ (3.62) and âfrom this impulse is developed the sense of mutual attraction which unites human beings as suchâ (3.63). In book 5 of the same work, Cicero presents the views of the Academic Antiochus of Ascalon, which seem to improve upon the Stoic theory by offering an integrated account of familiarization with oneself and oneâs social environment.183OikeiÅsis is here described as other-regarding solidarity and affection which can be imagined as forming an expanding circle from oneself to oneâs parents, family, neighbours, citizens, allies, friends, and ultimately to all human beings. In rational animals in particular, oikeiÅsis as a whole thus gains a more social thrust as âthe tendency we have both towards developing self-concern and towards developing other-concernâ.184 In the words of the character Piso:
But in the whole moral sphere of which we are speaking there is nothing more glorious nor of wider range than the solidarity of mankind (coniunctio inter homines hominum), that species of alliance and partnership of interests and that actual affection which exists between man and man (quasi quaedam societas et communicatio utilitatum et ipsa caritas generis humani), which, coming into existence immediately upon our birth, owing to the fact that children are loved by their parents and the family as a whole (tota domus) is bound together by the ties of marriage and parenthood, gradually spreads its influence beyond the home (serpit sensim foras), first by blood relationships, then by connections through marriage, later by friendships, afterwards by the bonds of neighbourhood, then to fellow-citizens and political allies and friends, and lastly by embracing the whole of the human race. This sentiment, assigning each his own (suum cuique tribuens) and maintaining with generosity and equity that human solidarity and alliance of which I speak, is termed justice (iustitia). (Cicero, On Ends 5.65)185
The description of justice by Cicero in terms of solidarity rests on the idea that already as a newborn one is driven by an impulse towards self-preservation. This concern for our own self prompts the need for immediate attachment to oneâs parents. And from there, along with the growth of reason and virtue, it should develop in concentrical circles towards others, eventually including the whole human race. OikeiÅsis thus provided a connection between what is generally considered to be natural and what is generally considered to be virtuous.186 The sentiment fueling this process is called âjusticeâ by Cicero, because it involves the acquirement of other-regarding moral virtues that together enable a well-functioning society.
The use of oikeiÅsis as a foundation of justice did not go without criticism. Philo sharply rejects the idea that non-rational, natural human impulse is what guides us towards justice.187 He completely redefines the meaning of oikeiÅsis as âfellowship with Godâ (ÏÏá½¸Ï Î¸Îµá½¸Î½ οἰκείÏÏιν): making non-sensible, divine things into oneâs own.188 A similar rejection of oikeiÅsis as a basis for justice is found in an anonymous Commentary on Platoâs Theaetetus from the first or second century ad.189 The author refers to Carneadesâs example of two shipwrecked people and only one plank: the text of the Commentary has partly been lost here, but the scenario shows how concern for oneâs own safety trumps concern for the otherâs safety. Thus, the author reasons, oikeiÅsis is configured in such a way that it confirms a gradually diminishing level of concern when it comes to other people. In that case, it cannot be a foundation of justice. Another possible Stoic position is that appropriation is equal towards all. In responding to this, the anonymous writer of the commentary deems the idea obviously unrealistic âthat one has an equal sense of appropriation towards oneself and the farthest Mysianâ.190
While the Stoic position can and has been defended against the author of the commentary,191 what interests me here is how the treatment of oikeiÅsis in this anonymous commentary can be taken as evidence of the fact that this concept, though Stoic in origin, became accepted across school boundaries. For the commentator distinguishes between a more and less intense meaning of the concept and maintains that Plato endorsed the latter, which involved different levels of appropriation.192 As a basis for justice and ethics, however, like Philo, this anonymous Academic author finds a better alternative in a divine grounding, specifically in Platoâs idea of homoiÅsis theÅi, âbecoming like Godâ, a concept which will resurface in the context of the discourse of âliving lawâ (§3.3.6) and which is further explored in chapter 6 below.193 As one scholar remarked, this development from oikeiÅsis to homoiÅsis can be considered âone of the surest signs of the transition from Hellenistic philosophy to Middle Platonismâ.194 In the mid-first century, we are in the midst of this transitional phase in which both concepts were current in the intellectual scene.
3.3.6 The Living Law: the Exemplary Leader as Law in Neopythagoreanism and beyond
Up until this point, we have seen how the concept of law was developed as something beyond written laws. In the Platonic tradition, the concept of logos provided a transcendent and at the same time internal law, capable of also covering those ethical âprovincesâ where the written laws had no jurisdiction. Stoic thought further emphasized the cross-national status of a âcommon lawâ and the consequences of such a concept of law for the existence of a cross-national community, whether it comprised only logos-led sages or included those who participate to a lesser extent in this logos.
Now, there is one more relevant theme which also belongs to the broader Graeco-Roman discourse on law, which seems to have its origin in Plato yet was further developed in Neopythagorean thought on kingship and taken up in Middle-Platonic thought as well.195 The question involved the exact place of a ruler when the laws of a polis or cosmopolis are a concrete, written expression of the transcendent, divine law. One influential answer to this question was that the king was the law living, embodied, or literally âensouledâ in a human being: the nomos empsychos or lex animata. When exactly this formula emerged is somewhat difficult to pin down, as the Neopythagorean treatises in which it first appears were once dated to the third or second century bc (in the time of the Hellenistic kingdoms and under influence of Persian kingship models), whereas now a first-century bc dating is considered most likely.196 Soon after this date, however, the idea of an incarnate law appears in slightly varying terms in works by authors of diverse philosophical orientation.197 I therefore now want to discuss Plato and Xenophon (as predecessors) and a few important sources from the Hellenistic-Roman period in which the ultimate leader is thought of as a living law.
Platoâs character of the stranger from Elea suggests in the Statesman that in an ideal situation a wise king must be able to judge by his expertise (ÏÎÏνη) and thereby do justice to the particularity of each specific case (καιÏÏÏ), free from the constraints and limitations of written laws.198 In this dialogue, the myth of the reign of Cronus is put forward to demonstrate what a king is like (269c: Ïὴν Ïοῦ βαÏιλέÏÏ á¼Ïόδειξιν).199 In this age, people were born from the earth, there were no states, nor families, but âGod himself was their shepherd, watching over themâ (Î¸Îµá½¸Ï á¼Î½ÎµÎ¼ÎµÎ½ αá½ÏÎ¿á½ºÏ Î±á½Ïá½¸Ï á¼ÏιÏÏαÏῶν).200 The stranger hypothesizes that âthe best thing is not that the laws be in power, but that the man who is wise and of kingly nature be rulerâ (294a: á¼Î½Î´Ïα Ïὸν μεÏá½° ÏÏονήÏεÏÏ Î²Î±Ïιλικόν). However, the characters in the dialogue seem to conclude that in absence of a divine shepherd in the present age, the best approximation of this type of reign involves adhering to existing written laws and customs.201
In the eighth book of Xenophonâs Cyropaedia, Cyrusâs performance at his deathbed towards those present there is described in the following terms:
He believed that he could in no way more effectively inspire a desire for the beautiful and the good than by endeavouring, as their sovereign, to set before his subjects a perfect model of virtue (κεκοÏμημένον Ïá¿ á¼ÏεÏá¿) in his own person. For he thought he perceived that men are made better through even the written law (διὰ ÏÎ¿á½ºÏ Î³ÏαÏÎ¿Î¼á½³Î½Î¿Ï Ï Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï Ï Î²ÎµÎ»Ïá½·Î¿Ï Ï Î³Î¹Î³Î½Î¿Î¼á½³Î½Î¿Ï Ï á¼Î½Î¸Ïá½½ÏÎ¿Ï Ï), while the good ruler he regarded as a law with eyes for men (Ïὸν δὲ á¼Î³Î±Î¸á½¸Î½ á¼ÏÏονÏα βλέÏονÏα νόμον á¼Î½Î¸Ïá½½ÏÎ¿Î¹Ï á¼Î½á½¹Î¼Î¹Ïεν), because he is able not only to give commandments but also to see the transgressor and punish him. In this conviction, he showed himself in the first place more devout in his worship of the gods (Ïá½° ÏεÏὶ ÏÎ¿á½ºÏ Î¸ÎµÎ¿á½ºÏ Î¼á¾¶Î»Î»Î¿Î½ á¼ÎºÏονοῦνÏα á¼ÏÎµÎ´Îµá½·ÎºÎ½Ï á¼Î±Ï Ïὸν). (Xenophon, Cyropaedia 8.1.21â23)
We see here how, more than in Platoâs Statesman, the good ruler is praised not for his craft or statesmanship, but for being a âpatternâ in virtue.
Moreover, this ideal ruler is not an alternative to the written law but rather is its living extension. Cyrus is in fact called a âlaw with eyes for menâ, an expression that is further explicated as referring to the punitive aspect of kingship: the king executes the law on the one hand by modelling virtue, on the other by punishing transgressions. From the perspective of being a âliving lawâ, these roles as example of virtue and judge of transgressions are perfectly harmonious. We will see how Paul ascribes the same double role to Christ (see §3.4.3 below). Finally, this conception of the ruler as law is in Xenophonâs account immediately connected to worshipping the gods: he views being a law as the most godlike or devout manner of expressing kingship.
In Hellenistic and Roman times, when the political reality became one of monocrats ruling nations which incorporated a multitude of former city-states, the nomos empsychos provided an excellent model to conceptualize the relationship between ruler and law. The ideal king was thought of as a single ruler who not only abides by existing laws but lives and breathes the divine law and thereby supersedes written law. While this offered a foundation for kingship on the one hand, and made it possible for a king to occasionally correct written laws, on the other it was meant to limit the monarchâs power by making it subordinate to divine law. As a nomos empsychos, the ruler was not allowed to completely abandon written law, as this too was a reflection, albeit imperfect, of divine law.202
In a pseudo-Aristotelean handbook of rhetoric addressed to Alexander the Great, probably written by Anaximenes of Lampsacus, the Aristotelean notion of a koinos nomos is connected to the logos (reason or speech). The interesting development here is that this logos turns out to be the logos of the ruler:
So just as it has been the custom for common law (á½ ÎºÎ¿Î¹Î½á½¸Ï Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï) to direct the independent cities by guiding on the basis of what is noblest, your reason (á½ Ïá½¸Ï Î»á½¹Î³Î¿Ï) may be able to guide the cities subject to your kingship with a view to advantage. For, simply stated, law is reason defined according to the common agreement of a city (Î»á½¹Î³Î¿Ï á½¡ÏιÏÎ¼á½³Î½Î¿Ï ÎºÎ±Î¸á¾¿ á½Î¼Î¿Î»Î¿Î³á½·Î±Î½ κοινὴν ÏόλεÏÏ), revealing how everything must be done. (Pseudo-Aristotle, Rhetorica ad Alexandrum 0.4 (1420a, 23â28))
The author isable to equate common law and the rulerâs logos via the idea that common law is a principle (logos) collectively embraced.
The contrast between ruler and written laws is much more explicit in Neopythagorean writings, some fragments of which have been preserved in the Anthology by Stobaeus (fifth century ad), yet whose dating is highly debated (although they probably have their roots in the Hellenistic period).203 Archytas, for instance, in his treatise âOn law and justiceâ (ΠεÏὶ νÏÎ¼Î¿Ï ÎºÎ±á½¶ δικαιοÏÏνηÏ), distinguishes between two types of law: he calls the written law apsychos (á¼ÏÏ ÏÎ¿Ï Î³Ïάμμα) while the king is empsychos (á¼Î¼ÏÏ ÏÎ¿Ï Î²Î±ÏιλεÏÏ).204
In these Neopythagorean fragments, the king is not merely human but strongly associated with the divine as friend and imitator of the gods. Someone by the otherwise unknown name of Diotogenes compares the relationship between king and city-state to that between gods and the world:
For the state (â¦) is an imitation (μεμίμαÏαι) of the order and harmony of the world, the king who has an absolute rulership, and is himself Animate Law (αá½Ïá½¸Ï á½¢Î½ νÏÎ¼Î¿Ï á¼Î¼ÏÏ ÏοÏ), has been metamorphosed into a deity among men (Î¸Îµá½¸Ï á¼Î½ á¼Î½Î¸ÏÏÏÎ¿Î¹Ï ÏαÏεÏÏαμάÏιÏÏαι). (Diotogenes apud Stobaeus, Florilegium 4.7.61)205
Being a âliving lawâ thus means being like a god for people, a god whom subjects should imitate.
Another of these Neopythagoreans, Ecphantes, stated that God used himself as the archetype when he created a king.206 He explains that such a king is in his turn able to transform his citizens into his likeness:
But I think that by being worthy of imitation himself, he implants in all his proper nature (á¼Î»Î»á¾¿ οἶμαι ÏαÏá½³ÏÏν á¼Î¾Î¹Î¿Î¼á½·Î¼Î±Ïον αá½Ïὸν ζᾶλον á¼Î½ÏίθηÏι207 ÏᾶÏι Ïá¾¶Ï Î±á½Ïῶ Ïá½»ÏιοÏ). (â¦) Those who imitate do everything better than those left to themselves (οἱ δὲ μιμεύμενοι αá½ÏÎ±Ï Ïῶν208 κÏá½³ÏÏον Ïῷδε ÏάνÏα á¼ÏγάζονÏαι). (Ecphantes apud Stobaeus, Florilegium 4.7.65)209
The contrast here is between imitation of the ruler and being oneâs own imitator. It is by means of imitation that the ruler inculcates his subjects with his own qualities. The subjects, in turn, ought to accept (ÏαÏαλαμβάνÏ) the reason or speech (λÏγοÏ) of the king in order to be transformed or restored to health:
The king alone (μÏÎ½Î¿Ï á½ Î²Î±ÏιλεὺÏ) is capable of putting this good into human nature so that by imitation (διὰ μίμαÏιν) of him, their Better, they will follow in the way they should go. But his reason, if it is accepted (ÏαÏαλαÏÎ¸Îµá½¶Ï á½ Î»ÏγοÏ), strengthens those who have been corrupted by evil nurture (κακὰν ÏÏοÏὰν) as if by drink. (Ecphantus apud Stobaeus, Florilegium 4.7.65)210
The idea presented here is that a ruler is transformed in likeness of the divine, whereby his subjects imitate the ruler.211
These ideas and ideals of imitation of God via human-divine intermediaries are closely associated with the broader philosophical topos of âbecoming like Godâ (homoiÅsis theÅi), a subject that I will discuss in more detail. As I will argue, it is highly relevant for understanding the imitation motive and particularly the role of Christ in Paul (see §3.4.3 in this chapter and chapter 6 more specifically).
In Cicero, the exact terminology of an âanimated lawâ is absent, yet the discourse of the virtuous ruler who is âlike a lawâ can be found in several works. In On the Republic, we encounter the idea of an ideal state, ruled by virtue (virtute (â¦) gubernante), in which the ruler is in complete control over his passions and is therefore the ultimate model for his citizens: âSuch a man imposes no laws (nec leges inponit) upon the people that he does not obey himself, but puts his own life before his fellow-citizens as their law (suam vitam ut legem praefert suis civibus).â212 Here, being like a law is equal to being in complete obedience to the law, so that others may follow suit. Again, in the work specifically on laws (which is also titled On the Laws), it is stated that âas the laws govern the magistrate, so the magistrate governs the people, and it can truly be said that the magistrate is a speaking law (magistratum legem esse loquentem), and the law a silent magistrate (mutum magistratum).â213 Once again, in Ciceroâs conception there is complete accordance between written law and magistrate. There is no supersession of written laws, not even in the case of an ideal leader, and even though the life of the leader should be as a law to the people, the idea of transformation and imitation is not foregrounded.
Philo makes more extensive use and offers creative applications of the concepts of unwritten, natural law and nomos empsychos. As a Jew, of course, the status of written law was of greater importance. In fact, he had an agenda quite different from some of his contemporaries, as argued by Hindi Najman:
Philo would have to show in opposition to Greek thought on the topic, that the perfect and authoritative copy of the law of nature was to be found, not only in the unwritten law exhibited by the life of the sage, but also in the written law of Moses, despite its writtenness and despite its apparent particularity. (Najman 1999, 59)
Even though the Mosaic Law was particular in a sense that it was meant for a specific nation, Philo appears to have believed that it was nevertheless a perfect copy of the universal, natural law.214 This creative âhermeneutical moveâ would have sounded contradictory to pagan participants in this discourse. As I will discuss below (§3.4.2), Paul appears to be more aware of the inherent limitations of the written Mosaic Law. Yet this close association between natural law and the Mosaic Law can be found in several other Jewish authors of the Second Temple period, of whom Philo thought through the implications of this equation most thoroughly.215
Part of the solution to the paradox was to be found in the concept of âliving lawâ in the form of the lives of the patriarchs recorded in Mosesâs five books.216 For this concept of âliving lawâ was, in Philo, not restricted to the role of a king. Because of the similarity in function, he indeed argues that âthe king is a living law, and the law a just king (á½¡Ï Îµá½Î¸á½ºÏ εἶναι Ïὸν μὲν βαÏιλέα νόμον á¼Î¼ÏÏ Ïον, Ïὸν δὲ νόμον βαÏιλέα δίκαιον).â217 Yet Moses, the legislator himself, is also called a âreasonable and living impersonation of law by Godâs providence (Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï á¼Î¼ÏÏ Ïá½¹Ï Ïε καὶ Î»Î¿Î³Î¹Îºá½¸Ï Î¸Îµá½·á¾³ ÏÏονοίᾳ)â.218 Moreover, Philo argues that the reason why the lives of the ancestors were recorded in Scripture is that âin these men we have laws endowed with life and reason (οἱ Î³á½°Ï á¼Î¼ÏÏ Ïοι καὶ λογικοὶ νόμοι á¼Î½Î´ÏÎµÏ á¼ÎºÎµá¿Î½Î¿Î¹ γεγόναÏιν).â219 This also solved another problem, namely that there were righteous people in the period before Moses presented the written, divine law. It is a solution that was also embraced by the author of the pseudepigraphical 2 Baruch, a treatise from the early second century preserved in Syriac, in which it is stated that âat that time [i.e. of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob] the unwritten law was in force among them and the works of the commandments were accomplishedâ.220 Thus, in the exegeses of the second temple period, there is an increasing tendency to emphasize the importance of faithfulness to the law, even for these who lived before Moses and who could only embody an unwritten law.221
According to Philo, the lives of the patriarchs, these âliving and reasonable lawsâ, were incorporated into and handed down through the written law. Their lives demonstrate two things:
That the enacted ordinances are not inconsistent with nature; and secondly that those who wish to live in accordance with the laws as they stand have no difficult task, seeing that the first generations before any at all of the particular statutes was set in writing followed the unwritten law with perfect ease. (â¦) They listened to no voice or instruction but their own (á¼Î½Î±Î´Î¹Î´Î±ÏθένÏεÏ, αá½Ïήκοοι δὲ καὶ αá½Ïομαθεá¿Ï), they gladly accepted conformity with nature (á¼ÎºÎ¿Î»Î¿Ï θίαν Ïá½»ÏεÏÏ á¼ÏÏαÏάμενοι), holding that nature itself was, as indeed it is, the most venerable of statutes (ÏÏεÏβύÏαÏον θεÏμὸν), and thus their whole life was one of happy obedience to law. (Philo, On the Life of Abraham 5â6)
According to Philo, then, the wise ancestors were âautodidactsâ: they obeyed the not-yet-written law because they lived in accordance with nature and obedience to the natural law and hence were nomoi empsychoi. In view of Philoâs description of the unwritten law as being in accordance with nature, it is interesting to note that Philo also calls Abrahamâs faith an âact of justice and conformity with natureâ (Ïὸ δὲ δίκαιον καὶ á¼Îºá½¹Î»Î¿Ï θον ÏοῦÏο Ïá¿ Ïá½»Ïει), hinting at this Stoic view of justice.222
Philoâs appropriation of the unwritten law discourse is an excellent illustration of how emphases by different philosophical schools were integrated during the period under scrutiny. Whereas in the passage quoted the ideas sound rather Stoic, as they are focused on living âin accordance with natureâ, in the preceding argument Philo speaks in Platonic terms: whereas particular written laws in the Mosaic Law are called mere âcopiesâ or âimagesâ, he ranks these living laws as âoriginalsâ.223
Philoâs treatise On the Life of Abraham, from which some of the previous citations were taken, concludes with an interesting summary of the patriarchâs life, in which pistis vocabulary and the âliving lawâ topos are interwoven. Philo praises pistis as the queen of virtues (270: Ïὴν βαÏιλίδα Ïῶν á¼ÏεÏῶν) and lauds Abraham, who deserves the title of âelderâ as he was a wise man characterized by his prudence, wisdom, and trust in God (271: Ïὸν δὲ ÏÏονήÏεÏÏ ÎºÎ±á½¶ ÏοÏá½·Î±Ï ÎºÎ±á½¶ Ïá¿Ï ÏÏá½¸Ï Î¸Îµá½¸Î½ Ïá½·ÏÏεÏÏ). In reply, God âmarvelling at Abrahamâs faith in Him repaid him with faithfulness (273: á½Ï Ïá¿Ï ÏÏá½¸Ï Î±á½Ïὸν Ïá½·ÏÏεÏÏ á¼Î³á½±Î¼ÎµÎ½Î¿Ï Ïὸν á¼Î½Î´Ïα Ïá½·ÏÏιν á¼Î½ÏιδίδÏÏιν αá½Ïá¿·)â. The trust and obedience that Abraham exhibited towards Godâs promises, without being able to depend on written laws, is central to Philoâs conclusion:
To these praises of the Sage, so many and so great, Moses adds this crowning saying âthat this man did the divine law and the divine commands (Ïὸν θεá¿Î¿Î½ νόμον καὶ Ïá½° θεá¿Î± ÏÏοÏÏάγμαÏα).â He did them, not taught by written words (οὠγÏάμμαÏιν á¼Î½Î±Î´Î¹Î´Î±ÏθείÏ), but unwritten nature (á¼Î³Ïá½±Ïῳ Ïá¿ Ïá½»Ïει) gave him the zeal to follow where wholesome and untainted impulse led him. And when they have Godâs promises before them what should men do but trust in them most firmly (Ïá½· ÏÏοÏá¿ÎºÎµÎ½ á¼Î½Î¸Ïá½½ÏÎ¿Ï Ï á¼¢ βεβαιόÏαÏα ÏιÏÏεύειν)? Such was the life of the first, the founder of the nation, one who obeyed the law, some will say, but rather, as our discourse has shown, himself a law and an unwritten statute (Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï Î±á½Ïá½¸Ï á½¢Î½ καὶ θεÏÎ¼á½¸Ï á¼Î³ÏαÏοÏ). (Philo, On the Life of Abraham 275â276)
The next chapter (§4.3.4) will elaborate on the nature of pistis in Philo. For now, we should note that for Philo, trust in God amounts to following the unwritten, divine law and even to being an unwritten law. In our discussion of Paulâs letters below, we see similar patterns emerge: the prioritization of different types of law, the use of Abraham as a model for having trust in God as opposed to access to written laws, and the idea that laws can become embodied in people (see §§3.4.2â3).
Another author to consider as one who has contributed to the discourse of âliving lawâ is Seneca. While there is no literal âlex animataâ to be found in his oeuvre, he is familiar with the concept of the ruler as the âmindâ (animus or mens) of the realm.224 Furthermore, he spoke of the ruler as âlawâ (lex), and what is more, he combines this concept with the Golden Age discourse. In his lengthy 90th epistle to Lucilius on the role of philosophy in humanityâs development, he describes the situation in those golden days as one of innocence under the rule of a âbetter personâ as âlawâ:
But the first men and those who sprang from them, still unspoiled, followed nature (naturam incorrupti sequebantur), having one man as both their leader and their law (eundem habebant et ducem et legem), entrusting (commissi) themselves to the control of one better than themselves. For nature has the habit of subjecting the weaker to the stronger. (â¦) That is why it was to the mind (animo) that a ruler was assigned; and for that reason the greatest happiness rested with those peoples among whom a man could not be the more powerful unless he were the better (melior). (â¦) Accordingly, in that age which is maintained to be the golden age (illo ergo saeculo, quod aureum perhibent), Posidonius holds that the government was under the jurisdiction of the wise (sapientes). They kept their hands under control, and protected the weaker from the stronger (infirmiorem a validioribus tuebantur). (â¦) For them ruling was a service, not an exercise of royalty (officium erat imperare, non regnum). (Seneca, Epistles 90.4â5)
Seneca thus more or less agrees with the Stoic Posidonius regarding the rule of the wise or better people in the Golden Age, describing this type of rule as a service aimed at the protection of the weaker against the stronger. He continues this story with the entrance of vice (vitium): at that point, laws became necessary, written down by wise lawgivers such as Solon (90.6). While written laws were thus âgoodâ in the sense that they were able to keep injustice in check, he considers them merely a necessary tool in the period that was no longer âgoldenâ. As with Platoâs divine shepherd and Philoâs patriarchs, a living law is tied to a particular period in the bygone past.225 The âliving lawâ is thereby a feature of a utopian, virtuous society, a true alternative to written law rather than a description of a ruler who lives in accordance with existing written laws, as with Xenophonâs Cyrus and Ciceroâs magistrate.
