Empire and Epistles: Anti-Roman Rhetoric in the New Testament Epistles

Postcolonialism

Fernando F. Segovia and R.S. Sugirtharajah compiled and edited a thorough volume of contributions that aid in our study of the New Testament writings from a postcolonial approach. Calling this book a ‘landmark achievement’, Segovia gives readers an impressive list of contributors who investigate each book of the New Testament. This collection brings together the extent and significance of the newer postcolonial approaches to the New Testament writings. Proponents of this approach contend that today,

it is more important than ever to find hermeneutical strategies that will refuse the complacency of nationalistic endeavors, as well as the neglect of the local in favor of the global. Postcolonial biblical interpretation has the potential to address these concerns, and offers a valuable hermeneutical strategy for exposing and countering imperialist, hegemonic readings of Scripture (Punt 2007: 363).

Familiar contributors such as Warren Carter, Neil Elliott, Richard Horsley, Abraham Smith, Elisabeth Schüssler-Fiorenza and Stephen Moore join others in looking at all the New Testament books through the lens of postcolonialism. With respect to the letters in the New Testament, for example, Ralph Broadbent defines postcolonial criticism as ‘concerned with power and hierarchy and as oppositional in mode’. In his application of such criticism to the Pastoral letters, he raises the question of the community situation behind them and why they reacted to Rome as they did. In the case of the Pastorals, he basically agrees with current scholarship on the ‘hierarchal impulses of empire’ (2007: 323). The perceived imperial power and authority is evident from ‘key passages having to do with the attitude of colonial subjects, the condition of slavery, the role of women, and the qualifications for male leadership in the community’ (ibid.). As we now move to the second part of this article, we will view some of the New Testament letters in detail, and we will again see the rise of the postcolonial approach to interpretation.

Occasion and audience

In the view of Neil Elliott, scholarship has a ‘problem’ accurately determining the purpose and occasion of the letter to the Romans: is it an historical debate with Judaism, an introduction of Paul himself to a church he did not plant, an exposition of Paul’s message, a ‘theological confession by Paul’ or an attempt to resolve religious and ethnic tensions within the Roman congregation? (1990: 13). Elliott seeks to resolve this tension by suggesting that the letter actually has a ‘double character’. Basically, this ‘double character’ is found first in the debate between Paul’s gospel message and Judaism, and second in the discussion between the Pauline message and Gentile Christians (1990: 11). Historical solutions alone disregard the letter’s ‘rhetorical integrity’, while many sociological readings are not sufficient to answer our questions about the composition of the Roman audience (1990: 35). Elliott sees the synagogue as the key, because the Christian gospel message was spread through the preaching in the synagogues (see the pattern of the Christian mission in Acts). Elliott contends that there was ‘considerable’ Gentile interest in Judaism in Rome, and the Gentile people who had converted to Judaism were the first ‘Christians’ in the city (1990: 51). In this earlier book, Elliott argues that the primary debate by Paul in Romans is concerned with the Jews, with their laws, and the Gentiles’ relationships with them. Elliott’s analysis is concerned with the theology and the rhetoric of the letter, with little regard for the socio-economic or the political controlling forces behind the presentation of Paul’s message.

Nevertheless, in Horsley’s later book, Elliott wrestles with a notoriously contentious passage, Rom. 13.1-7, in the ‘context of imperial propaganda’ (1997b: 184). The passage that begins, ‘everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities…’ (Rom. 13.1, niv) is problematic exegetically, theologically and politically. Is it an example of Paul’s use of ‘hidden’ or ‘coded’ anti-imperial rhetoric? Paul does not explain his use of the phrase ‘governing authorities’ (exousiais hyperechousais, literally: ‘superior authorities’) in Romans 13. In contrast, he uses the term ‘rulers’ (archontōn), or ‘leaders’ in 1 Cor. 2.6-8. As a result, some scholars have determined that Paul could not be making reference to the Roman authorities.

Elliott reviews the state of historical scholarship on this passage, and then views the features of political rhetoric, especially at the time of Emperor Nero, which may help us to better understand these verses. He writes that the phrase is ‘too questionable’ to be used to actually express Paul’s political views (1997b: 185). Others have noted that the passage makes sense if we read it against an assumed ‘general climate of anti-Jewish sentiment in Rome’ (as evidenced by the banishment of the Jews by Nero), but this attitude may be tied to ‘a narrowly constrained political situation in Rome’ (ibid.). Such a position effectively ‘relativized’ Paul’s phrase over against any universal concept of Romans 13 as illustrating a ‘theology of the state’ (ibid.). The implication is that historical events concerning the Jewish Christians can explain Paul’s peculiar political position. However, it remains a big mystery as to why Paul would communicate such a view in his letter, whatever the situation of the Roman believers (1997b: 187).

Because most scholars understand the letter to be written primarily for the ‘Gentile-Christian’ believers, Elliott determines that Paul was trying to protect the Roman church from ‘mistakenly being identified with the Jews by the Roman authorities’ (1997b: 188). This makes Romans ‘a theological defense of the gentile-Christian church, directed polemically against Jewish boasting or particularism’ (1997b: 189, his emphasis). As such, Romans 13 was written to protect the Gentile church from ‘the dangerous political fallout of Jewish nationalist agitation’ (ibid.). Elliott calls Romans a ‘paraenetic letter directed primarily against an emergent supersessionism among gentile Christians in Rome, an “incipient Marcionism”’ (ibid.). Thus, Paul’s arguments in the letter are formed around two main issues: Gentile-Christian views of anti-Judaism, and a ‘practical antinomianism’ which some Gentile Christians may have confused with Paul’s gospel message (ibid.).

Cassidy also interacts with Rom. 13.1-7. Historically, he asserts that ‘Romans predates Paul’s letters to Philemon and Philippians’, indicating that the chances are that Paul’s perspective changed over time (2001a: 17). Thus, he determines that Paul’s perspective in Romans 13 represents only his initial perspective on the Roman authorities. His ‘ultimate, defining perspective, a perspective explicitly grounded in Paul’s allegiance to Jesus, is expressed in Philippians’ (i.e., 3.18-21). The ‘governing authorities’ in Rom. 13.1 are, in Cassidy’s view, definitely the rulers of the Roman Empire, as familiar to the readers in Paul’s day as the taxation demanded from them. Specifically, Cassidy places the time of Paul’s words within the reign of the Emperor Nero (54–68 ce); Nero becomes the central figure in Romans 13, while the implication is that other ‘authorities’ were deserving of respect and honor as well. Paul gives his rationale for his call for subjection to these people, based on God’s establishment of the rulers (13.1a-2) (2001a: 26).

However, why would Paul give such directions to the Roman church, in view of the domination of such rulers, and in view of his perspectives on the Roman government in his later letters? While we cannot be certain of all the social and political factors that fully explain Paul’s positive ‘accommodation’ of the Roman officials and their taxation, Cassidy suggests that Paul had not yet fully experienced the Roman systems at the time of writing this letter (2001a: 35). Paul had just completed a ‘fruitful ministry’ in the eastern provinces of the Empire. While he had suffered trials in this area, he had not yet been severely imprisoned by the Roman government (2001a: 26). His positive experiences of being a Roman citizen, traveling extensively in the Empire, with his ‘lack of encounters with the Roman judicial system’, influenced his relationship with the Romans officials at that time (2001a: 35).

