Paul and the Apocalyptic Imagination

by Ben C Blackwell

  For all its excellence in reviewing recent scholarship on Jewish “apocalyptic” thought and literature and its implications for New Testament scholarship, the overview by Jörg Frey (“Die Apokalyptik als Herausforderung der neutestamentlichen Wissenschaft. Zum Problem: Jesus und die Apokalyptik,” in Apokalyptik als Herausforderung neutestamentlicher Theologie, eds. Michael Becker and Markus Öhler, WUNT 2/214 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006], 23–94) does not press toward the emphasis of the discussion. ↵

  The Flood is a poignant example, given the cosmic dimensions of the evil and divine activity against it. The Red Sea episode or even the return from exile could be mentioned here as well, though these storylines do not play as prominent a role in the early apocalypses. ↵

  Cf. Archie T. Wright, The Origin of Evil Spirits: The Reception of Genesis 6:1–4 in Early Jewish Literature, rev. ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2015); Loren T. Stuckenbruck, The Myth of Rebellious Angels: Studies in Second Temple Judaism and New Testament Texts, WUNT 335 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 1–57 and 78–102. ↵

  The complaint raised by the souls of humans who have been killed in 1 En. 8:4–9:3 may give voice to a concern that in the midst of cultural and political upheaval, God seems to have withdrawn; however, the apparent lack of injustice is met by a decisive defeat in the past of powers (10:1–16), a defeat that now conditions and informs the perspective of those who receive the text. ↵

  Cf. further Stuckenbruck, The Myth of Rebellious Angels, 161–86. ↵

  The claim of this text goes well beyond that of its intertext in Gen. 9:1–17, according to which the establishment of a covenant between God and Noah and his offspring is not accompanied by a change of human nature. ↵

  A more obvious example for this is Noah’s prayer in Jub. 10:3–6 that God not allow evil spirits to rule over his children and “over the children of righteousness now and forever” (10:6) is presented as a petition whose force extends to the recipients of the work. In order to recover the perspectives of ancient readers to texts such as Jubilees and 1 Enoch, further audience-orientated work is needed; for a beginning in this direction, see Rodney A. Werline, “Ritual, Order and the Construction of an Audience in 1 Enoch 1–36,” DSD 22, no.3 (2015), forthcoming. ↵

  For fuller discussion, see Stuckenbruck, The Myth of Rebellious Angels, 206–11. ↵

  This modification of Jewish apocalyptic thought has been and is held by a significant number of New Testament scholars; cf., e.g., Ernst Käsemann, “The Beginnings of Christian Theology,” in New Testament Questions of Today, trans. W. J. Montague (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1969), 82–107; James D. G. Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), e.g., 464–65, 475; David E. Aune, “Understanding Jewish and Christian Apocalyptic,” in Apocalypticism, Prophecy, and Magic in Early Christianity, WUNT 199 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 1–12, at 9. ↵

  8

  The Transcendence of Death and Heavenly Ascent in the Apocalyptic Paul and the Stoics

  Joseph R. Dodson

  T. S. Eliot wrote, “All cases are unique, and very similar to others.”[1] And so it is with Paul’s apocalyptic eschatology.[2] Despite the “unique” outlook of the apostle’s worldview,[3] many of its features are not without parallel, even beyond early Judaism. There were numerous works from various Mediterranean traditions in and around the first century containing accounts of revelatory experiences, disclosing visions of a transcendent world, and proclaiming eschatological doctrine.[4] Many of these parallels with Jewish-Christian apocalypses have been noted by biblical scholars. Harold Attridge, for instance, surveys a number of such Greek and Latin sources originating from the Hellenistic and early Roman periods and discovers that, among other elements, these works feature personal eschatology, journeys through the heavens, and end-time prophecies.[5] Furthermore, F. Gerald Downing traces the widespread first-century belief in cosmic eschatologies, and Stanley Porter surveys the strong tradition of the soul’s destiny in the afterlife, identifying examples of resurrection and post-mortem judgment from early Greek religions.[6] Additionally, in their respective works, James Tabor and Alan Segal highlight the similarities and differences in ancient accounts of heavenly ascents.[7]