In Plutarchâs treatise To an Uneducated Ruler (De principem ineruditem), the âliving lawâ discourse is again focused on the ideal of a law-conforming sovereign, though there is more of an antithesis between written and living law. Plutarch explicitly states that âjustice is the end of lawâ (780E: δίκη μὲν οá½Î½ Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï Ïá½³Î»Î¿Ï á¼ÏÏá½·) in a manner that is reminiscent of the much-discussed statement by Paul that âChrist is the end of lawâ (Rom 10.4, see §3.4.3 below). Plutarchâs variant seems to reflect the same ambiguous sense of aim-and-termination: when full justice is realized, laws become superfluous. So where does this leave the ruler? Plutarchâs answer is that the law to which a ruler should conform is not written law but the ensouled logos within:
Who, then, shall rule the ruler? The âLaw, the king of all, Both mortals and immortals,â as Pindar saysânot law written outside him in books or on wooden tablets or the like (οá½Îº á¼Î½ Î²Î¹Î²Î»á½·Î¿Î¹Ï á¼Î¾Ï γεγÏÎ±Î¼Î¼á½³Î½Î¿Ï Î¿á½Î´á½³ ÏιÏι ξύλοιÏ), but reason endowed with life within him (á¼Î»Î»á¾¿ á¼Î¼ÏÏ ÏÎ¿Ï á½¢Î½ á¼Î½ αá½Ïá¿· λόγοÏ), always abiding with him and watching over him and never leaving his soul without its leadership. (Plutarch, To an Uneducated Ruler 780C)
In the context of this treatise, the âreasonâ Plutarch speaks of as âruling the rulerâ is elsewhere explicated as âreason derived from philosophy (á¼Îº ÏιλοÏοÏίαÏ)â, which is capable of removing âthe hazardous element from his powerâ, yet also as âdivine reason (θεοῦ λόγον)â.226 With the divine logos as a rulerâs âlawâ, written law and living law appear to be mutually exclusive alternatives for Plutarch.
Furthermore, what stands out in Plutarchâs contribution to the discourse is that, as the Neopythagorean authors also stated, there ought to be a mirroring process between God, the ruler, and the subjects. The ruler himselfâor âherselfâ, but I doubt whether that was a real option in Plutarchâs mindâis the âimage of God (εἰκὼν θεοῦ) who orders all thingsâ (780E) and âby his virtue he forms himself in the likeness of Godâ (780F: αá½Ïá½¸Ï Î±á½Ïὸν Îµá¼°Ï á½Î¼Î¿Î¹á½¹ÏηÏα θεῷ δι᾿ á¼ÏεÏá¿Ï καθιÏÏá½°Ï) so that he is like a divine statue. The ruler is presented as a measure or rule (780B: á½¥ÏÏÎµÏ á½ ÎºÎ±Î½á½¼Î½): he must regulate his own soul and establish his own, then make his subjects fit his pattern (καÏÎµÏ Î¸á½»Î½Î±Î½Ïα Ïὴν ÏÏ Ïὴν καὶ καÏαÏÏηÏάμενον Ïὸ á¼¦Î¸Î¿Ï Î¿á½ÏÏ ÏÏ Î½Î±ÏμόÏÏειν Ïὸ á½Ïήκοον).227 The required attitude of the subjects, then, is one of obedience, veneration and, as we learn a little further on, it starts with trusting (pisteuein):
So, then, the statesman who already has attained power and has won the peopleâs confidence (ÏιÏÏÎµÏ á½¹Î¼ÎµÎ½Î¿Î½ ἤδη) should try to train the character of the citizens (Ïῶν ÏολιÏῶν ἦθοÏ), leading them gently towards that which is better and treating them with mildness; for it is a difficult task to change the multitude. But do you yourself, since you are henceforth to live as on an open stage, educate your character and put it in order. (Plutarch, To an Uneducated Ruler 800AâB)
Before the character of a citizen can be trained and transformed, a ruler must be considered trustworthy (ÏιÏÏÎµÏ á½¹Î¼ÎµÎ½Î¿Î½). Seeing as I argue that the use of pistis vocabulary in contexts of moral imitation is of great importance to understanding Paulâs pistis and pistis Christou vocabulary, I will come back to this extensively in chapter 6. Yet here already, in the context of law and justice, we find that the motive of moral imitation is closely connected to the nomos empsychos discourse.
We can conclude here with a final Plutarchan vision from the Vitae of how a ruler may induce virtue in his subjects. Numa, the king we already encountered multiple times as the mythical Roman champion of pistis, is put forward as a âconspicuous and shining example of virtueâ.228 In this context, Plutarch stresses the fact there is no compulsion. Out of their own accord (á¼ÎºÎ¿Ï Ïá½·ÏÏ), the subjects of king Numa
unite with him in conforming themselves (ÏÏ Î¼Î¼ÎµÏαÏÏημαÏίζονÏαι) to a blameless and blessed life of friendship and mutual concord (ÏÏá½¸Ï Ïὸν á¼Î½ Ïιλίᾳ καὶ á½Î¼Î¿Î½Î¿á½·á¾³ Ïá¿ ÏÏá½¸Ï Î±á½ÏÎ¿á½ºÏ (â¦) á¼Î¼á½»Î¼Î¿Î½Î± καὶ μακάÏιον βίον), attended by righteousness and temperance (μεÏá½° δικαιοÏá½»Î½Î·Ï ÎºÎ±á½¶ μεÏÏιόÏηÏοÏ). Such a life is the noblest end of all government (á¼Î½ ᾧ Ïὸ κάλλιÏÏον á¼Ïá½±ÏÎ·Ï ÏολιÏÎµá½·Î±Ï Ïá½³Î»Î¿Ï á¼ÏÏá½·), and he is most a king (βαÏιλικώÏαÏÎ¿Ï á¼ÏάνÏÏν) who can effectuate such a life and such a disposition in his subjects (á½ ÏοῦÏον Ïὸν βίον καὶ ÏαύÏην Ïὴν διάθεÏιν Ïοá¿Ï á½ÏÎ·Îºá½¹Î¿Î¹Ï á¼Î½ÎµÏγάÏαÏθαι Î´Ï Î½á½±Î¼ÎµÎ½Î¿Ï). (Plutarch, Numa 20.8)
Here, in another telos-statement, the effectuation of a virtuous disposition by means of mirroring the rulerâs example is deemed the end of politics. In what follows, I will emphasize the importance of moral reform to Paulâs vision of righteousness with the help of Christ as the ultimate righteous ruler, the living end of the law.
All in all, the discourse of the ruler as living law was a prominent theme throughout all kinds of philosophical literature. Or, in the words of Glenn Chesnut,
This notion of the emperor as the embodied Law or Logos of God, which appeared in a variety of contexts, both pagan and Jewish, was therefore a widespread and quite commonplace idea in the Roman world during the period of the Early Empire. It was simply a part of the general intellectual atmosphere. (Chesnut 1978, 1329)
3.4 Faith as Unwritten Law and Christ as Living Law in Paulâs Letters
It is my contention in this section that these discourse-level narratives and the philosophical-conceptual developments I described shed new light on Paulâs language of dikaiosynÄ, nomos, pistis, and their cognates. More particularly, I will argue for an interpretation of Paulâs âjustification by faithâ axiom as pertaining to the salvation and transformation of the inner person on the one hand and all nations collectively on the other by offering both an internal and a universal âlaw of faithâ. It was in Christ, the telos of the law, that Paul saw this law ultimately embodied. Therefore, he taught that pistis Christou, a relationship of reciprocal trust with Christ the Lord, is what allows all people to participate in divine righteousness through their faith in him and faithfulness to him.
It is worth recalling here that even if I argue for a reading of Paul based on Greek and Latin, mostly pagan source material, I do not see this reading as exclusive (see §1.3.2 above). It is rather one important entrance to the multi-layered culture of the eastern Mediterranean of the first century in which Paulâs life and writings are situated. In fact, the present topic of unwritten or transcendent law is not an entirely unfamiliar theme in the Jewish tradition in those daysâthis, however, is a story beyond my scope.229 In the end, I would hold that Paul remains rather divergent from, or radical in the eyes of, both pagan and Jewish authors in his claim that in Christ the law has taken its definitive shape.
In this chapter, I choose to speak mainly about Paulâs thought as expressed in Galatians and Romans. This is a choice prompted by pragmatic considerations, for a large percentage of his dikaiosynÄ, nomos, and pistis language (including cognates) can be found here. The fact that this type of discourse is less well represented in the other extant letters, however, can also be taken as a warning not to conflate Paulâs message to these specific audiences with his main teaching. The differences in occasion and situation between both communities, however, may help us to identify some tenets that remained relevant in the authorâs thought, yet required development or fine-tuning for specific circumstances.
Galatians is famous for its pathos. Paul does not mince his words when it comes to the role and function of pistis, dikaiosynÄ, and nomos. From the first verse onwards, he is defending his own standing as a divine ambassador and his teaching against a âdifferent gospelâ (1.6) spread by people who sow confusion amongst his addressees. Romans, on the other hand, is an epistle addressed to an audience that he, for the most part, had not met before. Consequently, it is generally considered to be a somewhat more general and less situational exposition of his message, even if Paul was probably well informed about the make-up and difficulties of the community in Rome. If it was composed in a later phase of his life, his narrative may have grown more mature. Yet the dating of Galatians is debated, and presupposing a huge theological development in the interim has not been convincingly demonstrated. These considerations about the rhetorical setting of the letters will be taken into account as I now turn to assessing the consequences of reading Paulâs pistis, dikaiosynÄ, and nomos language against the Graeco-Roman discourses of the Golden Age and of unwritten law.
In the following sections, I have chosen to discuss those parts of both letters that pertain to the four axes I outlined in section 3.2. Only now, the order of the axes is different so that the order of the relevant passages within each Pauline letter can be more or less maintained. This way, the largest apple of discord between âtraditionalâ, ânewâ, and âradicalâ perspectives, and the manner in which Paulâs good news is determined by its universal configuration, will be saved for the final subsection.
3.4.1 But Now That Justice Is Disclosed (Rom 3.21) and Pistis Has Come (Gal 3.25): the Cosmic-Historical Return of Justice and Faith
In the previous section (especially §§3.3.2â3), we saw how the idea and ideal of the Golden Age of Saturn was a well-known theme throughout Graeco-Roman literature, often phrased in terms of justice, faith, or the absence of external laws. Humans were close to the divine, and gods ruled the earth. This protology of the glorious past is often combined with the subsequent theme of human degeneration into vice, followed or caused by the retreat of virtues, often in the shape of a hypostasized version of Pistis or Fides. The corresponding eschatology, a return of this age of justice and faith, is a topos that was adapted to various reigns in past, present, and future. As I will now argue, Paul also drew on this topos. This has implications for his âjustification by faithâ language, which appears in a cosmic-historical rather than in a timeless-individual light (on this distinction, see §3.2.4 above).
The first two chapters of Romans are particularly well-suited for comparison to pagan narratives of an initial, natural Golden Age deteriorating into unnatural wickedness. In the previous chapter (§2.4.1), I discussed various features of Paulâs depiction of the earliest pagan history in Romans 1.18â32 in light of the theologia tripartita discourse. Authors such as Varro and Dio Chrysostom emphasized the euphoric beginnings of humanity in a pure religious climate of intimate, unmediated knowledge of the divine. The existence of an initial knowledge of the divine (Rom 1.20) is a characteristic shared with pagan conceptions of such an early phase of human history. Rather than a full-fledged natural theology, it demonstrates that Paul could adhere to a collective-historical phase of affinity with God, which eventually led to a present state of not acknowledging God, to debased minds (Rom 1.28) and a whole list of vices.
When we approach the same text from the perspective of Graeco-Roman Golden Age stories, other interesting points of convergence stand out. The connection between the interhuman vices and the loss of reverence for the gods is to be found not only in Paul but already in the early roots of this discourse with Theognis and Hesiod. Moreover, in both pagan and Pauline variants, God, the gods, or the (hypostatized) virtues essentially leave humanity to stew in its own degeneracy. In the words of the goddess Fides, âBehold the nations! No man is innocent.â230 In Romans 1, Paul uses the same verb three times to illustrate this point: God âgave them overâ (ÏαÏÎδÏκεν: Rom 1.24, 26, 28) to their lusts, passions, and debased minds.231 It is against the background of all this adikia (Rom 1.18, 29), âinjusticeâ or âunrighteousnessâ, that both the righteousness and wrath of God is now, in the present, revealed (Rom 1.17, 1.18, and 3.21). In other words, God himself returns to earth to set things right and prove himself righteous (Rom 3.26). This metahistorical narrative of a retreat and subsequent renewed disclosure of divine presence, together with the abstractions of pistis and dikaiosynÄ, is remarkably in line with the pattern familiar to pagans.
In this context, it is also worth referring to the Song of Moses in Deuteronomy, where God exclaims, âI will turn away my face from them (á¼ÏοÏÏÏá½³ÏÏ Ïὸ ÏÏá½¹ÏÏÏόν Î¼Î¿Ï á¼Ï᾿ αá½Ïῶν), and I will show what will happen to them at the end; for it is a perverse generation (γενεὰ á¼Î¾ÎµÏÏÏαμμένη), sons who have no faithfulness in them (Î¿á¼·Ï Î¿á½Îº á¼ÏÏι Ïá½·ÏÏÎ¹Ï á¼Î½ αá½Ïοá¿Ï).â232 Here, the averting of Godâs face coincides with the absence of human faithfulness. Since Paul quotes from the Song of Moses multiple times later in this letter and since it can even be argued that Romans follows its general theological pattern, it is likely that this is another relevant contextual marker for Paulâs contribution to the theme of divine departure and return.233 Yet even for a pagan without such knowledge, the idea that the gods turned away from the earth would have been very familiar. As we saw, Petronius wrote that â[a] host of gentle deitiesâ, among which Fides and Iustitia, âabandon (deserit) the frenzied earth in loathing, and turn aside (avertitur) from the doomed army of mankindâ, and, according to Catullus, âthen all right and wrong, confounded in impious madness, turned from us the righteous mind of the gods (iustificam nobis mentem avertere deorum).â
In light of the diagnosis of the unrighteousness and godforsakenness of the past up to the present age, painted in the darkest of colours in the beginning of the letter, it is hard to overestimate the dramatic effect of Paulâs good news in the ânowâ:234
But now (ÎÏ Î½á½¶ δὲ), irrespective of law (ÏÏÏá½¶Ï Î½ÏÎ¼Î¿Ï ), the righteousness of God has been disclosed (δικαιοÏÏνη θεοῦ ÏεÏανÎÏÏÏαι), and is attested by the law and the prophets, the righteousness of God through the faith(fulness) in (/of) Jesus Christ (δικαιοÏÏνη δὲ θεοῦ διὰ ÏίÏÏεÏÏ á¼¸Î·Ïοῦ ΧÏιÏÏοῦ) for all who trust (Îµá¼°Ï ÏάνÏÎ±Ï ÏÎ¿á½ºÏ ÏιÏÏεÏονÏαÏ), for there is no distinction (â¦) He did this to show his righteousness (Îµá¼°Ï á¼Î½Î´ÎµÎ¹Î¾Î¹Î½ Ïá¿Ï δικαιοÏÏÎ½Î·Ï Î±á½Ïοῦ), because in his divine forbearance he had passed over the sins previously committed (διὰ Ïὴν ÏάÏεÏιν Ïῶν ÏÏογεγονÏÏÏν á¼Î¼Î±ÏÏημάÏÏν); it was to prove at the present time (ÏÏá½¸Ï Ïὴν á¼Î½Î´ÎµÎ¹Î¾Î¹Î½ Ïá¿Ï δικαιοÏÏÎ½Î·Ï Î±á½Ïοῦ á¼Î½ Ïá¿· νῦν καιÏá¿·) that he himself is righteous (Îµá¼°Ï Ïὸ εἶναι αá½Ïὸν δίκαιον) and that he justifies the one through pistis in/of Jesus. (Romans 3.21â22,25bâ26)
This passage and its continuation, which is aptly named âthe heart of the gospelâ,235 rich in dikaiosynÄ vocabulary, recurs at various points, as I will comment upon the importance of works (§3.4.2), the role of faith and Christ (§3.4.3), the universality of salvation (§3.4.4), and, in a later chapter, on the meaning of the âfaith of/in Christâ (§6.4.5).236 In this subsection, the driving question is whether salvation, according to Paul, is âtimeless-individualâ or âcosmic-historicalâ in nature.
Many scholars have debated the precise meaning of the phrase ârighteousness/justice of Godâ (δικαιοÏÏνη θεοῦ) the nature of the genitive construction. One of the recurring questions is whether this justice/righteousness Paul speaks about is Godâs own (genitivus possessivus, indicating a quality, or subjectivus, indicating an action) or a justice attributed to humans (genitivus auctoris) that is relevant in their status towards God (genitivus objectivus). Research has mostly been dominated by the assumption that Paul did not invent this language, but inherited a fixed concept and its connotations from its Old Testament background.237 However, this view has also been criticized, since the number of Old Testament texts on which this assumption is based is limited, and, more fundamentally, because it reduces Paulâs language usage to mere repetition.238 Still, evidence from Qumran has shown that the phrase was used in close connection to Godâs relational, salvific action in contemporary Judaism.239 And perhaps most convincingly, Richard Hays has pointed out that Psalm 143, the psalm Paul actually quotes in the preceding verses (Rom 3.20 cites loosely from Ps 143.2 / LXX Psalms 142.2), also points to the direction of ârighteousnessâ or âjusticeâ as an attribute of God (not in se but understood as action).240 Paul is defending this attribute in light of his conviction that it extends to gentile Christ-followers, which jeopardizes (in the eyes of his opponents) Godâs exclusive faithfulness towards his people. In these sections, I would like to contribute to these considerations on the meaning of ârighteousness/justice of Godâ by means of a synchronic approach informed by Graeco-Roman semantics, philosophical topoi, and broader discourses.
On the level of discourse and grand narratives, we can understand the new disclosure of righteousness Paul speaks of here from a Graeco-Roman perspective as the cosmic return of God to the earth, along with the return of the main virtues of justice and faith and the return of the initial Golden Age. From this perspective, the disclosure (or revelation241 ) of righteousness is a historical event, or rather metahistorical or cosmic-historical, since it pertains to a birdâs-eye view of history in terms of blissful or depraved ages and generations. That this involves the beginning of a new age is apparent from Paulâs emphasis on the now (3.21: ÎÏ Î½á½¶ δὲ) and the present moment (3.26: á¼Î½ Ïá¿· νῦν καιÏá¿·).
The previous period is designated as a period of sins, yet God passes by or over (3.25: ÏάÏεÏÎ¹Ï from ÏαÏίημι, âto pass overâ) these sins of the past to show his divine justice in the present. The revelation of divine justice in the present thus functions as the antithesis of the earlier divine action of âhanding overâ (ÏαÏÎδÏκεν, Rom 1.24, 26, 28): it represents the presence of justice in the now against the background of the absence of divine justice in the past. Even though the precise relationship between Acts and Paulâs letters is a complex issue, it is interesting to point to the formulation of the speech in Athens, where the character Paul concludes (17.30): âWhile God has overlooked the times of human ignorance (ÏÎ¿á½ºÏ Î¼á½²Î½ οá½Î½ ÏÏÏÎ½Î¿Ï Ï Ïá¿Ï á¼Î³Î½Î¿Î¯Î±Ï á½ÏεÏιδὼν), now he commands all people everywhere to repent (á½ Î¸Îµá½¸Ï Ïá½° νῦν ÏαÏαγγÎλλει Ïοá¿Ï á¼Î½Î¸ÏÏÏÎ¿Î¹Ï ÏάνÏÎ±Ï ÏανÏαÏοῦ μεÏανοεá¿Î½).â242 The message is very much in accordance with the pattern that there was a previous age of sins (and according to Acts, ignorance, which also nicely fits some Graeco-Roman accounts) and a ânowâ in which divine justice will return, according to Acts, in the form of Christ, âjudging the world in righteousnessâ (Acts 17.31: κÏίνειν Ïὴν Î¿á¼°ÎºÎ¿Ï Î¼Îνην á¼Î½ δικαιοÏÏνá¿).
Paul thus announces a new, present, eschatological age of divine righteousness that seems simultaneously to break into this evil age and exist alongside it, as we are not to conform to âthis ageâ (see Rom 12.2, discussed in §2.4.4). Similarly, the dikaiosynÄ in question has been revealed, but its effect in this world is also yet to be fully appropriated by faith, for elsewhere âweâ are said to âeagerly wait for the hope of righteousness by faithâ (Gal 5.5: á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ á¼Î»Ïίδα δικαιοÏÏÎ½Î·Ï á¼ÏεκδεÏÏμεθα). So, if we compare this to our Graeco-Roman narratives, Paulâs contribution belongs somewhere in-between Theognisâs more pessimistic version, according to which only Hope remains, and the Augustan variant, which boldly proclaims the start of the age of peace and plenty. Since this return of justice happens on a divine, cosmic scale, I also understand the sins and the salvation described here not as the forgiveness of each individual, but as a collective historical measure, opening up the possibility of a righteous life to everyone by means of pistis Christou.
There is a passage in Galatians that bears a striking resemblance to the quoted passage from Romans. While in Romans, dikaiosynÄ is said to be disclosed (3.21), in Galatians it is pistis who was supposed to come (3.23), and to be revealed (3.23), and has now come (3.25), all this so that we would also be made righteous through pistis (3.24). This âcoming of pistisâ makes a traditional, timeless-individual interpretation of pistis in this context less likely and at the same time supports the thesis that Paul thought of the Christ-event as a cosmic-historical return of justice and faith. As there are so many instances of pist-terminology in this passage, I have given them an additional indication to help discuss their meaning:
But the scripture has imprisoned all things under the power of sin, so that what was promised through pistis (a) in/of/that is Jesus Christ might be given to those who express pistis (b) (á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ á¼¸Î·Ïοῦ ΧÏιÏÏοῦ δοθῠÏοá¿Ï ÏιÏÏεÏÎ¿Ï Ïιν). Now before pistis (c) came (ÏÏὸ Ïοῦ δὲ á¼Î»Î¸Îµá¿Î½ Ïὴν ÏίÏÏιν), we were imprisoned and guarded under the law until pistis (d) would be revealed (Îµá¼°Ï Ïὴν μÎÎ»Î»Î¿Ï Ïαν ÏίÏÏιν á¼ÏÎ¿ÎºÎ±Î»Ï Ïθá¿Î½Î±Î¹). Therefore the law was our disciplinarian (ÏαιδαγÏγὸÏ) until Christ came, so that we might be justified by pistis (e) (ἵνα á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ Î´Î¹ÎºÎ±Î¹Ïθῶμεν). But now that pistis (f) has come (á¼Î»Î¸Î¿ÏÏÎ·Ï Î´á½² Ïá¿Ï ÏίÏÏεÏÏ), we are no longer subject to a disciplinarian, for in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through pistis (g) in Christ Jesus (διὰ Ïá¿Ï ÏίÏÏεÏÏ á¼Î½ ΧÏιÏÏá¿· ἸηÏοῦ). (Galatians 3.22â26)
Pistis is presented as a kind of abstraction in need of revealing (esp. c and d). Noteworthy is its close syntagmatic connection to Christ in the genitive construction pistis Christou as well as its paradigmatic connection to Christ as both are said to âcomeâ (3.19; 3.23 and 3.26).
There is considerable academic discussion as to how we can understand a more abstract meaning of pistis here (c, d, and f in particular). One approach is the reified interpretation of pistis as âproofâ or âground of faithâ (on this sense, which is used most widely in rhetorical contexts, see also chapter 5 below). All instances of pistis, with the exception of b (and possibly e and g) can arguably be understood as a proof or assurance on the basis of which people could attain pistis. This interpretation of pistis as âground of faithâ has been put forth by Richard Hays (1983) and David Hay (1989), each with their respective emphases. Hays puts it thus:
Christ is the ground of faith because he is the one who, in fulfilment of the prophecy, lives á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ. (â¦) His destiny, however, is not a merely individual one, because he acts as a universal representative figure, enacting (á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ) a pattern of redemption which then determines the existence of others, to whom Paul refers as οἱ á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ. (Hays 1983, 231)
Apparently, Hays understands pistis in the objective sense, âground of faithâ, in rather personal terms, namely as referring to Christâs life or âredemptive patternâ. This way, Hays is able to integrate this text in his interpretation of pistis Christou as the âfaith of Christâ (subjective genitive) whose pattern believers imitate. Hay, on the other hand, takes pistis Christou to mean âfaith, that is Christâ (explicative genitive), as Paulâs ultimate role model for faith is Abraham, not Jesus.243 Building mainly on the usage of pistis as proof in Philo and Josephus, he also takes pistis in this passage to mean âground of faithâ, though he denounces Haysâs interpretation of pistis as not âobjectiveâ enough, merely conveying the meaning of ânon-cognitive trustâ.244 In response to Hay, I would add that it is hard to see how an âobjective proofâ can realize a transformation into âchildren of Godâ. The motive of imitation (see chapter 6) on the other hand offers an elegant explanation, in line with the discourse presented in the present chapter: Hellenistic ideas on how a ruler as âliving lawâ sets the example for his subjects, those who express pistis in him, to follow. The question of subjective versus objective genitive then loses its either-or character, as my argument for intended ambiguity in chapter 6 will explicate.