Justice and arrogance

N.T. Wright declares that there is an issue behind the question of why Romans was written that is ‘not normally noticed’ (2010: 5). ‘Paul went to Rome with the message of Jesus the Jewish Messiah, the Lord of the world, claiming that through this message, God’s justice was unveiled once and for all. Rome prided itself on being the capital of Justice, the source from which Justice would flow throughout the world’ (ibid.). Wright suggests that those who declare Jesus as the King who brings the justice and righteousness of God, ‘challenge the imperial pretention’ of justice (2010: 6). In addition to justice, ‘nothing about what we might call the political dimension of Paul’s argument should obscure for a moment that the message of the gospel is good news to sinners’. Remarkably, ‘nothing, not even Caesar’s system can separate us from God’s love shown in the Messiah, Jesus’ (ibid.).

Wright adds additional, distinctive thoughts about the cryptic Rom. 13.1-7 passage. In the context of chapters 12–13, ‘Paul argues that, however much the emperor may proclaim himself to be sovereign, without rival in the divine as well as the human sphere, he remains answerable to the true God’ (2010: 6). In these chapters, Paul is reminding the subjects of the Empire that Caesar is accountable to the true, just God; thus, Paul is diminishing ‘imperial arrogance’, not subjugating people to it. If this is true, then the Christian believers owe to the emperor ‘appropriate civil obedience’, but not the worship Caesar claimed. Agreeably, Wright concludes that ‘the subversive gospel is not designed to produce civil anarchy’ (ibid.).

Elliott surmises that Paul’s ‘field of vision’ in the first chapter of Romans is ‘narrowly focused on people who refused to honor God, who embraced idolatry instead, and were abandoned by God to degrading sexual acts and profound wickedness’ (2008: 78). That is, Elliott believes Paul intends his audience to understand these wicked people as ‘none other than the Caesars themselves’ (2008: 79, his emphasis). Thus, Paul writes to the believers in Rome to warn them that ‘appearances can be deceiving; what may seem to be just is nothing of the kind’ (2008: 85). Paul wrote against the ‘arrogant presumption, fueled by imperial ideology, of standing at the “end of history”’ (2008: 164). He concludes that ‘an uncritical appropriation of Paul today too readily reinforces tropes of subordination and a pious political quietism’ (2008: 164).

Another interesting approach is that of Sylvia Keesmaat, who contends that Paul uses the ‘exodus tradition’ and the ‘Scriptures of Israel’ in his letter to the Romans in such a way as to encourage his readers. With an emphasis on historical features, she writes that the community was primarily Gentile after the ‘expulsion of the Jews in 49 ce’. Later, when the Jews returned to Rome, a ‘tension’ resulted in the believing community between the Jewish Christians and the Gentile Christians (1999: 154). In his letter, Paul’s language calls for both factions to be unified in an ‘ethic of suffering love’ (ibid.). The exodus tradition reflected in Romans 8 shows the path which the Roman believers are to walk with one another. The same tradition is used by Paul to form the basis for a more particular discussion of God’s faithfulness to Israel in Romans 9–11, as well as a call to reconciliation between Roman believers in chapters 12–15.

Bruce Winter argues that in Romans 12–15, Paul is ‘a radical critic of the prevailing culture of privilege in Rome’s society’ (1994: 99). Paul repeatedly calls for actions that oppose accepted social expectations. Paul refuses to accept the idea that Christianity should be a part of the normally expected patterns of social behavior, including unequal patron-client relations, dealings between (unequal) friends, and the manner in which ‘associations’ conducted themselves. Instead, Paul ‘scandalously’ employs familiar ‘family language’ to describe the relationships in the Christian community (1994: xiv). Throughout Romans 12–15, Paul exhorts the Christians to a behavior that is ‘the antithesis to Roman social and legal expectations’ (1994: xv).

Romans and Pompeii

A newer study by Peter Oakes (2009) takes the reader to the historical site of the Roman town of Pompeii, which was destroyed by a volcanic eruption in August of 79 ce. Oakes makes the significant archeological ruins come alive, as he helps modern readers to better understand how the letter of Romans may have been received by its original audience. Oakes indicates that the archeological artifacts of Pompeii (houses, mansions, gardens, tools and household items) reveal a great deal about the types of people that would have been first to read Paul’s letter. The people Oakes ‘found’ in Pompeii, male and female slaves, laborers, common people, or the ‘non-elites’, were pictures of the economic situation and social dynamics in the first-century Roman city. He uses the evidence at Pompeii to construct a typical ‘house church’ in real life, and to surmise how the church might have responded to the various instructions and admonitions of Paul. Oakes’s careful study and scholarship grant us incredible insights into the exegesis of Romans in view of archeological evidence.

Inscriptions and competing narratives

In a new volume edited by Stanley Porter and Cynthia Westfall, Porter evaluates the relationship between Roman imperialism, specifically the imperial cult, and Paul’s letters to the Romans and to the Corinthians. Porter writes that ‘one of the most important recent transformations in the study of Paul has been from seeing Paul as the Jewish religious leader into recognizing Paul the world-citizen within the Roman Empire’ (2011a: 10). Porter investigates ancient inscriptions that reveal the extensive Roman Emperor cult; specifically, he notes a calendar inscription from 9 bce that gives readers insights into the three Pauline letters. These preserved inscriptions had been a part of public buildings and structures, and were reminders to honor and revere various emperors. A public, bi-lingual inscription proclaims the birthday of the ‘divine Caesar’, while Paul’s letter explains the coming of Jesus Christ. An inscription declares that ‘good favor has fallen on humanity because of the divine Augustus on account of the good things that he has done’; yet, Paul uses the language that ‘deified Caesars’ to recognize Jesus Christ as the One who is superior to Caesar (2011a: 11). While an inscription may publicize the rulers’ ‘divine beneficence’, Paul writes that eternal benefits come through Jesus. Therefore, Porter suggests that Paul ‘styles himself as the erector of a new inscription to the true Lord, Jesus Christ’ (2011a: 11).

Another feature is apparent in Paul’s letter. Paul crafts a ‘competing narrative of empire’ by comparing the Roman Empire that revolved around a human authority, and the ‘kingdom’ centered on Jesus Christ (2011a: 11). This is first observed in Paul’s lengthy introduction of himself to the recipients (Rom. 1.1-6), titling himself as a mere ‘doulas of Christ Jesus’, in stark contrast to the leading Roman authorities. Porter’s concept of a ‘competing narrative’ is used to develop his view of Rom. 13.1-7. He summarizes previous scholarship on this passage as being positive toward the empire, as negative subversive language, or as neutral comments about governments in general. Reminding his readers that Paul has previously revealed that he is an opponent of the imperial reign (in 1.1-6), Porter contends that Paul is demanding that the Roman leaders be ‘just authorities, and, because Christians are under the Lordship of Christ, they are called to obey just authorities’. That is, Roman ‘unjust authorities’ fall completely outside of the ‘parameters that Paul defines’ (2011a: 11). The Roman authorities become ‘relativized by the Lordship of Christ’ so that only the just authorities are to be obeyed. ‘This approach is consistent with the concept of hierarchy in the Corinthian letters and in a larger circle of literary context in the Pauline corpus.’ Porter shows how ‘layers of context’ can affect, constrain and limit our interpretation of this passage as well as many other difficult portions of Paul’s letters (2011a: 12).

Corinthian letters

Perhaps following the letter to the Romans, the two canonical epistles addressed to the believers in Corinth may be the next best examples of anti-imperial rhetoric found in Paul’s communications. Corinth was also a capital city, located in the Roman province of Achaia. By the 50s ce, the population in Corinth was perhaps between 80,000 and 130,000 people (Carter 2006: 56). Historians have substantially agreed that the city was ethnically and religiously diverse. A small group of wealthy families controlled the city’s power and prestige, and the church at Corinth was Paul’s ‘wealthiest church’ (Seesengood 2010: 18). Thus, in Corinth, we see a ‘typical hierarchal social and political structure’ (Carter 2006: 56).

