Paul and the Apocalyptic Imagination

by Ben C Blackwell

  This dynamic is nicely articulated by John Webster in his essay “Resurrection and Scripture,” in Christology and Scripture: Interdisciplinary Perspectives, eds. Andrew T. Lincoln and Angus Paddison (London: T&T Clark, 2008), 138‒55. I am not sure his earlier and widely-read study Holy Scripture: A Dogmatic Sketch (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003) articulates this dynamic as clearly. A useful point of entry into the church’s hermeneutic might be Henri de Lubac, History and Spirit: The Understanding of Scripture According to Origen, trans. Anne Englund Nash and Juvenal Merriel (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2007 [1950]). ↵

  Indeed, the tragic possibilities of this “gospel” are never more evident than in Charles Marsh’s compelling account, “Douglas Hudgins: Theologian of the Closed Society,” in God’s Long Summer: Stories of Faith and Civil Rights (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 82‒115. (My thanks to Curtis Freeman for this reference.) N. T. Wright grasps the ethical debilitations flowing from Gnosticism clearly; see his Paul and the Faithfulness of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2013), 2:1307. ↵

  5

  Apocalyptic as Theoria in the Letters of St. Paul

  A New Perspective on Apocalyptic as Mother of Theology

  Edith M. Humphrey

  This chapter all began “because of the angels.” To be more precise, its catalyst was Paul’s throwaway comment, “because of the angels.” The phrase, coming abruptly, and as the capstone to his argument concerning women in worship, has long tantalized me. Frequently, the rhetoric of 1 Cor. 11:1–16 is explained solely in terms of cultural norms, so that the little phrase “because of the angels” is handled merely as an aporia to be solved by appeals to the legends of fallen angels and the like—more cultural baggage that Paul was carrying. This has never seemed quite satisfactory to me! Instead, I have added the phrase to a mental list of other suggestive hints in the apostle’s writing—many of these, it seems, indicative of his apocalyptic view of mysteries not seen by the unaided human eye, but revealed to those who are in Christ.

  Of course, we inherit an entire legacy of Pauline scholarship that equates “apocalyptic” with “eschatological,” playing out Käsemann’s perceptive and enduring dictum concerning “apocalyptic”[1] as the “mother of Christian theology.”[2] But for more than three decades, that synonymous use of “apocalyptic” has been questioned by those in our guild who have studied the genre of the apocalypse, beginning with the work of the SBL apocalypse seminar in Semeia 14 (1979)—a volume that traced the mysteries revealed in apocalypses along two axes, the vertical (or spatial) as well as the horizontal (or temporal). Yet, there remains a hangover of the old habits of speech, for example, when some have noted that “apocalyptic,” in terms only of eschatological dimension, comes to the fore in the second half of Käsemann’s career. This was, we are told, his way of balancing participation and justification in Paul’s letters. As Käsemann puts it, “It is characteristic of the letters that the entire mission of Paul is determined by the expectation of the imminent end of the world.”[3] However, even Käsemann harbored interest in the spatial dimension: “The eschatological happening consists precisely in this, that God has begun to reclaim for himself the world which belongs to him”;[4] “As the world is determined by the conflict of forces, so there is laid on man as a corporeal being the necessity of having a lord, of being incorporated into a dominion, whether it is that of Adam as the representative of the cosmos or that of Christ as the representative of the world of the Resurrection.”[5]

  For Käsemann, then, Christ is not merely the eschatological Victor, but also the Cosmocrator over numerous realms.[6] This is true also of his contemporary Oscar Cullman, who wrote primarily of Christ and Time, but who also noted the vertical axis: “There is in the NT an invisible heaven and an invisible earth; invisible powers and authorities are at work.”[7] Unfortunately (in my estimation), he goes on to qualify the importance of this dimension: “But this invisible course of events is itself completely subjected to the progress of time. The essential thing is not the spatial contrast.”[8] What might Cullman have seen had he not made this decision? What if he had organized his book not in terms only of oikonomia and ephapax, but in terms of mysteria as well? No doubt, the slight intimations of the hidden yet revealed worlds that we see in part II and part IV[9] of his work would have come to the fore.