Other approaches lean towards a more apocalyptic interpretation of pistis as a cosmic event, made visible in Christ, opening up the possibility of human participation. Ernst Lohmeyer speaks of a two-sidedness inherent to pistis terminology: it is both a human act and a âmetaphysical principleâ or âan objective and transcendent powerâ.245 Hermann Binder proposes a model which aims to integrate both aspects yet remains rather one-sided. According to him, pistis is never purely a human act, even if all its occurrences fit the idea of a new reality, a historical sphere of influence. Binder perceives a sharp contrast between this spatial category and a supposedly psychological or individual Greek usage:
The deeper cause is obviously that Greek thinking is dominated by the subject-object-schema or that it does not take place in historical-dynamic, but in spatial-static categories, which then leads to psychologization and relativization. (Binder 1968, 30)246
Although I agree with the thrust of Binderâs historical-dynamic interpretation, especially as it relates to this passage in Galatians, the argumentation reflects the imposition of theological-conceptual categories on language that we now, with James Barrâs Semantics, must reject. In fact, as we have seen in this chapter, âGreek thoughtâ offers interesting parallels for thinking about faith in cosmic-historical terms. The return of divine Pistis is a familiar theme in both protological and eschatological accounts. With Gerhard Friedrich, however, I would hesitate to play off the divine and human aspects against each other.247 The return of cosmic-divine Pistis signals precisely the return of the human virtue of pistis. In the text under discussion, the event of the coming of Pistis effectuates precisely such a human transformation: the justification of hoi pisteuontes.
At the start of the twenty-first century, the cosmic interpretation of pistis, or in his words, pistis as an âeschatological eventâ, was once again put forward by Benjamin Schliesser, who dusts off Binderâs idea of the âtrans-subjectivityâ of pistis.248 In Schliesserâs argument, the pistis event has a âbipolar structureâ comprising both a salvation-historical and an anthropological-participatory side:249
In sum, an anthropocentric narrowing of Paulâs concept of faith is averted through the reference to its salvation-historical, trans-subjective character, whereas on the other hand a one-sidedly objectified view is corrected through the participatory aspect of faith. The distinction between a correct christological (subjective genitive) and a wrong anthropological reading (objective genitive) is inadequate. (Schliesser 2007, 280)
The objectified view Schliesser criticizes includes the view of pistis as âa (Gnostic-like) âhypostatization of pistisâ which regards âfaithâ as âsavior figureââ, whereby he refers to the positions of Dieter Georgi and Ernst Käsemann.250 He reasons that pistis is not such a hypostasis, not even in Galatians, since âit essentially exists in connection with Christ, the saviorâ. He also rejects the interpretation of Martinus de Boer, whose commentary on Galatians offers a more apocalyptic reading and who argues that pistis serves in this passage to indicate Christâs faithful death in which humans may participate, and not human faith in Christ.251 In response, in his 2016 article on the âthird viewâ of pistis Christou, Schliesser rejects this option by asking:
How should we imagine an âobjective eventâ, that is, âan eschatological (newage) reality that has invaded the human cosmos from outsideâ, to correspond to or be definitive of individual human believing? This is, to my mind, a logical and theological impossibility. (Schliesser 2016, 281, referring to De Boer 2011, 239, n. 353)
Even though I heartily agree with Schliesserâs conclusions regarding the overall compatibility of a more objective-divine and a more subjective-human perspective in Paulâs usage of pistis,252 these contrasts with other objectivist-positions which enable Schliesser to offer his âthird viewâ seem unnecessary and rhetorically overdrawn.
The compatibility of âChristologicalâ and âanthropologicalâ readings becomes particularly evident if we take into consideration the pagan protologies and eschatologies in which pistis plays a part. Roman fides, a human virtue and relational bond, simultaneously exists in the divine realm, as a quality of Jupiter, sometimes hypostatized as a literary or mythical divinity. The arrival and withdrawal of such a hypostasized Pistis or Fides indicates the increase or decrease of the human enactment of pistis/fides, as we saw for instance in Pseudo-Senecaâs Octavia and in Silius Italicusâs Punica. In other words, the divine coming of faithfulness coincides with human faithful actions. These are certainly not logically impossible to relate in a Graeco-Roman scenario. The only aspect that is less likely on the basis of these contemporary narratives is the timeless and individual nature of the human faith-response, as these stories are very much tied to specific ages and communities.
So, where does that leave us in our reading of Paulâs faith language in Galatians 3? Paul probably would not have had a separate female figure in mind when writing (see Gal 6.11) or dictating Galatians, but his usage of pistis as the acting subject of a verb like âto comeâ (á¼ÏÏομαι) indicates that even if, as is quite clear, its meaning is closely linked to Christ, Paul chose a more abstract connotation, indicating that a new eschatological age, a new realm has presented itself, characterized by this particular divine-human pistis relationship. Pistis comes, just as a little further âthe fulness of timeâ comes (Gal 4.4: á½ Ïε δὲ ἦλθεν Ïὸ ÏλήÏÏμα Ïοῦ ÏÏá½¹Î½Î¿Ï ): a new period and realm has arrived determined by a new pistis relationship between God and humanity, made possible by Christâs faithfulness. These paradigmatic relations between faith, Christ, and the fulness of time are essential for understanding the cosmic scale of Paulâs language here. At the same time, and also from the perspective of the discourses presented in this chapter, the subjective component of pistis is not lost. This human factor includes both faith in Christ as a divine ruler and the practice of faithfulness as a virtue exemplified by Christ, as the next subsections on the law of faith as âinternal lawâ (§3.4.2) and Christ as âliving lawâ (§3.4.3) will further explain. Yet, because of the metahistorical or cosmic language involved, this justice and faithfulness point us in the direction of a collective, corporate transformation. In the eyes of Paul, God showing his righteousness will coincide with collective, faithful commitment to Christ the ruler and transformation through the example of Christâs faithfulness. Thus, these pagan cultural narratives help us to realize that âjustification by faithâ (or ârighteousness through faithfulnessâ) was probably understood not as a timeless-individual salvific affair, but rather as a cosmic-communal salvific movement initialized by the disclosure of Godâs righteousness and the newly arrived offer of a divine-human pistis relationship.
3.4.2 The Law of Pistis (Rom 3.27): Ethical Justice through an Internal Law
In the discussion of Romans 3.21â26 and Galatians 3.22â26 in the previous subsection, we saw how a cosmic-historical reading of pistis makes sense against the backdrop of the discourses presented in section 3.3. Human-psychological pistis was seenâby Paul and his pagan contemporaries alikeâto be a natural extension of this cosmic-divine return of pistis. To understand this cosmic-human connection further, a closer look is needed into the role of law (nomos) and the complex relationship between justice, faith, and law in these and other relevant Pauline passages. As is well known, in both Galatians and Romans, faith (ÏίÏÏιÏ) is often contrasted with âlawâ (νÏμοÏ) or with âworks of the lawâ (á¼Ïγα νÏÎ¼Î¿Ï ). In linguistic terms, they function as antithetic semantic markers. The major question is how this Pauline contrast is to be understood and, in particular, whether âworksâ and ethical behaviour play any part in âjustification by faithâ.
In this subsection, we will see how Paulâs language can be seen as participating in the discourse of unwritten, and particularly âinternalâ, law, as he makes a similar point: external, written laws cannot make someone just. It takes an internal law to transform people from within, in Paulâs words, a âlaw of the Spiritâ (Rom 8.2) or, indeed, a âlaw of faithâ (Rom 3.27).
Before it is possible to interpret these peculiar nomos expressions, however, it is necessary to take into account whether Paul alludes to the idea of ânatural lawâ or the related idea of a ânatural theologyâ in his letters. Oneâs position in this issue is often intertwined with oneâs reading of the first chapters of Romans. We already discussed the question whether Paul speaks of natural knowledge of God in Romans 1 (ânatural theologyâ), to which I would answer affirmatively (see §2.4.1 above). Yet, there is the related issue of whether or not Paul assumes the existence of natural law in the subsequent argument:
For it is not the hearers of the law who are righteous in Godâs sight, but the doers of the law who will be justified (οἱ ÏοιηÏαὶ Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï Î´Î¹ÎºÎ±Î¹ÏθήÏονÏαι). When gentiles, who do not possess the law by nature,253 do what the law requires (á¼Î¸Î½Î· Ïá½° μὴ νÏμον á¼ÏονÏα ÏÏÏει Ïá½° Ïοῦ νÏÎ¼Î¿Ï ÏοιῶÏιν), these, though not having the law, are a law to themselves (οá½Ïοι νόμον μὴ á¼ÏονÏÎµÏ á¼Î±Ï Ïοá¿Ï εἰÏιν νόμοÏ). They show that what the law requires is written on their hearts (Ïὸ á¼Ïγον Ïοῦ Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï Î³ÏαÏÏὸν á¼Î½ Ïαá¿Ï καÏÎ´á½·Î±Î¹Ï Î±á½Ïῶν), to which their own conscience also bears witness; and their conflicting thoughts will accuse or perhaps excuse them on the day when, according to my gospel, God, through Jesus Christ, will judge the secret thoughts of all. (Romans 2.13â16)
These verses are particularly tough for those who emphasize the antithesis between justification by faith and judgement according to works in Romans: can one be justified apart from faith in Christ? In other words, is Paul referring to a natural law on the basis of which one can be deemed just apart from the Mosaic law? These questions were already an issue for Augustine, who first read this passage in light of the natural law topos, yet later proposed that âjustification precedes them as doers of the lawâ, so that it was not the works that led to justification, and that âwhat was impressed on their hearts when they were created in the image of God has not been wholly blotted outâ.254
The sentence that speaks of âgentiles who do not possess the law by nature follow the lawâ can be understood in two ways, depending on what verbal expression the adverb âby natureâ (ÏÏÏει) modifies. Hence, the question is whether these gentiles are in fact people (probably gentile Christ-followers) who are already familiar with the Jewish law, even though they do not possess it âby natureâ or âby birthâ as the Jews do (as ÏÏÏει is used in Gal 2.15), or whether they are gentile people in general, who are not familiar with the Jewish law yet follow its commandments âby natureâ (in line with Rom 1.26â27).255 Scholars who opt for the second option are divided between those who think that Paulâs argument is that God is right to condemn these pagans, and those who think that Paulâs argument is that such pagans might do well on Judgement Day in order to confront the Jewish boast.256
One problem with the first option, however, is that Paul does not speak of the followers of Christ as simply âgentilesâ or ânationsâ (á¼Î¸Î½Î·) in any other extant text without any indication of their âChristianâ status.257 Moreover, if we read the âdisclosure of Godâs justiceâ a little further on (Rom 3.21) as the presentation of a temporal climax, the situation described in the above verses would refer to the period before Christ. This solution thus appears to be unlikely.
In addition to comparing the relative likelihood of these interpretations, we can also find an enlightening explanatory scheme in the Graeco-Roman discourses presented in the present and previous chapter.258 We already seen the implications of the conception of an initial natural knowledge of the divine for reading Romans 1.18â32 (§2.4.1). I argued that a narrative of a divine departure is apparent in the background of these chapters, (see §3.4.1), even if it remains Paulâs understanding that some knowledge of what is right and wrong is still available to all. Pagans still know âthe righteous degree of Godâ (1.32: Ïὸ δικαίÏμα Ïοῦ θεοῦ á¼ÏιγνÏνÏεÏ) and commit their trespasses in this full knowledge. In the Stoic ânatural lawâ discourse discussed in this chapter (§3.3.4), such a natural knowledge is also presented in juridical terms. While it is sometimes argued that there is no connection between the external knowledge of God in the cosmos in Romans 1 and the internal knowledge of the law in Romans 2, the discourse of unwritten law offers precisely such a connection: the divine force of nature in the cosmos, ânatural lawâ, is the same force that prompts an individual soul to live virtuously as an âinternal lawâ.259
Besides the existence of a common, universal law, what stands out in Romans 1â3, and in the passage quoted above in particular, is the divine judgment, which is also part of the Graeco-Roman discourse of universal law. Cicero spoke of God as âthe author of this law, its promulgator, and its enforcing judgeâ (On the Republic 3.33, see §3.3.5 above). For Paul, it is also by this internal law that âpeople who do not possess the lawââthat is, the written Law of Mosesâwill be judged. âNatural lawâ is therefore an important component of Paulâs argument for the inexcusability of all, Jew and pagan alike. Is it also part of Paulâs solution?
The argument for Paulâs engagement with a Stoic conception of natural law is not new. What has not yet been sufficiently brought to light is the broadness of this discourse, including elements of universal law, internal law, and living law, and the manner in which it is integrated via the Golden Age discourse with Paulâs âjustification by faithâ language (see §3.3 above).
Of interest is Josef Fuchsâs study on natural law (1955), which was conceived as a response to the movement of situational ethics in Protestantism, yet which includes a chapter on ânatural law in the Biblical testimonyâ in which he confines himself to the Pauline literature.260 However, Fuchs mostly speaks of the modern, Roman Catholic conception of natural law, and while he mentions its Stoic roots, he does not engage with these sources directly nor does he explicate Paulâs contribution to the ancient discourse.261
The argument for Stoic themes in Paulâs understanding of âlawâ has been advanced in the work of Nico Huttunen (2009, 2010). Unfortunately, Huttunen limits his suggestions on natural law in Paul to specific passages, most importantly Romans 1.18â32 and 2.14, where Paul actually speaks of doing things in accordance or in opposition with nature, and 1 Corinthians 9.19â21, where he is speaking of a divine law apart from the Mosaic law.262 Accordingly, he does not participate in the debate on the interpretation of Paulâs righteousness and faith language. The passages Fuchs and Huttunen refer to will indeed be discussed in this subsection, though my suggestion is perhaps bolder, as I would argue that Paulâs entire âjustification by faithâ language is to be understood in light of the discourse of unwritten law as well.
John Martens and John Collins have argued respectively for a Stoic and Aristotelean reading of the passage just quoted (Rom 2.13â16). After focusing on Stoicizing phrases in the preceding argument, such as the usage of âagainst natureâ (1.26: ÏαÏá½° ÏÏÏιν) and âthings that should not be doneâ (1.28: Ïá½° μὴ καθήκονÏα), Martens explains that this passage suggests the idea of a pagan following Stoic natural law as well as the related idea that such a possibility is highly hypothetical: âPaulâs gentile, and probably Jewish, readers would have known that only the wise man does the natural law; they would have known something else too: according to both the Stoics and their enemies there had either never been a wise man, or only a handful.â263 John Collins, in turn, questions the validity of a specifically Stoic background and argues that, in view of the parallels with Aristotle, Paul here seems to have a concept of natural law in mind.264 Like others before him, Collins calls attention to the striking verbal parallels between this passage and texts by Aristotle.265 As I noted above (§3.3.4), Aristotle speaks of good people who âare themselves a lawâ (αá½Ïοὶ Î³á½±Ï Îµá¼°Ïι νόμοÏ) and, in what for Collins is an even more striking parallel, of a person who will be âas it were a law to himselfâ (οἷον Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï á½¢Î½ á¼Î±Ï Ïá¿·)â.266 Moreover, Aristotle critiques the written law as is âit does not do the work of the lawâ (Î¿á½ Î³á½°Ï ÏοιεῠÏὸ á¼Ïγον Ïὸ Ïοῦ Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï ). Collins does an excellent job demonstrating how an Aristotelean reading of Romans 2 as speaking of ânonbelieving gentilesâ who do what the law requires is in tune with the Old Testament theme of âa gentile [who] outperforms one of Abrahamâs descendants in the moral realmâ.267 It is, however, precisely this idea that Martensâs interpretation underlines: the hypothetical possibility of a good and wise pagan person serves to underline that Jews should not boast, while at the same time making it clear that such pagan sages are scarce: divine justice has to find another way to take hold of human hearts, be they Jewish or Greek.
What is less appealing in Collinsâs contribution is his effort to establish a direct influence between Aristotle and Paul (âPaul had access to some sayings of Aristotleâ). The focus on such specific parallels is even deemed âan extreme case of parallelomaniaâ by some.268 Collins is indeed susceptible to such criticism, as he claims that Paul knew of a few particular passages in Aristotle while at the same time he rejects a similar influence from Stoicism.269 As I argued in the introductory chapter (§1.3), while there are merits in trying to standardize the search for âechoesâ (as Collins does, following Hays), it is more fruitful to take potential âechoesâ as indications of participation in a discourseâone transcending the boundaries of a particular work, author, or philosophical schoolâand look for similarities and dissimilarities on a larger scale. It is more likely that Paul knew of and responded to the broad outline of the discourse of unwritten law, which amounts to something in-between having direct âaccessâ and being merely âin the airâ.
I now want to read the passages (Gal 3.21â28 and Rom 3.21â31) we encountered in the previous subsection in the context of a cosmic arrival of the age of justice and faith in the context of the related discourse of internal law. In Galatians 3.22â26, there is at least a âtemporalâ or âhistoricalâ antithesis between pistis and nomos. Paul obviously thinks in terms of historical periods. The Mosaic Law was not always there; it was relatively late to arrive on the scene. Paul calls it âthe law which came 430 years later (3.17: ὠμεÏá½° ÏεÏÏακÏÏια καὶ ÏÏιάκονÏα á¼Ïη Î³ÎµÎ³Î¿Î½á½¼Ï Î½ÏμοÏ)ââlater, that is, than the promise made to Abraham. Whereas âfaithâ now ensures that people become âchildren of Godâ, âlawâ is an entity which âimprisonedâ and âguardedâ (3.23) and functioned as a temporary âdisciplinarianâ (3.24). This temporal âlawâ and the newly arrived âfaithâ thus function to define and demarcate subsequent ages.
We encountered similar historical contrasts between ages in the discourse around the Golden Age and subsequent ages, including the contrast between having a divine guardian versus having an actual divine parent (§3.3.2). In Senecaâs 90th epistle to Lucilius, humanity had nature as its parent in the Golden Age, yet nature became a more distant âguardianâ in the second, silver age (90.38). Even more striking is the convergence with Vergil and Ovid in the idea that a Golden Age does not need a law, as faith and justice are cherished âout of their own accordâ. In the words of Ovid, âGolden was that first age, which, with no one to compel, without a law, of its own will, kept faith and did the right (sponte sua, sine lege fidem rectumque colebat)â.270 Similarly, in the Epicurean wall-inscription in Oenoanda, there is no need for âlaws and fortificationsâ in the ultimate divine-human society, while justice and love do remain. These accounts share the notion that in an ultimately happy human society, depicted in either protological or eschatological periods, written laws are absent. Just as in Paulâs thought, laws were a later addition, âset overâ humanity because of transgressions (Gal 3.19: Ïῶν ÏαÏαβάÏεÏν ÏάÏιν ÏÏοÏεÏÎθη), but not the ideal picture. Paulâs depiction of the law as a disciplinarian and God as a parent perfectly fits this Graeco-Roman contrast between law as an external boundary and divine leadership or even parentage leading to internally motivated righteousness.
In the more specific pagan discourse about âinternal lawâ (see §3.3.4 above), we see a similar ideal of being just out of oneâs own accord, only this is now presented as an option in the present, realized by answering to a divine law or an internal logos. The Athenian in Platoâs Laws offers an allegorizing appropriation of Cronusâs rule by ordering that people should now imitate those days by obeying an internal law: âgiving to reasonâs ordering the name of âlawâ (714a: Ïὴν Ïοῦ νοῦ διανομὴν á¼ÏονομάζονÏÎ±Ï Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Î½).â According to Paulâs story in Galatians 3.23â26, the opportunity to be âjustifiedâ and to become âchildren of Godâ is also not a matter of the distant past or future, but it is happening now (cf. Gal 4.9: νῦν δὲ γνÏνÏÎµÏ Î¸ÎµÏν). Unlike other participants in this topos of an internal law, Paul offers a concrete and apocalyptic reason for why this has now become a possibility by means of a cosmic and divine intervention in this age. Now that, with Christ, faith has come, the external law can be internalized. Whereas before, âweâ obeyed an external disciplinarian that is the law, now âweâ can, from an internal yet still cosmic-divine force and motivation that is described as âfaithâ, obey God as children. Viewed from a semantic-conceptual perspective, Paul switches between pistis in the large cosmic narrative to pistis in the mentality of the Christ-follower in this passage. The latter subject is one to which I shall return in more detail in chapters 4, 5, and 6 (Part 2: âThe Mentality of Faithâ).
Whereas in Galatians it fits Paulâs argumentative strategy to focus on pistis as the counterpart of the written law, in Romans it is in accordance with the relatively more general (or more defensive) message to emphasize the universality of divine righteousness. Yet apart from such differences in tone and emphasis, it is clear that in Romans 3.21â31 the disclosure of dikaiosynÄ also depends on pistis and that there is some sort of contrast between being justified by means of pistis and âworks of the lawâ. Still, in this passage there is no simple exclusive antithesis between faith and law, for the âlaw of worksâ is contrasted to the âlaw of faithâ:
Then what becomes of boasting? It is excluded. By what law (διὰ ÏÎ¿á½·Î¿Ï Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï )? By that of works (Ïῶν á¼ÏγÏν)? No, but by the law of faith (διὰ Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï Ïá½·ÏÏεÏÏ). For we hold that a person is justified by faith apart from works prescribed by the law (λογιζόμεθα Î³á½°Ï Î´Î¹ÎºÎ±Î¹Î¿á¿¦Ïθαι Ïá½·ÏÏει á¼Î½Î¸ÏÏÏον ÏÏÏá½¶Ï á¼ÏγÏν Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï ). (Romans 3.27â28)
This remarkable usage of âlawâ and âfaithâ in close syntagmatic relation to each otherâas âlaw of faithâ (nomos pisteÅs)âis an unexpected wordplay. Based on a comparison with the discourses of unwritten types of law, however, I would say that it is also more than a mere display of wit.
The notion of a âlaw of faithâ has given rise to varying scholarly interpretations. The two main choices are either 1) that it is an instance wordplay or loose usage and does not refer to any actual âlawâ or 2) that it refers to the Mosaic Law. The first position was advocated by Heikki Räisänen, for example. He argued against a âgrowing tendencyâ exemplified by the interpretations of Osten-Sacken and Hübner that takes all instances of nomos in these verses, including nomos pisteÅs, as references to the Mosaic Law.271 Instead, he reasons, the âactive roleâ of the law in the passage must be taken seriously, namely in bringing boasting to an end. Räisänen concludes, âNomos must be metaphorical; the new âorder of faithâ is being referred to.â272 The opposing view has, among others, been advanced by J. Louis Martyn, who takes issue with the explanation offered by Räisänen.273 Nevertheless, he grants that there is indeed enough evidence in extant Greek sources to support the possibility of nomos referring to general norms or patterns of behaviour. I agree with Martyn that it appears to be somewhat haphazard or theologically biased that interpreters opt for this sense in particular in those cases where nomos appears to be regarded in a positive light.274
Apart from Romans 3.27, an important text where this more general meaning of âorderâ or ânormâ is read is later in the same letter (Rom 8.2), where Paul states, âthe law of the Spirit of life (á½ Î³á½°Ï Î½ÏÎ¼Î¿Ï Ïοῦ ÏνεÏμαÏÎ¿Ï Ïá¿Ï ζÏá¿Ï) in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death (á¼Ïὸ Ïοῦ νÏÎ¼Î¿Ï Ïá¿Ï á¼Î¼Î±ÏÏÎ¯Î±Ï ÎºÎ±á½¶ Ïοῦ θανάÏÎ¿Ï ).â Räisänen argues that, in view of the active role of the law as âliberatorâ, it is not simply a change in mindset that will cause the Law of Moses to be experienced as law of the Spirit: Paul is consciously playing with words.275 Martyn asks what prompted a double use of nomos in this verse. His own solution is that âin every instance Paul refers to the Torah itselfâ, but that throughout the history of this divine law âthe crucial question about the Law is the identity of the power that has it in handâ, namely either Sin or Christ.276
Although Martynâs historical perspective on the law fits perfectly with my reading of Paul and with contemporary historical discourses such as the Golden Age, as Martyn freely admits,277 the problem with this interpretation is twofold: it fails to account for sharp antitheses with nomos without any accompanying negative genitive, and it fails to account for the alignment of the law with pistis in Romans 3.27. As for antitheses with âlawâ without qualifying genitive, I am thinking particularly about sections of Galatians. âLawâ is set against âspiritâ or âfaithâ: âBut if you are led by the spirit, you are not subject to the lawâ (Gal 5.18: εἰ δὲ ÏνεÏμαÏι á¼Î³ÎµÏθε, οá½Îº á¼ÏÏá½² á½Ïὸ νÏμον), and against faith: âBut the law does not rest on faithâ (Gal 3.12: ὠδὲ νÏÎ¼Î¿Ï Î¿á½Îº á¼ÏÏιν á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ). In these passages, there is no immediate contextual clues to suggest that Paul is speaking of a âLaw in the hands of Sinâ. Martyn apparently reads the first text as indicating that âyou are no longer subject to the Torah in the hands of Sin but subject to the same Torah in the hands of Christâ. Yet the usage of âlawâ here is rather unmarked, just as a little later in this passage when Paul sums up the fruit of the Spirit and adds that âthere is no law against such thingsâ (Gal 5.23: καÏá½° Ïῶν ÏοιοÏÏÏν οá½Îº á¼ÏÏιν νÏμοÏ). This is a type of law that is in some sense contrasted with âspiritâ, but is this the law in the hands of Sin? Is it not rather a specific type of law, the written type, which is contrasted with the unwritten type? This is a contrast that was evidently part of Paulâs thought as he speaks of a new covenant that is ânot of letter but of spirit (οὠγÏάμμαÏÎ¿Ï á¼Î»Î»á½° ÏνεÏμαÏοÏ), for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life (Ïὸ Î³á½°Ï Î³Ïάμμα á¼ÏοκÏÎννει, Ïὸ δὲ Ïνεῦμα ζῳοÏοιεá¿)â (2 Cor 3.6).