The Acts account indicates that Paul’s message was rejected by the Jewish community in Corinth (18.6), and a conflict arose (18.12-17). Yet, the 1 Corinthians epistle does not reveal any conflict with the synagogue or any disagreements between the Gentile and Jewish believers. Carter notes that the conflicts and divisions within the church are rooted in loyalty to ‘different leaders’ (1.10-11). He contends that Paul had to address issues that were concerned with the behaviors and practices of the ‘elite’ members of the church (2006: 56-57). Paul’s letters to the Corinthians must be understood within this setting, and Paul takes significant risks by opposing the accepted Roman imperial culture. It was a high risk to instruct the Christian believers on how to live in direct opposition to the prevailing cultural conditions.

Social divisions

The scholarly discussion concerning the divisions in the Corinthian church has been active for many years. In the latter twentieth century, scholars used perspectives from the social sciences to address issues particularly found in 1 Corinthians (see Esler 1994: 2). By employing social-scientific methods, some Pauline scholars deduced that the evident difficulties in 1 Corinthians are due to strong social divisions within the church; conflicting divisions are understood as a split between the wealthy and the poorer classes of people in the community. Gerd Theissen’s work on 1 Corinthians identified the elite members as educated members of the church. Theissen contends that our understanding of Paul’s interaction with the Corinthians is enhanced by an application of the ‘ancient education model’ (1982: 3). Theissen uses 1 Cor. 1.26-29 as an example of the split between the lower, working class and the upper class of educated believers. The ‘wise’ belonged to the educated classes (1.26); they were the ‘dominant majority’, which gave them a ‘disproportionate’ amount of influence in the church. Thus, Theissen’s argument concerning the social divisions in 1 Cor. 1–4 was considered innovative in terms of employing social-scientific methods in Pauline scholarship (1982: 29).

Horsley comments on the second letter to the Corinthians. It is evident from 2 Corinthians that Paul is having difficulties in reconciling ‘a fledgling group of people of diverse viewpoints and interests to coalesce into a coherent and disciplined community’ (2007: 237). While much of the second letter is a defense of his own mission, Paul brings attention to his ministry activities by using ‘unmistakable imperial imagery’ in 2 Cor. 2.14-16. He actually ‘mocks’ the triumphant imperial processions into a city. Horsley sees two effects of this imagery: first, such a procession (‘with pomp and splendor’) would have been ‘all too familiar’ to the readers of the letter, along with the ‘devastating imperial conquests that they celebrated’ (2007: 240). Second, the readers would understand Paul’s attempt to establish travel plans in an environment of ‘periodic arrests and imprisonment’ to which he was subject as he moved from city to city (2007: 241).

In addition, the act of collecting funds for the poor ‘saints’ in Jerusalem (2 Cor. 8–9) confirms the fact that Paul was trying to create an ‘alternative society’ to the Roman imperial economic system (2007: 241). Horsley writes that more than any other issue Paul addresses, the collection for the poor of Jerusalem illustrates to modern readers that Paul was not only opposed to the accepted Roman system, but was trying to form a new kind of order and community in spite of it (2007: 243).

Patronage

The concepts of ‘patronage’ and ‘benefaction’ are noteworthy examples of the manner in which Paul deals with the ideologies of the Corinthian culture. Porter asserts that ‘Paul argues for a replacement of one hierarchy of the Greco-Roman patronage system, which was the basis of abuse in the Corinthian church, with a divine hierarchy that incidentally overthrows distinctions based on status, power and wealth’. That is, Paul is not attempting to replace the existing authority with no authority, or the existing hierarchy with no hierarchy at all. The true hierarchy is headed by God, not the human ruler. In the end, Paul is replacing a false ‘son of god’ with the true ‘son of God’. In 1 Cor. 7, God is seen as the ultimate authority, Jesus Christ is the only mediator between God and humanity, and Paul is God’s trustworthy servant to the Corinthian Christians. In a similar manner, in 2 Cor. 8 there is a clear hierarchy of ‘beneficence’ that begins with the Lord Jesus Christ and passes through Paul to the believers in Corinth, and then to the believers in Jerusalem. Paul replaces the position of the emperor with that of the Lord Jesus Christ. ‘There is no divide between serving God and the state, but the only way one can serve the state is by following Christ’ (2011a: 11-12).

In agreement, John K. Chow specifically notes that if the Roman emperor was comparable to the ‘patron’ of the entire realm, he was also the patron of Corinth. The emperor was revered as the one who could bring peace, order and prosperity to the city. As we have seen before, honorable titles were used of the emperor in Corinth: ‘patron, benefactor, savior, son of a god’ (1997: 105). There was a strong concept of the Roman emperor as the ultimate patron in the city, which was named for Julius Caesar, ‘Colonia Laus Julia Corinthiensis’ (1997: 106). Chow writes that as he visited the city of Corinth, Paul could not have overlooked the ‘visual communications’ that displayed the power and presence of the Roman emperor: ‘coinage, statues, temples, monuments and inscriptions which brought honor to the emperor and to the local imperial families’ (1997: 107). Chow notes the pervasive patronage relationships in Corinth including trade associations, local officials, literary guilds and in the common household (slaves and masters) (1997: 120-21). It appears that in first-century Corinth position and power, in politics and in religion, were achieved by ‘ambitious men’ who were competing for honor and recognition from the higher authorities. This ‘patronal society’ was visible in all aspects of the culture. Chow contends that it would be unreasonable to think that the early Christians were ‘untouched’ by the influences and practices of this way of life. Therefore, these features become a background for our understanding of the Corinthian church and the ‘vexing issues’ that confounded Paul in his ministry (1997: 125).

Rhetoric and 1 Corinthians

Knowing what we do about the historical, cultural situation in Corinth, perhaps such subversive language was necessary. Yet, consideration of Paul’s language and rhetorical style creates the question: if Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians was written in conformity with the rhetorical culture of his day, does that mean that he was acquiescing to the Roman society and culture?

In his edited book, Mark Given discusses ‘Paul and Rhetoric: A Sophos in the Kingdom of God’ (2010b: 175). In the past three or four decades, scholarship has ‘witnessed an explosion of rhetorical studies of Paul’. Past evaluations have been content to describe the ‘rhetorical situations’ Paul faced, and to the ‘rhetorical means’ he used to address them. Given writes that a newer approach considers the ‘ideological issues’ as expressed through language and through interpretation itself (ibid.). In Given’s view, the Corinthian letters demonstrate that Paul was well aware that he was being judged as a writer/speaker according to classical rhetorical standards of his day, and that he was judged as weak in his persuasion (2010b: 176-77). Given applies a rhetorical approach to the whole of the 1 Corinthians letter. He agrees with Margaret Mitchell (1993) and demonstrates how Paul can ‘artfully’ combine ‘the epistolary genre with the deliberative species of rhetoric’ (2010b: 183). In all likelihood, Given contends, Paul could not escape the influence of his culture, not only in his speech patterns, but also in his interactions with other church leaders in the area (2010b: 177). Speaking, writing and ministering in this society, Paul contrasts the ‘wisdom (sophia) of the world and the wisdom of God’ (1.17–3.23). He considers himself to be a ‘wise’ messenger (1 Cor. 3.10). The Greco-Roman cultural element of ‘wisdom’ creates an ‘illuminating backdrop’ for our current reading of the Corinthian letters (2010b: 193). Given concludes that Paul was a ‘sophistes’ or an early ‘wise-man’ who, regardless of the civil authorities, ‘dispensed mysterious knowledge and power for the benefit of humankind’. Despite the theological, academic and literary restraints placed upon him by human beings, Paul was a ‘sophos in the kingdom of God’ (2010b: 198).