  Some have made strides toward reclaiming this aspect of apocalyptic discourse in St. Paul’s works, notably Andrew Lincoln, whose monograph Paradise Now and Not Yet has not received the attention it deserves. Lincoln goes so far as to conclude, “If there is no heavenly dimension, then Christ is not risen and your faith is in vain,”[10] yet even he insists that the cosmic dimension is qualified by the temporal one in the theology of Paul. Always, he speaks about “Paul’s references to heaven in the context of realized eschatology,”[11] and thus he does not consider this axis concerning the mysterious realm in its own terms. Then, there are those dubbed “neo-apocalypticists,” whose guiding narrative is friendly to the spatial dimension of the mysteries, but, it seems, at the expense of the human temporal dimension, or at least, at the expense of a continuous covenantal history. In this construal, God’s crucial act in Christ is typed wholly as an invasion, rather than a fulfillment of what God has done in Israel prior to the cross,[12] and so, the spatial dimension is understood only to make a punctiliar rather than a chronological impact upon the human domain. As we recognize the ongoing debate between those who stress covenant over against those who insist upon God’s sovereign and specific act, we can scarcely neglect the timely admission of N. T. Wright in his recent massive study of Paul that “Paul is involved in a cosmic struggle, . . . an implicitly ongoing battle . . . [and] believes in the reality of unseen powers.”[13] Wright goes on to comment, “If that is what we were to mean by ‘apocalyptic,’ Paul would be . . . an irreducibly ‘apocalyptic’ figure.”[14]

  Those of us who study apocalypse as a genre will respond that this is precisely how we must understand “apocalyptic”—as a revelation that unveils both the temporal fulfillment of the covenant, and that illumines the significance of other mysteries, including beings, realms, and objects that are normally not seen (plus possible journeys to behold such wonders). The spatial and temporal axes plotted by the SBL apocalypse group are helpful in reminding us of these aspects even in Paul, who does not construct an outright apocalypse.[15] To these two axes, I think it is helpful to add a third, three-dimensional element, cutting through the first two, because there is a particular apocalyptic approach to identity that emerges as a result of awareness of the other mysteries.[16] As Roetzel opines, “[E. P.] Sanders was completely correct in emphasizing that the mystical and eschatological conceptions are intimately related”[17] in Paul, and that this is key to his conception of reality and identity. In this chapter, I will stress the spatial axis, that is, Paul’s appeal to hidden but revealed beings and realms. As we consider select references in Paul’s undisputed letters,[18] we will note how these beings and realms make their mark on the apostle’s pastoral counsel, theological arguments, and liturgical decisions or sensibilities. We will discover that such mysteries frequently appear in the course of an enthymeme, where the major premise is shared between Paul and his readers, but not articulated. This unexpounded use in itself indicates the fundamental nature of their presence in Paul’s theological imagination: the ability to perceive such mystery is part and parcel of his self-understanding as an apostle and his presentation of Christian identity in general.

  Mysterious Presence in Pastoral Counsel

  Porneia, Judgment, and Humility

  It is not surprising that our example of pastoral conversation is drawn from the first part of 1 Corinthians, along with the grab-bag of issues Paul addresses there. At the point where we glimpse apocalyptic matters (chapters 5 and 6), Paul is already in a warmly rhetorical mode, since he has addressed schism in the church and has concluded with a not-so-veiled threat (4:21). The warmth spills over into his next t
wo topics concerning judgment in the church. The first topic is introduced at 5:1 with an exclamation (“Actually, it is reported . . . !”) and the second at 6:1 with a rhetorical question (“Do you dare?”). He is concerned with pragmatics and gives advice, merged with deliberative argumentation. Yet, the discussion goes beyond mere pragmatics as he tackles attitude—first, pride (“you are puffed up!” 5:2), and then, self-centered behavior (6:8). In the discussion of the first topic, porneia, an unseen being appears as a central part of the argumentation, just after the case has been introduced (5:1–2), and before the apostle gives his advice (5:5) with a closing exhortation to humility and purity (5:6–8). This unseen being is startlingly associated with Paul himself: his “spirit” is “present with the power of our Lord Jesus” (5:3–4) during the assembly of the Corinthians. In his handling of the second topic, judgment, unseen beings are adduced at the climax of a list of rhetorical questions: “do you dare to take these matters to pagan judges? Do you know not that saints will judge the world? Do you not know that we are to judge angels?” (6:1–3).

  In both cases, Paul does not introduce the mysterious beings as though this were a new revelation to the community. We may be startled about his reminder that he is “present in spirit” in the ekklesia, but clearly, Paul did not expect the Corinthians to be puzzled. Rather, the presence of the unseen spirit of Paul is subsumed under the main actions, that is, his judging, and the gathered Corinthians handing over the man to judgment.[19] Moreover, Paul’s mysterious presence with the church is not argued but assumed, and functions, rather, to add substance and authority to the prescribed action of judgment. Missing from his argument is any sort of explanation for the phenomenon, such as, “I am present with you in the spirit, because this is the unified and spiritual nature of the Church which is made up of all its members, present and not present in the flesh.” Or, is it even possible that the argument might have run like this: “my spirit is gathered with you, because I have an angelic Doppelgänger who attends your gatherings when I cannot be with you in body”?[20] It has been customary, of course, to understand “present in the spirit” as a picturesque way of expressing solidarity, but this hardly fits the manner in which Paul insists, three times no less, that he is there with them. Indeed, many translations take the easy way out in supplying the second participial phrase ὡς παρών (1 Cor. 5:3) with the qualifier “as if present”: an equally possible translation would be “as one who is present [in this way, i.e., in the spirit],” yielding the meaning “because I am present [in this way], I have already judged.” Even if we cannot parse his exact meaning, Paul is appealing to a common or shared understanding concerning a mystical possibility: this is real presence, not a figure of speech![21]

  The interconnection of the unseen world with the church re-emerges in chapter 6, where Paul argues that it is prerogative of the church to settle internal disputes. To many in the twenty-first century, the movement from a small legal matter, to judging the world, to judging angels at the eschaton, is hardly compelling. For Paul’s audience, however, the crescendo up to the judgment of angels works as an effective shaming device, as is clear from the rhetorical negative questions employed here. Just as the apostle assumes that the Corinthians know that his spirit can be present with them when they are gathered, so he assumes that they share with him an understanding that there are angels who require discipline, and over which the church will ultimately have authority (1 Cor. 6:3). Here again, he introduces the argument enthymematically, suppressing major propositions such as, “Because you know that there are fallen angels, and because you know that the visitation of Christ has raised the faithful to a status above these beings, you know that you are destined to judge them.”

  Both chapters 5 and 6 work pastorally because the apostle can assume that the Corinthians share with him a common lore about the spirit world. It would seem that the same can be said about his ironic reference to the “angel of Satan” in 2 Corinthians 12, where, at the height of a vision report, the ideal reader would expect a reference to an “interpreting angel.” Paul, however, coyly plays with such expectations, and provides an inverse interpreting figure, a messenger of Satan. He is not, of course, encouraging the adulation of mystical experiences, though he owns them for polemical purposes. As we reflect upon these three passages, we should note that only the apostle’s critique concerning judgment before unbelievers (1 Corinthians 6) is connected in any direct way with eschatological teaching; in his instruction concerning porneia (1 Corinthians 5) and his reference to the third heaven (2 Corinthians 12), the apostle is concerned to demonstrate the present effect of the unseen upon the community and upon himself. Moreover, though the thought of eschatological judgment forms part of the argument in 1 Corinthians 6, the apostle’s real concern is to encourage orderly and authoritative behavior in the present matter of judging. Further, he encourages his hearers to mimic him (rather than the super-apostles) in a common life of humility and dependence upon God (2 Cor. 11:30; 12:9, 19–20). In all three cases, that which is unseen is simply dropped into the discussion, as something that will be readily understood. Thus, the pastoral needs of the readers are addressed by reference to mystery—whether Paul’s compelling “spirit,” angels whom humans will judge, or the “angel” who forcibly demonstrates human weakness.