  Of all the Greco-Roman works and traditions surveyed by these scholars, however, Stoicism is the perspective especially deserving of comparison with Paul’s apocalyptic worldview. Stoic philosophy captivated a sizeable audience in the Mediterranean world from the third century bce to the second century ce. Although by no means all-pervasive, more people during this time held “a more or less Stoic conception of the world than any other,”[8] so that even Stoicism’s “methods and technical terms became common coin.”[9]

  Despite the ubiquity of Stoic thought, few modern studies have offered a comprehensive comparison of Paul’s apocalyptic eschatology with the worldview of Stoicism. Troels Engberg-Pedersen’s work is the most recent and recognized exception. In Cosmology and Self in the Apostle Paul, Engberg-Pedersen seeks to demonstrate that Paul’s conceptions of spirit and body can only be fully understood in light of both a Jewish apocalyptic worldview and Stoic cosmology. In the volume, Engberg-Pedersen pinpoints striking Stoic parallels that many scholars have neglected. He attempts to show how using material from Stoic texts helps to provide “a more precise meaning to Paul’s statements.”[10] He concludes that—like the Stoics—the apostle understood the spirit “as a through and through material, bodily phenomenon.”[11] Consequently, he argues that Paul’s conception of the transformation of individuals into “pneumatic bodies should be understood on the model of the Stoic idea of the transformation of the whole world into (pneuma and) God at the conflagration.”[12]

  Engberg-Pedersen’s work, however, has been met with significant resistance from various Pauline scholars. For instance, John Barclay criticizes Engberg-Pedersen for misinterpreting resonances between Stoic and Pauline literature “as signals of a common ‘underlying’ worldview.”[13] Barclay insists that Pauline theology, on the whole, is “fundamentally incompatible” with Stoicism because—unlike Stoic philosophy—it is centered on a narrative of the Jewish messiah “that is shaped, in both thought and life, around a distinctive event with its own resulting logic.”[14] Indeed, the new configuration of the community that results from this narrative “was far more at odds with the cosmos than Stoics could consider decent, natural or philosophically correct.”[15] Similarly, N. T. Wright expresses astonishment that Engberg-Pedersen fails to address the differences in Paul’s “creational monotheism” and the flexible pantheism of Stoicism, as well as in their respective symbolic worlds and characteristic narratives.[16]

  Nevertheless, both Barclay and Wright find value in Engberg-Pedersen’s work. For example, Barclay considers the book’s discussion on powers in Paul and the Stoics “particularly illuminating,”[17] while Wright concludes that Engberg-Pedersen’s comparison between Epictetus and Paul is a successful analysis that “should be factored in to subsequent studies.”[18] In other words, the potential for abuse should not discount the heuristic benefit of comparing Pauline apocalyptic with Stoic cosmology. Rather, as Wright states on the heels of his critique of Engberg-Pedersen, “Tracking, plotting and assessing the many lines and levels of [Paul’s] complex non-Jewish world is a task awaiting further attention.”[19] Indeed, there remains value in setting out the apostle’s “hypothetical and perhaps actual engagement” with the Stoics.[20] It is essential to stress, then, that Barclay and Wright’s criticisms should not be taken as attempts to dissuade scholars from a fool’s errand, but as reminders of the risks involved in navigating between the Scylla of neglecting Stoic parallels and the Charybdis of exaggerating their relevance.[21]

  In view of these challenges, in this chapter, I will seek to heed the warnings of Barclay and Wright while following Engberg-Pedersen’s example of setting up a fresh comparison that elucidates the similar and dissimilar patterns of thought in Paul’s letters and in literature representative of the Stoics. Rathe
r than arguing for borrowing, a common parlance, or an exact match between the two, I will seek to highlight how the parallels between these traditions expose real differences that thereby confirm the “uniqueness” of Paul’s apocalyptic eschatology.