Corin Mihaila tends to see a rejection of the use of ‘sophistic rhetoric’ (or ‘wisdom’ in 1 Cor. 2.1-5), and suggests that Paul opposed the social practices of the ‘sophistic movement’ of the time (2009: 13). Yet, Paul intentionally and creatively uses familiar rhetorical devices and figures of speech in his writings to the Corinthians. Paul’s relationship with his fellow orator Apollos may be used as an example of the use of ‘comparative rhetoric’ in Paul’s letter (1 Cor. 1.12; 3.22). Thus, Mihaila shows that there is a type of godly ‘wisdom’ that can be used in a rhetorical form which is quite suitable to Paul (see 1 Cor. 1.18-21; 3.19-20). Paul cleverly used his own ‘weaknesses’ and the attacks of his opponents as an opportunity to help his readers understand that his authority rests in Jesus Christ, and not in a form of human persuasion (2009: 13).

In view of these opinions, it may be concluded that the rhetoric of 1 Corinthians is not so much ‘anti-imperial’ in nature as it is rhetoric of comparison. Paul simply borrows familiar forms of language and epistolary writing; using known tools, he compares the wisdom ideology of the Roman elites to the wisdom of God in a rhetorical manner to impact his readers with the truth of the Christian gospel.

Opponents

If Paul was a Jew, and he was the ‘Apostle to the Gentiles’ at the same time, then who exactly were his opponents in his work of the spread of the Christian gospel? Another topic that continues to evoke debate, is how our understanding of Paul’s opponents affects the way in which we read the New Testament letters. Jerry Sumney re-evaluates the identity of Paul’s adversaries by writing that ‘identifying those Paul writes against helps us to see what kinds of diversity were accepted in the earliest church and what types of beliefs and practices Paul said were unacceptable’. Fundamentally, Paul’s use of the form of an epistle as his selected method of communicating and instructing means that he chose a type of contact that can serve as an interchange of ideas; he was able to address the individual questions, issues and problems of each church (2010: 56). While the identity of these opponents may vary from city to city, opposition to Paul’s gospel appears to be a fairly consistent issue among the early churches. Did the imperial government stand in opposition to his writings, or was Paul writing against Jewish opponents, or both—or neither? Can we make some generalities about Paul’s ‘enemies’, and about those people opposed to Paul, that cover all of his letters?

Past scholarship has suggested the existence of two parties: the ‘Petrine or Jewish Christianity, and the antithesis, Pauline or Gentile Christianity’ (Sumney 2010: 56). Later, scholarship suggested the theory that Paul’s opponents were ‘the Gnostics’ (2010: 57). Yet, such proposals were perceived as insufficient to explain the whole Pauline corpus. It is Sumney’s contention that past scholarship has allowed ‘historical movements’ of the time to ‘constrict the meaning of the primary text in its own context’ (2010: 62).

The key for Sumney is to understand that there is a difference between those people who opposed Paul and those whom Paul opposed (2010: 58). He uses the example of earlier scholarship concerning the letter to the Colossians. He notes that some modern interpreters have used only a limited number of ideas or phrases in the text, and have read everything as an ‘outside movement’; the result was broad conclusions that are drawn about Paul’s opponents. Sumney has determined that, ‘reconstruction dominates the exegesis’ (2010: 65). Sumney’s answer is not to ‘allow reconstructions of other movements or detailed reconstructions of the early church to dominate our identification of opponents’; thus, we are able to gain more clarity about the true identities of those groups who opposed the Christian gospel message in the Roman Empire (2010: 66). In his view, it is possible to recognize a wide diversity among early believers, and readers should avoid ‘simplistic’ categories such as the ‘orthodox church’ or the ‘heretics’ of the first-century church. Sumney would like to eliminate even the long-held types of ‘Jewish Christianity’ and ‘Gentile Christianity’ because they tend to act as presuppositions as we begin to investigate the existent opponents of Paul (2010: 67).

Galatians

By the first century ce, the region of Galatia was extensive, stretching from the Black Sea to the Mediterranean. The large Roman province was a mixture of people from a variety of ethnicities, backgrounds, languages and religions. Both the destination and the date of this letter are subjects of scholarly debate. When Paul wrote this letter depends greatly on the original audience, but the identity of the original readers depends upon when the letter was written. As Sumney has observed, another complication facing scholarship is the identity of the people who are misleading Paul’s audience (i.e., 1.6; 3.1). Who were the ‘false brothers’ in particular (2.4-5), and what exactly were their intentions? Why would the act of ‘circumcision’ be such an issue in the northern Roman province (5.2)? If the letter was written early in Paul’s ministry, who were these early opponents? If it was written later in the century, does that change the nature of the possible opponents, and their ideology that seemed to contradict Paul’s message to the Galatians?

In the hope of answering such questions, Mark Nanos sets the letter to the Galatians within the specific type of rhetoric called ‘ancient letters of ironic rebuke’ (2002: 298). Paul is placing his own message of Christ next to the opposing views of the ‘influencers’. Specifically, Paul juxtaposed his proclaimed ‘good news (euangelion)’ about Christ with the other ‘good news’ presented by those attempting to influence the Galatian readers (1.6-7) (2002: 284-85). In Paul’s day, the term ‘good news’ functioned as an announcement of important events concerning the ‘divine ruler’ of the Roman Empire. This news could mean a birth, an enthronement, speeches or decrees; ‘glad tidings’ were usually news of military victory. Such imperial announcements were aimed at assuring the people who lived ‘under the benevolent wings of the empire’ (2002: 290). Further, the same terminology of ‘good news’ was also meaningful in Jewish literature, especially at the time of the writing of the New Testament (see, for example, Isa. 52.7-10; Mark 1.1) (ibid.). Therefore, the common concepts of ‘good news’ are blended into one message of positive expectation for the Jewish and the Roman Christians alike. In Gal. 3.8, for example, Paul uses the term in regard to the ‘good news in advance of Abraham’. Nanos quotes N.T. Wright: ‘the all-embracing royal and religious claims of Caesar are directly challenged by the equally all-embracing claim of Israel’s god. To announce that Yhwh is king is to announce that Caesar is not’ (2002: 291; see Wright 1994: 228). Again, Wright supports Nanos’s view by writing, ‘the more Jewish we make Paul’s “gospel”, the more it confronts directly the pretensions of the Imperial cult, and indeed all other paganisms whether “religious” or “secular”’ (2002: 291; Wright 1994: 228).

Nanos confirms that ‘the ironic nature of the letter is present on the very surface of Paul’s language’ (2002: 319). He contends that Paul designed the letter to rebuke the Gentile members of a Jewish ‘coalition’ who had begun to move away from the patterns that they knew to be true, and were trying to sway the Galatian audience. As a result, Paul uses a milder approach by employing ‘hidden language’ and implied correction; his ironic approach was ‘clear and persuasive’ for the Christian believers in Galatia, but Paul deliberately ‘obscured the identity of the players and the situations’. Therefore, the meaning of Paul’s gospel message may have been ‘hidden’ to his original audience as well (2002: 321). The questions remain, was this approach taken for someone’s (or everyone’s) protection? If so, who was being protected from whom?