In line with the discourses of unwritten law, I suggest that in Galatians 5.18, as in many other occurrences of nomos in Paul, he refers to the written Jewish law, a law that is not regarded solely in a negative light but rather is seen as not being able to fulfil its purpose of bringing justice and life due to the power of sin. However, accompanied by a qualifying genitive noun like âfaithâ (Rom 3.27), âspirit (of life)â (Rom 8.2), âGodâ (1 Cor 9.21, Rom 7.22,25, Rom 8.7), âChristâ (Gal 6.2, 1 Cor 9.21), or even âmindâ (Rom 7.23), the law Paul speaks of is the unwritten, divine, internal, and universal law, a law that is able to âmake righteousâ and âmake aliveâ (cf. Gal 3.21, 2 Cor 3.6).
As we saw when we discussed this broader discourse of unwritten, internal law (§3.3.4), such diverse indications are not uncommon: Plato called âthe ordering of the mindâ (ἡ Ïοῦ νοῦ διανομή) law and speaks of a âdivine lawâ (ὠθεá¿Î¿Ï νόμοÏ), Aristotle of a âcommon lawâ (κοινÏÏ Î½ÏμοÏ) and an âunwritten lawâ (á¼Î³ÏαÏÎ¿Ï Î½ÏμοÏ), and Seneca of a âlaw of lifeâ (vitae lex). Even Fides is closely connected to the law in the Golden Age, as she is represented as lawgiver by Vergil (Vergil, Aeneid 1.292â293, see §3.3.3). For Paul, this law is universal in the sense that it is not bound to one ethnos, the Jewish people, but to all, so that no one can boast (see §3.4.4 on this universal element). This unwritten law is also internal, as it guides people towards righteousness and virtue from within their minds and discourages anyone from boasting, namely about external âworksâ. It is to this latter subject, the role of âworksâ in justification, that we now turn.
One of the questions raised by this view of âthe law of faithâ as âdivine-internal lawâ is if or to what extent this new law of faith requires âworksâ, that is actual good deeds and the abstinence of bad deeds by the people under its jurisdiction. Are we in fact declared righteous sola fide, regardless of our behaviour? And what is the content of this fides?
The semantic closeness of dikÄ and pistis language in the time of Paul and their main occurrence in the semantic field of virtues (see §3.3.1) speaks for the importance of actual moral deeds in justification. For a pagan contemporary of Paul, being faithful implies being just and therefore justifiable.278 Of course, Paul may have preached a countercultural message that goes against pagan expectations. Yet if Paul were to bring such ânewsâ to a pagan audience, he must have taken pains to distinguish between what his audience expected and what he actually wanted to say, especially if he did not want to be an utterly futile voice in the wilderness. We do not find evidence in his letters of any attempt by Paul to separate faith from doing Godâs will, from being just. Hence, Paulâs audience would probably not have conceived of good works and faith as an antithesis in the Lutheran sense of self-righteous legalism versus vindicative, undeserved justification.
But there is more to be said. In line with the New Perspective and analogous to the universality of the âcommon lawâ in Stoicism and beyond (see §3.3.5), the âworksâ Paul argues against can be conceived of as the keeping of laws that emphasize oneâs separate ethnic status. Yet the collective-universal nature of justification is only part of the discourse of unwritten law. We have also seen (see §3.3.4) how already in Plato the city-state laws were problematized, for they could not give a satisfying answer to the question of how to create just citizens. Solutions were sought in conceptions of an internal law which addresses the intellect by means of persuasion (μεÏá½° ÏειθοῦÏ): it is the internal logos that should function as law. Plutarch argues that if we would take away civic laws but leave the teachings of the philosophers the logos will function as nomos. According to Porphyry, the âlaw of Godâ is also connected to the human mind. Therefore, it is striking that in Romans, Paul also connects the law of God to the intellect, the nous (Rom 7.23,25). In Paulâs letters, a similar function is performed by the spirit (pneuma), which is also both divine and internal and closely connected to faith (pistis) (e.g. Gal 3.14; Gal 5.6).
The Stoics in Paulâs days (see §3.3.5) also argued that civic laws are in fact powerless: they do not cover the entire sphere of virtue, as not every sin is a civic matter.279 Moreover, they are superfluous when the divine directions are taken seriously and followed directly, that is, unmediated by human lawgivers. It is to this divine-internal sphere that pistis language belongs: Seneca regards fides as the part of being good about which the law has no say, while Epictetus speaks of to piston as one of the main virtues that are internal and under our control. To speak of a âlaw of faithâ against this background is thus to speak of that internal part of being righteous that cannot be âsubject to the lawâ (Gal 5.18: á½Ïὸ νÏμον) or âagainst which there is no lawâ (Gal 5.23: καÏá½° Ïῶν ÏοιοÏÏÏν οá½Îº á¼ÏÏιν νÏμοÏ). Because of the external nature of the written law, in Paulâs case particularly the Jewish law given by Moses, it cannot transform people completely from within. This is where pistis comes in: it has everything to do with works, namely with interiorization of law and righteousness.
We see a similar contrast between the external Law of Moses and the new, internal proclamation of faith in Romans 10.5â10, where Paul ironically cites the law to show its own inadequacy. Here, he takes up the case addressed in Deuteronomy, that the commandments are âtoo hardâ or âtoo far awayâ (Deut 30.11). According to Paul, Deuteronomyâs response here, âthe word is near you, on your lips and in your heartâ (Rom 10.8 citing Deut 30.14) refers to his own âwordâ of âmessage of faithâ and Paul puts these words not into the mouth of Moses, but into the mouth of âthe righteousness from faithâ (Rom 10.6: ἡ δὲ á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ Î´Î¹ÎºÎ±Î¹Î¿ÏÏνη οá½ÏÏÏ Î»Îγει). They thus offer a different solution to the difficulty of living by the law than Moses offered in Leviticus. For he creatively sets this solution against Mosesâ own words (the written law), in Leviticus: âMoses writes concerning the righteousness that comes from the law, that âthe person who does these things will live by themâ (Rom 10.5). The interiority of law is, Paul seems to imply, already evident from Deuteronomy, yet this interiorization takes shape in the present, when his âmessage of faithâ has become the interior version of the written law. In Paulâs reading of the text, it is only because Christ came down from heaven and ascended from the abyss (see Rom 10.6â7) that the law has come to us in the unwritten form of the âmessage of faithâ (Rom 10.8, citing Deut LXX 30.14).
Now, in line with this internal-external antithesis between two types of law, the âworksâ Paul argues against do not seem to be solely those that separate Jews from non-Jews (analogous with the New Perspective on Paul), but all âworksâ meant to arrogantly exhibit external righteousness. For Paul, âworksâ cannot be restricted to external behaviour but need to be the outcome of a renewed mind, or put differently, an imitation of the divine measure of faith, personified in Christ (Rom 12.3, see §2.4.4 above). Like the measure of faith, which is given to all yet meant as a divine standard for the mind, the law of faith is thus to be understood as both universal and internal. The justification Paul preached was an internal, ethical justification, a transformation that would begin the moment someone starts to have faith in Christ. It was not, to paraphrase the traditional perspective, a passive acquittal regardless of past (or even future) âworksâ but an active, internal process to make someone more just than the observance of any written law could achieve. Thus in part, this is in accordance with the Radical New Perspectiveâs position on the importance of ethical justification, but it differs in its estimation of the importance of the unwritten âlaw of faithâ for Jews.280
Still, Paul emphasizes that even though pagan discourse spoke of such an internal, divine, and universal lawâand even though sometimes this enabled exceptional individuals to âdo the work of the lawâ (Rom 2.15)âin general, âJews and Greeks are all under the power of Sinâ (Rom 3.9: á¼¸Î¿Ï Î´Î±Î¯Î¿Ï Ï Ïε καὶ á¼Î»Î»Î·Î½Î±Ï ÏάνÏÎ±Ï á½Ïâ á¼Î¼Î±ÏÏίαν εἶναι). The problem Paul addresses relates to the fact that even though Jews knew the ârighteous degree of Godâ out of the written, Mosaic Law and pagans knew it out of natural law, both did not fully internalize these laws. According to Paul, then, the Platonic and Stoic discourse of a divine and universal law failed to offer the solution it was designed to offer: it did not lead to whole communities of righteous people. In theological terms, Graeco-Roman ethics was in need of some Jewish soteriology. The crux of this internal transformation, for Paul, was given by not so much by the mere existence of a divine or internal law, but by entrusting oneself to the reign of a living law: Christ. This âliving lawâ, to which we now turn, could finally and definitely break the power of Sin and make Jew and Greek righteous.281
3.4.3 Τhat He Himself Is Just and That He Justifies the One through Pistis in/of Jesus (Rom 3.26): Participational Justice through Commitment to Christ as Living Law
If there is any element in the âunwritten lawâ discourse that perfectly fits the cosmic or apocalyptic reorientation in Christ, which Paul experienced and proclaimed, it is the topos of the âliving lawâ (nomos empsychos). This term, however, is not found in Paulâs extant letters. Can we nonetheless find traces of this topos in the Pauline writings, and if so, how does this affect our understanding of the meaning of âlawâ and âfaithâ in those writings? In particular, is the pistis related to Christ the faith of the people in him or the faithfulness of Christ himself? A more complete answer to the pistis Christou question will have to wait until chapter 6. Here, I want to offer a preliminary interpretation of those passages that make sense against the background of the âliving lawâ discourse.
An argument for the presence of the topos of âliving lawâ in Ephesians was made by Julien Smith; following him, Jason Whitlark argued for a similar motive in Hebrews.282 For the Pauline letters, some preliminary observations were made by Calvin Roetzel, who emphasized the similarities with Philo regarding the idea of unwritten law. Especially, he argues, in a diaspora setting, âit is difficult to use nomos as a signifier with one meaning that served all purposesâ.283 Roetzel proceeds to describe Philoâs presentation of Moses and Abraham as ânomos incarnateâ and concludes with these remarks on Paul:
This whole concept of a living, incarnate law may find its echo in Paulâs reference to the nomon tou Christou (Gal. 6.2) which is to be fulfilled by the Galatian converts or similarly, the observers of the âlaw of the Spiritâ (Rom. 8.1), that is, the unseen, unwritten law of that special gift associated with and poured out on citizens of the last days. While the correspondence is hardly exact, the statement in Rom. 10.4 that Christ is the telos of the law has been variously read, but viewed in a diaspora setting shows certain affinities with Philonic thought. (Roetzel 2010, 126)
These passages do indeed come to mind as places where Paul might be thinking of an âunwritten lawâ. However, when we consider the discourse as a whole and not merely Philoâs appropriation of it, the argument for the existence of âunwrittenâ and specifically âliving lawâ (nomos empsychos) makes even more sense. Particularly important signs of this in Paulâs letters include the apocalyptic return of a just ruler, namely Christ, and the combination of roles ascribed to this ruler, sometimes in a single breath, as divine moral archetype on the one hand and supreme judge on the other.
I will discuss passages from two of Paulâs epistles, Philippians and Romans, including some passages without any pistis vocabulary that are nevertheless crucial for establishing a likely participation in this discourse of nomos empsychos (like Phil 3.17â21, Rom 10.2â4). Yet we will see how these passages help to explain the relationship between pistis and Christos and at the end of this subsection I will return once more to the first chapters of Romans, this time in particular to the notorious pistis Christou-formulation there (or here rather á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ á¼¸Î·Ïοῦ: Rom 3.26).
In Philippians, nomos-vocabulary is limited to one passage. Paul first describes himself as, âas to the law, a Pharisee (Phil 3.5: καÏá½° νÏμον ΦαÏιÏαá¿Î¿Ï)â and, âas to righteousness under the law, blameless (Phil 3.6: καÏá½° δικαιοÏÏνην Ïὴν á¼Î½ νÏμῳ γενÏÎ¼ÎµÎ½Î¿Ï á¼Î¼ÎµÎ¼ÏÏοÏ)â. As Krister Stendahl famously remarked, Paul seems to have a rather ârobust conscienceâ here: there is no Luther-like, anguished questioning about whether he can find a gracious God.284 Still, this ârighteousness under the lawâ is hereafter framed as something he no longer aims for, as a âloss through Christâ and as ârighteousness of my ownâ instead of ârighteousness from God based on faithâ:
in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him (εá½Ïεθῶ á¼Î½ αá½Ïá¿·), not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law (á¼Î¼á½´Î½ δικαιοÏÏνην Ïὴν á¼Îº νÏÎ¼Î¿Ï ), but one that comes through faith in/of Christ (Ïὴν διὰ ÏίÏÏεÏÏ Î§ÏιÏÏοῦ), the righteousness from God based on faith (Ïὴν á¼Îº θεοῦ δικαιοÏÏνην á¼Ïὶ Ïá¿ ÏίÏÏει). (Philippians 3.8â9)
This is one of the pistis Christou-passages to which we will return in chapter 6 (§6.4.5), where I argue for a reading of sustained ambiguity framed by the discourse of moral imitation. From the perspective of the discourse of the âunwritten lawâ, the contrast between the parallel expressions of âjustice based on the lawâ (δικαιοÏÏνην Ïὴν á¼Îº νÏÎ¼Î¿Ï ) and âjustice based on faith in/of Christâ (δικαιοÏÏνην á¼Ïὶ Ïá¿ ÏίÏÏει) is remarkable. As we have seen, pistis and fides vocabulary is often associated with internal virtuousness which cannot be realized by external laws (§§3.3.4â5 and §3.4.2). Thus, this contrast seems to be a contrast between two ways of ensuring justice: through the external written law and through the internal unwritten law.
The question behind this contrast also informs the whole discourse of unwritten law: âhow can peopleâ, or perhaps rather, âhow can a society become righteous?â Such a question is prompted by unease with the achievements of written law. For Paul, the answer is ultimately one of confidence: should I have confidence in the flesh (Phil 3.4: á¼ÏÏν ÏεÏοίθηÏιν καὶ á¼Î½ ÏαÏκί) and aim for ârighteousness of my own that comes from the lawâ (Phil 3.8), or should we âboast in Christâ (Phil 3.3: ÎºÎ±Ï ÏÏμενοι á¼Î½ ΧÏιÏÏá¿· ἸηÏοῦ) and aim for âthe righteousness from God based on faithâ (Phil 3.9)? In this section in particular, there are many different lexemes which indicate such a âconfidenceâ, and pistis Christou may thus well be translated as âconfidence in Christâ (on the related meanings of pisteuÅ and peithÅ, see §5.4.1 below).
More specifically, the combination of pistis and Christou points in the direction of the discourse of âliving lawâ: by committing to a just and faithful ruler, divine justice can take hold. We have seen that in Plutarchâs advice to rulers, he says that a statesman should first attain power and ensure the trust, the pistis of the people, before beginning to model their character after his own.285 Moreover, in Neopythagorean treatises, the ruler was closely associated with God, and imitating the rulerâs divine virtues was the route towards homoiÅsis theÅi, becoming like God. The Pauline expression âbe found in himâ suggests that pistis Christou is indeed an expression of such âparticipationâ in Christ: by having faith in the faithful Christ, Paul participates in Christâs righteousness and is transformed into the image of the just ruler. Viewed from this perspective, the two occurrences of pistis in this specific text most likely refer to the relationship between ruler and subject, indicating either the trust in the ruler, or the rulerâs faithfulness towards his subjects, or rather this reciprocal relationship of mutual trust as a whole, whereby the rulerâs faithfulness or obedience to the divine is implicitly assumed yet not highlighted.
We might ask here, however, whether this image of Christ as âliving lawâ, can be found elsewhere in this letter. There are several passages in Philippians where Christ is mentioned in relation to the last judgement and as the one enabling an ethical transformation. At the thanksgiving section, Paul says that he is âconfident of this, that the one who began a good work among you (á½ á¼Î½Î±ÏÎ¾Î¬Î¼ÎµÎ½Î¿Ï á¼Î½ á½Î¼á¿Î½ á¼Ïγον á¼Î³Î±Î¸á½¸Î½) will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ (á¼ÏÏι ἡμÎÏÎ±Ï Î§ÏιÏÏοῦ ἸηÏοῦ)â (Phil 1.6). Godâs âgood workâ inside people is already related to the âday of Christ Jesusâ: âjustificationâ appears to be a process of becoming righteous, which proceeds in the present. The same idea is stated more elaborately when Paul concludes the section with a prayer:
And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight (á¼Î½ á¼ÏιγνÏÏει καὶ ÏάÏῠαἰÏθήÏει) to help you to determine what is best, so that on the day of Christ (Îµá¼°Ï á¼¡Î¼ÎÏαν ΧÏιÏÏοῦ) you may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ (ÏεÏληÏÏμÎνοι καÏÏὸν δικαιοÏÏÎ½Î·Ï Ïὸν διὰ ἸηÏοῦ ΧÏιÏÏοῦ) for the glory and praise of God. (Philippians 1.9â11)
The âgood workâ is here further explained in terms of interior, moral qualities resulting in a âharvest of righteousnessâ: the goal is an ethical transformation that takes place âthroughâ or âbecause ofâ (διά) Christ and will hopefully be complete at the âday of Christâ (on the debated ethical usage of καÏÏÏÏ, see §6.4.1 below). This day, which Paul describes elsewhere as the âday of the Lord Jesus [Christ]â (1 Cor 1.8 [textual variant]) and the âday of the Lordâ (1 Thes 5.2; 1 Cor 5.5), appears to be both the day of Christâs return and the day of the last judgement called âday of the Lordâ in the âOld Testamentâ (e.g. LXX Isaiah 13.6: ἡμέÏα ÎÏ Ïá½·Î¿Ï ).286
Whereas here we see the close affinity between ethical righteousness and divine judgement as both related to Christ, as the argument of the letter evolves, we encounter a political semantic domain which sheds light on this connection. After Paulâs appeal to âjoin in imitating meâ (Phil 3.17: Î£Ï Î¼Î¼Î¹Î¼Î·Ïαί Î¼Î¿Ï Î³Î¯Î½ÎµÏθε), he describes the opposite mental attitude of âthose who have their minds set on earthly thingsâ (Phil 3.19: οἱ Ïá½° á¼Ïίγεια ÏÏονοῦνÏεÏ). After this topos of moral imitation (see chapter 6 below), Paulâs framing seems to take a political turn, with Christ as ultimate Saviour and Lord who subjects everything (Ïá½° ÏάνÏα) to himself:
But our citizenship is in heaven (ἡμῶν Î³á½°Ï Ïὸ ÏολίÏÎµÏ Î¼Î± á¼Î½ οá½Ïανοá¿Ï á½ÏάÏÏει), and it is from there that we are expecting a Saviour (ÏÏÏá¿Ïα), the Lord (κÏÏιον) Jesus Christ. He will transform the body of our humiliation so that it may be conformed to the body of his glory (á½Ï μεÏαÏÏημαÏίÏει Ïὸ Ïῶμα Ïá¿Ï ÏαÏεινÏÏεÏÏ á¼¡Î¼á¿¶Î½ ÏÏμμοÏÏον Ïá¿· ÏÏμαÏι Ïá¿Ï δÏÎ¾Î·Ï Î±á½Ïοῦ), by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself (καÏá½° Ïὴν á¼Î½ÎÏγειαν Ïοῦ δÏναÏθαι αá½Ïὸν καὶ á½ÏοÏάξαι αá½Ïá¿· Ïá½° ÏάνÏα). (Philippians 3.20â21)
According to Paul, it is one and the same power (energeia) that enables Christ to subject everything under his rule and transform his citizens so that they become equal in shape (ÏÏμμοÏÏοÏ) to his âbody of gloryâ. Already in Xenophon, but particularly in the Neopythagorean discourse of the nomos empsychos, this transformative aspect of kingship was emphasized. Plutarch used remarkably similar vocabulary to express how subjects âunite with him [Numa] in conforming themselves (ÏÏ Î¼Î¼ÎµÏαÏÏημαÏίζονÏαι) to a blameless and blessed life (â¦) attended by righteousness and temperance (μεÏá½° δικαιοÏá½»Î½Î·Ï ÎºÎ±á½¶ μεÏÏιόÏηÏοÏ).â287 Plutarch then proceeds:
Such a life is the noblest end of all government (á¼Î½ ᾧ Ïὸ κάλλιÏÏον á¼Ïá½±ÏÎ·Ï ÏολιÏÎµá½·Î±Ï Ïá½³Î»Î¿Ï á¼ÏÏá½·), and he is most a king (βαÏιλικώÏαÏÎ¿Ï á¼ÏάνÏÏν) who can effectuate such a life and such a disposition in his subjects (á½ ÏοῦÏον Ïὸν βίον καὶ ÏαύÏην Ïὴν διάθεÏιν Ïοá¿Ï á½ÏÎ·Îºá½¹Î¿Î¹Ï á¼Î½ÎµÏγάÏαÏθαι Î´Ï Î½á½±Î¼ÎµÎ½Î¿Ï). (Plutarch, Numa 20.8, see also §3.3.6 supra)
Plutarch and Paul agree that a true Lord has the power (δÏναÏθαι) to effectuate (á¼Î½ÎµÏγεá¿Ïθαι) a metamorphosis in his subjects after his own image (on energeia and pistis, see §5.3.4).
In Philippians, we thus see a combination of the eschatological coming of the heavenly Lord of all, the ultimate just ruler, and the eventual transformation this will entail for those who belong to his heavenly politeuma.288 This eventual transformation appears to be the final stage of a transformation that has already started now, as the Philippians are called to âlive as good citizens (ÏολιÏεÏεÏθε) in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ (â¦) competing together with one mind in the faithfulness expressed in the good news (ÏÏ Î½Î±Î¸Î»Î¿á¿¦Î½ÏÎµÏ Ïá¿ ÏίÏÏει Ïοῦ εá½Î±Î³Î³ÎµÎ»Î¯Î¿Ï )â (Phil 1.27; on this text and translation, see §6.4.1). Here also, political imagery and the athletic metaphor that was often used for expressing moral exercise (see §6.3.2) combine to explain the ethical transformation that takes place under Christâs rule.
The discourse of the âliving lawâ thus offers cohesion to the frequent references in Philippians to the diverse roles of Christ as enabler of internal moral transformation, inaugurator of divine judgement, and eschatological ruler of all. Therefore, an interpretation of pistis Christou along these lines as âtrusting participation in the living divine lawâ is not implausible. So, would this interpretation fit passages on faith, law, and justice in Romans?
In a text I discussed in the previous subsection in relation to the discourse of âinternal lawâ, we encountered people who âshow that what the law requires is written on their heartsâ (Rom 2.15: Ïὸ á¼Ïγον Ïοῦ νÏÎ¼Î¿Ï Î³ÏαÏÏὸν á¼Î½ Ïαá¿Ï καÏÎ´Î¯Î±Î¹Ï Î±á½Ïῶν). Paul states that the thoughts (λογιÏμοί) of these people who, according to my argument, follow the divine-internal-universal law, âwill accuse or perhaps excuse them on the day when, according to my gospel, God, through Jesus Christ (διὰ ΧÏιÏÏοῦ ἸηÏοῦ), will judge the secret thoughts of all (Ïá½° κÏÏ ÏÏá½° Ïῶν á¼Î½Î¸ÏÏÏÏν)â. The precise role of Christ in this judgement is left vague, yet the reason for connecting Christ to knowledge of the internal reflections of people is evident when we think of Christ as âliving lawâ: one of the functions of a âliving lawâ which the written law cannot perform is to enforce justice by effectively punishing transgressions. Xenophon said that Cyrus regarded the good ruler as a âlaw with eyes for menâ (βλέÏονÏα νόμον á¼Î½Î¸Ïá½½ÏοιÏ).289 Platoâs Statesman focuses on the importance of kairos, specific circumstances, which a ruler should take into account. Porphyry describes the limits of written law, as it âpunishes him who transgresses it, but it cannot reach a manâs secret thoughts and intentionsâ.290
The description of the relationship between Christ and nomos in Romans 10 is rather abstract: âChrist is the end of the law (ÏÎÎ»Î¿Ï Î³á½°Ï Î½ÏÎ¼Î¿Ï Î§ÏιÏÏὸÏ) so that there may be righteousness for everyone who believes (Îµá¼°Ï Î´Î¹ÎºÎ±Î¹Î¿ÏÏνην ÏανÏὶ Ïá¿· ÏιÏÏεÏονÏι)â (Rom 10.4). The statement concludes the description of how Paulâs fellow Jews did not attain righteousness:
Gentiles, who did not strive for righteousness, have attained it (á¼Î¸Î½Î· Ïá½° μὴ διÏκονÏα δικαιοÏÏνην καÏÎλαβεν δικαιοÏÏνην), that is, righteousness through faith (δικαιοÏÏνην δὲ Ïὴν á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ); but Israel, who did strive for the righteousness that is based on the law, did not arrive at the law (ἸÏÏαὴλ δὲ διÏκÏν νÏμον δικαιοÏÏÎ½Î·Ï Îµá¼°Ï Î½Ïμον οá½Îº á¼ÏθαÏεν). Why not? Because they did not strive for it on the basis of faith, but as if it were based on works (οá½Îº á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ á¼Î»Î»â á½¡Ï á¼Î¾ á¼ÏγÏν). (â¦) they have a zeal for God, but it is not enlightened (á¼Î»Î»â οὠκαÏâ á¼ÏίγνÏÏιν). For, being ignorant of the righteousness that comes from God (á¼Î³Î½Î¿Î¿á¿¦Î½ÏÎµÏ Î³á½°Ï Ïὴν Ïοῦ θεοῦ δικαιοÏÏνην), and seeking to establish their own (Ïὴν ἰδίαν ζηÏοῦνÏÎµÏ ÏÏá¿Ïαι), they have not submitted (á½ÏεÏάγηÏαν) to Godâs righteousness. (Romans 9.30â32, 10.2â3)
As much as possible, I try to avoid the thorny issue of Paulâs exact view of Israel in these parts of the letter. That said, it is safe to say that these contrasts are very similar to what we encountered before. The contrasts between law and faith and between faith and works can be read as analogous to those contrasts found in the texts we discussed in the previous subsection (Gal 3.21â28 and Rom 3.21â31), which articulate the opposition between written-external and unwritten-internal law. Furthermore, the righteousness that is described as âtheir ownâ is very much in accordance with the manner in which Paul describes his own righteousness in Philippians, namely as âa righteousness of my own that comes from the lawâ (Phil 3.9: á¼Î¼á½´Î½ δικαιοÏÏνην Ïὴν á¼Îº νÏÎ¼Î¿Ï ). In both passages, this âpersonal righteousnessâ is contrasted with divine righteousness (Rom 10.3: Ïὴν Ïοῦ θεοῦ δικαιοÏÏνην; Phil 3.9: Ïὴν á¼Îº θεοῦ δικαιοÏÏνην á¼Ïὶ Ïá¿ ÏίÏÏει).
Rather than the traditional reading of these notions as âself-righteousnessâ in the sense of âworking hard to attain justification while not being dependent on divine graceâ, what seems to be the issue is not the lack of trust in God, but purely that this righteousness is not reached by trusting and imitating Christ as the living embodiment of the transcendent law. It is not their effort or self-centred motivation which is rejected by Paul; in fact, they all have perfectly ârobust consciencesâ. Moreover, I would argue that it is not that they all failed regarding righteousness in any real senseâas the NRSV translates, they âdid not succeed in fulfilling that lawââinstead, while they strive for righteousness based on the written law, they simply did not attain or arrive at the ultimate unwritten and living law, that is, Christ. Like Paul, most of them have every reason to âbe confident in the fleshâ (Phil 3.4: á¼ÏÏν ÏεÏοίθηÏιν καὶ á¼Î½ ÏαÏκί), but they lack âthe surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lordâ (Phil 3.8: Ïὸ á½ÏεÏÎÏον Ïá¿Ï γνÏÏεÏÏ Î§ÏιÏÏοῦ ἸηÏοῦ Ïοῦ ÎºÏ ÏÎ¯Î¿Ï Î¼Î¿Ï ). As Ecphantes states, âthose who imitate do everything better than those left to themselvesâ (οἱ δὲ μιμεύμενοι αá½ÏÎ±Ï Ïῶν κÏá½³ÏÏον Ïῷδε ÏάνÏα á¼ÏγάζονÏαι).291 Only by becoming subject to this âliving lawâ can people âdo everything betterâ, for they are changed internally, by the âinternal lawâ of faith, into his image. This is, in Paulâs eyes, Israelâs âlack of understandingâ (οὠκαÏâ á¼ÏίγνÏÏιν), the divine righteousness they âdid not knowâ (á¼Î³Î½Î¿Î¿á¿¦Î½ÏεÏ) and to which they âdid not subjectâ (á½ÏεÏάγηÏαν).
If we now return to the phrase âChrist is the end of the law (ÏÎÎ»Î¿Ï Î³á½°Ï Î½ÏÎ¼Î¿Ï Î§ÏιÏÏὸÏ)â (Rom 10.4), this seems to be a logical conclusion in both senses of telos: aim and termination. As the ultimate embodiment of the divine law, Christ is the perfect aim or fulfilment of that law both in its divine and written form, yet as the final shape of the law, he is also the expiration of particular written laws such as the Mosaic Law. We have seen that participants in the âliving lawâ discourse differed as to the precise relationship between the ruler and the written law. Either the authors emphasize that the ideal ruler is in absolute submission to this law (e.g. Cicero but also Philoâs Moses), or they focus on the ideal ruler as the means by which subjects can truly become virtuous, eventually rendering written laws superfluous (e.g. the Neopythagoreans and Plutarch). The tension in this latter strand of the discourse helps to explain Paulâs own ambiguous stance towards the Mosaic Law. Just as Plutarch states that âjustice is the end of lawâ, so Paul can state that âChrist is the end of lawâ.292 In the end, the Mosaic law âdoes not do the work of the lawâ (cf. Aristotle, Rhetoric 1.15.6â9 and Rom 2.15) in effectuating an age of justice and faith for all, which is the end of the divine law brought about by Christ the Lord. Like Philo and Seneca, however, Paul maintains that the rule of a âliving lawâ is a feature of an otherworldly, utopian society. Yet unlike these authors who focused on an idealized past, he locates the Golden Age of the âliving lawâ in the present or rather in the âfuture-starting-nowâ.
Not only does this interpretation of the telos of the law fit within the preceding argument, it also offers a segue into the remainder of Romans 10 in which pistis language is so prominent: pistis as an interior answer of loyalty to Christ, the new ruler and living law (on which, see §7.4.1 and §7.4.3 in the chapter on the socio-political semantic domain of pistis, which is naturally closely related to the concept of âliving lawâ). This same ruler is Lord of all, Jew and pagan alike (Rom 10.12): it is significant that in citing Isaiah (28.16 LXX: καὶ á½ ÏιÏÏεύÏν á¼Ï᾿ αá½Ïá¿· οὠμὴ καÏαιÏÏÏ Î½Î¸á¿) Paul adds âallâ (Rom 10.11: Ïá¾¶Ï á½ ÏιÏÏεύÏν á¼Ïâ αá½Ïá¿· οὠκαÏαιÏÏÏ Î½Î¸á½µÏεÏαι).293Pistis, confidence in and commitment to this living law, is the appropriate attitude for a transethnic âallâ, not an additional way for pagans while for Jews the written law would suffice (for further thoughts on this universal aspect and the Radical New Perspective, see §3.4.4).
Can this discourse of the living law shed light on the now-familiar passage at the end of Romans 3? What is remarkable here is how the repeated chorus is concerned with Godâs justice or righteousness, which is revealed (v. 21, see §3.4.1) and of which God meant to give a âdemonstrationâ (endeixis):
He did this to show his righteousness (Îµá¼°Ï á¼Î½Î´ÎµÎ¹Î¾Î¹Î½ Ïá¿Ï δικαιοÏÏÎ½Î·Ï Î±á½Ïοῦ), because in his divine forbearance he had passed over the sins previously committed; it was to show his righteousness (ÏÏá½¸Ï Ïὴν á¼Î½Î´ÎµÎ¹Î¾Î¹Î½ Ïá¿Ï δικαιοÏÏÎ½Î·Ï Î±á½Ïοῦ) at the present time: that he himself is righteous (Îµá¼°Ï Ïὸ εἶναι αá½Ïὸν δίκαιον) and that he justifies the one through pistis in/of Jesus (δικαιοῦνÏα Ïὸν á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ á¼¸Î·Ïοῦ). (Romans 3.25â26)
Here again, I try to avoid those exegetical difficulties on which my focus and approach have no direct bearing, such as the meaning of á¼ÏολύÏÏÏÏÎ¹Ï (v. 24) and ἱλαÏÏá½µÏιον (v. 25). What is noteworthy, however, is how the demonstration of divine righteousness entails two aspects: God is righteous and he intends to make people righteous. In both aspects, Christ plays the central part. In Christ, God shows himself as just, and in Christ, God makes people just. This is indeed in essence what a leader, as living law, is expected to do: to represent God to his subjects, in particular the justice of God, by mirroring it and to thereby allow these subjects to imitate divine justice so that they become just themselves. In this process, pistis stands for the reciprocal relationship of trusting allegiance between the just Lord and his people, through which the transformative process of justification takes place.294
The frame of the âliving lawâ thus surpasses not only a subjective interpretation of the genitive construction (á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ á¼¸Î·Ïοῦ), but the narrow focus on âChristâs obedienceâ of the objectivist interpretation as well.295 Perhaps more importantly, it allows for Paul to remain consistent with Jewish contemporariesâ views on Abraham and the law. We have seen that in 2 Baruch Abraham is described as living by the âunwritten lawâ and how in Philoâs On the Life of Abraham he is âone who obeyed the law, some will say, but rather, as our discourse has shown, himself a law and an unwritten statuteâ (276: Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï Î±á½Ïá½¸Ï á½¢Î½ καὶ θεÏÎ¼á½¸Ï á¼Î³ÏαÏοÏ). This idea of Abraham keeping the law in Philo and 2 Baruch (among others) is often cited in order to show how Paulâs hermeneutics differed from these authors or works by framing Abraham as the one who is righteous âby faithâ and not âby lawâ.296 Yet 2 Baruch explicitly mentions the concept of âunwritten lawâ (2 Baruch 57.2) which is in line with Paulâs argument as I have construed it here. In Philoâs work in particular, it is evident that faith and faithfulness, trust and obedience are intertwined and that they together admonish people to live the precepts of unwritten law. Philo praises the exemplary faith Abraham had in God or Godâs promises (271: Ïá¿Ï ÏÏá½¸Ï Î¸Îµá½¸Î½ Ïá½·ÏÏεÏÏ; 276: Ïá½· ÏÏοÏá¿ÎºÎµÎ½ á¼Î½Î¸Ïá½½ÏÎ¿Ï Ï á¼¢ βεβαιόÏαÏα ÏιÏÏεύειν) and his obedience: both are connected to him following and even becoming the divine, unwritten law.
While Paul would not go so far as to depict Abraham as a living law, there is a similar fluency in how Paul uses pistis language to describe Abrahamâs faith and his faithfulness. On the one hand, Abraham âtrusted Godâ (Gal 3.6: á¼ÏίÏÏÎµÏ Ïεν Ïá¿· θεῷ, cf. LXX Gen 15.6); on the other, he is deemed faithful (3.9: Ïá¿· ÏιÏÏá¿· á¼Î²Ïαάμ). To translate this adjective, pistos, as âbelievingâ misses the point entirely: Abraham did not âbelieveâ in God but was rather faithful to their reciprocal trust-relationship. In this passage from Galatians, Paul consistently calls pagan Christ-followers âthose out of faithâ (Gal 3.7,9: οἱ á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ). By avoiding the active participle here, while the Septuagint citation would prompt an active voice, Paul chooses the noun to signify that these are the people who now, in Abrahamâs footsteps and by being âin Christâ, participate in the divine-human relationship of trust.
Similarly, in the passage from Romans under discussion, in the designation âthe one who lives out of a pistis relationship with Christâ (Rom 3.26: Ïὸν á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ á¼¸Î·Ïοῦ), pistis refers to Christâs just and faithful disposition as living law (his âobedienceâ), the Christ-followerâs trust in Christ as living law, and his/her imitation of this disposition (for a more elaborate discussion of pistis Christou, sustained ambiguity, and the discourse of moral imitation, see chapter 6 below).
3.4.4 The Good of All, Especially Those of the Family of Pistis (Gal 6.10): the Law of Christ as Universal Justice Working through OikeiÅsis
The final issue related to the justification by faith debate is perhaps the most difficult, for it lies at the heart of the New Perspective orientation. Was Paul arguing against Jewish moralism or Jewish particularism? Did he intend to preach a morally unconditional or an ethnically universal type of justice? Before we attempt to answer this question informed by the Graeco-Roman discourses pertaining to the semantic domain of justice, let us first consider the broader perspective of the scope of doing what is good to others in Paulâs letters. For although Paul does not always distinguish between doing good to insiders and outsiders (e.g. 1 Thes 5.15: âalways seek to do good to one another and to allâ), at times he does seem to distinguish between laws or directions which benefit a universal âallâ and those that benefit a smaller ingroup of Christ-followers.
One of such supposedly âless universalâ passages is found in Romans chapters 12 and 13. Following Runar Thorsteinsson, Engberg-Pederson is convinced that Paul proposes a different attitude towards both the ingroup and outsiders: ingroup-behaviour is to be governed by âloveâ (á¼Î³Î¬Ïη), while behaviour towards outsiders should be determined by âthe goodâ (Ïο á¼Î³Î±Î¸Ïν), which is paraphrased by Engberg-Pederson as âwhat is conventionallyâand of course quite rightlyâtaken to be âgoodââ.297 In this way, Engberg-Pederson argues, Paul sharply distinguishes between an internally directed, subjective love-ethic and an externally directed, objective goodness-ethic, with the effect of âvery sharply distancing Christ believers from their surroundingsâ.298 I agree with the basic point Thorsteinsson and Engberg-Pedersen make in this context concerning the unity between chapters 12 and 13 and the relevance of Stoic themes for understanding this section.299 The distinction between love for insiders and âwhat is goodâ for outsiders, however, is less clear. Instead, Paul seems to âoscillateâ between insider- and outsider-language.300 This is most clearly evident when he first talks of âthe needs of the saintsâ and then immediately about âhospitalityâ or âlove for strangersâ (12.13: Ïιλοξενία). Moreover, while there may be a âtransitionâ (a literary feature emphasized by Engberg-Pederson) between verse 13.7 and 13.8, the âloveâ in verse 8 is not necessarily only directed towards insiders, as the expression âOwe no one anythingâ (13.8: μηδενὶ μηδὲν á½ÏείλεÏε) sounds pretty inclusive, in particular in view of the verbal contrast with âPay to all what is due to themâ (13.7: á¼ÏÏδοÏε ÏᾶÏι Ïá½°Ï á½ÏειλάÏ), which clearly concerns outsiders.301
Not only is âloveâ not restricted to insiders, the idea of âthe goodâ seems to permeate the section as a whole, for it is already part of the first programmatic statement in 12.2, where a renewal of the mind is foregrounded, meant to âto discern what is the will of Godâwhat is good (Ïὸ á¼Î³Î±Î¸á½¸Î½) and acceptable and perfectâ. If what is good is part of the will of God, it seems to be more than an attitude reserved for irrelevant, temporal affairs. Further on, the audience is told to cling to the good (12.9: κολλÏμενοι Ïá¿· á¼Î³Î±Î¸á¿·) and to overcome the evil of others with good (12.21). Finally, if you indeed do this good, the magistrates will approve of this (13.3), for the authority is Godâs servant for you towards the good (13.4: θεοῦ Î³á½°Ï Î´Î¹Î¬ÎºÎ¿Î½ÏÏ á¼ÏÏιν Ïοὶ Îµá¼°Ï Ïὸ á¼Î³Î±Î¸Ïν).
The internal logic of this part of Romans becomes clearer when we connect these recurring instances of âthe goodâ with the discourse of âunwritten lawâ, in particular âuniversal lawâ. In the previous chapter, I have given considerable attention to the passage in which Paul presents his cult as reasonable worship to which the measure of faithfulness applies (Romans 12.1â3). Here, it is good to recall that in speaking of a âmeasure of faithâ (12.3: μÎÏÏον ÏίÏÏεÏÏ), Paul refers to an objective, God-given measure, available to all as standard for the mind. The notion of measure, together with the markers in its contextâmind (νοῦÏ) and thinking temperately (ÏÏÏÏονεá¿Î½)âplace this passage in the context of the philosophical discussions of justice and the law. As we have seen in the previous chapter, for Plato, living according to âmeasureâ is living temperately, justly, and in accordance with God.302 Even though Paul is not referring to the law or to justice in most of Romans 12â13, and even though he need not have been familiar with specific works of Plato or his followers, the semantic field involved relates to the question of how people can be made to live virtuously and what external or internal means can be of assistance in this process. Expressed in Stoic terms, the idea of a âmeasure of faithfulnessâ comes close to the idea of a âcommon lawâ, similar as these concepts are in their connection to reason (Rom 12.3: ÏÏονεá¿Î½ Îµá¼°Ï Ïὸ ÏÏÏÏονεá¿Î½) and their universal availability (Rom 12.3: á¼ÎºÎ¬ÏÏῳ).
Paul eventually defines this common law as the ultimate fulfilment of written Jewish law in terms of agapÄ (Rom 13.8). That said, the authority of Roman rule and their provincial representatives, which seems to frame Paulâs reasoning in Romans 13.1â7, can be considered as a particular system of written, external law as well. At least ideally, such written types of law capture some idea of what is ultimately or divinely âgoodâ and have limited external means to achieve this good in their subjects. The idea of authority as âGodâs servant towards the goodâ (Rom 13.4) can hence be understood in line with Porphyryâs remark that if you follow the divine law, there is no need to fear the written law. Indeed, Porphyry reasons, good people do not need these external laws to be good, but are protected by it from other wrongdoers.303 Likewise, Paul states that those who do act wrongly may expect to be judged by the authorities. By following the common, internal, and divine law of love, Paulâs addressees not only live by particular written laws, they even surpass them in virtue. They not only âdo no wrong to a neighbourâ (13.10), but are transformed and made righteous internally. The discourse of unwritten law thus offers a further explanatory scheme that perfectly fits current exegeses of Romans 13. Dorothea Bertschmann, for instance, concludes thus:
The Christian paradigm of love, then, is the greater reality which encloses almost as a âby-productâ good and generally approved behaviour in the civic and political world. In other words, the âgoodâ and âbadâ as perceived by the political authorities are subsets of the Christian good, which is lived out in love. (Bertschmann 2014, 248)
This âgreater realityâ concurs with an unwritten, divine law, which by its nature surpasses any written law, any âsubsetâ.
This interpretation based on the discourse of unwritten law also puts Paulâs controversial views on obeying the legal government in Romans 13.1â7 in a different light. The main controversy in the section on the legal authorities is of course whether Paul actually wants to protect the status quo (or at least appease the Roman usurpers) by teaching his followers to submit to their laws. At first glance, he seems to do so, yet in other places of the same letter Paulâs teaches an ethic of nonconformity (Rom 12.2) and condemns pagan practices (Rom 1.18â32). Is Paul really saying that all Roman, pagan state-laws are good or even divinely sanctioned? I am not able to fully answer this historically and theologically hazardous question here, yet based on the discourse discussed in this chapter, I can offer some critical remarks on this interpretation. Graeco-Roman discourses confirm that written laws are generally considered instrumental in facilitating a virtuous life. External laws aim for the same goal as unwritten law: delivering virtue or at least protecting good citizens.304 Notwithstanding this instrumental function, though, the ultimate transformation takes place inside the soul. To that end, laws and human governments remain very external and limited. In Paulâs Romans, just as in Platoâs Laws, God is in the end the true ruler of man, and rulers can be considered servants to the divine law. In Platoâs elevated words: âwherever the law is lord over the magistrates, and the magistrates are servants to the law, there I descry salvation and all the blessings that the gods bestow on states.â305 Thus, even though Paul is addressing people in a concrete situation, his language here reflects philosophical, utopian conceptions of society. His general and philosophically inspired terminology does not make allowances for unjust states and constitutions. This passage thus expresses Paulâs view on the ideal state, in which citizens are induced both internally and externally to lead a righteous life. By setting his âstandard of faithâ, he takes the measure of each temporary and worldly state, including the Roman empire.
To come back to the question of the universality of the scope of the admonitions to âloveâ, it is here that Engberg-Pedersen and Thorsteinsson detect a deviation from Stoic ethics. In the latterâs words, âwhereas the ethics of the Roman Stoics is universal in its scope, Paulâs âlove ethicâ is not.â306 In reply, I would argue that it is precisely Stoic thought that offers the crux for understanding how, for Paul, the good of the Christ-communities relates to the good of all.307 In these chapters of Romans, the admonitions follow a widening circle of spheres to which âloveâ or âgoodâ is due: from the internal law (12.1â3), the argument develops via the sphere of the Pauline community (12.4â13) and sphere of behaviour towards outsiders (12.14â21) to dealing with the state (13.1â7), concluding with a general appeal to uphold the common law of love now that time is short (13.8â14). The fellowship with the insiders should result in love towards strangers (12.13), even in acts of love towards enemies (12.20): in this love towards all, the law is fulfilled (13.8). These steps follow a familiar pattern. The widening circles of people to whom care or affection is due strongly remind us of the Stoic ideal of oikeiÅsis.
To briefly recall some contributions to this discourse of oikeiÅsis, Plutarch writes that Chrysippus would not stop speaking of a ânatural congeniality to ourselves (οἰκειούμεθα ÏÏá½¸Ï Î±á½ÏοὺÏ), to our members, and to our own offspringâ.308 Antiochusâs account as preserved by Cicero described oikeiÅsis as a natural development for each human being, starting at birth and then moving from the house as a whole (tota domus), determined by close family relationships, to the world outside (serpit sensim foras), eventually leading to embracing the whole human race.309 Both Philo and other Platonic thinkers reworked this Stoic idea into a more theocentric model: Philo spoke of âbecoming Godâs familyâ (ÏÏá½¸Ï Î¸Îµá½¸Î½ οἰκείÏÏιν) and the writer of the anonymous commentary to the Theaetetus connected oikeiÅsis to homoiÅsis theÅi, becoming like God.
While not contributing explicitly to this discourse, in Romans 12â13 Paul seems to follow the Stoic idea of naturally widening circles of care and love for others. There is no strict separation between offering care to insiders and to outsiders, as the one naturally follows from the other. This model is compatible with the obvious distinctions between different target groups such as âsaintsâ and âenemiesâ, while also explaining the lack of clear demarcations in what is due to each and the general flow in the argument in this part of the letter from individual, to community, to the public realm and eventually to the overall command to love all. The rule to âlove your neighbour as yourselfâ (Rom 13.9) as a summary of the law could in fact be read as another wording of oikeiÅsis, which also speaks of self-love which gradually extends to more and more people.310
This interpretation along the lines of oikeiÅsis neatly fits another Pauline admonition in Galatians, where the distinction between insiders and outsiders is made more explicitly than in Romans 12â13. As a piece of closing advise, Paul emphasizes how the ultimate goal is to âwork for the good of allâ (á¼ÏγαζÏμεθα Ïὸ á¼Î³Î±Î¸á½¸Î½ ÏÏá½¸Ï ÏάνÏαÏ), particularly âfor the family members of pistisâ (ÏÏá½¸Ï ÏÎ¿á½ºÏ Î¿á¼°ÎºÎµÎ¯Î¿Ï Ï Ïá¿Ï ÏίÏÏεÏÏ) (Gal 6.10). As Teresa Morgan has argued regarding this text and many others, it is anachronistic to translate pistis here as âthe faithâ understood as the main message or body of doctrines Paul preached.311 Rather, especially in this close syntactical relationship with oikeioi, âhousehold-membersâ, it refers to the covenant, the bond of trust, between God, Christ, and the Galatian community and between the members themselves.
The contrast between the âallâ from the first half of the sentence and the pistis community suggests that âallâ implies everyone else. There is a universal concern here, though it only becomes clear in the second half: the primary address of âthe goodâ is the oikos of trust. It is by practising the virtue of trust in these small communities that eventually âallâ will benefit. As in Stoic oikeiÅsis, people start by building relationships of trust and love with those closest to them, but the ultimate aim is loving the whole human race. In Pauline thought, as in Stoic thought on the city of sages, however, there are levels of participation (see §3.3.5 above): the Christ-communities are only for those who are trustworthy and who put their trust in Christ, whereas âthe goodâ is eventually meant for all people, as all people have a nous, albeit a debased one. As trustful oikeioi, the community members should have a growing concern for all which implies a process of oikeiÅsis or familiarization.
If we take the broader context of Galatians chapters 5 and 6 into account and see how Paulâs nomos vocabulary is used, we see how interconnected the discourses of unwritten law and oikeiÅsis are. This is the only other instance (besides Rom 13.9) where Paul refers to Leviticus 19.18 as the one logos in which the whole law is fulfilled (Gal 5.14: á½ Î³á½°Ï Ïá¾¶Ï Î½ÏÎ¼Î¿Ï á¼Î½ á¼Î½á½¶ λÏγῳ ÏεÏλήÏÏÏαι), and it is here used again in the context of doing good first to oneâs closest relations and eventually to all (Gal 6.10), which amounts to oikeiÅsis. The broader argument is that the written, Mosaic law cannot be upheld only in part (5.3) and that there is a tension between the route of the written law and the realm of Christ/grace/the Spirit (5.4,18). The written law is then summed up in the principle of other-regarding love (5.14), which is contrasted with the (unwritten) law of Christ (6.2).
This âlaw of Christâ (Ïὸν νÏμον Ïοῦ ΧÏιÏÏοῦ) is a law that is to be fulfilled in the first place inside the Christ-community by bearing each otherâs burdens (6.2), though the addressees seem to fail even at this love for insiders (5.15,26). We have already suggested (in §3.4.2) that the âlaw of Christâ is one of Paulâs names for the unwritten, internal law that teaches virtue. Indeed, the vocabulary of âworkâ (6.4) and âsow-reapâ (6.7â9) here perfectly fits this semantic domain of moral progress, as I outline in one of the chapters to follow (see in particular §6.4.1). From the limitations of the written law, Paulâs argument thus moves towards the more effective, internal law of Christ.
So, what were these limitations of the written law precisely? In a previous subsection (§3.4.2), I argued that one limitation of the written law was its failure to create internal, lasting moral transformation of whole communities. Did Paul perceive the ethnic particularism of written law, the fact that the Mosaic Law was entrusted to the Jewish people, as a shortcoming as well? This leads us back to Paulâs âjustification by faithâ language and the debate surrounding the New Perspective, in particular the question whether the works of the law are rejected because they are Paulâs shorthand for self-righteous moralism or for ethnic particularism. Does Paulâs pistis vocabulary in these contexts emphasize the individual undeservedness or the ethnic universality of Godâs grace? The answer, I argue, lies precisely in the discourse of unwritten law: this discourse unites the idea that such a divine law transcends external and particularistic limitations of written laws by being internal and universal at the same time.
A familiar passage from Romans, central to the previous subsections in this chapter, offers further relevant specifications of the revealed divine justice. It is expressed in terms of being âoutside the lawâ (3.21: ÏÏÏá½¶Ï Î½ÏÎ¼Î¿Ï ), âoutside the works of the lawâ (3.28: ÏÏÏá½¶Ï á¼ÏγÏν νÏÎ¼Î¿Ï ), in terms of an âabsence of distinctionâ (3.22: Î¿á½ Î³Î¬Ï á¼ÏÏιν διαÏÏολή), and as pertaining to Jew and gentile alike:
Or is God the God of Jews only; is he not the God of gentiles also (á¼¢ á¼¸Î¿Ï Î´Î±Î¯Ïν á½ Î¸Îµá½¸Ï Î¼Ïνον; οá½Ïὶ καὶ á¼Î¸Î½á¿¶Î½)? Yes, of gentiles also, since God is one; and he will justify the circumcised on the ground of faith and the uncircumcised through faith (á½Ï δικαιÏÏει ÏεÏιÏομὴν á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ ÎºÎ±á½¶ á¼ÎºÏÎ¿Î²Ï ÏÏίαν διὰ Ïá¿Ï ÏίÏÏεÏÏ). Do we then overthrow the law by this faith? By no means! On the contrary, we uphold the law. (Romans 3.29â31)
The manner in which these verses relate to the preceding argument has been discussed frequently in the âjustification by faithâ debate. To articulate two opposing views, N.T. Wright would consider these verses a non sequitur if the boasting in the preceding verse is the boasting of the successful moralist and the justification is individual in nature. Instead, if the boasting is that of the ethnocentric Jew, it makes perfect sense to continue arguing that such a racial boast would require a racial God.312 Simon Gathercole, however, responds that these verses can follow from such an individual-anthropological argument, for then their effect would be to reduce ad absurdum the idea that only upholding the Mosaic Law can offer salvation, since the gentiles would in that case be completely cut off from God.313 This exchange of views, however, only serves to show how interconnected moralism and particularism actually are. The boast of individually upholding the Torah is intrinsically related to the boast of having received this Torah as a people in the first place.314 The verse does not conclusively demonstrate that universalism is being foregrounded by Paul when he speaks of justification by faith, yet it does conclusively connect the issue of obtaining divine salvation with the issue of a multi-ethnic world filled with ethnic particularities. Pistis is Paulâs answer to ancient multiculturalism.
Paul is consistently speaking of the law of works as a type of law that only pertains to one nation, the nation of Israel. But the God of Paul is God of the non-Jewish nations too. Consequently, it makes sense that his âlaw of faithâ ought to be understood not only as an internal law, but as a common law to all. More precisely, it is defined by its ability to include all nations in Godâs righteous rule. It is similar to the Stoic natural law in this unifying characteristic. This is the law that Paul has in mind when he asks, in his typical, diatribe-styled manner, âDo we then overthrow the law by this faith? By no means! On the contrary, we uphold the law!â (Rom 3.31). The universal law of pistis upholds the Jewish law as it teaches to do right and teaches this universally, not only to Jews but to gentiles too.
Paulâs reference to the Shema in this passage (Rom 3.30) is obviously to be understood firstly as a reference to this important Jewish confession, confirming the unity of the sovereign Jewish God.315 Yet, this appeal may very well have served a double purpose: it reminds Jews (or the imaginary Jewish interlocutor) that proclaiming one God implies one God for all people, while at the same time evoking the wider Hellenistic discourse of universal justice and universal law. Just like in the ideal, eschatological community of Diogenes of Oenoanda, full justice cannot be realized with laws based on divisions between people. And like Alexander the Great, who, according to Plutarch following Zeno, did not distinguish between Greek and Barbarian, but built one community with one law, Paul also proposes one common âlaw of pistisâ (Rom 3.27). Based on this ancient discourse, we can concur with Badiou in his comments on Romans 3.27â30 (27â30): â[t]he One is that which inscribes no difference in the subjects to which it addresses itself. The One is only insofar as it is for all: such is the maxim of universality when it has its root in the event.â316
In light of the utopian, universalistic tendencies in Paulâs Graeco-Roman Umwelt, and the analogy of his reasoning with the concept of common law, it seems probable that Paul was, as the âNew Perspectiveâ argues, indeed arguing against Jewishâand, important to note, also against gentile317 âethnocentrism. His universalism did not merely concern the scope, but also the content of his message.318 Paulâs justice extends not only to every individual but to the nations by offering a collective âlaw of faithâ and is as such truly universally configured.
Moreover, if Paul is indeed emphasizing the collective-universal nature of justice, this would be a better match with the New Perspective interpretation of the law than with the not truly universal alternative of the Radical New Perspective, according to which only gentiles are addressed by Paulâs âjustification by faithâ model. If there is a divine law of faith, this law cannot in the end be restricted to one section of humanity. Paul may have granted that the Mosaic Law is as good a written law as presently available, but, more than Philo, he understood that no written law could ever be truly transethnic. Yet, with Christ as the embodiment of that law, this paradox was solved: âneither circumcision nor uncircumcision is anything; but a new creation (καινὴ κÏίÏιÏ) is everything!â (Gal 6.15).
When it comes to pistis language, it also seems that Paul was not, as the Radical New Perspective holds, offering pistis as a different or additional solution to gentiles, while the Jews could still be justified and saved based on their existing covenantal relationship. Some discern this distinction in the two different prepositions used in the text at hand (Rom 3.30), âout ofâ (á¼Îº) and âthroughâ (διά): this variance would confirm the difference in the way faith(fulness) effects salvation.319 Yet, as Douglas Campbell has convincingly argued, these are mere paradigmatic variations.320 Furthermore, Paul does not uphold a consistent distinction in his usage of pistis language. He rather emphasizes the similarity of Jew and Greek, as for instance in his âprogrammatic statementâ in Romans just after the letterâs opening:
For I am not ashamed of the gospel; it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith (Îµá¼°Ï ÏÏÏηÏίαν ÏανÏὶ Ïá¿· ÏιÏÏεύονÏι), to the Jew first and also to the Greek. For in it the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith (á¼Îº Ïá½·ÏÏεÏÏ Îµá¼°Ï Ïá½·ÏÏιν); as it is written, âThe one who is righteous will live by faith.â (Romans 1.16â17)
Both Jew and gentile are described as a pisteuÅn, one who has faith, just as both are seen as pisteuontes in need of pistis Christou in Romans 3.22. The argument that there is one âlaw of faithâ (3.27) is precisely made so that no one can boast on oneâs special standing. There are not enough contextual markers to uphold a âradicalâ difference in the manner in which pistis works for Jews on the one hand and gentiles on the other.
Whose pistis is Paul talking about in each of the three instances in Romans 1.17? Whereas the Hebrew of the text Paul cites from Habakuk 2.4 indicates that it is the righteous personâs faithfulness, and the Septuagint that it is Godâs own, Paul omits the pronoun Î¼Î¿Ï , âmyâ, from his citation, whereby he seems to consciously avoid a precise answer to this question.321 In light of this ambiguity, the phrase âthrough faith for faithâ may then explicate this double meaning by referring first to the divine faithfulness expressed by Christ and second the human response of faithfulness modelled after Christ, together creating the bond of trust, whereby the righteous person lives.322
When it comes to interpreting the first two instances of pistis in this verse (âfrom pistis to pistis), however, it is important to take note of research of comparable âfrom x to xâ expressions in Greek. Based on such an analysis of similar idioms traced by means of the TLG, Charles Quarles (2003, 13) argues that this âfrom-toâ (á¼Îº-εἰÏ) construction âoften expresses range, duration, repetition, source and destination, previous state and new state or progressionâ but does not function as an idiom of emphasis. The idea of a âspanâ is then used by Quarles to âdust ofâ John Chrysostomâs interpretation, âfrom the faith of the Old Testament believer to the faith of the New Testament believerâ (at 19), although he leaves room for the reading âfrom Godâs faithfulness to the faith of the believer (favoured by i.a. Ambrosiaster and Karl Barth).323 Based on a similar approach, John Taylor (2004b) concludes that this expression âhas three main functions; it can indicate movement, extended time, and progression or increase.â324 As pistis is an abstract noun, he opts for the latter meaning. Unlike Quarles, a complete change of perspective, like âfrom the faithfulness of God/Christ to the faith of the believerâ or âfrom the faith of the old to the faith of the new covenantâ, is deemed unlikely by Taylor given the absence of any immediate contextual indicators.325 In light of the preceding expression âthe Jew first and then the Greekâ, Taylor favours terms indicating âthe progress of the gospelâ, expressing Paulâs excitement over the growing number of gentiles in particular. The direct context thus permits the (smaller) change in referent: âstarting from the faith of the Jews first, and now growing also among the gentilesâ.326
Perhaps the most satisfying reading is to combine both of these insights. The undefined subject of the noun (resulting from the omission of âmyâ) in the clause that follows suggests ambiguity in whether the pistis of God or that of humans is on Paulâs mind. Perhaps the whole divine-human relationship is indicated by pistis in this one condensed statement. The preceding clause suggests a growth of pistis from Jews to gentiles. Taken together, we can paraphrase Romans 1.17 as âfrom the divine-human bond of trust with Jews extending to a bond of trust with gentilesâ. Seen in this light, âfrom faith to faithâ perfectly fits a universal configuration of âjustification by faithâ, beginning as the bond of trust expressed in the covenant with the Jews, but now extending a divine-human pistis relationship to all the nations outside of any written law.
In the end, the answer to the question whether Paul inveighed against moralism or particularism cannot be phrased in simple terms of either-or. Paul inveighs against the nexus of moralistic particularism and ethnocentric moralism.327 It is a moralism that can only be understood in the context of a culture that promotes collective ethnic superiority, a cultural boast which was by no means limited to the Jewish ethnos. It is a moralism that promoted dualities of righteous Jews versus unrighteous Greeks, or of faithful Romans versus faithless barbarians, not the moralism of the self-righteous individual. Yet, it is also a particularism that was inherently moral as it only made sense when it was bound up with the ultimate question of how to live the good life within Godâs saving presence. The ethnic boast was a moral boast of collective self-righteousness. Pistis is Paulâs ultimate antidote to this external and self-centred exclusivity as it effects internal moral change, sets its hope on a divine and righteous king, and offers access to a kingdom open to all nations. These âtransjuridicalâ and âtransethnicâ aspects of pistis (as we may also call them) as opposed to âlawâ will be further addressed in chapter 7, where I discuss social-political discourses of pistis.
3.5 Conclusion
In this chapter I have argued that Paulâs language on âjustification by faithâ is part of a larger metahistorical narrative according to which he perceived and explained the importance of the Christ event. The âdisclosure of Godâs justice irrespective of the lawâ (Rom 3.21) is consistent with contemporary Graeco-Roman discourses on the return of a Golden Age in which both justice and faith are prominently present and in which the idea of âlawâ is redefined. The Golden Age was an age in which particular written systems of law were no longer relevant, either because one ruler united all as the one, living law, and/or because people would no longer be externally driven but now internally motivated to live a âgoodâ or virtuous life.
If we use these ideas as an interpretative lens for Paulâs âjustification by faithâ language, we can understand several phrases and passages as creative reconfigurations of this discourse. I argued that it is Paulâs main message that God has chosen this moment, this aiÅn, to disclose his righteousness by reintroducing faithfulness embodied in Christ, the living law. This was necessary, because righteousness and faithfulness were largely absent from the world ever since the primordial age of humanity, leading to idolatrous religion, dysfunctional minds, and moral deprivation (a diagnosis widely shared among philosophical schools of the time). The present is the time when the righteousness, which will be fully enacted in the near future, can already be appropriated through pistis by all followers of Christ. This appropriation is effective both in the individual, who is internally induced to live righteously and ethically according to the âlaw of faithâ, and in the community, which is encouraged to enact universal justice by incorporating Jew and Greek, by overcoming ethnic differences.
The discourse of âunwritten lawâ thus offers a cohesive frame to otherwise loosely related or even contradictory emphases in Paulâs âjustification by faithâ language: internal ethical transformation (by means of an internal law), participation in Christ (as living law), and incorporation of the nations (by overcoming all particular ethnic laws in one universal law).
There is one question prompted by the introduction that remains unanswered: how should we evaluate Badiouâs characterization of Paul as the âantiphilosophical theoretician of universalityâ from the methodological perspective of this study? As for Badiouâs interpretation of universalism, to a large extent this is endorsed by the New Perspectiveâs emphasis on Paulâs transcending of ethnic (and social, gender) differences and supported by our Graeco-Roman discourses. However, Pauline universalism seems to be of a structural, ahistorical nature in Badiouâs analysis, whereas the convergence with Graeco-Roman Golden Age narratives places Paulâs universalism in a metahistorical light, proceeding not only from one âeventâ but from an understanding of the worldâs history as divided in ages. As for Badiouâs depiction of Paul as an antiphilosopher, the many parallels with ancient philosophical sources on the level of semantics, concepts, and discourses suggest its inadequacy. Nevertheless, Paulâs address to all and his ânot-so-theoreticalâ utopian social experiment of including all in one communityânot only different ethnicities, but also the âwise, philosophical eliteâ and the âfoolish, ignorant plebeiansââsets him apart from most philosophical schools of his day.
Badiou 2003, 108.
Badiou 2003, 102.
Badiou 2003, 93, cf. 95.
Badiou 2003, 96.
An important exception which offers a preliminary sample of what may be unearthed here, particularly relating to how Paul has been consciously contextualizing his gospel to the Roman connection between righteousness, peace, and faithfulness, is Haacker 2003, 124.
Dunn & Suggate 1994, 31. Cf. Garlington 1994, 47: âbecause δικαιοÏÏνη assumes as its frame of reference the Hebrew (as contrasted with the Graeco-Roman) notion of righteousnessâ.
Hay 2006, 48.
Gonzalez 2011, 69.
Seifrid 2004.
Seifrid 2004, 45, 52.
For convenienceâs sake, I adopt the adjective âLutheranâ fort his broad, traditional interpretation. However, Martin Lutherâs own position may have been more nuanced, and furthermore, many present-day Lutheran scholars no longer represent this particular position (see i.a. the Finnish ânew perspective on Lutherâ, developed in the 1970s and 1980s by Tyomo Mannermaa and others, according to which Luther spoke in participationalist terms and deemed union with Christ central to imputed righteousness).
According to Bultmann (1951, 270â285), a righteous status is bestowed by God as a gift upon the faith-decision of the individual.
Perhaps the most fundamental criticism is directed against the supposed centrality of justification by faith. See e.g. Dunn 1998, 133: âit would be a mistake to take any one of Paulâs metaphors and exalt it into some primary or normative status so that all the others must be fitted into its mould.â I completely agree with this correction: for Paul, it is only one metaphor amongst others.
E.P. Sanders, for instance, the âfounding fatherâ of the New Perspective on Paul, employs âfaith in Christâ language, although he explains this âparticipationallyâ (Sanders 1977, 551): âThe discussions of âlawâ and âfaithâ are very concrete; they are designed to show that not those who keep the covenant, but only those who have faith in Christ and are âinâ him, receive the biblical promises.â
Baur 1878, 47.
Main proponents of this view include E.P. Sanders, James D.G. Dunn, and N.T. Wright. A pithy phrasing of its main contention can e.g. be found in Dunn & Suggate 1994, 25: âThe doctrine of justification by faith came to expression in these key letters of Paul (Galatians and Romans) as his attempt to prove that Godâs covenant blessings were for gentiles as well as for Jews, that God was ready to accept gentiles as gentiles, without requiring them first to become Jews. The Christian doctrine of justification by faith begins as Paulâs protest not as an individual sinner against a Jewish legalism, but as Paulâs protest on behalf of gentiles against Jewish exclusivism.â
E.g. Dunn 1983, 113: âfaith in Jesus as Christ becomes the primary identity marker which renders the others superfluous.â Cf. at 115: âWhat he is concerned to exclude is the racial not the ritual expression of faith; it is nationalism which he denies not activism.â Cf. Strecker 2005, esp. 230â231.
Levenson 1996, 143â145.
Levenson 1996, 144â145.
Elliott 2015, 207.
For universalistic (and particularistic) tendencies in the Hebrew Bible, see Levenson 1996, and for universalistic tendencies in rabbinic Judaism, see Hirshman 2000.
This was first proposed by Lloyd Gaston and elaborated by John Gager. More recent spokespersons for this perspective include Stanley Stowers, Mark Nanos, and Pamela Eisenbaum. Cf. e.g. Eisenbaum 2009, 244: âWhat the Torah does for Jews, Jesus does for gentiles.â
On the congruence between Paul and other (Second Temple) Jewish authors when it comes to the coming together of Israel and the nations, see Sherwood 2012.
See Philo, On the Life of Moses 2.44 and Paul, Galatians 5.1, respectively.
David Horrell (2016) rightly addresses these biases (although I do not agree with his reading of 1 Corinthians 7 as demonstrating an early Christian ethnicization process; see §8.4.4 infra).
See e.g. the critical responses by Terence Donaldson (2006, 2015).
Cf. Bryan 2000, 103: ââJustifyâ (Greek: dikaioÅ) means âto treat as just,â or more simply âto acquit.â For Paul, justification (dikaiÅsis) is Godâs declaration that we are not condemned, even though we are sinners; and through that declaration we are holy (âset apart for Godâ), for by it we are set in a positive relationship with the One who is Holy.â
See e.g. Campbell 1992a. Campbell reads this verb (at 176) âin a strongly salvific senseâ, âwith possibility of an even stronger, âtransformationalâ reading, which would derive from the idea of the recreation of the believer in Christ (â¦) Here both forensic and ethical connotations would be appropriate, within a broader and rather striking reference to ontological transformation.â
See Blocher 2004, 491. Calvin uses the metaphor of the light and warmth of the sun to explain the relationship between justification and sanctification: both are distinct yet inseparable operations. See Calvin, Institutions 3.11.6.
For a more detailed analysis, see i.a. Campbell 1992a, 138â156.
Gathercole 2002a, 266: âPaulâs dialogue partner did indeed hold to a theology of final salvation for the righteous on the basis of works. The principal implication of this is that New Perspective exegeses of Romans 2.1â4.8 attributes to Paul far too great an emphasis on the inclusion of the gentiles.â
Gathercole 2002a, 265: âon initial examination, Paul is operating with two somewhat distinct perspectives on justification: the first occupying initial justification and the justification of the ungodly (â¦) and the second referring to Godâs final vindication of the one who has done good and (â¦) fulfilled Torah.â
VanLandingham 2006, 15: âboth corpora agree that an individualâs behavior during his or her lifetime provides the criterion for this judgment: good behavior is rewarded with eternal life, bad behavior with damnation.â Cf. also the critical review of VanLandinghamâs position by Michael Bird (2008).
VanLandingham 2006, 293â295.
Other names used for this polarity include âindividualâ, âpersonalâ, or even, confusingly, âuniversalâ (because it is addressed to all individuals across time) versus âChristologicalâ, âeschatologicalâ, âhistoricalâ, âpneumatologicalâ, or âtransformativeâ.
See Heliso 2007, 18.
For a survey of scholarly interpretations that argue for this interpretation, see Heliso 2007, 19â26 (focused on the interpretation of Rom 1.17), and for a more systematic exposition of a participational approach, see Campbell 2005, 38â42. The cautious conclusion of Heliso, based on her Hellenistic-Jewish material sounds: âwe judge that the Christological reading should be afforded more weight within Pauline scholarship than has been the case thus farâ (p. 254).
Linebaugh 2013b.
Of groundbreaking importance was the monograph by Tuomo Mannermaa, Christ Present in Faith (2005, translation of the 1989 German original). More recent overviews are offered in Vainio 2010a.
Watson 2009, 159.
Bultmann 1984, 102: âDie entscheidende Geschichte ist nicht die Weltgeschichte, die Geschichte Israels und der anderen Völker, sondern die Geschichte, die jeder Einzelne selbst erfährt.â
Stendahl 1963.
Stendahl 1963, 200 (quoted), 204.
Some of these designations are coined in Schliesser 2007, 52â53 and 278 respectively. Herman Ridderbos favoured âcorporateâ or âredemption-historicalâ (e.g. 1953, 150); Martinus de Boer (2011) is known for his âapocalypticâ emphasis in interpreting Paulâs letters.
Binder 1968.
Binder 1968, 30, see §3.4.1 below.
Stowers 1994, 113.
Stowers 1994, 112.
See Stowers 1994, 111: âit is conceivableâ.
However, these lists of virtues are usually not of the formal or exhaustive type, as David Konstan also emphasizes (Konstan 2018, 252â253): âpistis certainly turns up in the company of moral qualities, but relatively rarely, I think, in proper lists of aretai, no doubt in part because these had come to be grouped in a few canonical sets.â
Plato, Laws 630c.
The translation is my own.
Havelock 1969, 51.
Havelock 1969, 68.
Schrenck 1968, 178â225 locates this development already in Theognisâs use of dikÄ. Cf. Theognis, Elegiac Poems 147, also apud Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 5.1.15 (1129b30): á¼Î½ δὲ δικαιοÏÏνῠÏÏ Î»Î»Î®Î²Î´Î·Î½ ÏᾶÏâ á¼ÏεÏή (âin justice all virtue is subsumedâ).
Cf. Ladikos 2006, 74: âPlato completed the internalization of justice as a quality of a man by placing it as a virtue in the psycheâa concept whose definition was not available to pre-Socratic authors, employing this word to symbolize the human personality. In doing so the semantic field of justice became richer and more complex by including the double reference to the polis (ÏÏλιÏ) and to the individual.â
See e.g. Republic 442d: ââTemperance (ΣÏÏÏοÏύνη),â he said, âis certainly nothing other than this, in the state and in the individual (Ïá½¹Î»Îµá½½Ï Ïε καὶ ἰδιώÏÎ¿Ï ).ââ
See esp. Plato, Republic 618dâ619a: âThe result of all this is that he can, by taking thought, choose, with regard to the nature of the soul, the worse and better life, calling the worse the one which will lead to becoming more unjust (Îµá¼°Ï Ïὸ á¼Î´Î¹ÎºÏÏá½³Ïαν), the better the one which will lead to becoming more just (Îµá¼°Ï Ïὸ δικαιοÏá½³Ïαν). All the rest heâll say goodbye to, for we have seen that this is the supreme choice in life and death.â
For this connection regarding ethics between the individual and society, see also Seneca, Epistles 66.10: âThe good, in every instance, is subject to these same laws. The advantage of the state and that of the individual are yoked together (iuncta est privata et publica utilitas).â For a similar argument as regards the Hebrew usage of justice/righteousness language, see Irons 2014.
Larson 1951, 397. See e.g. Plato, Gorgias 507aâb, where sÅphrosynÄ is considered to be justice when it pertains to humans: âThe sensible man (á½ (â¦) Ïá½½ÏÏÏν) will do what is fitting as regards both gods and men; (â¦) when he does what is fitting as regards men, his actions will be just, and as regards the gods, pious (ÏεÏὶ μὲν á¼Î½Î¸Ïá½½ÏÎ¿Ï Ï Ïá½° ÏÏοÏήκονÏα ÏÏá½±ÏÏÏν δίκαι᾿ á¼Î½ ÏÏá½±ÏÏοι, ÏεÏὶ δὲ Î¸ÎµÎ¿á½ºÏ á½ Ïια).â
Larson 1951, 414: âThis re-interpretation of justice in terms of temperance (for the movement is mainly in this direction rather than vice versa) is a part of Platoâs attack on the ethical and political relativism which were breeding cynicism.â
Examples of this can also be found across the Septuagint, see for instance 1 Samuel 26.23 (David about Saul), 1 Maccabees 14.35 (about Simon).
Diodorus Siculus, Library of History 11.66: âAnd when they had returned to Rhegium and required of their guardian an accounting of his administration, Micythus, who was an upright man (á¼Î½á½´Ï ὢν á¼Î³Î±Î¸á½¹Ï), gathered together the old family friends of the children and rendered so honest an accounting that all present were filled with admiration of both his justice and good faith (á½¥ÏÏε á¼ ÏανÏÎ±Ï ÏÎ¿á½ºÏ ÏαÏόνÏÎ±Ï Î¸Î±Ï Î¼á½±Î¶ÎµÎ¹Î½ Ïήν Ïε δικαιοÏύνην καὶ Ïὴν Ïá½·ÏÏιν); and the children, regretting the steps they had taken, begged Micythus to take back the administration and to conduct the affairs of the state with a fatherâs power and position.â
Plutarch, Aemilius Paullus 2.6.
Cicero, On the Republic 3.27; Loeb translates fide here with âhonourâ. Cf. also On the Republic 1.2, 2.61, 3.8, and De officiis 1.26.
Dio Chrysostom, Orations 74.10.
Epictetus, Encheiridion 24.4â5 (ÏιÏÏὸν καὶ αἰδήμονα); Discourses 2.4.1â4 (Ïὸν ÏιÏÏόν, Ïὸν αἰδήμονα, Ïὸν á½ Ïιον); Discourses 2.22.29â30 (á½ Ïι ÏιÏÏοί, á½ Ïι δίκαιοι; á½ ÏÎ¿Ï Ïá½·ÏÏιÏ, á½ ÏÎ¿Ï Î±á¼°Î´á½½Ï, á½ ÏÎ¿Ï Î´á½¹ÏÎ¹Ï Ïοῦ καλοῦ); Discourses 3.14.13â14 (αἰδώÏ, Ïá½·ÏÏιÏ, δικαιοÏύνη).
Epictetus, Discourses 2.4.1.
Epictetus, Discourses 2.22.29â30: âyou may confidently declare them âfriendsâ, just as you may declare them âfaithfulâ and âjustâ (á½ Ïι ÏιÏÏοί, á½ Ïι δίκαιοι). For where else is friendship to be found than where there is fidelity, respect, a devotion to things honourable (á½ ÏÎ¿Ï Ïá½·ÏÏιÏ, á½ ÏÎ¿Ï Î±á¼°Î´á½½Ï, á½ ÏÎ¿Ï Î´á½¹ÏÎ¹Ï Ïοῦ καλοῦ) and to naught beside?â
Epictetus, Discourses 3.14.13â14: âCome now, is there, then, nothing in man like running in the case of a horse, whereby the worse and the better will be recognized? Isnât there such a thing as reverence, faith, justice (αἰδώÏ, Ïá½·ÏÏιÏ, δικαιοÏύνη)? Prove yourself superior in these points, in order to be superior as a human being.â
This subject will be more thoroughly discussed in §7.3.2 infra.
Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods 1.4: atque haut scio an pietate adversus deos sublata fides etiam et societas generis humani et una excellentissima virtus, iustitia, tollatur.
Ad Herennium 4.13.19.
On this border-transcending quality of Roman fides and also on Punica fides, see infra, §7.3.2.
Silius Italicus, Punica 2.484â486. On Silius Italicusâs Punica, see also §3.3.2, §6.3.5 and §7.3.2 infra. On the worship of Fides, see infra, §7.3.1.
Epictetus, Discourses 2.4.2â3: âBut, goes on Epictetus, if we abandon this fidelity to which we are by nature born, and make designs against our neighbourâs wife, what are we doing? Why, what but ruining and destroying? Whom? The man of fidelity, of self-respect, or piety. Is that all? Are we not overthrowing also neighbourly feeling, friendship, the state (γειÏνίαÏιν δ᾿ οá½Îº á¼Î½Î±Î¹Ïοῦμεν, Ïιλίαν δ᾿ οá½, Ïόλιν δ᾿ οá½)?â Cf. Epictetus, Encheiridion 24.4â5.
See also Rose 1986, 118: âAtreus thus exemplifies the despot, and he clarifies this position by rejecting or redefining the criteria of benign kingship defended by the Satelles.â
Cf. Strecker 2005, 231: âDie fides fungierte in der antiken Welt offenbar über einen weiten Zeitraum hinweg und zumal um 1. Jh. n.Chr. innerhalb wie auβerhalb Roms als eine Art identity marker römischer Kultur und Herrschaft.â
See also §7.3.4 infra.
Plutarch, Pelopidas 26.4.
Cf. on this passage Morgan 2015, 453.
Specifically, the proximity of lexemes formed by the stems of ÏιÏÏ-/fid-, δικ-/ius-, and νομ-/lex(leg-).
See Ryberg 1958, 113. For the myth of the five ages, see Hesiod, Works and Days 106â201.
Dio Chrysostom, Orations 12.28.
Dio Chrysostom, Orations 12.27. See also 12.28: âThe people could not remain void of understanding (á¼Î¾á½»Î½ÎµÏοι), since they received discernment (ÏÏνεÏιÏ) and reasoning power (λÏγοÏ), illuminated by natural phenomena, and animals.â
Dio Chrysostom, Orations 12.29.
Juvenal, Satires 15.147â158. On Juvenal and Lucretiusâs accounts of the dawn of civilization, see Konstan 2001, 122â123.
See Lucretius, On the Nature of Things 5.925â1457, in particular 1169â1171. Cf. Van Nuffelen 2011, 184.
Epicurus, Letter to Menoeceus 123â124. Similar ideas are found in Philodemusâs works, see Obbink 2002, 217.
See Algra 2007, 14. Cf. on the role of the philosophical theologia §2.3.4 above and on Epicurean use of pistis §5.3.4 below.
For a more elaborate discussion of this passage, see §3.3.5 infra.
In another dialogue, Protagoras, the initial situation was less than ideal according to the protagonist, because of wild beast attacks, so Zeus sent Hermes to bring humanity reverence and justice by means of which they could live in cities. See Plato, Protagoras 322c: ÎÎµá½ºÏ Î¿á½Î½ δείÏÎ±Ï ÏεÏὶ Ïá¿· γÎνει ἡμῶν μὴ á¼ÏÏλοιÏο Ïᾶν, á¼Ïμá¿Î½ ÏÎμÏει á¼Î³Î¿Î½Ïα Îµá¼°Ï á¼Î½Î¸ÏÏÏÎ¿Ï Ï Î±á¼°Î´á¿¶ Ïε καὶ δίκην.
Vergil, Aeneid 7.203.
Juvenal, Satires 15.159.
Dio Chrysostom, Orations 12.27: οá½Îº á¼á¿¶Î½Ïα καÏÎ±Î½Ï ÏÏάξαι καὶ á¼Î¼ÎµÎ»á¿Ïαι ÏÎ¿á½ºÏ ÏÏεÏÎ²Ï Ïá½±ÏÎ¿Ï Ï ÎºÎ±á½¶ ÏαλαιοÏá½±ÏÎ¿Ï Ï.
Plato, Laws 701bâc.
Judge 2008f (first published in Hermes 58 (1961), 5â8), 57.
Judge 2008f, 54.
Hesiod, Works and Days 134â135.
Hesiod, Works and Days 191â193.
Seneca, Epistles 90.40.
In Hellenistic-Jewish material, we have similar accounts of a personified Wisdom leaving: cf. 1 Enoch 42.2 (âWisdom returned to her place, and took her seat among the angelsâ) and cf. 44.5; 4 Ezra 5.10 (âThen shall intelligence hide herself and wisdom withdraw to its chamberâ); Philo, Questions and Answers on Genesis 2.40 (âBut when it [Wisdom] sees them perversely increase in the opposite direction and being altogether uncontrolled and wilful, it returns to its own placeâ).
Hesiod, Works and Days 174â201.
Acts 17.28b, quoting Aratus, Phenomena 5 (Ïοῦ Î³á½°Ï ÎºÎ±á½¶ Î³á½³Î½Î¿Ï Îµá¼°Î¼á½³Î½). Aratusâs poetry was frequently translated from at least the first century onwards. See Wallace-Hadrill 1982, 20, n. 7, following Gatz 1967, 58â63.
Aratus, Phenomena 96â136; esp. vv. 133â136: âthen verily did Justice loathe that race of men and fly heavenward and took up that abode, where even now in the night time the Maiden is seen of men.â
Catullus, Poems 64.397â408, esp. vv. 397â398, 405â406: âBut when the earth was dyed with hideous crime, and all men banished justice from their greedy souls (iustitiamque omnes cupida de mente fugarunt) (â¦) then all right and wrong, confounded in impious madness, turned from us the righteous mind of the gods (iustificam nobis mentem avertere deorum).â
See Schunack 1999, 299: âSignifikant ist dieâfreilich pathetischeâKlage um das Schwinden aristokratischer, ständischer aretÄ bei Theognis.â
Horace, Odes 1.35.21. âWhiteâ probably refers to the practice of hands covered in white cloth during ceremonies at the temple of Fides, see §7.3.1. See for rara fides also EDR142066 (Epigraphic Database Rome, part of EAGLE), Martial, Epigrams 10.78.1â3: âMacer, you will go to Salonae by the sea. With you will go rare good faith and love of right (ibit rara fides amorque recti), and power, which, when it takes honour for its companion, always comes home the poorer.â
Ovid, Metamorphoses 1.129.
The Loeb translation of submissa Fides as âhumble Faithâ seems inadequate here, since the other deities are clearly portrayed as being mistreated.
Propertius, Elegies 1.16 (Monobiblos). This is argued by Anthony Corbeill (2005). Particularly the âveiled handsâ (1.16.45: debitaque occultis vota tuli manibus) and the renewed appropriation of fides by August (who may then be Fidesâs new lover, see Elegies 1.16.34) point in this direction.
Pseudo-Seneca, Octavia 63â64: âwho was rescued and hidden from the foe by your loyal devotionâ (tua quem pietas hosti rapuit texitque fides). The importance of fides in this play was also stressed in a paper by Emma Buckley, presented at the âFides in Flavian Literatureâ conference (Nijmegen, 6â7 June 2015), published in 2019.
Apuleius, Metamorphoses 4.21.
Theognis, Elegiac Poems 1143â1146.
Homer, Iliad 2.204â206.
See Origen, Against Celsus 8.68.
Plutarch, Numa 7.4.
On this theme of the return of a Golden Age, cf. also the research conducted on this theme by Karin Neutel (2015), esp. chapter 1.3 âThe Ideal of Unityâ (42â66).
Hesiod, Works and Days 109: ÏÏá½»Ïεον (â¦) ÏÏá½½ÏιÏÏα γένοÏ; 127: δεύÏεÏον (â¦) Î³á½³Î½Î¿Ï (â¦) á¼ÏγύÏεον, 143: ÏÏá½·Ïον á¼Î»Î»Î¿ Î³á½³Î½Î¿Ï Î¼ÎµÏá½¹ÏÏν á¼Î½Î¸Ïá½½ÏÏν Ïάλκειον; 157â158: á¼Î»Î»Î¿ [156: γένοÏ] Ïá½³ÏαÏÏον (â¦) δικαιόÏεÏον καὶ á¼Ïειον; 176: νῦν Î³á½°Ï Î´á½´ Î³á½³Î½Î¿Ï á¼ÏÏὶ ÏιδήÏεον. Cf. Ryberg 1958, 114: âThe use of terms meaning âraceâ rather than âageâ, nova progenies and gens aurea, specifically echo the chryseon genos.â
Wallace-Hadrill 1982, 21. On Vergil and the Sibylline Oracles, see also Neutel 2015, 62â64.
Neutel 2015, 63: âAs this passage confirms, there appears to have been an interesting process of exchange in this period between eschatological prophecy, the tradition of the Golden Age and thought on utopian or ideal communities.â
Ryberg 1958, 116.
On the Sibylline Oracles in Rome and this particular episode, see Erich S. Gruenâs entry in Oxford Classical Dictionary on the âSibylline Oraclesâ.
Vergil, Aeneid 1.292â293. There is debate as to whether the context of this passage already refers to Caesar August or rather to Julius Caesar: see Harrison 1996.
Vergil, Aeneid 6.791â794. Whereas the Aeneid is explicitly referring to Augustus here, the fourth Eclogue refers to the consulship of Gaius Asinius Pollio (40 BC) and to a child whose identity is disputed.
Ryberg 1958, 131, citation from 125.
On fides as part of Augustan propaganda and political agenda, see §7.3.5 infra.
In a list of âAspects of Roman imperial Ideology and Propagandaâ, Fredrick J. Long (2013, 271) includes â3. Its realization of old golden ageâ.
See on this topic also Morgan 2015, 134â135; Corbeill 2005, 93.
Piccaluga 1981, 723â732: âIl ritornoâ di Fidesâ.
Piccaluga 1981, 726.
Piccaluga 1981, 728.
Piccaluga 1981, 729: âDa diversi anni sto cercando di sottolineare lâimportanza del fatto che questo personaggio [i.e. Saturn]âdel quale la tradizione ricorda tanto il favoloso periodo di regno quanto la scomparsa, coincidente col concludersi di tale epoca miticaâa differenza di altre divinitaÌ del politeismo romanoâla presenza e lâinfluenza delle quali nel settore esistenziale poggiante su di esse sono concepite come costantemente attiveâvenga rimesso in funzione solo in occasione della sua festa, allorcheÌ, tornando egli âcome reâ, si instaura in cittaÌ la particolare atmosfera dei Saturnalia, vale a dire, torna, sia pure per quel breve lasso di tempo, anche la realtaÌ saturnia, con tutti gli specifici âvaloriâ che la presentano come nuova e paradisiaca rispetto a quella attuale.â
Diogenes of Oenoanda, Fragment 56.
Plutarch, On the Fortune or the Virtue of Alexander 329B: âFor Alexander did not follow Aristotleâs advice to treat the Greeks as if he were their leader, and other peoples as if he were their master (Ïοá¿Ï μὲν á¼Î»Î»Î·Ïιν á¼¡Î³ÎµÎ¼Î¿Î½Î¹Îºá¿¶Ï Ïοá¿Ï δὲ βαÏβάÏÎ¿Î¹Ï Î´ÎµÏÏοÏÎ¹Îºá¿¶Ï ÏÏώμενοÏ).â
On the question whether Plutarch adequately summarizes Zenoâs position, cf. Vogt 2007, 86â90; Schofield 1991, âAppendix A: Zeno and Alexanderâ (104â111).
Xenophon, Memorabilia 4.4.14.
Xenophon, Memorabilia 4.4.17: âWhom would anyone rather trust (ÏιÏÏεύÏειε) as guardian of his money or sons or daughters? Whom would the whole city think more trustworthy (á¼Î¾Î¹Î¿ÏιÏÏá½¹ÏεÏον) than the man of lawful conduct? (â¦) Whom would enemies rather trust (ÏιÏÏεύÏειαν) in the matter of a truce or treaty or terms of peace? Whom would men rather choose for an ally? And to whom would allies rather entrust (ÏιÏÏεύÏειαν) leadership or command of a garrison, or cities?â
Plato, Laws 875câd: âYet if ever there should arise a man competent by nature and by a birth right of divine grace to assume such an office, he would have no need of rulers over him; for no law or ordinance is mightier than Knowledge, nor is it right for Reason to be subject or in thrall to anything, but to be lord of all things, if it is really true to its name and free in its inner nature. But at present such a nature exists nowhere at all, except in small degree; wherefore we must choose what is second best, namely, ordinance and law, which see and discern the general principle, but are unable to see every instance in detail.â
See for instance Plato, Laws 721bâd (the example of a law on marriage). Cf. on the deficiencies of the law Bobonich 2004, 96â97.
Irwin 2010, 98.
On the connection between persuasion and pistis, see chapter 5.
The etymological connection is explicitly presumed elsewhere in the Laws: see Laws 957c: âfor were it not so, it would be in vain that our divine and admirable law bears a name akin to reason (á¼¢ μάÏην Ïοá½Î½Î¿Î¼Î± νῷ ÏÏοÏá¿ÎºÎ¿Î½ κεκÏá¿Ïâ á¼Î½ ὠθεá¿Î¿Ï ἡμá¿Î½ καὶ Î¸Î±Ï Î¼Î±ÏÏá½¸Ï Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï).â
Aristotle also connects law and reason and is reluctant to grant too much power to laws in making people virtuous. See Nichomachean Ethics 10.9.9 (1180a3â5): âAccordingly we shall need laws (δεοίμεθâ á¼Î½ νόμÏν) to regulate the discipline of adults as well, and in fact the whole life of the people generally; for the many are more amenable to compulsion and punishment than to reason and to moral ideals (οἱ Î³á½°Ï Ïολλοὶ á¼Î½á½±Î³Îºá¿ μᾶλλον á¼¢ λόγῳ ÏειθαÏÏοῦÏι καὶ Î¶Î·Î¼á½·Î±Î¹Ï á¼¢ Ïá¿· καλῷ).â See also Nichomachean Ethics 10.9.17 (1180b23â27): âSo presumably a man who wishes to make other people better whether few or many by discipline, must endeavour to acquire the science of legislationâassuming that it is possible to make us good by laws (εἰ διὰ νόμÏν á¼Î³Î±Î¸Î¿á½¶ γενοίμεθâ á¼Î½). For to mold aright the character of any and every person that presents himself is not a task that can be done by anybody, but only (if at all) by the man with scientific knowledge (ÏÎ¹Î½Î¿Ï Ïοῦ εἰδόÏοÏ).â
Lucian, The Runaways 17 and Maximus of Tyre, Philosophical Orations 36.1. See also Cole 1967, 151, esp. n. 12.
According to Bobonich (2004, 95), the âemphasis on divine reason as the cause of order in the world is a theme that runs throughout the late dialogues, including the Laws, the Philebus, the Statesman, and the Timaeusâ.
The main classical loci are Theaetetus 176bâc, Republic 611dâe, and Timaeus 41dâ47c.
In chapter 6 (§6.3.4), I will discuss the concept of homoiÅsis theÅi and its connection to pistis elaborately. On this particular passage and the homoiÅsis theÅi motive, see Erler 2002a, 165â166: âHere the traditional concept is enriched by the introduction of the notion of measure.â
Plato, Theaetetus 176c: âGod is in no wise and in no manner unrighteous (Î¸Îµá½¸Ï Î¿á½Î´Î±Î¼á¿ οá½Î´Î±Î¼á¿¶Ï á¼Î´Î¹ÎºÎ¿Ï), but utterly and perfectly righteous (á½¡Ï Î¿á¼·á½¹Î½ Ïε δικαιόÏαÏοÏ), and there is nothing so like him as that one of us who in turn becomes most nearly perfect in righteousness (δικαιόÏαÏοÏ).â
Aristotle, Rhetoric 1.10.3 (1368b7â9).
Aristotle, Rhetoric 1.15.4â6 (1375aâb).
Cf. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 4.8.10 (1128a10â11): âThe cultivated gentleman (ÏαÏίειÏ) will therefore regulate his wit, and will be as it were a law to himself (οἷον Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï á½¢Î½ á¼Î±Ï Ïá¿·).â
Cf. for this parallel also Barr 1994, 54.
Plato, Laws 728a4â5.
Romans 12.3, see my argument in §2.5.4 above.
Porphyry, Letter to Marcella 25. Translations of Porphyry are taken over from Alice Zimmern (1896) with, when necessary, minor revisions.
As argued by Paul Vander Waerdt (2003).
Seneca, Epistles 94.37.
Seneca, Epistles 94.39.
Brad Inwood (2003b, 83) distinguishes five types of ânatural lawâ in Senecaâs works and counts this application as âour first ethically important sense of ânatural lawââ.
Cf. Epictetus, Discourses 2.16.28, âAnd what is the law of God (Ïá½·Ï Î´á¾¿ á½ Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï á½ Î¸Îµá¿Î¿Ï)? To guard what is his own (Ïá½° ἴδια ÏηÏεá¿Î½)â, and 1.29.4, âThis is the law which God has ordained (Ïὸν νόμον á½ Î¸Îµá½¸Ï Ïέθεικεν), and He says, âIf you wish any good thing, get it from yourself.ââ
Epictetus, Discourses 4.3.12.
There is some discussion on the meaning and intertextuality behind θεοδίδακÏοί. Malherbe (1983, 253) reads it in light of (anti-)Îpicureanism, as Epicurus and his followers claimed to be αá½ÏοδίδακÏοί. John Cloppenburg (1993) argues for a conscious reference to the famous brotherly love of the Dioscuri, whereby these deities are the theos in question. Stephen Witmer (2006 and 2008, chapter 8, âGod-taught to loveâ, 153â164) rejects both options in favour of a reference to Isaiah 54.13 (in the Septuagint: καὶ ÏάνÏÎ±Ï ÏÎ¿á½ºÏ Ï á¼±Î¿á½»Ï ÏÎ¿Ï Î´Î¹Î´Î±ÎºÏÎ¿á½ºÏ Îεοῦ). Whereas Witmerâs argument seems to have the upper hand here vis-à -vis the others, I would add that the appeal to God also serves to ratify Paulâs teachings in line with the Hellenistic discourse of moral education as divine education. On the immediacy suggested by θεοδίδακÏοί, see §6.4.3 infra.
Long 2002, 188 (italics his).
Cf. on divine immanentism in Stoic thought but also on the idea of divine assistance as coming from a separate entity §6.3.4 infra.
This can be seen as the âcore intuition of natural law theoriesâ according to Katja Maria Vogt (2007, 4). Cf. Striker 1996a, 209: âBy contrast to human legal codes, the natural law is supposed to be valid independently of any formal procedures, and such that it cannot be changed.â
Plutarch, On the Fortune or the Virtue of Alexander 329B; note the wordplay between νομÏÏ âfieldâ and νÏμοÏ, âlawâ.
Plato and Cicero have also been proposed as the inventors of natural law. Plato, however, endorsed the concept of natural or divine justice, but did not connect this to his ideas on the internal law of reason. The early Stoics did not yet consistently use the technical term natural law (νÏÎ¼Î¿Ï ÏÏÏεÏÏ) as Cicero did (ius naturae, lex naturae), but they nevertheless explored the idea of nature as a common law. Hence, I consider Plato to be a forerunner and Cicero an important source and spokesperson for the tradition of natural law. See also Striker 1996a.
Translation by E.H. Gifford (1903).
Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods 2.154. Cf. on this text Morgan 2015, 490: âCicero and Stoics (and, for that matter, other philosophers, and very likely Greeks and Romans in general) seem to have no difficulty imagining the cosmos as a divineâhuman community; they do not, for instance, normally imagine the divine as so far outside their reach or understanding as to belong to another realm.â
This position is argued for in an impressive reconstruction of Zenoâs thought by Malcolm Schofield (1991) and is also endorsed by Troels Engberg-Pedersen (Engberg-Pedersen 2000, 76â77).
Obbink 1999, 178.
Cicero, On the Laws 1.23: âTherefore, since there is nothing better than reason, and since it exists both in man and God, the first common possession of man and God is reason (prima homini cum deo rationis societas). But those who have reason in common must also have right reason (recta ratio) in common. And since right reason is Law (lex), we must believe that men have Law also in common with the gods. Further, those who share Law must also share Justice (ius); and those who share these are to be regarded as members of the same commonwealth (quibus autem haec sunt inter eos communia, ei civitatis eiusdem habendi sunt). (â¦) Hence we must now conceive of this whole universe as one commonwealth of which both gods and men are members (ut iam universus hic mundus una civitas sit communis deorum atque hominum existimanda).â
Vogt 2007, 92â93.
Troels Engberg-Pedersen (2000, 77) finds the closest parallel to Paul in this regard to be Chrysippus, who kept some of the revolutionary Zenonian material as regards the non-hierarchical nature of his ideal city and may have looked for ways to implement them without planning a large political revolution.
Cf. e.g. Inwood 2003b, 81.
Cicero, On the Laws 1.18â19.
Cicero, De officiis 3.69: âThe civil law ([ius] civile) is not necessarily also the universal law ([ius] gentium); but the universal law ought to be also the civil law. But we possess no substantial, life-like image of true Law and genuine Justice; a mere outline sketch (umbra et imaginibus) is all that we enjoy. I only wish that we were true even to this; for, even as it is, it is drawn from the excellent models which Nature and Truth afford (ex optimis naturae et veritatis exemplis).â
Cicero, On the Republic 1.52.
For general analyses and discussion of oikeiÅsis, see Engberg-Pedersen 1990; Striker 1996b (first published in Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 1 (1983): 145â167); Gill 2017.
As explained quite elaborately in Seneca, Epistles 121.
Cf. SVF 3.179.
See Gill 2016, 231. Cf. Gill 2017, 117: âAntiochusâ account is best understood as an attempt to recast the Stoic theory in Platonic-Aristotelian terms.â
Annas 1995, 263.
Another important source on this issue is Stobaeus, Florilegium 4.671â673 (containing fragments of Hierocles).
As argued by Gisela Striker (1996b, 294).
On oikeiÅsis in Philo, cf. Niehoff 2018, 235â236; Boys-Stones 2014, 300â301, n. 7.
Cited in Philo, On the Posterity of Cain 135.
For the debate on the dating of the commentary, see LeÌvy 2010, 92.