  The Transcendence of Death and Heavenly Ascent in Stoicism

  Stoic writings contain elements that are often featured in apocalyptic literature, such as warnings of a universal destruction[22] and promises of a cosmic renewal[23] in which creation’s Endzeit will correspond to its Urzeit.[24] Each of these makes a stimulating case study in its own right. In the interest of space, however, I will concentrate on references in Stoic literature to heavenly ascents used to demonstrate the transcendence of death—“the attainment of a higher, angelic form of life.”[25] The following study will be different from those by Attridge, Downing, Stanley, Tabor, and Segal in that—rather than offering a cursory glance of a large number of texts from a wide swath of writings from various traditions—I will examine three passages representative of Stoicism: the dream of Scipio, the ascension of Metilius, and the apotheosis of Hercules. Even though there was variety of thought among the Stoics,[26] these three stories appealed to heavenly ascents to support the belief that virtuous souls continue to survive after being separated from the body.[27]

  The Dream of Scipio

  Cicero crowns his Republic with the Dream of Scipio, who was an esteemed paragon of Stoic virtue.[28] Although Cicero’s entire work “shows a strong Stoic influence,”[29] his use of Scipio’s dream especially associates a widely held eschatology and cosmology with Stoic themes such as the conflagration (ekpyrosis).[30] Therefore, as Marcia Colish demonstrates, Cicero’s analyses and allusions here take him beyond the Hellenistic commonplaces into “a firmament where these elements revolve around an axis of Stoic doctrine.”[31] Moreover, according to Pheme Perkins, Cicero uses the dream’s eschatological vision of the future to respond to the political crises of the first century bce. Fearing his class would flee public life due to the “new politics” of the Imperial age, Cicero employs Scipio’s revelation to sustain “the view that only those who benefit the city have hope of immortality.”[32]

  Before Scipio recounts his own heavenly vision, he references the story of Er’s return from the dead in Plato’s Republic to explain the secrets of the afterlife. As Scipio’s audience will recall from the myth, the judges gather Er together with the departed souls and appoint him to be a messenger to humanity. They command him to listen and behold all that happens and even assign him an interpreter to ensure that he understands the experience enough to return and report it (Plato, Resp. 10.614d–619b). Er then watches as the judges separate the just souls from the wicked ones. While the righteous souls ascend into the heavens for a thousand years to experience indescribable beauty and bliss, the wicked souls are forced to descend under the earth to suffer until they repay their wrongdoings tenfold (Resp. 10.615a–616a). When Er comes back to life, he details these things in the hopes that people would constantly practice justice so that they may reap rewards—both while living in the body and in the thousand-year intervals in between (Resp. 10.619e; 621c–d).

  Having referred to Er’s rapture, Scipio now describes his own experience to demonstrate how the doctrines of heaven and the soul’s immortality are sensible conjectures to be considered rather than fantastic fictions to be mocked (Cicero, Resp. 6.2.2).[33] Scipio begins by telling how he shuddered in terror when the deceased hero, Africanus, appeared to him in a dream.[34] In response to Scipio’s fright, Africanus exhorts him to banish his fears. Then Africanus, who possesses “posthumous immortality among the stars,”[35] prophesizes about Scipio’s future victories on the Earth.[36] He goes on to tell Scipio about the special place prepared for just souls in heaven, where the blessed enjoy everlasting life. Those considered dead are really still alive—so alive that, in comparison, life in the mortal body is death (Resp. 6.14).

  To prove this, Africanus invites Scipio’s father, Aemilius Paulus, to join them. At the sight of Paulus, Scipio lets out a spate of tears, and Paulus responds by embracing his son and forbidding him to weep (Resp. 6.15). Scipio then begs Paulus to let him depart from his so-called life on Earth to join his father in heaven. Paulus explains, however, that the soul must remain in the custody of the body to fulfill its obligations until God sees fit to release it. Therefore, rather than having his son dodge his civic commitment,[37] Paulus calls Scipio to imitate him in cultivating justice (Resp. 6.16). If Scipio does so, one day he too will be able to live with the righteous forever.