Another issue in the Galatians letter is the persecution and suffering of the Galatian believers; yet, what was the origin of the persecution? Sylvia Keesmaat contends that Paul used the ‘exodus tradition’ as the basis for ministering to the Galatians. For her, the dissension in Galatia was not a Jewish/Gentile issue, but was almost entirely a Jewish debate. She contends that the Galatian community ‘quite possibly had been told a story in which the law was central to God’s new act of salvation that would free God’s people from slavery and restore their inheritance’ (1999: 214). Thus, it was Paul’s desire to unite the Galatians into an ‘ethic of suffering love and faithfulness, even in the face of persecution’ (1999: 215).

‘Vanquished people’

In a new volume, Brigitte Kahl adds fresh insights of Roman imperial ideology to her reading of the letter to the Galatians. Kahl places Paul’s letter in the context of the Roman viewpoint of ‘vanquished people’; that is, that population who are counted among the nations conquered by the Roman Empire. Kahl sets up the historical events that were important to the ‘Celtic inhabitants of Asia Minor (contemporary Turkey) and the Celts of Western Europe’ (2010: xix-xxiii), as well as clear maps of the tribal areas of Europe in ancient times. These are helpful to her descriptive background of the imperial presence in the Galatian province (2010: 69). She carefully describes imperial symbols and images of Roman power over against the distinction of subjugated peoples, including the Galatians.

Kahl notes that Paul’s argument for justification by faith and freedom from law in this letter should not be interpreted through the lens of Christianity versus Judaism:

To trace the historical meaning of Paul’s criticism of the law, and thus of justification by faith, in the hermeneutical framework of Roman imperial language and representation is a rarely taken path, and it radically changes the way we read the letter… Traditionally what we had imagined as the context of Galatians was a dispute between Jews and Christians… This imagined contexuality, which has so profoundly shaped our understanding of Galatians, illuminates one isolated segment of a larger historical picture… The Roman Empire in Paul’s time was the most basic reality of life for both Jews and non-Jews of all kinds, and is programmatically obscured in [a] theological reading (2010: 6).

The more universal worldview that Paul presents in his letter to the Galatians involves all the nations (the ruled and the ruling) in a move toward greater peace and justice, universal law and order, through the gospel message of Jesus Christ. Kahl determines that the ‘political, ideological and theological threads are interwoven’ in Paul’s quarrel with the Galatians and their freedom from the Jewish ‘law’ (2010: 7). Ultimately, Kahl asks, ‘what if Paul were targeting Greco-Roman imperial nomos much more than the Jewish Torah?’ (ibid.).

One of her most important contributions is Kahl’s recognition of rhetorical images (statues, inscriptions, sculpture, and the like). In her view, imperial imagery is as important to our understanding of early Christianity as are the written texts. Historical images and records of the Roman authorities’ struggles with the Gauls document events and resistance movements that would have been of great concern to the first readers of Paul’s letter. She says, ‘the dominated always know how to communicate in “other words” under the eagle eye of their censors, using abbreviations, allusions, omissions, and the camouflage of a “double-tongue” to say what they want to say, without saying it’ (2010: 252). In Gal. 2.4, for example, Paul refers to ‘false brothers’ who are ‘spying’ on the believers and intend to make them ‘slaves’. Kahl believes these infiltrators to be ‘social control agents’, and the ‘political implications’ of these kinds of terms in Paul’s letters is ‘usually significantly downplayed’ (ibid.).

In her epilogue, Kahl considers the ‘competing empires’ of Gaul, Judea and Rome (2010: 291). At the time of Paul’s communications with the Christian churches located in outlying Roman provinces, ‘there was nothing innocent about gathering Galatians and Jews around the table of a crucified “emperor/king [basileus]” of the Jews (Mark 15:26)’ (2010: 294). Further, the ‘vanquished’, from a Roman perspective, were unable to create peace among themselves, ‘unless the heavy hand of Rome was upon them’ (see Paul’s frustration with the Jews in Acts 22.30–23.10). The letter to the Galatians, then, becomes ‘an apocalyptic critique of the dominant ideology and idolatry that are inseparably intertwined’. Therefore, Paul framed his whole theological argument on a ‘messianic monotheism’ that challenges his Galatian readers ‘to see and to think both critically and faithfully’ (2010: 303).

Justin Hardin, too, places the recipients of the Galatian letter squarely within the context of the Roman imperial cult system. The social and cultural circumstances of the imperial domination are foundational to his thesis that the ‘crisis in Galatia’ was indeed ‘exacerbated, or perhaps even generated, due to the pagan background of the Galatians readers’ (2008: 149). In Hardin’s view, the ‘agitators’ of the crisis wanted to escape ‘civic reprisals’ for being affiliated with the Gentiles who no longer chose to observe the public worship of the emperor. Some of the Gentile believers did not want to be considered part of a suspicious group because they associated with the Christians; the agitators, therefore, were ‘compelling them to be circumcised’ (Gal. 6.12) in order to look Jewish to the civic authorities (2008: 114). Thus, the circumcising of the Gentile believers in Galatia would have been a means of convincing Roman authorities that the Christians were part of the Roman ‘religio licita’ (2008: 114; see also Winter 2002a: 75). Hardin suggests that if Paul’s opponents (the agitators) feared Roman persecution because they were not counted among the protected Jews, ‘can we assume that the Gentile believers in Galatia (the readers of the letter) were under social or political pressure as well?’ The obviously positive answer reveals that the widespread Roman imperial cult provides a ‘fresh angle’ from which we can read Paul’s letter with regard to the nature of the ‘Galatian crisis’ (2008: 150).

Hardin asserts that the agitators were Jewish Christians in the region who had recently separated themselves from Paul’s readers (who were primarily Gentiles). Paul’s words in his ‘postscript’ to the letter, Gal. 6.12-13, reveals their true motive (2008: 149). The agitators were concerned about making a ‘good impression outwardly’ and avoiding being ‘persecuted for the cross of Christ’ (6.12). Again, Paul’s rhetorical aim is to contrast his own outward appearance with his opponents’ in Gal. 6.14-18 (2008: 114). In addition, Hardin examines the claim that the Jews were exempt from the obligation to observe the imperial cult. Surprisingly, he notes evidence that Jewish communities in Jerusalem and in the Diaspora actively participated in the cult by setting up honorary inscriptions to the emperors in their synagogues: ‘Jews in the Roman world not only willingly honoured the emperor, but also employed the same methods as the Greeks and Romans’ (2008: 108-109). In light of Hardin’s claim, perhaps the real issue that Paul faced was the relationship between the Galatian believers and the Jewish communities in the region who were also participants in the imperial cult. The agitators were not attempting to excuse any of the Christian believers from the imperial cult practices. They were merely concerned about the ‘status ambiguity’ in their society and about avoiding persecution because they did not appear to be a part of either ‘normalized’ groups, the Romans or the Jews (2008: 115). Paul’s ‘postscript’ advises his readers to imitate him in his compliance to suffer whatever persecution is necessary ‘for the cross of Christ’, the very thing that the agitators were trying to avoid (2008: 151).

Matthew F. Lowe points out the distinct use of ‘the cross’ by Paul in Galatians. In the first-century Empire, the act of crucifixion was a quintessential display of imperial power and domination. While the Romans did not invent crucifixion, it was ‘a distinctly Roman tool of social control’ in Paul’s world; that is, it was the most obvious example of ‘state-sponsored terrorism’ (2011: 201). For the Jewish Paul, it would have been extremely difficult to accept the ‘lordship’ of ‘a crucified Jew’ as an ‘agent of God (God incarnate)’ (2011: 200). Even so, by the time Galatians was written, Jesus was not only perceived as the ‘Lord’ (kyrie), but Paul employs the ‘Roman torture device as an instrument of purification’ (5.24). Paul writes in his postscript that the cross can still be understood by his readers as a cause of ‘persecution’ (6.12), but it also becomes the ‘foundation for boasting’ (6.14). His positive approach to the cross may have ‘shocked’ his readers, but certainly the irony of the cross was not missed by Paul’s audience. It is possible to consider crucifixion without any intended reference to the Roman imperial system, but because the Roman were very involved in the crucifixion of Jesus, it is almost impossible not to make the connection (2011: 201). In Galatians, then, Rome’s scheme of ‘cruel execution’ is revealed as a distinct means to an end: Jesus’ cross becomes the supreme implementation of the plans of God (ibid.).