Anonymous, Commentary on the Theaetetus (P. Berol. inv. 9782) 5, translation by George Boys-Stones. Cf. Martin 2015, 351: âif even the slightest degree of variation is admitted then a conception of justice derived from oikeiÅsis has morally objectionable consequences and fails in its claim to warrant a cosmopolitan ethic.â
See Annas 1995, 270â274.
Anonymous, Commentary on the Theaetetus 5. Cf. also Bonazzi 2008a, 599: âWhat is remarkable is not so much the opposition between Platonism and Stoicism as the fact that the oikeiÅsis doctrine, whose distinctively Stoic character is acknowledged, is not completely rejected. (â¦) [B]y reducing its importance he can incorporate the Stoic theory into his own Platonist system.â
Anonymous, Commentary on the Theaetetus 7.
LeÌvy 2010, 92.
On the Platonic origins, see Aalders 1969; more recently and extensively: Ramelli 2006.
Thus reasons Peter van Nuffelen (2011, 115), following Thomas SzlezaÌk (1972, 13â26), and arguing against Erwin Goodenough (1928), Francis Dvornik (1966), and John W. Martens (2003, 31â66).
A good overview is provided by Glenn Chesnut (1978). He remarks (at 1310) that â[t]his concept appeared, in slightly different language, in an impressive range of philosophical systems.â
See Plato, Statesman 294b. On the meaning of καιÏÏÏ in the Statesman, see Harry 2018.
Cf. again at 276a: âembracing in the word both the kingship of the present time and that of the time of Cronusâ.
Plato, Statesman 271e. That this shepherd-like divine rule is indeed the ideal situation envisioned by Plato for the present, âhumanâ age is questioned in Speliotis 2011.
See 300eâ301a: âSuch states, then, it seems, if they are to imitate well, so far as possible (Îµá¼°Ï Î´á½»Î½Î±Î¼Î¹Î½ μιμήÏεÏθαι), that true form of governmentâby a single ruler who rules with scienceâmust never do anything in contravention of their existing written laws and ancestral customs (ÏαÏá½° Ïá½° γεγÏαμμένα καὶ Ïá½±ÏÏια á¼Î¸Î·).â
Cf. Van Nuffelen 2011, 114â118; see on nomos empsychos p. 118: âThe concept of âlaw embodiedâ thus reconciles the descriptive and prescriptive accounts of kingship and it is the normative emphasis on virtue that provides a check on possible tyrannical abuse of the notionâ. Van Nuffelen is in discussion with Martens (2003, 65), who appears to miss this two-sidedness.
The Hellenistic dating (ranging from the fourth to the first century BC) is offered in Thesleff 1961, 113â116, while a dating to the third century AD is argued for by Walter Burkert (1972). Cf. Chesnut 1978, 1313: âThey could not easily have been written before the third century BC or after the second century AD.â
Pseudo-Archytas apud Stobaeus, Florilegium 4.1.136.
Translation by Goodenough (1928, 68).
Ecphantus apud Stobaeus, Florilegium 4.7.64: á½£Ï á¼ÏεÏνίÏÎµÏ Ïεν αá½Ïὸν á¼ÏÏεÏÏÏῳ ÏÏÏÎ¼ÎµÎ½Î¿Ï á¼Î±Ï Ïá¿·.
ÏίθηÏι is the Doric variant of ÏίθηÏι (present indicative 3rd person singular): see LSJ, s.v. Ïίθημι.
Also a Doric form, combining the reflective pronouns of subject and object: see Ahrens 1843, 275: âJam vero geminatum αá½ÏÎ¿Ï (â¦) Dorice in unam coalescunt, reflexiva petestate utitur eo aucta quod et subjecti et objecti notio pronomine αá½ÏÎ¿Ï distinguitur.â
Edition: Delatte 1942, p. 50, translation my own.
Translation Goodenough 1928, 89. On this transformation of the kingâs subjects, see Smith 2011, 41â43.
See also Chesnut 1978, 1312: âMonarchy was above all the imitation of God: the good ruler imitated God and thereby took on a kind of powerful reflected divinity himself. In this way the king or emperor was also turned into a kind of saviour figure. The common people were brought to salvation by imitating the ruler, whose virtue, rationality, and very physical appearance were enough to reform the hearts and minds of the worst sinners by giving a vision of a new and higher way of life.â
Cicero, On the Republic 1.52.
Cicero, On the Laws 3.2.
Cf. Martens 1991.
Sterling (2003, 78â79) lists at least Philo, Josephus, and Pseudo-Phocylides.
See also Najman 2003, 62: âalthough the Law of Moses certainly includes rules and precepts, it cannot be reduced to a code. The rules must be read as expressions of the virtuous lives of the patriarchs and of Moses.â
Philo, On the Life of Moses 2.4.
Philo, On the Life of Moses 1.162.
Philo, On the Life of Abraham 5.
2 Baruch 57.2, preserved in Syriac (which reads lâ ktbâ nmwsâ): the treatise was probably originally written in Hebrew or Aramaic, possibly the Syriac version was a translation from the Greek. See Gurtner 2007.
As is also the outcome of Anja Kleinâs analysis of faith-language in the Old Testament: Klein 2017, 77â78.
Philo, Who Is the Heir? 95. Philo ascribes to the Stoic doctrine of living according to nature in On Planting 49; On the Migration of Abraham 120; On the Life of Abraham 6; On the Virtues 18.
Philo, On the Life of Abraham 3â4: âlet us postpone consideration of particular laws, which are, so to speak, copies (εἰκόνÏν), and examine first those which are more general and may be called the originals (á¼ÏÏεÏá½»ÏÎ¿Ï Ï) of those copies. These are such men as lived good and blameless lives.â
See Seneca, On Mercy 1.4.1 (mens illa imperii), and 1.5.1 (tu animus rei publicae tuae es, illa corpus tuum).
Martens (1994b) seems to miss the application of Plato and Seneca of the âliving lawâ discourse to the ancient sages and attributes its introduction to Philo (at 326): âunlike the Hellenistic fragments, Philo creates two levels of nomoi empsychoi, those of king and of sage.â
Plutarch, To an Uneducated Ruler 779F.
Plutarch, To an Uneducated Ruler 780B. See also §6.3.4 below.
Plutarch, Numa 20.8: αá½Ïοὶ δὲ Ïὴν á¼ÏεÏὴν á¼Î½ εá½Î´á½µÎ»á¿³ ÏαÏαδείγμαÏι καὶ λαμÏÏá¿· Ïá¿· βίῳ Ïοῦ á¼ÏÏονÏÎ¿Ï á½ÏῶνÏεÏ.
On this topic, see e.g. Davis 2002.
Silius Italicus, Punica 2.505.
The connection between intellectual degradation, âpassionalâ disorders, and unethical behaviour is particularly evident in Stoicism, cf. for a comparison between Paul and the Stoics (particularly Epictetus) on this point, see Huttunen 2010, 47â54.
LXX Deuteronomy 32.20.
Cf. Rock 2010, see the table at 81â82 in particular.
Campbell (1992a) imagens a similar effect, yet seems to overlook that a substantial part of Paulâs listeners may not have been familiar with Jewish schemes of divine salvation (at 184): âWith the use of the phrase δικαιοÏÏνη Îεοῦ, it would seem that Paul is deliberately echoing religious phraseology widely comprehensible within late Second Temple Judaism. It is hard to imagine today the chord that such language must have struck in the hearts of his listeners, as Paul assured them that Godâs long-awaited salvation was finally at hand.â
Douglas Moo (1996, 90, 91) refers to the section Romans 1.18â4.25 as âThe Heart of the Gospelâ and to these verses as âthe heart of this sectionâ, turning it in effect into âthe heart of the heart of the gospelâ.
For the question of whether pistis IÄsou means something along the lines of faith in Christ or faithfulness of Christ, see also §3.4.3 and chapter 6 below.
For the OT context, see the groundbreaking work by Cremer, the influential address by Käsemann in his footsteps, and, more recently, work by Käsemannâs student Peter Stuhlmacher: Cremer 1899; Käsemann 1969; Stuhlmacher 1986.
See Linebaugh 2013a, 136â139.
Campbell 1992a, 163.
Hays 1980. Hays summarizes Paulâs concern in Romans 3 thus (at 109): âThis issue is, at bottom, the question of Godâs integrity.â
From a semantic perspective, I do not see a purposeful difference in meaning between the verbs ÏανεÏÏÏ (Rom 3.21) and á¼ÏοκαλÏÏÏÏ (Rom 1.17 and Gal 3.23). Fitzmyer (1993, 273) argues that ÏανεÏÏÏ demonstrates that Godâs presence is apparent from creation (a natural theology), versus the idea that it can only be revealed from above. I agree with his conclusion, not with his argumentation here.
According to the author of Acts, this idea of an age (that has now come to an end) in which âthe nationsâ were left pretty much alone, was a recurring theme in Paulâs preaching: cf. Acts 14.16: âIn past generations he allowed all the nations to follow their own ways.â
This distinction is also emphasized in Schliesser 2017a, 559, who holds that Jesus does not have an exemplary function for believers in Paul as he does for the author of Hebrews. Cf. for my defence of the opposite view §6.4.4 below.
Hay 1989, at 474.
Lohmeyer 1929, 117: âwas nur als Tat und Gesinnung des Herzens, als gläubiges Handeln möglich erscheint, wird hier gleichsam zu einer objektiv gültigen und transzendenten Macht erhobenâ; âdas religiös-metaphysische Prinzipâ.
My translation of: âDie tiefere Ursache liegt aber offenbar darin, daà das griechische Denken durch das Subjekt-Objekt-Schema beherrscht ist bzw. daà es sich nicht in zeitlich-geschichtlich-dynamischen, sondern in räumlich-ungeschichtlich-statischen Kategorien vollzieht, woraus sich dann Psychologisierung und Relativierung ergibt.â
See Friedrich 1982, 99; cf. also Schliesser 2007, 52â53.
Schliesser (2007, 45â54) offers an excellent overview of the scholarly discussion, including a specific section on âFaith as Salvation-Historical Eventâ. For the notion of trans-subjectivity he adapts from Binder, see Schliesser 2016, 282â283.
See Schliesser 2016, 289: âHowever, the metaphorical or cognitive way of understanding Paulâs notion of faith is to be supplemented by a non-metaphorical or cosmological interpretation, one which acknowledges that faith is not only a human possibility, but also a divine reality.â
Schliesser 2007, 279, with references to Georgi 1991, 43 and Käsemann 1980 [1973], 88.
De Boer 2011, 239.
See e.g. Schliesser 2007, 395: âNot only âfaith,â but also gospel and law, righteousness and wrath, grace and sin, spirit and flesh, love and peace, even Christ figure as universal concepts, as powerful forces, which at the same time include the category of participation and appropriation. In Paulâs world of thought, therefore, objectivity and subjectivity do not represent two mutually exclusive perspectives on the divinely instituted reality, in which (religious) existence takes place, but both are combined in mutual influence.â
I adapted the NRSV translation so that it retains the ambiguity that fuels the exegetical discussion.
Augustine, On the Spirit and the Letter 45, 48, translation by Philip Schaff. Cf. Augustine, On the Spirit and the Letter 47: âNor ought it to disturb us that the apostle described them as doing that which is contained in the law âby nature,âânot by the Spirit of God, not by faith, not by grace. For it is the Spirit of grace that does it, in order to restore in us the image of God, in which we were naturally created.â On Augustineâs changing position, see Gathercole 2002a.
Cf. e.g. for the first position Cranfield 2004a [1975], 155â158 and Gathercole 2002b.
Fitzmyer (1993, 311) is a representative of the first (sub-)position, Dunn (1988b, 104) of the second.
Cf. Martens 1994a, 61: âPaul never refers to gentile Christians as gentiles alone.â Cf. Cranfield (2004a [1975], 156), who mentions Romans 11.13 and 15.9, and Gathercole (2002b, 31), who also points to Romans 9.30, yet in all these cases the âpagansâ are referred to as a collective, a collective Paul serves as apostle, which âdid not strive for righteousnessâ and which will âcome to honour Godâ: these designations seem to pertain to more than those individuals who have already accepted Christ. Martens also argues that if âChristian gentilesâ were able to do right âby natureâ instead of âby the Spiritâ this would be a far more challenging ânatural theologyâ (at 61, n. 20), but here, of course, there is the possibility of understanding âby natureâ as referring to âpossessing the lawâ.
Cf. for a different position Käsemann 1980 [1973], 63: Käsemann explicitly denies that the idea of unwritten law is relevant to understanding these verses.
Cf. for a different position Gathercole 2002b, 39: âEven Rom 1.19â21 does not bear comparison with Rom 2.14â15 very well: the former speaks of an external revelatory voice in the cosmos, which humanity in any case constantly refuses. The natural knowledge of Godâs will attributed by some to Rom 2.14â15 is quite different: it is internal.â
Fuchs 1955; English translation: Fuchs 1965, 21â42.
A brief discussion of the Stoic ideas is found at Fuchs 1965, 82.
For Romans, see Huttunen 2010, 46â54 and 2009, 50â62, and for 1 Corinthians, see 2009, 33â34.
Martens 1994a, 66.
Collins 2010, against Martens at 146.
Though this list is not exhaustive, the parallel has been acknowledged in by Greenwood 1971, 264; Martens 1994a, 60, 21; Whelan 1982, 458, n. 32; Jolivet 1997, 315. Remarkably, sometimes it is noticed without further comment on the exegetical implications, such as in Cranfield 2004a [1975], 157, n. 3.
Aristotle, Politics 3.8.1â2 (1284a) and Nichomachean Ethics 4.8.10 (1128a).
Collins 2010, 142.
Gathercole 2002b, 38, n. 62, following Moo 1996, 151, n. 40.
Cf. Collins 2010, 132 (âit is reasonable to suppose that in some way or another Paul had access to some sayings of Aristotleâ) and 146 (âit makes far better sense to suppose that (at least some of) the words that Paul used were âin the air,â as part of popular conversation in the Graeco-Roman worldâ).
Ovid, Metamorphoses 1.89â90.
Räisänen 1987, 51, referring to Von der Osten-Sacken 1975, 245 and Hübner 1978, 119.
Räisänen 1987, 52.
Martyn 2003.
Martyn 2003, 377: âWe are entitled to wonder whether the interpretation of nomos plus genitive is being unduly influenced by an implicit assumption regarding Paulâs theology.â
Räisänen 1987, 52.
Martyn 2003, 584â585.
Martyn 2003, 581â582.
Cf. Ziesler (1972, 20, 25), who argues that the forensic âcannot be separated from the ethical altogetherâ; âIt is not just a vindicated status, but a vindicated life.â
Cf. Troels Engberg-Pederson on how Paulâs view of the law is similar to Stoic thought (2006a, 458): âPaul came to see a possibility in Christ faith that he would then find to be missing in the law: the possibility of fulfilling the law in the quite concrete sense of actually doing Godâs will as expressed in the law. Christ faith brought about what the law itself had not been able to bring about: that it be actually done.â
Paula Fredriksen, for instance, describes âjustification by faithâ as follows (2014, 808): âTheir ÏίÏÏÎ¹Ï in Christ (confidence that he had died, had been raised, and was soon coming back) righteoused them (through the giving of Ïνεῦμα, which also effected adoption) so that they could âfulfil the law,â specifically, the Lawâs Second Table, δικαιοÏÏνη.â
In the âliving lawâ discourse (and to some extent in the discourse of moral imitation, cf. chapter 6 below), we thus encounter a bridge from divine faithfulness in soteriological contexts to faithfulness as a moral quality. Cf. Volker Rabensâs criticism of Wright 2013: âWright hardly provides any insights on how Godâs love and covenant faithfulness may effect human faithful living, even though the ethical quality of âfaithfulnessâ is at the heart of his study.â See Rabens 2016a, 577.
Smith 2011; Whitlark 2018. On Jesus as the philosopher king and á¼Î½á½´Ï Ïελεá¿Î¿Ï in Ephesians, see also Long 2013, esp. 298â299.
Roetzel 2010, 122.
Stendahl 1963, see p. 200 on a ârobust conscienceâ and Phil 3.
Plutarch, To an Uneducated Ruler 800AâB, cf. on trust in leaders Plutarch, Cato the Younger 44.7â8 and Plutarch, Precepts of Statecraft 821BâC, both quoted above (§3.3.1).
On the âreferential shiftâ from God to Christ in Paulâs usage of the theme of the Day of the Lord in the âOld Testamentâ (an anachronistic term I use in the absence of a better alternative, âHebrew Bibleâ being unfitting for the Greek Septuagint), see Kreitzer 1987, 112â129.
Plutarch, Numa 20.8.
Cicero speaks in similar terms about the deification of human beings as people âwho are believed to have been admitted to celestial citizenship in recent times, by a sort of extension of the franchiseâ (On the Nature of the Gods 3.40: quos quasi novos et adscripticios cives in caelum receptos putant). Paul, however, probably did not think of this transformation as a transformation into divinity.
Xenophon, Cyropaedia 8.1.22.
Porphyry, Letter to Marcella 25.
Ecphantes apud Stobaeus, Florilegium 4.7.65, ed. Delatte 1942, p. 50. English translation is my own.
Plutarch, To an Uneducated Ruler 780E: δίκη μὲν οá½Î½ Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï Ïá½³Î»Î¿Ï á¼ÏÏá½·.
As already noted in Trebilco 2012, 76: âHe does this to emphasise the universality of salvation.â
Morgan (2015, 291) suggests reading pistis in this passage in its reified sense of âpledge/assuranceâ given by Christ to the faithful that if they exercise pistis, they will be made just. The âlensâ of the living law discourse, however, has the advantage of offering an additional explanation of how Christ may effectuate such a process of âmaking justâ.
Cf. e.g. Campbell 1992a, 186: âÏίÏÏÎ¹Ï no doubt describes Christâs obedience or faithfulness.â And cf. at 187: âwhile the dominant sense of ÏίÏÏÎ¹Ï in 3.21â26 seems to be the obedience of Christ in accepting and going to the Cross (â¦), a broader sense of obedience cannot be excluded from vv. 22b and 26d. (â¦) [H]is entire life also functions as a revelation of Godâs saving purpose and activity.â
E.g. Hong 1993, 112; Witherington III & Hyatt 2004, 115; Muddiman 2006, 96.
Engberg-Pedersen 2006b, 116. Cf. for a similar argument Thorsteinsson 2006, 146, repeated in Thorsteinsson 2010b, 193.
Engberg-Pedersen 2006b, 166.
I also agree with his syntactic choice to read verses 12.6â9a and 9bâ14 as âanacoluthic crescendoâsâ: see Engberg-Pedersen 2006b, 165.
As Bertschmann (2014, 247) also observes in critical conversation with Thorsteinsson.
Cf. Thorsteinsson (2006), who mentions the option of μηδενὶ (13.8) being a dative of respect (at 145, n. 23) and simply states and does not actually substantiate that Ïὸν á¼ÏεÏον (Rom 13.8) and Ïὸν ÏληÏίον (Rom 13.9) âmust here refer to people within the group addressed, viz. fellow Christ-believersâ (at 146).
See Plato, Laws 716CâD and §2.4.5 supra.
Porphyry, Letter to Marcella 27.
Considering this latter function, there seems to be logic in the argument that analogous to other Jewish responses to the empire Paulâs strategy is âto encourage submission, for now, to the authorities, rather than desperate resistance; and thus to safeguard the most vulnerable around and among the Roman Christians, those Jews struggling to rebuild their shattered community in the wake of imperial violence.â See Elliott 1997, 203.
Plato, Laws 715d: á¼Î½ ᾠδὲ á¼Î½ δεÏÏá½¹ÏÎ·Ï Ïῶν á¼ÏÏόνÏÏν, οἱ δὲ á¼ÏÏονÏÎµÏ Î´Î¿á¿¦Î»Î¿Î¹ Ïοῦ Î½á½¹Î¼Î¿Ï , ÏÏÏηÏίαν καὶ Ïάνθâ á½ Ïα θεοὶ ÏόλεÏιν á¼Î´Î¿Ïαν á¼Î³Î±Î¸á½° γιγνόμενα καθοÏῶ.
Thorsteinsson 2006, 159.
It is worth noting that in his Paul and the Stoics (2000), Engberg-Pedersen used the theory of oikeiÅsis to argue for a similar basic structure underlying Stoicism and Pauline thought (57â70). Furthermore, in discussion with Philip Esler, Engberg-Pedersen (2005) went to great lengths to demonstrate that, particularly in Romans 12, Paul and the Stoics are much alike, even when it comes to the structure of oikeiÅsis.
Plutarch, On Stoic Self-Contradictions 1038B, cf. SVF 3.179.
Cicero, On Ends 5.65.
Augustine indeed regarded the biblical love-command in line with Stoic and Aristotelean oikeiÅsis; see Clair 2016, 46â47.
On this text in particular, see Morgan 2017b, 176. For my own evaluation of such an interpretation of pistis in Paul, see §6.4.1 (on Phil 1.27) and §7.4.1 (on Gal 1.23).
Wright 1997, 129.
Gathercole 2002a, 231â232.
Gathercole mostly argues against an exclusively ethnic interpretation of the âboastingâ and appears to agree that there is an interconnectedness between what he calls a boast in âobedienceâ and a boast in âelectionâ: see Gathercole 2002a, 194: âthere can be no confidence in relation to the nations that is not also confidence in God because disobedience to the covenant leads to God giving Israel into the hands of the nations.â
I agree with Mark Seifrid here, who calls it a âquintessentially Jewish themeâ (1992, 223).
Badiou 2003, 76.
See Van Kooten 2010b, on the necessity of âbroadening the New Perspective on Paulâ.
In his defence of the views of a new version of the traditional perspective versus the merits of the New Perspective, Simon Gathercole (2004) describes this universal thrust as merely the âscopeâ of justification, whereas the content involves the justification of the individual believer, thus driving a wedge between verses 27â28 and 29â30 (at 155â156): âI would certainly affirm that gentile inclusion is prominent in 3:29â30, but that cannot serve to minimize the anthropological content of the doctrine of justification in 3:27â28. (â¦) Rather, the content of the doctrine of justification by faith should be distinguished from its scope.â
Stowers 1989, 674: âIt is clear, however, that he does not assimilate the two [Jews and gentiles] into a generic Christianity. Both Jews and gentiles share in blessings á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ of Abraham and Jesus, although not in identical ways. Thus, Paul can apply á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ to Jews in 3:30 but not διὰ ÏίÏÏεÏÏ.â See also Stowers 1994, 237â241 and cf. Bryan 2000, 113â114.
Campbell 1992b, 96: âIn sum, it would seem that the two phrases á¼Îº ÏίÏÏεÏÏ and διὰ Ïá¿Ï ÏίÏÏεÏÏ function paradigmatically in Paul; that is, they are stylistic variations of the same basic idea, allowing Paul to repeat his point without undue tedium. This is not to say that the variation cannot be motivated, but in terms of their primary meaning they seem to be saying essentially the same thing when they occur.â
Cf. Morgan 2015, 276: âavoiding both the Hebrew Bibleâs specification that the pistis is the just manâs own and that of the Septuagint that it is Godâs, is a master stroke. By leaving pistis unqualified, Paul allows it to refer equally and simultaneously to the pistis of God towards Christ and humanity and that of Christ towards God and humanity which make dikaiosynÄ possible, and that of the human being towards God and Christâ (cf. 286â287).
This is also the interpretation of Schumacher (2017, 337â339), who reads it in light of the (according to his argument) specifically Latin asymmetrical configuration of fides as an offer of protection.
Barth 1933, 41.
Taylor 2004b, 342. Gupta (2020b, ch. 9: âAnd the Righteous Will Live by Trustâ) lists four usages and is inclined towards a ârhetoricalâ usage, which intensifies the meaning: âby faith and only faithâ, this interpretation is not mentioned by Taylor but convincingly rejected by Quarles.
As a result, he rejects the readings by church fathers like Tertullian, John Chrysostom, Origen, and Theodoret, who all understand it as indicating some sort of change between the old and new covenant (see for an overview, Quarles 2003, 2). The change in referent from God (or Christ) to humans was first suggested by Ambrosiaster and made popular again by Karl Barth, but is also favoured in recent times. Cf. Hebert 1955, 375, who argues for âfrom Godâs faithfulness to manâs faithâ, and Torrance 1957, 113, âThat is to say, the righteousness of God is revealed from Godâs pistis to manâs pistis, but manâs pistis is his implication in the Divine pistis.â Dunn (1988b, 48) opts for a similar change in referents and takes the first pistis to refer to Godâs faithfulness and the second to âmanâs response of faithâ. Stowers (1994, 202) prefers Christ as the first referent: âThe righteousness of God is revealed in it (the gospel) by means of (Jesusâ) faithfulness resulting in faithfulness.â So also Witherington III 2009, 217: âthe cryptic, tightly packed phrase âfrom the faithful one unto faithâ probably alludes to Christ in its first half and prepares for the use of the pistis Christou language later about the faithfulness of Christ, referring especially to his death on the cross.â
Taylor 2004b, 346, citation from p. 348.
Cf. Dunn 1998, 388: âJustification means acceptance into a relationship with God characterized by the grace of Israelâs covenant. Justification by faith means gentiles experiencing the blessing promised to Abraham, being granted a share in Israelâs inheritance.â