  Abiding Angel in the Human Realm

  There is another oddity to note. In apocalyptic literature, the proper domain for angels is usually the heavenly realms, where the visionary views them, or whence the angel comes briefly to carry a message, or where a specific interpreting luminary accompanies the visionary in order to be of help. This is alluded to in 2 Corinthians 12, where Paul visits the “third heaven” and “paradise,” and where he claims to have seen undisclosed mysteries. However, here, he ironically discloses that God provided for him an “angel of Satan” to interpret the meaning of his experiences: this angelus interpres does not leave him at the end of the journey, but, it seems, stays with the apostle for the duration of his ministry, continually interpreting to him the true significance of his “apocalypses of the Lord.” Many have noted the polemical nature of this passage, and typed it as an apologia; while this element is present, we should also note the apostle’s own signaled intent not to engage in self-defense, but rather, in edification (2 Cor. 13:19).[22] Though he is partially concerned to mount a defense, his ultimate purpose is pastoral, that is, to provide himself as a model for those who are in danger of seduction by those who boast visionary prowess. Instead, those who have seen the Lord of glory are to imitate the apostle, bearing like him the marks of Christ in their bodies, and the scourge that makes for wholeness: “death is at work in us . . . so that the life of Jesus may be revealed in our mortal flesh” (2 Cor. 4:11). Though St. Paul appeals to his heavenly journey, his real concern is to communicate the continuing imprint of that journey—strength made perfect in weakness—as learned by means of the inverse ministering “angel” who accompanies him.

  Though there are mysteries in the heavenlies, it is significant here that the location of the mystery has been (at least in part) transferred to the human realm. Käsemann, Cullman, and numerous others demonstrated how the eschatological dimension of Paul’s theology lends it a sense of fulfillment yet to come. Attention to the unseen beings and their location in the world or the church balances their insight with the conviction that the great mystery is now present among us. The apostle has made three interventions, adducing the integrity of the church by means of Paul’s present “spirit,” the potential competence of the church to judge now based upon its future role in judging angels, and the turning of the enemy’s ongoing strategies to a good end. His arguments intimate that the unseen world has already been transported to this world: something has changed. In the pastoral counsel, the immanence of spiritual beings is assumed, while the implications of this assumption are drawn out. We turn now from pastoral exhortation to theological argumentation.

  Mysterious Beings and Realms in Theological A
rgument

  Presence of Jesus

  We do well to register, in the first place, Paul’s constant reference to the unseen presence of Jesus, or sometimes, to the spirit of Jesus. This trope is cast apocalyptically in the course of his famous discussion of Israel and the law in Romans 9–11.[23] Though the intertexts for 10:5–6 ultimately go back to Deuteronomy, their nearest and clearest echoes are the rabbinic mysticism in the targumim and the apocalypses, since Paul hypothetically envisions the bringing of Christ down from the heavens and up from the abyss. What is implied is that such cosmic journeys are no longer necessary, because what the visionary would seek is in the midst of the community that proclaims the ῥῆμα τῆς πίστεως (10:8b) or the ῥῆμα Χριστοῦ (10:17). The ῥῆμα merges with the “name of the Lord” (10:13) and indeed, with Jesus himself. The word is present and the name is effective because this one is no longer too high nor too low, but “near” and among those who believe. What the mystics searched for in the hidden and exalted Torah is now present among those who believe—in a person who has been seen but now is known by his action, his ῥῆμα. At no point does Paul actually declare to the Roman Christians that Christ is present, for they share this understanding, and he has already assumed it in earlier conditional clauses: “If Christ is among you” (ἐν ὑμῖν, 8:10)—and you know he is, because the Spirit has been received (8:15)—then everything else follows, including the redundancy (even faithlessness?) of seeking him and fuller evidence of God’s righteousness through otherworldly journeys. Chapter 10’s argument depends upon the shared belief that the unseen Jesus is present among the community, because he has both entered and spoken into the human arena. For Paul and his hearers, this has changed everything: what was unseen may now be known, by Jew or gentile (10:17; 11:11), and what remains unseen cannot exert destructive influences upon God’s faithful (8:38).