Ephesians

Regardless of one’s view with respect to the authorship of the letter to the Ephesians, the ‘new perspective’ presented by such noted scholars as J.D.G. Dunn focuses on the ‘Jewish character of Ephesians and defines the context in broad categories of Jewish thought and praxis’ (Yee 2005: 29; Dunn 1996a: 139). A great deal of research on the Pauline letters has been focused on the church and Israel, and on the conflict between the Jewish and Gentile believers. The study of Tet-Lim Yee is concerned with ‘ethnic reconciliation’ in view of a predominantly Jewish backdrop (2005: 31). In his examination of the letter in general and of Ephesians 2 specifically, Yee makes fresh conclusions concerning the Jewish perception of the Gentiles, who are placed in an ‘other’ or an ‘out of place’ category (2005: 32). The author of the letter, a Christian Jew, is writing to a community of Christian Gentiles, to assure them that they are no longer in a peripheral position, but are people of God. The reconciliation is accomplished by the ‘Messiah Jesus’ whose saving work is ‘undisguised inclusivism’; all believers, then, are to accept the ethnic ‘other’ in their midst (ibid.). In addition, Yee suggests that another issue in Ephesians is the puzzling terminology of ‘heavenly places’ (1.20-21; 3.10; 6.12). While this phrase has usually been seen as a reference to the readers’ eschatological future, Yee writes that the phrase should be seen as effort on the part of the author ‘to destigmatise the Gentile’s defective status’ (2005: 220).

Lowe writes that Ephesians has received ‘little attention’ in recent examinations of the ‘minor’ New Testament letters in the imperial context (2011: 202). Perhaps any references to the imperial system in the letter are ‘subtle—but not necessarily untraceable’ (2011: 202). Lowe looks at the language of the ‘powers’ which are a major topic in Ephesians; the author announces Christ’s supremacy over the familiar ‘powers’ in the Empire. The ‘divine-warfare myth’ from the Old Testament is situated in an imperial context (2011: 205). We can see how the ideology of ‘divine warfare, myths of power and exaltation’ are rooted in the Hebrew Old Testament, and the ‘victorious warrior’ role may have been conveyed to the kings of Israel, as seen in Psalm 68 (cited in Eph. 4.8) (2011: 204). While they were familiar with the Old Testament Scriptures, the New Testament authors also knew the customary Roman imperial imagery of a ‘triumphal procession’ (2011: 205). Paul ‘reworked’ Psalm 68, and then ‘superimposes’ the ‘unmistakable’ Roman image of the imperial triumph as ‘an overlay’ (2011: 206). Lowe notes that ‘seeing both sides of triumph and captivity, experiencing (whether personally or vicariously) the status of both victor and victim, Paul, Ignatius and their Ephesian readers would have found a christocentric recasting of the triumph to be an appropriate image—if not always a positive one’ (2011: 206-207, his emphasis).

Jennifer Bird takes another approach to the Ephesians letter. She summarizes her view by writing that ‘the author creates a counter-empire by drawing upon terminology typically associated with imperial claims, decrees and restorative actions’ (2007: 277). The author of the epistle creates ‘an empire that has conquered that of Rome’ (2007: 278). Yet, in this letter, Christ as the Conqueror, and his empire, are ‘thoroughly spiritualized’. This gives people who are subjects of the spiritual realm no reason to pursue a realm of ‘unjust rulers and systems’. In fact, they are to passively ‘acquiesce to its systems’ in the earthly realm (ibid.). The emphasis in Ephesians is the empowerment of people who may have appeared to ‘threaten the system’; yet, they can ‘lead the way into new understandings of community and liberation for all people’ (2007: 278).

Philippians

In the city of Philippi, Carter sees a situation that seems to be closer to the environment at Thessalonica than to Corinth. A smaller city, Philippi was a colony, settled primarily by Roman citizens. Carter surmises that the church was probably small, comprised more of ‘artisans’ than of ‘elites’. He also suggests that the believers had probably separated themselves from the worship of idols and from the imperial cult festivities, as they had done in Thessalonica. The early Christians may have had significant pressure from the opposing forces: ‘economic sanctions, verbal abuse, broken relationships and perhaps occasional acts of violence’. As a result, Paul urges them to ‘stand firm’ (4.1); this is Paul’s method and response to the acting sovereignty of Rome. Written while Paul was in prison under imperial guard, his position did not prevent the spread of the gospel message ‘through the Praetorian guard’. Paul draws attention to the believers, even in the emperor’s household (4.22) (2006: 60-61). He has confidence in God’s power, even to the point of asking Roman citizens to renounce their citizenship status, just as Christ renounced his status and became a slave (2.5-11). Slaves were, of course, the lowest members of the imperial society with few rights or privileges. Yet, Paul reassures his audience that, in the end, God’s sovereignty will triumph over Rome’s Empire (3.12-21) (2006: 62).

Porter agrees with Carter, writing that Paul uses the prison context to focus on three aspects of civilization known to the believers in Philippi: ‘citizenship, peace, and the crucifixion as the focal point of the Christ-hymn in Philippians 2’. The reference to ‘citizenship in heaven’ in 3.20 indicates ‘a degree of expatriated discontent with Roman citizenship’. The ‘peace of God’ in 1.2 and 4.7 is seen in contrast to the concept of Roman peace. The ‘Christ-hymn’ of 2.6-11 is a masterpiece of irony; first, it contrasts Jesus’ humble obedience to the imperial power over life and death. While the cross is seen as a ‘clear stamp of empire’, it is translated into Jesus’ exaltation and glory. Second, Porter sees the account of Jesus’ ascension in the hymn (2.9-11) as clearly a ‘reminder of the adoration of a Roman emperor’ (2011: 13).

Further, Lowe suggests that with his Jewish ties and his Roman ties, in all his travels and imprisonments, Paul, to some degree, may have felt like a man without an ‘earthly citizenship’ (2011: 208). It is little wonder that he looked forward to a ‘citizenship in heaven’, as well as the ‘peace of God’. The visual picture of the cross in Paul’s letters should not be missed: in addition to the imagery in the book of Galatians, Lowe shows that the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus are seen as ‘descent and ascent’ in Ephesians 4, and they form a ‘similar arc’ in Phil. 2.9-11 (2011: 210). He writes that ‘whenever Paul’s churches read about or made reference to the cross…the “atonement” carries a reminder of the empire’ (2011: 211).

Peter Oakes explores the Pauline rhetoric in the letter to the Philippians. Paul himself is under the pressure of the imperial authority, imprisoned and facing possible execution. Moreover, his readers at Philippi were Christians who were also suffering. In view of the situation, what Paul chooses to tell his audience is unexpected. A common theme seems to be the sovereignty of Christ over every aspect of his imprisonment and suffering. Such a theme forms a link with other material in the letter about Christ’s universal sovereignty, and the hope it brings. In life or in death, in imprisonment or in release, Paul returns to the supremacy of Christ. Through this language, readers can grasp a comparison between the Roman authorities and Christ’s sovereignty over them. The polarity between Paul’s imprisonment texts and those passages about Christ can be connected if we see both as expressions of Paul’s reaction to the Roman government. Paul assures the Philippians that they can be confident and ‘stand firm’ in their trying situations because God is sovereign over the human rulers, both in Paul’s detention and in the ultimate victory of Christ (2001: xvi).

N.T. Wright explores passages in Philippians that advance his thesis concerning Paul and the Empire. First, as we have seen before, the hymn or a poem in chapter 2 sounds like familiar ‘imperial acclamations’; yet it is Jesus, and not the Roman emperor, ‘who has been a servant, and is now to be hailed as Lord (kyrio)’ (2010: 7). Second, Paul says ‘our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await the Saviour, the Lord Jesus, the Messiah’ (3.20); here, Paul explicitly employs imperial emperor titles. Third, Wright explains that the Empire expanded and colonized other regions because of the crowded conditions in the capital city of Rome. Should a colony experience difficulties from an outside force, the emperor would travel to the colony to rescue his loyal subjects and protect them from danger. Paul’s portrayal of Jesus and his divine saving actions could easily have been understood by the inhabitants in the colonized city of Philippi as a contrast to the Roman emperor. Wright calls this ‘imperial eschatology: Jesus is the reality, Caesar the parody’ (2010: 6).

Moreover, Wright expands on the idea of Paul’s rhetoric from Oakes. Wright contends that it is not Paul’s desire to warn the Philippians against a Jewish threat; Paul’s concern is to warn them against the ‘Caesar-cult’. He does this in chapter 3 by encouraging his readers to remain steady in the ‘counter-empire of Jesus’. This message is given to them ‘for the most part, in code’. By telling his own story (3.4-6), Paul shrewdly shows how his own denial of status and position was forfeited for the ‘surpassing greatness’, and the true status and privilege ‘of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord’ (not Caesar) (3.8). Paul writes that ‘it is no trouble for me to write the same thing to you again, and it is a safe-guard for you’ (3.1). His letter is safe because no one reading chapter 3 would surmise that the recipients of the letter were being encouraged to be disloyal to the emperor (2010: 7). Therefore, if Phil. 3.2-11 was intended to be a ‘coded challenge’ to the Empire and its leaders, Wright suggests that the passage was also intended to persuade the readers, subjugated to Caesar, to have the confidence to trust in Jesus as Lord, and the confidence to ‘renounce the imperial claims of Caesar’ (2010: 8).

Colossians

In the world of music, the concept of ‘remixing’ is a melding of an older, original song with newer, more modern music, to form a new composition. Brian Walsh and Sylvia Keesmaat have combined their efforts to do the same thing with the letter to the Colossians. They assert that the ‘older voice’ of the Colossians letter can be remixed for our contemporary society. Colossians was an ‘explosive and subversive tract in the context of the Roman Empire’. In the context of imperial realities, the letter can function in much the same ways in our day (2004: 7). Paul presents an ‘alternative vision of reality, animating a way of life that was subversive to the ethos of the Empire’ (ibid.). Walsh and Keesmaat challenge modern readers by saying, ‘if it is true that Christ is the Creator and Redeemer of “all things” as the Colossians poem so eloquently puts it, then what might be the implications of such a breathtaking comprehensive worldview for our ecological, political and economic lives?’ (2004: 8).

Alternative community

Walsh and Keesmaat compose an ‘ethic of community’, based on the view that Colossians is a ‘subversive tract for subversive living; it insists that such an alternative imagination and alternative way of life is formed and sustained in the context of community’ (2004: 9). The Christian household, for example, is shaped very differently from the accepted Roman model of family life. Paul also creates a ‘secessionist ethic’, of ‘putting to death’ the evidences of the Empire, and ‘the “stripping off the old self” that was deformed by the empire’ (2004: 172). His readers are called to new, resurrection life that is ‘clothed’ in a new set of values. Paul offers his readers a realm that stands out against what his audience knew of the Roman Empire. The ‘old’ way of life included idolatry (3.5), and the new way was ‘renewal in the image of God’ (3.10). The imperial government promoted false and ‘violent’ ideology (1.21; 3.9); Paul offered ‘a renewal of knowledge’ (3.10).

While the Romans imposed emperor worship, ‘religious, ethnic and economic divisiveness and marginalization’, the alternative was a community where ‘Christ is all and in all’ (3.9) (2004: 172). Remarkably, Paul argues, ‘all things are created in, through and for Christ’; and ‘all things are reconciled through this death on a Roman cross’ (1.15-20) (ibid.). Walsh and Keesmaat point out that Paul was encouraging ‘a comprehensive salvation [that] must permeate all of the life’. This description of the ethical Christian life was not limited to the life of one person, but to the life of the entire church, which was the ‘beginning of the new humanity for the new creation’. Old idolatry commitments and imperial political loyalties were replaced by the ‘restoration of the image of God in history’ (2004: 172-73). Further, ‘as an alternative to the foolish belief that peace, prosperity and social well-being are secured through the growth of the economy and the military expansion of imperial control, the Christian community seeks political wisdom by being rooted in the word of Christ’ (2004: 183, authors’ emphasis).

The renewal of knowledge was the beginning of a ‘transformed social order’ (2004: 173). Thus, in the Colossian community, ‘it all begins and it all ends with Christ’, and not the Roman emperor. As a result of death and the resurrection life, Christian love cannot remain an ‘abstract idea’; it must take on the ‘flesh in the embodied life of the Christian community’, even in places and times that are not favorable to its presence (2004: 179). ‘There is something wildly audacious about all this!’ the authors claim (2004: 177).

Walsh and Keesmaat take a stab at interpreting the cryptic Romans 13 passage, by relating it directly to the poem in Colossians 1. They would argue that Paul does honor the Roman authorities, because the magistrates are exercising a God-given authority (1.16) (2004: 185, their emphasis). Those public officials who misuse their positions and power must acknowledge such exploitation in public. So, Paul honors these magistrates by correctly exposing their maltreatment and calling them to task. Because he believes that their power is not finally rooted in the Roman emperor, but is of God, Paul ‘demands that they use their authority in a way that demonstrates that they really are servants of God’. Moreover, when political power ‘clearly abrogates its responsibility to do good, when it acts against the will of God, then the Christian community has a responsibility to call it back to its rightful duty, and even to engage in civil disobedience (see Acts 12.6-23). The state has no authority to do evil’ (2004: 185). After much discussion concerning the language of Romans 13, the authors conclude that,

when the state functions as an empire, when it bears an uncanny resemblance to Babylon, then ‘seeking the welfare’ of the state requires shaping an alternative community that practices an alternative politics. If the empire is war-mongering, then the Christian community is called to be a witness for peace (2004: 186).

From an ‘ethic of community’ Walsh and Keesmaat move to an ‘ethic of liberation’ as expressed by Paul in the book of Colossians. Again, their words are worth regarding in full:

We can argue until we are blue in the face that Colossians is good news for an oppressed and marginalized community at the heart of the Roman empire, but unless this good news is for those truly at the margins—slaves, children, women—it is nothing but a noisy gong and a clanging cymbal… The household code not only reinscribes the traditional oppressive ordering of a household in the empire, it is also ‘the integral consequence of Christ’s universal lordship’ (2004: 201; the latter phrase is from D’Angelo 1994: 322).

Ultimately, Walsh and Keesmaat assert that it ‘all comes down to worship’. That is, while Paul calls the community to confess Christ as the only Lord, ‘worship is demonstrated through word and deed’, through an alternative manner of loving and living in a world that is not a godly kingdom (2004: 183).

Finally, N.T. Wright compares Gal. 4.1-11 with Paul’s rhetoric in Colossians. In Galatians, Paul warns the believers that ‘if they submit to circumcision they will not only not escape from the paganism they have rejected in becoming a Christian, but will actually be returning to it in a subtler form’. In Colossians, however, Paul warns against a Judaism that is ‘described in terms of paganism’. That is, in Col. 2 Paul implies that the Jews who reject Jesus as their Messiah are thereby ‘subject to the same critique as paganism’. Wright perceives that Paul is using ‘an inner-Jewish rhetorical strategy’ where the unbelieving Jews were cast as ‘pseudo-pagans’. In this way, Paul is cleverly setting up a Jewish polemic that serves another purpose, namely his ‘anti-Caesar message’ (2.8). Wright concludes that Paul is asking his audience to ‘reconsider their allegiance to the Roman emperor, just as he reconsidered his allegiance to Judaism’. Thus, the Philippians, the Colossians, and the Galatians—all the believers—must find their whole identity in Jesus the Messiah and nowhere else (2010: 11).

1 and 2 Thessalonians

From about 146 bce, the city of Thessalonica (or, ‘Thessalonike’) had been the capital of the Roman providence of Macedonia. The city remained quite Greek in its culture, in spite of Roman rule. History tells us that the people of Thessalonike ‘deliberately cultivated and solicited the benefaction of Rome’, and the city depended heavily on the ‘benevolence’ of the emperor (Witherington 2006: 3, 9).

Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians may have been written in the late 40s ce, when the imperial cult was on the rise (Witherington 2006: 1). Ben Witherington III notes that the ‘emperor cult was syncetized with the local worship of the Cabiri, the mystic deities of Samothrace (and a cult patronized by Philip and Alexander)’. The ancient coins show that the emperor was ‘deified as Kabeiros, “the ancestral and most holy of all gods”’ (2006: 5). The mixture of the Greek cults, foreign cults (Isis and Serapis), and the Roman emperor cult created fertile ground for the Jews and early Christians of the day (2006: 6). History also relates other features that favored the city including the celebration of both the ‘Olympic and Pythian games’ (ibid.). Suffice it to say that it was a difficult city for the Christian believers, who were opposed by both the Jews (Acts 17) and by the influential pagans.

Carter suggests that the church in Thessalonica may have been composed of ‘a small group of mainly artisan converts’ (2006: 52). The epistle mentions neither slaves, nor does it make reference to a wealthy ‘elite’ class of patrons. Problems among ethnic groups or different socioeconomic groups within the church are not mentioned, in contrast to what we see in 1 Corinthians. As in other cities, to renounce city gods and not participate in celebrations of the imperial cult were most likely seen as acts of disloyalty and subversion. In fact, Paul and his associates were in danger in Thessalonica because they are accused of ‘defying Caesar’s decrees, saying that there is another king, one called Jesus’ (Acts 17.7). Witherington writes that Paul uses ‘political language’ which had previously been reserved for pagan deities (1 Thess. 1.1, 10; 5.3-9) or the emperor (1 Thess. 5.3, 23; 2 Thess. 2.3-4; 3.16) in reference to Jesus. Yet, for Paul, the ‘only God on earth was Jesus, not the emperor’, and he wanted to make that clear to the people of Thessalonike (2006: 6).

In addition, Carter suggests that the reference to coming of the ‘parousia’ in 1 Thess. 4.15-17 may have been designed to parallel the celebration of the arrival of an imperial official or military general into the city. Jesus is seen as ‘the rightful ruler’ who returns with ‘a loud command, the voice of the archangel and the trumpet call of God’ (4.16). Thus, perhaps Paul is not necessarily considering an imminent ‘parousia’ in this early letter, as much as he is adapting common, familiar empire concepts and terminology (2006: 53-54). Helmut Koester agrees: neither 1 Thessalonians nor Romans was written by someone who was worried about the ‘delay of the parousia’. The Thessalonian letters show that the believing community rested in the idea that they ‘already belonged to the “day” in their present existence’ (1 Thess. 5.1-5). Koester writes that Paul envisioned the believing community presenting an alternative to the ‘prevailing eschatological ideology of Rome’. In doing so, Paul radically changes the ‘traditional apocalyptic topics’, giving hope and warnings to the church about the days ahead (1997: 166).

Porter concurs, noting that,

in 1 and 2 Thessalonians, while references to idol worship and kingdom/dominion are directed at the empire, the strongest locus of imperial content is located in 1 Thess 4:13-18 and 5:3, where the Lord’s parousia contains loaded imperial content, and the empire’s offer of peace and security is nullified. Paul renders the parousia as a clear imitation of the imperial event of a royal visitation, where the tombs and mausoleums of the dead are encountered first and a greeting committee meets him and escorts him back. The timing of his coming will disrupt the imperial program of peace and security (2011a: 13).

The ‘parousia’ offered a hope unlike anything the Empire had to offer. The New Testament epistles give an ultimate hope that Rome would eventually meet its demise. Implicit in 1 Thessalonians is a hope that the early Christians would see the fall of the imperial system, which was an opponent of the purposes of God. The picture of the return of Jesus (4.15-17) may have reminded the original readers of the victorious return of the emperor and the imperial army; yet, the promise of God’s reign in the world will be fulfilled only when the rule of Rome is overcome (5.8-9). Certainly more will be said about the ‘parousia’ and the Roman Empire when I address the book of Revelation in my next article.

Philemon

Cassidy makes an interesting comparison between Paul’s letter to Philemon and his letter to the Romans. The two letters obviously contrast in length, but Cassidy notes that they also contrast in terms of the circumstances which precipitated the writing of each epistle. Cassidy contends that at the time Paul wrote to the church at Rome, he was probably working elsewhere in Asia Minor, perhaps on his last missionary journey, hoping to return to Rome (1.7-15; 15.22-29). Yet, his letter to Philemon was written probably three to four years later. Cassidy argues that at that time of writing Philemon, Paul was an ‘old man’, imprisoned in Rome (though some have suggested imprisonment was in Ephesus), ‘in chains’ and under Roman guard (Phlm. 9–10) (2001b: 68). In Philemon, Paul refers to his imprisonment and his chains ‘four times in thirteen verses’ (2001b: 73), and we do not see the ‘great vigorousness’ that ‘pervades’ the letter to the Romans (2001b: 81). Other similar letters such as Philippians (1.13), Colossians (4.7-18), and Ephesians (4.1) may have been written about the same time, and his imprisonment is in the forefront of these letters. Paul declares that he is a ‘prisoner of Jesus Christ’ (Phlm. 1), implying that it was his Christian message that put him ‘in chains’. Historically, then, Paul’s circumstances changed between the writing of Romans and his communication to Philemon, as did his perspectives concerning the Roman imperial system. Dating Philemon after Romans, after Paul had experienced the full force of Roman custody, ill health, a dependence upon friends and fellow workers, hope for release, and battles within the judicial system, the small letter of Philemon takes on a sense of anti-imperial rhetoric that is not found in Romans 13.

In terms of a postcolonial approach, A.D. Callahan writes that Paul addresses his recipients of Philemon with the ‘language of agape’. Callahan notes that the epistle of Philemon does not emphasize a hierarchal class structure. It makes no mention of titles or positions (‘apostles nor bishops’). Rather, Paul refers to a ‘prisoner, brother, friend, fellow-worker, sister, fellow-soldier, [and] all the saints’ (2007: 336). Hence, he uses language of unity, without reference to status, ‘entitlements, rights or threats of coercion’. It is the language of ‘co-worker and comrade, the language of the brother beloved’ (ibid.).