  “Like the heavenly journey’s in the Enoch tradition, this vision includes a brief course in astronomical wisdom.”[38] Scipio begins to describe cosmographical details. He says he is able to see heaven blazing brightly as a circle of light. Everywhere he looked, he beheld wonderful beauty. Filled with awe at the immensity of the universe, Scipio looks down and fixes his mind on how small the Earth is compared to the Milky Way (Resp. 6.16).[39] Africanus, however, redirects Scipio’s gaze to the nine celestial spheres: the last of which is the heaven of the Supreme God (Resp. 6.17).[40] Africanus proceeds to explain to Scipio how foolish it is for a person to pursue fame when the coming conflagrations and floods will prevent anyone from gaining long-lasting glory: much less everlasting fame. The measurement of earthly years by the circuit of a single star pales in comparison to the Great Year when all the stars return to their original configuration (Resp. 6.23–24).

  Therefore, rather than seeking vain and evanescent glory, Scipio should seek the celestial things (Resp. 6.20) and set his heart upon heaven where he will find his reward (Resp. 6.25). If Scipio will only look on high to contemplate this everlasting resting place, he would ignore the vulgar herd around him and allow virtue to lead him to true glory (Resp. 6.25). If his spirit remains committed to the best pursuits and detaches itself from bodily pleasures, soon enough, he will fly to the soul’s proper home and permanent abode (Resp. 6.29). In light of this hope, Scipio promises to redouble his efforts to serve his country (Resp. 6.26).

  Scipio’s dream ends, however, with what will happen if he does not. The dreadful alternative is to suffer punishment and purgation with those enslaved to sensual desires.[41] When the wretched die, rather than ascend to heaven: they fly close to the Earth. They who broke the laws of gods and men will be tortured for many ages (Resp. 6.29).

  The Ascension of Metilius

  With respect to how noble persons transcend death, Seneca’s Ad Marciam de Consolatione[42] corresponds to (if not draws from) the Myth of Er and the Dream of Scipio.[43] According to this essay, when Marcia’s son Metilius died, he tarried above his corpse just long enough to be rid of its blemish.[44] Once cleansed,[45] his soul burst its bounds to roam throughout the universe and traverse the limitless spaces of eternity.[46] Now, Metilius lives in an abiding place where “all noble souls are akin to one another,” from which nothing can drive him. Having attained an everlasting peace,[47] he stands beyond the stings of lust, the reach of envy, and the range of scorn. He is no longer racked by anger or smitten by disease (Marc. 19.6).

  When Metilius arrives in the heavens to dwell with blessed souls (Marc. 25.1), he is welcomed by the assembly of saints. His grandfather, Cremutius Cordus, steps forth from this company to initiate his grandson into nature’s secrets (arcana naturae).[48] With true and intimate knowledge, Cordus reveals to Metilius the causes of celestial things, inducts him into newfound light, and guides him into the arcana (Marc. 25.1–26.1). For a moment, however, Cordus pauses from initiating Metilius into these mysteries to speak to his daughter, Marcia, from on high. He comforts her by informing her about the scope of Metilius’s revelations (Marc. 26.4). From his celestial perspective, Metilius now knows the details concerning the rise and fall of future empires and the particulars of the conflagration—when all life will be extinguished and all matter will blaze in ekpyrosis (Marc. 26.6).[49] At that time, the blessed souls who had partaken of eternity will be transformed again into their former element
s (Marc. 26.7). Therefore, Seneca concludes the essay by consoling Marcia. She should stop crying futile tears. Her son is in a better place, where he now knows all these secrets!

  The Apotheosis of Hercules

  As Cicero did with the Myth of Er, the author of Hercules Oetaeus adapts the legend of Hercules to a Stoic framework in order to demonstrate how righteous humans can attain to divinity through virtus.[50] The play’s genre is different from Greek tragedy in that, as an example of drama à thèse, it is meant to expound a philosophical idea.[51] In this case, the author extends the original story to include how “Hercules burns away his mortal part and becomes a god.”[52] Because of his virtue, even the flames could not defeat this wise representative of Stoicism. Consequently, Hercules’s earlier claim of having mastered the world is fulfilled at his departure, when through death, he vanquishes the only enemy he had not yet overcome (Herc. Ot. 1610–1620). Now, as a result: “Everything has been conquered!” (en domita omnia).

  Rather than shrinking from the fire, Hercules prays for Jupiter to let the flames prove he is God’s son, who is worthy to dwell among stars (Herc. Ot. 1710–1714). In response, instead of God abandoning his son to death’s infernal realm, Hercules hears Jupiter calling: